Lord Ramsey returned Viola to them promptly, and bowed before Lesley, holding out his black-velvet-clad arm.
“Pray excuse me, sir,” said Lesley, on her best behaviour. “I long for a good chat with my sister. Perhaps later?” And she managed to smile into the intent black eyes of the rake, though the way he swept his gaze down her body made her burn with anger.
“I shall return in half an hour, dear Miss Dalrymple,” he said, lazily drawling, his eyes half closed. He bowed and moved gracefully away.
Viola sank down on the cushioned seat next to the sofa. “Oh, dearest sister, how good to see you,” she whispered. “You have not come for two weeks!”
Lesley seethed, but concealed it. She had been politely turned away by her Aunt Felicia three times the past week, as the woman said her sister was sleeping, or visiting. She did not say so. For Viola was innocent, blunt in her honesty, and would show her distress and bewilderment clearly.
“I will come soon,” she promised. ‘I am anxious about Sandy. I have heard stories...”
They were whispering rapidly together, for Lesley noted that Aunt Felicia was coming across the dance floor towards them, stopped only by an acquaintance for a quick gossip. Her aunt was too anxious to keep them apart, worrying Lesley the more.
“I have been kept from him,” murmured Viola, her gentle blue eyes troubled. Her hair was the same red-gold as Lesley’s, but her temper was sweeter, more restrained. Her locks fell to her shoulders, tied back by a blue ribbon. She was so good, so kind, she could scarce believe in evil, her sister thought.
“Kept from him? What do you mean?” asked Lesley sharply. “You are on the floor below the nursery...”
“Yes, and today I insisted on going to see him, though the governess tried to stop me. Oh, Lesley, poor dear Sandy ... he is being punished for something, he is on bread and water for two days. And his little legs...” The soft mouth trembled. “He has been whipped by Uncle’s riding crop, and the legs are bruised and cut about ... and his eyes — he looks so dazed, so terrified...”
Lesley caught her breath. It was even worse than she had feared. “He has his father’s temper,” she tried to say evenly. “What mischief has he cooked up?”
“I — I don’t know ... I cannot speak to Aunt Felicia about it, she shushes me ... There she is now...” The breathless voice ceased and Viola forced a strained smile as her aunt swept up to them.
Felicia Stukely was about thirty-six now. With no children and a brutal husband, she had a permanently anxious look about her. She was still handsome though, her reddened gold hair had begun to turn grey, and she had had it dyed. She wore fine jewels always, tonight rubies with her grey, flowing chiffon silks. She kept looking about her, looking, looking, as though she sought someone. “Well, dears, have you had a good talk?” she asked brightly.
Maude Meredith said quickly, “We have only just begun to talk, Mrs Stukely. Do tell us the latest gossip, nobody knows so many delightful bits as you do!” It was ironic of her, but Mrs Stukely did not recognize irony.
The sharp eyes went from one to the other, the feverish green eyes flickered. “Oh, there is the bit about Lady Downs and her lover. You have heard it? Oh no, not before dear Viola and dear Lesley,” she added, in a heavily humorous manner. “I must tell you, though, about Mrs Bailey and her pet poodle. It was too amusing, when she went to sit for her portrait...”
Lesley ceased to listen. She was thinking about Sandy, and burning with anger, and worrying terribly. She must do something about him. She must get him away from Uncle Hubert. He was so cruel, so abusive. She thought of him, small, round, balding; she saw him across the room talking and laughing with his cronies, a cigar stuck in his mouth. He looked so jovial, but she knew he could strike out with his riding whip and lash his dogs or his horses in an instant. And he had put his crop to Sandy! She must — must — get Sandy, yes, and Viola also, away from that horrible man.
CHAPTER 2
Lesley slept little that night, worrying. The next morning she rose early, some plans made. Her maid dressed her in a fine warm dress of sober green broadcloth, with gold braid to brighten it.
At breakfast in the dining room, the draperies drawn against the cold February wind, she said to Mrs Meredith, “I am determined to see Sandy for myself and talk to him. I shall call on my aunt this morning and insist on seeing Sandy.”
“Very well, dear, that is the best plan, I am sure,” said Mrs Meredith placidly. “I will order the carriage for ten o’clock. If your aunt is not yet up, all the better. You may slip upstairs to the nursery without being observed.”
Lesley relaxed and smiled at her impishly. “What a good contriver you are, my dear friend! I shall do it. The earlier we go, the better, then. Aunt will not have arisen early after last night. She and Uncle still remained after we left at midnight.”
“And when we see her, do try not to criticize the changes she has made in the townhouse of your family, my dearest! I know your tastes are not similar...”
Lesley grimaced. “I promise to attempt my best behaviour!”
However, when they were shown into the drawing room of her parents’ former home, where the modestly beautiful decorations had been removed, Lesley found it difficult to restrain herself.
“The portraits gone! Those horrible pictures placed against the gaudy crimson cut-velvet walls — did you ever see such?” she hissed to Mrs Meredith, who had insisted on accompanying her.
“Hush, dear, the servants may repeat what you say.”
Lesley could not restrain her disgust at the sight of the fine, large drawing room. Gone were the filmy lace curtains, the sober blue velvet draperies with the silver braid. In their place were gold gauze curtains with crimson draperies. An orange and red rug “graced” the beautiful sandalwood floor, and purple vases stood at the entrance to the room. Artificial flowers filled them, rather than the tall white lilies Lesley or her mother would have chosen. If they would have had such monstrous vases in the house!
Mrs Stukely was still abed, announced the butler. Lesley said quickly, “Oh, may we wait for her? Such gossip to talk about!” And she gave him a charming smile. “Meantime, I’ll just slip up and see my nephew. I imagine my sister is still abed.”
“Yes ... no ... I mean, Miss Lesley, Mrs Stukely would not permit...”
Lesley had confused the older man by her quick speech.
Having given over her fur-trimmed green pelisse to his care, Lesley smiled up at the butler coaxingly. “I shall not be five minutes! Do take some tea to Mrs Meredith, we are chilled to the bone. I shall return shortly and await my aunt.”
She slipped past him while he was still pondering excuses to conceal the fact that he had strict orders not to allow Miss Dalrymple upstairs.
She moved up the stairs quietly, past the first floor and the second, though she longed to stop in and talk to her sister. She walked to the back hall, and up the stairs to the nursery on the top floor. Bone-chilling cold struck her, there was no heat on that floor at all. She shivered, and thought savagely of her uncle.
However, she pinned a smile to her face and opened the nursery door quietly. The governess started up from her chair, alarm on her plain features. “Miss Lesley! You are not permitted —” She came forward, as though to bar the way.
A small form shot past her and hurled itself at Lesley. “Aunt Les, Aunt Les, you came!” Small, thin, wiry arms flung themselves about her waist. She hugged him tightly, bending to kiss his thin cheek and ruffle his red hair, a deeper, more tempestuous red than her own. How like her brother he was now, just like Alexander, she thought tenderly.
“I cannot permit you to remain, Miss Lesley!” The governess had a haunted look on her anxious features, her hands were folded primly before her. “Your uncle had forbidden ... I mean...”
“Nonsense. My aunt has not yet risen from her bed. I shall have a nice little talk with Sandy while I wait for her.”
Lesley sat down calmly in the governess’s rocking chair
and took thin Sandy on her lap. He hugged her closely, his face against her shoulder, and she felt the feverish intensity of his grip. “You may go about your duties,” she told the governess.
“What Mrs Stukely will say,” muttered the woman and refused to leave the room. She stood near them, hovering, as though to snatch Sandy away.
Lesley patted Sandy’s back lightly, and felt him wince. She caught her breath. As though casually, she put her hand on his ankle, then slid up the loose leg of his trousers. She gazed blankly at the bandages there, with the blood seeping through.
“Did you do this?” she asked the woman ominously.
“Oh, no, no, no, madam!” cried the woman frantically. “It was his Uncle Stukely, it was ... I mean ... young Alexander was wicked to him, and had to be punished...”
“He whipped me with his riding crop,” whispered Sandy, and stark fear came into the clear grey eyes. There was a reddish tinge about the eyelids, and a weary, sick look to him.
Lesley kept a taut hold on her temper, it was not easy for her. She caressed him gently, her lips on his forehead.
He put his lips to her ear. “Take me away, Aunt Les! Take me away, please! I can go right now!”
It almost broke her heart, to hear him pleading. He had been such an independent, strong little child, laughing and teasing and bold. To see the fear in his young eyes, see the injured legs ... it made something crumble and break inside her.
“I’ll try, very soon, dearest Sandy. You must be brave and patient, and very, very good, so Uncle will not hit you. Please, darling, for my sake. Control your temper,” she said in a low tone.
“You’ll take me away?”
“As soon as I can. It will be as quick as I can make it,” she promised recklessly. “You must promise to be very good, though, and very quiet, and stay in your room. Learn your lessons well.” She raised her head and spoke to the governess. “Has Sandy been learning his lessons well?” She had noted the lack of books in the room.
“The books have been taken from him as a punishment. He enjoys them too much,” said the governess primly.
Lesley frowned. “That is not right. His father would wish him to be well-educated. I shall speak to Aunt,” she said coldly. “Meantime, restore the books and begin lessons again!”
The governess wrung her hands wretchedly. “I cannot, Miss Lesley! You know I cannot, until Mr Stukely says so.”
“Then I will speak to Aunt at once, about this and other matters,” said Lesley in a firm tone.
She held Sandy for a time, comforted him with voice and touch. A footman came finally, panting up the long steps, and said, “Mrs Stukely awaits you in the drawing room, Miss Dalrymple.”
Lesley left reluctantly. Sandy gave her one last fierce hug, his gaze brighter, eager, hopeful. Aunt Les would not let him down, he seemed to say.
In the drawing room, Felicia Stukely in her morning gown of puce silk waited for her. Her nervous gaze slid away from Lesley’s bright, angry one.
“Uncle will not be pleased with you.” Aunt Felicia attempted a firm, strong tone, which failed miserably. It came out a whine. “He has forbidden visitors to Sandy. The boy has been extremely rude to us!”
Lesley took the war swiftly into the enemy camp. “It is very wicked of Uncle to beat him until the blood comes, Aunt. And who said he is not to have his books? His father wished him well-educated! I have ordered the books restored at once!”
“He enjoys them, they are a pleasure not a punishment,” said Aunt Felicia sulkily.
Mrs Meredith interceded, her swift glance at Lesley warning her. Her smooth voice said, “I think the books should be restored, Mrs Stukely. The boy will need a good education to prepare him for Eton. You know, he shall be going to school within two more years, to prepare him for further education. A good preparation is essential. His father spoke of that expressly in the will. I am surprised the solicitors have not been more firm about this.”
A terrified look came into Aunt Felicia’s face, to be smoothed away hastily. “Of course, of course, I shall speak to Hubert at once about it. The boy has been punished enough for this, after all he is very young.”
Hubert Stukely was still abed; she had excused him. Lesley was glad of it. They made their excuses after some tea drinking and gossip, and went out to the carriage.
“We shall go home and rest, darling. After all, you have the lecture to deliver tomorrow afternoon,” said Mrs Meredith.
Lesley shook her head. To the coachman, she said, “Go to the townhouse of Mr Burke Penhallow, if you please,” and sank back against the cushions.
“Burke? Today?” asked Maude Meredith in a low tone, as the carriage started up. “I fear you are in too much of a temper, Lesley, my dear. It can only cause further trouble.”
Lesley shook her head in the demure green bonnet with gold trim that set off her red-gold curls. “I am not in a temper, Aunt Maude. I am sick at heart. If you could have seen Sandy...”
She sank into silence, gazing ahead with narrowed eyes. Burke was a strong man, even if she did despise him, and he seemed to have some power over other men. She had seen them turn respectfully to him, listen to him. And he might know of some way to rescue Sandy, even if it meant snatching him away from the Stukelys and hiding him in the country!
They arrived at the Penhallow town mansion close to noon. “They will be lunching,” said Maude weakly.
“I doubt it, Burke may not have arisen yet,” said Lesley drily. As they alighted, she told the coachman to seek warmth for the horses and himself in the stables behind the house. She meant to remain for as long as it took to convince Burke to do something.
The footman showed his surprise, the butler was more impassive. He bowed them into the drawing room, where a young man reading a large book lounged in an armchair near the window. He raised his head, started up.
Lesley had met him twice. “Reverend Creswick, it is good to see you,” she greeted him with composure, and offered him her hand.
The young man was only slightly taller than Lesley, but he had a good presence. Erect, his hair brushed modestly in a wave, wearing sombre black garb, he looked the young clergyman he was. Something in his gentle yet shrewd brown eyes showed he knew people and liked them, and understood their pains and problems.
“Miss Dalrymple, how good to see you. And Mrs Meredith, it is a great pleasure, ma’am.” He bowed correctly. “I fear Burke is only just arising...”
“We will wait,” said Lesley. “I am anxious to talk to him seriously.”
A slightly rueful look crossed the young rector’s face. He had been appointed two years ago to the parish on Penhallow land, for he and Burke had struck up a warm friendship on his interview with the young landholder. Different as they were, they talked well together, and he had found Burke much interested in the welfare of the people under his care.
“I shall send word to him,” he said, and spoke to the butler.
He seated them then, and talked politely about the weather, Penhallow and its delights, how he enjoyed his new duties. Lesley found him easy to talk to, and Penhallow held them.
“I well remember summer days at Penhallow,” she said, smiling. “Apple orchards, the pool, the gardens, and most of all the fine forests and the riding.”
“Indeed, the delights of the land and village are great,” said Edgar Creswick. “Situated as it is in the midst of orchards, yet not far from the sea, it is a delightful place. Halfway between Maidstone and Dover, and not far from London, it has the best of all worlds, in my opinion. In the summer and winter alike, we feel the sea winds, and taste the salt of it. Such freshness, such spirited qualities that seem to imbue the people with strength, willingness to work hard, independence of nature, as are many sea-faring folk...”
His sentences may be ponderous, but his heart is good and open, thought Lesley. They talked of Penhallow, the sea, and the farming life for quite half an hour, until Burke Penhallow entered the room.
He showed slight signs of dis
sipation. A redness about the eyes, a sleepy look. But otherwise, he was the very dandy. His tobacco-brown pantaloons were fit snugly into his tasselled Hessian boots, showing his intention of riding presently. His coat of a deeper brown fit snugly, soberly, à la Brummel, and his waistcoat was the only gaudy touch, a fine fabric of gold embroidery over amber silk. His only jewellery was a ruby ring on one hand and a large ruby in his well-tied cravat. He bowed deeply.
“I am honoured, Mrs Meredith, Miss Dalrymple,” he said, and Lesley caught a twinkle in his eyes. She restrained her temper. “To what do I owe the pleasure of your early visit?”
“I wished to talk to you about Sandy,” said Lesley, directly. “We could not discuss it last evening —”
“I offered to, in the garden. However, you refused me, dear Lesley,” he said, his tongue in his cheek.
She caught her breath. Mrs Meredith touched her hand. “We are quite serious, Mr Penhallow,” said Maude instantly. “Lesley saw Sandy this morning, the first time she has been able to in more than two weeks. They have kept her from the children. Tell him what you found, Lesley.”
Lesley nodded, and her hands clenched together in her lap. Burke seated himself, and his face lost its humour as she proceeded.
“Sandy was very thin,” she said. “His eyes had red rims about them. I had heard he had been whipped by Uncle Stukely. Aunt Stukely had given orders I was not to visit him, the governess tried to prevent me. I ... I held him on my lap ... I turned up his trousers ... found ... found bandages stained with blood. The blood still seeped through...”
“God!” said Burke, staring at her. “What happened?”
“Aunt Stukely said he had been mischievous. He has had nothing but bread and water for three days. His books were taken from him. He held me — tightly — and begged me to take him away.” In spite of her fierce hold on herself, Lesley’s voice choked, she felt tears coming to her eyes. She took out her handkerchief hastily, and put it to her eyes.
The Ruby Heart: A classic Regency love story Page 2