Miss Ryder's Memoirs

by Laura Matthews

  And talking to my father, sometimes. Repeating conversations they'd once had, or reinventing the pleasures of their courting days. She looked young and pretty then, almost as if she'd transported herself back in time. That day she was seated on an old chair whose stuffing was leaking onto the floor, and a wonderful hat, loaded down like a basket of garden vegetables, sat in her lap.

  “Isn't it wonderful?” she asked, motioning to the confection. “It was my very favorite, I think. Not Harold's, I fear. He never liked the ones with so much on them. Really, they were terribly heavy and rather hazardous, with their projecting spikes and feathers. One had to take special care. They used to make the most amazing likenesses of flowers and fruits and leafy things. A goat would have thought it the most wonderful concoction."

  This was the hat she'd worn to have her portrait painted. Sometimes I think she forgot that. But it was in the gallery, the last in a long line of women married into the Ryder family, and she was probably the most striking of the women for the last hundred years. Even in the painting you could catch the hint of her whimsical nature and her otherworldliness. My father had adored the portrait.

  “It's a wonderful hat. But I'm not surprised they went out of fashion."

  It occurred to me that this might be the place where the black cape and mask had come from for the highwayman's costume. Everyone at Hastings knew about the trunks of old clothes. We'd used them on many occasions for dressing up, and for costume parties and local masquerades. I began to dig through the layers of silks and satins and superfine coats, looking for some clue to this mystery.

  “What are you trying to find?” Mama asked. The hat had shifted to one side of her head and she looked almost like an actress dressed for a farce on stage. My fingers went instantly to straighten it, to bring back my own Mama. There was something too unsettling about her playing a role.

  “I thought we had an old black cloak. Wasn't it in this trunk? The one Papa wore when he had to ride to his mother's in the rain?"

  Did I imagine it, or was there something evasive about her glance, then? “I doubt if it would have been good enough to keep, after all those years of hard use.” She quickly lifted the bonnet from her head and placed it in the open hatbox at the foot of her chair, along with some others. “Do you think we could make over one of these smaller ones for Amanda? This is such a pretty color, don't you think?"

  If she was hoping to distract me, she was wide of the mark. I've never been interested in clothes above half, especially not Amanda's clothes. “You should ask Amanda. I'm not fond of that color, myself. It looks to soft and girlish. But about the cloak, Mama. I'm sure I've seen it in one of the trunks. Perhaps in the larger in the corner."

  “No, I'm sure it's not here.” She was very firm about this. Much more firm than Mama usually was about anything. “It was thrown away years ago. You remember it from when you were a child, in the years after Harold's mother died."

  I could be firm myself. “No. It's been within the last year or two that I saw it. And I doubt if one of the servants would have discarded it without asking permission. So where do you suppose it can have gotten to, Mama?"

  “Oh, I don't know.” She fluttered her hands dismissively. “It's not important. It wasn't at all a valuable item."

  Definitely there was something amiss with her reaction. Anything that had belonged to my father was almost sacred to her since his death. Unless she was hiding something, she would not behave in this offhand manner. I could feel a hard knot of fear forming in my stomach. I'm not sure that anything I have ever said, before or since, was as difficult as what I said then.

  “You know, Mama, that cape could easily be the one the Masked Rider was wearing when I saw him leave the house the other night. Saw him ... or her."

  She pretended not to hear me. Her hands were folded in her lap and her head rested back against the chair, with wisps of graying brown hair straggling down on her neck. She looked nothing at all like a highwayman.

  “Did you know that Sir John had been robbed by a highwayman on the Newmarket Road a month ago?” I asked, pressing her hard.

  “Sir John?” Her eyes remained closed, but she found it difficult to ignore this bit of information. “Was he robbed of anything valuable?"

  “Enough. Mama, I'm almost sure he has come down here to discover who is to blame."

  Her eyes blinked open. A frown settled deep on her forehead. “I think you must be mistaken, my dear. He's a friend of Robert's and he has come here to choose a pair of horses for himself and your brother."

  “That's just his excuse,” I parried. “He has every intention of discovering the identity of the highwayman. And he thinks the highwayman comes from this house. In fact, occasionally he seems to think that I am the highwayman."

  How she laughed. I hadn't heard her so amused in over a year. “Oh, my dear, he is quizzing you. Don't pay the least attention. You, a highwayman!” And she went off into gales of laughter.

  “Mama, he has every reason to wish to bring the perpetrator to justice. He lost over fifty guineas."

  “A mere bagatelle to a gentleman of his circumstances, I should think. He's probably only curious. Do you think Robert will come down for the Public Day?"

  Her change in direction startled me. “I haven't the slightest idea. Mama, what are we to do about Sir John's suspicions?"

  “Not take the least notice of them. They are patently ridiculous.” The line of her mouth tightened. “Does this mean that he has no interest in you or Amanda? How sad. And how very cruel of him to toy with your affections. I think I shall ask him to leave."

  “You can't do that."

  “Whyever not? I asked him to stay, and now I will ask him to leave."

  It was not as simple as that, and Mama knew it, but I could tell that she was upset. Whether this was because Sir John might be about to unearth the highwayman, or because her daughters were being treated shabbily by a gentleman of the ton, I could not fathom.

  “Please don't ask him to leave. Perhaps he does have some interest in one of us."

  Her lips softened and she patted my hand. “I see. Well, don't get your hopes up, my child. I have the tiniest bit of suspicion that Sir John may be what we used to call a lady's man. Not that I mean to cast any doubt upon his integrity. There are simply some men who cannot seem to choose from among the fairer sex, and spend all their time flitting from one to another."

  She rose from her chair and gazed off into the distance. One hand moved up to pat her hair into place, as the hat had mussed it considerably. “A charming man, to be sure. So very handsome, don't you think?"

  I agreed that Sir John was handsome. I agreed that he was charming. “But he's also devilishly frustrating and distressing,” I muttered.

  I don't know whether she heard me. “Do be a good girl and put that reticule back in the trunk for me, will you? Wrap it carefully in the cloth so that it won't get dusty. I'm really so pleased that it's managed to stay in such good shape for so many years. Do you think we could make the entertainment on Public Day a dress party so that I might carry it again?"

  From then on I was unable to divert her attention from Public Day. She would talk about costumes, and the chances of Robert appearing on our doorstep, and whether Sir John was the type of man who would enjoy a masquerade. Just before we left the attics she smiled and said, “Don't worry about it, dear. Everything will work out just fine."

  But I was not sure to what she referred, and I was too exhausted to try to find out. “Come, Mama, it's time to dress for dinner."

  I let her descend the stairs while I remained behind to place the reticule carefully in the trunk with the old gowns and parasols and all the paraphernalia of Mama's Season in London. It had only taken her one Season to find herself a husband.

  I couldn't help but wonder if things would have been different if I had met Sir John during my Season. Would he have seen that I was different from the other girls? Was I? And was he really different than all those regimented
men I had met—caught up in that artificial world, depending on it for the meaning in their lives? He would probably never have noticed me at all.

  No, I didn't believe that, really. Both of us were different. We would have noticed each other. But nothing might have come of it. Just being different wasn't everything. It didn't mean that we belonged together or that we were alike in the right kinds of ways. I was not naive about his past, nor about my own shortcomings as a wife for a baronet.

  With a sigh I followed Mama down the stairs. How did it always happen that I ended up thinking about Sir John instead of solving this matter of the Masked Rider?

  * * * *

  From that moment on, Mama began feverishly making plans for the Public Day celebrations. We would have a small ball in the house after a day's entertainment out on the grounds. There was to be dining al fresco at midday with shuttlecock and other games afterward. I longed to see how good Sir John would prove to be at a local exhibition of cricket. He had regaled Amanda with tales of his expertise, when he was trying to impress her, and now we would have an opportunity to see if this was mere braggadocio.

  For myself, there were a million tasks I had to accomplish. We would be using the grounds for special activities and they had to be groomed especially carefully. The servants were all excited about the big day, because of course it was a special time for them as well. In our family it was a tradition to reward them with special gifts for their excellent help.

  Amanda and I were the ones who chose the presents, and it was a complex task. Mama had once insisted that they would prefer money to the actual gift, and though that might have been true, the one time Papa tried it, he found that they were insulted because we had not gone to our usual trouble of selecting just the right thing.

  So Amanda and I went around to the families on our regular visits, noting whether this cottage had curtains, and whether that frying pan was beginning to develop rust holes. We kept careful records of this sort of thing, and the ages of the children, and enlisted Mr. Marks, the local mercantile king, in our efforts to choose appropriate treats.

  Sir John was fascinated by this tradition and dogged our footsteps, making helpful remarks such as, “Now, why did you put down that they needed a new set of curtains when there was a definite lack of bootblacking in their home?” Such teasing comments called for smart rejoinders from me, while Amanda looked puzzled and tried to explain to him that the cottagers often lacked such necessities as bootblacking, but did not really consider them of the same importance that we did.

  Sir John would smile at her and nod, but it was really to me that he spoke. The bond between us seemed to grow with his teasing and my replies. He seemed to enjoy it as much as I. I did notice, though, that there were times when he would question my sister on a particular point, under the guise of establishing gifts for the servants.

  “Would you say that the Edmondses were a particularly needy family?” he asked after we had left their threadbare but clean cottage.

  “Oh, yes. Mrs. Edmonds has been very sick over the last year, since the baby was born.” Amanda spoke with great earnestness. “Mama thought at one point that Mrs. Edmonds was going to die. Jed is ever so grateful to her for her ministrations. He thinks Mama saved her life."

  What I got at this point was a thoughtful look from him. If it was Mama to whom Jed was grateful, that look seemed to say, would he be allowing me to ride out and waylay rich neighbors in the dark of night? Wouldn't he have informed Mama so that she could have stopped me? I had to be particularly devious to keep him from deciding that he had been wrong in his assessment.

  “But you know Jed would give his loyalty to any of us,” I scolded Amanda, as though she had slandered him by only noting Mama's influence. “When Papa was alive, he once saved Jed's own life, years ago.

  “I don't remember that.” Amanda's sweet little brow furrowed and she cocked her head at me. “Papa was so modest. He never told me that tale at all. Did you witness the occasion?"

  Because Sir John did not look convinced, I admitted that I had indeed done so. I may have gone too far in saying that Robert had as well, but it seemed a nice embellishment at the time.

  “Thunder's sire was only newly acquired at the time. No one was any good at restraining him, but Jed was determined to please Papa by trying to train him. Robert and I had come up to the stables one evening when there was a bit of an uproar in the house. I think we had broken a vase or destroyed a flower bed. Some such thing. In any case, we found Jed up on the horse's back, with a very short rein and a very big problem. Oh, Lightning was bucking and stomping and doing everything he could to unseat the lad. You have to understand that even though Jed is small, he has absolutely no fear of horses, no matter how dangerous they are."

  “And how dangerous was this one?” Sir John asked. He was leaning back against a tree where we had stopped to cool ourselves from the hot sun. There was a note of irony to his tone, which Amanda did not seem to recognize. I pretended I didn't, either.

  “Oh, very. Just as Papa came striding up the path, Lightning threw Jed and broke loose, kicking out at him as he lay on the ground. Papa gave no thought to the danger at all. He charged into the stableyard and struck the horse away from Jed, heedless of the flying hooves.” It was easy enough to describe the incident, since I had seen it happen, though not at Hastings and not to anyone I knew.

  “How very dramatic.” Sir John was bland and unimpressed. “No wonder Jed is grateful to all of you Ryders. He'd probably lie and cheat and steal for you without the least hesitation."

  Amanda was horrified at this interpretation of my story. “Oh, no, no! Jed is not that sort of fellow at all. He would of course be grateful to Papa, but he's an honest lad. Believe me, you are quite mistaken."

  “If you say so. I didn't mean to disparage the fellow's honesty,” Sir John explained. “I merely wished to indicate that I understood his incredible obligation to your family—saving both his life and his wife's. That's quite a coincidence, when you think about it."

  “Not at all. It could happen to anyone,” I assured him. Ready to leave the shade and perhaps even the presence of his searching eyes, I backed away from the tree and linked my arm with Amanda's. “Let's see if we can't find some fruit to take in to Mrs. Cooper, why don't we? She'd be delighted not to have to send one of the girls."

  Sir John laughed, but we ignored him. Right after supper I excused myself and went out to the stables. It seemed to me that someone there had to be involved in whatever was going on. Whoever the Masked Rider was, surely he used a horse from our stables. And someone in the stables had to know about it.

  What had begun to worry me was that I knew all the stable hands and I would have sworn that simple loyalty to our family would have prevented any of them from allowing a stranger, or even Cousin Bret, to ride out in the middle of the night in black cape and mask. Such folly, such danger, would not be permitted.

  My Lofty was delighted to see me, but I passed her by with an absent pat and moved on to Antelope. It was Antelope who had gone missing for several days, and there had been several suspicious aspects to her return. She had looked very well-cared-for, for an animal that had run wild for the better part of a week. And she had a very slight tendency to favor her right foreleg, something I'd never seen in her before. Just as though she'd suffered a sprain and was almost, but not quite, as good as new.

  I found Jed in the tack room, polishing brass and looking melancholy. His wife had been doing poorly since their baby was born six months before, and I asked after her.

  “Ellen's not so well. Don't care so much for the food these days, ya see. If she don't eat, she'll just fade away to nothing and the babe with her."

  “Has she been sent some of Mrs. Cooper's special broth?"

  “That she has. Your mother seen to it. And for a while it worked. Now even that won't tempt her. Seems her stomach is too queer to take anything at all. Scares me, it does."

  “Well, of course it does. Let me think ab
out it. Perhaps I can find something that will agree with her. I'll talk it over with Mr. Moore.” Our local pharmacist was forever concocting herbal brews of intrinsically wretched taste, which somehow served their purpose on the odd occasion. “I may be riding out later,” I said, very casually. “Will you be up late?"

  “Now, what for would you be doing riding out at night?” His face crumpled up into a tight mask of concern. “You know better than to take that sweet mare out in the dark when she's not accustomed."

  “Her night vision is a great deal better than mine. There's an errand I need to run."

  “Best let me handle it. That's what I'm here for.” He wouldn't meet my eyes.

  “Now Antelope's night vision isn't as good, is it?"

  “I wouldn't rightly know, miss."

  “I imagine if Antelope were taken out at night she might take a tumble, might injure herself. But since she wasn't supposed to be out at night, how could she appear in the morning with an injury?"

  Jed polished the brass harder and faster. He made no attempt to comment on my speculation, but I could see that his face was growing paler with every word I uttered.

  “Maybe what would happen would be that she simply disappeared for a few days until the injury was healed. That would make sense, wouldn't it?"

  The rag fell from his hand and he left it where it had fallen on the floor. Still he didn't look up at me or answer me. Mama had tried to help his wife, continued to try to help her. Jed would not admit to anything she might be doing that was likely to get her in trouble. But I knew then. Without a doubt, I knew. And the thought terrified me, as much as it obviously did him.

  Her rides had to be stopped, but my thoughts were too chaotic to see even a glimmer of a solution at that moment. Temporarily I settled on the only possibility with which Jed might assist me.

  “I just want you to know that if on any night you're saddling Antelope, I want to find Lofty saddled as well. I would take it amiss if I came out here and found the one gone and the other not ready to leave. Do you take my meaning, Jed?"