Chapter Seven
“I do not believe in ghosts and whatnot. There are far worse…and better things to meet in the night.”
Mr Daniel Lockwood – classical scholar, philosopher and bachelor.
The bed looked like a wild animal had been in it. A pillow was strewn across the coverlet, and the sheets were tangled around Clara’s limbs. She couldn’t sleep, and she flung herself over again.
She kept thinking of Rook’s devouring eyes tonight, and then she thought of the chess game, and then the kiss… It was as though they were having a courtship in reverse.
She was aware that she may be falling in love with him. She knew she shouldn’t. Every time she fell a little further, he would suddenly pull back. She was intensely confused and Rook, at times, seemed a conundrum to her. Was he a rake? She did not think so, despite the ‘masquerade’ incident. Yes, he was arrogant, but then most titled gentlemen were, and his manner towards her the previous night and that evening had been both honourable and kind.
There had never been any hints in thetonthat Rook was searching for a wife. Many may have considered the house party to be a means to this end, but Clara didn’t think so. More like, the house party was an excuse to tryst with Lady Pinesdown.
To be fair to Rookdean, he had not much sought out the lady, and when he did, he left her with a frown on her face, hardly an exchange between lovers. If anything, Jack had been seen in her company more often than not, although, Jack wasalwaysin some lady’s company.
A sudden knock at the door interrupted her thoughts. Despite it being May, the nights were rather chilly, and a fire had been set in her room. The faint glow allowed her to see the clock on the mantle – it was nearly on the hour of one. Afraid that her aunt may have taken ill, Clara struggled with her Chinese silk wrap and made for the door.
She opened it quietly, but the door was pushed back into her face. Her cousin Ralph stumbled into the room, and he stood swaying, peering into the gloom. “ ’lara, where are youuu?” he mumbled pitifully.
“Behind you, Ralph. What do you think you are doing? Leave immediately,” she whispered harshly. Good grief, if anyone saw him she would be forced to marry him. She liked Ralph, she really did, despite the accident, but his continual drunkenness made her want to hit him – hard.
“Not till I said ssorry, Clara. ‘Bout telling everyone tonight. If Rooksss hadn’t wanted to do his song…” He flung an arm out in distress, but he toppled backwards – directly onto her bed. Clara hurriedly shut the door and ran over to him, shaking him by his coat.
“You have to get up, Ralph. If anyone hears you in here, we’ll be in the parson’s mousetrap.”
“Wouldn’t mind,” he said breathing brandy fumes in her face. He was looking at her with a dreamy expression. Oh no! thought Clara, this is getting worse.
“So lovely, Clara. So forgiving…” Ralph was still blabbering on, and saying that, he grabbed hold of her and pulled her down on top of him.
After the distress of Sir Matthew, the day before, Clara was in no mood for Ralph’s misguided declarations – however sweet. She fisted her left hand and aimed it at his face. It hurt.
“Ow, my nose, that hurt.” Clara could only agree as she nursed her knuckles, but Ralph had let go of her to attend to his damaged face.
Clara got up and turned away. “Ralph, you have to leave. I love you dearly, but like a brother. Why don’t you turn your attentions to Miss Pendleton? She likes you. Now, please go.”
“Really? I rather like Miss Pendleton…”
“Yes, I’ve seen her gazing at you…likes coins too.” She turned back to find a snoring Ralph. He was cuddled up to her pillow, one hand around its ‘waist’, the other on his bruised nose.
“No damn it, Ralph. Get up!” She went and shook him, but he barely moved except for a faint smile on his face. How the devil would she get him out? If he was found here in the morning by a servant, or indeed anyone, she would be ruined. Her aunt! Clara thought – surely she could spend the night in her room, or they could remove Ralph together.
Clara lit a candle from the hearth and tiptoed out of the bedchamber, closing the door on the slumbering Ralph. Her aunt was only across the hallway and just as she raised her hand to knock, she heard…giggling?
“Oh, Dill! Do that again.” Clara’s mouth fell open. Her Aunt Agnes with…Rook’s Uncle Dill!
“My pleasure, Agnes.” Clara felt her face blanch and backed away. She really, really,reallydidn’t want to hear anymore. Where the deuce was she meant to go now? She dithered, unsure of what to do. She knew there were no spare bedchambers, and she couldn’t trust anyone else here.
Starting to feel quite cold, she remembered the underused room she had discovered on the first day. In fact, this very morning, she had idly passed a pleasant hour reading on a comfortable couch in the corner. She now knew that the collection of artefacts in the room had been Rook’s parents’, as he’d told her they had been great travellers, and many of the pieces seemed to originate from India and Greece. The couch would be big enough for her small frame, and it even had a blanket – if she remembered rightly.
There really was no choice. She gutted the candle and left it on the side table, not wanting a light to be seen by any wandering servants…or guests. The grey clouds of the day had lifted, and a soft moonlight lit the hallway through the half-closed shutters. Pausing for a moment to allow her eyes to adjust to the gloom, she made her way carefully to the staircase.
The house, which she had adored by day, felt rather malevolent by night. Corners creaked, shadows flitted – maybe she was still dreaming? No, no-one could dream up feet that were freezing cold, and a giggling aunt with… Dill.
It was darker downstairs, but her eyes had adjusted, and she could make out the passageway and door that led to the curiosity room.
Opening the door as quietly as she could, Clara peered in. It was in utter darkness. The shuttered windows let not one beam of moonlight into the room, and Clara wished she hadn’t left her candle behind. She remembered the addition of heavy, green velvet curtains, which also covered the windows, protecting the artefacts and books from the glare of the sun.
Well, at least she would sleep well, although she doubted she would ever wake, and the servants would find her here tomorrow morning – still blissfully unaware that the sun had risen. She hesitated for a moment, hearing a distant door slam, but she was here now.
