Moonlight And Mistletoe

CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE

‘You cannot come in here, my lord!’ Jethro was white-faced and clutching his shoulder. In some part of his brain Guy realised he must have hit the boy’s bad side and was sorry for it, but that would have to wait.

‘Have you seen Miss Hester yet this morning? Is she awake?’

‘What? Do you know what time it is?’ Jethro demanded, shocked out of any semblance of good manners or deference by surprise and pain. ‘Of course she’s not up yet, Susan said to let her sleep in.’

The door from the kitchen opened and Susan appeared, looking irritated. ‘Jethro, what’s this racket? You’ll wake Miss Hester and she needs all the sleep she can-You! Miss Hester said as how we weren’t to let you in, nor even speak to you, my lord. What can you be wanting at this hour?’

‘This was hanging on the front door.’ He thrust the wreath at them. ‘See? That says “H.L. Rest in Peace”.’ He was taking the stairs two at a time before they caught his meaning and began to run after him.

‘Oh, no,’ Susan was repeating over and over. ‘Oh, no, no one could have got in last night.’

Ignoring them, Guy threw open the door of Hester’s bed-chamber and crossed to the bed in two long strides. She was lying on her back, eyes shut, one arm flung back on the pillow, her face pale. For a second that seemed to last a year he thought she was not breathing, then she drew a long breath and stirred. Her eyes flickered open, blinked and she gasped when she saw who was looking down at her.

‘No!’ She scrambled back against the pillows. ‘No!’ She covered her eyes with her hands and shook her head violently. ‘This is a dream, I’m going mad.’

‘No, no, you are not.’ Guy rounded on Susan and Jethro, who were wringing their hands in the doorway. ‘Out!’ Retook a step towards them and they jumped back instinctively, giving him time to slam the door shut and turn the key in the lock. He had enough to do to cope with his emotions over Hester, let alone listen to their exclamations.

Ignoring the pounding on the door and the rattling of the handle, he turned back to Hester, who was wide awake and sitting bolt upright in bed. Her eyes were wide, her hair streamed down her back and her body was clad only in the flimsiest of nightgowns.

It raised no feeling of desire in him, only a horror at how fragile she looked, how white her skin, how delicate her shoulders and arms seemed. He had thought he had lost her and fury swept through him, anger with the Nugents, anger with himself for not protecting her better, anger at her for making him feel this way. It silenced him and he filled the empty space by stooping to touch a taper to the smouldering fire in the grate and light the candles.

‘I thought you were a nightmare.’ Her voice shook and she got it back under control; he realised her anger matched his, although it was much simpler, much more justified. ‘What possible reason can you have for bursting in here like this? Let my people in this minute.’

‘There was a wreath on your door. A funeral wreath. It said “H.L. Rest in Peace”.’ There was silence while she absorbed it, then went pale.

‘But we are all right. No one got in last night. Why should you leap to conclusions?’

‘Leap? After what has been happening here? I thought I would find you all poisoned in your beds.’ He was pacing angrily, fighting the urge to go and shake her until she admitted he was right to be frantic about her. Hester swung her legs out of bed and stalked over to confront him, quite unconscious of the transparency of her nightgown. A wave of desire lanced through the anger. It didn’t help.

‘What nonsense,’ she declared scornfully. ‘No one could poison our food.’

‘No? Where does Susan keep your milk and butter and cheese to make sure it is cold? Where is your meat safe? In that lean-to by the back door, that is where, and if I know that you may be sure half the village knows, let alone anyone putting their mind to doing you harm.’ He kept his eyes locked with hers, if nothing else it kept them away from the tantalising rise and fall of her breasts, the shadow of the nipples through the fine lawn. He recognised the primitive source of his anger even as he chose to ignore it-this was his woman, he would fight to the death for her and he wanted nothing more than to make love to her when he had done so.

‘Could you not have sent Susan upstairs to check on Miss Prudhome and me?’ she enquired, her voice sinking to a dangerously reasonable level. ‘Why all these dramatics?’

Guy could feel his teeth grinding. ‘Because I was frantic with worry about you, that is why.’

‘Indeed?’ She was positively icy now. ‘You have no justification, no business, to be concerned about me.’ She glanced down, realised what she was wearing and coloured, turning away.

‘Hester, I asked you to be my wife.’

‘Yes, you did,’ she agreed, pulling on her dressing gown and making rather a business of tying the cord before turning back to him. ‘However, now you are aware I am another man’s leavings, that is irrelevant.’

‘I do not want another man’s leavings,’ he snarled in savage echo of her words. As soon as he spoke he knew it had not sounded as he meant it.

‘Quite.’ Hester was white with anger now. ‘You made that abundantly clear the other day, it is unnecessary to repeat it.’

The thud at the window made Hester start and Guy swing round with an oath. Against the lightening sky, Jethro could be seen peering in through the window. He banged on it.

With an exclamation Hester brushed past Guy and dragged up the lower casement. ‘It is all right, Jethro, you can climb down. Oh! Be careful!’

There was a cry from Jethro and the sound of the ladder hitting the flags below. Grimly the youth scrambled over the window ledge with Hester tugging on his jacket. With a darkling look at Guy, he stalked over to the door, turned the key and opened it. Miss Prudhome was on the threshold, poker in hand, Susan at her shoulder.

‘Monster!’ she declaimed, entering dramatically, an effect somewhat marred by curl papers and a red flannel dressing gown.

Guy made a desperate attempt to find his sense of humour and removed the poker from her grip. ‘Now, Miss Prudhome, we have been all through this before, have we not, on the night I slept in the drawing room-and with the poker too?’ She glared at him. ‘And we established then that I am not a monster and I am not here to ravish Miss Lattimer.’ He waited and was rewarded by a grudging nod.

‘Good. Now, I freely admit that this is very early in the morning and I should not be in Miss Lattimer’s bedchamber, but I was very concerned about her. I also admit,’ he got in rapidly as she opened her mouth, ‘we were having a blazing row, which is not something that a gentleman should be doing with a lady under any circumstances, so I will remove myself and wait downstairs until Miss Lattimer recovers the tone of her spirits and we can continue our discussion in more acceptable surroundings.’

He was halfway out of the door before Hester flared, ‘I have nothing to speak to you about, my lord.’

Guy turned back. ‘There is the party.’

‘That is no concern of yours.’ God, she looked lovely, her colour high, her bosom heaving, her eyes flashing. All the anger drained away, leaving nothing but pure, aching desire.

‘We agreed to trap the Nugents, did we not? Have you forgotten they could have killed Jethro in that fall down the stairs? I will wait downstairs.’

Hester stared at the closed door until Susan said, ‘Shall I fetch your water now, Miss Hester?’

‘Oh, what? I am sorry, I forgot you were there. Yes, please, Susan.’

She was standing there when the maid came back with the steaming jug. ‘He’s still in love with you, you know,’ Susan observed, pouring the water. ‘Come along now, do, Miss Hester or he’ll come up here again looking for you.’

‘Yes.’ Hester untied her robe and began to wash. Everything felt rather numb. ‘It isn’t as easy to fall out of love as people say. I can’t fall out of love with him just because he hurt me, and perhaps he can’t fall out of love with me just because he thinks I was a kept woman and a trollop.’ She rubbed her face with the towel. ‘I expect he’ll manage it soon enough.’

‘But why not try again?’ Susan demanded, shaking out a petticoat.

‘What, with a man whose first reaction on hearing his betrothed accused of being an Impure is not to refuse to believe it, not to defend her, but to ask why?’

But, oh, she did still love him, did still want him so very, very badly. What would she have done if he had taken her in his arms just now and kissed her? Struggled? Perhaps not. It was a mortifying thought, but then she had seen the desire in his eyes. It had burned hot, hotter than she had ever seen, and yet he had been quite capable of not acting upon it. But of course, he would not want to touch another man’s leavings.

Buoyed up by angry pride, Hester came downstairs and found Guy standing in the kitchen with Jethro rather stiffly laying the table for five and Maria rattling pans on the stove.

‘I thought a council of war over breakfast might be a good idea.’

‘Indeed? I am sure you would be more comfortable in your own dining room. May I help you with anything, Maria?’

‘I have a great deal to do today that depends upon your agreement, and would prefer an early start.’ Frustrated by Maria, who was hastily disclaiming any need for assistance and able to see that Guy might have a point, Hester sat down and waited with what composure she could muster.

Guy took the chair at the other end of the table and watched her steadily from blue eyes that seemed shadowed, perhaps by sleeplessness. Poor darling. She wanted to go to him, smooth her fingers over his brow and temple, pull his head back until it rested on her breast and kiss away that expression. What was he thinking? That he wanted this over and done so he could leave and forget her?

And what would he want to do about the Moon House once the Nugents were dealt with? His sister had delivered the perfect way to make her sell it to him. Once the word was round in the village about her reputation, she would have no option but to leave.

At last they were all seated. Hester found she was ravenous, tried to remember what she had eaten for dinner and failed. It seemed losing one’s temper had an invigorating effect on one’s appetite. She took a sip of coffee and decided that attack was the best defence.

‘You are assuming there will be a party, my lord.’

‘You no longer wish to hold it? It will be the safest way to deal with the Nugents, you know.’

‘I may wish to hold it, but if my neighbours stay away in droves then it will be pointless.’

He picked up her meaning without her having to spell it out. ‘Georgiana has said nothing to anyone about your previous life.’

Ignoring Maria’s muttered ‘So I should hope’, Hester swallowed hard. The intense relief made her feel quite dizzy, but it would not do to show her emotions. She raised an eyebrow.

‘I assume she will not be attending?’ She half-hoped to goad him, but she was not succeeding.

‘My sister will not be among your guests, that is for sure, and in fact, although she has met Mrs Redland and Mrs Bunting, she is unlikely to go about much in the next few days. She will probably miss church tomorrow, a fact that will lend conviction to my explanation on Monday that she is suffering from a severe head cold.’

‘I see.’ Hester tried to hide her intense relief. It was going to be hateful enough to have to entertain a house full of guests while pretending to be on good terms with Guy without having his sister there, regarding her as a fallen woman. But doubtless she had refused to cross the threshold and Guy simply did not wish to say so.

‘What is your plan, my lord?’ Maria enquired frostily.

‘Some of it I can tell you all now, some I will only tell Susan and Jethro because on your reaction, Hester-and yours, Miss Prudhome-much of the success of this scheme lies. I want you to be as surprised and mystified as any of the guests.

‘Now, I will bring two other gentlemen with me. They will be strangers to you, and, I hope, to all the guests. Please accept them as though they were friends of mine you had kindly invited.’

‘Very well.’ Hester nodded her agreement, deciding that to try to second guess any of this would only reduce the element of surprise. She felt more comfortable with Guy now, and tried to stiffen her resolution. It would do no good to let down her guard, forget what had happened.

‘I imagine you will be using both front rooms and one of the bedrooms for cloaks.’

‘Yes. I was going to lay out a buffet in the dining room with the table against the wall and chairs and little tables scattered around. Then more chairs in the drawing room. All the surplus furniture except the piano will have to go out in the sheds. Will you lend me chairs?’ She had been worrying about how she was to manage, having cut herself off from Guy’s practical help, and had decided she would have to approach Mrs Bunting for the loan of chairs and china.

‘Yes. Ackland, speak to Parrott about whatever you need-chairs, tables, china and glass. You can use the Old Manor kitchens as well if that will help. I need to take up quite a bit of room in yours.’

‘But what for? A squad of Bow Street Runners?’

‘That is a thought.’ The smile Guy sent her was one of affectionate amusement and she found herself smiling back until they both realised what was happening. Guy’s face became impassive, Hester coughed and poured herself some more coffee. ‘Now, I imagine the earlier part of the evening will be simply social mingling with people eating, then carols and festive songs around the piano?’

‘Yes, that was my intention.’

‘After a few songs one of my friends will begin to speak of ghost stories and how telling them is another Christmas tradition. When that happens, simply follow my lead. Someone will suggest we repair to the kitchen-fall in with whatever I, or my friends, suggest.’

‘Very well.’ It seemed he was taking over her home and her party with his typical assumption of authority and she had nothing to say to it. Well, if it cooked the Nugents’ goose and served to hasten his own departure from the village, so much the better.

‘If there is nothing else you would like to eat, my lord?’ Anger also appeared to have sharpened Guy’s appetite-the platter was bare. ‘I am sure we have at least some bread remaining if you would like toast and preserves?’

One eyebrow quirked at the sarcasm in her voice. ‘I would not dream of inconveniencing you, Miss Lattimer, and will take my leave. An excellent meal, Miss Prudhome; you are a notable cook, if I may say so.’

Maria simpered, recalled that she was out of all measure cross with him, and turned the gesture into a sniff. Guy crossed to the door and then turned back as a thought struck him. ‘If you see the Nugents in church tomorrow it will do no harm to repeat your unease with the house. If you can think up some manifestation other than what we know they are responsible for, something to suggest to them that they have… awoken something, that would be useful. But nothing definite, just vague impressions.’

Hester began to gain an inkling of what he was about. ‘I will think of something.’

‘I will warn Parrott to place my household at Ackland’s disposal from first thing on Monday, then.’ He smiled fleetingly and was gone.

‘Mr Parrott putting his household at my disposal!’ Jethro considered this glorious prospect. ‘Me! If that don’t bear the bell, I don’t know what would.’

‘You had better begin to make lists, Jethro,’ Hester suggested drily. ‘It would never do to let Parrott find you unprepared or indecisive.’

Saturday passed strangely, a mixture of list-making, marketing, planning and moments when she felt all alone in the midst of her household, as though cut off by thick glass or swirling snow from reality. Then all she could think about was Guy, his words, his anger, his desire. And knew she was never, ever, going to be free of loving him.

Sunday dawned fair and frosty and the household were rosy with cold and rather breathless from walking fast when they arrived at church. For several minutes Hester was worried that the Nugents would not be attending, but they came in, just reaching their pew as the organist struck up and the choirboys trooped in.

In the Old Manor pew Hester could make out the crown of an impressive green velvet bonnet with plumes beside Guy’s dark head. Lady Broome had come to church after all. Hester felt herself sliding lower on her seat as though to bring her own head below the level of the panelling, then caught herself and sat up straight. I have done nothing to be ashamed of, whatever she thinks. But it was not Lady Broome’s opinion that mattered, only Guy’s.

‘Let us pray.’ Obediently Hester knelt, fixed her mind on what Mr Bunting was saying and tried to forget her sore heart.

She timed her exit from the church with care and was relieved to see Guy helping his sister up into the carriage. Lady Broome was heavily veiled and, as Hester watched, lifted the gauze slightly to press a handkerchief to her nose. Setting the scene for her head cold tomorrow night, no doubt.

The Nugents, having arrived in a rush, now seemed more relaxed and both brother and sister turned to Hester and Miss Prudhome as they approached.

‘We are looking forward to your party very much, Miss Lattimer,’ Sarah said with a smile that seemed charming, but somehow did not reach her eyes. Hester read calculation and an almost cruel watchfulness. She felt like a wounded bird being watched by a stoat, which was trying to decide if she were weak enough yet for it to pounce.

‘I am glad,’ she replied with what she hoped was a nervous smile. ‘I have to confess I look forward to having company in the house with noise and chatter and music. You will say it is foolish of me, but lately I have felt oppressed and nervous there.’

The Nugents made indeterminate soothing noises. ‘There has been a repetition of those strange happenings?’ Lewis prompted. ‘Some sort of roses being left, did you say?’

‘Yes, that, of course.’ She produced a shaky laugh. ‘We had got almost used to that. No, there is something else. As though something is in the house, something we cannot see. A presence that seems somehow restless and angry.’

‘Oh.’ Sarah Nugent appeared startled. ‘How very… odd.’

‘It is horrible! Horrible,’ Miss Prudhome burst out shrilly, then clapped her handkerchief to her face and hurried down the path to the lych-gate where Susan and Jethro were waiting.

‘My goodness,’ Hester congratulated Maria once they were safely out of sight down the lane. ‘That was an effective outburst.’

‘It was that or accuse her to her lying face,’ Maria declared vehemently. ‘Odious girl. I could not stand to speak to her a moment longer.’

Hester would not countenance any heavy work on a Sunday, but they spent much of the day helping Susan produce little comfits and sweetmeats and making bows out of the crimson and silver ribbon Hester had found in the haberdashers. ‘If we cut evergreens tomorrow, we can make garlands and swags for the stairs and door cases and mantel-shelves. Set about with candles and these bows, I think it will look very pretty.’

But try as she might, stuffing marchpane into dates, sifting sugar over tartlets and cutting lengths of ribbon were no way to keep the mind occupied. Hester caught herself daydreaming about Guy and only pulled herself together by recalling every damning word he had said about her relationship with John. This made her so angry that she cut six dates completely in half before Miss Prudhome removed the knife from her sticky fingers and advised her to wash her hands and try tying bows for a change.

The clock striking five recalled her to herself to find the others clearing the kitchen table and only three bows in the basket at her feet. The crackle of the fire in the range was conducive to dreaming and the silky slip of the satin over her fingers recalled only too vividly the feel of Guy’s skin under her spread hands.

Hester found from the heat in her cheeks that she was blushing and frantically tried to recall what she had been thinking about. The answer was all too humiliating: Guy’s kisses and how his mouth had felt on hers, how strong his arms were around her, how she wished she had pulled him down on to the spread hay and incited him to take her there in the cold barn that night.

And that would have proved him correct about you, would it not, Hester Lattimer? she told herself savagely, tossing the scissors into the basket and jumping to her feet. ‘Shall we have an early supper and be early to bed? There is much to do tomorrow and we will be up late.’

It was, therefore, only nine o’clock when Susan carried the first of the warming pans upstairs. When she came down again and stood in the doorway it was her silence that arrested their attention. Jethro put down the platter he was polishing, Miss Prudhome her hemming and Hester laid down the book she was trying to concentrate on.

‘What is it, Susan?’ The maid was white as a sheet.

‘Je…Jethro,’ Susan managed, hanging on to the door handle as if to a lifeline. ‘Upstairs… Miss Hester’s bed.’

Hester was on her feet, supporting Susan as Jethro pushed past and ran down the hall. ‘Jethro, wait, I’ll come with you. Maria, help Susan.’

‘No!’ Susan’s hand closed painfully around her wrist. ‘No, you do not want to see it.’

There was the sound of Jethro’s returning footsteps, dragging now, then the lad himself carrying a long glove box. Over it he had draped a linen hand towel.

‘Jethro?’

He moved to put it on the kitchen table, obviously thought better of it and put it on a barrel that was doing duty as a candle stand in one corner. His face was an unhealthy greenish white.

‘Jethro, what is it?’ Hester stretched out a hand and he caught it, echoing Susan’s words.

‘You really do not want to see this, Miss Hester.’

‘If I do not, I swear I am going to scream with suspense.’ Half-expecting some unpleasantness like a dead bird, she shook off Jethro’s hand and flicked off the linen cover.

Lying in the box were the delicate bleached bones of a human hand. Caught in the brittle finger tips was a gauze handkerchief, brown with age, and loose on one finger was a simple pearl ring. Hester dropped the cloth back and managed to drag in a breath. ‘A woman’s hand.’ How was she managing to keep her voice so steady? ‘This is an abomination-are they grave robbing now?’ It was anger, she realised, that was stopping her fainting or screaming or any of the other things Jethro and Susan feared.

Susan was helping an appalled Miss Prudhome to her chair. They were all too horrified at the desecration to be afraid. ‘Jethro, please go and fetch Mr Bunting. If nothing else, this should be lying in the church until we find out where it has been stolen from.’

It seemed an age until the vicar came, grave and anxious beside Jethro. The women sat and waited, eyes averted while he examined the box.

‘This is a truly dreadful thing for anyone to do,’ he said at last, ‘but you may at least rest assured that whoever perpetrated this revolting trick has not committed an act of sacrilege. This, unless I am much mistaken, is part of a skeleton that was stolen from Dr Forrest’s library last week. It is of the kind that every medical student uses to study anatomy. The bones of some poor criminal, I very much fear.’

‘Will you return it to him, Vicar?’ Hester asked. ‘And can I ask you not to say anything of this to anyone other than the doctor? Ask him to keep silent too, if you please. Lord Buckland knows who has been perpetrating a series of unpleasant tricks on this household and is preparing to unmask them. It would not do to give them warning.’

The vicar left at last, bearing the grisly relic and murmuring his distress at such wickedness in his parish. Hester regarded her solemn household. ‘This truly is the limit of what one could imagine those wretches to commit, but they will be unmasked tomorrow. Please do not say anything to Lord Buckland, there is nothing he can do and-’ Her voice broke and she regained control with an effort. ‘Quite frankly, I cannot cope with either his anger or his solicitude if he should discover it.’