But beyond him, movement caught her eye, and she saw with surprise that other people were in the room, too. A small, elderly couple in the garb of the previous century fluttered happily toward them. Roderick made the brief introductions.
“Mr. and Mrs. James Usher, my uncle and aunt.”
“Delighted to meet you,” Mr. Usher beamed. “Delighted!”
“Why, how beautiful you are!” Mrs. Usher chirruped to Madeleine, taking her hand. “Quite dazzling! James, some sherry for our guests!”
Madeleine allowed herself to be swept on to the sofa with the tiny lady, who chattered away about events clearly at least twenty years ago, as if they were yesterday.
“You see?” Daniel murmured from over the back of the sofa. “Mad as frogs.”
They ate in a formal dining room on the other side of the stone hall, and dinner was both excellent and plentiful. The wine was also superior, and Daniel glanced from his glass to his host with new respect. She could almost see him reassessing the man who hung Old Masters on his indifferently clean walls, ate dinner served from fine silver, and kept a cellar stocked with the finest wines. Perhaps he, too, had forgotten much of their schooldays. Or perhaps Mr. Usher had changed.
“This your only property, Usher?” Daniel asked casually.
“If you mean my only house and land, yes. There was a place in Edinburgh, but I sold it. Why, are you in the market?”
“I might be,” Daniel said with a faint smile.
It was news to Madeleine, who had gathered that Daniel was, in vulgar parlance, under the hatches. But then, he was probably only making conversation, for their host seemed liable to drift in and out of his own world while talk went on around him. At least that’s what she thought he was doing, causing her to wonder exactly where he went, when he quite suddenly rejoined the conversation with a quite apposite remark.
Somehow, too, he got involved in a learned conversation with the normally silent Sonya. It was totally impersonal, on classic literature, but he listened to her with respect and even grew quite animated in reply. Madeleine’s heart warmed toward him, for it was as if he had guessed abstract conversations were the best kind for her to have. Perhaps because they were best for him, too. Her curiosity quickened.
After dinner, Mrs. Usher led Madeleine and Sonya back to the sitting room, leaving the gentlemen to their port. The old lady poured more sherry, merrily presenting Madeleine and Sonya with a glass each.
“No point in leaving it all for them,” she said roguishly and knocked back half of her glass. There was a delicate flush to her papery cheeks, a glitter to her fading eyes. “Now, tell me all about yourself. How is it you know Roderick?”
“Oh, I have only just met him,” Madeleine assured her. “He is a friend of my brother’s. I believe they were at school together.” Afraid she was going to ask more personal questions, Madeleine quickly changed the subject. “That is a fine pianoforte. Do you play, ma’am?”
“I used to play the spinet when I was a girl,” the old lady said, standing and wandering over to the instrument. “This is a new-fangled thing.”
Nevertheless, she sat down at it and played, with jaw-dropping proficiency, a traditional piece before she launched, without the music, into something by Handel. She stopped only when the door opened to admit the gentlemen.
“Dear, dear, I was carried away and forgot myself,” she twittered, reaching for the glass she’d set down. “Do you play, Miss Deare?”
“Exquisitely,” Daniel answered for her.
Madeleine laughed. “Oh, hardly. Not by Mrs. Usher’s standards.”
“Oh, I’m just an old lady with arthritic joints,” Mrs. Usher said, wandering over to join her husband by the decanters. “We’d all love to hear you play, my dear.”
Since it was becoming difficult to refuse, Madeleine walked to the pianoforte.
“There’s music in the cabinet behind you,” Roderick Usher said.
That was an understatement. She had no idea where to begin looking among the mountain of scripts for something she might be able to play without disgracing herself. It seemed very important that her hosts—that Roderick Usher—think well of her.
Then the expectant silence weighed on her so much, she simply gave up and played a favorite piece from memory. Roderick stood at the side of the piano. Though she couldn’t bring herself to look, his black gaze seemed to burn into her face.
You must stop these silly fantasies… Concentrate!
It was a relief when she came to the end and smiled gratefully for the applause and compliments.
“Sing something now,” Daniel urged.
“Oh, yes!” Mrs. Usher exclaimed at once. “Indeed, you must!”
Mr. James Usher added his affable persuasion, but although she had been used to performing in far larger companies that this, she found herself peculiarly nervous, quite lacking in confidence. She wondered desperately if she could plead illness and retire, though God help her, she didn’t want to do that either.
“I’ll accompany you,” Roderick said, and sat on the bench beside her. “What will you sing?”
Alarm shot through her body like a lightning bolt. She was not used to being so close to a man that she could feel the heat from his thigh. In panic, she blurted out the title of a traditional song she understood to be Scottish, although she had learned it in Russia.
“Play the introduction,” he said, and she did.
His lips quirked, as though in recognition, and his long, thin hands settled over the keys. She couldn’t understand why those hands disturbed her as they did. They seemed to inspire some kind of confused longing. And then he began to play in harmony with her own hesitant notes, and she concentrated to keep up. She began to sing quite naturally, and after a few moments, she realized it was fun.
He played with a light and skillful touch, following harmonic lines she would never have thought. Intrigued and delighted, she followed him, welcoming the happiness along with the music. She could even acknowledge the added, secret thrill of his solid heat, the movement of his arm against hers, the occasional brush of his hip and thigh.
And when they finished at last, she smiled up at him and met his intense, wondering gaze. She couldn’t breathe.
Chapter Three
“Bravo!” cried Mr. Usher. “Quite delightful. You must play more.”
Madeleine jumped to her feet. “Oh, no,” she said breathlessly. “You have had quite enough of me! I desire to hear more of my partner here.”
In this way, she stumbled out of his troubling nearness and still managed to listen to his music. Which was wild and yet structured, melodious and moving enough to bring a lump to her throat.
“What is that piece?” she asked when he finished and rose to his feet. “It’s beautiful.”
“Thank you.” He shrugged. “I made it up.”
She blinked. “Just now?”
His teeth flashed in one of his rare, quick smiles. “No, over the last few months. But I might have added a bit just now.”
“You should write it down,” she urged.
“Yes, I should,” he agreed, glancing around as though for the means to do so.
His absentmindedness was oddly endearing, especially in conjunction with the overwhelming physicality she had felt at the piano. She had never met anyone like this strange, clever, interesting man.
Graham and two maids brought in tea then, and Mrs. Usher poured it out a little too enthusiastically. In the general movement of giving and receiving cups, Madelene again found herself beside Roderick. At least this time, there was a decorous few inches between them, although her heart still galloped with a peculiar mixture of fear and delicious thrill.
“Music touches you,” he observed.
“It does,” she confessed. Perhaps it was the nervousness he inspired that jerked her into speech, or perhaps she simply wanted him to know because she was sure he would understand. “More so, when my emotions are…unstable. I still grieve for my father.”
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nbsp; He nodded, saying nothing, from which she knew that he really did understand. “Be busy,” he said at last. “Until you learn to live with it. One does, you know.” And then he laid down his cup and saucer and stood up to pace restlessly around the room. As though he wished to retire but felt compelled by his duties as host to stay.
Or perhaps not, for several times in the next hour, she was sure she felt his gaze on her face. Only once did she catch his eyes, but he did not seem remotely embarrassed. Instead, his lips quirked into a smile, which she found herself returning.
The general conversation was entertaining, if increasingly slurred on the parts of the older Ushers, who seemed to decide as one that it was time for bed.
They rose together from opposite sides of the room and moved just a little unsteadily toward the door.
“Good night, everyone!” Mr. Usher said jovially.
“What a very pleasant evening!” his wife added, following him out.
Taking this as a cue, Daniel said, “We should retire, too. We mean to make an early start tomorrow.”
Roderick swung on him as though surprised. “Please don’t feel you should,” he uttered, as though the words were wrung from him. “You are welcome to stay as long as you wish. I hope you will.”
“Thank you, you’re very kind,” Daniel said, bowing. “But we have much to do before the Duke of Kintyre’s ball. Apparently, there are fripperies to buy.”
Madeleine stared at her brother in indignation. As it happened, she was in no hurry to leave, and she resented being made not only the excuse, but the butt of unfair humor. Fripperies, indeed!
Suddenly aware that Roderick was watching her, she smoothed her scowl into a smile and offered her hand. “Good night, Mr. Usher.”
He held her hand as though unsure what to do with it, absently brushing the soft skin between her finger and thumb. Her whole hand tingled. Abruptly, he bowed over it and released her.
“Good night. Ring for anything you need. The maids are still up.”
Madeleine, Sonya, and Daniel made their way up the still brightly lit stairs in silence. Only at the top did Daniel murmur, “He seems quite taken with you, Maddy.”
“Don’t be ridiculous,” she retorted, unreasonably irritated. Hadn’t she wanted him to be taken with her?
Daniel grinned and opened her bedroom door, bowing her in. “Don’t discount him. My suspicion is he’s a wealthy man. We’ll still leave tomorrow, but keep him in reserve. Good night, sweet sister! Madame!”
“In reserve for what?” Madeleine demanded when the door was closed.
Sonya, who had followed her inside to make use of Mercer’s skills before she retired, closed the door. “Marriage,” she said bluntly. “He wants you to marry well.”
“He knows that bird won’t fly,” Madeleine said crossly.
In her nightgown, Madeleine climbed into bed, but she didn’t blow out the candle. She was far too restless to sleep, her head too full of their strange yet charming host and the knowledge that she had not yet seen the rest of the house. Her chance was disappearing since they were leaving early tomorrow. She could rise earlier, of course. Or…
Or she could wait until the house was asleep.
She smiled at the ridiculousness of that. And yet, as time wore on, and the house quieted, it no longer seemed quite so silly. She felt wide awake, her head and her body almost buzzing with energy. And only a few yards away lay that Gothic hallway and many unexplored passages in spine-tingling darkness.
Remembering their silly conversation about cobwebs, she laughed softly, and stole out of bed, wrapping herself in her warm dressing gown. For a time, she sat in the window embrasure, gazing out at the night.
At some point during the evening, the rain had gone off. Wind was now blowing clouds across the moon, so that its silvery light winked on the rippling waters of the loch. The hills beyond stood out stark and black and strangely beautiful. Like this neglected old house, so full of ghosts and history and tales, surely, of Scotland’s turbulent history.
Madeleine drew in her breath, then took her almost burned out candle and used it to light the fresh one by the dressing table. Taking this with her, she shoved her feet in her indoor slippers and opened the bedchamber door.
She was almost disappointed when it didn’t creak.
The passage was in darkness. Her palely glowing candle barely penetrated it at first, so she stood still, waiting for her eyes to adjust. Then, she moved along the passage, toward the gallery where she had earlier encountered Roderick Usher. This appeared to be the neglected, unused part of the house, closest to the fire damage, so unless the servants slept there, she felt safe from discovery.
There was a wicked pleasure in treading here in the dark, a little thrill of fear in her heart at every noise and creak of the house. She easily imagined herself in one of her favorite novels. In fact, she almost felt she could write one set in this place with its dark corners and its bats and its enigmatic, almost cadaverous owner. She probably should cast him as the villain, but apart from the vague, unspecific air of danger that surrounded him, she could see no wickedness. The man had fought at Waterloo, and who knew how many engagements before it.
She passed the point at which she had encountered Roderick and was approaching the end of the passage. Fortunately, it turned, presumably around the side of the courtyard. She paused, glancing back at the closed doors she had already passed. Behind at least one of them must be the fire damage she had seen from outside. On impulse, she crossed the gallery and tried the nearest door. It was locked.
She walked on around the corner, finding another staircase, several wonderful little cubby holes, and some gorgeously carved paneling. Then she halted abruptly, listening as some unholy sound reached her ears.
Her drumming heartbeat was no longer agreeable. The darkness filled with terrifying half-formed shapes and shadows—hopefully conjured only by her imagination, for the sounds she heard were surely some fearsome animal.
For several moments, she stood rooted to the spot, holding her trembling candle out in front of her as though it could stop the pouncing of some fell beast. But it didn’t come any closer. It must be chained or locked up somewhere…Why would he keep a wild beast here? Is it a mad dog he once cared for?
Hesitantly, she stepped forward and realized the snarling was coming from one of the rooms on her left. Dare she look through the keyhole?
She crept closer, just as the beast gave an enormous, ground-vibrating snort. She jumped, all but dropping her candle. Fortunately, she steadied it in time, and by then the animal was coughing in a very human way, and yawning loudly.
“Janet!” came the muffled but unmistakable voice of Mr. James Usher. “Stop that racket, will you?”
“Hmm?” said his wife’s sleepy voice. “Oh, yes, dear, of course…”
Madeleine almost laughed with relief. She really was letting her imagination run riot. It was more than time she returned to bed. However, just as she began to turn back the way she’d come, she was aware of a lighter patch in the darkness ahead. Letting curiosity win one more time, she crept on. The light grew until she reached the corner where she saw it was lamplight emanating from an open door.
She had imagined all the bedchambers were in the square turret part of the building, above the guest rooms, but Mrs. Usher’s snoring had already disabused her of that notion. However, while she hesitated, she realized it was no bedchamber but a glass-ceilinged study of some kind. She could see plants, books scattered on a desk and on the floor, and a massive bookcase against the back wall. Intrigued, she walked nearer, assuming someone had forgotten to put out the lamps. Probably Roderick Usher. He seemed to be absentminded…
She paused by the door, scratching her nails against it just in case she was wrong and someone was actually inside. Since there was no response, she went in, and found she was wrong again.
It was a bedchamber. Of sorts. A bed without curtains or canopy stood in the middle of the floor, facing the windows.
Clothes were strewn over it, half-covering a guitar, a newspaper, and a leather belt. From the bed, she realized, you could gaze up at the moon and the stars. Although you wouldn’t have much chance of sleep once the sun came up, especially not in summer.
This was Roderick Usher’s bedchamber. It had to be.
Her whole body heated. She fled now with a quite different fear—that he would return from wherever he’d gone and find her there. God knew what he would think of her, what he might imagine. The truth, of course, was not much better. She could call herself curious, but to the master of the house, surely, she would merely be rude.
She certainly made it back to the staircase considerably faster than her outward journey. With some relief, she climbed the two steps to her own passage. As she moved toward her door, which stood ajar, she felt a distinct draught stirring her dressing gown and chilling her legs. As though someone had left a door wide open to the elements.
At first, she couldn’t tell where the whirling draught was coming from, but she traced it to a low, ill-fitting cupboard door. At least, she imagined it was a cupboard or a store room of some kind. She tried the latch, assuming it would be locked like all the other closed doors, but it opened immediately, and her dressing gown billowed at the blast of air.
She frowned down the stone spiral staircase revealed by her candle. There had to be an open door at the bottom. Had it been left by accident, or had some intruder got into the house?
She curled her hand, imagining she held a poker for protection. But she had to be reasonable. Who would break in and leave a door wide open to advertise the fact? And wake the household with such a wild draught? Besides, surely there was light at the bottom of the stairs?
She walked down carefully, clinging to the cold stone wall, meaning only to close whatever door was open. But at the foot of the stairs, the door she found led only into the sitting room she already knew.
Madeleine Page 3
