When Angels Fall

by Meagan Mckinney

  “You’re nothing but a servant, do you hear?” she sobbed. “Nothing but a lowly stableboy!”

  “You haughty little miss!” he snapped furiously. “You think you’re so above me! Well, I’ll see you brought down a peg or two. Now give me those reins!”

  “No! I said let go and let me be off!” she demanded.

  “Get down!” He lunged for her once more and she raised the crop even higher. When he had her, she screamed. Then, instinctively, she slashed the crop right across his face.

  He stumbled back, clutching his left cheek. A moan escaped her lips when she saw the blood oozing between his fingers.

  “Ivan!” she cried out, beside herself that she had hurt him so.

  “You bitch,” he said though clenched teeth, his eyes closed in pain.

  Free from any hold, Dancing was anxious to be off and she had a hard time controlling him. She backed him into the corner where he reared. She meant to try to help Ivan; she even had thoughts of dismounting, when Ivan made one last attempt to keep her in the stables. Though obviously hurt, he reached for the reins, his bloodied hand covering her own. But half crazed from all the traumas that had befallen her, she instantly rebelled. She tore free of his grasp and gave Dancing his freedom. The pony galloped from the stables, taking her into the inky, windswept night.

  PART THREE

  O sing not you then, lest the best

  Of angels should be driven

  To fall again, at such a feast

  Mistaking earth for heaven.

  BEN JONSON,

  “Musicall Strife:

  in a Pastorall Dialogue”

  CHAPTER EIGHTEEN

  Remembering the entire episode again was like tearing a bandage from a festering wound. Lissa’s tears wet the Marquis’s brocaded counterpane that she lay upon, and in her grief-stricken heart she wished she could drown in them. Vaguely she thought she heard Mrs. Myers come into the chamber, then discreetly leave, but Lissa hardly paid any attention. Her sobbing seemed never to end, especially when she thought again of how cruelly Ivan had just treated her; and the reason for it: the scar she had viciously inflicted upon him for the rest of his life.

  When Dancing and she had left the stables that night, no one had found her until dawn. She was at Georgette’s Leap overlooking the sound when Mr. Merriweather finally caught up with her. She was quiet and sorrowful as he told her of the grooms, including Ivan, who were scouring the countryside looking for her. Then, in grave silence, the stablemaster told her there had been a tragedy at Alcester. Without asking another question, as if she somehow already knew what it was, she followed him back to the estate without uttering a sound.

  It was a brutal remembrance. She had not been allowed inside the drawing room to see the bodies, but over the years she had heard enough gossip about the incident to glean a picture of her parents’ last moments on earth. Both were shot in the skull. Her father was in the armchair, the pistol beneath his outstretched hand. Rebecca had been found with her head on her husband’s lap, as if her last gesture had been begging him for reason. In her grasp she held a note that Lissa now kept in her jewelry box. It was in her father’s hand and it said simply:

  I lived for you—I died for you.

  They were buried two days later in the Alcester cemetery with those very words inscribed on their tombstone.

  Lissa never saw Ivan. The other grooms told her he had taken off for parts unknown the moment he was told she’d been found. She’d been heartbroken by his absence, but her whole world was so wrenched apart that his leaving became just another hurt. Eventually she seemed to go numb. Yet the one thing she could not get rid of was the terrible guilt that stabbed her whenever she thought of the riding crop and that last night in the stables.

  The first year after her parents’ death was the worst. Lissa quickly found out what a tenuous existence they really led. Her father had left no will and there was no solicitor to look after the estate. Nor were there any relatives. Alcester House soon slipped from her grasp. She quickly found out when a death occurs the bill collectors come like crows to pick at the corpse. The collectors’ cries refused to be silenced, and soon the remaining Alcesters were living at Violet Croft with only the funds left them after all their parents’ debts were paid.

  It was certainly a step down from their previous lifestyle, but Lissa would have traded all the wealth in Britain if she could have just saved her parents, if she could have just prevented the illness that had later left her sister blind; if she could have kept her brother away from the cruelties of the children at school. But she hadn’t been able to prevent any of the tragedies that had befallen her family.

  And then there was Ivan to grieve over. Her thoughts of him hardly diminished at all in the five years she spent at Violet Croft. She devoured every bit of gossip about him as a beggar devours crumbs. When she’d heard Powerscourt had finally recognized Ivan as his own, she’d been secretly thrilled. Ivan was finally getting justice for a mean life. She heard about his decadent life in London after he received his inheritance, and his wildness saddened her. But her only truly unhappy moment came when she’d heard he was to return to Powerscourt. She knew he was coming to open old wounds. And to show how absolutely their fortunes had been reversed.

  Now, as she clutched the Genoa silk counterpane, she wondered how she would carry on. It was brutally obvious that Ivan felt no tender emotion for her. Though it broke her heart all over again, she knew there was no way to make him love her.

  She sat up and numbly picked up her cap. She pulled her fingers through her knotted tresses. Chagrined, she wondered what Mrs. Myers thought of this whole episode. Surely the housekeeper knew something was afoot. Undoubtedly her reputation was diminished, but there seemed nothing she could do about it. Her hand trembled while she repinned her hair. Clutching together her bodice, she headed for the door.

  All she had to do was hold on until Evvie was married, she told herself as she made her way through the passage. Then Holland would take care of George and she would be free. She would go to London, she decided. There no one would know of her reputation. With her education, she could certainly become a governess, or a ladies’ companion. She would fend for herself and try desperately to forget Ivan.

  As she wandered the passage, unsure of the way out of the castle, she ended up in one of the loggias overlooking the Baronial Hall. There was quite a bit of activity going on; scaffolding had been erected all over one wall and, high above the tapestries, a painter was working on the Powerscourt crest.

  Loosely blazoned, the Powerscourt arms consisted of a black “gutte de sang” shield surmounted by a sword. Two reguardant wyverns, collared in blue and chained in gold, supported it. The motto of the Powerscourts was appropriately chilling:A ma puissance, “According to my power.”

  She knew the Powerscourt arms well, as did every citizen of Nodding Knoll. It was a shock to see them being changed, but not nearly a shock like the one she had when she realized exactly what the painter had been commissioned to do. He was adding a bend-sinister, a thick band across the shield that went from the top left of the shield all the way down to the bottom right—the sign of bastardy. If “gutte de sang” meant drops of blood, then it was appropriate that the bend-sinister was being done in “gutte de larmes,” drops of tears.

  Looking at it, Lissa felt Ivan’s fury as she would a fierce, howling wind. She gripped the balustrade for support. Legally he was no longer a bastard, yet he was not going to let anyone forget his beginnings. The people of Nodding Knoll would have quite a surprise at the ball when they arrived and saw the new Powerscourt arms. Already she could see Ivan enjoying himself at their expense, reveling in their shocked silence.

  “A ma puissance,Lissa.”

  From below she heard Ivan’s voice. She looked down and found him watching her from the Hall. He seemed more grim than usual, especially when he took in her pale features and red eyes. Yet he looked triumphant too, as if everything he had ever wanted was almost
within reach.

  Their gazes clashed. He was a beast to have done such a thing to his coat of arms. It would shock everyone in Nodding Knoll, but she alone was destined to pay the price for his twisted vengeance.

  For she was the one who had fallen in love with him.

  CHAPTER NINETEEN

  Mrs. Myers carried the decanter-filled tray through the maze of cold passages that led to the marquis’s antechamber. The ball was to begin in only two hours; still, the marquis had not yet dressed. His valet hadn’t even been summoned—Mrs. Myers had left the old fellow down in the servants’ hall while she brought the spirits upstairs.

  He was still looking melancholy. Ever since that day when Elizabeth Alcester had brought him his breakfast, he’d been brooding about the castle. Lissa had also looked quite inconsolable during the past few days, and the kindly housekeeper desperately wished something could be done about both of them.

  “I’ve brought your brandy,” she said, a look of mild disapproval on her face. “Are you ready to dress, my lord? Shall I send for Sedwick?”

  “No, he can come up later.” The marquis reached for the decanter and poured himself a healthy three fingers.

  The housekeeper watched him, the disapproval on her face deepening. Yet Ivan Tramore was no child to be scolded for his tardiness; all she could do was stand before him, waiting to see if he needed anything else.

  He didn’t so she turned to leave. But before she disappeared through the servants’ jib door, she realized she had forgotten something. She reached into the pocket of her white linen apron and took out a letter.

  “My lord, Mr. Jones sent this note. I’ve been remiss in not getting it to you earlier. With all the preparations today, I forgot about it.”

  “It’s all right.” Tramore walked up to her and took the note. He seemed to already know what it said. “You’ve done an excellent job—as always. I could never find fault with you.”

  “Thank you, my lord.” The housekeeper looked at him. Her eyes filled with sadness that such a good man was so unhappy and alone. She nodded and made her way back to the kitchens.

  When Mrs. Myers left, Tramore glanced at the note and its wax seal from the bailiff’s office. He quickly opened it and read its contents:

  My lord,

  I will be having tea next Sunday at four o’clockwith the Misses Alcester. It would be my great pleasureto have you join us. Until then, I am,

  Your humble servant,

  Holland Jones

  Unconsciously Tramore’s hand lifted to his face. His finger followed the scar as he reread the note. He seemed thoughtful for a moment, then as if he was suddenly reminded why he had the scar in the first place, he crumpled the vellum in his fist and angrily threw it into the fire.

  “Lissa, what if this snow ruins the ball?” In her lustrous blue velvet gown, Evvie sat by the front window, waiting to hear Holland’s carriage. It was already the hour of the Powerscourt ball and her eyes were filled with anxiety as she turned to her sister for reassurance. “I still don’t hear him. How deep is the snow now?”

  Lissa looked at her lovely dark-haired sister and tickled her with her gilt paper fan. “It’s still about six inches, silly, the same as it was a minute ago. It’s falling swiftly, I admit, but surely not that swiftly.”

  “But I don’t want anything to keep us from going tonight. Perhaps his carriage is stuck—”

  Lissa cut short her worrying. “I’m sure it will taper off any moment now. Never you worry, love. Holland will behere. He’ll take his sleigh tonight, and, besides, you know the castle is not very far.”

  “I’m being a grand ninny, aren’t I? But I’m so excited! Imagine, we’re to go to a ball, a real ball, just as if we’d never left Alcester House. But how do we look, Lissa? Are we truly beautiful in our gowns? Or is my imagination gilding the picture?”

  “I promise everyone in Nodding Knoll shall be green with envy.”

  “Oh, do you think so?” Evvie giggled.

  “I’m sure of it,” Lissa answered, and breezed to the sofa to get her mantle.

  Of course, she couldn’t have been less sure of it, but she wasn’t about to let Evvie’s fun be spoiled. If the truth were known, she had never dreaded an occasion more in her entire life. Ivan’s ball seemed to loom before her like some interminable wake. Yet here she was, dressed in the most magnificent of gowns, with her hair glittering sinfully from the crystals on her snood, ready for the soirée of the century.

  She had meant to sell the rose satin gown by now. Furious at Ivan, she’d planned to go to Cullenbury at the very first opportunity. Her grand plan was to approach him in the Baronial Hall and fling the coins at his feet. “According to my power” indeed. She would show him she wouldn’t succumb after all.

  She’d endured the past few days only because she’d had this reverie to cling to. Yet somehow it had never come to pass. Mrs. Myers was frantic that nothing should go wrong with the ball, and Lissa hadn’t the heart to tell her she was quitting. Besides, the housekeeper had been so generous in not having spoken a word of her being found crying in Ivan’s chambers that Lissa found herself indebted to her. Mrs. Myers could have sorely damaged her reputation, yet the motherly woman had only looked upon her with a kinder eye and warmer heart. So instead of immediately quitting her position at Powerscourt and going toCullenbury, Lissa had spent all her time making lists for the house staff, arranging Chinese peonies in heavy baroque vases, and running after the cook to make sure he’d been informed of the delivery date of his partridges.

  But now that the ball was here, she had finally told Mrs. Myers about her plans to leave. When she’d heard the news, the housekeeper had looked pained, as if she somehow blamed herself, but Lissa had impulsively given her a hug and her reassurance that she would be all right.

  She was still determined to sell the gown, but on impulse, she had decided to wait a couple of days. Wearing it now, she was terrified of soiling it and decreasing its value. The rose satin would have been far safer in her little room, tucked in its big gold box, than out waltzing at Powerscourt. But somehow she hadn’t been able to bear the thought of donning the slate-colored taffeta gown that she had worn the last time to the castle. And she wanted Ivan to see her in the gown. That was probably her sole reason for enduring the night. She wanted him to stare hard, and then she wanted to waltz by in another man’s arms.A ma puissance might be his motto, but it still couldn’t make her throw away her pride.

  “I hear a sleigh! And sleigh bells! He’s here! Oh, Lissa, we’re going to a ball!” Evvie got up from her seat and paced the room like a nervous sparrow. Lissa could only laugh, a bit painfully perhaps, for she was not at all anxious to be off.

  “Come here, silly. Take your mantle. Do you want to catch your death?” She handed Evvie her gray woolen cape and donned her own, all the while thinking it was a shame they both had to cover up their grand gowns with such homely apparel.

  “Lissa, are you wearing Mother’s pearls?” Without warning, Evvie reached up and tried to touch her throat.

  Lissa tensed. She’d lied to Evvie for a long time about their mother’s pearls. She’d sold the necklace years ago, and they had lived on the proceeds for the better part of a year. Just when Lissa had felt they would have to forfeit their mother’s emerald earrings too, Aunt Sophie’s first letter had appeared like a gift from God. She felt a stab of guilt over the lovely pearls, but she quickly stepped from her sister’s reach. “I have them on, love. Now let’s not keep Holland waiting.” She took Evvie’s arm and briskly went to the front door.

  The Powerscourt ball proved to be a dazzling affair. When she, Evvie, and Holland arrived, tucked warmly in Holland’s red sleigh, most of the other guests were already there. There was a slight hush to the crowd as they assembled in the Hall, for everyone was all too aware of the new bend-sinister that loomed over them in the Powerscourt crest. Every now and then someone would actually send a startled glance upward to look at it, but that was rare. Most seemed to wan
t only to forget it was there, as if it were something too terrible to look upon. Besides, Nodding Knoll was not a town full of souls who desired to tempt the wrath of their betters, therefore most concentrated simply on their mead and the company. Not a difficult task when the Hall looked so magnificent. High above the loggias, garlands of pine boughs were hung with fat red velvet bows and hundreds of scarlet belladonna lilies filled every corner. But the most pagan oddity was at the end of the Hall.

  Surrounded by a hundred guests was a German Christmas tree. It was aglow with tiny candles that were wired to its branches. Hanging from its boughs were dolls and toy soldiers, chessmen and half eggshells gilded and filled with comfits. Glass birds perched on every branch and garlands of bright red holly berries gaily festooned the entire tree. A footman stood nearby with a sponge tied to a stick, on the chance one of the doll’s petticoats might catch fire. But thankfully no such accidents had occurred so far. The decorated evergreen was quite popular, especially with the children, who were already eager to see the evening end so that they could take home a treat from its boughs.

  Lissa knew Christmas trees were becoming quite the thing. Several years ago she had even seen the picture in theIllustrated London News of Queen Victoria sitting by her family’s evergreen. Yet the last time she had ever heard of one near Nodding Knoll, it was in Cullenbury and its owner was charging an entire shilling to see it. She’d heard from Arabella that it was quite spectacular, but somehow she knew that one would have never measured up to the one before her.

  She suddenly wished George had been able to come home early from Eton for his holiday so that he could see it. She missed her little brother terribly and his letters, though frequent, couldn’t make up for his absence. But it was all worth it, no matter what troubles she had had, to be able to give George a brighter future. She only hoped their good fortune would continue. Unwittingly her glance slid to Holland and Evvie.