Menfreya in the Morning (31 page)

Jessica laid her hand on my arm. “I think the wife knew. I think she came up here and murdered her after the child was

210

Menfreya in the Morning

born. Murdered them both. It couldn’t have been difficult in those days to make it seem as though she died in childbirth. Imagine the wife’s feelings! Her husband is in love with another woman! She’d feel murderous, wouldn’t she?”

Was it my imagination, or was she closer to me than was necessary? Was that a grim purpose I saw in those beautiful, unfathomable eyes?

As she gripped me more firmly and swayed towards me, a frantic fear possessed me, and I wrenched myself free so violently that she fell against the wall of the tower. I saw her trying to steady herself, her face drained of all its color. I caught her as she slid to the floor, breaking her fall.

“Jessica!” I said. “What’s wrong?”

Her eyes were closed, her dark lashes long and black against her pale skin. ‘She had fainted.

I propped her against the wall and forced her head down. I was wondering whether to leave her and run for help, when she opened her eyes.

She looked bewildered.

“You fainted,” I said.

“Faulted?” she repeated. “Oh … I… I’m all right now. It’s passing.”

I knelt beside her. “What happened?” I asked.

“It was nothing … just a faint. It’s the height… I could never endure heights. It upset me suddenly.”

“Shall I call someone?”

“Oh, please, no. I’m all right Getting better every minute. It was nothing. Just a momentary thing. Really, I’ve almost recovered.”

“Do you often faint?**

“Oh … people do now and then. I’m sorry it happened.”

“Let me take you back to your room.”

Thank you.”

She stood a little unsteadily, but she looked more like herself now. She turned to smile at me. “Please don’t make a fuss. It was nothing. Just a little dizziness. Will you forget it happened and not mention it?”

“If you wish.”

“Thank you.”

We returned to the circular room and, as we left it, she said: “I’d like to see the portrait of that Lady Menfrey you mentioned.”

“Now? Wouldn’t you rather go to your room and rest?”

Victoria Holt

211

“The dizziness has passed. It was really the picture I wanted to see.”

“It’s along here.”

I took her to the room where the portrait hung. She looked at it and then at me. “The features are not really like yours,” she said, “but I can imagine in a dress like that you could belong to her period.”

“Wouldn’t we all in the clothes of the period?”

“That’s what we’ll no doubt find out at the ball when we see the guests in their costumes. So she was Lady Menfrey at the time the governess died. I still suggest she murdered her.”

“You think she looks like a murderess?”

“Do murderesses look the part? I don’t think so. The most unexpected people commit murder. That’s why murders are committed. If people looked the part, the victims would be on their guard and the murder would be prevented. No. She knew that the governess was going to have her husband’s child. Imagine her feelings. How would you feel? They must have hated each other—that wife and governess. It’s reasonable to suppose that one might attempt to murder the other.”

“I don’t believe it,” I said.

She smiled—completely serene once more, as though that incident on the tower had never taken place.

**It makes a better story,” she murmured.

The hall at Menfrey is the most magnificent part of the house. The vaulted ceiling with the carved wooden beams; the fine old staircase with the armor said to have been worn by a Menfrey who crossed to France with Henry VIII; the gallery with the pictures; the arms on the wall; the dais on which the musicians now sat. It was a beautiful sight, particularly as the greenhouses had been denuded to provide pots of the most exotic blooms, while our native hydrangeas —pink, blue, mauve, white, multicolored—in enormous tubs draped in purple velvet had been placed at intervals about the room. Leaves decorated the staircases, and I was reminded of the entertainments my father used to give.

Fanny helped me to dress. She was silent, and I wondered whether she knew something which she was withholding from me for fear of hurting me.

Yet as I looked at my reflection in the mirror, the topaz color of the dress bringing out something in my eyes, the jeweled snood doing the same for my hair, I felt invulnerable.

212

Menfreya in the Morning

“111 brush your hair to make it shine,” said Fanny. “We’ve plenty of time.” So she took off the snood, laid it on the dressing table and, putting a white cloth about my shoulders, brushed my hair.

“You’re happy tonight,” she said. Her eyes met mine in the mirror. She looked like a prophet standing there, the brush raised in her hand, her eyes intense. “I pray you stay that way,” she added.

“Don’t be long, Fanny,” I said. “Don’t forget I’m the hostess tonight. I must see that everything is in order.”

Guests would not be announced as at an ordinary ball. They would be ushered in by Pengelly and others of the men servants, all splendidly dressed in blue-satin coats, frogged with silver cord, white knee breeches and powdered wigs; and then in their masks they would mingle and assemble for supper, and afterwards unmask. We had decided on a masked ball because they were always so much more exciting, we thought. The air of mystery they gave to the proceedings added to the gaiety, and we believed that people enjoyed hiding behind anonymity, and it gave an added zest to attempt to guess who one’s partner was.

The Menfreys would move among the crowd so that none would know that we were not guests ourselves until the unmasking when we should receive their thanks and congratulations.

I should be watchful of a man in a Roman toga. But then I should know Bevil anywhere. Two Roman togas had been delivered, William had told me in dismay and wondered whether to send one of them back. He had ordered a Persian costume for himself, a Roman one for Bevil.

“There simply isn’t time to do anything about it,” I told him. “There will just have to be two Romans from Menfreya. You can be sure there’ll be others.”

He agreed.

Sir Endelion was a cardinal—Wolsey, Mazarin or Richelieu, I was not sure, but he could have passed as any one of them. Lady Menfrey was, ironically, Catherine of Aragon.

I thought of the change in Sir Endelion. But was it change? Hadn’t the mischief always been there, waiting to be brought out? Perhaps I had much to learn of those about me.

I shivered.

“Someone’s walking over your grave?”

“It’s more likely to be a draught from that window.**

Victoria Holt

213

Fanny went over and shut it. “Your hair’s shining. I used to like to see it look like that. Now where’s that thing?1*

*’ ‘Thing’ seems disrespectful, Fanny. It’s a ‘snood’ or a *filet.’”

“Well, bless me, it’s a pretty thing, anyway. I don’t know. It does suit you. You seem different somehow … when I put it on.”

“How … different, Fanny?”

“I don’t know … as though you don’t belong here … but somewhere else.”

“What do you mean?”

“Don’t ask me. It just came into my head.” Her face puckered suddenly, and I thought she was going to cry.

“Fanny,” I cried. “What’s wrong?”

She threw her apron over her head suddenly and sat down. I went to her and put my arm about her shoulders.

“I’m a silly thing, I am. It’s just that I wanted to see you happy…”

“I anvFanny. I am, I tell you.”

She looked at me sadly, and I remembered how she used to look at me hi the past and mutter: “You can’t fool Fanny.”

I recognized Jessica at once. She was the only one in that assembly who was simply dressed; and how clever of her, for she was the one who consequently attracted all the attention. She had made the dress herself. Almost puritan in its simplicity, it was made of lavender-colored silk; the skirt cascaded to her feet; the bodice was meant to convey primness, but on her it had the opposite effect, by accentuating her perfect figure. Her dark hah- was smoothed down on either side of her face to a simple knot hi the nape of her neck. She had come as a governess of another age. I caught my breath when I saw her.

“I see you recognized me in spite of my mask,” she said. “What do you think of my costume?” “It’s so …”

“Plain? It’s supposed to be a governess, you know.” “It’s charming. What made you decide on that?” “Your going as a long-ago lady of the house, which is what you are. Why shouldn’t I come as what I am? It was easy to make, and I thought no one else would come like this.

214

Menfreya in the Morning

Victoria Holt

215

The idea came to me when we were talking in that eerie part of the house the other day.”

“I see.”

“Do you think that governess looked like this?” she asked. “I think she might have. I looked up the costumes. And this is about the same period as yours. I wonder if anyone will notice it.”

“I should hardly think so.”

“Rather amusing, if they do.”

I turned away from her, and as I made my way across the hall I was joined by a Roman toga, and for a moment I thought it was Bevil. “You are looking striking in your costume.” The voice was William Lister’s.”

“Thank you. I’ve already seen two other togas. I told you there would be plenty. We might have strayed into the Appian Way.”

“Practically every country and period is represented.**

“I’m going to the supper rooms to make sure everything is in order there.”

“I’ll come with you.”

“No, do please go and look after Mary, Queen of Scots. She looks as it she’s in Fotheringay rather than Menfreya.”

I saw a cardinal’s costume pass by with Marie Antoinette. My gallant father-in-law was regaining his youth.

We had decided on music from all countries, and “The Blue Danube” waltz was being played as I made my way to the supper rooms. There were three of them, all beautifully decorated with flowers and leaves, and small tables with dazzling napery had been set up in each. I spoke to Pengelly, who assured me that everything was in order, so I returned to the ballroom.

“Will you join me in the dance?”

Another Roman. For a moment my heart leaped. I thought it was Bevil putting on a disguised voice to amuse me; but that illusion quickly passed.

The floor was too crowded to dance very successfully, but that did not worry my partner, who was obviously not a good dancer and wanted to talk.

“I must confess I know who you are,” he told me.

“Is it so obvious?”

“Not at all. But I’ve seen you in that dress before.**

I had caught the voice now. I knew that mouth. It had grown tight-lipped when Gwennan had gone away.

“So it’s you, Harry.”

*Tm betrayed.”

“You gave it away by mentioning the dress.”

“That seems years ago.”

“Harry…”

“Yes, go on. You’re wondering whether I mind talking about it Well, it’s in the past, and she’s dead now.”

“Oh, Harry,” I said, “it was so silly of her. It wasn’t as though .. .”

“As though she really cared for him? No, perhaps not. But she didn’t care for me, either. I don’t think she cared for anyone but herself. She was a Menfrey.”

I heard the bitter note in his voice, and I felt a great pity for him. He hadn’t forgotten; perhaps he hadn’t forgiven.

“She suffered terribly, Harry.”

He was silent and I saw his lips harden, almost as though he were glad that she had. Poor Harry, he had loved her; there seemed to be some power the Menfreys had of binding people to them. I thought of my own feelings for Bevil; nothing he did to me could alter it And so it might be with Harry, who continued to brood over Gwennan.

I wondered then whether he had decided to go into politics to turn his thoughts from that tragedy, and whether he wanted to stand against Bevil as a sort of revenge.

“You’re sorry for me, Harriet,” he said suddenly, reading my thoughts. “You’re thinking that Gwennan jilted me and now I’m going to be humiliated once more when the people here show me they don’t want me to represent them in Parliament.”

“Why here, Harry?” I asked. “Why not somewhere else?”

“You don’t like the idea of my standing against your husband?”

**No. After all, you*re>an old friend of the family. I know we pretend that isn’t important but it is … in a way. I’d like to see you putting up somewhere else.”

“You don’t think I have a chance here?”

“The Menfreys have held the seat for a long time.**

4

**But… he was of the same party.*’

“The allegiance to a certain party doesn’t have to go on forever.”

I could see the grim set of his lips, and I believed that he

216

Menfreya in the Morning

Victoria Holt

217

had an idea that if he won the seat from a Menfrey, life would have, in a measure, made up for the humiliation he had suffered through Gwennan.

It seemed a crazy notion and I didn’t like it.

“You’re going to be disappointed, Harry,” I said.

“Spoken like the wife of the reigning M.P. I wouldn’t expect anything but that from you, Harriet.”

“Why don’t you think about trying to get a chance somewhere else?”

“This is my place,” he said, “as much as the Menfreys. Should I be driven out by them? It’s going to be a fight.”

We sat down for a while and he brought the conversation back to Gwennan. I could see that he was dwelling on the past, that he couldn’t get her out of his mind. It was natural, I thought, for this ball must have recalled that other when they had been together, she so gay hi her homemade blue velvet, enjoying the adventure of the ball she was not supposed to attend. Harry would be carried away by all that charm, exhilarated as never before. No wonder he was full of regrets.

I excused myself to make sure all was well, for after all I was hostess, even though disguised.

I was relieved to get away from him, for he depressed me. I danced now and then; I sat out and talked; it was dear that several people knew who I was. Perhaps my slight limp betrayed me. I talked a good deal of politics; I mingled with the guests; I danced with my father-in-law and with Bevil, who was gay and very affectionate.