by June Calvin
“A damn fool thing to do. I suppose traveling here and there with Charles made you completely unafraid of the dangers of travel.”
“Hardly. I never traveled with less than a regiment when following Charles! Still, England in peace time holds few terrors after Portugal.”
His brows knit, Thorne pondered the issue for a few moments. “Give your notice. I will return in two weeks to escort you. Is that an acceptable compromise?”
“It is.” Oh, Thorne. Don't you see that we could learn to compromise. Don't you see that I am not unreasonably argumentative? Her heart ached with the desire to plead with him for their future, but pride held her back.
Some three weeks later, Allison stepped down from Thorne’s luxurious traveling carriage into the ample arms of Agatha Keis- ley. “Oh, my dear, you look so peaked. But of course riding for hours in a carriage will have made you ill. And you, Delphinia, quite done in, I can see. Come in, come in. You shall both have a nice lie-down with cold compresses for your eyes. Thorne, how can you have pushed them to travel so far, so fast? Just like a D'Aumont, no consideration for the delicacy of females.”
Thorne dismounted and bowed to his in-law. He knew it was pointless to defend himself against her. He could do nothing right as far as Agatha was concerned. She shared that trait with his stepmother, Lydia. Too bad she doesn't have Lydia 's beauty. She’ll be on my hands until she dies.
“Now, Aunt Agatha, Thorne was all consideration,” Allison objected. “We stopped over four times on the way, including last night at Buxton, when my father would have insisted on covering the short distance from there to Thorne Hall, isn't that so. Mother?”
“Hmpf,” Agatha responded, not giving Delphinia a chance to reply. “Don't think you are going to enter my drawing room in your riding clothes, Thorne. You smell of the stable. Why could you not have ridden in the coach like a civilized man?”
Thorne leaned down and whispered in Allison's ear, “You have chosen your dragon well. Now I wish you joy of her!”
As Allison turned quickly away to hide her smile, Thorne said aloud, “No, Aunt Agatha, I wasn’t planning on coming in. I’ll just ride over to Thorne Hall to visit with my steward, and then I must get back to London.”
“Well! Not even going to call this evening to pay your respects! Just what I would have expected from you. Come on, Allison. You are looking positively green, my girl. A hot posset is what you need.”
A hoi posset on a warm August day! Allison returned Thorne’s rueful smile as she turned away to suffer herself to be cosseted. My plan had belter work! I can't stand much of this.
Thorne had not warned Allison away from Silverthorne Castle, nor extracted from her a solemn oath to forgo searching for the treasure as he had James. This surprised her, but she supposed it was because it had never occurred to him that she might do so. But he had insisted that she be accompanied by Ian McDonald whenever she went riding.
“But Thorne! I was never wont to worry about riding out alone in this neighborhood before,” she had objected, in spite of her mother’s warning kick upon her shins under the inn’s dining table, as if to say Do not dispute him. daughter. What can you be about?
“There have been incidents here. You cannot be unaware of the agitation in the countryside since the Coercion Acts were passed?”
“I see.” This could put a rub in my way, she thought in dismay. But contending with him might only arouse his suspicions, so she agreed to this stipulation. Well pleased, he had recommended several horses in his stable.
The day after their arrival she began to put her plan into action. Ian brought Firefly, a dainty sorrel mare, over from Thorne Hall very early, so that Allison could make her escape before Agatha could voice a thousand objections and issue a dozen orders intended to see to her comfort and to guard her health.
She knew something about Ian that Thorne did not, else he might not have valued the man so highly as her groom. Ian was punctilious and hardworking, loyal to Thorne, and not afraid to speak up to Allison should she do anything of which Thorne would not approve, but he was an ardent trencherman, and he very much liked his pint or two or three of ale. After thus imbibing, he had a strong tendency to fall asleep, which she had heard Peterson complain of constantly while they lived in Bristol.
Thus it was that when he and Allison left the dower house, she made sure that the picnic hamper he carried for her was fully stocked with the county’s best dark ale.
She did not approach Silverthorne Castle immediately. It would not do to arouse Ian's suspicions and have him writing to Thorne. Rather, in the first days of their tenure at the dower house, she explored in every direction. It was familiar territory, for she, Thorne, and James had often ridden in the vicinity as children, she on her stout, stubborn little Shetland pony striving mightily to keep up with the boys’ longer-legged Welsh ponies.
She took along her drawing pad and pencils, glad that Ian could not know what an indifferent artist she was. Each fair morning she spent hours sketching, inviting him to batten himself on the provisions while she did so. Once he settled down on a cloth, a well- thumbed copy of The Pilgrim's Progress in one hand and a bottle of ale in the other, she strolled out of his sight to do her sketching.
A full two weeks passed before she first set their horses’ heads in the direction of Silverthorne, which perched along a cliff above Thorne Hall.
“Be ye going to the auld castle?” Ian inquired.
“Yes, I wish to do some sketching there.” She kept her voice even, though her heart raced with fear that Thorne had told the groom to prevent her from approaching Silverthorne.
“Ye’ll no be finding it a restful place to do tha’ drawing, I’m thinking,” Ian said, his eyes crinkling as he looked into the sun toward the castle, which lay east of the dower house and about half a mile away. Silverthorne had been built on the farthest reaches of a cliff that loomed over a beautiful little valley. Thorne Hall, a fine Palladian mansion built in the last century, stood not far from the base of the cliff, looking down over the meandering stream called Riggswater and the tiny town of Riggswheel.
“Are they working on the north wall, then? I did hear that it was being dismantled.”
“Nay, ’tis only when the harvest is in and naught to do on the estate that they work there. ’Tis the guards that’ll be disturbing you. I’m thinking.”
“Guards?” Allison swallowed hard. “He has placed guards around the castle?”
“Aye.” Ian grinned. “Dozens of 'em, a noisy lot!”
The mischievous grin surprised Allison, for Ian had until now been a sober companion. Firefly slowed her pace as Allison guided her onto the rutted, little-used road that led up the hill to the castle. If there were dozens of guards, they weren't using this road to go to and from their work. And what a fortune Thorne was spending, what with paying some workers to dismantle it, and others to guard it. He truly meant to see that no more lives be lost by treasure seekers, whether of his family or not.
She made a silent vow to take no risks. Her plan called for the Silver Lady to show her the secret passage that led to the treasure without the least danger or inconvenience to herself. She would then inform Thorne, who would safely recover the family fortune.
An eerie silence descended upon them as they climbed the winding road to the summit of the hill. Only their horses’ hooves clopping in the soft earth and the calls of birds disturbed the peace. As they reached the area of the outer works, long since destroyed, the ground leveled off, and through the trees she could see the gatehouse, looking just as it always had, and quiet as a graveyard. She cast a puzzled glance at Ian.
Allison never failed to feel a strong thrill of admiration for the castle. Not the largest or the grandest in England, it nevertheless had a Gothic charm all its own. Only the north side of the castle, where its walls curved from the cliff face onto the top of the outcropping, showed serious damage from the enemies that had once besieged it. The castle’s fourteenth-century architects had no
t envisioned the heavy guns available during the civil wars.
Allison and Ian passed through the archway of the gatehouse unchallenged. Ian’s grin grew even broader.
“Those guards are not earning their keep today,” she began, when suddenly her ears were assaulted by shrieks and hisses, and it seemed that the ground around her had erupted in white furies. Firefly pranced and snorted nervously; Ian’s horse reared up, nearly unseating him and sending the blurs of white flying in a whir of feathers.
Geese! Dozens of large, aggressive geese surrounded them, necks outstretched, wings raised in challenge. These were the guards Ian had spoken of, and they were very nearly his undoing. She watched him struggle to gain control of his mount amidst the indignant hissing of goose and gander.
I 'm glad I did not obey my first impulse to dismount at the gate and walk into the inner bailey, she thought, not relishing the idea of being on the receiving end of those nips that were aimed at the hapless horses.
A man with a peg leg hastened toward them from the castle grounds. He was alternately using his cane to speed his progress and to shoo away the geese. When they had retreated, he came to her side.
“I’m that sorry for the bother, Mrs. Weatherby. They don’t know friend from foe—all they know is that you are a stranger.”
Allison studied the man's face. “Sergeant Bean, isn’t it?” He nodded and made her a profound bow, showing impressive mastery of his wooden appendage.
“Just Richard Bean now, invalided out of her majesty’s service, ma’am, and a privilege it was to serve under your late husband. It was a sorrowful day, the day he left us.”
Allison’s eyes misted over. “You paid quite a price, too.”
“Yes’m, but I’m much more fortunate than most who are invalided out, for Lord Silverthorne has looked out for me finely. Though I never did quite imagine myself as a sergeant to a troop of geese.” Bean smiled up at her.
“Did ye want to dismount, ma’am?” Ian called to her, red-faced with embarrassment for his recent lack of control.
“Yes, seeing that the guards have retreated.” While waiting for Ian to assist her, she watched the geese gradually settle back to grazing. They will complicate matters considerably, she thought. How am l to sketch, much less explore, with them on patrol?
“Mrs. Weatherby is wishful of making some drawings of the castle,” Ian explained to Richard Bean.
“Will that be possible, without being attacked?” Allison inquired anxiously.
Bean stroked his chin. “I can pen them up, of course. Would ye be here just this once, or... ?”
“I was thinking of a series of sketches, actually.” Allison turned around, pointing out features she would like to draw.
“Then it would perhaps be best if you let them get to know you. Bring them com a few days in a row, and they’ll soon be your friend, ma'am. And once’t they’ve accepted you, you can walk all over the castle quite secure, for they’ll warn you of any danger. But m’lord said—”
Bean scratched the end of his nose worriedly.
He's been told not to let me near the place. Allison held her breath, fearful of what would come next.
“Said I was to make sure no visitors go near the north wall. Got it fenced off, and said no one was to cross that line. Don’t want no more tragedies, you see.”
“Very understandable. Nor would I wish to go there.” Allison could say that quite truthfully. She had often wondered why Thorne’s father had gone into the most dangerous part of die mins, full knowing the risk it posed for him and his younger son.
Ian looked around uneasily. “Seen any signs of that ghostie, lad?”
“Never a one,” Bean answered emphatically. “I agree with the master. Ain’t no ghost, just a lot of ignorant talk. Still ’n all, ma’am, if you was fearful, I could stay nearby while you sketched.”
“I'll do that,” Ian asserted stoutly, though his face looked a bit green beneath his freckles.
“Not the least need, for either of you. Ian knows I can’t abide being watched while I sketch. And I haven't any concern about the ghost, I assure you.”
“Well, then, that’s all right.” Bean looked relieved. “I’ve a carpentry shop in the gatehouse, and a mite of work to do there, too. I’ll get some corn, shall I? You can give the troops a morning treat.”
The geese were hardly less intimidating in a frenzy to get their share of the com she scattered for them, but Allison made herself stand in their midst, letting them flap and honk around her. She soon learned that Bean had named them all, goose and gander alike, after well-known military men. The largest gander, the most aggressive and ill-tempered of the flock, he had named Bliicher after the crusty German general who had given such a good account of himself during the late Napoleonic wars.
* * *
Allison sat in the center of the bailey, facing the eastern comer of the castle, sketching the watch tower. After a week of feeding the geese, she knew they had accepted her, so she did not fear interference. Once she had fed them a ration of com. they either grazed and waddled companionably around her, or totally absented themselves. They were in a fair way to furthering her scheme, moreover, for they had never fully accepted Ian, who gladly took her hint to visit with Bean while she sketched.
Today was the first day she had placed herself entirely out of view of the two men. The geese had taken themselves off somewhere. She was alone. She dutifully pursued her sketching, but glanced around several times, hoping against hope to see the specter she had glimpsed in her childhood. So far she had not once caught sight of anything remotely ghostly. Perhaps what she had seen as a child was indeed the product of a fertile imagination.
The dancing shade of the trees allowed more of the sun to shine upon her face than was strictly good for her. She decided to turn around and sketch the keep instead.
She repositioned the easel, turned the page of her sketchbook, and began lightly stroking in the lines of the solid central portion of the castle. The door, she recalled, was of recent construction, for the original keep could be entered only by well-defended stairs that led to the upper stories. As she held up her pencil to get the proportions correct, her hand froze in place. She blinked once, twice, to see if the shimmer in the doorway was an effect of the sunlight. Her mouth went dry as she watched the shimmer begin to assume human form.
Chapter Eight
A thrill of fear ran through Allison despite her determination in seeking this moment. The whiteness gradually coalesced into the shape of a female, dressed as a wealthy lady of the seventeenth century might have been except that she wore no cap. The long silver blond hair, so like Allison’s, flowed freely about the lady’s shoulders.
Swallowing her fear, Allison lowered her hand and looked directly at the ghost. Instead of looking sad and anxious, as she often had when Allison was a child, the Silver Lady smiled joyfully. As she became more and more solid in appearance, she beckoned to Allison.
Slowly she stood, placing her pencil against her sketch pad. Ab- sentmindedly wiping her hands against her skirt, she cautiously drew near. As she approached, the specter retreated. The Silver Lady looked back over her shoulder to make sure Allison was following, and entered the keep.
Momentarily, Allison hesitated. She could not see into the interior. She knew that this portion of the castle was structurally sound, that in fact it had housed servants and even minor relatives as recently as Thorne’s father’s time. Still, the fate of Thorne’s father and younger brother and the folk legends that claimed the Silver Lady lured people to their deaths weighed heavily on her mind as she tried to nerve herself to plunge into the darkness and the unknown.
She reminded herself that this was what she had come to do. Taking a deep breath, she stepped through the doorway and into the dim light beyond. The Silver Lady was standing a few feet from her, still smiling and beckoning. Allison saw that she would have to run something of a maze, for the keep currently served as a storage place for unused farm implements
and old furniture. Lifting the skirt of her riding habit high to avoid getting a coating of dust, she started toward the ghost, who turned and began moving toward the interior of the castle. The Silver Lady’s progress was not impeded by the stored items; she just went through them. She turned frequently, to see that Allison followed.
As Allison was negotiating around a large seed drill, two things happened simultaneously. She became aware that the geese were sounding the alarm. At the same instant the Silver Lady, a look of terror on her face, disappeared.
Much vexed, Allison turned back. The geese’s noise increased in volume and was joined by the sounds of men swearing and a woman screaming. Allison returned to the door blinking as she encountered the sunlight of the bailey. The melange of sounds came from the north, and Sergeant Bean’s voice had joined the cacophony.
Allison hurried around the ruins of an ancient kitchen that stood between her and the north wall. There she stopped to take stock of the situation. The geese were ignoring Sergeant Bean’s efforts to call them to order. Instead, they were flapping and nipping at two men and a woman. Ian stood nearby, arms folded, laughing as if it was all a show put on for his benefit.
As Allison watched, the hysterical woman leapt into the arms of a slender, elegantly dressed younger man, who staggered under the burden. After struggling manfully to retain his footing, this man, whom Allison quickly recognized as James Betterton, slipped and fell to the ground, the screaming woman on top of him. They immediately disappeared under a gaggle of geese.
The older man, whom Allison recognized with distaste as Captain Newcomb, kicked viciously at the geese, swearing profusely. Allison found herself cheering for the geese. The gander that Sergeant Bean had christened General Bliicher firmly clamped Newcomb’s posterior with his bill and whipped him violently about the body with his large wings. Feathers were flying everywhere.
