Lord Ravensden's Marriage

  'Why, what's wrong with the room?' asked Lord Dawlish, sensing their mischief. He had followed

  Harry into the parlour and they had now been joined by Nan and Olivia.

  'It is haunted,' Olivia declared before anyone else could speak. 'By a headless spectre who rattles

  his chains at midnight and scares anyone foolish enough to sleep there half to death.'

  'Ghosts!' Sir Peregrine said dismissively, and looked at Olivia with obvious dislike. 'I do not

  believe they would disturb me.'

  'The room has not been used in years,' Beatrice said with slightly more truth than her sister. 'I do

  not believe it could be aired in time, sir. Besides, the bed has a broken strut. The last person to

  spend a night there was very uncomfortable.'

  'And took a virulent fever,' added Nan, making everyone look at her in surprise. 'Besides, the

  sheets have just been washed and there are no dry ones.'

  This was most unusual for Nan, and showed that she had taken Sir Peregrine in great dislike.

  Sir Peregrine looked horrified. 'Then I shall not stay,' he said. 'I have a delicate constitution. No,

  Ravensden, I shall not be persuaded. You may give me dinner, I hope? Then I shall return to

  London. Better to drive though the night than sleep in a damp room.'

  'Yes, I am sure you are wise, sir,' Beatrice said and her eyes were drawn involuntarily to Harry.

  He looked as though he might explode, though whether with anger or some other emotion she

  could not be sure. 'Now—shall we have our sherry?'

  She stayed to drink a glass with them, then excused herself, going to the kitchen with Nan to help

  prepare their meal, which consisted of a roast, a pigeon pie and a baked carp...supplied by

  Bellows from where she did not dare think. She spent some time making rich sauces and a choice

  of puddings. Whatever else Sir Peregrine chose to sneer at in this house, he should not find fault

  with the dinner set before him.

  'That was a splendid meal, m'dear. Splendid!' Mr Roade looked at his eldest daughter with

  affection. 'Once again you and Nan have excelled yourselves. Now, if you ladies would go

  through to the parlour, I wish to talk to our guests for a few moments.'

  'Yes, Papa, of course.'

  Beatrice placed the port and brandy on the table in front of him, then followed Nan and Olivia

  from the room.

  'I shall be glad when that dreadful man has gone,' Olivia said a little later, when they were seated

  in the parlour drinking tea. 'I cannot like him, Beatrice. Did you hear some of his remarks at

  dinner? He was so offensive. He almost suggested that I had trapped Lord Ravensden into offering

  for me. I do assure you, I did not!'

  'You should not let him upset you,' Beatrice said and frowned. 'He is clearly eaten up with conceit

  — and jealousy. Plainly, he hopes to drive a wedge between you and...' She broke off as Sir

  Peregrine came into the parlour.

  'I have sent your man to tell my coachman I am ready to leave,' he announced pompously. 'I fear I

  cannot stay longer, Miss Roade. My compliments to your cook for an enjoyable meal. I have

  scarcely eaten better in town. I wonder that such talent is to be found in a village like this.'

  His words were uttered in such a manner as to imply that he wondered any decent cook would

  stay in such a place. Beatrice held her breath and counted to ten. If he had not been Harry's cousin,

  she might have given him the rough side of her tongue.

  'We have many talents in the country, sir,' she said, and stood up. 'I shall see you to the door

  myself.'

  'You are very good, Miss Roade.' He stood back and allowed her to go before him. His cloak and

  hat were in the hall. He waited for her to hand them to him. She did not do so, and he was obliged

  to retrieve them from the wooden stand himself. He frowned. 'I must tell you I cannot approve this

  marriage, Miss Roade.'

  'I beg your pardon, sir?' Beatrice curled her nails into the palms of her hands. She must not lose

  her temper. She must not! 'I fear I do not understand you.'

  'The match between your sister and Ravensden was ill-judged. She has jilted him, and no doubt

  pride brought him here in pursuit of her—but he would be well advised to cut the connection. I

  cannot think well of Miss Roade Burton.'

  'Your opinion of my sister is of no interest to me, sir,' she replied, as calmly as she could. 'If you

  have anything to discuss concerning Lord Ravensden's marriage, you should properly address it to

  him.'

  'Well said, Beatrice!' Harry came out of the dining parlour. The expression in his eyes shocked

  her. He was furious. He looked as if he would like to strike his cousin, and was barely able to

  contain himself. 'Do you have something to say to me, Peregrine? If so, please speak now. But I

  must warn you, I am at the limit of my patience.'

  'I—I must go,' Sir Peregrine muttered, his face pale. 'You are your own master, Ravensden, and

  have no need of advice from me.'

  'Exactly. You would do well to remember that,' Harry said. 'Do have a safe journey back to town,

  cousin. Should you meet Lady Susanna, please tell her that I am in good health—and very shortly

  she will have the pleasure of meeting my fiancée.'

  Sir Peregrine bowed his head and went out without another word.

  'Forgive me for my cousin's disgusting manners,' Harry said, moving towards Beatrice. 'I do

  apologise for his having inflicted himself upon you. You look pale. What did he say to upset you

  so much?'

  'Only that he could not approve of your intention to marry into my family.' She put her hands to her

  face, which was burning. 'I know we are not your equal...'

  'Have I said that?' Harry looked at her, eyebrows raised. 'Have I ever given you any cause to think

  that either you or any member of your family was beneath me?'

  'No.' Beatrice took a sharp breath. ' You would not, of course, but I know...'

  'What do you know?' Harry asked gently. He took her hands in his, gazing down at her in such a

  way that her heart went wild, beating against her ribs so madly that she could hardly breathe. 'Had

  I the freedom to speak as I would like, then you would know, Beatrice. Believe me...'

  He was interrupted as Mr Roade and Lord Dawlish came out into the hall.

  'Lord Dawlish has agreed to pay my debt to the blacksmith, Beatrice,' her father said, looking

  delighted. 'That means he will deliver the new parts I need for my experiment. Is that not good

  news, m'dear?'

  'Yes, Papa.' Beatrice looked doubtful and Harry's eyes began to gleam with amusement. 'I do hope

  so...' she added as her father and Lord Dawlish went into the parlour, apparently on excellent

  terms. 'Oh dear, how unfortunate...'

  'You seem anxious?' Harry looked at her. 'Any particular reason?'

  'It is only that the last time Papa fitted his stove, there was an explosion. It blew a hole in the

  kitchen wall and it was an age before we were straight again.'

  'Ah yes, I see,' Harry said. 'We must hope that the improvements work, must we not?' He smiled at

  her, holding on to her left hand and playing with the fingers. 'Are you feeling more like yourself

  now, Beatrice?'

  'Yes, thank you.' She gave a small, rueful laugh. 'I must tell you frankly, Harry—I cannot like your

  cousin.'

  Harry chuckled, his eyes bright with mischief. 'My very dear Beatrice. No one ever likes the

  abominable
Peregrine. I would have thought it very odd in you if you had.'

  'Oh, Harry!' Beatrice's laughter was free of shadows this time. 'You always make me feel so much,

  better.'

  'Do I, my dear? I am glad of that.' He let her hand go. 'I think perhaps we ought to join the others,

  or I might forget that I am a gentleman and must live by the code of honour to which I was born.'

  'Yes.' Beatrice's heart raced wildly as she saw his expression. 'Yes, we should join the others...'

  Chapter Eight

  Beatrice was up early the next morning. She knew the rest of the household would not be stirring

  yet, and so she slipped out of the house to carry out some of her errands, which had been neglected

  since Lord Ravensden had followed her sister to Abbot Giles.

  There were some elderly folk living alone in the village, in cottages barely fit for inhabitation, and

  she had always done her best to help where she could. As difficult as things were at times for

  Beatrice and her family, she knew that some others were far worse off and she always shared

  what she had; at the moment there were so many good things in the house that she had brought

  biscuits, cakes, sweetmeats, and some cheese for her friends.

  The first cottage she called at was that of Miss Amy Rushmere, a lady who had been a companion

  to many rich employers during her long and interesting life. Beatrice always called on her at least

  once a month, staying to drink a little elderberry wine and gossip about what was happening at the

  houses of the local gentry.

  Miss Rushmere opened her door with a smile of welcome. 'Oh, how good of you to come,

  Beatrice,' she said. 'You must have so much to do with all the company you have staying.'

  'Lord Ravensden does not often rise much before noon,' Beatrice explained. 'I think he may be in

  the habit of riding early when at home, but he still has a slight cough, you know.'

  'Yes, I heard that Dr Pettifer had been called out to see him three times,' the old lady replied,

  shaking her head in distress. 'He must have been very poorly.'

  'We feared for his life at one period,' Beatrice said, frowning as she remembered how very ill

  Harry had been. 'But he is a strong man and I am thankful to say very much better now.'

  'Yes,' Miss Rushmere smiled at her. 'I saw you walking together yesterday morning. What a very

  handsome man he is to be sure.'

  'Yes, very.' She sat down at the table. Amy Rushmere was one of the oldest villagers living in

  Abbot Giles, and there were many things she could remember that no one else knew. 'Tell me,

  what do you think of the news that Lady Sywell has run off?'

  'It is very curious, isn't it?' Miss Rushmere wrinkled her brow. 'Of course, one knew how it would

  be when he married her. The marriage was always a mistake. She was obviously the by-blow of

  John Hanslope—at least, rumour would have it so...'

  'Have you some other thought on the matter?'

  'No, no...I dare say the story is true in this case. I saw her a few times, you know...a pretty child.'

  Miss Rushmere smiled; her faded eyes seeming to be looking somewhere beyond Beatrice, into

  the past. 'As a child I used often to walk in Giles Wood, including that part of it which belongs to

  the Abbey. The estate was very different then, well tended and alive with people. There is a grove

  in the woods, on the Abbey side, that is said to be sacred, you know...'

  'No, I did not know that,' Beatrice said, her interest caught. 'At least, I may have heard it, but I had

  forgotten.'

  'Oh, yes, I know it well from my childhood, and I have been there more recently. It is a pleasant

  spot and always seems peaceful to me, as if it is blessed in some way. There is a stone, moss-

  covered, with some strange lettering on it.' Miss Rushmere wrinkled her brow as she recalled

  something. 'I once saw Lady Sywell sitting alone there. It was just after her wedding. She seemed

  so sad. I remember her hair was an unusual colour—and she had a delicate, vulnerable look. I

  spoke to her, but she only smiled. She reminded me of someone, but I am not certain who...I do

  hope she is safe.'

  'Yes, I pray she is,' agreed Beatrice.

  Miss Rushmere nodded. 'They do say that anyone who desecrates the shrine is for ever cursed...'

  Beatrice felt the shiver trickle down her spine.

  'But surely Lady Sywell would not...'

  'Oh, no, my dear. I was thinking of her husband. He and his friends were often in the woods when

  he first came here, and the stories of his orgies are too unpleasant to relate. I think that the spirit of

  the woods...whoever she may be; I believe it is a woman...would choose to visit her anger more

  upon the Marquis than his innocent lady.'

  'Yes, that would have more justice,' Beatrice said. 'But it is Lady Sywell who has disappeared.'

  'Yes, indeed, and one wonders what can have happened to her. I remember the family who used to

  live there long ago...young Rupert as a boy...'

  Beatrice nodded, letting the elderly lady ramble on as she would. She had wondered if Miss

  Rushmere could throw a little more light on things, and the story of the sacred grove was very

  romantic—Olivia would love it!—but it did not help to solve the mystery of the Marchioness's

  disappearance.

  After leaving Miss Rushmere's cottage, Beatrice visited two more, but she did not stay to gossip

  for long, merely handing her gifts over at the door. She was in more of a hurry than usual, and did

  not at first respond when someone called her name, then she turned and saw the young woman

  walking towards her, holding a small girl by the hand. The child was perhaps two years old, a

  pretty little thing with reddish hair, her mother's very much darker and pulled back in a severe

  style that did nothing for her.

  'Oh, Beatrice,' Annabel Lett said as she came closer. 'You walk so fast I thought I should not catch

  up to you. It is ages since I saw you.'

  Annabel was a widow and lived in Steep Ride with only her cousin as a companion. Some people

  with nasty, suspicious minds whispered that she was not truly a widow, perhaps because her

  closest friend was Charlotte Filgrave, who the gossips would have it was a fallen woman, but

  Beatrice ignored such gossip. She liked Annabel and was always pleased to see her, though they

  did not often meet, unless it was on their walks.

  'I have been visiting Miss Rushmere and others,' Beatrice said as Annabel came up to her. 'Now I

  must get back. We have visitors staying and there is so much to do...'

  'Yes, of course, there must be,' Annabel replied. 'I came early because I wanted to ask Dr

  Pettifer's advice about something. When I go back I shall call on Charlotte Filgrave and Athene...'

  'You could come up to the house and take a glass of sherry if you wish,' Beatrice said. She knew

  that Annabel's situation was very like her own in that there was very little money coming in, and

  often thought she too must be lonely at times. 'I am sure Olivia would love to meet you.'

  'I should like that another day, providing I may bring Rebecca with me?' Annabel replied and

  smiled as Beatrice bobbed down to say hello to the child. 'I am expected by Charlotte this

  morning, but do tell your sister she is very welcome to call if she is over at Steep Ride.'

  'Yes, of course—but you must come to tea with us one day, Annabel. Olivia will be glad to make

  your acquaintance. I shall send a note with Bellows.'


  She left her friend, who had begun to walk in the opposite direction and went up to the house. As

  she did so she was hailed by Lord Dawlish, who had just arrived and was being shown into the

  parlour. She hurried to take off her bonnet and pelisse and followed him, finding that both Olivia

  and Harry were already there, sherry wine and biscuits having been set ready on the table.

  'Ah, Beatrice,' Harry said with some satisfaction. 'We were just wondering where you were.'

  'I had some errands in the village,' Beatrice replied. 'Friends I must not neglect because we have

  company. I had hoped to hear something that might help us with our investigation, but I did not.'

  'Well, I have some news,' Harry said. 'I have spoken to Bellows, and he has agreed to help us.

  Apparently, he has a few trusted friends. They are going to the Abbey grounds this very night and

  will cover much of the ground that we would find difficult.'

  Olivia had been standing at the window. 'It has started to rain,' she said, coming to sit down on the

  sofa. She looked disappointed. 'We shall not be able to walk today.'

  'I learned something this morning,' Beatrice said. 'It appears that there is a sacred grove in the

  woods, on the Abbey side. There is an old tale that says if anyone desecrates the grove they will

  be for ever cursed. Miss Amy Rushmere saw Lady Sywell there once.'

  'A sacred grove?' Olivia was entranced. 'How I should love to see it! And a curse—how strange!'

  'A sacred grove,' Harry nodded. 'And a shrine to the Earth Mother, I dare say. Perhaps there might

  also be the remains of a Roman temple somewhere on the estate?'

  Beatrice looked at him oddly. 'Why, yes, I've heard it said the monks built on the site of an old

  temple—what made you say that?'

  'One of my interests is the study of old manuscripts and ancient writings,' Harry said with a little

  smile. 'There are many forms of what are basically the same belief in the power of good and evil.

  And it is a strange but oft proven fact that the priests of what would seem to be entirely different

  faiths chose to build their shrines in the exact same places.'

  'Why would that be?' Beatrice asked, fascinated more by this new insight into Harry's character

  than by the study of old religions.

  'It is my own opinion that the forces for good and evil are both held within the air, earth, fire,