The Homecoming (17 page)

Miss Trumble quietly sat down. Neither woman spoke until Mrs. Walters said quietly, “I will go to hell.”

“I doubt that very much, my dear,” said Miss Trumble. “What great crime have you committed that you should be punished so?”

“It is all my fault,” said Mrs. Walters.

“You did not push him to his death. The servant who saw him fall said he was alone on the landing.”

“I prayed that he would die,” said Mrs. Walters in a harsh whisper.

Miss Trumble leaned forward and took her hand in a firm grip. “If God killed all the people we wished dead, then the world would be a poorly populated place. Did he bully you?”

“He beat me. He beat me this morning.”

“Will you be comfortably off now he is dead?”

“Yes; because we have no son, everything comes to me.”

Miss Trumble pressed her hand harder. “When the fright and shock and guilt have all gone, you will slowly begin to appreciate your new circumstances. You will rise of a morning and give the day’s commands to the servants with no one to countermand your instructions, you will be able to read novels and go for walks. You will be able to entertain friends. And perhaps your daughter, Sarah, will not need to hide out in dreams. Think about it, and gather your courage.”

Sarah Walters was sitting in her room, her face suffused with the glow of love. For the duke had called on her to offer his sympathies. She had thrown herself at him, crying and saying she had been a bad daughter, and he had spoken soothing words to her before putting her from him.

She played that affecting scene over and over in her mind. The duke had been trying to tell her it was she he loved. He must be released from this engagement. Something would need to happen to Lizzie.

Her brain was now quite turned by her father’s death. Sarah was deeply involved in her fantasy world.

The banisters on the landing were low. One quick push and all would believe that Lizzie, too, had become dizzy and fallen to her death. But she would need to act quickly. Arrangements were already being made for her father’s body to be taken home, and she and her mother with it. The duke was offering his outriders and footmen to augment their own servants—a sign of love and affection if there ever was one! They were to leave the following day. But her great love for the duke would make things happen as they were meant to happen. She felt all-powerful.

*   *   *

Miss Trumble had persuaded the duke to allow Barry to stay. She felt uneasy, and longed for the moment when she could wave goodbye to Mrs. Walters and Sarah. The duke and Lizzie had dropped any pretence of being fond of each other and were politely formal, but Miss Trumble knew that both were still shocked over the death of the squire. She had hoped the tragedy would bring them closer together, but instead it seemed to have driven them apart.

Lizzie had been hurt that the duke had not found it necessary to ask her how she was coping with the terrible shock of seeing the dead squire and had decided that the engagement was, after all, in name only. Mannerling was a house of mourning. The squire’s body had been laid out, a coffin was being brought from Hedgefield that day in which he would be conveyed home, and that dead figure seemed etched on her brain. She had gone to pay her respects to the dead man.

He had been lying still and small in death, candles at either side of the bed. Mrs. Walters had been kneeling, praying, and Sarah had been sitting on a chair in the room, an odd little smile on her lips which unnerved Lizzie more than the dead squire.

She collected a gown which had a torn hem, along with her work-basket, and went along to the drawing-room. Tiffin, radiant with happiness, rose to meet her.

“How goes Miss Walters?”

“I do not quite know,” said Lizzie with a sigh. “She looks quite odd but that is to be expected. It was a most strange accident.”

“Peter said he smelt most strongly of drink and the banister on the landing is quite low.”

“Have you seen our host?”

“I overheard one of the servants say he had gone riding.”

He might have offered to take me with him, thought Lizzie moodily. It would be wonderful to ride away from this house of death.

Peter Bond came in. Tiffin blushed and curtsied. He murmured something to her and then said, “Excuse us,” and led Tiffin from the room.

And that is how it should be, thought Lizzie. But the thought of the duke smiling at
her
dotingly made her laugh. She opened her work-basket, took out needle and thread, and bent her head over the torn flounce in the gown on her lap.

The duke entered quietly and stood for a moment surveying her. Lizzie looked up and saw him. “Do not trouble to rise.” He walked forward and sat down opposite her. He was wearing riding dress. He stretched out his booted legs. “The announcement of our engagement is in the newspapers this morning,” he said.

Lizzie coloured. “It will be the first intelligence Mama has of it.”

“You did not write to her immediately?”

“With everything that is going on here, I forgot.”

“Then I assume Lady Beverley will be soon heading in this direction with all speed.”

“I am afraid so,” said Lizzie. “Mama will be in alt. I only hope she does not suffer a bad
crise de nerfs
when she learns it is all a sham. Should we not tell her as soon as she arrives and get it over with?”

“I consulted my aunt on the matter. She urged me to leave matters as they are for the moment.”

“Oh, well,” said Lizzie, putting a neat stitch in the flounce, “I suppose we will just have to look as if we like each other.”

“As to that, I was under the impression that we did like each other.”

“I do not know you very well, Your Grace.”

“Gervase.”

“Gervase, then.”

“What is it about me you do not know?”

Lizzie looked at him impatiently. “When I am with you I feel I am facing some sort of employer.”

“In a way you are. You are being used by me to keep up the pretence of an engagement. Is that so very difficult?”

“Not at the moment. But it will be after Mama arrives. She will assume…airs.”

“I am not marrying her, my sweeting.”

“You are not marrying me either, Gervase.”

“True. But when I am with you, I seem to forget that fact.”

She looked up at him sharply, but his eyes were amused.

The door opened and Sarah Walters came in.

The duke was sitting on a sofa facing Lizzie. Sarah sat down beside him and took his hand and gazed into his eyes. “I can never thank you enough for your kindness to me,” she breathed.

He drew his hand away. “You are welcome, Miss Walters. And now if you will excuse me…?”

Lizzie sent him a fulminating glare, but he only smiled, rose and bowed to both of them and left the room.

There was an awkward silence. Lizzie was embarrassed because she felt Sarah looked odder than ever. Her eyes were blazing in her white face.

“I feel like taking the air, Miss Beverley,” she said.

“Do you wish me to get a footman to accompany you?” asked Lizzie.

“Oh, do not trouble.” Sarah tittered. “You are not yet a duchess and can hardly order his servants around. I would appreciate your company.”

“Alas, I am busy mending this flounce.”

“Will no one have any sympathy for me?” cried Sarah. “Is it too much to ask? I crave some fresh air.”

“Very well,” said Lizzie, relenting. “I will fetch my bonnet and shawl.”

“Thank you,” said Sarah. “I will meet you on the landing.”

Lizzie went to her room and tied on a bonnet and put a warm shawl about her shoulders, for the day was blustery.

Sarah must be slightly deranged, poor girl, thought Lizzie, to even think of meeting anyone on that cursed landing.

She made her way to the landing. To her surprise, Sarah was standing there, but still dressed only in a black gown. No bonnet or shawl.

“You have not yet changed,” said Lizzie.

“No matter.” Sarah’s eyes burned with a feverish light. “Come here, Miss Beverley. It was here he fell.”

Lizzie joined her and put a hand on her arm. “Come away,” she said gently. “You must put it behind you. Come away.”

Sarah leaned over the low balustrade. “Do come away from there!” cried Lizzie sharply.

“There is someone lying down there,” exclaimed Sarah.

“I am sure there is no one,” said Lizzie soothingly.

“But look! Only look! Down there!”

Lizzie leaned over.

Sarah gave her a tremendous push. Lizzie saw the tiles of the floor seeming to race up towards her but she had been clutching the balustrade tightly. She flung herself backwards.

“Die!” screamed Sarah, grabbing her by the shoulders and pushing her back to the balustrade. “He really loves me. Not you! Me!”

“What is going on here?”

Sarah released Lizzie and turned, panting. The duke stood there. Sarah flung herself into his arms. “She tried to kill me,” she said. “Lizzie tried to push me over. She knows we are in love, Gervase, and so she tried to kill me.”

Two footmen had come racing up the stairs. The duke pried Sarah’s clutching arms from around his neck.

“Take Miss Walters to her room,” he commanded, “and lock her in and post yourselves on guard at the door.” He put an arm around Lizzie’s shoulders. “Come with me.”

The footmen seized Sarah and bore her off. Her wild screams echoed back to their ears.

Lizzie was shaking all over. She let him guide her back to the drawing-room. He pushed her into a chair and then knelt in front of her. He untied the strings of her bonnet and took off her hat. Then he rubbed her cold hands. “What happened?”

In a broken voice, Lizzie told him.

“There, now. It is over and they will soon be gone. That servant of yours, Barry, is here. I will send for him and he will guard you until the Walters have left. Wait and I will fetch him.”

She caught one of his hands. “Do not leave me, Gervase.”

“Only as far as the bell-rope.”

But at that moment not only Barry but Miss Trumble entered the room. The duke told them what had happened and gave Barry his orders.

“And where is Miss Walters now?” asked Miss Trumble.

“In her room, under guard.”

“I shall go and see her. Barry, take Lizzie to her room and stay with her. I tell you, Gervase, you should sell this place, quit this place. It is evil.”

“At this moment, I think it is Miss Walters that is evil,” said the duke. “Go to her by all means, Aunt, and ascertain that she is safe to travel or if she should be confined in the nearest bedlam.”

Miss Trumble went along to Sarah’s room. One of the footmen unlocked the door for her. Miss Trumble went in. The room was in darkness. Sarah’s white face glared at her out of the gloom.

Miss Trumble went over to the window, opened the curtains, threw open the shutters and then opened the window. Sunlight flooded the room and the curtains streamed out in the wind.

“I am letting in some sanity,” said Miss Trumble, turning around. “If you have any wits left, can you bring yourself to tell me why you tried to kill Miss Beverley?”

The hectic light had left Sarah’s eyes. “She tried to kill
me,”
she said sullenly.

“We both know that is not true.”

“He does not love her!”

“The duke most certainly does not love you, Sarah Walters.”

She hung her head. Then she said, “Will I be arrested?”

“As you richly deserve to be? No, it would make a tiresome scandal and your poor mother has suffered enough. Have you no concern for her?”

Sarah stared at the floor.

“I think you live in dreams and fantasies that have nothing to do with the real world,” said Miss Trumble.

“You are right,” said Sarah heavily. “I will make Mr. Bond happy. He truly loves me and he will have his reward.”

“Grant me patience!” cried the exasperated governess. “Mr. Bond is engaged to be married to Miss Moon.”

“She stole him from me.”

“Fustian! He fell in love with a pretty girl, and if you had not been so wrapped up in your mad dreams, you might have noticed he has as little interest in you as the duke.”

Sarah began to cry.

Miss Trumble watched her coldly. “I have no sympathy for you, Sarah. I wish from the bottom of my heart that you were crying not for yourself and the wreck of your silly dreams, but for your father. You will be kept here until the morning, when we will all be glad to see the last of you.”

Miss Trumble left. The key clicked in the door. Sarah searched her mind desperately for a dream but none would come.

M
ISS
T
RUMBLE WATCHED
from her window the following day as the Walterses’ carriage moved slowly down the long drive flanked by outriders, and followed by another carriage draped in black, which contained the squire’s body.

She wondered what Sarah was dreaming about now.

But inside the carriage, Sarah was dreamless. As the carriage swept through the gates of Mannerling, she could feel all the events of her visit moving away from her as they moved away, for the house, now seen in retrospect, seemed like some mad and evil dream.

She leaned forward and took her mother’s hand. “I am truly sorry,” said Sarah.

“We will support each other now, my child,” said Mrs. Walters. “We are going home.”

“We will be safe there,” said Sarah. “I think I was very insane, Mama.”

“We will talk about it later,” said Mrs. Walters. She tried to think sad thoughts about her dead husband, but as the distance grew between them and Mannerling, she could only think of how pleasant her future would be now.

*   *   *

Lady Beverley and Mary Judd strolled together in the Pump Room at Bath—well, not
quite
together, for Mary had taken to walking just a little behind in a respectful way, a little courtesy which had moved Lady Beverley to buying Mary a new silk gown and bonnet. Mary had given up wearing black and thought that the shade of her gown, a delicate lilac, was very becoming, as was her new straw hat with the brim lined in pleated lilac silk.