‘By all ordinary means,’ he said now, ‘it would certainly appear to be impossible. But when ordinary means fail, one is then forced to attempt the extraordinary.’
‘What do you mean?’
Richard folded his hands together, gazing up at the heavens as if in prayer, his eyes not quite closed but definitely narrowed — though this was caused not by religious fervor but by the brightness of the early afternoon sun, which necessitated a slight squint.
‘I see that you still have much to learn, young man.’ He did not look at Julian, but did not need to do so. He could well imagine the shade of annoyance which passed over the other man’s countenance. ‘Though the fox may hide, the hounds will scour the countryside until they have cornered him in his lair. Resourcefulness and determination may yet win the day.’
‘Does this fine speech indicate that you have a plan?’
‘Now do not be impertinent when addressing your master,’ Richard warned him. ‘You insisted on my presence here, after all. And you undoubtedly need my considerable experience, since it appears that you are unable to find a solution to your present dilemma on your own.’
‘Pray enlighten me, then, my noble oracle.’
‘What say you to a little … how shall I put it? … exploration?’
‘Exploration!’
‘After all, we had planned to have some pigeon fricassee this evening for dinner. But the two particular birds we are seeking are kept in a decidedly remote dovecote.’ St George cocked his head in the general direction of the abbey. ‘We have walked this far out of sheer boredom. Over that hillock, less than two miles hence, lies our destination – one might even call it our destiny. And even the most well-guarded birdcage must have a door somewhere....’
‘Or perhaps a window.’ A faint smile began to draw the corners of Julian’s mouth upwards. ‘Let us waste no more time, then. Once more into the breach!’
* * * *
An hour later, he was not so sanguine. They had trudged the rocky country lanes and waded through grassy meadows, working themselves into a fine, manly sweat. Having at last reached the abbey, however, their task seemed more daunting than ever. It was set in the centre of a large park, through which they certainly should not have been wandering. And the whole of the main building was surrounded by a wall which an Alpine goat would have found difficult to scale.
‘We might as well return home,’ Julian said, in disgust, as they carefully edged their way along the perimeter. ‘Even could we surmount this cursed wall, there are no doubt hounds on the other side which would likely tear us to pieces in a minute.’
‘Or perhaps,’ St George suggested, ‘the master of the house would have us dragged off into a dungeon — an oubliette, I fancy — where we should be tortured and starved to death, our bones being discovered a few centuries hence, chained to the wall.’
‘The master of the house is away,’ Julian reminded him, impervious to sarcasm. ‘That is about the only thing we have so far learned in our favor.’
‘I may be at ease, then.’
‘I am happy that you find the situation so amusing.’
‘I am deriving a certain amount of perverse pleasure from your plight, I must admit.’
‘I wish that I could perceive the humor in losing a thousand pounds. But at present I must— Hallo!’
This soft exclamation escaped from Julian’s lips as he halted at the edge of a large wooden door which was set into the wall. It was surrounded by thick vines, so that one would not perceive it until standing directly before it. But though the vegetation might be heavy, it was well pruned, so it seemed that the door might be used by the occupants of the abbey upon occasion, and was not permanently sealed.
‘Aha!’ Richard chuckled. ‘Heaven has heard our prayers.’
Julian scratched his chin, surveying the wooden impediment.
‘Do you think we might be able to pick the lock?’
‘Alas,’ St George said with an exaggerated sigh. ‘Though I know it must sink me in your estimation, I confess that picking locks is an accomplishment I have never mastered. For some reason or other, the opportunity never came much in my way.’
‘I do not think we could break it down. It looks quite solid.’
‘I do not intend to make the attempt. Besides,’ he added reasonably, ‘it would be bound to attract a great deal of attention. Battering through wood is a rather noisy business.’
‘True.’ Julian’s countenance fell once more. ‘Do you think I might try to climb up the ivy? Would it support my weight?’
‘Possibly.’ St George considered the matter. ‘But we might try other means....’
With that, he brushed past his friend, leaned forward and twisted the heavy iron handle on the door. With the faintest click, it swung open, revealing a large open area of neatly planted herbs and flowers and a courtyard with a small fountain bubbling at its centre. There were arched colonnades on three sides and a statue of the Madonna and child gracing the central arch at the back.
‘Well.’ Julian sounded slightly disappointed. ‘I certainly never expected so easy an entrance. I am almost inclined to believe that you had it all arranged, sir.’
‘I have neither such foresight, nor such influence,’ Richard said, closing the door behind him. ‘But although it has prevented me from enjoying the spectacle of watching you attempt to scale the wall, I am grateful for the negligence of whichever servant forgot to lock it.’
He had scarcely finished speaking when there was an ominous growl from somewhere close by.
‘The hounds!’ Julian hissed, looking about him with some apprehension. ‘Said I not so?’
‘So you did,’ Richard admitted. ‘But it is even worse than you imagined, for this particular hound seems to add invisibility to his other demonic attributes.’
They certainly saw nothing beyond the low hedge a few feet to the left of them, from which the growls continued to issue.
‘He must be crouched behind it,’ Julian said, backing toward the closed door, in preparation for a quick retreat, should the beast spring out upon them.
‘Welly!’ a soft voice called, from the shadows of the colonnade. ‘What is it, boy?’
Both men looked toward the spot from whence the sound had issued. But whoever the lady might be, she was concealed by the row of columns.
‘Welly!’ the hidden female called again, more firmly. ‘Come here, boy!’
At this, there was a furious rustling beyond the hedge, before a small, bristling ball of fur dashed into the middle of the pathway on which they stood. Planting his four paws squarely on the stones, he proceeded to address them in a burst of nasal, high-pitched barking.
‘A pug!’
The disgust in Julian’s tone was too much for St George, who began to chuckle. This was the most deliciously absurd scene!
‘Welly!’ the lady called for the third time. ‘What is wrong? Is someone there?’
‘What are we to do now?’ Julian whispered urgently to his friend.
‘Screw your courage to the sticking place, lad,’ Richard advised. ‘You are a timid hunter, to be sure.’
‘Well, if it comes to that….’
‘Hush!’ Richard interrupted his outburst. ‘We have our quarry in sight. One false move may ruin all.’
‘Oh.’ Julian looked decidedly confused.
‘I pray you,’ Richard called out loudly, ‘call off this ferocious animal, ma’am! We are not housebreakers. I assure you that we mean no harm.’
There was a moment of silence, before the elusive lady spoke once more to the dog, this time very sharply, insisting that he come to her at once. Apparently, the redoubtable Welly at last recognized the voice of authority. With one final, defiant woof!, he turned and scampered off into the courtyard toward his mistress.
‘You are perfectly safe now, gentlemen,’ she sang out, a moment later.
‘I think she means for us to approach,’ Richard suggested, since Julian hesitated.
Wit
h a lowering glance at his partner, he moved forward. In less than a minute, they had traversed the distance to the center of the courtyard, and turned to face the row of gothic arches from whence the lady’s voice had come. As they did so, a slim figure rose from a stone bench placed against the inner wall and came slowly towards them out of the shadows, the pug known as ‘Welly’ still growling behind her skirts.
As she stepped into the sunlight, Richard was not surprised to hear Julian catch his breath. She was one of the loveliest creatures he himself had ever beheld in a life filled with many pretty ladybirds. She was like a porcelain figurine come to life, in a pink-and-white muslin dress, with a pink-and-white complexion to match, and divinely blue eyes which seemed to look through rather than at them. Her voice, which they had already heard, was low-toned and pleasing, and her smile — now that they beheld it for the first time — was brighter than the sunshine, with small, even white teeth glistening between deliciously curved lips.
Had he been a younger man, Richard reflected, he might well have experienced something more than mere admiration. As it was, he acknowledged her undoubted charms and wished Julian every success. She was an English rose, waiting to be plucked.
‘Permit me to introduce myself, ma’am.’ Julian now hastened to attract the lady’s attention. ‘Julian Marchmont at your service.’
She turned her head towards him, but was prevented from commenting by Richard’s own tardy introduction. She did not acknowledge their bows, but stood there with her head slightly tilted to one side, as though considering the situation.
‘I,’ she said at length, ‘am Cassandra Woodford. Forgive me if I neglect my manners, but it is not often that I confront two strange men in my garden.’
‘We called here several days ago and presented our cards.’ Julian sounded aggrieved.
‘We never receive visitors, I’m afraid.’
‘Why not, Miss Woodford?’ Richard enquired.
‘It is my father’s wish.’
‘Forgive me, but that seems even more gothick than our present surroundings.’
She laughed: a curiously gay, carefree sound in the solemn stillness.
‘Are our surroundings so terribly gloomy?’ she asked.
‘You do not find them so?’ Julian looked about him at the high stone walls, adding, ‘But perhaps you have become accustomed to it all.’
‘It is not unattractive,’ Richard interjected. ‘But one must admit that it could hardly be referred to as “cheerful”. Would you not agree, Miss Woodford?’
‘As to that, sir,’ the young lady replied, ‘you would do better to seek Rosalind’s opinion.’
‘Rosalind?’ Richard was pleased to find her so free with her information.
‘Rosalind Powell,’ she elucidated. ‘She is my companion, though much more like an older sister to me. She helped my father oversee the reconstruction of the abbey before we moved here from Yorkshire. Most of the interior furnishings were chosen by her.’
‘She might be well qualified to pass judgement,’ Julian said persuasively, ‘but you surely must have some views on the subject. It is your home.’
‘True,’ she acknowledged. ‘But in such matters I confess that I do rely on Rosalind’s opinions. She is much more familiar with Folbrook Abbey than I am. I have never actually seen it, after all.’
‘Never seen it?’ Julian’s exclamation echoed Richard’s own surprise. He looked intently into the bright, inscrutable blue eyes of the goddess before them, holding his breath for a moment as he waited for her to respond.
‘No.’ She seemed to stare into the distance, at some invisible point between them. ‘You see, I am blind.’
Chapter Four
St George had no doubt of Miss Woodford’s sincerity. The wonder was that he had not realized before. Poor Julian looked as though he had just seen a ghost. The truth was, they were so preoccupied with the lady’s beauty that they had failed to notice anything else unusual about her. Now it was painfully plain, and pity mingled with a kind of nervous embarrassment at the unexpected turn which their interview had taken.
What either would have said in response to her statement, they would never know. As they stood there in the sunshine, a strange hissing sound broke the sudden stillness. Almost simultaneously, a thin dark object streaked out of the sky to land with a thump on the grassy space between the stones at Richard’s feet.
‘Good God!’ Julian exclaimed, staring at the ground before his friend.
Richard’s gaze also lowered, but he made no comment as he surveyed the object — an arrow — its head buried in the earth where it had fallen less than twelve inches from the toes of his boots.
‘You would not happen to have any savage Indians from the wilds of America residing here, Miss Woodford?’ he asked, bending to retrieve the arrow.
‘Or a descendant of William Tell, perhaps?’ Julian suggested.
‘Oh dear!’ Miss Woodford put up a delicate hand to cover her lips. ‘That must have been Rosalind.’
‘Miss Powell has a most unusual way of greeting guests,’ Richard commented. ‘A few inches nearer and I would have become the new “Ghost of Folbrook Abbey”.’
Cassandra laughed outright.
‘Then,’ Julian added, ‘we might have asked, “Who killed Cock Robin?”.’
‘ “I, said the Sparrow — with my bow and arrow”,’ a voice answered from the shadowed colonnade. ‘ “I killed Cock Robin”.’
A moment later, the elusive Diana appeared. She was no sparrow, however, Richard considered: more like a peacock. Rosalind Powell was somewhat shorter than Miss Woodford, and, where Cassandra was divinely fair, her companion was possessed of lustrous dark hair and eyes to match. She had her own exotic beauty, more like a gypsy than a proper Englishwoman. She appeared to be about five-and-twenty, though that might be deceptive.
‘My compliments, ma’am.’ St George bowed to her. ‘A fine shot, indeed.’
‘But a little short of the target,’ she replied. Her eyes sparked with fire and she moved to link her arm with Cassandra’s, as though to protect her from them. A dragon indeed!
‘Nonsense!’ Cassandra seemed to find it even more amusing. ‘Papa says Lindy’s aim is deadly accurate. I’m quite sure that she never meant to harm you. She would not put an arrow through a visitor. At least, I do not think she would.’
‘I have no desire to contradict either you or your esteemed father,’ St George said smoothly. ‘And I am grateful for Miss Powell’s restraint.’
‘And may I ask,’ the redoubtable Miss Powell interrupted, ‘what you two are doing here?’
‘We were exploring the countryside, and happened upon this most interesting building.’
‘To which you gained access without permission,’ she shot back. ‘How did you get in?’
“With love’s light wings did I o’erperch these walls”,’ Julian said, dramatically.
‘That is from Romeo and Juliet.’ Cassandra Woodford correctly identified the quotation.
‘Then let me reply with something from Macbeth,’ Rosalind was quick to respond. ‘“Stand not upon the order of your going, but go at once”.’
‘Do not be rude to our guests, dear Lindy,’ Cassandra chastized gently.
‘Guests!’ Rosalind arched delicate eyebrows. ‘Did you invite them, then? I am very sure that I did not. And if love brought them hither, it must have been self-love — and it had better bear them hence just as lightly.’
‘No,’ the younger girl confessed, ‘I did not invite them, but they are here now and possibly tired from their long walk. Perhaps they would like some refreshment.’
‘Shall I fetch a pail of water, then?’
‘Your hospitality, Miss Woodford, is much appreciated.’ Richard ignored the last remark from Miss Powell. ‘But we do not wish to intrude where we are not welcome.’
‘Very wise of you,’ the dragon snapped.
‘Rosalind, remember that these gentlemen are strangers here.’ Cassandra smiled
once more. ‘As Christians, it is our duty to treat them with kindness.’
‘My dear Miss Woodford, you are all goodness.’ Julian stepped forward, at which the little pug growled once more.
‘Nor do I blame your companions for guarding you so fiercely. It is rather to their credit.’
With that, he knelt down and called to Welly to come to him. The little dog hesitated for a moment; then, quite unexpectedly, he trotted forward and sniffed Julian’s outstretched hand before sitting quietly and allowing the man to stroke his head.
‘Well,’ Richard commented, smiling, ‘at least one of your companions is not as ferocious as first appears.’
‘Has he made friends with Welly?’ Cassandra enquired, apparently very pleased. ‘You are honored, sir. There are not many people whom he favors.’
‘I am indeed fortunate, then.’
‘I trust,’ Cassandra offered, a little diffidently, ‘that you have not been too offended by your reception today.’
‘Not at all,’ Richard assured her. ‘Our introduction might have been unorthodox but it was most entertaining.’
‘Then you would not be averse to joining us for supper … perhaps tomorrow evening?’
‘Cassandra!’ Rosalind Powell was clearly shocked.
‘Despite Miss Powell’s disapproval,’ St George quipped, ‘I think I speak for us both when I say that we would be delighted to accept your invitation.’
* * * *
‘How could you do something so foolhardy, Cass!’ Rosalind cried, as soon as the two men made their exit the same way they had entered. She followed them to the garden door and made very sure that it was securely locked behind them.
‘I am having such fun, Lindy!’ the other girl answered, eyes and cheeks aglow. ‘You must not spoil it for me now.’
‘You know their purpose in coming here,’ her companion reminded her.
‘What do they look like?’ Cassandra asked, ignoring this unnecessary comment.
‘What matter is it how they look?’
‘Well, if they are rakes,’ she reasoned, ‘they must be at least passably good-looking.’
Rosalind hesitated, dwelling on the recent encounter. Her mind’s eye pictured precisely how the two men had looked. Julian Marchmont was well proportioned with hair almost as fair as Cassandra’s, though his eyes were brown rather than the expected blue which usually accompanies such a complexion. Richard St George, however, was another matter. A few inches taller than his friend, he had the bearing of an athlete, with broad shoulders and lean hips. His brown hair was styled à la Brutus and his attire was of a severe but exquisite cut which no provincial tailor had produced: Weston, probably. But it was his eyes which she remembered best. Pure hazel, there was a mocking gleam in them which she found extremely irritating.
Beth Andrews Page 3
