“Nicholas’s papa too,” Chas added solemnly.
“Yes, Nicholas’s papa too, and his uncle as well. As I am sure Amos’s father is proud of him for taking such good care of you.”
“It wasn’t his fault,” Chas said quickly.
“Of course not,” I agreed. “No one blames him.”
Josie arrived a half hour later, informing me that she would stay with Chas while I went down to dinner. Since I was more than anxious to hear what Jason thought about the near disaster, I did not demure. I dressed with care in a cheerful gown of rose silk, with fichu and swath of matching gauze at the hem, both strewn with seed pearls. I fixed a strand of pearls around my neck and in my ears and discovered I felt infinitely better. Mrs. Avery Tyrell was ready to dine with the Countess of Hadley, Viscountess Kempton, and Mr. Jason Lunsford of Lunsford Hall.
Foolish, foolish woman. With all that was going on, including my son’s near brush with death, I was taking shallow delight in looking like myself again. Who was I to mock poor Cressida?
“I fear my daughter is prostrate,” Lady Hadley announced as I entered the anteroom where we gathered before dinner. “Where she can have acquired such a weak character, I do not know. Surely not from her father nor myself.”
“It must have been a great shock,” I ventured, adding a trifle tentatively, “Is it true she had no idea what was happening until it was all over?”
Hesper, Lady Hadley heaved a sigh. “Indeed. We were sitting here having a comfortable coze, discussing everything from the latest fashions in La Belle Assemblée to the impact of Jason’s debut in local society, and completely unaware that we were all but alone in the house. I have to admit it was more than a little disturbing when Jason told us what had happened, though why my daughter should have hysterics when all was over and everyone safe, I cannot comprehend.”
“I am so sorry none of us thought to inform you. I fear we were so caught up in the moment . . .”
“And better Cressida should have hysterics after the fact,” Lady Hadley offered, with a wry acceptance that almost made me wince.
“You are looking very fine tonight, Mrs. Tyrell.” I swung around as Jason entered the room, my mouth opening to offer yet another rush of thanks. “If you dare say one more word to me on the subject, Mrs. Tyrell, I swear I will rescind my offer to teach you to drive.” As I hastily swallowed my words, he added, “Yes, there is actually good news to impart. The cart is refurbished and ready for the road. As long you say not one more word of thanks, I shall give you a driving lesson tomorrow. Shall we say, two o’clock?”
My agreement was lost beneath Lady Hadley’s indignation. “All well and good for you to reject thanks, Lunsford, but you shall not forbid discussion of the subject. How could such a thing happen? Tell me at once!”
Silently, I applauded the countess. Mr. Lunsford, like so many gentlemen, particularly military officers, was unaccustomed to having his actions questioned. And I, too, wished to know the why of my son’s near-drowning.
The matter was delayed when Stebbins announced dinner, but as we finished a cold cucumber soup and were waiting for the fish course, Jason finally addressed the matter that filled our minds.
“There is no way to fully know what happened until we salvage the boat, and that may take some time, as it was in fairly deep water. But from what Amos told me . . .” He frowned, clearly hesitating to say what was in his mind.
“Please,” I urged. “Chas tells me the water came in suddenly, from under his seat in the stern.”
Jason nodded. “I keep two boats at the mouth of the channel, one moored to a post, ready to use, the other stored keel-up well above the high tide mark. For emergencies,” he added wryly.
And if he had not had a second boat handy? I shuddered.
“Our footmen helped me launch it,” he said, “and thank God it had not been tampered with.”
“Tampered with?” I echoed, even as a small cry escaped Lady Hadley.
“I beg your pardon, I should not have said that.”
“Indeed you should,” I countered, my temper flaring. “Explain, please.”
“No boat at Lunsford Hall is ever put in the water without being thoroughly checked and re-caulked if necessary. And the boat Amos and the boys were in had not been in the water above six weeks. Believe me, the workmen in these parts have been building sturdy boats for a thousand years. There is no way it sprang a leak without help.”
“But . . . why did it not take on water immediately?”
“Ah,” Jason returned, “that is the insidious nature of the leak, the diabolical cleverness that gives it away. I suspect we shall find a hole was drilled beneath the stern seat, then packed hard with something like salt or sugar, which would not dissolve until the boat had time to reach deep water.”
“Merciful heavens,” Lady Hadley whispered.
Ignoring the horror that threatened to swallow me up, I managed two words. “But why?”
Jason bowed his head, studying the dish that had been set before him as if he had never seen shrimp before. “I am known to fish on occasion. Perhaps, after the bonfire, I should have realized the fear of the Demon of Fenley Marsh has become more serious than I thought.”
“Lunsford,” Lady Hadley cried, startled out of her customary sangfroid, “you cannot think someone would attempt to kill you.”
“The alternative, I assure you, is even more incredible.”
And there it was. If not Lunsford, then the target was Nicholas, for I doubted anyone cared a whit what happened to Chas or Amos.
It was unthinkable.
“I refuse to believe it,” I said. “You must find a way to salvage the boat. Immediately.”
Jason offered me a rueful smile. “I am certain, Mrs. Tyrell, that you have heard the expression, Time and tide wait for no man. And I fear it is quite true. We need a daylight low tide, which will take as much as a week.”
“Drat!” I muttered, hiding my expletive behind my napkin.
“You can’t think that your going to the Talmadge’s musicale . . .” The countess left her suggestion unfinished.
“That the sight of my face inspired one of my neighbors to kill me?” Jason mocked. “Well . . .Talmadge, perhaps,” he conceded. “Somehow I doubt he has truly forgiven the Lunsfords for his father’s suicide.”
“You were not much older than Nicholas when it happened,” Lady Hadley protested. “A schoolboy. As was Miles Talmadge.”
“I am a Lunsford.”
“As is Nicholas,” the countess whispered.
“No,” I protested. “Surely the Talmadges would not have invited you if they still held a grudge. It seems far more likely that some weak-minded person has been affected by the fantastical ravings of a handful of villagers. And certainly Mr. Pilkington has not helped. This past Sunday, it seemed as if he were pointing a flaming finger directly at our pew.” Perhaps Cressida was more than entitled to hysterics. I wondered that I could continue to eat under the circumstances. Clearly, I lacked the sensitivity expected in a well-brought-up gentlewoman.
“Until we have determined the cause of today’s incident,” Jason said, “I must ask you to proceed with extra caution in whatever tasks you undertake, particularly if venturing outside. Hesper, I trust you to convey this message to Cressida, even though I have no doubt she will take it badly.
“Mrs. Tyrell,” he added on a lighter note, “this warning does not mean the cancellation of your driving lesson. I will see you in the stables at two. And now, let us put dire things aside and enjoy the remainder of our meal, for I am certain you are anxious to rush back upstairs and hover over your chick.” His glance swept over me, lingering a trifle too long over my décolletage. Enough to send blood rushing to my cheeks.
Somehow I managed to eat a bite or two of veal and swallow a few mouthfuls of vanilla custard before I excused myself, grateful for the excuse Jason had given me. This, I knew, was the point where I should start packing, but there was no way I could leave Nicholas
in such an anomalous situation. Nor Jason. Even Cressida and her mother deserved my support in this time of trial.
Support? Ha! So far I had shown little more firmness of character than Cressida’s fragile flower, swaying in the wind, straining toward the light. Wave a gentleman of intelligence and strong character in front of me, and after little more than two years of mourning, my beloved Avery was drifting away, becoming nothing more than a warm memory forever in my heart.
Absurd! Jason Lunsford, prickly as a hedgehog, wasn’t even likable.
Liar, whispered my inner voice.
I conceded the point.
Later that night, as I sat by the window and gazed out at the salt marsh under the glow of a waxing moon, a new and quite horrid thought leapt into my mind. What had happened to my predecessor, the governess who disappeared? Had she really run off? Or was there another body out there somewhere?
No no no! If she had been murdered, she would have left possessions behind. Everyone would know . . .
Or did they know?
Were the inhabitants of Lunsford Hall involved in a conspiracy of silence? Perhaps the villagers had reason . . .
Nonsense!
My head whirling with useless speculation, I forced myself back to bed, coaxing myself to sleep by concentrating on thoughts of my driving lesson. Not that I needed one, of course. But if Mr. Lunsford wished to instruct me, who was I to deny him?
And you’re looking forward to it with great anticipation.
In the dark my lips curled into a smile. Not everything at Lunsford Hall was a disaster.
Chapter Fifteen
I attempted to wipe the smug smile off my face as I regarded myself in the cheval glass that was but one small portion of the elegant furnishings in a bedchamber never intended for a governess. Perhaps Miss Brightwell had hinted that I was accustomed to something better than a room in the attic, or perhaps Mr. Lunsford had offered this room as a desperate enticement to secure a governess who would not run away. Whatever the reason, I was grateful. And grateful for the luxury of a looking glass that showed me the ensemble I had commissioned for driving in Kent was still in style, and quite becoming. A warm brown, it was cut much like a riding habit but without all the extraneous fabric needed for modesty while riding side-saddle. The skirt hem, in fact, just skimmed my instep, allowing me freedom of movement my floor-length gowns never could. The jacket was edged in cream, the buttons brass though modest in size. A white lace stock filled in the V at my throat. Eschewing the customary knot on my nape, I had tied back my golden hair with a brown ribbon and topped it with a jaunty brown hat with a single cream feather angled rather saucily toward my chin.
Lunsford will like it.
Be quiet!
Hastily, I finished my ensemble by pulling on tan driving gloves. One last all-too-satisfied smile at my mirrored image, and I tripped lightly down the stairs, my anticipation growing with every step.
Half-way down, I was caught by reality between one step and the next. I stopped, clutched the banister, and gasped for breath. What was I doing?
Avery, I’m sorry. I must have run mad.
Life goes on, my inner voice chided. And you certainly can’t say you were overwhelmed by his handsome face.
I snarled at this excruciatingly true remark and proceeded down the stairs.
Jason was waiting in the stableyard, standing beside the newly refurbished cart, which shone in all the glory of highly polished wood and seats upholstered in sparkling sky blue velvet. But as I got closer to the vehicle, my spirits sank. To keep my fears firmly in check, I had been concentrating my thoughts on picturing Jason’s surprise when I demonstrated the driving skill garnered from traipsing over a good deal of Kent in the gig Avery had given me. On occasion, I had even driven his curricle. But this . . . this thing was not at all what I had imagined.
It seemed I had not properly examined the cart when I first saw it in the stables, for surely it was the oddest vehicle I had ever seen. A diabolical contraption that could only have arisen from a particularly fertile imagination. And yet . . . I had to admit it appeared to be safer for children to ride in than any vehicle short of a closed carriage.
The design was an open square, enclosed by high sides to keep children from falling out. The seats, however, instead of running crosswise as proper seats should, were perpendicular to the front. I looked in vain for a driver’s seat. How on earth . . .?
Mr. Lunsford swung open a door at the center rear. “Climb in,” he called, a mischievous grin lighting his ravaged face. “Clever, is it not? I’ve heard that Talmadge designed it himself after his son fell out of the dogcart one day and broke his arm.”
“But how on earth do you drive?” I inquired as I accepted Jason’s proffered hand, put my foot on a metal stirrup, and managed to mount this strange vehicle. He climbed in after me, nodding to the stableboy, who promptly handed him the horse’s reins.
“Like this,” he said, turning catty-corner to the horse and flicking the reins. I gasped as the horse obediently walked forward.
“But this is ridiculous,” I sputtered.
“Ah, but it allows you to drive and keep an eye on the children at the same time,” he pronounced in the tones of an ancient wise man.
“It allows me to do neither well!”
“It will, once you’ve got the knack of it,” he responded imperturbably.
And to think I had looked forward to this driving lesson. If he so much as noticed my elegant ensemble, he did not reveal it by so much as a blink. I subsided into something close to the sulks.
“You will note,” Jason said as we went down the drive at a sedate walk, “that Esmerelda is a calm and patient animal who would not think of wandering off the road. You really only have to give her the office to start and stop. She will do all the rest, quite placidly, I assure you. A greatly beneficial quality,” he added, since most of our roads are built on embankments above rather deep ditches.”
Another thing that had quite escaped my mind! I had been so busy thinking about dressing to catch Jason’s eye, and showing off my driving skill to garner his praise, that I had completely ignored the treacherous driving conditions in the fens of Lincolnshire. And then it struck me. Jason must have considerable trust in me if he was allowing me to drive with Nicholas on these roads. At last, a gratifying thought in a morning that so far had failed to go as planned.
Jason completed his circle of the oval drive in front of the house and pulled Esmerelda to a stop directly in front of the house. “Now you try it,” he said, thrusting the reins into my hand. I confess I had anticipated sitting side by side with him while he put his arms around me in order to demonstrate some fine point of driving. I had not, most definitely, expected we would be sitting on benches on opposite sides of this infernal cart. I erased a scowl before my face could turn gargoylish, took a deep breath, and gave the reins a tentative flick. Esmerelda, bless her elderly heart, moved forward, albeit at a snail’s pace, as if she quite understood my hesitation and sympathized.
We circled the drive twice, my heart in my mouth each time I made the turn along the main canal, the one that became the primary channel through the marsh. The one where the now-sunk flat-bottomed boat had been moored. “Are you game to drive farther?” Jason asked. “The bank along the main road broadens about a mile and a half from here, allowing room to turn around.”
“But between here and there?”
“There are fields on the left. If you must drive off the road, I suggest you do it in that direction.”
Beast.
I hung my head, frowning at the sunlit blue velvet, deciding it was too impossibly cheerful for a day so fraught with tensions. And then it occurred to me to wonder how the village would react if I drove down the High Street with Jason Lunsford, the Demon of Fenley Marsh. And in a cart that had once belonged to the Talmadge family.
I could do it. Oh yes, I could. And would.
My head snapped up. Eyes narrowed, I flicked the reins with enough
vigor that Esmerelda broke into a slow trot. After a sharp intake of breath, quickly followed by a bark of approval from Mr. Lunsford, we set off along the embankment at a pace just short of reckless. Grimly determined, I kept my eyes fixed to the road, slowing to a walk only for bridges. I did not so much as glance at Jason, primarily for self-preservation. Nor did I have the slightest intention of making a fool of myself by cutting a swath through a field of wheat.
When the road finally broadened to the point where the waters of the canal did not loom within three feet of my right-side wheel, Jason offered to turn the cart around so we could return to Lunsford Hall. I did not slow but continued on toward the village.
“Mrs. Tyrell? Mrs. Tyrell, your lesson is complete. It’s time to go home.”
I kept on going.
Mrs. Tyrell. Miranda!” He seized the reins, pulling Esmerelda to a halt.
“How dare you?” I cried, so furious I completely forgot myself. “I intend to go all the way to the village.”
“No.” Uncompromising. Final.
“They need to see you for yourself,” I insisted. “Like the people at the Talmadge’s musicale, the villagers need to see you for who you really are.”
His face was oddly blank as he said, “You cannot fix this, Miranda. I was the Monster of Lunsford Hall long before I became the Demon of Fenley Marsh.”
“Then it is long past time you became Major Jason Lunsford, hero.” I took the reins back from hands gone slack and set us in motion once again. “We shall drive the length of the High Street, including parading ourselves before the church, and then we will call on Nurse Jenkins, who would dearly love to see you. Then, and only then, will we go home.” I increased Esmerelda’s pace to as brisk a trot as she could manage. Jason might not know what was good for him, but I most certainly did.
“Mrs. Tyrell,” Jason intoned, his parade ground voice rising above the sound of hooves and wheels, “Do you actually think I would be seen driving through the village in this? Without a single child to justify my humiliation?” With that he seized the reins and brought Esmerelda to a gentle halt, obviously more careful of the horse’s tender feelings than of mine.
Demons of Fenley Marsh Page 11
