Alicia stiffened. Had Barbara come to Yorkshire? That assumption was quickly dismissed as the rider came nearer. Though she shared Barbara’s coloring, she was older, and though attractive, she did not possess Barbara’s startling beauty. Her features were too irregular for that. Alicia was further startled as the woman hastily dismounted, almost throwing herself from her horse. She wound the reins around one hand and came forward, leading her horse and staring at her with frank curiosity.
“Are you, Lady Morley, then?” she demanded in a deep and pleasant voice.
“I am.” Alicia returned her stare, perplexedly.
“I pray you will forgive my trespassing. You really ought to hire a new gatekeeper. Old Matthews is as deaf as a post. But of course you have only just arrived, have you not? I, by the way, am Matilda Barrington-Hewes. Do you not loathe the name Matilda? Though I think it belonged to some queen or empress or such—something to do with Salic law—but I insist my friends address me as Tilda and I have finally convinced Hewes that he must do the same, poor lamb. He would much prefer it were I more dignified and stodgy like the rest of his family. However, I do exempt him, else he could never have married me nor I him. And you are the lady who singed Barbara’s beard? She does not have a beard—an Incomparable never would—but you do know what I mean. And I am delighted. I hope that you will not let the fact that la Barrington and I are first cousins put you off. I wish I could disclaim the relationship myself, for I truly loathe her and I was absolutely delighted when I heard via the grapevine this morning she had gotten what she deserved for the cruel set-down she gave to poor Lucian and just before he was off to Brussels.”
“Set-down?” Alicia said weakly, feeling nonplussed and even a little battered by her visitor’s frank and rapid speech.
“Indeed, yes. Imagine, she thought she could circumvent the Duchess of Pryde, a most unpleasant old witch, and snare the duke. She succeeded in the latter but failed in the first, and as usual, the duchess emerged the victor. She has picked out a bride for the duke and eventually he will marry her even though she is even plainer than the duchess herself, but far richer than Barbara and considerably easier to manipulate. With Barbara, she would have met her match when it comes to manipulation. My cousin is a formidable enemy and has absolutely no scruples. However, even she—according to my abigail, Nancy, who had it from Milly, who had it from Mrs. Gibbs, who was informed by Church, your butler—could not contend against your marriage lines. ’Tis a pity about Lucian’s loss of memory. One prays that it will return. What a coil it is, is not? Still, I am delighted to know you. You will need a friend here, for if the news has reached me, you can wager that it is circulating through all the district and everyone will have formed an opinion. Mine is that anyone who can outface Barbara must win my support. So, will you accept my friendship?”
Alicia could not keep from laughing. “I am delighted to meet you, er, Mrs.—”
“Lady Hewes, but we need not be formal, since I have made up my mind to love you—if only because you have put my cousin’s beautiful nose so far out of joint. I do not think that noses have joints, do you?”
“I do not think so either.”
“Well, ’tis a good expression and I pray you’ll not mind that I came unannounced and so quickly. I wanted to meet you and warn you that Barbara is utterly determined to make your life miserable and see you ostracized by those of us who are mad enough to remain here in Yorkshire during the winter. I received that news between the lines of a letter from my mother that arrived this morning. Naturally, I was itching to see you and I am delighted to find that you are so beautiful. ”
"Beautiful,” Alicia echoed. "I—I might have been thought to be, once, but of late—”
"Nonsense, I expect you have been unhappy. You need not tell me why. I have figured out what must have happened. All I really needed was Barbara’s furious outpouring to my parents, concerning the ‘bride’ who so unexpectedly turned up just when she was about to announce her engagement to poor, unsuspecting Lucian. Undoubtedly, you believed he was dead and were pining away from him. Am I not correct?”
"You are,” Alicia acknowledged. "But—”
"And naturally, you were much in love with him, else you never would have insisted upon coming into this wilderness with Lucian, unless you are, as Barbara described it, a ‘fortune hunter’ or huntress determined on clinging limpetlike to his side, despite his all-too-apparent hatred of you. That description, faithfully detailed to me by Mama, comes under the heading of ‘opening gun’ in the battle she means to wage against you here, but I have an arsenal myself, and that is why I am here: to see if you are worth my using it. I made up my mind directly I saw you. And I am even more determined now that we have spoken. Never mind that I have not given you much opportunity to answer me. I see you for what you are. It is written all over your face, and that my parents could not see it I put to the fact that Barbara is a consummate liar. I cannot imagine you saying any of the things attributed to you during your interview with her. However, my parents are not so discerning nor, I fear, is Lucian. However, I can see that you are honest. I like you. I will give a dinner and I will invite my friends and you will be my guest of honor—you and Lucian, of course.”
Alicia smiled and sighed almost simultaneously. “You are kind, but I cannot think that Lucian will accept.”
“He’ll not dare refuse,” Lady Hewes exclaimed. “My husband is a power in this place. Justice of the peace and . . . But I will not enumerate the reasons why Lucian will not refuse his invitation. Another one, of course, is that he likes Hewes. Everyone does. And furthermore, we have the best cook in the county—French, of course—and everyone’s trying to snare him from our kitchen. The bribes, my dear! But they will not succeed. Etienne is tremendously loyal. Imagine, he was a soldier under Soult, Napoleon’s man. Hewes found him wounded in Madrid, or was it Lisbon? I do not know the whole of the tale, something about him making ragout for Hewes in gratitude once he recovered because he had seen the man was well cared for. Anyhow, Etienne believes the sun rises and sets on Hewes and would not leave him for the Prince Regent, as has already been proved. I must go—but first, a word to the wise: see that Lucian takes you to church next Sunday. He might demur, but you must insist and I will be there to see that you are properly introduced and welcomed. Will you insist on it? It might be difficult. They—I am talking about the local gentry—will stare at you very rudely because everyone has been apprised by their servants . . . and, I would like to bet, by Barbara, who will also have written letters. No one has said anything to me, of course, but you can be assured that her pen was not idle. However, I will come to your rescue, see if I do not.”
“You are kind,” Alicia said a trifle breathlessly. It was difficult for her to assimilate all that Lady Hewes was telling her.
“I am kind and I am also determined that my cousin gets beaten at her own game, so you see that I am not entirely altruistic. But I feel much more so—now that I have met you. You are exactly as I hoped you would be and I am determined that we must be bosom friends. I hope you agree.”
“I—I do,” Alicia said hesitantly.
“Good. ” Lady Hewes clasped her hand strongly and warmly. Releasing it, she moved back, adding, “I must go, but first let me add that I am very glad that Lucian has decided to open the abbey again—whatever his reasons. This house has been empty too long and caretakers are not always efficient. Rats gather when there is no cat to chase them. The same goes for prowlers and vagrants and the like. I would not wander around these grounds alone, until I had hired myself several keepers.”
“You are saying . . .” Alicia began.
‘T am saying that any house that stands too long empty needs to be thoroughly searched, if only as a precaution,” Lady Hewes said firmly. “And the abbey has not been visited much since Lucian attained his majority. His father rarely came here ... the weather, poor man. He was a prey to rheumatism, but I am sure you know that. Mind you, I cannot point to anything s
pecific. I am only speaking from past experience with a lodge that Hewes’ family once owned.” She moved to her horse. “I will say farewell for the nonce and hope that I see you on Sunday next.” In another second she had, with amazing ease, vaulted into her saddle, and waving at Alicia, she urged her horse into a canter and was soon lost to sight.
Alicia stared after her outspoken visitor in amazement. Her nonstop conversation had been both amusing and shocking, first with its hints of Barbara’s intentions . . . But those had been more than mere hints. They had been warnings, and she could not be surprised by them. Barbara’s enmity had been early established, and naturally she would try and do her utmost to see that she, Alicia, would continue uncomfortable in her determination to remain Lucian’s wife. Lady Hewes had not really told her anything she had not guessed already, but her allegations, uncomfortable as they had been, did carry some comfort with them.
Barbara’s cousin had evidently received a favorable impression from her and would be her friend. As for herself, she did like her, but could she trust her? Trusting did not come easily to her, Alicia realized. Excepting her father and her brother, there had been only one other person in whom she had put all her faith, and that had been Lucian. Yet, she could not count herself actually deceived by one who knew her not, and as far as Lady Hewes was concerned, time would tell. Alicia would give her the benefit of the doubt by insisting that Lucian take her to church on Sunday.
Meanwhile, she would still visit the ruins. She frowned, thinking on what Lady Hewes had said about vagrants and prowlers and remembering, of a sudden, the horseman in the fog, who had ridden through those same ruins. Did she mean that the house had been occupied? But that could not be. In her tour through the rooms, she had noticed many objects that could easily have been stolen, had the caretakers been less efficient. As for the vagrants and the prowlers, she doubted that any of them would show themselves in broad daylight, and besides, she was aching to view the ruins. Purposefully she went down the path, from where she expected to determine their exact location. She was rewarded by a glimpse of them through the trees—tall elms, their leaves splashed with the reds and golds of autumn. With the determination that was an integral part of her nature, she happily made her way in that direction.
Seen close up, the broken walls were taller than they had appeared from her window. As she approached them, Alicia noted that behind them were squares and oblongs marked with thin shards of stone that, some three centuries ago, must have been rooms, their walls knocked to the ground by anvil-wielding soldiers. The stones, she guessed, had indeed gone into the building of the house, which, in effect, gave the owners the right to call it Morley Abbey.
She skirted those sad, ravished squares carefully. There were many loose stones about, some small and jagged that could and had already bitten into the thin soles of her shoes. In a few more minutes, she had arrived at a standing wall. It was oddly painful to see how carefully the stones had been set in place, carefully and lovingly by parishioners who were working for the glory of God. It was their faith that had helped to raise the edifice. She imagined that the main buildings, with their ornamental arches and their once-vaulted ceilings, must have been erected by stonemasons, that mysterious brotherhood responsible for the building of most churches.
The sun was shining through the pointed arches that she had seen from her window. Long ago, those rays would have sent a pattern of reds and blues, greens, yellows, and browns upon the pavement from the stained glass that had been set in them. A few feet away from the archway, she saw an oblong slab of stone marked with dates and a cross, and she knew it to be the tomb of some holy abbot whose good works had earned him the right to be buried here. At that moment, she was doubly glad that she did not believe in the existence of ghosts, for sad it must have been had his spirit been forced to return to this shattered abbey. And . . . Her thoughts were summarily scattered. She had heard a sound: footsteps, crunching over pebbles a few feet away. Reluctantly, remembering Lady Hewes’ mention of prowlers, she cast a glance behind her, regretfully eyeing the rock-strewn ground and wondering if she had best not make a dash for it, but in that same moment a man came into view. Alicia caught at the stone in front of her. It was Lucian, at last. He was walking with his head down and what she could see of his face was so unhappy that her heart went out to him. However, she stifled the greeting that had risen to her lips; it were better that he did not see her. Yet, how could he help it, framed as she was in the onetime window? She moved hastily aside, but stones crunched under her feet and, startled, he looked up, frowning as he sighted her.
“What are you doing here?” he demanded so coldly that her feelings of pity fled. He was regarding her as he might regard some trespassing stranger or even one of Lady Hewes’ prowlers.
“I wanted to see the abbey ruins,” she explained with a comparable chill in her voice.
“Indeed? You are”—he hesitated, as if weighing his words—“very brave.”
“Brave?” she repeated. “What may you mean by that?”
A small derisive smile played about his lips and was quickly smoothed away. “Did I not tell you they were haunted?”
Alicia produced a smiliar smile. “You did, Lucian, but as I told you then, I will tell you now. I am inclined to believe that such rumors must needs come under the heading of old wives’ tales.”
Again there was a slight hesitation before he spoke and a touch of anger in his gaze. “Not . . . entirely.”
Her eyes widened. “Will you still attempt to frighten me with stories of phantom chanting and ghostly chimes? I cannot believe that you credit such fancies.”
“These ruins are old,” he persisted.
“Obviously, they are. I’ll not deny that, or that they might harbor owls or bats, but ghosts? Not to the enlightened mind, sir.”
A look of surprise flickered in his eyes, but it was swiftly replaced by one of derision "And do you possess an enlightened mind, ma’am?”
Nettled, she said bitterly, “Were you in full command of your senses, you’d not need to ask me that.”
He flushed. “I cannot believe that I could ever have been in command of those senses you mention to have done what I have done or was pressed to do through means I cannot fathom.” He moved to her and stared into her eyes. In anguished words that seemed wrenched from the very depths of his soul, he continued, “How did it happen? I try and try to think, but no explanation offers itself. I, like you, find it very difficult to believe in ghosts, but under the circumstances, I will not rule out witchcraft.”
Alicia winced. “I waved no magic wands over you nor did I drop some mysterious potion into your drink.”
“How did you exact my promise to wed you, then?” he demanded in a pain that was edged with anger. “I am not generally in my cups, but have on occasion drunk too deep. Did I become foxed and fall into your bed and did your vigilant brother force—”
Alicia drew herself up. “You insult me and yourself as well, not to mention Timothy, who was not entirely in favor of the match, saying it was contracted too hastily, But you— you,” her voice quavered. “You’d not have it any other way and I wanted to—to oblige you.” She swallowed a lump in her throat and blinked desperately against threatening tears.
“You wanted to oblige me?” he repeated sarcastically. “And you—you knew nothing of Barbara or that we were plighted, had been plighted close on three years?”
“I swear I never heard her name until my friend Lady Octavia sent me the clipping from the Morning Post!”
“Oh, God.” Lucian brought his hands up to his head. “Am I to believe you, then?” He glared at her. “No, I cannot, I cannot. And you, you must know that Barbara has told me all that passed between you when she came to beg you to accept my offer and proceed with the annulment.”
Lady Hewes’ assertion was back in her mind. She had said she did not believe all the things that Barbara had insisted Alicia had said during their interview. That artless comment had confirmed her
suspicions and now Lucian was providing further confirmation.
“And what did she say I said?” she demanded.
He regarded her contemptuously. “I hardly think I need repeat it,” he said stiffly. “I am sure you are quite aware of that already.”
“I am no seer, Lucian, but I think I can guess the manner of lie she must have concocted,” Alicia said shortly.
“Lie, ma’am, you dare to speak of her lies, who must be the very soul of deceit! How you acquired my name, my ring, and my signature on the marriage register I cannot begin to understand, but I will tell you that you’ll not be the happier for whatever strategems you have practiced!” He strode away from her, and then, with a startled cry, he fell heavily, lying at full length on the stones.
“Lucian!” Alicia clambered through the window, jumped down, and rushed to his side. “Are you much hurt?”
“My leg,” he said gratingly through clenched teeth. “It does not yet respond well.” He made an attempt to rise and a half-suppressed groan broke from him.
“But you must not try to get up,” she cried. “I beg you will remain where you are until I have brought help.” Without waiting for a response, she ran back the way she had come, reaching the house in minutes. Fortunately, she had left the front door on the latch, and on the latch it still remained. She hurried inside and, seeing a passing footman, sent him for the butler and at the same time requested him to find another man and bear Lucian to his chamber. A few minutes later, confronting Church, she ordered him to send for the doctor.
The Forgotten Marriage Page 11
