Belinda awoke and for a short moment did not know where she was. Then recollection came flooding back. She was in Baddell Castle, a guest of the Marquess of Frenton. She thought with amusement about Miss Pym’s ambitions for her. Almost as bad as Aunt and Uncle, reflected Belinda. How they would disgrace themselves were they both here, primping me and pushing me forward.
Her stomach gave an unladylike rumble. She wondered whether she could expect breakfast or if the marquess kept London hours and rose about two in the afternoon. Her stomach rumbled again and she threw back the covers, climbed down from the high bed, pulled on a wrapper, and went in search of Miss Pym. That lady’s bed was empty, so Belinda decided to dress and go downstairs.
She rang the bell to summon the lady’s maid and spent an enjoyable half-hour choosing an ensemble. Belinda had had little interest in clothes in London and would not admit to herself that this sudden desire to be fashionably gowned was to compete with Penelope Jordan.
She chose a cambric muslin gown, white with a small blue velvet spot and with a pelisse of blue silk trimmed with fur to wear over it. For her head, she selected the newest style in caps, a confection of muslin with the same blue velvet spot as her gown. Olive-green stockings, the very latest colour, were chosen as they, or rather one of them, would be seen, fashion demanding that any
Betty, the maid, heated the curling tongs and arranged Belinda’s hair in a simple but flattering style before putting the froth of a cap on top of it.
On leaving the warmth of the bedroom where the fire had been burning brightly, Belinda was struck by the chill of the corridor. Through a mullioned window she could see snow falling steadily on the battlements. Both portcullises were lowered. It was amazing that they were still in use. Obviously the marquess did not expect or did not desire any further visitors.
She hesitated at the top of the main staircase and looked about for a servant to guide her to the breakfast room. She began to wonder if breakfast was being served at all. It was only eight in the morning, and a disgracefully unfashionable hour for any lady to be up and about. But Betty had made no comment, and surely the maid would have said something.
Then she saw a footman ascending the staircase and went down to meet him. To her query, he inclined his powdered head and said, ‘Follow me, miss.’ He led the way down to the first landing and then along a passage and threw open the door of a room.
To Belinda’s relief, the sideboard was laden with dishes. She sat down at a small mahogany table. The butler came in carrying a tray with pots of coffee, tea and hot chocolate, but asked her if she would prefer beer. Belinda asked for tea and then chose kidneys, bacon, egg and toast. She marvelled at the efficiency of the marquess’s staff, who could produce all this food so quickly, but no sooner had she begun to eat than the door opened and the marquess came in. Breakfast had been prepared for him, and he had not expected any of his guests to be up so early, for he looked at her in surprise.
He had obviously come in from riding, for he was wearing top-boots, leather breeches, a black coat, and a ruffled shirt. His hair was unpowdered and was indeed very red, a rich dark red, worn long, and confined at the nape of his neck with a black silk ribbon. He looked somehow more formidable than he had in evening dress.
He sat down at the table and ordered cold pheasant and small beer.
He said a polite good-morning. Belinda replied shyly and then he began to eat. Belinda had often heard it said that gentlemen were averse to conversation at the breakfast table, and so she ate in steady silence. She finally looked across at him, her eyes widening slightly, for he was staring at her in a way she could not fathom. It was a hard, calculating, almost predatory stare, the distillation of a long line of aristocrats who took what they wanted.
Belinda flushed slightly and looked down at her plate.
To the marquess, Belinda had become suddenly available. Any young woman who ran off with a footman could hardly be a virgin. She was not beautiful, but that mouth of hers was definitely disturbing.
‘Where is Miss Pym?’ asked Belinda, feeling the silence must be broken.
‘I found her exploring the barbican and demanding to see the old torture chamber. What an indefatigable lady she is.’
‘Why do you keep such a thing as a torture chamber?’ demanded Belinda.
‘For historical interest. I do not torture anyone, I assure you. There is also the dungeon, one of the towers which is said to be haunted …’
‘By whom?’
‘By the ghost of a Miss Dalrymple, a Scotch lady, governess to the children of the second earl. It was said the second earl was too interested in the lady, and so Miss Dalrymple was found murdered in the top room of the tower. Rumour had it that the countess had stabbed her to death. Another rumour had it she had rejected the advances of his lordship’s
‘And have you seen this ghost?’ asked Belinda.
‘I have not the necessary sensibility to see ghosts, Miss Earle.’ His eyes teased her. ‘Would you like me to show you the tower?’
‘Yes, my lord, and perhaps Miss Pym would like to come as well.’
‘But I do not know where Miss Pym is at present,’ replied the marquess, ignoring the fact that he had only to summon his servants and ask them to look for her. ‘We shall go now, as you have finished your breakfast.’
Belinda nodded and rose but she felt uneasy. The marquess, although his manner towards her had not particularly changed, seemed to exude a strong air of sexuality. She glanced uneasily at his flaming hair and wondered if he had a temper to match.
Hannah Pym saw them enter the courtyard together and withdrew behind a buttress. She had no wish to intrude. The marquess appeared to be chatting amiably to Belinda. She was pleased to note that Belinda was keeping quiet and obviously not treating the marquess to any of her frank disclosures of the night before. It was as well Hannah could not hear their conversation.
‘None of the rooms in the walls are used now,’ the marquess was saying. ‘As I explained, they are merely kept in order for historical interest. Would you like to see the torture chamber first? We have a very fine rack.’
‘No, I thank you,’ said Belinda with a shudder, blissfully unaware that she was the first lady who had not demanded enthusiastically to see it. ‘I am not the type of lady who enjoys public hangings, nor do I get a thrill from viewing antique instruments of torture. Nor do I see medieval castles as symbols of an age of chivalry and glory, but instead relics of an age of oppression.’
The curtain walls of the castle that enclosed the castle houses had four massive towers. There was a gatehouse and barbican, chapel, dungeon and torture chamber. The castle houses where the marquess lived were set in the courtyard inside the walls, rather like the buildings of Oxford College.
The marquess led the way to the tallest of the towers. Snow was falling gently, and Belinda shivered with cold. She was wearing heelless silk slippers, considered
‘This is Robert’s Tower,’ said the marquess. ‘Robert, Earl of Jesper, built it with the prize money he gained at Poitiers. They were great fighters, the Jespers, and when they weren’t going on Crusades, or fighting the wars of various kings, they were claiming to find infidels on the Welsh and Scotch borders and murdering them as well in the name of Christianity. There are five storeys in the tower: a dungeon, three vaulted chambers, and an upper guard chamber with a store-room underneath.’
He stood back to let Belinda mount first. Suddenly self-conscious, she dropped the skirt of her gown instead of looping it over her arm to show that one leg.
She paused on the first landing until he joined her. He pushed open the door. Belinda entered.
She found herself in a large chamber, vaulted in two bays, and lit on two sides by tall, single-light ogee windows. Two grooms were sitting by the fire and rose at their entrance.
The marquess waited patiently while Belinda looked quickly around. The remains of breakfast lay on a deal table.
Then she walked out of the room. The marquess followed her and closed the door behind them.
‘I thought you said the rooms were unoccupied,’ whispered Belinda.
‘They are,’ said the marquess, surprised. ‘They are only used by the outdoor servants.’
‘And are not servants people?’
