Kitabı oku: «Wicked», sayfa 3
There was a table set with an exquisite white cloth, fine bone china—the main plates covered with silver heating domes—shining silverware and crystal-stemmed glasses. Two chairs awaited.
Mrs. Prior cleared her throat, but Camille was certain that the Earl of Carlyle knew they were there. He simply hadn’t chosen to turn.
“Miss Montgomery, sir,” she said. “I will leave you two.”
Camille was ushered in and the door closed behind her. The master turned at last.
He lifted a hand, indicating the table, then walked forward, pulling back a chair for her to sit. She hesitated.
“Ah. I’m sorry. Is the idea of dining with a scarred man in a mask far too loathsome a concept for you, my dear?”
The words were gently spoken, but they weren’t filled with compassion. They might have been a challenge. Or a test?
“I believe you’ve chosen a rather bizarre mask, sir, but certainly it’s your right. There is little that disturbs my appetite, and nothing of appearance that can disturb me regarding a fellow human being.”
She thought she saw again, below the leather edge of the mask, a faint smile, both mocking and amused.
“How very honorable, Miss Montgomery! Yet is such a credo true in your heart, or simply what I might wish to hear?”
“I believe, sir, that any answer might be as dubious in your mind as the words already spoken. Suffice it to say, I had not realized my own hunger, and I am happy to share a meal while discussing the situation regarding my guardian.”
“Then, my dear…?” He swept his arm toward the chair.
She sat.
He walked around the table, took his own seat and lifted the silver cover from her plate. The aroma, just hinted at in the night air thus far, struck her heavily then, and it was delicious. The plate came with fluffy potatoes, a slice of roast that was mouthwatering and artful little carrots. She hadn’t had a bite since her break at ten that morning, and then she had barely bothered with a muffin and jam.
“Does it meet with your approval, Miss Montgomery? Rather mundane, I’m afraid, but quickly achieved,” he said.
“It seems exceptional, under such very timely circumstances, indeed,” she said politely. She realized that he was waiting for her to begin, so she picked up her fork and knife and delicately chiseled off a piece of meat. It was as delicious as the aroma had promised.
“Excellent,” she assured him.
“I’m so glad you approve,” he murmured.
“As to my guardian,” she began.
“The thief, yes.”
She sighed. “My Lord, Tristan is not a thief. I can’t begin to imagine what brought him into these walls, but there would be no reason for him to steal.”
“Quite well-off, are you, then?” he inquired.
“We are certainly in able circumstances,” she said.
“So he did not come to steal for small profit, but sought instead a certain treasure.”
“Not at all!” she protested, realizing that it had somehow made him angrier and more suspicious when she suggested that they didn’t need money. Small sums, at any rate.
“Lord Stirling,” she said, trying to put forth a demeanor of indignation, irritation and assurance. “You really have no right to suppose that my guardian was here to rob you. He—”
“According to him, he arrived accidentally upon the property. You saw the gate and the wall. It’s rather difficult to pass by accidentally, don’t you agree?”
Despite the mask, he had impeccable manners. The bottom of the visage was cut so that it covered the cheeks and the bridge of the nose, but left the mouth free. She suddenly wondered what his appearance was like beneath the mask, and just how badly he had been facially scarred to wear the leather over his features.
He was casual as he spoke, and she was almost lulled by his tone.
“I haven’t seen Tristan as yet. You haven’t allowed me to do so,” she reminded him. “I have no idea what could have brought him onto the estate. I know only that I must take him home very soon, and that I can swear to you, there would be no reason on earth for him to steal.”
“You are in possession of a great fortune of your own?”
“That would surprise you, sir?”
He set his fork and knife down, eyes assessing her. “Yes. Your gown is quite lovely and you wear it well, but I would estimate that it is several years out of date. You did not arrive in your own conveyance, but in a hansom cab, which, by the way, has been sent on back to London.”
She tensed, ruing the morrow. She would have to get Tristan out of here quickly, else chance losing the job she so dearly needed and desired.
She set her own fork and knife down. “Perhaps I do not possess a huge fortune of my own, sir. Not as you see it. But I am fortunate, very able and far more than capable. I work, sir, and receive payment each week.”
Dark lashes narrowed over his blue eyes. She gasped, realizing that he was imagining a far different employment from that to which she referred.
“How dare you, sir!” she sputtered.
“How dare I what?”
“I do not!”
“You do not what?”
“Do what you’re thinking that I do!”
“Then just what do you do?” he inquired.
“You are no mythical creature, My Lord, just a boor!” she informed him, getting ready to toss her napkin down and rise, Tristan forgotten for a moment in her agitation.
He set a hand upon hers, preventing her from rising. He was close over the table, and she was aware of his tension, a strange, erratic heat, and the power of his hold.
“Miss Montgomery, we are discussing an important issue here, that of whether or not I shall have your guardian arrested. If you find seeking the truth to be offensive, you will simply have to take offense then. I repeat, just what do you do?”
She felt the surge of her own temper, but she was determined to stare him down and not wrench away to free herself, not when such a fight would be futile.
“I work, sir, for the museum, for the department of Egyptian Antiquities!” she hissed.
If she had flatly told him that she was a prostitute, she would not have gotten such a stunned and angry response, she was certain.
“You what?”
The words were a pure roar. Stunned by his reaction, she frowned and repeated herself. “I enunciate quite clearly, I believe. I work for the museum, for the department of Egyptian Antiquities.”
He rose so suddenly that he knocked his chair over backward.
“It is a perfectly legitimate job, and I assure you, I am qualified for my position!” she expounded.
To her absolute amazement, he walked around the table with the same violence with which he had risen.
“My Lord Stirling!” she protested, standing, but his hands were on her shoulders, and he was staring at her with such loathing that she was afraid for her person.
“And you claim you came here for nothing!” he said.
She gasped. “You think that I have come here for anything other than the return of a human being I love? I am dearly sorry, sir, but your noble position in life does not excuse you from this outrageous display of bad manners—and violence!”
His hands dropped from her shoulders and he stepped back. But his eyes remained blue flames of an intensity that pierced her very soul.
“Should I discover, Miss Montgomery, that your words are a lie, I do assure you, you have not begun to realize the state to which my bad manners and violence might rise.”
He turned as if the sight of her were so repulsive he couldn’t bear it any longer. He strode to the door and exited. The reverberation created as the door slammed in his wake seemed to shake the entire castle.
Trembling, Camille remained on her feet, staring at the door, long after he had gone.
“You are truly a wretched creature!” she cried then, certain that he was far beyond earshot.
The door opened. She tensed.
It was Mrs. Prior. “You poor dear!” she exclaimed. “He does have such a ferocious temper. I try constantly to make him see it, but…quite honestly, he can be charming and kind.”
“I must see my guardian. And I must take him from this place,” Camille said, fighting for what dignity she might summon. “Away from that monster.”
“Oh, dear!” Mrs. Prior said. “Truly, he’s not such a monster. It’s just that…well, it is quite shocking that you work for the museum, dear.”
“It’s an honorable position!” she said.
“Yes. Well…” Mrs. Prior cast her head at an angle, studying Camille. Perhaps she, at least, approved of what she saw. She lowered her voice. “It’s just that your employers—well, the group dealing with your department—were all there when…”
“When what?”
“When his lordship’s parents were murdered,” Mrs. Prior said. “It’s not your fault, dear, but still…. Do come along, then, please. I’ll bring you to your guardian.” She paused, looking back. “Honestly, dear, he may look a bit beastly, and perhaps his behavior thus far has been horrid, but there is that dire fact of those terrible murders having completely changed his life.”
CHAPTER THREE
CAMILLE HURRIED ALONG after Evelyn. “Wait, please. I’ve heard the rumors, of course. Everyone in London has heard the rumors. Perhaps if I understood more about what happened, I could even be—”
The word helpful never left her lips because Evelyn, who had been moving rapidly before her, came to a dead stop, throwing open a door. Camille, in her hurry to keep up, nearly plowed into Evelyn’s back. Then Evelyn spoke as if she hadn’t been listening to a word that Camille had said. “Here, child. Your guardian.”
Thoughts concerning her host and his wretched behavior flew from her mind as she looked into the darkened room and blinked. A fire burned at the hearth, but all was cast into shadow. She felt her heart skip a beat as her eyes at last fell upon the figure on the bed. Still. Dead still.
“Oh, dear God!” she exhaled, trembling, her knees going wobbly.
Evelyn spun around, catching her by the arms, offering support before she buckled completely.
“No, no, dear! He was so restless that we gave him laudanum. He isn’t at all dead. Well, I guess you can’t actually be partially dead…Here I am, making no sense. He’s all right. He probably won’t be coherent, not that I seem to be doing much of a job in that direction.” Evelyn, who had appeared such a composed woman, apparently did have a sense of sympathy, and was therefore flustered by Camille’s heartfelt and terrified show of emotion. “Dear girl!” Evelyn continued. “Run on over, give him a hug. He may wake enough to recognize you.”
Not dead, not dead, not dead! That was all that registered in Camille’s mind. Then Evelyn’s words sank in and she found the strength to tear across the room to the bed. Once there, she saw that there was color in Tristan’s face and that he was breathing deeply.
In fact, as she hovered just above him, afraid for a moment to touch, he let out the most winded snort she had heard in the whole of her life. Flushing, she turned back to the door where Evelyn Prior remained.
“See, he is quite alive,” Evelyn assured her softy again.
Camille nodded, then looked down at her guardian. He was dressed in a handsome linen nightgown—something he had never possessed in all his life, she was certain. He’d been cared for and well tended, that was obvious. The monster of Carlyle wanted his prisoners to be in decent shape when he saw them prosecuted, so it appeared.
She fell to her knees by Tristan’s side, clutching his shoulders in a gentle hug, laying her head against his chest. “Tristan!” she whispered softly, tears springing to her eyes. Whatever sins he had committed in his life, he had surely redeemed himself when he had saved her, when he had given up his goods—ill-gotten and by other means—to feed a number of the street urchins they had known in their days together. But why now, when she had come to a point in her life where she could take care of them…?
“You sorry son of a sailor!” she muttered, lifting her head, angrily wiping tears from her cheeks. “Tristan, what on earth were you doing?” she whispered fervently.
He inhaled on another snort, blinked and met her eyes. Tenderness came to his, the gentleness that really was the crux of the man. “Camille, moppet! Camille….” He frowned, as if aware that she shouldn’t be there. But the effort was too much. He blinked again, but his eyes closed, and she heard only the depth of his breathing once again.
“You see?” Evelyn called from the doorway. “The man has been quite decently tended. Now, come along, dear. I’ll show you where you may sleep tonight.”
She rose, kissed Tristan on the forehead, adjusted his covers and then turned to follow Evelyn. The woman led her out, closed the door firmly but silently and started down the hall again at a brisk speed.
“Mrs. Prior,” Camille began, racing after her, “I can see that no harm has been done to my guardian, but, as you can understand, I’m anxious to get him home.”
“I’m sorry, dear, but I do believe that Brian intends to prosecute.”
“Brian?” she murmured, puzzled.
“The Earl of Carlyle,” Mrs. Prior said patiently.
“Oh, but he can’t! He mustn’t!”
“Perhaps you’ll be able to talk him out of it in the morning. Oh, dear! If only you hadn’t worked for the museum!”
“To the very best of my knowledge, Mrs. Prior, many people have fallen prey to Egyptian asps. It is a danger of the desert region.”
Mrs. Prior stared at her in a way that made her feel severely uncomfortable, as if she had, until that point, been deemed an intelligent young woman.
“This is your door, Miss Montgomery. The castle is large and winding, started with the Norman Conquest and built on ever since, not always with the best architectural eye! I suggest you refrain from roaming in the night. There is a quite modern bath connected to this guest room, I do say with some pride. Night clothing and toiletries have been left at your disposal. In the morning, dear, this situation will be solved, one way or the other.”
“Yes…thank you. But wait! Perhaps, if I understood more—”
“The earl is awaiting me, Miss Montgomery. Sleep well.”
“Oh! But Ralph, our valet—”
“Has been seen to!” Mrs. Prior called back over her shoulder. She disappeared around a corner.
Somewhat aggravated by her dismissal, Camille stepped into the hallway, debating the course of simply running after the woman and demanding more answers.
But just as easily as Evelyn Prior had disappeared, the hound from hell reappeared. It sat in the hallway and stared at her. She had never known before that dogs could actually sneer and dare someone, but that was exactly what this hound was doing.
She pointed at the animal. “You, sir, will get yours one day!” she vowed.
The dog growled.
Camille stepped quickly into the room she had been assigned and closed the door. Leaning against it, she closed her eyes with a beating heart, conflicting emotions racing through her. Then she opened her eyes and gasped.
The room was quite incredible. The bed was handsomely canopied, topped with a rich, embroidered ivory quilt and numerous pillows. The rest of the furnishings were…Egyptian.
Startled, she walked across to the dressing table and realized that certain pieces from antiquity had been copied for the decor and combined with current Victorian detail to create something of a fantasy. A dressing table with smooth, stark lines was topped with a threefold mirror, carved with a symbol of the god Horus, wings spread, in a typical manner of protection. A large trunk was covered with hieroglyphs, as was the tall standing wardrobe. Chairs that stood before draperies were carved with the great protective wings of Horus, as well.
She turned and was startled by a large statue of a pharaoh. Walking toward it, she narrowed her eyes. The statue was real. Hatshepsut, she thought, the female pharaoh who had herself displayed with a beard, showing her world that she was a woman, but one with the power of a man.
The statue was surely priceless. And set here, in a guest room? It was a museum piece, she thought angrily.
On the other side of the door, she discovered another life-size statue, this one of the goddess Anat. A war goddess, Anat was supposed to protect the pharaoh in battle. She was usually sculpted or drawn with a shield, a lance and a battle-ax. This statue was slightly damaged. Still, a great find. A priceless relic! And here, in a guest room!
Camille stepped back, wondering if she had purposely been given this room. The statues might well unnerve most women. In fact, she was certain that many a young respectable woman—the type preparing for her season before society—might well awake in the night terrified and screaming bloody murder, certain the curse of the castle had awakened the statues, that they had become real and were seeking her in the night…. In the firelight, they were decidedly eerie, Camille admitted.
“But I’m not afraid!” she said aloud, then winced. It was as if she were assuring some long-dead or mythical creature that she was beyond its control. “Nonsense!” she whispered to herself.
Two lamps burned on stark little tables on either side of the bed. They, too, were in Egyptian motifs. And rather shockingly, both depicted the fertility god Min with his huge, erect phallus and double-plumed headdress. Camille hardly thought herself prudish, but really…!
Shaking her head, she had a feeling that she would not have been assigned to this room if she hadn’t tempted the earl’s fury with her assertion of the truth—that she worked for the museum. She had been sent here, she was certain, with a sense of vengeance. With that thought, she smiled. Fine.
She ventured more fully into the room, pulling back the draperies behind the chairs. There were, indeed, windows there. At one time, she was certain, they had not held panes, nor had they been quite so large. They showed the width of the castle stone, and in that they were far more startling than the Egyptian artifacts. At one time, these walls had been made for protection. Castle Carlyle had once defied the swords and arrows of the enemy, just as surely as the earl now defended himself from English society behind his bastion of stone and strength.
She let out a sigh, itching to race back to Tristan’s room and give him a thorough tongue-lashing, even if he couldn’t hear her. But she knew that the hellhound would be beyond her door, keeping watch. So she shook her head, walked to the bed and picked up the linen gown left for her, determined to find the bath.
Toiletries had been provided as promised, and the bath was quite modern with a tub, commode and running water. The earl might have his wicked sense of justice wherein he thought ancient artifacts might disturb a body’s sleep, but at least the room came with niceties far beyond those to which she was accustomed.
A candle burned in the bath, and by it was a tray with brandy and glasses. Without hesitation, she drew hot water into the massive tub, then stripped, poured herself brandy and settled in.
How strange! The night was quite a disaster, yet here she was, luxuriating in a hot bath, sipping brandy. Frowning, she reminded herself that the situation was extremely dire.
She felt herself tense and wasn’t at all sure why she did so. A sixth sense gave her warning of something being not right. She held very still and thought that she heard something. Movement. Not a rustling. Not footsteps. Just…as if stone had shifted against stone.
She waited, but the sound didn’t come again. Had she imagined it? Then, from outside the bedroom door, she suddenly heard a furious barking. Whatever had seeped into her senses, the dog had heard it, too.
She nearly threw her brandy down, but managed to set it upon the throw rug on the floor. She leaped out of the tub and into a heavy brocade dressing gown that hung on the bathroom door. It occurred to her that perhaps she should be locking herself into the room, but instinct sent panic into her veins, and she knew she had to find the source of the noise that had given rise to such a state of distress.
As she burst out into the bedroom, she heard herself being called.
“Miss Montgomery!” It was the Earl of Carlyle himself, shouting her name.
She ran forward as the door burst open. There they were, staring at one another. He, blue eyes sharp behind the beast of the mask, she, most startled and feeling terribly vulnerable, hair wild about her face, robe not at all decently closed.
She caught at the edges, seeking the tie.
The dog rushed into the room. He was no longer barking, but standing by its master’s legs, sniffing the air, rigid.
“Ahem.” The beast actually cleared his throat. “You’re quite all right?” he asked.
She couldn’t find her voice at first, so she nodded.
“Did you hear anything?” he demanded.
“I…don’t know.”
He let out an oath of impatience. “Miss Montgomery, either you did or didn’t hear something. Was someone here?” He frowned, as if sincerely doubting the possibility of such a situation but determined he must ask.
“No!”
“You didn’t hear anything?”
“I…don’t believe so.”
“You don’t believe? Then why do you appear to have bolted from the bath as if chased by demons from hell?”
“There seemed to be…I don’t know,” she said, lifting her chin. “A scraping sound from somewhere.” She squared her shoulders. “But as you—and your creature—can surely see, there is no one here. I assume that ancient places such as this might well creak.”
“Mmm,” he murmured.
She hated the mask. It hid all but his eyes, leaving her feeling as if she were continually dueling without all the weapons she needed in her corner. She stiffened again, determined on dignity. “Do you mind, My Lord? I am an unwilling guest at best, and as so, would prefer my own company at this hour.”
To her surprise, he seemed reluctant to leave.
“You do not find the room…disturbing?”
“No. Did you intend that I should?”
He waved a hand in the air. “I am not referring to the decor,” he said.
“Then…?”
“The creaking, or whatever it is that you—and my monster dog—apparently heard.”
She shook her head, thinking on the one hand that she was a fool. Yes! I want out of the room, an inner voice cried. But she wouldn’t let this man know that she could be frightened. Not in any way.
“I’m quite content to remain here,” she told him.
He studied her, and she thought that he might well insist that she do so. He didn’t. Instead he said, “I will leave the dog, then.”
“What?”
“I promise, you will be safe from creaks and groans, no matter what, with Ajax in attendance.”
“Ajax hates me!” she said.
“Don’t be ridiculous. Come. Give him a pat on the head.”
She just stared at the man incredulously.
She was amazed to realize that he was actually smiling. “You’re afraid of the dog?”
“You, sir, must not be ridiculous. I merely respect such a creature.”
“Come. You’ll have nothing to fear when he knows I wish him to look out for you.”
She moved forward, once again determined not to betray fear. Yet, even as she did so, her heart was pounding. But it wasn’t the dog. It was proximity to the man, she knew.
As she came near, he gripped her hand, not with any cruelty, just simple impatience. He laid it atop the dog’s head. The animal whined and thumped its tail.
She felt the size of the Earl of Carlyle, his height, his very vital touch. Like a coiled snake, he seemed mercurial with energy, with something explosive within. It was hypnotic, like the heat of a fire. She stepped back, staring at him. “I’m really not afraid here. I’m sure that your dog—”
“He likes you.”
“How nice,” she murmured.
“Yes, actually, it is. He is a sound judge of character. He is most wary of your guardian.”
She forced a grim smile. “Is that a reminder, My Lord, that we are prisoners here? That we are being…bribed, perhaps?”
She expected anger, something other than the dry laugh of amusement she received in return. “Perhaps. I will leave Ajax and rest assured myself that you will be safe and well throughout the hours of darkness. Good night, Miss Montgomery.”
“Now wait!” she began.
“Good night,” he repeated. He turned and was gone, closing the door behind him in a way that brooked no objection.
Camille stared after him, incredulous and angry. Had he left the dog because he thought she might be up to something? Or because he thought she might be in danger? Was she being watched, or guarded?
Ajax, staring at her, whined and thumped his tail. He padded over to her, still wagging his tail. She petted him on the head again. Huge eyes looked up at her. They seemed adoring now.
“You are really such a fine and handsome fellow,” she told him. “What is it with you and that sneer and your growling? Is it all a facade?” A facade. Like the mask his master wore?
It was all quite ridiculous. And yet, it seemed that the lamps flickered suddenly when there should have been no breeze. Deep in his throat, Ajax let out a warning sound.
“What is it, boy?” she whispered. Despite herself, she felt a deep unease. But the statues were unmoving. The room was empty.
“I think, my fine fellow, that I’m going to finish my brandy. And I must admit, I’m glad to have your company.”
Ajax must have believed her. When she finally doused the lamps—all but one, which she kept by her side—he leaped up on the foot of the bed. Thank God that it was a large bed. Still, she was glad to have him there, sitting sentinel through the night.
IN THE MORNING, she congratulated herself on befriending the dog. Now she could move about the castle as she chose.
She was determined to head straight to Tristan’s room and have it out with the fellow before having to face the master of the castle again. If she knew exactly what Tristan had done and what had transpired, she’d be better able to stand up for him. But the minute she walked out the door, the giant who had brought her in the night before greeted her. Had he just been standing around in the hall all morning, waiting? It appeared to be so.
“His lordship is waiting for you in the solarium,” the man told her gravely.
“Ah, what a surprise,” she murmured. “Lead on, please.”
Ajax trotted at her side as the man led her along the hallway, across the landing from the lower floor and into the next wing of the sprawling castle. Here, one giant room, a ballroom perhaps, led into another. Glass lined much of the ceiling, and it was actually quite beautiful, with the morning sun casting bright rays through to light the marble flooring and elegantly papered walls.
The earl was there, not seated but standing, hands clasped behind his back, at one of the long windows overlooking a central garden.
“Good morning, Miss Montgomery,” he said, turning to greet her. Due to the mask, she was ever more aware of the sharp blue color and piercing quality of his eyes.
“Indeed, it seems fine enough.”
“Were you able to sleep well enough after the disturbance?” he inquired politely, as if she were certainly a welcome guest.
“I slept just fine, thank you.”
“Ajax was no trouble?”
“Ajax is a lamb, just as Mrs. Prior informed me.”
“Usually,” he agreed pleasantly enough. “Well, you must join me for some breakfast, Miss Montgomery. I hope we have something that you might desire. Omelettes, oatmeal, toast, jam, bacon, fish…?”
“I seldom eat heavily in the morning, Lord Stirling, but I do thank you for your generous hospitality. However, I hate to take advantage of it.”
He smiled, quite grimly, she was certain.
“Hospitality is easily afforded here.”
“Too easily,” she said sharply.
“I do apologize for my lack of manners last night, but you did take me quite by surprise. So you work for the museum?”
She sighed deeply. “I am quite knowledgeable, I assure you. And yes, I work for the museum.”
He walked to the table that had been set with shimmering silver, a snowy cloth and chafing dishes. From an urn he poured a cup of coffee. “Tea, Miss Montgomery? Or do you prefer coffee?”
“Tea will be lovely, thank you,” she murmured.
“How long have you worked for the museum?” he asked.
“About six months.”
“And your work for the museum had nothing to do with your guardian’s appearance here?” he asked.
The words were politely spoken but they had a frightening edge. She decided that she liked him better when he was angry. There was something quite unnerving about the ease of his movement and the pleasantness of his tone.
She accepted the cup of tea he offered to her, and with little choice, also took a seat in the chair he pulled out for her convenience. He sat next to her, close, his chair at an angle, his knee nearly touching hers.
“Lord Stirling, I do assure you, Tristan is in no way involved with my work!” She didn’t add that she kept her guardian as far from the museum as she could at all times. “I swear to you, I gained my position there through knowledge, work and dogged determination! And I’m terribly afraid that I am going to lose that position,” she added bitterly. “Sir John has no tolerance for tardiness.”
“Sir John?”
“Sir John Matthews. He is my immediate superior.”
“The department is run by David, Lord Wimbly,” he said sharply.
“Yes, yes. But Lord Wimbly seldom…” She refrained from saying that the man seldom actually worked! “He has many functions to attend. His work is seldom at the museum itself. Sir John sees to the actual care and study of the exhibitions. He works closely with two men who have been on many excavations themselves, Alex Mittleman and Aubrey Sizemore. When there is a new exhibit, Lord Wimbly is present, and with Sir Hunter MacDonald, they make the arrangements. They also choose what purchases shall be made for the galleries, and they are in charge of seeing who receives grants for study and further expeditions.”
