The Phantom Lover (5 page)

After a time, she noticed that the landscape had begun to change. The smell of the sea air pervaded the carriage, and through the coach window she could discern the dark shapes of the rocks and crags which lined the shore of the estuary of the River Camel. Her heart lifted, for the sea had always fascinated her, and the thought of living so close to it that the smell would always be in her nostrils and the sound of it in her ears made her pulse race in excitement. By the time they reached Padstow, her face was pressed to the glass and her eyes were shining.

But her renewed good spirits were not destined to last. The coachman, on making inquiries at a tiny inn, learned that Thorndene was still some distance away, along a difficult road. The driver muttered curses under his breath as he resumed his seat. Nell hadn't the heart to upbraid him. She knew he must be wet and chilled to the bone. Lady Amelia had awakened, and she, too, felt depressed. She wrapped her shawl tightly around her thin shoulders as the angry wind howled around the carriage. Nell could not find a cheerful word to say but merely stared out her window silently. The view showed only the silhouettes of misshapen trees outlined against a quickly darkening sky.

It was completely dark and still raining heavily when they at last drew up before a large building whose grim aspect gave no encouragement for optimism. Not a light could be seen from the windows. No lantern had been placed near the doorway to welcome them. Nell, glancing at Amelia's face, could see that the old lady was worn out with fatigue. She squeezed Amelia's hand comfortingly. “Perhaps they no longer expected us today,” she said encouragingly, “and they've gone to bed. Don't look so dismayed, Amelia dear. The coachman will rouse someone.”

The coachman had gone carefully up the stone steps and he rapped smartly at the door. He stood there muttering and knocking for several minutes before a bolt was unlatched and the heavy door creaked open. “Who's there?” a boy's voice asked.

Nell could not make out the ensuing words, for the wind came up at that moment and drowned out the sounds. But the coachman soon turned and made his way back to the carriage. He opened the door and, touching his cap to Nell, said worriedly, “Beggin' your pardon, Miss, but you don't seem to be expected.”

“What's that?” Nell asked in disbelief. “Stand aside, man. Let me settle this for myself!” She jumped out of the carriage and, disregarding the rain, ran up the steps. The lad, a boy of no more than thirteen years, was standing just inside the doorway, holding a lantern aloft and peering out the door which he held open just a crack. In the light, Nell could see that the boy was in his shirtsleeves, his straight, heavy blond hair falling in disarray over his forehead. “What is the meaning of this?” she demanded furiously. “Are you not expecting us? Didn't you receive a letter from Lord Charles Thorne?”

“No, ma'am, that we did not,” the boy said, looking at her with suspicion.

Nell clenched her fists in bitter resentment. How like Charles and Sybil to order her from her home to this gloomy, impossible place and then to forget to make the proper arrangements. When she could control her voice, she said to the boy, “Well, letter or not, we are here! Open this door! And then go out to the coach to help Lady Amelia into the house. It's so dark out here, one can scarcely see the steps.” She saw the boy hesitate, and her temper flared. “Do you
hear
me, boy?” she exploded. “
Hop to it
!”

The boy, responding to the ring of authority in her voice, jumped. He opened the door, stepped aside for her to enter and hurried out to the carriage. Amelia was soon ushered in, the coachman and the boy having assisted her up the steps. Then the coachman set about unloading the luggage. The boy stood uncertainly at the door, looking at the ladies helplessly, the light from his lantern throwing weird shadows on the floor. Nell and Amelia looked about them. They were standing in a great-sized hall, so large that its ceiling and far walls were too shadowed to be discerned. The nearer walls were of gray stone, covered here and there by tapestries in the medieval manner and looking as faded and dusty as if they'd hung there untouched through all the ensuing years. Nell half-expected the floor to be covered with rushes, as they must have been in the days of the Plantagenets, but she found that she was standing on a thin, oriental carpet which was frayed at the edges, worn in the center and so faded that all its once-bright colors had become a uniform gray.

“Well?” Nell asked the boy after a long moment of silence. “Where is the butler? What sort of staff have you here?”

“
Staff
, ma'am? There ain't no staff. There's only—”

But the boy was interrupted by the sound of a door opening somewhere behind them, and a beam of light shone forth. “Jemmy?” a woman's voice called. “Who have 'ee there?”

Amelia and Nell turned to find a woman approaching them, followed closely by a man carrying a candle. The woman's appearance was somewhat comforting to the weary travelers, for she looked as if she belonged in a civilized household: her hair was dressed in a tidy bun, her dark bombazine dress was neat and well-fitting, and the large apron that surrounded her ample form was crisp and spotless. She wore a pair of tiny spectacles which glinted in the candlelight. The man who followed her was not much taller than she. He had a bald head fringed with a row of gray hair, and held an unlit pipe between his teeth. They both were peering into the gloom with worried expressions.

“Two ladies, Mum,” the boy was saying. “Say they was expected.”

“Expected?” the woman said in alarm, coming forward swiftly. “No one be expected here!”

Nell had had enough. “Expected or not, we're here!” she said curtly. “And we'd like you to take our wet things and show us to someplace where we can be warm and dry.”

“But … this be Thorndene, ma'am,” the woman said, peering at Nell closely through her spectacles. “We ben't liberty to permit strangers to—”

“My good woman,” Amelia said with unexpected acidity, “we are not strangers. I am Lady Amelia Thorne. And this is Miss Belden, Lord Charles Thorne's ward.”

The woman's mouth dropped open. “Lady Amelia
Thorne
?” she asked, throwing a look of terror at the man behind her.

“Yes,” said Nell in annoyance. “You, I assume, are the caretakers, is that right?”

“Yes'm,” said the man, stepping forward and knuckling his brow. “Will Penloe's the name. This is Mrs. Penloe, and that'n is our boy, Jemmy.”

The woman made a brief curtsy, but her expression was cold and unwelcoming. “'Tis sorry I be that we cain't make 'ee welcome. I mind as how you've come so far for nought, but I must tell 'ee that you cain't stay here.”

“Can't
stay
?” Nell echoed. “Whatever do you mean?”

“We ben't prepared for visitors at this season. We've never had 'em in all the years we been here.”

“Ridiculous!” Amelia said succinctly.

“It doesn't matter whether you've ever had out-of-season visitors or not,” Nell declared, outraged. “This is
our
home, not yours. It's entirely up to
us
whether we stay or leave!”

The Penloes exchanged troubled looks for the second time. Then Mr. Penloe squared his shoulders and stepped forward. “Don't mean to sound toitish, ma'am,” he said apologetically, “but Mrs. Penloe's right. You
cain't
stay here. There's nought been done to prepare for 'ee. The bedrooms ain't been made up, the larder's as good as empty—”

“And there's only Will, Jemmy and me to do for 'ee,” Mrs. Penloe added hastily. “You cain't be wishful to stay. 'Twould not be all what you're accustomed to. There's no gentry for miles—not at this time o' year. No one to talk to or to call on. There'd be nought for 'ee to do from one day to the next.”

“Nothing you are saying is at all to the purpose,” Nell said impatiently. “We are here. We have nowhere else to go. Those are facts which cannot be changed. Therefore, we
all
may as well accept them. Now, here's what's to be done. You, Mr. Penloe, are to see to the coachman at once. His horses are to be stabled, and he's to be given a bed for the night. The poor fellow shall not be made to ride back to Padstow at this hour and in this weather.”

The Penloes exchanged looks for the third time. “
At once
!” Nell said furiously.

There was a moment's hesitation. Then Penloe shrugged and beckoned to the coachman to follow him. “Very well, then, come along,” he muttered, his teeth clamped hard on the stem of his pipe. “And you'd best come too, Jemmy. There's his bed to see to and the firewood, too. Leave Mum your lantern.”

When the three had left the room, Nell turned to Mrs. Penloe. “Now, Mrs. Penloe, you may take us to the sitting room, if you please.”

With her lips compressed into a tight line, Mrs. Penloe wordlessly led the way to a door across the hall. The room they entered was high-ceilinged, musty and forbidding, its furniture shrouded by Holland covers. Mrs. Penloe put the lantern on what seemed, under its cover, to be a table, pulled the cover from a sofa and gestured for the ladies to seat themselves. “If you'll hand me your things, I'll hang 'em to dry in the kitchen,” she said grudgingly.

Nell removed her bonnet and pelisse and helped Amelia with hers. “Thank you, Mrs. Penloe,” she said coldly, handing the things to her. “And when you've done that, please make our bedrooms ready.”

“Wait, Nell,” Amelia asked plaintively. “May we not have a tea tray before we retire?”

“Of course, dear,” Nell said contritely. “You must be starved.”

“No, no,” Amelia assured her, “but a cup of tea would be so very soothing, don't you think?”

“I'd be happy to oblige 'ee wi' the tea tray, ma'am,” Mrs. Penloe said, “but I beg 'ee to take your leave soon as your things be dry an' you be a bit refreshed.” Her eyes met Nell's with a sudden, pleading look.

Nell's anger, which had flared up at Mrs. Penloe's words, died down again at the look of misery in the housekeeper's eyes. “I don't understand you, Mrs. Penloe,” she said, searching the woman's face closely. “You seem a kind and sensible sort. Surely you cannot expect us to go back out into that storm—and at this hour of the night?”

Mrs. Penloe blinked at Nell with eyes that seemed to be about to fill with tears. She bit her lip and, clutching the damp clothing against her breast, shook her head. “But, you see … you
mustn't
stay! There be … reasons …”

“What reasons?”

Mrs. Penloe's eyes met Nell's imploringly for a moment and then fell. “I … I cain't say, Miss. Don't ask me. But you must not stay! You'll not be happy here.”

“Our happiness is not your affair. I remind you, Mrs. Penloe, that this is
our
house, not yours. We are here, and we must all make the best of it, even you. After you've seen to our tea, I'd be obliged if you set yourself to preparing two bedchambers for us. And the first thing tomorrow morning, you are to send your husband into Padstow, or wherever it is you purchase foodstuffs, and stock up your larder with whatever is needed. Tell him to hire what household staff he may deem necessary to make this place livable for us. For we intend to remain for an indefinite period!”

Mrs. Penloe looked from Nell to Lady Amelia helplessly. “An indefinite p-period …?” she asked quaveringly.

“Mrs. Penloe, I don't wish to be unkind,” Nell said patiently, “but you force me to say something unpleasant. I'm sure you have reasons to wish us to be gone—perhaps you and your husband are reluctant to buckle down to some real work after all these years of running Thorndene on your own—”

Mrs. Penloe gasped. “Mr. Penloe and me be honest, hardworking folk!” she declared tartly. “I don't take kindly to what you be sayin'!”

“And I don't take kindly to being told to remove myself from my family's house!” Nell answered with asperity. “I'm quite willing to take your word that it's not the work you're afraid of. But you can take
mine
that Lady Amelia and I intend to remain here. So you may as well go about your duties.” And she turned her back on the unhappy housekeeper and strode to the curtained window. She pulled back the drapery, releasing a cloud of dust, and stared out at the rain, gnashing her teeth in irritation at the weather, the dust and the unpleasant welcome they'd received.

When she looked back, she found that Mrs. Penloe was still standing there, the wet garments clutched against her chest, looking at Nell with an expression of unhappy indecision. “Mrs. Penloe,” Nell said, her voice quietly threatening, “I believe you have your orders.”

Mrs. Penloe's eyes wavered and dropped. With a reluctant sigh, she turned and left the room.

Nell and Amelia spent the next few minutes in useless speculation about what had been Mrs. Penloe's purpose in attempting to drive them away, but the conversation soon flagged. Neither one had any plausible theory to offer, and both were too tired to encourage idle talk. They sat in silence, waiting impatiently for the comfort of a cup of hot tea, when there was a hesitant tap at the door. “Tea!” sighed Amelia. “At last!”

“Come in, Mrs. Penloe,” Nell called.

But it was the coachman, not Mrs. Penloe, who entered. He took off his hat and approached them timidly. “I jes' came to tell you ladies that I'm off to Padstow now, if you was wishful to come with me,” he said.

“Padstow?
Now
?” Nell asked. “But why? Surely the Penloes can find a place for you to bed down for the night.”

“Oh, yes'm, they can. But I ain't wishful to stay, y'see.”

Nell shook her head, puzzled. “But you can't wish to drive back to Padstow in this rain! You've been sitting on that box since six this morning, and it must be after ten by now!”