by Janet Woods
The girl gazed at herself in the long mirror, smiling. ‘It’s so pretty.’
‘You look lovely, Sarah. You might find a little straw bonnet with pink ribbon trim in that box on the shelf on the shelf.’
The gowns had been carefully wrapped in tissue paper. It was her aunts’ work. They would have washed and repaired each gown before storing them.
Sarah pulled out the next gown and shook it out. It was silk and the colour of bluebells – or of Ryder’s eyes! The overskirt was a drift of delicate lace and it had little puff sleeves. There was a fragrance of lavender lingering about it.
Adele stared at the gown. She’d forgotten how beautiful it was. Ryder had sent her a string of pearls to wear with it. Pearls were the gemstones for June and signified modesty, chastity and purity.
The gown had never been worn. It was virginal. It confronted her … mocked her. Perhaps it had not found her worthy of the role she’d expected to take on as Ryder’s wife after they’d become lovers – perhaps it had been right.
‘That’s beautiful,’ Sarah said in awe.
Adele’s voice was husky with the emotion she felt. ‘Not that one.’
Sarah said with some alarm, ‘Is your throat sore?’
‘No … it’s the dust.’ She took the gown, and carefully folded it back into its bed of tissue, saying briefly, ‘That’s not a day gown.’
‘Is it for a ball? I’m longing to go to one. Do tell me about it.’
Adele unfolded the next package, revealing a white gown with a muslin overskirt, and with just the right amount of frills and flounces to satisfy the taste of a young woman of Sarah’s age.
‘This one should suit you.’
Sarah fell on the gown with delight, holding it against her as she twirled around the room.
Adele sat at the window and sipped her tea while Sarah went through the trunk, picking out this and that and asking her opinion.
One of the cats snuggled into her lap and purred, the dog snored at her feet and the ducks on the pond quacked and squabbled. The sun erupted into the morning in a fiery ball of orange glory that turned the landscape into gold. She felt oddly contented. It wouldn’t be unpleasant if she didn’t marry, and spent the rest of her life here.
When Sarah went off with her pile of garments and accessories, and with a big smile on her face, Adele took out the lacy blue gown again. Pulling it on she gazed at herself in the mirror. The bride it had been made for had been a little bit bigger then, for it now hung loosely. She slid a hand into the pocket and her fingers closed around a small package. Inside, a lace-edged handkerchief lovingly hugged a string of pearls.
The pearls had once belonged to Ryder’s mother. He’d given them to her to wear on their wedding day. It was said that pearls were the tears of the moon. Their glow was a little tarnished now, as though keeping them in darkness had dimmed their light. She must clean them.
There was a note.
For my love on our wedding day.
Dearest Ryder, she thought, she must give them back to him. Taking the gown off, she carefully packed it away again.
Ten
Adele said, ‘The day promises to be fair. Why are you going to Madigan House so early, Sarah?
‘They might forget me if they leave early.’ A trifle self-conscious in her pretty gown, Sarah asked, ‘Do I look all right?’
‘Perfectly lovely, dear,’ Patience said. ‘Don’t you think so, Prudence?’
‘If we had a Queen of the May, Sarah would be the one chosen. Keep your bonnet on so the sun doesn’t ruin your beautiful skin. Are you ready now, dear?’
‘Yes, Aunt Prudence.’
‘Off you go, then … scat!’
Adele’s aunts were still flitting around and fussing after Sarah had gone.
‘Are you sure you don’t want to go to the fair? We can squeeze you into the cart,’ Patience said.
Adele laughed. She was looking forward to spending a quiet day in her own company. ‘Spare a thought for Daisy.’
More seriously Prudence remarked, ‘We don’t like to leave you here by yourself. You will be careful, won’t you?’
‘Of course I will. I like being by myself sometimes, and I’ll be well guarded. You know how noisy Gypsy becomes if there are strangers about. Then there are the ducks; they see threat in everything that moves. I intend to transplant some cabbage and prepare the ground for the turnips in the kitchen garden. Then I’ll make a thorough search for those documents I’ve mislaid. They can’t have just disappeared.’
‘You’re becoming a hermit, Adele. You’re still young, you can’t hide yourself away indefinitely, you know.’
Adele smiled, making light of it. ‘One day is hardly indefinitely. I’m not hiding … I promise. And I need to get the ownership of this cottage established.’
Nevertheless she felt less confident when her aunts had gone.
After she’d picked a few vegetables to last them a few days she picked a bunch of sweet peas to enhance the table. The crumbly dark brown earth accepted her fingers into its warm skin without resistance. The plants would rest there, taking nourishment from the earth until they were strong enough to push through and climb high towards the sky.
Sitting back on her heels, her tears ran unheeded as she thought of her own baby, planted in Boston soil. He’d been undeveloped, his skin as fragile and as translucent as wet tissue paper. He’d hardly been recognizable as an infant, but she’d known him and loved him. Had he felt pain when the blow of a fist had crushed the tiny beat of his heart and his bid for life?
She planted a row of seedlings that she’d bought the week before at the market, thinking that babies needed love. Sarah had needed love. That need had reached into their souls and brought them together. It was still bringing them together, she thought as she made her way back to the house, followed by the dog. All this time had passed and Sarah had only just felt comfortable enough to tell her about the death of her mother.
Poor Sarah. She must have been shocked beyond measure. But her father was dead now and that had freed her – but while it had freed his daughter Edgar’s death had trapped Adele in a cage of her own making, for she could not bring herself to admit such an awful deed. Indeed, sometimes she couldn’t remember the crime clearly, as though she’d buried it deep in her memory.
And Ryder was still suffering. Because they’d grown up together their relationship had always been based on love and trust. The adult expression of love had come later. Her rejection of him must have been doubly hurtful.
The cats rubbed against her legs and purred as she inspected a savoury pastry her aunts had left for her in the larder. She would eat it later. She cast a dubious eye over the glass of milk – to help build her strength up, the aunts would have said if they’d been here. She decided she had enough strength for the day.
She poured half into Gypsy’s bowl while the other half went into the cats’ saucers. They began to lap it up, ears flattened and eyes half closed with the pleasure of it as their tongues raced towards the last drops.
Now, where should she start her search?
It occurred to her suddenly. When she’d left Madigan House she’d knocked the hessian bag onto the floor and the contents had gone everywhere. Ryder had helped to pick them up, but the packages with the documents might have easily slid further under the bed than they’d cared to look.
And Ryder and his staff were at the fair!
Her conscience warned: it’s not right to enter into someone’s house without permission.
She wouldn’t be breaking in. She still had a key in her dressing-table drawer, which had been as she’d left it.
Times have changed.
She sighed, exasperated. ‘For goodness’ sake, don’t be so prissy. It’s not as if you intend to steal anything, you’re just looking for some property you left behind. You’ll be back within an hour or so, and Ryder will be none the wiser.’
Snatching up a carrot she slid through the door before she could change her m
ind and, with Gypsy at her heels, she crunched her teeth into it and savoured the fresh taste of a couple of bites.
A little while later she pushed open the door to Madigan House and stood in a shaft of sunlight illuminating the hall.
To satisfy her conscience she called out a couple of times. Nobody appeared.
She breathed the house in, listening to the silence buzz around her, until the house relaxed and recognized her as a friend. Gypsy sat patiently at her ankle, gazing up at her. Several clocks passed the time of day in different tones of ticks and tocks. Small cracks and snicks made themselves known. The opened door allowed a stream of air inside and dust motes flurried and whirled about in a beam of light. When they were children Ryder had told her they were sun angels dancing just for her.
She closed the door behind her, left her carrot head on the tray in the hallstand and headed for the staircase. Decades of ups and downs had left their mark on the banister rail that now resembled a roll of toffee. It had been shaped by the dozens of hands and aristocratic behinds that had polished it to a high gloss.
Ryder had taught her to slide safely down the final length when they were children, for they’d made this empty house with its many treasures their playground. He’d stand at the bottom and catch her, or sometimes pretend not to so she giggled and screamed until she was safely in his arms.
Her feet sank into a lush red-and-blue-patterned carpet that took her silently up the risers.
She hesitated at the door of Ryder’s room, and then knocked.
Gypsy whined, then nudged at the door. It opened on oiled hinges and he trotted inside and curled up on the rug in front of the fireplace. Not that there was a fire in the grate.
‘Ryder, are you in there?’ she said, her voice wavering a little with a sudden attack of nerves.
Of course not, otherwise Gypsy would have greeted him. Get on with it. Do!
‘It doesn’t seem right.’
Oh, for goodness’ sake, go home then.
‘I might just have a quick look.’ Kneeling, she turned her head sideways and flattened her cheek against the floor. The sun didn’t penetrate under the bed and she allowed her eyes to adjust to the dim light. There was a piece of folded paper in the corner, where the angle of the leg was, and just out of arm’s length. She wriggled further in and took a hold of it.
Downstairs, Ryder entered his home, frowning. The door should have been locked. As he placed his hat on the hallstand he noticed the carrot head. It hadn’t had time to dry out.
Gypsy came down the stairs and rolled on his back. The dog had grown used to him now, even though he was very much Adele’s dog.
He stroked the animal and smiled. ‘So … your mistress has summoned up the courage to pay me a visit at long last. Take me to her, then.’
He silently followed the dog up to his room, somewhat surprised that she’d be there. He was confronted by an unexpected vision.
The rounded shape of Adele’s delectable derrière!
He took a chair, prepared to enjoy the exhibit, which was draped in a triple tease of jaconet, frothy muslin, and lace with ribbons threaded through.
Getting in was one thing, getting out was another thing altogether, Adele thought. She disturbed a mouse and jumped as it made a run for safety. Gypsy chased after it, yapping noisily. Adele lost her nerve and in her rush to get out from under the bed, where worse creatures might lurk, the back of her gown caught fast on something.
The door picked up a stray draught and quietly closed, the furtive sound raising the hairs on her arm.
Effectively hooked, she muttered, ‘A thousand fine curses.’
She wriggled further in, trying to free herself. Her stocking worked its way down her leg.
Something stroked the same leg and she gave a little yelp.
Ghosts?
‘A spider,’ she muttered as the creature took a tickling course down the length of her calf – or worse. As she took a swipe at it she wished she’d stayed home.
‘Not any old spider, it’s me … Ryder the spider.’
When he gave a low chuckle she jerked, and the back of her head collided with the wooden slats of the bed above her.
‘Ouch!’
He tickled her calf with the feather he held. ‘Stop wriggling, then.’
The relief she experienced was enormous. ‘Thank goodness it’s you.’
His return was as smooth as a cat’s purr. ‘Yes, my love, thank goodness.’
‘Help me out of here please. My gown is caught on a splinter, I think.’
‘But you present such a pretty rear end?’
She didn’t know whether to laugh, or to snap at him. She did know that she felt extremely foolish and Ryder wouldn’t forgo the opportunity to tease her. She appealed to his gentlemanly side. ‘Please, Ryder, don’t do this to me, I’m embarrassed as it is. And be careful you don’t get stuck as well.’
‘I could think of worst fates for the two of us.’
So could she.
He folded back the feather bed and light flooded over her through the wooden slats. Why hadn’t she thought of something simple like that in the first place?
‘It’s caught on the waist on my skirt.’
‘I see it. It’s a bent nail.’ She was freed and then her skirt was eased down. He gently pulled on a combination of her skirt and ankles, sliding her out from under the bed with regard to her modesty. He gazed at her after he’d lifted her up, saying nothing, but brushing a dusty cobweb from her hair with his forefinger.
‘Before you ask why I was under your bed, I thought my lost papers might have been there,’ she said, and she giggled, though a trifle nervously.
‘Is that your excuse?’
‘Why else would I be here?’
‘There used to be two reasons why a woman would be in a man’s bedroom uninvited. She might be a servant cleaning it … obviously not in this case. Or it could be a large hint to the owner of the room that she finds him fascinating and is trying to attract his interest.’
She snorted, ‘If her hint is that obvious his interest isn’t worth the effort of gaining. This conversation is ludicrous, don’t you think?’
‘Absolutely. It seems now that there’s a third reason. The lady is looking for the deeds to her house … such an unlikely place to look, though, wouldn’t you agree?’
‘I thought it more than likely at the time of thinking.’
He sighed. ‘So did I, and believe me the room has been thoroughly searched. I don’t know what the village folk will make of this, though … a lady hiding under the earl’s bed? She could have done him all sorts of damage.’
‘I’m working up to it,’ she warned.
He laughed, and his glance darted from her dishevelled hair to her eyes before settling on her mouth like a blue velvet butterfly. ‘But I’ve been remiss. Did you hurt yourself? Is there anything I can kiss better? That little pout perhaps.’
Her little pout let it be known it would enjoy such attention and began to tingle. She ran her tongue over it. ‘I’m not playing games, Ryder.’
‘Neither am I, but should the opportunity present itself I might be persuaded.’ He ran his hands down the contours of her face, a light caress.
She closed her eyes, and, reaching up, took his wrists in her hands to stop his onslaught in her senses. They were firm, well shaped and strongly muscled without being bony. His fingers were long, and sensitive in their touch – gentle. His palms smelled of leather.
Aware of the danger he offered her she opened her eyes. ‘We can’t do this. I won’t allow it.’
‘But we’re not doing anything yet.’
‘Do you intend to try?’
‘Of course I do, and may I remind you that I’m stronger than you.’ He placed a foot behind her ankle and gently hooked it. She fell backwards onto the tossed feather bed and sank into it, unable to gain any traction to free herself. He joined her there, straddling her body, trapping her with his hands either side.
After
a few seconds the warmth of his body spread along the length of hers and her mouth sought his. He was right. He was the stronger, and she had no resistance she cared to offer him. She accepted without protest when his body snuggled against her thighs through her clothes, and when the man in him gave cause to harden and edge into her soft warmth.
He gazed into her eyes, watching her reaction to the inroads he was making. Her thighs couldn’t hold fast against the steady pressure of his as little by little he gained ground, until finally they relaxed. She closed her eyes, feeling as weak as a kitten.
He walked his fingers up her thigh, taking her skirt with them, and then moved up under it. It seemed as though a fire had been lit under her, and when he gently touched the very core of her she gave a little sob. She didn’t want this – not this, with every thread of her loving him and knowing he could never give her what she desired most, except she would be at his beck and call to use.
Any children she bore him would be bastards! Born of love on her part, but bastards all the same … like the tiny infant she’d left behind in Boston. How could he deliberately do that to his own offspring?
Opening her eyes, she looked steadily into his, saying nothing.
After a while his expression became one of shame and he rolled to one side. ‘I’m sorry, I shouldn’t have treated you like that, but couldn’t you have flattered me a little by showing some response?’
‘Since when have you needed flattery? Now, help me up, please.’
He took her extended arms and pulled her upright. ‘You have a barbed tongue, my lady.’
‘And you know how to provoke me. Does the sight of a lady’s stocking always turn a man’s mind to … to …’
‘Loving?’ he suggested. ‘Quite often.’
Not bothering whether her actions might provoke or not, she pulled up her wrinkled stockings and retied the ribbons. ‘You should have turned your face in the other direction, then. I’m going home.’
He blocked the door with his body, his eyes contemplating her through narrowed eyes. The tension in him was palpable. ‘Not until I allow you to. There’s something you haven’t told me, Adele, and I’ve been putting it off this last few weeks.’
