Whispers at Midnight (35 page)

Trudy giggled. “You are teasing me.”

“Never!” Ryne said, frowning playfully.

By the time dessert was served, a fat apple
pie Amanda was to learn was a shared favorite of Ryne’s and
Gardner’s, no one could have guessed they were not a friendly,
affable group. Trudy, broken out of her mopishness, chattered away
with joviality the remainder of the evening, and Emma, always of
light mood, kept them entertained.

The meal ended and they retired to the
drawing room, where Amanda poured glasses of sherry for all. But
after a little while Emma and Trudy begged their leave and went
upstairs. It was then that Amanda felt a prickle of discomfort, for
somehow all evening she had felt that both Gardner and Ryne were
masking angry words that would eventually find their way out.
Before the hostility could erupt, Amanda bade them both good night.
Still she hesitated to go upstairs, and elected instead for a short
walk in the garden first.

It was peaceful out in the moonlight. She
walked the path almost to the river and returned unobserved to the
house, hoping to slip in and up the stairs without alerting either
Ryne or Gardner. But as she moved toward the staircase, she wished
fervently she had gone to her room earlier. As she had feared, an
argument had started between the two men. The loud roar of their
voices echoed into the hall.

“What affair is it of yours?” Ryne
shouted.

“Bloody fool, I know what you are after.
It’s the gold, not her you want.”

“And what do you want, now that you’ve set
up camp at Wicklow?”

“Not the same as you, my scheming brother.
She needs protection.”

“From what?”

“From you, most likely.”

Ryne scoffed. “Whom do you fool with your
pretense of gallantry? You believe the story too—you think there is
gold here.”

“Maybe. But dammit, man, she’s a lady.”

“A lady. Ha! You’ve been rutting round her
since the day she arrived. But you’re too late. I’ve taken the
lass.”

“And what do you intend to do about it?”

“As I have said, old man, it’s not your
affair.”

Amanda heard the scrape of a chair being
pushed aside and the angry stomp of feet. She hurried up the stairs
and out of sight as Ryne charged out of the house. It seemed only
moments later that she heard a bold knock on her sitting-room
door.

“Amanda, are you up?” Gardner called.

“I am,” she answered, opening the door and
beckoning him inside.

“I have just had a talk with Ryne,” he said,
his shoulders set rigidly as he paced the room. “Not a productive
one, but enough so that I understand what happened here.”

Amanda braced herself and answered as
casually as she could, “He did not seduce me, Gardner, if that is
what you think.”

He sighed heavily. “Of course he did. I know
my brother. What I want to know is, are you and Ryne to be
married?”

She felt her disappointment like a tight,
painful knot inside.

“No. We are not,” she answered.

“Amanda,” Gardner said, his voice breaking,
“will you marry me?”

Her face blanched. “Gardner, what are you
saying?”

“I am saying it is a matter of family honor.
If my brother will not marry you, then I feel I must.”

“You don’t love me, Gardner.”

“I believe I am beginning to.”

She smiled and took his hand.

“You are beginning to feel responsible for
me. It isn’t the same. I thank you, but my answer must be no. I
cannot marry you.”

“Do you think the story true?” Trudy
asked.

“Perhaps,” Amanda said.

Amanda and the younger girl sat in chairs by
the window in Amanda’s bedroom, talking idly together as they
looked over the pages of Jubal Wicklow’s old log. Since Gardner had
come to Wicklow, nothing amiss had happened. But for Amanda’s
sadness at Ryne’s betrayal, she could have been completely
contented and happy.

Trudy, however, had been vivacious since the
first evening, when Ryne had been so attentive to her. Only the day
before, Amanda had seen them walking up from the river just before
sunset. While Emma stopped and sat on a bench to remove a pebble
from her shoe, Ryne had drawn Trudy behind the shelter of a tall
hedge and kissed her lightly on the lips.

The sight of them together had made Amanda
immeasurably forlorn. Ryne, it seemed, was intent on yet another
conquest.

It had crossed Amanda’s mind at that moment
that she ought to give Trudy some warning about Ryne. She would not
like to see him break still another heart, especially not one so
young and innocent as Trudy’s. But then Emma had caught up to them
in the garden and since then Amanda had observed that Emma rarely
let the girl stray far from her sight. She felt assured that Emma
knew Ryne’s reputation well enough and would see that Trudy was not
misused.

“I believe it is.” Trudy gave her the
log.

“Oh, I don’t know,” Amanda responded after a
pause. “This passage mentions a chest of gold being brought to
Virginia. I can’t make out the date clearly, but it was before he
brought Evelyn here. On the next passage the words are faded
entirely.” Amanda looked up perplexedly. “I can’t imagine why he
wrote such gibberish. All these rhymes. Really, they are impossible
to decipher.”

“Let me have another look.” Trudy’s face
glowed with enthusiasm. Had it not been for her interest in the
log, Amanda would have given up on reading it. But Trudy enjoyed
romanticizing about the recorded journeys to faraway countries and,
Amanda had decided, used her dreams to make her quiet life more
exciting.

With a smile, Amanda complied and passed the
ragged leather-bound book back to Trudy.

Trudy furrowed her brow and studied the
words silently for a few minutes before looking up excitedly.

“I think I’ve done it.” She smiled proudly.
“Let me read it to you.” She went on in a lowered voice:

Turbaned king of celestial light

Golden beams chase the night.

Scattered stars flee the sun,

Behold the secret of the mystic one.

Amanda listened intently as Trudy read the
words. They sounded oddly familiar. She had heard them before, and
recently, or perhaps they were from one of the books of poetry she
had found in the library. There was one with Jubal Wicklow’s own
inscription, a translation from the Persian. The words were not
unlike those, only it seemed the cadence was different, as if this
were an imitation of that foreign style.

As she thought on it more, she became
convinced the lines in the old log had been written by Jubal
Wicklow himself. Had the old fellow fancied himself a poet?

“Oh my!” Trudy exclaimed, getting hurriedly
to her feet. “Ryne has promised to take me for a drive and I am
late to meet him.” She scurried to stand at Amanda’s dressing table
and quickly patted the smooth coils of her hair and pinched spots
of color into her cheeks.

Amanda saw the excitement lighting Trudy’s
face and wondered again if perhaps she ought to warn the girl to be
careful.

“You are seeing a lot of him, are you not?”
Amanda asked suddenly. She had noticed, with some reluctance, that
Ryne and Trudy had spent some part of each day together in the
nearly two weeks since Gardner had brought them home from
Williamsburg. Even the fact that Emma was ever present to chaperone
did not deter them.

Amanda found herself more and more alone.
Even Gardner was rarely around since Amanda had declined his
proposal of marriage. For the last few days he had seldom been at
Wicklow except for dinner, and once had ridden off to keep an
appointment late at night.

Trudy smiled tolerantly, as if she knew what
Amanda was about to say.

“You do know Ryne has a reputation as a
philanderer, Trudy? You are very young. You must keep that in
mind.” Amanda said as calmly as she could.

“Oh,” Trudy said, her smile fading a little.
“I don’t think I need worry on that score. Aunt Emma watches over
me with an eagle’s eye. Really, I don’t have a moment to
myself.”

“Then you are not going out alone?” Amanda
asked, feeling her cheeks warm a bit and hoping Trudy did not think
jealousy the cause of her concern. If anything, she told herself,
she was glad Ryne was no longer interested in her.

“No,” Trudy answered with a pout. “Aunt Emma
wouldn’t hear of it. She’s coming too. Oh my!” she cried
vivaciously. “I do have to hurry.”

Amanda breathed a sigh of relief and placed
the ship’s log, still open to the page Trudy had been reading, on
the little desk in her room.

“I’ll go down with you, Trudy. I think I’ll
walk in the garden.” Amanda tucked a stray curl into her coiffure.
“I would like some fresh air myself.”

How was it, she wondered, that Ryne suddenly
had time for afternoon walks by the river and leisurely carriage
rides? He had spent more time at Wicklow than Gardner had in the
last few days. She thought it not a little irksome that since he
had discovered Trudy’s delightful company, he found himself quite
free of other obligations.

She looked at Trudy’s bright face. It was
only to be expected that Trudy would be excited. What girl would
not be, to have a handsome gentleman like Ryne courting? Amanda
gave a soft, pelting little sigh as she walked beside Trudy. She
told herself again she did not care. Ryne’s interest in her had
been mercenary. It was Wicklow he wanted. Wicklow and gold. Her
eyes burned brightly with sharply felt emotion, and it seemed a
shadow crossed her heart.

Had she really thought he cared? What a
blind, gullible fool she had been ever to believe it.

They reached the top of the stairs and
started down, Trudy mumbling about being late, when Ezra flew to
the rail and screeched. The parrot raised his wings and spread the
feathers to show all the iridescent colors underneath.

“Wicklow!” he said. “When Wicklow is
mine!”

Trudy gasped and turned ashen. At the same
instant she turned her head to glance at the bird, and as she did,
missed a step.

A cry of panic burst from her lips as she
careened downward. For moment it looked as if she would tumble the
length of the slate stairs and crash to the hard floor below. But
Amanda, who was a few steps ahead, was able to catch hold of
Trudy’s arm and to prevent what would have been a dreadful and
possibly fatal accident.

“Trudy, are you hurt?” Amanda cried as Trudy
sank pale and trembling to the steps.

“Oh no, I am not,” Trudy answered hollowly.
“But if you had not been here to catch me I am sure I would have
been killed. That dreadful bird,” she said. “I could wring his
little neck.” But she had begun to smile again and there was no
malice in her voice.

Thanking Amanda again, Trudy got cautiously
to her feet and continued down the stairs.

Ezra, not looking at all penitent, hopped to
Amanda’s shoulder and stayed there as she followed Trudy down the
steps.

Amanda cut her eyes to the parrot and gently
chastised him. “Ezra, you are naughty. You frightened Trudy.”

But Trudy’s fright had been only momentary,
and by the time she reached the hall, she was recovered and as
eager as ever to meet Ryne.

Trudy laughed. “Yes, you wicked fowl, you
were almost the end of me.”

Ezra opened his sharp beak and squawked,
“Nonsense.”

“You might tell her that you are sorry,”
Amanda said, but the bird, having had his ride down the stairs,
took to his wings and flew to the window ledge above the door.

Trudy shook her head at the parrot’s
impudence and with a word of good-bye to Amanda hurried out where
Emma waited, and together they went to meet Ryne.

Amanda waited in the drawing room until she
heard them drive away. Gardner had ridden over to his property and
was not expected back for several hours.

She felt especially alone, almost as if she
were isolated from all other people, although that was not the
case. Gussie and Mrs. Campbell were not far away in the kitchen and
she knew Gardner’s driver was somewhere on the grounds and had been
instructed to keep a close watch on the house. She paced fitfully.
Her distress came from within, from a deep well of emotions that
were in turmoil.

She found it disturbing to admit the nature
of those emotions. But they were becoming painfully strong and it
was best if she acknowledged the feelings. For when one emotion
turned into another, it could be a dangerous thing.

In a period of weakness she had let herself
fall in love with Ryne Sullivan, and now, instead of seeing that
love grow to the beautiful heights she had hoped for, she thought
herself very close to hating him.

She tried to shut out the picture of Ryne
kissing Trudy in the garden. He was a philanderer, an opportunist
with women, and he left a trail of foolish, defeated females in his
wake. She must not let him add Trudy to his list.

Amanda stood motionless on the front steps
of Wicklow, staring vacantly into the distance. How easy it was to
despise someone who made you aware of being a fool.

***

The path was grown up in weeds and briers
but Amanda walked it with a disregard for caution. The house seemed
to have become all shadows and strange sounds. The demon faces, the
gargoyle heads, the sultry air had made the walls of Wicklow start
to close in on her. She felt an overpowering restlessness and found
she could not stay inside a moment longer. Consequently she set out
at a brisk pace, hoping the exertion of a walk would soon free her
from the plague of troubling thoughts in her mind.

The path was a new one for her, though
evidently at one time it had been much used. It led through the
woods, which were wild and thick and almost as punishing by their
closeness as Wicklow had been. She hurried up a hillside toward a
clearing. When she reached the spot she realized she had walked to
the Wicklow family plot on a rise of land that both overlooked the
river and gave a view of the road leading to Williamsburg.