Henrietta (12 page)

The formal gardens in front of the Abbey were separated from an extensive park by tall iron gates, on each of the pillars of which was a griffin rampant supporting the escutcheon of the family. A long avenue of limes stretched from these gates in a direct line to the lodge house.

Through the woods of the park, Henrietta could see the sun shining on a pretty ornamental lake. Behind the crescent of trees at the back of the house, stood a tall sandstone cliff.

Since the house party was small—by Reckford standards—the guests had been allotted apartments instead of the customary bedroom and dressingroom each.

Miss Mattie, flitted about examining Henrietta’s quarters and clapping her hands like a child. “Nothing eez lacking,
ma chérie.
It eez all, ’ow you say,
complét
. You even have a Bramah water closet,” ended Miss Mattie, reverting to her normal voice.

Henrietta sighed. “Who is he, Mattie?” she asked.

“He? Who?” replied Miss Mattie rather incoherently.

Henrietta eyed the black velvet ribbon round Miss Mattie’s throat. “The French
emigré
,” she remarked dryly. “Really Mattie, why must you affect that nonsensical fashion. None of your family ever went to the guillotine.”

“But… but…” stammered Miss Mattie, for once at a loss. Then her eyes lit up. “Why, my dear, perhaps in a
previous
life…”

“Fiddlesticks!” said Henrietta roundly, but kindly forebore to remark that Miss Scattersworth had been very much alive herself during the French Revolution. “Anyway, who is the gentleman?”

“Well, he is a Monsieur Dubois,” twittered Miss Mattie, “And he eez mos’
charmant
.”

“But Mattie—why do you have to speak in that strange French accent? And who is Monsieur Dubois?”

“He is Lord Reckford’s personal secretary and I think my accent is rather pretty. I adopt it to make him feel at home, you know. Ah! I can hear the noise of the
sans culottes
. But I shall not flinch. I shall be wearing virginal white and I shall stare down at the
canaille
with disdain. The tumbril moves on. To the guillotine! I refuse to have my eyes bound. Long live His Majesty. The blade falls. I die!” Miss Mattie collapsed artistically onto the oriental rug. Henrietta sighed again. Miss Scattersworth was indeed susceptible.

The light was fading behind the trees and, after Miss Mattie had left, Henrietta started to prepare for dinner. The party had spent Friday travelling to Cherwood Abbey in Surrey. The whole week-end stretched out in front of Henrietta. If only his lordship had not decided to once more invite all her antagonists. Mrs. Ralston had set the tone of the visit by remarking sweetly, “I realize you are not accustomed to this level of society, my dear Henrietta. Do consult me as to how you should act. I am quite sure you will be most dreadfully in need of help.”

Dinner was served in one of the small dining rooms on the first floor. Alice Belding had cleverly chosen a dinner gown of a medieval cut in heavy cloth of gold. She looked like a heroine out of the pages of a romance about Camelot. She was seated on Lord Reckford’s right hand—Lady Belding had bribed the butler to arrange the place settings—and they made a handsome couple. Henrietta had Mr. Holmes on her right and brother Henry on her left. Miss Scattersworth was seated next to Monsieur Dubois and spoke to him in such a broken French accent that the poor secretary, who spoke impeccable English, was under the misapprehension that Miss Scattersworth was speaking a patois from the West Indies and kept appealing to his neighbors for translations.

Jeremy Holmes realized that Alice was going to devote all her attention to her host so he spent the dinner chatting happily with Henrietta of whom he was becoming increasingly fond. He succeeded in amusing her so well that be managed to forget Alice and Henrietta managed to forget the Beau. Neither knew that they had finally gained the attention they craved. Alice was jealous that Henrietta seemed to be mending the broken heart of her suitor very quickly and Lord Reckford decided that his friend Jeremy was a heartless flirt.

An
al fresco
luncheon had been planned for the Saturday and Lord Reckford reminded the party to wear serviceable clothes because they were going to climb to the top of the cliff.

No ghosts haunted Henrietta that night, and all the previous happenings to scare her seemed like so many far away dreams.

Saturday dawned bright and fair—an English summer’s day in full bloom. Henrietta was wearing a sensible pair of half boots, prepared for the walk ahead. Alice on the other hand was wearing frail slippers of sky-blue kid with the idea of stumbling on to the nearest supporting male arm, preferably the Beau’s. Great was her disappointment to find that the party were to ascend the cliffs on donkeys. Everyone set off, riding comfortably, with the exception of Henry. His riding dress, although correct to an inch, complete with white tops to his boots, was far too tight and he wheezed and struggled as much as the poor animal that had to carry him.

The party came to a stop beside a rushing stream under the shadow of the top of the cliff. Henrietta sat down on a boulder and looked about her with a sigh of satisfaction. Oak trees, birch and larch crowded to the water’s edge of this small plateau. The water foamed green and white over large boulders which sparkled and flashed with specks of marcasite in the morning sun. Thick clumps of long grass stood to attention in the breathless morning air, their translucent green setting off the tremulous blue of the hairbells which nestled in their shade. All the birds of the wood serenaded them with song accompanied by the cheerful domestic sounds of the servants unpacking the lunch. There was a lazy hot smell of pine and brewing tea and methylated spirits.

Mr. Ralston struck a romantic pose on top of a rock at the edge of the glade. At any minute, thought Henrietta, he is going to shade his brow and stare off into the middle distance. Which he did.

Mrs. Ralston was telling anyone who cared to listen about the dangers of bee venom and above and under her voice in a sort of mad counterpoint came the chattering of Miss Scattersworth as she flirted desperately with Lord Reckford’s secretary in broken English and broken French.

Beau Reckford was chatting idly with Alice while Lady Belding stood slightly apart from them, apparently defying anyone to break up her daughter’s courtship. Henrietta watched them covertly. Alice, for all her beauty, did not belong in this sylvan setting. She appeared too well-coiffed, too brittle, whereas the Beau looked surprisingly at home although his morningdress would not have been out of place in the Regent’s drawingroom. Henrietta moved into the shade of a stand of trees and began to search in her reticule for some
papier poudré
to dull the shine on her nose. To her surprise, a long letter had been thrust into her reticule. She drew it out and crackled open the paper. It contained one sentence, “If you wish to find all the answers to the mystery, lift the green rock at the top of the cliff, and do not tell anyone.”

Henrietta crumpled the letter angrily in her small hand. Of all the gothic nonsense. She would not attend. She would join the picnic as if nothing had happened. But what if it were true? What if she could solve this riddle? She looked hurriedly around. No one was paying any attention to her. She looked up. The top of the cliff seemed only a few steps away. Quickly making up her mind, she slipped away from the house party and began to climb up a narrow sandstone path. She soon began to regret her impulse. By the time she gained the top of the cliff, she was sweating freely, and her pretty sprigged muslin was stained with sandstone dust. Her hair had been pulled and tangled by the low overhanging branches of the trees and her ankles stung from the whiplash of tall nettles.

She sank down onto the rough grass at the top of the cliff and then, lying forward on her stomach, peered over the edge.

The picnic party was spread out on the plateau thirty feet below her. Directly underneath where she lay stood Lady Belding and Alice with their heads together. A snatch of Alice’s conversation rose in the clear air… “It is only a matter of time, mama. Reckford will ask…” The rest of her conversation was lost as she and her mother turned to move away. “Ask?” thought Henrietta. “Ask what? Her hand?” She experienced such a pang of jealousy that for one awful minute she thought she was going to be ill.

Well, she may as well look for the green stone. That was what she had come up here for. She looked round. Next to her and under an outcrop of rock, lay a long narrow stone painted green. How melodramatic, thought Henrietta grimly. The whole affair was becoming reassuringly childish. Now for the mystery. She seized the green rock and lifted. It took all her strength. To her horror, the huge outcrop seemed to come slowly to life and she realized that the long green stone had been cunningly placed under it as a lever. The outcrop had been camoflaged with great tufts of grass to make it look secure. Henrietta opened her mouth to scream a warning but no sound came out. She flung herself down on her stomach and looked over, still gasping and trying to find her voice. The huge rock, dislodged from its moorings, seemed to hang motionless for a second in the still summer air while the figures of the house party moved gracefully below like actors in a pastoral play.

Then it hit the ground with a great
Crrummp
and clouds of sandstone dust swirled around, obscuring the house party from Henrietta’s terrified stare. There were screams and cries, women shrieking, men cursing. Finally the dust cleared and an accusing ring of white faces stared upwards at Henrietta. Not one ran up to help her. All waited in silence as she descended the path with trembling limbs.

Everyone began to speak at once.

“Murderess!” (Mrs. Ralston)

“My dear sister, I fear for your reason.” (Henry Sandford)

“Lean on me, Henrietta. I will protect you no matter what you have done!” (Edmund Ralston)

“Henrietta, a word with you.” (Lord Reckford)

“An accident.
Of course
it was an accident.” (Miss Scattersworth)

“From where I stood, it appeared to be a deliberate attempt to murder Alice.” (Lady Belding)

Henrietta had found her voice and began stammering and crying at one and the same time. Lord Reckford held his hand up for silence and drew Henrietta aside.

“What on earth happened, Miss Sanford?”

Henrietta looked up at him piteously, “I… I… found a note in my reticule which told me that if I raised the green rock at the top of the cliff, I would find an explanation to the mystery. There… there… was a rock—a sort of long stone but it only acted as a level to dislodge that large rock. I… I… can show you the letter… my reticule. I must have left it on top of the cliff.”

“Wait here,” said Lord Reckford and loped off with his easy athletic stride to the cliff path. Henrietta sat down on the edge of a rock. Everyone else waited in silence. She felt like a prisoner at the bar, waiting for the jury to reach their decision. After what seemed an age, he came back and announced smoothly, “Miss Sandford and all of us have been victims of a very dangerous and stupid practical joke. I suggest we compose ourselves and enjoy our luncheon as if nothing had happened. Come Miss Belding, so fair a face needs to have the roses brought back to it. My arm? Let me escort you to the table.” He led Alice off, casting a curiously questioning and troubled look at Henrietta over his shoulder.

Mrs. Ralston and Lady Belding showed their annoyance on hearing Henrietta pronounced innocent. Henry Sandford puffed and hawed and hummed and begged forgiveness for his hasty remark. Henrietta had the doubtful pleasure of being escorted to table by Edmund Ralston.

She sat down with her knees trembling, picking at her food and trying to catch Lord Reckford’s eye. He seemed too absorbed in flirting with Alice Belding with a carefree expertise honed to perfection in about every fashionable saloon in London. Alice blossomed like the rose. No one, thought Henrietta viciously, studying the beautiful, animated face would guess when she is like this that she is as petty, domineering and spiteful as her mother.

Mr. Holmes was seated on Henrietta’s other side. He had been unusually quiet during the whole adventure but when Edmund’s attention was wholly taken up by his mother, he asked her in a low voice what had happened. For the second time, Henrietta told her story. “But I don’t think Lord Reckford found anything. He did not return my reticule to me and somehow I think the green stone has been removed.”

“Tell you what,” said Mr. Holmes. “I don’t much feel like eating either.” He gave a significant look towards Alice Belding and the Beau. “Perhaps we could go back to the top of the cliff and see if we can find your reticule.”

Henrietta readily assented. Anything was better than sitting nursing her frightened thoughts. Jeremy got to his feet. “Going to take a stroll,” he remarked to everyone in general and no one in particular, and, offering Henrietta his arm, strolled off.

The day had turned unusually warm and the pair were panting slightly with their exertions by the time they reached the top of the cliff. As Henrietta had feared, the green stone had disappeared along with her reticule. There was nothing to see but a huge gash in the cliff-side where the outcrop had stood.

“Don’t despair,” teased Mr. Holmes, feeling more light-hearted now that he was out of the bewitching presence of Alice Belding. “Let’s search about. Come along,” he added, giving the listless Henrietta a playful push. “Look about you!”

They started to search through the thick tuffets of grass and outcrops of sandstone. “Look here!” he suddenly shouted, making Henrietta jump. “See where the outcrop was. Well, it’s been chiselled loose. There, see the marks. Done deliberately and taken a long time by the look of it. See, you ain’t got windmills in your head after all! Keep looking. This is fun!”

Despite the fact that the hot sun seemed to be scorching through the thin muslin of her dress, Henrietta searched diligently around. “I’ve found something,” she cried. “Why, it’s a silver button.” She held it up. Jeremy looked at the enormous silver button in her hand and his eyes narrowed.