The Selfless Sister

by Shirley Kennedy

  “Stop talking and kiss me,” she whispered back. Her heartbeat throbbed in her ears as he bent to kiss her again. He went slower this time, scattering kisses down her forehead, her nose, down to her lips which he possessed with an eager cry, covering her mouth hungrily, his breath coming hard. She felt his hand slide slowly, tantalizingly up the side of her gown, clear to her breast. A thrill such as she had never known before shot through her. He raised his lips, but with a whispered, “Umm,” she cupped her hand behind his head and guided him to her lips again, yielding to the burning desire, the aching need, for another kiss. She heard herself moan with a pleasure that radiated outward from the center of her being.

  She did not want him to stop. And why should they stop? Alex was gone, the servants had gone to bed, there was no one left awake but the two of them. For the first time in her life, not only was she completely alone with a man, unchaperoned, but she had no fear of discovery. The thought made her giddy, as if she weren’t giddy enough already in the midst of her growing passion! If she so chose, they didn’t have to stop. Here, in the fairy tale castle, this utterly charming, masterful man could take her—make love to her, totally, completely, and they wouldn’t be discovered.

  Or would they?

  Now she knew how it was possible that Alethea had gotten herself with child. It could happen to me, too. I really must stop. His hand moved again, causing tremors of pleasure to course through her, causing passion to rise within her like the hottest fire, clouding her brain. She firmly informed herself that in just a minute she would gather her wits and insist they stop. Definitely, she would do just that, in just a minute. But for now...she felt as if she were floating in a cocoon filled with warm pleasures. Ah, such divine ecstasy! She wanted to cry, I love you! but forced herself to refrain.

  Suddenly Douglas pulled his lips from hers in a move so abrupt she gasped. He raised his eyes to something or someone on high. “Good God, what am I doing?” Gripping her shoulders, he pulled her to a sitting position. “We cannot do this,” he said, in a voice hoarse with emotion. She could feel his body trembling. He shoved her from him roughly, arose from the settee and strode to the fireplace where he stood, his back to her, one hand grasping the marble mantle piece, his shoulders heaving as he appeared to be intently examining the flames.

  She returned to a sitting position and asked, “Whatever is wrong?” Desperately she smoothed her gown and made an effort to straighten her hair.

  He was silent for a time, then turned to face her, his face white and strained. “I want you, Lucinda, more than any woman I have ever wanted in my life. But how can I...?” He could not continue, and began shaking his head in utter disbelief, as if he was amazed at himself. After a deprecating laugh, he went on, “They call me the invulnerable Lord Belington, the man whose heart has always been impervious to love. And so I have been until tonight. I cannot believe that just now I came close to taking you right here, in front of the fire, like some kind of weak-willed, profligate, decadent—”

  “But I, too—” she tried to protest.

  “This is entirely my responsibility.” He shook his head, clearly amazed at himself. “How could I have done this? Especially after Alex—”

  He bit his lip and began to pace, taking long, deliberate strides seemingly intended to calm himself. After a time, he came to sit next to her on the settee again, only this time he sat apart and there was not the slightest hint of intimacy. “My deepest apologies,” he said sincerely. “You are not in any way to blame. I stopped because—I’m sure you understand.”

  Her heart sank. Never had she known such keen disappointment. Only minutes ago she, in her complete naivety, had been about to embark upon a passionate journey with a man she assumed had some genuine feeling for her–-perhaps even love. She was wrong. Had he loved her, he could never have stopped so abruptly and pulled away. How humiliating that she had been willing to risk all for the sake of passion, whereas he, practical man that he was, put his fear of Edgerton Linley far and above any emotion he might have felt for her. Oh, how degrading! She felt like crawling into a hole. At least she hadn’t cried out she loved him, as she had felt like doing. The only course left for her now was to salvage what little dignity was left to her. “You’re right, of course,” she said, managing an indifferent shrug. “My goodness, we did get a bit carried away, so this is all to the good.” She stood. “Where is my cloak? I must go.”

  Douglas abruptly disappeared, shortly returned with her cloak, and draped it carefully over her shoulders. “Pitney awaits us in the gig. I shall accompany you home.”

  “No!” She felt a kind of panic coming on. “Please, that won’t be necessary. I positively cannot risk Edgerton seeing you.”

  “At three o’clock in the morning? Surely he’ll be sound asleep.”

  “I don’t care what hour it is, I prefer going home by myself, and having your driver drop me off away from the house.”

  “Very well, then,” he said reluctantly. He walked her outside to where the gig was waiting and helped her seat herself beside the driver. For a long moment, he looked up at her, not speaking. He clasped her hand. “You do understand?”

  “Of course.” She tilted her chin and with cool formality continued, “I doubt we shall meet again any time soon, Lord Belington, but I thank you for your assistance”—she flicked a cautious glance toward the driver—”in the matter at hand, so without further ado, I shall be off to Southfield. Good bye, sir, and I bid you good fortune.”

  That surely put him in place, she thought with satisfaction. She addressed the driver. “Pitney, shall we go? And, please, as quietly as you can.”

  Chapter

  14

  The night had turned even chillier, Lucinda noted as the gig left the driveway and turned toward Southfield. Darker, too, which was all to the good. The darker it was, the less easily she could be detected. “Will you let me off at the beginning of the driveway, Pitney? No need to wait. I’ll be safe.”

  Pitney, a small, wiry man of fifty or so, grunted and hunched his shoulders. “I’m to drive partly down the driveway, let you out, then wait ‘til you get inside, mum. I have me instructions.”

  “Oh, well, then.” She wouldn’t want to get the man in any trouble. She wrapped her cloak tighter around her and attempted to calm herself—not easy when her thoughts were spinning wildly. Never had she felt so dazed, so unsure of herself. What have I done? she wondered, appalled at herself for having nearly—nearly! succumbed to the charms of Lord Belington. And to think, he was the one who brought their passion to a halt, not she. If it had not been for Douglas, she might have—oh, it was unthinkable that she might have...!

  The thought of it caused a warm feeling to surge over her. She remembered his lips on hers, hard, demanding, his hand sliding up from her waist, causing increasingly delicious waves of feeling to course through her. Oh, Douglas! She snuggled down into her cloak, a secret smile on her face as she cast herself adrift in the wash of sensuous memories. Now she knew what Catherine was talking about. Now she, too, could pity her poor sister Bess who would doubtless grow old, wither and die without ever having felt the thrill of surrendering herself to the hard, demanding, overpowering passion of a man.

  Not that you will either, she told herself. But tonight Douglas had opened a door to a magic place where she had never been before. She had not got there all the way, but far enough to know what she’d been missing before, and far enough to know that the mysterious “it” was not, as Bess claimed, “something men like to do.” Oh, indeed no!

  But she must stop this foolishness and start remembering the perils that could befall her before this night was over if she was not careful. She had better start acting like the grownup, responsible person she was supposed to be. She sat straight, warning herself she must put Douglas out of her head. To distract herself, she would talk to the driver beside her.

  “So, Pitney, you have worked at Ravensbrook Manor for a long while,” she commented, vaguely surprised that h
er voice sounded just as it always did.

  “Yes, mum, since I was a young lad sweepin’ out the stables.” Pitney flicked the reins across the back of the bay pulling the gig. They picked up speed before he apparently remembered he was to go slow and brought the animal to a walk again. “I’ve been with the Belingtons for over forty years.”

  “Then you must have been here when the little girl disappeared.” She wondered why that particular comment had popped into her head, but still, she was glad she’d mentioned it. To her, the tragedy was a subject of keen interest, perhaps because each person she’d talked to told a slightly different story. What would Pitney’s be?

  Pitney shook his head and clucked with sympathy, apparently in remembrance of the sad event. “Ah, indeed, the tragedy. A sad day, that. I was but a lad at time, helping the young lord with the ponies.”

  “That would be Gregory?”

  “That it would, although ‘tis still beyond me to believe he could do such a thing.”

  “You don’t think he did?”

  “Who’s to say? No one except young Edgerton, saw him lead the girl on a pony into the woods. Well, little Sarah, too, but she was only a wee small girl then.”

  “So you did not see Gregory lead little Marianne back from the woods?”

  “Nobody did. But in me own case I could not have seen her come back out. By then old Morris, who was the head groom at the time, had me busy in the stables. By the time I came out, there wasn’t much to see, just the children runnin’ around–Sarah, Edgerton, a few more. ‘T’was a happy day. Who would know it would end with such a tragedy?”

  They reached the driveway to Southfield. As Pitney turned the gig, Lucinda hastened to ask one question more. “Were you among those who looked for Marianne?”

  “Beggar me, after they found she was missin’, you’ve never seen such a commotion. Everybody joined in the search.”

  “So you looked in the woods and the house and the attic?”

  “Jarvis search the attic?” In the darkness, she heard Pitney chuckle. “You’d as lief have found the old nodcock tryin’ to enter the gates of ‘ell as enter that attic.”

  “Who was Jarvis?”

  “The butler, mum, and scared as a jack-rabbit of ghosts. He believed in the spirits, whatever they might be. He was deathly afeard of that attic, what with the ghost of Sir Giles up there thumpin’ and clankin’ about.”

  “But he did search, didn’t he?”

  “What you was told an’ what really ‘appened could well be two different things. I know. I was there, along with young James, who was one of the footmen.”

  “So what really happened?” Lucinda asked, her curiosity thoroughly aroused.

  A short silence followed during which Pitney appeared to be ruminating. “‘Twas all a long time ago. Now ‘is Lordship’s gone, as well as ‘er Ladyship, an’ Master Gregory, too. I guess there’d be no harm in me tellin’ you. It was all Jarvis’s fault, you see. When ‘is Lordship ordered him to search the attic, Jarvis went to get the attic key from the housekeeper. The key was missin’ but the door was unlocked, so we started up the attic stairs anyway.” Pitney tugged at the reins. The gig came to a stop. “We’re close enough to the house, mum. Here’s where I should let you out.”

  “But finish the story first.” Despite her ardent desire to get home and safely to her room, Lucinda had no intention of leaving the carriage until Pitney finished his tale.

  “There’s not much more to tell. When Jarvis got to the door at the top of the stairs, he came to a ‘alt. ‘Twas like ‘e was paralyzed, the way ‘e just stood there wide-eyed, the candle shakin’ because he was grippin’ it so hard. ‘e wouldn’t open that door because ‘e thought the ghost of Sir Giles would get ‘im for sure. You could ‘ave offered ‘im all the king’s treasure, ‘e would not ‘ave set foot into that attic. ‘E says to me and James, ‘You two go in and take a look.’ Ha!” In a jeering voice Pitney mocked, “Sure, boys, you go ahead and let Sir Giles get you. Better you than me, me fine lads. I’ll just cringe like a coward ‘ere by the door until you get back.” Pitney sniffed with great disdain. “If you get back. Jarvis went to meet ‘is maker long ago. I shouldn’t speak ill of the dead, but ‘e shirked his duty that night. He never searched, and neither did we. He scared us so much we couldn’t go a step farther.”

  “You boys didn’t—?”

  “You think we wanted to stumble around in the dark up there with a ghost around? We never looked. We argued a while, then we gave up and all come down the stairs. Then, when ‘is Lordship asked, Jarvis claimed ‘e and us had searched every inch of that attic, which, I am ‘ere to tell you, we ‘ad not.”

  “But didn’t you feel guilty? Not searching, I mean.”

  “I confess, I did, but it was along about then that little Edgerton spoke up and said ‘e’d seen Master Gregory take little Marianne into the woods. You’ve ‘eard what happened next. They all decided it was Gregory what done it. After that, there was no need to search the attic. From what they said, the girl was in the woods somewhere, murdered an’ worse.” Pitney was silent a moment. “An’ then there’s somethin’ else.”

  She waited. Pitney seemed reluctant to continue. “I shall never reveal it was you who told me these things, Pitney. It’s just that I feel there’s still a mystery here and anything you can say might help.”

  The old man hung his head. “I never told no one this. ’Twas none of my business, and besides, I don’t think it had nuthin’ to do with the girl’s disappearance.”

  “What was it, Pitney?” She waited, keen to hear.

  With reluctance in his voice, the old man finally spoke up. “James is long dead, now, so I guess it’s all right. ‘E told me that during the day, little Edgerton started plaguing ‘im, saying ‘e and ‘is sisters wanted to play hide-’n’-seek in the attic an’ would James get ‘im the key.”

  “I take it James gave in?”

  “Indeed ‘e did, mum. ‘Tis no wonder. Edgerton was a sly boy with an oily tongue who always got his way. Well, ‘twas only harmless child’s play, James was thinkin,’ so ‘e got Edgerton the key—slipped it off the ‘ousekeeper’s key ring where’d she hung it on a hook in the pantry. Later, the boy returned it and James slipped it back the ring, no ‘arm done.

  “Upon my word,” Lucinda whispered, mostly to herself, totally dumbfounded. “So the attic was never really searched.”

  “Never.”

  “And for a time Edgerton had the key.”

  “Just to play in the attic, mum. I don’t suspect no evil-doin’ though. You know how children are.”

  “But don’t you think—?”

  “‘Twas a long time ago, mum. If you don’t mind my sayin’ so, there’s times when it’s best to let sleeping dogs lie an’ not dig up the past.”

  Something indeed wasn’t right, Lucinda thought as she stepped from the gig. She needed to think about what Pitney had said, but there was no time for that now. She must concentrate all her thoughts on getting herself back into Southfield undetected. Please, let Edgerton be sound asleep, she silently prayed. Casting an imploring glance into the darkness above, she thanked Pitney and started walking softly toward the house which appeared to be no more than a huge murky shadow against the black sky. All appeared dark inside. She tried to assure herself there should be no great difficulty. She would simply steal around to the door she’d left open on the side, slip in, be snug in her bed before anyone discovered she was missing.

  She slipped into the house undetected, beginning to feel hopeful that all might go as planned. Still, her heart was pounding. What if tomorrow Edgerton confronted her when he discovered Alethea was gone? She would have to tell a lie, which she hated to do. But perhaps she wouldn’t have to. Edgerton might not ask. Alethea had written that note, clearly stating she had acted alone.

  Lucinda found the staircase, not easy in the dark. To her disgust, her imagination began to run amuck as she groped her way up the stairs. What if Edgerton leaped out at
her from the shadows? He did not, of course-–what a silly notion!—but her heart was hammering just the same. She reached the third floor and crept down the hallway to her door. Keenly aware that Jane and Edgerton’s bed chamber was only two doors down, she opened her door an inch at time, taking extreme caution that it wouldn’t creak. She stepped inside and reached for a candle. Relief flooded through her as she lit it and the comforting glow erased the shadows. By some wondrous miracle she had not been caught. She felt a vast relief, despite her assurances to herself that all would go well. A weight lifted from her heart. How good to be back her room again—undiscovered, unscathed, and with the joyful knowledge that Alethea had escaped her horrible fate and would soon be happily married.

  “Good evening, Cousin Lucinda. Or should I say good morning?”

  Lucinda froze. Clutching the flickering candle, she wondered in horror, could it really be? Stark fear surged through her as slowly, fearfully, she turned.

  He was sitting in a chair by the window–-her worst nightmare come true. She opened her mouth to speak but a huge lump of fear formed in her throat and nothing came out. All she could do was gaze, wide-eyed and horrified, into the remote, passionless eyes of Edgerton Linley.

  “Sit down, my dear,” he said in a voice deceptively velvet-edged.

  Still not able to speak, she set the candle on the nearest table and sank weak-kneed to the settee, a few feet away from where Edgerton sat ramrod straight and motionless, looking regal as an Egyptian pharaoh with his arms outstretched imperiously upon the carved arms of the chair. She clasped her hands together in her lap so he wouldn’t see their trembling. She cleared her throat and at last found her voice. “Cousin Edgerton—”

  “Desist!” he commanded sharply. “I shall not waste my time hearing your lies and flimsy excuses. It’s three o’clock in the morning. Where have you been? Come, speak up. What have you to say for yourself?”