Sandra Heath

by The Haunting of Henrietta

  “Yes, it was only your godchild kicking a little forcefully.”

  Henrietta’s lips parted with delight. “My godchild?”

  “I warn you, I will not take no for an answer.”

  “Of course I accept!”

  “Good, for you are my dearest friend. You know, it’s a most curious thing, Henrietta, but I don’t feel as if there are five or more weeks to go; indeed it feels much more imminent than that.”

  Henrietta was alarmed. “You don’t mean you’ve started your pains?”

  “Oh, good Lord, no, it’s just an odd feeling I have. I know Dr. Hartley was very precise about my dates, and I’m about eight months, but all the same…” Charlotte laughed. “Oh, well, he should know, I suppose. After all, this is my first baby. He’s delivered them by the score.”

  “I’m surprised you’re being attended by Dr. Hartley. You always swore you’d secure Nurse’s services.” Henrietta thought of the frail gray-haired woman who lived in the small hamlet of Mulbridge, over the moors about half a mile inland from Mulborough. No one knew quite how old she was, but she had been Russell’s nurse and was universally regarded as the local midwife. Her real name was Miss Rose Hinchcliffe, but she was always simply called Nurse, even by those for whom she had never performed such a role.

  Charlotte sighed. “Well, that was my original intention, but she has at long last decided she is too old to continue, and anyway Russell insists upon Dr. Hartley, who aspires to be something of an accoucheur.” Charlotte winced once more as the baby moved. “Oh Lord, he or she is very active tonight.”

  “Would you like me to bring you a glass of water?”

  “Water? At a New Year’s Eve ball? Heaven forfend.” Charlotte smiled, and signaled a footman to bring glasses of champagne.

  “Russell’s finger will wag if he catches you with champagne.”

  “My dear husband is a great trial to me at the moment. Do you know, he even attempted to make me stay in this morning instead of joining everyone for the walk on the cliffs?”

  “Well, it was rather cold,” Henrietta said, putting her fan in her lap in order to take the glass with her left hand.

  Charlotte looked anxiously at her bandage. “How is your poor wrist? I do hope it isn’t too uncomfortable. It was a very unpleasant fall.”

  “I’ll survive, even if I did nearly go over the cliff. I vow your skill with dressings is nothing short of miraculous, and as to the finishing touch of my diamond pin ...” Henrietta smiled, and raised her wrist so the light caught the little diamond brooch securing the bandage.

  Charlotte chuckled. “Miraculous? Oh, I wouldn’t go that far, but I have to say I’m usually quite good.” Her smile faded. “I still can’t really understand how you slipped like that. One moment we were all walking along the top of cliffs, the next you were sprawling on the ground and had almost gone over the edge!”

  Henrietta shivered as she recalled those dreadful moments. “There must have been a little patch of ice,” she said, although privately she was only too aware that someone in the party had stumbled awkwardly against her. She didn’t know who it was, and because she was sure it had been entirely accidental, she didn’t intend to cause any distress by mentioning it.

  “Ice? Yes, I suppose so. Anyway, you survived the incident. Now I come to think of it, you’ve been disaster prone ever since you arrived here.”

  “I wasn’t exactly safe and sound in London,” Henrietta replied. “My horse bolted in Hyde Park and I almost fell through a trapdoor at a fabric warehouse.”

  Charlotte was horrified. “Oh, Henrietta, how dreadful! Bad luck certainly seems to dog you at the moment, doesn’t it? There was that runaway carriage that almost ran you down while you were traveling here, then the piece of falling masonry on Christmas Eve, to say nothing of the shellfish supper that so disagreed with you and you alone.”

  “Don’t forget the lace snapping on my walking shoe,” Henrietta teased.

  “Oh, you may think it amusing, but yes, given everything else, the broken lace should be included.”

  Henrietta was patient. “Charlotte, it was only a broken lace. They do break, you know. I even recall it happening to you on occasion.”

  “I suppose so,” Charlotte admitted, then glanced at her again. “Why you and dear Amabel walked all the way to St. Tydfa’s churchyard when you could easily have ridden, I really don’t know.”

  Henrietta ignored the acid reference to Amabel. “After all the rich Christmas food, we felt in need of the exercise, although, to be truthful, we did misjudge the distance.” Henrietta recalled how, after climbing the long flight of steep stone steps from the lych-gate, she and Amabel Renchester had rested in the church porch before commencing the long walk home. The steep churchyard steps were slippery because yew trees shaded the overnight frost from the winter sun. Her lace had suddenly snapped, and she’d fallen very heavily, tumbling down at least ten steps before she managed to halt the fall by grabbing a low-hanging branch. She’d only suffered bruises and the indignity of having to hire a farmer’s cob to carry her back to the abbey, but she knew it might have been much more serious.

  Charlotte sipped the champagne and decided to say nothing more about Henrietta’s mishaps. She looked at the crowded floor. “Well, all the local guests will disperse to their homes at dawn, and everyone who’s been staying here since Christmas will depart at various times tomorrow, then there will just be you right up until February, and I’m so looking forward to that! Oh, how I wish you weren’t to be your cousin’s chief bridesmaid; otherwise you could stay even longer!” Her smile of anticipation faded then. “Oh, sweet Amabel will be here as well, of course, but with luck she will not join us all the time.”

  Henrietta could no longer let it pass. “Dear Amabel, sweet Amabel. Oh, how I regret bringing her. It was clearly very foolish to imagine you two could make friends at last.”

  “Where Amabel Lyons—I mean Renchester—is concerned, old school enemies remain old school enemies. But your motives were laudable, Henrietta, and I do not blame you.” Charlotte gave her a sideways grin. “On reflection, yes I do.”

  “Don’t be beastly.”

  “I’m sorry, but you do rise to the bait.”

  Henrietta suddenly noticed Russell’s distinguished gray-haired figure only ten yards away at the edge of the dance floor. He was standing on tiptoe to scan the sea of dancers, and it was clear he was searching for his wife. Henrietta put a finger to her lips and as one, she and Charlotte leaned back on the sofa, so the flanking ferns hid their faces from view should he glance their way.

  By now, the two spectral interlopers had noticed Henrietta, and knew from her startling likeness to Jane that she had to be a Courtenay. Having already determined the uninspiring selection of unattached Fitzpaines, and the apparent absence of any unattached Courtenays at all, they hastened over to examine her more closely. Unobserved and undetected by either young woman, they took up positions behind the sofa. The discovery that she wore a betrothal ring did not deter them, for of all people, they knew that such things could be set aside!

  Henrietta and Charlotte continued to watch poor Russell through the fronds of green, and as he at last moved away toward the supper room, they sat forward again. Charlotte took a relieved sip of champagne. “Take my advice, Henrietta, don’t marry an overprotective man.”

  “I doubt if my future husband will ever be accused of that,” Henrietta replied, looking down at her ring.

  Charlotte was immediately remorseful. “Forgive me, I spoke without thinking.”

  “What is there to forgive? I don’t pretend that my match is anything other than a marriage of convenience.”

  “Convenience? For the sole heiress to the Courtenay fortune? I doubt it. For strutting, financially straitened Lord Sutherton? Yes, definitely!” Charlotte was scathing.

  The eavesdropping shades exchanged startled glances, for the gentleman Jane had forsaken for Kit in 1714 had been none other than the then Lord Sutherton! Jane l
eaned forward to inspect the emerald betrothal ring again. What a deplorably showy bauble it was, she thought disparagingly. It had to be Lord Sutherton’s choice, for the phantom instinctively knew that Henrietta would have selected sapphires, or possibly amethysts, to go with her eyes. Jane decided there and then that Henrietta was ideal for guiding toward another. But who? The ghost sighed as she mulled over the woeful selection of Fitzpaines present tonight. What Henrietta needed was another Kit! Oh, yes, that would be perfect, for how could such a combination fail to end in marriage?

  “We have found our prospective bride, don’t you think?” Kit whispered suddenly.

  “I agree. However, given the collection of Fitzpaines we’ve observed thus far, I doubt if there is a prospective groom,” she whispered back, even though she was as certain as he that no one could hear them. It was only Rowley who could be heard.

  Meanwhile, Charlotte had also glanced at Henrietta’s ring. The wedding at St. George’s, Hanover Square, would be a social highlight of the season. It was a shame the bridegroom was so unworthy! She fixed Henrietta with a gimlet gaze. “This seems as appropriate a time as any to say my piece. If you bow to your parents’ wishes and marry Sutherton, you’ll be throwing yourself away on one of England’s most cynical, heartless, and impoverished creatures. Impoverished by his own squandering nature, I might add. He is an incorrigible gambler, and there isn’t a gaming hell in London that hasn’t set duns on his trail! I’m mightily relieved he didn’t accompany you here, for to be sure he’d have tried to fleece most of my guests by now.”

  Henrietta flushed. “Please don’t say that.”

  “It’s the truth, Henrietta. He’s completely the wrong man for you, as I thought you well knew when you turned him down originally. Why you changed your mind and accepted him after all is quite beyond my understanding.”

  Henrietta looked away. There were things her friend did not know, things no one knew. When George first approached her parents, they had been eager to see her married to such an ancient title, but because she shared Charlotte’s opinion of him, and because she had foolishly loved another at the time, she had defied them by refusing. Then George had saved her from humiliation and scandal on a scale of which she did not dare to think, and on learning of the parlous slate of his finances, she felt she owed it to him to change her mind regarding the match. She toyed with her fan. “Charlotte, I know George has faults, but then so do I.”

  “You? My dearest Henrietta, your only fault is that you are too trusting.”

  “If you say much more, you and I shall fall out.”

  An atmosphere had descended over the two young women on the sofa, but then Charlotte gave a quick smile. “Look, ignore my carping; it’s probably due entirely to my condition. Being this much with child makes one snappish.”

  Henrietta raised an eyebrow. “The only person you are snappish with is Amabel.”

  “Perhaps because I really can’t understand why you have suddenly taken up with her again after all these years. It’s been a long time since school.” There was more than a hint of jealousy in Charlotte’s tone.

  “Well, we’d encountered each other on several occasions over the years, but then about a month before I left to come here, she called upon me. We got on famously, and when she told me how she longed to be reconciled with you, well, I—I just asked her to join me.”

  Charlotte’s strong feelings on the matter were written large on her face. “Longed to be reconciled? I would as soon trust Beelzebub as that sly chienne. She and I have loathed each other since our first meeting at school. In plain language, Amabel Lyons was a spiteful, conniving miss, and Amabel Renchester is now a spiteful, conniving widow!”

  “Maybe she was a little, er, difficult at school, but she was an orphan, and very much ill at ease,” Henrietta reminded her.

  “There are orphans and there are orphans, and Amabel had been taken in by a good, loving émigré family here in England, so didn’t want for anything, except manners and amiability. As for her unbelievable airs and graces now! To hear her at dinner on Christmas Day was to think she must be the most ardent and noble-minded French royalist in all creation! All that talk of spending her early years at Versailles, and of having poor Queen Marie Antoinette as a godmother! Why have we never heard of it before? I vow there was not a single mention of it at school.”

  Henrietta shifted uncomfortably. “If I’d known your antagonism toward her went so deep, I would never have brought her with me. But she pleaded and pleaded because she was so very anxious to make up, and you had said I could bring a guest, so I really thought all would be well.”

  “If making up was indeed her real reason for coming here, I’ll eat every one of Russell’s hats!”

  “Why do you insist on disliking her? People change, and the Amabel we knew at school is no more. I admit she was a little tedious on Christmas Day, but on the whole she is sweet-natured, witty, and excellent company. And don’t forget how much odium she had to endure because of her late husband’s treasonous activities in the Peninsula.” Henrietta lowered her eyes, for the treachery of Major Renchester had been a terrible scandal. A much decorated hero, it had been discovered that he’d been betraying secrets to the French. If he hadn’t been found dead in his bed, of shame and fear it was said, he would certainly have been shot for a traitor. Amabel had adored him, even to the extent of accompanying him to Spain. Her shock and distress on learning the truth had been immeasurable.

  “Russell knew Major Renchester and still refuses to believe he was guilty as charged. As for Amabel’s claims to have been the shocked, grieving widow, I find it strange she discarded black within days of returning to London.”

  “As she said on Christmas Day, she was devastated that he had secretly supported the French Republic. His treachery destroyed her love.”

  “Hmm.” Charlotte’s lips twitched disbelievingly.

  “Oh, come now, Charlotte, Amabel isn’t a monster! She could not have been more concerned and caring on the cliff this morning when I fell.”

  “She probably pushed you in the first place.”

  “‘Charlotte, you can’t say things like that!”

  Charlotte became a little contrite. “I know, and I’m sorry. Forgive me. I concede that she was admirable this morning.”

  “Yes, she was. That’s what she’s like now. Charlotte.”

  A thousand and one nuances passed over Charlotte’s face, but then she shrugged. “You’re entitled to your opinion, but as far as I’m concerned, there will always be something nasty about her. A whiff of sulfur, if you like.”

  A chill sensation passed over the eavesdropping ghosts.

  Chapter Three

  Henrietta was dismayed. “A whiff of sulfur? Oh, for heaven’s sake, Charlotte!”

  Charlotte suddenly reacted vehemently. “Henrietta Courtenay, there are times when I could shake you! You are my dearest friend, but I have to say your judgment is hopeless! You cleave to the likes of Sutherton and Amabel Renchester, yet declare yourself full of loathing for poor Marcus, whose only crime is being a Fitzpaine!”

  Now it was Henrietta’s turn to react hotly, and the wraiths sensed the lightning in her lavender eyes. “Poor Marcus?”

  Charlotte pursed her lips. “My, my, it would seem even to mention the Marquess of Rothwell inflames your temper.”

  “He treated me most basely, but then I suppose it’s what a Courtenay should expect of a Fitzpaine.”

  Charlotte groaned. “Oh, spare me the endless feud. Far be it from me to ask, but can anyone actually recall what started it all?”

  “The Fitzpaines behaved abominably toward us in the time of Queen Anne,” Henrietta replied.

  “This is the same boring stock answer one hears from them, except that they, of course, insist it was the Courtenays who behaved abominably.”

  “Well, the Fitzpaines would, wouldn’t they?”

  Charlotte studied her. “What, exactly, did Marcus do that was so heinous? All you’ve ever said
is that his conduct toward you was base. What happened?”

  “I—I’d rather not say.” Henrietta colored agitatedly.

  “Oh, Henrietta, surely after all this time you know you can trust me?”

  Henrietta hesitated. She hadn’t revealed to a soul the extent of what happened, and it would be so good to unburden it just this once. Especially to Charlotte. “If—if I tell you, you must promise faithfully not to divulge a word to anyone, not even Russell.”

  “I’m not given to spreading other people’s secrets, as you well know.”

  Henrietta smiled apologetically. “Yes, I do know, it’s just that my personal conduct was so very remiss, that I could not bear it if anyone found out. It was last year, just after he’d returned from six years in the West Indies....”

  “Seven,” Charlotte corrected.

  “All right, seven. Suffice it that I didn’t know who he was, because when he left England, you and I were still at school in Bath. That aside, it was just after I had turned down George’s first proposal of marriage. My parents had been called away to my sick aunt, and I attended a masked ball at Devonshire House. I really shouldn’t have gone alone, but I’ve always loved masked balls, and the invitation had been accepted by my parents before my aunt fell ill. Anyway, Marcus singled me out, and was so gallant and attentive that I suppose I was flattered.” Henrietta paused, for there was much she still wasn’t saying. Her cheeks were very pink and shame shaded her eyes as she went on. “He pressed me to ride in Hyde Park the next day so we could meet again, and then to attend the theater in order to see him again. I was foolish enough to agree. I’m afraid I was so completely gulled that—that...”

  “Yes?” Charlotte waited with bated breath.

  Henrietta raised guilty eyes. “I allowed him to kiss me.”

  “In the middle of Hyde park?” Charlotte’s eyes were like saucers, for few places in London were more open to the full gaze of society.

  Henrietta blushed with mortification. “Yes, and in the passage behind the boxes at Drury Lane, during the second act of Romeo and Juliet.”