Blair didn’t say anything as they waited in the drawing room, and it seemed she could hear the unhappy thudding of her heart. His face was that of a stranger. The barrier he’d erected that first night at the ball had reappeared, and it was as if that wonderful hour by the stream had never happened. She gazed wretchedly toward the skies outside. A distant flash of lightning lit the clouds, and then more thunder groaned toward the horizon, but inside the atmosphere was as silent and bitterly cold as she imagined it would be in the ice cave beneath the house.
Light steps approached, and Marianna came in. She wore a primrose muslin gown, and there was a lime green silk shawl around her shoulders. Her face was pale, and her eyes bore signs of recent crying. She halted just inside the door, and raised her head defiantly. “You wish to see me?”
“I do, miss. What’s the meaning of this?” He thrust the letter toward her.
Her lips parted and her eyes flew accusingly to Laura, who looked just as accusingly back.
Blair shook his head. “Oh, no, Marianna, don’t think to blame your agent, for she didn’t pen this missive, you did. Her crime as far as you’re concerned is that this piece of paper chose a singularly inappropriate moment to fall from her pocket.” He held his sister’s gaze. “When and where is Stephen expecting to meet you?”
Her lips pressed mutinously together.
“I asked you a question, Marianna.”
“I’m not going to tell you,” she replied.
“Don’t defy me, miss!”
“I’ll never tell you.”
“Very well, I’m sure I’ll find him at the King’s Head.”
“No! Please, no!”
“He knows what to expect, he’s not a fool. I can’t allow this to pass without taking the only honorable action.”
“A duel? Oh, no! Please, Blair!” Marianna cried tearfully.
“There’s nothing more to say. Now go to your rooms.”
With a stifled sob, she turned and fled.
In spite of her resentment at being used, Laura wanted to go after her to comfort her, but as she stepped toward the door, Blair’s angry voice halted her. “Oh, no, madam, your duties here are over.”
Swallowing back tears, she faced him. “At least let me comfort her a little. Your anger may be justified, but she’s just twenty, deeply in love with Stephen, and you’ve just told her you intend to call him out!”
“Oh, I’m a monster, am I not?” he flung back bitterly. “For endeavoring to protect my sister from a womanizing opportunist who’s pursuing her in order to escape the duns, in your eyes I’m branded the wrongdoer! Well, perhaps that’s more an indication of your lamentable standards than any failing on my part!”
“Think what you will of me, but at least allow that Marianna is in great distress and needs the sort of comfort that at the moment you’re far too angry to give. Let me go to her.”
“So that you may carry further messages? I think not,”
“You have my word that I will not do anything.”
“Very well, but you are still dismissed. As soon as Marianna is calmer, I expect you to quit this house.”
She hesitated, and then looked imploringly at him. “I’m deeply sorry about the letter. I really didn’t know what it contained, but that doesn’t excuse my actions. I wish I hadn’t done it, because I know it’s changed the way you think of me, but nothing can change the way I feel toward you. I still love you.”
“Your feelings are of no interest to me, madam.”
His coldness was absolute, and without another word she left the drawing room.
But as she crossed the landing to go to Marianna’s apartment, time intervened yet again. Deveril House disappeared, and was replaced by her hotel room.
Everything seemed to be spinning, and she had to steady herself by holding on to a chair. Her riding habit had gone, and she was wearing her modern clothes again, and except for the missing hours, it was as if she’d just left Gulliver’s cottage and driven straight back here. Rain dashed against the window, and she glanced out to see the weather had changed here in the future as well. The sunshine had gone, and there were clouds—just as there were in her heart.
The force of Blair’s anger and contempt was still all around her, tormenting and mocking like a nightmare, and a sob rose in her throat. “Blair, oh, Blair...”
Light footsteps approached, bringing an echo of Marianna, but then she recognized Mrs. Fitzgerald’s tap at the door. “Laura, my dear?”
“Yes?” Laura hastily composed herself.
Jenny’s mother came in. “There was a message from one of your flatmates when you were out. The audition people are a tad annoyed you haven’t been in touch, and I’m afraid that unless you turn up tomorrow, you can kiss the part good-bye.”
Right now Laura couldn’t have cared less about the audition.
“Are you all right, my dear?” Mrs. Fitzgerald looked at her in concern.
“Yes, quite all right, thank you. To be honest, I don’t think I’m interested in the audition anymore.”
“But I thought the show was set to be one of
the
productions this year.” Mrs. Fitzgerald’s eyes cleared. “It’s that fellow, isn’t it?” she declared.
“Kyle? No, it’s nothing to do with him.”
“Well, I’ve given you the message, my dear. What you do about it is your business.” Jenny’s mother turned to leave, but then glanced at the window as more rain spattered the glass. “What a change for the worse,” she observed.
“Yes.” Laura looked out as well, and for some reason suddenly thought of the ice cave. “Mrs. Fitzgerald, I was told there’s a cave under the hotel. Is that right?”
“Why, yes, but you can’t get into it, I’m afraid. It was bricked up in Victorian times, maybe even earlier.”
“Would you mind showing me?”
“Not at all, but it’s not very interesting, just a blocked off doorway in the corner of the cellars. I’ll take you now if you like.”
The steps to the cellars lay close to the kitchens at the back of the hotel, and the air seemed muffled as Laura followed Jenny’s mother down into the poorly lit darkness. They passed beneath the dining room, where footsteps could be heard overhead as the maids set the tables for the evening meal.
The door into the ice cave lay at the very end of a passage. It was easy to make out because it was bricked up, and the rest of the cellar wall was stone. Mrs. Fitzgerald looked at it, and then glanced at her. “Well, I did say it wasn’t very interesting.”
“It’s odd to think there’s a cave on the other side, isn’t it? Not very nice, actually,” Laura added as a sudden shiver passed over her.
A draft of air crept from somewhere. It was sharp and cold, and carried with it a soft sound, like the ghostly sob she’d heard at the tunnel portal. A chill finger ran down her spine, and then she heard the sob again, only this time it was accompanied by a distorted, far-off voice.
Help us, please...
She gasped, and Jenny’s mother looked at her in surprise. “What is it, my dear?”
“Did—didn’t you hear? It was a voice, someone calling for help!”
Mrs. Fitzgerald’s jaw dropped. “A
voice
? No, I didn’t hear anything.”
They both listened again, but there was nothing. Jenny’s mother smiled reassuringly. “I expect it’s just this old place. It’s always creaking and making noises.”
But they turned as one to hurry away from the old bricked-up doorway, and almost ran up the steps into the brightness and warmth of the hotel. Mrs. Fitzgerald immediately closed the cellar door behind them. Then she gave a self-conscious laugh. “Goodness, you’ve quite given me the collywobbles!”
“I’ve given myself them as well,” Laura admitted ruefully, glancing back toward the cellar door.
“Remind me never to watch a horror movie with you.”
Laura smiled. “I’ll try.” She paused. “I don’t suppose it’s possible to get into the cave somehow, is it?”
“Haven’t you had enough of a fright?”
“I guess not.”
Mrs. Fitzgerald shrugged philosophically. “Well, you can’t get in from the hotel without knocking down the brickwork, but there may be a way from the canal tunnel, which should never have been beneath this building. When they were driving it through, part of the cave floor gave way and had to be sealed up with brickwork that might conceivably have collapsed over the years. That’s all I can think of. But I wouldn’t recommend going into the tunnel, my dear, it’s a horrible place, and quite unsafe with all the roof falls. Ron Sawyer says leaking springs make it like Niagara in there.”
“Do you think he’d take me in if I asked real nice?”
She puzzled Mrs. Fitzgerald. “Why are you so interested, my dear? The cave can’t be a pleasant place, and I know the tunnel isn’t.”
“I’m just curious, that’s all.” Laura didn’t really know why she was making such a thing about it. Something about the cave was suddenly getting to her.
Jenny’s mother shrugged. “Well, I can give Ron a call, if you like?” she offered.
“Would you?”
“Consider it done.” Mrs. Fitzgerald hastened away.
Laura looked at the cellar door again. For a moment it seemed she could still hear the uncanny voice.
Help us, please...
The primitive unease returned, and without further ado she hurried after Jenny’s mother.
Chapter Fifteen
Ron agreed to take Laura into the tunnel the next morning, so she passed the rest of the day as best she could.
That night she lay awake listening to the rain, and trying to will the ballroom doors into existence, but the hours ticked fruitlessly past, and at last she tried to sleep. Sleep wouldn’t come, though, and eventually she decided to try a glass of hot milk, which usually worked. Rather than ring for one, she thought she’d go down to the kitchens and get one herself, so she put on her robe and went to the door, but as she touched the handle, it seemed to dissolve.
Suddenly she was in her Regency nightgown on the landing at Deveril House, and the only light was the flicker of the candle in Blair’s hand as he came up the staircase toward her. She knew she was still in the house only because Marianna was still distraught and had begged him.
The cranberry of his coat was vivid in the candle glow, his neckcloth hung loose, and shadows moved over the walls, flashing on his wedding ring as he saw the white of her nightgown. His eyes darkened and he halted as she stood in his path. “You may think you still hold sway over me, madam, but you are only here for Marianna’s sake. You can no longer trap me with tenderness.”
“Please talk to me, Blair,” she begged.
“There’s nothing to say,” he replied coldly.
“Forgive me for agreeing to take Marianna’s letter.”
“You expect too much.” There was no softening in his eyes...
“I expect nothing; I beg everything.”
“Glib words.”
“Sincere words,” she countered. “Please don’t think I’d have carried that letter if I’d realized they meant to elope. I thought they’d try to persuade you to their point of view, nothing more.”
“And that makes it all right? Laura Reynolds didn’t look further than her meddling nose, and so must be forgiven her transgressions?”
“I admit I meddled, but my motives—
“Were insupportable,” he interrupted coldly.
“Would
you
agree to marry someone you loathed simply because someone else said so?”
“That’s different.”
“Why? Because you’re a man and at liberty to choose?”
He drew a long breath, and the candle flame trembled. “That’s the way of this world, Laura.”
“If you were in Marianna’s place, you’d see things differently.”
“I’m sure I would, but I’m not in her place. It’s my duty to see her future is secure. Stephen Woodville cannot provide that security. It may have escaped your notice that a husband is supposed to keep his wife, not the other way around,” he said acidly, his eyes reflecting the flame he held.
“What if he was wealthy, married Marianna, and then lost everything through no fault of his own. Not gambling. Would you still say they couldn’t use her inheritance?”
“That’s hardly the same thing.”
“Maybe not, but the end result is exactly the same—Marianna would be supporting Stephen.”
“How clever you are at turning an argument in your own favor.”
“I’ve turned nothing, sir, I’ve merely pointed out an incontrovertible fact. You’d clearly find it acceptable for Marianna to provide for Stephen if fate reduced his circumstances.”
“I see I’m now being charged with double standards as well.”
“No, just with standards which do not seem to apply to royalty. Our future queen, Princess Charlotte, is married to Prince Leopold of Coburg, whose prospects and finances hardly stand comparison with hers. What do you say to that, sir?”
“Nothing, for it’s an example with which I cannot argue.”
“Why can’t Stephen be Marianna’s Prince Leopold? Is he so far beyond the pale that
nothing
will make him acceptable? Please, Blair, if you feel anything for Marianna, and I know you do, you’ll not only stand by your decision to release her from the Handworth match, you’ll also give Stephen proper consideration.” She searched his face in the candlelight. “Or do you mean to make her marry Alex Handworth after all?”
“I said I’d halt the match, and that’s what I’ll do.”
“Have you told her yet?”
“No. The moment hasn’t been opportune.”
Laura held his gaze. “Tell her, Blair, and mend at least a little of the rift between you. And if you would mend still more, then promise to consider Stephen as her husband.”
“Stephen is unacceptable,” he repeated flatly.
“He’d make her happy, doesn’t that count at all? You were happy in yours—” She broke off hastily and could have bitten her tongue, for his marriage clearly
hadn’t
been that happy after all.
He read her thoughts, and exhaled slowly, setting the candle flame dancing. “Yet another delicate finger on my pulse,” he murmured. “Very well, I’ll agree to speak to Stephen—as civilly as I can—about Marianna, but that’s
all
I agree to, because in the light of the plan to run away, I fear no amount of eloquent pleading on his behalf can turn him into another Prince Leopold of Coburg!”
Laura was deeply affected by his struggle with what his loving heart wanted for his troublesome sister, and what was forced upon him by the conventions of his time. And this when he believed he’d been betrayed by all those around him. “Oh, I do love you so,” she murmured.