Now she was awaiting him again as she had waited so many times before. She rose from the sofa and crossed to the window, looking up hopefully at the steadily darkening sky and at the faraway twinkling of the first star.
She tripped over to the looking glass and patted her hair. All at once, she saw him behind her, his face reflected in the glass.
“I did not think phantoms could see their own image,” she said, without turning round.
“A pox on all phantoms,” said the ghost crossly. “I am tired of these short nights. It is not at all odd to me that I should see myself in the glass.” He swiveled away from her and stared across the room at the open book lying on the sofa. “Novels! I thought as much. You have been reading rubbish.”
Alice swung around, too happy to see him again to be angry with him. “I have ordered a late supper for us,” she said. “I trust you have not dined.”
“Don't be stupid,” said the Duke nastily.
“How can I have dined when I have just materialized?”
“I forget, you see,” said Alice apologetically. “You look so human.”
He nodded his head, accepting the apology as his due. “Your servants will not be pleased at having to serve supper late,” he said, taking a delicately enameled snuffbox from his pocket and opening the lid with a deft twist of his wrist.
“Oh, no, they are quite delighted,” said Alice. “They are so pleased Miss Snapper is gone. I heard the chef tell the butler.”
“Listening to servants’ gossip, Alice?”
“Of course,” said Alice. “I am a servant, remember.”
“No, I will not remember,” he said harshly. “I have gone to considerable pains to establish you as a lady of the ton. But if, in your sheer peasant ingratitude, you prefer to forget it, then that, my dear, is something you will have to overcome.”
Tears started to Alice's eyes at the cold cruelty of his voice, but the butler was at the doorway announcing dinner.
The Duke imperiously held out his arm and she could do nothing but blink away the tears and try to swallow the lump in her throat.
It was a silent meal, Alice picking at her food and the Duke seemingly totally absorbed in making a hearty meal.
When the servants had at last retired, he looked across the table at her. “I was hungry,” he said.
Alice sighed. “Why does everyone bully me and snap at me so?”
“Because,” said the Duke pouring himself a glass of port, “you have a cringing air about you, Alice, a very emanation of timidity which brings out the beast in people. You are eminently bullyable. You want spirit.”
“How can I change?” wailed Alice.
“Oh, look in your glass,” said the ghost testily. “You are a beautiful woman, Alice. Forget that scullery maid. She is as dead as ... as I am.”
“But there was no need for you to be so cross,” said Alice in a low voice. “We have not really talked in so long. Have I done something to make you angry?”
“Have you done ... ? Of course you have, you hen-witted brat. What on earth made you even consider wedding such a fool as Webb?”
“He was pleasant ... at first,” said Alice. “And he seemed so handsome. I was flattered that he should show an interest in me.”
“Did he make love to you?”
“Yes,” whispered Alice.
“You have lost your virginity,” stated the Duke with contempt.
“NO!” shouted Alice, and then in a lower voice, “No, not that. He k-kissed me and f-fondled me.”
“And that did pleasure you?”
“No,” said Alice, raising her large eyes to look fully at him. “I felt nothing.”
“I ‘Faith, that was an excellent dinner,” said the Duke cheerfully. “I do not know why I was so much at odds with the world. Come, dear child, we shall forget Webb and Snapper. They shall be the wicked phantoms of thy life—gone now to haunt thee no more. I have found a lady companion.”
“Oh, dear,” murmured Alice.
“I have taken care with this one. Nonetheless, it is for you to decide whether you want her. Her name is Cassandra Fadden. I shall tell you no more about her.”
“Do you like my gown?” ventured Alice, not wishing to discuss this companion who would surely bully her.
“Stand up,” he ordered, and when she complied, “Turn around.”
He studied her thoughtfully for a long moment. “Pretty,” he said at last. “Vastly pretty. Trust your own taste in clothes, child. You looked the veriest quiz under the tuition of the Snapper.”
She flushed with pleasure and shyly resumed her chair and gathering all her small stock of courage she said, “Mayhap it would please you to stay in London with me for some days?”
“Mayhap it would,” he drawled. “I have, however, started writing my memoirs. So far I am doing very well,” he said with simple pride. “Whether anyone will believe them or not is another matter.”
“Do you still wish me to get married?” asked Alice.
“What other future is there for you?” asked the Duke. “The money from the jewels will not last forever. You are young and healthy and normal. Of course you wish to have children and a home of your own.”
“But my husband, he must never know my secret,” said Alice. “How do you keep secrets from someone you love?”
“Well, you'd better learn to keep a still tongue in your head,” he said acidly. “If you start babbling on about ghosts you'll end in Bedlam.”
“I may not be able to fall in love with anyone suitable,” pleaded Alice.
“What is love?” demanded the ghost, refilling his glass and settling down to a pleasurable dissertation. “It is frustrated lust, nothing more. What is marriage? Legalized lust. People fall in love because they do not know how to keep their lives simple. They have to go and mess it up by not only taking themselves too seriously but someone else as well. It is a bad basis for marriage for, after the first dizzy raptures are over, what do we find? A man and a woman, disillusioned and bored. That is what makes them seek extramarital affairs. That...”
“Stop!” cried Alice, putting her hands over her ears.
“I beg your pardon,” said the Duke haughtily, “but I was in the middle of explaining one of my pet theories. You lack manners.”
“Have you no heart?” cried Alice.
“Of course I have, you silly chit. I have that same organ that I took to the grave with me. It beats. It pumps blood. It did not fall in love when I was alive, so I think it is safe to assume it will not now I am dead. Now, where was I?”
“You were talking about disillusionment,” said Alice in a dead voice. "Tiens! Quelle bêtise!"
“There is no need to be rude in French as well as English. Obviously you do not share my views. Yes, I shall stay with you for a few weeks. I think I should guide you in your choice of husband. There is not much to choose from here until the beginning of the Little Season but we shall do our best. While I am on the subject, it is not a good idea to let your swains kiss you and fondle you as you say young Webb did. Familiarities breed contempt. Keep a respectable distance until you are wed. It is strange to me to think of any man wishing to be intimate with you. Perhaps it is because I view you in the light of the niece you pretend to be. You are looking quite white and exhausted, my child. Do you wish to go to bed?”
“No,” said Alice in a small voice.
“In that case we shall retire to the drawing room.”
Alice meekly allowed herself to be led through to the drawing room. She could not understand why she felt so sad and depressed. He was not going away. He was to stay with her. That was all she had longed and prayed for. Wasn't it?
“The night is chilly for summer,” said the Duke. “I shall light a fire. Ah! I do not have to light my own fires anymore.” He moved to ring the bell for a servant.
“Don't,” said Alice. “I told the servants they could retire after we had finished our supper.”
“Did you not think of my pleasure?”
he demanded.
“I thought only of the servants,” said Alice quietly. “It is not so long since I was one myself.”
“And we are never, ever going to be allowed to forget it,” snapped the Duke, bending over the fireplace and at the same time wondering why he was being so harsh with the girl. He busied himself lighting the fire while his mind turned over the problem. He decided it was the responsibility of taking care of Alice that irked. He came to the conclusion that his behavior was, however, at fault. And so in the manner of his kind of aristocrat, he decided to apologize sincerely and openly to Alice.
He swung around on his heels and smiled up at her. “I have been in the devil of a temper this evening,” he said. “I think perhaps my spleen is disordered.”
“Damn your spleen, sir!? cried Alice, “and damn you.”
He stood up slowly and towered over her, his eyes like chips of blue ice. “You guttersnipe,” he said, slowly and carefully enunciating each syllable. “I make you a handsome apology and all you can do is scream at me like a fishwife.”
Alice stared at him, her wide eyes dark and amazed. “That was an apology!” she exclaimed. Then she buried her face in her hands and turned her back on him.
He stood looking at her in baffled rage. He noticed her shoulders were shaking and suddenly his rage died as quickly as it had sprung up.
The Duke moved forward and put his hands on her shoulders and turned her gently around, holding her slim shaking body against his own.
“There now,” he said, tilting up her chin and then glaring down at her in amazement. For Alice was laughing—not crying as he had believed. Her bright eyes were sparkling and she was shaking with mirth. “Oh, y-you are s-so f-funny,” she gasped when she could. “An apology, indeed.”
The Duke held her a little away from him, looking down at her. All of a sudden a mocking smile lit up his blue eyes and he slowly pulled her close to him again and bent his head.
“No!” whispered Alice, closing her eyes.
She trembled against him, all laughter gone. She could feel his long fingers biting into her shoulders and smell the musky perfume he wore. Then one hand released one shoulder and came under her chin and pushed her head up and his lips met hers in a long exploring kiss, deeper and deeper and biting, parting her lips, his tongue sliding into her mouth, darting and searching. She felt her body burning and throbbing and melting until she was almost too weak to stand. His hand released her chin and dropped to her breast and she gave a plaintive little sigh of surrender and wound her arms around his neck, standing on tiptoe, and returning passion with passion.
And then quite suddenly he raised his head and put her firmly away from him, turning his face away so that she could not read the expression in his eyes.
“Odd's Life!” he said lightly. “Tis near incest, is it not? Making merry with thine uncle.”
“You are not my uncle,” whispered Alice.
“No. Only a phantom. I should not have punished you so, Alice. We will forget about it, shall we not? Tomorrow evening we shall start our search for a husband. It is well that these balls and parties go on all night or I should find difficulty in helping you.”
Alice stared at him desperately. “Oh, Gervase,” she cried. “I l...”
He quickly put a hand over her mouth to stifle the words.
“No,” he said. And again, “No. You are tired my child. You must not take spirits such as myself seriously. We are nothing but air and fancy. See! I disappear. A new accomplishment.”
He began to fade before her eyes.
“Please,” begged Alice. “Please stay.”
“Till tomorrow,” came a faint mocking voice from somewhere near the ceiling.
Alice sat down and stared at the flickering flames of the fire. “I don't want a husband,” she said fiercely into the silence of the room. “I want...”
But she did not know what she wanted apart from peace and security. Her strange, tumultuous feelings when he had kissed her she put down to a sort of supernatural power emanating from him.
Then she thought bleakly of the morrow which would bring a new companion. “She will be horrible, I just know it,” Alice told the uncaring walls.
* * * *
Miss Cassandra Fadden arrived at three o'clock the next afternoon. Alice entered the room, trying to hide her nervousness. She was determined to send this new companion packing. She did not trust the Duke's taste in companions.
At first she thought the drawing room was empty. Then someone gave a quiet little cough. Miss Fadden was seated in a high-backed chair in the corner, her feet barely touching the floor. She was a gray, little woman—gray face, gray hair, gray shapeless dress, even her eyes were a washed-out gray. She wore a gray velvet turban which seemed too big for her small head. All her clothes, in fact, looked as if they had once belonged to a much bigger woman. Her shoes flopped at the end of her wrinkled gray stockings, her gloves hung from her elbows, and her false front of gray curls hung down on her forehead, leaving about an inch of skin between the curls and the hairline.
She looked harmless enough but Alice was determined to assert herself in case this gray ghost of a woman should turn out to be another Miss Snapper.
Alice patted her curls in the looking glass and then turned round and faced Miss Fadden. “Miss Fadden,” she began and then said as sternly as she could, “Alors, mademoiselle, you are supposed to stand when I address you.”
“I am standing,” said Miss Fadden timorously. Alice blinked. Miss Fadden was indeed standing before her, having somehow moved from her chair. She was so small that it was like looking down at a child.
“I beg your pardon,” said Alice. “My uncle suggested we might deal suitably together. Have you had experience as a companion before?”
“No, my lady,” said Miss Fadden in such a quiet little voice that Alice had to lean forward to catch the words. “I am the daughter of a curate. Papa died two months ago and I was at my wits end as to what to do. I was sitting in the churchyard, crying, and suddenly this splendid gentleman appeared before me—quite like the Angel Gabriel, you know, except that I think his coat was made by Weston—no room for wings there—and he asked me why I was in such distress and I told him. He said his niece was in need of a lady-companion so here I am,” she finished rather breathlessly.
Alice looked at her rather doubtfully. Miss Fadden looked quite old and frail. “Please sit down, Miss Fadden,” said Alice in a gentle voice. “You would be expected to keep very late nights—very late,” added Alice thinking of her ghost's restrictions. “Admittedly we would sleep a good part of the day, but I wonder whether you might not find the rigors of a round of balls and parties too exhausting.”
“Oh no,” pleaded Miss Fadden. “I should find it monstrous exciting. I have never been to a party in my life. Papa said such occasions were sinful. I'm glad he's dead,” she added vaguely. “He will be so much more comfortable in Heaven, you know. He was not a good preacher, I am afraid. He always managed to make virtue sound like a threat.”
Alice bent her head to hide a smile. Miss Fadden was undoubtedly eccentric but she seemed gentle and kind.
“Miss Fadden,” said Alice tentatively, “I had reason to dismiss my previous companion. To put it bluntly, she bullied me.”
Miss Fadden waved her little gloved hand in protest so energetically that one of her overlarge gloves fell off and rolled on the floor. “Dear me, my lady!” she exclaimed. “I could not even bully the house cat.”
Alice quickly made up her mind. “Then we shall deal extremely well together, I think. When would it be convenient for you to commence your duties?”
“Now,” said Miss Fadden simply. “I am in modest lodgings in London and I have not paid the rent. They will be glad to see me go.”
“Very well, Miss Fadden. I will send a footman for your belongings so as to spare you any embarrassment, and my man of business will settle your rent. Now, there is one thing I must make clear. My uncle, he has many affairs
to attend to during the day so he is not free to escort us until the hours of darkness. We shall be setting out for our social occasions very late indeed. I do not wish this strange fact to be discussed in public.”
“Oh, no!” breathed Miss Fadden. “My lips are sealed as with fish glue and they may torture and torment me but never a word will I breathe.”
"Tiens!" exclaimed Alice. “It is not so serious as that.”
“What is our first engagement, my lady?”
“My uncle has chosen the affairs to which we are to attend. He will inform us this evening of his plans. The first thing we are going to do, Miss Fadden, is to supply you with a wardrobe.”
Miss Fadden clasped her hands together and stared at Alice as if she could not believe her ears. “Clothes. For me?” she said. “Oh, my lady, do I have to wear mourning? I have only these gray clothes since Papa deemed it seemly wear for a lady of my years. I had not enough money to buy black but I do so long to wear a color and no one in society knew Papa so they won't know I am supposed to be in mourning because, it is a sad fact my lady, but I do not mourn. He was such a good man, you see. And it is so hard to feel affection for people who are really good. Once he lost his sermon and kicked the cat and I felt a genuine rush of affection for him but he spoiled it all by praying over the cat and apologizing most humbly to it and for so long that the poor animal walked away in disgust.”
“You can have all the colors you want,” laughed Alice. “Come! Allez-vous en!”
SIX
Late that evening, Miss Fadden sat in Alice's drawing room in a state of silent rapture. If she had not been so overwhelmed, so ecstatic over her shot silk ball gown and her new coiffure, she would have noticed something odd in her mistress's behavior.
Alice was nervously pacing up and down the room, dreading the Duke's arrival and longing for it at the same time. Had that kiss meant nothing to him? Of course it hadn't, she told herself severely. He was a philanderer and, by all accounts, had been one when he was alive. But would he notice her new ball gown of silver net worn over a silk slip of palest rose? Would he notice her black curls à la Grecque? Oh, horrid thought! Perhaps he would not come at all!
The Ghost and Lady Alice Page 8
