by Sandra Heath
As the hours ticked relentlessly by, Marigold strove to remain calm and composed. She paced up and down in the garden, glancing constantly across the lake or up at the escarpment, praying her sixth sense was wrong, and that at any moment she would see Rowan returning, but he didn’t. The searchers came back to Avenbury Park in the middle of the afternoon for some well-earned refreshment. During the makeshift feast Mrs. Spindle provided in the great hall, Marigold overheard something that confirmed her intuition about Rowan being at Romans.
Everyone was trying to enjoy the excellent cheese, Wiltshire ham, fresh bread, and cider, but few had any real appetite because they were all anxious about Rowan, who was held in very high regard by everyone, from the lowest laborer to a gentleman acquaintance who heard of the strange disappearance while halting at the village inn.
The gallant band of searchers ate as best they could because they knew they must go out again to continue the search, no matter how hopeless an exercise it seemed. To give herself something to do, Marigold helped Mrs. Spindle and the maids serve the cider, and it was while she was doing this that she overheard a conversation between Bysshe and Perry.
Bysshe helped himself to another wedge of cheese, and then mentioned the door in the orchard wall at Romans. “How anyone gets in and out of it, I really don’t know.”
“Well, it must be possible, because Mama said Uncle Falk came out through it,” Perry replied.
“I wouldn’t have thought a man as big and strong as that could squeeze through.”
Curious, Marigold put down the jug of cider she was carrying in order to speak to Bysshe. “Why don’t you think Falk could get through the door?” she asked.
He looked up with a start. “I didn’t know you were listening, my lady.”
“I couldn’t help overhearing.”
“Well, it’s just that Perry and I walked around the outside of the orchard this morning with some of the men, and there’s a tree growing so close against the door that it prevents it being opened.”
Marigold stared at him. She and Rowan had gone through that very door last night, and there certainly hadn’t been a tree blocking the way. “What sort of tree was it?” she asked quickly.
They both shrugged, and Perry replied. “I don’t know, we didn’t look. It was just a tree. Not huge like the oak, more the size of an alder, I suppose. Why?”
“Oh, nothing, it’s not important,” she murmured.
Bysshe looked curiously at her. “Did Falk Arnold get through?”
“Oh, yes,” she replied in a dismissive tone, then picked up the jug to resume serving the cider. But her thoughts had quickened. There shouldn’t be a tree where the boys said. If there was, it wasn’t an ordinary tree. But before she mentioned anything, she had to see for herself, so she waited until the searchers had sallied forth again, the boys included, then she ordered a horse for herself. After changing into her newly laundered habit, she took Rowan’s pocket telescope from its drawer in the library, then rode out of Avenbury Park.
The earthworks above Romans were deserted as she tethered her horse where she and Rowan had lain together a day or so before. A day or so? Right now it seemed an aeon ago. She crept to the edge of the slope, then lay down to train the telescope on the wall of the orchard.
The door was unobstructed, indeed there wasn’t even a bush to block the way. She searched the entire wall, and then returned her attention to the door. Whatever Perry and Bysshe had seen, it wasn’t there now. She didn’t doubt there’d been a tree, and the fact that it had vanished proved to her that it was a supernatural tree. And what else could it have been but a rowan? But where was he now? Anxiously she raked the house and orchard, but he was nowhere, nor indeed, did she glimpse Falk or Alauda, but some of the others were in evidence in the orchard.
Lord Toby’s exaggerated drawl carried clearly on the warm summer air as he lounged on the grass with Lord Siskin and Judge Grouse, and Sir Hindley Tern’s equally irritating vowels drifted up with similar clarity from inside the summerhouse as he called to the house for another bottle of hock.
Mr. Crowe was seated forlornly on the summerhouse step with a makeshift crutch propped up beside him. The sling on his arm was now accompanied by bandages around his forehead and leg, and he looked very bedraggled indeed, but he received not one iota of sympathy from Marigold, who hoped he was suffering every imaginable discomfort. She wished Lord Toby had suffered a similar tumble during his flight from the balcony, for it would be exquisitely satisfying to see him in the same battered state.
Leaving the small flock at the summerhouse, Marigold moved the telescope toward the house again. A blur of leaves slid before her concentrating eye, but then something made her focus on one apple tree in particular. A gilded birdcage was suspended from a branch, and there was a tiny brown wren fluttering helplessly inside. Jenny! Marigold’s breath caught with dismay as she remembered how Lord Toby had returned to the balcony last night with something in his bill. He had caught Jenny and given her to Falk, but what—if anything—had happened to Robin? Oh, please don’t let him have been caught to suffer the terrible fate all shrikes accorded their prey! The telescope slipped from her fingers onto the grass, and tears stung her eyes.
At that moment, as if on cue, Robin himself landed on the telescope, and cocked his head to look at her. “Oh, Robin!” Marigold whispered gladly, so relieved that more tears pricked her eyes. The little bird chirruped sadly, then hopped onto her finger, as if trying to comfort her. She smiled bravely. “What are we going to do, Robin?”
Robin sighed, his head sinking dejectedly between his wings. Marigold felt at one with him. “How I wish you could talk,” she murmured. “The ones we love are down there at Romans, and we have to find a way to rescue them. Or is it just me? Am I alone charged with the task?”
As Robin eyed her again, then gave another sad chirrup, she knew that the responsibility did indeed lie with her. “Very well, I accept that it’s up to me, but I still don’t know how to set about the task,” she said, stretching out a finger of her other hand to touch the little bird’s gleaming red breast.
He puffed his feathers, tilted his head to gaze at her with his bright brown eyes, and sang a few notes. Then he repeated the same notes more urgently. She felt helpless. “It’s no good, Robin, I can’t understand your language.” He sighed again, and tilted his head the other way, to look down at Romans. Then he hopped down onto the grass, and huddled dejectedly next to some early harebells that were as blue as the heavens.
After a moment, Marigold resumed her surveillance through the telescope, and suddenly realized Sir Hindley Tern wasn’t alone in the summerhouse, as without warning, Alauda stepped into view. Marigold’s old foe looked ravishingly beautiful in a lime-green silk gown, and the ignominy of the pillowcase was clearly behind her, for she was all smiles as she held out her hand to the man she was with.
It was Rowan, and Marigold’s very soul was wrenched as he pulled his mistress sensuously close, then kissed her tenderly on the lips. His eyes were dark with seduction, and his pleasure could not be mistaken as Alauda pressed eagerly to him. His hands moved yearningly over the silk of her gown, and no one else seemed to exist for either of them as the kiss became more demanding and erotic. At last Alauda drew away, then took him by one hand to lead him toward the house. They went up the steps to the second floor, then turned toward the hunting tower and disappeared around the end of the balcony. It did not need to be spelled out that they were going to Alauda’s bedroom to make love.
Distraught, Marigold tossed the telescope aside, and scrambled back from the edge of the slope. Far from being kept at Romans against his will, it was clearly very much to Rowan’s liking to be reunited with the mistress he said he’d rejected! A discord of emotions pounded through her, and she was so upset she couldn’t even cry. Robin fluttered anxiously beside her, but then there sounded some very cross-sounding quacks that heralded the approach of a certain mallard. The robin flew away as Sir Francis landed awk
wardly a few feet away from Marigold, who sat up unhappily. “Oh, Sir Francis, what do you want?”
To say that he was angry about something would be to put it far too mildly, for he was positively incandescent with rage. He jumped up and down, quacking all the time, then waddled close enough to jab her painfully with his bill. “Whatever is the matter?” she gasped, recoiling in astonishment. His response was to resume his ranting. He was quite beside himself, gibbering and stamping as if she had caused mortal offense, but at last he calmed down a little, and confined himself to disapproving snorts.
Marigold stared. “Why are you like this?” she asked, as he clacked his bill, and muttered under his breath. She was indignant too; after all, Rowan’s betrayal had been a terrible shock. “This is horridly unfair! If you knew how unutterably wretched I feel, you wouldn’t—”
It was the wrong thing to say, for he erupted into another bombardment of cursing quacks, and rushed up to peck her again. After that he quivered from bill to webbed feet as he made himself tall and thin so he could be eye to eye with her. He oozed with outrage, and his ire was so intense that Marigold couldn’t help but know he considered her to be gravely at fault. But what had she done? She hadn’t even seen the drake since the breakfast when Perry and Bysshe had been acquainted with details of recent events.
At last Sir Francis seemed to calm down a little. He waddled to the edge of the slope, looked over, and shook his head. Then he looked at her, snorted, and shook his head again. It was all too much for Marigold. She was devastated by seeing Rowan and Alauda together like that, and was in no state to cope with this as well. She simply wanted to run away from everything! Stifling another sob, she got up and hurried to her horse. Sir Francis gave a dismayed quack, and took to the air, diving so low over her head that she felt the draft of his passing. His clamor recommenced, and he harried her all the way back to Avenbury Park, so that by the time she dismounted again, her head was ringing with his endless quacking. She realized she’d left the telescope behind, but nothing would have induced her to return. She’d send one of the men....
Sir Francis was just about to make another aerial attack, when he broke off midquack, and flew away very hastily. Marigold gazed after him with a mixture of relief and puzzlement. He’d seemed almost frightened. Why? The answer was immediately forthcoming, for Falk spoke a few feet behind her.
Chapter Thirty
Marigold whirled fearfully about, for no one had been in sight when she arrived. Falk was standing at the commencement of the garden path, and there was no sign of a horse or carriage. How had he arrived without her hearing? His wig was very golden as he came toward her. He wore a maroon coat and gray breeches, and a ruby pin sparkled in the folds of his muslin neckcloth.
“I trust I find you well, Marigold?”
“I fear I cannot sincerely offer the same felicitations,” she replied frankly.
“How charming,” he murmured with a thin smile. Then his gaze moved beyond her as Perry and Bysshe came out of the house and ran to her side. She was later to discover they had returned from the search because Bysshe’s horse had gone lame, but right now she was too intent upon Falk to give the boys’ unexpected presence a second thought.
Perry placed himself between his mother and uncle. “Where is Lord Avenbury, Uncle Falk?” he demanded.
Falk’s eyes flickered. “Right now he is with Alauda at Romans, as I think your mother will confirm,” he said smoothly.
Perry turned inquiringly to her. “Mama?”
Marigold gave him a brave smile, then quickly addressed Falk again. “What makes you think I would know my husband is with your sister?” she asked.
“Because you watched them from the escarpment. Oh, by the way, you left this behind.” He drew the telescope from his pocket.
Her hand shook a little as she took it. She no longer needed to ask him how he had arrived here without horse or carriage, nor did she wonder how he was in possession of something she had only just left at the earthworks, because she now knew the answer. Falk Arnold could not only turn his followers into birds, he could become one himself!
Falk gave one of his cold smiles. “Poor Marigold, how unfortunate you are when it comes to marriage. I trust you saw how overjoyed your new husband is to be with Alauda again?”
She strove to think clearly. So far in this conversation Falk had enjoyed all the advantages, and for Robin and Jenny’s sake—if no longer for unfaithful, uncaring Rowan’s—she had to redress the balance. How could she retain her power’s credibility in Falk’s eyes? She glanced at the topiary bush, and was startled to see Robin peeping out. Then from behind the bush there came a single belligerent quack that she knew was directed at Falk.
It was somehow reassuring to know the mallard was close by as well, and it was certainly good to know that when it came to Falk Arnold, Sir Francis was her friend again. The two birds’ support encouraged her, and she smiled coolly at Falk. “I trust Mr. Crowe is in a great deal of pain. He took such a fall last night, did he not? You know, I found him ridiculously easy to deal with.” There, make what you will of that, she thought, determinedly ignoring Perry’s incredulous stare.
A new wariness crept into Falk’s cold amber eyes. “I’m not sure I understand you, my dear,” he murmured. “A certain robin and wren were responsible, you had nothing to do with it.”
“Please continue to think that way.”
The reply irritated him. “I promise you will soon regret such flippancy.”
“You are in error again, for I am in earnest. If I had been more vigilant last night, Lord Toby would not have caught poor Jenny. It was a lapse of concentration that will not be repeated.” She slipped her hand pointedly into her riding habit pocket, and pretended to be toying with something about the size of a billiard ball. Let him wonder if she had an anguinum!
Falk’s eyes became piercing. “Are you presuming to challenge me, Marigold?”
She managed a smile. “That is for you to find out, Falk,” she replied, only too aware that Perry and Bysshe thought she’d taken leave of her senses. Perhaps they were right. Perhaps Bedlam was the best place for her.
“Look into my eyes and know you are playing with fire, for I am all-powerful,” Falk said softly.
She could not help but be frightened, but wild horses could not have dragged the fact from her. “All-powerful? You ever were a braggart, Falk, and I have learned not to take anything you say at face value,” she replied, and the moment the words were uttered, her sixth sense flashed with insight.
Wasn’t taking something at face value the very thing she’d done on seeing Rowan at Romans? He hadn’t been lying to her about ending things with Alauda, and no matter how much to the contrary it might have seemed, he wasn’t at Romans of his own volition, nor was he willingly with his former mistress. He was this man’s prisoner!
Suddenly she knew why Sir Francis had been so angry with her. Far from being the betrayed, she had, by her lack of faith, been the betrayer! The drake was supernatural, and was incensed by her reaction, because he knew Rowan was bewitched by druid magic and therefore not responsible for his actions. So the splendid but vociferous demon duck had come to the earthworks in very high dudgeon to put her right on the matter. She didn’t know why Sir Francis should harbor such fierce feelings on Rowan’s account, but he certainly did. Even now she could feel the sharp jab of the drake’s bill.
“Perhaps you should believe me, my dear,” Falk murmured, “for when I claim to have great power, I mean it, and I’m going to defeat your miserable challenge.” Before Marigold knew what was happening, he raised his hand and pointed toward Perry, who to her horror changed into the peregrine falcon of his name. Panic-stricken, Perry gave a thin, piercing shriek, and flapped his wings.
Bysshe stumbled backward with a frightened gasp, but although Marigold was deeply shaken, her maternal instinct surged to the fore. Making soothing noises, she gathered her beloved son into her arms, and as he cowered against her, she could feel h
is sharp talons through the stuff of her riding habit. “Oh, Perry, my poor darling,” she whispered, stroking his head, which together with his wings and upper body was dark gray, whereas his legs and lower body were more pale and banded. He was very beautiful, but completely terrified.
Falk began to laugh. “So much for your ability! There is nothing you can do for my unfortunate nephew, is there? You bluff well, my dear, but I have just proved you don’t possess the anguinum. Perry is now mine. You should have remembered that he is of my blood, and therefore likely to be particularly susceptible to my will. It is because he is so close to me that I cannot kill him, but believe me, I am able to leave him as he now is for the rest of his life. He is my insurance against any reckless attempt to interfere. Do anything at all, Marigold, and he will never be other than you see him now.”
She was choked with anger and distress. “No! Please, Falk, release him,” she begged, her voice catching on a sob.
“At dawn on midsummer day, at the precise moment the sun’s rays strike the mistletoe on the oak, I intend to again perform the ancient and solemn druidic rites of the wheel.”
“What is the wheel?” she cried, still holding Perry close.
“It is what must be if I, Aquila Randol, am to have what has always been rightfully mine.”
So Falk Arnold and Aquila Randol were one and the same, Marigold thought. Or was it just that Falk was convinced of the fact? Perhaps he was quite mad, and should be locked away!
Falk went on. “The wheel will only turn if all the elements are there, and when Alauda was last here at this house with Avenbury, she found the long-lost anguinum again. It was in the moat, where it had lain since 1534, and was only revealed when Avenbury himself had ordered that part of the henge to be dredged. Oh, foolish Avenbury, he was instrumental in my rise, and therefore his own fall. The moment the anguinum was placed in my hand again, I knew I could not fail in anything I attempted. Now nearly all the elements for the wheel are in my possession, from Jennifer to the thirteenth and last lord himself. Only Raddock remains, and he will fall into my hands yet.”
