Mally : Signet Regency Romance (9781101568057) (18 page)

Chapter 27

Maria's hands twisted together on the edge of Andrew's bed. “Maybe Richard's wrong, maybe Jasper
isn't
coming.”

“Maybe.” Mally put the marker in the page and closed the book for a moment, rubbing her eyes.

“You don't sound reassuring.”

“I can't help it, I think he's right. I only hope he can find the end of the tunnel first—”

“I never could stand Daniel St. Aubrey as a child. It must have been a premonition of this!”

“Daniel
was
pretty awful at times, wasn't he?” Mally opened the book again, smiling. “I can't think why Annabel was so engrossed in this book, there doesn't seem anything interesting in it.”

“What did she say?”

“Well, she said she wouldn't go into the same
gruesome
detail the book did about Lady Jacquetta's fate.”

“Then there must be something there. Read on, Marigold.”

“Mother wouldn't thank you for that mimicry.”

Maria smiled faintly and took Andrew's hand, putting it against her cheek. “Please, Andrew,
please!”
she murmured, resting her other hand against his long fair hair.

For a long time the room was silent. The candle guttered, and Mally looked up at it. “I can't read any more of this lettering, Maria. You'll have to do it for a while.”

“Me?”

“Yes. You were always better at such things than I was anyway.”

“Because I liked our tutor.”

“The handsome young Mr. Blatchford? You terrified him. Anyway, the book is yours. Here.”

Maria took it and went to the other bed, lying down and resting her chin on one hand. “From the page you've marked?”

“Yes.”

“And nothing's happened so far?”

“John of Gaunt has sojourned with his vast retinue and eaten poor Lord Whoever-it-was-at-the-time out of house and home. But apparently it was worth it for the Duke's favor.”

Mally went to the tiny window and looked out. The stars winked in a clear sky and the moon's silver light lay over the valley. The castle was quiet. Shouldn't there be more noise? She opened the window and immediately felt foolish. She would hardly hear the sounds of searching going on in the cellars—

“At last. Lady Jacquetta.”

She turned to look at Maria. “What does it say?”

“Just a minute, I'll read all of it and then tell you.” Maria turned another two pages and then closed the book. “I think I know why Annabel wouldn't read it to you—”

“Well? Oh, come on, don't lie there knowing it all without telling me!”

“Lady Jacquetta was being unfaithful to her husband, Sir Francis, with a certain nobleman from Court named Sir Piers. Piers and Francis were both adherents of Richard III. Oh, it's 1485. The year of Bosworth and all that.”

“Yes.” Mally controlled her impatience.

“When Francis discovered what had been going on, he had Jacquetta thrown in the dungeon. He was so furious about it that he demanded justice from the king, but poor Richard had problems enough—he didn't dare mete out anything to Piers because he needed as much support as he could for the invading Henry Tudor was making noises across the Channel. Francis was beside himself with a sense of the injustice of it all. He changed his allegiance to Henry. Castell Melyn was important, because it was one route into England which Henry might take, so Richard rather tactlessly dispatched none other than Piers to lay siege to the castle.”

“Is there any mention of a tunnel at all, or does it ramble on like this?”

“There's a tunnel. But I have to tell you everything in the right order. Now, where had I got to?”

“Piers is about to lay siege to Castell Melyn.”

“Oh, yes. Well he
did
lay siege to it. And Francis sat tight, leaving Jacquetta in the dungeon still, for he was more determined than ever now to punish her. That was a little poetic license on my part—I haven't a clue what his intentions about her were. The siege hadn't been in progress very long when one day Piers's men found a spring on the mountain below the castle, and when they knelt to use it, they saw that behind the rock it came from beneath, there was a space. When they pulled the rock away they found the entrance to a cave.”

Why does it echo in here, Daniel?

The words were in Mally's head immediately and she could hear her own stumbling footsteps again. And the vague gurgle of water.

Maria sat up. “The cave went a long way back into the hill, and Piers had the capital notion of helping the cave on its way by digging a tunnel and perhaps managing to get into the castle. And this is what he did. Each day, when there were exchanges of cannonfire or whatever between the castle and the besieging force, some of Piers's men were making their way nearer and nearer to the castle. Then word came from the king that Piers and his force were needed, but Piers was anxious to get to Jacquetta if he could, so he told his men to tunnel at night as well, and that was his mistake. The guards watching over Jacquetta heard the sounds. Francis knew immediately what was going on. He decided on what Annabel must mean by the
gruesome
part of it. The next day he had his men begin firing cannonade after cannonade at Piers's men, guessing that Piers would be forced to withdraw a little, taking all his men with him. Then he took up the floor of the dungeon and had his own men dig down to meet the tunnel. His stonemasons built a solid wall across the tunnel, underneath the dungeon. He then—he then chained Jacquetta behind the new wall and replaced the floor of the dungeon. When all was done, he relaxed the castle's onslaught. And waited. Piers advanced to his former position again and sent his men to continue. He had had another command from the king, and was desperate for Jacquetta. His men went up to the tunnel and found a wall where there shouldn't be one. And they heard Jacquetta's pitiful moans the other side. They were so terrified they went back out again. Piers couldn't get one of his men to go into the tunnel, and so decided he would obey the king's orders and lift the siege. Jacquetta was left there forever.”

“The dungeon. That's where it is—” Mally ran to the door and began to unbolt it.

“Don't go, Mally!” Maria was suddenly frightened. “That's the first place Richard will look—”

“I must tell him, it's important.” The door crashed back as Mally forced the bolts at last, gathering her skirts to run down the winding steps.

The draught set the candle flickering wildly. Maria turned to shield it, but it was too late. The room was in darkness suddenly and the air filled with the smell of the candle. The door at the foot of the tower crashed as Mally ran out. Trembling, Maria remained where she was, afraid to cross to the door. The steps led down into darkness, and the cold sweep of air from the courtyard below passed over her as if it sensed her fear.

A light appeared down the steps. A tiny light, a candle protected by someone's hand, someone who crept up the steps very slowly. Maria's eyes widened, and she was frozen, unable to make her legs or arms move. She stared at the light, so pink as it glowed through the fingers. As the top of the steps was reached Maria screamed.

“Miss Maria? Miss Maria, it's only me. Gwynneth. I saw your light had gone out—”

Maria pressed the back of her hand against her mouth, shaking so much she couldn't speak. Gwynneth came closer, holding the new candle to the old one, and then she crouched beside Maria. “I didn't mean to frighten you, Miss Maria. Look now, take some of this wine you've left in the glass, it will help you. Oh, but your hands are so cold.” Gwynneth held the glass out and Maria took it. As she did so she looked across at Andrew.

He smiled at her.

***

Louis was holding a lantern in the dungeon, and Richard was crouching on the floor looking down into a hole. Light from another lantern glowed up from the hole, lighting Richard's face.

“What do you see, Abel?” He turned as Mally came down the steps. “We've just found it.”

“It was in Annabel's book.” She remained by the door, unwilling to go nearer.

“Come and lay your nightmare, Mally.” He held out his hand. “Come on.”

She slowly crossed and took his hand. The lantern light wavered over the second dungeon, just as it had when her father had found her. A wave of revulsion swept over her and she drew away, but Richard held her firmly.

“This was where he buried her,” she whispered, “where he left her to die.” She stared past Abel at the wall which Francis had built. The chain still hung rustily from the stonework, but the stonework itself had crumbled in one place, revealing the yawning, empty blackness of the tunnel. Her eyes went to the chain again, following it down to the foot of the wall. All that remained of Jacquetta still lay there, white and pitiful. Mally stood, swallowing.

But at that moment Abel extinguished his lantern. “Someone coming, Mr. Vallender!” He turned and thrust the lantern back up into Richard's hand, and Richard reached down to pull him up. Quickly they dragged the flagstone back into place.

“Damn! If we only knew the other end of the tunnel, we could keep them in there until Chris gets back!” Richard took Mally's hand again. “Did it say in the book?”

“It starts in a cave. A cave behind a spring.”

Abel nodded. “Maybe
I
know, Mr. Vallender.”

“Take some men with you then, and some pistols. A shot or two should keep our friends well and truly in the cave. Hurry then.”

“I send someone back if we got them, Mr. Vallender.” Abel hurried from the dungeon, and Richard took Mally's arm.

“We'll bolt the dungeon door. Come on.”

Louis followed them with the lantern and Richard dragged the old door to, bolting it firmly.

“That'll hold them. That and the door up into the courtyard.”

Outside in the clear moonlit night, Mally shivered, partly from the cold and partly from the excitement.

Gwynneth hurried across toward them. “Mr. Vallender, Mr. Vallender, it's Mr. York. He's woken up!”

Richard hugged Mally. “Now, all we need is for Abel to send back that he's got them trapped in the tunnel!”

“Is he all right, Gwynneth?” asked Mally.

The maid nodded. “He's weak, ma'am, and I'm fetching some good broth now. But he knows Miss Maria, he said her name. Oh, and he asked if they'd caught Jasper Turney yet, caught him for murdering Mrs. Harmon.”

Maria still didn't know whether to laugh or cry when Richard and Mally came up. She sat by Andrew, holding his hand tightly.

Richard grinned at Andrew. “You took your time, you sonofa——!”

Andrew smiled. “If I weren't so goddamn weak—”

“You and whose army?” Richard stood at the foot of the bed. “Do you remember, Andrew?”

“Yes. I saw them through the window. I heard her scream. The moon came out and I saw them do it. But they saw me at the same time. Have you got them?”

A horse clattered into the courtyard below and Mally went to the top of the steps. One of the grooms came up, looking up to where she stood, her figure lit by the candles in the room behind her.

“We've caught them, Mrs. St. Aubrey. Abel had the right place.”

She turned. “We've got them, Mr. York.”

Chapter 28

Several days later the Turneys and Brew Darril were in custody at Hereford, and the township of Llanglyn was ringing with the tale of what had really happened on the night Agatha Harmon had died, and there were a considerable number of shamed faces to be seen around the streets and marketplace.

But up at Castell Melyn, late on a sunny autumn afternoon, it was quiet.

Mally stood alone by Gillian Vallender's portrait. Richard's dead wife stared out from the canvas, remote and lovely.

“Gillie was a fine-looking woman,” said a voice behind her, and she turned to see Andrew York standing there.

“You startled me,” she said, for somehow it was almost like looking at Gillian to see his pale fair face. And those bright blue eyes—

“I'm sorry, I didn't mean to creep up on you, but this old place sure has that effect on me. I feel I
must
be stealthy.” He grinned.

“How are you feeling now?”

“Well. I'm more concerned now about Maria.”

“She's as healthy as ever, you don't need to worry about her.”

He nodded up at the portrait. “Gillie died in childbed. I have to worry about Maria.”

“Looking at this portrait, I would guess that Gillian was not as hale and healthy as my sister.”

“Looking at that portrait you would not guess
anything
about my late cousin.” He came closer, studying the canvas. “It was painted only a year before she died, you know. Before then, the artist would have captured a different woman entirely.”

“What do you mean?”

He looked at her, his blue eyes shrewd. “I will tell you the truth about her, Mally—I may call you that?”

“If you are to marry my sister I should hope you would.”

“Right, Mally. I will tell you, because I have already noticed you here several times, looking at Gillie. But what I say is between you, me, and the last bayou.”

“The last what?”

“It doesn't matter. You, me, and the doorpost then. Richard thinks he married Gillie because he was sorry for her, because she was shackled to old man York's plantation more than any slave, and because he wanted to rescue her. Maybe it's true, in a way. But Gillie was no delicate blossom, not by a long way. Her life
was
stifling, but not that much. Her father intended marrying her to the son of a neighboring owner, a family of French extraction. More than anything else in the world Gillie wanted
out
of that betrothal. Richard happened along at the perfect time, and she knew how to play a part. We Yorks are adept at that part, Mally, for I used the same ploy myself on your sister.” He smiled at her startled face. “I wanted Maria more than anything else in the world, and I knew how to catch her eye, her interest, and her heart. The Yorks look soulful, like spaniel puppies, but we're far from that.”

“So it would seem.”

“The difference between my action and Gillie's is that I was in love with Maria. Gillie didn't love Richard. At least, not at first. In the end she did. He married her because he liked her, because he was sorry for her, and because in the end it would bring him Le Bosquet Bas—
I'm
the son of a third or fourth brother, and don't count, I'm afraid. Old man York was so mad he had a fit when she and Richard got married. Right under his nose, it was, in the fanciest church in New Orleans. But, it was done, and he was powerless to do anything but grit his teeth and smile. Or make everything over to me, which he would never do in a month of wet Sundays, as he regarded my mother as a whore, if you'll excuse the word. She was an actress, and no one born of
her
was to get his hands on Le Bosquet Bas. So, Richard was welcomed home. Within a year old man York was dead anyway. Fever. And by then my cousin had realized that she was desperately in love with her British husband. She had hidden her true self from him, Mally, because she knew that he would not have liked her true self. Mally—Gillie had throughout her life been hard, grasping, spiteful, and selfish. And that is no exaggeration.”

Mally stared at him. “Surely not.” She then looked up at the sweet face in the portrait.

“That face you see there is Gillie not long before she died, when she was in love with Richard. She knew she would never have him, not completely. Damn it, I liked her then, I'd hated her before. She'd become unhappy. And she'd softened.”

“Richard didn't make her unhappy.”

“No, he didn't, he was the perfect husband, if such a beast exists. He didn't love her, though. I sat on the wall between them, watching both and knowing more about each than the other did.”

“Richard thinks she never knew he didn't love her.”

“I know. She did, though. The knowledge that she was having his child brought her great joy. What might have happened if she had lived—and the little girl—I don't know. But you don't have to look over your shoulder at Gillie Vallender, Mally. Richard's yours, absolutely and completely. Just as you are his. There's no Daniel St. Aubrey now, is there?”

“No.”

“Then why worry about poor Gillie? She can't touch him now any more than she could then. Let's have only one ghost at Castell Melyn—the late, departed Lady Jacquetta de Winter.”

She smiled at him. “I can understand how you absolutely devastated my sister, Andrew York—to use my mother's words.”

“It's my American charm and boyish beauty.”

“Obviously.”

He kissed her cheek. “Go on, go to Richard and forget Gillie.”

“And give in to my baser feelings as you and Maria did?” she murmured, smiling at him.

“Ah—now that's entirely up to you. Between you, me, and—”

“The last bayou.”

***

Annabel knelt beside the little mound of fresh earth and put a bunch of pink chrysanthemums beside the little wooden cross. “There, Lady Jacquetta,” she said, “may you rest in peace after all this time.”

Gwynneth bent quickly and put some Christmas roses next to the other bouquet.
“Ffarwel,”
she whispered.

“A fitting end to all this, don't you think?” asked Chris.

Mally smiled at him. “Yes, and an ending I did not expect for one moment. Andrew is better and Maria happy beyond all reason, and you and Annabel are together. It is all as it should be.”

He slipped an arm around her shoulder. “And you and Richard?”

“I love him, Chris.”

He looked at her. “I can see that you do—you never looked at me the way you look at him. Damn his eyes. But I wish you both well—you know that, don't you?”

She nodded.

“So,” he said, “when Richard returns from Hereford today, we shall celebrate.”

At that moment Annabel leaped to her feet, looking around with wide eyes. “Something touched my shoulder!”

“There's nothing there,” said Chris.

Gwynneth smiled. “She was only saying good-bye and thank you.”

“Who?” asked Annabel.

“Why Lady Jacquetta, of course. She won't be back again now, for she can rest happily after all this time.” The little maid bobbed a curtsey and hurried back toward the castle.

Annabel stood there, looking from Chris to Mally.

Chris laughed. “Well, don't stand there looking like that. After all, that
is
why you came here.”

“I didn't really believe in it,” she said at last. “Not
really.”
She looked down at the grave for a long moment.

Mally smiled at Chris. “Take heart, my friend, for I fancy that's the last ghost-hunt you'll ever be dragged on!”

***

Mrs. Berrisford sat gingerly in the solar, looking around carefully. “Most exquisite,” she said at last, sniffing once.

Richard smiled at her. “I take that as a compliment, Mrs. Berrisford.”

“Indeed, Mr. Vallender. Oh, dear, this is all most embarrassing, for I do not know how to address you. I have been mistaken in the past, most mistaken, and for that I apologize. However—”

“Mother!” Mally stood beside Richard. “There is no
however
about it. For goodness' sake, be gracious.”

“I'm trying, Marigold, believe me. But after receiving Maria's most distressing news—”

“Distressing? But everything is going to be all right, they will be married next week—”

“Yes, and the child born rather too soon after that date for my comfort. What
will
everyone say? And there's that dreadful Mrs. Clevely calling upon me tomorrow. Word's reached her, you know. Some idle toad of a gossip went whispering to the old dragon.”

“Refuse to see her.” Mally looked at her mother patiently. “Or see her and spit in her eye.”

“Marigold!”

“Well, as if it matters what that old biddy has to say! She's a nothing!” She smiled then. “Anyway, if Maria and Andrew marry up in London, how is anyone down here going to know
when
they were married? Mm?”

Mrs. Berrisford smiled slowly. “My
dear,
I hadn't thought of that! Of course, they could have married months ago. Absolutely
months!”
The smile faded. “But then there's the matter of your engagement to Sir Christopher.”

Richard took Mally's hand. “I'm afraid, Mrs. Berrisford, that the name of Vallender carries little of the shine carried by that of Carlyon.”

“But it's not
that
which concerns me, Mr. Vallender,” said Mrs. Berrisford, looking hurt. “It's that people might say
he
threw Marigold over in favor of Lady Annabel!”

“Oh, mother, for heaven's sake—”

“Don't blaspheme, Marigold.”

“You drive me to it. If
I
don't care what people say, I really don't know why you do. If you like, I'll rush Richard to the altar as quickly as Maria is rushing—now
that
would give the gossips something to chew over.”

“That will not be necessary, Marigold. As you say, if you don't care, why should I? That's the end of it then. I congratulate you both.”

Mally took a long breath. “Don't fall over yourself with enthusiasm, Mother.”

“It just takes a little getting used to, that's all. Well, really, if you
must
know I've been embroidering some bed linen with the initials
M
and
C.
Now I'll have to unpick it all! It's too much, really it is.”

Mally smiled, going to the plump, red-wigged figure and putting her arms around her. “Give them to Chris and Annabel for a wedding gift.
M
and
C.
Murchison and Carlyon. It's perfect.”

“Marigold, how absolutely splendid. Now I shall not have to sit up night after night unpicking. I do so hate unpicking.” Mrs. Berrisford beamed. “And I didn't like the colors I'd chosen anyway. Yellow and green. Not the thing. No, now it shall be oyster and white on cream sheets. Yes, and the initials
M
and
R.
”

“Mother, do you remember the day Daniel left me in that tunnel?”

“Why, yes, my dear. Your father and Daniel's father spent a good deal of time up here putting the floor of the dungeon back into place. And they pushed a boulder across the entrance of the tunnel down in the woods. And to think that dreadful Brew Darril sniffed it out after all that time. Oh,
what
might have happened if those three ruffians had got in here, I dread to think—still, poor dear Agatha's jewels have been recovered and have gone to their rightful owner. Agatha had a niece, you know. Mind you—” There was another sniff. “The gel never came near her old aunt. Not once. Agatha couldn't stand the wench.”

“Now who's being a gossip?”

Mrs. Berrisford smiled sleekly. “It's one of the greatest pleasures in life, child. You'll find that out in the end, even from up here in this drafty castle. Gossip and chitter-chatter. The most feared and most enjoyed pastime. Well, perhaps
almost
the most enjoyed.” She pulled Mally a little closer and whispered in her ear. “Do you know, Marigold, he's even more good-looking than Sir Christopher, but when I look at him I just can't think how. Charming. One can imagine some most enjoyable pastimes with him, don't you know.”

“Mother! I'm surprised at you.”

“Why? Even I have my memories. Now then, take yourselves for that walk. I'm going to the kitchens to see how that Creole cook produces those dishes. Pattie will have to master that particular art, if it kills me.”

***

Lucy walked among the trees, and the deer took little notice of her slow figure.

Mally and Richard watched her and Mally slipped her hand into his. “There, she
will
be here when the daffodils are out again after all.”

“She seemed quite overcome when the landau came over the lodge drawbridge.”

“She was.” Mally looked up at him and smiled. “Mother was right, you know—one
can
imagine wickedly pleasing ways of passing the time with you.”

His dark eyes glittered. “I can help you do more than
imagine
them, sweetheart!”

“Ah, but think of losing all that delicious anticipation.”

“The hell with anticipation.”