by M C Beaton
Her seemingly placid good nature had made her a popular dance partner and her friendship with the famous Beau Reckford and then her enormous fortune assured her social success. She was soon surrounded by a knot of admirers and her dance card was rapidly being filled when a familiar husky voice said, “But the waltz is promised to me.”
Lord Reckford led her onto the floor and clasped her lightly round the waist. He smiled down into her eyes. “You must always save the waltzes for me Miss Sandford.”
Heart beating fast, Henrietta bowed her head and wished that he would not flirt so easily, so lightly and so… so… meaninglessly.
After they had finished waltzing—companionably on the Beau’s side and emotion-torn on Henrietta’s—she shyly promised to save him the supper dance and returned to her place beside Miss Scattersworth. She paused in surprise and looked around. Of Miss Mattie, there was no sign. Feeling perturbed and anxious, she began to search the ballroom, forgetting in her anxiety that her next dance partner was waiting for her.
Increasingly anxious, Henrietta was about to enlist the aid of Lord Reckford when she heard a familiar giggle from behind one of the long curtains. She jerked it open and stood with her mouth open in amazement. Miss Mattie and a military gentleman with fierce moustaches were seated side by side on a wrought iron bench on the balcony. The gentleman had an arm round Miss Mattie’s waist and that lady was clutching a glass of champagne and giggling uncontrollably.
“Mattie!” cried Henrietta, outraged. “Why, you are foxed!”
Mattie’s escort lumbered to his feet and, with a great creaking of corsets, made a magnificent bow. “Your servant, ma’am, ’low me to introduce myself, Colonel Witherspoon at your service. The lady here is safe with me, ma’am. Shall protect her, ma’am. Shall fight all comers, ma’am. Gawd, herrumph, yes, what!”
He was obviously as intoxicated as Miss Mattie and Henrietta was just wondering what on earth to do, when she felt an urgent tug at her arm. “Please, Miss Sandford, I must speak with you.”
It was Mr. Jeremy Holmes, the hectic glitter in his eyes making him look like a fallen cherub. “Must speak with you!” he insisted.
Henrietta was in a quandary. Concern for Miss Mattie and worry about the Beau’s best friend tore her in opposite directions. She finally decided to attend to Mr. Holmes. Miss Mattie was hidden from the public gaze for the present. Mr. Holmes drew Henrietta ungently on to the adjoining balcony and insisted she sit down beside him. Mr. Holmes had nearly drunk himself sober but he was in an anxious sentimental mood and his eyes kept filling with ready tears. “I know you love Miss Belding dearly,” was his inauspicious beginning. He then blurted out the tale of his attempted proposal, his rejection by Lady Belding, his undying love for Alice.
Henrietta, as many of the poorer parishioners of Nethercote knew, was an excellent listener. Mr. Holmes blossomed under her sympathy and calm maternal air.
He was not aware how poor Henrietta was identifying with his feelings of rejected love. How under her serene mask there burned all the strong emotions of a fiery, passionate woman.
Although Henrietta had not uttered one word of advice, Mr. Holmes felt immeasurably soothed and calmed by the time he had reached the end of his impassioned speech. The pink clouds of drunkeness, which had retreated to the horizons of his mind, closed in again. In an excess of affection, he seized the astonished Henrietta in a warm clasp and placed an affectionate kiss on her cheek.
“Pray… what is going on here?” said a voice as cold as ice. Both rose to their feet in confusion. Lord Reckford stared down at them, his tawny eyes under their hooded lids glaring at the unfortunate Jeremy. Henrietta did not know what to do. If she explained, then she would be betraying Mr. Holmes’ trust. She looked appealingly at that young man. But Jeremy merely stared at his aristocratic friend with a mischievous glint in his eyes.
“Well, what?” he mocked. “You turned Methodist, Reckford? Can’t I kiss a pretty girl on this beautiful moonlit night?”
“It is beginning to rain,” snapped Lord Reckford. “But perhaps you two lovers did not notice a little matter like that,” he added with a sneer.
Jeremy Holmes caught the look of real distress on Henrietta’s face and grabbed the Beau by the arm. “Now, look here Guy. Fact of the matter is… I was burdening her with all my troubles. And Henrietta’s such a kind girl. Well, you know how it is. You said she was like a sister to you yourself, now didn’t you?”
Now Lord Reckford had indeed said just that. So why, he wondered, did he have a sudden urge to land his oldest and dearest friend a facer? With a grim smile, he offered his arm to Henrietta and held back the curtain and ushered her into the ballroom. Alice Belding stood waiting with her mother in attendance. “My dance, my lord,” she said with an enchanting smile. “Of course,” he bowed to Henrietta, gave Jeremy a venomous look and led Alice off to where a set was being formed for the Cotillion. Jeremy had sobered completely. From the distress on Henrietta’s face and the fury on his friend’s, he realized that he had said something badly wrong. “Can I be of any assistance to you?” he asked Henrietta. “Fetch you a glass of ratafia or something?”
Henrietta refused and was about to turn away when she remembered Miss Mattie. “Oh, yes. Please do help me. I must get Miss Scattersworth home.” Henrietta blushed. “She is with a gentleman… and… and oh dear.”
“Lead the way,” said Mr. Holmes gallantly, glad that he could be of service. There was something about Henrietta that really brought the Knight Errant out in a man, he reflected.
Henrietta was heartily grateful for his assistance. Nothing she could say could prise Miss Mattie from her gallant’s side. It was left to Jeremy to put a quiet word in the Colonel’s ear. What he said, Henrietta never knew, but Colonel Witherspoon shot to his feet with his face scarlet, made his adieux then staggered off. Miss Mattie dissolved into drunken tears, then she started laughing hysterically. Again Jeremy Holmes came to the rescue. He slapped Miss Mattie hard across her withered cheek. The transformation was instant. One minute there was a raucous, hysterical beldame and the next a contrite, if tipsy, elderly spinster.
Jeremy and Henrietta led Miss Mattie from the ballroom. Henrietta gave Mr. Holmes a glance of pure gratitude across Miss Scattersworth’s bowed head. Lord Reckford caught the glance and suddenly felt that the ball was insipid and flat. He looked down into Alice Belding’s beautiful face and decided that there must be something up with his liver. London, with its routs, balls, and parties was wearisome. He should visit his estates. He did not wish to be considered an absentee landlord. He would arrange a house party for the week-end. Unusual in the middle of the Season but then his estates were only a day’s easy ride from London. And he would ask all the suspects in Henrietta’s mystery and perhaps discover the culprit.
Feeling slightly consoled… though why he should wish to be consoled, he was at a loss to say… he turned his full charm on Alice Belding and raised that young lady’s hopes of matrimony by leaps and bounds.
Chapter Eight
Cherwood Abbey, home of the Reckfords, was impressive enough to bring gasps of admiration from the arriving house guests.
It was a huge pile built on a long ridge of hills in the center of a crescent of woods. Following the medieval pattern, the principal rooms were on the first floor with broad double flights of stone steps from the windows giving access to the gardens. The ground floor was mainly taken up by a vast hall which was hung round with family portraits, armoury, and medieval banners. The Reckfords, unlike the Beldings, went to war.
The formal gardens in front of the Abbey were separated from an extensive park by tall iron gates, on each of the pillars of which was a griffin rampant supporting the escutcheon of the family. A long avenue of limes stretched from these gates in a direct line to the lodge house.
Through the woods of the park, Henrietta could see the sun shining on a pretty ornamental lake. Behind the crescent of trees at the back of the house, stood a tall sandstone cliff.<
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Since the house party was small—by Reckford standards—the guests had been allotted apartments instead of the customary bedroom and dressingroom each.
Miss Mattie, flitted about examining Henrietta’s quarters and clapping her hands like a child. “Nothing eez lacking, ma chérie. It eez all, ’ow you say, complét. You even have a Bramah water closet,” ended Miss Mattie, reverting to her normal voice.
Henrietta sighed. “Who is he, Mattie?” she asked.
“He? Who?” replied Miss Mattie rather incoherently.
Henrietta eyed the black velvet ribbon round Miss Mattie’s throat. “The French emigré,” she remarked dryly. “Really Mattie, why must you affect that nonsensical fashion. None of your family ever went to the guillotine.”
“But… but…” stammered Miss Mattie, for once at a loss. Then her eyes lit up. “Why, my dear, perhaps in a previous life…”
“Fiddlesticks!” said Henrietta roundly, but kindly forebore to remark that Miss Scattersworth had been very much alive herself during the French Revolution. “Anyway, who is the gentleman?”
“Well, he is a Monsieur Dubois,” twittered Miss Mattie, “And he eez mos’ charmant.”
“But Mattie—why do you have to speak in that strange French accent? And who is Monsieur Dubois?”
“He is Lord Reckford’s personal secretary and I think my accent is rather pretty. I adopt it to make him feel at home, you know. Ah! I can hear the noise of the sans culottes. But I shall not flinch. I shall be wearing virginal white and I shall stare down at the canaille with disdain. The tumbril moves on. To the guillotine! I refuse to have my eyes bound. Long live His Majesty. The blade falls. I die!” Miss Mattie collapsed artistically onto the oriental rug. Henrietta sighed again. Miss Scattersworth was indeed susceptible.
The light was fading behind the trees and, after Miss Mattie had left, Henrietta started to prepare for dinner. The party had spent Friday travelling to Cherwood Abbey in Surrey. The whole week-end stretched out in front of Henrietta. If only his lordship had not decided to once more invite all her antagonists. Mrs. Ralston had set the tone of the visit by remarking sweetly, “I realize you are not accustomed to this level of society, my dear Henrietta. Do consult me as to how you should act. I am quite sure you will be most dreadfully in need of help.”
Dinner was served in one of the small dining rooms on the first floor. Alice Belding had cleverly chosen a dinner gown of a medieval cut in heavy cloth of gold. She looked like a heroine out of the pages of a romance about Camelot. She was seated on Lord Reckford’s right hand—Lady Belding had bribed the butler to arrange the place settings—and they made a handsome couple. Henrietta had Mr. Holmes on her right and brother Henry on her left. Miss Scattersworth was seated next to Monsieur Dubois and spoke to him in such a broken French accent that the poor secretary, who spoke impeccable English, was under the misapprehension that Miss Scattersworth was speaking a patois from the West Indies and kept appealing to his neighbors for translations.
Jeremy Holmes realized that Alice was going to devote all her attention to her host so he spent the dinner chatting happily with Henrietta of whom he was becoming increasingly fond. He succeeded in amusing her so well that be managed to forget Alice and Henrietta managed to forget the Beau. Neither knew that they had finally gained the attention they craved. Alice was jealous that Henrietta seemed to be mending the broken heart of her suitor very quickly and Lord Reckford decided that his friend Jeremy was a heartless flirt.
An al fresco luncheon had been planned for the Saturday and Lord Reckford reminded the party to wear serviceable clothes because they were going to climb to the top of the cliff.
No ghosts haunted Henrietta that night, and all the previous happenings to scare her seemed like so many far away dreams.
Saturday dawned bright and fair—an English summer’s day in full bloom. Henrietta was wearing a sensible pair of half boots, prepared for the walk ahead. Alice on the other hand was wearing frail slippers of sky-blue kid with the idea of stumbling on to the nearest supporting male arm, preferably the Beau’s. Great was her disappointment to find that the party were to ascend the cliffs on donkeys. Everyone set off, riding comfortably, with the exception of Henry. His riding dress, although correct to an inch, complete with white tops to his boots, was far too tight and he wheezed and struggled as much as the poor animal that had to carry him.
The party came to a stop beside a rushing stream under the shadow of the top of the cliff. Henrietta sat down on a boulder and looked about her with a sigh of satisfaction. Oak trees, birch and larch crowded to the water’s edge of this small plateau. The water foamed green and white over large boulders which sparkled and flashed with specks of marcasite in the morning sun. Thick clumps of long grass stood to attention in the breathless morning air, their translucent green setting off the tremulous blue of the hairbells which nestled in their shade. All the birds of the wood serenaded them with song accompanied by the cheerful domestic sounds of the servants unpacking the lunch. There was a lazy hot smell of pine and brewing tea and methylated spirits.
Mr. Ralston struck a romantic pose on top of a rock at the edge of the glade. At any minute, thought Henrietta, he is going to shade his brow and stare off into the middle distance. Which he did.
Mrs. Ralston was telling anyone who cared to listen about the dangers of bee venom and above and under her voice in a sort of mad counterpoint came the chattering of Miss Scattersworth as she flirted desperately with Lord Reckford’s secretary in broken English and broken French.
Beau Reckford was chatting idly with Alice while Lady Belding stood slightly apart from them, apparently defying anyone to break up her daughter’s courtship. Henrietta watched them covertly. Alice, for all her beauty, did not belong in this sylvan setting. She appeared too well-coiffed, too brittle, whereas the Beau looked surprisingly at home although his morningdress would not have been out of place in the Regent’s drawingroom. Henrietta moved into the shade of a stand of trees and began to search in her reticule for some papier poudré to dull the shine on her nose. To her surprise, a long letter had been thrust into her reticule. She drew it out and crackled open the paper. It contained one sentence, “If you wish to find all the answers to the mystery, lift the green rock at the top of the cliff, and do not tell anyone.”
Henrietta crumpled the letter angrily in her small hand. Of all the gothic nonsense. She would not attend. She would join the picnic as if nothing had happened. But what if it were true? What if she could solve this riddle? She looked hurriedly around. No one was paying any attention to her. She looked up. The top of the cliff seemed only a few steps away. Quickly making up her mind, she slipped away from the house party and began to climb up a narrow sandstone path. She soon began to regret her impulse. By the time she gained the top of the cliff, she was sweating freely, and her pretty sprigged muslin was stained with sandstone dust. Her hair had been pulled and tangled by the low overhanging branches of the trees and her ankles stung from the whiplash of tall nettles.
She sank down onto the rough grass at the top of the cliff and then, lying forward on her stomach, peered over the edge.
The picnic party was spread out on the plateau thirty feet below her. Directly underneath where she lay stood Lady Belding and Alice with their heads together. A snatch of Alice’s conversation rose in the clear air… “It is only a matter of time, mama. Reckford will ask…” The rest of her conversation was lost as she and her mother turned to move away. “Ask?” thought Henrietta. “Ask what? Her hand?” She experienced such a pang of jealousy that for one awful minute she thought she was going to be ill.
Well, she may as well look for the green stone. That was what she had come up here for. She looked round. Next to her and under an outcrop of rock, lay a long narrow stone painted green. How melodramatic, thought Henrietta grimly. The whole affair was becoming reassuringly childish. Now for the mystery. She seized the green rock and lifted. It took all her strength. To her horror, the huge outcrop
seemed to come slowly to life and she realized that the long green stone had been cunningly placed under it as a lever. The outcrop had been camoflaged with great tufts of grass to make it look secure. Henrietta opened her mouth to scream a warning but no sound came out. She flung herself down on her stomach and looked over, still gasping and trying to find her voice. The huge rock, dislodged from its moorings, seemed to hang motionless for a second in the still summer air while the figures of the house party moved gracefully below like actors in a pastoral play.
Then it hit the ground with a great Crrummp and clouds of sandstone dust swirled around, obscuring the house party from Henrietta’s terrified stare. There were screams and cries, women shrieking, men cursing. Finally the dust cleared and an accusing ring of white faces stared upwards at Henrietta. Not one ran up to help her. All waited in silence as she descended the path with trembling limbs.
Everyone began to speak at once.
“Murderess!” (Mrs. Ralston)
“My dear sister, I fear for your reason.” (Henry Sandford)
“Lean on me, Henrietta. I will protect you no matter what you have done!” (Edmund Ralston)
“Henrietta, a word with you.” (Lord Reckford)
“An accident. Of course it was an accident.” (Miss Scattersworth)
“From where I stood, it appeared to be a deliberate attempt to murder Alice.” (Lady Belding)
Henrietta had found her voice and began stammering and crying at one and the same time. Lord Reckford held his hand up for silence and drew Henrietta aside.
