“To His Royal Majesty, King Charles!”
“The king!” All assembled raised their cups in reply, draining the contents in a single draught. My uncle joined the toast, but his eyes were narrow and hard when he lowered his drink.
“To the bride and groom!” someone shouted, from the back of the room, and again the great refrain rang out and the cups were lifted.
“To love,” Evan Gilroy proposed in a crisp, level voice, not stirring from his position by the mantelpiece. For a third time, the voices echoed the sentiment and the toast was drunk. Richard kept his eyes on mine while he drained his cup, then set it down again with a wink.
“Mark you remember how I drank that toast,” he told me, before moving away.
The sack posset was brought out shortly afterwards, a warmly intoxicating blend of curdled milk and Spanish wine and spices, and when it had been merrily consumed the lamps were lit and a fire kindled in the upstairs chamber, where the great bed lay prepared to receive the bridal couple.
Caroline and I accompanied Rachel to the bedchamber, to help her undress. In a few moments the entire company of guests would follow, as custom demanded, to fling the bride’s stocking and see the newly married couple into bed. Rachel clearly did not relish the prospect, but she sat stoically beneath our ministrations.
“You must look cheerful,” Caroline chided her younger sister, pinching Rachel’s cheeks to raise the color in them. “’Tis not a wake. Jabez has wedded you to a rich and respectable man, and you should show your gratitude more plainly.”
“I am exceeding grateful,” said Rachel dully.
Caroline fussed with Rachel’s hair, clucking her tongue reprovingly. “You do not appear so. You must smile, and say—”
“Oh, leave her be, Caroline!” I snapped, my patience strained, and the fussing stopped. I met Rachel’s eyes in the looking glass. “Would you have us stay with you?”
She shook her head, slowly. “I think I would like a moment alone, if neither of you mind. ’Twill give me time to collect my thoughts, and,” she paused, smiling at her sister, “to pray that God sees fit to make me a good and obedient wife.”
She rose and hugged us both, pale and lovely in her flowing nightdress. “I shall miss you,” she whispered beside my ear, clinging to me with the desperation of a frightened child.
“I will visit you often,” I promised, my voice unsteady. “You will have no cause to miss me.”
She merely shook her head, her eyes bright with tears, and hugged me again. I withdrew with a troubled mind. Downstairs, the celebration had grown boisterous with toasts and song, and the guests were all high-flown as they gathered to escort the bridegroom to his marriage bed. I had not the heart to join them, and when they finally mounted the stairs I lingered in the hallway miserably, hoping I would not be missed.
I was only vaguely aware of the hum of voices breaking, then changing, growing more discordant. The people seemed to be returning, pouring down the narrow staircase in an excited, trembling stream that spilled to every corner of the room, and in the midst of it all my uncle stood, looking blacker and more dangerous than I had ever seen him.
“Take horse!” he ordered those around him. “They shall not get away with this. By God,” he thundered, standing very tall, “they shall not get away with this!”
The air around me filled with agitated, eager whisperings. “Gone… did you ever hear…? …through the window, of course… Gilroy, my dear, from the manor house… never suspected anything…”
Elias Webb, shaking with rage, ploughed through the press of bodies towards me. “Open the door!” he ordered, and I obeyed automatically, then flattened myself against its surface to let him pass. Several men followed him out onto the lawn, spreading purposefully in all directions. Instinctively, I looked past them to the spot where Evan had tethered the horses. Navarre stood alone in the moonlight, a ghostly gray shape with his head turned in the direction of the distant hills.
I pulled my gaze away and looked behind me. Richard de Mornay was standing halfway down the stairs, one shoulder propped against the wall behind, his arms folded casually across his chest. Above the sea of wondering faces his eyes met mine, and he smiled.
Chapter 29
Mrs. Hutherson smiled at me above the rim of her flowered teacup. “What do you think happened to them?” she asked.
“I don’t know,” I answered, chewing my lower lip. “I suppose I want to think they got away, lived happily ever after and all that.” I smiled faintly. “The fairy tale again.”
It was becoming a familiar scene, the two of us facing each other across the scrubbed table in the kitchen of Crofton Hall, with the sunlight streaming in the windows and the kettle still steaming on the cooker.
“I went to the church this morning,” I continued, “and searched the registers again. There’s no record of a burial of either Rachel or Evan, or of any marriage between them. The marriage record of Rachel and Elias Webb still stands,” I pointed out. “No one put a line through it, or anything.”
“They probably saw no need to,” Mrs. Hutherson explained. “Elias died soon afterward. But there,” she caught herself, smiling, “I’ve gone and told you, and after I promised myself I wouldn’t.”
“You wouldn’t care to tell me what became of Evan and Rachel, then?”
“I would not.”
“It was quite a serious thing, in those days, wasn’t it? Running away with another man. I expect they would have been hanged, if they’d been caught.”
She lifted the teapot, refusing to rise to the bait. “Would you like another cup?”
“No, thank you.” I held a hand to my stomach. “I’ll be swimming as it is.”
“Have you told Geoffrey about this, yet?”
“No. I only saw him for a moment, just before noon, and he was heading out for his ride. He still doesn’t remember anything. About Richard, I mean.”
It was an unnecessary comment on my part, but she nodded anyway. “I know.”
“Will he ever remember?”
“Have another biscuit.” She passed me the plate.
“You’re not going to answer that, are you? Right, then let’s try this angle. Is there anything I can say or do that might help Geoff to remember?”
“Nothing.” She shook her head with regal certainty. “You cannot force the pace of destiny, Julia.”
My smile was tight. “No harm trying.”
“On the contrary, you might do a great deal of harm.” She put her head to one side and studied me closely. “Do you mind if I make a suggestion?”
“Not at all.”
“You said before that you couldn’t always control your experiences. That you sometimes went back without meaning to.”
“That’s right.”
“Then I think it would be wise if you left your house for the next few days, went on holiday. Not that you’re in any danger, mind, but Mariana’s uncle was a brutal man, and Rachel’s running away did not improve his temper. It might be painful—physically painful—for you to relive any episodes just now. You understand?”
I thought of Caroline’s bruises, and her hollow, defeated eyes. “Yes,” I said. “I think I do.”
“You don’t need to stay away long. Till Thursday, perhaps. Things ought to have settled down by then. Jabez Howard’s rages never lasted long.”
I looked at her, curious. “You seem to know a good deal about him.”
“As well I should,” she replied, calmly leveling her gaze on mine. “Jabez Howard was my—”
The outside door swung open suddenly, and Vivien stuck her head around the doorjamb. “Sorry to interrupt,” she said, without sounding in the least apologetic, “but I’ve been looking everywhere for you, Julia. I desperately need your opinion on my outfit for this evening.”
Alfre
da Hutherson smiled indulgently at her niece. “What’s on for this evening?”
“Never you mind,” Vivien told her, grinning. “I just need to borrow Julia for a few minutes, that’s all.”
“Won’t my opinion do?”
“No, thanks.” Vivien’s grin widened. “I’ve seen your wardrobe. Besides, Julia’s an artist. She has an eye for colors and lines and things.” She looked at me hopefully. “Have you got a minute, or am I really interrupting something?”
“Nothing that won’t keep,” Mrs. Hutherson answered for me, waving a dismissive hand. “You’d better go with her, Julia. We can’t have Vivien looking out of fashion, or clashing with the table linens. And don’t let her wear anything black, it fades her out completely.”
“I don’t own anything in black,” Vivien confided to me as we wended our way down the back lane to the Red Lion. “Not anymore. I do occasionally listen to my aunt Freda, you know.” Smiling, she pushed open the gate that led to her private rooms at the rear of the pub.
Inside, Vivien dropped her keys on the kitchen worktop and shook her head. “Will you look at that, then,” she said, with a sweep of her hand. I looked. Iain lay stretched full-length on the carpet in her sitting room, one arm crooked behind his head, ankles crossed, eyes closed. “That’s the problem with tradesmen these days,” she told me, amused. “You turn your back for half a minute and they fall asleep on you.”
He looked quite different, in his sleep. Gone were the strong, impassive lines and angles of his face, and the stoic self-control that held them there. He looked younger, somehow. That was the dreamer’s face, I told myself, the poet’s face, and not the farmer’s. But then he half opened one eye and looked back at us, and the impression vanished. “I’m not sleeping,” he said. “I’m just resting my eyes.”
“You’re supposed to be fixing my sink, as I recall.”
“Yes, madam. Right away, madam.” He yawned, and the one gray eye slid from Vivien to me. “Christ, you’d think I was getting paid for the job.”
“I didn’t know you were a plumber, Iain,” I said.
“I’m not, but I can manage the basics.” He sat up, rubbing the back of his neck. “Viv made the mistake of mentioning her leaking pipes in the bar yesterday, and Ned’s father offered to fix them for her. So Viv called me round in a panic to sort the problem out before he got to it.”
“If there’s one thing you don’t want,” Vivien put in, “it’s Jerry Walsh tinkering with your pipes.”
I laughed. “I know. I’ve a tap in my bath that I think has been dripping for thirty years.”
“You’re lucky,” she said. “He flooded my kitchen first time I had him do a job for me. Safer to have the work done by an amateur.”
“Oh, thank you very much,” Iain said dryly, rolling to his feet. “Your confidence is heartwarming.”
“You know what I mean.”
“Aye. Do you mind if I take a beer with me while I bash your pipes around? Or is drinking on the job not allowed?”
“Help yourself.” She moved aside to give him access to the refrigerator. With the daylight full on his face, the lines of exhaustion were clearly visible, and Vivien told him as much. “You need to get more sleep, you do.”
He slid her a look of quiet amusement. “You might have thought of that, my love, before you woke me up. And what are you two up to, then?”
“Julia’s going to help me pick my outfit for tonight.”
Iain shrugged. “I told you which one I like,” he said, closing the refrigerator door and forcing the top off a bottle of lager. “The green dress, with the buttons.”
“I just want an expert opinion, that’s all.”
A half hour later, having seen a parade of all the potential outfits, I had to admit that Iain was quite right.
“The green one,” I told her, “definitely. It’s got a lovely cut, and it suits you.”
“Suitable for a slightly stuffy gathering of rather proper and dignified people?”
“I think so. Where are you off to, anyway?”
“London,” she supplied, twisting to study her reflection in the long mirror. “I’ve been invited to a dinner party in Belgravia. Or was it Knightsbridge?”
“With Iain?”
“Heavens, no. Iain can’t stand London.” She eyed the hemline of the dress critically. “You don’t think it’s too short? No? Well, I suppose if you both hit on this one, then I ought to take your advice and wear it.” She glanced at her watch and grimaced. “Lord, is that the time? I promised Ned I’d let him have a break before I went.”
Personally, I’d never seen Ned expend enough energy to warrant a break, but I kept my opinion to myself. Vivien kicked off her high heels and changed hurriedly back into her everyday clothes, combing her fingers through her hair to tidy it.
“I won’t be long,” she said. “You can come through to the bar, if you like, or hang about here.”
“I’ll wait here. Someone should probably keep an eye on your plumber, anyway.”
She smiled. “Too right. Call me when the water reaches your knees.”
Iain was actually, from what I could tell, doing an expert job. I perched myself on the rim of the bath and watched him working. Again, as always, the quiet comfort of his being there flowed round me like a cleansing tide. Vivien, I decided, was a very lucky woman.
“We decided on the green dress,” I informed him.
“Eh, well,” he said, smiling, “there wasn’t much question, was there? It looks great on her, that dress.”
I looked down at the top of his bent head. “You really do look tired, you know.”
“You should talk.” He lifted his eyes briefly. “Have you seen a mirror, lately? You look as though you need a holiday.”
I smiled. “I’m taking one, as a matter of fact. Starting tomorrow.”
“Oh? Whereabouts?”
“Brighton.”
He looked up again, grinning. “Brighton? Of the naughty postcards, and all that? It hardly seems your style.”
“It isn’t, really. But my parents are there for the week, and I thought I’d join them for a few days.”
“Oh, right. I remember your brother saying something about that. Some sort of a contest your father won, wasn’t it?”
“Crossword.” I nodded. “Mum’s not overly thrilled, but my being there might cheer her up. Besides, it’s been years since I went to the seaside.”
“Well, you go and enjoy yourself. We’ll keep an eye on the house for you, if you like. There.” He gave the pipe a final wrench with the spanner and sat back, surveying his work. “I think that deserves a free pint, at least. Why don’t we go and see what Vivien’s doing out front?”
***
Brighton was as gaudy as my childhood memory of it, but the weather proved exceptionally fine and my parents were delighted to see me. I frittered away four days in their undemanding company, walking on the beach and taking snaps of the Royal Pavilion and laughing at the spectacle of it all.
I returned home on Thursday afternoon in a wholly refreshed state of mind, dropped my luggage in the hallway, and went in search of Geoff. I found him in the bar of the Red Lion, nursing a pint of ale and talking rugby with Ned.
Ned was, for once, almost animated. “Pewsey’ll take Calne by ten points this Saturday, you see if they don’t.”
“Care to back that opinion, my lad?”
“A tenner says you’re wrong.”
“Done.” The two men shook hands, and Geoff turned with a smile as I hoisted myself onto the stool beside him. “A lad who works for me is right-winger for Calne,” he explained. “I’m only being loyal.”
Ned grinned. “Like taking candy from a baby,” he said.
I sent Geoff my best motherly look. “Is this what you get up to when I’m
not around?” I asked him. “Drinking and gambling?”
“I’ve been bored stiff,” was his defense. “No one to play with. Iain’s been too busy this week, and Vivien…” He looked at Ned, frowning. “Where exactly is Vivien, anyway?”
The taciturn barman raised one hand and shook his head. “No use asking me. My lips are sealed on pain of death.”
“Well,” Geoff went on, “Vivien is somewhere. I had to make my own amusement.”
“Well, I’m back now. What would you like to do?”
He tilted his head, considering the offer. “Why don’t I take you to dinner, for starters, and then you can come back to the Hall with me and help me pack.”
“Pack for what?”
“I leave for France on Saturday,” he said. “Or had you forgotten?”
“This Saturday? But I thought you weren’t going until the end of August.”
Geoff smiled. “This is the end of August, or very nearly. Don’t look like that. I’ll only be gone for six weeks.”
Six weeks! It seemed a minor eternity. I was still frowning as we left the pub and turned to walk along the shaded lane leading up to the Hall. Geoff kept close beside me, his shoulder brushing mine. After a few moments’ silence he turned his head and looked down at me, his eyes unreadable.
“Why don’t you come with me?”
I looked up swiftly. “What?”
“To France, I mean. Why don’t you come with me? There’s plenty of room on the plane, lots of space at the house, it’d be no trouble. And I’d enjoy your company.”
“Oh, Geoff, I couldn’t.” My eyes pleaded with him to understand. “I just couldn’t.”
He understood. “Because of Mariana.”
“Something important is about to happen, Geoff, I can feel it. Something that might help explain why this is happening to me. And it’s going to happen soon. But I have to be here, in Exbury, if I want to find out how the story ends. I couldn’t possibly leave now.”
We were nearing the bend in the path where it rounded the churchyard. Beyond the church loomed the stone gates of Crofton Hall, but before I could take another step towards them I was suddenly seized by the shoulders and hauled unceremoniously into the cover of the trees. There, in the cool green shadows, Geoff took my face in his hands and kissed me, and his kiss was almost rough in its urgency.