Silent in the Sanctuary

“The Abbey is indeed draughty,” Portia put in quickly. “And we do have ghosts. At least seven. Most of them monks, you know. I shouldn’t be surprised if one walked abroad tonight, what with all of the excitement of the house party. They get very agitated with new people about. Do let us know if you see a holy brother robed in white.”

Portia’s expression was deadly earnest and it was all I could do not to burst out laughing. But Aunt Dorcas was perfectly serious.

“Then we must have a séance. I shall organise one myself. I have some experience as a medium, you know. I have most considerable gifts of a psychic nature.”

“I have no doubt,” I told her, shooting Portia a meaningful look.

Portia put an arm about my waist. “Aunt Dorcas, it has been lovely seeing you, but I simply must tear Julia away. She hasn’t spoken to half the room yet, and I am worried she might give offense.”

Aunt Dorcas waved one of her lace scarves at us, shooing us away, and I threw Hortense an apologetic glance over my shoulder.

“I do feel sorry for dear Hortense. However did she get landed with the old monstrosity?”

Portia shrugged. “We have suffered with Aunt Dorcas for the whole of our lives. Hortense is fresh blood. Let her have a turn. Ah, here is someone who is anxious to see you.”

She directed me toward a small knot of guests gathered around a globe, two ladies and two gentlemen. As we drew near, one of the ladies spun round and shrieked.

“Julia!” She threw her arms about me, embracing me soundly.

I patted her shoulder awkwardly. “Hello, Lucy. How lovely to see you.” She drew back, but kept my hands firmly in her own.

“Oh, I am so pleased you have arrived. I’ve been fairly bursting to tell you my news!”

“Dear me, for the carpet’s sake, I hope not. What news, my dear?”

She tittered at the joke and gave me a playful slap.

“Oh, you always were so silly! I am to be married. Here, at the Abbey. In less than a week. What do you make of that?”

She was fairly vibrating with excitement, and I realised I was actually rather pleased to see her. Lucy was one of the most conventional of my relations, a welcome breath of normality in a family notorious for its eccentricity. To my knowledge, Lucy was one of the few members of our family never to have been written up in the newspapers for some scandal or other. We exchanged occasional holiday letters, nothing more. I had not seen her in years, but I was astonished at how little she had changed. Her hair was still the same rich red, the colour of winter apples, and springing with life. And her expression, one of perpetual good humour, was unaltered.

“My heartiest good wishes,” I told her. I glanced behind her to where the other lady stood, a quiet figure, her poise all the more noticeable against Lucy’s ebullience.

“Emma!” I said, moving forward to embrace her. “I am happy to see you.”

Emma was wearing a particularly trying shade of green that did nothing for her soft, doe-brown eyes, her one good feature. Her hair was unfashionably red, like Lucy’s, but where Lucy’s was curly and vibrant with colour, Emma’s was straight and so dull as to be almost brown. She wore it in a severe plait that she wound about her head, pinned tightly. Her face was unremarkable; her features would have suited the muslin wimple of a cloistered sister. But she smiled at me, a warm, genuine smile, and for a moment I forgot her plainness.

“Julia, you must tell us all about your travels. We have just been discussing Lucy’s wedding trip,” she told me, motioning with one small, lily-white hand toward the globe. Flanking it were the two gentlemen, one the elder by some two decades, and clearly the other’s superior in rank and wealth. His evening clothes were expensively made and the jewel in his cravat was an impressive sapphire. Lucy went to him and put her arm shyly in his.

“Julia, I should like to present my fiancé, Sir Cedric Eastley.”

If I was startled, I endeavoured not to show it. Had I been asked to choose, I would have picked the younger man for Lucy’s betrothed. He looked only a handful of years her elder, while Sir Cedric might well have been her father.

“Cedric, this is my cousin, Lady Julia Grey.”

He took the hand I offered, his manners carefully correct, although not from the schoolroom, I fancied. There was the slightest hesitation in his gestures, as though he were taking a fleeting second to remember a lesson he had only recently been taught. He performed flawlessly, but not naturally, and it occurred to me this was a man who had brought himself up in the world, by his own efforts, and his baronetcy had been his reward.

Lucy gestured toward the younger man, a tall, slightly built fellow with a pleasant expression and quite beautiful eyes.

“And this is Sir Cedric’s cousin and secretary, Henry Ludlow.”

Unlike Sir Cedric’s very new, very costly clothing, Ludlow’s attire spoke of genteel poverty, but excellent make. Clearly he had come down in the world to accept a post in his cousin’s employ, and I wondered at the vagaries of fate that had clearly elevated the one while casting the other down. I thought they should prove interesting guests and I turned to Lucy to inquire how long they would be with us at the Abbey.

“Until the new year,” she announced. “Cedric and I will be married here in the Abbey on Saturday by the vicar. Then we mean to stay through Christmas. It will be like the old times again, with all of the Marches together,” she said, her eyes glowing with excitement. It seemed needlessly cruel to point out that her surname was not March and that she had in fact never spent a Christmas at the Abbey. I suspected she and Emma had yearned to belong to our family in a way that an Easter fortnight each year could simply not accomplish. Perhaps being married among us and spending her first Christmas in our midst would assuage some of that childhood hunger.

“Emma mentioned a wedding trip,” I said, gesturing toward the globe. It was a sad affair, much mauled by us as children and by Crab, Father’s beloved mastiff. She had taken to carrying it around with her as a pup, and by the time Father had trained her not to do so, the globe was beyond salvation.

Sir Cedric pointed to Italy. “We were thinking of Florence. And perhaps Venice as well, with a bit of time spent by the Tyrrhenian Sea in the summer. I know the loveliest spot, just here, below this fang mark.”

I nodded. “Italy is a perfect choice. I understand the winters are not too brutal, and the scenery is quite breathtaking.” I said nothing of the people, but I made the mistake of catching Portia’s eye just as she was raising an eyebrow meaningfully toward Alessandro. I straightened at once.

Portia commandeered me again, excusing us from the little group and guiding me to where Violante and Lysander were standing with Alessandro. Violante was resplendent in a flame-coloured gown, her expression sedate. Father had given her a noticeably wide berth, and I wondered if he had spoken to her at all. I imagined he had given her a cursory welcome and then excused himself to speak with anyone else. To make up for his neglect, I addressed her with deliberate warmth.

“Violante, how lovely you look. That gown suits you. You look like sunset over the Mediterranean.”

She smiled, her slow, lazy smile. “Grazie, Giulia.” She waved her glass at me. “What am I drinking? It is very good.”

I looked at her glass and grimaced. “That is Aunt Dorcas’ frightful elderberry cordial. I am surprised at Aquinas pouring it for you before dinner.”

“Plum, he brought it. I tell him I want something English to drink. Lysander, he has the whiskey, but I am given this. It is very nice.”

Well, Plum might have found her something more suitable, but I was pleased he was making an effort to get on with Violante at all. “Mind you don’t drink too much of it,” I warned her. “It is an excellent cure for insomnia or incipient cold, but more than a tiny glass will bring on the sweats.”

She blinked at me. “Che cosa?”

I searched for the word, but Alessandro stepped in smoothly. “La suda,” he said softly. She looked at him a moment, then shrugged.

Portia elbowed me gently aside. “Alessandro, have you met my father yet?”

Alessandro shook his head. “I regret, no, my lady. His lordship has been very busy with his other guests.”

Even before she spoke the words aloud, I knew what she was about. “In that case, Julia, you must perform the introductions. I know Father must be simply perishing to meet your friend.”

I glanced over to where Father stood, still in conversation with Brisbane, then back to Portia. Her eyes were alight with mischief. Alessandro was regarding me with his customary Florentine dignity. “Ah, yes. I would very much like to pay my respects to his lordship, and thank him for his hospitality.”

“Of course,” I said faintly. “Portia, are you coming, dearest?”

“Oh, I thought I would get to know our delightful new sister-in-law,” she said, delivering the coup de grâce. “But do not let me keep you.”

“Come along, Alessandro,” I said through gritted teeth. He cupped my elbow in his hand, guiding me gently—a wholly pleasant sensation, but I was still annoyed. I should not have been the one to make the introductions. He had been Plum’s friend, and Ly’s as well, before he had been mine. It had been their inspiration to bring him to England, but now that Father had to be dealt with, they were perfectly content to let me brave the lion’s den on my own. Plum had made the acquaintance of Mrs. King and was busy giving her a tour of the room’s beauties, and Lysander was too consumed with his bride to have a thought for anyone else.

And Portia was determined to stir the pot with Brisbane. I noticed his eyes sharpening as we approached, nothing more. There was no raising of his expressive brows, no naked curiosity, only the intense watchfulness of a lion lazing in the shade by a pond where the gazelle will drink.

“Father,” I said, my voice a trifle thin, “I should like you to meet our friend, Alessandro. He came with us from Italy. Count Alessandro Fornacci. Alessandro, my father, Lord March.”

Father turned to greet Alessandro, welcoming him with more warmth than I would have imagined. Alessandro accepted his welcome with exquisite courtesy, expressing his rapture at being in England and his extreme pleasure in sharing this most English of holidays.

“Hmm, yes,” Father said, his eyes moving swiftly between us. Alessandro’s hand had lingered a moment too long at my elbow, and Father had not missed it. “Your room is satisfactory?”