Lady Julia Grey Bundle

by DEANNA RAYBOURN

  "There were Jacobean suites of furniture in each of them, the finest English oak, carved by a master's hands. They were sold along the way, with the Flemish tapestries and the French porcelains," she added with a sigh. "So much of this place lost. It will be a mercy, I think, to leave it behind."

  I marvelled at her courage, twisted and wracked with pain, forced to leave the only home she had ever known.

  "I hope you will be happy in your new home," I said impulsively. It seemed a stupid sentiment. Who could be happy in such circumstances, torn up by the very roots?

  "God will provide. As will Mr. Brisbane. He might have turned us out into the streets to starve, you know. We must be grateful that he is a generous man."

  "Or perhaps he feels kindly toward old friends," I ventured, watching her closely. She blinked a little, but her expression of gentle kindliness did not falter.

  "Ah, I suppose Ailith has told you they knew each other as children? Well, do not be misled by that. Their acquaintance was of short duration. Mr. Brisbane was, er, travelling, with his mother's family at the time," she said, neatly glossing over the fact that the gentleman who now owned her house had once been a wild half-Gypsy boy. She went on smoothly. "They passed through, every spring. And you know what children are, always swearing eternal friendship, then quite forgetting one another when the season has passed. Ailith did not even know him when he first arrived here in January, he is so changed."

  I remained silent, wondering whether Ailith's attachment to Brisbane had been deeper than her mother knew.

  Lady Allenby looked around her for the first time, taking in the small room and its tidy complement of furnishings. "This was my son's room," she said suddenly.

  She turned away then, and I knew she was thinking of the son she had lost so precipitously. "I wonder if you would like to see Redwall's things," she said, almost hopefully.

  Nothing could have appealed to me less than sorting through the possessions of a dead man, but Lady Allenby had been very gracious, and I did not like to offend her.

  "Of course."

  We entered the long room I had passed through the previous night. She busied herself lighting a few lamps to throw off the chill and the shadows. Without the gloom, the room seemed more inviting, the shrouds less sinister. The tops of the walls were decorated with the same frieze as the small bedchamber—a riverbank, edged with marsh grasses and flights of birds taking wing. Here and there a lily bloomed, pale and fragile against the delicate green grasses, and near the corner a graceful gazelle stopped to drink from the river. It was beautifully done, and I remarked upon it to Lady Allenby.

  "Oh, yes. Ailith painted that. She's rather clever at such things, and it was a present for Redwall after he returned from his travels in Egypt. He was quite taken with the decorations of the tombs, and brought back many drawings, and even a few plates taken by the expedition's photographer."

  "Egypt—how exciting! I should love to travel. I have only been to the Continent, but Africa seems another world entirely."

  She smiled, her expression nostalgic. "It was to Redwall. He was never happier than when he was reading his books about the pharaohs or working on his models of the tombs and temples. I am afraid it was rather difficult for him to leave Egypt behind. I believe Ailith thought he would pine less if he had something of the place here in his private rooms. Let me show you something."

  She moved toward the nearest dustsheet and tossed it aside with a theatrical flair. I swallowed a gasp. There was a long, low couch, fashioned of thin strips of woven leather and held aloft by a pair of golden leopards.

  "Astonishing," I breathed, moving closer. I dared not touch it. The gilt of the cats' spots was alternated with blue enamel, the eyes set with great pieces of amber that glowed in the lamplight.

  "It is a fake, of course," she told me, regretfully, I fancied. "Redwall purchased many treasures in Egypt. He wanted to furnish all of Grimsgrave in the Egyptian style. Much of what he purchased is of no value—modern reproductions of the furniture of the pharaoh's tombs, although I believe some of the smaller pieces and the papyri may be worth something. And there is some jewellery as well. I seem to recall a few pretty things amongst these bits." She gestured toward the other shrouds in the room, and I turned slowly on my heel, thinking rapidly.

  "All of these dustsheets are covering his antiquities?" I asked her.

  "Most of them. The others are covering boxes of smaller statues and amulets, boxes of jewellery, his collection of scholarly works and publications. My son travelled for many years, you understand. He often sent things back and we stored them as best we could. This was his workroom, then beyond, in the room Mr. Brisbane uses as a bedchamber, was Redwall's private study. When Mr. Brisbane came, Redwall's things were moved into this room to give him a bedchamber on the ground floor. One must observe the proprieties, even here," she finished with a wan smile.

  I took a deep breath and plunged into what I was afraid might be a colossal piece of impudence.

  "Lady Allenby, I do hope you will forgive me for speaking so frankly. You have given me to understand that your son's death has left you and your daughters in rather straitened circumstances."

  She opened her mouth to speak, but I hurried on, afraid both that she would accept my proposal and that she would reject it. I had suddenly seen how the Allenbys might be made solvent again, and I was certain that in some fashion I was conspiring against some larger scheme of Brisbane's. I had no notion how, precisely, only that I was very sure he would not have cause to thank me for what I was about to do.

  "It is entirely possible that within this room may lay your salvation. Have you a catalogue of what pieces Sir Redwall brought from Egypt?"

  She shook her head. "No. I have his letters, and in those he talks about a few of the larger items, but if he kept an inventory, I do not know of it."

  "Then one must be made," I said boldly. "You told me that Mr. Brisbane was preparing a home for you. Surely you will have no room for this collection there."

  "No, of course not," she said slowly. "I confess I hoped not to. The Egyptian things have never been to my taste. I find them rather gruesome. It was something of a relief to be able to put them all in here and close the door."

  I felt a glimmer of hope. If she had been relieved not to see the things, she might well have no objections to my plan.

  "This room will have to be cleared for Mr. Brisbane's use eventually, and you will not be able to keep the things. Why not let me prepare a catalogue and make some inquiries for you? My brother, Lord Bellmont, is rather good friends with the director of the British Museum. Perhaps he can arrange for the museum to purchase some of the items. Or, failing that, we could no doubt interest one of the antiquities dealers in London in mounting an exhibition with an eye to selling the entire collection. Scholars will certainly be interested in his papers and books and the papyri, and collectors will be terribly keen for the rest of it. Even society ladies will go mad for the reproductions. Egyptian décor is rather in vogue just now, you know."

  I paused, and for a long, terrible moment Lady Allenby said nothing. Then she swallowed hard and looked down at the dustsheet still clutched in her knobby fingers.

  "You are very practical, my dear. And as I suspected, very clever. It might well be an end to all of our money troubles. But I do not think—"

  She broke off and pressed the back of her hand to her mouth, stifling a sob. Just as quickly as she had broken down, she composed herself, her posture once more erect, her eyes dry.

  "I do not think I could bear to touch his things, nor could Ailith. Hilda might, if you could ever run her to ground, but I fear we would be of little help to you."

  I felt a surge of relief. "I do not care about that, I assure you. If I have need of assistance, I am quite certain I can persuade my brother, Valerius, to lend a hand. I would be happy to take this on, and if you will permit me, I will write to Bellmont tonight to set things in motion."

  Lady Allenby paused an
other long moment, then nodded. "In that case, I accept your generous offer with one caveat. Do you think it would be possible to arrange the sale without bringing the Allenby name into it?"

  I started to protest, but she held up a hand. "I realise the interest would be much greater if Redwall's name was attached, but it has been so difficult already, with the sale of the house, and being dependent upon Mr. Brisbane's good graces. The sale of our furnishings has been discreet. We have so few visitors. Very few know how dire our situation has become. I should not like it to be known that we were forced to sell Redwall's things."

  I laid a hand on her arm. "Of course. I shall make certain the entire affair is handled with discretion."

  She smiled then, and for an instant I saw the staggering beauty she must once have been.

  "Thank you, my dear." She glanced about the room, her expression unfathomable. "I only hope you do not come to regret your generous offer."

  I laughed at the time, but much later I realised that had I never offered to arrange for the sale of Redwall Allenby's possessions, nothing that followed would have happened, and one of the few inhabitants of Grimsgrave Hall would still be alive.

  THE SEVENTH CHAPTER

  Youth is hot and bold; age is weak and cold.

  —William Shakespeare

  "The Passionate Pilgrim XII"

  I passed the rest of the morning attending to the various grievances and demands of the maids and the pets. Morag complained bitterly about sharing her room with Minna, and the dogs, my own Florence and Portia's Puggy, demanded to be walked. Minna cheerfully offered to attend to the animals, even to the extent of feeding my raven, Grim, when she was finished with the dogs.

  "Thank you, Minna," I told her. "Mind you wrap up well when you take them out, and keep to the moor path. They needn't go far, and Florence will want her little coat."

  She bobbed a curtsey. "And what about Puggy, my lady?"

  "God himself could not kill that dog. I doubt a little cold air will do him any harm. Take a shawl for yourself as well, my dear. We don't want you taking a chill."

  Minna smiled her dimpled little smile and hurried off to her charges. I turned to Morag who was busy plumping the bedpillows.

  "You might take a leaf out of her book," I advised her. "Minna is always ready to lend a hand, no matter if it is her job or not."

  Morag gave a deep sniff. "I am making the bed, am I not? Not that I've a choice." Her voice dropped to a mutter. "No chambermaids. What sort of household is this, I ask you?"

  "A poor one," I told her severely. "Now mind your tongue. The Allenbys cannot help their reduced circumstances."

  Morag tipped her head, a sudden malicious light in her eyes. "But the Allenbys dinna actually own Grimsgrave, now do they? It's Mr. Brisbane who ought to be hiring the maids, isn't it?"

  I flicked a glance at the bed. "You've made a mess of those sheets. The bed will have to be completely made over."

  She was still complaining under her breath when I left her, but as that was Morag's customary state, I paid her scant attention.

  I found Portia at length on the staircase. She had paused on the landing and was sitting in the panelled window embrasure, looking out over the vast stretch of moorland.

  "Brisbane has gone," I said, settling in next to her.

  She blinked at me. "You must be jesting—no, it cannot possibly be a jest. It isn't funny in the least."

  "He has gone to Edinburgh on business, and said he will return in a few days, which may well be a fortnight or longer for all I know."

  "Oh, isn't that just like a man to ruin a thrilling romantic gesture by leaving as soon as you've come rushing up here to sweep him into your arms and declare your love for him?"

  "What a revolting image. You must stop reading novels, Portia. They are ruining you."

  Portia snorted. "Do not ask me to believe you weren't thinking precisely the same thing. You expected him to take one look at you and fall to one knee and propose instantly."

  I smoothed my skirts primly. "Yes, well. Brisbane has never done what was expected of him. I did, however, make it quite clear to him before he left that I intended we should settle the question of our connection once and for all upon his return."

  "And you think he will hurry back for that, do you?"

  "Sometimes I wonder why I bother to confide in you," I told her irritably.

  I fell to nibbling my lip in silence, and Portia stared out at the ceaseless, restless moor.

  "This is the most desolate place I have ever seen," she said tonelessly.

  "Oh, it isn't as bad as all that," I replied. "Miss Allenby took me for a walk this morning, and I thought the moor quite pretty. Desperately cold, of course, but pretty. You ought to come out with me after luncheon."

  Portia rolled her eyes. "There is no luncheon. It is called dinner here, or hadn't you heard? And they sit in the kitchen, and they take every meal there, like savages."

  I pinched her arm. "Hush. The Allenbys keep country ways. They cannot afford to heat the dining room."

  "Ah, but Brisbane is now responsible for the cost of heating this place," she corrected, echoing Morag's sentiments.

  "It makes no difference," I told her repressively. "They sold the furniture. There is nothing to sit upon and no table to set, so it is the kitchen for you, my girl. Pretend you are at Wuthering Heights. Everyone there ate in the kitchen."

  Portia affected a faraway look and shivered, calling in a high voice, "Heathcliff, where are you? I'm so cooooooold."

  I shoved her. "Don't be such an ass."

  She rose with a sigh. "I fear lunch, er, dinner will be something quite provincial. Game pie and boiled cabbage, unless I am very much mistaken."

  I linked my arm through hers and drew her down the stairs. "You are a terrible snob, Portia. Have I ever told you that?"

  "Frequently."

  The rest of the household had already assembled in the kitchen by the time we arrived. Mrs. Butters was scurrying between oven and table, and although Portia raised her eyes significantly at the sight of the game pie and the bowls of boiled cabbage, I thought the table looked extremely inviting. A clean cloth had been laid, and although it had been mended, it was done with great skill and care, the stitches tiny and precise. A cheap glass vase had been filled with an armful of nodding daffodils, lending an air of gaiety to the room. The serving dishes were pewter rather than silver, but the mellow glow served the room, I decided, and the food itself smelled wonderfully appetising.

  Besides the pie and the cabbage, there were dishes of pickles and a large fresh cheese, a great cottage loaf of new bread, and a clutch of boiled eggs. There was even a bowl of newly-picked salad greens, lightly dressed, and a tiny dish of mushrooms fried to crispness.

  Lady Allenby was already seated, her walking stick braced against her chair. She motioned to me and I took the chair next to her, while Portia seated herself opposite. Ailith Allenby was helping Mrs. Butters, moving smoothly to carry the last few dishes and to pour a pitcher of beer for the table. In the corner, Jetty was scraping scraps into a basket by the sink, her mouth slack as she looked Portia over carefully from head to foot. I could not blame her. Portia was dressed in a particularly luscious shade of cherry that became her exceedingly well. I had no doubt Jetty had ever seen such a garment in this grey and gloomy corner of England.

  Just then the kitchen door opened and a tall man entered, shrugging off a worn tweed coat and doffing his flat cap. He paused a moment to hang his things on a peg by the door, and I took the opportunity to study the newcomer. He was Brisbane's opposite in almost every way. Though they were both tall men and muscular, this man was blond, with startling blue eyes and lines on his face that marked where he smiled, deeply and often. They were of an age, but it was clear to see from their faces that they had lived very different lives. This was an outdoorsman, a simple man, with simple tastes, I decided; one who would be happy with merely a roof over his head and a fire in his hearth.

  He
glanced up then, and caught my eye, smiling. I looked away, but he strode to the table, offering his hand.

  "You must be one of the ladies from London. Lady Julia or Lady Bettiscombe?"

  Before I could reply, Lady Allenby thrust his hand away from mine. "Godwin, manners! You must wait to be presented to a lady, and you have not yet washed."

  His smile did not falter. He withdrew his hand and contented himself with a wink. "I will go and make myself presentable then," he said, casting his glance wider to include my sister. Portia raised her brows at him as he moved to the sink, dropping a kiss upon Mrs. Butters' cap as he reached for the cake of soap. "Hello, Jetty, my love," he said to the bashful hired girl. "Have you had a pleasant morning?" To my astonishment, the mockery had dropped from his tone, and there was only gentle affection.

  The little maid flushed with pleasure and smiled, a great wide smile that showed a mouthful of crooked teeth as she giggled.

  Mrs. Butters laughed and scolded him for being in the way, but Lady Allenby was not so forgiving.

  "I do hope you will excuse him, Lady Julia," she murmured. "We have despaired of teaching him how to conduct himself. I am afraid we are so isolated here, it is difficult to maintain the proper distance. And he is family, I suppose," she trailed off, and I thought about the tapestry in the great hall. I had not seen his name stitched there, but then I had not looked for it. I made a mental note to investigate after the meal and hurried to reassure Lady Allenby.

  "Think nothing of it, Lady Allenby. I completely understand."

  Godwin finished washing himself and hurried to take a seat at the table. He had his pick of either the chair by Portia or the one next to me, but he chose to partner Portia, offering her his handshake, which she accepted with lazy grace. He complimented her costume and was just moving on to how well it suited her complexion when Ailith sat between her mother and Portia, leaving two empty chairs for Valerius and the mysterious Hilda.

  As if thinking had conjured him, Valerius entered then, nodding graciously toward Lady Allenby, and casting a hasty glance over the rest of the table.