Elizabeth Thornton - [Special Branch 02] (20 page)

“I think,” said Gerrard, “that Mrs. Barrie is a greater risk to me than the portrait. I don’t want her stirring up trouble. I want her out of the way.”

Wheatley nodded. “I’ll pass the message on to Harry.” This brought him to a delicate subject. He cleared his throat. “When Gracie’s body is discovered, the authorities may wish to question Lady Mary.”

“They won’t get anything out of Lady Mary. She’s in no condition to tell anyone anything. And she’s at Rosemout. Who would make the journey to ask a frail old woman questions that I can answer just as well?”

“And if she recovers?”

Gerrard sat back in his chair and studied Wheatley. Finally, he smiled, but it wasn’t a pleasant smile. “Do you think I’m a fool? Don’t panic, Ralph. When the time comes, I’ll take care of my wife personally. It’s a
promise I made to the earl, and I never break my promises.”

When Wheatley left the house, the fine hairs on the back of his neck were still raised. Gerrard had made a promise to take care of him, too. He wondered who was madder, Harry or Gerrard.

T
hough they set out in two coaches, Jason and Brandon chose to ride horseback most of the way, leaving the ladies and Mark in the lead coach, and the second coach reserved for their boxes and trunks.

Judith went with them, but could not be persuaded to stay with Gwyn at Haddo. Her mother had retired to Brighton, she pointed out, and would be bitterly disappointed if her only child came into the area and stayed with strangers. She would see Gwyn safely at Haddo, then she would go on to her mother’s place.

“Besides,” Judith said, “this is a family reunion. I would only be in the way.”

And nothing Gwyn said could change her mind.

Under normal circumstances, Jason would have made the drive to Haddo in six hours, but for Gwyn’s sake, they did the journey in stages, stopping frequently so that she could stretch her legs and rest a while. At this rate, they would have arrived at Haddo in the early hours of the morning, and Jason decided to put up for the night at the Red Lion in Cuckfield. Gwyn’s tea, courtesy of Judith, was liberally fortified
with brandy, and no sooner had her head touched the pillow than she tumbled into sleep.

The last part of their journey was made under a seamlessly blue sky, a blue that was reflected in the unending stretches of pasture and farmland that made up the south downs. Gwyn didn’t have time to fret about her reception at Haddo Hall because Mark kept up an excited flow of questions and chatter. Why was the grass blue? Where was Brighton and the sea? Who owned all the sheep and lambs on the slopes? Why weren’t they fenced in?

When they made the turn to Haddo, just a mile out of Brighton, Brandon rode ahead to give the family the news that they would be arriving directly. Not long after, at the summit of a rise, the sea came into view, and Gwyn called to the coachman to stop. At this point, the downs descended to the chalky white cliffs, and beyond the cliffs was the limitless horizon of sea and sky. Gwyn felt her throat close. This was home. She could deny it with her dying breath, but this was home.

Before anyone could stop her, she opened the carriage door, tipped out the step, and carefully stepped down. Mark was right behind her. When the wind caught her skirts, Gwyn laughed.

“I’d forgotten about the wind,” she told Mark.

Jason came up and dismounted. “What is it?”

“I’d forgotten about the wind,” she repeated.

“Hold onto your bonnet,” said Jason, and grinned.

So he remembered, too, the day the wind had whipped her first grown-up bonnet from her head as she was tying the ribbons, and Jason’s dog, Honey, had made off with it. She’d chased that dog through muddy fields, streams, and over stone dikes, until she’d finally caught up to her in the stable yard, where Jason and some of his friends from university
were admiring his new curricle. Honey had laid her battered prize at Jason’s feet. They were both a ruin, she and her bonnet, and she’d been mortified, as only an adolescent girl could be, when Jason and his friends laughed. With the passage of time, the memory had lost its power, and she could laugh as much as anyone.

“Why are you smiling, Cousin Jason?” asked Mark.

As Jason began to relate the story of her bonnet, Gwyn walked on, her eyes fastened on the horizon. The sea was as pretty as a picture, with miniature sailboats floating on shimmering ribbons of silver. All was well with the world. But it was a false picture. In the west, a dark cloud was gathering, and it was a westerly breeze that was blowing.

“More memories?”

Judith stood beside her, one hand holding onto her bonnet, the other holding her skirts. She looked thoughtful.

Gwyn smiled faintly. “I don’t know why I allowed Jason to persuade me to come here.”

“Did he persuade you?”

“You all did!”

“I don’t think so. You’re here because you want to be. No one can persuade you to do anything you don’t want to do. You’re like me in that respect.” She touched Gwyn’s hand. “It was time to come home, Gwyn, time to exorcize the past.”

Gwyn brooded on that thought and said finally, “Can the past be exorcized?”

“That’s what you’re here to find out.”

Haddo Hall was no Blenheim or Chatsworth, Gwyn told her captive audience as their coach bowled along the approach to the house, but it was no less proud and no less steeped in history. “The estate has been in
the family for over two hundred years,” she said, “but the Radleys lost it when they fought on the wrong side during the Jacobite Rebellion.”

“Then how did they get it back?” asked Mark.

“A wealthy widow bought it and offered it to William Radley, the last surviving heir, on one condition.”

“That he would marry her,” said Judith at once.

Gwyn chuckled. “How did you guess?”

Judith snorted. “It’s the way to a man’s heart.”

“How do you know this, Mama?”

She knew it because after George died, Grandmother Radley had given her a short history lesson to convince her that Jason would do his duty as all the masters of Radley had done before him. He would take a rich wife.

“Grandmother Radley told me,” she said.

Maddie said, “That doesn’t sound like a very nice story.”

“Oh, but it is,” said Gwyn. “In fact, it’s like a fairy tale. You see, after they were married, William fell in love with his bride. They had six sons and now the Radleys are scattered all over England.” She looked at Mark. “Our branch of the family comes from Wiltshire, but we’ve always regarded Haddo Hall as the ancestral home.”

“Do I have cousins in Wiltshire?”

“No. You’re the last of our line.”

She fell silent as the carriage emerged from a fold in the hills, and the house, nestled in a screen of yew trees, could be seen at last. Its mellow stone walls were dappled with ivy, all the way up to the pediment on the roof, and a graceful sweep of long windows reflected the sun’s rays in ever-changing patterns.

“It’s the grandest house I ever saw,” breathed Maddie.

“Impressive” was Judith’s comment.

Gwyn had dressed carefully for this moment, her light summer pelisse over a simple day dress the same gray as her eyes. Her matching bonnet and gloves were usually reserved for church services. Her mother’s pearls were at her throat. She knew she looked well and had hoped it would bolster her confidence. On the outside, she was calm, but inside a flock of humming birds seemed to have taken up residence in her stomach.

When the carriage stopped, Gwyn wasn’t sure whether she took Mark’s hand or he took hers, but they both held on tightly as they stepped down onto the gravel drive.

“Welcome home,” said Jason.

The front doors suddenly opened, and footmen hurried down to take care of the baggage. Then everything happened in a blur. They were in the great hall, and misery of miseries, they were confronted not only by Grandmother Radley and the rest of the family, but by a gauntlet of liveried servants who waited in line to make their bows and curtsies.

There must have been twenty people in the great hall, but Grandmother Radley had more presence than all the rest put together. From the corner of her eye, Gwyn glimpsed Trish, her husband Gerry, and Brandon. She was vaguely aware of a young girl, whom she took to be Sophie, but her eyes were riveted on the diminutive figure who held center stage.

As always, Grandmother Radley looked as though she had stepped out of another era. Her gown, a pale green brocade, was fitted snugly at the waist, and fell in voluminous folds to the floor; her silver hair was liberally powdered; her cheeks were crisscrossed with fine lines but bloomed with a judicious use of rouge. She looked just as Gwyn remembered her except that on this occasion, she was smiling and she leaned heavily on a cane.

Jason muttered something under his breath, then audibly, “I hope you know this isn’t my idea.”

“I think it’s charming,” said Judith. “A royal welcome.”

“I see,” said Grandmother Radley in her usual clipped diction, “that the prodigal has returned. Well, I’m waiting, Gwyneth.”

Gwyn’s spine stiffened. She darted a glance at Jason and saw that his eyes had narrowed. When he started forward, she laid a restraining hand on his arm. This was one fight she had to face on her own. As soon as the thought occurred to her, she discarded it. This wasn’t about fighting. This was about making her peace with an old woman who no longer had any power over her.

Still holding Mark’s hand, she crossed the distance between them. It was only a few steps, but it changed her perception. There were more lines on Grandmother Radley’s face; she seemed smaller, and beneath the rouge, her skin was unnaturally white.

“Don’t look so stricken,” snapped the old lady. “I’m not on my deathbed yet. A touch of arthritis, that’s all it is. Look to yourself, my girl. I wasn’t attacked by a housebreaker in my own home. Yes, yes, Brandon has told us all about it. Well, at least you’re here and that’s something. Haddo will soon put the bloom in your cheeks again and a little padding on your skinny bones. What are you laughing at?”

Gwyn didn’t know, but the laughter bubbled up anyway. She shook her head. “I don’t know. You haven’t changed a bit.” She kissed the dry, papery cheek that was held up to her. “Grandmother, may I present my son, Mark?”

Mark’s bow was everything his mother could have wished for, but he was still a boy. “Are you my grandmother?” he asked doubtfully.

Grandmother Radley let out a cackle of laughter.
“That’s exactly what your mother said to me the day I arrived here to take charge of the household. I’ll tell you what I told her. I’m grandmother to all the children who live at Haddo. If you don’t wish to call me Grandmother, I don’t mind. You may call me Aunt Radley. Well, which is it to be?”

Mark shot a glance at his mother and whatever he saw in her face made him nod. “Grandmother Radley.”

There was a moment of silence, then everyone was talking and laughing at once. Gwyn was swept into Trish’s arms, then hugged by Gerry.

“You remember Gerry?” said Trish.

“How could I forget?”

Gerald Churchill was the suitor Grandmother Radley had chosen for Trish, a suitor Trish had wanted nothing to do with. Trish had wailed that he was all the things Grandmother said he was—loyal, affectionate, trustworthy, constant—but so was her pet dog. He wasn’t the romantic figure Trish had wanted. She wanted to be swept off her feet; she wanted to fall in love. She could never be happy with Gerald Churchill, she’d said.

Obviously, she’d been wrong. Their arms were linked, and easy, wordless messages passed between them whenever they looked at each other.

Gerry smiled at Mark. “Chris has been looking forward to meeting Mark. He’s out playing somewhere, but he should be back soon.”

“You knew we were coming?” asked Gwyn.

“Not the exact day,” Gerry replied, “but we knew you would be here before the week was out.”

Gwyn looked at Jason and found that he was watching her again. She gave him a look that she hoped spoke volumes. He shrugged and turned away to hide his smile.

Trish caught that silent exchange and laughed.
“I’d forgotten how you and Jason could strike sparks off each other,” she said.

Gwyn was saved a reply when Sophie lost patience and edged her brother-in-law out of the way. The tomboy Gwyn remembered had turned into a ravishing young woman. Like all the Radleys of Haddo, her hair was dark and her intelligent green eyes dominated her face. A memory flashed into Gwyn’s mind: little Sophie had once dogged her heels in much the same way as she’d dogged Jason’s.

“I was heartbroken when you went away,” declared Sophie passionately. She glanced at Jason. “Yes, well, we’re not supposed to mention that.” Her dimples flashed. “Do you remember the day I soaked my hair in strawberry juice to make it red like yours, and a swarm of bees chased me into the house?”

Gwyn did remember, and a sudden unexpected lump lodged in her throat. She said something, she didn’t know what, but fortunately there wasn’t time to dwell on the past. Grandmother Radley was waiting to introduce her to the servants. There were only two whom Gwyn remembered, two of whom she had always gone in awe, the stiff as starch Miss Glennings, Grandmother’s personal maid, and the august Mr. Harvard, the butler. They didn’t seem so awesome now. She wasn’t sure whether they were genuinely glad to see her, but with Grandmother Radley right beside her, lending her support, they were all smiles.