Originally, though, it must have formed a quadrangle around the courtyard. The present structure opened into a pleasing U-shape, and it was delightfully, excessively decorated in terra-cotta and an abundance of painted glass.
While they weren’t expected or invited, he was, after all, the master. The gatekeeper had ushered them in without hesitation or any hemming and hawing about the family not being at home.
By the time the post chaise drove into the courtyard, people—servants, it looked like—had clustered at the windows. A moment later, a tall, thin man, whose authoritative bearing told her he was the house steward, emerged from the entrance. His minions trailed behind him.
The house steward, whose name turned out to be Tewkes, behaved in the way any self-respecting chief of household staff ought to do: He didn’t turn a hair at finding a common, dirty post chaise in the grand, ancient courtyard, but took it completely in his stride, without so much as an eyebrow twitch.
Then, when the servants ran up to open the carriage doors, and everybody got a glimpse of who was inside, there was a lot of bowing and scraping and underlings being ordered about.
When the footmen helped Ripley out of the post chaise, his jaw tightened and his face whitened a shade. While Olympia was sure he hadn’t broken his ankle, she knew a sprained or wrenched ankle could be extremely painful, especially at first.
Luckily, Camberley Place had been built on level ground. He didn’t have to climb a single step to go inside.
Leaving Tewkes to deal with the dog, the postilion, bridal corpses, discarded shoe, and everything else, Olympia followed Ripley and the two strong footmen he leaned on into a cavernous Great Hall. There she found the expected heavy oak paneling and arrangements of armaments on the walls. But she could admire these antiquities later, she told herself.
At present, she needed to prevent his worsening the injury.
At least he hadn’t objected to the footmen helping him. The road, especially the last bit, before they reached the carriage drive, had been especially rough.
She wondered where to put him. Their hostess had not yet appeared.
She told herself not to panic. Since the ladies weren’t expecting company, they might be anywhere. Visiting neighbors, for instance.
One thing at a time.
“Where to now?” she said.
“Library,” Ripley said.
It wasn’t the nearest room, but he insisted, without explaining. Not that he explained much of anything—such as letting anybody know why he couldn’t walk on his own and wore only one shoe.
Beneath his ducal dignity to explain, of course. Everybody about him must try to assemble clues and work things out as best they could.
But she wasn’t a duke, and she saw no point in letting the staff whisper and conjecture instead of knowing precisely what they were dealing with.
By the time the footmen had planted him on a sofa and propped up his foot on a cushion, Tewkes had returned.
To the steward she said, “His Grace appears to have sprained his ankle.”
“Bruised,” Ripley said.
“We’ll see,” she said as she bent to examine it. “But since I didn’t shoot you in the foot or drop a large rock on it, and nobody here knows me, I’d rather not be under suspicion.”
“Hardly the sort of thing to upset anybody here,” he said. “Amuse them, rather.” He looked up at the house steward. “Whether her ladyship did or didn’t use violence against me, I need a restorative, Tewkes. Brandy. Large.”
“Yes, Your Grace.”
“And ice,” she said. “As soon as possible. Though it doesn’t seem grossly swollen, it’s certainly not as it should be. At best, the bruising is severe, and the quicker we deal with it, the better. I shall want bandages, as well. And vinegar. And a maidservant to assist me.”
“And a physician, my lady?” Tewkes said.
“No quacks,” Ripley said. “I only banged my ankle. I don’t need any bones set and I won’t be bled and purged for a little mishap in a rabbit hole. All I want now is a large glass of brandy.”
Tewkes went out.
Olympia rose. “Where is your aunt?” she said.
“Somewhere about,” he said.
“Are you sure?” she said.
“She hasn’t left Camberley Place in three years,” he said. “She hasn’t been socially inclined since Uncle Charles died. She’ll be somewhere about, but somewhere covers a considerable territory. We may have a wait before she appears.”
She gazed at him accusingly. “She doesn’t like company, and you brought me here—”
“It isn’t quite like that,” he said.
“Then what is it like?”
“I’m not sure,” he said. “My mother and sister seem to understand. Alice says she’s a ghost—”
“A what?”
“Figure of speech,” he said. “You’re not going to turn hysterical on me now, are you?”
“I might.” She sat in a nearby chair and folded her hands. “This day feels as though it’s gone on for weeks. I believe my nerves are wearing.” For a moment she’d envisioned a deathly ill or dying auntie, and having to leave this house and seek yet another refuge. In that moment, she’d wished she’d stood before the minister the way she’d promised to do.
Was it only this morning?
She wanted to put her head in her hands and weep, but she couldn’t. She had to see to Ripley’s injury first, before he did anything to make it worse. Males had an appalling tendency to worsen their injuries because of a mystical belief that, if they said nothing was wrong, nothing was wrong, and they could do what they wanted.
“Nothing to fret about,” he said. “Aunt Julia is a superior sort of relative.”
Before Olympia could ask any more questions, Tewkes returned, with two footmen, a sturdy maid named Mary, the brandy, and the various other items Olympia had requested.
“Tewkes,” Ripley said. “Where’s my aunt?”
“At the mausoleum, Your Grace. Joseph has gone to inform her of your arrival.”
“You heard him,” Ripley told Olympia. “At the mausoleum. I told you she was somewhere about.”
Well, then, Aunt Julia wasn’t better.
Still, this was Camberley Place, and even haunted, it remained the refuge Ripley remembered: household in order, servants going about their business calmly, and everything looking clean, neat, and well cared-for. The antithesis, in short, of the home in which he’d endured too much of his boyhood.
He watched Lady Olympia direct the servants to bring a small table to the sofa. There she had Mary set out strips of cloth and bowls, a bucket of ice, another of water, and a small pitcher of the vinegar she’d ordered.
She had them move her chair closer to his foot.
Then she sent all of the servants except Mary out of the room.
When the door had closed behind them, Ripley said, “You didn’t want a brace of footmen leaping to do your bidding?”
“Best not to let the men see you weep,” she said. “And do try to keep the screaming down. I don’t want them bursting in to the rescue and making things worse.”