Lady Julia Grey Bundle

by DEANNA RAYBOURN

  "No, I do not believe that I was. We were never the ideal, you know. Never what one thinks a family ought to be. Father was always too busy carrying on with his magistrate's duties, making quite certain everyone followed the law to its strictest interpretation. Mother was distant—living in the past, I think, when the Allenby name meant something. We were kings, once upon a time, and for my mother, time has stood still. We were never permitted to make friends with the other children. We never even played with Godwin. We had only each other, and yet…"

  She paused and I looked at her encouragingly.

  "Have you brothers and sisters, Lady Julia?"

  "Nine, actually."

  The fair brows lifted. "Indeed. Then perhaps you will understand. Even amongst one's siblings, one can be entirely alone."

  I thought of my place in the family as the youngest daughter. Only my brother Valerius was lesser, and yet he and I, who ought to have been allies, had often been at odds. I had known the close affection of Benedick and Portia, but some of the elder children were far removed from the nursery by the time I made my appearance. The eccentricity of my family had made it easy enough to justify holding them at arm's length when I was so inclined.

  "I think so," I told her.

  "It was that way for me. I was the eldest, and I was a disappointment. Both of my parents were certain I would be a boy, an heir for Allenby. And when Redwall was born, I was dispensable."

  Such was the legacy of primogeniture upon the female psyche, I reflected bitterly.

  "And when Ailith was born?"

  "Oh, more disappointment, of course. They would have liked another son to secure the line, but she was so beautiful, even from birth. It was as if everything pure and lovely in the Allenby blood had been perfected in her. I never saw a more striking child, although truth be told, Redwall was extraordinarily handsome himself. Hilda was nothing but an afterthought. No one ever paid her much attention. I was the odd one out," she said with a wry smile. "With a peasant's face and a sturdy gait, always with an argument or a truculent mood. My mother despaired of ever making a lady of me. All I cared about were books. I thought for awhile that Redwall and I might be good friends because we shared a love of learning, but he had no use for me."

  The words were spoken conversationally, with no regret, no bitterness. A simple recitation of facts that must have wounded her deeply at the time.

  "The truth is Redwall was so obsessed with anything Egyptian. He simply could not be educated in any other subjects. Father ran off a dozen tutors for failing to teach him simple mathematics. He was a stubborn boy. I think being fussed over, having so much made of him as the heir, rather ruined his character. He was not always a pleasant child, and Ailith always followed where he led."

  I thought of the mummified children hidden behind the chimney and wondered if Sister Bridget knew precisely how unpleasant her brother could be.

  "He was given to playing pranks, and I am sorry to say, the tricks were usually cruel ones, at someone else's expense. He stole the note I left for Mama, explaining my decision to join a convent. He told her I had eloped with an artist."

  "That is monstrous," I breathed.

  Sister Bridget shrugged. "He did a dozen things worse, I am certain. He was angry that I left, that I was willing to reject the Allenby name and all that it stood for, and he wanted to hurt me. He thought that maligning my reputation would be the best way, but in truth, it was the only weapon he had. He could not harm me. I was in a convent. All he could do was spread gossip about me, and I was immune to his venom."

  "But Lady Allenby, she must have been quite devastated. The thought of her daughter taking the veil might have given her some comfort. At least, the comfort of knowing you were safe and happy."

  "Oh, Redwall would not have cared about that. He was angry with Mother because she would not give him the funds to go to Egypt. It was before he attained control of the estate, under the terms of Father's will. He was dependent upon Mother for everything then, and I think it galled him to have to ask for every last farthing. He was angry with her, angry with me. It was a rather efficient little revenge really."

  "And has Lady Allenby never learned the truth? Even now?"

  Sister Bridget shrugged. "I do not know. If Redwall confided in anyone, it would have been Ailith, and she would never have gone against his authority, even after his death."

  "Why did you never tell Lady Allenby yourself? You might have written."

  She gave a short, unpleasant little laugh. "My dear lady, you clearly did not know Redwall. He collected the post himself. He wrote to me once, and only once, to tell me what he had done and to assure me that it was futile to think of writing to Mother because she wanted nothing to do with me." She gave me an apologetic look. "I was younger then, and I believed him. I went to the head of my order for guidance, and she counselled me not to write, as thinking on my temporal family would only serve to interfere with my conventual life. For the most part I obeyed," she said with a wry little twist of the lips. "But once or twice I did send a letter, appealing to Redwall's better nature. Unfortunately, he did not have one."

  I thought of the note in his diary about correspondence from SB. Sister Bridget, the sister who had renounced all material wealth and the legacy of the Allenby name.

  "What a beastly young man," I said, forgetting for a moment that he had been her brother.

  She smiled. "He had his moments. But you must recollect I intended to leave the world behind in any event. The convent was my home, and that was where attention must be paid."

  I must have seemed dubious, for she touched my arm lightly.

  "I would not have you think entirely ill of my brother. Redwall could be quite charming as well. And so generous. I remember once when I found a bird, a young pheasant with a broken wing, Redwall helped me to bring it home and care for it. When it died, I sobbed over it for days and Redwall promised to bury it for me, so that I should not have to do it myself. He saved me one beautiful feather from its plumage. And another time, when I was sent to bed without supper for some childish transgression, Redwall threw his own supper out the window, and Ailith's as well, and said if I did not eat, neither would they."

  She leaned toward me, her tone conspiratorial. "I would have preferred if he had just shared his, but that was Redwall. He always liked a grand gesture, and Ailith was always so content to play the consort, pretty and docile and standing in the shadows. And poor little Hilda, always overlooked."

  She sank into a reverie for a moment, and the silence stretched between us, comfortable and peaceful. After several minutes, she collected herself and smoothed her habit.

  "I am sorry. I am unaccustomed to talking so much. It fatigues me, in a way I did not expect. I am responsible for the gardens at the abbey, and I often spend whole days in silent contemplation."

  "What a lovely thought," I told her. "I will leave you now. Is there anything I can do to make you comfortable while you wait?"

  She shook her head. "No, thank you. I would like only a little solitude, if that could be arranged. A few moments of contemplation would be most useful."

  I nodded and went to the door. I lingered a moment as I pulled it closed, watching Sister Bridget, the prodigal daughter come home. She slid to her knees, but did not cross herself, and unlike her mother, she did not finger her rosary. Instead her eyes were fixed on the tapestry where her name had been so carefully unpicked until only a single golden thread remained to show she had ever been born.

  * * *

  I went to the kitchen to find Portia and Mrs. Butters chatting soberly over cups of tea. Ailith was nowhere to be found, and I took the opportunity to apprise the others of Sister Bridget's identity.

  "Bless my soul," said Mrs. Butters, her face alight. She had been sunk in gloom since Lady Allenby's confession, but the prospect of seeing Sister Bridget roused her like the arrival of the prodigal son. "Miss Wilfreda come home. 'Tis like she were raised from the dead, like tha' fellow, oh, what were his
name?" She frowned, drumming her fingers on the table.

  "Lazarus?" Portia hazarded.

  "Tha' is the one!" Mrs. Butters beamed. "You are clever, my lady. Yes, indeed. I had thought her dead, I did, for many a year. What a turn it will give the mistress to see her alive again. And to go and live with her in the convent, I cannot imagine it."

  "Yes, quite the coincidence," Portia remarked, arching a brow at me significantly. I gave a quick, sharp shake of the head to silence her, but I might not have bothered. Mrs. Butters was off again.

  "Always loved my plum cakes, did Miss Wilfreda. I have just one put by in the larder. Oh, I must go and see to it. I left it a few days past now, and I do hope the moths have not got at it."

  She hurried away and Portia blinked at me. "Moths? Isn't it too early for moths?"

  "Portia, never mind about the moths." I darted a glance at the door. "You must meet her before she leaves. She is quite something. I spent quarter of an hour in her company and felt so peaceful, I think I might well join an order on the way back to London."

  "I shall forward your post and adopt your pets, shall I?" my sister asked.

  "Yes, and you may have all of my clothes," I told her generously.

  Portia snorted. "Your clothes? I would sooner give them to Florence to use as birthing cloths."

  "They were all made by your dressmakers," I reminded her, but she waved a hand and I lapsed into a sulky silence.

  Just then Brisbane entered, fully dressed in a fine black coat and a black silk neckcloth wound tidily about his throat. His shirt was neatly buttoned, and although his hair would never be orderly, it was less tumbled than usual. He was paler than I would have liked, and there were new hollows carved beneath his cheekbones. He had lost weight through his ordeal, although I noticed his coat still tugged across the width of his shoulders.

  "Where is she?" he asked without preamble.

  "The old great hall, as you asked. She wanted a few moments of solitude, to pray I think. Brisbane, you ought to know, Sister Bridget was Wilfreda Allenby. She is Lady Allenby's eldest daughter."

  "I know," he said, shooting his cuffs.

  I stared at him, and Portia merely sipped at her tea, looking from me to Brisbane with avid interest. I think she smelled a quarrel brewing between us.

  "Kindly explain," I directed him.

  "I know Sister Bridget is Wilfreda Allenby," he said slowly. "I have known it for months. I traced her whereabouts some time ago and was already in communication with the abbess in Dublin. When it became necessary to remove Lady Allenby, it was a simple matter to arrange it."

  My mouth was agape and he huffed an impatient sigh. "For God's sake, Julia, how do you think I managed to arrange this so quickly from a sickbed? I am a competent man, but I am no conjurer."

  "How very clever you are," I said sweetly. "And how stupid of me not to have known, but then you take great delight in amusing yourself with my silliness, don't you, Brisbane?"

  His lips tightened. "Julia Grey, I have no intention of quarrelling with you now. Nothing I have done was with the thought of making you feel foolish. In fact, nothing I have done has anything to do with you. Now I am telling you, leave it be."

  He turned on his heel and stalked out. I turned to Portia, fairly sputtering in my rage.

  "That is why I gave up men," she said ruefully. "They can be so very difficult."

  "I was packing to leave when he fell ill," I confessed. "I was through with him, with his tricks and games, with all of it. I was quite shattered when I thought he would die. I thought it would change things. Clearly, it has not. I suppose I ought to leave now."

  Portia tipped her head quizzically. "I thought there were mysteries afoot here? Questions unanswered? Puzzles undetected? You cannot really expect me to believe you would rather leave here, not knowing the truth."

  I recognised the tone. She was cajoling, the way she had always done when she wanted something of me and suspected bullying would not work.

  "Stop it, Portia. Don't you want to go back to London, too?"

  She went white to the lips, but when she spoke, her voice was steady. "Not now. Jane is gone, Julia. Forever. I have nothing to hold me in London, and in fact, I rather think a diversion might be quite welcome at present."

  "Portia," I murmured, reaching for her hand. She let me pet her a moment, then drew herself up briskly, tucking her emotions away.

  "So, what is it to be? Shall we endeavour to sleuth about and lay some of the ghosts of Grimsgrave Hall, or shall we slink back to London like whipped dogs?" She thrust out her hand.

  I pulled a face, but clasped her hand in mine to seal the bargain. "Very well. We will stay until it is finished," I told her, not entirely happy about the arrangement. God only knew what fresh humiliations Brisbane could conjure for me. But knowing that I had meant to leave him gave me a little more power than I had had before. I made a mental note to keep my trunk packed in any event.

  THE TWENTIETH CHAPTER

  Sigh no more, ladies, sigh no more, Men were deceivers ever, One foot in sea, and one on shore.

  —William Shakespeare

  Much Ado About Nothing

  The departure of Lady Allenby was accomplished with a great deal less excitement than I would have expected. Godwin had told Ailith and Hilda of their sister's arrival, and the ladies met in the entry hall where we had all assembled to bid farewell to Lady Allenby. Ailith embraced her sister with warmth, but Hilda greeted Bridget awkwardly, and I realised that they had not seen one another since Hilda was a young girl. It was a sober moment.

  Valerius came to stand in the shadows next to Portia, and I took the place next to them. Mrs. Butters was weeping softly into her apron as her mistress descended the great carved staircase for the last time. Lady Allenby was dressed in one of her usual wide gowns of deepest black, a rosary at her belt. Ailith had packed for her, the smallest bag imaginable, with the few things she would need for the journey. Once at the convent, God and the good sisters would supply her needs.

  To my astonishment, Brisbane himself had gone to fetch Lady Allenby from her room. I do not know what words they may have exchanged, only that she leaned heavily upon him as they moved down the stairs. When they reached the bottom, she turned to him, her impressive height bringing her very nearly eye-to-eye with him.

  "You have shown me more compassion than I deserve, Nicholas Brisbane," she said, her imperious voice softened by something that sounded like gratitude. "One day, when you have need of it the most, and deserve it the least, God will repay you."

  He gave her a short, sharp nod and in that instant she raised one gnarled hand to make a quick sign of the cross over his bent head.

  She turned instantly, lifting her chin and surveying the rest of the assembled company. "Of the dark deeds done in this house, I say only this, that I am responsible, and I will spend the rest of my life atoning for them, and begging God's benevolent mercy upon my poor sinner's heart. And although God has no cause to listen to a transgressor whose failings are legion, I will pray for each of you in the long dark evening of my life."

  The words were purest melodrama, but they seemed heartfelt, and oddly touching as well. As she passed, Lady Allenby gave each of us a brief nod, as if committing our faces to memory. It felt strange then, to know I would never see her again. In spite of what horrors she had perpetrated, I felt a surge of pity for her, and I hoped that her convent would be a place of refuge and repentance for her.

  She said nothing to her daughters. There was a sigh of recognition when she looked upon the plain, placid features of Sister Bridget, and I suspected Brisbane had told her of Wilfreda's return. She lingered a moment before Ailith and Hilda, her expression as sorrowful as the Christ before which she knelt each day, and I knew she must be grieving for how thoroughly she had failed them. She was leaving them adrift in the world whilst she found a safe haven in her Irish convent, and I wondered if she would ever forgive herself for that. And more to the point, if her daughters would. />
  Sister Bridget took charge of her then, and it was Ailith who shut the door behind them. Hilda, her complexion reddened from wind and emotion, dashed angry tears from her cheeks and turned to me as if to speak. But she turned instead and fled to the garden, slamming the door as she went. Valerius followed hard upon her heels, and I hoped she would take some comfort in his company. He was seldom tactful, but his intentions were always good.

  Ailith said nothing. She merely shook her head sorrowfully and looked neither to the left nor right as she slowly ascended the stairs.

  "Those poor girls," Portia breathed. "Whatever will become of them now?"

  I shrugged. "They will go to live in the Bear's Hut with Mrs. Butters, and that will be the end of them."

  * * *

  That afternoon I walked across the moor to Rosalie's cottage. Portia stayed behind, pleading a headache, and I was secretly glad of it. I was eager for some fresh air and I wanted to talk to Rosalie alone. She opened the door before I even put my hand to the little gate in the stone wall, as if she had been expecting me.

  "Good afternoon, lady," she said, stepping aside. The cottage was as tidy and cosy as ever, but I noticed her hearthrug was empty. I mentioned it to her.

  She gave a shrug. "Rook prefers Brisbane's company, so I let him go where he pleases. He may return, he may stay at the Hall. It is no matter."

  I was glad she introduced the subject of Brisbane, for I had not yet fixed how to go about learning what I wanted to know.

  "You were marvellous when he was ill," I told her. She gave me a fathomless, familiar look.

  "I think we will need something stronger than tea for this chat, eh, lady?" She went to the beautifully painted cupboard and took out two tiny glasses, thin as paper and decorated with a design of Venetian gilt. She took out a bottle as well, dark green and felted with dust. When she had poured us each a glass of thick, amber liquid, she lifted hers to me in silent salute. I returned the gesture and sipped, gasping a little as the liquid slipped down like molten glass.