When Angels Fall

by Meagan Mckinney

  “Ivan, look at her, she’s terrified—she won’t say a thing. But you won’t do that again, will you? If you promise, we won’t tell old Merriweather.”

  Ivan remained brutally silent. When she dared to look at him, he was breathing hard and still in the clutches of the other stable lads. Several black locks of hair had fallen onto his forehead and he seemed furious—as if he’d been a lion feasting on his kill and had been pulled away before he could get his second bite.

  Horrified, all she could do was stumble along the stall door, numb to everything but the desire to get away.

  “That’s right, Miss Alcester, you go on to the house,” she heard Willy say.

  She needed no urging. She grabbed up her woolen skirts and ran out of the stables toward the estate house as if her life depended upon it.

  CHAPTER SEVENTEEN

  Fascination had turned into obsession.

  After her midnight visit to the stables, Lissa refused to leave her room for three days, pleading a headache. She refused to eat; she refused to dress. She simply moped about her chamber in her wrapper, occasionally staring into the fire, but mostly staring out the window toward the stable yard.

  Now that she’d been kissed, she didn’t know whether she loved Ivan even more or despised him. His indifference had been disproven but he had frightened her and, worse, disgraced her in front of other men. She could hardly keep from blushing every time she thought of Scarborough, Willy, and the other grooms who had watched Ivan kissing her.

  This day was no different. With her hair unbound and unbrushed, and her blue satin wrapper wrinkled from so much wear, she was stating glumly into the flames of her hearth when she heard a huge commotion outside her window. Curious, she looked outside and her eyes opened wide with surprise. Coming down the tulip-lined lane was her parents’ carriage, at least a month earlier than expected.

  With a great burst of excitement, she ran to her lace-covered dressing table and picked up a comb. She had hardly gotten the thing through her tangled blond hair when her maid appeared at the jib door. Sally was obviously aware of the impending company, for she scurried to Lissa’s wardrobe and quickly tossed an appropriate gown on the bedstead.

  She was ready in a miraculous half hour and she burst from her chambers, eager to see her parents. It had been so long! It seemed she could hardly remember what they looked like. She hurried down the wide marble staircase that led to the hall and then practically ran to the drawing room, both hands full of her skirts.

  “. . . and we’ve all been quite good, Mother. Even George hasn’t been into mischief—”

  With her hasty entrance, Lissa interrupted her sister. All eyes turned to her and suddenly Lissa knew something was terribly wrong. She looked first at the settee where Evvie sat stiffly next to their mother. Obviously she had been filling Rebecca in on what had happened during her absence. Lissa’s eyes slid to their mother.

  Her lovely mother—the beauteous Rebecca—looked as if she hadn’t slept for days. She also looked as if she’d been crying for just as long for her eyes were red and she held a twisted hankie in one hand. But Rebecca wasn’t crying now, and when Lissa stepped toward her, obviously concerned, she brushed off her daughter’s unspoken questions with a slight shake of her head and held out her arms. Lissa ran to her.

  “There’s my pretty girl!” Her mother reached up and kissed her forehead. “I was just going to ask Evvie where you’ve been. No doubt out in the stables with your pony?”

  Lissa pulled back, trying to smile though it was difficult. “No, I just had to make myself presentable.”

  “You’re always presentable to your mother, love.” Rebecca’s lips trembled in a melancholy smile. Lissa looked into her mother’s eyes and the sadness there was so deep and troubled, she wondered if there were even words to explain it.

  Disturbed, Lissa looked behind her and found her father gulping a brandy at the mantel. There were lines in his face she hadn’t remembered. He was usually so jolly. He loved his girls, Evvie and herself, and it was usually he who spurred on any visits to Alcester. Now he looked old and unhappy, as if all his hope were gone.

  “Father?” she said in a little voice.

  All at once he put down his drink. He strode across the drawing room and silently, as if he were fighting back tears, he took her in his arms and hugged her within an inch of her life.

  “Father . . . what is it?” she whispered, but to no avail. As quickly as he came up to her, he released her, going back to the mantel for his drink. There he seemed more interested in his brandy than in either of his daughters whom he hadn’t seen for months.

  “Shall you see George, Mother? Father?” Evvie asked from the settee. Lissa looked at her sister and saw the fear in her eyes. It was clear Evvie was as bewildered as she was.

  “Oh, shall we?” Rebecca rose and took both her girls’ hands. “Is he in the nursery?”

  Painfully Lissa took in their mother’s state. When Rebecca stood, no one could miss the rumpled dress and desperate edge to her manner. Unable to speak, Lissa looked to Evvie to answer.

  “Probably,” Evvie said. “I’m sure Nanna was planning on bringing him down any moment, but perhaps we should seek him out instead.”

  “Shall you come too, Father?” Lissa asked, finally finding her voice.

  “Later, girls,” Rebecca whispered.

  Lissa looked at her mother and saw the tears welling in her beautiful blue eyes. It was more than Lissa could bear, but bear it she must. Her mother squeezed her hand as if to say “be strong for me.” Lissa bit her trembling lip and the three Alcester women headed for the nursery.

  Even as an infant, George had been handsome. Now that he was four, he was even more so. Rebecca seemed completely won over by her boy’s dark locks and black eyes as he rode his gilded rocking horse, unaware of the company. When he did chance to look up, his mother took him in her arms. George seemed instinctively to like it there.

  “George, what do you say to your mummy, eh, my lovekins?” Nanna prompted.

  George smiled a wide cherubic grin and pointed to Lissa. “She’s my mummy!” he proclaimed.

  “No, no!” Nanna said, horrified.

  “Mummy!” He pointed to his sister again.

  Rebecca only kissed his pink check. Then he seemed restless and she was forced to release him. Apparently he had something important waiting for him in his playroom, and he stomped away, his “nanna” obediently following.

  “George—” Lissa called, ready to retrieve him.

  “No, love.” Rebecca took her arm and stopped her. “That’s all for now. Besides, I’m tired. I really think I should go to my room and rest. Will you both excuse me?”

  Mutely Lissa and Evvie nodded. Desolate, they watched Rebecca descend the little wooden steps that led to the children’s quarters.

  Neither girl could fathom what was wrong. Evvie was sure someone had died, but Lissa quickly discounted the notion. If that were the case, then they would have been told. Whatever it was, it was something so terrible neither of their parents could even speak of it, and that was what worried Lissa the most.

  The anxiety seemed to wear heavily upon Evvie. Lissa took note of how pale she was and promptly ordered her to go to her room and have some tea. She walked her sister there, ordered refreshments, and only when Evvie was lying on her daybed, wrapped in a blue alpaca lap shawl, did Lissa feel right in leaving.

  She had to talk to her father.

  She made her way quietly down the great marble stair. It was dusk now and through the dim hall she could see light from beneath the drawing room doors. Just as if this day were any other day, a maid had come around and lit the gasoliers. It was small comfort, but Lissa was grateful not to find her father brooding in darkness.

  “Father?” she asked, timidly entering the room.

  Hearing her voice, he raised his head from his hands. He was sitting on the sofa and before him the brandy snifter sat partially full. He’d obviously not drunk much, yet s
omehow that fact unsettled her. It was as if his problem was so great, it couldn’t be assuaged by drink even for one evening.

  “Come in, child. Close the door.” He smiled at her and she suddenly wondered when he had aged. When she had last seen him, he was jovial and handsome. Now he seemed a shell of a man; too tired to live, too broken to care. Tears welled up again in her eyes.

  “Father, Evvie and I are worried. You and Mother seem so—”

  “What God hath joined together, let no man put asunder,” he interrupted as if he’d never even heard her speak.

  Her face became a mask of confusion. “I don’t know what you mean,” she whispered.

  “I thank the Lord you don’t, my Lissa.” He put his hands together as if in prayer.

  “What’s happened?” She went up to him. “Please, tell me. I’m so frightened.”

  He stood and walked to the windows. Before him lay the now-dusky patchwork of Alcester fields, rippling with yellow flax and green wheat. It was a beautiful sight, lush and full of promise, but she could see her father found no solace in it. He turned and looked away.

  “Lissa, child, come tell me what your life has been like these past months.” It was obvious he didn’t want to hear about her dull little days at Alcester. He was too full of his woes to listen, but somehow she gathered her wits and haltingly began.

  “Evvie has learned to jump Melody and with quite respectable equitation—at least that’s what Mr. Merriweather says.”

  She paused. He had his glass again and was taking an absentminded sip. He didn’t seem to notice she’d stopped speaking.

  “I’ve been using Dancing as my hack, but soon I hope to ride Syrian.”

  She looked at him, her mind whirling with dark speculations. What had gone so wrong? Were they to become paupers? Had her father been told he possessed some dread disease? Had her mother lost a child? What could it be?

  Her father cut short her mental hysterics when he released a small smile and said, “Your life is simple, isn’t it, Lissa? You’ve not a care in the world. I want you to remember I said this to you, child. I want you to remain carefree . . . no matter what happens.”

  “What is to happen then?” she asked, almost relieved she was finally going to know.

  “Tell me what else goes on in your bucolic days. Have you liked the pretty dresses I sent from London?”

  She looked at her father, frustrated that he wasn’t telling her. But in his vulnerable state, she couldn’t bear to be cross with him. Gently she answered, “They’re beautiful. I adore them.”

  “I knew you would!” He seemed pleased with her response, then he sank back into despair. “But I should have sent you a doll! That was thoughtless of me. I don’t know how I could have forgotten my little girl like that.”

  “A doll?” Lissa stared at him, beset by worry. Her father was talking like a madman. She hadn’t played with dolls in six years.

  “Father, you must be thinking of Evvie.” She tried to smile. “But even Evvie is now too old to play with dolls.”

  He seemed not to hear her. He continued, acting as if she were still a little girl. “No, no, I was thinking of you, Lissa love. You’re my beautiful little girl—the exact image of your mother. And I’ve been thoughtless, child. I don’t know how to make it up to you.”

  “Please listen, Father—”

  “No, no. I shall send the butler out to get you a doll this very night. Even if it’s the last thing I do.” He went to the claret-colored silken bell pull that hung in the corner. She barely stopped him in time.

  “No, Father!” A tingle of fear went down her spine. She grabbed his hand and squeezed it. “Please don’t send Cheatham to London on this errand. You’re tired. You must sit down.”

  “I’ve let you down. You wanted a doll!” He began to get distraught.

  “But I’m too old for dolls, Father. Don’t you see that?”

  He quieted. “You mustn’t act older than you are, child.”

  “But it’s true,” she said, trying to reason with him. “You and Mother were going to give me my debut this spring. I’m almost old enough to marry.” She thought painfully of Ivan. “And old enough to be kissed.”

  “Kissed?” His face suddenly turned angry. “And have you been kissed?”

  She didn’t know whether to answer him or not. But he was her father and she couldn’t lie to him. “Once,” she whispered.

  Without word or warning, he slapped her. Tears of pain and fear spilled down her face as she clutched her sore cheek. In horror, all she could do was look at him. He had never treated her like this before. Never.

  He grabbed her, tears running down his face also. Suddenly he was contrite and he sobbed. “You must never accept another kiss, you promise me, my little girl?”

  “What have I done?” she asked.

  “You mustn’t turn out like your mother! It’s sin enough that you look like her!”

  “What—what has she done?” she stuttered, now not at all sure she wanted to know.

  “Rebecca—my lovely Rebecca!” He sobbed into his hands. “I never—Ineverwanted to believe what others said. I laughed, I tell you! When I heard such rumors! But it’s true. It’s all been true. My angel has fallen. Committed the most ugly of crimes! No denying it now. I found her myself in that man’s bed . . .” His voice trailed off and he no longer seemed aware that there was another person in the room. His sobbing came in long, wretched gasps and he appeared to be in a world of his own, a world that was dark and inconsolable, as dark and inconsolable as Lissa’s had suddenly become.

  She touched his shoulder and thought of all the servants’ gossip. She had always believed the stories were false, products of cruel and vicious tongues. But now they were true. And there was no running from them any longer.

  She stood there, her expression a mixture of denial, fear, and shock. She ached to tell him he was wrong about Rebecca, that her mother hadn’t hurt him, but she couldn’t deny the wounds when her father stood bleeding before her. He was completely destroyed, and now, knowing why, she felt destroyed too.

  “No, Father, don’t cry any more,” she said, wrapping her arms around him. “It will be all right. We’ll all make it right again. Mother”—her voice caught in a sob— “Mother is sorry—I know.”

  As she hugged her father, a part of her began dying inside. Perhaps it was the last clinging remnants of her childhood, or perhaps it was simply her belief in angels. She didn’t know, nor did she care. Her face turned pale and grave, and she ceased her crying for the tears seemed to freeze in her eyes. Helpless, she tried to get her father to at least look at her, but he was a thousand miles away, in a world of his own, full of darkness and despair. He pulled from her only to weep bitterly into his hands. When it was clear that there was nothing she could do, she finally left him to his grieving and slipped out of the drawing room.

  In the dark hall, with her father’s sobs the only sound, Lissa wondered if she might go mad too. There seemed nowhere to turn. She couldn’t bear Evvie’s learning of this, nor the servants. And she couldn’t go to her mother.

  Rebecca. The very name made her feel sick. Her mother had done something evil indeed. Lissa remembered her father’s slap. She touched her tender cheek. Perhaps even she was to come to the same end. In agony, she recalled Ivan’s kiss. It had frightened her, true, but it had seduced her as well.

  Looking around the dim hall, she felt the great marble walls closing in on her. Her whole life seemed to be tumbling into ruins.

  She ran to the mahogany and glass front doors. Opening them wide, she let in great gusts of cold air. A wind had kicked up and there seemed the promise of rain in the air. Suddenly all she wanted was to leave. She wanted to gallop like a madwoman across Alcester’s fields. And never come back.

  Running, she made her way to the darkened stables. It was Saturday night and she knew most of the grooms had gone to the pub in Nodding Knoll. The stables were deserted when she arrived, and it only took her five minut
es to light a lantern and tack up her mount. Dancing was in a rare temper with the wind beating at the stable’s clapboards, but she was glad to see he bore no ill effects from their jump three days before. She mounted on the block, paying no mind that she had no shawl or mantle to keep her warm. Somehow keeping warm didn’t seem to matter. Getting away seemed the only thing worth doing.

  With crop in hand, she gathered up the reins. The wind banged the doors and Dancing seemed ready to bolt. She was about to give him his head when an arm reached out and took hold of her pony’s bridle.

  “What are you doing, you little fool?”

  Pale and frightened, she looked down and found Ivan reaching for her reins. He was furious.

  “I’m going for a ride!” she cried out, backing Dancing into a corner.

  “What is this madness? You dismount this second!” He held Dancing’s head and reached for her waist. He was obviously hoping to pull her down, but she refused to let him. She was going to escape, if only for an hour, and he was not going to stand in her way.

  “Ivan, let go of Dancing’s bridle!” She whipped her pony’s flanks and he reared. Enraged, Ivan held on.

  “You spoiled brat, you do as I say!” he said as the pony tried knocking him aside.

  “I shall not! Ivan, get out of the way!” Fury crackled in her eyes. She was no spoiled brat. Her world had just crumbled to dust and nothing made sense anymore. Nothing. She was so frightened that she wanted to run as far as she could go and never look back. And he was not going to stop her.

  “You aren’t to go out there tonight, girl! Has one kiss left you addled?”

  A cry of frustration caught in her throat. In warning, she raised the viciously thin tip of her riding crop. If anything, he, and her feelings for him, contributed to her confusion as much as her mother’s infidelity.

  “How dare you tell me what to do!” she cried to him, jerking away the reins.

  “You’re too much of a child to know what’s good for you! Now get down!”