High Spirits at Harroweby (6 page)

Finding herself at length in the east wing, she hesitated for a moment before going on. In her heart she knew that Rupert
’s intentions, however well-cloaked in the language of piety, were very black indeed. Not for the first time, she felt the chilling absence of friends and protectors. Feeling very much like a wobbly little lamb entering a wolf’s den, she knocked lightly at her cousin’s door. She left it well ajar as she took a deep breath and ventured into the dim recesses.

Rupert
’s chamber was swathed in purple velvet hangings and reeked of the strong scent in which he daily doused himself, forbearing the dangers of a bath except at yearly intervals. Deep within the curtained cavern of a large canopy bed, his nasal voice issued in a pitiful wail, “Are you come at last, Selinda? I have been languishing here this age.”

“
Indeed, Cousin,” she returned with forced briskness which belied her spirits, “your lot is very hard. You wished me to read to you?”

“
You must come closer,” he moaned. “I cannot hear you, my dear.”

Repressing images of herself in a red riding hood, Selinda gingerly advanced a step or two and cast about for a candle. The chamber
’s windows were still heavily curtained against the brilliance of the day and very little light from the hallway penetrated the room. Selinda was loath to proceed further into the semidarkness without some clue as to what the shadows held for her. Memories of Rupert’s odious advances lingered in every shadow. His boldness after the ball last night had merely been the most recent incident in an escalating series.

“
Heavens, Cousin,” she ventured nervously. “However am I to read to you in this darkness? I vow I can hardly see to put one foot before the other. Have you not a candle nearby?”

Rupert merely moaned again, reminding Selinda more of a calf with colic than anything else. Well, she thought to herself with a shrug, surely there must be some sort of lamp or candle on the bedside table. She stepped slowly forward through the gloom until at length she was quite close to her cousin
’s bed. Fumbling about on the nightstand, she felt numerous bottles of medication, a basin and pitcher, several wadded handkerchiefs, a vial of salts, various snuffboxes, but no candle. This would never do.

Selinda had just decided to go to the window to draw the curtains when her arm was suddenly grasped and she found herself pulled precipitously down into the depths of Rupert
’s bed. Caught abruptly off balance, Selinda was quite unable to prevent herself from landing in an ungainly heap directly on top of her cousin’s generous midsection with a resounding plop.

Rupert immediately let forth a stifled gasp, sounding not unlike a despondent
teakettle, but he did not loosen his hold on her in the least. As Selinda felt herself being pulled inexorably towards his bulk, she realized she was in a struggle, not for life or death, but for a life worth living or a fate worse than death. As Selinda labored to right herself, she could feel the moist heat of his whisper on the back of her neck, “Here, let me help you, little cousin.” Then, as he pretended to support her back, he allowed his other hand to stray to her bosom.

Selinda, beside herself with outrage, could only flail about for she dared not cry out: to raise the house would only bring witnesses to this wretched situation and guarantee beyond all salvation a hastily arranged wedding. Should that monstrous disaster come about, her own fate and that of her little sister would be immediately sealed. Silently, therefore, she struggle
d on, gritting her teeth, all the while shuddering against the steady progress being made towards her demise.

After several moments of strained concentration, Rupert had succeeded in undoing most of Selinda
’s tapes and buttons. Silently he cursed his mother’s unfortunate strictures on his cousin’s dress. He was so close to his mark, but Selinda’s squirming, enticing as it was, hindered his progress till he was ready to scream with frustration and annoyance. Finally, another button gave way and he had just begun to attack the last when he felt himself suddenly doused with a shocking cascade of ice-cold water. Sputtering with astonishment, he momentarily loosed his hold, and Selinda promptly seized this opportunity to spring from, the bed and run from the room, clutching her gown about her as best she could.

Rupert shuddered and shook himself violently. How on earth, he wondered with bad-tempered incredulity, had the little vixen managed to reach the pitcher? He was sure she could not have touched it with her hands. She must have hooked the handle with a foot—Gads! The girl m
ust be a contortionist! Shuddering with rage and cold, he scowled into the darkness.

The flirtations in which Rupert had jealously watched his luscious cousin engage on the previous night had seriously disarranged his sleep. In the fitful predawn hours he had, therefore, plotted to maneuver the unsuspecting girl into his bed for the sake of a quick compromise of her virtue and appropriation of her fortune, neatly putting her out of the way of other rivals. Having the wind knocked out of him and receiving an unseasonal ablution, however, was not a part of that plan.

Perhaps, he reflected with a damp shudder, he should have enlisted his mother’s aid in this scheme. Certainly, if she could have been on hand to surprise them in the midst of entanglement, he would have been on his way in the morning to post the banns. But no, he reconsidered grimly, it was best to keep the old harridan at arm’s length. She was getting altogether too managing these days.

After all, if their plan worked, the estate would fall to him as Selinda
’s husband. Then his mother could be sent to Bridewell for aught he cared. In fact, that might be just the ticket, he told himself as he began to towel his person meditatively.

Yes, he smiled, the Snipe could be bought off and sent on her way. Mater committed to a silent keeper with a stout truncheon, and a few months in a clammy climate would consign that brat Lucy to consumption. Her portion would fall to Selinda and, thence, to him. Moreover, there could be no impediments to his doing exactly what he liked with his captivating but disdainful cousin. He pulled a packet from under his mattress, wrapped himself in a blanket, and crossed to the window. Pulling back the curtain, he leered at a dog-eared set of French postcards depicting in graphically detailed etchings several quite interesting activities for which he had lately begun to cherish a sweltering fond
ness. Ah, Selinda, he sighed inwardly, what times we shall have. Then he settled himself into a chair and began to refine his plans.

As soon as her sister had disappeared down the hall to Rupert’s chamber, Lucy made her own rapid departure toward the opposite wing of Harroweby House. If Lady Sybil Harroweby were indeed “the lady who looks after us,” Lucy reasoned, there seemed to be no time like the present for her to begin. In a few moments, she reached the dim gallery where the shade of Lady Sybil still hovered in a brown study, and apprised her of the danger in which she felt certain her sister Selinda would soon find herself. The ghost, riveted by the child’s breathless communication, had wasted no time but dematerialized forthwith, and Lucy spent several moments pacing wretchedly and thinking excessively dark-thoughts until her ghostly relation reappeared. When she did so, the poor spirit was a good ten shades paler (and markedly more transparent) than she had been before her exit.

“
Whatever has happened?” Lucy cried, running up to the languishing apparition.

Lady Sybil settled herself weakly and lifted a preemptory finger. For the next several minutes Lucy could only look on miserably in the pitiful silence, biting her already tortured fingernails, until the ghost began to regain her diaphanous self.

“Something really must be done. Soon,” Lady Sybil sighed weakly. “I am feeling more myself now, but I am very much afraid that I shall not often be equal to this sort of exertion.”

Lucy had for some moments been torn in her distress between Selinda
’s horrid plight and the spirit’s obviously fragile condition. Now, somewhat relieved on at least one score, she leaned forward eagerly to hear the ghost’s account of the shocking scene which had just been played in Rupert’s chamber. Lady Sybil, in the spirit of newfound discretion (and to her eternal credit), rendered a somewhat edited version of the scene she had just witnessed, but Lucy, with her uncanny insight, seized immediately on the true nature of the encounter.

“
Maggoty cad! So the scoundrel means to ruin her, does he?” the child muttered, her eyes narrowing dangerously. “I should have seen how it would be! I should have known he would be up to some foul trick or other, but this is beyond anything! Of course, he must have guessed she would have the likes of him no honest way, but I did not dream he would act so soon. How were you able to stop him, Great-great-grandmama?”

Lucy
’s ancient but vain relation shuddered at being thus titled and raised a repressive eyebrow.
“Lady Sybil
will do quite well, child. Fortunately,” she went on, “the scoundrel’s ewer was quite full of water, so I doused him; that is, I am afraid that both of them received a thorough watering. I have never before attempted anything quite so heavy. I can only assume my powers were enhanced by my rage. It is a fortuitous thing for our purposes, though, that he had not yet washed himself.”

“
Nor would he have been likely to have done so for an age or so,” Lucy remarked with an exceedingly ill-humored grimace. “You may count your blessings, Lady Sybil, that you are not possessed of a sense of smell. Pungent as a polecat is our Rupert.”

“
Be that as it may,” the ghost went on with a determined sigh, “the effort is not one I could repeat very soon. My powers are quite limited, and I very much fear it will take more than a mere wetting to foil your cousin’s plans next time—”

“
Next time!” Lucy interrupted with a gasp.

Lady Sybil assumed a world-weary air.
“There is
always
a next time, child, particularly with that rotter’s ilk.” She shuddered as she recalled Rupert’s flushed visage as he studied his lurid postcards. These had shocked even her seasoned sensibilities. “He has plans, she went on. “Despicable plans. As I say, child, my capabilities are decidedly scant and even this minimal amount of exertion has rendered me very nearly unsubstantial. I hate to even think it, but if my aim had missed its mark, I should have been powerless to do further till I recovered and by then it might well have been too late.”

“
Oh, dear,” Lucy cried in sad exasperation. “Everything might have been lost before we had even begun to fight. Whatever shall we do?”

“
Well, my dear,” Lady Sybil announced finally with a determined smile, “we shall just have to take stock of the weapons we have at hand. I do not believe we have a great deal of time, but together we shall contrive some sort of plan, never you fear, child.”

Somewhat comforted, Lucy settled herself to the task at hand.
“First of all, just what are your powers? What can you do besides douse dastards?”

Lady Sybil paused for a moment trying to decide, after all those years, just which of her talents had been acquired only after she had achieved her ghostly state.
“Well,” she began slowly, “I can
think
myself places ...”

“
How do you mean?”

“
Well, I just envision the drawing room or the library, for example, and—poof—there I am.” As she spoke these words, she suddenly disappeared from Lucy’s sight and reappeared almost as quickly. Looking a trifle embarrassed, the ghost went on, “I see I shall have to be more careful in future.”

“
Can you think yourself anywhere at all?” Lucy asked.

“
Oh no, only within this house or the surrounding gardens, unless there are special circumstances. For example, if something I owned during my lifetime is taken out of the house for some reason or other, I am free to follow it.”

“
Capital!” Lucy exclaimed. “That’s one problem solved.”

“
How so?” the ghost inquired. Sometimes it seemed the child’s rapid reasoning far outpaced her own, although Lady Sybil knew quite well that, in life, she had been more renowned for her beauty than her intellect.

“
Why, we are restricted, Selinda and I. We cannot stir without being watched, you know, so it’s near enough impossible for us to confirm any of our suspicions. But
you
might venture out where we may not, to Mr. Basham’s, say,—he’s our man of business—and see what sort of information you might puzzle out. One way or the other,” she concluded with an assured nod, “knowing is better than not knowing, I always say.”

In light of recent revelations concerning the authors of her demise, Lady Sybil was hard-pressed to agree. Moreover, the very thought of spending who knew what amount of time within the grimy recesses of a solicitor
’s office seemed deadly dull to the fun-loving spirit. However, she kept these sentiments to herself for the moment.

“
What else can you do?” Lucy prodded.

The ghost concentrated for several more
moments. Then her face was lit with a thoughtful smile. “There are a few minor accomplishments,” she admitted modestly, “such as sending a chill through a room if I happen to be in bad temper. All ghosts, of course, can emit the scent of sandalwood, although I own I have never found that skill terribly useful. However, I do have one rather interesting talent which may well be of particular use to us.”

Lucy looked at her expectantly.

“I can tamper with dreams,” she said with a decidedly mischievous smile.

* * * *

Upon regaining her chamber, Selinda was relieved to find that Lucy was no longer there. To deal with her sister’s understandable curiosity and concern was more than her rattled resources were equal to for the moment. As she stripped off her soaking garments, she wondered in dazed abstraction whether her mental or physical demeanor was the more disheveled: certainly both had sustained an icy shock. Suddenly she froze, mid-motion, her sodden skirts about her ankles. Where, in heaven’s name, had the watery cascade come from?

She recalled with an anguished certainty that both her own and Rupert
’s hands had been busily engaged. Neither of them had any means of reaching the ewer. There was only one explanation and an appalling one at that: Lucy must have silently followed her to Rupert’s chamber and been a witness to the whole disgusting scene. Selinda buried her face in her hands as she confronted this sorry conclusion. Indeed, there was no other way of accounting for her sudden salvation. Lucy
must
have emptied the pitcher on them. No wonder the child was not in the chamber: she could not face her sister’s disgrace. With this dreadful realization, Selinda gave way at last to the teary floodwaters that had been building behind her eyes for some hours now, and she collapsed before the fireplace in a shuddering heap of soggy garments and heartfelt sobs.

Selinda continued in this manner for some minutes until at last her sense of helplessness began to alter and reemerge with equal vigor under the guise of a grim and studied rage. Her own sorrows she had long since determined she could and must bear, but that her innocent little sister should share the burden was beyond enough. Something must be done. But what?

Selinda sat up shivering and hugged her knees to her chest. According to the strictures of her parents’ Will, she would not gain her independence for still another three years. The events of the last several hours proved beyond any doubt that the likelihood of her emerging from her guardianship with anything like independence was not to be thought of. Not unless she were able to somehow take matters into her own hands. Selinda sighed and frowned as she rejected one senseless scheme after another. The options for independence were simply nonexistent as long as such horrid guardians held the reins of her fate.

Marriage was the only deliverance Selinda could imagine, but she hardly knew how she might bring about even so much as a small flirtation, so closely watched as she was. True, Miss Snypish
’s apparent change of attitude promised some relief, but such a person was hardly to be counted upon. Even taking into account cooperation from that unlikely quarter, the amount of time necessary to bring about even a whirlwind courtship would be near impossible to achieve. It was appallingly clear that Rupert had decided to—

Suddenly, Selinda sat upright. The solution was quite simple: a compromise of her virtue was indeed the answer. All she must do was to find a good-natured, biddable gentleman, one on whom she could depend to be kind to herself and Lucy, and force him to marry her. Except for his unaccountable penchant for spinsterish persons, Lord Waverly would do admirably. And, after all, that peculiarity made no odds at all when compared with the loathsome propensities of her degenerate cousin. Moreover, his Lordship
’s attentions, however short-lived, had been anything but odious. Indeed, it seemed quite possible that, in spite of his idiosyncrasies, she should be able to love him before too long. Perhaps, Selinda mused, she already did.

True, she had not known Lord Waverly for very long, but she knew of similar incidents of instant amour: Valeria had succumbed immediately to the flashing eyes of Rothwell in
The Abducted Heart,
and Melisande in
The Rake’s Reform
had surrendered her heart at her first glimpse of Blackthorne’s miniature. So, if her budding attachment was indeed love, she reasoned. Lord Waverly was hers by rights and she would have him.

Selinda smiled, sniffed, and began to feel much better as she began to plot a mental framework for his Lordship
’s seduction. She wasn’t quite certain how it all worked, but she had heard that a proper lady was never seen without her gloves. Bare hands, she had often been cautioned, gave gentlemen all sorts of ideas. That seemed a logical place to start.

* * * *

For his part, Lord Waverly was also busily engaged in plans for bringing about a satisfactory conclusion to his romantic ambitions. After a nap and a change of costume, he presented himself at the rooms of his cousin, Lord Bastion, just as that person was beginning to stir from his bed for the first time that day.

“
Bastion, old fellow!” he called energetically as he strode noisily into the bedchamber and threw open the heavy curtains with a ruthless flourish. “Whatever are you about—sleeping away like an overfed kitchen cat on this glorious day!”

Bastion frowned darkly and immediately pulled the covers up over his bleary eyes. The marquess had also enjoyed a frightfully late night, but his head, regrettably, was a good deal more susceptible to the ravages of brandy than was his cousin
’s. In fact, it felt as if some group of badly behaved children had used his noddle in a game of bilbocatch during the night. Survival instinct, however, won out over anguish and indignation, and he forbore to voice the crushing oath, which rose automatically to his lips. Waverly, curse the luck, held the purse strings.

“
Up and about, Bastion,” his Lordship commanded heartily, pulling the covers from the foot of the bed and exposing his cousin’s bare feet to the brisk fall air, “or would you rather I departed without rescuing your poor fortune from the ravages it has lately undergone?”

At this odd question, the marquess peeped slowly from under the eiderdown and studied his cousin
’s face with deep suspicion: to begin with, it was highly uncharacteristic for Waverly to be so cheerful, nay, downright cordial, in his cousin’s presence. They had never in their lives gotten on. Moreover, the marquess’s admittedly reckless spending habits had invariably met with little patience and no sympathy from his Lordship. That gentleman had never once had the decency to look on temporary runs of bad luck with anything like charity. There was something not quite right about all of this.