The Romance (8 page)

And then, just as she reached the first landing, she became aware that the air was suddenly full of jingling, tinkling sounds like elfin laughter. She froze. Then she realized the sound was coming from the chandelier which hung over the great hall. Some lazy servant must have left a door or window open. But as she stood looking at the chandelier, which was
at eye-level with the landing, she saw with fear that it was revolving a half turn one way, and then a half turn the other. She held her candle out. The steel cords which had been secured to the chandelier the day before had snapped. And as the crystals tinkled, she became aware of a feeling of brooding menace which seemed to emanate from the very walls. Dropping her candle, she scrambled back up the staircase, fled to her room, plunged into bed and pulled the covers tightly over her head.

Her maid awoke her in the morning and drew back the curtains to reveal a perfect sunny day.

Struggling up against the pillows, Mrs. Ingram remembered her terror of the night before. It all seemed so ridiculous now.

She said to her maid, ‘Agnes, do run downstairs and find me something to eat. I tried to go down to the kitchens during the night and was frightened back upstairs by that wretched chandelier…What is the matter?’ For Agnes had let out a little scream.

‘Oh, madam, they do say the house is haunted and that one of the previous owners, Mr. Judd, did hang himself from that very chandelier, and that during the night those steel cords did snap clean through.’

‘Fiddle. Probably not secured properly.’

‘Snapped clean through,’ repeated Agnes firmly. ‘We should leave, madam, before one of those ghosts catches us.’

‘Ghosts? More than one?’

‘Oh, yes. The servants do say that sometimes they see a drowned face in the lake, the face of a Mr. Cater, a sugar planter who was courting Rachel Beverley.’

‘I refuse to believe in ghosts. What have they planned for us today?’

‘You are to be ready by eleven o’clock. Lord St. Clair’s organizing a boating party on the lake.’

‘What an early hour to go rowing. Very well, fetch me some food to sustain me.’

*      *      *

At that moment, the Honourable Peregrine Vane was making his way to the lake with a thin saw hidden inside one of his boots. He resented the way St. Clair had ordered him like a servant to make sure there were enough boats for the whole party. He had been about to protest, but then he had hit on a wonderful plan. Saint Clair would no doubt take Belinda Beverley in the best boat. He got into the newest rowing-boat, which was tied up at the small wooden jetty, untied the painter, and rowed to a low grassy bank on the farther shore. There he pulled the boat clear of the water and got to work. He sawed a neat square hole in the bottom of the boat and then glued a piece of card over it. The card would become waterlogged and give way—he hoped—when St. Clair was in the
middle of the lake. Such a man-milliner as St. Clair would surely not be able to swim. Ladies did not swim, so Belinda Beverley would need to be rescued as well. He, Perry, would make sure news of the incident got back to the earl. No one would drown; there would be too many people present to help. But it would be a good start to the campaign he had in mind to disgrace St. Clair.

*      *      *

As they walked towards the lake later that morning, Lizzie found herself once more accompanied by Mrs. Ingram. ‘I heard you suffered a fright during the night,’ began Lizzie.

‘That maid of mine is a terrible gossip,’ said Mrs. Ingram. ‘Ghosts, indeed!’

‘But you were frightened?’

‘My nerves were playing me tricks. The chandelier was revolving and tinkling and the steel cords had snapped. No headless ghosts, no rattling of chains. I fled to my room like the silly woman I am.’

‘Perhaps Mannerling does not like you,’ said Lizzie in a low voice.

‘Mannerling does not…! My dear child, it is only a house. Houses do not have
feelings.’

‘This one does,’ said Lizzie earnestly. ‘I think it likes me.’

‘Tish, child, what sort of nonsense is this?’

Lizzie averted her face. Mrs. Ingram remembered uneasily that feeling of almost tangible menace which had seemed to emanate from the walls.

‘But why should it dislike me?’ she asked in a light voice.

‘Oh, Mannerling is like people,’ said Lizzie, turning to look up at her companion. ‘You know, you meet someone and take an instant dislike to them for no reason at all.’

‘Enough of this,’ said Mrs. Ingram, ‘or I will begin to believe you and expect the house to start throwing slates at me. Only look at the poor gentlemen, such slaves of fashion. Here we are on this nice sunny day in our muslins and there they go in morning coats, starched cravats, and boots.’

‘You are a friend of Lord Gyre, are you not?’ asked Lizzie.

‘Yes, and that is all I am, my pert miss with the green eyes. Ah, here we are.’

She stepped forward as Lord St. Clair was about to usher Belinda into the best rowing-boat. ‘No, no,’ said Mrs. Ingram gaily. ‘Miss Belinda already knows all the delights of this place. You should row Miss Chalmers, and Gyre here can escort Miss Belinda.’

Saint Clair was too lazy to protest. The rest arranged themselves in the other boats, Mirabel rowing Lizzie and Mrs. Ingram.

‘So here we are,’ said the marquess. ‘May I say you are looking divinely pretty, Miss
Belinda?’

‘You may say so, my lord, if it pleases you. Whether I believe you or not is another matter.’

‘There are times when I wish you would flirt with me as you do with Saint Clair.’

‘You would know me to be false.’

‘But I might enjoy the falsehood.’

‘Why, my lord?’

‘Because you enchant me, Belinda Beverley.’

‘Now is you who are only flirting. Your eyes are mocking. Only look at Lord Saint Clair. He is rowing very strongly. I would not have thought him possessed of either the skill or the energy.’

Lord St. Clair was enjoying himself. Jane Chalmers was praising him fulsomely and he was thinking her a splendid sort of girl when she broke off a fluttering comment on his strength and let out a shriek.

‘What’s amiss?’ he demanded, shipping the oars.

‘My feet are wet,’ she wailed. ‘Water is coming into the boat.’

Saint Clair looked down. Her thin slippers had felt the water quicker than his booted feet. ‘Get the bailer,’ he was starting to say when the waterlogged card gave entirely and the boat sank like a stone—and so did Jane Chalmers.

Before he had become a dandy, St. Clair had hoped to become a member of the Corinthian set and so had learned to fence and swim and
drive a four-in-hand. Their energy, their spitting and swearing had offended his delicate nerves, but had left him with the ability to swim like a fish. He surfaced, dived, grabbing hold of Jane’s dress, hauled her to the surface and began to head for the bank, holding her tightly. Lord Gyre was there before him. Once he had seen that St. Clair could swim, he had rowed energetically for the bank. Jane had fortunately closed her mouth tightly when she sank and so she was soaking and shaken but not otherwise harmed, and retained enough of her wits to quickly see the romantic advantages of the situation. Thrusting aside her mother, who had appeared on the scene, Jane stumbled to her feet and threw herself into St. Clair’s arms, crying, ‘My hero! I owe you my life!’

Mirabel looked on fondly. So much for Belinda Beverley and her ambitions.

‘I think Miss Chalmers should be taken directly to the house and put to bed,’ said Lady Beverley crossly. She flashed an irritated glance at her daughter. Why couldn’t it have been Belinda who had nearly been drowned?

After Jane was led away, Lord St. Clair sat down on the grass and took off one boot, emptied out the lake water, and then glared all around. ‘Ah, there you are, Perry,’ he said crossly, espying his cousin, who was trying to sidle away. ‘You said you would see to things. Didn’t you notice the boat was leaky?’

‘I am not your servant,’ retorted Perry
furiously. ‘I only checked there were enough boats for the party.’

Lord Gyre turned to Belinda. ‘How deep is the lake?’

‘Where the boat sank? I am not sure. About fourteen feet of water, I think.’

‘We should get two men to dive down with ropes and try to lift the boat up,’ said Lord Gyre.

‘Why?’ demanded Perry.

‘I just want to make sure no one had been tampering with it.’

‘That’s ridiculous,’ expostulated Perry. ‘The planks probably had sprung in the heat.’

‘Nonetheless, I would like to make sure.’

‘Then you organize it,’ said Perry, and strode off towards the house.

‘Why bother?’ said St. Clair, standing up. ‘I’m thirsty. Let’s all go back and have some luncheon.’

Lord Gyre walked off in the direction of the stables and the rest of the party made their way back to the house.

‘That was an interesting accident,’ said Mrs. Ingram, falling into step beside Belinda. ‘If it was an accident.’

‘I think it must have been,’ said Belinda. ‘If anyone wanted to drown Saint Clair, they would hardly try to do so when so many people and servants were about.’

‘The plan may have been to disgrace him.’

‘Well, if that was the case, it sadly missed.
Saint Clair is the hero of the day.’

‘I think Perry Vane might have been behind it some way. In fact, if you want to regain Mannerling, I would concentrate your attentions on Mr. Vane. He means to have the place, of that I am sure.’

Belinda moved rapidly away from her. Mrs. Ingram gave a rueful shrug. Now I have been much too impertinent, she thought.

Lizzie scampered after her sister. ‘You almost ran away from Mrs. Ingram, Belinda. Did she say something to offend you?’

‘She suggested I should concentrate on Perry Vane because he means to discredit Saint Clair and gain Mannerling for himself.’

‘He must not succeed,’ said Lizzie fiercely.

‘Why?’ demanded Belinda drily. ‘I thought it did not matter whom I married as long as I got Mannerling.’

‘But I cannot like Mr. Vane. And we were agreed that Saint Clair would make an amiable husband. Did you hear that Mrs. Ingram was haunted during the night?’

‘I heard she was frightened by the tinkling of the chandelier, nothing more. Mrs. Ingram has too vivid an imagination and sees ghostly happenings and Gothic plots everywhere she looks. And yet, if she had any sensitivity, she would take herself off.’

‘Why?’

‘Because she is Gyre’s ex-mistress,’ said Belinda crossly. ‘You would think any woman
of breeding and delicacy would find the situation distressful.’

‘They seem the best of friends,’ said Lizzie, ‘which all goes to show that Gyre is not the man for you.’

‘Stop talking fustian,’ snapped Belinda. ‘I have no interest in Gyre whatsoever.’

She walked faster and Lizzie scurried to keep up. ‘You see,’ panted Lizzie, ‘I am afraid history will repeat itself and you will be like our elder sisters and throw up the chance of Mannerling for love.’

Belinda stopped and faced her. ‘Our sisters decided not to marry highly unsuitable men and as a result are all happy.’

‘I knew it! You are interested in Gyre.’

‘Lizzie, you are making my poor head ache. If only we could talk to Miss Trumble. I feel the need of some sensible conversation.’

*      *      *

Later that day, Lord Gyre, followed by two grooms who claimed to be excellent swimmers and also by a farm labourer leading a sturdy horse, headed for the lake.

The idea was that the grooms were to dive down where the rowing-boat had sunk and attach ropes to it, which would then be fastened to the halter on the horse. Then the horse would be backed away from the lake and so pull the boat out.

The grooms stripped off, chattering cheerfully to each other and obviously treating it all as a bit of an adventure.

Lord Gyre waited patiently as each man with a rope in his hand dived into the lake, swam to where the boat had sunk, and dived again. It was only a few moments before both surfaced, gasping and spluttering and then swimming frantically for the shore. They scrambled out. ‘What on earth are you about?’ demanded the marquess wrathfully.

‘There’s a drowned man down there, m’lord,’ gasped one. ‘I was groom at stables when the previous owner was here. It was that Mr. Cater, the sugar planter, him what used to call. He…reached out his hands for me.’

‘Dolts,’ said the marquess savagely. ‘Oh, I’ll do it myself. Thank God the ropes are floating on the surface.’

He stripped off, tossing his clothes at his feet, strode to the water’s edge and dived in.

As he managed to locate the boat by feel, he wondered furiously how those idiots had managed to see anything at all at the bottom. He attached one rope, surfaced, and swam back with it and threw it on the bank, where one white-faced groom fastened it to the horse’s collar. The marquess then swam back and repeated the process with the other rope.

The farm horse was backed slowly up the bank and gradually, with the men helping, the boat was pulled to the shore and up the grassy
bank. Naked, with water running down his body, the marquess bent down and examined the boat carefully. Then he stood up.

‘Someone sawed a hole in the bottom of this boat. Something must have been put over the hole to cover it so that it would sink after a certain time.’

Lizzie and Belinda, who had gone out for a walk, had entered the folly. They looked down at the tableau by the lake—two naked grooms and an equally naked marquess. Lizzie let out a squeak and then covered her eyes with her hands. Belinda finally dragged her own eyes away and led Lizzie out of the folly and back towards the house.

‘I did not know naked men looked like that,’ said Lizzie at last.

‘We have seen classical statues,’ said Belinda in a bracing voice which belied the fact that she was quite shaken and that the statues she had seen had all worn decorous marble fig-leaves.

*      *      *

The marquess had urged the grooms not to talk nonsense about a drowned man in the lake, but then he became anxious that there might really be a body down there and informed the authorities. The house party gathered again at the lake as it was dragged by a team of men from the nearby market town of Hedgefield.