Mally : Signet Regency Romance (9781101568057) (5 page)

Chapter 7

Mrs. Berrisford looked fit to faint. “Oh, we are to be murdered in our beds, just as poor dear Agatha was!”

“Mother! Don't be silly! It's probably a burglar wondering if it would be worth breaking in here. Will you show me, Digby?” Mally tried desperately to conceal her own instant fear.

“Yes, madam, if you will follow me. It was Lucy who first noticed him, a few moments ago when she was drawing the curtains of your dressing room. He was smoking, you see, and she saw the glow of his cigar.”

Mrs. Berrisford hesitated as she saw everyone leaving the room, and then abruptly she got to her feet and hurried after them.

Digby extinguished the oil lamps on the landing and they approached the tall window overlooking the square. They pressed close to the window, except for the frightened little maid who hovered behind them anxiously.

Digby pointed through the lace curtain. “There, madam. By the third tree from your right. Yes. Do you see him? He's only a shadow—but
there!
He's lit another cigar!”

Mally gently pulled the lace curtain aside to see more clearly. The square was misty and cold, and the occasional leaf drifted to the wet grass. A carriage moved along the far side of the green. It was Chris's and she remembered that he was dining with the Earl of Hartmore, Annabel's father. The cobbles gleamed damply and the man's silhouette was just visible in the gray haze.

They were so intent upon watching that they did not hear Lucy coming down from the floor above, nor did they hear her exclamation of annoyance at finding the main landing in darkness. She hurried back upstairs and lifted an oil lamp from its holder, and then came down again. The light flooded onto the landing behind the window, picking out Mally quite clearly as she peered around the heavy lace curtain.

“Lucy!” Mrs. Berrisford squealed in dismay, gesturing the old nurse away. “He'll see us all now!”

But it was too late, for the man had seen Mally's outline. He stamped out the cigar and melted back among the trees. There were no fleeing footsteps to hear this time, but the coldness she had experienced before slithered back over Mally as she stood there. Digby took Mrs. Berrisford's arm, for she seemed about to faint clean away, and he supported her back into the warm dining room.

Mally remained by the window for a while. Chris's carriage had passed from sight beyond St. Blaise's now and across the square the Earl's house was a blaze of color and lights. But down in the square, the trees were dark and mysterious, a cobweb of inky shadows and strange shapes. She turned away and took a long breath; she must hide her unease from her mother.

In the dining room Mrs. Berrisford was accepting a glass of wine from the patient Digby, and the little maid was still wavering around by the door, seeming to be on the point of dissolving into tears at any moment. Lucy stood by the table looking upset, and Mally went to her.

“Don't fret now, Lucy, it wasn't your fault. I'll tell you what, you and Digby go to the kitchens, and take this poor maid with you, and have some of the best brandy to set you all up again.”

When she was alone with her mother again, she poured herself a very large glass of the Médoc.

Mrs. Berrisford watched her. “I begin to find your consumption of wine rather alarming, Marigold.”

“If you think
I
drink heavily, then I pray you are never invited to a society dinner party, for then the capacity of some ladies of repute would absolutely stagger you. Now, let me sit down and get my breath back. I—I wonder what he was watching us for? He must have been a hopeful burglar, don't you think?”

“Or something more sinister.”

“Oh, Mother, don't say such things, please.”

“We would not even have known he was there had it not been for Lucy. I shall be locking my door again tonight, and you must do the same, Marigold.”

“Let's change the subject, shall we? I met the new owner of Castell Melyn today.”

“That
man
!”

“Why ever do you feel like that about Mr. Vallender? I found him most charming.”

“He is odious in the extreme.”

“Oh. Well, we will have to beg to differ on that point for the time being—until he proves to
me
that he is odious.”

“I know nothing good about him. Nothing at all. As I have already said. He is a harborer of murderers and seducers of young women!”

“Goodness, and here's my good self with an invitation to visit him there.”

“You wouldn't, Marigold!”

“Why ever not? I found him most agreeable. Did you realize that he is an old friend of both Chris and Daniel?”

Mrs. Berrisford stared at her. “Not
that
Dickon Vallender? The boy they went to school with?”

“Yes. That's why he bought the castle, because he knew Llanglyn was where Daniel came from. He didn't know Daniel was dead or that he had been married.”

“Would that he had forgotten where Daniel came from then.”

“I found him pleasant.”

“So you keep saying, Marigold. Are you sure that you and Sir Christopher quarreled about an ordinary difference? Was it perhaps your delight in this Mr. Vallender?”

“No, Mother, it was not about Mr. Vallender.”

“Then why has not Sir Christopher called here tonight? I recognized his carriage a moment ago.”

Mally looked at her glass. “He is dining with the Earl of Hartmore.”

“Quite a party they must be making of it, judging by the lights and so on over there.” Mrs. Berrisford looked carefully at her. “Was it not the Earl's daughter Sir Christopher was once expected to marry?”

“Lady Annabel Murchison. Yes, Mother.”

“A tall piece? Golden hair?”

“Yes.”

“Mm.”

Mally looked sharply at her. “Why do you mutter like that?”

“Because while you were surveying the man in the square, I happened to glance across at the Earl's house. I could see straight into the drawing room before the curtains were drawn.”

“And?”

“And I saw Sir Christopher and Lady Annabel sitting very cosily together. Very cosily.”

***

Daniel! Daniel St. Aubrey! You let me out of here this instant! Do you hear me!
The cold, cold darkness was all around her, velvety and close, pressing in on her all over again.
Daniel, please, I'm frightened.
The icy air seemed to move over her like a ghostly breath.

And Daniel's voice. So far away.
Come and find me, Mally. Come and find me.

Daniel!
The sepulchral air breathed again.

Abruptly the nightmare was gone. Mally lay there shaking in the warm bed. The nightmare had gone, but its threads still lingered in the room, threads like cobwebs to cling to her across the years. She stared at the tiny night light, its steady little glow visible through the velvet drapes of the bed. The sheets smelled of lavender. And they were warm. Not cold and damp like a grave—

The quiet of the night was absolute. Except— She turned her head slightly at a faint, stealthy sound. At the door. She froze with a sudden new fear as the night light quivered a little in its dish as a cool draft spread through the room from the opened door. The velvet curtains of the bed moved slightly as a hand drew them aside.

The terror rose to a crescendo and she began to scream. The hand vanished and heavy steps retreated toward the door. Still screaming she dragged the bed-clothes away and pushed past the still trembling curtains. The door of the room was wide open, and as she ran out onto the landing and leaned over the banisters, a figure stood down in the hallway, the hood of its cloak pulled over its face although it was staring up at her, motionless.

She screamed again and the figure's frozen immobility vanished. With one or two steps it was by the front door which had already been unbolted. The doors swung heavily, letting in the mist and cold of the night, and then the intruder was gone. Mally thought she could hear footsteps out in the night. And then nothing.

“Miss Mall? Miss Mall, whatever is it?”

She turned to see Lucy's frightened face lit by the single candle she was holding. Her gray hair was in one long plait hanging down over her right shoulder, and one hand was clutching the drawstring at the throat of her nightgown.

“Oh, Lucy—” Mally clung weakly to the banisters. “Someone tried to get into my room, he was at the very bed itself! Oh, if I hadn't woken up—!”

“Marigold?” Mrs. Berrisford's key rattled and she peeped cautiously out of the room. “Marigold? Was that you screaming, or was I dreaming?” Her face, bereft of rouge, looked podgy and pale, and her mousy hair was revealed without its usual wig cover.

Lucy put her arm gently around Mally's shaking shoulders. “Come on down to the library, Miss Mall, the fire will still be in there. You've had a dreadful shock.”

Mally looked down into the empty hall again, looking through the shimmering crystals of the chandelier. Surely she had not imagined it—

But then Digby came up from the basement, his old nightcap pulled over his balding head and his dressing gown tied firmly around his bony body. He went to the doors and closed them, pausing before finally closing the second one to look across the square.

“What is it, Digby?”

“Sir Christopher is just leaving the Earl's house, madam.”

Chris.
“Go and bring him, Digby, I beg of you.”

“Marigold!” Mrs. Berrisford emerged a little more from the haven of her room. “You cannot!”

“I want him here, Mother!” She looked over at Digby. “If you please.”

The butler straightened his nightcap self-consciously, rearranged his dressing gown, and stepped out down the steps into the night.

Lucy steered Mally down the stairs to the floor below and into the leather-filled warmth of the library. The fire glowed softly behind its guard and the spines of the books ranged around on their shelves looked soothing and comforting as Mally sat in Daniel's favorite chair by the fire.

They heard light steps coming up from the hallway and then Chris was there, tossing his top hat onto the table.

“Mally?” His eyes were anxious and he brought the scent of cigar smoke with him, clinging to his velvet coat.

“Oh, Chris—” She stood and ran to him.

He caught her close, his fingers twining in her thick dark hair, and his lips were soft as he kissed her. “It's all right now, sweetheart, I'm here.”

“Don't leave me tonight, Chris, please.” She pressed against him, her face buried in the frill and lace of his shirt.

“I won't. I promise.”

Chapter 8

Chris put down the
Morning Chronicle
as Mally entered the dining room the following morning. He stood and held his hands out to her. “Do you feel a little better this morning?”

She pulled a wry face. “I feel a little foolish this morning, that is for sure.”

“Foolish? But you had every right to be frightened.” He pulled her into his arms. “I have set Digby to check through the entire house and gardens to see if anything has been stolen, but on a cursory glance myself I could see nothing.”

“My noisy awakening probably finished the burglary before it had properly begun.”
If it was a burglary
— The thought slipped through her mind quite unexpectedly.

There was a discreet knock at the door and Digby came in. “Good morning, madam.”

“Good morning, Digby.” She stepped self-consciously away from Chris.

“Sir Christopher,” said the butler, “I have done as you bade me, commencing with the gardens. And it seems most probable that the fellow entered from the back lane between this house and Lady Simmonds's, for the ivy has been torn from the wall by the dovecote. The kitchen door has been forced and I have sent for a locksmith to replace the damaged lock. But on going through the house itself, sir, I could find nothing. Nothing at all. I would say that not one single thing has been touched or even moved. I even set the house maids and parlor maids to check, and they swear that everything looks as it should.”

Chris nodded. “Thank you, Digby. Will you send someone to report the matter to the necessary authorities, although I know they can do nothing.”

“Yes, Sir Christopher.” The butler left the dining room again.

Chris pulled a chair out at the table for her. “Well, you must be right, Mally. He chose your room to begin on—and that proved his undoing, eh?” He smiled at her.

She settled herself, and took his hand quickly before he went to sit.

“Chris, forgive my sending for you so dramatically and publicly like that. It was not at all the thing, was it?”

“Under the circumstances, sweetheart, you were quite justified—and I would be hurt to think you would hesitate merely on the grounds of what
looks
correct. Besides, I seized the chance of flying to your side with a good deal of alacrity, I promise you.” He raised her hand to his lips. “Think no more of it.”

“Do you think the authorities will find anything?”

“No. If nothing was stolen then there will be nothing to turn up to offer a clue. Whoever it was came and went empty-handed. End of chapter, I fear.”

End of chapter. Was it? Again the unbidden thought slid into her head. It had been no burglary, for the intruder had come directly to the bed. To
her
bed— As she took some crisp bacon from the silver dish on the table, she pondered the man in the square the night before. He had been little more than a silhouette. A silhouette in a box coat. Like some country man back in Breconshire and hardly like a Londoner— She stared at the bacon. That was it. He had looked like a country man. And a country man had been at the Swan with Two Necks asking about Maria.

“Mally? I'd warrant a penny now would purchase some intriguing thoughts.”

“Mm?”

“Your thoughts.” Chris stirred his coffee, watching her.

“Oh, I was just wondering what the fellow came here for, that's all.” She sounded open and honest, she decided, even if she knew inside that she wasn't being either. She wanted to tell him about Maria, but then she had promised her mother that Maria's reputation would come before all.

“Don't let it worry you anymore, sweetheart. He's gone and that's the end of it. Now, let us change to a more pleasing topic. I have arranged a dinner party for a week tomorrow. A party for four.”

“Four? You and myself, presumably, but who are the other two to be?”

“Richard Vallender. And—Annabel.”

“Oh. My, she
was
busy last evening, wasn't she?”

He smiled. “How sweet to see the stirrings of jealousy in
you
for a change, jealousy as ill-founded as my own. Before I left for Hartmore's yesterday, Richard called. He was on his way to Benleigh Square and realized how close he was passing to me. I took the opportunity of nailing him to a set time and place for dinner with us. Annabel then seemed the obvious choice for a fourth.”

“Obvious indeed.” Mally raised an eyebrow. “I trust you enjoyed yourself yesterday. From all the lights and so on one would have imagined at the very least a coming-out ball was in progress. You told me it was a dinner with her father.”

“And so it was. I
did
notice the lights myself, though.” He grinned. “I don't get a welcome like that when I come here.”

“Damn her.”

“I'm flattered.”

“And damn you too.”

“How kind.” He sat back then. “Tell me, you have friends in Benleigh Square, don't you? Sarah Chitterly?”

“Yes. Sarah and her aunt live there. Number seven.”

“I thought so.”

She watched him curiously. “Why do you ask?”

“Richard had paid off his chaise, knowing that he was so close to his destination. He asked me which way around to go to get to number three. I may be mistaken, but is that not the address of that German doctor who's creating such a name for himself at the moment? Schiller? Schriller? Stiller? It begins with ‘S' anyway.”

“Yes. Sarah lives four houses away from him. I had tea with her one afternoon and we amused ourselves by counting the carriages calling there.”

Chris poured himself another coffee. “I don't somehow think Richard was calling socially. He seemed a little tense. Oh, nothing that anyone who didn't know him well would notice, but then I knew him very well once and things like that remain with you.”

“I hope you are wrong. Oh, you must be, for he looked in rude health to me the other day. Yesterday. Oh, was it really only yesterday? It seems more like last week. So much has happened.” Mally looked away. Yes, a lot had happened.

“You're right, he did look healthy. Oh, well, perhaps it
was
social. Tell me, how is your sister? I notice that she did not come with your mother.”

She dropped her fork. “Maria?”

“How many sisters have you?”

“Oh, she is well enough. Visiting relatives, I believe.” Oh, how she hated lying to him, but somehow— He was Richard Vallender's friend; and it could be that Richard might know something about Maria. What, Mally couldn't imagine, but she just knew she wished to say nothing to Chris, both because she had promised her mother, and because she felt that it was the wisest thing to do for the moment.

She stared across the room at the bobbing Michaelmas daisies in the garden. The man in the square— If he
had
been the same man who asked about Maria at the inn, what would he be watching this house for? Why, for Maria, of course. It was obvious. And what would he perhaps have thought when he saw a woman like Maria outlined in that window when Lucy had brought the lamp? He would think she was Maria, for at that distance there would be no telling the difference as there was a great likeness between the two Berrisford sisters. The daisies swayed as the breeze brought a shower of red and gold leaves down from the beech tree. There was a connection between Maria and Castell Melyn, and Mally decided there and then that she would foster any burgeoning friendship with Mr. Richard Vallender.

Chris cleared his throat. “I believe, Mally, that we are about to be joined by your good lady mother. Listen.”

They listened to the loud voice from the landing above. “Lucy? Lucy, where have you put it? I wish to know immediately. What? In where? Good heavens, you goose, it will be creased beyond redemption!”

Mally groaned. “Do you know, Chris, if it had not been for Lucy all these years, I think both Maria and myself would have been long since incarcerated in Bedlam!”

“How long is she staying here?”

“I don't know.”

“Perhaps we should introduce her to old Hartmore. That would be a grand thing, eh? They could put an end to each other, he by boring her, and she by driving him to distraction!”

Mally laughed. “I don't think even Mother deserves the Earl.”

“Maybe not.
Nobody
deserves him. How he managed to sire a beauty like Annabel I'll never know. I often wonder if her late mother knew something she never divulged to anyone.”

“Most likely. The Earl has brown eyes and so did Annabel's mother. And so has every other Hartmore I can think of. And yet Annabel has green eyes. One does wonder, doesn't one?”

“Scandalmonger.”