As in most Tudor houses, the rooms sprang from a great hall, customarily the household gathering place. This huge chamber had fallen into disrepair over the centuries, but had been much improved by the sixth baron, Digby Montclair, the present lord's sire. It was now a delightful room, the floor of black and white marble squares spread with thick rugs, the ceiling plastered in an exquisite design of lilies and birds, with the Montclair mermaid proudly centred. The old oak panelling gleamed anew, and the two massive fireplaces, scrubbed clean of their long-worn shroud of smoke stains, revealed once again the glorious carvings wrought by skilled Tudor artisans.
Of all the rooms, the great hall was the favourite of Sir Selby Trent, who was administrator of the estate in Lord Geoffrey Montclair's absence. Sir Selby had a deep love for Longhills. He delighted in the immaculate and productive farms. The well-kept woods, the broad ribbon of the river, the three picturesque villages, the fat brown cattle chewing placidly in the lush meadows, warmed his heart and brought a fond smile to his moon-like visage. As for the mansion, there was scarcely a room that did not receive a weekly visit from him, nor one he viewed with displeasure. It was to his favourite chamber, however, that he had taken his guest on this rather sultry June afternoon, and they had settled themselves in two comfortable chairs facing the rear terrace.
They were an oddly disparate pair. Sir Selby was plump and colourless, with pale brown eyes, a pasty complexion, and pale brown hair. Even his voice was pale, for he invariably spoke in a soft monotone. This afternoon, however, he was unusually animated, for his cheeks were slightly flushed and there was a gleam in his eyes as he examined a dagger, turning it almost reverently in his pudgy hands, gazing down at the shining, razor-sharp blade, the four prongs that curved down from the hilt, and the elaborately chased counter guard.
Chin in hand, one elbow resting on the arm of the rose brocade chair, the other man watched Trent in silence. Even seated, he was clearly very tall. Of slender build, he was clad with elegance but without ostentation in a navy blue double-breasted tail coat, a white pique waistcoat, and dove grey pantaloons. His eyes were near black, dull, and fathomless. His face, framed by lank black hair, was narrow and long, but his complexion was clear, and if pallid, showed no hint of sallowness. He had thin, very graceful hands, marred only by the black hairs which presented a rather unpleasant contrast to the excessive whiteness of the skin. Watching Trent's rapture, his full red lips curved to an expression of faint distaste. "It pleases you?"
Trent tore his eyes from the dagger. "It is exquisite. A main gauche. Spanish. Early seventeenth century, I fancy. You are too good, Monteil."
Imre Monteil clasped his hands before his chest, and inclined his head. "I reward those with whom I—contrive."
Trent's gaze had returned to his prize, but at this his head lifted once more. There had been the barest trace of condescension in the remark, and it irritated him. "You make us sound dishonest," he murmured with a smile.
Monteil shrugged. "Such considerations are of no consequence. It is a left-handed dagger. You comprehend, sans doute?"
"Of course. Used with a rapier in duelling."
"And you would like very much the matching rapier to add to your collection."
Trent's eyes glinted. "I would indeed. But to find its mate would be nigh impossible, I'd think."
"Nothing is impossible, mon ami." The white hands of the Swiss wrung gently. "Though you would seem to have encountered a—difficulty, oui?"
Sir Selby returned the dagger to its sheath, deposited it lovingly upon the table beside him, and smiled again. "A—delay, shall we say? It will be dealt with. I sent Junius up there this morning, in fact. With young Pollinger."
Monteil's hands formed themselves into a church steeple. Over them, his dark eyes remained unblinkingly upon his companion. "And Montclair? You have again approached him about the cottage?"
"I thought it best to delay until we have resolved the present rather unexpected development." Trent gestured apologetically. "His music obsesses him, you know, and his mood is so unpredictable that one is obliged to handle him carefully. Especially at present."
The Swiss pursed his lips. "Do you know, I question this desire to become a composer. Tiens! It is not good ton, I think."
"It most assuredly is not! A gentleman of his position? Nonsense! You cannot think I would permit such a disgraceful thing."
"And—forgive, mon cher, but—will your permission be asked? He is of age surely, and seems to be rather, shall we say—stubborn?"
"Yes. Regrettably. And has a nasty temper. But—one must be charitable. The poor lad's illness—" Trent tapped his temple meaningfully.
Imre Monteil shook his head. "Such a pity. And in so young a man. How fortunate that—" He glanced up, leaving the sentence unfinished as a footman carried a golden salver into the room.
Sir Selby took the card and glanced at it. Up went the pale brows. "Show the lady into the morning room and offer my apologies that I must keep her waiting a minute or two." He handed the card to Monteil as the footman made his stately departure. "The minx does not want for impudence," he murmured.
Monteil read aloud, "Mrs. Burke Henley." He smiled and stood with lazy grace. "Well, well. She carries her battle to the enemy's gates. But how intriguing. I shall come and see what our intrepid trespasser looks like."
Coming to his feet also, Trent shook his head. "No, Imre. I think it better I should see the chit alone."
"Do you?" Monteil accompanied him to the door. "Even so—I shall come," he said blandly.
Susan Henley had not paid much heed to the beauties of Longhills as she drove through the muggy afternoon, all her anxiety being with her brother. Thank heaven Bo'sun Dodman had always longed to be a doctor and while serving aboard Grandpapa's East Indiaman had learned so much from the apothecary that he might almost qualify as one himself. The short, square, powerfully built man had come up from the barge in a rush when Deemer had called him, and having pronounced Andrew merely stunned, had thrown the young man's inanimate form over one sturdy shoulder and carried him up to his bedchamber. Her brother had come to his senses while the Bo'sun was bathing the cut on his head, and ignoring his own injury had been full of concern for Susan. To see his face so pale and his fine eyes narrowed with pain had put her in a flame. Deemer had helped her to ready their solitary old phaeton, and when Andy was between the sheets and the Bo'sun sitting watchfully beside the bed, she had driven out alone, guiding Pennywise and Pound Foolish by way of the public road so as to approach the manor from the formal front entrance, and in such a rage she'd scarcely noticed her surroundings.
Not until she rounded the curve in the drivepath and passed through the wide-open lodge gates did she receive the full impact of the great mansion, and for several seconds she let her eyes rove in awed admiration around the sweep of the mellow stone buildings that glowed like pale gold under the afternoon sun. "Lud," she whispered, " 'Tis a palace!"
Two gardeners looked up curiously, and a stableboy was running, gawking his astonishment at the sight of a lady driving herself, with neither groom nor abigail beside her. Squaring her slim shoulders, Susan sent the team clopping their elderly and nondescript hooves around the towering plumes of the fountain as brashly as though they were high-spirited Thoroughbreds.
The icy, liveried, and powdered footman who swung open the great door looked pointedly for her servant, and she wished with all her heart that she had brought one of the men with her. But Deemer was becoming rather frail and had looked white and shaken, and she'd thought it imperative that the Bo'sun should stay with Andy, in case any sort of relapse occurred.
She fully expected to be denied the master of the house, but the footman asked her to wait in a quietly regal hall, then returned to conduct her up a pair of stairs to a landing from which twin curving staircases wound left and right to the galleried first floor. Up the left-hand stairs they climbed, along a noble corridor, passing wider stairs leading to the second floor. Susan caught a g
limpse of a stupendous and beautiful room leading off to the right, which could only be the great hall; then the corridor jogged left again into a smaller hall, on one side of which she saw a dining room with mahogany furnishings that gleamed like dark rubies.
She was ushered into the opposite chamber, desired to wait "a minute or two," and again abandoned.
Resisting the impulse to sink timidly onto the nearest straight-backed chair, she wandered about. What a glorious house! Not that she'd wish to live in such a gigantic place—Lud, but one might go for days without meeting another soul. Still, it was a thing of beauty. Only look at the panelling in here; the ancient oak had been painted pale blue, which she thought regrettable but was the fashion, and the panels were ornamented with splendid carvings.
Before the windows a round fruitwood table was spread with a delicate lace cloth on which stood a statuette; a mermaid again, of translucent pink jade and exquisite design. She was admiring that work of art when from the corner of her eye she saw a flutter of pale blue. She crossed to the open casements and looked down on lush emerald lawns studded with flower beds and great old trees. A girl, rather on the plump side and weeping heartbrokenly, was running wildly down the terrace steps. A slim dark-haired young man sprinted after her, and swung her to face him, allowing Susan a view of mousy brown curls hanging untidily about a pale unremarkable countenance, not improved by reddened eyes and tear-streaked cheeks.
"I tell you I won't!" the girl sobbed hysterically. "I'd sooner be dead! Does it mean nothing to you that I don't want to marry without love?"
"Don't be a little fool!" He shook her hard, and said something in a low angry voice of which Susan only heard "… know very well you'll do exactly what…"
"I won't! I won't! How can you expect—"
"Mrs. Henley?"
The cool, cultured enquiry came from behind her, and Susan spun around, knowing her face was reddening, and vexed to have been caught eavesdropping.
A short, rather stout gentleman stood in the doorway, regarding her through an upheld quizzing glass. He was clad in shades of brown and had wisely avoided the tight coats and snug breeches favoured by younger men. His features were pallid and nondescript, his thinning hair pale brown, and his manner coolly disdainful.
"Yes." Rebelliously, she made no attempt to return a curtsy for his sketch of a bow. "Lord Montclair?"
Amusement danced very briefly in the brown eyes. "I am Sir Selby Trent, ma'am. Allow me to present my friend, Mr. Imre Monteil."
Susan glanced at his tall companion and encountered black eyes that glittered like two jet beads in the long white face. Unusually red lips curved to a smile. As graceful as he was elegant, he bowed his dark head, and said admiringly, "My very great pleasure, ma'am."
Trent threw a sharp glance up at him.
Susan was suddenly put in mind of a fungus growing furtively in the shade of a dark and twisted tree, and for a moment she was afraid, but she speedily dismissed such nonsensicalities. "I am aware that my visit is improper, but I have urgent business with Lord Montclair."
A sudden outburst of sobs from the garden brought a frown to Sir Selby's smooth forehead, and he moved quickly to close the casements. "Lord Montclair is not available," he said rather sharply, glaring at the pair on the steps below.
Monteil purred, "But Sir Selby administers the Longhills estates and I am sure would much wish to be of assistance to so lovely a lady." He crossed to pull out a graceful Hepplewhite chair and gestured to it invitingly.
Susan ignored the offer. "In which case," she said, with her firm chin elevated and her grey eyes flashing scorn, "you may care to explain, Sir Selby, why his lordship should have sent two brutal men to invade my home this morning, bully my servants, and—"
Monteil interposed an aghast "Mon Dieu! Did Montclair authorize such an atrocity?"
"I most sincerely hope not, but…" Trent shook his head dubiously. "Madam, I can only convey my regrets. My nephew has a—ah, rather unpredictable disposition at best. He is besides extreme concerned about your illegal occupancy of his house, and—"
"My occupancy is not illegal, sir! My late husband's father purchased Highperch Cottage from Lady Digby Montclair seven years ago and—"
"And sold it back again just before my dear sister-in-law's death."
Susan responded hotly. "The purchase money was never returned to Mr. Ezra Henley. Therefore the property now belongs to me!"
"Coming to you as a bequest from your—ah, late husband?"
She flushed. How softly the baronet had spoken those words, yet the faint mockery in his eyes told her as clearly as though he had shouted it that he was fully aware of Burke's disgrace and eventual suicide. "Just so," she said defiantly.
"I would think the matter easy of proof," said Monteil in his slightly accented voice. "Surely there must be legal papers? A receipt—et cetera?"
Susan nodded. "We have filed our proofs with the court. But there appears to have been some confusion at the time of Lady Digby Montclair's death, and the case has been delayed and delayed by one legal manoeuvre after another."
"Come, come, Mrs. Henley." Sir Selby looked bored. "Is it not true that your late father-in-law was—er, ill and mentally confused for some years prior to his death? Further, I hope you will pardon my saying that it seems remarkable that your husband made no move to claim any ownership of Highperch during his lifetime."
Susan stood very straight and tall in the quiet room, her head well up, her cheeks flushed, the light of battle in her eyes. "You imply, I think, sir, that I am the one making a claim, and that I know it to be fraudulent?"
His usually dull eyes brighter than ever, Monteil watched the sunbeam which slanted through the window to flirt with the toe of one of Mrs. Henley's rather scuffed riding boots. "Harsh words, dear ma'am. Say rather—an honest mistake, eh, Trent?"
"We may say whatever we wish, Imre," replied the baronet. "The fact remains that Montclair is adamant and will do exactly as he chooses. He intends that you be evicted, Mrs. Henley, and I most strongly recommend that to avoid any possibility of more such regrettable incidents, you should remove as soon as possible."
Quivering with wrath, Susan said, "That sounds remarkably like a threat, sir."
"Then I am being clumsy, ma'am, for I had meant it purely as a warning."
"I do not frighten easily, Sir Selby. Especially since I know my claim to be an honest one! You may inform Lord Montclair that his methods are cowardly and despicable, and that I have no least intention of removing from the home my husband left to me. You may further inform his lordship that we intend to bring suit for assault, battery, and—and intimidation, against Lord Montclair and Longhills! And that if he takes one more step against us prior to the court hearing, the entire matter will be well publicized in the newspapers! I am very sure Lord Montclair will be proud to have his fine old name flaunted throughout England as the type of ruffian who would evict a helpless widow and her little daughter from the only home they possess! Good day to you, gentlemen!"
And with a toss of her long black hair and a swirl of her habit, she was gone, marching through the door a most titillated lackey swung open, and traversing the hall like a ship of the line with all her flags flying.
As the door closed behind her, Sir Selby tugged at his lower lip. "Dear me," he muttered. "What a very pushing creature. One might think she could have sent a gentleman to handle matters for her."
Imre Monteil, who very seldom betrayed the slightest interest in the joys or griefs of any lady or gentleman of his acquaintance, chuckled softly. "How fortunate for us that she did not," he argued. "A truly glorious young woman. This becomes interesting."
The 'truly glorious young woman,' meanwhile, had reached the lower landing just as two ladies climbed from the ground floor. One of these was the girl she had seen in the garden. A closer view revealed her to be about nineteeen, with the most tragic pale blue eyes Susan had ever seen. The second lady was tall, middle-aged, and angular, with tightly crim
ped brown curls rather suspiciously untouched by silver. She was impeccably gowned in a rose velvet tunic over a paler rose sarsenet gown having the new high neckline. Her cheekbones were prominent, her mouth small and tight under the thin nose that swooped down towards her pointed chin. She paused when she saw Susan, and narrowing a pair of hard blue eyes, scanned her up and down critically.
"If you are the applicant for the position of upstairs maid," she said in a harsh, high-pitched voice, "you should have used the servants' stairs."
"Mama!" whispered the girl, embarrassed.
"If you are the housekeeper," riposted Susan coldly, "I would not wish to work here!"
"How dare you!" shrilled the woman. "I am Lady Selby Trent!"
"Good day, ma'am. I am Mrs. Burke Henley!"
"Good… heavens!" Lady Trent swept her train aside as though fearing it might be contaminated, and pushing her daughter before her, said, "Hurry along, child! Imagine! The brazen effrontery of it! Disgraceful!"
Susan continued on her way, eager to be gone from under my lord of Montclair's roof, smarting with resentment of Lady Trent's scorn, and plagued by the guilty knowledge that however ill-used she may have been, Papa would have been shocked by her rude response to an older lady. She could not help but be sorry for the unhappy Miss Trent, however. Just before she had been hurried away, the girl's big blue eyes had met her own in an anguished look of apology. There had been something else in those stricken eyes, and Susan was still trying to think what it was when the stableboy walked the team back and shyly handed her up into the phaeton. Starting off along the drivepath, she suddenly identified that expression, and she looked back thoughtfully at Longhills Manor.
Patricia Veryan - [Sanguinet Saga 09] - Logic Of The Heart Page 3
