Mally : Signet Regency Romance (9781101568057)

by Heath, Sandra

  He squeezed her. “Don’t be foolish.”

  “If he’d been killed, I would never have forgiven myself.” Tears hung in her green eyes and she tried to blink them back, but they would not be denied. They meandered down her grimy cheeks.

  Chris smiled fondly at her. “You’re soft, Lady Annabel, do you know that?”

  Abel lay across the other seat. He looked at Richard again. “Mr. Vallender, I came because—”

  “All right, Abel!”

  Mally’s eyes went to Richard’s face in surprise, and he patted the Jamaican’s shoulder. “Tell me later.”

  “Yes, Mr. Vallender.”

  The landau slowed to enter the narrow gateway of the courthouse and inside the doctor’s pony and trap had already arrived.

  Annabel, Mally, and Chris climbed down, but Richard remained where he was as the doctor climbed in to examine Abel.

  “Is he all right, Nathaniel?” he asked.

  “Yes, I think so. In fact, I’m sure of it. He was badly winded, that’s all.”

  “Then we’ll go on up to the castle.”

  Mally leaned in. “But, Mr. Vallender, allow him a little time to recover.”

  “No, Mrs. St. Aubrey, I would rather do as I said. With all due thanks to you, of course.”

  She met his dark eyes. “As you wish, Mr. Vallender.”

  “I would hardly wish to foist my company upon your lady mother, would I?” He smiled. “You still intend coming?”

  “Of course.”

  “I will see you then, whenever you wish to come.”

  She stepped back and the doctor climbed down, turning to look back at Richard. “I was coming up there anyway, Richard,” he said. “Abel said that I was urgently needed. Damn, he wouldn’t have dared come into Llanglyn for any other reason. You got my letter?”

  “On the day I was leaving anyway.”

  “I thought you should know how things were faring back here.”

  Richard smiled. “You’re a good friend, Nathaniel. Let’s get on up there then. Chris, shall you come now or follow a little later?”

  “Later, Richard. I’ll use Mrs. Berrisford’s barouche, which is already harnessed up.” As if to underline his words, they heard the empty barouche halting outside on the road, unable to enter the courtyard because of the landau.

  Richard’s eyes went to Mally again. What was the expression she could see in them? Dislike? Anxiety? Mistrust? It could be anything. She watched the landau maneuver around the courtyard, conscious yet again that Richard Vallender did not want her at the castle. The pony and trap followed and soon the courtyard was empty, until the barouche’s team nosed slowly beneath the gatehouse.

  Mally nodded at the coachman. “Wait, if you please, Harris, for Sir Christopher wishes to go up to the castle a little later.”

  The coachman touched his hat, and Mally turned toward Chris and Annabel, noticing immediately that his arm was still around her shoulder in comfort. And Annabel was draining the last droplet of comfort she could from the prolonged moments. Mally’s eyes flickered. “Still on the verge of the vapors, Annabel?”

  “I feel quite distraught.”

  “That’s one of my mother’s favorite words. I had not realized you liked it too.”

  Chris raised his eyebrow. “Let’s get inside, shall we?”

  “Oh.” Mally closed her eyes briefly. “I’ve left Mother’s shopping in the market.”

  “Judging by the motley selection of persons gathered there today, that’s the last you’ll see of the shopping. Basket and all.”

  They crossed toward the wood steps and climbed to the gallery where Pattie waited anxiously.

  “Oh, Lady Annabel, whatever’s been happening?”

  “More Llanglyn merry-making,” said Annabel flatly, allowing Pattie to usher her away from Chris and into the great hall.

  Chris caught Mally back gently. “What’s going on here, Mally?”

  “The people think Mr. Vallender’s Abel killed Mrs. Harmon.”

  “And did he? In your opinion?”

  She considered. “No. I believe Dr. Towers when he says Abel did not.”

  “It’s strange, but Richard was anxious to get back here sooner. It was almost as if he sensed things were wrong.”

  “Then why didn’t he? Surely he could have returned had he really wished to.”

  “I begin to think you are not impressed by Richard, Mally.”

  “Oh, I’m impressed. Most impressed.”

  Chris prudently left the matter, beginning to walk on, but she remained at the top of the steps. “Chris, why didn’t he come back then?”

  “He couldn’t. He’d sold his horse and was depending upon me to bring him home.”

  “He sold that horse? But why?”

  Chris came back to her. “To pay Dr. Stiller. I know that to be so, for the last thing we did before leaving London was to call at Stiller’s house.”

  “Is Mr. Vallender ill then?”

  “If he is, then he is keeping the fact to himself. He said nothing of Stiller and I did not ask him.” He smiled, slipping his arms around her waist. “I missed you.”

  She kissed him, holding him tightly. But she felt guilty as she did so, for it was not of him that she was thinking at that moment. It was Richard Vallender’s visit to Dr. Stiller. And who it was up at Castell Melyn who required Dr. Towers so urgently—urgently enough for Abel to risk his life coming into Llanglyn? Was it Maria? Was she up at Castell Melyn, and was she ill?

  ***

  Chris closed the door of Mally’s room quietly and she turned quickly from staring up at Castell Melyn.

  “Your mother is working up to a fine pitch over this impending tea party. I came up here to escape.”

  “Couldn’t Annabel keep you in her clutches any longer then?”

  He paused. “She is upset, Mally, and still shakes all over.”

  “I’ll warrant she does! Quivering like a doe each time you touch her, leaning winsomely against your manly shoulder and turning those great cow-eyes adoringly toward you all the time! I came up here to escape as well!”

  He smiled. “I’ll warrant she’s making all the headway she can, which flatters me quite considerably. But that doesn’t mean she is faking how she feels about what happened in Llanglyn earlier.”

  “Headway can only be made under favorable conditions,” said Mally shortly, biting her lip and looking away.

  “That wasn’t called for. And I would be a poor friend to her if I snubbed her over such a thing, wouldn’t I? Annabel’s all right and I like her.”

  “So I noticed.”

  “I am her friend, not her lover. Come on now, Mally, stop this—” He put his hand to the nape of her neck and wound his fingers gently in her warm hair. “You’re in a miff with me, aren’t you? Mm?”

  She looked at him immediately. “With you? No. With myself.”

  “I’ll pass over such a cryptic, entirely female remark.” He pulled her nearer and kissed her.

  She closed her eyes and moved to hold him tightly. She was angry, angry and confused. Each tiny inch Annabel strove to creep nearer to him could have been halted. I could have smacked her down in no uncertain way. But I did nothing, nothing at all—

  He drew his finger over her lips, softly and slowly. “You’re in a stew over your sister still?”

  She seized the straw. “There’s been no word.”

  “No news is good news, so they say.”

  “Just a scribbled note would be all she need do.”

  “An escape to Richard’s ghost-ridden pile of stone will do you good. It will take your mind from Miss Maria Berrisford’s misdemeanors for a while. Now that your mother has realized that Annabel knows about your sister, she has done nothing but rattle
about it. And about the tea party. And about Mrs. Clevely. And about the gossips of Llanglyn. And about poor Richard, who is blacker than black in her eyes. She never stops. I think your father threw himself from that damned horse, he needed an escape as well.”

  She smiled. “Mother cannot help it.”

  “Anyone can help chattering quite so much. Anyway, I shall go up to Castell Melyn now, but I shall come back for you and Annabel tonight.”

  “Tonight?”

  “Why not?”

  “Mother—”

  “Damn Mother. You and Annabel need rescuing, and in true white-knight fashion, I am doing my chivalrous act. Tonight.”

  She nodded, kissing him for a last time. The afternoon sun was thin and watery as she looked up at Castell Melyn again. Tonight she would be there, and perhaps at long last she might begin to find some of the answers to the various puzzles and mysteries which surrounded Maria.

  Chapter 18

  It was raining as the landau moved slowly up the lane, and the window was awash, distorting the shadowy trees outside. The wind had strengthened; moaning through the woods, sending stray dead leaves to cling to the glass as Mally looked out into the night. They slid slowly down until the wind caught them again, spinning them away into the wild darkness.

  Annabel shivered. “Had I begged for an atmosphere, I could not have hoped for better.”

  Chris tucked the traveling rug around her knees again. “Imagination is a wondrous thing.”

  “You are jealous because you have none. Oh, I wonder if the ghosts sense my approach.”

  Mally groaned. “Yes, they are at this very moment hurrying out through the back door, their chains rattling in terror.”

  “Castles don’t have back doors, they have posterns. Nothing you two say will deflate me, I am determined to be in a state of goose-pimpled anticipation for the whole of my stay.”

  “Will your constitution withstand such an onslaught?” Chris grinned at her.

  “I have the constitution of an ox.”

  Mally raised an eyebrow. “You said it.”

  “To save you.”

  “You didn’t seem to have much resistance to anything out of the ordinary earlier today, wilting here and there like some fading blossom.” Mally tugged some of the traveling rug back.

  “I know. I’m ashamed of myself, actually.”

  “So you should be. Constitution of an ox indeed.” Mally gave a final tug and recovered her portion of the rug. She felt Chris glance at her and steadfastly avoided his eyes.

  Annabel looked out at the wind-lashed woods. “This is like some nightmare land, isn’t it? All howling wind, heavy rain, and whispering trees. Not for anyone of an even vaguely nervous disposition.”

  “Which must include your good self for a start,” said Mally. “But then, you must be the only person in the land who actually looks forward to being scared witless. Oh, just look at how the wind is bending those trees over there, the gale is getting stronger with each minute. I’ll warrant Dr. Towers is glad he returned to Llanglyn when he did.”

  Chris nodded. “He set up a spanking pace down the hill, I can tell you. We could see the storm approaching across the northern mountains, watching the cloud and rain swallow each one in turn. The baron who built that castle certainly knew a vantage point when he saw it, for there’s nothing for miles which cannot be seen and overlooked from up there.”

  “Who is ill up there?” asked Mally casually.

  “A groom. Richard and Towers were worried.”

  “What’s wrong with him?”

  “Couldn’t say. When I asked, Richard said that they’d taken the advice of the best doctor in the land—”

  “Stiller?”

  “Perhaps. He is acknowledged one of the best.”

  Annabel looked surprise. “Dr. Stiller for a mere groom? How very eccentric.”

  The landau slowed to a halt and immediately the rushing and hissing of the trees was louder and more menacing. Lanterns swayed on the walls of the lodge, casting moving light and dark over the lane and making the raindrops on the windows glisten like diamonds. The lodgekeeper came out, his cloak flapping, and a heavy metallic creaking cut into the night, making the landau’s team start nervously.

  “What’s that?” said Annabel immediately.

  “The portcullis,” said Chris. “Even the lodge has a portcullis and a drawbridge. The gateway to Castell Melyn is one of the most extravagant I’ve come across and I’ve come across a fair number.”

  “More extravagant than Lord Hayldon’s Eastern-palace affair?” asked Annabel.

  “Hayldon would be put to shame.”

  The landau lurched forward again, echoing hollowly beneath the narrow arched gateway with its squat towers. Torches flared on the walls, their flames tipping and smoking in the storm, and then the wheels were rolling over wood.

  “The drawbridge,” said Chris before Annabel could speak. “There is a false moat and a drawbridge which is lowered to let anyone in. I tell you, if that drawbridge was raised, then no one could get in or out of the park, for every inch of the castle’s land is well and truly enclosed. With a wall.”

  “Then there is no going back, is there?” Annabel turned up the rich fur collar of her pelisse and wriggled further back in the seat.

  “How very fatal that sounds,” said Mally, glancing from the window at the wide park. There were few trees now, only the park stretching up toward the castle. The unfettered wind buffeted across the mountainside and the landau shook with each gust. She could see the castle against the sky; at least, she could see that single light in the southwest tower—

  Mally was trembling as the landau moved even nearer, and with each yard covered she could make out more of the fortress. The towers were just visible now, standing square and strong, and the curtain wall plunging down to the rock on which it was built. As the landau swung around the drive, the lights on the drawbridge glittered in the rippled water of the moat, and smoke from the chimneys of the newly restored living apartments was caught and spun down over the water, threading and tearing like cobwebs. It drifted into the landau, sharp and acrid, and once more the rain splattered the windows as the landau turned against the wind.

  Chris wiped the moisture from the glass. “Annabel, you have your atmosphere—with a vengeance, eh?”

  “Yes. It is perfect. Absolutely perfect.”

  The teams drew the carriage over the drawbridge and the wind was suddenly closed off by the great barbican. The uneven old stones made the carriage sway and jolt, and the team’s hooves sent sparks flashing from the paving.

  Servants ran from a doorway as the landau halted, and the flambeaux they carried burned steadily in the almost windless courtyard. The door was opened and the sound of the rain was immediately louder, but the great walls and towers shielded the courtyard from the worst of the storm. Chris helped Mally and Annabel down and an old man in a powdered wig and rust-colored coat and breeches bowed politely, indicating a doorway with the sweep of his hand. His face was wizened and dark, and his brown button eyes were sharp and bright.

  “Mesdames. Milord.”

  Mally grinned at Annabel. “You’ve been demoted.”

  “Blue blood will out,” retorted Annabel as they stepped thankfully into the warmth of the converted buttery where the cask racks now held a collection of colored glass and porcelain. A sole remaining butt stood in one corner, and on it a large polished copper bowl containing tumbling sprays of Michaelmas daisies and chrysanthemums, with here and there the bright red berries of the rowans which lined the lower half of the drive. Annabel surveyed the arrangement in surprise. “Berries in the house! How very novel, don’t you think so, Chris?”

  “An American notion, I believe. There’s an arrangement of brambles, old man’s beard, and holly in the solar. Takes get
ting used to, but I confess I like it.”

  There was a smell of cinnamon and wine in the buttery, as if all the old spices had seeped into the walls over the centuries. The stone floor was scrubbed clean and some Eastern rugs lay here and there, bright designs of color and tone to soften the stark whitewash of the walls. Mally looked around.

  “It’s so different. The last time I was here, this was all cobwebs, dirty old casks, and dust. The door was half off its hinges and creaked most horribly with each tiny draft.” She shivered.

  Daniel, you let me out of here this instant! Do you hear me? Please, I’m frightened!

  The old man took their cloaks and mantles, and then bowed. Without a smile he indicated that they should follow him once more. Mally glanced at Annabel, who looked as if she could have a fit of the giggles at the strange, silent little man. They left the smell of cinnamon behind as they walked further into the castle, passing a grandfather clock which ticked slowly and loudly, its walnut cabinet soft and rich in the lamp light. Beside it was a portrait of a woman in a rather old-fashioned pink gown. Her name was on the frame. Gillian Vallender—1806. Mally paused, looking up at Richard Vallender’s wife, at the wistful, lost smile of the woman he had never truly loved. The sadness was there in the sweet face. Perhaps Gillian had not been as unaware as he had thought—

  They went up some winding, worn stone steps where the bare walls were hung with swords and daggers. The air was musty, and as they passed the newly glazed slit windows they could hear the storm raging.

  Richard Vallender stood by the fireplace in the solar, and he smiled at them. “The storm did not deter you then?” His hand was warm as he greeted Mally. “Welcome to Castell Melyn.”

  Annabel looked around. “What a very pleasing room, Mr. Vallender.”

  “The only pleasing room in the place, apart from the bedrooms. The great hall is just that—great! And drafty, and gloomy, and sadly lacking its attendant forest of retainers, serfs, boarhounds, minstrels, and so on. Does the new Castell Melyn meet with your approval, Mrs. St. Aubrey?”

  She allowed her gaze to wander slowly around. The large windows overlooking the courtyard were concealed behind heavy ruby-red curtains, and the walls had been plastered and whitewashed. The wooden floor was stained dark brown, and before the fire a thick carpet patterned in wine and cream was lit by the huge, licking flames in the ancient fireplace. The furniture was richly upholstered in pale green, and arrangements of flowers and berries stood on the many tables, their highly polished copper bowls gleaming in the half-light. High above hung an old, iron-rimmed candleholder, throwing up a ring of brightness to the rafters in the gloom of the ceiling. There was a painting of a large white house above the fireplace, and many smaller paintings and portraits hung on the walls. At the far end, one large tapestry covered the entire wall, a beautiful scene of medieval lords and ladies, hawks and dogs moving across a landscape of strange trees and plants.