by Anne Herries
he might be called upon to meet his Maker at any time and must repent his sins...'
'Of which there are many?' Harry asked, clearly enjoying himself. 'Tell me, what does he imagine
is the significance of the lights? What has the Marquis been up to—surely not pagan orgies?'
Beatrice frowned at him in reproof. 'Well, you may not know of Sywell's reputation...but he has
been denounced in the pulpit of every church in the county I dare swear. He is never sober, so they
say...and no woman was safe from him, at least until he married.
She was much younger and very beautiful...though I do not recall ever having seen her myself. The
adopted child of the Marquis's bailiff, she was educated by her stepmother, who was a governess-
—and she did not mix with the villagers nor go to school. She had been away from the village for
some years, engaged in some trade, I suppose, but came back when her guardian died...and then
the Marquis married her and carried her off to his home. After that, she has scarcely been seen
again.'
'A very rogue!' Harry stated. 'It stands to reason— he must have done the dastardly deed.'
'Will you be serious, sir!' Beatrice gave him a speaking look from her wonderful eyes, which
were themselves glowing like jewels. 'We do not yet know for certain that she is missing—nor
that she has been murdered. She may have simply gone away for a visit.'
'If that were so, the Marquis would not have ranted of her absence to Mr Hartwell,' Olivia said.
'No, no, it is clear...he must have murdered her. And his anger at her disappearance was clearly to
cover his own guilt. I am sure he has done away with her!'
'And buried her in the haunted chapel at dead of night,' said Harry helpfully. 'He must have got it
from one of Fanny Burney's novels.'
'You rogue!' Beatrice cried, laughing at his tone. 'I liked Evelina excessively. Now if you had said
dear Mrs Radcliffe...' Her eyes were bright with mischief. 'You have a wicked humour, sir. Why
will you encourage Olivia in this nonsense?'
'How can you be sure it is nonsense?' Olivia asked. 'You did hear a scream—and you did see the
Marquis rush past on his horse.'
'Yes...' Beatrice frowned. Olivia was more animated than she had been in days, her imagination
clearly caught by the mystery of the young Lady Sywell's disappearance. 'The truth is, I cannot say
what happened—and nor can any of us. I think we should wait and hear what the Reverend
Hartwell has to say this evening...'
'A capital notion,' Harry said. 'I shall look forward to it eagerly.'
'Are you sure you are well enough to join us this evening?' Beatrice asked with an air of false
concern. 'That cough was painful to hear, my lord—perhaps you should go to bed and I will ask
Bellows to come and rub goose grease on your chest.'
'No, that you will not,' Harry said, and coughed again, twice. 'I shall drink a little of the excellent
brandy Bellows ordered for...us...if I may, and hope that I may be well enough to come down to
dinner.'
Beatrice fixed him with a look that would have slain lesser men.
'Pray go on with what you were doing when I arrived,' she said. 'I have no time to waste if we are
to have a decent dinner this evening.'
Harry's smile made her turn hastily away. What did he mean by giving her such a look? He was
here to persuade Olivia to marry him—not to make her spinster sister's heart behave in the most
peculiar way imaginable.
Chapter Six
.Beatrice glanced at herself in the mirror as she dressed for dinner. Her one evening gown was
sadly worn and out of style. She had refurbished it with a fresh sash and trimmed the edge with
green ribbons, but the colour did nothing for her complexion.
Olivia looked at her and frowned. 'I have more gowns than I need, Beatrice,'' she said. 'I should
have thought before...perhaps some of them could be altered to fit you?'
'I very much doubt it,' Beatrice said and laughed. 'You are a sylph, dearest, while I am what they
call well-formed. Do not feel at all uncomfortable because you have a few pretty gowns. They
may have to last you for a long time.'
'Yes, I know.' Olivia smiled at her. 'I do not mind that—but I wish I might share those I have with
you.'
'It would be too difficult to alter them,' Beatrice said. 'Besides, I shall buy some material soon and
make myself a new gown in time for Christmas.'
'Oh, well,' Olivia sighed. 'I do not suppose either of us will often have much need of stylish gowns
in future.'
'Are you feeling very unhappy, dearest?' Beatrice looked at her in concern. 'I know you must miss
your friends—but there are some young women in the villages you might come to know in time.
Lady Sophia, Annabel Lett, who is a widow and has an adorable little daughter—and Miss
Robina Perceval. She is the niece of the vicar of Abbot Quincey and a very charitable and friendly
young woman. She sometimes visits our village, and we stop to talk when we pass in the street. I
shall invite her to take tea with us the next time we meet.'
'I am sure I shall find friends soon enough,' Olivia said, her blue eyes a little wistful. 'You must
not worry about me, Beatrice.' She smiled and tucked her arm through her sister's. 'We ought to go
down. Our guests will soon be arriving...'
'I cannot imagine why Mr Hartwell thought it a good idea to visit the Marquis in the first place,'
said his wife at table that evening. 'Everyone knows what a dreadful man he is...'
The Reverend gave her a faintly reproachful look. 'I felt it incumbent upon me to make the effort,
my dear. Sywell should make his peace with God before it is too late. As a Christian minister, I
must do my duty as I see it.'
'Very right and proper,' Harry said, not a flicker in his eyes to betray him. 'Tell me, my dear sir,
do you expect the Marquis's demise imminently?'
Beatrice gave him a darkling look. She glanced across the table at her friend Mademoiselle de
Champlain. 'Tell me, Ghislaine, how do things go on at dear Mrs Guarding's school? Have you
any new pupils?'
Ghislaine was an attractive woman in her late twenties, pleasant to look at but not pretty except
for her dark eyes, which were very fine.
'They come and go, as you know, Beatrice,' she said. 'We have several young ladies coming to us
after Christmas, and shall be in need of a new teacher to look after the little ones. Have you
thought any more about returning to us?'
'I have not given it much thought of late,' Beatrice replied. She saw Lord Ravensden's eyes on her.
'As you know, I have considered taking up a position...if Papa could spare me?' She looked at her
father, who was addressing his beef with the dedication of a man who had not eaten such a treat
for a long time.
'What's that, Beatrice?' Mr Roade blinked at her. 'Excellent beef, my dear. You and Nan have
excelled yourselves... visit Mademoiselle Champlain when you like, have her here to stay for
Christmas. Why not? Always pleased to see your friends.' He beamed round the table happily,
apparently lost in his own thoughts.
Beatrice would have turned the subject once again, but Olivia was before her.
'Is it true that the Marquis told you his wife had gone, sir?'
The Reverend Hartwell let his solemn gaze rest on her. A man of forty-odd years, with thinning
&
nbsp; hair and brown eyes, he was very aware of his importance in the community. The world was full
of sinners, and he knew his duty. Let it never be said that he had neglected the spiritual welfare of
his parishioners, even one as disreputable as the Marquis of Sywell.
'I do not have to ask where that came from, Miss Olivia. It is unfortunate that Mary Ekins should
have overheard me telling Mrs Hartwell...but the gossip will not be long delayed I fear. It is true
that Lady Sywell does appear to have left her husband. No one has seen her for months...'
'Why would she do that, sir?' Olivia's blue eyes were wide and guileless, her manner that of a
young girl begging for instruction. Mr Hartwell warmed to her at once. 'Do you think the Marquis
was unkind to her?'
'How could it be otherwise?' asked the Reverend, frowning and shaking his head sadly. 'The
marriage was doomed to fail from the start. Sywell is a disgrace to his class, Miss Olivia—I
might say a disgrace to mankind. Far be it from me to condemn a fellow creature, but he was most
damnably rude...told me I was an interfering, prosy busybody and...well, such language is not fit
for a young lady's ears.'
'No, indeed it is not, Mr Hartwell,' said his wife and smiled kindly at Olivia. 'I dare say you are
very shocked by all this, my dear. Pray tell me, have you come home to be married?'
'No...' Olivia blushed fiery red. 'That is...'
'Miss Olivia is not sure she will take me,' Harry said. 'I have come to beg on bended knee, but she
has never yet given me an answer.'
'But I thought it was announced in The Times?' Mrs Hartwell stared at him in surprise.
'That was a misprint,' Harry said without the slightest hesitation. 'Dashed awkward for Olivia, you
know. I am thinking of suing them...'
'Indeed, you must not on my account, sir.' Olivia gave a strangled laugh, which she smothered
behind her kerchief. Her eyes twinkled at him. 'It was simply a mistake, and since I have no wish
to marry at all, it cannot make so very much difference in the end.'
'No wish to marry?' Mr Hartwell looked shocked. 'It is surely your duty to marry, my child? It is a
woman's allotted purpose in this world, the reason for which all women were created.'
'Oh, but surely...' Beatrice began to protest, then stopped and blushed, remembering the Vicar was
her guest, and the rules of politeness would not allow her to disagree with him.
'You wished to object, Miss Roade?' Harry asked, deceptively enquiring. 'I dare say you think a
woman fit for other purposes than the rearing of a family?'
'I think a woman should be free to choose whether or not she cares to be married,' Beatrice said,
frowning at him severely. 'But I have no wish to argue with our guest, whose opinions must
naturally be respected.'
'Just so...' Mr Roade beamed at them all. 'Do we have one of your excellent puddings this evening,
Beatrice?'
'Yes, Papa. I shall ring for Lily now...'
She got up and went over to the sideboard, giving Lord Ravensden a look as she passed. He
raised his brows at her but she merely shook her head. He was the most provoking man, but she
would not be drawn. Time enough for what she had to say to Lord Ravensden when their guests
had gone!
'Well,' Olivia said when they were alone in the parlour later that evening, all their guests having
drunk tea and left. Mr Roade and Nan had both retired, leaving the three free to speak their minds.
'I think the case plain...Lady Sywell has not been seen in an age. You may depend upon it, her
husband kept her a prisoner, and now he has killed her...and this is his way of pretending to the
world that she has gone off.'
'You are placing your reliance on the scream Beatrice heard when she was crossing the Abbey
lands,' Harry said, nodding thoughtfully. He seemed not to be aware that he had used her first
name and Beatrice did not want to be the one to point it out. 'But consider this—the Marchioness
has not been seen in months, while Beatrice heard the scream only a few weeks ago. It may be that
Lady Sywell found her position intolerable and ran away soon after her wedding.'
'Someone would have seen her,' Olivia said. 'Besides, I have a feeling...' She shivered
impressively and looked grave. The great actress Sarah Siddons could not have done better
herself had she taken centre stage. 'I am convinced that the Marquis of Sywell killed his wife and
has buried her body somewhere...'
Beatrice frowned, remembering the night she had almost been knocked down by the Marquis, who
had seemed half-demented. What Olivia was saying was possible. The man was clearly a brute,
who cared for no one and nothing.
'Even if you are right...I do not see how it can be proved.'
'We must find her grave,' Olivia replied, a look of determination in her eyes. 'If he has killed her,
she must be buried in the grounds of the Abbey.'
'Or the ruined chapel...' supplied Harry, and received a reproving look from both sisters. 'Forgive
me, I am sure you are right, Miss Olivia.'
'We cannot look for the grave,' Beatrice objected. 'The Abbey grounds are private property.'
'That did not stop you crossing them...' Harry's eyes danced with wicked amusement, then he
crossed his arms and looked penitent. 'But I shall be silent on that subject. What do you suggest,
Miss Roade? Shall we call out the militia and demand Sywell be arrested this instant?'
'I told you he takes nothing seriously,' Olivia said to her sister, pulling a face of exasperation.
'How could I be expected to marry a man like that?'
'You could not, of course,' Beatrice said and glared at Harry. 'If you have nothing of sense to say,
sir, you may take yourself off to bed'. I dare say you are weary, and needing your rest. Shall I send
Bellows up to you with a hot posset?'
'A large brandy would be more appropriate,' Harry said. 'But I shall leave you to work out our
plan of campaign. You are more in command of the terrain, and I rely on you for instructions. I
suppose we shall have to search at night? If we were seen in daylight it might be awkward...or is
that a mere quibble?'
'Go to bed, sir,' Beatrice said sternly. 'I shall speak to you in the morning.'
'Yes, Miss Roade. Your wish is my command...' Harry smiled at both sisters and went from the
room.
Beatrice looked at Olivia and laughed. 'You are quite right, dearest,' she said. 'He is impossible. I
am sure no woman of sense would ever wish to marry him.'
'Perhaps not,' Olivia said, looking thoughtful. 'But for the right woman I suppose he might be an
agreeable husband. He is charming, is he not?'
Beatrice turned away to make sure that the fire screen was in place. 'Yes,' she said, without
looking round. 'He does have a certain charm, and in some circumstances I suppose a woman
might be wise to accept an offer from Lord Ravensden.' She faced her sister, smile in place.
'Come, let us to our beds, Olivia. We must both sleep on all this, and in the morning we can
decide what we ought to do...'
Harry smiled to himself as he undressed. His stay in Northamptonshire was proving most
diverting. His sense of the ridiculous had made him go along with Olivia's outrageous suggestion,
though his own more logical mind told him that it was unlikely they would find a grave...unless, he
supposed, the lights in the woods might have a mor
e sinister significance than he had first thought.
It was possible, he imagined, that there might actually be a woman's body buried somewhere on
the estate. It was an unpleasant thought, and not one he wished to sleep on.
His mind turned towards the woman he had left downstairs. What was it about her that he was
beginning to find fascinating? Far too fascinating for his peace of mind!
Sipping the brandy Bellows had brought him, Harry considered. Supposing Olivia continued to
refuse him? He sighed. It was an awkward situation, and he could have wished that things were
different. Somehow, he must find a solution to all their problems...
Why was it so impossible to sleep? Beatrice turned from side to side on her pillow, which was
unaccountably lumpy. Olivia was sleeping, but as her sister moved she moaned and half woke.
This would never do! She must not wake Oh via. Slipping carefully from beneath the covers,
Beatrice pulled on her wrapping-gown and left the room. She normally slept easily at night, but
nothing was normal now. Lord Ravensden's arrival had turned their household upside down, and
she sometimes wondered if anything would ever be the same again.
Now there was this mystery of the young Marchioness to plague her. Where had she gone? Had
she truly been murdered by her cruel husband—or had she simply run away?
Alone in the kitchen, Beatrice poured herself a glass of wine, then saw the glace fruits that had not
been eaten after dinner and helped herself to two of them. They were quite delicious. She ate them
both and licked the sweetness from her fingers, feeling guilty as she remembered that she had
grumbled at Lord Ravensden for buying them...the provoking man.
How had he managed to get under her skin in this manner? He was constantly making her want to
prick at him with words as sharp as needles, and yet she was always glad to see him.
A thought occurred to her, which was ruthlessly denied. Impossible! She could not be developing
a tendre for him? No, certainly not...such an idea was out of the question. Especially after the way
Olivia had spoken of him just before she went to bed. It was clear that her sister was beginning to
reconsider...
Beatrice turned her head as the kitchen door opened. Her heart jerked as she saw Lord Ravensden
