by M C Beaton
The sun was scorching his back, and he impatiently loosened his collar stud, took off his collar and his tie, and threw them on the grass. He opened the neck of his shirt, feeling the cool breeze against the two inches of naked skin at his throat. Then he realized that Susie had stopped crying and was staring at his state of undress with shock and dismay.
“Don’t look so shocked,” he teased her gently. “You have seen me in my bathrobe and pajamas, you know.” This was true, as they shared the one and only bathroom at the top of the keep.
“But you look more dressed in your bathrobe,” said Susie timidly, gazing fascinatedly at the faint gold hairs curling above the edge of his shirt. She wondered how far the hairs went and blushed painfully.
All Giles’s suspicions of her fled. No actress could have conjured up that blush. He felt a sudden wave of protective tenderness for her. He felt like the veriest cad. As soon as he got back to the castle, he would use the newly installed telephone and call off Inspector Disher.
The air was heavy with the hot smells of the late spring countryside. Lazy bees bumbled through a clump of bramble flowers nearby, and the sea hissed and whispered at the foot of the cliff. Over the rise, and standing proudly above its gray walls in the dazzling sunlight, stood Blackhall Castle, with its standard flying bravely from the top of the keep. Giles felt suddenly exhilarated and happy.
He reached forward and took her hand gently in his while she sat with her head turned a little away from him, the sun and the wind playing in the floating tendrils of her hair. She let her hand lie passively in his, held prisoner by the strange current of emotion that seemed to be passing between them.
A sea gull sailed lazily overhead, glaringly white against the pale-blue sky. The breeze sent a blue wave rippling through the bluebells down to the water.
There was an apologetic cough from behind them, and both stared and turned around. Giles began to laugh. A large jersey cow stood staring down at them like an outraged dowager. He reluctantly helped Susie to her feet. “Let’s go back,” he said. “It’s nearly teatime. Arthur will have left by now, and we had better attend to our guests.”
Dazed by the sun and the heat and the mixture of strange emotions in her body, Susie walked a little away from him, and they made their way side by side toward the castle. So strong was the electric emotion between them, they could have been wrapped in one another’s arms.
To the guests seated around the dinner table that evening, there was no doubt about the name of Giles’s future bride. They did not sit together. They hardly exchanged a word; but there was something in the atmosphere between Susie and Giles that fairly charged the air. Miss Cecily Winthrope privately and viciously blamed her brother, who had played his cards so badly. Harriet Blane-Tyre, a jolly Scotch redhead, gave a mental shrug and turned her roving eye to one of the other available bachelors. Lady Sally Dukann sat and openly sulked.
Giles was so immersed in his new feelings of warmth and tenderness toward Susie that he forgot to telephone the inspector. Susie let herself become absorbed in this new and very real enchantment and forgot to dream.
Lady Matilda, who was as sharp as her needles, smiled at both benignly and dropped a great variety of magenta stitches.
But not one person in the elegant dining room, with its newly enlarged table and its pretty paintings, could ever begin to imagine on this beautiful evening just what a terrible disaster Giles’s ball was going to prove to be.
Chapter Seven
The day of the ball dawned beautiful, clear, and sunny, with that same light breeze drifting in from the sea.
Carriages rattled to and from the station all day, bringing the remainder of the guests. Maids rushed between the rooms, carrying armfuls of silks and laces. The orchestra was already rehearsing in a large striped marquee in the courtyard, and in another marquee against the other wall, servants were setting up long buffet tables and an improvised bar.
Susie had hired such a generous contingent of extra staff that the servants of the castle felt that they might perhaps be able to enjoy some of the festivities as well. Outside the castle walls, huge stands were being erected for a firework display. Giles meant to throw the party of the season.
At one point in the afternoon, he went in search of Susie and found her at last with an ink stain on her nose, bent over the housekeeping ledgers.
“Leave all that,” he said gaily, “and let’s go for a walk. You’ve got an ink blot on your pretty little nose. Go and take it off first.”
Susie gave him a radiant smile and slammed the books shut. In a trice she had changed into a pretty, cool linen skirt and cotton blouse and had scrubbed her face and was running back down the stairs to join him.
They strolled away from the castle through the brand-new gardens and down to the edge of the lake. Susie unfurled her lace parasol and strolled along by the water’s edge with Giles, feeling as if she were moving in the sunny landscape of a dream.
“You never really told me how you came to marry my uncle,” said Giles. “Do you feel you could tell me now?”
Susie did. She explained about her parents’ ambitions, and how they had threatened to turn her out in the street if she did not obey them. For the first time she began to describe her fear of the old earl and of his coarse manners.
“Is love always like that?” she asked shyly. “Always so brutal? First your uncle, and then Arthur.”
“No,” said Giles, catching hold of her hand and pulling her down to sit beside him on a stone bench. “It is something very rare and precious. I’m only beginning to realize it now. I thought I loved my wife, but now I realize I did not know the meaning of the word. I was angry when I divorced her; angry because she had left me for someone else. But it’s been a long time since I’ve even thought of her.
“Poor Susie. I thought you were a wicked, scheming girl. How can you forgive me?”
“Easily,” said Susie with an enchanting laugh, looking up at him from under the shadow of her straw hat.
It flashed through Giles’s mind that he had not yet called off the inspector, but her mouth was now turned up toward his, soft and inviting.
He kissed her very tenderly and chastely on the lips, not wanting to frighten her at this early stage with an excessive show of passion. Susie kissed him gently back. For the present, they were both happy to exchange soft, lingering kisses as the sun sparkled on the water and the swallows swooped and dived over their busy reflections. Giles sat bareheaded, his hand resting lightly on Susie’s waist, feeling her heart beat through the heavy armor of stays. There was very little of Susie left bare to kiss, apart from her face. A high-boned collar covered her neck, and long leg-of-mutton sleeves covered her arms. She wore a little pair of white kid gloves fastened with pearl buttons. Her linen skirt was very long and only showed the long points of her openwork shoes.
He slowly unfastened the little buttons at the wrist of her glove and then turned the leather back to expose her white wrist, with its delicate network of pale-blue veins.
He bent his head and kissed her there, pressing his lips harder against the tiny throbbing veins and then moving his tongue gently against the skin. Susie began to shiver. She wanted him to do more. She wanted him to stop. She could not bear the churning turmoil of her feelings.
Passion reared its good old ugly head, and the peace of the afternoon was broken. Susie did not understand these strange fluttering pains in the pit of her stomach, and Giles was frightened of scaring her. He quietly buttoned up her glove and, smiling down at her tenderly, he kissed her gently on the nose.
“Let’s get back, poppet,” he said. “I might forget myself, and after all, we have all the time in the world.”
“We must talk more,” said Susie with a feeling of apprehension. “You do not really know me. I don’t know much about you.”
“Tonight,” he said. “Spare me as many dances as you can.”
“But people will talk if I dance with you more than once!” protested Susie.
“Let them talk!” he cried, catching hold of her by the waist and swinging her around. “Everyone must be able to see I’m in love with you.”
“Oh, Giles,” cried Susie, her eyes misting over with happy tears. “Did you say you loved me?”
But Giles’s attention had been caught by a small party of men who were heading toward the castle gate. “The Customs men,” he said with surprise. “I wonder what they want? Maybe they think the castle’s a smugglers’ hideout.” He threw back his head and laughed. But when he had finished laughing at his own joke, he was to find that Susie had gone.
“Susie!” he called out in surprise and set out after her at a run, amazed at how swiftly the girl could move. Her white skirt flickered over the drawbridge and under the portcullis. As the Customs men approached over the drawbridge the portcullis fell with a tremendous crash, making them jump back in alarm.
They turned and looked at Giles in amazement as he came running up. “Sorry about that,” gasped Giles. “Faulty machinery.”
But in his heart he knew that Susie had operated the lever on the other side to lower the portcullis and so keep the excisemen out—and he wondered why.
“Someone will be along to open it in a minute,” he said, turning to the leader of the party. “Meanwhile, what’s all this about?”
“Smuggling wine and brandy, my lord,” said the chief officer, who introduced himself as Mr. Pottifer. “There’s been French fishing boats seen lying off below the castle at night. Just a routine check of your cellars, my lord.”
“Of course,” said Giles mechanically while his mind raced. “Hey you!” he called to Henry, the footman, who was hurrying across the courtyard on the other side of the portcullis. “Hurry and open this thing up.”
Henry walked toward the portcullis with very slow, stately steps, and Giles watched him with growing suspicion. The servants were so well trained, he was used to their jumping to his bidding. Something was wrong, and Susie knew about that something. Oh, God, not another woman who was other than she seemed! All his darkest suspicions about Susie came tumbling back.
At last the portcullis creaked reluctantly upward. Giles and the Customs men hurried through. He took them straight to the cellars. The door was standing open, and the bland figure of Thomson was just emerging with a couple of bottles of champagne in his hand. “Just taking some extra up to put on ice, my lord,” he said and then gave a start that Giles thought was decidedly theatrical. “Why, who are these gentlemen, my lord?”
“As you can see, these are excisemen, Thomson,” snapped Giles. “Stand aside and let them examine the cellars.”
Thomson gave his master a hurt look and then stepped out into the hall. Mr. Pottifer hurried down the stone steps of the cellar and Giles followed.
At last Mr. Pottifer looked up from his inspection of a rack of claret. “I owe you an apology, my lord,” he said heavily. “Everything’s in order here.”
“Did you actually suspect me of smuggling?” demanded Giles.
“Oh, not you, my lord,” said Mr. Pottifer. “But there’s a lot of butlers around this part of the coast who don’t mind lining their own pockets by buying up a shipload of contraband and entering it in the books as an order from the wine merchant.”
“I am sure Thomson would do no such thing,” said Giles hotly. “He’s been with the family for years.”
“We were only doing our job,” said Mr. Pottifer. “Best be on our way. We’d better look in at Lord Humfry’s place farther along. There’s been strange goings-on along this coast.”
Giles followed the men up the cellar steps and then turned for a last look around. Something white gleamed in the darkness, caught at the back of one of the racks. He waited until Mr. Pottifer and his men had left and went slowly back down the cellar steps. He crossed to the rack, bent down and stretched his hand in, and tugged at a piece of white material. It was a small, lacy lady’s handkerchief. He held it to his nose. It smelled faintly of Paradis, a scent that Susie usually wore.
He sat down on a barrel and thought hard. Susie dealt with the management of the household. She had control of her books. She had run like a startled hare when he had mentioned smuggling, and the next thing, the portcullis had conveniently dropped. So if anyone was behind smuggling, if anyone was feathering his or her own nest by fixing the books, it must be Susie.
The scheming little bitch! he thought furiously. My uncle’s fortune was not enough for her. Little gold digger. I was going to marry her. I said I loved her. Of course she wants to marry me. She wants her hands on my fortune so that any brat she might produce will take all this away from me.
He searched the keep from top to bottom but there was no sign of Susie. He had not thought to look in the kitchens.
Susie was sitting at the kitchen table, surrounded by a bevy of anxious servants. “You see, my lady,” Thomson was explaining, “the old earl knew what we was up to, and he didn’t mind ’cause he liked the best of everything and didn’t much care how it was come by. Then the wages haven’t been changed around here for nigh on twenty years, but we none of us complained on account of the fact that we could make a bit out of the contraband by selling stuff to the houses around here. We’ll need to lay off for a bit now, of course, but thanks to you, there’s no harm done. But you must not tell my lord, for he’d be so mad, he’d fire the lot of us.”
Susie looked at the circle of faces and bit her lip. She had a strong streak of loyalty in her, and she could not forget the servants’ kindness to her.
She took a deep breath. “All right,” she said. “I won’t tell Giles anything. How did you manage to get everything away in time?”
“We hadn’t much, my lady. The excisemen have been patrolling the cliffs this past fortnight. We had to buy all the stocks for the ball in the regular way. It took us no time at all to hide the rest down that back stairway.”
“Very well,” said Susie heavily. She tried to smile. “Don’t all look so worried. I’ve said I won’t tell Giles.”
“It’s not that, my lady,” said Mrs. Wight, the housekeeper. “There’s something we think you ought to know.”
“What?” Susie looked up, amazed at the ring of concerned faces.
“You tell my lady, Thomson,” said Mrs. Wight. “My nerves are that unstrung, I can’t take any more. I always had the artistical temperament, and it always do give me wind round the heart.”
Thomson looked slowly around at the other servants, who all nodded.
He pulled up a chair and sat down at the table opposite Susie. He had not asked for permission to sit down, and that alone should have warned Susie that what he was about to impart was serious.
“It’s like this, my lady. There’s something about Lord Giles we think you ought to know. He suspects you of murdering Lady Felicity.”
“No! I won’t believe it!” cried Susie.
“It’s true, my lady. He’s hired that there Inspector Disher to investigate the case, private-like. Disher’s already been snooping round the stables, questioning Clifton.”
Susie looked pathetically around the ring of watching faces. They all nodded.
So her romance with Giles had been nothing more than another dream. She sat very still, very white, and very tense.
“Miss Carter,” said Thomson to the lady’s maid, “you’d best take your mistress upstairs and see she has a lie down.”
Carter bustled forward, and Susie allowed herself to be led away.
Such a short time ago she had felt she was walking in a dream. Now she felt she was wandering through a black nightmare from which there was no awakening.
Giles was not able to find Susie until the ball had started. His attention had been claimed by the needs of his various guests. Now he stood on the edge of the ballroom floor and watched with cold blue eyes as Susie entered on the arm of Lady Matilda. She looked like an exquisite French painting, the combination of her seeming innocence and the daring sophistication of the dress making everyone turn and
stare. Her eyes looked enormous in her white face, the gold of her dress bringing out sunny gold highlights in her sun-bleached brown hair. She wore a headdress of gold silk roses and carried a large black ostrich-feather fan. She no longer moved with the awkward, immature grace of a young colt but with the assured movements of a sophisticated woman.
She glanced fleetingly in his direction and then looked quickly away. He felt black anger beginning to boil up inside him, for that one look had carried a tinge of guilt, and that double-damned her in his eyes. He would not ask her to dance. He was determined not to make a scene in front of his guests. He had not reckoned on the presence of one Harry Carruthers, an old army friend. Harry was a perpetual bachelor who, nonetheless, adored pretty women. He was an entertaining rattle with a fund of witty and amusing stories. Like the old campaigner he was, he quickly routed the opposition and claimed Susie for the first dance.
At first Susie moved like a mechanical doll in his arms through the steps of the waltz, but then, over his broad shoulder, she saw Harriet Blane-Tyre clasped in Giles’s arms, and a wave of hot jealousy washed over her. She began to laugh at all Harry’s remarks, spurring that gallant fellow to further humorous efforts, and the blacker Giles’s looks became, the more Susie laughed and laughed.
Still, he would not have created any public scene had he not been called to the newly installed telephone. Inspector Disher’s voice bellowed from the other end of the line. Inspector Disher did not really believe in the telephone and felt he had to make his voice carry all the way to the castle by sheer volume.
“Don’t shout,” said Giles crossly, holding the heavy earpiece away from his ear. “What was that you said?”
“I said I’ve found a witness to Lady Felicity’s death, my lord. It’s a bad, bad business. Shocking!”
