Shades of the Past (16 page)

Nanny plucked a handkerchief from inside her sleeve and dabbed at her eyes.  "Lady Olivia was burned so severely she could only be identified by the ring on her finger.  That very night, the Marrable jewels disappeared.  It is believed, the viscountess carried them with her and after the accident the maid, Bonnie Beckford, absconded with them.  She hasn't been seen since that night."

Understanding flashed through Vanessa, understanding of why the family ever shielded their references to that horrifying night and deemed the subject forbidden in Lord Adrian's presence.  Understanding as to what could have compelled Lord Adrian to leave Royal Sherringham for so very long a time.

"The viscount has been searching for the jewels and that wretched woman ever since," Nanny's voice drew her attention back.  "He tells me he is working with Scotland Yard on the matter."  She tucked her handkerchief back in her sleeve.  "I can tell you it's a relief he's not involving himself with the constable of Hereford.  Dreadful man.  Dreadful." 

Nanny did not elaborate on her low opinion of the constable.  Instead, she rested her head back once more and closed her eyes, falling silent.

Vanessa considered the many things Nanny had revealed, but nothing in it explained what she'd seen of people's reactions to Lord Adrian.  From the moment he arrived at the funeral, he had been greeted with looks of fear mixed with aversion. 

Was there something she'd missed?  Some piece of information evading her?  She couldn't begin to imagine what it might be.

How had Lady Gwen's Final Testament read?  She mentioned the Marrable jewels as being lost, but also advised Lord Adrian directly, writing something to the effect that he should "Let go the pains of the past," and that "Courage grows strong at a wound."  Surely, Lady Gwen held his tumultuous marriages in mind when she wrote those words.

  Vanessa glanced over to Nanny and found she was napping off, her head nodding softly forward.  Rising, she retrieved Nanny's cup and saucer and carried them with her own to the parlor table.  Quietly, then, she crossed the room, gathered her camera and case, and slipped out the door.

Troubling images crowded Vanessa's mind as she retraced her steps along the corridor.  Restless, she decided to return to the Photo House and develop the plate she'd taken earlier in the Tudor gallery.  Surely, the familiar repetition of the process would prove soothing.  However, she doubted Adrian Marrable would soon leave her thoughts.

»«

Vanessa turned up the flame of the ruby lamp.  Withdrawing the negative from the wash, she drained the plate of liquid and moved closer to the light. 

As she scanned the gallery's reverse image, her heart stilled in her chest.  In front of the windowed wall, darkened silver crystals collected in a curious pattern, revealing a distinctly human form.

The shape, when printed, would be ethereal at best, the portion from the shoulders upwards gauzy and the features obscure.  Still, there could be little mistake.  The image frozen upon the glass belonged to that of a woman.

Unlike the previous photograph, the figure did not gaze out the windows onto the terrace and lawn.  Instead, the apparition faced the camera directly, one diaphanous hand extended forward, as if beckoning to the viewer.  But not to just any viewer, Vanessa realized with a jolt. 

She swallowed deeply, recalling the frigid cold that had invaded the gallery, recognizing it signaled the specter's arrival and continued presence in the gallery—if she was to believe such things.  The figure, captured on the plate, gestured specifically toward
her,
as it had done at the precise moment she'd stood behind the camera and released the shutter. 

But to what purpose?  What did the specter wish her to see?  Or to know?

Acquiring a horse at the stable, Vanessa set out along the main road.  Her mind roiled with thoughts of the beckoning phantom.  Roiled, too, with Nanny's tales of the Marrable family and the deaths of Lord Adrian's ill-starred viscountesses.

Vanessa set the mare to a swift pace, giving it rein and allowing it to stretch out and lengthen its stride.  The breeze streamed over her as she savored the feel of the horse moving under her, its power and vigor matching her own restless energies and need for release. 

Galloping on, she soon came upon the remembered path that led to the follies and mausoleum and turned the mare onto it. 

Perhaps, she'd made an unwise decision in remaining at Sherringham, an inner voice whispered. 

Yet, how was she to know of its unusual activities when none forewarned her, reason argued back.

Still, the night she and the family gathered in the drawing room, the Marrables had made no secret of Sherringham's history and visitants.  It was she who'd held to the belief that the luminous figure in the terrace photograph was an accident of light. 

What did she propose to do now? the voice continued to needle.  The figure had manifested itself for a second time and could no longer be dismissed.

Vanessa felt tempted to flee altogether, rather than brave any unearthly presences biding here.  Truly, the estate would be more aptly named "
Haunted
Sherringham" than "Royal."

She tightened her jaw.  Despite her unnerving discovery, she knew she could not easily leave this place.  It was as if a great, invisible lodestone drew her to Sherringham and to all those who belonged there.  Or, at least, to one in particular.  What was it about the man that arrested her so? 

Adrian Marrable’s striking features filled her mind's eye.  He was like fire, and she, the moth, recklessly mesmerized.

The blackest of thoughts loomed, unbidden.  The other women in the viscount’s life had not fared well at all, leastwise not his wives, each perishing well before their time.

Anger shot through Vanessa that such thoughts should even arise in her mind.  She quelled them at once, along with that nettlesome inner voice. 

Willfully, she concentrated on the Tudor gallery and its mysterious occupant, revealed only during development of the exposed negative plate.  The possibility of the image being proof of an authentic apparition was sufficient to cool the heat in her veins, as well as any fantasies she entertained concerning Viscount Marrable.

Ghosts.  Spirits returned from the dead.  Was she to believe in such after all?  If she accepted their existence, she must then question why this particular wraith should attempt to communicate with her? 

Vanessa pressed her lips to a line.  Most likely, the answer lay with her camera rather than herself.  Somehow, the ghost had been able to record its form on the sensitized glass.  Or could it be the photographic solution, itself, that had been inadvertently responsible for registering the ghostly manifestation?  Or a bit of both? 

Vanessa could not fathom how such a thing might be accomplished, only that it had—twice, and without any conscious effort on her part. 

As she continued to wrestle her thoughts, she urged the mare over the grassy road.  In short time, the first of the follies appeared—the Abbey Ruin.

Slowing the mare to a trot, Vanessa gazed on the skeletal arches, outlined against the day's dull sky.  She remembered Geoffrey saying parts of the folly were authentic and others quite new, but she found herself unable to differentiate between them.  Each portion appeared as ancient as the next—the whole of it standing as a massive relic and testament to ages past.

As Vanessa contemplated the weathered remains, an uneasy sensation wrapped itself about her, impossible to describe, yet unnatural, eerie.  She began to dismiss the feeling as sheer imagination when the horse grew restive, stepping sideways and tossing her head, communicating her sentiments about tarrying here. 

"You too, Delilah?"  Vanessa patted the mare's neck, addressing her by name.

Vanessa prodded the horse on, suddenly eager to depart this place herself.

Continuing along the path at an even pace, Vanessa struggled once more with exactly what to believe regarding the revelations on the photographs.  Since the specter—if that was what it truly was—had materialized both times in the gallery, Vanessa reasoned whatever it wished to show her lay there.

On the other hand, the equally pressing question remained as to whether or not she should reveal her latest discovery to anyone else.  For the moment, she thought not.  First, she wished to return to the gallery and explore it further.

Vanessa's mood lifted as the Orangery came into sight.  Even with overcast skies, it shone brightly like a diamond in the glade.  As she closed on the pavilion, her impulse was to dismount and remain awhile.  The architecture was pure delight.  But, as she started to bring Delilah to a halt, she spied a dapple-gray horse tied at the building's far side and recognized it to be Lawrence's. 

Vanessa refused to be alone with the man, especially in so secluded a place.  And they would be alone, she noted as she scanned the grounds for signs of others and found none. 

Touching her riding crop to the mare's flanks, she headed in the direction of the mausoleum.  She knew no other paths to follow except to turn around and return to the manse.  Not wishing to do so, she deemed it an excellent time to make a visit of sorts to the family crypt and pay her respects to Lady Gwen.

Long minutes later, she crested the rise in the road then began the descent to the wooded dell and temple-like mausoleum.  Vanessa released a breath of relief when she'd covered half the distance and found herself still alone.  She feared Lawrence might have caught sight of her leaving the pavilion and followed.  Blessedly, it would seem he had not.

Slowing the mare to a walk, she approached the grand marble edifice.  Its classical design and elegant proportions pleasured the eyes.  Such love Charles II must have possessed for Leonine to have commissioned it—"his last gift," Lord Marrable had said.  Gazing on it now, Vanessa could easily imagine Leonine's spirit growing restless and rising to seek her lost jewels.  They would be irreplaceable for sentiment alone, not to mention their worth—priceless favors of her royal beloved.

The twitter of birds invaded Vanessa's thoughts.  As she glanced to the grayed and distant skies, a light breeze arose, stirring fine strands of hair to dance about her face.  Brushing them from her eyes, Vanessa returned her gaze to the mausoleum, thinking back to the day of the Lady Gwen's funeral. 

Abruptly, she stilled.  Memories assailed her like bolts from the sky.  Memories of Knights Chapel and the Marrable banner rippling to life.  Memories of icy airs bedeviling her, and of an invisible hand upon her shoulder in the banqueting hall, forcing her back into her chair when she voiced her intention to leave Sherringham.

After she decided to remain at the estate, had not the incidents continued, if not intensified?  There were the bone-chilling episodes inside the Photo House and the courtyard without, then again in the drawing room last night and the Tudor gallery this morning.

She'd been thinking too narrowly, Vanessa realized with a start.  On discovering the misted figure on the negatives, she'd thought of it as solely inhabiting the gallery.  But if spectral presences could be detected by cold spots and severe drops in temperature, as many believed, then obviously this spirit was not limited to any single location. 

A disturbing thought presented itself.  Either she'd encountered a single, exceedingly mobile ghost, or there was more than one shadowing her.

Quickly, she scoured her memories of the past weeks, seeking anything she might have overlooked.  As she rummaged through her mind, she became aware of the uncommon silence that had fallen around her.  The twitter of birds had ceased.  Even the breeze had died.  Nature seemed to have inhaled and now held its breath. 

Vanessa's gaze drew to Delilah.  Her ears flickered, swiveling this way and that, as if picking up minute sounds, or seeking to find some.  The mare snorted and tossed her head, her eyes open wide and her tail swishing rapidly.

"Easy, girl," Vanessa soothed, as Delilah grew increasingly skittish.  "We'll leave if you're unhappy here."

Vanessa turned the horse and began to set her riding crop to the mare's flanks when something brown and furry sprinted across the open ground, directly before them.  As the animal disappeared into the shrubbery, Delilah bolted, white showing in her huge eyes as she broke into a gallop and left the path.

Vanessa screamed as her gloved hands slipped on the reins and she came off the saddle, nearly plunging to the ground.  Miraculously, she regained her seat and gripped tight the reins and a handful of mane.  The panicked mare raced on, carrying her across the green toward the dell's forested rim.

Vanessa clung to Delilah’s mane, trying vainly to recover control of the reins and slow the horse's quickening pace.  Her eyes teared fiercely in the face of the wind, her hair whipping about her face.

A shout rang out from somewhere behind.  Vanessa chanced a swift glance back and beheld a dark figure on a coal-black stallion, emerging from the far side of the mausoleum and thundering after her.  He looked like the devil himself with his black cape billowing, anger slashing what little she could glimpse of his features beneath the brim of his tall hat. 

Vanessa dared not hazard a second glance back to determine who the rider might be.  Instead, she concentrated on staying mounted as Delilah drove on and entered the greenwood.

Branches clawed at Vanessa and caught at her dress as the mare bore her deeper into the forest.  Suddenly, she cared not at all who rode behind her, only that he hasten and help her bring the frightened mare to a halt. 

Ahead, Vanessa spied what appeared to be the mouth of a road, opening a way through the sylvan thicket.  Hoping it led back to the main road, Vanessa used the reins and pressure of her legs to direct the mare onto the track.

Vanessa's hopes continued to rise as the road proved wide and free of entangling vines and brush.  Lucklessly, within several hundred yards, it began to quickly diminish. 

Just then, Vanessa felt Delilah tense beneath her and resist her efforts to guide her on.  Scanning the road shrinking before them, she spied a huge fallen log, blocking their passage. 

Dread washed through Vanessa.  There was no time to stop and little distance left to make a clean jump.

»«

Adrian leaned into the great black, pressing the stallion for speed as they left the shadow of the mausoleum and crossed the open expanse.

Thank God he'd been near.  He'd revisited the scene of the accident this morning, then exercised Samson over the Sherringham's acreage.  After a good run, he'd found himself, unintentionally, at the mausoleum.  There, he rested his steed, remaining mounted as he gazed out over the River Wye, coursing far below.  A woman's scream drew his attention.  Rounding the building within moments, he sighted the panicked horse and rider racing away.  Fear ripped through him when he'd realized the woman to be Vanessa.

Adrian bore down on Samson, striving to close the distance between them and Delilah, a skittish horse if ever there was one.  The lather on her neck and flanks told him she was more than startled or frightened.  She was wholly terrified.

"Damn!" he swore as Delilah entered the wood, Vanessa clinging to her.  Adrian drove Samson on, easing back only when they verged on the forest, then urging the stallion into the woodland no faster than he dare.

Adrian's insides wrenched a second time as he caught sight of Vanessa reining Delilah toward an old, abandoned path, one that led toward a precipice screened with trees and plunging to the River Wye.

Adrian shouted but to no avail as Vanessa and the mare disappeared from sight.  Seconds later, they came into view again.  His heart nearly stopped as he saw Delilah's hooves leave the ground.  She scarcely cleared the fallen log, having jumped late and her form poor.  She landed hard, stumbling at first and hurling Vanessa from the saddle, onto the forest floor.  Regaining her footing, Delilah rushed on, deserting the choked path for the woods.

Adrian hard-reined Samson to a halt before the log and flung himself down to the ground.  Vaulting over the barrier, he hastened to where Vanessa lay sprawled on the ground, unmoving.

»«

Everything felt sore. 
Very
sore.  Vanessa told herself to be grateful.  If she could feel pain, she was still alive.

She lay on her back, motionless, trying to catch her breath.  It hurt even to breathe.  Lord, but she felt filthy.  She remembered rolling several times over in the layers of leaves and debris carpeting the forest so richly.  At least they had cushioned her fall.  Somewhat, she added, feeling fresh pain shoot along her hip.  Surely, she was bruised from head to toe. 

As the pain passed, Vanessa remained perfectly still, content to stare up at the leafy canopy overhead, and the patches of sky peering through.  A dark figure came suddenly into view, blotting out the delicate tracery of leaves and light.  As he leaned toward her, his features collected into familiar lines belonging to Adrian Marrable.  Vanessa's heart began to thump madly at his nearness and at the mixture of fury and fear etching his face.