Falconridge

by Jennifer Wilde

  “It seems everything is in order,” Mr. Stephens said, taking out a sheet of paper from his leather portfolio. “Now if you will just put your signature on this line, Mrs. Lloyd.…”

  Helena signed the paper and Mr. Stephens took it. He waved it a little to let the ink dry. He was smiling, a rather wry smile. When he had replaced the paper in the portfolio, he sighed deeply, shaking his head. He seemed both bewildered and amused.

  “It’s not often that the firm hands out such a large sum of money under such circumstances,” he said.

  “Everything is all right?” Norman Wade asked, rather tense. His eyes were worried.

  “Yes, yes, everything is legal now that your aunt has signed the paper. She will receive the money as soon as arrangements can be made in London.”

  “It won’t be put in the bank?” Helena asked.

  “No, that’s what’s so unusual about the terms. The money is to be paid in gold and is to be delivered to you at Falconridge. No checks, no bonds, but cash. Ordinarily, it is deposited in the beneficiary’s bank, but Mr. Lloyd wanted it put in a safe here, where you would have immediate access to it.”

  “Charles never trusted banks,” Helena said.

  “So it would seem. You won’t be uneasy about having such a large sum of money in your possession?”

  “It will be quite safe, Mr. Stephens,” Norman Wade said in a voice of dismissal. “I want to thank you for all your trouble and consideration. I hope you have a nice trip back to London.”

  Mr. Stephens looked at him with an unusual light in his eyes. He arched one eyebrow slowly, and his lips were curled in that same wry smile I had noticed earlier. I could sense that the man did not like Norman Wade. He nodded briskly and then turned to make his farewells to Helena and me. Helena walked him to the door, and in a moment we could hear his hired rig driving away. When Helena came back into the room there was a pensive expression on her face.

  “So puzzling,” she said quietly. “I didn’t know that Charles had taken out so large a policy. I certainly had no idea the money was to be delivered here. Do you really think it’s wise to keep it in the safe here, Norman?”

  “It will be perfectly all right, Helena,” he said smoothly. “I’ll take care of everything.”

  I watched Norman Wade as he slid his hands into his pockets. He had a very satisfied look on his face. He looked around the room, his eyes lingering on every piece of furniture. Falconridge belonged to him now, and everything in it was his. The money that would soon arrive was Helena’s, and he had no right to it. He had told her that he would take care of everything. I did not doubt that he would.

  A letter came addressed to Lavinia the next day. What mail the Graystones had was always delivered to Falconridge and carried on to Dower House by a servant. The envelope was crumpled, much handled. It was addressed in an awkward scrawl, and there was no return address but it was post marked from New York City in America. As the servant took the letter from the tray and left for Dower House, I wondered who could be writing to Lavinia from that part of the world. The answer was soon forthcoming.

  Lavinia herself came to Falconridge that afternoon. She brought the letter and showed it to Helena. It was from Andrew Graystone. He had boarded a vessel on its way to America and had worked his way over on the ship, saving the money to invest in “business.” He told Lavinia that he intended to stay in that country and that he would never be in England again. He told her to forget him. The letter was short and poorly worded. He made no apologies for taking the money or for leaving his wife. The letter was crude and blunt, like the man himself.

  Helena handed the letter back to Lavinia. “What do you intend to do now?” she asked in a quiet voice.

  “I have a little money,” Lavinia said, “not much, just the little I’ve managed to save from my sewing. I am going to go back to Liverpool. I have one or two friends there. Perhaps I will be able to open another shop. I will try to, anyway.”

  “I’m so sorry about this, my dear,” Helena said.

  “Please don’t be,” Lavinia replied. “Perhaps it was best. I will be better off without him. We were never happy, you know. I am only sorry that—that it all had to happen this way. I thought you would want to know my plans.”

  “When are you leaving?” Helena asked.

  “A ship leaves for Liverpool from the village tomorrow morning. I shall be on it. I’ve already seen to most of my packing. Most of the things in Dower House belong to you. What few personal possessions I had I will leave behind.”

  “You don’t have to go, you know,” Helena said. “You could stay on at the Dower House until you had more definite plans for the future.”

  “It is best this way,” Lavinia said. “I—you can understand. I can’t stay, not after all that’s happened.”

  Helena nodded. “You are very brave,” she said.

  Lavinia looked up. Her large brown eyes were sparkling with tears and a smile quivered on the corners of her lips. She shook her head slowly from side to side. “Not brave,” she said, her voice so low it was barely audible. “Just—just…” She could not complete the sentence. She turned and quietly left the room. Helena and I exchanged glances, both thinking about the relentless fate that had pursued the woman, making her life one long echo of unhappiness.

  We drove with her to the village the next day, her bags piled in back of the carriage. Everything had been seen to. Servants had gone to help her close up Dower House. Norman Wade had riden over early in the morning and taken Hugo, bringing him back to Falconridge. The dog had been ecstatic. Lavinia had already purchased her ticket. There was nothing to do now but board the ship and wait for it to sail. We were silent as we drove through the countryside.

  Lavinia sat on the front seat by me. Her eyes wandered over the rolling green hills bathed now in glittering sunlight that picked out every detail and sharpened it. There was a line of gray trees on the horizon, and a faint purple mist hung over them. The air was heavily laden with salt, and once we passed a curve of the road and could see the ocean below, the water lapping in large waves over the white sand. She seemed to be saying silent goodbyes to all this. I knew she would never come back. Cornwall for her would always be the scene of heartbreak and tragedy.

  The ship was in the harbor, almost ready to set sail. The gangplank was down and brawny men with bronzed muscles rolled barrels up to the deck. Others carried heavy boxes balanced on their shoulders. The heavy sails flapped in the wind, and men climbed up the rigging, adjusting ropes. The harbor was a hive of activity, and the air rang with shouts, curses, the crash of wood, the clang of metal. A man took Lavinia’s bags on board. We stood by the carriage, none of us speaking for a while, as we watched all the bustle and hurry. For us it had an aura of sadness.

  “I want to thank you for all your kindness,” Lavinia told Helena.

  “I’ve done nothing,” Helena said, trying to sound light.

  “You have been wonderful,” Lavinia said. “Whenever I think about Falconridge—and I will think about it often—I will remember you. You are a great lady, Mrs. Lloyd.”

  Lavinia turned to me and smiled. “Goodbye, Lauren,” she said. “I will write to you both.” But I knew these were just words. She would not write. When the ship left, we would never hear from Lavinia again. I was sad, but I knew that she had to leave.

  I remembered the first time I had seen her, standing on the platform in Devon. I remembered how sad she had looked and how lovely. That seemed so long ago. She was sad and lovely now as she stood waiting for the men to finish loading the cargo. She wore a dress of mauve colored silk with a short white cape of velvet trimmed with mauve ribbons. Her face seemed thinner, and there was a slight hollow under each cheek bone, a delicate molding that made her look sadder than ever. Her eyes were a lustrous brown, moist and shining, and her lips drooped down at the corners. She brushed a lock of raven hair from her temple, and her lashes fluttered. I would always remember her like this.

  The men had finished l
oading the crates and barrels. The ship was ready to leave. The captain, handsome in his blue uniform with its gold braid, stood on deck, checking off items on a list. Lavinia went up the gangplank and smiled down at us from the railing as the men took the gangplank away. The sails flapped loudly in the wind. A sailor in a red and white striped jersey began to haul the anchor up. The chain came up out of the water festooned with seaweed and barnacles. In a few moments the ship began to move ponderously out of the harbor. Lavinia waved, her hair blowing across her face, and then she disappeared. I hoped she would find happiness. There had been so little of it in her life.

  I was restless during the days that followed. The tragedy had upset me, and I was sad, but there was something else that I couldn’t identify. I found it difficult to sleep properly, and I lost some of my appetite. I seemed to be the victim of strange longings that I couldn’t completely understand. I wasn’t sick, yet I wasn’t charged with the vitality that should have been there. I sat before the mirror for long periods at a time, examining myself, wishing I were older, wishing I had golden hair and slanted eyes and worldly poise. I wanted something, but I was not quite sure what it was.

  I tried not to think of Norman Wade. The man’s arrogance irritated me beyond endurance, and a blush colored my cheeks when I remembered that night in the gardens and the liberty he had taken. I remembered that night far too often, and I wondered if he ever thought about it. I was a child to him, a little girl who was a nuisance, and yet that night he had not treated me like a little girl. It was foolish even to think about it. He was arrogant and much too sure of himself, and now that Falconridge was his responsibility he certainly wouldn’t have time to think about a girl he kissed one night in the moonlight.

  One morning I woke up at four thirty after a restless night, and I couldn’t bear the thought of staying in bed any longer. I lit a candle and dressed slowly, slipping a light green dress over the frilly white and pink striped petticoats. I sat at the mirror and brushed my auburn curls until they gleamed, and then I made my way downstairs, careful to make as little noise as possible. No one else was up yet and I didn’t want to disturb anyone. I went along the back hall and stepped outside so I could watch the sun come up over the water. For some reason it seemed imperative that I be outside to welcome the new day.

  The sky was dark gray, gradually lightening, and there was a soft mist that evaporated as I moved through it. I moved to the stone railing and looked at the grayish-green water lapping the shore with gentle waves. Everything was silent, still. I felt that I was the only person on earth, and it was a desolate feeling. At that moment I needed something desperately, but I could not have said what it was. I felt very, very young, very vulnerable.

  The mist evaporated, and a few gold stains began to appear on the horizon. The dark gray sky lightened, shade by shade, until it was a pearly hue, not white but no longer gray. The gold soaked into the pearl, and everything around me began to take on shape and form. The shadows vanished. Trees came out of the mist. I could see every leaf of the shrubbery, dark green, distinct. I leaned on the railing, watching the gray-green water suddenly sparkle with chips of gold, every wave capped with shimmering gold. It was a beautiful sight, and I wanted to cry because it was so beautiful, and because there was no one to share it with.

  I had not heard Norman Wade come down the steps of the carriage house. I had not heard him cross the courtyard. I was not even aware of him until his voice interrupted my sad revery.

  “Beautiful,” he said.

  I turned, startled. He was standing right beside me, and his face was strangely reflective. He was no longer the arrogant young aristocrat. He was a man who saw beauty and appreciated it. He looked almost humble, and I was puzzled. This wasn’t the Norman Wade I knew so well. This was a stranger.

  “I—I didn’t hear you,” I said.

  “You’re up quite early, aren’t you?”

  “I—wanted to watch the sun rise.”

  “Yes,” he replied, as though he understood completely, as though there was no need to ask why I needed to be out here.

  “It’s hard on you, isn’t it?” he asked.

  “What?”

  “All this.…” He extended his arms to take in all of Falconridge. “Such a sudden change in your life, so much unhappiness—I’m surprised you’ve been able to bear up so well.”

  I stared at him with suspicion, wondering what he was up to. His lips curved in a quiet smile, and his dark eyes seemed sincere. I was puzzled, and I almost wished the arrogant young lord would come back. At least I would be prepared to deal with him. I did not know how to deal with this quiet, pensive stranger.

  “I’m perfectly capable of.…” I began.

  He laid a hand gently over my mouth. “No,” he said. “Not this morning. No arguments. Poor child, so defensive, so suspicious. One day you will understand.” He took his hand away from my mouth and laid both hands heavily on my shoulders. “I’m asking you again to go away,” he said quietly. “I’ll make all the arrangements.…”

  “Why?” I protested. “Why do you want me to go? Am—am I so very disturbing?”

  “Indeed,” Norman Wade replied. “You are—disturbing.”

  I started to pull away from him. He swung me into his arms, holding me loosely. For a moment his eyes studied my face, and then he kissed me. When he released me I was unable to speak. I glared at him, my cheeks crimson, and I wanted to lash out at him. Too, I wanted to have those arms around me again. I wanted to rest my head on that chest and feel warm and protected.

  “I.…”

  “Will you go away?” he asked quietly.

  “I hate you!” I cried.

  “No,” he said, his voice almost a whisper. “No, I think not. I wish you would be reasonable, but I can see you won’t. I had hoped I could deal with you gently, but it seems not.” He shook his head, and he frowned, a deep crease between his brows. “Stay out of the way, little girl,” he warned. “Stay out of the way.”

  He turned abruptly and left. He strolled across the courtyard with long strides, swinging his shoulders jauntily. The pensive stranger had disappeared, and he was the same arrogant Norman Wade as before. I was trembling with rage, and with other emotions I refused to identify. I looked at the sea, the gold melted now, the water dingy gray. The sky was white, and dark clouds were forming. The wind blew fiercely, whipping my skirts against my legs. I hate him! I cried silently. I hate him! I repeated the words over and over again, hoping the passion and the fury would convince me the other emotions did not exist.

  XIV

  NIGHT FOLLOWED NIGHT and I was still unable to sleep properly. The sound of the sea was a constant monotony, and I had the feeling that it was a breathing demon waiting to suck Falconridge into its depths. My nerves were on edge, and I could not understand it. I kept remembering the day of the funeral. Something had not been right. I could not understand why I had this feeling but it would not leave me. During the day I tried to keep busy and cheerful, but it took more and more effort. During the night the feeling was even stronger. I was a slave to it. Norman Wade had told me Falconridge did things to those who lived under its roof. I wondered if that was his version of Lucy’s “evil spell.” I wondered more and more if it were true.

  I thought about Charles Lloyd. I could not believe that he was dead and no longer a part of this house. His presence had been so strong. It had permeated the place, and I had always been aware of him, even when he was in a distant part of the house. How that he was gone, I could still feel his presence. Martha Victor had taken all his clothes and his personal effects, and Norman Wade had transformed my uncle’s old room to suit his own tastes, but I still felt Charles Lloyd in the house. In the library the odor of his cigar smoke still hung in the air, and when we ate in the dining room it seemed that he was there, watching us with disapproval. At night I fancied I could hear his boots tramping on the floor in the hall, and sometimes when I would go into a room it was as though he had just left it.

>   I was strongly tempted to try some of Helena’s laudanum, but I was too afraid of the narcotic. I hoped that this feeling would eventually wear off of its own volition. Nothing seemed to help, and certain things made it worse. Martha Victor moved about the house like a black wraith, never speaking but always appearing in different parts of the house as if she were guarding some secret. Lucy had changed, too, all her vitality drained away. Her blue eyes were enormous in her thin, pale face. She did her tasks obediently and skillfully, but she no longer chattered and gossiped. Several times she would look at me with a deep frown between her brows, her lips slightly parted as though she were about to be the messenger of some dark tidings, but she never spoke. It was no longer a joy to have her around, and I was sorry, for I was very fond of the child.

  “Miss Lauren, do you belive in ghosts?” she asked once.

  “Of course not, Lucy,” I replied. “Such things don’t exist.”

  “Are you sure?” she whispered.

  “Of course. That’s all nonsense.”

  “Teddy Lane—he’s stable boy for the Randalls—he says he’s seen a ghost at the old cemetery, all white like fog, and I…” She hesitated.

  “Yes, Lucy?”

  “Nothing, Miss Lauren. You’d think I was lying. I’ve learned my lesson. I’ll keep my mouth shut, just like Mrs. Victor told me. They say they’ll whip me if I carry any more tales.”

  “Who said that?”

  “Ma—and Mrs. Victor. But—there are ghosts, Miss Lauren.”

  I sighed. It was ghosts now, not mysterious figures in black. Her vivid imagination and downcast mood depressed me. I wondered what had happened to the child. I longed for her old vitality and zest to return. It would be a comfort to me.