Chapter Eleven
After several hours of trying to sleep, Halwell rose from his bed, lit a candle, slipped on a dressing gown and went down to the library. The house was asleep, for which he was glad. He wanted no company, no servant to wait upon him. He sought solitude, and perhaps a glass of brandy.
He lit a few candles, poured himself a drink, selected a book and sat down to read. The pages held little interest for him though, as he wondered how Miss Lee fared. Was she happy? Did she think of him at all?
He shook his head at the foolish notion and attempted to concentrate on the pages once again, but the image of reddish-brown curls and warm gray eyes distracted him. It seemed that for so long he had dwelt upon those very traits, and yet they had belonged to Mary. Miss Lee’s hair was thicker than Mary’s, her eyes tilted a bit more at the corners. Her smile was broader than Mary’s, and her voice deeper. Yet the similarity between the two women was remarkable.
Halwell cast his book aside, finished his drink and rose restlessly. He had done with women! He had done with notions of love. He wanted nothing more than to be well away from the country, to busy himself with something other than pining for a woman.
Yet he did not wish to return to London. He could not face the round of social engagements that would soon follow word of his arrival. What then? The notion of sailing away on a pirate ship appealed to him at the moment. He abandoned the idea though, as he tended to fall ill at sea.
A tap on the door startled him, and he moved to the door and opened it. Expecting a footman, Halwell was startled to look down upon the blue hair of the strange little woman known as Miss Hickstrom.
“Miss Hickstrom! How did you enter the house? What has happened? Is Mary well?”
Miss Hickstrom, dressed in an extraordinarily elaborate purple gown from a bygone era, slipped past him into the room and put a finger to her lips. She signaled he should shut the door, and he complied.
“There now!” she exclaimed. “We may speak freely! I will have one of those, please.”
Halwell followed the lady’s eyes to his glass of brandy.
“Miss Hickstrom, what are you doing in my house at this time of night? Did a footman let you in without announcement? I do not understand.”
“Could I have a glass of brandy first?” she persisted.
“Yes, of course, madam, if that will encourage you to respond to my questions.” He quickly poured her a glass and handed it to her. She settled herself on the settee and indicated that he should sit.
“Miss Hickstrom, this is quite irregular. You cannot possibly imagine you are on a social call at this hour!” Halwell protested, surprising himself by obediently taking a seat.
“No, dear boy, this is not a social call per se.” She sipped her brandy while he stared at her.
“I repeat, has something happened to Mary? To Miss Lee?”
“Mary is married to St. John. You do realize that, do you not, George?”
Halwell jumped up, his face heated. He snatched up his glass and strode to the sideboard to pour himself another drink. With his back to the Miss Hickstrom, he forced himself to speak civilly.
“Yes, I do realize that, to my great loss. I realize that. Why are you here in the middle of the night, Miss Hickstrom? To taunt me? To what purpose?” He turned and faced her.
“George, I do not wish to taunt you. I am here to help you.”
A pain such as he had hoped not to experience again welled up in his chest, the same pain he had suffered when he realized that Mary had rejected him and chosen St. John.
“I do not need your help! Time will heal what ails me. Time and distance, perhaps.” He thought again of the pirate ship, but the image of being bent over a bucket always accompanied the thought.
“No, George, you must not run away,” Miss Hickstrom said, as if she could hear his thoughts. “You must stay here and fight for what you want.”
The pain burned again. He crossed back over to the chair and dropped into it.
“What I want I cannot have!” he muttered. “I cannot fight for what is no longer attainable.”
“You speak of Mary again,” Miss Hickstrom murmured.
“Whom else? I offered Mary my name, my home, my heart. Of whom else should I have spoken?”
Miss Hickstrom took another sip and eyed him over the top of her glass. “You have one last chance to find true love, George. This is your final chance. If you do not find the love that awaits you now, you will not marry. You will never marry. You will never have family other than that which you already have—your mother and your father.”
Halwell wanted to speak, but anger welled up in his throat, choking off his words. Finally, he managed to retort.
“How dare you speak to me in such a fashion? I do not know who you think you are, Miss Hickstrom, but you are no longer welcome at Alton House. I must ask you to leave.”
Miss Hickstrom did not immediately rise, but Halwell did. He marched to the door and pulled it open.
“At once! I trust you have a carriage awaiting you?”
“Do not worry about my transportation, dear boy. I can see that you are angry with me. I have spoken nothing but the truth, and it frightens you. For that, I am sorry. But I must be honest with you.”
“If you please!” Halwell said insistently, nodding at the open doorway.
Miss Hickstrom finished her drink and rose.
“Find the love that is before you, George, the love that awaits you.”
She inclined her head in a regal gesture and passed through the doorway. Halwell followed her out into the dark hallway to open the front door, but she had vanished. He hurried to the door, pulled it open and peered outside. No carriage awaited Miss Hickstrom, and the lady herself had disappeared.
Halwell stepped out onto the top step and scanned the darkness, listening for the sound of wheels, but he heard nothing. He did not consider himself a gentleman of little intelligence, but he could not fathom how the lady had disappeared through a closed door.
Much as Mary herself had disappeared that day, without benefit of carriage...leaving Miss Hickstrom to tell the tale.
Mary! Miss Hickstrom! The pair of them seemed somehow connected in an unnatural way, and he meant to sort it out.
Halwell did not retire to bed that night but returned to the library to await the coming of dawn. When the sun rose, he climbed the stairs to his room, washed and dressed and, declining breakfast, ordered his horse saddled. He rode out and reached the gates of Alvord Castle in less than half an hour.
The gate was locked, and he dismounted and rang the bell. He had not to wait long before Mr. Roger Phelps came out to greet him.
“Good morning, your lordship! Are you coming to call? I do not know that Lord and Lady St. John have breakfasted yet.” He unlocked the gate as he spoke.
“Good morning, Phelps. I am aware of the early hour, but I must speak with her ladyship as soon as possible.”
“Her ladyship?” Phelps asked.
“Indeed. Thank you. Good day!” Halwell remounted his horse, and the estate manager could do nothing but stand back as Halwell rode through the gate. Nor should he. Halwell’s business with Lady St. John was no business of the estate manager.
Halwell trotted down the lane, fortifying his growing anger with Miss Hickstrom. Mary knew something about her, of that he was certain. He must discover the lady’s secret and why her words had sounded more like a curse than the admonition of a meddlesome woman. Why would Miss Hickstrom interest herself in his happiness, his future?
Halwell reached the front door and dismounted. Given the earliness of the hour, no one stood by to take his horse, and he let the animal roam onto the lawn. He knocked on the door and waited.
A footman, still in the act of dressing, opened the door and stepped back in surprise.
“I realize the hour is early, but I must speak with Lady St. John. It is most urgent. Please have someone attend to my horse, or he will ruin your lawn.” Halwell prided himself that he still had the grace to concern himself with a neighbor’s lawn. He looked over his shoulder to see Phelps running up to grab the horse’s reins.
Halwell waved in appreciation and turned back to the surprised footman.
“May I enter?” he asked.
“Yes, your lordship. I will take you to the drawing room and advise her ladyship that you are here.”
“Thank you,” he said. He followed the footman into the drawing room and nodded as the footman closed the door. Unable to settle, he wandered the room, studying the portraits for some time until the door flew open.
Mary entered, tidying her hair, as if she had hurried to dress.
“Halwell! What is it? Is Lady Georgianna all right?
“Lady St. John! Forgive me for barging in at such an early hour, but I had to speak with you.”
Mary turned and closed the door quietly. “What has happened?”
He could contain himself no longer. “This Miss Hickstrom of yours...”
Lady St. John threw up her hands. “Oh, she’s not mine!”
“But you are the person who is most acquainted with her.”
“Okay, if you want... What did she do?”
“Then you must know! Or why would you ask me ‘What did she do?’”
“Halwell, I have never seen you angry! You are so worked up! What’s going on? Did she tell you her plans?”
“Plans? What plans? Why would I concern myself overly much with Miss Hickstrom’s plans?”
“Because they affect you?”
“Affect me! How so? What do you know?”
Halwell took a step forward, and Mary took a step back. The door flung open at that moment, and St. John saw her action. He pulled her out of the way, pushing her into the hall, and threw himself upon Halwell.
Halwell, having never engaged in a physical altercation in his life, fell backward onto the floor with a painful thud to his back. He scrambled to his feet as the angry figure of St. John loomed over him.
“Get up, you cur! Savage my wife, will you?”
“St. John! Stop it! Nothing happened!” Mary rushed into the room, pulling at her husband’s arm.
Halwell put his fists up in some semblance of a boxing stance and awaited a blow from St. John’s clenched hands.
“Stop it!” Mary cried out as her husband launched himself at Halwell again, knocking them both to floor.
They rolled back and forth striking at each other as best they could.
Halwell heard Mary’s screams and then those of another female. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw Miss Lee run into the room. She threw herself at the rolling men and found herself flung backward onto the floor.
Rough hands hauled them apart, and Phelps pulled St. John to his feet, restraining him as Halwell jumped up again. The housekeeper stood in the doorway, as well as several footmen. Even in the heat of the moment, Halwell knew the situation was terrible.
Miss Lee was on the point of rising when Phelps spoke, still gripping St. John.
“St. John, calm yourself. Miss Lee has been injured.”
Mary sobbed, and the housekeeper looked aghast.
But it was Miss Lee’s ashen face that stung Halwell the most.
“Miss Lee! Forgive me. Are you injured?” he asked, warily moving beyond St. John to reach her side. He helped her to her feet.
“I’m all right!”
“Leave this house,” St. John demanded, shaking off the estate agent. “At once.”
“It’s not what you think, St. John,” Mary protested. “He was just asking me about Hickstrom!”
“I do not care. Leave at once!”
Halwell grabbed his top hat from the floor and executed the most cursory bow.
“Please accept my apologies, Lady St. John, Miss Lee.” He strode from the room, wondering what had possessed him, why he had stormed into the castle demanding answers about Miss Hickstrom. He could not forget the stark look in Miss Lee’s eyes, and her face haunted him as he took his horse’s reins from the waiting groom, mounted and rode away from Alvord Castle.