Greygallows (15 page)

Clare took it for granted that I would ride. The first fine morning after his return from York he informed me that he had purchased a mount for me, and that I must come down and try her. My heart sank, but I was afraid to own the truth; with
Anna's help I put on my riding habit.

Clare was waiting for me. I limped badly as I crossed the hall under his critical eye; and as he took my arm he said,

'Are you in pain today?'

It was the first time he had referred so directly to my infirmity. I might have seized on it as an excuse for not riding, but something prevented me from doing so. I did not want his pity.

'No,' I said shortly.

As soon as I saw the mare destined for my use, I knew I would never succeed in riding her. She was a beautiful creature; a fit mount for a baroness. She seemed as large as an elephant and she was horribly spirited; how she pranced, even under the groom's restraining hand.

I knew she must have cost a great sum, and I was truly resolved not to show my fear. But as I walked resolutely toward her she flung up her head and whinnied. The sight of her teeth was the last straw. I stumbled, cried out, and felt Clare catch me. Clinging to his arm I heard him say, softly, so the groom would not hear,

'Does it give you pain? Calm yourself; I will carry you back to the house.'

'No, no,' I whispered, against his shoulder. 'It is not my wretched foot, it is something else, something so silly ... Clare, I am so afraid of horses. I don't know why, but I am. I shall never be able to ride that animal. Are you very angry?'

'No...' I was afraid to look at his face, and kept my own hidden. His arm and shoulder felt very strong. After a moment he went on, 'My dear child, don't distress yourself, you need not ride today. I must consider this carefully ... Now, if
you are not in pain let us walk a little. I would prefer that you did not display your feelings before the servants.'

I saw, to my relief, that he was smiling. He patted my head lightly and then took my arm and tucked it through his.

'Her Ladyship will not ride today,' he told the groom.

The boy touched his forelock, with a shy glance at me. We walked. My foot hardly bothered me at all.

Knowing I did not have to ride them, I found the horses handsome to look at; like everything in Clare's employ, they were beautiful creatures. A pair of huge dogs sunned themselves before the stable doors and a big gray-and-white cat ignored the dogs with the loftiness of a born aristocrat. Clare explained that the cat kept fat on the mice and rats that would otherwise infest the stables. We spent a happy morning walking about the grounds, admiring the little black-faced lambs and the shaggy ponies. I liked the ponies; they were friendly little animals, more like large dogs than horses. I thought perhaps I might have the courage to ride one of them. But I did not mention it; the idea of her Ladyship, resplendent in her velvet habit and tall hat, perched atop one of the fuzzy little beasts was ludicrous. I could imagine how Clare would react to the suggestion.

Clare was to leave next morning for Edinburgh. He expected to be gone some days, perhaps as long as a week. I dreaded his absence. As yet I had not met a single neighbor, and I did not look forward to being alone for so long, with no resources and nowhere to go. His kindness and affability that
morning made me even more reluctant to lose his companionship.

It continued fine all day. In the evening a warm south breeze arose. It was a restless breeze, making the tall pines sing mournfully and shaking the budded boughs. It made me restless too. Long after I should have been asleep, I rose from my bed and went to the windows, throwing them wide.

For a time I knelt by the window, letting the breeze ruffle my hair. It felt like cool fingers on my face. I was not conscious of being unhappy; it was with considerable surprise that I became aware of tears streaking down my cheeks.

A night such as this, with its seductive air and bright half-circle of moon, was meant to be shared—and I was alone. Not a creature stirred; the wide, grassy lawns lay barren under the moon. I could see one corner of the stone terrace and the steps that led down into what had been a pleasure garden before neglect had let it grow into a wilderness; the tangled shrubs looked eerie and unreal in the dim light. Half mesmerized, I turned from the window and went to the door I had opened only once before.

It was locked.

Surprise held me motionless for a moment. Then it was as if I woke from a vivid dream; the effrontery of my action came home to me with painful force. I could feel the warm blood rushing into my face. Did he think so poorly of me as that, that he must bar his door against me?

Thankful that the sound of my attempt on the door had apparently gone unheard, I went back to the window. What had come over me? At the least, I might have knocked ... Half turning, so that the
wind might cool my heated cheeks, I glanced out the open casement—and saw a sight that froze the blood in my veins.

It might have been a statue. The pale glimmer of its form could have been marble in the moonlight, a slim draped figure ornamenting the balustraded steps. There were statues of pagan divinities in other parts of the grounds; but there had been no marble figure on the terrace when I looked before. It moved, then, and I saw the shape of the massive urn on the balustrade through its robes.

I cried out and covered my eyes to hide the vision. I might have fallen, but for the hands that caught me back from the window.

I looked into Clare's face. His features were shadowed and indistinct, but I felt his anger in the roughness of his grasp. I twisted in his hold and pointed out into the darkness, where a shaft of shadowy pallor still moved among the tangled shrubs.

'Look! Oh, look!'

'What is it?' Clare tried to turn me. 'What do you see?'

'There!' For half a breath the shape stood out like a pillar of white, drifting across a cleared space with the dark pines behind it. 'All in white—ah,' I cried out. The form had vanished, like a light blown out.

It took Clare some time to calm me. He did not ring for my maid; after a while I realized why he had not.

'There was nothing there,' he said, holding my eyes with his steady gaze. 'I looked directly at the
spot which you indicated. You were half asleep, and dreaming.'

'You saw nothing?' My teeth had stopped chattering; he had brought brandy from his bedchamber, and wrapped me in a comforter. 'Truly nothing?'

'There was nothing there. Only shadows and moonlight, enough to stimulate a mind which ... You have been told, have you not, of the White Lady?'

I could not deny it. He read my face; he nodded.

'You see? You had heard the story, you mesmerized yourself staring out into that strange light, and you saw what you expected to see. You must not give way to such nonsense. I don't want the servants to hear of this; they are an ignorant, credulous lot and will get themselves, and you, into a panic'

'But truly—'

'You saw it. Of course; you truly believe you did. But I tell you there was nothing there. You must obey me, you know; did you not promise to obey?'

He was smiling slightly.

'Yes,' I said.

'Then obey me in this. Have you no laudanum, no sleeping stuff? A pity; I must get some for you if this wakefulness persists. You need to sleep.'

'I am drowsy now.'

'It is the brandy. You are unaccustomed to spirits. Now I will tuck you into bed and give you another sip, and you will go straight off to sleep, will you not?'

He lifted me in his arms. My head felt very odd, but pleasantly so. As he bent to place me on my bed, I put my arms around his neck.

'You are very kind,' I said thickly. 'Kind to me ... Stay with me, please. Don't leave me tonight.'

His breath caught sharply. His face was so close I could see how his lashes grew, long and curving and thick. My face was mirrored in the blackness of his pupils: two miniature Lucys, pallid and small like little ghosts of myself ... My lips were parted, my hair curled around the high collar of my nightdress. I felt his warm breath on my lips; his arms tightened...

I closed my eyes. I did not see what happened, but I felt it; it left bruises that ached for days. He wrenched himself away, so violently that my head struck the headboard of the bed. When I opened my eyes I saw him standing ten feet away. His face was barely recognizable—livid in color, transformed by passion.

'Never do such a thing again,' he said softly. 'Never touch me ... Never speak to me so ...'

Between the brandy and the knock on the head and the series of shocks I had experienced, I was beyond speech or movement. I lay there staring at him; and after a time the color faded from his face, leaving it calm, but pale as marble.

'Sleep,' he said quietly. 'I will just stand here until you do.'

I slept. I had promised to obey.

Since my arrival in Yorkshire I had not attended a church service. I began to feel the need of spiritual consolation, particularly after the day which had
begun so hopefully and ended so disastrously. I had come to doubt my mental balance; if I had imagined the figure in white—and surely there could be no other explanation—then I might be imagining other things. Something was amiss; either Clare was behaving strangely, or I was deluding myself. In either case it would not harm me to attend church. My motives were not wholly pious; it was an excuse for an outing, and a chance to see new faces.

On the Saturday following Clare's departure for Edinburgh I informed Mrs. Andrews that I would want the carriage next day, to attend services. I was amused, but not altogether surprised, when she stuttered and stammered and rolled her eyes.

'You will accompany me, I hope,' I said, assuming that Clare had instructed her not to let me get into mischief.

'Certainly, my lady.'

Still she hovered, looking uncertain. When she finally trotted off, shaking her head, I heard her muttering to herself.

Next morning I dressed with care. I was a little nervous, for this was my first public appearance in Yorkshire. I still had doubts as to whether Clare would approve of my going out. At least I would not disgrace him by failing to look my best. My bonnet was one of my favorites, with pink plumes and cabbage roses clustering under the brim, and I wore my new pelisse, of rose velvet trimmed with fur, for the weather, though bright, was still cool.

When I came down the stairs, Mrs. Andrews was waiting. She wore maroon plush, and was heavily shawled and wrapped. She spoke scarcely a word during the drive. Such reticence was unlike
her, but I decided she was thinking holy thoughts in preparation for the service.

Like many old churches, this one stood isolated on a hill half a mile away from the town, with only the manse nearby. It was a stark, forbidding structure, built of rough, dark stone. The facade was plain, and the single heavy tower thrust upward toward heaven like an accusing finger. With the tall bare trees leaning over it, and the gravestones of the cemetery in front, the church did indeed induce sober feelings.

We were early. Only a scattering of worshipers occupied the seats, and when I saw how they turned and gawked, I was glad we had avoided the worst of the crowd. Mrs. Andrews led me down the aisle to the very front of the church, where a huge boxlike structure enclosed the first row on the right side. I had not anticipated this, and was both amused and daunted when I saw the Clare device, the snarling hound, carved on the doors. I would have to occupy the family pew; and I would occupy it alone, as became my station. After Mrs. Andrews had installed me, with my footwarmer and my wraps, on one of the cushioned chairs, she retired to the servants' pew at the back of the church.

So much, I thought, for my hopes of seeing new faces. The high walls of the pew boxed me in like a cage. The wall before me was lower than the others; I could see the altar, the choir, and, by stretching my neck unbecomingly, one section of the humbler benches on the left side. There was no other pew like mine; it was evident that the Clares were the leading family in this district. No doubt the patronage was Clare's, and the minister was a
protege of his or his father's.

For want of anything better to do, I studied the stained-glass windows. They were modern windows, very bright and handsome, with vivid green and scarlet and blue glass. A plaque explained that they had been given by Clare's grandfather, to replace windows broken by the Roundheads. They were all scenes of slaughter and destruction. The central window bore a vivid depiction of the sinners writhing in Hell, with scarlet and yellow flames around them, and the figure of the Redeemer watching from above. I thought His supercilious expression quite like that of Clare's first ancestor, as He watched the sinners sizzle.

While I amused myself with these irreverent thoughts, the church was filling up. I could not see, but I could hear the shuffle of feet and the whispered comments. Then the minister came into the pulpit.

For some reason I had expected to see a genteel, white-haired old clergyman. The reality was quite different. The man's youth was almost shocking; in his robes he looked like a choirboy. Flaxen hair curled around his ears and neck; his eyes were gray, and so luminously large I could tell their color from where I sat. I will admit I stared. The face was angelic. With the sunlight shining on his silver-gilt locks, he might have stood for a statue of the young Saint John.