Blanchland Secret Page 13

  ‘That’s very good, Mary.’ She turned to Guy and Sarah. ‘I have only made a start on a few of the rooms, but Mary tells me she has two sisters who can come in to help tomorrow! And it does look much better, does it not?’

  ‘The flowers?’ Sarah questioned, wondering where her cousin had found such luscious blooms in the winter.

  Amelia beamed. ‘Why, they are from your father’s hothouses, Sarah! Of course, it is all going to rack and ruin, but Mary tells me an old man called Tom comes in to tend to them sometimes—’

  From the staircase came the tread of someone descending. Amelia looked up, closed her lips in a straight, disapproving line, and whisked the small maid through the door to the servants’ quarters without another word, rather in the manner of a fairy godmother. Sarah raised her eyebrows.

  ‘Well, well! What have we here?’

  The voice was oily. When Sarah looked up at the man standing on the half-landing, she thought there was something altogether too unwholesome and greasy about him. Tall and thin, he was dressed all in black, with a quizzing glass on a gold chain about his neck. She guessed that he was about forty years of age, but the look in his eyes, at once knowing and weary, suggested that he had seen enough for a lifetime. This, then, must be the first of Sir Ralph’s guests, and perhaps even one of Olivia’s suitors.

  ‘The Honourable Miss Sheridan, I presume!’ the man said, smiling in a somewhat predatory manner. His pointed chin jutted like the beak of a bird of prey. He reached the bottom of the stairs and bowed. ‘We heard of your arrival. Delighted to meet you, my dear! Edward Allardyce, at your service.’

  Lord Allardyce stepped forward and raised Sarah’s hand to his lips. His mouth was wet against her skin. His black, knowing eyes appraised her thoroughly. ‘Such a pleasure to meet unsullied innocence after a stay in this house!’

  Sarah felt Guy stiffen beside her. His face looked as though it had been carved from stone. He gave the slightest of bows, so slight it was almost an insult.

  ‘Allardyce.’

  ‘Renshaw!’ Lord Allardyce did not appear to have noticed Guy’s frosty tone. ‘A pleasure to see you again, old fellow!’ He shot a look at Sarah. ‘I believe you had that delicious opera singer in keeping when last we met in London! Good to see that your taste has improved!’

  Guy’s mouth tightened. ‘Miss Sheridan is my father’s goddaughter and I am here in his place to assist her in some family matters,’ he said tightly. ‘I do not anticipate that Miss Sheridan will wish to remain any longer than is absolutely necessary!’

  ‘I should think not!’ Allardyce gave an affected shudder. His black eyes gleamed. ‘The place is filthy and the food atrocious! Assure you, I was about to leave myself when Miss Sheridan’s arrival made everything so much more interesting!’

  Guy took a step forward. Sarah could feel his tension, tight as a bow about to snap.

  ‘I don’t believe you heard me, Allardyce—’

  For a moment the other man hesitated, then he laughed. ‘I heard you, Renshaw. The irreproachable Miss Sheridan is out of bounds—to both you and I!’ He turned and strolled away with deliberate provocation. ‘Too bad! But there is plenty more sport in this house, when all is said and done!’

  There was an expression of almost murderous fury on Guy’s face. He took a step after the departing figure, but Sarah put her hand on his arm to restrain him.

  ‘Do not! It is not worth it!’

  For a second Guy looked so angry Sarah thought he had not even heard her, then his expression softened and he covered her hand with his for a brief moment.

  ‘I beg your pardon, Miss Sheridan. I wish you had not had to hear that.’

  ‘It is nothing, my lord,’ Sarah said a little shakily. ‘I believe I shall have to hear worse if I remain at Blanchland!’

  ‘Yes—’ Guy’s expression was brooding ‘—that may well be true! But I do beg you to be careful of Allardyce, Miss Sheridan. He is…’ Guy hesitated ‘…a deeply offensive man and not one with whom you should ever associate!’

  Sarah wondered whether that was why Amelia had hurried the little maid away so abruptly and, as she went up the stairs to prepare for dinner, she could not help but speculate again whether it had been Lord Allardyce who had been asking after Olivia. She shivered, remembering his unctuous voice and greasy manner. And Allardyce was only the first of Ralph’s guests that they had met! She could not help but wonder what on earth the others would be like.

  Amelia’s influence had not yet reached the food and dinner was an unpalatable meal redeemed only by the quality of the wine. It had quickly become apparent to Sarah that Sir Ralph’s guests could only visit for two reasons—the Blanchland wine cellar and, presumably, the entertainment Ralph provided with his revels. Neither was a good enough reason to draw her to Blanchland, but his guests were a different kettle of fish.

  The houseparty were an oddly assorted mixture, a group who apparently had only their interest in the revels in common. Sir Ralph himself appeared to be directing his amorous attentions towards a Mrs Eliza Fisk, whose husband was also present but seemed to be asleep most of the time. Mrs Fisk was decidedly fat and past the first flush of youth, but Sir Ralph evidently liked plenty to get hold of.

  There were two other ladies, of dubious age, status and virtue: Lady Tilney, who had transferred her attentions from Lord Allardyce to Greville Baynham with alacrity, and Lady Ann Walter, a statuesque blonde, who was eyeing Guy with feline speculation. Lord Allardyce did not seem unduly disappointed by Lady Tilney’s defection, for he was seated next to Sarah at dinner and was making a great fuss of her. His attentions made Sarah feel faintly sick and very wary. Amelia, meanwhile, was busy charming a young man who looked barely out of leading reins and was quite obviously dazzled by her.

  ‘Young Justin Lebeter,’ Allardyce said, following Sarah’s gaze. ‘He has a doting mama, a lazy trustee and more money than sense, which accounts for his presence here! It is shocking to see the young fall into such bad company!’ The malicious twist to his thin mouth suggested that he really found the corruption of innocence rather amusing. ‘Perhaps Lady Amelia may save him—she is rather high in the instep, is she not?’

  Sarah chose not to reply. She was already feeling decidedly vulnerable in this disreputable company. There was nothing openly licentious about their behaviour, but an unpleasant undertone to the conversation, an innuendo that could not be ignored, made the whole experience very uncomfortable. Added to this was an air of suppressed excitement, as though it was only a matter of time before the façade of civility cracked to reveal the lechery beneath.

  Sarah applied herself to the mock turtle soup, but it was stone cold and tasted of little but salt. It was impossible to force it down. Her eyes seemed drawn by some curious magnetism to the frieze of nude characters that cavorted around the room. Everywhere one turned there were images of lewdness in the worst possible taste, with some truly shocking cartoons framed on the wall. Sarah felt the colour rising to her cheeks and hastily looked away.

  Lord Allardyce viewed her discomfort with amusement. He allowed his appreciative gaze to linger on Sarah’s figure, taking in the demure high-necked evening gown, the neatly coiled hair and the modest shawl. His smile broadened.

  ‘My dear Miss Sheridan, you could not be making more of a statement if you spoke it aloud! Whatever can have prompted a pattern-card of rectitude such as yourself to come to this nest of reprobates? Why, you will surely be ruined, if not in deed, at least in word!’

  Sarah’s eyes narrowed at the turn the conversation was taking. ‘I have family business here at Blanchland, my lord.’

  ‘Ah! The mysterious family business!’ Allardyce sat back, his button-black eyes bright with speculation. ‘It must be pressing indeed to bring you to this house! Have you not heard of Sir Ralph’s revels? Naked orgies and cavorting in the snow—’

  An obsequious footman dressed all in black removed Sarah’s untouched bowl of soup and placed a plate of steaming mutton before he
r.

  ‘Cavorting in the snow?’ Sarah said, deliberately indifferent. ‘It all sounds rather cold, my lord! One must be careful not to catch a chill, I should think!’

  For a second Allardyce looked taken aback, then he smiled in appreciation of her tactics.

  ‘Very sensible, Miss Sheridan! I can see you are a lady not easily shaken! But is your practicality proof against the black arts?’

  Sarah looked up, startled. ‘Against witchcraft? Surely not even Sir Ralph would indulge in such foolish practices!’

  Lord Allardyce’s smile was positively vulpine. ‘There is a little temple in the woods where—’

  ‘Oh!’ Sarah smiled brightly, cutting him off before he should have the chance to go any further. ‘You mean the grotto! I used to play there as a child! There is a spring in the rocks—it is indeed a charming place!’

  Allardyce looked put out. He was not accustomed to both his compliments and his intriguing hints falling on such stony ground. He gave up temporarily and applied himself to his mutton. Mr Fisk appeared to have fallen forward into his. Further down the table, Sir Ralph was feeding mutton stew to Mrs Fisk in a coquettish manner that made Sarah feel faintly nauseous. Sir Ralph looked up, caught her eye, and put his fork down with an abashed expression.

  Next to him, Lady Tilney was pouring Greville some more wine, leaning forward to display her rampant cleavage and running her fingers along the back of Greville’s hand. Greville did not look as though he minded in the least. Sarah knew that Amelia had also seen and that the slightly brittle gaiety she was showing young Lord Lebeter was a direct result. Lebeter was at least enough of a gentleman to behave with propriety, and his youthful face showed some embarrassment at the increasingly uninhibited behaviour of the company.

  Sarah reflected ruefully that Guy and Greville both seemed remarkably at home in such scandalous surroundings. She knew enough of Guy’s reputation to be unsurprised, but a dull weight seemed to settle on her stomach that owed nothing to the greasy mutton. It did not matter how much she told herself to disregard it—it seemed his behaviour still had the power to disturb her.

  There was a roaring log fire in the room and the heat was growing all the time. Sarah fanned herself surreptitiously and noted the reddening faces of the other diners. Guy was the only one who still looked cool, immaculately sophisticated in his evening clothes, as though he were in a London drawing-room rather than amidst a raffish houseparty. As Sarah watched, Lady Ann Walter rested one white hand on Guy’s shoulder as though to emphasise a point she was making, then raised it to caress his tumbled fair hair in a gesture so intimate that Sarah almost caught her breath out loud.

  ‘I believe that Lady Ann and Lord Renshaw were acquainted before,’ Lord Allardyce said slyly in her ear. ‘I fear you may have lost your beau, Miss Sheridan…’

  Guy was laughing now at whatever Lady Ann was whispering in his ear. Sarah stared transfixed at the strong, brown column of his neck, the thick fair hair curling over his collar, the flashing white smile. Lady Ann was also watching him, with hunger in her gaze. Sarah felt an extraordinary jealousy twist inside her, so strong that she had to look away.

  ‘You quite mistake the case, my lord,’ she said coldly, aware that Allardyce was watching her avidly. ‘Lord Renshaw accompanies me on behalf of his father, no more and no less. I have no claim on him.’

  Allardyce looked unconvinced. ‘Is that so? It would be interesting to see whether Lord Renshaw feels the same way, ma’am. Perhaps a taste of his own medicine would do the trick…’

  For a moment Sarah was tempted, but she knew that she would be playing into Allardyce’s hands. Besides, she had just claimed to be unconcerned by Guy’s behaviour and was not about to show that the reverse was true. Still, the idea had held brief appeal. To make Guy jealous…if only she could! A small smile curved her mouth at the thought; at that moment, Guy looked up and straight at her. The amusement died from his dark eyes as he saw Sarah’s smile and Allardyce bending close to her, one hand on her arm. Sarah felt as though she was pinned in her seat by the intensity of his stare and wondered if she imagined the anger she had read there. Then Allardyce laughed softly and the spell was broken. Sarah looked away, the colour mounting in her cheeks.

  ‘That’s the spirit, Miss Sheridan! That is all it takes!’

  ‘I do not care for this conversation, sir!’ Sarah snapped. ‘Pray let us change the subject!’

  ‘Very well,’ Allardyce murmured, ‘by all means let us discuss the weather if you wish it, Miss Sheridan!’

  The mutton had congealed on Sarah’s plate. The obsequious footman removed the covers and brought in a raspberry mousse. There were murmurs of appreciation, but not for the skill of the cuisine. The dessert wine, one of the late Lord Sheridan’s finest, was circulating the table and the giggles and uninhibited behaviour was becoming more strident.

  Sarah caught Amelia’s horrified gaze as Lady Tilney dipped a finger into the dessert and held it out for Greville to lick, a lascivious glint in her eye. It seemed that Mrs Fisk was intending to use the mousse even more creatively, for she was encouraging Sir Ralph to dip his spoon into a bowl balanced on her magnificent bosom. Mr Fisk snored before the fire. Sarah felt as though she was getting hotter and hotter. Wherever she turned, it seemed there were images of wantonness.

  ‘Excuse us, Sir Ralph—’ Amelia’s icy tones cut across the growing raucousness ‘—I believe it is time for the ladies to retire.’

  Sir Ralph leaped up like a scalded cat, sending the bowl of mousse flying from Mrs Fisk’s chest. ‘Lady Amelia! Of course, ma’am! Pray retire! Ladies—’ he looked hopelessly at Ann Walter and Lady Tilney ‘—perhaps you would be so good as to wait for us in the drawing-room.’

  Lady Tilney giggled, trailing her fingers down Greville’s cheek. ‘Don’t be so silly, Ralphie! We want some port…’

  Lady Ann was feeding Guy grapes from the burgeoning fruit bowl. Sarah watched her pop them into his mouth and felt physically sick.

  ‘As I said,’ Amelia said pointedly, ‘the ladies will retire…’

  She got haughtily to her feet, raising her eyebrows when neither Guy nor Greville stood up. Lord Lebeter hurried to hold her chair, whilst Allardyce gave Sarah his arm to the door. Sarah’s last image of the dining-room was of Greville with Lady Tilney sitting squarely on his knee and Guy twirling one of Lady Ann’s blonde curls about his finger. Then the door was closed firmly in her face and almost immediately a burst of wild laughter could be heard on the other side of the panels.

  Sarah could feel Amelia shaking like a leaf as they made their way up the stairs, but could not tell whether it was from anger or misery. She felt little better herself. Although she had told herself that life at Blanchland would contain some aspects she found distasteful, being confronted by the reality was both more shocking and more painful than she had imagined. In her heart of hearts she had expected that both Guy and Greville would act as gentlemen and defend her and Amelia from the harsher realities of Ralph’s revels. The proof had shown them to be less than gentlemen and more than inclined to throw themselves into the spirit of the place. Never had Sarah felt so alone. When her father had died she had at least had Frank to provide some comfort and when he, too, had gone, Amelia’s companionship had been solace. Here, both of them were in a completely unfamiliar situation and had nowhere to turn.

  As soon as the door was closed, Amelia threw herself onto the bed and burst into angry tears.

  ‘How dare he! How dare he profess to love me and then behave like that with that common little trollop! I hate him!’

  Sarah sat beside her and stroked her shoulder tentatively. ‘Milly! Please don’t cry! Ten to one Greville is doing it to make you jealous—’

  Amelia’s pointed little face looked like an angry cat. ‘Jealous! I would not have him now if he begged on bended knee! That vulgar strumpet was all over him—it was disgusting! I could not tell whether it was the food or the behaviour that revolted me more!’

 
‘It was truly repellent,’ Sarah agreed, with a shaky smile. ‘That mutton—’

  ‘Never mind the mutton! Did you see the way that that woman behaved with him? Licking her fingers, indeed! I dare swear—’ Amelia broke off, gave an infuriated squeak and pummelled her pillow hard.

  ‘Well,’ Sarah said, struggling to be even-handed, ‘Guy’s behaviour was almost as bad. I know he is reputed a rake, but I did not wish to witness the evidence! Lord Allardyce told me that he and Lady Ann Walter—’

  ‘Allardyce!’ Amelia gave a disgusted snort. ‘He is more unwholesome than the rest put together! I do beg you to be careful there, Sarah!’

  ‘There is no need,’ Sarah said, pressing her hands together. ‘We shall not stay. I see now that it is impossible! We shall leave at first light!’

  Amelia stopped punching her pillow and stared at her cousin. ‘Leave? But you have yet to accomplish your quest!’

  ‘It is of no consequence. Churchward may act as my agent here. When I think of what we have endured—’

  ‘But we cannot go now!’ Amelia, with a complete change of heart, stood up and started to pace about the room. ‘Why, those wretched creatures downstairs would believe that they have chased us away! I could not bear them to triumph!’

  As if in confirmation, there was the sound of running feet in the passage outside, followed by giggles and growling sounds. Sir Ralph—Sarah devoutly hoped that it was he—was becoming amorous.

  ‘Let us play hunt the squirrel!’ she heard one of the ladies shout. ‘Greville darling, you may hide in here with me…’

  A door closed along the passage. Sarah wrinkled up her nose with distaste. ‘Good God, I thought we were rid of them—’

  ‘Oh, Lord Renshaw,’ a melting female cooed outside, ‘I fear I shall be easily caught if you are doing the hunting…’

  Sarah found that she was about to laugh hysterically. It was all so dreadfully like a bad melodrama and she had to stuff her hand into her mouth to stop the giggles erupting. Amelia’s face was buried in the pillow again and her shoulders were shaking, but Sarah suspected that her affliction was laughter, not tears, this time. So it proved. When the growls, murmurs and titters outside the door had subsided, Amelia raised her head and said, ‘Oh, Sarah, what are we to do?’