Skirt rustling softly, I followed him down the veranda. He opened the door for me. I preceded him into the long hall. He closed the door quietly and took my arm in his hand, guiding me toward the hall that led back to the front of the house. He stopped, abruptly, his fingers tightening painfully on my arm. I was startled. I started to protest, and then I heard the footsteps, too. Lyman pulled me over to the back wall, into the nest of shadows between two windows. This side of the room was shrouded with thick layers of blue-black darkness, while the moonlight, seeping through the windows, brushed the tapestries on the opposite wall with a misty light and coated the wide stone steps with a dull silver-blue sheen. Someone was coming down. The footsteps rang loud and clear in the silence. Lyman was tense, standing rigidly against the wall, his fingers biting into the flesh of my arm. My heart pounded. The darkness was so dense here that I couldn’t even see him beside me.
Gerald Prince came slowly down the steps, a thoughtful expression on his face. In the shaft of moonlight gilding the steps, every detail was quite distinct. He stopped two steps from the bottom and smiled. Locks of glossy brown hair lay across his forehead. He reached up to brush them back and then tugged at the lapels of his jacket, shifting his shoulders around until the hang was right. His stock, so carefully folded against his neck earlier on, looked rumpled, carelessly tucked into the top of his elaborate satin waistcoat. I realized I hadn’t seen him since he and Vanessa had left the dance floor at the beginning of the break. There were more footsteps, light, tapping ones this time, and he turned, looking back up toward the landing.
Vanessa came down leisurely, her great silver skirt sweeping over the steps with a crisp, silken rustle. She paused halfway down to fasten one of the emerald pendants back on her ear, and then she sighed. She had never been lovelier. The gown was only slightly crushed, and her ebony waves were still flawlessly arranged. She smiled at Gerry. A warm glow seemed to suffuse her. Moving down the remaining steps, she touched his cheek with her fingertips, rubbing the skin with gentle strokes. He made as if to gather her into his arms, but she held him off, shaking her head.
“We’ve been gone long enough as it is, love. We’d best join the others now. There’ll be other times.”
Leaving the steps, they walked to the door of the hallway and disappeared down it. We could hear their footsteps echoing for a moment or two, and then there was silence. Lyman said nothing. Neither did I. We continued to stand there in the darkness for what seemed an eternity, and then Lyman released my arm. I rubbed it. There would probably be a bruise tomorrow. Still not speaking, he started toward the doorway, moving across the darkness until he reached the misty silver light. He paused at the doorway and turned to wait for me. His face was like granite, impassive, his eyes flat and expressionless. I joined him. We went down the hall. I could hear the music, far away, and as we turned down the second hall it grew louder, a merry, lilting waltz, and I could see the lights ahead, and, a moment later, we were back in the drawing room, mingling with the crowd.
We weren’t going to discuss what we had seen. That was plainly understood. Lyman was frightfully composed, far more composed than I was. One of the squires came over to him and said something about crop rotation, and the old duchess, eyes slightly glazed, tapped my arm and indicated I should join her over in front of the white marble fireplace. When I complied, she looked around the room like a conspirator and told me in a low confidential whisper that the pâté was almost gone and I’d better get some right away. She bustled off, and I shook my head. Lyman had left the room.
A short time later, I went back into the ballroom. My head was still throbbing, and I felt dazed, wondering how I was going to endure the rest of the evening. The candles in the great chandeliers were half burned down now, and there weren’t nearly so many people dancing. Those who lived some distance away were already leaving. Lord Mallyn stood near the door, shaking hands. Although his eyes were as bright and lively as ever, he looked weary, his face sagging, his shoulders slumping a little. I went over and stood beside him and, when we were alone, told him that Edward and I would see the rest of the guests off and suggested that he call it a night and go up to his room. He snapped and fussed and called me a spoil sport, a nagging hussy, a wet blanket, but that was merely for show. Summoning George to assist him, he took his leave, holding onto the husky footman’s arm for support.
Another hour passed. The crowd thinned even more. I hadn’t seen Lyman since he’d disappeared from the drawing room, but I saw Gerald Prince, chatting with a cluster of matrons, dazzling them, his manner as florid and dramatic as ever, and, later, I saw Edward standing beside one of the tall French windows with Vanessa. That rather surprised me. Head cocked to one side, he smiled a tight, humorless smile, his blue eyes cold as she spoke to him at length. Then he nodded and made some short remark which seemed to amuse her. She laughed and moved away to be immediately claimed by a young man in uniform who swept her back onto the dance floor. The tight smile remained on Edward’s lips, and I could see that he was angry about something. I wondered what Vanessa had said to him.
The candles burned down even more, sputtering, and more guests departed. Edward joined me in the front hall, and we made farewells and shook hands and exchanged pleasantries, and, finally, the last guest had gone, the last carriage had pulled away from the drive. I sighed, weary through and through, filled with relief. Beside me, Edward was silent. He seemed unaware that our duties were over, a grim, distracted look in his eyes as though he were contemplating some problem. I wondered if it had anything to do with what Vanessa had said to him. After a moment he looked up, becoming aware of his surroundings again. It was at this point that Gerry sauntered into the hall. His cheeks had a ruddy glow. He seemed to be in a jovial, expansive mood, regarding the two of us with mocking brown eyes.
“Quite a show you put on tonight,” he remarked amiably. “First rate performances from both of you. You look a bit flustered, Jenny, but radiant—as always.”
“Save your gallantry for someone else,” I said coldly.
“I say, you’re not still resentful, are you? I thought I’d been a most engaging fellow these past few days.” He grinned and then stiffled a yawn with his hand. “A delightful evening, this. Wine, music, sparkling companions. This is the life—I could grow quite accustomed to it.”
I glared at him with open hostility, but Gerry’s baiting didn’t seem to bother Edward at all. In fact, he seemed almost pleased to see him. To my surprise, he asked Gerry to join him in his study for a nightcap.
“Hunh?” Gerry seemed as surprised as I was. “I say—that’s a ripping idea, old chap. You—uh—have some good news to impart?”
“I had an interesting communication from London this afternoon.” Edward replied. “I’d like to settle things tonight.”
Gerry extended his arm toward the door with a dramatic flourish. “After you, my good man,” he said, “after you.”
They left, and I returned to the ballroom. There was no sign of Vanessa or Lyman. I supposed both of them had already gone upstairs. The ballroom looked vast and empty as footmen swept up the litter with long-handled brooms and housemaids gathered up dishes and stacked them noisily on trays. The great chandeliers had been lowered until they almost touched the floor. George and another footman snuffed out the candles one by one. All brightness and gaiety was gone now, the tattered remnants of the night being removed with swift efficiency. The ball was over, at last. Weary, I went up to my room, too tired even to think about all that had happened during the course of this eventful night.
Chapter Twelve
I was tired, but it was a pleasant tiredness, a relaxed, rather languorous feeling after having walked for what must have been miles. Two days had passed since the ball, and this afternoon, after sewing with Lettice and taking tea with her in the nursery, I had simply left the house and started walking with no particular destination in mind. Past the stables, down the long avenue of lime trees, over the empty fields beyond, I walked, e
njoying the solitude and the exercise, enjoying the wind whipping at my skirts and tossing my hair, enjoying the smell of the countryside and the arching gray sky that stretched endlessly above. Perhaps it was foolish to go so far afield after what had happened that afternoon when I was returning from the village, but I gave no thought to that.
I had walked over the fields to the sloping knolls beyond, then over the moors, a vast sea of land covered with thick, dry, grayish-brown grass only faintly brushed with green, a vague blue-green. There were shales of crumbly gray rock as well, and, here and there, strangely shaped black-gray boulders that seemed to grow out of the earth. I walked, thinking of all that had taken place over the past weeks, trying to resolve the dilemma I felt inside, and, as I started back, nothing was resolved. It was as though Mallyncourt had cast a spell over me, becoming the only reality. My life before seemed dreamlike, insubstantial, and I couldn’t visualize a future away from the great house. I had become inextricably involved with the people there, and although I told myself I would be leaving soon, that I must leave before it was too late, I couldn’t visualize that either.
I had grown fond of Lord Mallyn, very fond, and he had come to depend on me. He didn’t know what he would do without me. He said that repeatedly. Could I leave him? I had grown fond of Lettice, too. The child was gradually blooming, thorns softening into petals, and what would happen to her if she discovered my deceit? What would it do to her? And there was Edward. Yes, there was Edward. There was no moonlight now, no frothy bougainvillea, no tremulous fear inside, and my mind was clear. Perhaps I didn’t love him. What is love? I asked myself. How does one know it? I told myself I didn’t love him, and I believed that most of the time, yet Edward Baker had become the center of my world, his presence so strong that it effected my every thought, my every action, and even though I knew him, even though I might even actually despise him, I couldn’t visualize a life without that strong central force.
What was I going to do when he made his next move? I had been so sure there in the moonlit gardens two nights ago, but now I wasn’t sure at all. I told myself I couldn’t leave Lord Mallyn, couldn’t fail Lettice, but perhaps that was merely a subterfuge on my part, something to hide the unpleasant fact that it was Edward I couldn’t leave, couldn’t fail. Here, with the wind tearing at my hair and the moors stretching bleakly on every side, I could be entirely honest with myself for the first time.
Tired, filled with a weary languor, I climbed a slope and, leaving the moors behind, started back across the fields. They were empty, too, but rich and loamy underfoot, covered with green. They had brought in a great yield before and would again in the future, but Lyman respected the land he worked and rotated the crops to keep it vital and productive. It was late now, the sky a lighter gray, turning yellow, and on the horizon orange and golden banners blazed, spreading, fading. There was a faint haze in the air and soon, I knew, as soon as the last banner faded, the sky would lose all color and gradually blacken and the haze would take on the purple tints of twilight. Across the fields I could see the avenue of limes, a narrow passageway opening through the woods. The rooftop of Mallyncourt reared up over the leafy trees beyond, the ornate pinnacles bathed in sunlight.
I thought about the house, about that dusty east wing, closed up and given over to decay except for that one bizarre room with its many reds and the erotic bronzes. Events and emotions following one right after another had temporarily eclipsed that mystery, yet mystery there was. What secret did that room hold? What caused the noises the servants spoke of? Why had Edward been so alarmed when he found me in the room, and why had Lyman been lurking in the hall that night before Gerry’s arrival? Why had he told me to keep quiet about that midnight encounter? I had been too occupied with other things to give much thought to that room and the mystery surrounding it, but I thought about it now, strolling toward the avenue of limes, and I had the disconcerting feeling that I should know the answers to all those questions, that it was something quite obvious, something I should have realized immediately. It was as though the answers were there in the back of my mind, half shrouded in mist, striving to break through, but no matter how hard I tried to summon them they continued to elude me.
One problem, at least, had been solved. Gerald Prince was no longer at Mallyncourt. He had left the morning after the ball, long before anyone got up. His sudden, abrupt departure had been puzzling at first. I knew a train left the station at six o’clock in the morning, but how had he gotten to the station? There had been no one to drive him there, not at that hour, and when the stable boys got up they reported that all the horses were still in their stalls. Did he walk two miles, carrying his bags? That wasn’t like Gerry, not at all. I had been extremely mystified until Edward informed me later on in the day that he had seen Gerry off himself. Immediately after they had their nightcap in the study, Edward had given him the money, Gerry had packed his bags and, while everyone else was asleep, Edward had saddled two horses. They had ridden to the station together, and then Edward had led Gerry’s horse from the station, arriving back at Mallyncourt just before dawn. Gerald Prince had gone, ten thousand pounds richer, and Edward assured me he wouldn’t be back to bother us again.
I had explained to the others that Clive had had an urgent appointment in London and had to leave suddenly. Lord Mallyn expressed relief. Lyman was indifferent. Vanessa, though, had been acting most strangdly these past two days. She had been moody, upset, her temper flaring on several occasions. She was more openly resentful of Edward, almost as though she knew he had been the cause of Gerry’s departure. Yesterday, sitting in one of the window recesses with a book in my lap, I had happened to glance out at the back lawn. Edward and Vanessa had been together near the back hedge, and she seemed to be berating him furiously, her eyes flashing, her cheeks flushed a bright pink. Although naturally I couldn’t hear anything, I could sense her fury. Edward had been cool and remote, untouched by her words, and Vanessa had finally stormed back to the veranda, leaving him alone. He had watched her departure with indifferent blue eyes, then shook his head and strolled calmly across the lawn and out of sight.
She had been petulant and sulky at dinner last night, snapping at one of the servants, glaring at the rest of us, her remarks even bitchier and more scathing than usual. Her effervescent spirits were completely missing, her gaeity gone ever since the night of the ball. Was it because Gerry had left without telling her? Of course, I told myself. Vanessa was a tempestuous creature, all fire beneath that lovely surface, frustrated now because her lover had deserted her without an explanation. Edward had probably made some taunting remark about it that had caused her to lash out at him so vindictively. She had always resented him, and now she simply wasn’t bothering to hide it beneath a civilized façade.
She had even more reason to resent him in the past day or so, for Lord Mallyn had made certain everyone knew his lawyer was coming next Tuesday to draw up the will, and he had dropped several broad hints that Edward would be his heir. Lyman smoldered in silence, and his loss would be Vanessa’s loss as well. If her bright scintillation had been replaced by temperament, it was no wonder. Oh well, I reflected, she would soon enough find another man. A woman like Vanessa couldn’t be without a man for long. Gerry would be replaced, as Lyle Radcliff had been, and even though Edward might inherit Mallyncourt, Lyman would still continue to handle the estate, she would still have a place. Until Lord Mallyn died. Would Edward really sell the house and farms then? Somehow I couldn’t believe that.
Leaving the fields behind, I started down the avenue of limes. It was long, several hundred yards, leading from the stables to the fields, and narrow, perhaps twenty feet across. The limes grew tall on either side, and the ground was hard and uneven, the grass sparse and half dead, for, leading directly to the open fields as it did, it was used as a shortcut by horseback riders who preferred not to follow the formal drive around to the gatehouse. Lyman rode down the avenue every morning on his way to the tenant farms, and Vanessa fr
equently charged up and down it to exercise her horse when she wasn’t in the mood for a long ride. It was spread with thick shadows now, and the sky overhead was darker, the yellow fading. A brisk wind had sprung up, causing the limes to stir and groan like live things. Leaves rattled crisply as I passed.
The light was beginning to go as I reached the stables. The low brown stone buildings were coated with shadows, and, beyond, Mallyncourt towered darkly, brown and black, sunlight burnishing the pinnacles a dark orange. I would just have time to wash and dress for dinner, I reflected, listening to the horses stamping and neighing in their stalls. A stocky, brown-eyed groom perched on a stool in front of one of the stalls, tattered red locks falling over his brow as he mended a harness, and another lad carted a load of hay across the cobbled yard. I recalled that the last time I had been here Lyman and I had come through the woods from another direction, the afternoon I had gone to the village to buy Amanda. We had run into Vanessa, and she had made a suggestive remark about the two of us. So much had happened since that afternoon. It might have been an eternity ago.
As I approached the side door, it opened. Edward stepped outside and stood on the walk, waiting for me. He wore tight brown breeches and a beige silk shirt open at the throat, the full-gathered sleeves billowing in the breeze. The breeze ruffled his thick hair as well, and with his tall brown boots turned down just below the knees he needed only a cutlass to make him the very image of a ruthless blond pirate ready to loot and plunder. I put the picture out of my mind, irritated with myself for such fanciful thinking. Edward observed me with heavy-lidded eyes.
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