He stared at the ring. “Is that your final word?”
“Yes, I would rather spend my life alone dwelling on the past, than with you continually arguing and misunderstanding.”
“But you won’t be alone, will you? You’ll be with my good friend Richard!”
She shook her head. “This has nothing to do with him really, Chris. It’s been on the cards ever since we were foolish enough to become engaged in the first place.” She took his hand and pressed the ring into his palm, closing his fingers gently over it. “I love you very much, Chris, but we should remain what we always have been, the very best of friends. We are killing that friendship and love at this moment, aren’t we? Look at me, Chris, look at me and admit that I am right.”
He met her eyes, and then bent his head, brushing his lips over hers. “I know, Mally, I know. But I do love you as much as was needed, you know that, don’t you?”
She lowered her eyes. “You did, Chris, for a long time. But not anymore. And don’t be at odds with Richard over this, for it isn’t his fault.”
“Isn’t it?”
“No.”
He glanced at the coat again, and then back into her eyes. “I wish you well, Mally, my love.” He put his hand to the nape of her neck and drew her lips toward his again.
She touched the hand holding the ring. “Give the ring to Annabel, Chris.”
“Is that where my happiness lies then?”
“You tell me, Chris.” She smiled.
As the door closed behind him she turned to look at her reflection in the tall cheval glass. She felt so weary—
Gwynneth tapped timidly on the door. “Shall I do anything else, ma’am?”
“No, thank you. Do you know where Lady Annabel is?”
“Gone to her room, ma’am. I’m to attend her now.”
Mally smiled. “She’s no doubt tired out with her ghostly searchings for Lady Jacquetta. Amongst other things.”
“Lady Jacquetta? Haven’t you seen her then?”
Mally stared at the maid’s surprised face. “No. Have you?”
“Oh, Duw, yes, the first moment I came here. I always see them if they’re there, and she’s there right enough.”
“What’s she like?”
“Well—she’s sort of watery. Gray and floaty. Like gossamer.” Gwynneth blushed. “You don’t think I’m—?”
“Fey? Probably. Go on.”
“Well, that’s it really, she moves around the castle a lot. Up in the south tower, the gallery in the great hall, and down in the dungeon sometimes, but then that’s where Sir Francis put her first off, isn’t it?”
“I don’t know, Gwynneth.”
“Oh, there is something else. She never shows her hands. Never once, they’re always hidden away. Almost—well, almost as if they aren’t there anymore.”
Mally shuddered. What was it Annabel had said. Tearing with her bloodied hands?
“Shall I go then, ma’am?”
“Yes, Gwynneth. Nos da.”
“Nos da, ma’am.”
“Oh, and Gwynneth. Don’t tell Lady Annabel you’ve seen her precious ghost, she’ll never forgive you.”
“No, ma’am.” Puzzled, the maid closed the door.
Mally sat on the bed, looking down at her ringless finger. Annabel had won. She took a long, soothing breath. Or had common sense, perhaps, been the victor?
Chapter 22
The wind continued to rise during the night, and Mally lay in a fitful sleep on the bed, still in her wrap. The fire flared and glowed with each gust of the gale, and the room was warm. With a great gasp, the storm raged again, flinging itself against the ancient fortress as if angry at the resistance. The window burst open with a crash, banging loudly and setting the curtains fluttering.
Mally sat up with a start, the wind catching at her hair and dragging it across her face. With a great effort she closed the window. Through the deep embrasure of the wall she could see the ravaged hillside where the trees bent and swayed. A horse-chestnut had fallen, torn up by its roots to lie across the drive, and the smaller, lighter rowan trees seemed almost to bend to the ground as they gave before the onslaught. Down in the valley several lights burned in Llanglyn, nervous lights for those afraid of the autumn storm. She watched the night for a while and then made to draw the curtains. But something caught her eye.
Lights were moving down by the lodge and a horseman was riding back up toward the castle. It was Richard Vallender. What secrets did he have? She watched him, certain that Maria was here at Castell Melyn. For a tiny moment her mind went back to the dungeon, and to the warm softness of his lips over hers— As he passed from sight into the courtyard, she left the bedroom and stepped into the chilly passage outside. From a window overlooking the courtyard she could see the light still burning up in the south tower. At the foot of the tower was a door, a small flight of stone steps leading up to it. She heard the clatter of Richard’s horse beneath the barbican, although she could not see him. Then, suddenly, a woman was standing at the top of the stone steps by the tower.
Abel came from the barbican, and Mally pushed the stiff catch of the window to open it. The sound of the storm was stronger up here than it had been down in the courtyard, but still she could hear Abel’s voice.
“Mr. Vallender, Miss Maria want you.”
Maria. Mally stared at the woman on the steps. Yes, it was Maria, her wild hair blowing freely, without a pin or a mobcap to restrain it, and a yellow gown which flapped and fluttered, revealing petticoats which were heavy with lace.
Richard came from the door of the chapel and hurried across to the steps, running up them two at a time. He caught Maria’s hands and she looked up at him. She seemed to be crying, Mally thought, and Richard pulled her close, holding her tightly, stroking the thick black hair gently. Then he pushed the door of the tower open and he and Maria went inside, closing the door behind them.
Mally closed the window and then leaned her forehead against the cold glass. There could be no doubt now. Maria was here, and Richard Vallender had known all along. And Maria was not ill. Mally thought of returning to her bed, but there would be no point, for she knew she would not sleep now. No, she knew where Maria was, and she intended facing her sister now, even if it was—she glanced at the clock on the wall above the gatehouse—even if it was three o’clock in the morning.
She hurried along the passageway toward the stairs, which were icy cold beneath her feet. The solar was in darkness as she glanced across the courtyard at it from a window opposite. The door at the foot of the steps was heavy and the rain’s noise was immediate as she pulled it open. All around she could hear the storm, but still down in the courtyard it was fairly calm, like the eye of a hurricane.
Her bare feet slipped occasionally on the cobbles, and she was concentrating on keeping her balance and did not see Abel until he caught her arm.
“No, miss—”
She put her hand on the rail at the foot of the south tower. “My sister is in there, Abel, let me go.”
“No, miss. Mr. Vallender—”
“Can go to the devil! Release me, Abel!” Mally tried to pull her arm away.
“Let her go, Abel.” Richard stood at the top of the steps.
Abel obeyed immediately, and Mally began to climb the steps, but Richard came down to meet her and seized her more roughly than Abel had. He steered her back down the steps and across the courtyard.
“She’s in there! Take your hands off me!” she cried, struggling.
He said nothing, but kept dragging her across the cobbles. She slipped and lost her balance, but the strength of his grip was such that he kept her from falling, his fingers digging into her arm and bruising her.
In the buttery he released her. She stood there, rubbing her arm. “I saw her, damn you!”
she cried. “And you cannot bluff me otherwise this time!”
“There’ll be a fire in the solar—”
“No doubt, but I shall not be diverted!”
“You pick your moments for your grand gestures, madam! Now, if you please—go up to the solar!”
She considered defying him, but there was something in his eyes. She turned, hurrying up past Gillian Vallender’s portrait and the grandfather clock, and then up the winding stone steps to the solar.
It was dark inside, and the glow of the dying fire was the only light. Richard closed the door and leaned back against it for a moment, looking at her as she stood by the wide black fireplace.
“You lied to me tonight,” she said at last.
“No, I did not. If you recall, I said that there was nothing I could tell you. And that was so. Then. But now that you have seen her—”
“I have seen her and I know that you lied to me before, when you said that you didn’t know where she was. How could you be so callous? How could either of you be so callous? Just a small note would have sufficed, anything but that dreadful silence and not knowing anything.”
“There is a reason.”
“No doubt.”
He turned sharply. “Sarcasm ill becomes you at times, Mally! If I tell you there is a reason, then that is so! Do I make myself clear?”
She drew her wrap nervously around her. “Yes.”
“Thank you, madam. Now then, how much one of them are you?” He gestured in the direction of Llanglyn.
“I don’t understand.”
“Don’t you? You were mightily determined to come here, weren’t you?”
“And you equally as determined to keep me away!” she countered. “But then you have a reason, don’t you?”
He sighed. “Mally,” he said, a little more gently, “I must know. Are you sent here?”
She stared. “I am not sent at all. I come of my own volition, because I sense that you know something of my sister. That is my sole reason, that and nothing else.”
He smiled then. “I am more glad than you can realize. Now, I will tell you. Maria is here, you saw her, and she has been here since she left a false trail leading to London.”
“And back to Cirencester, Gloucester, and Hereford.”
His eyes flickered. “You know that much, do you?”
“I’m her sister, damn you. Did you imagine I would sit back and play the flute while she gaily vanished into oblivion?”
“No, but I had not imagined you to be so tenacious, either. You discovered that much of our trail, which I am surprised at.”
“Our trail? So it was you in the phaeton?”
“Yes.”
“You must have swept her from her feet, that is all I can say.” Mally looked away at the fire.
“Me?” He was laughing. “I’ve never swept Maria from anywhere, let alone her feet. And neither has she stopped my breath. There is nothing of that sort between your sister and me, Mally, although I suppose you may be forgiven for believing there was.”
“Then why is she here with you?” she asked.
“Because Andrew York is here.”
“That is a tasteless attempt at humor, for Andrew York is dead. And buried.”
“A coffin of stones is buried. But Andrew is alive, or half alive.” He poured two glasses from the decanter on the silver tray. “And it is on his account that I went to London to see Stiller. And on his account that I tried—politely—to keep you from coming here. You are of Llanglyn.”
“And that is a crime?”
He pushed a glass into her hand. “I have good reason to mistrust anyone from down in that valley. Anyone. We believe that Andrew witnessed the murder that night, and that is why we pretended to bury him—with Nathaniel’s constant help of course—to give him the chance of recovering so that he could point a finger at the guilty man. Or men.”
“Perhaps he will point it at Abel. Abel was in Llanglyn that night, wasn’t he?”
“Yes. But he did not kill anyone.”
“How can you be so sure?”
“Because, Mally, he says he did not, and that is sufficient for me. Abel does not lie.”
“Not even to save his own neck?”
“He would not do anything which would require such a lie, Mally. Believe me.”
“Then what happened that night, as far as you know?”
He indicated a chair. “I cannot sit until you do, Mally, and I’m too weary to stand for little reason.” She sat down and he slumped heavily on the sofa opposite, leaning his head back and running his hand through his dark hair. “Andrew and Abel went to Llanglyn because Andrew had arranged a meeting with Maria at Nathaniel’s house. Nathaniel, however, was not back from a patient when they arrived, so Abel left Andrew waiting at the top of the steps by the house. He rode back across the ford to your mother’s house, to the bottom of the lane by that break in the wall. Maria was waiting there with her horse and they began to ride back toward the town. It was a stormy night much like tonight. As they reached the front of the courthouse they saw Andrew riding at breakneck speed toward the ford, pursued by some men on horseback. Abel caught the bridle of your sister’s horse and they hid beneath the gateway of the house, completely hidden by shadow. They saw one of the pursuing men apparently use a sling—”
“Jacob Turney.”
“No one saw who it was, but the younger Turney is renowned for his skill, isn’t he? Anyway, his aim was excellent, for the stone caught Andrew’s temple and he fell forward in the saddle, but did not fall from the horse, which took fright and galloped across the ford and up here to the castle. Abel kept Maria in the shadows of the entrance and they saw the men halt, apparently satisfied that they had killed Andrew. From the courthouse they could not make out a single face among those on the other side of the river, Mally.”
“Did Abel and Maria believe Andrew had been killed too?”
“Yes. And no doubt they would have been pursued themselves had not Abel had the wit to hide. When all was clear, he made Maria return to her mother, and then went up the lane. Which was when Brew Darril saw him. So, the murderer or murderers knew that Abel had been seen in Llanglyn before the murder, when he rode to collect Maria, and that he was still abroad after the murder. With Andrew disposed of, Abel was the perfect scapegoat. The only Jamaican in Llanglyn, in Breconshire probably, and from the disliked Castell Melyn. He must have seemed heaven-sent.”
Richard loosened his cravat and tossed it to the floor, unbuttoning his shirt a little. “Andrew had already been brought back by his horse, and then when Abel came later with his tale, he wondered what had happened in Llanglyn. Nathaniel came up the following morning to apologize to Andrew for not having been at home, and of course he had the whole tale of Mrs. Harmon’s murder. We put two and two together, that from his vantage point on those steps Andrew would have seen whoever came out of the old lady’s house.”
“And from the matter of the sling, and their trouble-stirring since, you think it is Jasper and his cronies?”
“Yes. Nathaniel and I decided that there was a chance Andrew would recover, and so we set about deceiving Jasper. And everyone else.”
“Hence the false funeral and the strenuous denials that Abel was in Llanglyn. But that last was surely a mistake, for he was seen by honest folk as well.”
“I know. But to admit that he was in Llanglyn would have meant his arrest, and I was not prepared to allow that. I used my position as a gentleman and landowner, etcetera etcetera, to convince those in authority that I was the one who was speaking truthfully. And Nathaniel backed me up. He said that as he was the only doctor for many a mile, he would be safe enough, and he was right.”
“So now I know what Dr. Towers said to Maria that day—until he came she had believed Andrew York was dead.”
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br /> He nodded. “But the rest of your sister’s activities were entirely her own fool notion! She put a letter to me beneath Nathaniel’s door, telling me to come to Cirencester to bring her secretly back here. She wanted to be with Andrew at all costs, and by the time I received the letter she was well on her way. To say that I was furious would surely be to put it excessively mildly. If she had remained at the courthouse and then attended the false funeral looking suitably heart-broken, I’m sure we could have convinced Jasper that he was safe. Instead of which he’s uneasy. Andrew and Abel were in Llanglyn that night, outside Nathaniel’s house. That always meant that Andrew was meeting Maria—everyone in Llanglyn knew that. Maria’s disappearance like that made Jasper Turney think that she too may have seen something.”
“That’s why he followed her! Jasper is the unknown country man at the Swan with Two Necks.” Mally explained about Mr. Paulington and about the intruder in her bedroom.
“Well, what you’ve told me now only convinces me that I’m right. Jasper thinks Maria is a witness against him.” He smiled. “And perhaps you can guess now why I was so eager to prevent you coming here. I thought Jasper might put two and two together and think you had come to be with Maria.”
She watched the glow of the firelight passing through a cut crystal glass. “And you didn’t trust me anyway, that’s more to the point, isn’t it?”
He reached across and took her hand. “Please don’t think that. No, I thought you believed in Abel’s guilt, for if people like your mother believe it, I had no reason to think you would be any different. For which lack of trust, forgive me.”
“I forgive you everything—now. And I must have your forgiveness too, for I have been guilty of black thoughts concerning you.”
“That I have been harboring your sister here for my own ends?”
“Yes.” She met his eyes. “Yes, I thought that.”
“What a fickle, nimble soul you must think me, giving shelter to your sister and then making advances to you.”
Mally : Signet Regency Romance (9781101568057) Page 15
