Elizabeth Mansfield (7 page)

But me lady didn't seem to hear. She stepped out onto the stone landing, lifted her face to the sky and let the rain fall on her face, as if she were a farmer giving thanks to the heavens for saving the crops. Hickham thought the gesture peculiar. He could not guess the meaning of it.

For Cassie, however, it was a gesture of triumph.
I've done it,
she said to herself proudly.
I've succeeded in accomplishing exactly what I set out to do! I acted decisively, and all on my own!

It was not something she'd done often before in her life. She'd too frequently let others make her decisions for her. But not today! With a sigh of satisfaction, she shut her eyes and let the rain cool her heated cheeks. What difference did a few drops of rain make when she'd taken the matter of Cicely's future into her own hands and protected the girl from a lifetime of unhappiness? There was nothing, she thought with an inner smile, that Eva or the unknown Lady Sarah could do about it now. She'd told the dissipated-looking Lord Inglesby exactly where he stood. She'd handled the scene very well. All in all, she was very pleased with herself.

But Hickman, eyeing her askance, was not pleased with
himself.
He could not be a very good butler, he told himself, if he let a visitor become drenched with rain. "Please, ma'am," he begged, pulling an umbrella from an ornate china stand near the door, "wait for on'y a moment!" And he rushed out and held the umbrella over her. "I'll see ye to yer carriage, shall I, ma'am?"

"No, thank you, Hickham," she said, rejecting his offer with a kindly smile. "See there? My man is coming." And indeed her coachman, a wizened little fellow who'd been sitting stolidly on the box under an umbrella waiting for her, was at that moment leaping down to offer her his escort.

Nevertheless, Hickham followed her across the landing, holding his umbrella over her head. "Ye'll be soaked t' the skin by the time yer man climbs all eight steps," he declared.

But the lady turned to him and waved him off. "Go back inside, fellow," she ordered. "I have my cloak, but you are not dressed for this weather."

Hickham opened his mouth to object, but his words never left his tongue, for at that moment the accident occurred.

Whether it was the awkward turn the lady made when she set her foot on the top step of the granite stairway or whether she did not look down at where she was going, Hickham was not later able to say. All he knew for certain was that the sole of Lady Beringer's little half-boot skidded on the wet granite. "Watch out!" he wanted to cry out, but the cry, even if he'd been able to make it, would have been too late.

He saw her foot slip from under her. He saw her trip. He saw—in a kind of hideous slow motion, as if time itself had slowed down—the lady's body twist in a fruitless attempt to grasp at some support, but there was none within her reach.

He saw the coachman below—as frozen in time as Hickham himself—look on in horror as his mistress fell with a dreadful thump and went tumbling down the stone staircase, step by cold, wet step, until she lay in a pathetic heap at the bottom, quite unconscious.

When time started to move again, Hickham, his knees shaking with fright, ran down the stairs. Her ladyship's coachman, too, came running toward her. The coachman reached her first and knelt down beside her. "Ma'am?" he queried. "Ma'am?"

There was no movement, no response. She lay prone, one arm outstretched above her head, obscuring her face. The coachman lifted it by the wrist and tried to chafe it. "Ma'am," he whispered, white-lipped, "are ye dead?"

Hickham also knelt down. He took the limp hand from the other fellow, hoping to feel some response to his touch, but it was cold and wet and lifeless. "Please, ma'am," he begged desperately, "can ye jus' say sompin'?"

The coachman blinked at him tearfully. "Shall we try t' lift her up?"

Hickham got to his feet. "Don't move 'er!" he muttered hoarsely. "Jus' keep yer umbrella over 'er." And, heart pounding, he turned and ran back up the stairs.
"'Elp!"
he shouted, throwing open the door. "Me lord, come
quick!
I think 'er ladyship's
killed
'erself!"

Chapter 8

Cassie emerged from an empty void, pushed into consciousness by a disturbing awareness of a most unpleasant, acrid smell. She tried to turn her head to avoid it, but the movement made her aware of being in great pain. She seemed to be utterly immersed in pain. It emanated from her whole body, from the soles of her feet to the top of her horridly aching head. But above and beyond the pain was this strong, sharp, almost biting smell. She had to get away from it, and with the greatest effort she lifted her hand to push it away, but something resisted the attempt. "Ugh!" she muttered in revulsion.

"She spoke!" said a strange voice.

Slowly she opened her eyes. A hand was holding a vial to her nose. "Take it away," she said, surprised at the weakness and unfamiliarity of her voice.

The hand holding the vial moved away. With a relieved breath, she looked up. She was lying on a bed, she realized, in a room she'd never seen before. Bending over her were several worried faces, none of which she recognized. They belonged to four men and a woman, all of whom were standing round her bed. One other person was present—an elderly, bespectacled gentleman, who was sitting beside her, the vial of evil-smelling liquid in his hand. The bespectacled gentleman smiled and peered into her eyes. "Can you hear me, my lady?" he asked kindly.

"Yes. But my head hurts. Dreadfully. Who are—?"

"I am Dr. Swan. Lord Inglesby sent for me when you fell."

"Fell?"

"Down the stone stairway. Don't you remember?"

"No. What... happened?"

A stocky, half-bald fellow leaned forward. "Yer foot slipped on the wet, m'lady, an' down ye went, hittin' all eight steps. I figured ye were done fer."

She shut her eyes in confusion. "Why does everything hurt?" she asked plaintively.

Dr. Swan lifted her right hand, which she now saw was bandaged from just above the fingers to halfway up her arm. "You've suffered many bruises, ma'am, on your legs, back and sides. What's more, your left shoulder's wrenched, we're not certain about your left hip, your right wrist's sprained, you've a blackened eye, and your head's suffered severe concussion."

"Is that all?" she said, managing a feeble smile.

"Ah! A show of wit!" the doctor said, patting her hand. "That's a good sign."

"Yes, but—" She lifted her head with real effort and quickly looked about her before dropping back upon the pillows again. "Where am I?"

"You're here, ma'am, still at Inglesby Park."

This last voice was deep and kind. She looked up at the speaker. He had a handsome face, in spite of a too-pronounced nose. But she had no recollection of ever seeing him before. "Inglesby Park?" she asked.

"Yes, my lady," said Dr. Swan, peering at her with his brows suddenly knit. "Don't you remember that you'd called at Inglesby earlier this evening?"

"No. Inglesby Park? I don't..." She lifted her free hand to her forehead, ignoring the stab of pain in her shoulder that the movement caused. "What
is
Inglesby Park?
Where
is it?"

"In Dorset, ma'am," said the handsome man, also looking alarmed. "Not fifteen miles from your own home."

Cassie felt a sudden twinge of panic. "My own home?"

"Crestwoods, ma'am," said a wizened little fellow who'd been watching her intently, his lips pursed. "I druv ye here from Crestwoods no more'n six hours ago."

"Drove me here?"

"Yes'm. It's me, Boyle."

She gazed at the man, but had no glimmer of recognition. "Boyle, you say?" She took a deep breath, her panic growing. "Do I... know you?"

The man looked as if he'd burst into tears. "I been yer coachman these eighteen years!"

Her panic now became full-blown. "Then why don't I recognize you?" she cried, her eyes wide with terror. "Oh, God! Who
are
you all? And... and ..." She looked from one face to another in a desperate search for an answer to the second and most important part of the question that had suddenly formed in her mind. "And...
who am I?"

Chapter 9

In the dead of night, Boyle rode back to Crestwoods to face the unpleasant task of informing Miss Cicely that her mother had had an accident. He knew that the girl and her aunt, Lady Schofield, would not have gone to sleep while her ladyship was missing. He would undoubtedly find them pacing the floor.

He stabled the horses and wiped them down before making his way to the house. The tall grandfather's clock in the downstairs hallway was just striking three when he entered the house from the back stairs. All seemed quiet, and for a moment he thought that everyone had gone to bed. But then he saw a light emanating from a doorway down the hall. They were awake— waiting for Lady Beringer in the drawing room.

He started down the hall toward the light, but he'd not advanced half a dozen steps when Cicely heard the clop of his boots and came running toward him, her aunt at her heels. Both ladies were clad in robes that had been thrown over their nightclothes. "Where on earth have you been?" the girl demanded, anger at having been made to suffer many hours of dreadful suspense overcoming her initial sense of relief.

"Didn't Clemson tell ye?" the coachman asked, stepping back as if to get out of range.

"Clemson said he was ordered to keep mum," Lady Schofield said in disgust. "But never mind that now. Tell me, Boyle, where is your mistress? She's the one to answer our questions, not you."

Boyle took a deep breath to prepare himself for his task. But before he could bring himself to speak, Miss Cicely stiffened. "Mama hasn't gone up to bed without coming in to see us, has she?" she asked furiously. "She
wouldn't—!"

"No, of course she wouldn't," her aunt declared. "Perhaps she thought we'd retired, so she went to bed herself." She waved Boyle aside and strode to the bottom of the stairway. "Cassie, where are you?" she called up the stairs. "We've been waiting down here for hours! You've a bit of explaining to do. Come down here at once!"

Boyle gave a nervous cough. "She ain't here, m'lady."

"What?" Both women stared at him aghast.

"Not here?" asked Cicely, her anger changing to terror.

"Then where
is
she?" Now it was Eva who was furious.

"Y'see, ma'am... there's been an accident," he began, and, turning from one to the other, he told them the details of Lady Beringer's dreadful fall.

The two faces staring at him turned pale. Cicely burst into tears. Lady Schofield sank down on the lowest step, her hands clasped at her breast. "How badly is she hurt?" she inquired quietly after a moment. "The truth now, man! No roundaboutation."

"Lots o' bruises. An' a sprained wrist. An'—" Here he threw a quick, nervous glance over at the weeping Cicely. "An' a... a few other things."

Cicely's head came up. "There's something worse! I know it!" she shrieked.

"Cicely, calm yourself!" her aunt ordered. "You will be of no help to your mother if you indulge in hysterics. Now, Boyle, go on. What else?"

"Her head, ma'am. Concussion, the doctor called it."

"Concussion? Isn't that something dreadful?" the girl asked fearfully.

"Hush, my dear," her aunt said. "At least there's been a doctor in attendance. Thank the Lord for that."

Cicely did not feel like thanking the Lord for anything. "I must see her!" she declared, and she flew down the hall to the entryway, where some cloaks were hanging on a rack. "Come, Boyle, take me to her at once!"

"But, Miss Cicely, it's three in the mornin'. Everyone at Inglesby Park'll be sleepin'."

She froze in the act of reaching for her cloak. "Inglesby Park?"

"Yes, miss. That's where she went."

Cicely gaped at him bewilderedly. "But...
why?"
 

"Never mind that now," Lady Schofield said, rising. "Plenty of time to discuss the whys and wherefores later. Let's go up and get a few hours' sleep."

"I couldn't sleep!" the girl said tearfully. "Why can't we go at once?"

"Because, for one thing, we are not dressed. And for another, as Boyle said, everyone there will be abed, including your mama. The doctor would certainly have given her a sleeping draught. We must let her rest. We shall go to her first thing this morning."

"But it's almost morning already," the girl insisted. "By the time we dress and drive there, the sun will be up."

Lady Schofield, as eager as Cicely to lay eyes on her injured sister, succumbed to the girl's pressure. As soon as she nodded her acquiescence, Cicely gathered up her skirts and flew up the stairs to dress. Her aunt bit her lip as she watched the girl disappear round the turning. "The poor dear," she murmured as she started up after her.

Boyle, standing at the foot of the stairway, watched Lady Schofield's slow assent, frowning guiltily. He knew he had not said all he should. As she approached the landing, Boyle cleared his throat again. "M'lady," he muttered, looking up at her, "per'aps I should tell ye ..." His voice petered out, and he looked down at his shoes.

Eva felt her heart contract in fear. "Tell me what? For heaven's sake, say it, man!"

"I think I ought t' warn ye. Her ladyship... well, when she came to, her mind... it was a bit... cloudy."

"Cloudy?"

"A' course, it might all be cleared up by the time she wakes," he mumbled, not meeting her eye.

Eva took an impatient step back down toward him. "Whatever do you mean by cloudy?"

"Foggy, like. Not thinkin' too clearly."

"What are you saying, man?" she snapped. "Naturally she wasn't thinking clearly. She'd just suffered a fall. Anyone would be a bit shaken."

Boyle knew she didn't understand. He also knew that he shouldn't let her browbeat him into agreeing with her. He squared his shoulders and looked her in the eye. "When ye see 'er," he said bravely, "she mayn't reco'nize... It could be she won't know who on God's earth ye are."