by Jo Beverley
“Oh God, no. Just his mischief. I could have throttled him when he waltzed in to upset everything, but as it happened it saved the day. Ironically, it was only because Sir Edwin despised women that he ignored Randal until it was too late. What the hell is that damned banging? I thought it was my ears.”
“Fireworks. Opportune, I must say. It’s the only reason I’ve been sitting here waiting for you. They must have disguised the sound of the shot.”
“What do we do now?” asked Lord Wraybourne.
Mr. Moulton-Scrope heaved himself out of his chair and walked into the other room. “Suicide, don’t you think?”
He then placed the pistol by the corpse’s hand and continued to chat in a calming, natural voice. “Ashby insisted on carrying Sophie off before she regained consciousness. I didn’t interfere, though you know my opinion of the scoundrel. You did say you trusted him,” he added when he saw the tightening of his nephew’s face.
“I only wondered whether he had anything on under the dress,” said Lord Wraybourne with a slight smile.
Having assured themselves that the scene was set, the two men returned to the library. Lord Wraybourne saw his uncle lock the door and place the key in his pocket at the same time as he became aware of the relative silence that signalled the end of the pyrotechnics.
“No need for you to be involved in this at all, my boy,” said Mr. Moulton-Scrope amiably. “I am sure that you have other matters to attend to.” Which was one way of looking at things, thought Lord Wraybourne as he went to the door. He hesitated a moment but saw that his uncle was waiting until he had left before pulling the bell to summon the servants.
Outside, David waited in concealment for a little while to make sure that all went off well, but he should have known that his uncle was equal to the task.
David heard his authoritative voice. “Get a spare key, Nuttall. Hurry. I heard a shot and both the doors are locked!”
Within minutes the door was opened and the exclamations of horror told him the “tragedy” had been revealed. When Maria had arrived and started screaming and a number of domestics followed their mistress’s example, David decided that he could make himself scarce.
He hesitated in the hall. He wanted to go and assure himself that Jane was coping adequately with the evening’s events, but he also needed to find his sister and Lord Randal. Reluctantly, he ran upstairs to his sister’s room. Outside her door, he paused for a moment. What would he do if he were confronted with something improper? He ran tired hands through his hair. The last thing he wanted was to have to call out his friend. The temptation to walk away from the door was enormous, but Lord Wraybourne resolutely turned the handle and went in.
A lamp softly illuminated the scene. Lord Randal was sitting in a large winged chair with Sophie wrapped in a blanket in his arms. His upper body was bare, silky smooth as a Greek statue, but at least, noted Lord Wraybourne, he had on the black tights which had been part of his first costume.
Sophie started and, seeing her brother, would have sat up but Lord Randal gently stayed her and she relaxed again into the protection of his arms. No one spoke as Lord Wraybourne quietly closed the door. His eyes took in the evidence of the room. The blue damask bed-cover was smooth and untouched. Randal’s head rested on the high back of the chair, and there was a slight smile on his lips, rueful and self-mocking. His eyes met his friend’s unflinchingly.
Shock and suffering had marked Sophie’s face. Yet there was a tranquillity to it which struck Lord Wraybourne with considerable force. Not only did he know that he could not bring himself to take that peace from her, but he realized that it would not be in Jane’s eyes at this moment. For all that she had coped so marvelously, she would need him now.
He took a deep breath and suddenly understood, with surprise, that he was happy with the situation overall. The feeling of lightness was so strong in the room that he could almost see it hovering in the air around them. When he spoke, his own voice sounded improperly loud.
“Hever committed suicide. Uncle Henry is handling everything. I must go to Jane.”
A gentle smile curved Sophie’s lips, and the two in the chair seemed to relax and blend even closer together. Without further words, Lord Wraybourne left them that way.
17
LORD WRAYBOURNE MANAGED to slip into the breakfast room without being noticed by the guests and servants milling excitedly in the hall outside the library. He found Jane and Stella apparently composed and sipping delicately at tea. It was only as he came close and the aroma assailed him that he realized the tea was strongly laced with brandy. Jane saw his lips twitch and wondered how he could be amused at such a time.
“How is Sophie?” she asked, surprised that it seemed to take some effort to form the words correctly.
“Doing well,” Lord Wraybourne replied, sitting down beside Jane at the table. “But I think I should send up some of the brew you are imbibing. It seems highly effective.”
“Oh yes,” she agreed, happily. “Riddle suggested it. She said her grandmother used it in times of difficulty, and it does seem to make problems a great deal less unpleasant—as well as being delicious.” She looked around, noticing that it also took some effort to focus her eyes, or perhaps it was only that the candles needed trimming. “I believe we only have two cups or I would offer you some.”
Stella Hamilton spoke suddenly, enunciating very clearly. “I am most pleased that Sir Edwin is dead.”
“So am I,” said Lord Wraybourne, leaning back and relaxing for what seemed like the first time in hours. “It was not quite as we planned it, but he had to die.”
“We?” asked Jane and Stella together.
“Uncle Henry was in the library, listening to everything. We couldn’t let the thing go to trial, so the idea was that we would convince Hever that he had no hope and then leave him alone. Ideally, he would shoot himself but if he didn’t—and I had no faith he would have the courage—then Uncle Henry was going to go in and do it for him.”
“Mr. Moulton-Scrope?” squeaked Jane. He had always seemed a pillar of society.
“Orders from the top. As soon as we were sure Hever was the man, he had to die. Like a mad dog. For a while, despite the evidence, it seemed so unlikely. As it was, he was so near the brink of insanity that I think any little thing would have pushed him over. But Sophie was the ideal last straw, as it happened, though I would never have used her as a weapon. He hated all women, I think, but he had come to see her as the epitome. I suspect his affronts to you, Jane, were as a substitute for Sophie. Since he hoped to make her his wife, his twisted mind would not allow him to insult her directly.” He sighed. “I must escort Stella home, Jane. Where will I find you when I return?”
Jane was disinclined to move. “Here, I think. I do not wish to join the ball again.”
“Everyone will be leaving soon, now Sir Edwin has been found. I will come back here, but I think I should take away your magic potion if you are to be coherent when I return.”
Jane stared at him. “Am I drunk? Good heavens. What would my mother say? But I can quite see why so many gentlemen do it so often,” she added with a giggle.
Her betrothed shook his head and took charge of the brandy bottle as well as Miss Hamilton, who moved with slow and careful dignity as he escorted her from the room. Jane enjoyed the solitude. She watched the play of the candle flames and the curl of the smoke. She was aware of distant noises but no one came to disturb her privacy. She really should be more upset, she thought.
She wondered what David had done about Sophie and Lord Randal. Should she go to find her friend? The effort was beyond her and David had said everything was in order. She would have to persuade him to let them marry. She wondered what had been going through Randal’s mind as he decided to make the shot. Perhaps he had had no choice. Even she had been able to see that it needed only a little more of the maniac’s strength to bend Sophie’s slender neck further than any neck was meant to go.
The euphoria was sli
pping away. Jane jumped up and began to pace the room. She was shocked, when she glanced into the mirror, to see a stranger looking back. She had forgotten her disguise. She had taken off her mask after the shooting. Now she dragged the lined filigree from her hair and worked and teased at the coiled braids until her hair was hanging heavily around her. Then, using a napkin from a drawer and the cooled water from the tea tray, she scrubbed at the cosmetics on her face. At last, Jane Sandiford looked back at her. When the door opened, she turned to greet her love. He seemed to stop breathing.
“I love you,” she said softly across the room.
“As I do you,” he replied. “But I am not sure I should touch you, I need you so.”
Joyful awareness of her power surged within her and, unafraid, she walked slowly forward and stood before him. She raised her hands to his face and then gradually stretched on tiptoe, teasing out the moment, to taste his lips. He crushed her to him. Their mouths and bodies seemed to be seeking ever closer union when, suddenly, he stopped and held her away with rigid arms.
“No,” he said, breathing hard but smiling. “I will not be seduced by you, Jane, not here, not now. Save your tricks till we are wed.”
After a moment Jane did not oppose him. There was an aching sweetness in this postponement of delight.
He pushed her gently into a chair and finger-combed her tangled hair, then divided it in two and began to braid.
“What are you doing?” she asked, mischievously trying to twist her head to kiss his fingers.
“I am confining your hair so that it cannot bewitch me.”
“Do you know how to plait?” she asked, tilting her head back to look at him.
“It is done to horses’ manes, you know.”
She sat still under his ministrations. Tiny shivers went through her at the movements of his fingers in her hair and their brushing at her nape.
“You never asked about my golden flowers,” she said. “I suppose you have fulfilled your part of the bargain.”
“I no longer feel any jealousy,” he replied. “If I wonder who gave them to you it is only because I admire his taste. They are exquisite.”
“Merci du compliment, Monsieur!” she said, glancing up at him with a grin. “I purchased them for myself.”
That necessitated a kiss, but they made it a gentle one. Their eyes kept touch long after their lips had parted. Then, he gently turned her head and continued his work on her hair. At last he finished and laid the two fat braids on her shoulders.
“There,” he said. “Now you are tamed.” He saw the glint in her eye and, laughing, added, “. . . if I get you into a public place very quickly. I think it is time to go and find Maria.”
That lady was delighted to have a new audience for her wailing account of the horrible happenings, and Jane and David were suitably horrified and amazed, while behind her back they exchanged small smiles. It was obvious that Lady Harroving, despite her supposed anguish, could not believe her luck that Sir Edwin had chosen to enliven her ball with his scandalous demise.
After Jane’s love had left, she went to her bed. She first looked in on Sophie but found her tucked under the covers like a child, fast asleep. Jane smiled when she saw, on her friend’s pillow, a pair of doves in flight, the ones which had ornamented Lord Randal’s headdress. Perhaps something good was to come out of this horrible affair after all.
EPILOGUE
THE WEDDING DAY dawned in perfection on Carne Abbey. The sun burned away wisps of mist from the river. Nature was at its peak. Even the austere stone house could not remain bleak in the midst of such midsummer glory. Nor had it been able to resist the advent of Lady Sophie, who had decided to flee town and its pressures to help Jane survive her return home.
This was a Sophie as sparkling as ever, yet deepened by her experiences and by the fruition of her love. Every day she and Jane wrote to their fiancés, and every day they received notes, usually accompanied by gifts. Even the fact that Lord Wraybourne had insisted Sophie and Randal wait until the autumn for their wedding did nothing to quench her spirit. She floated about Carne, singing, flinging back draperies, and arranging flowers.
It was not at all clear what Lady Sandiford felt about all this. Her eyes noted every change, yet she said nothing. Jane concluded that her mother had decided to live with what must be only a temporary aberration.
The basic arrangements for the wedding had been made. Sophie now began to embellish them with complicity, Jane was amazed to find, from her father, who gave Sophie permission to order what she wished. The cook was delighted to elaborate upon the wedding breakfast. She was even more delighted to be told to prepare a special feast for the servants later in the day. A considerable quantity of flowers, ribbons, and garlands was ordered from Cheltenham for the decoration of the church, and musicians were hired for the Abbey and the village, where the tenants would feast in the couple’s honour.
Jane and Mrs. Hawley watched in amazement. The years which had conditioned them to expect the place to be gloomy had no power over Sophie. As a result, the gloom ceased to exist. Occasionally, one could even hear a servant singing at her work.
“I wonder if Carne will ever be quite the same again?” said Mrs. Hawley as they checked off lists of provisions for the house guests.
“I should think it will revert,” replied Jane, “like a cleared bit of ground is soon retaken by the forest.”
“Well, I will not be here to see it,” said Mrs. Hawley cheerfully. “These last weeks when you have been in Town have been unutterably dull, Jane.”
“I wish you had been with me,” said Jane, and her eyes twinkled. “Well, perhaps not, for you would have stopped me doing a great many things and I think, however silly they seem in retrospect, I had to do them to arrive where I am now.”
“Someday,” said the governess, “you must tell me what you have been about—if you think my poor nerves can take the strain. The change in you in a few short weeks is amazing.”
They laughed and Jane asked whether Mrs. Hawley had found a new position.
“Well, I have decided, for the moment, not to seek another post. I have a small pension from my husband, you know, and your parents, whatever else one may say about them, have paid me well. My brother works for Forsham’s Bank in London, and he has invested the greater part for me these last twelve years. I have enough to live on. It only remains to see whether I can bear the idleness.”
“Where will you live? In London?”
“I think so, near my brother.”
“Then I hope you will come and visit me in Town but also come and stay with us at Stenby.”
“I do not think that would be proper,” said the governess gently.
“Beth, you are my friend. I know how much I owe you. Believe me, David will have no objection. He has spoken admiringly of you a number of times.”
“If your husband is pleased to invite me, then I will be delighted to visit you,” said the governess happily. Jane was already searching her mind for a gentleman suitable for her friend.
* * *
Jane awoke on her wedding morning and reflected on the change in her life in a few short months. Tonight, the change would be complete. She still had no clear understanding of the secrets of the marriage bed but on an instinctive level, she was aware. She had thought for a moment of asking Mrs. Hawley for advice but decided against it. David would understand. Before she slept tonight, she would be his wife in every way.
In no time at all her room was invaded by Prudence Hawkins, Sophie, and Beth. Jane bathed and had her hair dressed in an austere coronet. Her wedding dress was beautifully cut white silk, without ornamentation except for embroidered silver flowers around the hem. The same silver flowers decorated the edge of a silk gauze veil. White kid slippers and gloves completed her toilette, and she carried a pearl-bound prayer book, a gift from her mother. Jane took a moment to thank Sophie for her support.
“I dread to think what today would be like without your efforts.”
> “It would still be your wedding day, Jane,” Sophie replied with a warm smile.
“Yes, nothing could spoil that. I hope to help make your wedding day as perfect.”
“How could it not be?” said Sophie simply. “I will be marrying Randal. He should be here soon, with David.”
Jane was suddenly aware that Sophie was strung tight with anticipation and felt the same vibration in herself, waiting for a footstep, a voice, a presence. They would neither be satisfied, for their lovers would wait at the church. Still, the knowledge that they were near was in Jane’s blood and her friend’s . . . like the sweet, brandied tea had been.
When it was nearly time for the party to go to the church, Lady Sandiford entered the room and dismissed the others. She had dressed for the occasion in a rich, blue silk and looked very much unlike her normal self. She was still unsmiling, however.
“You look very beautiful, Jane,” she said after consideration. It was more an adjudication than a compliment. There was silence while austere mother and stately daughter considered each other. “I do not believe you are unhappy with your lot, Jane.”
“No, Mama. I am not unhappy.”
Lady Sandiford gave a little nod. “I am mother enough to be glad of that,” she said. “I will not give you any advice about the marriage bed. I judge Lord Wraybourne to be a man who handles himself with care.”
With no further word she turned away, leaving Jane little the wiser about the woman who had given her life.
Jane walked down the aisle of the village church. Lord Wraybourne stood before her at the altar. It was a week since they had seen each other, and neither could suppress a spontaneous smile. Lady Wraybourne, a gaunt and sad-eyed woman, was seen to dab her eyes.
When the ceremony was over, Lord Wraybourne lifted the veil and touched Jane’s lips with the briefest of kisses. The look in his eyes went much farther. They moved through the celebrations that followed, full of anticipation, their attention always on their friends and relatives while little touches and stolen glances made promises for the night.
