The Whispering Rocks (3 page)

She turned from the balcony, closing the window and staring across the gathering of horses and people toward the opposite tower where a pale little face was looking down from a high window. Liza did not stir from her rooms when Sir Peter had guests. The girl felt Sarah’s eyes upon her and quickly stepped back from the window.

Sarah looked around her rooms, listening to the sounds of Rook House. What would happen to her now? Lady Hermione would not leave this day’s work alone; she would see to it that something was said about Sarah’s presence in the wood with Jack Holland. Well, at least she did not know about Ralph. Sarah crossed her fingers in a gesture every bit as superstitious as anything Betty had done. She must hope that Hermione would tread carefully because of Jack Holland’s importance—that was all she could hope now.

The whole sorry story was common knowledge; at least that part of it which Hermione knew was. Sarah had endured an evening meal which seemed endless and during which she had seen her father gradually become aware of his daughter’s escapades. His gooseberry eyes had hardened with each successive whisper he overheard, for no one bothered to restrain their delight in the scandal. Unfortunately Jack Holland was not there, having left earlier in the afternoon on some business or other, for only his presence would have restrained the clacking tongues.

Sarah had watched her father drink glass after glass of wine, and felt his anger reaching out silently toward her. So far he had said nothing to her for after the meal he had retired with the gentlemen, and the ladies sat together in the withdrawing room, but she knew that it was only a matter of time before he confronted her.

She sat obediently in the gold-and-white drawing room watching the ladies who sat around like a group of bright butterflies in their colorful gowns. No one spoke to her but everyone spoke of her. She began to doubt her father’s sanity in wishing so desperately to be accepted by these worthless people. Outside the winter night closed in on the old house and the breeze of the morning had become a howling gale which bent the trees. The rooks huddled together for warmth and shelter, and Sarah almost wished herself up there with them.

But at least this evening she could have no doubt in her appearance. The pile of Grecian curls had been expertly restored by Betty and were sprinkled with tiny lemon velvet flowers. She felt good in her high-waisted gown of yellow sprigged muslin. Nervously her fingers played with a dainty oriental fan; would this evening never end? Her nose tickled and she opened her reticule quickly to take out her handkerchief.

Conversation paused expectantly as she sneezed, and then titters of laughter broke out as everyone thought of the drenching she had received that morning when out on her clandestine meeting with Jack Holland. Indeed, everyone had wondered at Holland’s reasons for suddenly accepting an invitation to Rook House. Now they thought they knew those reasons. Hermione’s little eyes glittered. Oh, she had done her subtle poisoning well.

The door opened and the gentlemen came in. Sarah noticed immediately that her father’s steps were unsteady, and his face wore a thunderous expression. His new walking cane tapped angrily. All through the port and idle male chatter which was meant to relax, he had been assailed by Edward’s moans and groans about Sarah. The amount Stratford had imbibed throughout the evening had rubbed away some of the thin veneer of respectability and politeness which he always endeavored to show to the world, and now his temper had been brought to such a pitch that he lacked any discretion. Ignoring the niceties of behavior and manners, he stopped before Sarah and the abuse poured out in a slurred torrent.

As she sat there she could only feel immense shame that this drunken boor was her father. On and on he went, while his shallow guests enjoyed every despicable moment of her humiliation. Hermione could not keep her face from beaming and Edward’s delight was scarcely less obvious. Now perhaps his uncle would relent and put aside this upstart wench.

At last Stratford’s rage was spent and he stood there breathing heavily, his pale green eyes bright. She had made a fool of him, she and Jack Holland between them. All the social prestige brought by Holland’s presence at Rook House had surely been undone by this. Stratford wished to be eccentric, wished to have his name talked about, but not in this way! He glared at his daughter. He had rescued her from nothing, from nowhere, offered her wealth, position and security! And how did she repay him? The anger flared again and he struck her across the face.

Sarah’s head snapped back and her cheek flamed scarlet where his blow had fallen. Even Stratford’s guests were a little taken aback at this; the smiles faded and looks of discomfort replaced them. Several throats were cleared and Hermione glanced around, wondering if her fool of a brother-in-law had gone too far. Sympathy toward Sarah was the last thing Hermione and her son wanted.

“Have you nothing to say in your defense?” Stratford nervously loosened his cravat as he sensed the change of atmosphere in the room. The wine-laden haze was evaporating and he began to realize the enormity of what he had done.

Slowly she rose to her feet. “There seems little point when I’m obviously already judged and condemned, Father.” She inclined her head briefly to him and walked from the room, her slippers pattering loudly in the silence.

Outside her pride deserted her and she gathered her skirts to run in an unbecoming manner up the wide, curving staircase flanked by its silent carved rooks and rows of paintings of thoroughbreds. In the sanctuary of her own room she flung herself on the bed and wept bitterly. Betty came in and saw her, but left her alone to weep away her unhappiness.

Sarah’s sobs would not subside and eventually she cried herself to sleep, crumpling the muslin gown and ignoring the pins which pressed against her scalp. The little velvet flowers were crushed and spoiled forever.

* * *

“Madam. Miss Sarah.” Betty was whispering urgently in her ear and shaking her shoulder.

Drowsily, Sarah raised her head, her red-rimmed eyes stinging with the salt of her tears. Her head ached and her mouth was dry. In the fireplace a fire still glowed and the room was otherwise in darkness but for the single candle which Betty held close.

“What is it?”

Betty looked worried, frightened almost. “You must get up, madam, for there’s someone to see you.”

“Who?” Sarah’s voice sounded very loud in the silent house and Betty quickly put her finger to her lips and looked over her shoulder as if expecting Old Nick himself to be standing there.

“It’s Mr. ‘Olland, and ‘e wishes to speak urgently and privately with you. I didn’t know what to do, miss, ‘cause it’s not right for ‘im to come in here, especially after—”

“Where is he?” Puzzled by all this secrecy, Sarah interrupted the maid. She sat up, rubbing her eyes and straightening her ruffled hair.

“I’m here.” Jack’s voice broke into the room and she could vaguely make him out in the shadows by the door.

She took the candle from the maid. “All right, Betty. Wait outside in the other room. It will be safe enough—don’t worry so.” She smiled, but Betty looked unhappy, for if this should be discovered after all the other trouble today ...

“If you should want me, madam, just call me.” She scuttled past Jack as if frightened of coming within his spell.

Sarah stood the candle upon a small table by the bed. “Whatever is wrong?” For the first time she saw the paleness of his face and the obvious marks of a struggle which sullied the usual perfection of his clothing and appearance.

He came nearer. “A great deal, I’m afraid, Sarah, and the consequences of it will fall upon you and there’s nothing I can say or do this time to prevent it.” His voice was tired as he came to sit beside her on the bed. The copper of his hair shone as if polished by the swaying light of the candle.

At last he looked at her, his face strained. “Ralph Jameson lies dead at my hand.” The words fell like icicles into the quiet.

She stared at him disbelievingly. “You cannot mean it,” she whispered.

“Sarah, I didn’t come here to jest with you. This evening I decided to take my meal at the posting-house in the village, having little stomach for your father’s guests. I was dining in a private room when I heard a group of gentlemen enter the adjoining room. It wasn’t long before I recognized Jameson’s voice— he spoke so loudly that I think the whole village must have heard his every word.”

Jack paused, reaching out suddenly to take her hand in his. “Sarah, he was telling them all about this morning’s incident in the wood, but he distorted everything to cast the odium on you. There was no mention made of his low behavior, no mention of his cowardly retreat—nothing. Instead he credited you with conduct befitting a whore. My temper has never been renowned for its steadiness, and I burst into that room and lifted him from his chair like a rat, calling him liar, lout, and many another name which I won’t repeat before you. In front of his friends I told the true story of how he’d forced his attentions on you, and also I described the miserable figure he’d cut in his hurried departure. I left him no choice, Sarah; he had to call me out.” Holland’s fingers were warm and firm around hers.

“And?” Her voice was so low that she could hardly be heard.

He shrugged, dismissing the details effortlessly. “My aim was the steadier,” he said simply. “I killed him, and so great was my fury that I had every intention of so doing. Had I come upon him alone I think I’d have choked the last breath from his body with my bare hands.”

She shuddered, for something in his voice told her that he would indeed have done just that. He frightened her a little for she sensed a strange mixture in him, as if one portion of his soul battled continuously with the other. She clasped his fingers tightly. “What will happen to you now?”

“I came here before the uproar begins because I wanted you to know why I did it. I’ll manage to survive all this, but shall first take myself away and allow the dust to settle.” He smiled. “I’m sorry only for what this will do to you. Whether my version of the incident is believed or Jameson’s, one fact remains clear; you were alone in the woods with him, and had arranged it so, and because of that he’s now dead. There’ll be great pressure on your father from all sides to cast you out and send you back where you came from.”

“There’s already such a move afoot, since Lady Hermione has told everyone that she found me in the woods with you, so my reputation will be worth nothing soon. I’m resigned to the fact that my days here are numbered, and in truth I think perhaps it would be for the best, for I don’t really fit in this life.”

His thumb was moving gently against her palm. “Oh, but you do, Sarah, you do....”

The door opened and Betty hurried in, the draft of her movement setting the candle flame dancing. “There’s a dreadful fuss at the main door, miss. Someone’s there demanding entry in the name of the law.” Her voice was round with alarm.

Sarah’s heart began to thunder. They had come after him already. “Have a care, Jack.” She used his first name quite naturally and did not notice that she did so.

He pulled his hand away and went to the window. Her room opened on to a balcony and far below the moat glittered in the darkness. Low storm clouds scudded swiftly through the night like an endless stream of dull gray steeds, and the wind rustled the ivy leaves which twined so thickly over the balcony.

“I can escape this way.” He turned to look back at her. She still sat on the bed in her crumpled gown, her lovely black hair tousled.

He stared at her. He hardly knew her and yet she wrought such powerful emotions in him that, incredibly, he had killed a man for her. Quickly he went back to her, gripping her wrists and making her look into his eyes. “Is there anyone else, Sarah?”

“I don’t understand.”

“Apart from Jameson, has there been anyone else in your heart?” His fingers were hurting.

She shook her head. “No, I have never loved anyone.”

His breath escaped in a satisfied hiss. “You shall, my dearest Sarah, you shall.” He kissed her, murmuring her name softly as he slipped his arms tightly around her.

“Oh, do ‘urry, miss, they’re opening the main door now!” Betty’s whisper was frantic.

Sarah hardly knew that he had gone. She saw his silhouette on the balcony, and then ... nothing. Her heart was still thundering, but with more than just fear for his safety now. Her lips tingled from that single kiss.

Sir Peter wisely chose to make his next interview with his daughter a little more private. The news of Ralph Jameson’s death during the night had fallen like a thunderbolt and Sir Peter’s head was not at its clearest anyway after the previous evening. What on earth was going on? Who had his daughter been meeting in the woods? Jameson or Holland—or both?

Resentfully he stared out of the window of his study, rubbing the knee which troubled him of late. All his planning and scheming had been undone, and it was not his fault. Now he was probably further away from his objective than he had been before Holland had deigned to visit. But how to make the best of it all, that was the question. How could he, Sir Peter Stratford, contrive to turn defeat into victory?

He was aware that his gross conduct after dinner the evening before had lost him sympathy. He was aware, too, that Hermione’s triumphant attitude grated on him. He had always despised his sister-in-law, and her present behavior did nothing to alleviate an already tense situation. She had sought every opportunity to engage one or other of his guests in long discussions about Sarah’s dreadful faux pas.

Edward was scarcely less embarrassing with his continuous loud comments about his cousin—often accompanied by coarse laughter. The guests felt increasingly uncomfortable, and Sarah’s dignified manner began to win her some admiration. The gentlemen in particular were inclined to take her side; she may have been born on the wrong side of the proverbial blanket, and she may even be a bit of an adventuress, but she had style! All this Sir Peter was aware of. But how to use it to the best advantage, that was the question.