Jason. I nearly collapsed from sheer relief.
“Who?” I murmured.
“Who knows?” he replied, “but I suspect someone in the village has been making mischief out of the death of old Mudge.”
Ah . . . of course. Which, coupled with the banshee wail, suddenly made the old man’s death highly suspicious. “They are blaming the Demon of Fenley Marsh?”
“Indeed,” Jason returned grimly.
“That is just an effigy?” I ventured.
He had the unmitigated gall to laugh at me, a short bark of pure surprise. “Good God, Miranda, what did you think it was?” I hung my head, saying nothing. “You can’t have thought . . . No, really, my girl, you can’t have been such a featherhead as to believe . . .?”
For a moment I thought he was going to take me in his arms. Instead, he huffed a breath, seized me by the arm, and propelled me into the house, up the stairs, and straight to my bedroom door. Where he paused, looking down at me, the ultimate riddle to which I had no clue. Yet I’d swear his eyes were caressing every inch of my all-too-clearly revealed body.
“You must accept that invitation,” I burst out before my wits completely deserted me. “People must see you, know you—”
“Miranda Tyrell, you are a great deal of trouble,” he declared, before turning abruptly and stalking off. I listened for the sound of his feet on the stairs, on the marble tile in the hall, the slam of the front door. And then he was gone, and I was bereft. Couldn’t I have made the slightest bit of effort to keep . . .
Miranda Chastain Tyrell, for shame! You’re acting little better than a demi-rep.
Too bad, I grumbled. Loneliness makes a poor bedfellow.
My conscience, shocked into silence, retired for the night. I did not. Sleep was beyond the power of the tumult in my mind.
Chapter Thirteen
“Well?” I demanded the next morning at breakfast when Mr. Lunsford offered nothing more than a mumbled greeting from behind his newspaper. As had become our habit, I was seated to his right, just the two of us in the intimacy of the sunny breakfast room. And, yes, I was well aware I sounded far more like a wife or an inquisitive sister than a governess. Nor was I dressed like one, though it seemed unlikely Jason was going to look up long enough to notice my gown of finest quality primrose sprigged muslin. Not that I had worn it for him, of course. I was simply agonizingly tired of the clothing I had chosen so I might retire into the woodwork of whatever establishment chose to employ me. Clearly, I had too easily ignored the overweening pride of the Chastains.
Well, that certainly hadn’t lasted long. But then I had not expected to encounter—
No! No no no! I would not let my thoughts go there. And, besides, I was still angry about Jason’s high-handed behavior last night.
I stoppered the tart words on my tongue by forking in an overly large amount of shirred eggs. Seething, I chewed.
“We allowed it to burn to the ground,” Lunsford informed me from behind the newspaper. “There is little left, but I presume the effigy was intended to be me.”
I choked as the eggs went down in a lump. Lunsford was by my side in seconds, hauling me upright, pounding me on the back as I coughed and gasped, tears streaming down my face. “Devil it, Miranda, I’m sorry. I never meant—”
“S’allright.” And it was, I realized, as I burrowed my face against his chest. I could breathe again, and I was where I wanted to be.
Shameful! I staggered back, sitting down abruptly as Stebbins came into the room with a fresh pot of coffee, for which Jason had acquired a taste while serving on the Peninsula. God only knew what the butler had seen, for he was as imperturbable as a rock, but I could not like it. I knew how it must have looked.
Without so much as a word to salvage my tattered reputation, Jason dived back behind his newspaper. After several sips of tea as I attempted to settle my nerves, I took a deep breath and repeated my words of the night before. “You really must attend the Talmadge’s musicale, Mr. Lunsford. Your neighbors need to see you for the man you truly are.”
The newspaper hit the table so hard it sent his fork flying onto the floor. The coffee cup tilted, spilling brown liquid into the saucer and onto the white table linen. Lunsford righted it with scarcely a glance, dark eyes blazing into mine. “The man I am, Mrs. Tyrell? Truly? You wish the ladies to faint right and left, while the gentlemen wince, even as they tell me what a great hero I am? Hell and Damnation, woman, look at me! Is this the face that is supposed to make my neighbors love me?”
To my utter mortification, I longed to offer comfort, to reach out and touch him, run my fingers through his hair. Instead, in my best governess tones, I said, “If you go about among them, they will grow accustomed to your looks.” As I have, I added to myself. “In fact, I suspect you will soon be courted by all the matchmaking mamas in southern Lincolnshire.”
He actually swore at me, and I could not help but feel more than a little satisfaction that Jason found the prospect of being courted so unappealing.
My appetite for breakfast had faded, but I continued to sip my tea, hoping he would give me some idea of what he was thinking. He did not, except for the almost palpable waves of anger, and possibly anguish, rolling off him. Most of them in my direction. Finally, I excused myself and climbed the seemingly endless flights of stairs to the schoolroom. Not until the carriage left the next evening for the Talmadges did I learn that Mr. Lunsford had accompanied Lady Kempton and Lady Hadley.
On the afternoon after the musicale, Amos took the boys out in a flat-bottomed boat at mid-tide and endeavored to teach them to fish. I had given permission because Nicholas assured me he was a competent swimmer and Chas had learned to swim at an early age in the pond on our property in Kent. An afternoon on the marsh seemed an excellent way for two young gentlemen to spend their free time. I was in my room, frowning over lesson plans for the following day, when Josie came to tell me I was wanted in the drawing room. I sighed and put my work aside. A summons of this nature usually meant that Cressida wished to quiz me about her son, or the ladies had simply grown bored with each other’s company and wished some sort of diversion. I, the poor governess, was fair game. I straightened my gown, tucked away stray wisps of hair that refused to stay confined in the severe knot on the nape of my neck, and joined the ladies, as requested.
Lady Hadley’s sharp gaze swept over me from head to toe. “You have been looking far more elegant lately, Mrs. Tyrell. To what do we owe this miraculous improvement?”
“I sent for more of my clothing, my lady—garments which I had stored at my godmother’s house, as I had no idea what accommodation I should have here at Lunsford Hall.” An explanation I had carefully prepared, but I could see it left Lady Hadley almost as puzzled as she had been before. I was now garbed in gowns suitable to a lady of the house, not a lowly governess, and I felt so much better that, quite frankly, I did not care what anyone else thought. Well . . . perhaps there was one whose good opinion I craved. And—miserable man!—he’d said not a word, in spite of ogling me in my nearly transparent nightclothes!
Cressida, patently tired of talk about me, declared, “What a splendid affair it was last night, Mrs. Tyrell. Jason was the center of attention. The more he glowered, the more people fawned on him, particularly the ladies—while the men, if overly hearty at times, treated him like the hero he is. Mrs. Talmadge was absolutely in alt that she could claim Lincolnshire’s most elusive guest, and Miss Talmadge seldom left his side. She was quite épris, I assure you. I have my heart set on Jason marrying her and turning him up so sweet that he’ll not be such a beast about Nicholas.” Momentarily abandoning her eager recitation, she focused directly on my face. “What do you think, Mrs. Tyrell? Will marriage mellow the monster?”
Impossible to say any of the thoughts that chased through my head at that moment. I took the cowardly way out. “It is not my place to comment on Mr. Lunsford’s activities or emotions,” I responded in wooden tones.
“Nonsense!”
Lady Hadley barked. “Anyone can see the two of you are thick as thieves. The way he looks at you, I wonder my daughter can be so mistaken as to where his sentiments lie.”
I willed myself into a ball tiny enough to roll off my chair, across the rug, and out the open window to the terrace. Except, of course, reality intervened.
“Mama!” Cressida exclaimed. “How can you say such a thing?”
“Are you blind, child?” Mrs. Tyrell sees neither his scar nor his limp. Has not since the day she arrived. Quite remarkable. No wonder he is drawn to her.”
“Good gracious, Mama,” Lady Kempton declared, quite as if I weren’t looking right at her, “she is only the governess. Much better Jason should settle that silly old feud by marrying Alyssa, who is a true lady, as well as quite ravishing.”
“If you will excuse me,” I said, and rose from my chair.
“Mrs. Tyrell!” Lady Hadley called after me, adding more softly, “Miranda?” I paused but did not turn around. “I suspect you are no more a governess than I am—as your gowns so blatantly demonstrate. Nor would you have sent for them solely for your personal vanity. Not when they were bound to give you away.”
I hung my head, saying nothing, although each word stabbed me to the heart. My soul bared to the world, I had never been more vulnerable.
“My dear Cressida,” Lady Hadley continued, directing her attention to her daughter, “I am sorry to disappoint you, but I doubt Miss Talmadge stands a chance of bringing Jason up to scratch.”
Nor did I, I thought sorrowfully. Nor did I. Not as long as Jason considered himself a monster.
I exited the drawing room, my shoulders rounded, cowering like a whipped dog.
All I wanted to do was hide in my room and consider the scene in the drawing room, which had been far more disturbing than I cared to admit. I should be pleased the ladies at the Talmadges did not faint or turn their backs, that the men appreciated Jason’s efforts for his country. And yet . . .
It wasn’t Lunsford, I told myself. It was merely that I was unaccustomed to staying home while others indulged in social affairs. The sinking feeling inside me was likely due to nothing more than my own determined efforts to cut Chas and myself out of the world into which we had been born. It was only natural, as I pursued my course as governess, that I would occasionally feel a wave of nostalgia—even envy—for the niceties I had put behind me.
Yes, that was it. My mopes had nothing to do with Jason Lunsford.
Lady Hadley was quite mistaken. Truly.
My feet skidded to a halt, my skirts swirling around me, at the sight of Nurse Robbins with her hand raised, knocking on my door. Even after several weeks, we were little more than cool acquaintances, so I knew her purpose could not be social. She turned and rushed toward me, the anxiety on her face as she emerged from the shadows enough to drive all else from my head.
“I am so sorry to disturb you, Mrs. Tyrell,” she said in a voice that seemed barely under control, “but Amos took the boys fishing more than four hours ago. They should have been back by five, but there is no sign of them. They may have lost track of time, but . . .” Her wide eyes begged me to understand her uncharacteristic fear, as she left her words unfinished.”
I would not panic. A young man and two boys might easily linger on the water, particularly if the fish were biting. Yet, I had to admit that, considering how many odd things had happened lately, there was reason to worry.
“Come,” I said, and led her back down the stairs to Jason’s study. Quickly I explained the situation, adding, “It is likely nothing. Amos is so very responsible—”
Jason bounded to his feet, startling me into silence as he grabbed something from his desk drawer. “Go, go,” he commanded, shooing us out the door. Where, to my astonishment, he proceeded to run up three flights of stairs to the nursery, albeit with a rocking gait that was painful to see as Robbins and I panted after him. By this time I had recognized the object in his hand and understood why we were going up instead of running down the path to the beach.
At one of the south windows in the nursery Jason raised the spyglass to his eye and began to search the marsh, where, at near high tide, only intermittent patches of grass rose above the water-line. Oh, dear God, this could not be happening.
“There’s a sandbar out there,” Jason muttered, “barely covered even at high tide. If the boat sank, that’s where Amos would take them. Ah!” He adjusted the glass, peered more sharply. “Yes, they’re there!” He shoved the telescope into my hand and dashed for the door.
“I’m coming with you!”
“You are not!” he shouted over his shoulder.
“I am so,” I declared, dogging his steps. He turned so abruptly I crashed into him. Ignoring the shock of being pressed against a body I had unaccountably, and embarrassingly, taken a fancy to, I sputtered, “You can’t leave me—”
Grabbing me my the shoulders, he gave me a sharp shake. “I most certainly can. The boat isn’t big enough, you silly goose.” Scowling, he shoved me from him, barking, “Stay! You may watch our progress through the glass.”
My face crumpled in agony, I stood for some time with my head bowed before dragging myself to the window and forcing myself to learn how to use the instrument in my hands. When I finally found the three dark specks at least a half mile offshore and surrounded by an infinity of water marked by the occasional tips of waterlogged grass, I almost wished I had not mastered the infernal instrument. After a severe struggle with myself, I showed Nurse Robbins how to use the spyglass and sank down into my wooden teacher’s chair before my legs gave way.
But a mother’s spirit is strong when necessary, and I was back up again in moments, retrieving the glass in time to watch Jason row out from behind the embankment along the main channel and angle the boat toward our missing fishermen. Never an easy task in a rowboat, as the rower must keep his back to the direction he wants to go. I almost managed a smile, however, as I saw that navigation seemed to be no problem for him. Robbins and I followed his progress with growing euphoria as Amos and the boys spotted him and raised their hands, waving wildly. I even thought I heard a distant shout, but that was likely merely a mother’s imagination.
By this time it seemed as if every servant and stableboy had lined up on the beach, their heads rising above the wild rose hedge in a ragged line. And of course Robbins and I had joined them by the time the small boat approached the slim strip of sandy shore. Several men ran into the water and hauled the boat up until the bow nearly touched my skirt. I swept Chas up in a hug which he heartily returned until he recalled he was all of eight years old and did not hug his mother in public. With a rueful grimace I set his squirming body onto the sand and did not hesitate to enfold Nicholas in a hug as well, though I attempted to remain more dignified and did not sweep him off his feet. I swear he hugged me back before a half dozen hands stretched forward to help him out of the boat.
“I’m so sorry, missus,” Amos cried. “I don’t know what happened. The boat just suddenly filled with water and—”
I cut him off. “Amos, you took them to high ground. You kept them safe. You have nothing to apologize for.”
“But, ma’am, it shouldn’t have happened. Someone uses that boat near daily. There wasn’t a sign of leak.”
“Enough, Amos,” Jason said. “You did well. Now go change your clothes and tell Cook you’re to have an ale. Two, if you wish. Off you go now, we’ll look after the boys.”
I caught Jason’s eye, and we exchanged a look full of so many different messages all jumbled together that I shivered and my knees went weak. Nurse Robbins was already leading Nicholas up the path toward the house. I grabbed Chas’s hand and quickly followed. Every instinct told me this incident was not over. The sunken boat must be found, I realized. We had to understand what happened. But it would not be low tide until after dark, and with tides advancing but an hour each day, it could be . . . oh, Lord, it could be days before a day-time low tide would reveal the boat’s location.
I hustled Chas up the servants’ stairs, but just as we were about to enter our room, I heard an ear-splitting wail echoing up the front staircase. We paused, ears on the prick. I suspect I wasn’t the only one with goosebumps. “Nick’s mama,” Chas said with disgust. “I daresay she just found out our boat sank.”
That Chas could pick up so accurately on Lady Kempton’s obliviousness to the world around her astounded me. Out of the mouth of babes . . .
I was glad enough to shut out Cressida’s hysterics as I stripped Chas down, toweled him off, and drew his nightshirt over his head—much to his acute embarrassment, as he had been dressing himself for some time now. Cook sent up a supper of hot soup and cheese pastry straight from the oven, which Chas wolfed down before regaling me with a tale that sent shivers up my spine.
Chapter Fourteen
“It was very odd, Mama,” Chas said. “We were wa-ay out, almost to the Wash, when I felt my feet turn cold. Nicholas called me stupid when I complained, and then we looked and saw water coming in from under my seat. Amos grabbed the oars and started rowing, but the water came in so fast, we didn’t get very far. When the boat was nearly sunk, Amos tried to turn it over so we could hold on, but it was too heavy. The water gurgled and popped, and then the boat was gone. Nothing for it but to swim.”
I groaned, I couldn’t help it.
“It’s all right, Mama. Truly. “We could see the place where the grass rose above the water, so we weren’t frightened. And after a while, when Amos could stand up, he towed us, one in each hand, ’til we could stand up too. And then all we had to do was wait until someone came to look for us. Amos said we were on a high place that would be over our heads but four times a year, on some sort of special high tide.”
I made a mental note to add equinox and solstice tides to the boys’ curriculum and managed to keep my voice steady as I told Chas what a good boy he was, that he had done well, and I was proud of him. That his father would have been proud of him.
Demons of Fenley Marsh Page 10
