Silent in the Sanctuary. Deanna Raybourn
wall ran around the perimeter. Original to the Abbey, it was dotted with watchtowers, some crumbling to ruin. Just across the bridge and through the outer ward was the second gate, this one offering access to the inner ward and the Abbey proper. The horses clattered over the bridge, rocking the carriage from side to side. Overhead, emblazoned on the great stone lintel was a banner struck with the March family motto, Quod habeo habeo, held aloft by a pair of enormous chiselled rabbits.
“‘What I have, I hold’,” translated Alessandro. “What do they signify, the great rabbits?”
“Our family badge,” Plum informed him. “There is a saying in England, a very old one, ‘mad as a March hare’. Some folk say it is because rabbits are sprightly and full of whimsy in the spring. Others maintain the saying was born from some poor soul who spent too much time in the company of our family.”
I clucked my tongue at my brother. “Stop it, Plum. You will frighten Alessandro so he will not dare stay with us.”
Alessandro flashed me a brilliant smile. “I do not frighten so easily as that, dear lady.”
Portia coughed significantly, and I trod on her foot. We passed through the second gate then to find the inner ward ablaze with the reflected light of a hundred torchlit windows. “Ah, look! Aquinas is here.”
The carriage drew to a stop in the inner ward just as the great wooden doors swung back. Led by my butler, Aquinas, a pack of footmen and dogs swarmed out, all of them underfoot as we descended from the carriage. Aquinas had accompanied me to Italy but had returned to England as soon as he had delivered me safely into the care of my brothers. I had missed him sorely.
“My lady,” he said, bowing deeply. “Welcome home.”
“Thank you, Aquinas. How good it is to see you! But I am surprised. I thought Aunt Hermia wanted you to tend to the London house while they were in the country. I cannot imagine Hoots has been very welcoming.” The butler at Bellmont Abbey was a proprietary old soul. He knew every stick of furniture, every stone, every painting and tapestry, and cared for them all as if they were his children. He was jealous as a mistress of anyone’s interference in what he regarded as his domain.
“Hoots is incapacitated, my lady. The gout. His lordship has sent him to Cheltenham to take the waters.”
“Oh, well, very good. He wouldn’t be much use here, barking orders from his bed. I suppose you’ve everything well in hand?”
“Need your ladyship ask?” His tone was neutral, but I knew it for a reproach.
“I am sorry. Of course you do. Now tell us all where we are to be lodged. I am perished from thirst. A cup of tea and a hot bath would be just the thing.”
“Of course, my lady.”
The second carriage arrived then, followed hard by the baggage cart. There was a flurry of activity as I made the introductions. Plum and Lysander had met Aquinas in Rome, and Portia was a favourite of his of long-standing. But he seemed particularly pleased to meet his compatriots. He offered a gracious greeting to Alessandro and advised him that he had been assigned to the Maze Room, one of the best of the bachelor rooms.
“Oh,” I said, turning to Aquinas, pulling a face in disappointment. “I thought Count Fornacci might have the room in the Galilee Tower. Quite a treat for a guest, what with the bell just overhead.”
Alessandro shied and I gave him a soothing smile. “It never rings, I promise. It’s just an old relic from the days of the monks, and no one has bothered to take it down.”
Aquinas cut in smoothly. “I regret that one of his lordship’s guests is already in residence in the Tower Room, my lady. I believe Count Fornacci will be very comfortable in the Maze Room.”
I sighed. “Perhaps you are right. It’s warmer at least.”
Aquinas bowed to Alessandro. To Violante he was exquisitely courteous, and upon hearing his flawless Napolitana dialect, my sister-in-law embraced him, kissing him soundly on both cheeks.
“That will do, Violante,” Lysander said coldly. She ignored him, kissing Aquinas again and chattering with him in Italian. Aquinas replied, then bowed to her and addressed his remarks to Lysander.
“Mr. Lysander, I have put you and Mrs. Lysander in the Flanders Suite. I hope you will find everything to your satisfaction.”
Lysander gave him a sour look, collected his wife, and disappeared into the Abbey. Aquinas turned back to the assembled party. “Lady Bettiscombe, you are in the Rose Room, and Lady Julia is next door in the Red Room. Mr. Plum, you are in the Highland Room in the bachelors’ wing. Signore Fornacci, if you will follow me, I will make certain the Maze Room is in perfect readiness for guests.”
That was as close as Aquinas would ever come to admit to being unprepared. We had arrived with an unexpected guest, but Aquinas would forgo his own supper before he let it be known that all was not completely in order. We trooped into the hallway and Aquinas turned. “His lordship is in his study. He asked not to be disturbed and said he would see all of you at dinner. The dressing bell will sound in an hour and a half. I shall order tea and baths for your rooms. I hope that these arrangements are satisfactory.”
He bowed low and turned to unleash a torrent of orders upon the footmen. In a matter of minutes we were whisked upstairs, separated according to our gender and marital status. Portia and I were in the wing reserved for single ladies and widows. Formerly the monks’ dorter, it was now the great picture gallery, with our rooms opening off of it. Dozens of March ancestors gazed down at us from their gilded frames, punctuated by enormous, extravagant candelabra and a number of antiquities, some good, some of doubtful provenance. There were statues and urns, one or two amphorae, an appalling number of simpering nymphs, and even a harp of dubious origin. No weapons though. Those were reserved for the bachelors’ wing in the former lay brothers’ dormitory. Their paintings were all martial in subject, with the occasional seascape or Constable horse to provide a respite from the bloodshed. Between them hung arquebuses and crossbows, great swords and axes for cleaving, and in between perched suits of armour, some a bit rustier and more dented than others. I preferred the ladies’ wing, for all its silly nymphs.
Some time later, after I had enjoyed a hot bath and a pot of scalding sweet tea, I was sitting in front of a roaring fire, enjoying the solitude, too drowsy to rouse myself. Morag had gone to her room to whip the fur back onto my glove. I had bribed her with a plate of fruitcake to take Florence with her, and I was very near to dozing off when there was a scratch at the door. Portia entered, already dressed in a magnificent gown of heavy oyster satin trimmed in puffs of sable.
“Portia! You do look spectacular. You will put us all to shame as country mice. What is the occasion, pray tell?”
She flopped as far as her corset would permit into a velvet gilt armchair and pulled a face. “I am meant to be the hostess, remember? I have to look the part, and make certain I am the first one in the drawing room to welcome our guests.”
“Thank heaven for that. I thought I had dozed off and slept through the dressing bell.”
Portia waved a lazy hand. “You’ve ages yet. So, what do you think of our new sister-in-law? I think she is just what Lysander needed,” she said, a trifle smugly. Lysander had been rather brutal in his criticism of Portia’s marriage to Bettiscombe, a sweet hypochondriac nearly thirty years her senior. No doubt watching Lysander and Violante bicker from London down to Blessingstoke had been rather deliciously gratifying for Portia.
“Don’t be so cattiva,” I warned her. “We have all made mistakes.” We were silent a moment—both of us, I imagine, thinking of our marital woes.
“I am rather surprised Father wasn’t present to greet us,” I put in finally, breaking the somber mood that had befallen us.
Portia shrugged. “You heard Aquinas. He is doubtless up to some mischief. I had a guest list from him in my room, so at least I know the names. Aquinas, bless him, had already ordered the meal and prepared the seating arrangements, so there