Read The Folly Online

Authors: M. C. Beaton

Tags: #Literature & Fiction, #Romance, #Historical, #Historical Romance, #Regency

The Folly (12 page)

BOOK: The Folly
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Not used to sitting still for very long, she began to fidget and then she rose to her feet and went out and up the stairs to the top of the house until she found a narrow little staircase that led up to a door which gave out onto the leads.

Moving nimbly on her feet, surprisingly so in such a heavily built woman, she began to search, clambering around the forest of chimneys on the roof of Mannerling. And then something bright at the edge of the roof lying in a bay formed by a little curved balustrade caught her attention. She walked into the bay and picked it up. It was a livery button, a silver button with the Blackwood crest of an oak tree on it. Her eyes gleamed as brightly as the button. Here was proof. Find the servant with a
missing button and then ask the fellow what he had been doing on the roof where no one but a builder or repairman had reason to be. And then an arm went around her neck and a voice grated in her ear, “Give that to me.”

She went very still. “No,” she said. Her plump hand closed even more firmly around the button. The arm tightened around her neck. She could feel her heart thumping. She kicked her assailant in the shins. Her one main thought was to get herself away from the edge of the balustrade.

Despite her age, she was strong and she was powerful and she was used to danger, having followed her late husband on many army campaigns. She fought and struggled until she had swung round, facing into the house, and her attacker now had his back to the balustrade. One of her hands seized a hat-pin from her bonnet and she drove it into that arm. There was a yell of pain, she felt herself released, and she drove back both elbows with all her might into the figure behind her.

There was a tremendous scream, a scream that descended, a scream abruptly cut off.

Mrs. Kennedy sat down suddenly and began to cry.

Chapter Five

I seem to move among a world of ghosts,
And feel myself the shadow of a dream
.


A
LFRED, LORD TENNYSON

M
INERVA WENT OUT
of the front door of Mannerling, her eyes narrowing as she saw Rachel, Charles, and the children approaching her across the lawns, looking like a family party.

She pinned a smile on her face. She would need to appear all that was amiable, she would need to pretend to like Rachel, and then she would try to pour some poison into Charles’s ears about the plots of the Beverleys. Minerva was wearing a white lace morning gown and another wide-brimmed bonnet. Her white kid gloves were wrinkled in the current fashion and elbow-length. Her white kid shoes peeped out from under her gown. Her hat was of white straw and embellished with white silk flowers. Minerva considered that she now looked the very picture of a virgin.

She floated towards Charles, her hands outstretched in welcome.

And then Charles shouted, “Look out!” He ran towards her and pulled her roughly to one side as a long scream descended from the heavens towards her.

There was a sickening thump behind her. Rachel shouted to the children, “Don’t look,” and pressed their faces against her skirts.

Over their heads, she saw Charles stoop over the crumpled body which had fallen from the roof.

“Get the children inside,” shouted Charles. “Now!”

Rachel hurried off with Mark and Beth.

“Who is it?” asked Minerva. “And how did he come to fall?”

In all his fright and distress, part of his mind still registered how calmly Minerva appeared to be reacting to the whole thing.

“It is one of my footmen, John.”

“Oh, a
footman
!” said Minerva, and turned away as Miss Trumble came out of the house.

“It is only a footman,” said Minerva, “fallen from the roof.”

Servants came running out of the house and over from the stables.

“Take the body inside,” ordered Charles. “Miss Trumble, see to Rachel and the children.”

“I came to tell you Mrs. Kennedy called, but I cannot find her.”

He gave an exclamation and strode ahead of the governess into the house.

A weak voice from the landing sounded down to them, Mrs. Kennedy’s voice.

“I killed him,” she said. “I couldn’t help it.”

They were finally all gathered in the drawing-room to hear Mrs. Kennedy’s amazing story. The general slowed up the telling of it by demanding to
hear all about the haunting first and asking why no one had thought to rouse him.

“The question now is,” said Miss Trumble quietly, “who employed him to do such a thing? And why did the housekeeper and that boy lie about him being present with the other servants when we were looking for the ghost of Judd?”

They were then interrupted by the arrival of Lady Beverley, and all the explanations had to be gone through again.

“Well, really,” bridled Lady Beverley, glaring at Miss Trumble, “I should have been roused. I am the one most qualified to deal with nervous children.”

“You went to bed complaining of illness,” said Miss Trumble, “and demanded not to be roused before noon, no matter what happened.”

“Miss Trumble and your daughter were a tower of strength,” put in Charles, but all that did was make Lady Beverley angrier than ever.

Charles rang the bell and asked for the housekeeper and the boy, Freddy, to be sent in.

Mrs. Jones came in after quite a long wait, dabbing at her eyes. “My apologies, sir,” she said in her hoarse voice. “I am so overset by the death of poor John.”

Barry entered the room and bowed low. “I have some news,” he said to Charles.

“Go on.”

“I took the liberty of examining the dead fellow’s head. There was a bump on it which I do not think was caused by the fall, for he fell on his left side and the blow I struck him—for I now know it must have been John—was on the right. The bump must have come up after you examined him, sir.
Also in his quarters, I found this.” Barry held up a sandy wig.

Charles turned again to Mrs. Jones. “So what have you to say for yourself? You said he was standing beside you in the hall.”

“It was afterwards that John talked to me about me standing next to him and reminded me of what he had said.”

“But you must have remembered yourself whether he was there or not!”

“I was so frightened with all the fuss, and sleepy too, sir. And I never thought John, of all people, would do such a thing. He had nothing against you, sir, only the Beverleys.”

“That’s quite enough,” snapped Charles. “You, boy, what have you to say for yourself?”

Freddy twisted his apron and looked at him dumbly.

“Speak,” commanded the general.

“It were her,” blurted out the boy, jerking a thumb at the housekeeper. “Her told me I was to say I’d seen ‘im.”

“Were you in this plot with John?” demanded Charles wrathfully.

“Oh, no, no, no,” wailed the housekeeper.

Miss Trumble’s level voice sounded in the room. “I think the poor woman was drunk and could not remember much of what happened.”

“I swear I only had a little gin and hot to soothe my nerves, sir,” screeched the housekeeper. “It was John who told me all about standing next to me. I swear on my mother’s grave. He told me Freddy was there as well, so I told the boy what to say, him being not right in the head.”

She began to cry noisily and Charles looked at her with a sort of angry pity. “Go away and we will talk later,” he said.

When the housekeeper had made a noisy and lachrymose exit, followed by the boy, the company looked at one another.

“I think we should ask in Hedgefield whether John was seen talking to anyone,” said Charles. “I cannot believe a servant would go to such lengths on his own behalf.” He turned to Barry. “Perhaps you could ask around.”

Barry touched his forehead and left the room.

“This should put an end to the hauntings now that the wretched creature is dead,” said Minerva, stifling a yawn.

“Only if the malice was all his own,” retorted Miss Trumble.

“I think I will take the children outside again, if I may,” said Rachel.

“Such a good idea.” Minerva rose and smoothed down her skirts.

Charles, sharply anxious for the welfare of his children, who were looking frightened, suddenly could not bear them to be subjected to Minerva’s brand of “motherly” concern, and said, “Do go along with Mark and Beth, Miss Rachel. Miss Santerton and I have much to discuss.”

Minerva sat down again, a little triumphant smile on her lips.

“I will come with you, Rachel.” Miss Trumble headed for the door.

“Could do with some fresh air myself,” said the general.

Lady Beverley stood up. “Your arm, General. We will
all
go.”

“Sit down, Father, and Miss Trumble. We shall all discuss this affair,” said Charles and then added innocently, “but go along with your daughter by all means, Lady Beverley.”

“On second thoughts,” said Lady Beverley, “I feel perhaps my place is here.” She sat down again.

“Well, I’m bored with the whole thing,” drawled George Santerton. “Such a lot of fuss over a mere footman.”

“And, sure, I am shaken to the core of my poor old body,” complained Mrs. Kennedy. “I for one am going home.”

“You are a brave lady,” said the general. “What an experience! I will escort you out to your carriage.”

Miss Trumble, half-amused, half-exasperated, saw the sudden alarm and consternation on Lady Beverley’s face as the general tenderly escorted Mrs. Kennedy to the door.

Rachel had already gone. Minerva kept turning that intense blue gaze of hers on Charles. Miss Trumble wondered whether Minerva’s ambition to be mistress of Mannerling, for such an ambition was very obvious, would ever be fulfilled. But then, men were so silly when it came to pretty women.

Rachel walked with Mark and Beth towards the folly. She wondered what to say to them. They admittedly lived in violent times and there was death all about them on every gibbet they passed. But the sight of a body plummeting from the roof of Mannerling, to die at their feet, was enough to shake an adult, let alone two vulnerable children. Rachel
was beginning to feel rather sick and shaken herself. It was not only the death of John but that he had been prompted by such evil malice. Even if someone had been paying him, it had been an evil thing to do to carry out such orders.

“We will take the boat out on the lake,” she said, “and we will talk a little bit about what has happened.”

The children, who normally would have treated such an offer with noisy joy, followed her silently down the grassy slope to the jetty. They sat side by side, facing her as she slotted the oars into the rowlocks and began to pull steadily away from the jetty.

“You are both very brave children,” began Rachel. “After we have spent some time on the water, we will return and have something to eat and then I think you should both go to bed. I am very shaken and tired myself.”

Beth began to cry and Mark put an arm round her. Tears welled up in his own eyes. Rachel shipped the oars, took out a handkerchief, and began to cry herself.

At last, she firmly dried her eyes and said with a shaky laugh, “Now I feel better. But think on it, Mark, I was going to play at pirates, but we don’t look very ferocious, any of us.”

With children’s lightning changes of mood, both stopped crying. “Real pirates?” asked Beth cautiously.

“Yes. I tell you what. If you want to be real pirates, you must learn to row. I know the oars are rather big, but you could take an oar each.”

She rowed back to the jetty. She changed places
with the children. “Now, you are the wicked Turkish pirates and I am your hostage.”

“You don’t look like a hostage,” pointed out Mark. “You should be bound and gagged.”

“I saw some string under a bench in the folly,” said Rachel.

She tied up the boat again. Soon she was bound with string and gagged with her scarf. The children gingerly rowed away from the jetty. At first they went round in circles because Mark was pulling more strongly than Beth, but they finally managed some sort of co-ordination.

Rachel was soon beginning to tire of playing the part of hostage, straining at her bonds and making gurgling noises from behind her scarf, but the children were so enraptured with this new skill of rowing that she did not have the heart to call an end to their play—which she very well could, for the scarf over her mouth was quite loosely tied.

And so that was how Charles Blackwood saw them as he paused in the folly and looked down on the lake. His children were uttering quite dreadful oaths and threats to the bound and gagged Rachel.

He strode out of the folly and down to the lake.

He hailed Mark, crying, “You’d best come ashore. The sky is darkening and I think it is going to rain.”

At first they spun in circles, both children being anxious to show off their prowess to their father, but at last they managed to reach the jetty, just as Charles was joined by Miss Trumble.

“We were playing pirates,” said Mark, his voice squeaky with excitement, “and Rachel is our hostage.”

Rachel said plaintively from behind her scarf, “Would someone please untie me?”

Charles knelt down on the jetty and untied the scarf and then her hands, and Rachel untied her ankles.

Miss Trumble helped Mark and Beth out of the boat and said briskly, “Come along. You will eat and go to bed, and if you are very good, I will read a story to you.”

They went off with her, still chattering excitedly. Charles helped Rachel out.

“You are very good, Miss Rachel,” he said, beginning to walk with her.

“I like your children,” said Rachel. “We have all had a bad fright.”

A fat drop of rain struck the back of Charles’s hand. He looked at the sky and said, “Let us shelter in the folly for a little. I think it will only prove to be a shower.”

As they reached the folly, the heavens opened. They stood together, looking out, surrounded on all sides by a silvery curtain of rain. “The children will be soaked,” said Rachel.

Charles laughed. “Did you not notice the estimable Miss Trumble was carrying an umbrella?” Then he studied her thoughtfully.

“I do not want to distress you, Miss Rachel,” said Charles, “but you know the recent history of Mannerling. The house appears to take hold of people in a strange way. Can you think of anyone who would go to such lengths to scare me away, or do you think that footman was deranged?”

BOOK: The Folly
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