The Lady of Lyon House (6 page)

The music hall was in total darkness, only the stage illuminated by a string of lights. The backstage areas were shadowy, although a little moonlight poured in through the high set windows. I climbed up the iron staircase, moving slowly and trying to make no noise. Upstairs, it was cold and damp. Everything was bathed with moonlight, serene. It was a world of velvety shadows and black floors and silvery-blue mist. I opened the door of my dressing room. Far below, I could hear the noises of the party, muffled now, distant. I sat down on the cot and took out the long red box.

I took out Hans and Gretchen and Miranda and Dil. I held them in my arms, and tears filled my eyes. The puppets were silly things made from wood, their features painted, and it was foolish to cry now as I cradled them in my arms. But I was not crying because of the puppets. I was crying because I had to leave everything I knew and loved, and the puppets were representative of all that. Nothing would ever be the same again; I felt that strongly. I would go to Devonshire, and I would come back, but it would never be the same.

These last two days had been frantic, full of preparations for the journey. Mattie had tried to make our shopping trips festive, and we had spent far too much money, but it had been a chore for me. For all her forced cheerfulness, Mattie had been nervous. I had noticed her glancing over her shoulder as we walked from shop to shop, and once she had taken me by the arm and guided me around a corner rapidly and into the first door we came to. I thought it odd, but Mattie laughed it off. As we stood in the shop examining bonnets, Mattie kept glancing out through the plate glass window, as though she were expecting to see someone walk past.

At night we did not go to the music hall. We stayed at the boarding house and sewed and packed. Tonight was the first time I had been back, and Mattie and I had come late, just in time for the party. I had not done my act. I put the puppets back in their box now, wondering if I would ever use them again. I smoothed Gretchen's curls and straightened Hans' collar. It seemed to me that the painted wooden faces were sad as I shut the lid.

I had not lighted a lamp. The dressing room was illuminated by moonlight that floated in softly through the window. Everything was blue and black and misty silver, and a light would create a harsh effect. I sat there on the cot, watching the millions of tiny motes that whirled slowly in a bar of moonlight. I thought of all the years I had spent here in this dressing room, how I had loved it, how it made me a part of this world. Now I was being shoved out. I did not belong in Devonshire; I would not belong anywhere. My comfortable nest must be evacuated, and I felt lost and lonely.

I heard somebody moving down the hall to one of the dressing rooms. That was strange, I thought, because I had not heard anyone come up the stairs. It did not alarm me. I had been lost in thought, and one of the girls had probably gone to the dressing room without my hearing her. It was a little strange that she had not lighted a lamp, but then I had not lighted one myself. Someone else had wanted to get away from the depressing atmosphere of the party and be alone for a little while.

I stepped into the hall. I could hear the noise of the party drifting upstairs in muffled bursts of sound. Someone was singing. I could hear the piano. I stood by the doorway of my dressing room, hesitating. I did not want to go back down, but I supposed I must. They would miss me. I braced my shoulders and wiped a tear away from my cheek. I did not want them to know I had been crying.

I walked down the hall towards the staircase. Some old cardboard backdrops leaned against the wall, draped with a canvas cover. There was a coil of rope and a broken pulley on the floor. I heard someone come out of one of the dressing rooms at the other end of the hall. I presumed it was one of the girls, deciding to go back down just as I had. The sound of footsteps echoed down the hall. I turned around. The hall was long and dark, dusted with moonlight. The floor gleamed darkly, and there were nests of shadow along each wall. I saw someone move stealthily into the shadows, as though afraid of being seen.

“Are you coming down?” I called. “I'll wait for you.”

There was no answer. I could barely see the dark form sliding along the wall, moving slowly. A cold chill swept over me. I gripped the handrail of the staircase, my fingers trembling. I was paralyzed, unable to move. My heart seemed to leap into my throat. I clutched the railing to keep from falling. I could sense the evil in the air. It was real, waves of evil flooding the hall like something tangible. It was as real as the smell of damp plaster and old face powder. A shaft of moonlight fell over the top of the staircase, flooding it with silver. Whoever was at the other end of the hall could see me plainly, while I could barely distinguish the dark form. The noise of the party seemed very far away.

“Who is it?” I said. The words rang in the still air. They echoed and faded away, as though they had been thrown into a void.

There was a clatter of footsteps on the staircase. Laverne was coming up. She stopped halfway, seeing me standing there. A look of alarm was on her face. She heaved a sigh of relief and then shook her head, as though in disgust.

“So there you are! We've been looking all over for you. Running out on your own party—bad form, kid, very bad form. Come on down now. The girls are going to do their dance routine, then we're going to have some sandwiches. I'll swear! You're exasperating—”

I looked back down the hall. It was a long, dark alley, and there was no one lurking against the wall. The hall was empty. The dark form was gone. Waves of silver blue mist illuminated everything now, revealing yawning doorways and shadowy corners. A tiny black rat scurried over the floor. I shuddered as Laverne came on up the staircase and took my hand in hers. We went back down and I moved as though in a trance.

The party did not seem real. Nothing seemed real. I smiled and spoke and nodded and moved around with a forced smile on my lips, but I had the sensation of moving under water. I saw the colored lights and the shabby crepe-paper banners and the remains of the cake. None of them were real. I seemed to have no more substance than one of my puppets. I seemed to jerk and move as they did, some invisible master pulling the strings. The party seemed to go on forever like some awful charade.

I sat down in a corner, watching all the forced activity. I wanted to laugh and tell them that this was not real. The only thing real was the danger. It was there, upstairs, waiting for me. I did not know why. There was no reason I could explain for it, but it had been stalking me for over a week. Mattie was sending me away to Devonshire in the morning, away from danger. I wondered if it would follow me there.

CHAPTER FIVE

I
STOOD ON THE
little station platform, my baggage piled in a neat stack behind me. The train had pulled out long ago, sending pale white plumes of smoke into the air. There had been no one here to meet me, and I felt like an orphan who has been deserted by the world. I tried to look pleasant, smiling at all the various people who passed me by, hoping one of them would come up to me and ask my name. No one did. Mattie had said Corinne Lyon's nephew would be waiting at the station. He had not shown up. I was beginning to get a queasy feeling in the pit of my stomach. I tried not to think it was all some horrible joke.

The train ride had been pleasant. I had never been on a train before. At first I was a little frightened, but gradually the monotonous movement and the sound of the wheels screeching on the metal tracks had lulled me into a pleasant lethargy. As London faded away and I began to see the countryside through the window, my excitement grew. I forgot all that had happened: rolling green hills with tall trees growing on their crests, yellow buttercups scattered over a field, a ribbon of sparkling blue river that wound through a violet-gray valley. Sometimes there were ugly industrial towns with many smokestacks and soot-covered houses, but more often the villages were neat and clean, like pretty toys flung out on the landscape.

Devonshire was lovely. Against a pale blue sky tall trees raised their stately limbs, throwing light purple shadows on the ground. Wildflowers grew in profusion in the meadows and valleys we passed, and in all the villages there were neat flowerbeds in front of all the houses. This village was no exception. From where I stood I could see the town square, a vivid patch of green, bordered on each side with beds of blue and orange and white crocuses. There was a tarnished old cannon on the square, and two little boys played on it. I could see the tall bronze steeple of the church reaching up to touch the sky and all the oak trees that spread shade over the sidewalks and streets. It was incredibly peaceful and serene. I had never known such beauty.

There was a little tea shop behind me on the platform, pink brick with white door and windows and a white awning rolled out for shade. In the window I could see stacks of tiny glazed cakes and a silver pot. It was late, and I was beginning to grow hungry. Mattie had packed a basket for the train ride, but I had eaten the cold fried chicken and sandwiches long ago. I was almost ready to go into the tea shop when I saw a carriage turn into the street. It was sleek and shiny, with a beautiful dappled gray horse pulling it.

The carriage stopped and a man got out. He looked around, and when he saw me he smiled. He came towards me, pulling off his yellow gloves. I knew it must be Edward Lyon, finally come to fetch me.

He was a handsome young man with thick auburn hair that shone with deep copper highlights. His face was very tanned, and he had large brown eyes beneath darkly arched brows. His nose was Roman, and his lips were large, curled now in a friendly smile. He was very tall, and thin. His shoulders were enormous, and I remembered that Mattie had said he played soccer at Oxford. I could easily believe it. He had a strong, muscular body that rippled with power. He was beautifully groomed, wearing glossy knee-high brown boots and a rust colored suit with dark brown lapels. His vest was dark green, and he wore a black and white striped ascot. He took my hand and shook it warmly.

“Miss Meredith? I am Edward Lyon. I'm so sorry about being late. I was out riding and completely forgot that I was to pick you up today. Corinne had a small fit when I got in. I hardly had time to change. Will you forgive me?”

“Of course, Mr. Lyon.”

“So formal. You could call me Edward, you know, or even Ed. That would be nice.”

“In time perhaps,” I replied.

I spoke rather stiffly, but it was not intentional. This man had an overwhelming presence that almost frightened me. He was virile and vital, charged with life, and he intimidated me. Power and energy and red corpuscles and muscle and strength were bounding, all brought together with a casual, natural charm that made itself felt immediately. He spoke in a smooth, husky voice, and what words did not convey his eyes did. He had what theatrical people called command, a certain magnetism that drew one's attention immediately and riveted it on him. It was a rare quality, and Edward Lyon had it to excess.

He was still holding my hand, and I pulled my fingers away gently. Edward Lyon smiled. He was staring at me in a frank, unabashed manner that made me highly uncomfortable.

“Is there something wrong?” I asked.

“No. Was I being rude?”

“You were staring at me.”

“I'm sorry. I just can't get over my surprise.”

“Surprise?”

“Yes. You see, I had expected someone quite different. When Corinne told me I had to come to the station to pick up the young ward of one of her old friends, I imagined a plain, rather prissy old maid, someone much older.”

“I see.”

“I dreaded it, to be quite frank. I could see myself in weeks to come, playing cards with two women, escorting the old maid to bazaars and church socials and listening to dreary conversation about cats and crochet and tomato plants. I was planning to escape.”

“Escape?”

“Leave Lyon House for the duration.”

“And now?”

“Now I shall anticipate every moment of it.”

“You're being very gallant, Mr. Lyon.”

“I hope I sound sincere as well as gallant.”

I smiled, unable to resist his charm. He took my elbow and led me to the carriage, an elegant black surrey with heavy yellow upholstery. He handed me into it, and I spread my skirts out over the seat while he piled my luggage in the back seat. He swung into the seat beside me and took up the reins. He clicked them smartly and the dappled gray horse began to move down the street at a slow trot. We passed under the marvelous oak trees, through the main part of the village, and soon we were on a winding gray road that led out into the countryside.

“Tell me about yourself,” Edward Lyon said.

“There isn't much to tell. I am eighteen years old. I live in London with Mattie and Bill Jameson. I have four puppets. I do an act with them at the music hall. My parents died when I was a little girl.”

“You have no relatives?”

“A sister, Maureen. I haven't seen her for eight years.”

I answered the questions rather briskly, not at all pleased that he was being so inquisitive. He seemed to sense this. He smiled, the corners of his lips turning up, and when he turned to me I could see his dark brown eyes dancing with merriment.

“I'm a boorish creature,” he said lightly. “I don't mean to be rude, but it seems I always am. I can't help it. When I meet people I like, I want to know all about them. The best way to find out is to ask questions.”

He grinned at me. He had the direct appeal of a little boy. While we drove I told him about my life in London. I told him about the music hall and the boarding house and all my friends there. I told him about meeting Charles Dickens and about each of the puppets. Already, as we rode along this lovely country road, it seemed far away, and there was a touch of sadness in my voice as I talked about it.

“It sounds like an enchanting kind of life,” Edward Lyon remarked. “Why did your guardian want to send you away from it?”