The Folly at Falconbridge Hall (13 page)

To Vanessa’s dread, Sunday morning dawned sunny and warm. The Lord had not answered her selfish prayer for rain. Preparations were already underway for the tennis party when she went to speak to Mrs. Royce before breakfast. Jugs of lemonade were being prepared, the housekeeper informed her. Ice was to be brought from the icehouse for the drinks and to chill the wine. The fragrant aromas of bread and almond cakes, recently removed from the ovens, mingled with the chickens roasting to make filling for sandwiches.

Vanessa found Julian and Blythe in the breakfast room tackling eggs and toast. He gave her outfit an approving glance. “I like that; is it new?”

She straightened the wide sailor collar of her lawn-tennis costume in green-striped flannel. “Yes, I bought it at Harrods.”

Blythe fiddled with the strings of her father’s tennis racket. “May I play, Father?”

“I daresay. There are children coming today.”

“Girls?” Blythe asked hopefully.

“No. The Forsters’ two boys. Fourteen and sixteen years old, I believe.”

“I suppose the court will be in great demand,” Vanessa said, registering Blythe’s disappointment.

“Will you play, too, Nessa?” Blythe asked.

“I shall be busy attending to the guests.”

“Nonsense,” Julian said. “We have capable staff for that. You are to form a four as my partner.”

After spooning a portion of egg onto a plate, she slid in beside him at the table. “But I’ve never played tennis.”

“It’s not that hard. You just hit the ball.”

“I’m sure you can do it, Nessa,” Blythe said with an encouraging smile.

Vanessa’s mouth dried and she put down her fork. Another episode like the riding catastrophe loomed. “Are there not enough to make a four without me?”

“Yes. But how will you learn if you never play?” he asked her, exhibiting his usual unarguable logic.

She searched for some compassion in his gaze, some sign he understood her plight. She found only determination to overcome. It was his way of dealing with everything. She sighed and firmed her lips. “And supposing I don’t wish to learn?”

“I won’t insist, of course,” he said, but the light in his eye told her he wasn’t giving in gracefully. “You didn’t wish to ride either, as I remember.”

And I still don’t
, she thought. “Very well.”

He nodded with a slight smile. “We’ll have time before the guests arrive. If you’ll join me at the court after church, I’ll give you a few pointers.”

“Me too, Father?” Blythe said, apparently oblivious to the undercurrents.

*****

Tables placed around the lawns were laid for the light repast, their linen cloths sparkling white, silverware and crystal glowing. Maids in their black dresses walked up and down the path from the kitchen. The pantry boy, Jeremy, a lad of sixteen, strutted about in his footman’s garb, full of importance.

Vanessa stood beside the court watching, a coat around her shoulders. The morning was rapidly cooling as a bank of clouds moved in heralding a rain shower. A swift rush of relief was followed by guilt.

With a bucket of balls at his feet, Julian tapped a ball over the net to Blythe. She ran to it and swung the racket. The ball flew sideways.

“Again.” Julian bent to pick up another ball.

This time it bounced once before hitting the net. “Take your arm back farther before you hit it,” Julian called. “Ready?”

They played for several minutes until Blythe managed to hit the ball over the net. “Right, your turn, Vanessa.”

Dread weighing her down, Vanessa discarded her coat and grabbed the heavy wooden racket. She walked onto the court and faced her athletic husband at the other side of the net. Every movement he made was disciplined. He hit the ball to her, and she rushed forward, the racket outstretched in her hand. After a giant swing, she watched in horror as it bounced past her. She hadn’t even connected! Her face heated, and she stole a glance at him.

“Again.” Was he gritting his teeth?

She managed to connect with the next, driving it into the ground at her feet.

“Turn side on to the ball. Ready?”

She sank into despair, quite sure she never would be. But with a glance at Blythe’s keen face, Vanessa glued her eyes to the ball as it came towards her. She balanced on her feet and took a swing. The ball hit the center of the racket and flew back at Julian’s feet. He was so surprised he didn’t move.

“You should have hit it, Father,” Blythe called.

Vanessa tried to swallow the laugh and failed. She shrugged helplessly at Julian. He had the grace to laugh.

“I say, what a good shot,” a voice said from behind her.

She swiveled to see Lord Forster standing there, watching.

“Pure luck.” She walked towards him. “As you will see should I play again.”

“I do hope you will partner me,” he said. “Hello, Grieve. Sorry, are we a bit early?”

“Not at all, my good fellow.” Julian tucked the racket under his arm and strode out to shake his hand. “We have time to go over a few things in my study before the others arrive.” He glanced back at Vanessa. “I’m sure you have things to attend to also, my dear.”

Vanessa watched them walk away up the path. She enjoyed a tiny thrill. She had bested Julian. It would not happen often.

The thought vanished as Miss Patterson, wearing a white blouse and skirt, walked out onto the terrace with the rest of the guests. Vanessa was sure she excelled at tennis. She waved and went to join them.

The day passed without incident, even the sunlight broke free from the clouds. The guests seemed to enjoy themselves. Blythe chatted to one of the Forster’s boys. In a few years, she would have a crowd of young men clustered around her. Vanessa, flushed with success at hitting more balls than she missed, joined the group lounging in chairs under umbrellas. She accepted a glass of lemonade from Jeremy and made for the vacant chair. When Lord Forster got up to play, she found herself next to Abigail Patterson and Charles Frobisher. Their conversation stopped abruptly as they turned to acknowledge her presence.

“You play very well, Lady Falconbridge,” Charles said.

“How kind of you, but how untrue,” Vanessa said with a laugh. In his white shirt, his hair a brilliant gold, he was undoubtedly a handsome man, but there were lines of dissipation already forming beneath his eyes, or was she embellishing on what Julian had told her about him?

“Not at all,” he said with a grin. “I was enjoying your form.”

Before Vanessa could think of something to say, Abigail rose. “I wonder if you’d like to take a stroll around the gardens, Mr. Frobisher.”

“That’s too attractive an offer to refuse,” Charles said. He nodded at Vanessa. “You have a fine park here, Lady Falconbridge.”

She watched them stroll off arm in arm.

When they returned an hour later, Abigail’s hair had escaped in tendrils over her neck. She left Charles and headed for the house, no doubt to tidy it. Vanessa wondered if she should warn the young woman, but what could she say without breaking Julian’s confidence? It was really no concern of hers. Julian ran across the court in pursuit of a ball and hit it over the net with a cry of triumph. He would not welcome what he would see as histrionics. She thrust the idea away. She had more pressing concerns. Julian was leaving in a few days.

Holding Blythe’s hand, Vanessa watched Julian’s boat steam away down the River Thames. A light misty rain dampened her straw hat, causing the brim to droop. At her side, Blythe also drooped.

The farewell had been brief. Julian had drawn Vanessa close, and she’d tried not to cling to him. His familiar manly smell made her bite her lip to stop the tears. “I know you’ll take good care of Blythe,” he’d whispered, his warm breath on her neck. “But take care of yourself, too. I’ll write as soon as I can.”

Vanessa would hug the few memories through the long, lonely months ahead and try not to think too much of the uncertainty of her future. She only wanted him to return to them safely.

His parting kiss had been brief as propriety dictated while others looked on. Mrs. Hewson and Lady Forster had come to say goodbye to their men, as had the families of the rest of the party.

“Father will miss my birthday,” Blythe uttered in a broken voice.

“I know, sweetheart. Shall we have a party when your father returns? We can write to tell him all about it.”

Violet eyes darkened with tears. “But where will we send it?”

“Your father has given me an address to send our letters.”

“Is there a post office in the Amazon?”

Vanessa smiled. “Yes. The monkeys deliver the letters.”

Blythe smiled tremulously.

“You can write him every week and add your letter to mine. But understand, we may not receive a reply for some time.”

Vanessa said goodbye to the other women there to see their men off. She led Blythe away from the busy wharf where sailors gathered in groups to laugh and smoke. Dockers yelled as they unloaded cargo from a nearby ship. Horns and whistles blasted through the smoky air. A line of elegant carriages waited with smartly uniformed grooms holding the heads of thoroughbred horses.

“Why don’t we go shopping?” Vanessa said as they approached their carriage where Capstick waited, stooping wearily. She decided to promote the pantry boy, Jeremy, to footman as soon as she got home. He could accompany Capstick in the carriage. “Your father has given his permission for you to have a bicycle, and you need a whole new wardrobe.”

Blythe smiled through her tears.

Vanessa mounted the steps into the carriage, glad to put some space between them and the smell of oil, men’s sweat, and the overpowering river. As they settled against the squabs, she said, “This is a special occasion, Blythe. Your father is embarking on a great adventure. I think an ice cream is in order to celebrate. Now what flavor? I intend to have strawberry.”

“Chocolate,” Blythe said promptly.

They bought the bicycle at Harrods after Blythe tried several for size. In the children’s department, Vanessa purchased several outfits for Blythe, adding underwear, nightwear and shoes to the pile. In ladies wear, she chose a russet-velvet riding habit trimmed with black braid and a matching hat.

When leaving the ladies wear department, Vanessa spied a fawn cycling costume with a jersey bodice, and it sparked an idea. She hunted until she found another suitable for Blythe, adding it to their purchases in the hope they would ride their bicycles more often than horses.

As the dawn light pushed its way into the room through a crack in the curtains, Vanessa turned over in bed and drew Julian’s pillow closer. With the linen changed, no trace of him remained. He’d been gone two long weeks. She and Blythe had managed through the days, each suffering the sense of loss quietly in their own way. She wracked her brain on how to distract Blythe, knowing time would help. But would it help her?

After lessons, they could take out the bicycles if the day remained fine. Blythe had become quite expert but wished to go farther afield. The bridle trail was too rough the carriage drive led nowhere. It was time to take Blythe out onto the road. Perhaps they might cycle all the way into the village if Blythe could manage it. Vanessa threw back the covers, leapt from the bed and went to the window. The early morning air touched her face, fresh and cool. No time like the present. A ride before breakfast beckoned.

After dressing, she hurried through the empty house. Noises came from below stairs. Servants were stirring and would begin their chores very soon. Even Johnson hadn’t made an appearance when she let herself out of the front door. She smiled. What would Julian think of that?

The sun had barely made its appearance as she left the house and hurried down the garden path. She wished to return before Blythe woke. The new bicycles glowed in the shadows of the storage shed. She removed hers, climbed on, and peddled down the drive, the cool autumn breeze blowing away any traces of sleep. It was lovely to ride at this time of day. In her new fawn finery, she thought herself quite fetching. The pea-green skirt had been banished to the back of the wardrobe, never to be worn again.

The bike sailed smoothly over the gravel, raked yesterday to keep free of potholes. She should have expected it. Everything was cared for at Falconbridge Hall. It worked like a well-oiled machine, and she had little to do to keep it so. Mrs. Royce preferred to be given full rein and only consulted her with the most important decisions. The housekeeper worked well with Johnson. Very well with Johnson, Vanessa thought with a smile. She had seen her housekeeper’s stiff formality melt under the muscular man’s attention. He didn’t seem to mind Mrs. Royce either. They were of a similar age. She was a widow, and Vanessa knew Johnson had never been married. Might something come of it?

Deep in thought, she realized she’d veered off the carriage drive leading to the stables. She pulled up as the road ahead disappeared into the woods, sinuous and silent save for the birds overhead. She would have loved to follow it, knowing it joined the road leading to the village on the other side of the wood. She turned away having promised Julian she wouldn’t. Surely, he had overreacted. The death of that poor woman could not have left lingering effects on the surrounding area. Not unless you believed in ghosts. And she didn’t.

Vanessa paused when she heard a horse neigh. The sound came again from somewhere amongst the trees. Who would be riding there at this hour? Might it be Lovel exercising one of the horses? That was enough to send her back to the house, but as she put her feet to the pedals, she heard the rattle of a trap and the ring of metal over the stony ground.

Expecting Capstick, she moved to the side of the road and turned to wait. Moments passed but no trap emerged from the trees. Instead, the rattling grew fainter. The vehicle appeared to trundle away in the opposite direction. Vanessa hesitated. Then curiosity got the better of her. She cycled into the wood.

Shafts of frail early morning sun died amidst the gloom. The air was pungent and earthy from leaf mold piled beneath the trees. Vanessa pedaled faster, following the noise, but the ground grew rougher, the pebbles and loose stones making her tires wobble, forcing her to slow down.

A frustrating glimpse of the backend of a cart before it disappeared again around a bend gave her no clue as to the driver’s identity. It was not the one Capstick used, and to her knowledge, they had no other. She heard a man’s voice urge the horse along, and the vehicle picked up pace. On this rough surface, she could never catch it.

The realization that she was deep within the wood, alone and vulnerable, struck her. Breathing quickly, she pulled up; Julian’s frowning face appeared in her mind’s eye. With a shiver of unease, she retreated, her ears pricked for any movement. The bushes and trees rustled and swayed around her. As she rode on the unreasonable belief grew that someone was about to step out from the trees onto the path and accost her.

She gasped with relief when she sailed out into open air and grinned at her behavior. She wasn’t given to hysterics. What was the matter with her?

Vanessa sped back to the house. The cart must have been waiting amongst the trees. But for what? It might be poachers. She intended to alert the bailiff.

She left the bike leaning against the front wall of the house, hearing the clank of milk arriving from the dairy. The scent of fresh baked bread wafted on the air. She leapt up onto the porch and banged on the door. A maid was at the window opening the shutters and disappeared behind the curtain.

Johnson, tidily dressed in his dark suit, answered the door.

Relieved to see his reassuring bulk, she hurried inside. “I went for an early morning bicycle ride.”

He looked puzzled as he brushed toast crumbs from his moustache. “Nice time o’ day for it, my lady.”

“Do you know why a cart would be driven through the woods this morning?”

Johnson’s eyebrows met in a frown. “Not out on the main thoroughfare?”

She shook her head. “In the wood. Do we receive deliveries from the village by that road?”

“Too potholed. They come through the front gates.”

“I thought of poachers.”

“With a cart? Seems unlikely, they’re a more stealthy lot.”

“Would you ask the gamekeeper if he knows anything? And have the estate manager come to see me.”

“Certainly, my lady. I’ll go and have a good look round myself.”

“Thank you, Johnson. You will let me know if you find anything.”

“Indeed I will.”

Vanessa saw that, by rising so early, she had upset the order of the house. A downstairs maid ducked through a doorway with her box of brushes over her arm. A servant was in the drawing room kneeling at the fireplace with a coalscuttle, laying the fire.

“Dora, isn’t it?”

“Yes, my lady.” The girl jumped to her feet and gave a bob.

“That’s all right. Do continue,” Vanessa told the worried girl. She had never had to reprimand a servant, for Mrs. Royce pounced on any shoddy workmanship before it reached her attention. She was grateful, especially as she continued in her duties as governess, something she and Blythe enjoyed.

The estate manager, Davison, came in moments later, hat in hand, smoothing his brown hair. “Johnson tells me you saw a trap in the wood this morning, my lady?”

Vanessa had begun to think she’d created a storm in a teacup. She explained again, what she had seen.

Davison scratched his head. “I have no idea who it might be. No one drives into Falconbridge Wood uninvited. And deliveries arrive through the main gates.”

“You begin your day quite early, I believe. Might you have heard or perhaps seen something? Your office window overlooks the area.”

He looked taken aback. “I expect I was engrossed in the bank statements, my lady.”

“Would you question Lovel then, please, Mr. Davison? Send him to me if he knows anything.”

“I will, my lady.”

Vanessa watched him as he left the room, replacing his hat. She’d thought him defensive, but why would he be?

She ran upstairs to collect Blythe for breakfast.

That evening after dinner, while Vanessa sat leafing through one of Julian’s books in the drawing room, Johnson knocked at the door. She batted away the vision of him in the ring as he entered with his boxer’s gait, light on his toes for a big man.

“We searched all day, my lady. Couldn’t find much. An area of flattened undergrowth and snapped off branches was all.”

“Was it a large area?”

He shook his head. “About the size and shape of a lady’s trunk.”

“That’s odd.”

“The gamekeeper and I took a good look around, but there was no evidence of poachers.”

“Thank you, Johnson.”

Vanessa rubbed her brow, willing her unease to vanish. Failing, she finished her sherry and went to bed, knowing she wouldn’t sleep. She missed Julian dreadfully, fearing that the very fabric of Falconbridge Hall threatened to unravel without him. It was such a silly thought, and she castigated herself for it but felt no better.