“Just let go of my hand and—”
“How could I be anything other than what I’ve become?” he asked plaintively, pulling her toward him again with such strength that she was half-lying on the bed. “What would
you
be if your mother cosseted you till you were seven and then banished you to school? And all the while, pampering you and petting you and teaching you to hate your da,” he rambled garrulously, “telling you that you were
hers
and your brother, your father’s property?”
“Roderick, stop!” Sophie pleaded.
“And your father,” he continued, ignoring her entreaties, “what if your father found you too similar to the wife he despised? Would you be drawn to men or women now? Tell me!” he demanded, his eyes blazing with sudden anger. “Which would it be?”
“Roderick, I can’t help you with any of this!” Sophie cried, desperate to silence this tortured discourse.
“Yes, you can,” he mumbled fiercely, holding her in a viselike grip with his left hand and unbuttoning his buff breeches with his right. His breath, reeking from the enormous amount of whiskey he’d been drinking for hours, made her eyes water. “You can help me, Sophie… truly you can,” he half-sobbed, reaching into the mysterious region between his legs. “See if you can merely—”
“No!” Sophie cried, appalled. She wrenched her arm with all her might, but to no avail.
“Please, Sophie… I won’t think you a whore if you…” he pleaded incoherently. “Just help me prove him
wrong!
I’ve
managed it with jades like Mary Ann, but I must find out if—” He yanked down the flap of his breeches and stared at his flaccid flesh, shaking his head helplessly. “Oh Christ! I hate the man! I hate them both! I hate their bleeding guts!”
A paroxysm of sobs overcame him, and he rolled over on his stomach, releasing her from his grip. His entire body continued to shudder, until, at length, his cries subsided, replaced by ragged breathing, and finally, a drugged sleep.
Twenty-Four
Sophie trod the short distance through the damp grass from the privy to the gardener’s cottage. She inhaled the moist morning air, and wondered how in heaven’s name Roderick would face her—or she him, for that matter—when he woke up. She could only imagine the tumultuous family scene that had prompted him to flee to her door in the wee hours. What had happened to Trevor Bedloe? And, what part had Vaughn Darnly played in the domestic debacle?
It was barely first light. Shivering because of the chill, she reluctantly approached the corner of the vine-covered bungalow and peered cautiously through the leaded windows.
Her bed was empty.
She scanned the linen draped untidily on the floor and noticed Roderick’s empty flask tipped over on the carpet near the wing-backed chair. She jerked her head back, afraid she would see him fumbling to dress himself or be forced to meet his gaze after the dreadful events of the previous night.
Tense as a bow string, she leaned against the stone wall, frozen in place for what seemed like an eternity, feeling at a loss as to what to do next. Finally, she concluded that the long silence from within could only mean Roderick had departed for the manor house as soon as he had heard her rise.
At eight o’clock Evelyn arrived as usual with Sophie’s breakfast tray.
“Good morning, mum,” the maid servant said cheerfully. “And did you enjoy the haying fete last night? I wager I danced till the cock crowed, but feel no worse for it,” she added pertly.
“Did you, now?” Sophie murmured, busying herself with the pouring of her tea. “No worse for wear, then?”
“No!” laughed Evelyn. “As long as I don’t touch a drop of that deadly Welsh brew so many were drinking last night, I’m perfectly fit the following day. Not like some people we could name,” she added slyly. Sophie glanced intently at the housemaid, but did not respond. “Trevor Bedloe’s half-dead this morning,” Evelyn disclosed blithely. “And my master looked none too well, either—if the truth be told. Oh!” she exclaimed, turning around at the cottage door. “I’m to tell you that he’s off to Bath.”
“Mr. Darnly’s gone to Bath?” Sophie echoed faintly.
“’Twas ever so sudden. He just this minute left. He called the coachman not more than a half hour ago and bid him take Trevor and himself immediately to Swansea. He’s sending the poor driver all the way back to Evansmor to fetch his trunk. That wretched Glynnis is upstairs right now, packing like a dervish. Master said he and Trevor had urgent business to attend to at the warehouses before the ketch sailed for Bristol this afternoon. What business could be so pressing the day after the haying fete, can you tell me?” she chattered on. “He instructed us to look after you good and proper, mum,” Evelyn added hastily, “so you’re not to have a care.”
“I see…” Sophie sighed, realizing with a shock that without the funds derived from the sale of her books to Thomas Davies—the majority of which she had left in Mrs. Phillips’ safe-keeping—Roderick Darnly’s abrupt departure had rendered her a virtual prisoner in Wales.
***
The warm days of July continued without a word from her host or any firm indication of when he would return to Evansmor. Thanks to Darnly’s efficient staff, Sophie wanted for nothing, but she was restless. She considered dispatching a request that Mrs. Phillips forward a bank draft to her, but she was at a loss how she would discreetly convert it to shillings and pounds so she could pay her fare on the boat to Bristol and then catch a coach back to London. Trevor Bedloe returned from Swansea after a few days and behaved pleasantly enough when they encountered one another around the estate. Even so, Sophie was reluctant to reveal to the man her burning desire to declare her holiday over and return to London forthwith.
Instead, she spent hours devouring the books in Evansmor’s library, and justifying her inaction by telling herself that she might as well enjoy having her whims attended to for a while longer. But after a fortnight of this, with still no word from Roderick Darnly, Sophie took quill in hand and began a spoof about a feeble-minded local laird invited to shoot grouse merely because his fellow hunters coveted his well-trained dog. The playlet would be a thank-you present to soften the news that she was departing.
“This is for you, mum,” Evelyn announced, plunging her hand into her apron pocket and handing Sophie a note. “The master has returned. The coachman went to fetch him at the dock early this morning. Seems ever so pleased you’ve been writing again,” the housemaid blushed. “I hope you don’t mind my tellin’ him when he asked after you?” She picked up the silver breakfast tray, bobbed a curtsey, and was gone.
Although Sophie was relieved to learn her host had finally reappeared, she also felt a flush of irritation as she scanned the lines of his short missive.
I have returned from Bath delighted to learn you have taken up your quill in my absence. Please do me the honor of dining with me tonight in order to discuss my plans for the approaching grouse season.
Yr. most obedient servant
R. D.
The man had disappeared for nearly a
month
without a word of apology to his stranded visitor. But if Sophie thought Roderick Darnly would voluntarily take note of their disturbing exchange inside the gardener’s cottage, she seriously misjudged her host.
He sat across the table from her, sipping his wine and behaving for all the world as if nothing unusual had occurred at their last meeting. When she raised the subject of her forthcoming departure, he deflected her request as quickly as she’d voiced it.
“Well, of course, if you insist,” he replied coolly, “but I do wish you’d stay long enough to see to your playlet mounted. You’re the only one who can supervise it properly, especially with the amateur actors whom you shall, perforce, recruit from among the guests.”
“Roderick,” Sophie said quietly. “You absented yourself from Evansmor for nearly a month. Your staff has been wonderfully kind, but ’tis necessary for me to return to London. And besides, I’ve never even held a shotgun, let alone taken aim at a moving target. I fear that my being in residence with a houseful of your friends will only prove awkward,” she insisted.
Roderick took a long draught of his wine, set the glass carefully near his dinner plate, and gazed at her steadily across the long dining table.
“I fear I… owe you an apology for the night of the haying fete,” he avowed reluctantly. “I’d had far too much to drink of that lethal Welsh concoction and I’m sure I behaved appallingly. Did you get home all right on your own that evening?” he asked.
Sophie suddenly wondered how much of that dreadful night he remembered.
“Oh yes,” she replied watching his expression carefully. “I commandeered your coachman and then sent him back to Glynmorgan to fetch you later. Did he follow my instructions?”
Roderick actually appeared sheepish, a quality Sophie had never before seen
in him.
“To be honest, I have no idea. I don’t remember much of anything until I woke up in the gardener’s cottage and you were nowhere to be seen. I deduced from the counterpane on the floor that after I commandeered your bed, you made a place for yourself in front of the fire. The entire business was most unfortunate. I do hope I didn’t make a nuisance of myself with any untoward behavior…” He allowed his words to drift as he cast her a questioning smile.
“You were quite inebriated,” she said gently.
“No doubt,” he nodded. “I must have stumbled out of the stables when I returned to Evansmor late that night and walked through the first door in my path.”
“A-aye,” Sophie agreed uncertainly. “Well, then, no harm done.”
“I must admit I was rather daunted by the prospect of facing you when I woke up, given the condition I was in,” he acknowledged. “So I took myself off to Bath for a bit… an attempt to restore my abused body, don’t you know? I hope you’ll accept my apologies?”
“Of course,” she replied perfunctorily. “But, even so, I really must get back to Lon—”
“The shooting season commences in three days’ time and lasts three weeks,” he interrupted. Sophie’s heart sank at this intelligence. “I’ll be traveling to London directly afterward. ’Twould be a help to the staff if we all departed at the same time. And besides,” he said gravely, “I’d consider it a keen personal favor if you’ll stay and supervise your little entertainment.”
Inwardly, Sophie sighed, surrendering to her innate sense of good manners and the inevitability of the task ahead. If he
did
remember anything of that dreadful night, Roderick Darnly was clearly determined to ignore what had actually transpired between them.
Gazing past the tall candles illuminating their dining chamber, she nodded her acquiescence, accepting the fact that she really had no choice but to sing for her supper.
***
The next day, Sophie reclined comfortably on the leather sofa in Darnly’s library while key members of his staff stood nearby, absorbing the litany of orders issued by their employer.
“Mrs. Williams, I’ve arranged for several girls from Swansea to come up to help you in the kitchen for the remainder of the season. Glynnis,” he said, addressing his remarks to the amply endowed housemaid who had packed her master’s trunk in such a hurry, “see that they have pallets in the attic. And Trevor, have you lined up enough beaters?” he inquired, referring to the teams of men who were responsible for tramping through the heath to rouse the birds so his guests could shoot at them.
“’Tis attended to,” Trevor assured him.
“Excellent,” Roderick replied. “The performance of Miss McGann’s play shall commence the last Saturday in the month. Have your men construct a platform at the end of the great hall, and on the day of the performance round up enough chairs to seat the audience. What backdrop will you require?” he said, addressing Sophie.
“Something simple,” she replied promptly. “A green background of some sort will suit admirably. Merely a suggestion of a forest scene will do.”
“The green velvet draperies in the countess’s sitting room might serve,” he mused. “I’ll dispatch a note to her today,” he added, scratching on a sheet of paper. “Perhaps she would order her gardener to supply us with some yew branches from the grove behind the castle to add to the set decorations. She’d doubtless enjoy playing a role in the only bit of culture during what she considers an otherwise barbaric exercise.”
Darnly dismissed his staff but beckoned Sophie to remain.
“Is there anything else you’ll need? Anything at all? I like the playlet quite a lot,” he averred, gesturing to the manuscript nearby. “’Tis clear, you’ve not been abandoned by your muse.”
“Why, thank you,” Sophie responded, feeling the barrier of studied politeness lower a notch. “I very much wanted to demonstrate my appreciation for your hospitality these last months, so I am delighted it pleases you. Let’s hope your guests will also find it amusing.”
“They’re sure to… and Mother will adore it. She used to organize Vaughn and me to perform little skits when we were boys, complete with costumes and scenery. Old Taf provided the musical accompaniment on his harp and the entire staff and company at Glynmorgan Castle were required to attend. Except for the earl, of course, who despises such frivolity. Now that we’re grown, she often pitches in on our trivial diversions here just to twit him, I think.”