Shades of the Past (14 page)

One thing was certain.  In the morning, she would visit the Tudor gallery and inspect it for herself. 

Arriving soon after dawn, Vanessa found the gallery rinsed with the morning's bright, crystalline light.

By contrast, flat, musty odors layered the air, clinging to the immense faded tapestries and lime-washed walls and rising from the dark, oaken planking underfoot—odors that bespoke of ages long past.

Vanessa shifted the camera and tripod off her right shoulder and set it on the floor.  Since Geoffrey had another engagement today—picnicking with his parents, siblings, and puppy at one of the estate's follies—she traveled lightly, with the camera already affixed to the tripod, and with only one case containing the negative plate holders and accessories. 

Setting down the case, she gave her attention to the tripod and stabilized it, expanding its legs.  Satisfied, she next began a calculated survey of the gallery's interior.  Calculated because she wished to—no, she
needed
to—know whether anything here could account for the luminous flaw in the photograph she'd taken from the lawn outside.

As she considered the gallery and its sparse furnishings, the likeliness of that dwindled.  There were no mirrors to reflect sunlight, or additional windows on adjacent walls, no lanterns, lamps, or sconces present of any kind.

Vanessa moved to the great expanse of diamond-paned windows and looked out onto the terrace below.  She visualized the others there at tea, two days before.  Lifting her hand to the cool, nubbly glass, she continued to gaze out.  It occurred to her she now stood precisely where Lady Jane once did, and countless others, watching for their loved ones' return. 

Thoughts arose of the fatal sword fight that purportedly had taken place here, and she could not help but wonder if the Cavalier yet frequented the gallery, seeking his head.  More significantly, she reminded herself, she occupied the very place from whence the source of light had emanated the day before yesterday.  The thought set her pulses thumping in her veins. 

Vanessa returned to her camera, intent on photographing the space.  Whether or not she ever resolved the puzzle of the glowing light, the gallery, with its long and intriguing history, would make a fascinating addition to her book.

Vanessa started to remove the camera's lens cap, then paused to rub the dull ache pulsing in her temples.  She'd slept fitfully last night, the tales and events of the evening churning endlessly through her mind.  They continued still. 

What plagued her most were Lord Marrable's parting words concerning his last viscountess.  Vanessa had assumed he'd loved her profoundly.  After all, had he not designed and built the exquisite Orangery expressly in her honor?  Yet, last evening, he'd stated his desire to be assured his late wife, Olivia, was "truly dead."

Vanessa deemed the comment bizarre at best, macabre at worst.  Then, too, there was his remark regarding his first wife, Clairissa, who'd evidently died despising him.

Such grim sentiments to harbor, Vanessa reflected, releasing a long breath.  She knew none of the particulars of the two women's deaths, excepting that the last viscountess's had been accidental.  Perhaps, it was best she remained unaware of the details, Vanessa told herself.  In all honesty, she did not wish for shadows to blight her growing esteem of Adrian Marrable. 

Vanessa pushed the troubling thoughts to the back of her mind, and concentrated once more on the gallery.

Several angles would offer an agreeable composition.  The contrasts of textures and shapes interested her most—the coarse-grained flooring, the busy patterns enlivening the tapestries, the spare furnishings, particularly one knobbly-legged chair of ebony, positioned against the wall.  The main center of interest, of course, would be the double-high row of multi-paned windows on the exterior wall.

As Vanessa decided on the placement of her camera, she mused that, for the gallery supposedly being the most haunted part of Sherringham, it was neither extravagant nor remarkable in the least, certainly not when compared to the rest of the castle complex.  And yet, time clung to this place somehow.  Leastwise, she sensed it to be so.

Vanessa shook away her thoughts and retrieved her notebook and pencil from her case.  Attentively, she began noting the different intensities of light throughout the gallery.

The gallery proved substantially larger than she'd anticipated.  In addition to the main, windowed area, two corridors led off from it, stretching out of sight in opposing directions.  Presumably, any sword fights that might have raged here did so along the adjoining wings as well.  She resisted the temptation to search for mysterious, non-disappearing bloodstains, the sort described in popular Gothic tales.

 Instead, she concentrated on capturing the image before her, freezing it in time, on glass. 

As she made her final adjustments and stopped down the lens, her thoughts strayed to what the gallery must have been like in times past.  She could easily imagine the bustle of human activity that once filled it—the rustle of cloth and solid bootfalls, the hum of voices, all so real.  Even now, their buzz seemed to faintly fill her ears . . . and grow steadily louder . . . As she listened, she could almost distinguish the words . . .

Vanessa withdrew her hands from the camera and massaged her temples.  The phantom sounds subsided at once.  Yet, had she'd heard anything at all? 

A prickly feeling crept over her skin.  Vanessa thought to lay the sensation to a sprightly imagination, then realized a chill was spreading along her arms.  The air had turned wintry cold.

She cast a hasty glance around, her senses sharpening.  "There's no one else here, goose," she assured herself aloud.  "There's no Lady Jane, or Leonine Marrable, or anyone else.  You're completely alone."

She didn't feel alone.  She felt watched.  Yet, all in the gallery was utterly still, "silent as the crypt," as the saying went, offering little solace.

Vanessa gave her full attention to the camera and replaced the viewing glass with the negative plate in its holder.  As she worked, she noted the temperature had not improved.  If anything, the gallery continued to grow colder.

She blew warmth into her palms, then briskly rubbed her arms, thinking she best make the exposure and depart before she contracted her death of cold. 

"I'll have to bring my woolen wrap next time," she muttered, then pulled the slide from the negative.

As her fingers closed over the string and released the shutter, a noise leaped out from the silence, directly behind her.  Vanessa whirled in place, gasping sharply as she met two eyes, peering back at her. 

"Hello, Mrs. Wynters."  Nanny Pringle greeted, her round eyes crinkling.  They contained a bright smile, reflecting the one upon her small, narrow lips.

"Nanny!"  Vanessa heaved for air, pressing her hand to her chest.  "You gave me such a fright."

"Oh, I am sorry for that, dear.  You probably didn't expect to meet a soul at this hour, at least not in the gallery."

"N-no, I didn't."  Vanessa hadn't expected to meet any soul, embodied or otherwise.  She prayed, in another moment or two, her heart would dislodge itself from her throat and return to its proper place.

Nanny continued to smile.  "I was just on my way to my rooms.  Would you care to join me for a morning spot of tea, Mrs. Wynters?  It's just around the corner."

"Thank you, that would be lovely.  And please, call me Vanessa.  If you will just allow me a moment to finish here."

"Do what you must, dear.  And do not hurry yourself overly.  I'm content to wait."

As Nanny bided the moments, Vanessa replaced the slide and removed the negative, returning it to the case.  Repacking her accessories, she capped the lens and took up the camera, tripod and all, and caught hold of the case.

"I'm ready."  She smiled.

Vanessa started to follow Nanny, but took no more than two steps, then halted.  It suddenly struck her the temperature in the gallery had warmed, its frigid edge now gone.

»«

"Around the corner" proved to be a fifteen-minute walk which took them into a newer part of the complex.

Nanny preceded Vanessa through a tall, cream-and-gilt door, motioning her to follow, then gave a tug to the bellpull on the wall.

"Mary Ethel will be up presently," Nanny said, a smile wreathing her plump face.  "She brings a pot of boiled water each morning at this time.  Dear girl, she would bring the tea already steeping, but she knows I much prefer to make my own."

Nanny sallied across the room to a tall, mahogany sideboard and brought out a tea caddy and varied pieces of a green-and-white porcelain service. 

"Would you prefer Earl Grey or something more robust?  A Ceylon tea, or Russian, perhaps?"

"Earl Grey would be quite agreeable," Vanessa assured as she placed her camera and case beside the door.  It struck her that Nanny seemed unusually energetic and clear of mind this morning, not at all distracted and confused as she'd been the day of the funeral.

Turning, Vanessa found herself standing in what could only be described as a front sitting room.  It possessed a snug informality, the furnishings being of no particular style, all cozily cluttered with mementos and bric-a-brac. 

Two upholstered chairs, one striped, one floral, flanked a tiled fireplace, over which hung a large, photographic portrait of an elegant couple.  A dozen smaller, framed photographs crowded the mantel ledge.  Right of the chairs, in front of the sideboard and several feet apart, stood a round table draped with a fringed scarf and cheered with a vase of slightly drooping flowers.

As Nanny continued to putter, laying the table with cups and saucers and a round-bellied teapot, Vanessa moved toward the fireplace, her gaze fixed on the double portrait there.  A moment later, Nanny joined her, her hands folded, one over the other.

"Those are the late Viscount Lionel Marrable and his wife, Alyce," Nanny supplied.

"Lord Adrian's parents?" 

Nanny nodded.  Vanessa could see a likeness between Lord Lionel and Lawrence in the fair hair, but none to Adrian in any feature.  Lady Alyce's coloring appeared most similar to Majel's.  Certainly, both girls favored their mother facially.

"I first came to Royal Sherringham when the twins were but three months old."  Nanny lifted down one of the pictures from the mantel and handed it to Vanessa.

Vanessa's eyes widened at the sight of Nanny, years younger, standing proudly beside a double-wide pram containing two bonneted babies.

"How very splendid," she exclaimed.  "The picture, I mean.  How wonderful to have it as a remembrance of that time."

A light twinkled in Nanny's eyes.  "We were quite fortunate that Lady Gwen was so talented with a camera.  She was ever posing and photographing the children, though I daresay, they found it a trial to sit still at times." 

Touching her tongue to her upper lip, she chuckled to herself as if remembering something from those occasions. 

"Lady Gwen was kind enough to print copies for me.  They are my dearest treasures now," Nanny added with a wistful sigh. 

"I should have guessed Lady Gwen photographed these."  Vanessa smiled, returning the picture to the older woman.

Nanny replaced it on the mantel and took down another.

"This one was taken the summer before Master Adrian and Master Lawrence left Sherringham for boarding school at Harrow."  She tapped the frame lightly, as if in thought, then fell to silence.

The photograph showed all four children sitting on the entrance steps with several mongrel dogs and a cage filled with tiny finches.  The boys, Vanessa noted, appeared to be roughly six years of age.  She could not help but think Adrian was conspicuously handsome even then. 

"How difficult it must have been for them to leave Sherringham."

Nanny nodded pensively, her smile fading somewhat as she traced a finger over the boys' small images. 

Vanessa felt a pang of sadness for boys so young, barely out of the nursery and into breeches, being shuttled off from their homes, into starchy institutions. 

That was the way of things among aristocrats, she knew.  If she'd understood Lawrence correctly, Lord and Lady Marrable had never been enormously present in their children's lives, residing more often in London.  Still, Nanny, Lady Gwen, and the staff at Sherringham would have composed the very heart of what the children would have known as "family."

Vanessa glanced to one of the larger pictures on the mantel.  Surprise rippled through her as she thought to recognize the attractive blond woman shown mounted on a snowy horse, the twins perched in front of her.

"Is that Lady Gwen?" she asked, wholly amazed.

"Yes, dear.  She would have been twenty-three or -four at the time.  She is exceptionally handsome, is she not?" 

Vanessa found herself nodding, at a loss for words.  Truly, it was a wonder Lady Gwen had chosen to remain in virtual seclusion at Sherringham, never to marry.

Leaning closer, she noted there was a certain quality about the photograph, soft and slightly out of focus.  It seemed vaguely familiar somehow. 

"Do you know who actually took this picture?"  Vanessa transferred her gaze to Nanny.

"Oh yes, Julia Cameron."

"Julia Cameron, the photographer?"  Vanessa tried to conceal her astonishment.  Mrs. Cameron was renowned for her allegorical groupings and romantic portraits, many of them of celebrated individuals such as Tennyson, Longfellow, and Browning.  The out-of-focus quality was her hallmark.