Forgetting decorum, Jared released Alissa’s arm and strode through the doorway, anxious to see his daughter.
Alissa followed Leona through the massive carved doors into the grand entry to stop short. Her eyes wide with wonder, she stared in disbelief. The dismal facade outside had done little to prepare her for the opulence within.
White marble, with periodic insets of black, formed a diamond pattern beneath her feet. The floor, edged in black, met white marble walls, shooting upward, two stories high. Alissa’s neck craned backward as she gazed in awe at the high ceiling, backdropped in blue. Gilt-winged cherubs danced among sun-rayed clouds, expertly stroked by an artist’s hand. A crystal chandelier hung from the ceiling, hundreds of tapered white candles ensconced in its holders, but only a few were lit to chase away the gloom of the day. “Magnificent,” she whispered, not realizing she’d spoken the word aloud.
Then her gaze turned to the grand staircase, directly opposite the door. Its blood-red carpet swept up the virgin white marble to a landing, then detoured left and right, then up again, but Alissa’s eyes remained on the child dressed in emerald green, resembling a miniature adult. Her dark, wavy hair, secured by a band of green ribbon, trailed down her back. Timidly she stood on the third to the last step. Amazed, Alissa instantly noted how much she favored her father.
“Megan, sweet princess.” The throaty words were whispered as Jared angled around an ornately carved table, almost toppling the centuries-old, hand-painted vase gracing its top. “Did you miss me, sweet?” he asked as he swung her high into his arms, holding her close. “I promised I wouldn’t be gone long, and I kept that promise, didn’t I?”
Not a sound came from between the child’s lips as she retained a deathlike grip around her father’s neck, a bright sheen of moisture glazing her green eyes. The sight of father and daughter tore at Alissa’s heart. For it was evident Megan had feared never seeing her one remaining parent again.
Then she felt the sting of tears behind her own eyes as she thought of Rachel, the only parent she’d ever known. Her hand rose to the hollow between her breasts. Unknowingly, she searched for the precious remembrance, her last link to her mother. But it wasn’t there. As Jared released Megan, setting her slippered feet to the floor, Alissa quickly composed herself, her hand dropping from her breast.
“Megan,” he said as he urged his daughter toward Alissa, “I want you to meet someone.” Megan stayed slightly behind her father, her huge, long-lashed eyes staring up at the stranger. “This is the special friend I told you about. She’ll be staying with us for a while.” He turned. “Miss Agatha Pembroke, this is my daughter, Megan.”
At her father’s direction, Megan offered a slight curtsy, but she kept behind him, her eyes searching Alissa’s face. Alissa smiled reassuringly, and said, “Megan, my name is A … Agatha, and you may call, uh, you may know me by that name. I’ve heard so much about you, but your father neglected to say how very pretty you are.” Alissa heard Leona’s disdainful sniff, but she ignored it and forged onward. “He spoke only of his deep affection for you and of how anxious he was to return home to Scotland and to you.” She glanced at Jared, noting his arched brow. “I hope you aren’t upset with me because your father was kind enough to fetch me from London. And, of course, during my stay, I do hope we’ll become fast friends.”
Her words reaped no reaction from the child, only a blank stare. Then Megan tugged at her father’s trousers. Jared focused his attention on her, watching as she rubbed her stomach.
“The child’s hungry,” Leona piped in a rancorous voice. “She’s taken little nourishment since your departure. I’ll take her to see cook.” Leona reached for Megan’s small hand, but the girl grasped her father’s and pulled. “Obviously, she’s afraid to let you out of her sight.”
Jared gazed down into his daughter’s wide, pleading eyes. “Are you hungry?” Megan nodded. “Then let’s see what cook has for us, shall we?” Megan relaxed, again nodding, and Jared turned his attention to Alissa. “Will you join us, Miss Pembroke?”
“If it is acceptable to you, I’d rather find my quarters, so I may bathe and rest a bit.”
“Certainly. Mrs. Dugan will see you to your room. I’ll have cook send up a tray.”
Relieved, Alissa glanced at Megan. The child seemed equally happy that she would not have to share her father’s attention with some stranger. Megan might want to be close to her father, but Alissa certainly did not.
“We will talk, later,” Jared said, then swept Megan high into his arms and carried her toward the back of the enormous house and the kitchens.
Alissa watched the departing pair, and envy stabbed at her heart, for she’d never known a father’s love. Megan was most fortunate, she thought.
“Follow me.” Leona Dugan turned on her heel, lifted her starched skirt, and stiffly proceeded up the grand staircase.
Alissa trailed along at her own pace, gawking at the grandeur surrounding her, but apparently it wasn’t fast enough. The housekeeper stopped, her back arrow-straight, hands tightly clasped, and impatiently waited until Alissa caught up. Alissa did not dare fall behind again.
When they reached the second-story landing, the housekeeper marched down the red-carpeted hallway, past several large rooms, one being the formal dining room, which Alissa glanced at briefly. Impressive, she thought, and turned left through a set of carved doors, leading into the west wing.
Near the end of the corridor, Leona stopped and took a set of keys from the holder on her belt. She unlocked the door and turned the solid brass handle. “This is your chamber. I’ll have Mary bring up hot water for your bath.” With that, the housekeeper retraced her steps, disappearing into an alcove, and descended the hidden stairs.
Alissa stared after her, disturbed by her demeanor, and wondered if it was she who’d caused the woman to act so cold. Then she remembered Mr. Stanley’s statement, “She’s a mite strange, she is.” And Alissa decided the housekeeper’s unfriendly reserve was simply part of her personality.
Too weary to really care one way or the other, she dismissed any thought of Leona Dugan and pushed the door wide. A gasp of pleasure escaped her lips as she viewed her room.
Large insets of mint-green silk, bordered on all sides by finely carved cream-colored wood, its raised design gilded, climbed to a white ceiling. Against one wall stood a large bed, draped and canopied in a floral print of green, gold, and blue silk. A small, sky-blue silk-covered settee and two chairs, striped in blue and gold, also of silk, were arranged directly opposite the bed in front of the gold-veined, white marble fireplace. A large off-white carpet, its center threaded with gold, blanketed the better part of the highly polished wood floor. On closer inspection, Alissa discovered the design to be a rose.
A large armoire stood in one corner, a hand-painted screen in another, and a japanned writing table nestled itself between the tall windows, which were draped in gold brocade. Assorted tables, bureaus, and a dressing table with a mirror completed the furnishings.
Amazed by all this opulence, Alissa viewed the room, again, a frown etching itself into her brow. Never had she hoped to see such a beautiful bedchamber, much less sleep in one. And, again, she wondered about Jared Braxton’s wealth.
Yet, amid all this grandeur, Alissa sensed a great sorrow. The feeling seemed to weep from the very walls of this great house. And oddly, Alissa felt a sadness settle around her.
Could her mood be caused by her own hopeless situation, and not by some echoes of the past that might still be reverberating through the yawning corridors of Hawkstone? No, she decided, for she’d somehow felt its melancholy pull the moment she’d walked through the doors. And she wondered what had happened here to cause such a woeful, sinking feeling.
“Miss? Might I come in?”
Alissa turned at the sound of Mr. Stanley’s familiar voice and smiled. The smile was for herself, as well as the coachman, as she tried to break free of the gloom encasing her. “Certainly.”
Hi
s arms filled with her bags, he crossed the threshold and placed the cumbersome luggage at the bed’s foot.
“Thank you, Mr. Stanley. You’re most kind.”
“Yer welcome, miss.” Nervously, he toed the carpet. “Uh, I want to thank ye fer comin’ all this way to help little Megan. With ye not feelin’ well and all”—he shrugged—“well, it’s might good of ye.”
Alissa discovered she could no longer hold the man’s gaze. “I appreciate your kind words, Mr. Stanley,” she whispered. “I’ll do my best.”
A noise at the doorway drew their attention. A young maid, whom Alissa assumed was Mary, struggled into the room, a large bucket of steaming water in each hand. Mr. Stanley quickly took one, then trailed the young woman and disappeared behind the screen in the far corner.
Alissa followed the two and discovered a small alcove set into the wall. Light streamed through a frosted-paned window onto an ornate brass and copper, claw-foot tub. Elation rioted through her as she watched the clean, clear liquid fall into the huge bath, possibly large enough for two. Heavenly, she thought. She could hardly wait to strip away her clothing and have a long soak. Several more trips by Mary and Mr. Stanley and the bath was filled.
“Can I help ye unpack?” Mary asked.
Anxious to be rid of the two, Alissa said, somewhere between Agatha’s proper tone and her own more cordial one, “Thank you, but no … Mary, is it?” The maid nodded. “I do appreciate your offer, Mary, but right now I’d like very much to bathe, then rest. Besides, there is very little to unpack. As you can see, I travel lightly.”
“As ye wish, mum. I’ll bring ye up a tray.”
“Just place it outside the door, will you?”
“Sure, mum.” Mary eyed the newcomer at Hawkstone. From what she could see behind the ugly bonnet, the woman looked awful peaky. She needs some of cook’s special tea, the maid decided. That should put some pink into her cheeks. “Should ye be takin’ yer bath, I’ll knock to let ye know I’m back.”
Despite herself, Alissa suddenly felt tense. She wanted out of Agatha’s clothes and into the tub. “That will be fine,” she stated more sharply than intended.
“Come, Mary,” Mr. Stanley said from where he hovered by the doorway. “Miss Pembroke, here, needs to rest.” With a nod, the coachman, along with Mary, took his leave.
Alissa quickly locked the door after them and prayed she was secure inside. The heavy panel seemed strong enough, the lock sturdy. But she remembered the solid door safeguarding her room at the inn and its splintered remnants when she’d left. She viewed the panel again. Since there was no strife between Jared and herself at the moment, she decided not to worry about it. Right now, like a small child, she simply wanted to frolic in her bath.
The hated bonnet torn from her head, the chenille net springing free, Alissa loosened the pins from her hair, then massaged her scalp, her long tresses tumbling around her in wild disarray. Agatha’s clothing and shoes clearly marked a path behind the screen as Alissa slipped into the tub, immersing herself up to her neck. Heaven, she thought, enjoying the warmth. When the water finally cooled, she scrubbed herself from head to toe, careful of her bruised flesh.
The angry mark was a vivid purple now, with streaks of green and yellow slashing through it. Ignoring it, for it brought back too many upsetting memories, Alissa began washing her hair, then rinsed it with a large pitcher of water left by the tub’s side.
She stood, rivers of water running down her sleek thighs, and dried herself vigorously. Wrapping a dry piece of toweling around her pink body, she retrieved her brushes from her case and sat near the hearth and the crackling fire Mr. Stanley had lit to chase the chill from her room.
What to do now? she wondered as she stroked the brush through her drying mane. Again, she thought of confessing, but again, she dismissed it. There had to be some way to extricate herself from this ruse without incurring Jared’s wrath. Impossible! Short of disappearing into thin air, she knew she had little chance of escaping him.
A knock sounded on the door, startling her. Believing it to be Mary, Alissa called, “Just leave the tray outside the door, if you will. I’ll fetch it later.”
“If I had a tray, Miss Pembroke,” Jared countered from the hallway with a chuckle, “I’d be delighted to comply with your instructions.”
Alissa jumped to her feet; the bath sheet dropped to the floor. Realizing she stood in all her glory, she grabbed the towel, shielding herself. Not knowing what to do or where to hide, she practically wilted into the carpet as the scene at the inn flashed through her mind, repeating itself over and over again. “W-what do you want?” she cried, frantically tucking the bath sheet into place, holding it securely.
“I wanted to know if your room is satisfactory.”
“Y-yes … very.”
“Is there anything you need?”
“No. E-everything’s fine.”
Jared was fast becoming weary of pressing his ear against the wood to hear her responses. Leaning his shoulder along the door frame, he said, “Miss Pembroke, is it possible for you to open the door, so I might address you face-to-face?”
“No!” The word shrieked through the panel, and Jared drew back. “I-I’ve just finished my bath,” Alissa explained, “and I-I’m in dishabille.”
Jared again chuckled as he imagined the prudish woman wrapping herself in every available piece of cloth. He discounted the draperies, for no doubt, she believed she could be seen from the lawns.
“I beg your pardon, Miss Pembroke. I hadn’t realized you were indisposed. When you have finished your preparations, I ask that you join me in my study.”
“C-certainly,” Alissa answered, relaxing.
“On the hour, then?”
“The hour?” she gasped, not certain she could transform herself into Agatha so quickly. She glanced at the clock on the mantel. Twenty-five minutes past three. She’d never do it. “I—I really need more time.”
Jared frowned. The woman had sounded as though she were readying herself for a ball. “I do have other appointments, Miss Pembroke,” he stated, exasperation clearly written in his tone. “I must insist.”
Alissa didn’t like the sound of his voice. Fearing he’d take it upon himself to assist her into her clothing, she replied, “As you wish. I’ll be there on the hour.”
“Excellent. I will await your arrival.” With that Jared turned on his heel and strode down the hall, his head shaking in weary response. There must be some way to open the lines of communication with this woman, he thought. But for the life of him, he couldn’t decide how. Patience, he stressed the word in his mind. Unfortunately, that particular trait was one of his weakest.
In her room, Alissa hurriedly rifled through one of Agatha’s cases and found a suitable brown dress. A large woolen shawl would serve nicely as a cover-up, since she had no time to perform any alterations on the gown’s bodice.
As she fished through another case, finding several petticoats, she discovered some bound journals. Curious as to their content, she opened the cover of one and perused the pages, written in a neat hand.
Alissa breathed a grateful sigh of relief when she discovered the books contained daily entries, denoting each day’s progress, or lack of it, on each of Agatha’s “children.” Meticulously documented, the journals would provide the knowledge needed to help Megan.
“Thank you, Agatha,” she whispered. “You’ve saved my life.”
Quickly gathering the journals together, intending to study them later, she noticed a white envelope near her foot. Inside, she found a letter and £20. Unfolding the paper, she read: Alissa, dearest—This is all I have. I pray it sees you out of danger. God keep you safe.—Eudora.
If only she’d found the envelope sooner! she thought, agonizing over the unkind twist of fate. Why hadn’t Eudora told her about it? But Alissa knew the answer. Her own pride would have made her refuse Eudora’s gift, and her friend knew it as well.
Even if she’d known about the money, she realize
d it would not have solved her dilemma. Her only way of escape from London and Stilton had been through Jared Braxton. Yet, she now possessed the means to carry her to Edinburgh and, perhaps, beyond.
As she mulled the thought of escape over in her mind, she struggled to find an answer. Then, oddly, a picture of Megan Braxton appeared before her. Sad, green eyes stared up at her, and within their depths, Alissa could see the loneliness and the emotional strife that plagued the poor child’s soul.
Closing her own eyes, she fought the ache growing within her heart. An urgent need to somehow help the girl suddenly overcame her, and she fought with her conscience, knowing her own survival was paramount to anything or anyone. Then a childlike voice whispered, pleadingly, “Stay, stay.”
Her eyes flew open, and she glanced around the room to see if someone had entered. She found not a living soul, and an odd chill rushed up her spine. Was she losing her mind?
The journals weighing heavily in one hand, the envelope in the other, Alissa sighed, then tucked the note and money into the cover of the top journal. For now, she would stay.
Placing the daily diaries on a shelf in the armoire, she pushed them well out of sight. Next, her costume and soft kid slippers followed, both wrapped in one of Agatha’s old petticoats. Within minutes, she had the cases unpacked, everything stored away, including her own dresses, which she wisely hid behind Agatha’s.
What should she do with her mother’s jewel case, she wondered, holding it in her hand. The armoire. She’d hide it with the journals and her costume. But, before doing so, she opened the lid and rediscovered the trinkets inside. A sea of memories flooded her mind as she envisioned her mother wearing each piece. Then she touched the small, white satin box, monogrammed in red silk, faded by the years.
She questioned for possibly the millionth time what the C stood for, as her fingertip lightly traced its raised, embroidered curve.
Opening the lid, she gazed lovingly at the gold filigreed brooch. Its large cornflower-blue sapphire glistened up at her, smaller diamonds surrounding its breathtaking brilliance. As always, when she gazed at it, she felt her mother’s spirit fill her. The remembrance of Rachel’s love embraced her, and a serene mood enveloped Alissa.
Masque of Enchantment Page 7
