“What a wonderful man your grandfather must have been. He gave you your very own star. Just imagine.”
After I left Judith and Miss Gillbank, I took George to The Blue Room, where he could nap—after, of course, I had fed him. Belinda brought him some bacon and some kippers left over from breakfast. George must have believed he’d gone to his rewards. He was snoring before he was even completely asleep.
I went downstairs to lunch. I hoped that everyone had dined at least an hour before. I still didn’t want to see any of them, except Amelia. I rubbed my shoulder. It was beginning to ache, and my ribs as well. At least I hadn’t broken anything. The bruises would go away soon enough.
I was very unlucky. Amelia wasn’t in the small breakfast room, just John and Lawrence. I merely nodded to both of them and asked, turning to my husband, “I visited the stables this morning with Amelia. They are very fine. Rucker appears competent and enjoys the horses. May I please ride Small Bess?”
“Of course. I had already decided to give her to you. A wedding present.”
I nearly leapt out of my chair to go hug him, just as I’d done so many times to Grandfather when he had given me a marvelous surprise. “Thank you,” I said, as the Countess of Devbridge should, all calm and proper. “That is very kind of you, Lawrence.”
He cocked his head to one side even as he said, “I am pleased that you like Small Bess so very well. Rucker believes, and I occasionally agree with him, that the horse breeding farms in Wexford consistently turn out excellent mounts. John told me that you were hanging all over Tempest when he arrived at the stables this morning.”
“Yes,” I said, nothing more. I speared several slices of thinly cut ham onto my plate and snagged a warm roll from under a napkin-covered basket.
“She knows she will regret it if she rides Tempest,” John said. “Also do keep Small Bess away from Tempest. He wants that mare. He wants her badly.”
“I shall keep her well distant from your horse, John.”
“Andy, how do you feel?”
I didn’t want to think about it, much less have to speak of it again. But here was my husband, looking all sorts of worried, and so I said, “Just a few aches here and there. Nothing to concern anyone.”
John said to Lawrence, “When I first got to her, she believed I was an angel.”
“It was a logical assumption, since it was you who caused me to fall.”
A thick dark eyebrow went up. “I recall seeing you fall down those last three stairs from a good fifteen feet away.”
“When you opened the front door, the sun was just at exactly the right spot to pour a sky’s worth of white light into the Old Hall and all of it right in my face.”
“So that’s it,” he said. “I couldn’t understand everything you were mumbling.”
“Still, my dear,” Lawrence said easily, looking pointedly at my untouched plate, “you must take care for the next several days.”
I took a big bite of my roll. “Where is Amelia?”
“I have this inescapable feeling, Uncle, that your bride likes to face things straight on, no shilly-shallying about with her.”
“Amelia is still sleeping, Andy. She seems peaceful, just deeply asleep. Thomas is with her. He is very worried even though there is no reason for him to worry at all.”
I looked both of them straight in the eye. “I believe we should wake her up. If we can’t, then I hope there is an able physician in the area. This isn’t natural, and both of you know it. Why are you pretending otherwise?”
The two men traded looks.
I gently laid my napkin beside my plate and rose. “I am going to see Amelia. Then I am riding Small Bess. I will take George with me. He needs to learn the grounds.”
“I will accompany you,” John said, and rose. I looked at my husband, but he was looking down at his plate. What was going on here?
Amelia was still asleep. I simply walked to Thomas and shoved him aside. I leaned over Amelia, clasped her shoulders, and began shaking her.
“What are you doing? Stop, you might hurt her.”
I continued to shake Amelia, then lightly slapped her face. To my utter relief, she opened her eyes. I knew she was trying to focus on my face.
“Andy?”
“Yes, Amelia. Thomas and John are here as well. Wake up. It is past time.”
Her eyes brightened. I helped her to sit up. “What happened? Why are you all here? What time is it?”
“You’ve been sleeping—if you wish to call it that—for well over three hours. It’s nearly two o’clock in the afternoon.”
Thomas slipped his hands under my arms and lifted me off Amelia’s bed. He took my place, his palm against her forehead. “Does your head ache, dearest? I have the mixture that you gave to me that proved so very effective for my headache last Tuesday.”
“No, Thomas, I feel quite well.”
“Do you remember when we left the Black Chamber, Amelia?”
“Yes, certainly. What of it?”
“We were walking down the corridor of the west wing when suddenly you stopped and looked at a door that was open. You said something about that was odd and went in to look. Do you remember that?”
She was silent for at least a full minute. I felt a chill run up and down my arms even as I watched her. I was frightened. This just wasn’t right. What had happened in that empty room?
She said finally, “What I remember, Andy, is that we were talking about my father and ghosts and otherworldly phenomena and then—” She looked down at her white hands. I watched Thomas caress her shoulders, bring her into his arms. He gave me a dirty look. Then she pulled away. “No, there is nothing else I remember, Andy. There is simply nothing else.”
I said then, drawing a deep breath, “There is simply nothing to explain this. Amelia doesn’t remember anything at all. I think we must have a ghost at work here.”
“That is rubbish,” said John, the first words out of him since we had come into Amelia’s bedchamber.
“You don’t know what you’re talking about, John.” I turned on him. “You weren’t there.”
“I have never seen or heard or experienced anything in this house since I was twelve years old that was remotely like some damned ghost. Forget it.”
“Very well, then how do you explain what happened to Amelia?”
“I can’t, but that doesn’t mean there isn’t a good explanation.”
I turned back to Amelia, who was leaning against Thomas. He was lightly stroking his fingers through her hair. I said, “I believe, Amelia, that you should write your father. I think he should visit Devbridge Manor and search out the spirit that drew you into that room. Do you think he will come?”
“Oh, yes, if I write what happened, he will be here in a trice.”
“Now, see here, Andy,” Thomas said, “you don’t know anything. Of course there are ghosts here, every old house has ghosts, dozens of them. However, our ghosts just do not seem to ever announce their presence. If there was a ghost in that room with Amelia, it didn’t do anything bad or frightening, it just put Amelia to sleep. And she needed sleep after last night when she became so exhausted.”
“Why was she exhausted last night?”
He flushed scarlet, and I remembered the comments at the breakfast table. I just shook my head. “Never mind. Amelia, have you had anything like that happen since you came to Devbridge Manor?”
“No,” she said slowly, “this was the first time, but don’t you see, Andy? I don’t even know if anything happened. Perhaps I just had a sudden urge to nap and did.”
“On the floor in the middle of an empty room? Listen to me, all of you. Who’s to say that what happened to Amelia won’t happen again? What if next time she doesn’t just lie down and sleep? What if she goes to sleep but doesn’t wake up? There must be some answers. We have to find them.”
“I don’t like this,” John said. “I don’t like what happened, and I don’t like reducing all of it to a damned dead spirit.”
>
I turned on him. “Then you come up with something else, John. If all you can do is find fault, then you are not being very useful, are you?”
“I will think about it,” he said to me, a wealth of dislike in his voice. “Oh, the devil.” Then he held out his hand. “Come along, it’s time for you to ride Small Bess. I’ll take you around the property.”
Before I went with him, I said, “Amelia, I don’t want you to be alone. All right?”
“All right,” she whispered, and I knew she was frightened. I was sorry about that, but she needed to be frightened. That way she would be careful. “Don’t forget to write your father, immediately.”
Thomas was sputtering when we left the bedchamber.
“Don’t mind Thomas,” his brother said, his voice hard with irony. “He wants to be the center of Amelia’s existence. He doesn’t want anything to detract from her complete attention to him and him alone.”
We were nearly to the stables when I said, “I forgot George. I forgot my riding clothes.”
“I’ll wait for you at the stables,” he said. He raised his hand a moment, then looked off toward the home wood. He turned and left me.
In the end I didn’t ride with John. Swanson, unable to bear the yelling of two newborn babes, took his own mother over to see to his new little boys, and brought himself to Devbridge Manor, to escape in the intricacies of estate management.
John was requested to join his uncle and Swanson.
George and I had a marvelous time. We didn’t ride far because I didn’t want to get lost. Small Bess suited me very well.
I was even singing at the top of my lungs at one point. We’d pulled up beside a small stream that bisected east to west near the Manor. George was drinking, and I was just looking around at the soft late afternoon light sifting through the willow trees that bordered the stream.
A beautiful place, I thought, a perfect place. I would be happy here. Once Amelia’s father arrived to rid us of that strange spirit, then all would be well again.
But what about the bars? I would ask my husband about them. It would be nothing, I was sure of it.
I carried George back to the Manor in my arms. I was whistling.
Chapter Thirteen
Upon my return, George insisted on running up the staircase beside me, his little legs stretched and lunging. His tongue was lolling, and he was breathing hard by the time we reached the first landing. I slowed my step. We passed three servants—one footman and two maids. I stopped, nodded to both of them, and asked their names. I introduced them to George and asked that if they ever saw him alone to make certain he wasn’t lost.
Belinda was in my bedchamber, smoothing out a lovely dinner gown of the palest green silk with small capped sleeves and a darker green velvet band beneath the breasts. There was the same darker green edging at the neckline and the hem. It was one of my favorite gowns—one I hadn’t worn, of course, since Grandfather’s death. I’d instructed Belinda to leave all my black gowns folded away in a big box in the dressing room. Grandfather had hated black, and I’d worn it only three months. It was enough. Lawrence had agreed when I had asked him what he’d thought. I remembered he’d said, “Your grandfather was a passionate man, overflowing with life and endless purpose. Somehow black seems indecent for such a man. Put the black gowns and veils away.” And so I had, grateful for his belief.
“Ah, there you are, my lady,” Belinda said. “I just finished doing for Miss Crislock—a lovely lady and ever so nice she is—and she’s all fit and proper now, her hair all curled up in the most clever way. All the family is to be in the drawing room in thirty minutes. His lordship likes the family to meet there for an hour before dinner is served. I was beginning to worry that you wouldn’t be back in time.”
“I’m here,” I said. As I walked near her, she sniffed. “Oh, dear, I’ll order up water for a bath. We must hurry. This time I will allow a footman to bring the water.”
With Belinda’s help, I was walking to the drawing room door a half hour later, George at my side. She had even found time to twist and wind pale green ribbons through the braids atop my head. I looked quite fine, she’d told me.
As for my best friend, Brantley had sent Jasper, that very nice young footman whom George liked. George wasn’t stupid, and he knew a besotted human when he saw one that would give him a good brushing. Now George looked quite pleased with himself and his appearance. Silky soft hair flopped over his eyes.
There were two things I wanted to ask my husband as soon as I could get him alone.
Brantley showed me into the drawing room, looking at me carefully, I thought, to see if there were no ill effects from my earlier fall. I saw my main question was right in front of me.
Miss Gillbank and Judith were seated side by side on a lovely blue-and-white-striped settee, facing my husband. Thomas stood behind Amelia, his left hand on her shoulder. John was leaning against the mantel, his arms crossed over his chest. Miss Crislock was tatting something white and narrow. A low blaze burned in the fireplace. My husband rose immediately when I came into the room. I saw him look from me to Judith. I would swear that he was girding his loins, metaphorically speaking, to spit out the truth. He was smart. He was doing it in public, not in private. I would not forget his strategy. I found this fascinating. My husband was nervous. Did he believe I would blast him in front of his family?
He cleared his throat as he took my hand in his. “Andy, I would like you to meet my daughter, Judith, and her governess, Miss Gillbank.”
I looked him straight in the eye and said, “I don’t want to meet either of them, sir. They don’t look at all like nice people.” I turned to give Judith a quick wink. She giggled, then smacked her hand over her mouth as she saw her father’s face. He had paled. He looked horrified. He was without words.
I heard Amelia gasp.
Then I laughed. “Sir,” I said, “I was jesting with you. Please forgive me.”
I gave him a fat smile, for I suppose I had already forgiven him for not telling me about Judith or about a second wife. After all, whatever his reasons, they couldn’t be that bad. “Actually,” I said, still grinning shamelessly up at him, “I have already had the honor, my lord. In the small east garden earlier this afternoon. Not only have we become acquainted, we have also discovered we can bear each other’s company.”
George, who had been sitting very quietly beside me, now wuffed lightly. Judith leapt up from the settee, only to have Miss Gillbank gently pull her back.
I said, “I’m sorry, Judith, but George isn’t speaking to you. He’s calling out to John. He adores John. He worships him. It is unaccountable, but there is nothing any of us can do about it.” I leaned down to pat his little head. I could hear the surprise in my own voice as I said, “You may be enthusiastic now, George. Thank you for this magnificent show of restraint and good manners. You may go leap on John.”
George licked my hand, then dashed across the drawing room, yipping with every step, to be picked up by John. He raised an eyebrow toward me. “However did you manage to keep him so polite? He sat there quietly and didn’t demand a bit of attention until you gave him permission.”
“Brantley gave him instructions this morning when Amelia and I were at the stables. Whatever he did, it is an amazing result. We shall have to ask about his specific methods. I think he has shown more magic than you have, John.
“It is a relief,” said Amelia. “He doesn’t look quite so ill kempt as he did last night.”
“No, Jasper brushed him a hundred strokes.”
Amelia touched her fingers to her own glorious black hair, and I wondered how many strokes she pulled through hair every night. She said, “So, Judith, you have already met your new stepmama and George?”
“Oh, yes,” Judith said, her eyes still fastened on George, who had his eyes closed in bliss, since John’s long fingers were rubbing in exactly the right place at the base of his left ear. “I did win a shilling off Andy. She hasn’t paid me yet.”
>
“However did you do that?” Lawrence asked.
“Oh, dear,” I said. “Perhaps the wager itself isn’t properly spoken of here.”
“Nonsense,” said Amelia. “What is it? The color of a certain flower? The scent of Judith’s soap? What was your wager?”
Judith just blurted it out. “We bet on which bush George would use in the garden.”
“Which bush for what?” Amelia looked blank.
John was laughing so hard I thought he would drop my dog. George thought so to, because he twisted about in John’s arms and licked his jaw to remind him he was still there.
Lawrence looked from me to John, but he spoke to his daughter. “Judith, what is this all about?”
“Sir,” she said, and immediately broke off, her innocent face flooding with color. “Oh, dear,” she added in a whisper, her eyes, now pleading, on Miss Gillbank’s face. Miss Gillbank cleared her throat, stoking up her nerve, I thought.
John said, before Miss Gillbank could embark on what promised to be a delightful recital, his voice still shaking with laughter, “George, Uncle Lawrence, is a very selective animal. He needs to examine many bushes and plants and trees, even low-hanging ivy, before he makes the choice of which to use to relieve himself. It is nothing more than that. Judith, which tree or plant did you wager on?”
“I said he would use the rhododendron bush, and he did. Andy couldn’t believe it, since it’s the only one in the garden, and it wasn’t all that noticeable, but he went right to it after sniffing, then passing by, ever so many others.”
Miss Crislock looked up from her tatting, and nodded as she said, “The next time I walk George, I will make a wager with myself. Just maybe I will win.”
“Well,” my husband said, first eyeing Miss Crislock with a good deal of fascination, then eyeing the rest of us, his own eyes alight with humor now, “it appears that there will be no uncomfortable silences, no overly polite conversations in order to get through the evening. Andy, do you have a shilling to pay my daughter?”
The Countess Page 12