Dorothy Eden (23 page)

‘No. I merely want to go on asking you questions, and it will look much more natural if we’re dancing than talking out here. For instance, that wasn’t your brooch you picked up in the summer house, was it? Tell me the truth.’

Something wild and reckless seized her.

‘Very well. Since you insist. No, it wasn’t my brooch. It was the person’s you’re afraid it was. Mrs Stone’s.’

She had shaken him at last. She went on,

‘I wonder what she was doing down in the summer house? She’d scarcely been here long enough to know such a place existed.’

‘One might ask the same question of you, Miss Mildmay,’ he countered. ‘Since now you admit finding the brooch was incidental. So who was it you were waiting for?’

Titus was absorbed in watching the dancing, his small face pressed against the bannisters. Sarah moved away a little from him to say in a low voice, ‘If you continue to persecute me in this way, Lord Mallow, I will be compelled to leave, after all.’

‘I don’t persecute you. I only find you so damnably secretive and mysterious.’

‘Blane!’

Sarah started sharply at the sound of Amalie’s voice behind them. She turned to see her face sharp and glittering with anger. ‘What are you doing out here? Why aren’t you dancing?’

‘My love, I’m endeavouring to. Miss Mildmay—’

Amalie no longer concealed her enmity beneath a sickly friendliness.

‘Miss Mildmay! A servant! When you’ve scarcely spoken to your guests.’

Blane bowed slightly. ‘Your guests, my dear,’ he said inexplicably.

‘There’s Soames!’ Titus exclaimed, and began to wave excitedly. ‘Soames, have you come to dance?’

Sarah saw Soames approaching across the hall, followed by an agitated Tomkins. The significance of his appearance in the house scarcely struck her, she was so fascinated by the change in Amalie’s face. The rigid anger had given way to uncertainty and alarm. Her mouth was open, her eyes full of apprehension.

‘Good evening, Master Titus,’ said Soames, brushing the excited boy aside. ‘I must speak to you, my lord.’

Blane had more self-control than Amalie. He allowed nothing but impatience to show in his face.

‘It had better be something important.’

‘What is it, Soames?’ Amalie asked in a high edgy voice. A strange man had appeared in the hall, a middle-aged person with a weatherbeaten face. Soames was saying in a low voice, ‘I’d send the boy away, my lord.’

The orchestra was playing a low romantic waltz, a buzz of chatter came from the ballroom. Amalie, thought Sarah, was like a coloured candy figure, beginning to wilt from being too near the heat of the candles.

‘Who’s that?’ Blane demanded, indicating the strange man.

‘He says he lost his way, my lord. He found himself down by the lake, and saw the—’ Soames lowered his voice to a whisper. Sarah just caught the words, ‘Under the jetty. Caught against the piles. Must have drowned herself, poor soul.’

‘Who?’ whispered Amalie.
‘Who?’

Sarah pushed Titus towards the ballroom door. Distracted by the noise and brilliance, he stared in, still entranced. It seemed macabre that the music continued to play with gaiety and heartlessness.

‘The sewing woman, my lady,’ Soames said formally. ‘At least, that must be who it is because you said she stole jewellery. And she—the body—is wearing a diamond ring.’

Involuntarily Amalie’s hand went to the diamonds at her throat.

‘I told you she was a thief!’ she shrieked.

‘Be quiet, Amalie!’

Blane Cook her arm. His face no longer wore a disguise. It was as Sarah had always known it would be, sombre, frowning, formidable. But he was quite calm.

‘The police must be informed.’ Sharply he added, ‘Sarah, take Titus upstairs.’

He had spoken her name automatically, Sarah realised, as if privately he always thought of her by her first name. But Amalie didn’t seem to have noticed. She looked on the point of collapse.

‘Stop the music!’ she cried. ‘For God’s sake, stop the music!’

Let there be silence for that dark bundle found floating in the steely water of the lake. The mysterious Mrs Stone whose taste had run to jet brooches and black straw bonnets, but who had finally left both behind, as well as the unfinished piece of work on her table.

Was it in that half hour, when Sarah had been waiting for her dress to be mended, that she had died? Sarah could remember every minute of that evening. Amalie had gone to bed early with a headache (had she? who had seen her in bed?) and Blane had come in with his hair shining and glossy with rain.

And afterwards someone had slipped upstairs and packed Mrs Stone’s few shabby belongings, but in their haste had overlooked the black bonnet so that it had had to be burnt hastily the next day.

Were these fantastic and horrible suspicions true? Or had the dreariness of life been too much for Mrs Stone, and she had voluntarily ended it?

Lady Malvina came out of the ballroom, holding Titus by the hand.

‘Miss Mildmay! Can’t you look after—’ Her bulging gaze took in the scene. ‘What’s wrong? What’s happened?’

At the same moment the violins wailed to a stop. The last shivering note died away. The gaiety had been short-lived. This seemed to be the end of the music.

Sarah scarcely remembered getting Titus upstairs. Fortunately the child hadn’t realised what was happening. He was still captivated by his brief glimpse of what seemed a candlelit fairyland.

Sarah neither heard what he was chattering about, nor noticed that Eliza had come in and was speaking to her.

The girl had to seize her arm.

‘Miss Mildmay! Didn’t you see him down in the hall? It’s that Mr Brodie. What is it he found in the lake?’

‘James Brodie!’

‘Wasn’t it him I heard Soames saying had found something?’

‘What did he find?’ Titus demanded, listening too eagerly.

‘A—a black swan,’ Sarah improvised desperately. Poor Mrs Stone had surely not been a swan, not even an ugly duckling. Or had she, in disguise? Everyone in this house was in some disguise or another. Except the simple honest Eliza whose face was full of pleasure that now Miss Mildmay would be able to get her love letters, after all.

The ball had ended. There had always been drama at Mallow Hall when Blane Mallow was home, and although deprived of their evening’s gaiety, the guests were not entirely disappointed. For they were provided with a new terrible piece of gossip. There had been another suicide at the Hall, that of another servant. Inevitably Bella’s hanging, which had happened not a day under fifty years ago, was revived, and the significant sequence of this poor creature going straight from that doomed room to her own death was discussed.

Finally the last carriage rolled away, and the ballroom with its only half-burnt candles was left to a few whispering and awestruck servants. Soames had been sent poste-haste to Yarby for the police. Long ago Amalie had shut herself in her room. Lady Malvina had showed her breeding by keeping her head entirely, bidding polite apologies and farewells, and behaving as if an accident such as this were a trifling occurrence which could happen to anyone at any time.

The stranger, James Brodie, had been asked to remain to answer the questions of the police, and also eventually to explain his presence at the lake. He was certainly guilty of trespassing, if not of something worse.

But Blane had behaved with impartial courtesy, and he had been given food in the servants’ hall. It was there that Sarah contrived to have a brief conversation with him, during which she hid under her shawl the letter he handed her.

‘You were late,’ She whispered. ‘I couldn’t wait.’

‘I mistook the way through the woods. I hung about hoping you might come down again. And then I saw this shape in the water. The moon caught it.’

‘Why shall you say you were there?’

He had a creased, wind-burnt, devil-may-care face.

‘I’ll say I was looking for a bit of poaching.’

‘You’ll get jailed!’

‘Pshaw! Not with all this excitement. And judging by the looks of the new lord he won’t be unfair.’

Sarah thought that the letter felt cold through the silk of her gown, cold against her heart. She couldn’t understand her dread of opening it.

‘Do you know what’s in this letter?’

‘Not a word, miss. But something important judging by the gentleman’s anxiety to get it to you.’

Sarah felt weak and as inclined to tremble as Amalie had been. As she tried to slip back upstairs unnoticed she encountered Blane coming from the library. His face was drawn into deep lines, his eyes hard and unseeing. She was afraid he would ask her what she was clutching beneath her shawl, but she need not have worried. He passed her as if she had been one of the servants. With a shock of pure horror she realised that his distress was far in excess of that to be occasioned by the suicide of a woman whom he had never seen.

Two policemen arrived just after midnight, and there was a little procession down to the lakeside. Lady Malvina’s splendid facade had cracked. She begged Sarah to come to her room, where the curtains were firmly drawn against the desolate night, and as well as the lamp two branches of candlesticks were blazing. The room was very hot, and Lady Malvina, still in her ball finery, looked flushed and restless, and curiously forlorn.

‘What a terrible business, Miss Mildmay. What do you think of it?’

‘I don’t know what to think.’

Lady Malvina glanced, wincing, over her shoulder.

‘I’ve shut out the lake, you see. I fancy Amalie won’t have such a liking for it now. She’s inclined to blame herself for this tragedy.’

‘What does she say?’

‘Why, that the wretched creature had threatened all along to take her life. That was why Amalie took pity on her and gave her work. She was in such despair. Apparently Betsey, who saw her when she first arrived, can confirm this. Then her work was hopeless, as you know yourself, Miss Mildmay, and when Amalie told her so she got abusive. Oh dear, she was a sad character. So Amalie had no alternative but to dismiss her, although she still threatened to drown herself because she was so poor and unwanted.’

‘But I thought she had stolen things. One surely doesn’t bother to do that when planning to take one’s life.’

‘Revenge, followed by remorse,’ said Lady Malvina firmly. ‘The poor thing was quite unbalanced. I have proof of that myself.’

‘Proof?’

‘Yes. I looked out of my window one evening, and saw this figure running up from the lake, as if she were fleeing from some dreadful destiny.’

‘Are you sure it was Mrs Stone?’

‘Positive. She’d probably been looking at the lake and her courage failed.’

‘Amalie also likes to walk by the lake.’

‘This was not Amalie.’

Sarah was remembering evidence given in court as to Blane’s identity in just such firm unyielding tones. Lady Malvina was too intelligent to deviate from whatever the story she had decided to tell.

‘Are you sure you saw this, Lady Malvina?’

The tufted white eyebrows went up.

‘And why should I invent it?’

Sarah was determined not to be intimidated by
grande dame
methods.

‘It might make a convenient story to tell the police.’

‘Miss Mildmay! How dare you!’ Her voice was rich and resonant with indignation. ‘Are you suggesting that wretched troublesome woman died in any other way?’

‘I expect the police will decide that, Lady Malvina.’

‘Oh, yes. They’ll make wild guesses, and there’ll be more scandal, and all the servants will leave. Just when we were all settling down so comfortably. Oh, I could have killed that woman myself.’ Suddenly realising what she had said, Lady Malvina clapped her hand to her mouth. Her eyes were horror-stricken. She was deflated and piteous.

.‘Miss Mildmay, can you ring the bell for Bessie. I must have something to restore me. A little brandy.’ She sank into a chair, her chins pressed into her neck. ‘There’s always been trouble when Blane’s around,’ she mumbled. ‘Always.’

At last Sarah was alone in her room, and able to tear open her letter. The wind that creaked in the trees and rippled the water of the lake billowed the curtains, and made the candle flame dip and gutter. Ambrose’s fine clerkly handwriting danced in a blur.

My dearest Sarah,

I am entrusting this letter to one James Brodie who is perfectly honest and reliable, but naturally knows nothing of the circumstances. I have impressed on him that he is to hand it to no one but yourself. He is sailing immediately for England, and I am hopeful of following in a very short time.

Your letter regarding Thomas Whitehouse arrived safely and was valuable information, enabling me to finally unearth this gentleman. But unfortunately I could get nowhere with him. He has no doubt been well paid for he remained loyal to my so-called cousin, and merely repeated the story he had already told in court about the length of time he had known Blane. He is, as you will remember, an olive-skinned person, and I suspect his name has not always been Whitehouse. If I can prove that, it may well go a long way to discrediting his evidence, as it would point to a suspicious background.

Apart from T. Whitehouse, I have had some success following other clues, and have now derived some interesting information. It is not yet tangible enough proof to put on paper, but I hope it will be in a very short time, when several curious facts I have discovered here, including a new tombstone, an entry in a church register, and a woman called Samantha may tie up with discoveries of yours.

I am assured we will have a very strong case for the Court of Appeal, indeed more than that
—
final proof that this man and his wife are dastardly impostors. So don’t lose heart, my love. If your task has been tedious and disagreeable you are about to be amply rewarded. I hope the odious child has not been too intolerable, and that, in spite of your humiliating position there at present, you have grown to love Mallow. For I promise you it will be our home.

This enervating climate does not agree with me, and I will be glad to be back to our more familiar grey skies. I do not need to add how I long to be with you again. Keep up your spirits, remain observant of every smallest detail, and be on your guard if the woman Samantha should materialise.