Mally : Signet Regency Romance (9781101568057) (16 page)

He reached across and took her hand. “Please don't think that. No, I thought you believed in Abel's guilt, for if people like your mother believe it, I had no reason to think you would be any different. For which lack of trust, forgive me.”

“I forgive you everything—now. And I must have your forgiveness too, for I have been guilty of black thoughts concerning you.”

“That I have been harboring your sister here for my own ends?”

“Yes.” She met his eyes. “Yes, I thought that.”

“What a fickle, nimble soul you must think me, giving shelter to your sister and then making advances to you.”

She flushed.

His thumb soothed her palm. “I deserve your black thoughts, perhaps.”

“If you had told me the truth that day in Hyde Park, I would have believed you then. Instead you told me lies, and I
knew
you were lying.”

“I was—except in the advice I offered concerning foolish, ill-thought-out marriages.”

She took her hand away. “That has been resolved.” Before he could say anything more, she went on. “What was it that brought Abel into Llanglyn yesterday at such risk to his own life?”

“Andrew moved his hand. Oh, it sounds like nothing, but until then he had not moved a muscle. Maria sits up there in that tower with him night and day, talking and coaxing him, pushing spoonfuls of broth down his throat and holding his hand. But there is no response. He lies there, motionless, for all the world as if he is asleep. Until yesterday. Gwynneth had brought a tray of food and she was leaving, when she lost her balance on the steep, winding steps. She fell down three or four steps before she managed to catch the rail and hold on. She screamed, because for a moment she thought she was going to fall right to the foot of the tower. At the sound of the scream, Andrew's hand clenched. And that was it, nothing more.”

“So, he's not beyond all hope, is he? He reacted to something.”

“But to what? Gwynneth's scream? We thought of that, and yesterday afternoon when Chris was still down at the courthouse with you, we tried it out. Gwynneth screamed again, but to no avail. Whatever it was about her original scream could not be reproduced to the same effect. If it
was
the scream.”

“And nothing else has happened since?”

“Yes. Tonight. When Maria called me he had just reacted to something again. She was almost asleep by his bedside when something woke her with a start, a spider crawled over her hand. A very large, hairy spider, according to Maria.”

She smiled. “Every spider merits that description, if you listen to Maria. She's terrified of them. Perhaps that's it, Richard. Fear. There are screams and screams, but a scream of fear is quite different.”

“And it is also the one thing which cannot be made up, isn't it?”

“I know.” She sighed. “Perhaps if we tell Chris and Annabel
they
can help.”

“Aye, well, perhaps the time
has
come for honesty all around.”

“Does Maria know I'm here?”

“Yes. She knows and she has wanted to see you from the outset, but I'm afraid I persuaded her against it.” He smiled faintly. “My mistrustful nature coming to the fore again, I fear.”

“I'm flattered to have brought about such a strong reaction.”

“You, Mally, have brought about a very definite reaction in me, I do assure you.”

She looked at him in the firelight. No woman could remain indifferent to him, not even Annabel, who found the need to flirt a little with him even in front of Chris. There was something about Richard Vallender—

She smiled at him. “Can I see Maria now?”

“Backing down from an interesting conversation, Mally?”

“Yes.”

He nodded. “Maria it is then. Come on.”

Chapter 23

The room in the tower was sparsely furnished. Two plain beds stood against the walls, and between them a small chest of drawers on which was a candlestick which dripped molten wax. Droplets fell into the dished base, congealing into a thick, rippled pool, and the flame swayed as Richard opened the door.

Maria was sitting on a low chair beside one of the beds, holding the hand of the man who lay there. He was young and good-looking, and Mally could see immediately the likeness between him and the portrait of his cousin, Gillian Vallender. His fair hair was longer than was fashionable, but its length suited him, emphasizing his almost boyish looks. His eyes were closed, but Mally knew that if they were open they would be a very bright blue, as Richard had said. A bandage was around his head, fresh and white, and he wore a dressing gown of donkey-brown wool.

Maria got to her feet, her eyes glittering with tears as she saw Mally. “You told her, Richard. Oh, I'm so glad—” She ran to Mally, flinging her arms around her and holding her tightly. “I so wanted you, Mally, I needed you desperately.”

“It's all right now, Maria, don't cry.” Mally smoothed the wild black hair lovingly. “Sweeting, we've worried so about you.”

“I
had
to be with him, I just
had
to. I love him more than anything else in the world and I wasn't going to stay down with Mother. I didn't want to lie to her—”

“So you didn't say anything at all. A lie would have been better almost. Anyway, it doesn't matter now.” Mally sat on the end of the empty bed. “Are you all right?”

“Yes. Perfectly.”

“You know what I mean, Maria.”

“Dr. Towers told you!”

“No, he didn't. I'm your sister, I just
knew. Are
you all right?”

Maria glanced at Richard and Mally could see that it was obviously the first inkling he had had of Maria's condition. “Yes, Mally, I'm ridiculously all right. When Andrew recovers I shall marry him, Mally, no matter how engaged I am to Thomas Clevely
or
how opposed Mother is to the match!”

“I should hope so. I am to be an aunt and I want everything to be perfectly legal and aboveboard! Mother'll approve anyway, under the circumstances.”
Please God, let him recover
— Mally looked at the silent, motionless figure in the other bed.

Maria went to him, taking his hand and sitting beside him. “If only he'd be himself again. Yesterday when Gwynneth screamed, I really thought— But then it was gone, as quickly as it had come.”

Richard put his hand gently on her shoulder. “And tonight, Maria? What happened tonight?”

“Just as I told you. The spider on my hand roused me—”

“Did you gasp? Scream? Anything like that?”

“I don't know, I was so drowsy. Why?”

“Mally thinks it could be fear which makes him react.” Richard's fingers stroked her soothingly, and Mally could see how it calmed her, for she trembled very slightly all the time. How tired she looked, with huge dark rings under her eyes. And her face was so pale. Gone was the bright, vivacious Maria she had last seen months before. “When did you last sleep, Maria?” Richard asked gently.

“Earlier. I don't know. I'm afraid to in case he needs me—”

“Let me have one of the maids sit here with him while you sleep in the bed which was put there for you.” He turned her face toward him, his hand firmly beneath her chin. “Listen to me now—you do yourself no good at all by making yourself stay awake, and you'll do Andrew no good in the long run either. Or the baby. Do you hear me?”

Maria nodded, touching his hand briefly and smiling. “I do not know what I should have done without you, Richard.”

“I know what
I
should have done without
you,
madam. A good deal better than I have done!”

She pulled a wry face which was a ghost of her former self. “I know. I'm sorry.”

“So, you will take something to eat and then behave yourself by going to sleep?”

“Yes, Richard. I promise. But you will have someone sit with him, someone trustworthy who won't doze off the moment I do?”

“I promise.”

Maria stood, crossing to the window. “What was happening down at the lodge earlier? I heard the dog and saw the lights.”

“Tom's terrier set up a clamor about something. A fox in the chickens, probably. Anyway, by the time I got down there there was nothing. Don't look so wide-eyed, Maria, no one can get in here without being seen.”

“I know. But at night it's always worse. And I
feel
that Jasper is agitated now.
Really
agitated.”

“That's because you are,” said Richard reassuringly, avoiding Mally's eyes. “Now then, I shall have a maid bring some food while you prepare yourself for bed.”

“Shall you tell Chris? I know he's here. With Lady Annabel Murchison.”

Richard nodded. “Yes, Mally and I will tell them. Over breakfast.”

He left, and Maria allowed Mally to unhook the yellow gown. “I'm so weary, Mally—”

“You're silly, not sleeping or eating.”

“I just couldn't, it felt like neglecting him.” Maria looked at him again and Mally saw the great love in her eyes. “Oh, if you only knew him as I do, Mally. He's everything I could ever want.”

“Except rich.”

“Well, we can't all snare Chris Carlyon, can we?” Maria caught her hand, intending to wave the engagement ring before her. But there was only a white mark on Mally's finger. “What's happened, Mally?”

“There isn't going to be a Carlyon marriage for me, Maria.”

“Why?”

“Let's just say we both realized we were making a mistake.”

Maria looked at her. “Let's perhaps just say
you
realized you were making a mistake. Chris would go on making that particular mistake
ad infinitum,
wouldn't he?”

“I doubt it—he was fast coming to the end of his patience with me.”

“So, Annabel wins after all?”

Mally shrugged. “I don't know. I hope so, for she's been more than faithful. And he
is
happy in her company.”

“I always liked her. It was a shame that Chris dropped her so unkindly in order to take you up after Daniel died.”

“He thought she should be left in no doubt.”

“Well, let's hope he more than makes up for his past mistakes now. You don't mind that it's over?”

“No. Mother will, though.”

Maria groaned. “Oh,
what
a pair we are—there's me disgracing myself with Andrew, and you throwing over the Carlyon match. Mother will throw a fit of the vapors to end
all
fits of the vapors. Poor Mother—”

Mally helped her into the cold, hard bed. “Now then, Maria Berrisford, you are to eat and then sleep, do you hear me?”

“I hear you. Mally, I
do
love Andrew, you know.”

“I know, sweeting.”

Mally kissed her and left the room as a maid came up carrying a tray. At the door she glanced back at Maria's tired, pale face, and then at the motionless figure in the other bed. Not by one flicker did Andrew York seem to be even vaguely alive—

Outside, the courtyard was deserted. The storm howled out beyond the walls, but the courtyard was like the eye of a hurricane. High above she became aware of the flag cracking and flapping on the flagpole above the keep. She shivered, her wrap damp from the rain. Lucy would moan of pneumonia, or worse— She smiled, remembering Lucy's anxious, last-minute plea that she and Annabel should not come to the castle.

To Richard Vallender's castle. She stopped, looking around the stark wet stone walls. Castell Melyn meant Richard Vallender now. As she stood there in the cold darkness she knew that that thought had been at the back of her mind all along, and it had nothing to do with Maria's disappearance. She had pursued everything because of Maria, but with a willingness born of her own interest in Richard.

She went through the buttery and stood for a long time looking at Gillian Vallender's portrait. The soft colors and brushwork glowed in the lamplight. For the first time Mally really understood Chris's jealousy over the renaming of Vimiero House.

Gillian's portrait was still here, still in a place where everyone would see her . . .

Chapter 24

Annabel closed the door of the dining room, and Chris turned from contemplating the fire roaring in the hearth.

“We appear to be the first hungry souls stirring this morning,” he said.

She removed her heavy woolen shawl and went closer to the warmth, holding her hands out. “I slept like the proverbial log, you know. By the look of my bed this morning I did not move once! There's hardly a crease.”

“Would that I could say the same thing.”

She looked at him. “That sounds heartfelt. What's wrong?”

“Mally and I are no longer engaged.”

Annabel left the fire, walking slowly to the dining-room table and surveying the shining silver cutlery and gold and white plates. There was a smell of coffee in the air, and toast, and bacon. And chrysanthemums, from the elegant porcelain dish in the center of the table. She looked at the flowers, so crisp and clear, a mass of cream and bronze. She hardly dared breathe. It was over between Chris and Mally?

Chris watched her, taking in the prettily piled golden curls with their silly, elaborate comb and plume, and the shining, smooth apple-green gown. Was Mally right? Did his happiness, and Annabel's, lie in their marriage?

“Annabel?”

“Yes?”

“Well, say something, even if it's only a comment on the weather.”

“I was trying to think of what to say. Did Mally end it?”

“Yes.”

“Not because of my behavior last night?” Annabel turned suddenly. “Oh, please say it wasn't that, for I know I behaved badly.”

“No more badly than I did. Anyway, it wasn't because of you.”

“Then what?”

He pursed his lips thoughtfully. “I rather fancy Richard had said something to make up her mind. Not that it made any difference. In the long run she would have ended it anyway. I know that.”

“I'm so sorry, Chris, truly I am, for I know how you love her.”

He smiled then. “I felt sorry for myself at first, I will admit, but now— She's right, it was hopeless. We make better friends than lovers.”

“So, you're not sorry now?”

“No.”

“Good.” Annabel's eyes shone as she smiled.

The door opened and Richard came in. “Alone,
mes enfants?
What manner of host am I to so neglect you?”

Annabel raised her eyebrows. “A poor one.”

“Well, I am here to entertain you with my blistering repartee and dazzling charm.”

“Oh, spare us,” groaned Chris. “Where's Mally? I'm dying of hunger.”

“She will not be too long, I fancy,” said Richard, drawing a chair out for Annabel, “but she did not sleep too well last night.”

“And how would you know?” asked Annabel.

“Because—dreadful as it might sound—I was with her for part of the time.”

Annabel looked quickly at Chris. “Yes, it does sound dreadful. Why were you together, or is that an embarrassing question?”

Richard smiled as he unfolded a napkin. “No, it isn't embarrassing. Would that it were.”

Chris nodded. “I rather think you mean that.”

“I do. To be caught
in flagrante delicto
with the delightful Mally would do my overweening male pride a great deal of good. Unfortunately, I cannot lay claim to such notoriety.”

“Yet,”
finished Annabel, taking her own napkin. “Oh, come on, Mally!”

As if in answer, the door opened and Mally came in, her flounced turquoise satin skirts rustling. “I'm sorry if I have kept you all waiting.”

“Not at all,” said Annabel. “I have had a vastly pleasing morning so far.”

“I'll warrant you have,” said Mally, smiling as Richard drew her chair out. “Undoubtedly the best you've had in a long, long time, eh, Annabel?”

“I cannot deny it.”

Chris lifted a silver-domed dish and inspected the mixed grill steaming there. “Mouth-watering indeed. What is your desire ladies? As long as you leave me some of those kidneys, I will serve you whatever you wish.”

“Then we'll have the kidneys,” said Annabel, smiling.

“Chienne.
You don't even like kidneys.” Chris smiled as he forked some bacon and beefsteak onto her plate.

Annabel was determined not to let Richard's earlier words pass without further comment. “Now then, why were you two up together last night? What have Chris and I been missing?”

“You tell them,” said Mally to Richard.

“More and more mysterious,” said Chris, offering some bacon to Mally, who shook her head. “What's it about?”

“Mally's lost sister. The man she wants to marry. And the murder down in Llanglyn.” Richard put his fingertips together thoughtfully.

Annabel's knife dropped with a clatter. “Is that all? I thought it would be
interesting!”

“It is interesting. Shall I begin?”

Annabel nodded. “It's like a bedtime story at nanny's knee again. Will
you
slap my wrist if I suck my thumb?”

“I shall indeed, it's a disgusting habit.”

Richard poured himself some black coffee, and began to tell them all about Andrew, Maria, and the death of Mrs. Harmon.

Annabel's bacon and beefsteak lay cold and untouched when he at last finished, and Chris had not even got around to putting anything on his own plate. Mally stared at the bowl of chrysanthemums.

Annabel took a long breath. “That odious Turney fellow, I
knew
he was up to no good the moment I set eyes on him, but I didn't imagine he had done anything quite so despicable as to murder that old lady in her bed.”

“Wait now,” said Chris, “we have no proof that it
was
Turney. Someone who's expert with a sling
could
be his brother Jacob, or it could be someone else. And it could also be that Turney
genuinely
believes Abel is guilty. It seems to me that all your accusations are guesswork. If Turney thinks Maria saw him and that she is up here, why hasn't he tried to find out?”

“How?” asked Richard. “It's not possible to get into Castell Melyn from the outside, I've seen to that. The lodge drawbridge is raised every night and Tom's hounds roam the grounds.”

“Tom?”

“The lodgekeeper. A very thorough fellow.” Richard smiled. “So, Jasper Turney would find it difficult to discover if Maria Berrisford is here—none of the people I employ go down into Llanglyn. All provisions are purchased in Abergavenny or Hereford, and I employ no one from Llanglyn itself.”

Chris looked doubtful. “I still think it unlikely Turney is guilty.”

Annabel frowned. “Well,
I
think Richard and Mally are right.”

“Why? Have
you
a good reason, or merely a feeling?”

“A good reason. Turney is the one who's been whipping up feeling, and that points to needing a scapegoat—Abel. The poor man is the ideal subject upon which to center all the mistrust and superstition. And there's something else, something I heard during my first week here when we couldn't leave the house because of the weather. Pattie said that the first person to discover Mrs. Harmon's body was Mrs. Turney. Mrs. Turney, who'd never been a particular friend of the old lady, and yet who took it into her head to take a basket of fruit to her at nearly midnight! That basket takes a little bit of swallowing. I'll warrant Jasper was just making sure the murder was discovered while Abel was still around, and if the unpleasant Brew Darril had seen Abel, then it was worth the try.
And
I think that Turney now thinks Maria saw them at the old lady's house too, and that's why he came to London and to Mally's house.”

Chris pursed his lips. “All right, I'll grant you there is a good deal of circumstantial evidence—”

Mally looked at him. “Circumstantial? Then why did he come to London?”

“How do you know it
was
him?”

“I just do.”

“There you are,” said Chris, “it's still guesswork. Richard, why didn't you take the wretched Andrew to Stiller instead of leaving him here? Surely you could have got him out without the whole of Llanglyn knowing?”

“We could have, if it had not been for both Nathaniel and Stiller advising against moving him. I begin to weary of it all now—”

Mally looked quickly at him. “Don't say that.”

“Well, I must be honest. I don't think we shall get anywhere with Andrew. There is nothing I would like more than to be able to prove Turney's guilt and to have Andrew well once more. But I do not think either will happen.”

“But Andrew's hand moved—”

“Mally,” said Chris, “an animal will twitch even after death. Andrew's hand probably moved because of some nerve, that's all.”

“But if it
was
a real reaction?”

Richard lowered his eyes. “If it was, then there is still some hope.”

Annabel stood, crossing to the window to look out. “And there is still only circumstantial evidence of a very vague kind for any court of law. If there was something
solid.”

“Such as?” asked Chris, leaning back in his chair to look at her. “A letter of confession?”

“Don't be sarcastic. I don't know what, do I? Anyway, we should go to see Maria and Andrew, don't you think? Perhaps
seeing
him—”

There was a knock at the door and Louis entered, bowing as he stood aside for Dr. Towers to come in.

“Good morning, ladies, gentlemen. Oh, driving in this weather is hardly a relaxing exercise.”

Richard ushered him to a seat. “Then take some breakfast with us and recover, my friend. What brings you up here so early?”

“Well—” The doctor glanced around the room doubtfully.

“It's all right, Nathaniel, they know all about it. Has something happened?” Richard's smile faded as he sensed Nathaniel's unease.

“Well, yes, something has, Richard. Last night Jasper, Jacob, and Brew Darril opened the grave.”

“You are sure?”

“I
saw
them, Richard. I sat up for two hours or more, freezing to the bone, watching from the attic window. They opened it, inspected the coffin, and then closed it all up again.”

Chris smiled. “There's your proof, Richard. They could only have one reason for looking in that grave.”

“They could be robbing graves. I understand there is a demand for bodies for medical purposes,” pointed out Annabel.

“Bodies over a month old are hardly suitable unless a skeleton is required. Even the most dedicated hospital would be put off by a moldering body.”

“Don't,” she said, looking slightly sick.

Richard glanced at Nathaniel. “You didn't think of getting someone else to witness it with you, did you?”

“Oh, yes, I know that my word is to be doubted at the moment. I roused my housekeeper from her bed and she saw it too. You have two witnesses, Richard.”

“We must hope that this is enough then.”

“It should be,” said Chris. “Anyway,
I
shall go to the fort at Abergavenny. It's quite surprising how much weight a mere title has. I shall sally forth in the landau looking my most splendid.”

“I shall come with you. Two titles are better than one.” Annabel turned from the window to smile at him.

“Think of the impropriety,” he pointed out.

“I am,” she rejoined. “With luck I might even be compromised.”

Mally laughed. “Oh, Annabel, you deserve him, truly you do—”

Chris flushed, but he was smiling. “Very well, Lady Annabel, come with me.”

“At my peril?”

“No. At mine.”

***

Later that morning the landau moved slowly down the lane, passing over snapped twigs and torn leaves. The trees shuddered as the gale gusted relentlessly, and their branches scratched over the top of the carriage. Above, the heavy clouds still scudded low over the Black Mountains, hiding the summits in a veil of mist and rain. At the foot of the hill the coachman halted the team of roans as the doctor's pony and trap came splashing across the ford toward it. Chris leaned out.

Unseen, behind the thick hedge with its drapes of old man's beard, Brew Darril was setting a rabbit snare. He crept closer, listening to what was being said.

“What is it, Dr. Towers?” asked Chris.

“The stagecoach has just come in, Sir Christopher. The Abergavenny road's blocked by two or three fallen trees—they caught the storm badly up there.”

“Damn. Is there another ford? Hereford perhaps?”

“Yes, that's the nearest, but it's further—”

“It will have to do. Thank you for coming.”

“I thought I'd miss you. Well, good luck, Sir Christopher. Lady Annabel.”

The landau lurched on again, and Brew ran his long fingers slowly over the snare. Then he set it carefully by the burrow, concealing it with leaves and grass.

***

Jasper poured three mugs of strong ale and pushed them across the table. “You sure, Brew?”

“I 'eard what I 'eard. There en't no mistake. I knowed as that damned leech was watchin' last night, it was a fool notion to look in the grave.”

“I 'ad to know. Once and fer all.”

“Well, now you knows and look where it's got us, an' all.”

Jasper turned on him. “You pickin' faults, my fine lad? Eh?”

“No.” Brew backed down immediately. “It's just—well, we didn't need any more proof, did we? That fancy Miss Mally 'ave gone scuttlin' up there, we guessed as 'er sister's up there an' all.” Jasper glanced around the tap room. “I thought as she was in Lunnon, mind, I could 'ave swore it were 'er in that window. Can't tell them Berrisford wenches apart sometimes. Any road, we're damned sure they'm both up at the castle now. On top of that we
know
as the leech and Vallender 'ave lied 'bout the Jamaican feller. I thought as the wench was all we needed 'ave worried over, but if York
en't
dead—”