Henrietta (15 page)

“I think it is a splendid idea,” said Lord Reckford. “We can all go on Monday and it will only delay our return to Town by one day.”

What it was to be a lord and live in an abbey, thought Henrietta cynically. Immediately the sneers and contempt left everyone’s faces as if by magic to be replaced by enthusiasm.

Mrs. Ralston flashed her beautiful smile round the room and remarked that it would be wonderful for Henrietta to meet some
other
freaks. Lady Belding smiled indulgently after suffering a vicious pinch on the arm from her daughter. Only Edmund Ralston protested and said that he would not attend. “The crowds! The common herd! Faugh!” he shuddered and waved a delicate, spider’s web of a handkerchief under his nose.

“That’s all settled then,” said Lord Reckford. “Henrietta shall have her fair.”

“And Alice,” put in Lady Belding gently.

The squire, the vicar, the magistrate and Miss Benjamin rose to take their leave. Miss Scattersworth fluttered all the way to the door, clinging to Sir Edwin’s arm.

Henrietta flushed as she heard Miss Scattersworth positively pleading with the magistrate to escort her to the fair on Monday. “Miss Scattersworth would feel
so
reassured to have a strong protector like Sir Edwin.”

“Then Sir Edwin shall go,” announced the magistrate with a vulgar wink to the rest of the gentlemen as if to indicate that his path was constantly being strewn with ladies pleading for his escort.

Miss Scattersworth returned to Henrietta’s side, her face flushed with excitement. “I must tell you all about it,” she whispered to Henrietta. “We shall have a comfortable coze before you retire.”

Henrietta groaned inwardly at the thought of having to listen to Miss Mattie enthusing over the pompous windbag that was the magistrate. Then she reflected that the presence of her old friend would be comforting and Miss Mattie’s prattling would be enough to drive away the toughest ghost.

Lady Belding stood up and prepared to retire. She obviously expected the ladies all to leave with her. No one had the courage to defy her. It had been too long and exhausting a day.

In the privacy of her sitting room, Henrietta listened with half an ear to Miss Mattie’s outpourings. It soon got through to the spinster that her young friend’s mind was elsewhere and that she looked pale and tired.

“What is it my dear?” she asked, laying a comforting hand on Henrietta’s knee. Henrietta blurted out her story of the ghost. To her surprise, her friend let out a faint giggle.

“My dear child,” she said. “You must forgive me for laughing but, believe it or not, I played that trick on an elderly gentleman when I was a young girl… and got soundly whipped for my pains.”

“Trick,” echoed Henrietta faintly.

“Yes, trick,” said Miss Mattie, her old eyes looking shrewd and kind. “I was staying with friends of my parents and they had four very mischievous little girls of my own age. There was this very portly old gentleman who was part of the house party and he did not like girls, ‘detested ’em’ he kept saying. So we all decided to have our revenge.

“Now, he kept clockwork hours and every morning at precisely ten of the clock he would walk in the orangery. We took a huge pier glass from one of the rooms and placed it across the end of the orangery and waited. He was rather short sighted so when he first saw himself in the looking glass, he kept bowing and scraping and saying goodmorning and of course his reflection kept doing the same thing. At one point, it looked as if he were going to bow to the mirror all morning. Then he moved closer and saw what he thought was himself walking towards him. Well, he nearly fainted, then he shouted for help and all the servants came running. We were caught trying to remove the mirror and soundly punished. So there!”

Henrietta looked at her in dismay. “But don’t you see what this means, Mattie? It means that someone is constantly on the watch. We did not know that we were going to walk in the gardens. Whoever it was did not know that I would wander off by myself. So it means that someone is constantly on the watch. Dear God! Someone must really hate me.”

“You must make sure that you are never alone,” said Miss Mattie firmly. “I will sleep in your room tonight.”

Henrietta heaved a sigh of relief. “Oh, thank you, Mattie. I should be so frightened on my own.”

A wind had sprung up outside. The shutters gave a sudden rattle, making both women jump, and the lamplight flickered and danced round the room.

Miss Mattie coughed nervously. “Do you think it might be childish, dear Henrietta, if we were to leave all the lamps burning?”

“Not at all,” said Henrietta. “But I promise you one thing. Whoever it is, is not going to drive me away from my social life or my London Season, Mattie.” And on that firm note, the ladies crept off to bed.

The Sunday dawned wet and windy. The only amusement was a visit to church. Lord Reckford shut himself up with his estate books and his steward, leaving his guests to potter about dismally and get on each other’s nerves. By evening, all wondered what on earth they were doing in the country in the middle of the Season and by suppertime had resolved to leave for Town first thing the next morning.

But Monday brought back the full glory of the summer to the countryside and, after a hearty breakfast, the proposed visit to the fair appeared to one and all to be a delightful project instead of the dreary peasant outing it had seemed the night before.

The carriages were lined up in the driveway. Henrietta could not help hoping that she would be allowed to partner Lord Reckford but Lady Belding had already made sure that Alice was to have that honor. Lord Reckford had been extremely courteous but very distant to Henrietta at breakfast. Henrietta gave one longing look at his lordship’s well-tailored back and turned to accept Jeremy Holmes’ escort. Jeremy prattled on easily, pointing out various landmarks with his whip as he drove his curricle down the drive at a smart pace. Henrietta was wearing a poke bonnet which concealed her face so that she found she could indulge her misery and only supply her partner with an appropriate “yes” or “no.”

After several miles, they stopped at a pretty inn for luncheon. Lord Reckford and Alice Belding were on excellent terms, noted Henrietta, with a gloom which was so complete and miserable, it was almost comforting. Lord Reckford had obviously asked for Henrietta’s hand in marriage only because he had felt he had compromised her. Henrietta began to flirt inexpertly with Mr. Holmes and wished she were dead.

The fair was crowded with sightseers by the time they arrived and Henrietta began to brighten at the sight of the sideshows. The party agreed to keep together for the first part of the fair and there was much arguing about which spectacle they should see first. Jeremy wanted to see the two-headed baby and Alice, the fat lady, but it was Henrietta who decided for them. “A magician,” she breathed, pointing to a nearby tent. “I’ve never seen a magician before.”

“Then the magician it shall be,” said Lord Reckford, suddenly smiling down at her which turned her limbs to water.

The elegant party moved into the tent and sat down self-consciously on the front benches. Lady Belding said in a loud carrying voice that she detested yokels and Henry Sandford followed suit by staring round at the peasantry with his protruding eyes. The rest of the crowd stared back at him good humouredly and several suggested that Henry was a sideshow in himself. “Ooh, mum, ain’t he fat,” screamed a child.

“This is intolerable,” puffed Henry. “That I should be subjected to…” But several voices told him to sit down and shut up. The show was about to begin.

Two tattered sheets which served as curtains were drawn back to reveal the magician who began rapidly drawing a seemingly endless string of handkerchiefs out of his sleeve to the delight of the crowd. Lord Reckford suddenly grabbed Jeremy’s arm. “It’s the man… the man who tried to speak to me in the coffee house,” he said in a low voice. “Take care of the ladies and when he finishes, I’ll catch him after his performance.”

The magician was billed on a placard at the side of the stage as “Mr. Marvellous Who Has Performed Before the Crowned Heads of Europe. Agricultural Shows and Market Days a Speciality.”

Lord Reckford glanced at Henrietta. The magician had just produced an egg from the ear of a shy farm laborer who had volunteered his services as assistant and Henrietta’s hands were clasped and her eyes were like stars.

“And now,” announced Mr. Marvellous in an awesome voice. “I come to the highlight of the show. I shall produce Satan himself.”

“Heathen nonsense,” muttered brother Henry, shifting uneasily on the bench. The tent flaps were drawn tightly closed. Mr. Marvellous was helped into a long black robe covered in signs of the zodiac and a large black cauldron was carried on the stage. He raised his arms for silence and then his voice began to rise in a thin high chant. The words he spoke were unintelligible and probably ridiculous but there was something hypnotic about the man, decided Henrietta. Everyone in the audience was very quiet. The voice of the magician rose to a high thin screech and he threw something on the cauldron. Green smoke began to curl heavily into the air and then in the middle of the smoke, the grinning face of Satan began to appear.

Henrietta sprang to her feet. “The devil!” she cried. “It’s the face I saw in the woods.” No sooner had she shouted than there was a commotion at the back of the tent. A stout farmer’s wife had fainted and everyone suddenly seemed to be running about and calling for light. The tent flaps were jerked open. Lord Reckford saw the magician hurriedly leaving through a curtain at the back of the stage and leapt after him.

The curtain opened out into a narrow space at the end of which could be seen Mr. Marvellous making a rapid exit into the bustle of the fairground. Lord Reckford gave chase, never losing sight of his quarry among the crowds, aided by his superior height. At last he reached the magician’s side, grabbed his arm, and spun him round. Mr. Marvellous cast a terrified look of appeal up at him. “Now now, my lord,” he stammered. “If I should be seen talking to you, it would mean my death.”

“What is it you have to tell me? Out with it, man,” snapped the Beau, jerking the magician by his dingy cravat.

“Not here, my lord,” he repeated. “Oh, dear God. Let me go! Give me an hour and meet me behind the Cherry Tree Inn down the road. Please my lord…meet me there. I’ll be in the little yard at the back.” With that he wrenched himself free and hastened away among the holiday crowd.

Lord Reckford returned slowly to his guests. Someone had obviously been paying this man to use his tricks on Henrietta. Well, the mystery would soon be over. He decided to take Henrietta with him. She should hear with her own ears the name of her tormenter.

Accordingly, when he returned to the party, he drew Henrietta aside and told her of his plans. “We shall say that you are feeling faint after your experience and I shall urge the rest to stay here while I escort you back to the Abbey. No, on second thought, we will leave Mr. Holmes to do the explaining. Perhaps your devoted Mr. Ralston will insist on accompanying us.”

Mr. Ralston had languidly elected to join the outing despite his former protests and was now enjoying all the fun of the fair with the enthusiasm of a schoolboy.

Their only difficulty was in shaking off Miss Scattersworth who was disconsolate because Sir Edwin had not put in an appearance. Henrietta, feeling very guilty, at last begged Miss Scattersworth to fetch her a glass of water, and as soon as the spinster’s thin back had disappeared into the crowd, she and Lord Reckford made their escape.

“It is not far to the inn,” said Lord Reckford. “Perhaps—if you are not too fatigued, we could walk….”

Henrietta nodded dumbly and took his proferred arm. The noise of the fairground gradually sank away behind them as they walked along the chalky country road. Apprehensive as she was about the magician’s news, Henrietta had imagined a leisurely stroll arm in arm with Lord Reckford among the pastoral flowers and grasses of early summer. But the air was heavy with the scent of pig, flies buzzed around piles of horse droppings on the road and the slightest rapid movement stirred the dust up into a choking, wheezing cloud.

“This was not a good idea,” said the Beau penitently. “We are beginning to look like ghosts.” Both were slowly being covered from head to foot in white dust. “Don’t worry,” he added bracingly. “It’s not far now.”

At first sight, The Cherry Tree was an unprepossessing hostelry. It seemed by its walls of timber and wattle to have survived from Tudor times. With its low Walls and heavy thatched roof, it had the appearance of crouching beside the road to waylay the traveller rather than to welcome him. No smoke rose from the chimney and no sound came from the taproom.

Henrietta wondered why, although she felt frightened and apprehensive, she had a nagging feeling of pique. Lord Reckford was friendly and gentlemanly. But not by one flicker of an eyelid did he reveal that anything of an intimate nature had recently passed between them.

“We unfortunately must go through the tap to get to the yard at the back,” he said. “I will lead the way. Keep close behind me.”

The taproom was empty and silent. Sunlight filtered faintly through the dirty leaded windows. There was a sour smell of stale beer and wine and old unwashed bedding. They crept quietly, their feet making no sound on the sawdust covered floor. The Beau waved his quizzing glass at a row of blue rosettes over the mantelpiece. “It seems the landlord keeps a prize pig. He’s probably taken it to the fair. ‘The Fair Beauty of Upper Wipplestone.’ Dear me. Poor animal. I wonder what they call it for short.”

Lord Reckford pushed open the door at the back of the tap. There was a small greasy kitchen. The stink of sour milk was very strong. It came from an open churn in the corner and the air above it was black with heavy swollen flies.

“Ugh!” said Henrietta, throwing caution to the winds and marching to the kitchen door. “Let us get out of here.” She threw open the door. “Well, there’s The Fair Beauty of Upper Wipplestone…Oh my God…”

The Fair Beauty, a hugh pink sow, slowly turned its massive head at the sound of their approach. Blood dripped from its mouth and down its chubby legs. Lying nearly under it lay the body of the magician. His throat had been cut from ear to ear, his eyes turned up to the summer sky. Then the horrible face was blotted out as the pig bent its head down again.