Free Midnight at Mallyncourt by Jennifer Wilde Page B

now he still retained that incredible presence that made everything else seem pale and lifeless.
    â€œDo you play cards? You do? We’ll have some rousing games together. Lettice says I cheat—that child, my one consolation. I’m a lonely, miserable old man, surrounded by souvenirs of the past—” He made a sweeping gesture, indicating the objects cluttering the vast room. “Once I lived to the fullest, savoring each day. There was adventure in my soul! I loved, I fought, I traveled, I dared, and now—now I cling to a mothy old quilt my beloved Sarah made, I look at my treasures, remembering days full of color and excitement when I was young and robust. Now, alas, the only fun I have is bullying the servants and taunting my nephews—” He sighed, looking sad and abject.
    â€œYou expect me to pity you, Lord Mallyn?”
    â€œI was hoping you might ,” he said slyly, eyes twinkling.
    â€œI don’t, you know. I think you’re a wretched old faker.”
    â€œReally? You’re a lass after my own heart! You come back, you hear? We’ll chat. We’ll play cards. I do cheat—I may as well admit it—but I doubt I’ll be able to put anything over on you , girl!”
    â€œI rather doubt it myself.”
    â€œGo on, desert me,” he said, playing the abject old man again. “Leave me alone with my misery. No one wants to spend any time with a senile old fool doddering on the edge of the grave. You’re eager to get back to that handsome husband of yours, I can tell. Jenny—”
    â€œYes?”
    â€œBe careful, lass,” he said quietly.
    â€œCareful?”
    He nodded, frowning. “Edward—you don’t know him. You’re too good for him. Knew that the minute I laid eyes on you. I like you, lass, and I wouldn’t want to see you get hurt. There’s going to be trouble.”
    He wasn’t playing a role now. There was genuine concern in his eyes. He looked almost frightened.
    â€œWhat—what makes you say that?” I asked.
    â€œThose boys hate each other. Always have. Things have been building up between them for years. Tension’s been steadily mounting, and now—I have a feeling you’re going to be a catalyst. I shouldn’t be surprised if there was actual bloodshed. Vanessa, you see, and—”
    â€œVanessa? What—”
    â€œGreedy. Worse than either of them. It’s all gone too far. It’s my fault. I should never have—”
    All the energy seemed to drain out of him. Leaving the sentence dangling, he shook his head and sank back against the cushions, pulling the multicolored quilt up over his chest. The dogs stirred, peeking out with disgruntled expressions.
    â€œYou’ll be careful?” he whispered.
    â€œI—I’ll be careful,” I said.
    â€œI’m an old sinner. It doesn’t matter about me, but the child—and you, girl. You should never have come—”
    â€œLord Mallyn, what are you trying to tell—”
    â€œWeary,” he said, “so weary. Sleep. Oblivion—”
    He closed his eyes, his chest rising and falling as he let out a deep, raspy sigh. Extremely frustrated, I looked down at that thin, emaciated face, and then I moved slowly across the long room. At the door, I turned. Lord James Mallyn was already asleep, snoring quietly, looking much older in repose, looking painfully frail and defenseless. He clutched the quilt in his sleep as though for protection, and the dogs were nestled comfortably about him, one on his legs, one on his shoulder, the third snuggled up in the curve of his arm.
    I left the room, closing the door softly behind me.
    Candles burned dimly in the hall, casting flickering shadows over the ancient walls. The house was very still, silent. It seemed to be holding its breath, waiting. Something was wrong. Something was very wrong. The old man had seemed almost senile those last few