The Folly at Falconbridge Hall Page 16

  Vanessa wished he wouldn’t try to smooth things over. He obviously found it difficult, and she wondered why he bothered. The argument between her father and his had not really concerned him. The old earl had violently disapproved of her father’s art, and marrying a merchant’s daughter had made his son irredeemable in his eyes. Both men were proud, and to her knowledge, neither expressed a desire to mend the rift. She almost laughed at the irony; she was apparently now acceptable to the family, having married well.

  “The house your father was to have is yours when I die, my dear. The rest, of course, is entailed, and goes to the next male heir in line. A distant cousin as it stands.”

  She wondered if her father would have swallowed his pride and accepted it, had it been offered, and whether he would wish her to do so now. She should refuse it, but thought him sad and held her tongue. The family feud had gone on long enough. Her uncle was here to put an end to it, and she agreed. “That’s extremely generous of you, Uncle William, thank you.”

  He waved his hand to dismiss any further mention of it. “When does Lord Falconbridge return?”

  “Not until well into the new year.” She suppressed a sigh. The months ahead seemed long and bleak.

  “If you need anything you must send for me,” he muttered, reaching to take her hand. His ruddy cheeks reddened further.

  “Thank you, Uncle William.” Contrite for her ungenerous thoughts, Vanessa leaned forward and kissed his bristly cheek. “You’re more than welcome to sit down to Christmas dinner with us. Cook is preparing a very large goose with oyster stuffing.”

  “Well … that is most generous of you, Vanessa. It sounds delicious.” He coughed. “But I have a prior engagement. Perhaps I might call again.”

  “Please do.”

  He looked around the room. “I’m delighted you have settled well, my dear. You were in my thoughts when your father passed away. The last time we met was under difficult circumstances. I doubt I handled it well. You are happy?”

  She gave him a reassuring smile. “I am. Very happy.”

  “Then I shan’t worry.”

  “Please visit us again soon. I have little family of my own ….”

  “How charming you are.” He kissed her hand. “I’m sorry I did not get to know you sooner.”

  He took his leave, reiterating his offer of any assistance. He was a childless widower, and she wondered if he might be lonely. It was comforting to have a blood relative who wished her well. Someone she could turn to should she ever need it. Her life was here now with Julian and Blythe, but he was welcome to share it.

  Alone in the drawing room, Vanessa thought about his generous offer of the country mansion on twenty acres in Devonshire. Her mother would have loved it. How different their lives might have been if her grandfather had not reneged on his promise. Perhaps her father and mother would still be alive. It was a depressing thought, and she batted it away and continued dressing the tree, refusing to dwell on the past. She couldn’t control her nightmares, but she could, for the most part, order her thoughts.

  The parlor maid came in with some tinsel, and Vanessa requested Blythe be fetched from the day nursery to help her. She hung a golden ball on a branch and stepped back to admire it, as she directed her thoughts to Abigail Patterson and the present. Miss Patterson had attractive hazel eyes. Was she the woman her uncle had seen with Frobisher? If so, she doubted that despicable man would marry her. It was none of her business, of course, and yet she felt a little responsible, for hadn’t she taken the man Abigail hoped to marry?

  Chapter Seventeen

  The men set up a base camp at Iquitos then moved on again through the vast wood-region traversed by the mighty Amazon and its tributaries. They reached their destination, Pebas, within the month. Charles Frobisher was to come straight there. Travelling light, he was expected any day.

  The men settled into the place they would call home for some time.

  It drizzled incessantly, and the vivid green foliage and vines of the luxuriant primeval forest dripped water, splattering over Julian’s soaked fedora. Damp clothing clung, effervescing steam and the growing smell of mildew.

  “Damn heat rash!” Hewson protested with a tug at his trousers.

  Julian grinned. Hewson uttered the same complaints on previous trips. He had brought with him a number of different remedies, none of which appeared to work. Worse, now the rainy season had begun. The Amazon would not reach its highest point until May. He intended to be back at the coast before it did.

  Frederick Parker shouted a command to the natives as they struggled to raise the canvas tents.

  Once the main tent had been erected, Julian, Hewson and Lord Forster gathered around the table on folding wooden chairs along with the medic, Horace Carpenter and the field assistant, William Whitby. They studied the maps and outlined their plan to undertake explorations that carried them farther afield, once Frobisher had joined them. Then Julian left to check his supplies. When satisfied all was in place, he grabbed his precious Kodak Brownie box camera and took a careful shot of a sloth moving in slow motion along a branch above him. This photo was for Blythe. The camera was a godsend, providing excellent visuals to back up his research.

  Somewhere close by, a jaguar roared, making the mules restless and causing the thousands of squawking parrots to rise from the trees like a brilliantly colored cloud. These sights and sounds still failed to weave their magic over him. When I see the butterflies, he thought, I’ll feel it then.

  Hewson approached Julian as he prepared to leave the camp.

  “Off in search of butterflies?”

  Julian nodded. The heat was unrelenting. He removed his hat to wipe the sweat-soaked rim with his handkerchief. “You’d never know it was Christmas, would you, here in the jungle?”

  Hewson’s eyebrows arched in surprise. “So it is. I hadn’t thought of it.” He grinned. “I’ll miss my cook’s Christmas pudding.”

  “Is that all you’ll miss, Hewson?” Julian asked, searching his face.

  Hewson shrugged. “Bit overrated, isn’t it? Christmas? Why? We’ve been away at this time of year before.”

  Julian picked up his camera. “I know. I never gave it much thought before.”

  *****

  Vanessa couldn’t refuse Blythe’s request to ride Buttercup as the snow had melted away, leaving piles of slush. At the stables, Lovel brought out their horses. Blythe hurried towards Buttercup and stumbled on a raised cobblestone, falling to the icy ground. For a big man, Lovel moved fast. He gathered Blythe up in his arms.

  “Did you hurt yourself, Blythe?” Vanessa said, hurrying over.

  Lovel placed Blythe on her feet and brushed mud from her chin with a gentle finger. “She’s as right as rain, aren’t you, Miss Blythe?”

  Blythe smiled. “I was so eager to ride Buttercup, it made me clumsy.”

  “You could never be clumsy, Miss Blythe,” Lovel said. “You are as dainty as a sprite.”

  Vanessa silently agreed. She almost liked Lovel in that moment.

  Wisps of cloud drifted across the cold grey-blue sky as they rode their horses over the meadow, the horses’ nostril’s steaming.

  “Let’s ride as far as the river,” Blythe called.

  Vanessa inwardly groaned. “Very well.”

  They trotted over the uneven ground, alert for rabbit holes.

  “Why, isn’t that Miss Patterson?” Blythe pointed.

  Thick woodland rimmed the meadow along the border of the Patterson property and theirs. Abigail had emerged from the trees and crossed onto Falconbridge Hall land. At first, Vanessa thought she was coming to join them. But she looked neither right nor left as she rode into the wood. It seemed odd. Was she looking for someone? That path was not the direct route to her home or theirs.

  On impulse, she called to Blythe, “I think we’ll join Miss Patterson.”

  Vanessa tapped Flora with her crop. They cantered over to the trees and entered the wood along a same narrow path Miss Patterson
had taken.

  “Father said we weren’t to go into the wood,” Blythe called from behind her.

  “I know, but he would think this important.” There was only one way Abigail could have gone, the track barely wide enough for the horses. Brushing aside shrubbery, they emerged into a shadowy glade, rimmed by trees. Abigail’s horse wandered the ground, the reins dangling, while she stood staring up at a giant oak.

  “Wait here, Blythe.” Vanessa dismounted.

  When Abigail turned, Vanessa gasped at her blank expression. She hurried over to the woman, noting her distress in the way Abigail hugged her arms. She stared up into the branches. “A woman hung herself from this tree,” she murmured.

  A shiver traveled up Vanessa’s spine. She took Abigail’s arm in a firm grip. “Come away.” She appeared thinner. Her fur-trimmed habit of forest green hung loosely on her, and the cold failed to bring any warmth to her cheeks.

  “Away?”

  “It’s almost four o’clock. Come and have tea with us at the Hall.”

  “I shouldn’t.” She bit her lip, her expression weary. “I’m expected at home. Mama has an important guest coming this evening.” She wrinkled her nose. “She plans me to marry him.”

  “Do I know him?”

  “No. It’s the Earl of Sommerforde.”

  “You can spare a half hour surely.”

  Abigail straightened her shoulders. “How do you go on without his lordship? You must find it difficult, moving up in the world as you have.”

  “We do nicely, thank you.” Although Abigail could still raise a provoking comment, her eyes looked swollen and rimmed with red. As much as Vanessa wanted to free her tongue to reply in kind, she ignored it, trying once more to break through the woman’s chill veneer. “You look troubled, Miss Patterson. Is there something I can do?”

  “Why would I be troubled?” Abigail’s shaky tone belied her words, and Vanessa saw something new and disturbing in her gaze. Was it panic?

  “Blythe and I are just about to have tea,” she repeated. “We’d love you to join us.”

  Abigail stared at Vanessa as if she didn’t really see her. “All right.”

  Relieved, Vanessa waited for her to remount, before she stood on a log and scrambled onto Flora. “You lead the way, Blythe.” She guided Flora in behind them, so that Miss Patterson rode between them as they walked the horses single file out of the wood.

  When they dismounted at the stables, Abigail hung back as if she didn’t wish to be there, and Vanessa took a firm grip on her arm. “Nothing like a cup of tea, I always say,” she said chattering pointlessly.

  Entering the house, Vanessa sent Blythe upstairs to study her French and have her tea. The two women sat in the conservatory, which was airy and bright. Abigail slumped in her chair. She looked exhausted, purple shadows beneath her eyes marring her looks.

  Dorcas brought a tea tray. “Cook has just taken these biscuits out of the oven, my lady. She says to be careful; they’re still hot.”

  “Thank you, Dorcas.”

  When the maid had left, Vanessa poured Abigail a cup of tea. “I can see there’s something wrong. Can’t you tell me what it is?”

  Abigail’s fingers trembled as she raised the cup to her lips. “You’d never understand.”

  “You can trust me,” Vanessa said. “Anything you say will go no further.”

  “I’ve been a fool.”

  “We all are at some point, especially about men. I suppose it is a man?”

  Abigail nodded.

  “Charles Frobisher?”

  Abigail stared at Vanessa. When she spoke, her voice was subdued. “Has someone told you that?”

  “I remember you seemed quite close at the tennis party.” Vanessa leaned forward. “Abigail, if it is he, I’m convinced he would make you very unhappy. His lordship has told me disturbing things about him that I cannot in all conscience repeat.”

  Abigail tugged at her handkerchief, the fragile lace shredding under the force of her fingers. “I am a modern woman, Lady Falconbridge.” She tossed her head. “I have the freedom to do as I wish.”

  “If you’ll forgive me for saying so, it doesn’t seem to have made you happy.”

  “Disappointed, perhaps, when things don’t go my way.”

  The look that flashed into Abigail’s eyes reminded Vanessa that she had wanted Julian. Had she turned to Frobisher on the rebound? She refused to feel more guilty. “Miss Patterson, I know how hard it can be for a woman—”

  She pushed the cup away. “I’ve no idea what you’ve heard about Charles, your ladyship, and I’d rather not know.”

  “If you wish to talk to another woman, you know where to find me.”

  “You can do nothing for me. And time heals all wounds, doesn’t it?”

  “I hope so, Abigail—”

  “You can’t arrive amongst us and think you can solve all our little problems. You’re a stranger, an outsider, and marrying Lord Falconbridge will not change that.”

  Stung, Vanessa swallowed the hurt. “I had hoped we could be friends, as I’m alone here.”

  “I hardly think that’s possible, do you?”

  Vanessa gave a defeated shrug. “Then I am sorry for us both.”

  Abigail pushed back her chair. “Could you have my horse brought round to the door? I’ll return home by the road.”

  When Vanessa later sat at her mirror with Mary brushing her hair, the maid said, “Was that Miss Patterson I saw here today, my lady?”

  “Why yes, Mary. Why?”

  “I wouldn’t say this to anyone else, my lady. Miss Patterson’s maid is a friend of mine. Annie told me Miss Patterson fears she is with child.”

  Vanessa caught her breath. “I’m glad you understand how very damaging such gossip can be. You won’t repeat it to another soul will you, Mary? You must warn Miss Patterson’s maid not to either, for she might find herself let go without a reference.”

  “Yes, my lady.”

  *****

  With constant snowstorms and sleet, the cold winter curbed their outdoor activities. Vanessa thought hard to come up with indoor entertainments to keep Blythe interested. Blythe wrote to her father every week, and Vanessa posted their letters to the organizing committee in London. They would then be forwarded on to some outpost in Peru. She had no idea if they reached Julian, however, for no news from him or the expedition had reached them.

  It was quite late when Vanessa prepared for bed. She had been sitting by the fire in her bedroom, penning another letter to Julian. A chill wind sprang up and blew the curtains about, drawing her to the window. Reaching up to close it, she saw a light flickering over the grounds. She stood clutching the curtains as they billowed around her, watching a lantern carried into the folly. It was too dark to make out by whom. Apparently, the cold weather had failed to dampen the lovers’ ardor.

  When had it begun again? Vanessa had no way of knowing, but the thought of Lovel with some hapless woman made her angry. Might it be one of the housemaids? She couldn’t picture any of the maids in his arms. Mostly innocent country girls, they would find it difficult to hide such a thing from her or Mrs. Royce. Cook was too old for any kind of liaison, but the older maid was stepping out with one of the gardeners. Might it be them? Mrs. Royce and Mr. Johnson would hardly stoop so low. If it was Lovel, it was likely one of the girls from the village.

  Vanessa found it unsavory, and feared Blythe would see the light again from her window. She wished it to stop, but how could she achieve it without confronting the staff and embarrassing everyone including herself? Lovel would not be so easily embarrassed, she was sure.

  Tomorrow, she would go and examine the folly. Closing the window, she climbed shivering into bed. She read her letter again.

  Dear Julian,

  I hope you remain in good health. Blythe and I missed you even more at Christmas. Blythe hung up a stocking for you and filled it with gifts that she made herself – awaiting your return. The house runs smoothly, although I doub
t I contribute a great deal to it. It has been exceptionally cold and snowed! Cook excelled with the roast goose, exceeding her normal fare. I daresay your fare in the jungle would have been less traditional. I hope this letter doesn’t make you homesick. We go on well here…

  It sounded so dull! She crumpled the letter in her hand. She would rewrite it tomorrow, knowing she still wouldn’t reveal what was in her heart, that she loved him dearly and yearned for him.

  She closed her eyes and recalled details of their lovemaking—his soft lips on hers; his eyes alight with passionate intent when he kissed her; his wonderful hands setting her body on fire, and his body, so strong and lithe, capable of creating such exquisite pleasure. Her breath caught in her throat. What a fool she had been to fall so deeply in love with him, when he didn’t have the same depth of feeling for her. Why, he probably didn’t give her a thought from one day to the next!

  Chapter Eighteen

  When Vanessa searched the folly the next day, she failed to discover who the nightly visitors were. Several weeks passed with no sign of them returning until one bitterly cold evening when the light reappeared. Churning with anxiety that Blythe might see it too, she watched the lantern’s procession through the skeletal tree branches, its reflection joining with the moon’s to dance over the lake.

  A swift rush of anger filled her with determination to take matters into her own hands. The time had come to confront them. Her habit of reading late meant she had not yet undressed. Johnson might be awake; she could take him along for moral support. Donning her cape and gloves, she hurried along the corridor.

  As she headed for the stairs leading to the wing that housed Johnson’s room, she saw Blythe’s door standing ajar. She pushed it open and stepped inside.

  “Blythe?”

  The bed was empty, the covers thrown back. It was most unlike Blythe to rise during the night, even to go to the lavatory. Vanessa hurried to check, but she wasn’t there.