“I can see how it would be.” Personally, she thought she’d find it deadly dull. Part of the excitement, she felt, of knowing Thorpe was wondering what he was going to say next. Now, aware that he used his flippancy as cover for his true heart, she could enjoy his conversation to the full. Or would be able to, she reminded herself, if she had the chance of a future life of listening to him.
When her listener fell into a preoccupation, Nora rushed to say, “Not that Cousin Thorpe isn’t good ... why, he offered to let me be married from the castle. He even said he’d send for my mother and the girls. I feel badly about refusing on their behalf, because Mother would be all the better for a change, but Minnie has the measles, so it’s quite impossible. That’s the other thing. He’s offered to send money to Mother and arrange for his old nanny to live with them! She’s too proud to accept a pension without working for it, he says, and I know she’ll be able to take the girls in hand. I’ve tried and tried, but they are so many.”
“How many sisters have you?”
“Five.”
“Five?”
“Yes. Is it very wrong to say I shall be happy to have a little house for just Gilbert and me?” Nora bit her soft lower lip as though the answer were the most important words she’d ever hear, save her future husband’s vows.
“Not so wrong, when you are in love.” Lillian hesitated before speaking, slightly uncomfortable in the role of older, possibly wiser, woman. Yet, the answer seemed to be the right one, for Nora beamed.
“We’ll marry in the village church. It’s tiny, only big enough for thirty people. It’s frightfully old and gray, but I’ve never wanted to marry anywhere else. Gilbert has another fortnight’s leave from his regiment. Cousin Thorpe’s offered us the use of his villa in Brighton, giving directly onto the Marine Parade. I never thought I should live to see Brighton in the summer. But what I want most is to find our own little house somewhere. It all depends on where Gilbert’s regiment is sent, but I know it will be wonderful!”
“I know it too.” Lillian could not help feeling envious.
The Grenshaws left that afternoon, and Mrs. Grenshaw’s farewell to Addy was as effusive as Thorpe had predicted. The child stood mutinous-mouthed throughout the damp kisses and noisy embraces her grandmother inflicted. Just as Mrs. Grenshaw turned away, searching for her handkerchief, Addy pulled a square of cloth from her apron pocket.
“Here,” she said, ungraciously poking the material at her grandmother. “I made it for you.”
Mrs. Grenshaw actually stopped crying in surprise. She sniffled once or twice and took the white cambric. “Why, it has my initial embroidered on it. Look,
U
for Ursula. How clever of you, my dearest angel.”
“Great showed me how. I was going to put a G too, but I didn’t think you’d leave so soon.”
That started the tears flowing afresh. Lillian even found herself looking at the parting through tear-starred lashes. Glancing at Lady Genevieve, standing stiffly by, she was astonished to see moisture on that stern face. Only Mr. Grenshaw’s command, “Come along, Ursula,” kept their leave-taking from becoming a second Flood.
“That—that was very well done of you, Addy,” Lillian said after the carriage rattled away.
‘Thank you. May I go and play now? Gina and Frank have found ... a new turtle.”
Lillian later reflected that if she’d known more about children, many questions could have been answered and much worry avoided at that point. But, between ignorance and misty eyes from the touching scene she’d witnessed, she did not follow up this lame story. “Very well, dear. We’ll let lessons go today as you’ve been working so hard lately. Try to be back for tea.”
* * * *
The next day it was Nora’s turn to leave, together with Lieutenant Rogerson and a chaperoning maid. Thorpe was present at this good-bye. He shook the lieutenant’s hand and bussed Nora’s cheek with every sign of pleasure. He even kissed the maid, who showed no reluctance in putting up her face, though Mr. and Mrs. Becksnaff frowned from the doorway.
As soon as the carriage rolled away, Lillian said, “Mr. Everard, I wish to speak with you.”
“Of course, Miss Cole. What about?”
“It is with reference to my remaining at the castle.” Her eyes met Lady Genevieve’s, who gave a shrug, tucking away the handkerchief she’d been waving at the retreating carriage.
Thorpe looked at Lillian for a long moment. “Your remaining here? What... ? You’ve only been here a matter of... ten days?”
“I know, sir, but—” A distant sound disturbed her, making her break off. No one could be hunting in July, yet that certainly sounded like a hunting horn. “That is, ten days, I believe, makes for a fair trial and ...”
Yes, it definitely was a horn, but not for hunting. Into sight at the end of the drive came a coach, very dusty, drawn by tired horses urged onto speed by the frequent cracking of a whip.
“Who the devil’s that?” Thorpe asked, beating Lillian to the same question by a quarter of a second.
The coach, black varnish showing under the chalky dust, came to a stop in front of the small group on the steps. The horses were blowing and lathered, sweat mixing with grime on their bodies. A coat of arms decorated the coach’s door. Before anyone had time to try and puzzle out the design, the single outrider had dismounted and opened the door. An elderly maid was the first to poke out her face. Her hat hung over her ear, and she glanced up at the house and yawned.
“Out of my way, Sparrow,” said a ringing voice from the depths of the conveyance. The maid fell back out of sight.
Recognizing that voice, Lillian frowned and stole a glance at Thorpe. He only seemed confused and doubtful. She did not turn her eyes toward the coach when the sound of a footstep on the let-down step reached her ears, but continued to look at Thorpe. Lillian found it difficult to judge his reaction, for in an instant his arms were full of woman and his face obscured by a feathered hat, but thought she saw horror in his eyes.
“Oh, Thorpe!” Half shriek, half growl, the Baroness Pritchard’s voice at this moment of meeting reminded Lillian of the cry of the female tiger upon sighting its mate. “I’m so happy to see you again! Has it really been months and months since you waved good-bye to me at the duke’s? How I wished you hadn’t left just then, when we were getting on so famously!”
With some difficulty, Thorpe disentangled his shoulders from her embrace, firmly but gently setting Paulina on her feet. “Er, yes. Quite. Grandmother, may I introduce Baroness Pritchard? Lady Pritchard, my grandmother, Lady Genevieve Everard.”
“I’m so happy to meet you at last, Lady Genevieve,” Paulina said, turning perforce to drop her curtsy. That duty done, she thrust her arm under Thorpe’s and cuddled up to him. Her blue eyes, deeply fringed by darkened lashes, gazed up at him with the light of adoration glinting on their shallow surfaces. “What a charming house!”
“Thank you. Also, may I present Miss Cole, my daughter’s governess.”
Paulina’s eyes never wavered from Thorpe. “How do you do? Pray, Thorpe, aren’t you going to invite me in? Or must our reunion take place on these steps under the very eyes of the postilion?” Her laughter trilled out. Lillian felt very nearly certain she saw Thorpe wince.
“Er, certainly.”
Paulina’s laughter leapt up frequently during the evening. Addy and Lillian dined with the others and Paulina made much of the girl. “You never told me what an absolute love of a child she is! So intelligent! So polite! I’m sure you must miss your mama dreadfully, dear Addy.” Paulina had a way of tilting her head to one side as she waited for an answer that must have been enchanting when she herself had been six.
“Not at all,” Addy said more coolly than if she had been three times her present age. “I never knew her.”
“I mean, wouldn’t you like to have a mama? To do all the gay and amusing things mamas and daughters do together?”
“No, thank you. I have Great. And Miss Cole.”
“Ah, but as you say, you’ve never had a mama so you don’t know how nice it is. I, alas, have only a little boy. And boys, you know, just aren’t the same as girls.”
“Yes, I know. Miss Cole, may I be excused?”
“You haven’t had your blancmange yet, Addy,” Lillian said, sympathizing.
“I don’t care for any.”
“All right then, if your father agrees.” They both looked at Thorpe, the sole male at this gathering. He occupied himself by pushing his food aimlessly about his plate with his fork. “Mr. Everard?” Lillian said.
“Yes?”
“May Addy be excused from the table?”
“Yes, dear, of course you may. But you stay, Miss Cole. I know how passionately fond you are of blancmange.”
This was Paulina’s cue to chatter ceaselessly of the great desserts she’d known at various famous tables, all mentioned with the Christian names of their owners, as Addy scampered down from her seat. In an undertone, Lillian asked her, “Are you tired?”
“No. I’m going to see Frank and Gina.”
“Very well. Come back when it’s dark.”
From the other end of the table. Lady Genevieve said, “You’ll have to excuse our country hours. Lady Pritchard. I prefer to eat early and have a small meal before bedtime.”
“Oh, my old granny was the same way before she died. Oh! I mean ... that is ...”
“All old ladies are the same, I’m afraid,” Lady Genevieve said, smiling. “We fall into the crochets so very easily.”
* * * *
After dessert, they left Thorpe in solitary splendor in the dining salon. Lillian, still ignored by Paulina, cast a glance backward at him as she followed the other two ladies out. Sitting at the gleaming wooden table, the cloth removed, he turned his filled wineglass between thumb and forefinger. Lillian hesitated. He looked so lonely. She wanted to go back to him, to speak to him, to comfort him with kisses if he wished, but Lady Genevieve called, “Miss Cole, come and untangle this wool for me. Miss Cole!”
As Lillian picked at the tangled skein of dark red worsted, Lady Genevieve answered a question that Paulina had posed. “No, this house is not so very old. It is the original castle that is the most interesting.”
“I suppose,” Paulina said with another twinkling laugh, “that all the family ghosts live in the old castle?”
“Exactly so.” The old woman said nothing further, merely drew her needle through her canvas. For a moment, it was so quiet that Lillian could hear the rustling of the yarn passing in and out again.
Paulina came nearer, abandoning the elegant pose by the fireplace that showed off her figure in an azure blue silk to a nicety. “You mean, there
are
ghosts?”
“Oh, yes. Several.”
“What nonsense!”
Lady Genevieve lifted her eyes for a single instant to meet the younger woman’s. “I shouldn’t—no, I shouldn’t say such things if I were you. They don’t like it.”
“They don’t?” Paulina whispered.
“No, indeed. Would you like it if people went about saying you didn’t exist?”
Paulina’s next laugh was an affected
ha-ha.
“How credulous you must think me! Everyone knows that ghosts are entirely without reality. A most learned gentleman told me that every so-called ghost can be traced to silly people who ate something that disagreed with them, or to overmuch wine and listening to just such foolishness late at night.”
“You are undoubtedly right,” Lady Genevieve said. “That night, I did have lobster mayonnaise for supper, and I said at the time that the lemonade had been prepared with overmuch sauterne-wine. I don’t believe I was the only one among the girls who left the table a bit fuzzy.”
“What night was this?” Paulina asked.
“Why, the night I saw the ghost.”
“You
saw it? This is a new departure in ghost stories. All the others I have heard dealt with a distant cousin who saw something eerie or the friend of a great-grandfather, now no more, who lived through a night of horror. Tell me everything, my lady.” Paulina dropped into an armchair, as usual making the graceless seem elegant.
“I was very young and foolish. No doubt it is as you say, and that which I saw was no more than the manifestation of a too-rich supper and a free indulgence in lemonade. And many of the girls here for that house party did tell silly tales when the older folk were asleep.” Lady Genevieve began to roll up her work. “Now I am an old woman myself and the hour grows late. I’m for bed.”
Lillian heard the sound of a footstep outside the door. Paulina apparently heard it too, for she at once sat up straight and looked toward the door with bright expectancy in her eyes.
“Do you desire tea in here, my lady?” Becksnaff asked, bowing. At Lady Genevieve’s signal, he trundled in a cart covered with a variety of dainties to fill up any corners left after dining.
Lady Genevieve settled again in her chair. “You must try Mrs. Becksnaff’s bread and butter sandwiches. Lady Pritchard. They are delectable.”
“Isn’t Thorpe
ever
coming?” Paulina muttered.
Becksnaff bowed and left.
Lillian finished winding the burgundy wool into a small ball. “Here you are, my lady. I believe there is enough to finish the hearts of those flowers.”
“You are quite right. Perhaps I can manage it tonight. It would not do to abandon Lady Pritchard so early. Not on her first evening with us.” As the mittened hands collected the soft yarn, her eyes met Lillian’s. One lid dropped slightly. “I shan’t bore you any more tonight with my silly tales of ghosts. Lady Pritchard. I would not wish to disturb your sleep your first night under the castle’s roof.”
“Oh, I’m not afraid of anything,” Paulina replied with a careless toss of her bouncing curls. She flopped back again in the chair, her eyes half closed.
“By all means, continue, Lady Genevieve,” Lillian said, curious as to what that teeming brain would create now.
“Well, if you insist... As I said, I was young and more than ordinarily foolish, and unlike you modern girls, sadly credulous. Late that night, I stole over to the old castle and made my way up the Winding Stair to the locked room. It is a wonder that I did not faint, for I’m certain my heart had never beat half so hard in my life before. But I was determined, for I was so very much in love with Dermott. I would have dared anything, in the hope that the old story would be true.” Lady Genevieve paused and sipped from her delicate teacup.