She had been too excited to sleep and had decided to get up and try on her new gown which had arrived from London only that day.
There came the sound of pebbles rattling against the glass of her window.
Emily opened the window and leaned out – and received another shower of pebbles full in the face.
‘Who’s there?’ she screamed.
‘Hush. It is I, Guy Wentwater.’
Emily went and fetched a candle and leaned out. She could dimly make out the whiteness of a face turned up towards her.
‘What do you want?’ she demanded.
‘I must see you, my little love,’ he pleaded.
Emily tossed her head. ‘A fine one you are, coming around here after what you did with that …’
‘Shhh!’ he said desperately. ‘Please, Emily. I must see you. I cannot be caught here. Come to the bridge at the River Blyne. I love you, Emily.’
Emily felt a surge of power. ‘Very well,’ she called, and then firmly closed the window.
Her heart was beating hard with excitement. She was a slayer of men. She was Cleopatra! She would meet him, and lead him on, just a little, and then spurn him. And that would serve him right for behaving like such a toad.
Guy Wentwater’s plan was to persuade Emily to run away with him. He no longer had any intention of marrying her. He would take her to America and then get rid of her.
Soon, he saw her figure, wrapped in a long cloak, hurrying towards him.
‘What a long-nosed frump she is,’ he thought nastily, as the moonlight shone on Emily’s face.
‘You are a naughty man,’ said Emily, giggling with excitement, ‘and deserve to be punished.’
‘I have been punished enough,’ he said in a low voice. ‘Sit beside me on this parapet and let me feast my eyes on your beauty.’
Emily sat beside him. ‘What do you want?’ she asked, throwing back the hood of her cloak so that he could get the full effect of the moonlight shining on her corkscrew ringlets.
‘First, I must beg your forgiveness. That maid, Sarah, made me drunk and threw herself at me.’
‘I don’t want to talk about it,’ said Emily, turning her head away.
‘Look at me, dearest,’ he said. ‘Let me gaze on your beauty.’
Emily felt another great surge of power. She had kept on the new metallic gauze dress. She felt she held the destinies of men in her hands. She decided to punish him by flirting with him and driving him insane with passion.
She giggled. ‘I don’t believe a word you say, Mr Wentwater,’ she said coquettishly, and gave him a playful jab in the ribs with her elbow. But so elated was Emily that the jab was more like a hearty shove. Guy Wentwater made a wild grab at the parapet to save himself, but he had been knocked off balance, and, with a startled cry, he fell backwards over the parapet.
There was a thud and a splash and then a long silence broken only by the sound of the rushing water under the bridge.
‘Mr Wentwater!’ cried Emily, leaning over the parapet. ‘Oh, Mr Wentwater!’
A small white moon shone down on Guy Wentwater’s upturned face. His head was propped up at an awkward angle against a large rock and the silver gurgling and rushing water poured over the rest of his body.
Emily, frightened, backed away from the bridge. ‘I never saw him,’ she said firmly as she walked home. ‘I never, ever saw him. I never left the house.’ And so, by repeating the words over and over again, she quite convinced herself of their truth, and when the news of Guy Wentwater’s death was announced the next day, she was able to greet the news with a good show of composure, although she did hope it would not stop Papa from driving her over to Hopeminster to see her new beau.
Two weeks later, the small vicarage parlour was crammed to capacity. There were six Armitage sisters, the twin brothers, five husbands, one fiancé, the vicar, Lady Godolphin and the squire.
Once again the vicarage came to life as the sisters laughed and gossiped. There were flowers in all the rooms and the air was scented with perfumes, and rustled with the sound of silk and satin dresses.
The only person who was sad was Lady Godolphin. ‘I feel old and useless,’ she confided to Squire Radford as they sat together in the corner of the room. ‘Colonel Brian won’t come near me, even to discuss the end of our engagement. Folks say he’s found another lady.’
The squire took her hand in his. ‘Have you ever considered, Lady Godolphin,’ he said in his high precise voice, ‘that perhaps you made the poor colonel feel inadequate?’
‘I! Why?’
‘Your charm, your energy, your status in society. I fear the colonel is, au fond, a timid man.’
‘Hey, I never thought of that,’ said Lady Godolphin, brightening perceptibly. ‘Damned if you ain’t got the right o’ it. Arthur always was as timid as a … as a …
‘Goose.’
‘Why, you old charmer. It is a long time since anyone has called me that.’
‘Quiet, dear lady. Minerva is about to make a toast.’
Minerva raised her glass. ‘The health of Frederica,’ she said, ‘who has come through great peril, but is loved by the man of her choice, as she is loved by all of us. The news of her engagement to Pembury is the greatest …’
‘No, it’s not,’ cried Annabelle, springing to her feet. ‘I have great news. Drink a toast to me. I am going to have a baby!’
A loud cheer went up and Mr Pettifor, entering with Sarah on his arm, blinked at the scene of noise and laughter.
‘And that takes the attention away from us, my sweeting,’ murmured the duke in Frederica’s ear. ‘Let us escape for a little. I have not been alone with you for a minute since that dreadful day.’
They slipped quietly from the room and sat side by side on the narrow steps of the hall.
‘It seems very odd that you should love me, Robert,’ said Frederica shyly.
‘I love only you. I have never loved anyone before. I want to take you in my arms but I am frightened the strength of my passion will alarm you.’
Frederica looked at him with wide-eyed interest. ‘I think I should very much like to be alarmed, Robert, if you please.’
Ten minutes later, Mrs Hammer, coming out of the kitchen with a tray of cakes, let out a squawk of outrage and bustled into the parlour, her face flaming.
She took the vicar aside. ‘Master,’ she whispered, ‘there’s Sodhim and Gommeral going on in the hall.’
‘She means Sodom and Gomorrah,’ said Lady Godolphin who had overheard Mrs Hammer.
‘Dear me,’ murmured the squire.
‘It always baffles me,’ said Lady Godolphin severely, ‘how some folks always gets the words wrong!’
About the Author
M. C. Beaton is the author of the hugely successful Agatha Raisin and Hamish Macbeth series, as well as a quartet of Edwardian murder mysteries featuring heroine Lady Rose Summer, the Travelling Matchmaker Regency romance series and a standalone murder mystery, The Skeleton in the Closet – all published by Constable & Robinson. She left a full-time career in journalism to turn to writing, and now divides her time between the Cotswolds and Paris. Visit www.agatharaisin.com for more.
Titles by M. C. Beaton
The Six Sisters
Minerva • The Taming of Annabelle • Deirdre and Desire
Daphne • Diana the Huntress • Frederica in Fashion
The Edwardian Murder Mystery series
Snobbery with Violence • Hasty Death • Sick of Shadows Our Lady of Pain
The Travelling Matchmaker series
Emily Goes to Exeter • Belinda Goes to Bath • Penelope Goes to Portsmouth
Beatrice Goes to Brighton • Deborah Goes to Dover • Yvonne Goes to York
The Agatha Raisin series
Agatha Raisin and the Quiche of Death • Agatha Raisin and the Vicious Vet
Agatha Raisin and the Potted Gardener • Agatha Raisin and the Walkers of Dembley
Agatha Raisin and the Murderous Marriage • Agat
ha Raisin and the Terrible Tourist
Agatha Raisin and the Wellspring of Death • Agatha Raisin and the Wizard of Evesham
Agatha Raisin and the Witch of Wyckhadden
Agatha Raisin and the Fairies of Fryfam • Agatha Raisin and the Love from Hell
Agatha Raisin and the Day the Floods Came
Agatha Raisin and the Curious Curate • Agatha Raisin and the Haunted House
Agatha Raisin and the Deadly Dance • Agatha Raisin and the Perfect Paragon
Agatha Raisin and Love, Lies and Liquor
Agatha Raisin and Kissing Christmas Goodbye
Agatha Raisin and a Spoonful of Poison • Agatha Raisin: There Goes the Bride
Agatha Raisin and the Busy Body • Agatha Raisin: As the Pig Turns
The Hamish Macbeth series
Death of a Gossip • Death of a Cad • Death of an Outsider
Death of a Perfect Wife • Death of a Hussy • Death of a Snob
Death of a Prankster • Death of a Glutton • Death of a Travelling Man
Death of a Charming Man • Death of a Nag • Death of a Macho Man
Death of a Dentist • Death of a Scriptwriter • Death of an Addict
A Highland Christmas • Death of a Dustman • Death of a Celebrity
Death of a Village • Death of a Poison Pen • Death of a Bore
Death of a Dreamer • Death of a Maid • Death of a Gentle Lady
Death of a Witch • Death of a Valentine • Death of a Sweep
Death of a Kingfisher
The Skeleton in the Closet
Copyright
Constable & Robinson Ltd
55–56 Russell Square
London WC1B 4HP
www.constablerobinson.com
First published in the UK by Macdonald & Co (Publishers) Ltd, 1985
This paperback edition published by Robinson,
an imprint of Constable & Robinson Ltd, 2012
Copyright © M. C. Beaton, 1985
The right of M. C. Beaton to be identified as the author of this work has been asserted by her in accordance with the
Copyright, Designs and Patents Act 1988
All rights reserved. This book is sold subject to the condition that it shall not, by way of trade or otherwise, be lent, resold, hired out or otherwise circulated in any form of binding or cover other than that in which it is published and without a similar condition including this condition being imposed on the subsequent purchaser.
This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places and incidents are either the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, or to actual events or locales is entirely coincidental.
A copy of the British Library Cataloguing in
Publication Data is available from the British Library
ISBN: 978–1–84901–490–8 (paperback)
ISBN: 978–1–84901–948–4 (ebook)
Typeset by TW Typesetting, Plymouth, Devon
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