by M C Beaton
A visit to Lord Varleigh’s home would be exciting, if only in a painful way. At least I shall see him, thought Annabelle and then chided herself for loving a man who showed only an avuncular interest in her at the very most.
Madame Croke had paid Annabelle generously for her designs, and Annabelle had hoarded the money carefully in case the strangeness of her present surroundings should one day prove too much for her. Surely her own mother would not turn her away if she arrived on the doorstep of the rectory.
Annabelle could not help dreaming of Sylvester Varleigh. His high-nosed aristocratic face had replaced the square, tanned face of her dream lover. She had never daydreamed much before, but now she found herself imagining all sorts of delightful adventures which would end in Lord Varleigh leading her to the altar. But apart from the presence of Lady Jane Cherle, there was her forceful and pushing mother to consider. The proud Lord Varleigh would surely not ally himself with any girl with such a mother.
She assured herself it was harmless to dream of him— an innocent pastime, no more. At times she could almost convince herself that she had forgotten what he looked like.
It had never entered Annabelle’s dreams that when she arrived at Varleigh Court, there would be other young ladies present.
It was therefore with a feeling that she wryly identified as pique that she found herself in the company of three very young, attractive ladies on her first day at Varleigh Court.
Despite Lord Varleigh’s precautions and the presence of many other guests and many small children, the three young ladies had quickly realised that they were “on trial” and discussed their prospects with Annabelle almost before she had had time to remove her hat. Several of the young gentlemen had already made a book, and the odds were in favor of Lady Amelia Bunbury with Mrs. O’Harold running a close second. To her chagrin Annabelle was considered “spoken for,” and the three ladies eagerly demanded her advice on the best way to entrap their elegant host.
Annabelle had at last the young female companionship for which she had craved but not at all in the way she had wanted. Lady Jane was not present and that should have at least been a blessing, but on the contrary it depressed Annabelle immeasurably. She was disappointed in Lord Varleigh. By the time her trunks were unpacked, she had convinced herself that she did not love him one bit. He was no better than the rest of them. Marriage, in his mind, was obviously a business proposition.
In the following days the rather tedious life-style of an English country house in winter took over. The gentlemen went out shooting or hunted while the ladies gossiped, practised attitudes, netted purses, read, and yawned. Only in the evenings did the great house come to life after a long and elaborate dinner when childish games like Hunt the Slipper or Blind Man’s Bluff were played, followed often by some dangerous romp which degenerated into cushion throwing and wild chases through the formal suite of entertaining rooms on the first floor. Mrs. O’Harold was nigh suffocated with a cushion held over her face by the dashing Lady Amelia and the pretty little Irish widow had struggled to her feet and retaliated by emptying the contents of a fruit bowl over that young lady’s head.
Captain MacDonald showed an alarming tendency to become increasingly boisterous. The men hailed him as a capital gun and the ladies smiled and simpered and congratulated Annabelle on having secured such a flower of English manhood for a suitor.
Annabelle was hardly allowed to exchange more than two words with her host. He had only to enter the roc and he was immediately besieged by three young ladies and their hopeful parents. Annabelle contented herself with watching him from afar and deciding that she did not like him one little bit. She was quite sure that most of the time Lord Varleigh was not aware she was in the house.
She would have been very surprised to know just how mistaken she was. Lord Varleigh was heartily wishing he had never invited Annabelle Quennell. How could he possibly decide which lady would suit him best when Annabelle was glowing with beauty on the other side of the room? Returning from a long day’s hunting, the Captain had spoken to Lord Varleigh at length of his undying passion for Annabelle and his hopes of marriage. Lord Varleigh had been moved to utter a few words of caution. Annabelle Quennell could not be forced into marriage. The Captain had hurriedly agreed but before he had turned his face away from Lord Varleigh to look across the barren wintry fields, Lord Varleigh had noticed a strangely childish, sulky, and stubborn look on the Captain’s handsome face.
ANNABELLE had been used to rising very early in the morning in Yorkshire and she still found it impossible to lie late in bed. it was a relief to rise and get dressed and escape from the house for a solitary promenade in the icy gardens, made more formal looking by the steely grip of winter.
Her walks often took her as far as the pimping shed where an old Yorkshireman, Heckley, cut the faggots for the many fires of Varleigh Court. The pimping shed was comfortably redolent of all the woody smells of pine and birch and apple, and it was comforting to Annabelle to sit there listening to Heckley’s homey burr and the crisp thwack of sharp ax on wood.
As she left Heckley one morning to return to the Court and join the others for breakfast, she reflected ruefully that she felt more at home with this old Yorkshire servant than with any of her fellow guests. With a little sigh she pushed open the door of the breakfast room … and stood still in dismay. Very few of the guests were there, but seated triumphantly at the head of the table, spearing grilled kidneys with great relish, was Lady Jane Cherle. Was it not odd, she was telling her small audience, that her carriage pole should snap just outside the gates? But Sylvester would be delighted to see her.
Sylvester Varleigh, who entered the room some few minutes later, did not seem in the least ecstatic. His well-bred face was like a mask as he listened to Jane’s voluble explanations. Lady Amelia, Mrs. O’Harold, and the Honorable Caroline Dempsey bristled like so many well-groomed cats.
Caroline was the first to move into the attack. “It seems too convenient of your carriage pole to break precisely outside my lord’s gates, dear Lady Jane,” she said with, an awful smile. “In my case I should be at a loss to know what to do. So imposing to arrive uninvited, but then I am positively hidebound by the conventions. So silly, don’t you think?”
“Yes,” said Lady Jane with great unconcern.
Mrs. O’Harold gave tongue. “Well, I am sure that the repairs can be quickly finished and you can soon be on your way, Lady Jane. Where are you bound for?”
“Oh, someplace,” yawned Jane. “It’s beginning to snow, and Sylvester wouldn’t turn his little Jane out on a day like this.”
“Don’t see why not,” boomed Lady Amelia with a hearty laugh. “He puts the cats out at night. Joke,” she added in unconvincing tones.
“He does!” said Lady Jane sweetly, raising her pencilled eyebrows in surprise. “And did you three ladies find it uncommonly cold out there?”
Annabelle giggled and Lady Jane’s magnificent eyes rounded on her like two carriage lamps turning a sharp corner.
“Ah, little Miss Quennell. And when are you and the Captain to tie the knot? So coy to break off your engagement and then appear holding hands on every occasion.”
“I do not hold hands with Captain MacDonald or anyone else for that matter,” said Annabelle stiffly. “You must forgive me an’ I sound harsh, Lady Jane, but I am not used to discussing my private life at the breakfast table.”
“Little puss,” said Lady Jane, giving Annabelle’s cheek a painful pinch. “Then we shall have a lovely coze about it all at dinner. Can you find someone to show me my rooms, Sylvester dear?”
Lord Varleigh felt like wringing Lady Jane’s neck, but he did not wish to perpetrate a scene in front of the other guests. He bowed his head and rang for the housekeeper.
Lady Jane rose, picked up a long fur boa, and slung it around her neck. The end of it, unfortunately, was trimmed with the paws and claws of several small animals, and it caught the Honorable Caroline full in the mouth.
&n
bsp; “You did that on purpose,” gasped Caroline, mottled with rage.
“Course I didn’t, you silly goose,” drawled Jane with a patronising laugh. “It’s those teeth of yours, dear girl. They do stick out so. But I can recommend a very good dentist…”
She trailed out of the room in the wake of the housekeeper, leaving a fulminating silence behind. Lord Varleigh excused himself. Jane must go if he had to drag her through the gates.
“Well!” exclaimed Caroline, and the three rivals bent their heads together for the delicious task of rending Lady Jane’s character and morals to shreds.
Annabelle suddenly felt she could not bear another minute of it The arrival of Lady Emmeline in scarlet and white striped morning dress and grotesque fur eyebrows proved to be the breaking point.
She muttered some excuse and fled to her rooms to fetch her bonnet and cloak, From along the corridor Lady Jane Cherle’s voice rose and fell but the words were mercifully indistinguishable.
Annabelle escaped into the grounds and then stood irresolute. She decided to return to the pimping shed, to sit peacefully among the logs and listen to Heckley’s soft Yorkshire voice which reminded her so painfully of home. She thought increasingly these days of the rectory, distance lending it an enchantment it did not possess. She had almost decided to send her savings home, but a nagging feeling of insecurity made her hold on to them. She had no idea what the journey north would cost but felt sure it would be a great deal.
She had written a long letter to her father, telling him of her earnings and begging him to say nothing until she came to a decision. The rector had sent a kind reply. The money was Annabelle’s to spend as she wished. Her small savings would make little material difference to them. He could only beg her to be happy. Annabelle had not mentioned Lord Varleigh in her letter. Her gentle father would be shocked, she knew, to learn that his daughter had been hankering after an aristocrat whose morals—by rectory standards—were doubtful to say the least.
Heckley was not in the shed. Bundles of faggots, neatly tied with string, bore witness to his early morning’s work. A stack of pine logs piled up in one corner exuded a pleasant aromatic smell.
Annabelle sat down gratefully on the pile of logs, enjoying the peace and quiet of the little shed. She began to feel sleepy after her earlier exertions and the emotional upheaval of the breakfast room. Her head drooped lower on her bosom. The door suddenly crashed shut, and she jumped in alarm and then sat down again. It must have been the wind, although the day had been very cold and still when she had entered the shed.
The pine smell brought faint memories of long-lost Christmases to mind, Christmases at the Squire’s large cheerful house with the great yule log blazing and crackling on the hearth. Sometimes the chimney did not draw properly, and the east wind racing across the moors and down the old chimney would send puffs of pine smoke billowing into the room. She could almost smell it now.
She could smell it now!
Smoke!
As Annabelle stared at the piles of faggots on the other side of the shed, little snakes of smoke wound up from them and hung motionless in the cold air.
Poor Heckley, thought Annabelle. If I do not sound the alarm, all his work will be up in flames. She ran to the door—and found it securely locked and bolted from the outside.
With a feeling of panic she turned towards the smoke. Little tongues of flame were now crackling round the sticks of wood. She pulled them desperately aside in order to try to stamp the flames out, but her efforts only succeeded in making the blaze spread merrily. She began to scream and cry and batter at the door. The flames were between her and the only window.
How jolly a crackling fire sounds when a storm rages outside and the flames shoot merrily up the chimney. How terrifying, how nightmarish each crackle sounded now!
The heat was becoming intense. The smoke was suffocating. Annabelle felt herself falling, falling, and falling. Down and down and down into an endless pit of heat and smoke and flames.
ANNABELLE came back from a very long, long way away. “So you’re here too—in hell, I mean,” she murmured to Lady Jane whose face was staring down at her. Lady Jane let out an appropriately demonic shriek of laughter and Annabelle retreated into the pit.
When she regained consciousness again, she was lying in her own bed and a very concerned Lady Emmeline was perched on the edge of it
“Now, be quiet, my dear,” said Lady Emmeline. “The doctor will be here presently. You have had a very narrow escape. If Varleigh hadn’t happened to be on the spot and rushed in and dragged you clear, you would have been roasted to a cinder. I must say I’m surprised at Varleigh. His coat was charred to bits and his hands all burned. I would have thought a man like him would have waited for one of the servants.”
There was a soft footfall, and then Lord Varleigh’s face was looking down at her. He took her hand in his own, and Annabelle noticed with surprise that her hands were bandaged as well as his. “How are you?” he said in a soft voice, smiling down at her in such a way that she felt she would faint again. “I think I am all right,” she replied shyly. “I must thank you for saving my life.”
“Oh, I always take care of my guests,” he replied in a light mocking voice which belied the warmth of his eyes. For a long minute their eyes met and held as Lord Varleigh stared down at Annabelle in dawning surprise.
“I have something to do,” he said abruptly. “I shall return presently to find out how you go on.”
With that he marched to Lady Jane’s room and gave her her marching orders in no uncertain terms, turning a deaf ear to every shriek and tear.
Lady Jane left.
Lord Varleigh kept wondering why he had not managed to be so firm with her before. It had all been so remarkably easy…
Chapter Ten
Annabelle was young and healthy and recovered quickly from her shock.
Lord Varleigh seemed more disposed to seek her company, but the Captain was constantly at her side. The fire in the pimping shed was decided to be an unfortunate accident and only Annabelle, with dark memories of Mad Meg’s prophecy, was plagued with doubts.
Lord Varleigh’s attentions to the three young ladies grew less as he joined more and more in the masculine pursuits of his gentlemen guests. Hopes began to wither and die in three feminine breasts, and their respective parents began peevishly to talk of going home.
In order to escape the increasingly unwelcome attentions of the Captain, Annabelle had taken to going for long walks. The Captain’s heavy gallantry was laced with abject apologies for his behavior at Chiswick; he spoke so feverently of his love for Annabelle that she was half inclined to believe him and allowed him as much of her company as she felt she could bear.
Rising early from her bed one morning, Annabelle rose and stared out of the window across the great park. A light snow had fallen during the night and was now casting its blanket of stillness over the estates. Low leaden skies were swollen with the promise of more snow to come.
Lord Varleigh suddenly appeared just below her window. He had his gun on his shoulder and his dogs at his heels. He was alone.
Annabelle watched as he walked with easy athletic strides across the park in the direction of the woods. She had a sudden longing to join him, to have him to herself away from the jealous eyes and chatter of the other guests.
Without ringing for the maid, she dressed herself quickly in a new scarlet velvet walking dress and then pulled on a thick black pelisse lined with white ermine. Then she placed a poke bonnet on her head and tying the satin ribbons, surveyed herself with some pleasure in the glass. The exaggerated poke of the bonnet shaded her face in a most becoming way. She hoped Lord Varleigh would notice.
She ran downstairs and out into the park, her little half boots following the black imprint of Lord Varieigh’s steps.
After about a mile of walking Annabelle began to feel ridiculous. Her outfit, which had seemed so becoming in the privacy of her bedroom, now appeared to her overdressed a
nd fussy, more suitable for a walk down Bond Street than in these skeletal winter woods.
And after all, what would Lord Varleigh say if she did find him? She could not plead innocence—that she was simply wandering the woods at this unearthly hour in the morning at random. Her little footsteps followed Lord Varieigh’s in a direct line. What if he should have that mocking look in his eye? What if he had gone to meet Lady Jane and Lady Jane’s noisy dismissal from his home had all been playacting?
Doubts crowded one after the other into her mind till they seemed as gray and threatening as the lowering sky above. With a feeling of defeat, she began to retrace her steps and make the long journey back towards the great house.
Snow began to fall lightly over the deserted park which had a brooding, waiting feeling. I’m becoming as fanciful as old Meg, thought Annabelle with a shiver.
By the time she entered the great hall, she was feeling exhausted. Annabelle threw her hat and pelisse on a chair and went in search of Lady Emmeline. She had been avoiding her godmother of late as the old lady’s eccentricity began to teeter on the edge of madness.
Lady Emmeline was kneeling at the prayer stool in the corner of her room. She was minus wig, and her bald pate gleamed in the livid light from the softly falling snow outside. She was wearing an old yellow nightgown with a brocade dressing gown lined with fur thrown over it. One of her frivolous high-heeled slippers had fallen off and lay on its side beside the prayer stool. Her eyes were shut and her lips were moving soundlessly.
Annabelle turned to leave.
“Don’t go,” said Lady Emmeline in a whisper. “Don’t.”
