Nina Coombs Pykare (10 page)

Jennifer could see both Ingleton and Proctor beaming at this chance to touch the object of their devotion. And, to give her credit. Lady Carolyn did not seem overly puffed at so much attention. Indeed, thought Jennifer, she looked rather wan, in fact, somewhat ill. But there was little time to consider. Monsieur Dupin spoke again. “Now, the fluid is circulating through you. Open yourselves to it. Be fully receptive. Close your eyes and let it fill you.”

Soft, gentle music crept through the room. Jennifer supposed it was produced by someone Monsieur Dupin had brought with him.

She closed her eyes obediently but she felt nothing. And she was glad of it. She sneaked a look at Mr. Parthemer and almost laughed aloud. If faith in the prac-titioner was a necessity for loosening the power, she need have no fear. Mr. Par-themer’s face reflected violent disbelief.

Jennifer then stole a peek at Mrs. Parsons. That round little person’s face was beaded with drops of perspiration and her lower lip trembled visibly. Obviously, thought Jennifer, Mrs. Parsons was a believer. The hand that touched hers trembled. Soon, Jennifer judged, Mrs. Parsons would be a candidate for the “crisis room.”

Suddenly from across the room came softly mumbled words, then a burst of near-hysterical laughter, and finally, a long drawn-out scream of terror.

Everyone started up, but Monsieur Dupin’s voice called out sternly. “Do not leave your positions. I will care for Lady Carolyn. Henri!”

Jennifer watched as the valet carried an almost unconscious Lady Carolyn into the crisis room.

“I must go to her,” mumbled Mrs. Par-sons, but she was prevented in this by Monsieur Dupin’s hand on her shoulder.

It almost seemed to Jennifer that she, whose hands were still touching those of Mrs. Parsons, could feel that dread hand herself. “You will remain in your place,” repeated Monsieur Dupin. “I will care for the lady.”

  Mrs. Parsons bowed her head in acceptance. As Monsieur Dupin glided out of the room like a shadow, the strains of the violin again filled the air.

What, wondered Jennifer, could have caused Lady Carolyn’s collapse? She herself could feel nothing. But she was obviously out of sympathy for Dupin. And Lady Carolyn was not. She had not the benefit of a five-year battle for survival in a world where honeyed words were often the prelude to destruction. Pampered and petted as Lady Carolyn had been, probably spoiled by an overindulgent papa and the admiration of many young men, Lady Carolyn had no cynical ideas of life behind which to take shelter. Her young and innocent mind had been open to that of Dupin. Had he really reached her or was her attack merely the response of an overactive imagination? There was no way of knowing.

Some time later Dupin emerged from the crisis room, a pale Lady Carolyn leaning heavily on his arm. Jennifer noted with surprise that it was Ingleton’s arm she took for the remainder of the journey to her seat and to Ingleton that she directed the few piteous smiles that managed to reach her lips.

  Lady Carolyn had obviously had a terrifying experience but there was more to it than that. In some fashion this exper-ience had altered her disposition toward Lord Proctor. Where only minutes ago she had given him a demure though hesitant smile, she now sent him a frosty glare. And, when she was required to reestablish the chain, she joined her fingers to his with obvious distaste.

Lord Proctor, fallen so precipitately from grace, seemed utterly baffled. He directed many a questioning glance to the fair lady, but received nothing but cold stares in return.

Jennifer could almost feel sorry for the man had she not suspected that his partiality for the lady was formed to a great extent by the size of her fortune, and had not a vision of the ill-treated horses at that moment intruded into her consciousness. No, thought Jennifer, young Lord Proctor deserved no pity. He was a fortune hunter. Of that she had no doubt. And for that he earned her disdain, nothing more.

The party passed some more moments in silence, but there seemed to be no more victims for the crisis room. At first Jennifer had supposed that Mrs. Parthemer would let no one outdo her in the matter of illness and would assuredly grace this room. But Mrs. Parthemer, though she gave evidence of agitation and even uttered a few mumbled cries, did not fall into convulsions.

Jennifer could not help wondering why, and could only conjecture that the sight of Lady Carolyn’s pale face and trembling limbs had worked such a salutary effect as to send Mrs. Parthemer’s malady scuttling to safety.

After some period of silence interspersed with an occasional moan and some piteous groans which issued from between Mrs. Parsons’s trembling lips, Monsieur Dupin spoke again. “For this time it is enough. Now you are accustomed. Now you have acquired fluid. Tomorrow we shall do more, much more.”

With Mr. Parthemer’s help, Jennifer succeeded in freeing Mrs. Parsons and herself from the encumbering coil of rope. The worthy gentleman was shaking his head. “Can’t see how this business works. Can’t indeed. Why take a perfectly healthy young girl - rosy and happy, and  turn  her  into this pasty-faced trembler. No sense to it, no sense at all.”

With this sentiment Jennifer was wont to concur. Circumstances preventing a verbal agreement, she smiled instead and was rewarded by an answering smile.

  “You and me,” said Mr. Parthemer softly as Mrs. Parsons tottered off to see to her charge, “you and me knows tomfoolery when we sees it.”

Again, Jennifer feared a verbal answer. She could not afford to have her senti-ments concerning Monsieur Dupin re-ported to her employer. For strong and hearty as Mr. Parthemer was, he was nothing but putty in his wife’s hands. And if Mrs. Parthemer should insist on her dis-missal, Mr. Parthemer, much as he might regret it and sympathize with her, would probably concur with his wife.

Jennifer waited silently as the various members of the group made their way out of the Red Room and back to the drawing room. Lady Carolyn, it was plain to see, continued in her aversion to Lord Proctor. Leaning heavily on Ingleton’s arm, she directed all her remarks to that fortunate suitor. His good fortune did not seem to set well on him, at least to Jennifer’s discerning eyes, for she detected some-thing of arrogance in his smile and the glances he directed at Proctor were clearly those of triumph. A little more manners, considered Jennifer, would be more becoming in a man who set up to be a gentleman. Instantly she was assailed by the vision of a tall fair man whose grey eyes regarded her warmly.

  Unconsciously she heaved a sigh.   “Mademoiselle is unhappy,” said Dupin from behind her and she only just prevented herself from starting violently.

She took a firm grip on herself. “I am simply tired,” she replied, glad that he could not see her face. “The children rise early and I have had a long day.”

“Such a sigh, laden with unfulfilled dreams and desires, does not arise from the customary fatigue of the day,” whis-pered Monsieur Dupin, moving till he stood quite close behind her.

Jennifer held her ground and fought down the discomfort his presence caused her. “You are very poetic, Monsieur, but this time you have erred. My fatigue and my sigh are both of a very prosaic nature.”

“Non,
Mademoiselle. I perceive that you do not wish others to know this secret of your heart. But I - I am your friend. I would help you.”

  As he spoke Dupin moved even closer, until his lips almost brushed her ear, and he laid his hand on her arm. In spite of her fear of him, Jennifer found herself almost overpowered by an intense desire to tell him her secret. Some power in him seemed to be drawing it from her against her will. Frantically she cast around in her mind for some way to resist this power and found the vision of Haverford's face. With intense relief she felt the compulsion fleeing.

“I assure you, Monsieur Dupin, I am quite healthy, including my heart. And quite happy, too. And now, if you will excuse me, I really must attend to the children.”

Dupin made no further move to keep her, but even as she hurried from him, Jennifer thought she felt those probing black eyes dogging her, seeking her very thoughts. He was evil, she thought as she took her candle and sped up the dim dark stairs, quite evil. And quite powerful. It was a fearful combination and boded no good for anyone in this house.

At the top of the stairs she was startled by Ingleton stepping out of the shadows to accost her. “Miss Whitcomb,” he whispered in the tone of a conspirator.

“Yes, Mr. Ingleton,” replied Jennifer in a normal voice, determined not to be drawn into anything that could possibly be misconstrued by her employer.

“I must speak to you.” Ingleton’s eyes had a strange haunted appearance and his hands trembled.

“You
are
speaking to me,” she replied in a commonplace tone. “What do you wish to say?”

  Ingleton looked fearfully from side to side as though he expected someone to be hiding nearby. “Not here,” he whispered. “Come to my room.”

  “Indeed not, Mr. Ingleton. Such an action would be very improper for one in my

station.”

Ingleton wrung his hands. “I must tell you something.”

“Then tell me,” Jennifer returned complacently. She could not for the life of her understand why Ingleton should behave like a schoolroom miss in the throes of the vapors. Had the man no sense of fitness?

Still Ingleton continued to look from side to side as though the shadows of this artificial ruin might hide a real demon.

“I have heard that you met Haverford on the road today.”

Jennifer was somewhat annoyed that her life should be so fully open to Ingleton and her voice reflected that annoyance. “Of what concern is that to you?”

“I warned you about him,” whispered Ingleton. “He... I.... That is ... I have reason to believe he is a spy.”

“A spy!” Jennifer could not keep back her dismay. “How can that be?”

“I have evidence,” said Ingleton, “that he is spying for Napoleon.”

“But he’s an Englishman!”

“He’s a blackguard and a devil,” cried Ingleton, his fear temporarily dissolving in anger.

“I cannot believe such a thing,” repeated Jennifer. “It simply couldn’t be.”

Ingleton was staring at her fixedly as she recalled herself and hoped to control her features.

“I have the proof,” he said. “A letter in his own hand. But I do not carry it about on my person. I fear... I fear reprisal.”

Jennifer stood, still in a state of shock. “This is such a strange thing. I cannot believe it,” she repeated.

“You must,” cried Ingleton. “You must avoid the man. He’s dangerous. A veritable

monster.”

“But he seems... so friendly,” replied Jennifer, hardly knowing that she was defending him.

“Of course he does,” said Ingleton. “That’s what makes him so monstrous. He seems to be all kindness and goodness. Oh yes, he is very friendly. This I have learned to my great regret.”

  Jennifer, whose heart was full of the figure of Haverford, fought back the tears. It seemed impossible. And yet, even Ingleton would not make such an accu-sation without proof. “I... I cannot come to your room now,” she said. “I must attend to the children. Tomorrow... will you show it to me tomorrow?”

Ingleton nodded. “Yes, but in the mean-time beware. I have seen Haverford prowling about the grounds here at night. His fair hair gives him away. Do not leave your room. Oh, be careful Miss Whitcomb, do be careful. The man is so dangerous.”

Jennifer nodded absently. “Yes, yes, I shall take care. And I shall certainly not leave the house at night.”

“I will meet you... in the rose garden. Before breakfast.”

“Yes,” said Jennifer. “I will be there.”

Ingleton darted out of the shadows then and sped away like a man fearful of de- monic powers. Once Jennifer might have laughed at the man’s frightened demeanor, but now, as she thoughtfully mounted the second dim flight of stairs, her heart was too full for any thoughts of Ingleton.

Haverford a traitor and a spy! She could not bring herself to give credence to such a thing. And yet - there was the proof to be seen in the morning.

  Jennifer reached her own room, quietly continued into the rooms of the children and saw that all three were sleeping soundly. Then she made her way back to her room, set down her candle, and began to prepare for bed. The single candle cast strange shadows in the large room. Jenni-fer felt chilled through.

Hastily she extinguished it and scram-bled under the featherbed. There she lay for some hours, staring into the darkness, trying to make sense out of things that seemed to have no sense to them.

Chapter Seven

When Jennifer awoke the next morning, it was with a dull sickish feeling in the pit of her stomach. For a moment she wonder-ed why she should feel so strange and then realization flooded back. Haverford had been branded spy and traitor! In the light of the day it seemed even more ridiculous that a man with such an open, friendly countenance could be any such thing. But a person’s physiognomy, Jennifer knew, need not portray his true character. If spies could be recognized by their faces, none of them would ever attempt it. In fact, common sense would indicate that the person who appeared to look least like a spy would be the best person for the job. And, Jennifer was forced to acknowledge, there was Ingleton’s proof to be dealt with.

She hurried into her clothes, twisted her pale hair into its usual knot, and hurried to supervise the children’s breakfast. She would leave them with Betty while she made her way to the rose garden. On her recommendation Betty had been assigned as a sort of nursemaid to the children, an arrangement that Betty - whose natural cheerfulness was untouched by the chill of any Gothic ruin -and the children found equally satisfactory. With Betty they were sure of fun, laughter, and affection.

Though some governesses might have disliked anyone sharing their influence over their charges, Jennifer did not. The children, she thought, needed every bit of affection they could get. One could never be loved too much. And Jennifer, too, appreciated Betty’s smiling face and sunny disposition.

Jennifer exerted herself to respond to the children’s morning greetings in her usual manner. Each of them was very alert to perceive any change in her and she did not want the news she had been given to have any affect on their lives. No matter how heartsore she was, and she recognized that that was quite the case, her duty was to the children.