The Countess (19 page)

 

I looked up, aware of voices, but the owners' faces were a blur.
My father.
No, not him, not that horrible man. I suppose I had assumed he was dead. He should have been dead for a very long time now. He didn't deserve to live, yet here he was writing to me, and my mother had been dead for more than ten years.

My fingers shook as I slowly smoothed out the single page. I didn't recognize his handwriting. It was large and dark and bold, sloping slightly.

 

November 22, 1817

Antwerp, Belgium

 

My dearest daughter:

 

I pray you are reading this letter. I won't waste time telling you of my sorrow at our separation for so many years. Perhaps soon, you will agree to give me a chance, and I may come to know the woman you have become.

I read of your marriage to the Earl of Devbridge. This cannot be, Andrea. You are in danger, extreme danger. I know this is difficult for you to believe, but you must do as I say. Leave Devbridge now, or as soon as you can without detection. Return to London, to your grandfather's house. I will be with you as soon as possible and explain everything. Peter is waiting for me to finish, so I will close by saying that I have always loved you.

 

Your father,

Edward Kent Jameson

 

I rose from the breakfast table, smiled at Lord and Lady Waverleigh, and excused myself. George barked, then fell in beside me. I walked to the ballroom at the back of the manor. No one was there. Just the week before, a half dozen servants had descended on the ballroom and scrubbed and polished everything to a rich shine. The chandeliers were lovingly cleaned until the glass sparkled like hundreds of twinkling jewels. The heavy brocade draperies covering the tall windows had been taken down and
beaten until all accumulated dust of at least five years floated to the ground.

I opened the letter again and walked to the far windows, so clean it looked like I could walk directly outside. I reread his letter.

He wanted me to leave Devbridge Manor immediately? But why? What was his reason? Why didn't he simply write his reason? Ah, because he was in such a hurry, he didn't have time. That was ridiculous. There was no reason. He simply wanted to insinuate himself back with me. But why? Surely he had enough wealth, didn't he? Did he want me to give him money when all was said and done? Perhaps he had feared that someone else would read the letter and would be alerted to—what?

So he had read of my marriage. Because of my marriage I was in extreme danger? Bosh. Then, of course, I saw the old woman, John's knife raised high, ready to send it into my heart.

I looked up to see gardeners scything the grass on the east lawn. Two peacocks preened, their tail feathers spread wide as they strolled lazily toward the small rock garden. The scene before my eyes was so normal, so calm, so real.

But there was something and someone in this house that wasn't normal or real. There was someone evil.

But did that mean I was the target?

I folded the two letters and walked upstairs to my bedchamber. Belinda was straightening my brushes and creams in the dressing table. I went to my desk and pulled out my Italianate letter box. It was empty. I put the two letters in the box and locked it. I looked at the small gold key. I started to simply drop it in
the drawer, then stopped. I found a gold chain, looped it around the key, and hung it around my neck.

I picked up my derringer from beneath my pillow and put it in my pocket. I wasn't about to leave my home; on the other hand, I wasn't an idiot. Whatever my father was talking about, whatever it was that he believed was wrong, I would be prepared. If that old woman came into my room again, I would shoot her. If anyone at all threatened me, I would shoot them. Let him come here, I thought. Let my precious father come here and face me.

But no one came that night.

T
he following morning, all of us accompanied Lord Waverleigh to Caroline's empty music room. Amelia declined to come into the room. I didn't blame her. Lawrence beside me, we followed Lord Waverleigh inside.

I didn't move, simply watched Lord Waverleigh walk around the small room. He said nothing at all. Finally, he raised his head and said, “There was no violence in this room. This was a young lady's room. She perhaps wrote letters here, or read here, or any number of things that she could do in private. She felt safe here, calm. It was her haven. I can feel her unhappiness, but nothing more than that. Is this where Amelia fell asleep, on the floor of this room?”

“Yes, Father,” Amelia said from the doorway. “And I felt this young lady—this chamber was Caroline's music room—she was Uncle Lawrence's second wife, and she apologized to me, I swear it to you. Not in words, of course, it was rather like she felt to me that she was sorry, that I was the wrong one.”

“You say she was your second wife, Lawrence?”

“Yes. Poor Caroline killed herself after she birthed her daughter. It was all very tragic, very sad. Unfortunately, she was mad. She was only Andy's age when she died. Her death affected us all profoundly.”

Lord Waverleigh started to say something, then he just shook his head. He looked at his daughter who had taken one step into the room. “If you were the wrong one, Amelia, then who is the right one?”

“I suppose it was me,” I said. “But I have felt absolutely nothing in this room, sir, nothing at all. If Caroline wanted me specifically, I have given her many opportunities to speak to me, or feel her thoughts to me. There has been nothing.”

“Hmmm,” said Lord Waverleigh, stroking his chin. “You are the third wife. Caroline was the second wife. I wonder what she wants? I also wonder why she hasn't come to you, since you have given her the opportunity?”

“I don't know,” I said.

He said then, “I should like to visit the spot where she killed herself.” I thought Lawrence would refuse. He was pale, his hands fisted at his sides. Of course this would upset him. Even though it had all happened many years before, Caroline had been his wife, he had loved her, he had grieved for her when she hurled herself from the north tower. Finally, he nodded. “Very well,” he said. “It is this way.”

John, Lawrence, and I accompanied Lord Waverleigh to the north tower. At the end of the west wing, there were narrow stairs that twisted sharply, going up and up, until finally there was a narrow door that grated like a shrieking ghost when my husband opened it. There was an ancient bed in the
circular room, with tattered bed hangings. A chest stood at the end of the bed. Nothing else.

“I have never had the tower room cleared,” Lawrence said. “Everything is older than the oak trees all clustered together in the eastern forest, and they are very old indeed. I don't know who slept in that bed, but if they are continuing to sleep there, I see no reason to disturb them.”

He walked to a tall narrow door and pulled it open. It moaned each inch it moved. There was a narrow balcony outside the door, in the form of a half-circle, a three-foot-high stone balustrade enclosing it. I walked to the balustrade and looked down. It was a very long way down, much farther than I would have thought. And directly below was a stone walkway. I felt gooseflesh rise on my arms. She had climbed up upon the balustrade and jumped. I closed my eyes. Ah, Caroline, I thought, I am so very sorry.

“I found her.” I turned quickly. John was at my elbow. He was pointing. “There, on that second stone, that was where she landed. There is still blood in that stone. It simply will not be scrubbed out. I remember when I found her that I at first thought she was asleep. Then I turned her over. There was so much blood, so very much.”

“I'm sorry,” I said. “You were a young boy. It must have been very difficult.”

“More so for Caroline,” he said, and turned away.

I turned to Lord Waverleigh, who was simply staring around that circular room. He was frowning. “I would have expected to feel the violence of her passing, but I do not. In my experience a man or woman who chooses to take his life is confronting an excruciating decision. There is doubt, pain, anguish, terror.
It is not easy to convince yourself that death is preferable, yet I feel nothing of what she should have felt here. Nothing at all. It is strange. Usually I feel these things very strongly.”

“Sir,” I said. “Caroline wasn't well. Perhaps her mind simply did not react the way yours would or mine. Perhaps there was no great decision for her to make. To end her life was a compulsion.”

“Certainly that is possible,” he said, but he continued to frown. Then suddenly, he turned to my husband, and he laughed. “I believe, Lawrence, that this lovely old bed was used by one of your distant ancestors to entertain his neighbor ladies. Perhaps he even kept a mistress here in this tower, hidden from his wife. That is speculation, of course.”

“It could have been Leyland Lyndhurst,” Lawrence said, “my great-grandfather. His reputation doesn't bear much examination. He lived a very long life and was said to pass to the hereafter with a smile on his lips.”

He turned to me. “I'll show you a portrait of him, Andy. You will tell me if he has the look of the scourge of the neighborhood.”

Lord Waverleigh turned and walked out of the tower room. I heard his footsteps retreating down those narrow steep stairs. I looked down once more to where Caroline had struck against the stone. I shuddered.

“Come, Andy,” Lawrence said from just behind me. “This is a place that makes my soul wither, despite all the amusing and very wicked theories about that damned bed.”

I knew exactly what he meant. “I'm so very sorry, sir,” I said, and took his arm. “About Caroline.” Any
opinions I had about a former earl and his use of the tower for illicit
affaires
I kept behind my teeth.

John followed us down the tower stairs.

After luncheon, George and I went to the stables. Rucker saddled Small Bess even as John strode up, and blinked when he saw me. “I thought you were with Judith and Miss Gillbank. Or with Miss Crislock. She was looking for you, I believe.”

“I will see all of them later. First, I want to clear my head.”

He gave me a crooked smile. “What is in your head that needs to be cleared out?”

I thought of the damnable letters, of that seed of fear that had a firm hold on me now. I shook my head.

We left Small Bess standing there in the stable yard while I went with John to fetch Tempest from the paddock.

He saw his master, then he saw me. I would swear that he didn't know what to do. He stood there, looking from one of us to the other, shaking his great head.

John called out, “Enough, you big lout. I am your master, not this young chit here who cannot even manage to keep her dog's loyalty.”

“Unkind,” I said. “It appears I am getting my revenge on you.”

George came trotting over, tail up high, barking with each step. On the way he picked up a stick.

Tempest snorted and trotted to where we stood at the fence.

“Throw the stick for George,” John said as he went through the gate to put the bridle over Tempest's
head. “A good long way. He needs to run off some of the mountains of food he's eating.”

I did, hurling it a good twenty feet away. “It will help,” I said, shading my eyes against the sun's glare. “I fear Lady Waverleigh is feeding him whenever he happens to trot into her vicinity. She dotes on him as much as she does her husband.”

I watched John saddle Tempest, threw George's stick again, fought with him when he brought it back to me, and forgot for at least five minutes that something was very wrong here at Devbridge Manor. As much as I wanted to discount everything my father had written, which wasn't hardly a thing, truth be told, something wasn't right.

When finally we were both mounted, George had decided to remain. He was thoroughly enjoying himself playing with Jasper. Jasper could throw the stick much farther, and thus George could leap and trot and sniff flowers and bushes, and have a great time before he had to carry the stick back, as the rules of the game dictated. The exercise would also keep him from dropping onto his fat stomach and dying from gluttony.

Small Bess reared and twisted her head about when I settled myself on her back. I immediately leaned forward and stroked her neck. “It's all right, my pretty girl. What's wrong?”

“She wants to play. I have seen her do that occasionally since she arrived.”

“Do you know why your uncle bought her, John?”

“No. Perhaps he had made up his mind to go to London and find himself a wife. He bought Small Bess on speculation.”

“I must remember to ask him. Do you think perhaps she is a racing horse in disguise?”

“That I doubt very much.”

Lawrence had never given me the impression that he had come to London in search of a wife. He had made me believe that his feelings for me had hit him immediately and strongly. He had not expected such feelings, particularly at his age. But still it felt to me as though he had brought Small Bess here specifically for me. I shook my head. None of it made any sense.

I looked over at John astride Tempest. He was a magnificent rider, at one with that huge stallion. He was looking off into the distance. I wished he would look over at me, but he didn't. No, I thought, no. I had to stop this. I didn't want John anywhere near me. At the same time I wanted to weep because he was near me. I didn't want to let him out of my sight. It just wouldn't do. I thought of my husband. I owed him my complete loyalty. I thought of my fear of men, buried so deep, that I knew it would be a part of me my entire life. I knew I would never escape from it, nor did I want to. Young men like John, who was big and strong, were dangerous, they would hurt and destroy and humiliate. No matter what John made me feel, I would never forget that. If I ever did, I was a fool, just as my mother had been. No, what was there, so very deep inside me, was the truth, and a warning, and I would always heed both of them.

When we were walking through a rather densely wooded glade, side by side, John said, “Why do you think Caroline would want to speak to you?”

“I don't know,” I said, realizing that here we were discussing the spirit of my husband's long-dead
second wife. But oddly enough, it didn't seem strange. “What I don't understand is why she hasn't spoken to me. I have certainly given her many opportunities to communicate with me. I have gone in and out of that room many times now.”

“Are you really certain you want to hear what she has to say?”

“Oh, yes. It must be something important, at least to her. Possibly, she wants me to assure her that I will take care of Judith, that I am not a mean and petty stepmother. I have even said that out loud whenever I go into her music room, but there is nothing there. Perhaps she has come to the belief that I won't hurt her daughter. Perhaps she even trusts me now.”

“Judith has always been a happy child. My uncle pays her little attention, but she doesn't seem to suffer from it. She has Miss Gillbank, and that lady seems to love her very much. I predict she will be a beauty in about five years. What do you think?”

“She will break hearts at a fine clip,” I said.

He leaned forward to pat Tempest's neck. Small Bess nickered and took a step sideways. I shifted my weight, and she calmed. “What Lord Waverleigh said about the Black Chamber. What do you think that means?”

“I don't want to think about it. It scares me to my toes.”

He said, musing aloud, “That the evil in the room lives now, lives right here at Devbridge Manor, lives right here under our noses.” He shook his head. “I think his lordship is being fanciful.”

“If he isn't, then it would mean that the evil that
lives here with us committed a horrible crime in that room. What crime could it be?”

He looked away from me, toward a distant copse of maple trees. “I've thought about it. There are no recorded foul deeds in the recent past. Ah, there are some excellent jumps over this field.” He arched a black brow at me.