“Mr. Paulington has returned, madam. I have taken the liberty of showing him into the library.”
Mrs. Berrisford’s knife and fork clattered suddenly to her plate. “Oh, dear.”
Mally glanced at the butler. “Show him in here, Digby.”
“Yes, madam.”
“Oh, Marigold, do you think he’s found anything out?” Mrs. Berrisford mopped her mouth anxiously with her napkin.
“We are about to discover, Mother.” Mally smiled, but inside she was tense and worried. Pray God he had discovered that Maria was all right—
Mr. Paulington sidled around the dining-room door and Digby shut it behind him. He stood there, a foxy-faced, foxy-eyed little man in a scruffy tweed coat which was as disreputable apparently as it had been when last Mally had seen him in this very house. And she liked him as little now as she had done then.
“Good evening, Mr. Paulington. Please come and take a seat. Would you care for a glass of wine?”
“Why thank you, thank you kindly, Mrs. St. Aubrey.” He sat down on the very edge of the nearest chair, wiping the palms of his hands on his knees.
“And now, Mr. Paulington, have you any good news to impart concerning my sister?”
“Your sister?” He turned sharply to look at Mrs. Berrisford, who had the grace to look pink and uncomfortable. “I was under the impression as it was a friend we was looking for.”
Mrs. Berrisford cleared her throat. “Well, the scandal—I thought it best not to say who she really was.”
“Oh, Mother! Mr. Paulington, Maria is my younger sister. Now then, did you discover anything?”
“Well, it’s a little confusing.” He put down the miniature, surveying it for a moment and then glancing at Mally. “Reckon there is a likeness, now I looks at it again. But, to business, Mrs. St. Aubrey. I went to the Swan with Two Necks and made inquiries there of a fellow named Jenkins. He’s the one as always meets the Hereford mails when they comes in. He said as he hadn’t seen anyone as looked like the bit of muslin—beggin’ your pardon—the lady in this picture. I could tell as he was not coming true with me, mind—you gets to feel these things—”
“Mr. Paulington, will you please get to the point?” Mally could have kicked his ankle in frustration.
“I had to pass a good deal of silver over his palm before he told me. Seemed as she did alight from the mail, and the only reason he remembers her was on account of the fact that that very evening there she was again. Going back again. Only this time on the Gloucester mail.”
Mally stared and Mrs. Berrisford’s mouth opened and closed.
He cleared his throat. “It’s quite certain, Mrs. St. Aubrey. He remembers because he heard her ask if it was the Gloucester mail. Jenkins couldn’t help wondering, you see, why anyone from Hereford would come all the way to London merely to get to Gloucester. Didn’t seem right to him, and so he remembered her. Recognized her picture all right, an’ all. Well, as luck would have it, when I was there, the Gloucester mail came in. I collared the driver and asked him about her, not thinking as he’d remember anything at all, not with all the passengers he has to account for. But he did. He remembered her when he saw the picture, because she’d not gone as far as Gloucester. Left the mail at Cirencester, he remembers, because they were an insider passenger short and she was the only woman, so they remembered her. So, if you want me to find out anything else, I’ll have to take myself to Cirencester.”
“Then, of course, please do that for us, Mr. Paulington, and we will more than recompense you for your troubles.” She got to her feet and took a silver dish from the mantlepiece, dropping the coins inside into his outstretched hand.
He rattled the money appreciatively. “That’ll more than cover my needs, Mrs. St. Aubrey. But there is something else you should know. I wasn’t the first to be asking after her. Someone else asked, only yesterday.”
“Who?”
“A country man, heavily built and rough. Ordinary-looking, from all accounts, without anything startling about him to latch on to. Wanted to know about a young lady, middle twenties, dark hair. Off of the Hereford mail. But he was a mean man, Mrs. St. Aburey, didn’t offer to pay for his inquiries, so he wasn’t told nothing. Slid off without another word. Mind, my suspicions was picked up, so I waited for the Hereford mail to come in—which is why I’m a little late coming here. I hoped as the driver might be the same one as brought your sister up to London.”
“And was it?”
“No. But he knew something, for all that. He was at the inn in Hereford a few days back when a man who fitted the description of this country feller came in and started asking about a young lady. The booking chap there said as she’d bought for London. Whereupon the country gent did exactly the same. Someone, Mrs. St. Aubrey, is as anxious as you to find your sister.”
Mrs. Berrisford squeaked, her eyes wide. “Oh, dear, this sounds so very mysterious and frightening. Whatever can it all be about, Marigold?”
Mally saw the worry and alarm growing in her mother’s eyes. “Oh, it is surely merely a coincidence, Mother. Is that not so, Mr. Paulington?” She flashed him a warning glance.
“Oh, yes. Yes, indeed, I just thought I would mention it.” Mr. Paulington’s chair scraped loudly as he stood. “Don’t let it worry you, Mrs. Berrisford. Well, I’ll be off then, and I’ll do my best, you may be sure. Good evening to you, ladies.”
“Good evening, Mr. Paulington. And thank you.” Mally inclined her head.
A short while after he had gone, Digby came in with the bottle of wine, followed by a wide-eyed, nervous maid carrying the cheese board.
The butler cleared his throat as he set the bottle on the table. “Madam, I do not wish to alarm you at all, but I am concerned that someone may be watching the house. From out there by the trees in the square.”
Chapter 7
Mrs. Berrisford looked fit to faint. “Oh, we are to be murdered in our beds, just as poor dear Agatha was!”
“Mother! Don’t be silly! It’s probably a burglar wondering if it would be worth breaking in here. Will you show me, Digby?” Mally tried desperately to conceal her own instant fear.
“Yes, madam, if you will follow me. It was Lucy who first noticed him, a few moments ago when she was drawing the curtains of your dressing room. He was smoking, you see, and she saw the glow of his cigar.”
Mrs. Berrisford hesitated as she saw everyone leaving the room, and then abruptly she got to her feet and hurried after them.
Digby extinguished the oil lamps on the landing and they approached the tall window overlooking the square. They pressed close to the window, except for the frightened little maid who hovered behind them anxiously.
Digby pointed through the lace curtain. “There, madam. By the third tree from your right. Yes. Do you see him? He’s only a shadow—but there! He’s lit another cigar!”
Mally gently pulled the lace curtain aside to see more clearly. The square was misty and cold, and the occasional leaf drifted to the wet grass. A carriage moved along the far side of the green. It was Chris’s and she remembered that he was dining with the Earl of Hartmore, Annabel’s father. The cobbles gleamed damply and the man’s silhouette was just visible in the gray haze.
They were so intent upon watching that they did not hear Lucy coming down from the floor above, nor did they hear her exclamation of annoyance at finding the main landing in darkness. She hurried back upstairs and lifted an oil lamp from its holder, and then came down again. The light flooded onto the landing behind the window, picking out Mally quite clearly as she peered around the heavy lace curtain.
“Lucy!” Mrs. Berrisford squealed in dismay, gesturing the old nurse away. “He’ll see us all now!”
But it was too late, for the man had seen Mally’s outline. He stamped out the cigar and melted back among the trees. There were no fleei
ng footsteps to hear this time, but the coldness she had experienced before slithered back over Mally as she stood there. Digby took Mrs. Berrisford’s arm, for she seemed about to faint clean away, and he supported her back into the warm dining room.
Mally remained by the window for a while. Chris’s carriage had passed from sight beyond St. Blaise’s now and across the square the Earl’s house was a blaze of color and lights. But down in the square, the trees were dark and mysterious, a cobweb of inky shadows and strange shapes. She turned away and took a long breath; she must hide her unease from her mother.
In the dining room Mrs. Berrisford was accepting a glass of wine from the patient Digby, and the little maid was still wavering around by the door, seeming to be on the point of dissolving into tears at any moment. Lucy stood by the table looking upset, and Mally went to her.
“Don’t fret now, Lucy, it wasn’t your fault. I’ll tell you what, you and Digby go to the kitchens, and take this poor maid with you, and have some of the best brandy to set you all up again.”
When she was alone with her mother again, she poured herself a very large glass of the Médoc.
Mrs. Berrisford watched her. “I begin to find your consumption of wine rather alarming, Marigold.”
“If you think I drink heavily, then I pray you are never invited to a society dinner party, for then the capacity of some ladies of repute would absolutely stagger you. Now, let me sit down and get my breath back. I—I wonder what he was watching us for? He must have been a hopeful burglar, don’t you think?”
“Or something more sinister.”
“Oh, Mother, don’t say such things, please.”
“We would not even have known he was there had it not been for Lucy. I shall be locking my door again tonight, and you must do the same, Marigold.”
“Let’s change the subject, shall we? I met the new owner of Castell Melyn today.”
“That man!”
“Why ever do you feel like that about Mr. Vallender? I found him most charming.”
“He is odious in the extreme.”
“Oh. Well, we will have to beg to differ on that point for the time being—until he proves to me that he is odious.”
“I know nothing good about him. Nothing at all. As I have already said. He is a harborer of murderers and seducers of young women!”
“Goodness, and here’s my good self with an invitation to visit him there.”
“You wouldn’t, Marigold!”
“Why ever not? I found him most agreeable. Did you realize that he is an old friend of both Chris and Daniel?”
Mrs. Berrisford stared at her. “Not that Dickon Vallender? The boy they went to school with?”
“Yes. That’s why he bought the castle, because he knew Llanglyn was where Daniel came from. He didn’t know Daniel was dead or that he had been married.”
“Would that he had forgotten where Daniel came from then.”
“I found him pleasant.”
“So you keep saying, Marigold. Are you sure that you and Sir Christopher quarreled about an ordinary difference? Was it perhaps your delight in this Mr. Vallender?”
“No, Mother, it was not about Mr. Vallender.”
“Then why has not Sir Christopher called here tonight? I recognized his carriage a moment ago.”
Mally looked at her glass. “He is dining with the Earl of Hartmore.”
“Quite a party they must be making of it, judging by the lights and so on over there.” Mrs. Berrisford looked carefully at her. “Was it not the Earl’s daughter Sir Christopher was once expected to marry?”
“Lady Annabel Murchison. Yes, Mother.”
“A tall piece? Golden hair?”
“Yes.”
“Mm.”
Mally looked sharply at her. “Why do you mutter like that?”
“Because while you were surveying the man in the square, I happened to glance across at the Earl’s house. I could see straight into the drawing room before the curtains were drawn.”
“And?”
“And I saw Sir Christopher and Lady Annabel sitting very cosily together. Very cosily.”
***
Daniel! Daniel St. Aubrey! You let me out of here this instant! Do you hear me! The cold, cold darkness was all around her, velvety and close, pressing in on her all over again. Daniel, please, I’m frightened. The icy air seemed to move over her like a ghostly breath.
And Daniel’s voice. So far away. Come and find me, Mally. Come and find me.
Daniel! The sepulchral air breathed again.
Abruptly the nightmare was gone. Mally lay there shaking in the warm bed. The nightmare had gone, but its threads still lingered in the room, threads like cobwebs to cling to her across the years. She stared at the tiny night light, its steady little glow visible through the velvet drapes of the bed. The sheets smelled of lavender. And they were warm. Not cold and damp like a grave—
The quiet of the night was absolute. Except— She turned her head slightly at a faint, stealthy sound. At the door. She froze with a sudden new fear as the night light quivered a little in its dish as a cool draft spread through the room from the opened door. The velvet curtains of the bed moved slightly as a hand drew them aside.
The terror rose to a crescendo and she began to scream. The hand vanished and heavy steps retreated toward the door. Still screaming she dragged the bed-clothes away and pushed past the still trembling curtains. The door of the room was wide open, and as she ran out onto the landing and leaned over the banisters, a figure stood down in the hallway, the hood of its cloak pulled over its face although it was staring up at her, motionless.
She screamed again and the figure’s frozen immobility vanished. With one or two steps it was by the front door which had already been unbolted. The doors swung heavily, letting in the mist and cold of the night, and then the intruder was gone. Mally thought she could hear footsteps out in the night. And then nothing.
“Miss Mall? Miss Mall, whatever is it?”
She turned to see Lucy’s frightened face lit by the single candle she was holding. Her gray hair was in one long plait hanging down over her right shoulder, and one hand was clutching the drawstring at the throat of her nightgown.
“Oh, Lucy—” Mally clung weakly to the banisters. “Someone tried to get into my room, he was at the very bed itself! Oh, if I hadn’t woken up—!”
“Marigold?” Mrs. Berrisford’s key rattled and she peeped cautiously out of the room. “Marigold? Was that you screaming, or was I dreaming?” Her face, bereft of rouge, looked podgy and pale, and her mousy hair was revealed without its usual wig cover.
Lucy put her arm gently around Mally’s shaking shoulders. “Come on down to the library, Miss Mall, the fire will still be in there. You’ve had a dreadful shock.”
Mally looked down into the empty hall again, looking through the shimmering crystals of the chandelier. Surely she had not imagined it—
But then Digby came up from the basement, his old nightcap pulled over his balding head and his dressing gown tied firmly around his bony body. He went to the doors and closed them, pausing before finally closing the second one to look across the square.
“What is it, Digby?”
“Sir Christopher is just leaving the Earl’s house, madam.”
Chris. “Go and bring him, Digby, I beg of you.”
“Marigold!” Mrs. Berrisford emerged a little more from the haven of her room. “You cannot!”
“I want him here, Mother!” She looked over at Digby. “If you please.”
The butler straightened his nightcap self-consciously, rearranged his dressing gown, and stepped out down the steps into the night.
Lucy steered Mally down the stairs to the floor below and into the leather-filled warmth of the library. The fire glowed soft
ly behind its guard and the spines of the books ranged around on their shelves looked soothing and comforting as Mally sat in Daniel’s favorite chair by the fire.
They heard light steps coming up from the hallway and then Chris was there, tossing his top hat onto the table.
“Mally?” His eyes were anxious and he brought the scent of cigar smoke with him, clinging to his velvet coat.
“Oh, Chris—” She stood and ran to him.
He caught her close, his fingers twining in her thick dark hair, and his lips were soft as he kissed her. “It’s all right now, sweetheart, I’m here.”
“Don’t leave me tonight, Chris, please.” She pressed against him, her face buried in the frill and lace of his shirt.
“I won’t. I promise.”
Chapter 8
Chris put down the Morning Chronicle as Mally entered the dining room the following morning. He stood and held his hands out to her. “Do you feel a little better this morning?”
She pulled a wry face. “I feel a little foolish this morning, that is for sure.”
“Foolish? But you had every right to be frightened.” He pulled her into his arms. “I have set Digby to check through the entire house and gardens to see if anything has been stolen, but on a cursory glance myself I could see nothing.”
“My noisy awakening probably finished the burglary before it had properly begun.” If it was a burglary— The thought slipped through her mind quite unexpectedly.
There was a discreet knock at the door and Digby came in. “Good morning, madam.”
“Good morning, Digby.” She stepped self-consciously away from Chris.
“Sir Christopher,” said the butler, “I have done as you bade me, commencing with the gardens. And it seems most probable that the fellow entered from the back lane between this house and Lady Simmonds’s, for the ivy has been torn from the wall by the dovecote. The kitchen door has been forced and I have sent for a locksmith to replace the damaged lock. But on going through the house itself, sir, I could find nothing. Nothing at all. I would say that not one single thing has been touched or even moved. I even set the house maids and parlor maids to check, and they swear that everything looks as it should.”
Mally : Signet Regency Romance (9781101568057) Page 5
