And Lyman … Lyman hadn’t said anything. He had held me in his arms and he had comforted me, but afterwards he had been as terse and sullen as ever. If he had asked me to stay, would I have left Mallyncourt? I didn’t know, and it was foolish to speculate. George had come to my room to fetch my bags, and Susie had been there, in tears despite the new gold ring on her finger, and I had left the great house while the mist still hung heavily in the air, shrouding everything in clouds of vaporous white.
Turning a corner, leaving the busy thoroughfare behind, I walked down several streets, moving toward the square where Laverne’s flat was located. Brassy, outrageous, still fond of gin, still as fussy as an old mother hen, Laverne had been wonderful these past four days, taking me in with her and setting out to help me find work with crisp determination. As the wardrobe mistress at the Haymarket she heard all the theatrical news and knew everything that was going on. When she learned that Ian Bartholomew was hiring new people for his touring company, she hurried home with the information, insisting I apply at once. Tomorrow I would sign the contract.
Even though I might dread what was in store, I knew I was exceedingly fortunate to have obtained work so soon, for any kind of job in the theater was hard to come by. At the end of the week I would leave for Bristol. Perhaps then I could begin to forget.
I walked down the street past quaint, narrow shops. Tall slender trees grew along the side of the pavement, their boughs reaching out to touch the slanting slate roofs and squat black chimney pots. Customers sauntered in and out of the shops, and a woman selling violets stood at the corner, her shabby cart brimming over with purple and purple-blue flowers wrapped up in bouquets with twists of lacy paper. From the bakery there came the heavenly smells of freshly-baked bread, and the grating noise of a knife sharpener rang in the air. I stepped aside to make room for a little girl who was gleefully rolling a hoop down the pavement, her pigtails flying, and a huge dray came clattering down the street, rumbling heavily over the cobbles. I was oblivious to all of it, thinking about those weeks at Mallyncourt and the events that had happened there.
I had never loved Edward. I had been fascinated by him, and I had been strongly attracted to him, but love had never entered into it. That night after the horror was over and Lyman Robb was holding me and speaking tender words and stroking my hair, I had realized what love was, and I realized I had never felt anything remotely like it for Edward Baker. During the week that followed I had seen very little of Lyman. I saw him at the funerals, and I saw him when he and I together explained things to the man from Scotland Yard who had come to sort things out and prepare a statement to be signed. Those, dark events had never become public knowledge, for Lord Mallyn was still a very influential man, and only a few people knew that Vanessa’s death hadn’t been an accident and that Edward had died while trying to commit yet another murder. Only a few people knew that I had never been Edward’s wife.
Lyman had known it almost from the first. He had been aware of the affair between Edward and Vanessa for some time, and when Edward had brought me back to Mallyncourt he had been suspicious, for on that very first night he had heard his wife leave her room and go to the east wing. He had mailed a letter of inquiry to a certain firm in London, and in less than a week he received information that a marriage between Edward Baker and Jennifer Randall had never taken place. He made further inquiries, learned that I was an actress, learned of my background, and, suspecting some devious plot, had decided to play a waiting game, convinced Edward and Vanessa would make no move until the will was actually signed.
Although he knew there was friction between Edward and Vanessa, Lyman had no idea Edward had broken off with her, and as he knew the lawyer wasn’t due at Mallyncourt until the following Tuesday he felt it was perfectly safe for him to spend a day in London on business. However, he had been unable to concentrate. He had felt a curious premonition that something was going to happen. He took an early train back and arrived at Mallyn Green at seven and hurried back to the house, finding it strangely silent, sensing immediately that something had indeed happened. Jeffers told him about Vanessa’s “accident,” and Lyman asked for me. No one knew where I was. Lyman was frantic, and then he saw that the door to the east wing stood open. If he hadn’t arrived when he did … but I wasn’t going to think of that. I was going to try never to think of that again.
I crossed the street, walking slowly past a block of flats, the white stone a dingy gray now with soot, the marble portico worn smooth with age, red and purple geraniums growing in flower boxes in many of the windows. A group of children were playing noisily on the steps. I could see the square at the end of the street, trees dark green, shading the pavements and the small park enclosed by an ancient wrought iron fence. Laverne’s flat was in the building on the other side of the square. She didn’t have to report to the theater until three, so she would be in, waiting eagerly to hear the outcome of my interview with Ian Bartholomew. She would be pleased, for I was indeed fortunate. I only wished I didn’t feel such grim resignation at the thought of two more years of touring. The two years would pass, I knew, and then, God willing, I would have my shop.
The future … I had to think about the future. Mallyncourt was the past. Walking toward the square, I felt tremulous emotions swelling up inside, and suddenly I was on the verge of tears. Brutally, I forced them back. I had to be very hard on myself. I knew that. I had to forget. I was a grown woman, not a romantic schoolgirl, and life was hard, life was not a storybook with storybook endings. Lyman Robb must despise me. He had every right to despise me. Blinded by my fascination with Edward, I had been totally unaware of those other feelings growing inside, and now it was too late. I would forget, in time. In time he would become a distant memory, and in the interim I would work, I would build a new life.
By the time I reached the square I was in complete control again, my features composed, emotions contained. The small park was spread thickly with cool blue-gray shade, and leaves rustled overhead as I crossed through it. An old man sat on one of the benches, reading a newspaper, and a stout nanny stood in front of a bed of marigolds, holding the handle of a large black perambulator and gossiping idly with a strapping middle-aged bobby in helmet and cape. The square was quiet and peaceful, as it always was, the tall brown stone buildings mellowed with age. A large carriage stood in front of our building, horses standing patiently in harness, and Laverne was just coming out the door as I crossed the street. Plump, untidy, she looked a bit startled to see me, and then she smiled an enigmatic smile, her eyes full of mischief.
“Oh, there you are, luv,” she clucked. “I was just steppin’ out for a pint. Didn’t expect you back so soon.”
“I got the job, Laverne. I’ll be leaving for Bristol in—”
“Never you mind, ducky,” she interrupted. “We’ll talk about it later. You run on up to the flat now, do. I’ll be back before you know it. Oh, Jenny, I’m so pleased—”
Laverne folded me into her arms and gave me a quick, affectionate hug, and then she chuckled to herself and scurried on across the street before I could say anything else. I frowned, watching her pass through the wroughtiron gate and hurry across the park. She hadn’t been herself, not at all. She had been extremely excited about something, and it wasn’t the news of my job. That mischievous twinkle had been in her eyes even before I told her about it, and that enigmatic smile had been like the smile of a jovial conspirator. Something was afoot. I was certain of it.
Still puzzled, I went inside and wearily climbed the stairs with their threadbare blue carpet. I walked down the hall and opened the door, and as I closed it behind me he turned around to face me. He was standing in front of the small gray marble fireplace. He was wearing his handsome navy blue suit and black satin waistcoat, and his raven locks were unruly. His face was expressionless, lids drooping lazily over dark brown eyes. He looked bored and impassive, totally indifferent.
“It’s taken me three whole days to find you,” he said in a flat v
oice. “I had absolutely nothing to go on but the fact that you bought a ticket to London and the knowledge that you worked on the stage. For three days I’ve been trouping through every theater in London, speaking to everyone I could grab hold of, trying to find a lead.”
I looked at him, unable to speak.
“Early this morning I went to the Haymarket. It was shut up tight, but I rapped on the door until someone came. It was the stage manager. He told me the wardrobe mistress had a friend visiting her, said she had red hair. He was highly suspicious, didn’t want to give me the address—I practically had to throttle the fellow before he gave it to me.”
I set down my reticule, brushed a lock of hair from my temple, praying I’d be able to maintain my composure.
“Why did you come?” I inquired.
“I came to take you back,” he said, bored.
“You needn’t have bothered,” I told him. “I’m not going back to Mallyncourt.”
Lyman ignored my reply. “That was a damnfool thing you did, going off like that.” His voice was weary now, slightly impatient. “When they discovered you’d gone, my daughter was dazed, my uncle in a flying rage. He had to be given a sedative.”
“I can’t help that.”
“My uncle has grown to depend on you, Miss Randall. He needs you, and so does Lettice. She kept talking about a birthday party, said you’d promised to help her with it. She refused to believe you’d gone, refused to believe you’d break your promise.”
“I—I’m sorry.”
“Are you?” he inquired lazily.
“Lord Mallyn will simply have to learn to get along without me, and so will Lettice. I—I have my own life to live.”
Lyman Robb lowered his brows, scowling. Here in the confines of the small room he seemed even larger, more powerful, exuding strength and a potent virility. His expression was grim now, his mouth set in a tight line. I could sense the anger welling up in him. He had come to take me back to Mallyncourt. He had come because his uncle had forced him to come, and he intended to accomplish his mission. Lyman controlled his anger and grimaced and sighed heavily, looking stern and harsh, his dark brown eyes full of steely determination.
“Pack your bags, Jenny,” he said. “The train for Mallyn Green leaves at noon.”
“I’m not going back to Mallyncourt! How many times do I have to tell you that? I—I’ve just been hired by Ian Bartholomew. I’m joining his company. At the end of the week I leave for Bristol, and—”
“You can forget that nonsense,” he interrupted.
“I won’t be bullied, Lyman! I—I know what you think of me. I know you only came because he sent you. Well, I won’t go back with you! You can tell him that. You can—”
“You bloody little fool! Is that what you think? You think I came because he sent me?”
“Of course he sent you! Why else would you come?”
Lyman shook his head in angry dismay. “You actually believe I’m asking you to come back merely because my daughter needs a companion, my uncle a nurse? You can’t be that blind.”
“What other reason could there be?”
“A very selfish reason,” he said grimly. “If you expect me to play the gallant and spout poetic phrases, you’re due a disappointment. I wanted you from the moment I saw you—” He glared at me with fierce, smoldering eyes. “I wanted you in the worst way, and then—then I fell in love with you and I wanted you even more!”
“I—I don’t believe you. You’re just—”
“And now, by God, I intend to have you! I’ll use force if necessary, but I intend to take you back with me, back where you belong! Do you plan to come peacefully, or do I have to drag you to the station?”
Lyman Robb glared at me, standing there in front of the fireplace with his legs spread wide apart and his fists clenched, looking like some rugged prizefighter about to launch into battle. I wanted to laugh, and I wanted to cry, too, but I did neither. I looked at him, and there was so much I wanted to say, yet in the end I said nothing. Lyman waited for my answer, but words weren’t really necessary. Calmly and with great dignity I went into the next room and began to pack.
All rights reserved, including without limitation the right to reproduce this ebook or any portion thereof in any form or by any means, whether electronic or mechanical, now known or hereinafter invented, without the express written permission of the publisher.
This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, events, and incidents either are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, businesses, companies, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.
Copyright © 1975 by Edwina Marlow
Cover design by Julianna Lee
ISBN: 978-1-4976-9835-2
This edition published in 2015 by Open Road Integrated Media, Inc.
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Midnight at Mallyncourt Page 24