The Folly at Falconbridge Hall (15 page)

The men set up a base camp at Iquitos then moved on again through the vast wood-region traversed by the mighty Amazon and its tributaries. They reached their destination, Pebas, within the month. Charles Frobisher was to come straight there. Travelling light, he was expected any day.

The men settled into the place they would call home for some time.

It drizzled incessantly, and the vivid green foliage and vines of the luxuriant primeval forest dripped water, splattering over Julian’s soaked fedora. Damp clothing clung, effervescing steam and the growing smell of mildew.

“Damn heat rash!” Hewson protested with a tug at his trousers.

Julian grinned. Hewson uttered the same complaints on previous trips. He had brought with him a number of different remedies, none of which appeared to work. Worse, now the rainy season had begun. The Amazon would not reach its highest point until May. He intended to be back at the coast before it did.

Frederick Parker shouted a command to the natives as they struggled to raise the canvas tents.

Once the main tent had been erected, Julian, Hewson and Lord Forster gathered around the table on folding wooden chairs along with the medic, Horace Carpenter and the field assistant, William Whitby. They studied the maps and outlined their plan to undertake explorations that carried them farther afield, once Frobisher had joined them. Then Julian left to check his supplies. When satisfied all was in place, he grabbed his precious Kodak Brownie box camera and took a careful shot of a sloth moving in slow motion along a branch above him. This photo was for Blythe. The camera was a godsend, providing excellent visuals to back up his research.

Somewhere close by, a jaguar roared, making the mules restless and causing the thousands of squawking parrots to rise from the trees like a brilliantly colored cloud. These sights and sounds still failed to weave their magic over him. When I see the butterflies, he thought, I’ll feel it then.

Hewson approached Julian as he prepared to leave the camp.

“Off in search of butterflies?”

Julian nodded. The heat was unrelenting. He removed his hat to wipe the sweat-soaked rim with his handkerchief. “You’d never know it was Christmas, would you, here in the jungle?”

Hewson’s eyebrows arched in surprise. “So it is. I hadn’t thought of it.” He grinned. “I’ll miss my cook’s Christmas pudding.”

“Is that all you’ll miss, Hewson?” Julian asked, searching his face.

Hewson shrugged. “Bit overrated, isn’t it? Christmas? Why? We’ve been away at this time of year before.”

Julian picked up his camera. “I know. I never gave it much thought before.”

*****

Vanessa couldn’t refuse Blythe’s request to ride Buttercup as the snow had melted away, leaving piles of slush. At the stables, Lovel brought out their horses. Blythe hurried towards Buttercup and stumbled on a raised cobblestone, falling to the icy ground. For a big man, Lovel moved fast. He gathered Blythe up in his arms.

“Did you hurt yourself, Blythe?” Vanessa said, hurrying over.

Lovel placed Blythe on her feet and brushed mud from her chin with a gentle finger. “She’s as right as rain, aren’t you, Miss Blythe?”

Blythe smiled. “I was so eager to ride Buttercup, it made me clumsy.”

“You could never be clumsy, Miss Blythe,” Lovel said. “You are as dainty as a sprite.”

Vanessa silently agreed. She almost liked Lovel in that moment.

Wisps of cloud drifted across the cold grey-blue sky as they rode their horses over the meadow, the horses’ nostril’s steaming.

“Let’s ride as far as the river,” Blythe called.

Vanessa inwardly groaned. “Very well.”

They trotted over the uneven ground, alert for rabbit holes.

“Why, isn’t that Miss Patterson?” Blythe pointed.

Thick woodland rimmed the meadow along the border of the Patterson property and theirs. Abigail had emerged from the trees and crossed onto Falconbridge Hall land. At first, Vanessa thought she was coming to join them. But she looked neither right nor left as she rode into the wood. It seemed odd. Was she looking for someone? That path was not the direct route to her home or theirs.

On impulse, she called to Blythe, “I think we’ll join Miss Patterson.”

Vanessa tapped Flora with her crop. They cantered over to the trees and entered the wood along a same narrow path Miss Patterson had taken.

“Father said we weren’t to go into the wood,” Blythe called from behind her.

“I know, but he would think this important.” There was only one way Abigail could have gone, the track barely wide enough for the horses. Brushing aside shrubbery, they emerged into a shadowy glade, rimmed by trees. Abigail’s horse wandered the ground, the reins dangling, while she stood staring up at a giant oak.

“Wait here, Blythe.” Vanessa dismounted.

When Abigail turned, Vanessa gasped at her blank expression. She hurried over to the woman, noting her distress in the way Abigail hugged her arms. She stared up into the branches. “A woman hung herself from this tree,” she murmured.

A shiver traveled up Vanessa’s spine. She took Abigail’s arm in a firm grip. “Come away.” She appeared thinner. Her fur-trimmed habit of forest green hung loosely on her, and the cold failed to bring any warmth to her cheeks.

“Away?”

“It’s almost four o’clock. Come and have tea with us at the Hall.”

“I shouldn’t.” She bit her lip, her expression weary. “I’m expected at home. Mama has an important guest coming this evening.” She wrinkled her nose. “She plans me to marry him.”

“Do I know him?”

“No. It’s the Earl of Sommerforde.”

“You can spare a half hour surely.”

Abigail straightened her shoulders. “How do you go on without his lordship? You must find it difficult, moving up in the world as you have.”

“We do nicely, thank you.” Although Abigail could still raise a provoking comment, her eyes looked swollen and rimmed with red. As much as Vanessa wanted to free her tongue to reply in kind, she ignored it, trying once more to break through the woman’s chill veneer. “You look troubled, Miss Patterson. Is there something I can do?”

“Why would I be troubled?” Abigail’s shaky tone belied her words, and Vanessa saw something new and disturbing in her gaze. Was it panic?

“Blythe and I are just about to have tea,” she repeated. “We’d love you to join us.”

Abigail stared at Vanessa as if she didn’t really see her. “All right.”

Relieved, Vanessa waited for her to remount, before she stood on a log and scrambled onto Flora. “You lead the way, Blythe.” She guided Flora in behind them, so that Miss Patterson rode between them as they walked the horses single file out of the wood.

When they dismounted at the stables, Abigail hung back as if she didn’t wish to be there, and Vanessa took a firm grip on her arm. “Nothing like a cup of tea, I always say,” she said chattering pointlessly.

Entering the house, Vanessa sent Blythe upstairs to study her French and have her tea. The two women sat in the conservatory, which was airy and bright. Abigail slumped in her chair. She looked exhausted, purple shadows beneath her eyes marring her looks.

Dorcas brought a tea tray. “Cook has just taken these biscuits out of the oven, my lady. She says to be careful; they’re still hot.”

“Thank you, Dorcas.”

When the maid had left, Vanessa poured Abigail a cup of tea. “I can see there’s something wrong. Can’t you tell me what it is?”

Abigail’s fingers trembled as she raised the cup to her lips. “You’d never understand.”

“You can trust me,” Vanessa said. “Anything you say will go no further.”

“I’ve been a fool.”

“We all are at some point, especially about men. I suppose it is a man?”

Abigail nodded.

“Charles Frobisher?”

Abigail stared at Vanessa. When she spoke, her voice was subdued. “Has someone told you that?”

“I remember you seemed quite close at the tennis party.” Vanessa leaned forward. “Abigail, if it is he, I’m convinced he would make you very unhappy. His lordship has told me disturbing things about him that I cannot in all conscience repeat.”

Abigail tugged at her handkerchief, the fragile lace shredding under the force of her fingers. “I am a modern woman, Lady Falconbridge.” She tossed her head. “I have the freedom to do as I wish.”

“If you’ll forgive me for saying so, it doesn’t seem to have made you happy.”

“Disappointed, perhaps, when things don’t go my way.”

The look that flashed into Abigail’s eyes reminded Vanessa that she had wanted Julian. Had she turned to Frobisher on the rebound? She refused to feel more guilty. “Miss Patterson, I know how hard it can be for a woman—”

She pushed the cup away. “I’ve no idea what you’ve heard about Charles, your ladyship, and I’d rather not know.”

“If you wish to talk to another woman, you know where to find me.”

“You can do nothing for me. And time heals all wounds, doesn’t it?”

“I hope so, Abigail—”

“You can’t arrive amongst us and think you can solve all our little problems. You’re a stranger, an outsider, and marrying Lord Falconbridge will not change that.”

Stung, Vanessa swallowed the hurt. “I had hoped we could be friends, as I’m alone here.”

“I hardly think that’s possible, do you?”

Vanessa gave a defeated shrug. “Then I am sorry for us both.”

Abigail pushed back her chair. “Could you have my horse brought round to the door? I’ll return home by the road.”

When Vanessa later sat at her mirror with Mary brushing her hair, the maid said, “Was that Miss Patterson I saw here today, my lady?”

“Why yes, Mary. Why?”

“I wouldn’t say this to anyone else, my lady. Miss Patterson’s maid is a friend of mine. Annie told me Miss Patterson fears she is with child.”

Vanessa caught her breath. “I’m glad you understand how very damaging such gossip can be. You won’t repeat it to another soul will you, Mary? You must warn Miss Patterson’s maid not to either, for she might find herself let go without a reference.”

“Yes, my lady.”

*****

With constant snowstorms and sleet, the cold winter curbed their outdoor activities. Vanessa thought hard to come up with indoor entertainments to keep Blythe interested. Blythe wrote to her father every week, and Vanessa posted their letters to the organizing committee in London. They would then be forwarded on to some outpost in Peru. She had no idea if they reached Julian, however, for no news from him or the expedition had reached them.

It was quite late when Vanessa prepared for bed. She had been sitting by the fire in her bedroom, penning another letter to Julian. A chill wind sprang up and blew the curtains about, drawing her to the window. Reaching up to close it, she saw a light flickering over the grounds. She stood clutching the curtains as they billowed around her, watching a lantern carried into the folly. It was too dark to make out by whom. Apparently, the cold weather had failed to dampen the lovers’ ardor.

When had it begun again? Vanessa had no way of knowing, but the thought of Lovel with some hapless woman made her angry. Might it be one of the housemaids? She couldn’t picture any of the maids in his arms. Mostly innocent country girls, they would find it difficult to hide such a thing from her or Mrs. Royce. Cook was too old for any kind of liaison, but the older maid was stepping out with one of the gardeners. Might it be them? Mrs. Royce and Mr. Johnson would hardly stoop so low. If it was Lovel, it was likely one of the girls from the village.

Vanessa found it unsavory, and feared Blythe would see the light again from her window. She wished it to stop, but how could she achieve it without confronting the staff and embarrassing everyone including herself? Lovel would not be so easily embarrassed, she was sure.

Tomorrow, she would go and examine the folly. Closing the window, she climbed shivering into bed. She read her letter again
.

Dear Julian,

I hope you remain in good health. Blythe and I missed you even more at Christmas. Blythe hung up a stocking for you and filled it with gifts that she made herself – awaiting your return. The house runs smoothly, although I doubt I contribute a great deal to it. It has been exceptionally cold and snowed! Cook excelled with the roast goose, exceeding her normal fare. I daresay your fare in the jungle would have been less traditional. I hope this letter doesn’t make you homesick. We go on well here…

It sounded so dull! She crumpled the letter in her hand. She would rewrite it tomorrow, knowing she still wouldn’t reveal what was in her heart, that she loved him dearly and yearned for him.

She closed her eyes and recalled details of their lovemaking—his soft lips on hers; his eyes alight with passionate intent when he kissed her; his wonderful hands setting her body on fire, and his body, so strong and lithe, capable of creating such exquisite pleasure. Her breath caught in her throat. What a fool she had been to fall so deeply in love with him, when he didn’t have the same depth of feeling for her. Why, he probably didn’t give her a thought from one day to the next!

When Vanessa searched the folly the next day, she failed to discover who the nightly visitors were. Several weeks passed with no sign of them returning until one bitterly cold evening when the light reappeared. Churning with anxiety that Blythe might see it too, she watched the lantern’s procession through the skeletal tree branches, its reflection joining with the moon’s to dance over the lake.

A swift rush of anger filled her with determination to take matters into her own hands. The time had come to confront them. Her habit of reading late meant she had not yet undressed. Johnson might be awake; she could take him along for moral support. Donning her cape and gloves, she hurried along the corridor.

As she headed for the stairs leading to the wing that housed Johnson’s room, she saw Blythe’s door standing ajar. She pushed it open and stepped inside.

“Blythe?”

The bed was empty, the covers thrown back. It was most unlike Blythe to rise during the night, even to go to the lavatory. Vanessa hurried to check, but she wasn’t there.

Fear stilled her breath as she rushed to the window. It afforded an even better view of the folly than hers. As she watched, a small shadow broke from the trees and raced across the lawns towards the light. The moonlight picked up a flash of blue. Blythe, in her blue dressing gown.

Vanessa flew downstairs and flung open the front door. Leaving it ajar, she rushed out into the darkness. She almost tripped on the steps, her eyes raking the shadows ahead. Racing across the lawns with frost crunching underfoot, she entered the pitch-black copse of trees. She banged into a tree branch in her rush scratching her cheek. When she emerged, the folly stood silent and still beneath the moon. The light had vanished, and there was no sign of Blythe. She crept over the ground, her heart thumping, fearful of what she might find. “Blythe?”

“I’m here, Nessa!”

A small body sat hunched over on the steps in deep shadow.

Relieved, Vanessa ran to her, sending up a prayer of thanks to find her safe. A glance told her the folly was deserted. “Blythe, what are you doing out here?”

“I saw the fairy lights from my window, but they’ve gone. Fairies are very shy.”

Vanessa put her arm around her trembling shoulders. “Let’s go back to the house before you catch your death.” She led her away. “You know, you promised to come and get me before you went to find the fairies.”

Blythe sneezed. “Did I? I forgot. I wanted to surprise them.”

“Let’s hurry. It’s going to snow again. I felt a snowflake touch my cheek.”

Blythe’s teeth were chattering. “Wouldn’t it be nice if we could skate on the lake?”

Vanessa took off her cape and wrapped it around Blythe. “Yes, sweetheart, let’s run.” More afraid Blythe would get sick than of running into anyone, she half pulled her along.

Back in the bedroom, she removed Blythe’s dressing gown. Her little body felt icy cold. Vanessa tucked her into her bed, piling on extra blankets, and rang for a hot water bottle and warm milk. She was rubbing Blythe’s hands when a sleepy-eyed Agnes brought them.

Blythe sipped the milk, handed her the glass and lay down.

“Sweetheart, did you see anyone in the garden?”

“The fairies flew into the wood. They were too fast for me.”

“Was it just the light you saw?”

She had finally stopped trembling and yawned, snuggling down against the pillows. “Yes.”

“More than one?”

“There was just one in the folly. Another waited in the woods. I wish I’d seen them, Nessa. What do you think they look like?”

“There were no fairies, Blythe.”

Blythe’s drooping lids threatened to close.

Vanessa shook her gently by the shoulder. “You’ll never go there without me again, will you? I want you to promise.”

“I promise. I’m very sleepy, Nessa.” She shut her eyes, and then opened them again. “If they aren’t fairies, what could they be?”

“I don’t know, but I intend to find out.” Vanessa kissed her brow. “Sleep now.”

She left the room feeling relieved that Blythe appeared unharmed by her experience.

Before breakfast the next morning, Vanessa walked down to the folly. She carefully examined the ground all around it. The frost had melted, and no footprints showed in the hard ground. She climbed the steps. There were deep gouges in the wood, as if something heavy had been dragged across the folly floor. She was sure she would have noticed the marks had they been there before. What had caused them?

Returning to the house, Blythe was listless and complained of aching joints. “You’d best remain in bed,” Vanessa said as her stomach churned with worry.

By lunchtime, Blythe had developed a temperature. Dr. Marston came within the hour. He stated gravely that he feared Blythe’s chest infection had returned. Worried sick, Vanessa ordered a bed to be moved into Blythe’s room. She spent hours reading to Blythe while anxiously observing the wan face on the pillow.

Vanessa hardly slept during the night as Blythe’s condition worsened. The next day the child barely responded and sank into a deep sleep. She tossed and turned, her face feeling hot and dry to the touch.

The doctor visited every day, but several days passed with little change. Blythe would wake briefly and slip into sleep again. Vanessa remained by her side all day. She lay awake listening to her labored breathing all night. She prayed constantly for Blythe to get better. She and Julian loved Blythe so much. If anything happened to her … she buried the thought with a painful gasp. As each day the doctor continued to shake his head with a worried frown.

Several days later, Blythe appeared to have grown worse. She kicked off her blankets and muttered incoherently. So frightened she could barely breathe, Vanessa remained beside her bed, bathing Blythe’s brow with a cool damp cloth. The child was flushed, a film of sweat gathered on her brow where damp ringlets clustered. Vanessa knew she should write to Julian, but dared not to put the words on paper, until she had something positive to say.

Dr. Marston studied his watch, holding Blythe’s delicate wrist in his fingers. “The fever is approaching its crisis,” he said his forehead furrowed with concern. “We’ll just have to wait and see.”

Vanessa felt cold inside as she watched Blythe toss about and murmur incoherently.

Another night dragged by. Vanessa was losing sight of how long it had been. She didn’t even know what it was like outside. Was that rain she heard?

“You must rest, too,” Mrs. Royce said in the morning. “It won’t do if you become sick.”

Completely drained, Vanessa resisted. “Never mind me, I have a strong constitution.”

“Nevertheless, you won’t be any use to Blythe if you fall ill yourself, my lady. Now, don’t you worry, I’ll sit with Blythe and I’ll call you immediately if there’s any change.”

Vanessa lay down on her bed, her body stiff with fear. She was sure she wouldn’t sleep a wink, even though she’d barely napped since this began. Surprisingly, she fell into a deep sleep and dreamed that Julian was there beside her. She woke suddenly when a hand touched her shoulder. “Julian?”

“No, it’s Mrs. Royce, my lady. Forgive me, you didn’t answer my knock.”

“Blythe?” Sitting up too fast, Vanessa put a hand to her spinning head.

Mrs. Royce was actually smiling. “The fever has broken. Blythe appears to be improving. The doctor is with her.”

Vanessa jumped off the bed and ran to Blythe’s room. The doctor greeted her cheerfully. One glance at the bed told her that Blythe was indeed better. “Hello, Nessa.” She rubbed her eyes. “I’m hungry.”

“Are you, sweetheart? That’s wonderful.” Vanessa turned to the housekeeper. “Thank you for staying with Blythe, Mrs. Royce. Would you have a tray sent up? Something light.”

“Jam muffins,” Blythe said, “and hot chocolate.”

“Jam muffins and hot chocolate it is then.” Vanessa smiled at Blythe for making the most of her illness.

Outside in the corridor, the doctor confessed his diagnosis had been wrong. It was not a recurrence of the old illness. Blythe’s chest was clear. When he left, Vanessa went to her room and sank down on the bed. Her chest heaved, and tears dripped off her chin. If only Julian was here and she could hear his voice, feel his arms around her. She sniffed, dried her eyes, and returned to Blythe, propped up by pillows while nibbling on a muffin. Vanessa picked up a book. “Shall I read to you?”

She read for an hour until Blythe yawned. “Why don’t you have a sleep before lunch?”

After Blythe closed her eyes and sank into a healthy sleep, Vanessa went downstairs for a light lunch and a cup of tea.

She entered the sickroom after lunch, and found Blythe crossly insisting she be allowed to get up. “Not today, sweetheart, you may sit in the chair tomorrow if you’re well enough. We’ll continue with the book, shall we?”

Blythe lay back obediently as Vanessa read
Treasure Island
to her. She took on a gruff tone when she read in Captain Smollett’s voice.

“You sound a bit like the man I heard in the garden the night I went to the folly,” Blythe said, her eyes closed.

Vanessa lowered the book. “You heard a man’s voice? Have you ever heard him before?”

“I don’t think so.”

“What did he say?”

“‘We’ll have to move it.’”

“He didn’t say what it was?”

“Perhaps it was pirate treasure. That’s all I heard. But I was annoyed because he scared the fairies away.”

Her words brought Vanessa to her feet. “I’ll be out for a little while, sweetheart. I’ll call Agnes to sit with you.”

Vanessa located Johnson and asked him to gather the staff together in the ballroom.

An hour later, she stood before the room of curious faces. “The folly is out of bounds to the staff for now. It’s structurally unsound. Some wood rot has been found, and timbers must be replaced.”

Not waiting to be dismissed Lovel turned and left the room, without another word. Unnerved by his obvious lack of respect, Vanessa said, “Thank you, that’s all.” She waved a hand to dismiss the rest of the staff. “You may return to your work.”

It did not seem to matter. Whatever Vanessa said, Blythe was determined to believe in the fairies. Vanessa wished she could be sure the child would not visit the folly again. Could she be sure whoever was responsible would stay away?

The next morning, she and Johnson searched the folly again. She bent to scrutinize the scratched boards. “Move the chaise, please, Johnson.”

Vanessa admired Johnson’s quiet strength. The big man didn’t offer an opinion and wouldn’t unless he had something noteworthy to contribute. The chaise longue was pushed back, revealing deeper gouges. Vanessa ran a finger along the edges where the boards were badly scraped. Some appeared to have been tampered with, the nails newer than the rest. “I want these taken up.”

Johnson returned with a hammer. Flexing his muscled arms, he levered up several boards with little effort. An opening appeared, big enough for a man to fit through. Johnson sank to his hands and knees and stuck his head down.

Vanessa held her breath wondering what could lie beneath the pretty structure.

“Can’t see anything. Shall I go down, my lady?”

“If you will, Johnson.” She was confident that nothing and no one could get the better of Johnson.

He jumped agilely down beneath the floor. The folly floor was high enough off the ground for him to stand.

“Nothing here, my lady,” he called up.

Vanessa bit her lip as frustration surged through her. “Are you sure?”

He squatted down. “The ground’s disturbed, but that might have been made by an animal. Hang on, what’s this then?” He climbed out and offered her a piece of jewelry nestling in his wide palm.

Vanessa picked it up and dusted the dirt of it. “It’s a cameo.” The brooch was a profile of woman dressed in a bonnet. It was carved in green malachite and set in white gold.

“I wonder how that got under the folly.” Johnson scratched his head.

“It looks years old,” Vanessa said, turning it over. “The pin has broken off. Might it have slipped through the boards at some time?”

Johnson looked doubtful as he wiped his hands on his handkerchief.

Vanessa tucked the cameo into the pocket of her jacket, wondering about the history of it. It looked too big to have fallen through a crack, but it might have lain there since the folly was built. It occurred to her it could have belonged to Clara. “Let’s leave the boards as they are, Johnson. It will deter visitors.” She picked up her skirts and descended the stairs, returning to the house.

After her message to the staff, and the floor taken up, the folly received no nightly visitors. Every morning before breakfast, she walked down to check. Light snow dusted the ground, and any footprints from the previous evening would have been obvious.