You May Kiss the Bride(89)

She led the way inside and, Gabriel, exchanging a deeply troubled look with Grandmama, followed her into the Great Hall. This gargantuan chamber he did recall from childhood, specifically his intense fascination with the suits of armor poised upright on either side of a fireplace so large that cattle could be—and probably had been, in earlier times—roasted in it wholesale, as well as with the impressive display of old weapons set upon the wall, the swords and spears and pikes and daggers and shields, all of them wonderfully lethal-looking and very exciting to the imagination of a little boy who used to pretend he was a knight of the Round Table, or a soldier defending the place against invaders.

Good Lord, he hadn’t thought about that in decades. A sudden memory of himself, tearing through the hall, brandishing a large stick and screeching at the top of his lungs, floated across his mind, and he smiled faintly.

“Gabriel!”

He blinked, realized he had been staring absently at the family coat of arms carved into the chimney piece—featuring prominently upon it the words Et honorem, et gloriam—and turned to see that his grandmother was now visibly distraught.

He glanced around the Great Hall and it was easy to see why. The dirt, the dust, the disorder was everywhere. Livia, standing as if frozen, looked shocked. He saw that trailing upon the hem of her gown was a clump of gray dust and it was this single detail that sent a jolt of anger blazing through him: this was not how he had envisioned introducing her to his birthplace. What in the devil’s name was going on here?

Mrs. Worthing had gone to tug at the shabby bell-pull and cheerfully she said, “Would you care to go into the Little Drawing-room? I’ll bring your tea to you in there.” Then a look of confusion clouded her face and she added, tentatively, “Or do I mean the Rose Saloon? And it’s not I who should be carrying the tray, should I? My, my, where is Mrs. Adelaide to set me straight? Oh, I do hope I haven’t made a mistake, I would not like to be reprimanded.” Her wandering gaze settled on Livia and swiftly she dipped another creaky curtsy. “Good day, miss! You’ve come to call on Miss Henrietta? I’m very sorry, miss, but she’s gone away to London. She’s to make her début, you see, and she barely seventeen! The prettiest lass in Somerset, if I may be so bold as to say so!”

“Mrs. Worthing,” Grandmama broke in, “did you not receive my letter?”

“Oh! A letter!” The old woman felt at once in the pocket of her apron and pulled out a crumpled paper, the wafer still intact. “Here it is, ma’am,” she said proudly, and came forward to hand it over to Grandmama. Then she peered more closely at her and abruptly brightened. “Why, Miss Henrietta, it’s you! A young lady came to call on you, miss, while you were gone. Such a pretty young lady, too, with lovely auburn hair, but she ran away before I could get her name.”

“Mrs. Worthing, where are the other servants?”

It was clear that his grandmother was trying to speak gently despite her flabbergasted duress, but her whole slender frame was so rigidly taut it seemed as if she might, at any moment, snap in two.

“The servants?” The housekeeper shook her head, as if to clear it. “We haven’t many, ma’am, for they’ve left and gone. Gone, gone, gone.”

“Gone? What do you mean?”

“So shall ye sow, so shall ye reap,” answered Mrs. Worthing. “That Mrs. Adelaide was a hard, hard mistress. Not like yourself, ma’am.” The confused expression came upon her again, and she faltered, “It is you, Miss Henrietta, isn’t it? Come to set us all straight again? That Mrs. Adelaide—why, she would not let me make broth in the winter for the poor folk! I told her it was the Penhallow way, but she said it was wasteful, miss.” Then she reached out with gnarled hands, to urgently grasp at Grandmama’s gloved ones. “But where is Mr. Richard? He went a-riding, Mrs. Henrietta, went a-riding yesterday and we have not seen him since. His tea is getting cold.”

Aghast, her face as white as if a ghost had come upon her, Grandmama tried to step away from Mrs. Worthing, but the housekeeper’s grip was so startlingly strong that she was plainly trapped. Then Livia was there, her own hands upon those of Mrs. Worthing, coaxing them away, her voice saying softly:

“You need not worry, Mrs. Worthing, all is well.”

Immediately Mrs. Worthing smiled and released Grandmama, who dropped the crumpled letter onto the floor. Mrs. Worthing picked it up and tucked it into her apron. “My letter! I’ll be saving that until Mrs. Adelaide comes home.”

“Yes, yes, to be sure,” said Livia soothingly, then looked sharply at Gabriel, with a little jerk of her chin indicating his grandmother. At once he went to place his arm around her and lead her to the nearest chair, disgracefully dusty, but the old lady sank down upon it without seeming to notice.