Mariana (14 page)

A gentle, apologetic tap on the door behind us broke the contemplative silence and made us both spin around like a couple of guilty schoolchildren. A tall, elderly woman was standing in the open doorway. The neatly pressed apron covering her demure dark-blue dress and the classic arrangement of her softly white hair presented a picture of calm, well-ordered efficiency, and her face, with its smiling blue eyes and gentle expression, seemed oddly familiar to me.

But she wasn't looking at me—she was looking at Geoff.

'You have a phone call,' she told him, her voice pleasantly melodic. 'I wouldn't have bothered you with it, but it's Mr. McCandless from the Manchester plant, and he sounded rather urgent.'

'Right.' Geoff grimaced. 'I'll take the call. Thanks, Freda. Oh,' he said, as an afterthought, 'have you met? Julia Beckett, Alfreda Hutherson, my housekeeper.'

We smiled and shook hands, and then I remembered.

'We have met,' I said. 'You came round to the house to welcome me.'
'That's right,' the older woman replied. 'Settling in all right, are you?'

'Yes, thank you.'

Geoff touched my shoulder, brushing past us. 'Look, I'll just go take that phone call, shall I? Won't be a minute.'

Mrs. Hutherson moved aside to let him pass, then stepped forward again, tilting her head to one side as she looked first at me, then at the dark portrait in the corner.

'Quite a nice painting, isn't it?' she remarked, and I nodded.

'Very nice.'

'A very handsome man.'

'Yes.'

She brought her eyes back to mine, and for a moment I felt a curious sensation of nakedness, as though she were looking straight into my soul. Just for a moment, and then there was only an old woman with friendly blue eyes, looking at me.

'It's a pity no one knows who he is,' she said. 'Handsome man like that, and such a dashing figure. Somebody must have loved him, once.'

She looked at me again, and smiled.

'You'll have to excuse me, I've the upstairs windows to do yet. I hope you enjoy the rest of your tour.'

I had to clear my throat before speaking. 'Thank you.'

She nodded graciously and departed, her footsteps ringing in even measure on the polished hardwood floor of the long passage. Odd that neither Geoff nor I had heard her approach, I thought. Alone in the lovely, quiet room, I lifted my eyes once more to the portrait.

Richard de Mornay smiled down at me.

It was Richard de Mornay—I
was
certain of that. There was no mistaking that proud, handsome arrogance, nor the gentle cynicism of his dark, hooded gaze.
Someone must have
loved him,
Mrs. Hutherson had said, and again that little, knowing voice inside me made reply.

Yes,
it said, with painful clarity....
I
did.

But then, I already y knew that. Had known it, it seemed, for some time. And I had the strangest feeling—based on intuition rather than on any rational fact—that Alfreda Hutherson had known it, too.

Fourteen

The Red Lion was the busiest I'd ever seen it, several tables swarming with Saturday-afternoon patrons, and it was a long while before Vivien could work her way back to the bar to serve us. Even Ned had been moved to action, and had ambled by us at least twice bearing plates of sandwiches and chips from the back kitchen.

'Right.' Vivien swung herself into position behind the bar, her fair hair swirled around her flushed face. 'Let me get this straight.' She looked across at Geoff. 'You gave Julia a tour of the Hall today.'

Geoff nodded.

'And as payment for this enormous privilege,' Vivien went on, 'Julia has agreed to let you buy her a drink.'

'Correct.'

'Sounds like a rare fair deal, my girl,' she said to me. 'What can I get you?'

'Gin and tonic, please.' I smiled back.

Two stools away, beside Geoff, Iain Sumner leaned forward with a disapproving frown.

'What kind of a drink d'ye call that?' he asked me, his own hand cupped around a sweating pint of dark bitter.
'Ignore him,' Vivien instructed me. 'He's in one of his difficult moods.'

Iain raised an eyebrow at that. 'I am not.'

'You see what I mean.' Vivien winked, sliding my drink across the bar.

Geoff turned in his seat to face his friend.

'You do seem a little out of sorts today, Iain. Everything all right?'

'Everything's bloody fine,' Iain retorted, 'and I'm in a bloody wonderful mood, thanks.' He drew a cigarette from the package in front of him and lit it, the very angle of his jaw an open challenge.

Geoff and Vivien exchanged significant glances. Vivien turned her attention back to me, resting her elbows on the bar and leaning forward to shift some of the weight from her tired feet.

'So,' she said brightly, 'how did you enjoy the tour?'

'It was lovely,' I told her. 'Someone's done a wonderful job of restoring the old rooms—it's just like coming face-to-face with the past.'

'Quite literally, at that,' Geoff chimed in. 'Julia had an encounter with our ghost in the Cavalier bedroom.'

Vivien's eyes flashed excitedly.
'Did
you really? And what did it feel like to you?'

'Shock,' I replied, thinking back, 'and pain, and ... a sort of praying, if that makes any sense.'

'That's it, exactly.' Vivien nodded. 'It's really something, isn't it? Rather creepy, but exciting all the same.'

Iain leaned forward again, fixing me with a curious stare. 'You believe in them, then. Ghosts, I mean.'

'Yes, I do,' I decided, lifting my chin a little. 'I think there are definitely some things in this world that we can't explain in scientific terms—not yet, at any rate—but that doesn't make them any less real. Hamlet said it best.'

' "More things in heaven and earth, Horatio"?' he quoted. 'Aye, well. Hamlet was a bit of a fruitcake.'

'Don't you think they exist?' Geoff asked him.
'Please.' Iain's gray eyes smiled derisively. 'I am a Scotsman, after all. You can't walk half a mile in Scotland without treading on the coattails of a ghost or two. But I've not yet seen one up at the Hall.'

'You need to talk to Aunt Freda,' Vivien advised him. 'She sees them all the time. She even says she's seen the woman in the Cavalier bedroom.'

'Sees a lot of things, does your Aunt Freda,' Iain replied, dragging at his cigarette. 'Five hundred years ago they'd have built a bonfire under her.'

Vivien leaned across the bar and slapped him laughingly on the sleeve. 'That's a terrible thing to say,' she admonished him. 'You mind your tongue, or I'll tell her!'

'No need.' Iain shrugged. 'She knows perfectly well what I think. Besides, I've never said that there's anything wrong with being a witch....'

Geoff laughed. 'She is rather remarkable,' he agreed. 'You have to admit, Viv, that her ability to keep me organized denotes some sort of supernatural power....'

'Oh, go on!' Vivien dismissed them both with a wave of her hand. Turning to me, she asked, 'Have you met Aunt Freda, yet?'

I wasn't entirely sure, until Geoff stepped in and answered for me. 'Yes, she met her today, as a matter of fact. Freda is my housekeeper,' he told me, by way of clarification.

'Oh.' I thought a moment. 'Mrs. Hutherson, you mean? Yes, I've met her. Twice, actually. She came by the house a couple of weeks ago with the town welcoming committee. Brought me some smashing fruit scones. She seems very nice.'

'There, you see?' Vivien challenged the men. 'Julia thinks she's nice.'

'Of course she's nice,' Iain shot back.

'A nice witch,' Geoff confirmed, trying without much success to look serious.
I ignored them both. 'So she's seen the ghost in the upstairs room, has she?'

'Yes,' Vivien said. 'Some years ago, when she first went to work up at the manor house. Apparently, it's a young woman, just like everyone thought. Quite a pretty young woman, Aunt Freda says, with long fair hair.'

'Not wearing a green dress, by any chance?' I tried to make it sound like a joke.

'No, I don't think so. I'm pretty certain she said the dress was dark. But then, she said the whole ghost looked sort of gray and indistinct.'

Geoff looked down at me, smiling. 'You think your Green Lady is hiding out in my bedroom?' he asked.

'Rather a dull spot for her,' Vivien teased him.

Even Iain smiled at that, his mood improving. He lit a second cigarette and settled back in his seat.

'Speaking of the Green Lady,' he said to me, 'I'd be happy to dig that old garden back up
For
you, if you'd like.'

'Oh, no, thank you.' I raised an appealing hand. 'I couldn't keep a garden to save my life. I kill plants just by looking at them.'

'Julia thinks you ought to do something with the courtyard at the Hall,'
Geoff
told him. 'She was quite surprised you hadn't already planted it over.'

'What, the crypt, you mean?' Iain narrowed his eyes in contemplation. 'I may get round to it yet,' he said. 'You never know.'

'And just when would you find time for that, I'd like to know?' Vivien eyed him indulgently. 'Seems to me you've enough work on your plate.'

'Gardening's not work,' Iain corrected her. 'It's recreation. And you're always telling me I need more of that.'

'And fewer of
those'.
She nodded at his cigarette. 'Not that you ever listen to me.'

Geoff leaped to his friend's rescue by switching the subject. 'I hear there's to be a big estate sale near Calne next
weekend. Lord Ashburn's place, I believe. Anyone fancy a trip down there?'

'Are they auctioning any books?' I asked him.

'Only a few hundred.'

I smiled. 'Then you can count me in.'

'Wonderful. Vivien?'

'I'd love to,' Vivien said, 'but the sale's on Saturday and I promised Ned the day off so that he could watch his boy play rugby.'

I'm not sure which surprised me more—the revelation that Ned the barman was married, or the knowledge that his offspring had the energy to play at sports.

'That's too bad.' Geoff looked at Iain. 'What about you?'

'Can't,' was the Scotsman's response. 'The shearers come on Saturday.'

'Shearers?' I asked him.

'Aye. For the sheep. They have to cover all the farms in the district, so they're on a tight schedule.'

'You don't shear the sheep yourself, then?'

'Lord, no.' He smiled. 'I've no skill with a pair of shears—the sheep would look bloody awful if I did them. No, my shearers come from the north. Young lads. Professionals. They can do my flock in an afternoon.'

'So Saturday's out for you, as well,' Geoff concluded. It struck me that he didn't look particularly upset by the news. 'Well,' he said, 'what a shame. I suppose that just leaves Julia and myself.'

'Aye.' Iain gave me a brotherly look. 'You want to watch him, Julia,' he told me. 'He may look harmless enough, but appearances can be deceiving.'

Geoff grinned. 'That's slander, that is. You know I always behave like a perfect gentleman.'

'Right then, Sir Galahad,' Iain said dryly. 'D'ye think you can spare a moment to help me mend that fencing at the west end of the orchard, like you promised?'

'Damn, I'd forgotten all about that. I suppose I did promise, didn't I?'
'Aye. And the sheep will be all out on the road and halfway to Beckhampton if I don't get it mended by nightfall.' He nodded at Geoff’s glass, trying not to smile at his friend's crestfallen expression. 'Drink up,' he advised solemnly.

Geoff finished his pint reluctantly and rose to his feet, stretching to his full height of six foot something. 'Ladies,' he said theatrically, 'I take my leave of you.' Turning to me, he added, 'Thanks for the company today.'

'Thank you for the tour.' I smiled back at him. 'I enjoyed it.'

'Anytime.' The warmth of his look was tangible. 'I'll give you a ring this week sometime and we'll get the arrangements for next Saturday sorted out, all right?'

'Fine.'

'Well,' Vivien said, heaving a sigh of relief as the men departed, 'at least he was smiling when he left. Iain, I mean. Honestly,' she told me, 'that man and his moods. He was parked on that stool there for the better part of the afternoon, drinking and smoking and looking blacker than the devil. I was hoping Geoff would come in, to shake him out of it.'

'They're very good friends, aren't they?' I mused. I was thinking, oddly enough, not of Geoff and Iain, but of a dark man on a gray horse, watching another man striding across the fields with an easy step, carrying a heavy traveling trunk on his shoulder as if it were a child's toy.
That's Evan Gilroy,
I heard Rachel's clear voice saying.
He lives at the manor....

'The best of friends,' Vivien answered me, her tone emphatic. 'You'd think they'd known each other all their lives, to hear them talk.'

I frowned a little, tracing a pattern in the moisture on the side of my glass with one finger. 'Your aunt Freda,' I said, choosing my words carefully. 'Why did Geoff and Iain call her ... I mean, why do they both think that she's ...'

'A witch?' Vivien finished for me, flashing a smile. 'I don't know. Perhaps she is one, after all. She's always been
something of a psychic, has my aunt. Always knew when I'd fallen out of a tree, or when I'd been up to something I shouldn't have. She just seems to know things, somehow. Besides which'—she leaned on the bar again, tilting her head to one side—'she's just a remarkable sort of woman. Earthy, if you know what I mean. She can heal wounded animals and birth a baby and talk to songbirds,
and
—again the smile flashed—'she grows bigger tomatoes in her garden than anyone else in the village. For all I know, that's what witchcraft is. Would you like another?'

I looked blankly down at my glass, and shook my head.

'No, thanks. I ought to be heading home, myself. I have some sketches to finish off, and my publisher will have a fit if I don't send her something this week to prove that I'm still hard at it. It's the country life,' I protested, stretching my shoulders. 'It saps all my energy.'

'It's like I told you.' She nodded. 'There's no stress here to worry about. Not like London. Nothing ever happens in a place like Exbury.'

I wouldn't have said that, exactly, I thought to myself several minutes later, as I plodded slowly back up the road toward my house, past thickening hedges and earth-scented fields. No, I thought, smiling a little to myself, I wouldn't have said that nothing ever happened here....

A sheep, perhaps a truant member of Iain's flock, had wandered onto the road and was busily devouring a young flowering shrub. It raised its head as I drew near and stared at me with placid, uninterested eyes. It made the perfect advertisement for Vivien's picture of the pastoral village life— lethargic and simple and deadly dull.

"You don't fool me,' I told it.

So much had happened to me in the past month that, had the animal stood upright and spoken back to me, I doubt I would have batted an eyelid. But it didn't. It just stood there and went on munching, staring at me with that blankly supercilious gaze that sheep have, looking for all the world as if it thought I was daft.
It rained all the next day—a steady, depressing rain that pelted tirelessly against the window of my little studio. I was grateful, at least, that there was nothing to distract me from my work—no gently beckoning breezes laden with the scent of spring flowers, nor twittering birds to lure me out-of-doors with song. There was only the rain, and a dark-gray sky, and a wicked wind that rattled the windowpanes and set the trees to shuddering.

By supper time I had finished painting my sketches for the Korean folktale, the thick pages boasting a kaleidoscope of watercolor tints. I rinsed out my brushes with cramped and aching hands, tidied my paints away, and went downstairs to the kitchen for a meal of cold meat and cheese. Carrying my tea into the library, I selected a favourite murder mystery and settled myself in the leather armchair for a relaxing evening read. I was asleep before the detective had even discovered the body.