by M C Beaton
Is she out of reach
Or just dancing on the sand
Does she wait a lover, I do ask
Or is she engaged in some other task…?”
A sudden clap of thunder shook the drawing room and the poetess threw her papers in the air and bolted out of the room.
Emily Mainwaring gave a very unladylike grin. “Jane is terrified of storms—thank goodness. I wonder how long that poem was going to be? ‘The Lay of the Last Minstrel’ is nothing compared to the length of some of Jane’s epistles.”
Matilda was as angry as that good-natured lady could be. “You are very, very cruel, Emily. Jane has a great talent. She would have been published by now if it weren’t for “Them” Kitty was to learn in due course that “Them” referred to the whole publishing world of men who, Jane and Matilda were firmly convinced, rejected the poems simply on the grounds that they were written by a woman.
A flash of lightning and another terrible roll of thunder rocked the house and died away leaving a dark, ominous silence, broken only by the faint whimpers of the terrified Jane abovestairs. “I had better go to her,” said Matilda.
“What a frightful storm,” said Emily. “We’d better go to sleep and have a rest before this evening.”
The sisters and their guests had been invited to a ball at a country house five miles’ distant. Their hostess, Maria Epworth, was an old schoolfriend of the Dwight-Hammonds.
Kitty lit the gas in her room and decided to read instead of going to bed, since the noise of the storm howling outside the shutters seemed to make sleep impossible. But for all the heavings and groans and shakes of the house as it rode out the storm, Kitty eyes began to droop. She turned down the gaslight to a faint glimmer and climbed into bed, wriggling her toes down between the cool sheets. Her foot struck something thin and cold at the foot of the bed. It moved! Kitty screamed and leapt out of bed and stood with her bosom heaving. Then she laughed. Obviously the Dwight-Hammonds had gone in for the popular fad of practical jokes.
She ripped back the bedclothes and found herself staring down at the writhing bodies of two adders. Then she really screamed in earnest, stumbling through the old storm-rocked house, her terrified cries rising higher and higher over the noise of the thunder.
Lady Mainwaring was first on the scene to catch the frightened girl in her arms. “It must have been a nightmare, Kitty, but we’d better make sure.”
The sisters did not keep any menservants except for one very old deaf coachman. Neither the cook nor the housemaids would volunteer to go into Kitty’s bedroom.
“In that case, I’ll go myself,” snapped Lady Mainwaring. With Kitty clutching her sleeve, she threw open the door of the bedroom. “There you are!” she exclaimed triumphantly. “Why there’s noth—” Her voice broke off as she saw something moving on the floor and she edged into the room in time to see the tail of a snake disappearing as it slithered under the bed.
“Good God!” gasped Emily Mainwaring, leaning against the doorjamb.
“What is it?” cried Matilda, materializing behind them with her hair in curl papers.
“Snakes!” shouted Emily and Kitty together.
“Snakes! Are you sure?” screamed Matilda. And then without waiting for a reply, she threw back her head and yelled, “Cats. Cats! Come here, at once.”
There was movement on the stairs and then the cats came bounding along the corridor. “Get the snakies. Get them!” shouted Matilda, dancing in excitement.
The women turned away and there was a great scuffling and mewing and then the leaders of the pack, who seemed to be Tibbles and Peter, strolled past them, each holding a dead snake triumphantly in its mouth. The other cats ambled past with a “see, there’s nothing to it” attitude.
Clutching each other for support, the three women made their way downstairs and collapsed in the drawing room.
“My dear, dear Kitty. I am so sorry,” gasped Matilda. “I’ve never known anything like it. There are adders up on the downs, of course. But in the house—and upstairs! Perhaps the storm drove them in.” She rang for tea.
“Don’t worry, my dear. My pussies shall patrol your room before you go into it at night.”
A thin gleam of watery sunlight struck through the slats of the shutters. “There!” said Matilda triumphantly. “The storm is over. Open the shutters, Barker.”
The housemaid threw open the long shutters and sweet, rain-washed air and sunlight flooded the room. Kitty felt her fears receding. Strange things happened in storms and things always did seem more frightening when the sky was black and the thunder rolled. And snakes were always said to make for the warmest part of a room.
Early that evening, as they were setting out for the ball, Kitty had almost forgotten about the incident except as a little adventure to tell her husband—if she should ever see him again.
As they climbed into the Dwight-Hammonds’ elderly carriage, Barker came running out. “If you please, Mum,” she addressed Matilda. “There’s a person here what says you told him to make repairs to the roof.”
Matilda flushed. Her memory was getting increasingly worse so she did not care to admit she had no recollection of ordering any such repairs. “Tell him to go ahead, Barker. But what an odd time of day to start work. I suppose the storm delayed him.”
The carriage rolled off. Jane Dwight-Hammond was busily composing a poem about Kitty’s adventure. “What rhymes with snake… hake… ? no, no… fake… perhaps… steak… oh, dear me, no.” By the time they reached the Epworths’ home, she had successfully rhymed adder with badder, found it to be ungrammatical, and was nearly in tears from frustration.
Kitty entered into the lights and music of the Epworths’ ball with a feeling of anticipation. Mr. and Mrs. Epworth were a kindly middle-aged couple and a good proportion of the young guests were pleasantly unsophisticated and pleased to have a pretty Baroness in their midst. Kitty’s dance card was soon full and she twirled about the ballroom enjoying the novel feeling of success.
She was emerging from supper later in the evening on the arm of a young army captain who had been invalided home from the South African wars, when she looked across the ballroom and found herself staring at her husband. All thoughts of what had gone on between them on their wedding night, all Lady Mainwaring’s advice, and all conventional behavior fled, as the Baroness Reamington flew across the ballroom and flung her arms around her husband’s neck. Peter Chesworth hugged her slight body and stared down at his wife in surprise.
She looked incredibly pretty and fresh with her wide gray eyes sparkling with delight and surprise. All his anger at her for having run away, all his fury at finding her gone when he arrived in Hadsea, fled before the warmth of her welcome. He drew her arm into his and led her out onto the terrace.
A small moon was racing between thin, high clouds as Peter Chesworth turned to his wife and said words she had longed to hear, “I’ve missed you, Kitty.”
Slowly and confidingly, she put her arms around his neck. She saw the moonlight flashing on his pale eyes under their hooded lids and closed her own. She felt his lips against her mouth, pressing and exploring, his arms holding her closer. Kitty trembled in his arms as a tide of passion swept both of them. Finally, he raised his head.
“Let’s go home before the others, Kitty,” he whispered. “We have the whole night together in front of us.”
Walking in a dream, Kitty said her good-byes. The Dwight-Hammond sisters beamed on her fondly, Lady Mainwaring looked worried, as Kitty walked out to her husband’s carriage. All the way back to the Victorian house, he held her hand and told her how much he loved her, really loved her, and Kitty felt almost drunk with so much happiness.
When they entered her bedroom, she turned and looked at him shyly. “I forgot to open the shutters and it’s so stuffy in here…”
“Let me do it,” said Peter Chesworth, moving past her.
“No,” said Kitty. “I’ll open them. It’s my lovely view and I want to show it to you.”
; He sat down on the bed, smiling indulgently, as she threw open the shutters and stepped out onto the small balcony. She held out her hand. “Come and see. It’s the most beautiful view in the world.”
He moved slowly toward her. One minute she was standing there faintly lit by the moonlight, smiling at him and holding out her arms and the next, there was a hideous cracking sound and the balcony collapsed, hurling Kitty down into the garden.
For one second, he stood transfixed with shock and then went hurtling down the stairs and out into the night Kitty was lying very white and still on the thick, uncut grass of the lawn. Then she moaned faintly.
Lights began to go on in the servants’ quarters and the cook was the first to appear. Lord Chesworth shouted to her to send his carriage for the doctor and to fetch blankets. Then he sat down on the lawn beside his half-conscious wife and waited, afraid to touch her or move her in case any of her bones were broken.
The doctor finally arrived and made a quick examination. He ordered the servants to carry Kitty into the house, but Peter Chesworth would let no one else touch his wife.
He paced up and down nervously while the doctor made a thorough examination.
“No bones broken, my Lord,” he said with relief. “A bad sprain and a slight concussion. She’s a very lucky young lady. If the Misses Dwight-Hammond had had their lawn cut, she might be dead. As it is, the thick, long grass acted as a type of cushion.” He gave Kitty a sedative, promised to call in the morning, and took his leave.
Peter Chesworth carried Kitty to his bedroom and sat holding her hand until the sedative began to take effect. Then he went downstairs to meet Lady Mainwaring and the Dwight-Hammond sisters who had just returned from the ball.
“First snakes and now this!” screamed Matilda.
“Snakes!” Peter Chesworth’s thin black brows snapped together. “What snakes?”
The incident of the adders was explained to him. “Let me examine the bloody room,” he snapped. “It sounds like some sort of death trap,” Jane wailed piteously.
The women followed him into Kitty’s bedroom, flinching and jumping at every shadow. Lord Chesworth turned up the gaslight and walked to the window.
The supports holding the wooden balcony had been sawed through. “But there was a man here to repair the house only this evening,” wailed Matilda. “I didn’t remember asking any man to repair anything but my memory—you know, Jane—I get tired of saying I can’t remember things.”
They stood looking at each other in shocked silence. Then Lady Mainwaring summed it up in her clear, light voice.
“Well, my dear Baron, who do you think is trying to murder your wife?”
CHAPTER SIX
The police and local magistrate had made their investigation without success and left by the time Kitty felt well enough to make an appearance downstairs.
Jane was fluttering around in great excitement. “Everyone in Hadsea has sent you cards and presents,” she exclaimed. “Even Mr. Chambers, the butcher, sent a lovely ham with a heart round it made out of the best pork sausages. Such an imaginative touch. Let me see… there is cologne from the chemist, grapes from the greengrocer, and, this gigantic box of chocolates from—why that’s strange. There is no card. Maybe it fell out. It could be from the souvenir shop but they have already sent you a pretty box made of shells.”
“How kind they all are,” said Kitty. “I shall write and thank them all.”
Jane looked timidly at the chocolates. “Do you think I could have just one before Matilda comes in?” she pleaded. “I have such a sweet tooth. My husband—who was in fact the Earl of Somerset,” she added in a whisper, “always teased me and said I wouldn’t have a tooth in my head by the time I was forty. But I have them all!
“Now Matilda says I will get spotty skin even though I haven’t a mark on it. But, just one teensy one wouldn’t hurt!”
Kitty smiled and started to take off the wrapping. “Of course. You can have as many as you like.” She lifted the lid of the box. “Why, there is a letter inside. Now we will know who sent them.” Kitty handed Jane the box of chocolates and opened the letter. It was simple and to the point. “Do you know your husband is trying to kill you? A friend.”
Kitty dropped it onto her lap and stared at Jane with a white face. But Jane was engrossed in selecting her first chocolate. “Should I take a hard center or a soft?” she murmured. “Hard is somehow not so indulgent Yes… yes, I shall take hard.”
Kitty escaped from the room, leaving Jane in her chocolate dream. She took the letter to her room and studied it carefully. It was inscribed in block capital letters on cheap paper. It was postmarked London.
Why should her husband wish to kill her? Suddenly, a picture of him dancing with Veronica Jackson came into her mind. She remembered how Veronica had swayed against him.
Kitty then realized that she did not really know very much about her husband. Surely his sudden passion for her was strange in view of the fact that he had shown little interest in her during their brief engagement. And Kitty was not quite so unsophisticated as she had been then.
There was a scratching at the door and Jane’s voice called timidly, “I’ve brought you the rest of the chocolates, dear Kitty, and a letter from your mother.
“I know it’s from your mama,” she went on as Kitty opened the door, “because it’s got her name on the envelope.”
Taking the letter and smiling weakly, Kitty said, “Please do have the chocolates for yourself, Jane. I have such a headache, I must lie down.”
“Of course, my dear. But I won’t eat them all,” said Jane clutching the box. “Just a teensy bit more.”
She drifted out and Kitty sat down on the bed and slowly began to open her mother’s letter.
It contained only two sentences and the writing was sprawled erratically across the page. “Your husband is an evil man,” wrote Mrs. Harrison. “Lady Henley and I saw him at the opera in the company of a Scarlet Woman. You must pray for God’s judgment on him and forgive me for the evil I have brought upon you. Your loving Mother.”
Kitty put down the letter slowly. She felt sick. Her happiness the night of the ball seemed only a small, bright spot in her memory, with herself and her husband moving in the small camera of her mind like theatrical players. She had endured enough. There was no light and laughter left in the world. It was all a gaudy parade and a sham, peopled with carnival figures. She walked to the window and stared at the summer view sadly, as if she were looking at a childhood photograph. The magic had gone. She would return to London and become the Baroness everyone expected, rude, haughty, and cruel.
Feeling cold and empty, she made her way back downstairs. Peter Chesworth and Lady Mainwaring were waiting for her. Kitty gave them both a thin bright smile and began talking in a cold, flat voice of how much she wished to return to London. Lady Mainwaring tried to tease her back to the old Kitty but without success. She dispensed the teacups with the stiff formality of a dowager.
When Kitty had finally retired for the night and was sitting in bed propped up on the pillows and looking with unseeing eyes at the book on her lap, the door opened and her husband came in.
He gave her an endearing smile and started to take off his jacket.
“Pray, what are you doing?” asked Kitty icily.
Peter Chesworth looked around in surprise. “I’m getting ready for bed, my dear.”
“You have your own bedroom,” Said Kitty flatly. Her voice sounded dull and old.
He looked at her. “I think your accident has shaken you up more than I realized.”
“It has perhaps brought me to my senses,” said his wife. “You have my money. That is what you married me for, is it not?” He would have spoken but she held up her hand. “No… please spare me any more fake protestations of love. You wanted my money, my dear Lord, and that is all you are going to get. I am sure you can satisfy your… needs… elsewhere. In fact I gather you have already been doing so.”
Lord Chesworth fl
ushed an angry red. So she had heard about Veronica Jackson. He opened his mouth to make a withering reply and then closed it again. A strategic retreat would be better.
“I insist you are still suffering from shock, Kitty. We will talk about this further in the morning.”
Kitty’s hard manner broke. “Oh, just go away and leave me,” she said with her voice breaking, and giving her husband more of a guilty stab to the heart than all her anger had done.
He closed the door quietly and went to walk on the beach. Of all the silly things to do, he fumed. To fall in love like a schoolboy with one’s own wife. All his amours had been with experienced women. He suddenly felt at a loss and as inexperienced as an adolescent.
The rhythmic sound of the small waves tugging at the shore finally soothed his battered spirits. He had never lacked courage before. He would woo her. That was it! And having decided on a campaign plan, Peter Chesworth took himself off to bed.
The journey to London the next day was a nightmare of suffocating heat as the barometer soared into the nineties. When the train finally steamed into Paddington station, Peter Chesworth breathed a sigh of relief. His wife had sat with her head buried in a book for the whole journey. When they reached the end of the platform, to his horror, Kitty turned and held out her hand to him. “Since you have obviously so many affairs to attend to, I am sure you will not mind if I continue my visit with Lady Mainwaring.”
He looked at Lady Mainwaring for help but she suddenly seemed to have become enthralled with the mechanics of the steam engine.
“Kitty, this is ridiculous,” he expostulated. “We had better go home and talk.”
But he addressed the empty, smoky air of the station. His wife was already following the luggage out of the station at a smart pace.
Emily Mainwaring put a hand on his arm. “Something is very wrong, Peter. Please leave it to me to find out what is the matter and I will speak to you tomorrow.”
He nodded dumbly and watched their carriage until it was out of sight.
In the carriage, Kitty was giving Lady Mainwaring the benefit of a fund of social small talk, delivered in a hard, bright voice. Suddenly in the middle of an amusing anecdote about Jane Dwight-Hammond’s poems, she broke off and buried her head in her gloved hands and sobbed, “Oh, Emily! What will I do? I’m so miserable.”
