fell asleep easily after that, making it the first night in years she had not rehearsed in her mind all the anguish and humiliation of the past five years. ‘Trust a houseful of naughty cupids and vulgar statues to distract me,’ she murmured to herself. ‘Lord, I am shallow.’ The notion made her smile and she closed her eyes. ‘Pretty soon I will think I actually belong here.’
She woke hours later because she knew she was not alone in her room. She lay completely still, wondering, then turned over.
Staring at her from the other pillow was a face so wrinkled that her mouth dropped open. He was watching her and grinning, and there didn’t seem to be a tooth in his head. She tried to leap up, but he grasped her wrist and gave it a slobbery kiss.
‘It’s been a long year, missie,’ he said.
Sally screamed.
Retired though he was, Admiral Bright knew he was destined never to sleep at night with both ears at rest. Not even when he resided on his flagship, and had little role in the actual workings of it—leaving that to his captain—could he sleep calmly at night. No, it was worse then, because his command was an entire fleet and he held even more lives in his hands.
He was out of bed before his wife even finished the scream, looking about for something to help her, from what, he had not a clue. Nothing wrong with his reflexes. By the time she screamed again, he had found his cutlass in the dressing room. Frustrated with a missing hand, he shoved the cutlass under his arm and yanked open the door.
Simultaneously, her door opened, too. He heaved a quick sigh to see her on her feet, even though her eyes were wide with terror, and something more. She threw herself into his arms and the cutlass clattered to the floor. She was awfully easy to grasp and hold on to, much as he already was beginning to suspect she would be.
‘What in God’s name…?’ he began. He tried to pick up the cutlass, but she wouldn’t turn him loose. He patted her. She felt sound of limb, so he left the cutlass where it lay, and held her close, not minding a bit.
She burrowed in closer, babbling something that sounded like words; her brogue didn’t help. He put his hand on her chin and gave her a little shake, which brought her up short.
‘Hey, now. Slow down. You’re all right.’
He was gratified to know that all his years of command weren’t a total waste. She stopped talking and took a deep breath, then leaned her forehead against his chest.
‘I think I killed him! And he’s so old!’
He blinked. He couldn’t have heard her right. ‘Sophia?’ he asked. ‘What did you say?’
With an exasperated exclamation, she left his embrace, took his hand and tugged him into her chamber. ‘Admiral, he was just…there! His head on the other pillow! I thumped him with my candlestick, but when I took a closer look…I’ve murdered an old man!’
‘Good God,’ was all he could think to say.
She climbed on her bed, affording him a marvellous glimpse of her legs, then flattened out on her stomach and peered over the edge on to the side closest to the wall. She looked back and gestured to him impatiently, so he joined her, lying there with his feet dangling over one side, looking where she pointed. A true antique lay on the floor, tangled in the bedclothes. His eyes were closed and a bruise rose on his forehead.
‘Do you think he’s dead?’ Sophia whispered.
Maybe the old man on the floor heard her, because he groaned and opened his eyes. ‘Was it something I said?’ he managed to croak. ‘You never did anything like that before.’
Bright glanced at Sophia, who stared at the old fellow. ‘Who…who…on earth are you, and what were you doing in my bed?’
The man held up his arm and Bright helped him into a sitting position. ‘Listen here, this is my wife’s bedroom,’ Bright said. ‘I think I’ve a right to know what is going on.’
The man gently touched the knot on his forehead, winced and looked at the two of them, watching him from the bed. ‘This is the right house, and I know this is June 10th. What, pray tell, are you two doing here?’
Bright looked at Sophia, who had gathered herself together into a tight ball on her pillow. ‘My dear, maybe you were right about this being a lunatic asylum.’
The old man began to wave his arms about. ‘For God’s sake, help me to a chair,’ he insisted. ‘Do I have to remind you it is June 10th?’
Sophia took one arm and Bright took the other, and walked him to a chair by the fireplace, where he sat down gratefully. ‘I could use some water,’ he said.
Bright had to smile when Sophia picked up the carafe at her bedside and started to sprinkle the old gentleman with it.
‘No! No! You silly piece! I want to drink it!’ he declared, his voice still weak, but testy. ‘It’s June 10th!’
‘June 10th?’ Bright echoed. ‘Is June 10th the night when lunatics and drooling idiots in Devon come out of the moor? This is a private dwelling and you have accosted my wife.’
The man stared at them, looking from one to the other and back again, like a tennis match in the court of France. ‘This is the manor of Lord Hudley, is it not?’
‘No, it is not. I bought it two months ago from his estate.’
The little man seemed to deflate further before their eyes. ‘His estate? He is dead?’ He choked out the last word in a way that sounded almost theatrical.
‘These six months or more,’ Bright said. He pulled up the other chair and gestured for Sophia to sit in it. After a long look at the old man, she did. ‘I believe he died in Venice after too much vino, which landed him in the Grand Canal, with nary a gondola in sight.’
‘That would be totally in character,’ the old gentleman said. ‘I wonder why I was never informed?’
‘Are you a relative?’ Sophia asked.
Even in the dim light, Bright could see that her hands were shaking. He put his hand over hers and she clutched him.
Bright wasn’t sure the old boy heard her. He sat back and closed his eyes again. ‘Hudley’s gone?’
‘I fear so,’ Bright said gently. ‘Now, if you wouldn’t mind tell us the significance of June 10th?’
The little man seemed to gather his tattered dignity about him like a dressing gown. ‘You can’t imagine how I used to look forwards to June 10th.’
‘Perhaps I could, if I had any idea what June 10th was.’
‘Hudley held the most amazing debauches here,’ the old man said, his voice almost dreamy. He glanced at Sophia, who glared back. ‘This is my bedroom, missy! Hudley always had my favourite Cyprian tucked right in here.’
Sophia gasped. Bright glanced at her, amused, as her mouth opened and closed several times. He looked back at the old fellow, new respect in his eyes.
‘I know this is rude, but how old are you?’
‘Eighty,’ he said with some dignity, and not a little pride. ‘I have been attending Hudley’s debauches for forty years, every June 10th.’ His eyes got more dreamy, obviously remembering some of the more memorable ones. ‘Do you know—are you aware—that a Cyprian can swing from the chandelier in the library?’ He held up a cautionary finger. ‘But only one unencumbered with clothing. Small feet, too.’
‘I don’t doubt you for a minute, sir.’
What a prodigious old sprite, Bright thought in astonishment. He could feel Sophia’s eyes boring into the back of his nightshirt.