The Romance by M. C. Beaton, Marion Chesney Page B

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    Now that the novelty of being back at Mannerling was over, Lady Beverley relapsed into one of her mysterious illnesses. She had become all too accustomed to the invalid state, lying on a day-bed and keeping the servants running hither and thither to fetch things for her. And so she did not know her two youngest daughters were to visit their home with Lord Gyre. Belinda had behaved very prettily to St. Clair after dinner the evening before. Lady Beverley considered Mannerling as good as hers. She never stopped for a moment to consider that if Belinda did marry St. Clair, she might not want her mother in residence.
    Lizzie was inclined to sulk as she went down to the great hall with Belinda. She feared her sister was going to neglect St. Clair in favour of Gyre. Belinda looked at her pinched face, half in exasperation and half in amusement. Only the mad Beverleys would fear a marriage to a rich and handsome marquess. ‘Gyre is simply being kind,’ she assured Lizzie. ‘He is so much older than I am. He goes on rather like anuncle.’
    ‘Pooh,’ muttered Lizzie and would not be comforted.
    Even the sight of the racing curricle which Lord Gyre had borrowed from the stables to drive them or the appearance of the handsome marquess himself in impeccable morning coat and snowy cravat did little to cheer her.
    They drove the short distance to Brookfield House. Miss Trumble herself came out to meet them, her face breaking into a glad smile of welcome. Lord Gyre saw an elderly lady whose curls were still glossy brown and with fine eyes in a wrinkled face.
    Belinda flew into her arms, crying, ‘We are come! We have missed you so much.’
    Lizzie followed reluctantly.
    Belinda introduced Lord Gyre and then said gaily, ‘Miss Trumble was at that musicale where we first met.’
    Lord Gyre remembered only that Belinda’s companion on that evening had been a lady with puffed-out cheeks and a ferocious black wig and assumed Belinda had made a mistake.
    ‘The day is fine,’ said Miss Trumble. ‘We will take tea in the garden. You must see Barry.’
    At that moment the odd man came around the corner of the house. Lord Gyre had heard much gossip about the haughtiness and pride of the Beverleys, but there was no sign of it as even little Lizzie greeted this servant like an old friend.
    Soon they were seated around a table under the cedar tree, drinking tea and eating the cook’s feather-light cakes.
    ‘It is peaceful here,’ said Lord Gyre, stretching out his long legs. ‘I, for one, am glad to get away from Mannerling for a little.’
    ‘And what has been going on?’ Miss Trumble asked Belinda. ‘Are you having a pleasant stay?’
    ‘The best,’ said Lizzie defiantly. ‘It is so good to be home again.’
    ‘Home is here,’ said Belinda crossly. ‘What will Lord Gyre think of you?’
    She turned to the governess. ‘We have been having an eventful time. Someone tried to drown Lord Saint Clair.’
    Lord Gyre noticed a flicker of alarm in the governess’s eyes as Belinda told her of the deliberately damaged rowing-boat.
    ‘That evil house,’ said Miss Trumble, half to herself, when Belinda had finished.
    ‘Houses are not evil,’ protested Belinda. ‘Only people are evil.’
    ‘Tell me about the mysterious Mr. Cater,’ said Lord Gyre. ‘I gather nothing was ever heard of him after his disappearance.’
    ‘We assumed he had gone abroad,’ said Miss Trumble. ‘Why?’
    ‘Only that two of the grooms, local lads, who were sent down into the lake to retrieve the boat swore that they had seen this Mr. Cater.’
    ‘Mr. Cater was courting Rachel Beverley,’ said Miss Trumble. ‘He tried to force her tomarry him and fled to escape arrest. Nothing was heard of him since. Perhaps he was drowned at sea.’
    ‘So you believe there is a ghost…that people see the drowned Mr. Cater in the lake?’
    ‘I assure you, my lord,’ said Miss Trumble, ‘that before I ever visited Mannerling, I