Carisbrooke Abbey (16 page)

She walked away from the window, into the centre of the room.

‘Certainly.’

Hilary felt sure Lord Carisbrooke would want a guest from the rectory to be treated hospitably, especially as he himself had been so courteous to Mrs Pettifer. She went over to the mantelpiece to ring the bell. As she did so the door opened.

Immediately the atmosphere changed, becoming thick and tinged with fear. She looked towards the door in alarm, and saw Marcus standing there. On his face was a look of pain mingled with fear.

In a low, even voice, he said, ‘Come over here to me, Hilary. Now.’

He did not look at her as he said it, but he kept his eyes fixed on Esmerelda.

Instinctively Hilary followed his gaze, and what she saw froze her blood. Esmerelda had taken her hands out of her muff, and she was holding a knife.

‘Don’t make any sudden movements,’ said Marcus.

Hilary looked at Esmerelda again, and with a flash of understanding, she knew why Lord Carisbrooke was so afraid. There was a strange glitter in Esmerelda’s eye. The beautiful young woman was insane.

Everything slipped into place: Esmerelda’s unsuitable clothing the first time they had met; Marcus’s reaction to finding Hilary alone in the folly; the strange conversation they had had the first night at dinner, when they had discussed the treatment of the mad; Marcus’s warnings about being careful; the dark atmosphere that hung over the abbey; the pain that lay behind Marcus’s eyes. All caused by this woman who was insane.

But what had she to do with Marcus?

Hilary had no time for further thought, because Esmerelda was taking a step towards her with the knife upraised. Slowly and carefully Hilary began to edge towards the door. Marcus was at the same time walking into the room, ready to shield her with his body if Esmerelda should strike.

And then it came. A sudden dart forward, a gleam of silver, the knife raised higher and then plunged down towards Hilary’s breast.

But Marcus’s hand was there, the long fingers wrapping themselves around Esmerelda’s wrist as he gently but firmly prised the knife out of her hand.

‘Are you all right?’ he asked Hilary over his shoulder, when he had a firm grip on the knife.

‘Perfectly.’

Her initial shock had passed, and she was once more in command of herself. She was no longer frightened. Instead she was concerned for Esmerelda. The elfin young woman was so lovely, and yet so tragically scarred. By now, however, Esmerelda had quietened. She had collapsed as soon as Marcus had taken the knife from her, falling into his arms like a puppet with cut strings.

‘Here,’ said Hilary.

She pulled forward an armchair.

Marcus guided Esmerelda towards it and pushed her gently into it. She offered no resistance and meekly sat down.

‘I’m sorry,’ Hilary said softly.

The words were inadequate, but she wanted him to know how much she felt for him in his tragic situation. She had seen a gleam of gold on Esmerelda’s finger and realized, with a wrenching of her heart, that Esmerelda was Marcus’s wife.

His eyes were tinged with a deep sadness. ‘So am I.’

Their eyes held, and a world of communication passed between them.

Then Marcus knelt down in front of Esmerelda and spoke to her kindly, as though he were speaking to a child.

‘That was very wrong of you, Esmerelda. You know you are not meant to leave the cottage when we have visitors. Why aren’t you there?’

‘I wanted someone to play with,’ said Esmerelda plaintively.

‘Then why bring the knife? You are not allowed to play with knives.’

She pouted.

 ‘And where did you get it from? I thought Mrs Lund put all the knives away.’

Esmerelda’s face became cunning. ‘I’m not telling you.’

‘Esmerelda,’ he said sternly.

She grew petulant. ‘No. You’re not my friend. You took it away from me.’

‘Is this how you were injured on the night of the storm?’ asked Hilary, as understanding began to dawn.

‘Yes,’ he said. ‘Esmerelda is usually cared for by Mrs Lund in a small cottage in the grounds, but she is afraid of thunderstorms and that night I brought her into the abbey. The hidden room behind the tapestry is kept ready for her, so that if she is ill or frightened she can be cared for there.’

‘And she attacked you?’ asked Hilary.

‘She did. She was driven mad by the storm. Sometimes my presence soothes her, but on that occasion it enraged her. I returned to my room, but I had underestimated how weak I was from the loss of blood and I was near to collapsing when you found me.’

‘And the scars above your eye?’ asked Hilary softly. ‘They, too, were made by Esmerelda?’

‘They were.’

So much was now explained - even his tales of a ghostly abbess, which had evidently been designed to explain away any strange noises.

Esmerelda began to stir.

‘I must get her out of the abbey,’ he said. ‘I cannot risk her being here. She might attack the Palmers - particularly Miss Palmer. If she sees other young ladies in the abbey she believes them to be usurpers, trying to take her place.’

‘That is why you said you could not have a woman in the abbey,’ said Hilary, at last understanding his strange words when she had arrived.

He nodded. ‘It is dangerous, for even though Mrs Lund cares for her in the cottage she is cunning and sometimes manages to escape. But now I must get her back there. Her behaviour is unpredictable and she could become violent again at any time.’

He stood up, still holding Esmerelda by the hand.

‘Come, Esmerelda, let’s go and find Lundy.’ He turned to Hilary. ‘Open the door for me.’

She was about to do as he said, when she heard the sound of footsteps on the other side.

‘Someone to play with!’ said Esmerelda, struggling to get free.

‘Hell’s teeth!’ said Marcus. He glanced at the fireplace. ‘Over there,’ he said. ‘The wall sconce by the fireplace. Pull it down.’

Hilary was unsurprised at the strange command. She had seen from the plans in the library that the abbey contained a number of secret passages, and she guessed that this was how the one in the drawing-room was accessed. Hurrying over to the fireplace, she took a firm grip on the wall sconce and pulled it downwards. A concealed door at the side of the fireplace swung open.

Holding the struggling, spitting Esmerelda tightly, Marcus manoeuvred her into the secret passage, then closed the door behind him by way of a lever in the passage. The wall sconce, complete with candle, resumed its proper place. And not a moment too soon. The drawing-room door opened, and Mrs and Miss Palmer entered.

Miss Palmer stopped dead. She looked displeased to see Hilary. Recovering herself somewhat, she said suspiciously, ‘I thought I heard voices.’

Hilary replied calmly. ‘As you can see, I am alone.’

‘And up to no good, I imagine,’ said Miss Palmer maliciously.

‘Indeed,’ said her mother. ‘Skulking here in the drawing-room by the best fire when you have work to do. Lord Carisbrooke appointed you to organize his library, girl, not to make yourself at home in the drawing-room. I suggest you get on with it, before I tell him what you are about.’

‘With pleasure,’ said Hilary.

‘Really!’ said Mrs Palmer, as Hilary left the room. ‘What impertinence!’

‘I shall tell Lord Carisbrooke to give her her notice,’ said Miss Palmer.

‘Gentlemen! They know nothing of household matters. Imagine appointing a chit of a girl to a post as a librarian, when a presentable young gentleman would have been so much better.’

Hilary closed the door behind her, glad to be out of their presence.

She went to the library, which she knew would be a haven of peace and quiet. She looked around at the unsorted shelves, and at the books on the table that she had started to sort on the previous day. She ought to continue. The familiar work would soothe her nerves. But she felt disinclined to continue. She went over to the window and stood looking out over the grey gardens. Now she understood Lord Carisbrooke’s surly nature and the cause of his pain. She also understood his contradictory attitude towards her. He was attracted to her, both to her personality and her person. But he could not follow his inclinations, because he was married.

What torments he must have suffered, thought Hilary, as she gazed unseeing over the abbey grounds. What terrible pain. To be married to a wife who was beautiful and clearly dear to him, but who was insane.

She felt an overwhelming sympathy for him, as she thought of what he had had to bear. And he had borne it uncomplainingly. He was a man of great strength of character, but even so, his secret had tried him to his limits. And yet he had kept it, rather than burden her with the truth.

She wandered over to the fire. Caesar lay there with his head on his paws. As she approached, he got up and stood beside her, knocking her hand with his head.

Interpreting the gesture correctly, she stroked his soft fur. The feel of it brought her some comfort. Here, at least, was something uncomplicated. The simple action was soothing and gradually she began to feel calmer.

At last she let her eyes roam round the library. She still felt disinclined to work and yet she must do something to rouse herself from the melancholy that threatened to overtake her. Her eye came to rest on one of the books which she had dusted the previous day. It was very old and contained a number of plans of the abbey. It was in this book that she had seen the secret passages.

She went over to the bookshelves and took it out, carrying it over to the fire. Sitting herself down in a wing chair she opened it and examined the plans. There were a number of secret passages marked. She found the one in the drawing-room and traced it with her finger. Before it reached its other end, she had already guessed where it would come out: in the room behind the tapestry.

And there Marcus was now, if she did not miss her guess, caring for Esmerelda.

This new development caused Hilary pain. Her feelings were deep and sincere, but they were not the sort of feelings she should allow herself to entertain towards a married man. And yet it was difficult for her to hide from them. Lord Carisbrooke was the most compelling man she had ever met. She respected and admired him for carrying his burden uncomplainingly, and for looking after his poor, damaged wife in the abbey instead of sending her to an asylum where she would be beaten and chained. And she felt a profound friendship for him.

If her feelings had gone no further, then she would have been comfortable. Respect, admiration and friendship were perfectly permissible in relation to a married man.

But her other feelings were not so comfortable. She must not encourage the warm and tender feelings she had for him, which led her to want to take him in her arms and comfort him, not only with soothing words but with caresses. Nor must she allow herself to think of the other feelings she had for him, the feelings that rejoiced whenever he took her into his arms. His kisses had been breathtaking; wonderful.

But she must never feel them again. They were dishonourable. They demeaned him. They demeaned her. And they demeaned poor, damaged Esmerelda.

She tried hard to banish them. But whilst it was one thing for her head to decide that she should not feel these things, it was another for her heart to manage it.

She closed the book.

She should get up, busy herself, go about her work, but she could not move. She could only think of Marcus, and her feelings for him. They had been gradually growing, until now she was no longer in any doubt about their nature.

She was in love with him.

She had never thought love would be like this. She had thought it would be like a childhood birthday, exciting and pleasurable but ultimately superficial.

But it was not. Her love for Marcus was as deep as the ocean. It was as strong as the earth. It encompassed every emotion and every passion, filling every corner of her life. It was composed of esteem, friendship, approbation and comfort, all being intuitively given and received. It was desire and passion, longing and yearning. And it was a calling of the spirit, his to hers, and hers to his.

But it could never be fulfilled.

Not for her.

Not for Marcus.

Because Esmerelda was his wife.

With a heavy heart, Hilary forced herself to stand. She made her legs carry her over to the bookcase. And she began to work.

She did so slowly to begin with, but gradually with more decision as the activity gave her an outlet for her feelings. She carried and dusted, sorted and organized, attacking the shelves with vigour. By and by the sorted shelves grew in number, and the unsorted shelves shrank.

She had almost finished the second bookcase when all her good intentions to forget about Marcus were blown away, because he walked into the library.

He was looking pale and his face was drawn. There was a tired set to his head, and his shoulders drooped.

She longed to comfort him. She wanted to pull out a chair and push him gently into it, to stroke his grizzled hair and soothe him with soft words and gentle caresses.

But she could not do it.

To make sure that she did not forget her good resolution she remained behind the table, where the solid oak and the pile of books formed a barrier between them, and spoke determinedly of Esmerelda.

‘How is she?’ she asked.

As if sensing her need for a barrier, he did not draw any closer. Instead, he stood just within the room.

‘She’s calm,’  he said. His eyes turned to hers. ‘I owe you an explanation.’

‘You owe me nothing,’ she returned gently.

His voice was hollow. ‘I should have told you the truth when I knew you would have to remain here for some days. It was not safe for me to withhold it.’

‘I should have done as you bid me,’ she countered, refusing to let him take the blame. ‘If I had stayed in the abbey I would not have been at risk. Esmerelda would not have seen me in the grounds, and if she had not known of my existence she would not have tried to kill me. But she seemed so normal. I never suspected. And I have done other reprehensible things.’ She took a deep breath. ‘I have encouraged —’