by M C Beaton
James looked across the lawn at the bulk of the gray castle. Of course it must be relatively young for a castle, he thought. He had assumed that the west and east wings that jutted out on either side had been added later, but they must have been built on when the castle was new, sticking out on either side of the mock medieval bulk like architectural excrescences. It now had a lopsided look, thanks to the disappearance of part of the east wing.
“What of the ancient battle flags in the hall and the suits of armor,” he asked. “Are they real?”
“Of course they are,” said the earl in surprise. “With the country cluttered up with miserable relics of the past, who would want to make fakes? My ancestor originally lived farther inland and brought all the family rubbish with him into the castle. He designed the castle himself. Great lover of Hamlet. Wanted it to look like Elsinore. I believe he even dressed up like Prince Hamlet in Danish court dress. Lot of totty-headed people in my past. Good thing we’re all sane, is it not my love?” he appealed to his wife.
The countess yawned and threw a chicken bone over her shoulder to the three ancient dogs who were lying on the grass, survivals of a hunting pack, now too old to do anything but lie around the castle and snore. “Yes, we are a typically ordinary English family,” she said. “In fact, quite boring in our ordinariness. A pox on you, you whoreson!” she suddenly shouted, having spied the old retainer, creeping greedily toward the table, his eyes fastened on the delicacies. “Get back to your quarters. You’ll get what’s left.”
“Crumbs from the rich man’s table,” said the servant bitterly. “That’s all I ever gets.”
“You’re drunk,” snapped the countess, and then promptly forgot about him.
Lucy eyed Captain James nervously from under her gold-tipped lashes. She suddenly wished that she did belong to an ordinary and conventional family like the Chadburys. Then she could feel at ease with such a correct man. She had liked him better when his dress had been more informal.
“What are you thinking?” the captain asked suddenly.
Lucy, startled, spoke the truth. “I was thinking that you suddenly seem unapproachable in your fine dress. I should not have said that,” she added miserably.
“But you are looking remarkably fine yourself, Lady Lucy,” he said gently.
“Am I?” Lucy looked at him in artless delight. “Isabella is helping me to become a lady. This is one of her altered gowns. Her lady’s maid is amazing with a needle, for I am short and plump and Isabella is tall and slim. I am so very anxious to be a lady, you know.”
James felt a rush of affection for her. She was so touchingly serious. “You do not need to try to become a lady,” he said. “You already are.”
Happiness bubbled up inside Lucy. She felt elated and breathless.
“I have eaten enough,” sighed Isabella. “I shall not have the energy now to search for any treasure.”
Lucy suddenly jumped to her feet. She ran round the table and seized Isabella by the hand. “Let’s run,” she urged, “like we used to.”
Isabella half protested and then rose to her feet. Holding hands she and Lucy ran off across the lawn, skirts fluttering, running like the wind until they finally collapsed onto a hummock of grass, laughing and breathless.
“You are a hoyden,” cried Isabella. “I would not have done such a thing except I was so sure your brother would be shocked.”
The laughter left Lucy’s eyes and died on her lips. “Oh, dear,” she said quietly. “And Captain James will be shocked also.”
“He knows you are very young and have not yet made your come-out,” said Isabella. “He will think nothing of it.”
“No, he will not, will he?” Lucy plucked savagely at the turf and tore up a handful of grass.
Isabella looked at her friend in consternation. “Lucy, dear, are you forming a tendre for the captain?”
Lucy rubbed her snub nose with the back of her hand. Then she shrugged. “What nonsense,” she said, leaping lightly to her feet. “Let us go back, Isabella, and rouse those lazybones to help us in the search.”
Lord Harry through narrowed eyes watched them approach. His sister was trotting along beside the taller Isabella, looking up into her face and saying something, and then Isabella laughed affectionately and put her arm around Lucy’s shoulders and gave her a quick hug.
“Not a cold beauty at all,” he thought in surprise. “I wonder …” He found himself wondering again about that attempted rape. Isabella had appeared shocked and disgusted and frightened but surely any innocent virgin having undergone such an experience would need more time to recover from it. It was as if she had locked the whole thing away somewhere in her mind. Lord Harry could not know that Isabella had thought her assailant had acted liked any man might behave.
Soon Lord Harry, James, Isabella, and Lucy—armed with an ancient ring of keys were wandering through the castle searching the rooms—while out on the lawn, the earl and countess and Mr. and Mrs. Chadbury made leisurely plans for the ball.
Isabella held back from the others a little as they ploughed through dusty rooms full of old furniture, old documents, and old clothes. She was worried about Lucy. Lucy was an innocent. She could not possibly know what men were like. Isabella looked at Captain James. He and Lucy were peering down into the inside of an old vase. He seemed polite and correct, but those men at the posting house would seem thus when in society.
She closed her eyes tightly and prayed that both Lord Harry and James would be recalled to their regiment. And then as she opened them again, she suddenly remembered that there had been a debate in the House of Commons about British officers spending too much time on leave. What if she wrote a letter to, say, The Times, pretending to be some retired colonel. She could complain about Lord Harry and Captain James Godolphin. Surely then the regiment would have to recall them. The boldness of this plan made her eyes sparkle and flushed her cheeks with color.
She found Lord Harry was eyeing her curiously and so she turned away and began to search through the drawers of an old desk.
After several hours, they grew weary of the search. “We’ll never find them,” groaned Lucy, “and we are wasting all this lovely weather.”
“We could ride over to Dowlas tomorrow,” suggested Lord Harry. “I mean, we could take a carriage. What do you say, James? We could find some decent food at The George.”
“Capital,” said the captain.
Lucy’s eyes shone in the gloom of the room. “I could buy silk ribbons to trim some of my gowns.”
Isabella said nothing. She was anxious to return to her own home and write that letter. If both men were recalled, then she would still be betrothed to Lord Harry, but the wedding would be postponed for an indefinite period, during which she would not be expected to marry anyone else and Lucy would be safe.
Isabella almost hoped it would rain so the outing would be put off, for she did not relish the thought of being so long in Lord Harry’s company, and she feared that the more Lucy saw of Captain James, then the more likely she was to fall deeply in love with him.
But the sun shone down from a cloudless sky as the party from the castle arrived to collect her. Isabella had deliberately “dressed down,” having removed all the flowers and ribbons from a straw hat and the lace and flounces from a muslin gown.
Lucy was wearing one of her old gowns, but she had cleaned and pressed it herself and had borrowed a frivolous straw hat from her mother that had a whole garden of flowers on the crown.
Isabella wrinkled her nose in distaste as she climbed into the open carriage. Lord Harry was so highly scented, he must have poured a whole bottle of perfume over himself.
“Terrible, isn’t it?” said Lucy. “Harry, how can you bear to be so scented? I would hate to have to share a closed carriage with you.”
“You are a country bumpkin,” drawled Lord Harry.
“On the contrary,” retorted Captain James, firing up, “she is a sensible young lady, and you stink like a civet cat, Harr
y.”
“Pooh!” was all Lord Harry would say as he urged the team of horses to a faster pace.
Isabella clutched her reticule on her lap. Inside it was that letter to The Times. She would find an excuse to leave the others in Dowlas and go and take it to the mail coach office.
She felt a certain amount of relief at having taken some action and was able to enjoy the drive. Dowlas was a quaint, pretty town with rose-bedecked thatched cottages and well-stocked shops.
They stopped at The George for some lemonade, ordered what dishes they wanted for an early dinner, and then decided to walk to the nearest mercers where Lucy could buy her silks. James offered Lucy his arm, and she glanced up at him shyly and then turned quite pink with pleasure.
Lord Harry noticed that his friend was more relaxed than he had ever seen him. James was soon helping Lucy to choose silks, saying they must match her eyes, and then looking into Lucy’s odd no-color eyes and saying she would need to dye ribbons for no mercer could match them. The captain said this all in a teasing bantering voice, and Lord Harry sensed Isabella’s disapproval. “Not a bad match for m’ sister,” Lord Harry observed, studying the pair through that quizzing glass of his, which Isabella was beginning to hate.
“It would be a very bad match,” reproved Isabella. “Lucy is much too young. He is thirty or so.”
“Same age as I,” commented Lord Harry cheerfully. “And look what a lucky lady you are to have secured such a beau as I.”
“I did not secure you,” said Isabella evenly. “My parents did. Besides it is very vulgar of you to keep praising yourself.”
“Who better? I am much more fashionable than Mr. Brummell, am I not?”
“No, you are not,” said Isabella roundly. “Mr. Brummell would never dream of smearing his face with paint or pouring scent all over himself.”
“Exactly,” agreed Lord Harry amiably, “and that is why I am the more fashionable. We gave a ball in Lisbon, and I was wearing my dress uniform with the gold epaulettes and white net breeches, and do you know what Wellington said when he saw me?”
“I cannot imagine.”
“He looked at me and said, ‘Good God!’ ”
Isabella snorted with laughter.
“I amuse you?” Lord Harry raised thin eyebrows. “I am also accounted no end of a wit.”
“What do you think, Isabella?” called Lucy. “Captain James thinks I should buy pink ribbons, but pink with reddish hair is not the thing.”
“Allow me.” Lord Harry rudely pushed in front of Isabella. He took the pink ribbons from Lucy’s hand and then walked over to a long mirror and held them up against himself, twisting this way and that to admire the effect. Isabella saw two of the mercer’s young men turning away to hide smiles and clutched her reticule for comfort. That letter must be sent.
“I shall leave you to your decision. I shall see you all at The George,” she said, and she slipped quickly out of the shop before any of the others could protest.
Isabella heaved a sigh of relief when she got outside. She stood for a moment, blinking in the sunlight, for the shop had been dark, and then set off through the crowds to the mail coach office, which was in The Pelican, The George’s rival inn. She began to have an uneasy feeling she was being followed.
Several times she stopped and looked back. A few curious faces stared at her, country faces, ordinary faces. She walked on and reached The Pelican and paid for that letter to be sent express.
She walked back toward The George, half laughing at herself for being so nervous that she was imagining someone would want to follow her. What harm could come to her in a town like Dowlas in the middle of a perfect summer’s day?
A little gust of wind set her wide straw hat flapping. She stopped and removed the long hat pin from the crown, meaning to pin it back again more firmly. Then an arm was flung about her shoulders. She looked up into a face that seemed to be a mass of red whiskers and then felt something hard pushed against her side. “A gun, Isabella,” said a coarse, harsh voice. “Walk quietly with me or I will shoot you dead.”
Isabella stood stock still. Afterward, she felt as if she must have been standing there for hours although it only took a few seconds. Fear was choking her, but she felt the hat pin in her hand and jabbed it viciously into that hand that was holding the gun. The man let out a cry and dropped the gun, which fell with a heavy clatter onto the cobbles.
“Help!” screamed Isabella weakly, and then, “Help!” again, very loudly. With an oath the man scooped up his gun and ran off through the crowd, pushing people aside, cannoning into a cart of vegetables and fruit and sending cabbages and oranges and apples spilling out over the road. “He has a gun,” shouted Isabella wildly as she was besieged with questions from all sides. Some of the crowd began to scream for the constable, and others set off in pursuit. With a feeling of relief she never thought she could experience at the sight of him, Isabella saw Lord Harry shouldering his way through the crowd.
He put a comforting arm around her waist, and she leaned gratefully against him. “What happened?” he asked.
“A man … a man thrust a gun in my side and ordered me not to make a sound,” said Isabella. “I stabbed his hand with my hat pin, and he dropped the gun and that was when I found I could call for help. He ran off that way.”
Lord Harry scanned the crowd and then signaled to a tall young man in farm laborer’s dress. “Escort this lady to The George. Here’s a crown for you.” And then Lord Harry ran off in the direction in which Isabella had pointed.
But of Isabella’s assailant, there was no sign. Townspeople under the orders of the constable had rapidly set up barriers outside all the roads leading from the town. Everyone was to be stopped and questioned. The local militia then arrived to give help. Isabella was questioned and requestioned. One unfortunate snuff salesman was dragged from his gig outside the town and his red beard was tugged and pulled for Lord Harry had said he thought the villain might prove to be wearing a disguise.
Mr. and Mrs. Chadbury along with an escort of armed servants arrived later in the afternoon, followed by the earl and countess. The wine merchant from Dowlas had ridden over especially to tell them of the assault on Isabella. The one thing that disturbed all of them was that the man had known Isabella, had used her name.
The countess leaned forward and patted Isabella’s hand. “You have been amazing brave, my child, to have protected yourself like that and then to be so calm. Someone is out to rape you.”
“Aren’t they all?” asked Isabella, and then burst into tears.
As the rest patted her and comforted her, Lord Harry sat deep in thought. He was becoming more and more curious about his betrothed. She had shown exceptional courage, but what had she meant by that remark, “Aren’t they all?”
Had some man in London tried to assault her? Was that what had turned her into an ice queen? For why was she so upset at the very idea of a romance between James and Lucy? There was quite a disparity in their ages, but James was kind and decent and very rich, indeed.
Isabella had recovered. The countess was saying they would postpone the ball, but Isabella was protesting wearily that if they were going to have a ball to announce the engagement, then better get it over with.
What an odd female, thought Lord Harry. She was beginning to intrigue him more and more.
Chapter Five
CAPTAIN JAMES KEPT away from the activity of preparations in the castle hall during the following week. He could not imagine the earl or his servants being able to prepare any room for a ball. But Lord Harry assured him that a great deal of help had been drafted from around the countryside, and the earl even had temporary female servants scrubbing the floors. Lucy appeared to have been commandeered by her mother into doing all sorts of tasks, and so James found time lying heavy on his hands.
Many of the guests were to stay the night, and bedrooms that had not been used or even opened in years had to be dusted. To Captain James’s relief, he learned from the countess
as she passed him one day carrying a bowl of flowers and dripping water everywhere, for she had filled it too full, that the Chadburys’ chef was to prepare the supper for the ball.
And then the day before the ball, James found Lucy sitting in the morning room with her feet up on another chair, looking exhausted. Her frizzy hair looked as if a comb had not been through it in days, and she had smut on her nose. The elegant captain, nonetheless, hailed her with relief. “I thought I was never going to see you again.”
Lucy jumped to her feet, blushing awkwardly and stammering that she was in her old clothes because there was so much to be done. “Have you seen the hall?” she asked. “It is all going to look wonderful.”
