Mally : Signet Regency Romance (9781101568057)

by Heath, Sandra

  She looked at Richard again. “It’s very, very beautiful, Mr. Vallender, far more than pleasing.”

  He smiled. “That is praise indeed. Louis, ypocras, s’il vous plaît.”

  The butler bowed. “Oui, monsieur.”

  When he had gone, Annabel sat down in the chair closest to the fire. “Is your Louis a Frenchman then?”

  “No. A Creole. From New Orleans.”

  “How very superior, quite a talking point in many a drawing room. I envy you.”

  “I wouldn’t know, Lady Annabel. Please sit down, Mrs. St. Aubrey—would it be presuming upon our friendship at all if I begged permission to call you Mally? Daniel was a grand fellow, but his name was ever a mouthful.”

  She smiled, allowing him to lead her to a chair. “Please call me Mally. But then I must call you Richard, must I not?”

  “That would be fair, yes.” He smiled again as she looked up at him. His eyes were so very dark, that try as she could she could not see into them.

  Louis returned with a tray of warmed glasses and a jug of spiced wine. The ypocras was perfect, just the needed warmth for the cold night, and Annabel sipped hers appreciatively. Her face shone with the glow of the fire as she turned to Richard.

  “Have you seen Lady Jacquetta, Mr. Vallender? Richard.”

  “Not a whisker.”

  “No rattlings, moanings, or unearthly shrieks?”

  He shook his head, smiling. “Not one, I fear.”

  “Oh, dear, she will have to do better than this. This is my great sallying forth into the realms of the afterworld, and the very least she could do is send an icy chill over the room or something.”

  As she finished speaking the door flew open, banging loudly against a chair. The cold air from the steps swept over the room, fluttering the candles and dragging a cloud of smoke from the fire. Annabel’s eyes were huge and she swallowed the last of the wine in one mouthful. Mally shuddered, for the timing had been uncanny. Chris smothered a laugh.

  The butler’s wrinkled face was expressionless. “C’est la porte extérieur, monsieur, pardonnez moi.”

  Richard grinned. “Cą ne fait rien, Louis. Merci.”

  “Monsieur.”

  When the door had closed again, the fire stopped smoking and the candles settled back to their steady burning. Annabel breathed out loudly. “I’d swear that man knew the door would blow open! Does he understand English, Mr.—Richard?”

  “Oh, perfectly. But he persists in speaking French and I’m afraid it’s easier to do things his way than it is to try to change him.”

  Chris was still laughing at Annabel’s pale face. “So, it was no chain-rattling ghost, just a medieval door with a medieval latch!”

  “Stop laughing, Chris. You have to admit it was most alarming, coming just when I had spoken. Almost”—she looked sharply at Richard—“almost as expertly timed as that dreadful goddess with staring eyes.”

  He put his hand to his heart. “Now would I be guilty of such a heartless joke?”

  “Yes. You and Chris together would be perfectly capable of dreaming up countless such coincidences to keep me squeaking. What have you set up in this place, eh? Look me in the eye and say you are innocent!”

  Richard leaned closer, looking straight at her. “I am innocent, my sweet lady. Absolutely and completely.”

  Mally watched him. He was outwardly relaxed, smiling, and being a perfect host. Yet there was still a slight tension in him whenever he looked toward Mally, something reserved, although he spoke charmingly and smiled a great deal. No matter how he tried, he could not completely conceal the unease Mally’s presence caused him, and she sensed it strongly.

  “Tell me, Richard,” she said, “how is poor Abel now?”

  “Recovered. And bruised. But Nathaniel assures me no damage has been done.”

  “And the groom? I trust there is good news there too.”

  He stared at her. “Groom?”

  “Why yes, the man Dr. Towers was coming to see so urgently anyway today.”

  “Ah. He is not well, I fear.”

  “What’s wrong with him?” asked Annabel curiously, wondering again about the great Dr. Stiller being approached for a servant.

  Richard poured himself another glass of ypocras. Mally knew that he was giving himself time, for he took a long time over such a simple task. “He—er, had an experience which affected his mind. No, Lady Annabel, not a ghostly experience, a very flesh-and-blood one. He was set upon when returning from Hereford one night, and was left for dead. He was found and had a letter addressed to me here at the castle and so they brought him back. Dr. Towers attended him, and we thought at first that he was unconscious only as anyone would be after such an assault, but then it became apparent that it was something more. He has lain there now for some weeks, quite unconscious and yet very much alive.”

  Annabel held her glass out to him. “Is that why you have been visiting Dr. Stiller?”

  Richard glanced accusingly at Chris, who looked uncomfortably guilty. “Yes, Lady Annabel, that is why I sought Stiller’s advice.”

  “Which is? Oh, forgive my morbid persistence, Richard, but I’m very interested,” said Annabel, clinging to the subject like a limpet.

  “He says that in his experience such disorders of the mind can only ever be overcome by a repetition of the experience which brought it about in the first place. In other words, someone has to set about him, or he has to see someone else being set about. That might squeeze the trigger in his head, or whatever it is in his head which is keeping him in such a state.”

  Annabel stared. “Someone must beat the poor man all over again? I would imagine that would have sent him further away from this world, not brought him back again.”

  He smiled faintly. “That, Lady Annabel, is exactly how I feel.”

  “So, you intend doing nothing?” asked Chris.

  “For the moment. I feel quite helpless.”

  “And does his condition allow you such time to consider?” asked Annabel.

  “To look at him, one would imagine that time is endless.” Richard drained his glass. Mally caught the heartfelt tone in his voice; it was not of the groom’s illness that he spoke—

  Annabel put her glass down. “Well, I am ready.”

  “For what?” asked Mally.

  “The bugaboos and ghosties, of course.”

  “Tonight?” said Chris in surprise.

  “Why yes. What better time? The wind is howling and the storm raging. I want to ghost-hunt right now.”

  Chris smiled. “Two glasses of ypocras and you’ll take on the entire demon kingdom. All right, I’m game. Come on Mally, Richard—we’ll let Lady Fearless here take the lead.”

  Mally stood, looking at Richard. “Shall we start with the southwest tower?”

  His eyes flickered. “Why there?”

  “It interests me—I’ve seen the light burning there so long.”

  “That is because the groom is there, Mally,” he said softly. “I don’t think we should do our hunting there now, do you?”

  He held her gaze for a moment and she nodded at last. “Perhaps not.”

  Chapter 19

  The great hall was dark and hollow. The solitary candle Chris held made small inroads on the gloom which stretched on all echoing sides, and Mally’s heart was thundering. Suddenly it seemed that Annabel’s ghosts were not so laughable and distant after all. The wind’s sad wailing pressed all around the outside of the building which stood alone on the northern side of the courtyard, and dry leaves scuttered in through the door before Richard closed it behind them.

  “Well, and here you have my great hall.” Hall—hall—hall— His voice kept swinging back at them from the darkness.

  Chris’s voice held humor. “I can imagine t
hat your good self in solitary splendor in this cavern would be a little lost.”

  “Aye, my friend, like a pimple on an elephant.”

  High above something fluttered in the rafters and Annabel melted against Chris, gazing up to try to make out what it was. Mally’s heart would not cease its thundering, and she wished herself back in the gentle solar—

  “A barn owl,” said Richard. “I doubt that he has to leave this place at any time, there are more than enough rats to keep him too fat to fly.”

  “Rats?” Annabel sought Chris’s hand. “In here?”

  “Yes.” Mally could hear the mirth in Richard’s voice.

  “Well, why do you not keep some beast to control them?” Annabel’s fingers twined determinedly around Chris’s.

  “The Pied Piper was otherwise engaged.” Richard took a long breath. “Besides, I don’t think I shall be requiring this mausoleum for a long, long time.”

  Chris was surprised. “But, Richard, I have seen this place in the daylight. It’s very splendid still and would make the ballroom to end all ballrooms.”

  “Maybe, but such funds as I had were more than stretched to cover the rest of the castle. Mally here will tell you it was a ruin, more or less. Some rooms were still intact, but that is all that can be said.”

  “Some parts were still too intact,” she murmured, remembering.

  Richard looked at her. “You let the past prey on you, Mally,” he said softly.

  She walked further on into the hall, her footsteps echoing. The darkness seemed to press in, and the fluttering of the barn owl was renewed. She hesitated. “Is there anything leading from his hall? I don’t remember.” Remember—remember—remember— She spoke rather louder than she had intended and her voice slid from corner to corner, swooping back at her from all sides.

  “The kitchens,” said Richard. “Over there.”

  Chris removed his hand from Annabel’s fingers. “I’ll show you.” He gave Annabel the candle and came closer to Mally, slipping his arm around her waist. “This way.”

  Annabel’s voice followed them. “Lady Jacquetta wouldn’t be seen dead in the kitchens!” Then she laughed at her own joke.

  The light from that solitary candle was so faint now that Mally and Chris could hardly see, and he turned to ask Annabel to bring it nearer. But at that moment the candle went out.

  Mally halted as the velvety completeness of the darkness made her completely blind. “Annabel?”

  “Richard,” said Chris, “open the door—”

  “I’ll bring another light.”

  The door opened and closed, sounding loud and final. The closing of the door brought the past creeping back to touch Mally with cold fingers. The darkness locked her in, and the wind howled outside just as it had all those years ago in this very castle—

  You let me out of here this instant! Do you hear me! Daniel! Please!

  “Daniel?” The word slipped out, and she caught Chris’s hand.

  Then Richard was there again with a light and the past was driven back. But the mistake had been made. She turned to Chris. The look in his eyes told her how much of a gap had suddenly appeared between them. He took his hand away from her. “My name is Chris,” he said flatly. “Once again you appear to have forgotten.” Forgotten—forgotten—forgotten— The echo took his voice.

  “It was the past—” she began, her voice shaking.

  “It is now the present for most of us.” His eyes were cold.

  Richard held the new candle to the dead wick and after a moment there was more light. The barn owl’s white heart-shaped face peered down at them from high above. It screeched loudly, the screech seeming to go on forever as the deadly echo seized upon it.

  Annabel glanced from Mally to Chris. “I didn’t mean—”

  Mally rounded on her. “You blew the candle out, didn’t you?”

  “It was only fun—”

  “Fun! Oh, damn you, damn you to hell!” Hell—hell—hell—

  “Mally—” Annabel looked unhappy. “Forgive me, I meant only to get my own back on Chris for that business with the statue.”

  Chris held his hand out to Annabel. “Come on then, let’s continue our search.”

  Mally stood miserably where she was, watching how eagerly Annabel reached out to him. They walked on toward the door at the far end where the kitchens were at the base of the northern tower.

  Richard looked at her. “You look as if you’ve seen Annabel’s ghost,” he said softly.

  “There was a ghost,” she said with a small laugh, “and it was very real. Just for a moment.”

  He took her hand. “Shall we follow? If we do not, the fair Annabel may make more ground up than even she dreams of.”

  “Perhaps.”

  He held the candle and studied her face, his dark eyes seeming fathomless. “Chris wants you, Annabel wants Chris. But you, Mally, what do you want?”

  “I don’t know what you mean.” She began to walk on.

  He held her. “I mean that for a love match, you and Chris seem to have precious little understanding.”

  “That’s nonsense,” she said, smiling brightly. The trembling was passing; but the swiftness of Chris’s coldness was numbing—

  “Is it? Then forgive me.” He led her on toward the kitchens, where the other candle’s light was bobbing and shaking, and where Annabel’s laughter was at odds with the gloom in the hall.

  ***

  “Not a shriek, not a single mournful wail!” Annabel sat down on the green velvet sofa in the solar and accepted the glass Richard held out to her. “How very frustrating.”

  “The ghosts probably have been caught unawares by the suddenness of your arrival, Annabel.” Richard laughed. “Tomorrow I am certain they will put on their party piece for you.”

  “After such excellent Creole cooking and such magnificent wine, Richard, I will forgive them. You are an excellent host.” She smiled at him. “I like your castle, Richard Vallender, but you simply must do up that hall and make it into a ballroom. The gallery at the end is perfect for an orchestra—which is what the minstrels were, weren’t they?”

  “They were. Perhaps, one day—”

  “And if we could winkle out the good Lady Jacquetta and persuade her to put on a performance, you’d have every fashionable name in England clamoring to cross the Welsh border, beating your door for an invitation!”

  “God forbid.” Richard laughed and sat down.

  “But first of all we must find the place where she was walled up.”

  “Why?” asked Chris, taking a seat next to her. He was still cool toward Mally, who after a few attempts at melting him had now resigned herself to being virtually ignored. And this time, it was so very unfair—

  Annabel sniffed her glass of Madeira. “Because, as every good ghost-hunter knows, that would be the place she is chained to. Spiritually now, of course.”

  “Poppycock.” Chris laughed.

  “It isn’t! Anyway, I have here in my reticule a vastly interesting book on the subject of Castell Melyn and Lady Jacquetta. I wheedled at my father to prevail upon his good friend, the Constable of the Tower of London. They belong to the same club, don’t you know.” Her voice dropped into a perfect, wheezy imitation of her father. “And the good Constable nosed this out.” She put the book on the table before them. It was small, covered with well-worn black leather, with a tiny metal clasp.

  “What does it say?” asked Richard, picking it up and flicking idly through the ancient pages.

  “I won’t go into the same gruesome detail as the book. Lady Jacquetta and her husband Sir Francis belong to the time of the Wars of the Roses. She was being unfaithful to him with a certain Sir Piers Grasville, who together with Francis supported Richard III. Jacquetta’s misdemeanors were discovered, Sir
Piers escaped, Sir Francis took umbrage in a very determined way, walling his wife up and turning coat to support the invading Henry Tudor. So, if it had not been for my ghostly lady, one must assume that Henry Tudor would not have found his invasion through Wales quite such a simple matter. And there you have the tale—in a nutshell. Is it not entertaining?”

  Chris nodded and raised his glass to her. “Most definitely.”

  Annabel leaned forward, her eyes huge in the firelight. “Perhaps he could hear her after he’d had her walled up—screaming, begging, tearing her bloodied fingers on the very walls—”

  Richard glanced quickly at Mally’s pale face. “I think that’s enough of Lady Jacquetta’s fate, don’t you think?”

  “And I was just warming to my subject,” Annabel protested.

  “Mally isn’t, and with good reason, I fancy,” said Richard.

  “I’d forgotten.” Annabel looked penitent. “Mally, I didn’t think—”

  “It’s all right, Annabel, why should you remember something like that?” Mally did not glance at Chris at all. He should have remembered, though—

  “Was it very frightening?” went on Annabel persistently.

  “Yes.” Mally didn’t want to talk about it anymore. “Richard, what house is that in the painting?”

  Richard turned toward the fireplace. “Le Bosquet Bas—my late wife’s plantation outside New Orleans.”