Henrietta (14 page)

Well, she may as well get any embarrassment over before facing the beady eyes of the Beldings at dinner.

Lord Reckford was pacing up and down the library as she was ushered in. “Please sit down, Miss Sandford,” he said in a chilly voice.

Henrietta sat down primly on the edge of a small upright chair and stared with intense interest at the carpet. Lord Reckford stood for a few seconds looking down at her. Then he drew up a chair and sat down opposite.

He cleared his throat. “Miss Sandford, I do not know how to begin to apologise for my behavior. Please believe me when I say that I was ill with worry about you. I am at a loss to explain my conduct even to myself. I added insult to injury by mentioning another lady’s name. That lady has been long forgotten, I assure you.

“The fact is,” he went on more briskly, “that although there were no witnesses, I feel I have compromised you. Despite my reputation, I am not in the habit of making love to innocent young girls.

“I therefore feel it my duty to offer you my name. Will you marry me, Henrietta?”

Henrietta’s face was as featureless as a mask. The small French clock on the mantle chimed the quarter hour with faint, silvery, apologetic tones, a birch log in the fireplace shifted and fell sending a sudden blaze up the chimney. The reflection of the flames danced round the room in the gathering dusk, flickering on the gold titles of the calf bound volumes, over the oriental rugs and spindly furniture, on the pale green silk of Henrietta’s dress. She raised her head at last and looked at him.

“No,” she said baldly, making a move as if to rise.

He held out a restraining hand. “You have not forgiven me then?” The husky voice was very quiet.

Henrietta looked at him thoughtfully. “I have forgiven you and I have forgiven myself, my lord,” she said quietly. “Fortunately, I am an heiress and do not have to marry out of necessity. I think I once told you that I would marry only for love. And you do not love me.”

For once, Lord Reckford’s famous poise deserted him. “I have a great regard for you, my dear,” he faltered. “I think that we should deal together extremely well. I must after all get married some time or another…”

“That is not enough for me,” said Henrietta in a low voice. “As you have said, no one witnessed our… our…. behavior. I intend to forget about the whole thing.”

“Very well, Miss Sandford.” The Beau rose to his feet. He felt obscurely piqued. Perhaps she preferred his friend, Mr. Holmes. “There is half an hour yet until dinner. Walk with me on the terrace for a little and let us discuss this latest mysterious happening.”

Henrietta wished to refuse—to escape to the privacy of her room and relieve her wrought up feelings in a hearty bout of tears. But his lordship had regained his poise. He looked aristocratic, handsome, and very much master of the house. Without waiting for her reply, he draped her fine Norfolk shawl about her shoulders and held out his arm. Silently they moved through the long French windows on to the terrace. A startled peacock screamed in surprise and then paraded up and down in front of them, his tail feathers spread as if to vie with the evening dress of the couple who stood watching him.

The sky was slowly turning purple with a faint green line on the horizon. A thin crescent moon faintly lit the formal gardens which were spread out in front of them. The woods were already full of mysterious shadows and on the still waters of the lake, a swan seemed made of porcelain set on black glass. The heavy scent of pine, wild honeysuckle, roses, stock and herbs rose about them.

“How can I forget what happened?” thought Henrietta miserably. “How can I ever be the same again?”

She stole a look at the profile of the man next to her, the high aquiline nose, the hooded eyes, the thin mobile mouth that only just recently….

“I have been considering the mystery that surrounds you, Miss Sandford,” said the husky voice. “Someone, it appears, is trying to send you mad or prove you mad. Forgive me for asking this, but should you die unwed, who would inherit your fortune? It would go to your brother, I assume.”

Henrietta shook her head. “If I die, every penny goes to Miss Scattersworth. But Mattie would not…. could not…”

“No,” he agreed hurriedly. “Your friend seems a trifle eccentric at times but I swear there is no harm in her. I must confess,” he added with a laugh, “that my poor secretary has appealed to me for protection.”

Henrietta blushed for her friend. “Poor Mattie has led such a
narrow
life for so many years that all this sudden society of gentlemen has gone to her head.”

Lord Reckford smiled. “I have invited the local squire, Sir Peter Benjamin to dinner. He is a widower of Miss Scattersworth’s age. Perhaps he may capture her attention. But to return to your problem.

“Would you consider disappearing for some time? I have tried bringing all the likely suspects together but we seem to be getting no further forward. Perhaps if you and Miss Scattersworth were to go away somewhere quietly for a little while, then perhaps your tormentor would grow tired.”

Leave before the end of the Season! Not to see Lord Reckford or hear his voice! Never!

“You must realize, my lord,” said Henrietta, “that I have not led a very pleasant life until recently. I always dreamt of having a Season in London and going to balls and parties and routs and I do not wish to have it all taken away from me by some… some madman.”

“In that case,” replied the dearly loved voice, “please allow me to go on protecting you. We are friends after all, are we not?”

“Friends,” whispered Henrietta weakly.

He smiled and held out his hand, grasping Henrietta’s small one in his long fingers. The night stood still as they stood staring at each other, Henrietta with a kind of mute appeal in her large eyes and Lord Reckford with a curious dawning look of surprise. He felt a tingling in his hand as if it had been very cold and was just coming to life. A little breeze lifted the shawl round Henrietta’s shoulders like wings and the faint moonlight silvered the edge of her hair.

“Dinner is served,” came a correct voice behind them. Silently Henrietta took his lordship’s arm and floated in to the diningroom. Lord Reckford gazed down at her with a troubled expression in his eyes. He had the uncomfortable feeling that just recently, he had made some irrevocable mistake.

Henrietta blinked in the blaze of light in the formal diningroom. Wax candles shone in the crystals of the heavy Waterford chandelier over the long table and flickered round the walls. The squire was already there, a handsome well-built man in his sixties, accompanied by his middle-aged sister. The vicar was also present, a thin aesthetic cleric, a whole world different from Henrietta’s overdressed and pompous brother Henry. The final newcomer was the local magistrate, Sir Edwin Lewis, a huge jovial man with small piggy eyes and an unfortunate habit of referring to himself in the third person.

“So Sir Edwin says to himself, he says, ‘That fellow’s a felon if there ever was one.’” Hanging on his every word was Miss Mattie and from her glowing eyes, Henrietta deduced with a sinking heart that the susceptible spinster had fallen in love again. She had already picked up the magistrate’s unfortunate manner of speech.

“When she was in Nethercote, Miss Scattersworth often used to.…” Henrietta heard her saying.

Lord Reckford again found himself seated beside Alice Belding and frowned a query over to his secretary who answered with a Gallic shrug and an expressive look at the wooden-faced butler. The secretary then quickly mimed gold changing hands and looked pointedly at Lady Belding.

Henrietta’s appetite had failed her and she surveyed the magnificent repast with distaste. There was a boned duck swimming in a tureen of
potage royale
. A huge roast pike scowled at the guests, flanked on either side by a leg of mutton and bombarded veal. These were followed by a grand battalia pie with chickens, pigeons and rabbits, cock’s combs and savoury balls smothered in a rich sauce of claret, anchovy and sweet herbs. The cover of the pie was ornamented with the arms of Reckford in raised pastry.

Then came the jellies, custards, syllabubs and flummery and then a dish of oyster loaves and a pompetone of larks.

It was the fashion for ladies to pick delicately at their food so no one noticed Henrietta’s lack of appetite. She had just had the proposal of marriage she had long dreamt of. Had Lord Reckford taken her in his arms again or shown the slightest hint of warmth, then she would have gladly accepted him. But to live in terms of friendship with a man she loved to distraction would be torture indeed. With relief she noticed Lady Belding, who had taken over the role of hostess, rising to lead the ladies to the drawingroom and leave the gentlemen to their wine.

Lady Belding had new blood to patronise in the presence of the squire’s sister, Miss Benjamin. Unfortunately for Lady Belding, Miss Benjamin was a tall raw-boned woman whose mind was never far from the hunting field. Lady Belding tried to talk of blood lines. Miss Benjamin thought she meant blood mares and launched into an enthusiastic monologue. Lady Belding brought forward the nose. Miss Benjamin rhapsodised on the nose of her pet Arabian mount. With two spots of angry color in her cheeks, Lady Belding was just about to round on the familiar target of Henrietta, when they were joined by the gentlemen.

“Miss Scattersworth says let us explore the gardens by moonlight,” trilled Miss Mattie with an eye on Sir Edwin.

“And Sir Edwin says he would be delighted to escort same,” replied that gentleman with a coyness too awful to behold.

As the ill-assorted couple were tittuping happily in the direction of the French windows Henrietta threw Lord Reckford an anguished look of appeal.

“An excellent idea,” said Lord Reckford smoothly. “Let us all view the gardens.”

Henrietta flashed him a look of pure gratitude but the eyes that met hers were enigmatic as Lord Reckford offered Alice Belding his arm.

The small procession walked sedately down the broad shallow steps leading to the gardens. Henrietta wished the evening would end so that she could take her troubled thoughts to her room. Lord Reckford seemed wholly absorbed in pointing out various landmarks to Alice and her mother. Jeremy Holmes was standing slightly behind them. Miss Scattersworth and her latest beau were cheerfully conversing in the third person, Mrs. Ralston, Henry and Monsieur Dubois had elected to stay behind in the drawingroom and that left Edmund Ralston moving towards Henrietta with an unusually purposeful look in his eye. Henrietta mumbled some vague, incoherent apology and fled down a paved path between the rose bushes until she had left the rest of the company behind.

The calm summer night seemed heavy with the scent of roses. The path narrowed so that the bushes on either side brushed her dress. Suddenly the moon was blotted out as she entered an archway composed of rambling roses draped over arched trellising. She spied an ornate ironwork bench tucked away at the side of the path. It was painted white and glimmered faintly in the gloom. Henrietta sank down gratefully and tried to compose her jumbled thoughts.

Perhaps she should have accepted Lord Reckford’s offer. Perhaps to have a little of him was better than nothing at all. She gave a tiny sigh and stared at her shoes. Suddenly, the whole tunnel was plunged in Stygian darkness as far away above the heavy arch of roses, the moon raced behind a cloud. The night seemed to become awake with strange rustlings. Assailed with a sudden uneasiness, Henrietta got to her feet and stood irresolute. She should go back. But it seemed too soon to face the rest of the house party. She moved forward slowly, thankfully seeing a faint pale glimmer of moonlight at the end of the archway.

As she neared the end of the tunnel of roses, she saw the figure of a woman in evening dress walking towards her. Henrietta hesitated and gave a tentative smile. The strange woman did the same. Henrietta moved forward again… and found that Miss Henrietta Sandford was walking towards her, into the darkness.

For one second, she stood paralysed with fear. Memories of dark German legends of the döppelganger fled through her mind. If you ever met yourself, you would shortly die. She let out a strangled whimper of terror and turned and fled. Her heart seemed to have moved up into her throat and was about to burst out through her neck. She hurtled from the rose garden as if all the demons of hell were snapping at her heels.

All the guests and their host had left the gardens. Sobbing and trying to catch her breath, Henrietta paused outside the windows of the drawingroom. Through a crack in the heavy curtains, she could see the party moving elegantly about the room like figures in a minuet.

She took a deep breath. She
would not
burst into the room, crying out that she had just met herself. They would really think she was mad and, as a glimmer of commonsense crept through Henrietta’s panic, she realized that that was exactly how someone had expected her to behave.

Draping her shawl to cover her trembling hands, she opened the doors of the French windows and went in. She felt sure that everyone would notice that she had endured some harrowing experience, but they all continued chatting easily. Edmund Ralston waltzed forward and took her arm in a surprisingly strong grip. The room was warm and his pretty face gleamed slightly under its layer of paint.

“Ah,
dear
Henrietta,” he breathed. “I must share my marvellous news with you. Mother had just told me that she will put up the money so that I may publish my first book of poems. I shall dedicate it to you.”

“I am honored,” said Henrietta faintly. “But there must be many young ladies who would be more deserving.”

“But I am not going to marry any other young lady,” said Edmund Ralston with an almost insane simplicity.

Henrietta looked wildly round for help. Jeremy Holmes was talking about a fair that was to be held in a nearby village and she thankfully broke into his conversation.

“I have never been to a fair,” she said. “I’ve always longed to go.”

“Oh, really,” tittered Alice. “How rustic.”

“Really, Henrietta,” protested Henry. “I do not know what my lord will think….”