The Elsingham Portrait - By Elizabeth Chater Page 0,20

him sharply. “Don’t tell me she’s pulled the wool over your eyes?”

Lord Peter shook his head. “I think the honors go to her. We didn’t really listen, did we? We had our minds made up before we came.”

Randall spat out an oath. “How much do I need to know? I tell you the woman tried to seduce me! Not two months ago! ‘Whoever you are,’ says she, like Mistress Prim and Proper. I’m Johnny’s best friend. She knew it then and she knows it now!”

Lord Peter shook his head. “Whatever the case, the sooner Johnny ships her off to Ireland, the better things will be for both of them.”

Six

When the gentlemen had left, Bennet closed the door behind them gently. Her face wore a worried look. Kathryn smiled ruefully at her.

“Tell me, Bennet. Go on! I didn’t handle that very well, did I?”

“Oh, my lady, they’re very powerful men, for all the young one seems like such a boy. And they’re his lordship’s best friends.”

Kathryn shrugged wearily. Her arm was throbbing with the dull pain that never stopped, her head ached, perhaps as a result of the emotional tension she had just experienced. She drew a deep breath, raggedly. “I guess I’m a fool, Bennet. But they didn’t listen! No one does.”

Bennet’s warm heart was pierced by the look of desolation on the beautiful face. The strange pale green eyes were smudged around with dark shadows, the exquisite mouth drooped at the corners. She went over to the bed and patted the invalid’s silken shoulder gently.

“I’ll listen, milady. What can I do to help you?”

“You mean that?”

“You know I do,” the older woman said stoutly.

“Yes, I do know. And I thank God for you. One thing you could do that would help me more than I can say, would be for you to call me by my name.”

“Your name, milady?” faltered Bennet.

“Kathryn. Just to show that one person in all this horrible world doesn’t believe I am insane!” Kathryn ended with a sob.

Bennet patted her shoulder again, more firmly. “Of course you’re not insane, Miss Kathryn,” she said sternly. “What sort of foolish talk is that?”

Kathryn looked up at her with a reluctant smile pulling at her lips. “Oh, Bennet, you fraud! You remind me of a story in the Bible. No, I’m not being sacrilegious,” she answered the startled look on Bennet’s face. “It’s the story of the father of the epileptic in Caesarea Philippi: ‘I believe, O Lord; help Thou my unbelief!’ ”

Bennet faced Kathryn with a new light in her eyes. “Miss Kathryn, I believe you. Now, d’ye ken how we’re going to solve your problem?” and the warm Scots’ burr was strong in her voice.

Sudden tears of gratitude flooded Kathryn’s eyes. She brushed them away and said quickly, “I have been thinking about that every moment today. It seems to me that if I . . . came here because of that portrait, maybe that’s my way back.”

Bennet nodded doubtfully. “That would seem to make sense, but how would you go about it? Had you thought of that?”

“Well, I could try to recreate the conditions as closely as I could to what they were when I—came. It was during a storm in New York. I was staring at the portrait and a bright light above it was almost dazzling my eyes . . .”

“We could get you down to the landing to stand in front of the portrait, and I could arrange for enough candles above it on the gallery to make the bright light—but your arm . . .” Bennet frowned. “The lower hallway would be full of servants at that hour. There might even be guests of his lordship—”

Kathryn shook her head. “That won’t do. I’d have to have complete quiet. And there’s another thing,” she added hesitantly. “If there was any kind of trickery—or witchcraft—involved . . .” She caught the look of alarm on Bennet’s face. “How do I know what caused me to come, what brought me here? It seemed to me that the beautiful eyes of the portrait were alive . . . and evil . . . and that they were drawing me . . . into the picture . . .pulling me—”

“God save us!” whispered Bennet, wide-eyed.

“I guess I’ve lost you, Bennet.”

“That you haven’t, Miss Kathryn, you poor lamb, and let me hear no more of such ¼cavey talk! I’m just recalling gossip in the servants’ hall when that creature Donner wasn’t about. Everyone thinks she’s in league