Chapter 19
CHAPTER NINETEEN
H oratio knocked at Juliet’s door.
Outside, he could hear rain hammering on the rooftops and window panes of the castle. The late afternoon had become unnaturally dark as the storm closed in. There was no answer from within the room and he knocked again, this time louder.
Perhaps she was asleep.
“Miss Semphill? It is Horatio. May I come in?” he called.
“May I be of some assistance, Your Grace?” came a voice from the end of the hallway.
Horatio looked up to see Frances Godwin standing outside the door of her room. She wore a gown of dark red silk that was cut low over her bosom. It clung to her hips in a way that emphasized her feminine figure. Dark, lustrous hair was curled about her shoulders, held in place by delicate silver filigree chains.
“I wish to speak to your cousin,” Horatio said, unmoved by the display.
Frances Godwin was beautiful, of that, there was no doubt. Her sultry good looks would at one time have earned her a portrait, had Horatio seen her from the vantage of his gallery during the annual ball.
But now, his thoughts were full of Juliet’s burnished bronze hair and delicate, pale skin. Her slender, swan-like neck and emerald eyes. On the smattering of freckles across her cheeks that were emphasized when she blushed. He stepped away from the door, putting his hands behind his back and facing Frances, who was swaying along the hallway towards him.
“You wished to speak to Juliet?” Frances asked curiously.
“I did. I have come to a decision and it is something I would speak to her in person about.”
“A decision ?” Frances chimed, stopping too close to Horatio. “Perhaps concerning which of us you will marry? I am sorry to be so direct. That is not ladylike of me, I know. But on a matter of such importance, one must be bold.”
“I wish to resolve this matter of her illness once and for all. I do not like being lied to and would confront her about it,” Horatio put in.
“You will not receive the truth. I am not sure that Juliet knows what is truth and what is lie any longer. I do not mean to speak ill of family, but you must know. Believe me when I say that you will not get it from Juliet,” Frances said in an earnest voice.
She glanced up at him, eyes wide and lips parted. Horatio looked from her dark eyes to the closed door of Juliet’s room. He had not tried the handle. She did not need to lock it to know that he would not simply enter without permission. The door might as well be locked.
“Your description is so very different to the woman I have met and spent some time with. I do not see a liar or a fantasist,” Horatio muttered.
“That is Juliet’s nature. She is very persuasive. Very manipulative. Has she told you of her betrothed?”
Horatio had turned away, unsure what to do next. Now, he whirled to face Frances.
“ Betrothed ? I was not informed that Juliet was engaged to be married.”
“She would not have told you, obviously. That would have impeded her plans. She is betrothed to Viscount Hemsworth. A charming fellow who became quite smitten with her. She has been playing him along for a while now. I have tried to remonstrate with her, as has my mother. She will not listen, and he is so besotted that he will hear no ill of her at all.”
Frances shook her head, sadly. Tears actually glittered in her eyes and she turned away.
“You must forgive me, Your Grace. I cannot bear to think of that nice gentleman being heartbroken. Nor you, for that matter.”
“I had not intended to be,” Horatio stated.
He went back to the door and rapped loudly.
“Miss Semphill! Please open the door!”
He thought he heard a soft tsk of vexation. Even a stamped foot. When he looked back at Frances, she looked at him with large, stricken eyes, and hands clasped in front of her. She breathed heavily, which showed off her barely concealed bosom to its fullest.
“Allow me, Your Grace. I will enter and see how Juliet is. She may be asleep.”
Frances went to the door and Horatio stepped aside for her.
“If she does not wish to be seen, is there a message I may take to her?” Frances asked.
“Only that I desire to speak to her.”
“Very well.” Frances opened the door wide enough for herself to enter, then closed it behind her. Horatio paced the hallway outside the room for what felt like an eternity. He clasped his hands behind his back, fists clenching and unclenching. His mind roamed along multiple avenues of possible futures. Juliet crowded his thoughts most of all.
A liar and a fantasist? It did not seem credible. He didn’t want to believe it. Jane Bonel, a long-lost love wishing to rekindle their former romance? It did not seem credible either. Not as a possible future that he could entertain. Once, he would have ridden to Carlisle the moment he received Jane’s letter, and fallen to his knees before her door. Did he still want to do that? He could not tell.
The door opened again, and Frances exited through it. She looked somber, biting her lip, and peeking back at the closed door more than once.
“I am afraid she does not want to talk or receive you at the moment, Your Grace. She is in… no condition to receive guests.”
“What is wrong? Is she ill?” Horatio demanded, stepping towards the door, despite the taboo that bursting into a lady’s bedchamber represented.
Frances went as far as to put a hand against his chest, blocking his entrance.
“She is not unwell… physically ,” she began carefully. “I think her ailment is of the head more than the body. I have seen her like this before, and it will not end well if you attempt to force the issue. The last time I saw her like this… well, my mother will not like me saying so, but Juliet needed time in a sanatorium before she recovered. It is a shameful secret of our family.”
Horatio frowned, searching Frances’ face for the truth. It was in such marked contrast to the Juliet he had met. It was true—Juliet had shown herself to be eccentric and refreshingly uncaring of social conventions. Such qualities were often described as madness. He could not bring himself to fully believe it.
“I will send for a physician at once,” he said.
“Better to leave Juliet to us, I beg of you,” Frances implored, stepping closer and placing her other hand on Horatio’s chest too.
She stood close enough to be kissed, fingertips pressed against his pectorals. But again, Horatio was unmoved. His thoughts were filled with Juliet and what suffering she might be going through. He cursed the social conventions that forbade him from entering her room, even though it was his property. While she was a guest, the rooms she had been given were her fortress. She could consider herself safe. As could Frances and Lady Margaret. He growled in his throat, frustration twisting his insides.
“Very well,” he finally snapped. “Please inform me the moment Juliet seems ready to receive me.”
He spun away, halting when he saw Lady Margaret at the end of the hallway. She walked towards him, looking from him to her daughter.
“Do I find an inappropriate encounter taking place outside my very door?” she asked of Frances, eyes hard.
“No, Mama. Nothing of the sort. His Grace wished to speak to Juliet, but she is not answering,”
Lady Margaret’s glare softened and she looked to Horatio with something akin to compassion and regret. “I am sorry, Your Grace. Juliet is prone to these episodes. It was a reason that I did not suggest marriage to her as a solution to the scandal. I did not want to say so openly—for obvious reasons.”
Horatio looked between the two women, trying to read their impassive faces. If this was a lie, then they were well-rehearsed.
Frustrated, he turned away without another word. It was as he turned in the direction of the Red Study, seeking solitude for reflection, that he overheard two maids talking. The door of the room in which they worked was open, a sitting room in which his guests had been taking tea. There came the clinking of cups and saucers being gathered and the sound of sweeping.
“ She had her hood up and everything, but I thought to myself, what does the lady mean to be doing, going out when there’s a storm in the offing .”
“ Maybe His Grace has laid on a carriage for her? ”
“ No, she was over the bridge and on her way into the woods when I caught sight of her. Not going to the stables at all. And that wasn’t the strangest thing. She stopped at the edge of the trees and crouched down. I thought to myself, whatever can she be doing? And then I saw a little rabbit running off. I think she was carrying it and had just let it go. ”
“ What was she doing with a rabbit of all things? ”
“ God knows. But I think she’d been carrying it from the castle. I thought there was a funny, musty kind of smell from her wardrobe. Didn’t want to say nothing at the time. Funny sort she was. ”
Horatio stepped through the open door, seeing the two maids. One held a tray of tea things and she dropped into a hasty curtsy at the sight of him. The other was cleaning out the grate, crouching before the fireplace. She was the one speaking, because she carried on for a moment, before glancing over her shoulder and seeing Horatio. She hastily jumped to her feet, flushing bright red.
“Begging your pardon, Your Grace. I didn’t see you there.”
“Whom were you talking about just then?” Horatio asked.
“Why, one of your house guests, Your Grace. Miss Semphill,” the maid replied.
“When did you see her heading into the woods?”
“About two hours ago, Your Grace.”
“And did you see her return to the castle?” Horatio demanded.
“No, Your Grace. She let the little rabbit go and then went into the trees. I didn’t see her come back and I was sweeping her room out just an hour ago and she weren’t there.”
“Where did she go into the woods?”
“Just over the stone bridge. The one at the back of the stables.”
So, Frances had lied. She had entered Juliet’s room and had told a barefaced lie. All to poison Horatio’s mind against her cousin, to persuade him that she was the most viable candidate to be his bride.
Anger filled him, a towering rage at being manipulated and taken for a fool. It must have been visible in his face because the maids shrank back. The tea things on the tray rattled with the trembling of the maid’s hands.
Horatio stalked out of the room, striding back to the guest wing. He passed the doors of Lady Margaret’s room and that of her daughter and stopped at Juliet’s. Without knocking or pausing, he opened the door and strode inside. Through the anteroom and into the bedroom. The bed was neatly made and the room had been cleaned, as the maid had suggested.
He went to the wardrobe and flung open the doors. It was hard to tell if there were clothes missing. Certainly, there were gaps where garments might have hung. A box full of straw sat at the bottom of the wardrobe, empty. There was no sign of the rabbit anywhere. Thunder rumbled in the distance.
Suddenly, the wind and rain seemed to increase their assault on the castle. It was as though thinking of a defenseless woman abroad in such a storm had caused it to grow stronger, to remind him of its power.
Juliet had left the castle and he did not think it was simply to return her patient to the wild. Where would she have gone? The nearest village was Little Hinton, four miles to the southwest. But the country between Ravenscourt and Little Hinton was wild and bare. Farmland began closer to the village. Around the castle itself, there was a mile or two of woods and low, rolling hills.
He slammed the wardrobe doors shut, his eyes drawn to the window. Its surface was a mass of water, striking the glass and then being smeared across it by the wind. It blurred the view, but Horatio could make out the swaying tree tops, buffeted by the storm.
He sprinted from the room, seeing Lady Margaret stepping out of her door as he passed, ignoring her. He ran all the way to his own rooms and threw on an ulster and his riding boots. Then, he grabbed his second-best ulster overcoat, rolled it into a bundle, and tied it with a leather belt, slinging it over his shoulder. If Juliet had gone out in anything but a well-oiled cloak, she would be soaked to the skin and would need something warm and dry to cover her. Cursing the foolish woman, he hastened from his room, taking the shortest route to the stables.
Tearing through the servant’s quarters and kitchens, he ignored the shout of concern from Hall, whom he barged past as he shouldered open the back door to the stable yard.
For a moment, he headed for Thunder’s stall but then thought better. Thunder, brave though he was, would be terrified in these conditions. He would not risk the animal in a storm.
Instead, he turned and went out through the small gate in the brick wall beside the stables and down the narrow, stone steps beyond. An earth track led to a small wooden platform, from which he knew Hall liked to fish, and another set of steps up to the stone bridge across the moat. He heard the stable door opening and Hall calling out to him but ignored him.
Once on the bridge, Horatio set off at a brisk run towards the woods and Juliet.