The Elsingham Portrait

Nineteen


Richard was sorry that the distance between the vicarage and the Manor was so short. He had never held a woman as he now held Kathryn, seated before him on the saddle. She was warm and soft, yet firm, and he was very conscious of her fragrance and resilience in his arms.

“I am in love,” he said quietly, and felt her sudden tenseness.

Her magnificent eyes gleamed up at him in the dark of the woods. “I am not free,” she said at length. Her voice was soft.

“You are—Lady Nadine?” It was Richard’s turn to stiffen. His arm, supporting her, became iron-hard.

“No, truly I am not,” said Kathryn. “I cannot explain, but I do have a connection with that unhappy girl. And I am in great danger.”

“From Elspeth?” asked Richard, his voice rough with anger. “I’ll send that meddler packing tomorrow!”

“Not on my account—please. Donner and her companion are a far greater threat to me. And to others! Donner must not find me.”

“Maggie can keep you safe,” muttered Richard. It was obvious that running and hiding were two activities Richard Bennet had no sympathy with, yet he respected Kathryn’s feelings and would make no move she had not sanctioned. The big quiet fellow was finding his first love a painful business, but he was too much a man to impose his emotions on the woman he loved. Kathryn, sensing his effort at control, was anxious to change the subject.

“Where are we to meet your sister?”

“I’ll stow you safe in the Manor park, in a little Grecian summerhouse that’s seldom visited, while I seek out Maggie. She’ll have thought of a way of smuggling you into the Manor and hiding you.”

Kathryn waited in the summerhouse, a tiny enchanted place of tall silver-white columns and pale marble floors. She had thought she would be more nervous of snakes and spiders than of discovery, but the little archaic temple imposed its own peace on her frightened spirit. In a very short time, Richard returned with his sister. Bennet hugged the girl with motherly affection. Kathryn found herself crying. Richard grinned at them both.

“Best save the tears and gossip till we have you safely bestowed,” he advised. Bennet became her competent self at once.

“You’ve done your part well, Richard. Back to the farm with you now, so there’ll be no way to connect our guest Kathryn Radcliffe with the Manor,” she said briskly.

“Thank you, Richard.” Kathryn held out her hand. “You’ve been my shield and buckler.”

Richard kissed her hand with simple courtliness. Unable to trust his voice, he waved at his sister and slipped away in the dark.

Bennet led the girl through a series of gardens—formal, herb, and kitchen—past beds of sweet-smelling flowers and under blossoming fruit trees. For a few minutes there was the acrid pungence of ivy as they moved along a path beside a high wall. Then the great bulk of the Manor loomed up in front of them. A few lights showed in the windows to the rear of the house, but for the most part the beautiful old building was dark.

“Quietly now,” whispered Bennet, leading the way to a small door concealed in flowering shrubs. She opened it soundlessly, and took Kathryn’s hand to guide her. There was a small staircase up which they moved in silence, and finally a heavy old door which creaked alarmingly in spite of Bennet’s caution. Once the door was closed behind them, the older woman panted a sigh of relief. “We’re in the attics, now, Miss Kathryn. No one ever come up here since her ladyship died. It’s used for storage. I can make you comfortable enough here until we can get you down to see the portrait.”

“You got it here! Oh, Bennet, thank you! When can we—?”

“Not tonight, Miss Kathryn,” said Bennet firmly. “You’ve been through enough. Richard told me a little of it when he was bringing me to you. No, tonight you will rest and regain your strength.” She opened the door proudly to show a small room where a lamp glowed softly.

Kathryn exclaimed with pleasure.

It was a child’s playroom, or had been at one time. A spirited rocking horse cocked a wise dark eye from the corner where he stood guard over a neat cot, freshly made up with crisp white sheets and pillows. On the small round table there was the lamp, a plate with a crusty loaf of bread, a covered dish of cheese, and a bottle of wine.

Kathryn turned to meet Bennet’s smiling look. Laughing and crying at the same time, she threw her arms around the older woman. “Dear Bennet! What would I ever have done without you? This is like a fairy tale!”

“It was Master John’s secret room,” confided Bennet. “Only he and I knew of it. He used to come up here when he was in a temper, or had been hurt . . . and he said the room helped him.” Her eyes were tender. “He was a fine boy, Miss Kathryn, and he’s grown into a good man. I do believe he’ll help you if you let him—”

But Kathryn had drawn away. Her eyes lost their warmth as she said, quietly, “Have you forgotten that he ordered me to go to Ireland? You know what that would mean, especially since Donner has found me again. Bennet, I could not bear it. I’ll—I’ll die first!”

“Let me hear no more of that foolish talk, Miss Kathryn,” said Bennet sternly. “You’re tired and overwrought with all the trouble, and small wonder. Get a good night’s sleep, now. I’ll slip up in the morning to bring you hot tea. Just don’t make any noise, Miss Kathryn.” Bennet took a last look at the arrangements she had made for the girl’s comfort, then, giving her a pat on the shoulder, she went softly away.

Washing her face at the tiny commode and drying her hands on a soft towel, Kathryn wearily made ready for bed. There was so much to think about, so much to plan, that she felt dull and confused. Sighing, she blew out the lamp and got thankfully into the cot. In a few minutes, in spite of her determination to ‘think things out,’ she was asleep.

*****



She awoke with good appetite and ate some of the delicious country bread and cheese before she even dressed. The wine she reserved for a later time, but some water in a covered jug was ample to slake her thirst. Then, leisurely, she dressed and examined her surroundings. This was John’s room, his childhood sanctuary. Strange that it should be hers now, should shelter her from the man whom that boy had become. Oh, Kathryn thought wistfully, if I had known him then! If we had been friends as children! Or were now, her treacherous heart suggested. How blind, how stupid, Nadine was to deceive this man and reject what he had to offer a woman! She caught the bright eye of the great rocking horse and felt herself blushing.

So. Admit it, Kathryn. You are in love with a man who fears and hates the things you seem to be. Who could never completely trust you and surely never truly love you while you wear this flesh. She straightened her shoulders and faced the bright, too-knowing eye.

“I’ll leave as soon as I can get safely down to the portrait,” she told that eye firmly.

“And if the business with the portrait doesn’t work?” the bright eye challenged.

“It must. It worked once,” Kathryn argued.

“But if it doesn’t?”

Kathryn wasn’t sure whether she was arguing with a rocking horse or with herself. “If it doesn’t work, then I’ll go away to some city where no one ever heard of the Elsinghams, and I’ll find a job and live out my life as best I can,” she promised herself. And felt better.

She had the bed made, the room tidied, and was looking through a dog-eared book of Master John’s when Bennet came into the room.

“Good morning, my dear,” she said softly, scanning Kathryn’s face carefully. Apparently satisfied with what she saw, she closed the door quietly and placed a steaming pot of tea upon the table. Pouring Kathryn a cup, Bennet said, “We’ll have to remember to keep our voices down to a whisper. Mustn’t let any of the upstairs maids suspect there’s a guest in the attic!”

“This,” said Kathryn, sipping the hot sweet brew greedily, “Is ambrosia—mead . . . what does mead really taste like, Bennet? Have you tasted it?”

Bennet smiled indulgently. “Now Miss Kathryn, is it likely I’d be carousing with such a heathen drink? Wassailing, I suppose you’d have to call it.” Then relenting, she smiled. “It’s sweet, you naughty child. Made from fermented honey . . . You don’t look any older than Master John, when he was up to his mischief in this very room.”

The references to Lord John took the smile off Kathryn’s face. “When can we go to the portrait, Bennet? Where have you placed it?”

“I’ve had it hung in the Great Hall, above the fireplace,” whispered Bennet. “It’s directly opposite the entrance doors, just as it was facing the front door in the London house. It—it feels right there, Miss Kathryn. It dominates the hall just as it did the one in London. The eyes—” the older woman hesitated. “They’re strange . . . sort of hungry, and waiting . . .”

Kathryn felt a cold prickling over her skin. Putting its warning aside, she said, “Of course they’re strange. They have the secret of pulling me back to my own world. I’m glad they are —waiting . . .”

Bennet was deeply uneasy. She knew she must not weaken the girl’s resolution at this crucial time, but the hazards appalled the simple, God-fearing woman. What if this lovely girl ended up in some other place—neither her own home nor Lady Nadine’s? “Well, Miss Kathryn,” she made herself say calmly, “you know what is best for yourself, I suppose, but—” she broke off, and her eyes misted with tears. “Oh, Miss Kathryn, I wish you could find it in your heart to stay here and fight it through! You’re so much better for Master John than that Nadine!”

Kathryn hardened her will. “Lord John doesn’t want either of us,” she said harshly. “And I cannot say I blame him. We’ve both been nothing but trouble. Now, let’s be sensible and plan when I’m to face the portrait.”

Bennet sighed and nodded. “If your mind is made up, tonight’s as good as any time. The longer we wait—”

“The more chance there is we’ll be interrupted,” agreed Kathryn.

“We’ve got none of that stuff Donner gave her ladyship,” warned Bennet, “but I did bring the dress. It’s been mended so it looks just as it did when—that is, that afternoon—”

“Thank you. You’ve been my real friend, Margaret Bennet. I’ll never forget you.”

Bennet’s practical Scot’s commonsense came to their rescue in time to prevent a tearful scene. “Let’s not rejoice too soon, Miss Kathryn. It may be the portrait won’t work without that creature Donner and her drugs . . . And I’d be just as happy if it didn’t,” she murmured under her breath. “Happier.”

Kathryn thought it wiser not to ask the older woman to repeat what she had said. She would not let herself admit it, but these weeks of challenge and fear and bittersweet happiness were the most exciting and fulfilling ones in her whole life. It had been a sterile, lonely life, she knew now, being always the outsider looking in at other people’s shared family fun and interests and concerns. Being no one’s choice, no one’s beloved—not even Don’s, really. For he had wanted the connection with the Hendrix name, the prestige the other branch of Kathryn’s family enjoyed. Never really me, she thought, but without the pang of grief she had felt in the past. She was cured of Don, and it hadn’t been all that hard. It will be harder, she told herself, to cure yourself of a tall, golden-haired Englishman with eyes that could be warm and tender or ice-gray and challenging. Life, she thought wistfully, would never be dull with a man like Lord John.

Bennet returned later in the morning with the garish golden dress and draped it over the rocking horse.

“Try to rest awhile, Miss Kathryn,” she advised. “I’ll slip back to help you into it after midnight, and then we’ll try—”

“Yes,” Kathryn said, and a shiver of—fear, was it?—rippled over her skin. “Tonight, we’ll try!”