The Deadly Embrace (25 page)

When they were moving again, Charlie joined them, and they sat down at the dining table to sample the food.

At one point, Liza looked across to the other side of the car and noticed a young woman sitting in a comfortable easy chair on the opposite side of the carriage. With her strawberry-blond hair and handsome Nordic face, she projected a striking presence. But on closer examination, Liza saw that her large blue eyes seemed anesthetized. As the woman’s body rocked slowly back and forth in rhythm to the jostling coach, she never moved her head, gazing blankly out at the passing countryside.

A young man about his own age clapped Charlie on the back and joined them at the table.

“Wainwright … I haven’t seen you since I left for Burma,” said the new arrival, who had tawny-blond hair, laughing eyes, and a long, crooked nose. His skin was the color of dark bronze. “Quite a guest list this year, I gather.”

“Who’s coming, Quentin?” asked Charlie. “I haven’t been up for air for some time.”

“Almost everyone … Let’s see, the Duke of Wellington; David Niven; Edwina Mountbatten, of course, although Louis is still in Peking, holding the Gissimo’s cock; Halifax; Beaverbrook; Korda; Merle Oberon; Jellico, of course,” said Quentin, flashing a grin at Helen Bellayne. “And about three hundred of the rest of the faithful who aren’t buried at Sidi Barrani or Mandalay or rotting here in English prisons for admiring Hitler.”

“How large is this house?” asked Liza.

“Liza, it’s not a house. It is one of the greatest estates in England,” said Helen. “It makes Blenheim look like Shakespeare’s cottage in Stratford-on-Avon.”

Looking across the carriage, Liza was again intrigued by the woman who continued to stare morosely out the window.

“Who is that young woman?” she whispered into Helen’s ear.

Helen glanced across the car and her smile disappeared.

“Unity,” she said, with a hint of loathing.

“Unity?” repeated Liza.

“Unity Mitford,” said Helen. “One of the Mitford sisters … Surely you’ve heard of them.”

Liza shook her head.

“Their father is Lord Redesdale, House of Lords … a strange man by every account … raving anti-Semite,” she said. “And his daughters have all turned out to be just as eccentric. Nancy is a peach, and so is Jessica—they’re both raving socialists. Unity’s sister Diana was the first one to become a fascist. She married Sir Oswald Mosley, the head of the Blackshirts. They’re both in prison now.”

“And Unity?” asked Liza.

Charlie had been listening to the conversation. He leaned in and said, “Sad story, really. God, she was smashing. But Diana took her to Germany before the war and she got besotted with Hitler … practically threw herself at him. Supposedly, her affections were returned. Anyway, when the war began, she became totally distraught and shot herself in the head. They brought her home after that, but she’s never been right. I gather the bullet’s still in her brain.”

“Lord Redesdale was the peer who got Nicholas’s father to join the Right Club,” added Helen.

“The Right Club?” asked Liza.

“It was a secret society formed by Sir Archibald Ramsay in 1939,” said Charlie. “The main object was to expose the so-called international conspiracy of organized Jewry,” he added with an awkward grin.

“We’re so very good at international conspiracy, aren’t we?” said Liza bitingly. “What happened to this club?”

“It was eventually penetrated by MI5 agents. Later on the government passed the Defence Regulation Order, which gave the home secretary the right to imprison anybody he believed likely to endanger the realm. Most of them are now in prison.”

“Lord Ainsley committed suicide,” added Helen.

“Nicholas’s father?” asked Liza.

As Helen nodded, the train jolted once, then again, and the rhythmic clacking of the iron wheels began to slow.

“We’re here,” said Charlie, standing up from the table with a glow of anticipation on his whiskey-inflamed cheeks.

CHAPTER 23

T
he carriage jerked to a stop in front of a little brick station surrounded by white birch trees. From the window, Liza could see nothing in the distance except rolling green pastures separated by ancient stone fences.

The two Ainsley coaches nudged forward and jerked back several times as the railway crew worked to disengage them from the rest of the train. A few minutes later, she heard the screech of a steam whistle, and the Eastbound Express rumbled out of the station, leaving them alone on a rail siding. In a minute, the air was still again.

The excited guests began milling toward the door at the front of the first carriage, several of them carrying newly opened bottles of champagne. Liza followed Helen Bellayne out onto the weathered station platform. The spring air felt surprisingly mild, and she thought she could smell the distant tang of the sea.

A small fleet of antique automobiles and horse-drawn carriages were lined up on the small country lane in front of the station. Without any apparent pecking order, the partygoers were already climbing into the vehicles.

Liza was about to follow Helen through the open door of a large Phaeton limousine when she glanced inside and saw Admiral Jellico sitting next to General Kilgore in the rear seat.

Hurriedly turning around, she stepped on the foot of the woman behind her, eliciting a small cry of pain. As she tried to apologize, Liza couldn’t help noticing the scornful grin on General Kilgore’s face. He leaned close to Jellico and began to whisper something.

Farther back in the line of vehicles, she saw Charlie Wainwright scramble into an almost prehistoric automobile behind his friend Quentin. It was a type she had only seen in old movies, where the driver was exposed to the elements up front and the passengers sat in silk-upholstered luxury behind him. Feeling utterly alone, she ran back to join them. There wasn’t any space left next to Charlie, but she pushed in anyway, ending up on his lap.

“Well, we shall just have to make do, shan’t we?” said Charlie, grinning happily as he put his arm around her shoulder.

The first car began to move slowly up the narrow country lane. The rest of the vehicles followed in a snaking line, moving just fast enough so that that the horse-drawn carriages could keep up in the long procession. Soon the caravan was deep into the lonely countryside. To Liza, it seemed they had left any trace of modern civilization behind.

At one point, they passed a farmer plowing his field behind a team of oxen. The stone farm cottage behind him looked like it had existed there since time immemorial. As the evening sky began to darken, Charlie pointed toward the distant tree line and said, “That’s Rawcliff.”

Their car passed between two stone pillars and entered a broad gravel lane that had been cut through a primordial forest of oaks and elms. Some of the trees were almost as big around as the redwoods Liza had seen on a childhood visit to California. The boughs of the elms formed a canopy high above them, like the ceiling of a vaulted cathedral. The silent woods went on for almost a mile.

“It’s like the enchanted forest in a fairy tale,” said Liza as they rolled over a small stone bridge crossing a swollen creek.

Suddenly they came out of the trees and her eyes took in the startling green of a crescent-shaped valley. In the distance, she could see a cluster of tall stone structures rising from the heath at the edge of a small blue lake. Beyond the buildings, she saw the sea.

At first, it all reminded her of the medieval castles she had read about in the
Knights of the Round Table.
But as they drew closer, she saw that it was really four different castles. The gigantic structures were connected by open courtyards and enclosed stone passageways.

The entire front wall of the first castle was covered with intertwined tendrils of ivy, a living wall of green. There was a broad stone terrace in front of it, and beyond that were acres of well-trimmed lawns that sloped down to a bluff overlooking the green sea. She could smell the moist salt air all around her.

“My God,” Liza said in wonder.

“The oldest part is twelfth-century—from the days of the Saracen hordes,” said Charlie, as if seeing it again for the first time. “Only a small portion of Rawcliff is even electrified.”

As the wheels of their car crunched up the lane to the massive entrance doors, they passed a group of elderly workmen in navy coveralls, busily smoothing the gravel with wooden-tined rakes.

Liza looked up to see a flock of black birds cawing loudly above them as she followed Charlie toward the stone steps leading up to the entrance. Almost magically, the bronze doors swung open when the first guests arrived at the top of the stairs.

Uniformed footmen flanked the archway as they headed inside. Beyond them, a severe-looking gray-haired woman in black tweeds stood waiting to greet each guest at the entrance to the great hall. Standing behind her was Nicholas Ainsley. It was the first time she had seen him out of uniform, and he looked ruggedly handsome in a tan corduroy sports jacket and old canvas trousers.

The woman in tweeds was formally greeting each of the guests with the same simple words, delivered in a quiet reserved manner. “Welcome to Rawcliff. I hope you enjoy your stay with us.”

Aside from the black-tweed suit, she wore a white blouse with a severe collar and heavy black brogans. A small gold pocket watch was pinned to the breast of her jacket. She wore no other jewelry.

As Liza approached the front of the line, Nicholas started grinning at her like a happy primate. Backing away from his mother, he stepped toward her, leaned down, and kissed her on the cheek.

“God, it’s so great of you to come,” he whispered.

She had reached the head of the line by then, and the gray-haired woman stood waiting to greet her. Liza saw the purple blemishes around her very pale eyes.

“Welcome to Rawcliff,” Lady Ainsley said in the same monotone voice. “I hope you enjoy your stay with us.”

Looking down, Lady Ainsley saw that Nicholas had not let go of Liza’s right hand.

“Thank you so much for inviting me,” said Liza, smiling pleasantly.

This woman has recently been very ill, she thought, noticing the sagging skin at her neck and the hollowed eyes. She was holding her left hand with the right to keep it from trembling.

“And how do you know my son?” asked Lady Ainsley as the receiving line stopped short behind her.

Her eyes seemed to take in Liza’s army uniform with sudden distaste. “We met quite accidentally,” she began. “In fact, it was in my office at...”

“You have an exquisite figure, my dear,” said Lady Ainsley, making it sound as if she were appraising a well-proportioned head of livestock. “Your uniform does not do it justice.”

“Mother, please,” said Nicholas very quietly. “She is my guest.”

Under her fierce glare, he reluctantly let go of Liza’s hand.

“Later,” he whispered, before going back to stand at his mother’s side.

“Welcome to Rawcliff,” said Lady Ainsley to the next guest in line. “I hope you enjoy your stay with us.”

Liza walked slowly into the great hall. A Flemish tapestry hung on the nearest wall. At least twenty feet high, it depicted a Christian crusader kneeling in a church in Jerusalem, surrounded by his fellow warriors. His sword was red with blood. Oil paintings on the other walls depicted various Ainsley family members, going back almost a thousand years.

Far above her, smoke-blackened oak beams vaulted across the ceiling. At the far end of the hall loomed a fireplace as large as her parents’ living room on Long Island. Burning inside it were ten-foot logs suspended between enormous brass andirons.

The hall was rapidly filling with guests. Amid the indistinct buzz of distinguished, high-born accents, she walked around the vast room in wonderment. Along with an aroma of wood smoke, the smell of fresh flowers pervaded the air. They were everywhere, in vases and urns, spread across the room on almost every table, roses, lilies, even orchids in cut-glass bowls.

She passed through another archway into a magnificent library. Leather-bound books filled oak shelves that ran from the floor to the ceiling. A golden-oak gallery at the far end could only be reached by an intricately carved circular stairway.

On a plantation table in the middle of the room sat dozens of tea settings and silver trays crammed with smoked salmon, along with scones and crumpets topped with glazed vanilla icing. Nibbling on a pastry, she walked back out into the great hall and gazed at the broad marble staircase which led upstairs.

A cherubic little man in a black swallowtail suit moved to her side.

“May I show you to your room, madam?” he asked.

“That would be wonderful, but how do you know which one it is?” she asked, amid the crowd.

“We know who all our guests are, madam,” he replied in a tone of almost injured pride.

Not wanting to hurt his feelings, she followed him up the broad staircase. At the first landing, she looked through the tall mullioned windows that were cut into the thick stone walls. In the waning light, she caught a glimpse of formal gardens, manicured lawns, and, in the distance, a now black sea.

The staircase parted to the left and right at the landing, and she followed the servant down a stone passageway, her army-issue shoes tapping on the flagstone floor. They passed more than a dozen doors before he stopped in the middle of the hallway.

“This is your room, madam,” he said, opening the polished walnut door and standing back for her to enter. “I regret that it will be necessary for you to share a bath with several of the other ladies. It is two doors down the hall to your right.”

“Thank you,” said Liza as a liveried footman came into the room with her overseas bag. “I’m used to that.”

The room was small but elegantly furnished, with a four-poster bed, writing desk, and mahogany dresser. A vase full of hydrangeas sat on the dresser. Blue chintz curtains framed the leaded-glass windows, and a small log fire burned cheerfully in the corner hearth.

“I hope it will be satisfactory, madam,” he said, turning to leave.

“Oh yes, it will. Thank you,” she said, and he gently shut the door behind him.