Lady Incognita (2 page)

Louisa heaved  another heavy sigh. Sometimes this writing was very difficult work. She herself no longer enjoyed such works of terror. She would, she thought with a frown, much prefer an ordinary life like that of most well-bred ladies, the kind of life that Mama had envisioned for her so long ago. But enough of that - that life was not to be for her. Betsy would have a husband and family - a good life. And she - she would continue to write. She put the pen to paper again.

Meanwhile in the gloomy cell lit only by the flickering gleam of a single sputtering candle the beautiful Bernice sat despondent upon a heap of damp straw. Long gone were the violent terrors raised in her tender breast at the sight of spiders dangling from their webs. Even the rustle in the darkened corners that indicated the scurrying feet of rats could no longer bring terror into her heart. No, her anguished thought was only for Reginald. For on his last visit to the lonely cell the monk, Columbo, had chortled gleefully, “Your Reginald isn’t long for this world, my dear. I’ve let drop hints so that he will come here to rescue you. And when he does...”

The monk’s grimy hand made the motion of a knife being drawn across a throat. Bernice shrank back in terror at the sight. Reginald could not die. He was the very light of her life. Without him existence would be futile.

Bernice drew the cloak that was her only source of warmth in this dismal dungeon closer around her. She must not lose faith. Evil was powerful in this world - that was true. But the fiendish Columbo had not reckoned with the force of Goodness. Surely God would not allow...

  “Lou-is-a!” An outraged cry from below brought Louisa hurriedly back to the present. She moved to the window. “Yes, Betsy. What is it?”

Betsy’s pert face, liberally sprinkled with freckles, was turned up to her beseechingly. “Harry says we must give away the kitten
I
want. Must we, Louisa?”

“Betsy dear, if Aunt Caroline can find homes for Ginger’s kittens we must let them go. We already have a great many cats.”

“Yes, Louisa. But it’s so cute.”

“It will grow,” Louisa replied. “And then it will not be so cute. And besides, there will soon be more kittens.” That, at least, was a certainty!

“Oh! Well, if you say so. But I do think Apricot is the cutest thing.”

“Apricot,” scoffed Harry. “What a name for a cat!”

“I think it’s a perfectly acceptable name,” replied Betsy haughtily. “Better than any name
you
could pick out.”

  “Oh, I don’t...”

  “Children!” Louisa was aware of an unusual sharpness in her voice and the children seemed to hear it too, for they stopped their squabbling immediately and looked up at her in surprise. “Go find Winky and ask her to take you for a walk. I have my accounts to do and I am getting a headache with all this noise.”

“Yes, Louisa,” the two young voices chorused dutifully and they left the court immediately.

Louisa turned back to the desk with a frown. She was upset with herself for having spoken so sharply to the children, who, after all, had no notion of how hard she worked to provide for them. They believed that Papa had left them adequately provided for. And Louisa did nothing to disabuse them of this notion.

Aunt Caroline had brought with her a small jointure which, since the Colonel like Papa had been a gaming man, barely sufficed to pay for the food that her little darlings so ravenously devoured. Aunt Julia, like so many spinsters, had had nothing when she had been sent away from her last home with a distant relative because she had insisted on deriving her judgment of the characters of the young people in her charge by feeling the bumps on their head.

Louisa leaned on her elbow. Fortunately, Aunt Julia’s exploration of the heads of those in this household had not disclosed any dangerous traits. Nevertheless she was a difficult person to get along with.

  Aunt Caroline and her numerous cats were a minor nuisance compared to Aunt Julia’s scientific bent. Aunt Caroline, a round, soft little woman, after all provided the children with a motherly figure. But Aunt Julia’s acerbic tongue and violent dislike of the male part of humanity was sometimes a heavy burden on those around her. Young Harry, for instance, did not take kindly to her disparaging remarks. She would, thought Louisa, have to sit down with Aunt Julia and put her desires firmly on the line. Harry must not be made to feel an outcast in a house full of women.

Louisa frowned. What Harry needed was a man - a good man upon whom to model himself. A mischievous smile curved her lips at the image her imagination had offered her - the image of a tall dark fascinating man, a man who could be depended on in times of dire peril. No, said Louisa firmly to herself. What Harry needed was a sober, decent, down-to-earth man to take for his mentor.

The sun was moving down the afternoon sky, Louisa noticed, heaving another sigh. These days, she thought ruefully, she was sighing quite as much as any heroine of her romances. How ridiculous.

With a firm set to her chin, she again picked up the pen. Before it was time for dinner she simply must get a few more pages down on paper.

The dim light of the moon breaking out from the lowering clouds cast a lurid light on the crumbling stones of the wall and there, right at his feet, Reginald saw a gleaming white skull. The moon’s pale light seemed to make the skull grin avidly at him and a cold sweat of terror beaded his brow, but still he persisted. Somewhere in this graveyard of hopes Bernice was a prisoner, prisoner of that devil’s spawn, Columbo. And he, Reginald, must find her and save her. To that he had dedicated his life.

An hour or so later Reginald had found his way through the darkened corridors to the door of the cell in which Bernice was held captive and Louisa, her day’s quota of pages at last accomplished, locked up everything and went downstairs to a well-deserved dinner.

Chapter Two

It was several days later that Louisa shepherded them all outside and into the hackney coach. With the new book not going well she had finally determined on a plan. Vaguely remembering an abbey on the outskirts of London, she had consulted the guidebook and marshaled  the whole household for an excursion there.

Aunt Caroline felt compelled to lament that never in the days of the dear departed Colonel had she been forced to ride in a public vehicle.

“That is very true,” Louisa soothed in her accustomed way. “But the dear Colonel is gone now. And it really is too much of an expense for us to keep a stable. And you know, we have none of us the knowledge of cattle that the dear Colonel had.”

Though Louisa had herself never seen the dear departed Colonel in this life, she had grown so used to Aunt Caroline speaking of him that she automatically repeated this epithet.

  “Yes, my dear,” replied Aunt Caroline, her ruffled feelings smoothed by Louisa’s complimentary reference. “The Colonel did know his business, I must say.” She pushed at the great poke bonnet that did little to enhance her round rosy face. “I do wish, though, that I might have brought along my Ginger. Such an airing would have been good for her.”

“Humph!” Aunt Julia’s opinion of this foolishness was very evident. “Such utter stupidity. The cat is very much better at home with her kittens. I should not like to go chasing about the abbey looking for that ridiculous animal.”

“Ginger is not a ridiculous animal,” said Aunt Caroline, sniffling. “She is a very fine cat.”

“Of course she is, Aunt Caroline,” assured Louisa with a warning look at the other aunt. Aunt Julia subsided into injured silence. But the way her eyes surveyed what was visible of the coachman’s head foreboded no good, thought Louisa with a sigh.

Betsy and Harry, however, were in high spirits. With a pang, Louisa realized that it wasn’t often that she took the children for an outing.

“This is a famous trip, Louisa,” said Harry, with a happy grin. “You’re a trump to take us.”

  “Yes, Louisa.” Betsy added her approbation. “I have been wanting to see a ruined abbey for a long time. They are very important in stories, you know.”

Louisa, forcing herself to remain calm and repeating to herself that Betsy could know nothing of Lady Incognita, made a mental note to speak to Winky about Betsy’s choice of reading material. Too many romances might turn a young girl’s head.

Louisa smothered a sudden frown. If she herself were susceptible to the lure of a storybook hero - sensible, level-headed woman that she was - how much more would Betsy, young and innocent Betsy, be vulnerable. Yes, indeed. Winky must be spoken to severely.

* * * *

  The journey there was relatively uneventful, a circumstance for which Louisa was grateful, as being cooped up in a coach with the two aunts and the children could have been rather dreadful. However, what with keeping Harry from hanging perilously out the window and answering Betsy’s avid questions about what they might expect at Atherton Abbey, she was quite occupied and glad to see them all step down from the coach and look around with interest.

  She made her arrangements with the coachman, instructing him to return for them at an hour that would get them home in good time, then turned to the others. “Shall we look around?”

“Oh, yes Louisa. Let’s.”

* * * *

  The walk over the grounds soon tired Aunt Caroline’s short legs and she determined to sit under a tree and rest a little. That this “rest” would soon become a nap Louisa well knew.

Harry and Betsy insisted on continuing to explore the old ruins. Louisa, who wanted to be left alone in order to make some sketches in the sketchbook tucked under her arm, but even more so, to take some notes for future use, warned them to be careful and not get lost.

“I’m certain they shall not,” said Aunt Julia, her thin aristocratic nose showing signs of wrinkling in disgust. “For I shall go with them to see to it.”

Though Harry made a face at this piece of information, he did not object verbally. Louisa watched them go with a sigh of relief. In spite of her acerbic tongue Aunt Julia could sometimes be quite perceptive.

  For some moments Louisa wandered idly here and there, noting the way the creepers clung insistently to the crumbling stones, feeling the roughness of overgrown paths beneath her feet, making a swift sketch of a gaunt tree whose gnarled limbs were etched against the blue April sky. She studied the outline of the ruined cloister - cell after tiny cell - in which monks had lived and worked and prayed.

Selecting a moss-covered stone as a seat, she settled herself comfortably and began making some sketches of the abbey and its surroundings.

Actually, she told herself some moments later, the abbey was not much different than she had imagined. In the darkness of a cloudy night, it might well be eerie and mysterious, but in the spring sunshine it was a place of quiet peace.

She closed her eyes, conjuring up a black night - that tree would do well - some terrible bird of omen perched ominously in its distorted branches.

Louisa giggled softly. Even her thoughts were beginning to sound like her books. Such a piece of foolishness! A sane sensible girl like herself should be more reasonable.

  Giving up the attempt to change these peaceful ruins into a place of evil, she opened her eyes and gave a startled exclamation of surprise. There, surveying her, stood a man. He was obviously a lord - his well-cut coat and well-fitted breeches were those of a man of the
ton.
The piercing black eyes that were surveying her quizzically from under sable hair were set in a face browned by the sun, but his haughty nose and his high cheekbones spoke also of an aristocratic ancestry.

She found herself returning his stare and colored up, one hand flying to her flushed cheeks so quickly that the sketchbook slid from her lap into the grass.

“Allow me,” said the stranger, bending down to retrieve it. He offered it to her, a little smile curving the lips that in repose had seemed set in a rocklike jaw.

“Th - thank you,” she faltered.

“You’re quite welcome.” He drawled the words out lazily, his eyes still on her face.

For some reason she felt compelled to explain her presence. “I ... I was making some sketches,” she said lamely, aware that she should not be speaking to this unknown man. Still, she did not feel frightened of him. Not precisely. And a single call would bring the others. No, it was not precisely fear she felt, but something else. He had an intensity about him that belied the lazy drawl, an intensity and power, she realized, swallowing suddenly.

“I hope I may not be thought improper,” he said, “but I can’t help wondering what you are doing here?”

  “I ... I told you I was sketching.” She wished that he might not look at her so strangely.

“Yes, so you did. But, you see, these are my ruins you are sketching and so I have a somewhat personal interest.”

“Oh!” Louisa felt the color flooding her cheeks again. “I ... I am so sorry. I didn’t know ... I never guessed ...”

He held up a deprecating hand. “There’s no need to throw yourself into a tizzy, miss ... miss?”

“Penhope, Louisa Penhope,” said Louisa, aware of a distressing tremble in her lower lip.

He bowed courteously. “Viscount Atherton, I assure you, you may feel quite free to sketch my ruins.”

“Th - thank you.” For a moment she could think of nothing more to say. He took a step closer and she felt her heart jump into her throat. But it was only to look at her sketches.

“You have a good eye,” he said. “That tree is especially fine.”

“I ... I liked the look of it.”

“It has a rather eerie appearance,” he said speculatively.

“I just thought it was interesting,” Louisa said.

  “Indeed, it is.” But his eyes had shifted from the sketch to her face. “The mystery is very interesting.”

“What ... what mystery, milord?”

“The mystery of finding a young woman wandering alone through my ruins,” he said, the eyes under his lazy lids watching her closely.

“Oh, I am not alone,” she replied quickly. “Aunt Caroline is taking a nap over there somewhere, and Betsy and Harry have gone exploring with Aunt Julia.”