Grey sighed. “Perhaps so, but we’ve still time left, my lady. Wait until you are completely well and maybe by then the fates will have dealt us a better hand to play. When it is time for you to return, I shall deliver you to Covingdell rather than have Lord Alex come here.”
Eva nodded as she rose from her seat and Grey moved to open the door for her. She started to make her exit into the hall when the lady turned and said, “I do thank you for your desire to see that my father’s name is not faulted. Your help so far has truly meant a great deal to me, and I know it would my father as well.”
Grey nodded. “I am only glad I happened to be taking a ride so early that morning, my lady.”
“As am I—”
“You can speak!” The sudden exclamation of surprise from just down the corridor startled both Grey and the lady, causing an involuntary gasp to escape Eva’s mouth as she raised her hand to her lips, realizing she allowed her guard to be let down. Grey, too, looked down the hall to see who had spoken. Approaching them from only a few steps away was the butler, shock and a hint of confusion painting his expression.
“My lord, what—”
“Go into the library, Byrum,” the baron commanded, moving aside from the door.
“Y-yes, my lord.” The butler looked once more to Lady Eva and then passed the two into the library.
Grey turned to Eva, whose eyes revealed her fear. “You needn’t worry about him. He’ll say nothing. Perhaps it is for the best that he and his wife know.”
Eva looked beyond him at the library door and then back to the baron’s face. “I suppose you are right. But you are certain they’ll not tell him?”
“Both the butler and Mrs. Byrum feel much as I do in regards to Lord Alex, my lady. They will say nothing much less alert him.”
Eva nodded, her expression somewhat relieved.
“I’ll tell him what has happened and remind him of the urgent secrecy,” Grey assured. “You needn’t worry.”
“Thank you, Lord de Grey.”
The baron nodded, dipping his head to her before she hurried back down the corridor toward her room. Once she had disappeared form sight he turned and entered the library, closing the door behind him.
~ 17 ~
“I did not mean to startle the girl, my lord,” Byrum expressed his apologies the moment his master was before him. “I was only surprised to hear her voice. I thought she had none!”
Grey moved to collapse in his chair, nodding his head in reply, “She spoke to me first when I found her in the forest. I knew she was able but did not want to make known my knowledge until I could discover why she kept silent.”
“Who is she, my lord?”
Grey paused in thought, wanting to be certain he did no wrong in confiding in his servant. “She is the lady for whom all the country searches, Byrum.”
The butler looked upon his master, not understanding, though his confusion lasted for but a moment before his eyes grew slowly wider and realization fell over him. “M-my lord, surely you do not mean …”
Grey nodded. “The daughter of the Duke of Dawcaster, Eva Vastel.”
“The Duchess … Oh, Lord de Grey, how can this be? She—she was presumed dead or run away not to again be found.”
“But she is neither, as you have seen.”
Byrum was silent as he allowed the weight of his newfound knowledge to penetrate his mind. If she truly was the Lady Eva, Grey and his house could be in grave trouble. “How long have you known, my lord?”
“Since I spoke with her the day after her arrival.”
“My lord, why have you not contacted Lord Alexander? He could have you arrested, sir! You yourself could be charged with her disappearance!”
“Do not be so absurd, the lady herself would most certainly ensure that I was not blamed.” Grey sat up in his chair and rested his elbows on the desk before him, running his large hands through his black mane. “It is not as though she has no voice as before, Byrum. Should it come to such a thing, she will tell all of what has befallen her, none of which involves my taking any actions toward her besides saving her life.”
“What does it involve, my lord?”
Grey stood and moved toward the window. “It involves a series of events and at least two men we know of, perhaps three. The lady was kidnapped, snatched from her room in the middle of the night, and taken unconscious in the back of a hay wagon by some farmer who delivered her to a man who would have her as his wife.”
“His wife, my lord?”
“Yes, he intended to force her into a marriage.”
“How horrifying!”
“Indeed.” Grey drew back the drapery to look out at the moor. “She said he kept her locked in a room and starved and mistreated her until she could escape. That’s when I found her on the road. She was so frightened that she attempted to maintain silence in hopes that we would not discover who she was and return her to Lord Alex.”
“Lord Alex? You mean to say he was the one responsible for her kidnapping?”
Grey shrugged a bit as he turned to face his butler. “That is what she suspects, but there is no proof. In fact, there is reason to believe he had nothing to do with her abduction whatsoever. Why should he ship her off to a man who would marry her instead of doing away with her himself and becoming duke without any interference? I cannot understand it.”
“Does she know where she was kept or who kept her, my lord?”
“She knows only the man’s first name, Avery. She knows not his surname or where she was imprisoned.”
“But when she escaped, surely she saw the place?”
Grey shook his head. “It was night and she was ill, her mind wracked with a fever, which caused her to only recalled certain moments of her escape. She knew not how she ended up at the road to Calgar. She knew not that she had traveled through Lochson. All she could do was attempt to put length between herself and her captors.”
“And now she is afraid to be returned to His Grace’s brother.”
“Precisely. She is certain—or rather she was certain—that he is the mastermind behind her abduction. But there is no proof of it besides the lady believing she had heard his voice in her room as she was being dragged away, but she admitted herself that she could have been mistaken. I have tried to locate the man called Avery, but there is no one called such within this or surrounding regions.”
“Perhaps Lord Alex was not involved in the crime, my lord?”
“Perhaps,” Grey agreed. “But I’ve no doubt if we returned her, she would have no life under his vile rule even if he was no threat to her well-being.”
“Forgive me, my lord, but we cannot keep the Duchess of Dawcaster here at Wynthall when her uncle searches the countryside for her! If she remains in hiding, his lordship will become duke, and if he should find her here afterwords… I shudder to think of it, my lord!”
“Yes, I am well aware of the scandal that should be produced if Lord Alex should find her, Byrum. But she cannot return until we are certain her uncle possess no threat. If Alexander Vastel is responsible for all that has befallen her, then he will surely conclude his scheme, this time perhaps by ending her life.”
“What is to be done then, my lord?”
Grey breathed a heavy sigh, his mind failing to concoct a scheme which might overpower that of those who had abducted the duke's daughter. Lest she have someone to protect her or some proof against Lord Alex be produced that he might be imprisoned, then there was nothing to be done other than allow her to face him.
“We have agreed that once she is completely well, I will escort her back to Covingdell, lest fate changes its hand in the meantime. She will have no choice but to face Lord Alex if she wants any chance of redeeming the dukedom. If he is indeed the one behind her kidnapping, then we shall know it all too soon.”
“But, my lord, would not Lord Alex be a fool indeed to do away with the girl who was just returned from the hands of a kidnapper? Would that not convict him of both crimes should she di
sappear a second time only to be found dead?”
Grey shook his head. “You and I would know the truth, and perhaps many others would suspect, but unless he is caught in the act, it will only be supposed that whoever took her in the beginning tried again and succeeded.”
Byrum nodded gravely, realizing the truth in his master’s words. “Is there no way she might be protected from His Grace’s brother, my lord? No form of guard that might be set?”
“I would imagine all at Covingdell would do their utmost to protect her, but you see, they could not the night she was abducted. Yet another conundrum that I cannot deduct. How could these people come and go – and with the lady of the house unconscious – with so many servants about? I suppose we shall never know unless we are able to find this man called Avery.”
“And there is no trace of him, my lord?”
“None whatever. It is as though the man does not exist.”
“How very strange, sir.”
“Indeed.” Grey moved from the window to sit again in his chair.
“When do you suppose to take her back, my lord?” Byrum questioned.
“As soon as she is well. Another week perhaps.”
The butler nodded, his face long with a forlorn expression. “And shall I tell Mrs. Byrum all what I have learned, my lord?”
“If you wish. I am certain she will be very pleased to know the truth. Mind you are sure to tell her also of the great need for secrecy. If word of this ordeal gets outside these walls, we are finished.”
“Of course, my lord, I will most certainly tell her.”
“Good. Now off with you, I’ve tenets to see before dark falls.”
“Yes, my lord.” Byrum bowed and left the room, closing the door at his exit. Grey sighed as he sat forward in his chair, situating his elbows on the cedar wood of the desk before him and running both his large hands through his somewhat disheveled hair. Was this all there was to be done in regards to the Lady Eva? Was her abductor’s scheme so learned that not even the aid of the baron could rescue her from it? If Alexander is innocent, then all will be well with her. Grey attempted to convince his otherwise dubious mind that all was not lost, for if indeed the lady were safe at home where she might become duchess, then all she need worry for was her uncle’s egotistical and overbearing attitude. But if his underlying suspicions proved true and it was in fact Lord Alex who had taken the girl away, then Grey was certain that Lady Eva would be headed to her death.
*****
The night fell upon Wynthall speedily as the sun disappeared behind distant mountains, and all the occupants of the manor house retired to their respective quarters. Grey stood before the hearth a small distance from his bed, looking every so often to the high posts and turned down covers hoping to forget his fear of the spot. He dare not lie within them, nor was he even tempted by the chair around the fireplace that he might fall into slumber and die a slow death, which had taken his spirit not once but time and time again, each time driving him closer to his bodily grave. With a resistant mind, he recalled the previous night spent in a slumber past alongside an abandoned grave. He wanted not to be drawn there by the power it seemed to have over him when his mind grew weary. He had long since given up on forgetting but would not give in to the overwhelming urge to go where he knew he might rest. He would not pass the night there again.
The baron looked once more to his bed, inviting him to lay his head only for a moment but he knew such a thing would lead to sleep and sleep to the terrors of his memories. You fear the comforts of your bed more than even the thoughts of why it haunts you, he reprimanded himself, hoping a scolding might entice him but his body would not move. Now he looked to the shaded window, seeing a picture in his mind of the moonlit grounds and fields overlaid by thin fog. Why did the night seem to draw him so? Why did it call his name as though he stood before the seat of Judgment? As though the day of reckoning was upon the sinners and saints? The night appealed to his lonely spirit as though it recalled a time when he awaited the falling of the sun. Perhaps it, too, was in memory of nights long passed when only the daylight prevented him from venturing out to their meeting spot, when the setting of the sun was what he looked forward to the moment it was risen so that he might leave the manor in search of she who now haunted his waking moments and burdened his soul.
Without full control over his sleep-deprived mind, he allowed it to slowly lead him to the window. Grey reached to pull back the drapery so that he might look at the moon which he was certain must be lit high above the manor grounds, picturesque in the clear sky shining a dim light on the moor. As he had imagined, the sphere illuminated the night ever so dimly, casting the shadow of the forest on the fields and that of the outbuildings across the grounds. A thin fog had settled over Calgar, running the length of the river and valley beyond. The parish tower, too, cast a long shadow across the moor and landed on the east walls of the house where all the lights were extinguished for the night. Grey beheld the peaceful sight with envy in his heart, wishing he could be as the night was, calm and without care or misfortune.
Leaning his tired body against the windowpane, his eyes continued to scan over the grounds below and the fields and forest beyond—the tower of the old parish from behind the spruce trees and the front corner of its brick walls washed in an ashen white. He recalled mornings spent inside the small yet beautifully arranged church with his father and brothers, sitting in their box, listening to a clergyman as though his words would change their hearts or cause one to love the other or the father his sons. Like the gardens and the village and many rooms of the house, it was yet another place Grey had not stepped foot in since his late youth. Like all these things he had no desire to, for it too held memories he wished to forget.
Grey’s eyes fell inadvertently closed, his head rested itself against the cold glass of the window. His arms crossed over his chest and his legs ridged to support an exhausted body as it begged for a position in which it might sleep. Though he stood, his mind began to succumb to the desire of slumber, allowing his head to droop and his broad shoulders to relax against the wall. In a moment he no longer had control of his waking state as his body was determined it might have the rest it desired. Another moment and the baron would surely have collapsed on the floor or slept standing against the window but a small movement, a barely visible spark of light from far beneath him aroused his senses once more. He was startled from the transition between waking and sleeping, not having known what had disturbed him until he saw something quite out of place for such a late hour. Straightening his posture so that he might squint out the window, he saw the small light that had alerted his mind, the dim glow of a lantern moving across the grounds just below him. His ever-present frown deepened as his eyes followed the single light across the grounds, away from the house toward the outbuildings.
What fool would be out at this time of night? he wondered as the being slowly moving round the corner of the manor walls and out of sight. Frowning deeply, Grey turned to look upon his wardrobe where his cloak hung. Again the night called to him though now it beckoned with the temptation of the unseen person who roamed the grounds below, knowing Grey’s desire to discover who it was that might be about so late. With such strange happenings already having taken place at Wynthall, it took little persuasion for Grey to convince himself an investigation was in order. Moving from the window to open his wardrobe, the baron snatched his cloak from within the garments and threw it over the loose tails of his white shirt. Venturing into the gallery he finally gave way to the night’s call if only to find the source of the glowing light that moved about the grounds.
~ 18 ~
The night was cool and the weather calm. Not even a breeze blew up from the riverbed to greet Grey as he emerged from one of the side doors, looking through the dark grounds for the light, which he had seen from his chamber window. The moon was high overhead and large in size, casting a glow over the earth which lit the baron’s way as he set forth in the direction that the myster
ious light had disappeared. Moving with total silence and with a careful sense of his surroundings, Grey walked along the walls of his grand mansion expecting to catch sight of the illumination before its bearer caught sight of him. He could not imagine who among his staff would be out alone at such an hour, which made him all the more curious to discover the being who bore the lantern.
With a quick yet quiet pace, Grey rounded the manor's side toward the outbuildings, peering into the moonlight and catching sight of that which he searched. The light moved with its bearer into the open field, which separated the walls of Wynthall Manor with those of the estate parish. His brow creased with curiosity Grey perused it from afar, watching from within the trees as it moved across the clearing, flickering in and out behind the branches of the blue spruce. Following at a close distance with only the moon to light his way Grey took his eyes not from the single glow, unable to distinguish the lantern's carrier as they neared the churchyard. Reaching the few surrounding ash trees just as the door to the church was closed Grey beheld the small light seen only through stained-glass of the windows which lined the building’s brick walls.
He watched in silence from his hiding place and then advanced across the churchyard toward the large wooden doors set at the base of the parish tower, which stood high above the steep hill looking down the hillside over all of Calgar. Grey recalled for a moment the beautiful sight of the church from the village streets, silhouetted by the grand exterior of Wynthall. Its stone tower stood out against the greenery and the sun through the stained-glass windows was like a hilltop beacon. Grey's walk to the door slowed somewhat as he recalled a faint scene, a picture of himself, his father, and brothers walking through the very ones in which the light had disappeared. The recollection was for but a moment before he reached the entrance and laid his hand to the slightly opened door. Pushing against it with slow, steady hands in fear that it would groan on its hinges Grey peered through the opening to look down the carpeted aisle of lined wooden pews and painted ceilings to the church's front. There red and gold surrounded a crucifix lit only by a single candle dripping its wax and the lantern, which had drawn him away from his nightmares.
Wynthall Manor- The Wynthall Manor Trilogy Page 13