Silent Melody (30 page)

Emily took his offered arm and allowed him to lead her to the library, where he seated her in a soft leather chair and perched on the arm beside her. He took her good hand in his.

She felt embarrassed with him. What must he think of her having gone to Alice's room last night? Of her having lain in Alice's bed? Of her having taken Alice's portrait to her room? What must he think of her for going to him in his room during the night? She raised her eyes to his.

She saw a deep tenderness there. “Somehow,” he said, “I am going to make all this up to you, Emmy. I am going to see you happy and at peace again. Perhaps I can atone for some of the great wrongs in my life if I can do this for you.”

She tried to smile at him.

“I am going to ask you a question,” he said. “One I have asked before. I will hope that this time the answer will be different. But I will not ask it yet. Not here. This has become an unhappy place for you—and therefore for me too. I am going to sell Penshurst, Emmy. I will buy another home and hope that it will be happier—for you as well as for me.”

“No,” she said, shaking her head. “No, Ahshley.” She would have liked to say more so that he would understand.

He kissed the back of her hand. “Rod is going to purchase it,” he said. “We have already come to an agreement between ourselves. It needs only for our lawyers to arrange the actual business details. He seems genuinely happy at the prospect of living here. And 'twill make me happy to know that it will be owned by a friend.”

She did not understand all that he said, but the main point was clear. Despite her efforts, she still could not like Major Cunningham. She could not bear the thought of Ashley's selling Penshurst to him of all people.

“No,” she said.

“He will be happy here,” he said. “There are no memories, bad or otherwise, to spoil it for him. He is a stranger here. He does not know this part of the country or anyone in it except me. This will be the best way, Emmy, believe me.”

“No.” She frowned. No, that was not true. She remembered the visit she had paid to Mr. Binchley's cottage with Anna and the major. She remembered watching Major Cunningham and Mrs. Smith through the window as they walked in the garden. How could she say it? And why was it even important that it be said? But she did not want Ashley to sell Penshurst. Especially not to the major.

“He knows Mrs. Smith,” she said very slowly. She was never sure when she spoke that sound came out. But he had evidently heard something.

“Who does?” he asked. “Rod?”

“Yes,” she said.

“Impossible,” he said. “He has never been here before. Unless he met her when she lived elsewhere with her husband, of course. But 'twould be strange that he has said nothing. Are you sure?”

“Yes,” she said.

“Strange,” he said. “I must ask him about it.”

But she remembered that Major Cunningham and Katherine Smith had not openly acknowledged their acquaintance. They had gone out into the garden, like hostess and guest, and talked there. The window had been closed. No one in the house would have heard their conversation. But she had seen it. For some reason those two did not want it known that they were acquainted. Emily felt a wave of the now almost familiar dread and panic.

“No,” she said, clutching the wide cuff of Ashley's coat. She shook her head firmly. “No. No. Do not ahsk.”

He lowered his head and looked closely into her face. “Emmy,” he said, and now there was a frown on his face too, “you do not like Rod. Why?”

She dropped her hand and deliberately made her face expressionless. She shook her head.

“I will say nothing, then,” he said. “I must take you back to Anna and Luke. Sir Henry Verney wishes to speak with me. I would take you with me, Emmy, to visit Lady Verney and Miss Verney—you like them, do you not?—but Verney particularly requested that I come alone. I will be as quick as I can so that we can have a long afternoon outing. You look as if you need fresh air.”

She smiled.

He leaned his head down again and kissed her warmly on the lips. He spoke carefully with his hands and his face as well as with his voice. “Emmy,” he said, “you are the most precious treasure of my life. You have been since the day I met you, but I have not fully realized until recently how all-encompassing is your influence on my life and your importance to my happiness. How blind one can be! And how foolish!”

He gave her no chance to reply. He got to his feet, took her hand, and drew it through his arm. Then he took her back to the nursery, where Luke was holding Harry above his head and making him laugh while Anna read a story to the other three.

•   •   •

They
sat in Sir Henry Verney's library, one on either side of the fireplace, like two old friends exchanging news and views and gossip. But Sir Henry had done most of the talking. And finally they sat in silence.

“I mean to marry Katherine,” Sir Henry said at last. “I mean to give her son my name. I mean to call out Major Roderick Cunningham for the guilt and the terror he has forced into her life.”

“Then you will have to wait your turn,” Ashley said, breaking his long silence.

“Yes,” Sir Henry said. “I guessed that I might. I seem to have been nothing but the bearer of disturbing news in the past few days. I am sorry.”

Ashley looked steadily at him. “I owe you so many apologies,” he said, “that I scarce know where to begin. But they must be said now lest after today I am forever prevented from saying them.”

“We will take them as spoken and accepted,” Sir Henry said. “Under similar circumstances I would perhaps have behaved with less restraint and courtesy than you have shown. 'Tis altogether possible that we will be neighbors for many years to come. Is it possible we can also be friends?”

Ashley got to his feet and held out his right hand. Sir Henry stood up too and took it. Despite the fact that they clasped hands quite firmly, there was some awkwardness between them. But there was the will on both sides to put the past behind them and to begin their acquaintance anew.

Ashley took his leave without further conversation. For the moment there was nothing else to say. Both knew that they might never meet again.

E
MILY
had gone to her room to rest for a while before the picnic. At least, that was the reason she had indicated to Anna. She had also signaled her that she did not need company. It was broad daylight. There could be no danger. Anna, dubious though she had looked, had allowed her sister to be alone.

But it was not rest Emily had needed. She needed to be alone so that she could think. She had become a prisoner to fear. She had become dependent for safety on Anna and Luke, and on Ashley. They had taken charge of her life. She was to return to Bowden—because she was afraid to stay at Penshurst. Ashley was going to sell Penshurst because—well, because he was going to offer for her again, and because he believed he could not have both Penshurst and her.

She hated the fear. She hated the dependence. And she hated the thought of Ashley's selling Penshurst. Somehow, she felt, he needed to stay here, to make it his home, to find his peace here. And she loved it too, despite everything.

How could she fight her fear? How could she overcome whatever it was that was causing it? It was that last point that had finally sent her in search of solitude. She needed to think. Or rather, she needed to analyze the strange, confused conviction that had come to her since talking with Ashley: Major Cunningham was the cause of her fear—
all
of it.

He was the original cause, of course. He had tried to ravish her when he had mistaken her for a servant. But it was not just that. He had shot at her. He had come into her room last night. He had brought the portraits and taken her dressing gown. She still had only very vague memories of the night, but she was almost sure she had woken up to see the shape of the portraits on her bedside table. And she was almost sure she had looked for her dressing gown before fleeing to Ashley and forgetting everything else in the sense of safety she had found as soon as his arms came about her. Major Cunningham had a previous acquaintance with Mrs. Smith—one that both of them wished kept secret.

She had proof of nothing. She understood nothing. But she
knew.
She had nothing to take to Ashley. He would either not believe her at all or he would become suspicious of his friend without provable grounds. She could tell him about that first morning, of course. That was grounds enough to send the major away and to keep Penshurst. She could tell Ashley, or she could—

She felt the familiar hammering of her heartbeat in her throat, the familiar terror. Gazing from her window, she could see Major Cunningham walking about down by the stables and carriage house. He was organizing transportation for the picnic.

It would be madness to go down there. He had
shot
at her. She would be unable to confront him with words. She was shaking with fear. She could accomplish nothing—because she was a woman and a deaf-mute. No, she was
not
mute. And though she was a woman, she was also a person who had always confronted the shadowy places in her life and brought them into the light. Her handicap could have made her passive and submissive and timid and dependent. She had made it into her strength. Until now.

No, even now.

Major Cunningham was alone in the carriage house when Emily arrived there, running one hand over a wheel of the open carriage. He looked up, startled, smiled, and bowed.

“Lady Emily,” he said. “Are you ready for the picnic?”

But she did not smile. She shook her head. Her heart was thumping.

“You are alone?” he asked, looking behind her. “I am surprised at your sister and his grace for allowing it. Permit me to escort you safely back to them.” There was nothing but kindly concern in his eyes.

Emily shook her head again. “I know,” she said slowly. It was so very important that she get it right.

“By Jove.” He grinned. “You can talk. I did not imagine it that first morning.”

“I know,” she said again, “about you.” She hoped she was saying the words right.

“About me?” He touched a hand to his chest and raised his eyebrows.

She had set herself too great a task. She knew that. How she longed for words. But somehow she would convey her meaning. “You.” She formed the shape of a gun with one hand and then pointed to her wounded hand. “You.” There was no sign he would recognize. “Lahst night. You. Mrs. Smith.”

Something happened to his eyes. Perhaps people who had ears did not know how eloquent the eyes were. But she knew from his eyes that she had not made a mistake.

He smiled. “I do assure you, Lady Emily,” he said, “that you are mistaken. I would perhaps be angry if I did not realize that the manner of our meeting put a lasting suspicion in your mind. But—”

She was shaking her head firmly, and he stopped speaking. “No,” she said. “I know. I know you.”

“'Tis to be hoped,” he said, “that you will not go to Ash with these quite groundless suspicions, Lady Emily. Zounds, he might believe you. And he is my dearest friend in this world.”

“Go,” she told him, making broad shooing gestures. Ah, it was too long and too hard to tell him that she would not allow Ashley to sell Penshurst to him. “Go.” She made an even wider gesture with her arm to show that she meant away from Penshurst—forever.

“By Jove,” he said, “you mean to frighten me.”

No,
he
had meant to frighten
her.
She understood that. He could have killed her with that shot—he was a soldier. He might have murdered her in her bed last night. He wanted to frighten her so that Ashley would sell Penshurst to him and take her away.

“Go,” she told him again.

He stood smiling at her. She read a certain reluctant admiration in his look. She lifted her chin and kept it up.

“Are you not afraid now?” he asked her. “Alone with me like this?”

She was about to shake her head. But of course she was afraid. She was almost blind with terror. And she scorned to lie to him. “Yes,” she said. “Go.”

He could kill her now, she realized. There was no one else in sight. If he wanted Penshurst as passionately as she guessed he must, he might very well kill her, knowing she could tell Ashley and spoil everything for him. How foolish she was to have come. And yet she knew even as her knees trembled under her that she had had no choice. Life was more than just breathing and eating and sleeping. Life had to have quality and dignity.

“Ah, but you are merely an hysterical little deaf girl,” he said. “One who walks in her sleep and is obsessed with her lover's dead wife. One who runs to him for protection every time she is frightened—and she is always frightened. Go back to the house, Lady Emily. Your charges are absurd.” He turned back to examine the wheel again.

She returned to the house, her back prickling with terror the whole way. He was right. Even if she could write everything down quite coherently, she had no modicum of proof for anything. And she
had
become hysterical. But she would do it anyway. She was not going to let Ashley sell Penshurst. And she was not going to let Luke and Anna take her back to Bowden tomorrow.

She was going to stay and fight. For Ashley and for herself.

•   •   •

The
footman in the hall and the butler who joined him there on Ashley's return did not know where Major Cunningham was, though they believed it was somewhere outside the house. The butler thought he was probably in the carriage house, personally supervising the preparations for the afternoon's drive.

“You will find him,” Ashley said curtly, “and ask him to meet me in the ballroom at his earliest convenience.” He turned toward the staircase and took the stairs two at a time.

Some minutes later, as he was leaving Roderick Cunningham's room, he came face-to-face with Luke.

“Ah,” Luke said, “the wanderer has returned. And the revelries are about to begin.” His eyes lowered to the sword Ashley held in his hand and moved to the other sword he wore at his side. He pursed his lips and raised his eyebrows. He looked thoughtfully at the door to the major's room.

“I am on my way to the ballroom,” Ashley said. “He is to meet me there. Go to the ladies, Luke, if you will be so good, and keep them well out of the way.”

“I trust,” Luke said, looking again at the swords, “that there is good reason?”

“Every
reason in the world,” Ashley said.

“Then I shall be present in the ballroom too, my dear,” Luke said. “After I have given my instructions to Anna and to Emily, that is.” He turned and walked away without another word.

•   •   •

Major
Cunningham was already in the ballroom when Ashley arrived there. He was standing in the middle of the floor looking up at the high-coved ceiling.

“'Tis really quite magnificent, by Jove,” he said, half glancing at Ashley. “I did not particularly look up when you gave me the tour of the house, Ash. Are you planning to give a ball here? A farewell ball, perhaps? I would be delighted to assist you.”

“No,” Ashley said.

“Then why the summons here?” His friend looked at him with a grin. “It had a dash of mystery to it. The ballroom in the middle of an afternoon.” But his eyes had lighted on the sword—his own—clutched in Ashley's hand. Then they moved to take in the sword at Ashley's side. And finally they looked up to Ashley's grim face. “Ah, Lady Emily has spoken to you already then?”

“I have been your dupe,” Ashley said.

“No, Ash.” Major Cunningham did not move from where he stood. “You have been my friend. You still are.”

Ashley saw the major's eyes move beyond his shoulder and guessed that Luke had come into the ballroom. He did not look back and Luke made no move to intrude.

“You killed my wife,” Ashley said. “And my son.”

“He was not your—”

“You killed Thomas Kendrick,
my son,”
Ashley said. “You killed Lady Ashley Kendrick, my wife.”

“Ash.” Major Cunningham spread his hands to his sides. “She was a wicked woman. You have learned that for yourself during the past week. She killed her own brother, for whom she had an unnatural passion, to prevent him from marrying a woman she thought beneath him and to prevent that woman's child from becoming his heir. She made you miserable. Do you think I did not know that? I was your
friend.
I released you from a life sentence.”

“'Twas why you befriended me,” Ashley said. “So that you could get close to her.”

“But I soon felt a genuine friendship for you,” Major Cunningham said. “I did for you what you could not even dream of doing for yourself, Ash.”

“Why was she at home that night?” Ashley asked.

The major shrugged and looked apologetic. “She disliked me,” he said. “Much can be made of dislike, Ash. Attraction can come of dislike. She found me attractive.”

“And you knew I would be safely from home for the night,” Ashley said. “Did you arrange that too?”

“A few words supposedly from Mrs. Roehampton to you, a few words supposedly from you to her . . .” The major shrugged. “I merely enabled the two of you to recognize a mutual attraction, Ash. Forgive me for the pain you felt afterward. I know there has been a great deal. But I rescued you from a great evil. I am glad you have discovered the truth. Yes, I truly am. Now you will be able to let go of your damnable sense of guilt. You will realize that you were not in any way to blame for what happened.”

“You murdered my wife and son,” Ashley said.

“Murder,” the major said softly. “'Tis a harsh word, Ash. I am a soldier. I have killed a hundred times—more. I have never thought of myself as a murderer. And if 'tis any consolation, they died quickly, the two of them, and the nurse—they were dead before the fire. I did that much for them.”

“You tried to kill Lady Emily Marlowe yesterday morning,” Ashley said.

“Oh no, Ash.” Major Cunningham raised a staying hand. “I am an excellent shot. I was close. I was careful to hit the target I had set myself. If she had only been capable of hearing, I would not even have had to graze her skin.”

“And last night?” Ashley asked. “You have been deliberately trying to terrorize her. You were in her room. You took her night robe. You put the portraits there. Why? But I need not ask that, need I? You have correctly divined my feelings for her. You have thought to drive her away and therefore to drive me away. You very nearly succeeded.”

“You could not be happy here, Ash,” the major said. “Not with your wife's ghost haunting you every day of your life. Not with the knowledge that young Eric should be living here as the rightful owner. A few hours more and his mother would have been married to his father. Sell to me. I will marry Katherine and make the boy my son. He will be where he belongs, and so will she.”

“Just tell me what happened on the morning of your arrival,” Ashley said. “What did you do to frighten Lady Emily so?”