Lady Incognita (11 page)

As the carriage made its way to Bond Street, Louisa was oblivious of the sights and sounds around her. Her heart and mind were back at her writing desk, where Reginald, his body interspersed between his beloved Bernice and that glowering imp of Satan, the fiendish Columbo, waited, under a darkened sky, to see what the villain would do.

Reginald faced the evil one bravely. Overhead the dark clouds engulfed the pale moon, leaving only the torch that flared in Columbo’s hand, to reveal the evil gloating of that minion of the Devil. “I have you now,” he chortled. And from overhead, as though the very elements were in league with the powers of evil, came a great crash of thunder and a terrifying bolt of lightning split the darkness of the sky.

Bernice, her hands clutching at the coat that covered Reginald’s broad back, willed her heart to slow its labored beating. There was really nothing to fear. Reginald would protect her. And if Columbo should prevail and her beloved fall in the throes of death, then she would take the first opportunity to follow him.

“Lou-is-a!”

Louisa, brought suddenly back to the present, realized that the carriage had stopped and Lady Palmerton and Aunt Caroline were already upon the pavement, waiting for her to descend. She hurried to join them. The sooner the shopping was over, the sooner could she return to
Love in the Ruins
and Reginald.

Fortunately, Aunt Caroline was so cowed by Lady Palmerton’s superior powers that she did not demur at that lady’s choice of cream colored satin with an over-robe of matching lace-trimmed satin. “It will go splendidly with your hair,” exclaimed Lady Constance.

And Louisa could not help but agree. The material was quite lovely. And the design of the gown sufficiently simple so that it could be altered without excessive effort. The cost gave Louisa some qualms but these she eased by reminding herself that this one gown would serve many occasions.

“What jewels do you plan to wear?” asked Lady Constance.

Louisa paused. “I had not considered.”

  “Your Mama’s garnets might look well,” ventured Aunt Caroline with a timid look at Lady Palmerton. “They are rather dainty and quite lovely.”

“Indeed, a capital idea, my dear Caroline,” beamed Lady Constance. And Aunt Caroline, her judgment vindicated, preened herself happily.

The rest of the expedition was devoted to the purchase of appropriate slippers, gloves, etc. Louisa, however, adamantly refused to order a dozen pair of kid gloves for evening wear. “I shall do quite well with two pair,” she insisted and would not be budged. Lady Constance, who had, after all, had her say in the matter of the gown, conceded gracefully.

  Once more at home, with the packages exclaimed over by Betsy and Aunt Caroline, Louisa faced another unpleasant chore. Because of the mixed feelings raised in her breast by Atherton’s presence and his words concerning the value of belief in heroes, she had put off the serious discussion she had been planning to have with Winky. But there was no use in postponing the inevitable. Even if a slight belief in heroes were warranted - and in her present distressed condition she found that doubtful - Winky must be taken to task. For, as far as Louisa could determine from her sister during the unpacking of the boxes, Betsy’s entire reading matter consisted of romances, of which those of Lady Incognita were her absolute favorites. And this, because they contained such dark and wonderful heroes.

Louisa could hardly refrain from crying out at this unwelcome piece of information, but she suggested as calmly as she could that Betsy ask Winky to meet her in the library for a talk.

As she made her way down the stairs and into the library that had been Papa’s favorite room, Louisa sighed. Being father and mother to Harry and Betsy was a difficult task. If only she had the help of some kind man who had a way with children. A picture of Atherton’s face as he spoke to Harry and that youngster’s cheerful obedience flashed before her eyes. She sighed aloud. It was unfortunate that Harry so idolized the man.

Everyone knew that the beaux were fickle. Atherton might drop them at any moment. She could not, in fact, see why he had taken them up at all. And if Harry lost his idol they would have a hard time of it - all of them.

Well, thought Louisa, settling into a chair to wait for Winky, there was little point in borrowing trouble. Enough time to deal with that if and when it happened.

  A sudden constriction in the vicinity of her own heart warned her that
her
pain, should his lordship decide to drop them, would undoubtedly more than rival Harry’s.

This unpleasant thought was interrupted by a timid knock. Louisa turned to the door. “Come in, Winky. I must talk to you.”

“Yes?”
asked
Winky
.

“Sit down.” Louisa indicated a chair nearby. “Generally you are doing a fine job with the children.”

Winky’s plain face beamed at this gratifying news.

“But I am just a little concerned about Betsy.”

Winky’s lined forehead wrinkled further and she leaned forward in the chair.

“It has recently come to my attention that Betsy has been reading a great many romances - among them those of Lady Incognita.”

Winky nodded. “I suppose she has. She likes them best. Lady Incognita’s. And no wonder. Why the man at the lending library says they have to keep extra copies of hers. They go so.”

Louisa was conscious of a warm glow of pride. It was good to know that people enjoyed her work, that it entertained them. Then she brought herself back to the subject.

“The point is, Winky, that Betsy seems to be reading nothing else.”

Winky’s plain face grew red. “I ... I’ve taught her other things, Miss Louisa. Really I have. All the things you learned. It’s just that she’s such a bright girl. She’s learned all there is for her to learn. And she can sew, knot a fringe, play the piano. I’ve done all I can for her. Miss Louisa.”

Winky’s pale blue eyes dimmed with tears. “You know I wouldn’t do a thing to hurt that lamb - or any of you. You’re like my own flesh and blood.”

Louisa patted the little governess’s hand. “Now, now, Winky. I didn’t mean to upset you. I know you’re doing your very best. And it’s not such a horrible thing - reading romances. I dare say most girls do so.”

Louisa could almost see Atherton nodding his head in approval at this speech. “But Winky, she seems to know so many. How did she discover them?”

Winky sniffled. “She came upon one I was reading. It was Lady Incognita’s first.
The Dark Stranger.
I had borrowed it to read again because it’s my favorite. I didn’t think she would even notice it, laying there on my table. But one day I found her reading it. And then there wasn’t any stopping her. But I see that she does her lessons first, I really do. I’ll stop borrowing them if you say, but the poor thing will be sadly bored.”

Louisa smiled at Winky. “There’s no need to go that far,” she said. “Just be sure that Betsy does her other lessons. And Winky -you might remind her from time to time that romances do not reflect real life.”

Winky smiled feebly. “She told me what you said about heroes - that they don’t exist. I knew that - at least they never did for the likes of me. But Betsy insists that she will have a hero. And since she met the Viscount she’s surer than ever that such men really exist. And I am too, Miss Louisa.”

And then, conscious perhaps that she had gone too far, Winky fell silent.

Louisa, feeling the red flood her cheeks, strove for composure. “Perhaps they do exist, Winky,” she was finally able to say. “But if they do, they are still quite rare. I do not want Betsy to fill her head with illusions that will shatter when she runs into reality.”

Winky smiled slightly. “I understand that, Miss Louisa. But we have to have dreams, too. Nobody can live without dreams.”

Something in the wistful way Winky said this caused Louisa to wonder what secret dreams the little governess cherished. Did she, too, dream of a hero who would make her life exciting and happy?

  Louisa suppressed a sigh. If only she hadn’t gone to the abbey that day. She had been fighting these periodic bouts of hero longing ever since she’d begun writing romances. And she had emerged from each confrontation victorious - for the moment at least. But since Atherton had entered her life nothing was the same. How could she act sanely and sensibly on the knowledge that no heroes existed in real life when one kept persistently thrusting himself into her vision?

“And I must say, too, Miss Louisa,” added Winky, “as I remember, you read such books. Lots of them. And they haven’t done you any harm.”

Louisa was inclined to the opposite belief -certainly something was hurting her at the present. And she rather thought that heroes had a great deal to do with it. But she did not say any more to Winky about it.

“That’s all for now, Winky.” Louisa dismissed the little governess. “Just keep doing the good you have been.”

“Oh, I will, Miss Louisa. I surely will.” And Winky hurried from the room.

  For a moment Louisa sat silent, staring at the marble fireplace and the carved panel over it. Dreams. So even Winky had dreams. But of what use were dreams if they were doomed never to come true? asked Louisa of herself. No use at all, answered one part of her. But another replied defiantly that sometimes, though perhaps it was rare, dreams did indeed come true.

Louisa sighed wearily. Such an argument with herself could go on indefinitely and she could not spare the time. To-day’s quota of pages for
Love in the Ruins
was not yet finished.

As she made her way up the stairs to her room, the lines that had been forming in her head during the carriage ride returned. In moments she had them down on paper. Then she continued.

Reginald faced the devil’s spawn. Behind the evil one, in the flickering light of that single torch, loomed the crumb-ling ruins of the abbey. And beyond those dark walls he could glimpse intermittently the distorted branches of the gnarled and twisted tree under whose shelter the patient horses waited.

 He must, he thought, he must reach   those horses and carry his beloved Bernice to safety. Another vivid streak of lightning lit Columbo’s swart figure, revealing the pistol that he held in his other hand.

“I should kill you now,” Columbo leered, “but I wish to enjoy it at my leisure. And let the fair Bernice watch.”

“You will never have her while the breath of life still inhabits this body of mine,” Reginald retorted.

Columbo chuckled evilly. “That will be taken care of. Now move. We’ll go back to the cell from which you just took Bernice. Did you really believe I should let you escape so easily?”

Reginald considered the distance between them. Could he reach Columbo and wrest the pistol from his grasp? But such a course appeared foolhardy. He was all that stood between Bernice and a fate worse than death. No, he would not at this moment risk the monk’s pulling that trigger. He would bide his time and wait for something to happen.

He put his arm around Bernice and prepared to guide her back toward the gloomy cell.

Louisa put the pen down. This was the last chapter she was writing and, as usual, the longing for a hero in her own life was growing stronger and stronger. And this time there was no antidote for the poisonous longing that seeped through her veins.

  How was she to convince herself that heroes were only illusions, built on the flimsy foundation of girlhood dreams, when her every moment, waking and sleeping, was haunted by the dark features of Atherton, a living, breathing hero?

Reality could tell her that there was no hope of such a man seeking an alliance with her. And reality did. But it could not convince her that such a man did not exist.

She straightened her shoulders. This was the day to finish
Love in the Ruins
and finish it she would. Mr. Grimstead had never been forced to inquire about a late manuscript and he would not have to this time either. She picked up a fresh pen.

As Reginald’s arm encircled her waist, Bernice felt strength flooding into her weakened limbs. She had put her hope and faith in this one man. And he had proved himself worthy of her trust.

She gave him a long and loving glance before the two of them faced the demonic monk together.

It was not death that she feared, Bernice told herself, as the ominous thunder rumbled above them. It was dishonor at the hands of the evil creature that stood leering, obviously enjoying their distress.

  It was then that the idea entered Bernice’s head, almost as though placed there by a benevolent Providence. With-out another thought she stepped in front of Reginald and faced the evil one. “Kill us now,” she cried. “Kill us together.”

Reginald, who had moved to thrust her behind him, stopped. She was right, he thought. A quick death for the both of them was infinitely preferable to the pain and humiliation that Columbo so delighted in.

As Bernice moved toward the amazed monk, Reginald followed closely.

“Kill us now,” urged Bernice. “One pistol ball through both our bodies. And we will be united in death as we have not yet been united in life.”

“Stop!” The distraught monk waved the pistol but Bernice paid it no notice.

“Kill us,” she repeated. “Kill us now.”

She was only inches from the monk, who was still brandishing the pistol but unable to fire without destroying the prize he sought, when Reginald pushed her to the ground and jumped.

Bernice, gazing up in terror, could see very little of the battle that followed. The torch had been extinguished as it hit the ground and the moon was covered by dark clouds. Through the darkness came the sound of hoarse panting and imprecations to the devil.

  Bernice sent her own fervent prayers heavenward. Reginald must prevail, he must.

The darkness was split by the thunderous roar of a pistol shot and then all was silent. Bernice, unable, for the trembling of her limbs, to rise from the damp stones, held her breath. Which of them had survived? Was her future to be one of joy and love? Or utter desolation?