Greygallows (25 page)

I clung to Mrs. Andrews, gasping out my wild tale.

'I was afraid,' I whimpered. 'I could only think of making a noise and summoning help ...' I raised my eyes and gave a startled cry. 'Clare! It must have been you I saw, then, on the terrace. I feel so foolish! If I had known you were returning earlier than you said...'

'My business took less time than I expected,' Clare said in an expressionless voice. 'I don't believe you could have seen me, however. I came straight to the front door.'

'The White Lady,' Mrs. Andrews gasped. 'Don't be a superstitious fool,' Clare said sharply. 'There is no such thing. If her Ladyship is susceptible to hallucinations...'

'It was no hallucination.' Jonathan came down the hall. 'Or if it was, I too am subject to them. There was something on the terrace. I caught only a glimpse of it from my window, but it was certainly there.'

'Indeed? As a confirmed rationalist, you ought to have gone down to investigate.'

'I was about to do so when Lady Clare sounded the alarm.' Jonathan gave an exaggerated shiver. 'It was far more startling than any apparition; I feel shaken even yet.'

'I am so sorry,' I said. 'I had forgotten you were in that room.'

Jonathan bowed. It would have been comical if it had not been in deadly earnest; one part of my distracted brain admired the skill of our playacting while another part contemplated incredulously the reason for its necessity. It might be accidental that
Clare's unexpected, unannounced arrival coincided almost to the second with the most recent appearance of an impossible apparition. But coincidence became strained beyond belief when I remembered that another inexplicable accident had caused Jonathan's removal to a room in close proximity to mine. Earlier, I had felt like someone walking a tightrope in my relations with my husband. Now I knew that the abyss below that tenuous support was deeper and darker than I had supposed.

The following hours were like a truce between battles. I waited, watching Clare; and he bided his time. His mood was pensive; he seemed abstracted and indifferent. To my relief—and disappointment—Jonathan made no attempt to speak with me alone. He followed Clare into the library after breakfast, remaining with him most of the morning; and he emerged from his tete-a-tete with a furrowed brow.

At dinner his conversation turned to superstition and tales of ghosts and hauntings. Inevitably, the family legends of the Clares were mentioned; and, with a satirical glance at me, Clare spoke of the White Lady.

Jonathan's reaction was skeptical.

'There are altogether too many White Ladies.' he objected. 'Supposing that such a thing could exist, one might suspect that the story has a single origin, and has been adopted by other families in search of sensation.'

Clare was visibly annoyed at the suggestion that his ancestors had been reduced to stealing other
people's ghosts. He gave a long, circumstantial account of the appearances of the White Lady to members of his family, ending with my own experience in the garden.

'Hmm,' said Jonathan, unimpressed. 'Very interesting, my lord; but hardly evidence. I am afraid I have the legal habit of mind and cannot accept such accounts without substantiation. With all due respect to her Ladyship—'

'You discount the evidence of your own senses?'

'Oh, that.' Jonathan waved a contemptuous hand. 'A lost, bleating sheep; a housemaid, out for a breath of air—'

'What would you consider evidence, then?'

'Oh—a
raison d'etre,
let us say. To remain in a state of limbo, haunting a drafty house and cold garden, a spirit must have a strong reason—a desire for revenge on the family or a strong attachment. Why does your White Lady haunt the Clares?'

His humorous tone irritated Clare, as it was no doubt meant to do. He replied haughtily, with a glance at me.

'Not a tactful question, sir, since often such apparitions presage danger to those who are unfortunate enough to see them.'

'Only if one is a believer,' Jonathan said. 'I am sure her Ladyship is too sensible to believe in such superstitions. At any rate,' he added, smiling, 'I must share her danger, since I too saw the specter last night.'

After I had left them to their wine I went into the parlor and took up my embroidery; but I had determined I would not remain there if they sat long at table. There was nothing to prevent Clare
from coining to my room, but at least any abuse he chose to administer there would be in private.

It was a gusty windy evening; I could see the branches of the trees lashing like live things straining to break free. As I glanced out the window I saw that, despite the weather, someone had come to call. The wind seemed to seize him and fling him at the door.

Martin went to answer the bell and I expected she would show the newcomer into the dining room. He must have asked for me, for in a moment he appeared in the doorway.

He looked very fresh and healthy, his hair ruffled by the wind and his cheeks glowing. I rose to greet him with real pleasure, and sent Martin to tell her master that Mr. Fleetwood had called.

As he advanced to meet me, he caught a glimpse of himself in the mirror, and burst out laughing.

'What a figure to call on a lady! My apologies; I had not realized how windblown I was.'

'It becomes you,' I said, smiling. 'Sit by the fire, you must be chilled.'

'No, I enjoy the wind and the exhilaration it brings. The condition is purely physical, no doubt, arising from fresh air and heated blood; but I always feel as if I were engaged in a struggle of will—myself against nature—and when I defeat her, even in so slight a matter as walking in the wind, I am transfigured!'

I made some slight reply. Then he grew sober.

'Edward will come soon, I expect; before he does, may I venture to inquire how—how you are feeling these days?'

'Somewhat improved,' I said, imitating his oblique manner of speech; the servants were all
about. 'But I fear the underlying cause is not really better.'

'Indeed I am sorry to hear that. I had hoped—'

'It was better, much better, after you—after I spoke with you before.' His sympathetic look and melting eye were too much for me. I burst out, 'Something is wrong, Mr. Fleetwood, very wrong. I cannot fathom what it can be, that is what makes me desperate. There is no reason, nor even any consistency in his behavior—'

'Hush!' The word was firmly but gently spoken; he raised his slender hand. 'I understand your distress, but we may be overheard. Shall I try again? Heaven knows I am only His unworthy servant, but—'

'I would be so grateful.'

'Hush,' he said again, with the same gesture; and I heard the footsteps approaching. When the two men entered, Mr. Fleetwood was chatting idly of music.

Clare performed the introductions, and the two men greeted one another in characteristic fashion. As soon as everyone was seated I remembered my manners, and asked after Miss Fleetwood.

The vicar looked grave.

'She does not improve as she ought. I have been thinking I may be forced to try the effect of a more salubrious climate this winter. Italy, perhaps.'

'By all means,' Clare said. 'Don't concern yourself about the parish, Jack; if there is the slightest question of her health, spend the entire winter abroad.'

The idea distressed me. I had not realized to what extent I depended on the vicar. I must have looked upset, for Jonathan gave me a puzzled
glance, and Clare said sharply, 'Such a face, Lucy! I know you will miss your friend; but you must not be so childish. Her health is more important than your pleasure, surely.'

The irony in his voice was so heavy that Jonathan heard it too.

'Ladies are inclined to dote on friends,' he said, addressing Clare, but looking intently at me. 'No doubt her Ladyship and Miss Fleetwood share many confidences, as ladies do?'

'I have not been as good a friend to Miss Fleetwood as I should have liked,' I said steadily. 'I had hoped our acquaintance would improve in the future.'

'As it would have done,' the vicar remarked. 'Had it not been for this unfortunate illness...'

'I regret that I shall be unable to make her acquaintance,' Jonathan said.

'Oh, my dear sir, so do I,' said Mr. Fleetwood, with an engaging smile. 'She is—you will allow for a brother's prejudice, I am sure—but she really is a remarkable creature. Beauty, intelligence, and that indefinable charm of manner which only a true lady possesses ... Ah, but her Ladyship will call me partial.'

'I hope you are,' I said, with a smile. 'I can think of no more charming quality in a brother. But indeed Miss Fleetwood cannot be praised too highly. I have never seen such a lovely face; and although I have not spoken long or often with her, the beauties of her mind are as outstanding as those of her person.'

'That is quite a tribute,' Jonathan said. He was not looking at me; he was watching Clare.

The next subject of conversation was not so
happy. Mr. Fleetwood was the innocent cause of the unpleasantness; he mentioned casually that he had seen Tom in the village and that the boy had asked him for employment.

Clare's face darkened.

'Is that fellow still about? I told him...' He turned on me. 'You have encouraged him, I suppose. Have you met him? Seen him? Have you dared to disobey my orders?'

The unexpectedness and injustice of the accusation left me speechless. Before I could recover myself, Mr. Fleetwood spoke.

'Your pardon, Edward,' he said, with quiet dignity. 'But I cannot permit such language to be used to a lady in my presence. You cannot have any reason to suppose Lady Clare disrespectful of your wishes; and if you did, you should not admonish her in public. I must request that you apologize.'

I held my breath. To my amazement, Clare shriveled before the other man's steady gaze.

'Sorry,' he muttered. 'A mistake.'

'Enough,' Mr. Fleetwood said gaily. 'We all have moments of choler, do we not? It is forgotten.'

After a time Mr. Fleetwood took his leave and Clare offered him the carriage, which he declined with another of his infectious laughs.

'Your company, by all means,' he said cheerfully. 'But to huddle inside a stuffy box on such a night would be a crime. Come, gentlemen, and walk with me; the air will blow the wine out of your heads and quicken your brains for an evening of chess and conversation—if you will do me that honor.'

The invitation was accepted. Clare took the vicar off to the library to get a book he had promised him, and Jonathan lingered. As soon as the others were out of earshot, he bent over me and said in a low voice,

'What is his name?'

'Name?' I was bewildered. 'You mean Mr. Fleetwood?'

Jonathan's brows drew together and he made a little irritated sound, like an old lady scolding.

'Does your mind always turn to that popinjay? The boy—the groom your dainty admirer mentioned. What is his name?'

I told him. His rudeness did not annoy me; I found it rather amusing.

The vicar's remonstrance had little effect. Clare came home that night much the worse for liquor, and he continued to drink heavily all next day. I kept out of his way by pleading a headache. Toward evening, when Clare had shut himself up in the library, I ventured out of the house, feeling the need of air. I had no sooner left the shrubbery when the ill-favored Londoner appeared. He touched his cap with the same slouching insolence he had shown before, and made no attempt to move out of my way. When I turned, he followed me. With Clare inside the house and his Spy—there was no other word for him—outside, there was nowhere to hide except in my own room. And by the end of the day I was forced to recognize that even this was no refuge.

I was preparing for bed when I heard Clare
come up. It would have been hard not to hear him; he was shouting at the top of his lungs.

Anna was brushing my hair. Her hands stopped moving as the voice came nearer. In the mirror our eyes met. I was moved, not only by the silent sympathy that flashed between us, but by our helplessness. She was servant and I was wife, yet so far as the man outside the door was concerned, there was little difference in our status.

When the door burst open I could not hold back a cry of alarm. I had never seen my husband in such a state of disarray. He was in his shirt sleeves, his cravat askew and his collar undone, baring his throat. He stood in the doorway for a moment, studying me with glittering eyes; then he turned his head and called out,

'Goo' night, goo' night! Sweet dreams, ol' fellow; tha's all you can do is dream, poor ol' fellow, but not me, I've better things to do tonight...'

Laughing, he advanced into the room. His hand swiped at the door, but missed. The door did not close; and all through the scene that followed I suffered more from my awareness of that open door than from anything he did to me.

I stood up, backing away as he came toward me. I was aware of Anna standing by the dressing table, with the ivory-backed hairbrush dangling from her hand.

He lunged for me. I tried to move away, but my foot betrayed me and as I stumbled he caught me by the sleeve of my robe. The cloth tore but did not give way; with a twist of his arm he pulled me toward him.