The Mystery at Falconbridge Hall Page 6

  “Not gossiping I hope.” Cook walked into the room, a gray bun anchored firmly beneath her cap. She acknowledged Vanessa with a nod and began to inspect the maid’s efforts, her brisk movements belying her rounded body. She scrutinized the stack of pots, pans, and plates on the sink waiting to be dried and put away. “You can’t tell me that pot is clean. Give it another wash,” she said to Molly. “Use some elbow grease, girl.” She picked up a crock of food and hurried to the pantry before Vanessa could speak to her.

  Mrs. Royce entered with a man at her side. “Ah, Miss Ashley, I don’t believe you’ve met Mr. Johnson, Falconbridge’s butler. He has returned today from a short absence.”

  Vanessa hurried forward and held out her hand. “How do you do, Mr. Johnson?”

  He shook it, his bowed head revealing a round bald patch on the crown. “Pleased to meet you, Miss Ashley.”

  Her first thought was that she liked his roguish smile. Her second was that he looked more like a pugilist than a butler and might have been in his younger days. A big man, his black tailcoat strained across massive shoulders and muscled arms. An expanse of white shirtfront beneath his waistcoat stretched across a broad chest, the small white bow tie diminished by his powerful neck.

  “You must defer to Mr. Johnson in all things.” Mrs. Royce patted her white lace cap.

  “I’m not an ogre, Miss Ashley.” Mr. Johnson smiled, his eyes kindly. “Any problems you may have, please seek me out.”

  “I will. Thank you, Mr. Johnson.”

  Vanessa offered her services. The housekeeper nodded her approval and suggested she give a final polish to the silver tureens.

  Vanessa took a seat at the long, scrubbed table covered in serving dishes and trays. She took up the cloth. Admiring an ornate tureen, she rubbed hard until her distorted visage stared back at her. “Is this a special occasion?” she asked Mrs. Royce who was inspecting the linen napkins Dorcas had folded into a clever arrangement.

  “It’s a subscription ball. His lordship seeks funding for his next expedition to the Amazon.” The housekeeper handed a napkin back to the maid. “This one won’t do.” She removed a key from her belt. “Unlock the linen cupboard and find another to replace it. Make sure you lock it again, girl. And bring the key back to me.”

  “Yes, Mrs. Royce.” Dorcas darted away.

  A business enterprise, and a social one too, Vanessa thought. Surely, he would wish to remarry? For Blythe’s sake, if not his own.

  As if hearing her thoughts, Molly turned from the stove, wooden spoon in hand, a gray tabby lapping milk in a saucer near her feet. “I thought ’is lordship might announce ’is engagement to Miss Patterson,” she said. “They danced together a lot at the Patterson ball. My cousin is under-butler in that household,” she explained.

  Mrs. Royce’s brow furrowed. “Hush, girl, have you no discretion?” she said sternly. “I won’t have idle gossip in this house.”

  Molly’s face went crimson, and she turned back to the pot. She shrugged her thin shoulders defiantly when Mrs. Royce left the room.

  Vanessa stroked the cloth over a ladle. So, Miss Patterson was the lady in question. Was she a nice woman? Her only interest in such things was her concern for Blythe.

  “He’s quite a lark, that Mr. Johnson,” Dorcas said, returning with the napkin. “You wait until the staff Christmas party. He loves to dance. Fair flattened my toes last time, he did.”

  Vanessa couldn’t visualize Mr. Johnson dancing, but looked forward to witnessing it.

  Cook scurried in. “If you let that custard catch on the bottom, Molly, it will be more than your life’s worth. And have the cat removed to the stables before I measure me length!”

  When she could contribute nothing more, Vanessa wished the staff a pleasant evening and left. She met Blythe in the passage, just as Mrs. Royce and Mr. Johnson emerged from the direction of the butler’s pantry. Mrs. Royce appeared unusually flustered.

  Johnson’s rugged face softened into a smile. “Hello, Miss Blythe.”

  Blythe’s eyes brightened. “I’m glad you’re home, Johnson.”

  Vanessa climbed the stairs with Blythe. “You like Mr. Johnson?”

  “Oh yes. I prefer him to be here when Father is away. He looks very strong, doesn’t he? And he always seems so calm.”

  “Is that important to you?”

  Blythe considered it. “I suppose it is. You are, too, Miss Ashley. It makes me feel better. I don’t know why.”

  That evening, Vanessa rested her arms on the windowsill and contemplated the perfect summer’s night. The trees bordering the driveway were dressed in colored lanterns. Strains of a Chopin prelude drifted up from the ballroom.

  Carriages and barouches arrived to deposit beautifully dressed couples at the front door. The ladies’ jewelry sparkled in the lamplight. Chatter and light laughter rose as they stepped inside.

  Vanessa sighed as she pulled the curtains closed. This grand and exciting life might have been hers. She’d never really considered it until now. Why had her grandfather been so difficult? Her father was to be given a house and income before the falling out. Father removed himself from society after that, and her mother along with him. She could never bring herself to lay any blame at her father’s door, because he was always good to her. And he obviously preferred the bohemian life he led.

  The party was now in full swing. Vanessa hurried along to Blythe’s room to escort her downstairs. She smoothed the full sleeves of her favorite gown, the one her father had described as insipid. He preferred her in bold colors, but she liked the jacquard- woven, pale green silk with its leaf pattern. Tiny buttons ran from the high neck to the waist, and the skirts swept back into graceful folds over the strapontin padding her behind. Although it wasn’t an evening gown, the addition of her mother’s tiny emerald earrings enhanced the outfit.

  Blythe waited in her figured organdie party dress, a ribbon threaded through her ringlets. “Those earrings suit your green eyes, Miss Ashley.” She came close to examine them, and her sweet breath touched Vanessa’s cheek.

  “What a pretty compliment, Blythe. Your dress is lovely. Shall we go down? Cook has promised us an ice.”

  In the warm evening air, they sat together eating their sweet strawberry ices on the terrace, listening to the buzz of conversation and glorious music wafting out from the ballroom.

  Three ladies strolled up from the gardens, exquisite in their gowns of faille, tulle and satin, their hair dressed in jeweled combs and feathers. They made Vanessa aware of how underdressed she was. Once they reached the terrace, they paused.

  “What a pretty child,” the lady in crimson satin said.

  The woman in pastel tulle stepped forward. She had light brown hair and pretty, hazel eyes. “This is Blythe, Lord Falconbridge’s daughter. Are you enjoying the evening, my dear?”

  “Yes, thank you, Miss Patterson,” Blythe said in her quiet voice.

  Looking rather like his lordship’s exotic butterflies, Miss Patterson, and her companions, entered the ballroom through the French doors.

  Vanessa wondered if Blythe was aware that this lady might become her new mamma. If she did, she didn’t seem too enthusiastic about it. That was to be expected. Blythe was used to having her father entirely to herself. Her adoration of him was apparent. As his trip grew closer, she became more fretful and voiced her dislike of him leaving at least once a day.

  By quarter to eleven, his lordship had not appeared. Blythe was limp and yawning. They could hear some of the guests departing, and Vanessa decided to tuck the child into bed and retire herself.

  “Time for bed, Blythe.”

  “Oh no, not yet, I’m having so much fun. I’m sure Father will join us soon. Can’t we wait a little longer?”

  She should insist, but at the sight of Blythe’s earnest little face, Vanessa relented. “Fifteen minutes and then you must go to bed.”

  Blythe settled down again, crossing her legs at the ankle and spreading her dress over the seat. “I’v
e never seen the sea. What’s it like?”

  Aware she was being deliberately distracted from her purpose, Vanessa described the rugged Cornish coast and the sea birds nesting in the cliffs. She regaled her with the story of her first swim in the ocean. How her father had to rescue her in front of everyone. Blythe opened her eyes wide. “Did you almost drown?”

  “I swallowed some seawater, but no, I can’t say that I was at death’s door.”

  “Were there many people there?”

  “Oh, yes. They clustered around the bathhouses and holding onto their ropes which kept them from being swept away. I imagine I surfaced looking like some strange sea creature with seaweed in my hair.”

  Blythe pealed with laughter just as her father stepped out the door.

  He smiled. “I’m late. I’m sorry.”

  Vanessa’s plan to slip away unnoticed crumbled, yet she took her chance. “Blythe is very tired, my lord.”

  “No, I’m not.” Blythe straightened her drooping shoulders. “Will you dance with Miss Ashley now, Father?”

  Vanessa started to her feet. “It’s too late, really. I think we must…”

  “I’ll return in a moment.” He disappeared inside. If dancing with the governess was an inconvenience to him, he hid it well.

  Vanessa’s breath quickened as she searched her mind for a polite excuse. “Surely the musicians have packed up,” she said to Blythe.

  At that moment, the strains of a waltz his lordship must have requested floated out of the open door. He re-appeared and walked over to her. “I would be honored if you will dance with me, Miss Ashley.” He held out his arms.

  Blythe giggled. “Oh, do dance with Father, Miss Ashley.”

  Vanessa hesitated, flushing at the idea of something so intimate. Her reputation would be worthless if this was put about. The staff would talk, and no employer would consider a forward governess. She rose and went to him with the hope that the servants were busy tidying the ballroom or had retired to bed. With a hitch of her breath, she put a hand on his shoulder and slipped her gloved hand into his. His hand settled low on her back.

  As they began to glide over the terrace, his cologne, and the strong contours of his arm made her knees grow weak. His hand at her waist seemed to burn through the cloth. But her feet didn’t falter once. If only her mother could see her now.

  Blythe clapped in time to the music as her father twirled Vanessa expertly around the terrace. When she summoned the courage to raise her eyes to his, they held a solemn expression. Was this a penance just to please Blythe?

  Vanessa stumbled, and his arm tightened. Her hand trembled within his broad clasp. She tried counting in her head to remain calm, but the sensation of his body so close to hers was like nothing she’d ever experienced. With a deep breath, she steadied herself. She was too old for girlish desires. Her feet began to move in perfect rhythm with the music and she became lost again in the heady sensation waltzing produced. It had never occurred to her that dancing would be so pleasurable that a man’s arms could offer such….

  “Father, you and Miss Ashley dance perfectly together,” Blythe called.

  Without warning, and before the music ended, he drew away.

  “That was a pleasure, Miss Ashley.” He gave a stiff bow. “Perhaps it’s time you were off to bed, little one.” He kissed Blythe and, with a quick glance back at Vanessa, turned and went inside.

  Vanessa put a hand to her warm cheek. She was almost glad he’d be departing for South America soon, then life at the Hall would become tranquil, if a trifle dull.

  Chapter Six

  The days passed uneventfully as Vanessa and Blythe’s days followed a strict routine. She saw little of his lordship, who was preparing for his trip. After he had accompanied them on that one brief ride, he assigned Lovel to the task of escorting them.

  At first, Vanessa didn’t like Lovel riding silently behind them. Judging her seat most likely, which made her self-conscious. She rode with her back as rigid as a poker. But Blythe’s bright chatter claimed her attention, and she soon forgot about him. Vanessa suspected Blythe still thought her a pitiful thing on a horse. She was determined to become at least competent and earn the child’s respect. Each day, Flora became more responsive to her commands, but riding sidesaddle continued to bother her. The awkward pose caused her leg and hip to ache, and she never felt in complete control.

  Out of doors, Blythe came alive and forgot to worry about her father’s imminent departure. Her joyous face glowed with good health after a canter over the fields. She pealed with laughter when a rabbit poked its head out of a hole and waggled its ears at them. It heartened Vanessa to see the child hunt around the garden, gathering flowers to press in books, as well as feathers, leaves, and pebbles. A pastime she had once enjoyed but had abandoned after her mother died. Blythe’s eyes sparkled when she found a beautiful blue robin’s egg to add to her collection. But Vanessa knew that as soon as they returned to the house, Blythe would become quiet and moody.

  The more Vanessa saw of the Falconbridge estate the more she came to realize how immense it was. One fine afternoon, they rode all the way to the river and sat under a willow tree while the horses grazed. Lovel wandered farther downstream and stood chewing a reed as he stared into the water.

  “What’s Lovel doing?” Blythe sat up and stared, causing Vanessa to turn her head.

  Crouching down, Lovel leaned over the water. Suddenly, a fish flopped about in his cupped hands.

  “How clever! How did you do it, Lovel?” Blythe called.

  “An old gypsy trick, Miss Blythe.” Lovel’s eyes shone as he slapped the fish once on the ground. He tucked its limp body into a bag at his pommel. “’Twill do nicely for my supper.”

  It seemed unnecessary. Everyone was amply fed at Falconbridge Hall. Was it the thrill of the kill that drove him? She thought of the dead rabbit–how angry Lord Falconbridge had been at Lovel for hunting in the wood. It was in men’s nature to hunt and kill for the table, a primeval urge. Like a woman’s wish for a child. She gazed fondly at Blythe. Caring for Blythe was the closest she’d ever come she expected, to motherhood. She felt a deep affection for the child already. It unnerved her to contemplate Lord Falconbridge remarrying. Vanessa’s services might no longer be required.

  “Is anything wrong, Miss Ashley?” Blythe asked.

  “No, my dear. I thought we’d have our picnic in the folly. I’ve asked Cook to prepare us a hamper.”

  “Oh yes. I’m famished!”

  In the folly, Vanessa bit into a slice of pork pie enjoying the light flaky texture. Cook had a wonderfully light hand with pastry. The basket was packed with a splendid feast: hard boiled eggs with fresh baked bread and butter, salad, fruit, fresh lemonade, and rhubarb charlotte.

  It was peaceful sitting gazing out over the water in the decorative folly which was like some Ancient Greek temple. At the edge of the lake, Blythe fed crumbs to the squabbling ducks. A pair of elegant swans consented to eat a few morsels. Vanessa was pleased. She had hoped the lunch would distract Blythe from her worry about her father.

  Blythe looked up and laughed. “That little brown duck is greedy. It is chasing all the others away from the food.”

  Vanessa smiled and nodded. The small and frail or disenfranchised must fight harder to survive.

  When the ducks had gobbled the last of the bread, Blythe returned to sit beside her.

  “We’ll begin a new book on Monday,” Vanessa said. “And this time you shall choose it.”

  “I know which book I want,” Blythe said. “I found it in the library.”

  “Which?”

  “Treasure Island.”

  “I will have to seek your father’s permission, before we begin.” Vanessa was unsure what Lord Falconbridge would say. She almost looked forward to asking him. It was a surprising choice for Blythe who seemed more interested in fairies than pirates. Might an adventure story appeal to her more after his lordship’s lessons and his vivid descriptions of the exotic flo
ra and fauna he found on his expeditions?

  The summer heat had continued, with an occasional thunderstorm offering a temporary respite. Blythe had become less frightened by lightning and thunder, thankfully, as Vanessa was running out of new ways to describe it. Thor in bad temper throwing lightning bolts had been her latest effort. The weather seemed to make everyone short tempered. “Why, we might live in Africa for all this heat we’re having,” Mrs. Royce complained.

  The humidity had reached its zenith three weeks after the ball. Vanessa found it hard to sleep. She twisted and turned in the bedclothes, her nightgown sticking to her skin. What she would give for a sea breeze! After a couple of hours, she gave up. She threw back the covers and felt her way in the dark over to the window. In the heavy still air fragrances intensified. Crickets trilled, and from somewhere near the pond, a frog sent a throbbing invitation to its mate.

  As her eyes adjusted, a glow drew her gaze to the folly where a lamp shone out. Vanessa leaned her elbows searching for any sign of movement, but it was too dark. Who would be down there at this time of night? She would find out. Then she could reassure Blythe that it wasn’t fairies and put an end to her desire to see for herself. She donned her dressing gown then slipped her feet into her shoes. It must be close to midnight, the house quiet and still. She tiptoed along the corridor to the stairs. One flight down, she peered over the banister rail into the hall below where a gas lamp still burned. His lordship had gone to a dinner party. She’d heard him instruct Johnson not to wait up. Apparently, he had not yet returned.

  She carefully negotiated the stairs and slipped through the front door, clicking it shut behind her. The temperature was several degrees cooler than in the house. She hurried along the path through the gardens as the faint breeze carrying with it the pine-laden scent of the woods stirred the damp hair at her neck. The moonlight illuminated the glassy waters of the lake. A disturbed water bird left its nest and flapped away.

  Only a few steps from the folly, she heard a man’s groan. Vanessa stopped. It was a romantic assignation. But she had not expected to see…. Their pale moonlit bodies moved together on the chaise longue. A rich chuckle followed by a mew of pleasure sent Vanessa backing away.