“We shouldn’t be in here,” she whispered, forgetting that Faye wouldn’t have hesitated to come to this place with her lover. “What if someone comes in?”
“My Faye, why do you tease me so tonight? I’m desperate for you.”
Josiah slipped one of his hot hands around the back of her neck, which had turned damp with her nervousness. Her excitement had drained away. Some note in his voice sounded like a warning.
“I haven’t. I’m not—” She wanted to finish, but he had lifted the veil and his mouth was on hers, easing her lips apart, and she didn’t resist. His tongue tasted clean and slightly sweet, or perhaps it was the remnant of the cordial in her mouth. Was it that the kiss was so forbidden that made her want it all the more?
The kiss seemed to last for hours, but at last he pulled away, only to kiss her neck, seeming to delight in devouring it, the evening growth of his beard rough against her skin. Every so often he whispered Faye’s name: “Oh, my Faye.” She didn’t resist when he took one of her hands and guided it to the front of his trousers. There was no thought of her friend or the house outside the closed door of the room.
Lost in what they were doing, she heard the faint sound of her own name coming to her from a far, far distance. It wasn’t just one voice, but a kind of mocking chorus.
Lucy. Oh, my Lucy. Lucy!
She froze in Josiah’s arms.
“What is it?”
“Don’t you hear it?”
When the first object hit her in the back, she shrank against Josiah, and he laughed. “Are you afraid of the dark? Is that what’s going on, my poor dear Faye?”
The second came: a doll from one of the shelves, bent in half, tumbled in the air as it approached, and its porcelain head struck her bare arm. Some piece of decoration on its dress caught her skin and she cried out.
The voices were buoyant, pleased with the game. Lucy! Lucy!
“Stop!” Lucy covered her ears and turned to run from the room. Two more dolls came, but they missed her, seeming to be focused on the spot where she’d been standing with Josiah.
Lucy! Lucy! Lucy!
But Josiah called Faye’s name after her. How does he not know? Doesn’t he hear?
As she hurried, she tripped over one of the small chairs, knocking it over. She reached for a second chair to catch herself, and her hand closed on a rough, fur-covered head. The door to the hallway opened slowly, of its own accord, spilling light into the room, and she saw that the animal she’d touched was a whistle pig, once alive, now dead and stuffed, with glass eyes fitted into its blunt head where the real ones used to be. Its mouth was open in a death cry, its teeth sharp and threatening, yet its clawed front feet were set close together as though it were about to pray or applaud.
“Faye, come back!” Josiah’s voice was followed by the sound of crashing furniture and cursing, and she knew that he had fallen as well.
Lucy had made it through the door and into the hall. There were fewer people now along the gallery. Most everyone was upstairs. She couldn’t stay with Josiah, yet she couldn’t bear the thought of going back up to the ballroom. It was indecorous to run, but run she did toward the back of the house. Instead of going up the stairs to the ballroom, she hurried down the back stairway, which was much narrower than the one in the great hall. There was a window facing the stairs for light in the day, but now there was only the light from the wall sconces, which cast flickering shadows as she ran.
When she reached the first floor, she wasn’t sure which way to go. Did she want to get out of the house? She imagined running through the woods on her own, in the darkness, and riding the bicycle through the back roads and into the sleeping town. No. Though she knew it marked her as a coward, she knew she couldn’t do it.
She really just wanted to hide somewhere and catch her breath. The first room she came to was dark, but there was a glow coming from the next room, and its door was partially open. Her sigh of relief as she pushed the door open was unconscious.
The paneled room was smaller than the other rooms that she’d been in inside the house, but there was a substantial fire roaring away in the stone-manteled fireplace. Along with several comfortable-looking chairs and a few tables, the room was furnished with bookshelves filled with books, most bound in the same rich, red-brown leather. There were portraits, too, including one of Randolph himself looking quite young, perhaps only fifteen or so, his face dignified and a bit severe. His hair was long and rakish. One hand rested on the edge of a painstakingly detailed model ship, and she wondered if he had built it himself.
The moment’s contemplation helped her calm down. Whatever had happened in the nursery seemed far, far away.
“I almost didn’t bring that portrait with me here, but my mother wanted it out of her house.”
Lucy startled. Randolph, still wearing his mask, stood in the doorway behind her.
“Now I’ve spoiled it. You know who I am.” He stepped into the room. “Or perhaps you knew already?”
“I’m so sorry. I’ve disturbed your privacy. I’ll go.” Lucy wasn’t quite sure what to do. She was too embarrassed to try to walk past him. It occurred to her that he didn’t know who was apologizing. She started to untie her mask, but he stopped her.
“Please don’t. I enjoy the mystery.”
Beneath her veil, Lucy smiled.
“Won’t you sit down for a few moments?” Randolph indicated a chair. “Let me pour you some water. Or wait. Maybe something stronger?”
Lucy sat, slightly nervous. “Yes. Thank you.”
“There is champagne upstairs, and there will be more at supper in an hour or so, but I only have cognac and whiskey here in the library. I think cognac would be a good choice for you right now.” He poured drinks for them both and sat down. The liquor stung her tongue, but she welcomed its warmth as it moved down her throat.
“You’re very kind,” she said.
“I was concerned that you were in distress, but you seem to be better now.”
Lucy looked away at the fire.
“An argument with your young man?”
The suggestion was such a surprise that she let out a nervous laugh. But of course it must have seemed that way to him, or to anyone else watching. Wasn’t that what young women like her were always supposed to be upset about?
He looked a bit taken aback by her laughter, and she hurried to explain. “I was—again—somewhere I shouldn’t have been, and something fell from a shelf. It was all very foolish. Then I got lost. You must think me a terrible ninny. And a snoop. My mother would be mortified if she knew. I can’t apologize enough.”
He got up to pour them both more cognac. “I’m rather glad to hear you say that. That it was not some young man who had caused you to be sad. Now I don’t have to find him and take him to task for spoiling your evening. I want you to have a memorable time. If you do, perhaps you’ll return to Bliss House.”
“Oh, I would like that very much.” Her voice sounded too enthusiastic to her own ears.
Why do I feel so giddy, like a young girl?
“When I returned to Old Gate, I learned that this house had garnered a bit of a reputation for strange occurrences. I worried that no one would come here again, even though I know the house to be perfectly safe.” His gaze, through his mask, was intent on her, as though he were waiting for her to share her own impressions.
“The house does have a sense of being alive to it,” she said cautiously. Whatever had thrown the dolls—I know very well what threw the dolls, but I cannot say it—had seemed more playful than dangerous. The strange occurrence also felt slightly less unseemly than what she had been doing in the room with Josiah. “But perhaps it is just because it’s full of people.”
Randolph relaxed. “Yes, I’m very glad. I’ve had good success these past months with my little parties. It makes me feel alive to have people in the house. I’m afraid that when Bliss House was first built, I didn’t have much of a chance to make an impression on the neighborhood. Yo
u may already know that my wife and daughter died shortly after they arrived. And then I was gone for many years.”
“I’m very sorry.” Lucy was not ready to admit to gossip. But it had occurred to her that, if there were indeed ghosts in Bliss House, they would probably be those of his family. The voice that had called her had definitely been feminine.
“It’s an old wound, and I am well healed. Though they won’t be forgotten.”
They sat in silence for a few moments, the sounds of the party drifting through the open door.
“I confess that I would very much enjoy spending the rest of the evening here by the fire. Talking,” Randolph said. “But I must see how the ball is progressing. We’ll be serving supper in the theater in a while. I hope you will stay.”
“Supper sounds wonderful.” The room had become a bit warm, or perhaps it was Randolph’s proximity to her. She took her time getting up. When was the last time she had sat in a lonely room with a man like Randolph?
What sort of man are you really, Randolph? I feel I must know.
As they walked to the door, Lucy’s ankle felt stiff, and she hesitated. Randolph stopped before they reached the hall. “I know it’s not any of my business, but did you hurt yourself? You seemed to be limping just the slightest bit as you came in here. And now—” He rested a gentle, avuncular hand on her arm.
“It’s just a little bruise, I think. It’s nothing.”
You are touching me. My ankle doesn’t matter at all. I am happy that you are touching me, but I don’t for the life of me know why.
“Good. Because although I don’t even know your name—yet, that is—I have planned a surprise for after supper that I think you’ll particularly like. Also, when we meet in the ballroom, I hope you will save me a dance. Or two.”
Lucy smiled again behind her veil.
Chapter 3
LUCY
May Day 1899
Lucy discovered Faye and Josiah dancing together in the ballroom. The cognac had made her feel ever so much better, and she had taken a glass of champagne from one of the gloved servers. Randolph had said that he wished to dance with her, and she found herself eager for his appearance. When Faye spotted her, she made Josiah stop dancing and they cut through the crowd to where Lucy stood with her champagne.
“You were wonderful, Lucy,” Faye whispered close to Lucy’s ear, then turned to Josiah. “You were a perfect beast, dragging her off like that.”
Josiah appeared chastened. A different young man from the one who had kissed her so boldly. But Lucy also heard irritation in his voice. “It wasn’t a very good joke, either of you. You put me in a very awkward position.”
Lucy recalled what his position had been in the nursery. Yes, it had been awkward for both of them. Faye appeared to be the only one who had gotten any fun out of it.
“Darling, Josiah said that you tripped on your way out of the nursery. I hope you didn’t hurt yourself. I was just telling Sir Galahad that we should find you. I was so afraid that you had decided to go home without me.”
Josiah had mentioned that she had tripped, but what else had he said? Was he pretending that he hadn’t heard anything, hadn’t seen the dolls and animals flying through the air to hit her? He had admitted to Faye that he had taken Lucy into the nursery, and Faye was no fool. It had been Faye’s intention to tease him, to push him into doing what he had done, and she was obviously pleased with the result. If he had realized what was happening to Lucy, it was odd that he would not say so, if only to deflect his rather amorous actions. But he said nothing more.
“I twisted my ankle a bit in the dark. I’m fine. All is well.” Lucy glanced up at Josiah. “Friends?”
Josiah relented, and smiled. “I’m glad you’re not hurt. I was sorry when I didn’t find you.” He bent down to say quietly, “Then Faye made me even sorrier.”
Faye pushed at him playfully. “Now you’re being silly. You’ve made up, so now we can dance some more.”
Randolph did not appear in the next half hour, and Lucy was disappointed. She danced several songs with two other men, both of whom were rather forward with their compliments. The older man she did not know, but she was certain that the other was Josiah’s cousin, James, from Richmond, but they pretended not to recognize each other, and she excused herself from dancing with him again, saying she was weary. Still no Randolph.
Supper was announced at two a.m., and Faye and Josiah came to collect her so that they could sit together at one of the dozen tables set up in the theater. Their table filled quickly, and when Lucy looked around for Randolph, she saw him take a seat near the stage at the front of the room. Again, she was disappointed. She picked at her food: a cold strawberry soup, scallops, cheese biscuits, and roasted pork that smelled heavenly of rosemary. As they ate, acrobats dressed in wintry Cossack hats, ballooning black pants, and vests that sparkled with rhinestones over their hairy chests tumbled and raced across the stage. As they jumped, and made pyramids, and tossed each other back and forth, they called, “Hup! Hup!” The crowd laughed and applauded. Most, including Lucy, had never seen such strange entertainment at a party. She was diverted for a while, but she remembered that Randolph had promised a surprise. Had the acrobats been it?
No. After a dessert of delicate French-style pastries, Randolph stood and requested that those who wished to stay until dawn join him on the lawn at the end of thirty minutes.
Most of the guests readied themselves to depart, still wearing their masks. As she and Faye and Josiah went downstairs, Lucy noticed—without wanting to look too closely—several couples, and, shockingly, a small group of men and women entering the bedrooms along the gallery with glasses and open bottles of champagne, and disappearing behind the closed doors. Where once the thought of such goings-on might have excited her, or at least piqued her interest, the memory of what had happened behind the closed door of the nursery kept her from being too curious. She suspected that theirs would be a very different experience from hers—one of pleasure rather than fear.
The three of them sipped after-dinner cordials in the salon with a lively dozen of the remaining guests. When the thirty minutes had passed, they heard music—this time coming from outside the house. As Lucy followed the others in search of the haunting violins playing somewhere in the predawn twilight, she looked up to the second-floor gallery to see that the nursery door was open, the room unchosen, unoccupied.
There is something there, and it knows my name.
She was only too happy to get outside.
On the lawn at the eastern side of the house, two violinists stood silhouetted in front of a massive bonfire. A Maypole towered beyond the bonfire, a tall, straight shadow against the sky.
“Oh, Josiah, look!” Faye hurried ahead to the Maypole, and Josiah quickly followed. Lucy hung back a bit, savoring the sight.
There had been a Maypole on the commons in Old Gate every year since she could remember. This one was majestic in the firelight, elaborately decorated and crowned with a lush, woven array of tulips and daffodils and clutches of wildflowers. When she reached it, and saw the colorful circle of red and white ribbons stretched out twice the length of the pole, she felt an unexpected sense of release. Of happiness. She laughed and clapped her hands like a happy child.
Randolph touched her arm, and she turned to him. Behind him, the other guests were hurrying out of the house.
“Oh, it’s wonderful. It’s even taller than the one on the green. Look at all the flowers.”
“I thought that it would please you,” he said.
Her father had never allowed her to dance around the town’s Maypole as a girl, calling it pagan nonsense. What would he say to her if he could see her now? In truth, he could not say anything. The freedom she felt at that moment was as intoxicating as the champagne she had been drinking all evening.
“It’s the perfect surprise.”
“Is your ankle better? Are you up to dancing?”
Lucy was about to answer when a tall, rave
n-haired woman wearing a mask crowned with a fan of peacock feathers, and a wine-colored cloak she held close and closed, walked out of the darkness beyond the Maypole and joined the crowd. People moved away a bit—not in fear, but with an instinct that told them that they should all be watching her. When she had her audience, she untied her cloak, letting it fall to the ground. First there were startled gasps, then a few appreciative chuckles from the men. The woman was nude beneath the cloak, her body sheathed in some glimmering paint like an unearthly goddess. Her painted nipples stood erect with cold, despite the fire. She stood looking back at the crowd with daring stillness. The man nearest her began to disrobe as well, and after him, another man, and another woman.
Lucy glanced around for Faye. Sure enough, there she was, Josiah helping her out of Lucy’s own gown. There was no hesitation. No shame. Lucy knew she would have to make a decision.
If Faye can do it, then so shall I!
Unlike the others, Randolph was not yet disrobing. His eyes, which had held such pleasure when she had exclaimed over the Maypole, now held a question.
Seeing the fun in it, the pure joy of acting as freely as children, Lucy nodded to him and moved closer to the fire. As she peeled off her gloves, she was still a bit nervous, and would not let herself look at Randolph’s masked face again until the dancing began.
The sparkling, dark-haired woman led them to the Maypole, signaling the women to take the red ribbons. Lucy’s was a sensuous red velvet that ended in a rich fringe like a woman’s sash. It was so soft that she couldn’t help but touch it to her cheek. She closed her eyes and breathed deeply.
Yes, I will do this.
When she opened her eyes again, the violins leapt into a dancing tune, and the painted woman beckoned to the men to take the white ribbons. She smiled to see Josiah hurry to Faye’s side like a well-trained dog. In his nakedness, he was as well shaped as Faye. Deeply in love, they were like a masked Adam and Eve. But Lucy was not at all jealous. Randolph was beside her, now turned to face her, and as they looked into each other’s eyes, she felt an unbidden sense of pleasure.
The Abandoned Heart Page 3
