Shades of the Past (4 page)

As the viscount guided Vanessa left of the banqueting table, she felt a muscle tense in his arm, beneath her fingers.

"The hall dates to Elizabeth's reign," he offered abruptly, unexpectedly, as they proceeded toward the chamber's far end.

Warmth spread through Vanessa as she realized he'd been watching her. 

"It served as an entrance for many years but fell into disuse over time.  My great-grandfather remodeled it, preserving many period elements while still satisfying his personal tastes.  Does it meet with your approval?"

Surprised he would ask her opinion, Vanessa kept her gaze studiously fixed on the opposite end of the room.  There a massive crenellated chimneypiece scaled the wall.  "Very much so.  I find all at Sherringham enthralling, though I confess to know little of architectural styles." 

She moistened her lips, pleased she'd been able to complete two coherent sentences without faltering.  Emboldened, she pressed on. 

"In my travels with Lady Gwendolyn, I encountered nothing to compare to Royal Sherringham, though I understand some say it rivals its neighbor, Eastnor Castle."

"And some say it surpasses it." 

His clipped words took her aback.  Naturally, he would be proud and defensive of his own estate.  But, had he mistaken her meaning?  Or was it the reminder of his aunt's long absence that sharpened his voice?  Yet, somehow, she'd detected no censure in his tone.

Vanessa stole a sideways glance of him, mindful of his own architectural accomplishment—the lyrical pavilion in the glade.  It struck her as incongruous that this forbidding man should create something infused with such passion, light, and grace.  And certainly with love. 

If he'd built the Orangery for his last viscountess, as Geoffrey claimed, then surely he'd loved her to excess.  Perhaps that explained the barrier she sensed surrounded him, shielding a heart still cleaved with pain.

"I've not had occasion to visit Eastnor and own no opinion of it," she said at last, attempting to repair any misunderstanding she'd wrought.

As he brought her to the chair, right of his own at the table's head, she mastered her nerves enough to look directly at him and hold his gaze with her own. 

"In truth, I cannot imagine a place lovelier than Sherringham.  I would explore every nook had I the time or opportunity.  And your permission, of course, Lord Marrable."

As the words left her lips, a frigid draft of air swept over her.  Vanessa tried to suppress the shiver that ran through her, hoping it went unnoticed as she withdrew her hand from the viscount's arm.

Seeing his brows deepen, she assumed her seat and gave her attention to the table, gleaming with a plentitude of silver, crystal, and china.  Along its extensive length, arrangements of white lilies, Lady Gwen's favorite, alternated with fruit laden epergnes and porcelain baskets, all beribboned with black.  Meanwhile, as etiquette decreed, Lord Marrable remained standing as the others found their places.

Majel, acting as hostess, entered last on the arm of the aged Earl Silverbrooke, the highest ranking man present, after the host.  She took her seat at the table's far end in the hostess’ place of honor.  Vanessa observed Lawrence moving to join Majel there and was mindful of his own expectations this day.  Had it not been for the viscount's arrival, Lawrence would now be presiding over the funeral feast.

Cissy and Lord Henry drew Vanessa's attention as they settled directly across from her.  Meanwhile, servants helped Sir Fotheringgay, the Marrable's octogenarian cousin, many times removed, into the chair to Vanessa's immediate right.  He gave her a genial nod, then bent to inspect the array of silver flanking his plate and began counting it.

As Lord Marrable seated himself, Cissy leaned toward her brother, wearing a slightly crooked smile.  "I see you're still defying convention, Adrian."  She spoke in a low, mischievous tone, sending a glance to Majel and Earl Silverbrooke at the table's opposite end.  "Fortunate for you, the earl has no wife, though I'm not certain Countess Hove will soon forgive you."

Vanessa's stomach did a somersault.  She realized, as a matter of precedence, the countess should have been the viscount's dining partner, being the lady of highest rank attending.  Once more, Vanessa found herself where she did not belong.  And though the viscount, himself, had bid her join him, she'd usurped a privileged place.  Vanessa pressed her lashes shut.  True, she was born to the gentry, but she was likely the least ranking guest in the hall.

"Vanessa, dear, don't be alarmed," Cissy heartened as if reading her thoughts.  "Adrian will enjoy your company far more than Countess Hove's." 

Startled by the comment, Vanessa quickly glanced up at Cissy, but found she'd already turned to her brother, eyes twinkling.

"Oh course, you might have allowed Henry or me to properly present Vanessa to you before capturing her away to yourself.  Naughty man, you best not have smutched her reputation.  Auntie would never forgive you, nor shall I.  Vanessa is an absolute gem."

Vanessa's cheeks flamed with embarrassment.  She had grown supremely fond of Lady Gwen's convivial niece and was flattered by her words, but what was she about at the moment?

Cissy opened her mouth to speak again but Lord Marrable leveled her a quelling look.  Cissy instantly quieted, but in the next instant, broke into a wide, irrepressible grin.

In keeping with the formality of the occasion, a retinue of servants attended the guests, stationed several paces behind their chairs.  The butler maintained his position directly behind the viscount, coordinating the entire affair—ringing in each course with timed precision, ensuring his staff's smooth efficiency, and seeing to the viscount's personal needs.

Polite conversation flowed along the table as the courses arrived, beginning with the soup and fish dishes—a consommé and poached salmon.  Majel received praise for the selections, and Lawrence for the wines, all drawn from a list of Lady Gwendolyn's favorites and served in her memory. 

Lord Marrable remained silent as Cissy took it upon herself to spur conversation and keep alive an active exchange.  They made their way through the meat dishes with conversation centered around fond memories of Lady Gwendolyn and humorous incidents from the Marrables' childhood years.  Much was made of how Lady Gwen would mercilessly dress them in costumes and pose them for hours for her "allegorical" photographs.

As the servants cleared the soiled dishes and refreshed the wine, Cissy aimed a number of comments directly at Lord Marrable, in an obvious effort to coax him from his silence.

"If you don't know it brother, Vanessa was great friends with Auntie as well as her companion.  She was also Auntie's personal protégée."

The viscount's gaze slipped to Vanessa then back to his sister.  "Few escaped Aunt Gwen's camera or her enthusiasm for photography," he commented, breaking his silence at last.  "I'm not surprised she made a convert of Miss Wynters."

"It's
Mrs.
Wynters, actually," Vanessa clarified.  "And she didn't have to make a convert of me.  I truly love the medium."

The viscount's eyes swung to hers, but she continued, trying to ignore the sudden intensity of his gaze.  Trying to master the sudden tremor in her hands.

"I've not a jot of artistic ability, you see.  Photography is more a matter of technical knowledge and applied skill, as opposed to the sort of talent required for sketching and oils."

"Vanessa, you are too modest!" Cissy exclaimed, leaning forward and nearly tipping over the footed glass of lemon ice the servant was attempting to set before her.  "Aunt Gwen wrote that you are truly gifted—'intuitive,' she said.  And photography is most certainly an art, and one at which you excel."

Cissy sat back in her chair as the servants offered an assortment of jellies, blancmange, and small iced cakes.  When they withdrew, she leaned forward once more.

"Aunt Gwen's words were not mere flattery.  She sent along bundles of photographs to Sherringham—both hers and yours, Vanessa—from all your travels.  She instructed they be held in storage here."

Vanessa acknowledged Cissy's statements with a nod.  Lady Gwen had graciously made the offer, knowing Vanessa had no home of her own at which to keep them, and no relations closer than her cousins.

"I've seen your work for myself," Cissy chattered on.  "Your photographs are superb.  You should see them too, Adrian.  They are stored in the west library.  In fact, the last package was posted from Brussels, before Aunt Gwen and Vanessa departed for France."

Lord Henry, who’d been listening attentively, wiped his mouth with his napkin and set it aside.  "That arrived rather swiftly, wouldn't you say?  Lady Gwendolyn died shortly after arriving in Paris.  Isn't that so?"

Multiple pairs of eyes turned toward Vanessa and she found herself the center of attention.

"Yes, we'd arrived only three days before.  I feel I should have recognized the oncoming signs.  But then, they were unremarkable.  Even Lady Gwen discounted their importance.  She always enjoyed excellent health and assumed she was simply fatigued."

The viscount eased back in his chair, contemplating Vanessa.  "I'd like to hear the details if you are up to it."

"Adrian, you cannot be serious," Cissy objected.  "We are still in the midst of the sweets course."

"I don't mind," Vanessa offered.  "And really, there's no better time.  I'll be leaving Sherringham presently."

Instantly, an icy thread of air spiraled about her, causing the fine hairs to raise along her arm and the back of her neck.  Once again Vanessa suppressed a shiver passing over her.  Sherringham, she decided, was plagued by a distinct problem with drafts.

"What of these signs?"  Lord Henry’s voice drew her back to the moment.  "Had Lady Gwen been ill during the weeks previous to the attacks?"

"Not noticeably so.  She experienced a few minor headaches, nothing more.  Then, during an outing on our second day in Paris, we were photographing on the Champs-Élysées.  Lady Gwen had finished adjusting her camera to her satisfaction and was peering through the lens when her vision blurred in that eye.  Her right eye."  Vanessa tapped a finger to her cheekbone beneath her own.  "I took the photograph for her and we returned to our suite directly. 

"Lady Gwen slept for a time.  When she awakened, she seemed quite well, her vision and energy restored.  So much so, that same evening we attended a small dinner party.  At one point, she experienced some difficulty understanding what was being said.  She waved it away as one of the nuisances of advancing age.  I realize now, the headaches and vision and hearing problems were all indications of an oncoming attack."

The viscount's gaze remained fastened on Vanessa and, if possible, intensified as she began to describe Lady Gwen's passing.  The images loomed to life as she relived each tragic moment.

"The first attack came during the night."  Vanessa’s voice dropped to a near whisper.  "Evidently, Lady Gwen had risen from her bed some time before.  I awoke to the sound of her footsteps, pacing the floor." 

In truth, Lady Gwen paced the floor most nights.  A more restless soul, Vanessa had never encountered.  She had suspected Lady Gwen experienced some physical ailment that prevented her from lying abed prone for any extended length of time.  Vanessa encouraged her to see the doctor, but Lady Gwen refused, jesting she was working out the troubles of the world when she walked the nights, and the world certainly needed that, she assured.

On this particular night, Vanessa rose to check on her, as was her custom. 

"I was approaching the door to the front room, when I heard Lady Gwen fall.  The attack incapacitated her, leaving her paralyzed along her right side and her speech badly slurred.  I managed to lift her and assist her into bed, then sent immediately for the physician." 

The side of her face sagged most distressingly, the muscles having given way, and her right arm and leg were utterly useless.  Vanessa recalled her own anguish in that moment and her utter powerlessness.  The dear lady deserved nothing so wretched to befall her.

"Lady Gwendolyn rested, comfortably I believe, as we awaited the doctor."

Comfortably, yes, until she remembered her small Bible.  Vanessa could not explain what happened next. 

Lady Gwen became greatly agitated and through her thick speech, implored Vanessa to find the book.  When Vanessa brought it to her bedside, Lady Gwen struggled to voice two words and did so again and again.  "Burn it!  Burn it!" she demanded urgently.  Lady Gwen would not be calmed until Vanessa promised she would do as she requested. 

"The doctor had only just arrived, when Lady Gwen suffered a second, massive attack.  I was holding her, helping her take a sip of water when the fit seized her."

"And you say the second stroke took her?" Lord Henry queried.  "Swiftly, I hope."

Vanessa nodded.  "She suffered little.  I wired Sherringham at once.  Fortunately, Lawrence was in residence to receive it and came at once."

Lord Marrable retracted his dark gaze from her and leveled it down the length of the table at his brother.  Vanessa was unsure what she saw in his eyes, only that he looked unpleased.

"Thank heaven Lawrence came to your aid so promptly," Lord Henry declared. 

Vanessa avoided Lord Marrable's eyes which she sensed had returned to her.  Instead, she concentrated on those last moments in Paris.