by Angie Ray
“What a treat to see you dressed so fine. It’s rare that I get to see you in such a dress. In fact, now that I think on it, it’s rare I see you in any dress at all.”
“Are you all right, Margaret dear?” Aunt Letty asked, peering down from the end of the table. “You look flushed.”
“I’m fine, Aunt Letty. It’s a bit warm in here.”
“Good God, is this little Letty?” Phillip exclaimed. “She looks about a hundred years old.”
Aunt Letty’s spoon stopped in midair and she cocked her head, as if listening. Margaret held her breath. Could the old woman truly hear Phillip “whispering”? Would Phillip be able to talk to her directly after all? But Aunt Letty said nothing and after a moment, resumed eating her soup.
Plainly she had sensed something though. Margaret looked at Phillip and raised a brow, but he did not see. He was staring transfixed at Aunt Letty.
“How odd to think this old woman is the little girl I once knew.” He crouched down beside her, his hand going out as if to stroke her hair before he caught himself. “She was the sweetest girl,” he murmured. “Although she made Alicia’s life hell.” He smiled a little, but his eyes were sad. “She was like a daughter to me. I wish I could have seen her grow up. Did she ever marry? Have children?”
He looked at Margaret and she shook her head slightly, watching him with soft, sympathetic eyes.
“I had a most enjoyable afternoon shopping, Margaret,” said Cecilia. “You should have come with me.”
Phillip shook off his abstraction and rose to his feet. He glanced around the table, his gaze lingering on Geoffrey. “The gloomy-looking fellow is your betrothed? How did he lose his leg?”
“Your immoderate ardor for fashion will cloud your mind with malignant emotions if you don’t take care, Cecilia,” said Bernard. “Vanity can often lead one down the path of folly. Don’t you agree, Margaret?”
“Who is this braying jackass?” Phillip looked down his nose, a fist on his hip.
“Yes, Bernard,” Margaret said stiffly, not sure if she were more annoyed with Bernard or Phillip. “Although one must have a care for one’s appearance, also.”
“Bernard? Surely this cannot be your betrothed?” Phillip gazed in disbelief. Bernard was hunched over his bowl, his chin tucked even further back than usual as he spooned soup into his mouth.
Phillip swung around to face Margaret again. “Why the devil have you betrothed yourself to such a damned looby?”
Margaret gripped her spoon tightly, her sympathy evaporating in a rush of anger.
How dare he call her fiance names? And how dare he judge Bernard so quickly, so unfairly. Perhaps Bernard had acquired a slightly stuffy manner, but he was still her fiance.
She never should have agreed to let Phillip come. She should have known that he would take delight in goading her. He had almost succeeded too, because she was nearly overwhelmed by a childish desire to fling a spoonful of soup at him. Controlling the impulse, she set her spoon down. It clanked loudly against her bowl.
“Finished, dear? Gibbons, the next course, please.”
The servants brought in a game pie and a boiled leg of mutton with capers while Margaret glared a furious reprimand at Phillip.
“It’s a good thing I am already dead,” he observed. “Or that look surely would have sent me to my grave.”
Margaret sniffed, his humor in no way mollifying her, and her frustration at being unable to give him a tongue lashing building. She glared at him again for good measure, but Phillip had caught sight of the steaming platters of food. In a trance-like stupor, he followed the footmen around the table as they served the pie and mutton.
He’ll be drooling like an infant in a moment, she thought with disgust.
She could feel the cold air behind her when he stopped at her side. A quick peek revealed he was staring down at her plate, his face pale and yearning.
She made a point of taking a large bite of mutton. “Aunt Letty, this is divine,” she said with a sigh of pleasure. Actually, it was as tough as rope. She had to chew an awfully long time before she managed to swallow it. Spearing another piece, she casually waved her fork under Phillip’s nose. “You must compliment Cook.”
“Margaret--“ Phillip’s voice was low and hoarse. “Have pity on a dead man.”
Sudden righteousness straightened Margaret’s spine. Phillip was too arrogant by half. A little suffering would be good for his soul, she thought piously. Obviously, he had had things too much his own way when he was alive. She continued to eat her dinner with considerable and exaggerated relish.
“You’re a cruel woman, Margaret Westbourne.”
A thread of amusement had entered his voice. Discreetly, she turned her head. She had his full attention now, and there was laughter in the eyes that met hers. Then his gaze dropped to her low-cut bodice.
When he looked up, for a brief moment, she glimpsed a similar--but different--raw yearning.
Quickly she turned back to her plate and stared down at her game pie.
“This is prime, Aunt Letty,” Jeremy said, his mouth full.
“You oughtn’t to use slang in front of the ladies,” Bernard said pompously.
“Pardon,” muttered Jeremy.
Phillip snorted. “Is he always so stodgy?”
Margaret compressed her lips tightly.
“Never mind. Ask Aunt Letty about the trial.”
She remained stubbornly silent.
Phillip sighed. “Very well. Forgive my impertinence. I won’t say any more about your beloved Bernard. Now please ask about the trial.”
Margaret turned her nose up at this sorry excuse for an apology. She was tempted to ignore him altogether, but she was curious about the trial too. After a few minutes, she couldn’t resist any longer and eased into the subject. “Aunt Letty showed me the portraits of Phillip’s two wives,” she said casually.
“Ah.” Cecilia leaned forward a bit. “What did you think of Alicia?”
“Er....”
“Amazing a man could make such a fool of himself over that tart, isn’t it? I wonder if Phillip had any brains except for you-know-where,” observed Cecilia.
Margaret, after one glance at Phillip’s indignant face, said loudly, “You must be right, Cecilia. How else could a man get himself hanged for murdering his wife?”
“Yes, you would think he would have made sure there were no witnesses,” said Geoffrey.
Aunt Letty’s indignation almost matched Phillip’s. “You know nothing about it! There were no witnesses. Phillip is not such a fool.”
“Thank you--I think,” Phillip muttered.
“The trial was rigged or something, I’m sure.”
“Were you at the trial, Aunt Letty?” Margaret asked.
“No, I wasn’t allowed in at the indictment or the trial in London. The hanging was public however, so of course I went to that.”
Bernard’s fork clattered against his plate.
“What was it like?” Jeremy asked with ghoulish interest.
“Really, Aunt Letty, I don’t think this is
appropriate--“
“Nonsense, Bernard.” Cecilia took a sip of wine and licked her lips. “I’ve never heard about this and I want to know too.”
“It was terrible,” said Aunt Letty, waving at a servant to take her plate. “I was only thirteen and I cried and cried, even though everyone else was quite merry. It was rather like a fair, actually. People were selling all sorts of things and jostling each other, and laughing. Even when a man set up a puppet show right next to me, I could not be cheered. Punch and another puppet fought a duel, then Punch murdered Judy and thought he was ever so clever. But at the trial, Judy’s ghost appeared and pointed her finger at Punch and said, ‘He killed me!’ Punch got hanged and thinking of poor Phillip I was quite consumed with grief.”
Margaret looked at Phillip, but his expression was unreadable. An odd ache lodged itself in her heart.
The dessert course arrived, and Aunt
Letty paused long enough to accept a serving of trifle. She took a huge bite, managing to get whipped cream all around her mouth. She carefully wiped away all traces before continuing.
“The cart came soon after that. How tall and brave he stood! He never cowered, not even when that horrible crowd started throwing all manner of nasty things at him. Then they hanged him, and his face turned a nasty purple color--“
“Aunt Letty,” Bernard interrupted. His face was much the same color as Phillip’s must have been. “I must ask you to refrain from sullying Margaret’s ears with such unpleasant reminisces.”
Phillip’s expression changed from coolness to contempt.
“’Refrain from sullying Margaret’s ears’?” snorted Phillip, looking down his long aquiline nose as if Bernard were one of Jeremy’s earwigs. “Can you truly intend to marry this poor excuse for a man?”
The insult was an effective antidote for the ache in her heart. “He’s worth ten of you!” she hissed, infuriated past bearing by Phillip’s derogatory tone.
“What’s that, Margaret? I didn’t quite hear you,” said Bernard.
“You should think of your children, Margaret. What if they inherit that chin?”
“Be quiet!” cried Margaret.
Bernard drew himself up in affront.
“My dear, are you feeling well?” asked Cecilia.
“Perhaps she is overwrought,” Bernard said stiffly.
“Has he taken you to bed yet?” asked Phillip.
“Certainly not!”
“Gad, does the man have blood in his veins? No wonder you’re so tight-lipped and tight-ar--“
“Oh, you poor dear,” said Aunt Letty. “Perhaps I should not have talked about the hanging after all. It really was most unpleasant. Especially when that awful woman stood up and cursed poor Phillip.”
Margaret and Phillip both grew still.
“He was cursed Aunt Letty?” asked Cecilia. “By whom?”
“An old hag. Phillip was hanging there, his neck all twisted, and the horrible creature stood up and cried, ‘A curse on you, Phillip Eglinton!’ The crowd grew silent, all the cheering stopped, and she spoke in a voice that could be heard by all. It was terribly eerie, I assure you.”
Margaret leaned forward, her body tense. “But what did she say? What was the curse, Aunt Letty?”
The old woman recited it without hesitation. “’Thee and thine, thy wishes will go wanting; thee and thine will falter and fail; thee and thine will diminish and die.’ The hag looked so triumphant when she finished I wanted to slap her. I was very glad when the crowd fell upon her and dragged her away, crying, ‘Witch! Witch!’ I believe they threw her in the Thames and she drowned.” Aunt Letty pushed the remains of her trifle around on her plate. “But I think the curse came true.”
Tears began to pour down Aunt Letty’s cheeks. “There weren’t many Eglintons, and most of them have died out or lost their fortunes.” She sniffled noisily. “My life was ruined too. I never married.”
Cecilia reached over and clasped Aunt Letty’s hand. “You aren’t truly related to Phillip. Surely the curse wouldn’t affect you.”
“I think it did, b-be-because Phillip and I were so close. And when I was nineteen I had a beau, Mr. Gillingham. I loved him ever so much, but we fought over something stupid and he went away and married someone else and I never saw him again. I never gave my heart to another, and now I am just a l-l-lonely old woman.”
Her face awash with tears, Letty left the table. An appalled silence settled over the table.
Phillip, his voice harsh, said, “Margaret, please go after her, tell her I’m sorry. It’s all my fault--“
Bernard stood up to follow Aunt Letty, and Margaret quickly rose to her feet, “Bernard, let me go.” Bernard looked at her doubtfully, and Margaret said, “Please.”
“Very well. But let me know if she wants to talk to me.”
With a nod, Margaret left the room.
*****
Margaret found the old woman in the parlor. She was sitting on the sofa, cradling her jar in her arms, and crying with the noisy abandon of a child. Margaret’s heart went out to her.
“Please don’t cry.” Sitting next to the weeping woman, Margaret put an arm around her, struggling to find words of comfort. She could feel Aunt Letty’s thin bones shaking. “Please don’t cry.”
“I’m sorry, my dear. It’s only that I’m so-so-so- old,” Aunt Letty bawled. “Everyone I know is dead and everything is so different now.”
Just like Phillip, Margaret thought, an ache in her throat. Poor Aunt Letty. Poor Phillip. “Surely things haven’t changed all that much.”
“They have too. The clothes are different. I can’t even wear my wig!”
“Perhaps I can convince Cecilia to allow you to wear it if your maid will take care of it and make sure no mice get into it.”
Aunt Letty sniffled. “The food is different. I hate it! All those fancy sauces instead of plain meat and potatoes. And I can’t even eat meat because it hurts my teeth!”
“Perhaps we can talk to Cook. I don’t see any reason why she can’t prepare potatoes in addition to the usual courses.”
“The people are different. They’re cold and stiff. When I was young, everyone was so alive! We shouted and argued and loved with passion. With real feeling.”
“Everyone here loves you. That has not changed.”
The flow of tears ebbed a little. Aunt Letty pulled out a handkerchief and blew her nose loudly. “There. How silly I am. I still have a few pleasures left to me...talking to Phillip, playing cards. And my family. I don’t usually allow the heavy burden of being under a curse to weigh me down.”
Aunt Letty’s wrinkled, tear-streaked face was so pitiful, Margaret could hardly bear it. “At least you still get to have Phillip’s company,” she said, trying to sound cheerful.
“That’s true.” The tears stopped. “What a good girl you are, Margaret. I am glad you are marrying Bernard. He has gotten so solemn and serious. You will be good for him--make him happy. He used to write me long letters about you.”
“He did?” Margaret could barely conceal her amazement.
“Oh yes. About the wonderful games you would make up and how you pretended you were Crusaders or explorers or pirates.”
Margaret smiled a little. “Why, yes. We did have some good times.” How long ago those days seemed now, overshadowed by the events that followed. Bernard had ceased being her friend; she doubted he even remembered their games now.
“Yes, until that business with his father. Bernard admired you so much for standing up to George.”
“He did? I thought he despised me.” The old woman must be mistaken. A pang of remembered hurt assailed her as she thought of how he had stood silently in church that day, not looking at her. In the space of a few minutes, their friendship of eight years had been wiped away.
“Oh, no. He was always a rather quiet boy. His father was a cold man, and often Bernard withdrew into himself. But I know he thought the world of you.”
Aunt Letty was definitely confused, thought Margaret. But she didn’t want to disillusion the old woman. “I see.”
“Dear Margaret, thank you for bearing with me.” Pulling out a cambric and lace handkerchief, Aunt Letty dabbed at her cheeks, then carefully wiped off her jar where a few tears had fallen. “You run along now and get some sleep. I will be fine.”
Obediently, Margaret rose to her feet. She leaned over and kissed the old woman on the cheek. “Good night, Aunt Letty.”
Upstairs, when she opened the door to her room, a blast of cold air greeted her. Phillip paced recklessly about the room. The smell of tobacco was in the air, but it was a pungent, almost bitter smell, not the pleasant aroma she was used to.
“Is she all right?”
“Yes, she’s fine. You mustn’t blame yourself, Philip--“
“I remember.” His voice harsh and abrupt, he turned, heavy brows drawn, eyes hollow. “Mortimer accusing me, the trial
--what a farce that was!--and the hanging. Dear God, I remember the hanging.”
Chapter Ten
Margaret quietly closed the door and leaned back against it, her eyes never leaving him. “Tell me,” she said. “From the beginning.”
“The beginning?” He laughed bitterly. “That would have to be when I wedded Alicia.”
“Why did you marry her?”
“Need you ask? She was amazingly beautiful, with golden curls, lustrous brown eyes, and a figure like a goddess. Half-mad with desire, I married her.”
Margaret, feeling slightly envious of the woman who had inspired such an emotion, pushed herself away from the door and sat down on the desk chair. Phillip sprawled into the the red lacquer chair by the fireplace.
“It was a moment of rash lust,” he confessed with a wry grin. “She was vain, spoiled, and selfish, and her demands were constant. She wanted to go to London, she wanted gowns and jewels, and most of all, she wanted me by her side every minute of the day. Within three short months, I regretted I’d ever met her.”
The frown returned to his face and he stared into the blackened fireplace. “Alicia was outraged when I began to return to my old pursuits. She tried several methods to regain my attention. When scolding and throwing temper tantrums failed, she eloped with my old enemy, Roger Carew, Earl Mortimer.”
Phillip jumped to his feet and began to pace again. Margaret watched him circle to the other side of the bed, then come back again. “The feud between Mortimer and me had been simmering for years. At first, it was mostly a matter of rivalry in matters of sport and women, but Mortimer loved Alicia--as much as it was possible for him to love anyone but himself. When I won her away from under his nose, he swore revenge.”
Phillip’s voice took on a sarcastic edge. “I’m sure it was an easy task for Mortimer to persuade my neglected bride to elope with him.” Stopping by the escritoire, he glared down at a loose sheet of paper lying there. “Alicia thoughtfully left a note. I would never allow anyone--especially Mortimer--to steal my wife.”
He swatted his hand at one of the gold tassels on the bed, but his hand passed right through it. Gritting his teeth, he continued.
