“Deare,” he said in a deep, curt voice. “What a pleasant surprise.” There was no way to know if he meant it, but at least he thrust out his hand in welcome.
Madeleine’s gaze clung to that hand, so long and thin, its veins standing out like ridges. As Daniel put his into it, the tapered fingers closed, and she actually held her breath, as though it was her own hand he held.
“How do you do, my dear fellow?” Daniel said, shaking his hand. “As you see, I have taken you up on your kind invitation, and brought my sister, too. I hope you don’t mind.”
Their host’s unblinking eyes shifted suddenly, pinioning her.
“My sister, Miss Madeleine Deare,” Daniel said, standing aside. “Maddy, our kind host, Mr. Roderick Usher.”
From sheer nerves, she offered her hand. He took it in those long, strong fingers, his grip firm but perfectly gentle. And brief. He dropped her hand and her gaze almost at once, and greeted Sonya with the same civil indifference. So why did Madeleine feel as if she had been smacked in the head? Or the chest, for she seemed to have forgotten to breathe.
“Please, sit, make yourselves comfortable,” Mr. Usher said. Only then did he seem to become aware that they still wore their outer garments. Gesturing to Daniel’s, he said abruptly, “Give me your coats. I’m afraid Graham isn’t a domestic servant.”
“Our apologies,” Madeleine said as she removed her damp bonnet. “I hope we didn’t cause offence.”
His gaze flickered to her and clung. “No. You misunderstand. He isn’t domestic. Yet. He’s my old batman.”
“Ah, yes,” Daniel murmured. “Verne said you were in the army. A hero of Waterloo.”
Unexpectedly, Usher laughed, but didn’t explain his mirth, perhaps because he was taking Madeleine’s travelling cloak and bonnet. As if just remembering its existence, he walked to the bell and pulled it, before accepting Sonya’s cloak and hat also.
The same servant, Graham, marched into the room, held out his arms to receive the coats from his master, and from Daniel. Without a word, he marched out again.
Madeleine, who rather liked odd households, smiled as she sat on the sofa beside Sonya. When Daniel had taken one of the armchairs, Usher perched on the edge of the other and regarded him curiously.
“What can I do for you?”
Definitely not expected, Madeleine realized with extreme discomfort. Why hadn’t Daniel taken the trouble to reply to his letter?
“Just answering your letter, old man,” Daniel said mildly.
“My letter?”
“You invited me to stay.”
Usher’s frown deepened. “I never wrote to you in my life. I barely know you.”
Chapter Two
Madeleine jumped to her feet, flushing with horrible embarrassment. Immediately, their host rose, too. So did Daniel, stiff with outrage.
Usher didn’t look at him. His frown deepened as he regarded Madeleine. Hastily, he dragged his fingers through his hair. “Forgive me, I must sound unbearably rude.” He glanced at Daniel. “That I didn’t write is no excuse for a lack of hospitality or manners. I am too used to being alone. I say whatever is in my head. In fact, I’m very glad to see you. All of you. I hope you’ll stay for as long as you wish.”
It was a handsome apology, despite his continued denial of writing in the first place. But more than that, the hint of wild desperation in his eyes, quickly veiled with his thick eyelashes, melted Madeleine’s heart. He was lonely. And that was something she understood only too well. She sat down.
“The weather is foul,” Usher said. “At the very least, you must stay the night.” He paused as though dredging up some long-forgotten list of conversation openings. “Is this your first visit to Scotland?”
Daniel resumed his seat. “Not for me. I came for a shooting party several years ago. But it is all new to Madeleine. She has been out of the country with my late father.”
“Of course, he was a diplomat, was he not? My condolences. I believe his loss was recent. Where were you, Miss Deare?”
“Russia, most recently. Before that, in Constantinople.”
His eyebrows jerked. “Russia? Were you there in 1812?”
“Yes, we had not long arrived when the French invaded.”
“Was it terrible?” he asked in the abrupt way that seemed to be habitual.
“Not for me,” she said lightly. “We were in St. Petersburg, and of course the French did not get so far.” She took Sonya’s hand and squeezed. “But later, we saw some of the suffering. Yes, it was terrible.”
“War is.”
“Well, you would know, old man,” Daniel said lazily. “Having been amongst it for what, ten years?”
“Eight.”
“It surprised me. I never suspected you were militarily inclined.”
Usher’s lips twisted. “Neither did I. It was a grand gesture when I was thwarted in love. But instead of dying tragically, I turned out to be rather good at soldiering, so I stayed.”
“Then why did you leave?” Daniel asked idly. His attention was more on the painting above Usher’s head. “To take over the family estates?”
Something bleak flickered in Usher’s eyes. It might have been grief, or anger, or even shame. It was gone too quickly for Madeleine to tell.
“No, I’d already sold out before Rob died. I was injured at Waterloo. Besides, there were no more wars to fight. What about you, Deare? What have you been doing all these years? Following in your father’s footsteps?”
“Lord, no. I’m no diplomat. You might call me a gentleman of leisure. That’s a very fine painting, Usher. It looks almost like a Rembrandt.”
“It is,” Usher said without emphasis. “You mentioned Verne. Did you see him?”
“In Sussex last month. His wife was about to give birth, which made him as jumpy as a cat on hot coals, but otherwise, he seemed well.”
Usher nodded. “I haven’t seen him since Robert’s—” He broke off with an almost angry shrug. Clearly, he didn’t want to talk about Robert. Or Waterloo.
Madeleine indicated one of the easels. “Are you the painter, Mr. Usher?”
“I daub,” Usher said with a quick grimace.
“Oh, overly modest, Usher,” Daniel objected. “You always drew superbly. It’s one of the things I remember about you most.”
Usher looked faintly surprised. His mouth opened, as though he would return the compliment with some memory of Daniel. Only, he closed it again, as if nothing suitable sprang to mind. Madeleine suspected that Roderick Usher was simply one of those people one always remembered.
“Will you show us?” she asked.
Usher stood once more, but more in alarm, it seemed, than to rush to oblige her. He rubbed the side of his hand across his forehead, then shrugged, and strode past the easel nearest to him to the one by the wall. He jerked the painted rag from over the top, and Madeleine stood to admire it.
“Why, it’s your lake,” she exclaimed.
More than that, the whole painting was hauntingly beautiful. The light glinting on the water was superb, the reflection of the trees rippling in apparently constant motion. Pale sun shone through scattered clouds but couldn’t quite diffuse the impression of darkness, almost threat. The trees were gnarled, glowering, ominous, but their echo in the water made them light and beautiful. He had created several deep, layered atmospheres and emotions in one supposedly ordinary landscape.
“The Usher Loch,” he said.
“It’s beautiful,” she murmured. “And…moving.” And perhaps it said as much about him as about the scenery. “May I see the others?”
He shook his head. “Not yet, they are not finished.”
The servant Graham interrupted at that point. “The guest rooms are prepared, sir.”
“I expect you’d like to go and make yourselves comfortable before dinner,” Usher said. Although he gave no outward sign, Madeleine was sure he spoke with relief. “We can meet here in about an hour.” He pulled himself up. “If you like,” h
e added with difficulty. “Forgive me. I’m too used to consulting only my own whims.”
“An hour will be perfect,” Madeleine assured him.
He stayed in the room while everyone else followed Graham across the stone hall and up the stairs, which were now lit by candles above and below. Madeleine looked about her eagerly. At the top of the stairs, a long, shadowed gallery led into darkness. Her feet itched to explore, but the servant led them left instead, past a row of closed doors, and up a pair of steps into what must have been the square tower again.
A door stood wide open. “Miss Deare,” Graham said, bowing, although there was no need. Mercer could be seen within, unpacking her trunk.
Roderick Usher watched them leave the room with a massive sense of relief. He was not used to company these days, let alone the company of strangers, and their arrival had set him off-balance. In fact, he’d thought he was hallucinating when he had seen their carriage through the rain and the elegant girl with her face turned up to him, spinning like the figure in a music box. He had even imagined he heard the music. He still did, for he found he was humming it in his head, a song for beauty with laughing eyes and compassionate lips.
He found it hard to connect her with her brother.
In truth, though, he found it hard to connect anything to her brother. He barely remembered him from school. Someone on the fringe of Verne’s group of friends. Why the devil he would come to visit him, bringing his sister, was beyond him. Perhaps Verne had put him up to it with this story of a written invitation—checking up on him.
He found he was gazing unseeingly at the painting of the loch. Frowning at another imperfection in the sky he hadn’t noticed before, he threw the rag over it again, and turned away in frustration. They should be out of the way by now.
He left the room, striding across the hall and up the main staircase. He began lighting the lamps as he went until he met up with Graham doing the same thing from the opposite direction. Without a word, they exchanged wry smiles and went their separate ways.
Roderick went straight to his aunt and uncle’s rooms. They stood in front of their sitting room window as he entered. At first glance, they both seemed to be buttoning Uncle James’s overcoat, but in reality, James was buttoning, Aunt Janet was unbuttoning them again. Roderick wondered how long this had been going on.
“Roddy, my boy!” James said jovially. “Time for a walk, eh?”
“It’s raining,” Janet observed, unfastening the last button again.
“Hasn’t let up all day,” Roderick said, recognizing that she’d been trying to slow his progress. The last time he’d gone out for a walk in the rain, he’d got lost and was ill in bed with a fever for a week. “Almost time for dinner in fact, so I’d forget the walk. I came to say we have guests for dinner. They’ll be staying the night.” Hopefully no longer.
“How agreeable,” Janet murmured. “Who is that, then?”
“Fellow called Deare. We were at school together. And his sister and her Russian companion.”
“Deare,” James rumbled. “I knew a fellow called Deare. English. Got some post at the Foreign Office. Sir Henry Deare,” he pronounced with an air of triumph.
“This is his son, Sir Daniel,” Roderick said, helping Janet ease off his uncle’s coat, with his full cooperation now.
“Excellent,” James approved. “Better change for dinner then.”
“I’ll fetch you a glass of sherry,” Janet said amiably. “Join us, Roderick?”
“Later, downstairs,” Roderick said, and left them to it.
They’d be pickled within the hour, which seemed to be the way they liked it. Roderick wouldn’t stand in their way. He understood only too well the appeal of a crutch to help one through the hour or the day. Or particularly the night.
He walked on to his own bedchamber. At least, that’s what it was now. Once, it had been his mother’s “solar”—a wide, sunny room where she had grown hothouse flowers and bathed in light, even on the coldest days. It had windows all along one wall, and the ceiling was made of glass. Even at night, it felt spacious and open.
Graham had lit the lamps already, so it was too easy to catch sight of his own reflection.
He paused, staring at the glass until a rueful smile tugged at his lips. Sometimes his appearance frightened even him. Oh yes, Danny Deare and his pretty sister would flee for the hills first thing tomorrow morning.
Nevertheless, he paid his guests the courtesy of washing thoroughly before he changed into the black evening clothes Graham had laid out for him. Roderick couldn’t remember buying them, let alone wearing them before. He suspected they were Robert’s. Certainly, the coat hung a little too wide on his gaunt frame, but not too noticeably.
He tied his cravat neatly and was trying to brush his hair into decent order when Graham came in.
“I need a haircut,” he observed.
“You’ll do, sir,” Graham said.
“Hmm. Are our guests comfortable?”
“Indeed, sir. Pleasantly surprised not to find themselves in a hayloft, I suspect.”
Roderick grinned. Not for the first time, he wondered what had impelled them to trudge all the way out to Usher.
“Can we give them a decent dinner?” he asked.
“Of course, sir. Mrs. Menteith is delighted at the prospect of cooking for someone who might care what they’re putting in their mouths.”
There was nothing he could say to that, for very often he paid no attention to his food and, indeed, had no idea what he had eaten when he was finished. At other times, he was exquisitely sensitive to the taste of everything.
He left his chamber and made his way as quickly as possible along the passage, past his uncle’s rooms, and around the corner to the gallery, where he was brought up short by a rather charming vision.
Madeleine Deare was tiptoeing along the gallery, a candle in her hand to help her see the paintings on the wall, the wood panels, and stone pillars. The light glowed around her like a halo, giving her an ethereal quality that he longed suddenly to paint, along with her smiling lips, and her amazingly profound, blue eyes.
She paused at the central window, looking down into the courtyard, then raised her candle to examine a particularly massive cobweb.
He’d stopped at the end of the gallery to watch her, but as he walked on, she caught his movement and lowered her candle without embarrassment to greet him.
“What a beautiful house you have, Mr. Usher!”
He blinked, for he hadn’t expected that, certainly not spoken with such sincerity. “Do you really think so?” he asked curiously.
“Oh, yes,” she enthused. “It’s so old, with so many beautiful touches to the stone and the wood. So much character and—” She broke off, regarding him with an appealing trace of humor. “Will you be offended if I say eeriness?”
“Not in the slightest,” he said gravely. “We left the cobwebs in the hope of pleasing.”
There was more definite laughter in her eyes now. “How thoughtful. I suppose it wouldn’t be quite so comfortable above one’s bed, perhaps, but here it is perfect.”
“Thank you. They’re scattered about many other places, too, if you would care to see.”
“Oh, I would.”
“Perhaps later then. I don’t want to spoil you with too many treats at once. Something tells me you have been deprived of neglected old houses in your travels.”
“I have, sadly,” she replied as they walked together toward the staircase. She cast him a quick, frowning glance. “Why do you neglect it?”
As soon as the words spilled from her lips, she looked appalled at herself. Afraid she would apologize, he replied hastily, “I don’t know. Inertia. Laziness. The hope of one day entertaining a discerning guest such as yourself.”
She smiled. She had a beautiful smile, wide, genuine, and infectious. “Now I know you are making fun of me.”
“Only in an appreciative way. Feel free to return the favor.”
She laughe
d, and he found a returning smile forming unbidden on his lips. It seemed to lighten his blackened heart.
That she could banter nonsense with Roderick Usher was a revelation to Madeleine, the first of many that evening. They parted at the staircase, which he ran down while she went in search of Sonya and then her brother.
“Don’t think we should stay long,” Daniel said with a quick grimace as they entered his bedchamber. “Up early and off to Edinburgh, where we should have gone in the first place!”
Madeleine, conscious of a disproportionate sense of disappointment, said nothing.
Sonya said, “It is odd they were not expecting us at all.”
Daniel shrugged. “He’s clearly dicked in the nob like the rest of the family.”
Madeleine blinked. “Dicked in the…?”
“Mad,” Daniel explained hastily. “Most of ’em end up that way, which is why they’re holed up here in the middle of nowhere. Rumor is Robert, Roderick’s brother, went the same way. Something havey-cavey about his death, if you ask me.”
“And knowing this,” Sonya said in outrage, “you bring us here?”
“I didn’t know it,” Daniel protested. “Never saw any signs of it in him at school. Eccentric perhaps, but never mad.”
“I don’t believe he’s mad now,” Madeleine stated. “I think he is merely unused to company. And we did take him by surprise, because you never warned him we were coming.”
Daniel scowled. “Well, he needn’t deny he invited us in the first place. I didn’t write the dashed letter myself. And if that ain’t a sign of madness, I don’t know what is. Early breakfast tomorrow and away!”
As they went downstairs to join their host, the whole house seemed to be lit up like a ballroom. A blazing chandelier hung from the ceiling in the hall, and the sitting room, miraculously tidied in their absence, was lit by several lamps and candles. Surprisingly, the curtains were still open to the blackness beyond.
Roderick Usher came to greet them at once. Just as earlier in the gallery, Madeleine was struck by how unexpectedly handsome he looked. In the glow of the candles, his gauntness had the appearance of more sensitivity than illness. The sharp bones of his face provided an attractive, almost ascetic quality. And those long, thin hands were clearly those of an artist. Madeleine found it difficult to look away.
Madeleine Page 2
