The two men were soon talking amiably about some business of Barrett's, and Evelyn looked about the room. “Alexandra!” she cried, seeing her old friend. She had no idea she was in London.
Glancing at Barrett, who saw her and nodded, she walked quickly across the room to where Alexandra, clad in a pale green gown, was standing alone.
“Evelyn!” Alexandra said. She threw open her arms and embraced her.
“Alle!” Evelyn grinned. “It is such a pleasure to see you! I thought you might still be in Ireland, where I saw you last.”
“Oh no,” she raised a shoulder, smiling. “Lionel had business here. It was his idea to come this evening – probably had to relax, finally. We just arrived this morning.” she smiled, and Evelyn noticed how tired she actually looked. “But Evelyn! Is it true?” she added, concerned.
“Is what true?” Evelyn asked, feeling alarmed. Was it something about Mother? What happened?
“The news your mother told me. You’re here with the Brokeridges?” Alexandra replied. She was looking at her friend Evelyn as if she had become a devil, and Evelyn felt hurt and sad.
“It is, true, Alexandra,” she said gently. “But please listen! They are not evil! I am staying at Brokeridge Manor, and they seem no more evil than any other family! It's children's stories, made up around a successful, slightly-reserved family.” She said it firmly, but smiled at Alexandra, willing her to believe it.
Alexandra shook her head. “I wish I could believe that, Evvie. I really do. But why would Lord Tallinn tell stories?”
“I don't know,” Evelyn conceded. “You know him better than I do.”
“I don't know him that well,” Alexandra sighed, patting her friend's arm. “And I suppose it could just be old stories. Lord Tallinn hasn't been quite himself since his daughter died.”
“His daughter died?” Evelyn covered her mouth, shocked. “That's horrible. I didn't even know he had a daughter!” What was her name? Was it...
“Yes. He did have a daughter. Euphemia Tallinn She must have been about twenty years older than us,” Alexandra explained. “Her death was long ago now, though Lord Tallinn changed after that, or so Father said. He never speaks of her.”
Evelyn stared at her. “Euphemia.”
“Yes,” Alexandra said quietly. “What is it, Evvie? You look like you saw a ghost!”
Evelyn closed her eyes, feeling ill. I think I have.
Too many things made sense now. Lady Brokeridge was Lord Tallinn’s daughter. Was that why he hated the family? Why had he turned Alexandra against them? Did he think his daughter had been murdered?
I am starting to think so, too.
“I...” Evelyn stammered a reply, feeling dizzy and ill. “Sorry, Alexandra. I just had a touch of faintness. Could we sit down, do you think?”
“Of course, Evelyn!” Alexandra cried, concerned. “That's awful that you feel so ill. I am so sorry to have been tormenting you with silly rumors. It was thoughtless of me.”
“No, dear,” Evelyn said gently, grateful for the fact that Alexandra had taken her arm and was leading her firmly to the seats across the room. “You were only trying to warn me...”
“Warn you of silly nonsense!” Alexandra countered dismissively. She helped Evelyn settle into one of the chairs. “Now I shall fetch you something to drink. Don't move until I come back!” she said primly.
Evelyn grinned faintly, feeling her head ache. She wished she was anywhere else – not here in the middle of a crowded ballroom in London, discovering her potential future family were murderers.
When Alexandra appeared, bearing two glasses of cordial, she took one gratefully and sat up to drink, smiling wanly at her friend, who flopped into the chair opposite, sighing as she sipped her cordial.
“Now, then,” Alexandra said, “Since I have bored you with all my nonsense about other families, I must tell you news of our own. I am going to marry Lionel in July.”
“What!” Evelyn cried, delightedly.
“It's true!” Alexandra said, looking at her hands. When she looked up she was blushing, a small smile on her neat, pretty features.
“Oh, Alle! I am so happy for you!”
“Thank you, Evelyn dear.” Alexandra smiled.
She and Evelyn discussed the plans – the gown, the bouquet, the guests – and Evelyn could not have felt happier.
“And where will you have the wedding?”
“We had thought to have it at Greyling – it seems easiest for the Irish contingent of the family to reach it,” Alexandra said, and then paused. “Your father said he was having trouble with the carriage – he couldn't reach Greyling the day we left,” she added. “Though of course that will be remedied by July.” She laughed lightly.
“What happened to the carriage?” Evelyn asked, feeling a sudden stab of concern.
“Oh, nothing serious, as I understand it,” Alexandra said lightly. “It was just difficult to have it repaired, he said.”
“Why?”
“He said they didn't have the staff. One of the servants had disappeared, one who usually repaired such things? They had to send into Donnleigh for a wheelwright. I am certain it is fixed now. Silly me, to trouble you.”
“Not at all,” Evelyn said, heart thumping. “You know which servant is missing?”
“I think he said a stable hand. Branley or Bronley or something like that,” Alexandra said lightly.
“Bronson.” Evelyn's voice was dull. The news was like a blow.
“Yes, that's it!” Alexandra said, brow raised. “Bronson. I wonder where he went?”
Evelyn thought then that she really might faint. Bronson had left. They had quarreled and he had said he would leave. Now he was gone.
“Evelyn?”
Alexandra's voice came to Evelyn down a long tunnel. The world was suddenly rushing at her, the lights swirling and the sound condensing into a roar, then nothing.
“I am well, Alle...” she murmured. The words seemed to travel a long way from her lips, almost as if she could see them. Evelyn closed her eyes as the darkness reached up to take her.
CHAPTER TEN
THE HAUNTED ROOM
THE HAUNTED ROOM
Evelyn groaned. She stretched down to her toes, wondering why she felt so warm. She moved sideways and then opened her eyes a crack. There was a fire burning and the bright light hurt her eyes. She closed them again.
She breathed in, smelling pine and lavender on the fire. With the scent of the fire and the feel of the cotton beneath her came memory. She was in Brokeridge Manor. She could remember nothing of the journey back from Almacks in town. She breathed in deeply and smelled cloves and pomade.
“Barrett?”
“Evelyn!” His voice was ragged with worry and weariness. She turned her head to the side and saw him sitting there beside her bed. He was still in his evening clothes. “My dear.”
He reached out to take her hand and she let him. He squeezed her fingers and she let the gesture comfort her, as it was intended. She smiled up into his face, trying to be kind. However, her heart had turned to ice. Bronson had gone. He had left because he thought she did not return his love. There was no more solace left for her.
Barrett kissed her hand. “I was so worried! We called the doctor, but he said you were simply exhausted and needed rest. I am so glad to see he was right!” He kissed her hand again fervently.
Evelyn smiled wanly at him. “I did not mean to frighten you,” she said slowly. Every word still seemed to come from far away and it took a great deal of effort to talk, each word draining her. “What hour is it?”
“It is eight o' clock in the morning,” Barrett smiled. “Usually I would be abed, I confess – except in hunting season.”
Evelyn nodded. “I do choose odd hours to sleep and wake, do I not?” She sat up and leaned back against the pillows, the better to see his face. He still held her hand, stroking it gently and she had hardly noticed.
He gave a gentle chuckle. “Sleep all you need to
do, my dear. It was wrong of me to take you dancing the night after so long a journey!”
“I will be well,” Evelyn said wanly. “Just let me sleep a few hours more, dear. I will join you after breakfast?”
“Of course!” Bronson said, already standing. “Is there anything you would like? Anything at all? Cook makes excellent poached eggs – I always find them welcome when I have been ill.”
Evelyn smiled tiredly. “Thank you, dear, but no. A little tea will do me perfectly. I can keep nothing else down.” The thought of eating made her feel sick. She had only fainted once before, after standing in church for almost an hour, and had found she could eat nothing the next day then, either.
“Well, then,” Bronson said, reaching the door and bowing deeply. “Anything else you require, you have only to call.”
“Thank you. You take excellent care of me,” she said gently.
“As I should,” Bronson insisted. He opened the door and went through, shutting it with exaggerated care behind him so as to make no noise that might disturb her.
When he had gone, Evelyn stayed where she was. She still felt drained, but her mind was starting to come into focus. Bronson was gone. However, Barrett might just be the son of a man who’d murdered his wife.
I need to find out more about this. I need to know the truth of Barrett's mother's death.
Evelyn pushed down on the soft mattress and sat up fully, wincing as pain lanced into her head. She determinedly slid out of bed when the pain had worn off, and, pushing her feet into silk slippers, rang the bell.
“Tea, please,” she said to Sutton when she appeared almost at once. “And perhaps a raw egg in milk, if Cook could manage that?” It was her mother's restorative cure-all, and she hoped it would work for her now as it usually did.
After her repast, Evelyn washed her face and hands in the ewer and reached for her gown. She would try and solve this mystery once and for all. Having written the relevant facts in her notebook – Barrett's mother's identity and the possibility of her murder – she wrapped her silk night-robe around her and ventured silently out into the hall.
The first place to go in her investigations must be Lady Euphemia's quarters. The whole family thought she was still asleep. This was the ideal time to do some exploration.
The corridor between her room and the late Countess' suite was a short stretch past the bay window. The floor creaked as she walked along it. She looked around, pausing for breath, and then darted soundlessly across the corridor toward the silk cordon. Stepping across it, she found herself standing on the green carpeted floor of the Countess' private suite.
Three doors faced Evelyn. Pausing to listen for any approaching feet, she chose the one to her left and walked inside. The air was stale, as if the windows had never been opened. She looked around. The room appeared to be a boudoir: a vast French window looked out onto a small terrace, the furniture in the room a single vast dressing table, an armoire and a pretty chair behind a writing desk. Evelyn glanced quickly around, and then, listening a while longer, reached for the door handle. She slipped out into the green-carpeted hallway and soundlessly walked to the second door.
This one opened onto a vast bed, the silk hangings the color of peach-blossom. Here too the air was stale and musty, the room cold and somehow forbidding.
She looked around the place. The bed was ornate, with tall, dark wooden posts holding up the canopy, the silk bedcover cream in color and smoothed. The furniture was all a chestnut wood color, and the single window was framed with velvet curtains. Evelyn felt at once intrusive and deeply respectful to whoever had been there before.
This was Lady Euphemia's private bedroom. She lay there. There, she washed her face and styled her hair. There, she sat on that very seat and looked out of the window. The silk-tapestried wing-back was decorated in a similar design to the chair in the corridor, opposite the bay windows. The embroidery had clearly been made by the same hand. Always interested in needlework, Evelyn went over to it, bending down closer to examine the tiny, delicate stitchery that formed the intricate designs of wreaths of flowers. She sighed, admiring the late Countess' work.
I wish I could have known her.
Here in this room, Evelyn could almost feel her presence. The room smelled of orange-water and roses, exactly how she imagined her to have smelled. She stood where the chair was, looking out of the window to see the view from her perspective.
The room looked out over a garden of hedges and rose bushes, pruned and waiting for summer. There was something in the center of the garden. A fountain? Evelyn could not tell from where she stood. The velvet curtain on the one side was pulled back with a silken rope. On the other side, the curtain hung, obscuring the view. Evelyn reached out to pin it back, interested to see the view.
The curtain tieback was missing on this side.
That's strange, Evelyn thought to herself. I wonder where it's gone. She shook her head, laughing at her own fancy. Perhaps it just never had one.
She pulled back the curtain, looking for the small hook that would have held the ties. There it was, just in the same place as the one on the other side. She felt over the hook, and noticed strands of silk, still caught there. It looked as though it had been ripped hastily from the hook.
“I wonder what happened?” she asked herself.
Various scenarios played through her mind. Had the lady fallen, and grabbed it to steady herself? Had someone climbed in through the window? Had she hanged herself?
Evelyn shivered. The thought was horrible. The room, empty and unused, suddenly seemed filled with menace, with sadness. The thought of that beautiful lady alone and isolated in this vast edifice, taking her own life, was too terrible to bear. In addition, Barrett had said she was strange before she died, remote and unhappy. It made a terrible kind of sense.
Leave, a voice seemed to whisper in her head. Her fate could be your own.
Shivering in her silk bed-gown though the room was not cold, Evelyn turned and walked, stiffly and as slowly as she could manage, out of the room. She wanted to run, but resisted the urge. She pulled the door shut and fled down the short passage to the corridor beyond.
“My lady!”
“Mr. Rawling,” she said, recognizing the butler, to whom she had been introduced the day before. She whipped round, heart thumping.
“Were you lost, my lady?” the man said, giving her an odd look.
“N...no?” Evelyn stammered, and then realized how odd she must have seemed. She was dressed in her nightgown and silk robe and slippers, her hair still in the loose style in which she slept. She had just been seen rushing out of a forbidden wing of the house. What must he have thought? “Actually, I was looking for the library,” she said firmly. “I thought it was there. I feel so faint...” She wiped her hand across her brow, valiantly pretending to be more ill than she was.
“The library's on the other side of the house, my lady,” he said, looking at her with worried eyes. “You should be in bed,” he added gently. “Can I fetch Sutton to bring you a posset? Something to help you rest?”
“I am well thank you, Mr. Rawling,” she said in a small voice. Still feigning faintness, she allowed him to take her hand and lead her to her room. Once there, she dismissed Rawling gratefully and climbed into bed.
I am well, she thought to herself determinedly. And I will not rest until this mystery is solved.
CHAPTER ELEVEN
AN IMPORTANT CLUE
AN IMPORTANT CLUE
Evelyn walked light-footed downstairs the next morning. She felt restless and had woken earlier than usual, telling Sutton she would like a walk about the grounds before breakfast. Dressed in an elegant white-muslin day-dress, she headed down toward the entrance to the garden.
“Lady Evelyn!”
Evelyn spun on her heels, hearing Barrett's voice in the doorway. She looked up to see him walking toward her, smiling.
“My lady!” he continued. “It is a surprise to see you up so early! Please – do j
oin us for breakfast.”
Evelyn nodded and curtseyed. The thought of joining Lord Brokeridge at the table made her uncomfortable – not only because of how aloof he had been during her stay, or her confrontation with him, but because of the growing suspicion in her mind that there was something odd about Lady Brokeridge's death. Something wicked.
“Thank you, Lord Barrett,” she smiled, trying to feel calm. “I would like that.”
Walking into the warmly-lit space behind him, Evelyn was relieved to discover that Barrett and his father were not alone together– in fact, there was a group of several gentlemen already sitting down to breakfast before her.
“My dear Lady Evelyn!” Barrett declared as he led her to the table. “You must meet Lord Sanford, and the Lord Edisford and the Honorable Mr. Prestwich...” He pointed out the men as he named them. All had stood and now bowed to greet her gravely. “When you were indisposed, a large party of guests descended on us,” he explained earnestly. “We had planned to ride into the countryside. Unless, of course, you would prefer that we postpone it..?”
Evelyn bit her lip. She felt far too ill to join the party. On the other hand, if she remained behind while they went riding, it would offer her a perfect opportunity to explore.
“You are all going on this ride?” she asked conversationally, though her heart was thumping.
“We had planned to,” Barrett affirmed. He looked concerned. “You are too ill to join us, I think?”
Evelyn swallowed, pleased she looked as tired as she felt. “I am afraid I am still a little ill, my lord,” she affirmed. “If I could stay here? I would not presume to upset your plans.”
Barrett smiled, relieved. “That is dear of you not to object, my lady. But it is rude of me to leave you here unaccompanied!”
Evelyn smiled wanly. “Not at all, my lord. It will give me an opportunity to rest and sleep – something it would be far too rude to do were you here to converse with!”
An Earl To Remember_The Yorkshire Downs Series_Love, Hearts and Challenges_A Regency Romance Story Page 25
