Sea of Secrets: A Novel of Victorian Romantic Suspense (8 page)

He also seemed unaware of his own good looks, which Felicity, to my surprise, had not exaggerated. He had a narrow, fine-boned face, with expressive blond brows and eyes the wide and candid blue of the sky. Except for being so handsome, he seemed a fairly ordinary fellow, and one whose camaraderie was very welcoming. Already I felt more at ease; his manner was so like a brother’s, although more courteous.

As if he had read my thoughts, he said, “I hear that you have lost your brother, and recently. I am very sorry.”

“Thank you.” I sounded abrupt, even to my ears, and added without intending to, “I still cannot quite believe it. He was away such a short time.”

“He was in the Crimea, I believe.” There was both understanding and concern in my cousin’s voice.

“Yes. At Inkerman.”

I could feel his eyes on my face, gauging whether to change the subject. “Would you prefer not to speak of him?” he asked quietly.

“Not at all; I wish I could speak of him more, in fact.” All at once I wanted to confide in him. It would be a great relief to me, and I felt that Charles would understand. “But nobody will discuss it with me or tell me what I want to know; it isn’t right for young ladies to know about war and killing. No one will let me bring up the subject. You would think it was something indecent.”

“What is it you wish to know? I’ll gladly help if I can.”

“My brother was shot,” I said in a rush. “We were told that he died almost instantly. And everyone tells us what a mercy it was, that he would have suffered so if he had survived to be taken to a hospital. What I need to know is if that is the truth, or if they are only trying to make his death easier to accept. Would he have suffered so? Were the hospitals so dreadful?”

He was silent for a moment, and dropped his eyes so that I could not read them. He reached down to scratch Zeus’s ears, his long fingers moving absently in the spaniel’s fur. “They were,” he said, without looking at me. “The care of the wounded was criminally poor. The conditions of the hospitals… well, if I tell you that what I saw there convinced me to take up the study of medicine, perhaps that will give you an idea of the atrocity of it.”

“You are a doctor?” I exclaimed. In a family as wealthy as the Reginalds, there could be no need for even the son of a younger son to work for a living. Charles must have been deeply affected by his experiences to take up a trade.

“I hope to become one. This summer I leave for Edinburgh to begin my studies in earnest. Now, while I am convalescing”—the wry lift of one eyebrow showed his opinion of that term—“I am trying to learn the fundamentals. I hope to find ways to reform the practices that lose so many lives needlessly.”

“You must have suffered a great deal yourself,” I ventured.

He brushed that away. “Believe me, your friends are not sugaring over the truth for your benefit,” he said earnestly. “If your brother died quickly, he was surely spared a great deal of horror. And many more men died in hospital of illnesses they contracted there than of battle wounds. Your brother’s death was probably the most merciful that could have happened under the circumstances.”

I nodded, feeling a rush of gratitude toward him for having relieved some of my anxious uncertainty. “It is kind of you to be frank with me.”

“Not at all. So many people don’t wish to hear the truth about the war; it is a relief not to have to guard my tongue for once.”

This was more kindness, I guessed; had he spoken with utter candor, I suspected, he could have described horrors I knew nothing of. I wondered if he had been able to talk of what he had experienced to anyone, or if he had been forced to offer only a partial and highly edited account for his family’s hearing.

Although I had not heard anyone approach, Zeus’s head popped up and he gave a pleased bark that announced another arrival. Charles and I rose and I found myself facing a man who must be Lord Claude. I stared to curtsey, but he caught my hands in his and drew me forward, beaming. Before I realized what he intended he had startled me by planting a kiss on my cheek.

“So this is Gwendolyn’s long-lost niece,” he said. “I see that you have already met Charles. I hope he has been making you feel at home. Did you have a pleasant journey?”

“Very pleasant, thank you, sir.” Clearly I had no cause to worry about my reception.

“I am glad to hear it. I know Gwendolyn is delighted to have you here, as we all are.” His eyes twinkled, and I saw the resemblance between him and his son. “I even believe she has given special instructions to Cook for something spectacular to welcome you with.”

“She need not have troubled; I feel very welcome already,” I said, dazzled by the lavish extent of this hospitality.

“It is no trouble, I assure you,” he said with a chuckle, and Charles added, “My aunt would be sorely disappointed to lose the chance for a celebration.”

Lord Claude was shorter and stockier than his son, but with the same good-humored expression, and the crinkles around his eyes suggested that he laughed often. He was a handsome man, the ruddy gold of his hair and beard unmixed with grey, and without any sign of paunchiness. Nevertheless, he was not a forceful presence: his voice and manner were quiet, calm, unobtrusive, never calling attention to himself. In a livelier company he might be forgotten altogether. Once more I was baffled by the difference between my expectations and the reality. Neither Lord Claude nor the duchess looked at all the sort of person I had naïvely expected to be involved in a scandal. For all their wealth and rank, they seemed to be pleasant but fairly normal people. Even their willingness to take in a virtually unknown distant relation bespoke an openheartedness I had not expected to find.

Lord Claude’s voice broke in on my thoughts, although he was not speaking to me. “Have you any idea whether Herron will be joining us tonight?”

Charles shook his head. “I saw him earlier and told him that the ladies would be arriving today, but I couldn’t say whether he will put in an appearance.”

“Does His Grace have other plans?” I asked, and the two glanced at me, then each other, as if silently consulting about how much they should say.

“Not as such,” said Charles—cautiously, I thought. “But he has been keeping to himself a great deal of late, and he does not always take his meals with the rest of the family.”

“But I should hope that he’ll behave himself this evening and put in an appearance, for his new cousin’s sake if nothing else,” put in his father, in what seemed weariness more than anger. “Ah, well, we shall see. Perhaps the boy will remember his manners.”

But he did not sound optimistic, and I wondered for the first time if the duke and his new stepfather were on friendly terms. the sudden change in their relationship might have met with some resistance on one side—or both. I wondered if Lord Claude was being unjustly critical of the duke. My curiosity about this cousin was growing every moment, and I longed to see if he was anything like the idea I had formed of him in my mind. The accuracy of my predictions had certainly been poor thus far.

But I was disappointed in my hope of assessing him in person, since the duke failed to appear that evening. The duchess and Felicity eventually joined us, resplendent after their long toilet, but by the time the dinner gong went we were still only six, with Miss Yates. The duchess and her husband exchanged a long look, and I saw her lips press together as if to keep in her disappointment. But in a moment she gave a laugh, her face restored to its usual gaiety, and slipped her hand through her husband’s arm.

“Well, there’s nothing for it but to start without him. If he has any sense at all he will join us; Cook has outdone herself in your honor, my dear, and Herron will be the loser if he misses this meal. Charles, will you take your cousin in?”

Charles offered me his arm, and with Felicity and Miss Yates following after, we processed in to dinner.

“By the way,” he said in an undertone as we crossed the great hall, a vast vaulted space with an echoing marble floor, “it might be best if you can learn to call Herron by his name. He hates being addressed by his title; in his mind, his father is still the duke.” I said I would bear that in mind, and he added in a resigned tone, “Of course, if he persists in being so coy, you may never have occasion to speak to him at all.”

This was discouraging, but as soon as we entered the dining room I was so distracted by the grandeur of my surroundings that I almost forgot my disappointment at the duke’s absence. Although when they were not entertaining guests the family usually took dinner in the breakfast room, Charles told me, tonight they were using the banquet hall in my honor. The six of us were a ridiculously tiny group at the end of the long, gleaming table that would have seated thirty. Our voices echoes in the vast arched chamber, and despite the chandeliers, the light did not entirely dissipate the shadows. I felt awed, as if I were dining in a particularly opulent monastery. I wondered how long ago Ellsmere had been built: this room felt centuries old, as if the air was layered with the echoes of many lives.

The duchess evidently still held out hope that her son would join us, and when we had dawdled over the soup as long as was possible, she beckoned the butler over for a brief consultation. It ended in her sigh.

“Well, bring in the fish, Jenkins,” she said in resignation. “I suppose my son is off wandering the cliffs again. We’ll not see him tonight; there’s no sense in waiting longer.” She offered me a sad smile. “My dear, I do hope you will forgive this feeble showing on your first night with us.”

I assured her that there was nothing to forgive, but I wondered at the cause of the duke’s absence. Was it meant to show disdain or to hurt his mother? Surely, no matter how forgetful or grief-stricken, he would have made an appearance otherwise.

“Perhaps I should speak to the boy, remind him of his responsibilities.” This from Lord Claude, who looked anything but eager to do so.

The duchess’s shake of the head sent her ruby earrings dancing; I could not help but reflect that their flirtatious motion was ill suited to the gravity of her expression. “I doubt it would do any good, Claude. I cannot do a thing with him, myself, since his father—” She broke off, perhaps recalling the presence of others.

“I’m certain he’ll return when he tires of being dashed with salt spray,” said Charles, glancing at his stepmother’s puckered brow. “Unless, of course, he’s rehearsing for a tableau and wishes to portray Ariadne, pacing the shore of Naxos. Felicity could wrap herself in a counterpane to portray Dionysus, and descend from the chandelier to whisk him away.”

Felicity squealed indignantly, and the duchess looked up with what seemed to be a grateful smile, her shoulders visibly relaxing. She reached out to touch Charles’s hand. “We mustn’t put Felicity in such a precarious position, but tableaus are a wonderful idea. We must have a game one evening soon—as long as I may be sure of the safety of the chandeliers.”

Charles went on to make other ridiculous suggestions for the tableaus, Felicity interrupted to scold him, and in the silliness the subject of the duke’s absence seemed to be forgotten. The duchess’s face lost its sad preoccupation, and when the ladies withdrew to leave the men to their port, she was so busy describing the new hangings for the blue salon to me that she did not even seem to remember the cause of her earlier distress.

As congenial as the company was, I felt tired after the day’s events and found the prospect of an evening’s conversation taxing. To my relief, the duchess rose to retire as soon as Charles and Lord Claude returned to join us in the drawing room.

“I’m certain we ladies are all a bit weary after our journey, and would like to retire.” For some reason her cheeks were pink, although she had not been sitting by the fire, and she did not look at all tired as she took Lord Claude’s arm. Then I remembered that they had only been a few weeks married, and felt an answering blush rise to my cheeks as belated understanding came to me.

“Have you everything you need, my dear?” the duchess paused to ask on her way out of the room with her husband. “If you find you lack anything, just ring for Jane. Good night, children, and sleep well.”

And with that, they were gone. She seemed to have forgotten her concern over putting me in Great-Aunt Agatha’s room, but that was little wonder. She was obviously too absorbed in her reunion with her husband to fret for long about guest accommodations.

Back in Great-Aunt Agatha’s room I did not ring for Jane, but managed to wriggle out of my gown and petticoats by myself; the prospect of another awkward session with the maid was more than I had the fortitude to face. The unaccustomed weight of my chignon had made my head ache, and I was glad to be able to pull out the hairpins and brush my hair out. Evidently moving among the higher strata of society was going to involve the sacrifice of a certain amount of comfort to fashion.

I turned down the lamp and climbed into the high, canopied bed that had its own set of stairs. Had Great-Aunt Agatha’s legs been as short as mine? I wondered.

I was warm and content under the faded velvet counterpane, and my room was perfectly silent. No sound, not even the noise of the sea, disturbed the stillness. Images of the preceding day drifted gently through my mind, and all of them assured me that I was welcome, that I would be able to be happy here. The first day of my new life had been a promising one. I had almost drifted off to sleep when a hollow noise gradually came to my ears. Although I waited for it to cease, it persisted, refusing to be ignored, until I was wakeful again with annoyance.

A steady, regular beat. Someone was pacing the floor of the room above. Evidently, I decided, a servant was having trouble sleeping, and was marching like a sentry back and forth… except (and the memory made my eyes snap open, and I sat up in bed), except there was no room over mine. I was on the top floor of the house, and why would any human being be walking the roof at night?

* * *

When I woke in the morning I did not spare more than a moment’s thought for the footsteps. Doubtless there was some reasonable explanation for them, and the mystery had not kept me awake for long. In any case my mind was too full of anticipation to let me dwell long on anything else. As soon as I was awake I knew I would be able to think of nothing else until I had gone down to the shore. I needed to see the ocean.