Beth Andrews

by St. Georgeand the Dragon

  In the end, it was afternoon before he sealed his missive and dispatched it with a servant. He sat alone for some time after that. He had no compunction about their undertaking, as Julian seemed to have. He would win this wager by whatever means was necessary. Yet, for the first time, he began to examine his motives — to question himself.

  At first their enterprise had been a mere diversion, an anodyne for a persistent malaise, the cause of which he could provide with neither a name nor an explanation. But now he was feeling something stir inside himself. It was something which he had not felt in a long time — so long that he scarcely recognized it. It was passion. For the chase, of course. Purely for the pleasure of hunting his quarry, for the thrill of conquest. That was all. Yes, surely, that was all.

  Chapter Eight

  It was two days more before the men returned to Folbrook Abbey. Julian would have paid their visit the previous day, as had originally been proposed, but Richard advised him that it would not be in their interests to seem over-eager. The ladies were already too much inclined to mistrust them.

  In the end, it was almost noon when they knocked at the massive oak door which served as the main portal. It was not many minutes before Debenham appeared. He was polite but not cordial when he perceived them standing there. Whatever the women might feel, it was plain that here was someone not at all pleased to see them.

  ‘Good morning.’ Richard was amused rather than annoyed by the butler’s wooden countenance. ‘Would you be kind enough to inform Miss Woodford and Miss Powell that we are here?’

  Before Debenham could reply, a burst of feminine laughter echoed through the hall. It appeared to come from a room to their left, and there was little doubt who had made so gay a sound in the stately residence.

  ‘If you will excuse me,’ Debenham said, ‘I shall see if the young ladies are receiving visitors at this time.’

  With that, he turned and proceeded at a funereal pace in the direction of the laughter, which they could still hear — though somewhat less pronounced than before. In a very few moments he returned.

  ‘This way, gentlemen.’

  Behind his back, Richard and Julian exchanged glances of mutual mirth which they could scarcely contain. He had obviously agreed to conduct them under duress. They followed him to a door, at which they paused as another outburst of laughter greeted them.

  ‘Mr St George and Mr Marchmont,’ Debenham announced.

  The two young women were seated together on a sofa, trying to stifle their gaiety as the men approached. A large volume lay open upon Miss Powell’s lap.

  ‘That must be a most entertaining book,’ Julian suggested, as he and St George bowed their greetings.

  ‘It is much more than that!’ Miss Powell answered, her lovely lips still tilted up at the corners.

  ‘May one enquire what has produced such merriment?’ St George asked.

  ‘We are reading from the prophet Ezekiel,’ Cassandra informed them.

  ‘The Bible?’ Julian was taken aback at this.

  ‘I do not recall the Old Testament being particularly humorous,’ his friend commented, drily.

  ‘I dare say that it has been a long time since you have opened the Bible, sir.’

  ‘I cannot deny it.’

  ‘But you are both come at the very moment when your knowledge can be of great use to us!’

  ‘It is always a pleasure to oblige you, Miss Woodford,’ Julian gushed.

  Miss Powell directed them to be seated, which offer they immediately accepted.

  ‘In what way can we assist you, ma’am?’ St George directed his question at Rosalind as he settled into his chair.

  ‘We were discussing the precise meaning of a passage in the twenty-third chapter, concerning two sisters called Aholah and Aholibah.’

  ‘What frightful names they had in those days,’ Julian commented irrelevantly.

  ‘Most exotic,’ Miss Powell admitted. She paused a moment, turning back the page to quote correctly: ‘ “Yet she multiplied her whoredoms, in calling to remembrance the days of her youth, wherein she had played the harlot in the land of Egypt. For she doted upon their paramours, whose flesh is as the flesh of asses, and whose issue is like the issue of horses. Thus thou calledst to remembrance the lewdness of thy youth, in bruising thy teats by the Egyptians for the paps of thy youth”.’

  Both men sat in silence through this recitation. Julian, Richard noticed with real amusement, could not have been more shocked had the two women removed their garments and paraded naked before them. Having seen more than one nude female in his short lifetime, it would not have been half so startling as this unprecedented situation. It was he who first broke the silence, however.

  ‘Upon my word!’ he exclaimed, ‘I do not think such passages are proper reading for young ladies.’

  ‘Why not, sir?’ Cassandra enquired, all innocence.

  ‘I thought it most ... informative,’ her companion added.

  ‘Rather too informative, I should say.’

  ‘I believe that the Jewish rabbis do not allow even young men to study such passages,’ Richard explained. ‘One must be of a certain age before it is considered appropriate.’

  ‘That may be very well for the Jews,’ Rosalind opined, ‘but we are Christians.’

  ‘Hardly an argument in favour of such literature.’

  ‘Oh dear, Cassandra! Our guests,’ Rosalind lamented, ‘are offended by our hoydenish behaviour.’

  ‘You must forgive us, gentlemen,’ Miss Woodford hastened to explain. ‘We are quite isolated here, and once we bade farewell to the last unlamented tutor, we have been encouraged to read whatever we like. I fear that we have not the least notion of how young ladies in the fashionable world behave.’

  Rosalind clenched her fingers and leaned her chin upon them, regarding the men with an air which seemed to Richard somewhat patronizing — not to say contemptuous.

  ‘It seems that we are neither silly nor insipid enough to satisfy society’s high sticklers,’ she said.

  ‘It is as well that we are not soliciting vouchers for Almack’s.’

  ‘Were you to quote anything so warm before one of the lady patronesses, you would certainly not set foot there again,’ St George agreed.

  ‘It all sounds horridly dull.’ Cassandra shook her head in some surprise. ‘I am beginning to think we miss nothing by remaining in the country.’

  ‘St George would probably agree with you there.’ Julian glanced at his friend.

  ‘I would not have thought you an admirer of the bucolic, sir,’ Rosalind said.

  ‘Any scene can give pleasure, where the company is as fine as this, Miss Powell.’ He looked directly into her eyes. ‘I assure you that I would much rather be here with you at this moment than anywhere I know of in Town.’

  ‘It is a beautiful day outside,’ Julian said, suddenly inspired. ‘Would you not enjoy a turn about the courtyard?’

  The ladies both agreed that they would not object to leaving the confines of the house. They required only a few minutes to fetch their bonnets against the depredations of the summer sun, if the gentlemen would but excuse them....

  * * * *

  ‘Can you believe that those two have been allowed to read such stuff!’ Julian said to his friend, as soon as they were alone in the room.

  ‘I imagine they have pretty much been allowed to run loose, so far as the restraints of the abbey permit.’ Richard rubbed his chin. ‘Mr Woodford has doubtless been too busy with his financial interests to supervise his daughter’s education very closely.’

  ‘It is a pity he has neglected his duties,’ Julian asserted piously.

  ‘It would have been a greater pity had those two been cut into the featureless silhouettes which are all that most young ladies seem to be nowadays.’

  ‘I never heard such speeches from the lips of any female I have ever known,’ Julian protested. ‘No decent woman would have spoken so. And yet I would have sworn them to be perfectly modest and
chaste.’

  ‘More so than most women of my acquaintance.’

  ‘Then how to explain such coarseness?’ Julian shook his head in bewilderment. ‘Mama would have swooned had she heard such sentiments from my sister.’

  ‘Frankly, I found it most refreshing.’ St George stood and walked over to the arched window looking out on a walled rose garden in full bloom. ‘They neither are, nor pretend to be, ignorant and empty-headed misses.’

  ‘I never knew that such verses could be found in the Bible,’ Julian confessed, joining him. ‘I think I must speak to the vicar about this.’

  St George chuckled softly. Julian was still an innocent himself, in some respects. Perhaps that was one of the reasons his young friend did not bore him. He yet retained his youthful ability to be shocked by things which had long ceased to amaze the older man. He was also capable of an enthusiasm which was quite charming at times. It had been a long time since Richard St George had experienced the same rush of excitement and expectation — until now.

  ‘The vicar is probably far more worldly than you are, stripling,’ he commented on Julian’s last words. ‘Indeed, there is a worldliness about the Church these days which would be amusing, were it not so deadly.’

  ‘Perhaps you should be in the pulpit yourself,’ Julian snapped a reply, probably not best pleased at this comparison.

  ‘I think I would have made an excellent preacher. Although,’ he added, smiling, ‘if there were many young ladies in my congregation as fascinating as Miss Powell, I might well forget my high calling.’

  ‘I hardly know how to speak to Miss Woodford after this morning,’ Julian complained.

  ‘If you can contrive to get her alone,’ St George suggested, ‘you might fare better. She is more receptive to your charms than her attendant dragon.’

  * * * *

  It was indeed a lovely summer day. The courtyard, with its splashing fountain and columned walk seemed to epitomize serenity and harmony. Even Welly, who accompanied them, had accepted the two men. For the most part, he ignored their presence. But when he encountered them at all, he was more likely to give a friendly sniff at their boots or to look up at them in anticipation of having his head scratched.

  ‘I have often wondered what the sunshine must look like.’

  Cassandra looked up, unseeing, into the bright sky with its tufts of white here and there. ‘I can feel its warmth, but it is difficult to understand how it illumines everything.’

  ‘You must think of it as a warm, gentle hand,’ Julian suggested. ‘It touches each object, just as your own hands examine the shape and feel of everything. But the sunshine communicates those qualities to us without us having to touch them ourselves.’

  ‘Well put,’ Rosalind said. ‘You have a way with words, Mr Marchmont. It is a great gift which can be cruelly abused.’

  ‘While we waited for you,’ St George said, ‘I spied a rose garden through the window. Shall we venture there?’

  ‘There are several gardens within these walls,’ Rosalind told him. ‘I would be happy to show them to you, if you wish.’

  ‘I do indeed.’ She was much more approachable today. It boded well for his plans.

  ‘The sun is hotter than I had expected.’ It was Julian who spoke now. ‘Would you not prefer to sit here in the shade, Miss Woodford? I would not wish you to over-exert yourself.’

  ‘It is a trifle warm,’ Cassandra agreed. ‘But I would not wish to keep you confined here on my account.’

  ‘Nonsense!’ St George interjected. ‘Julian is not such a lover of nature as I am. I am sure he will be happy to remain here with you while Miss Powell guides me through your delightful grounds.’

  ‘I do not think I should leave you, Cass,’ Rosalind protested.

  ‘She will be perfectly safe with me,’ Julian reassured her. ‘I promise to keep her reasonably well entertained.’

  ‘You see, Lindy?’ Cassandra gave a mischievous smile. ‘There is nothing at all to worry about.’

  ‘You are very kind, sir,’ Rosalind said to Julian, with an unconvincing attempt at politeness. ‘But I really cannot importune a guest—’

  ‘Believe me, ma’am,’ he interrupted, ‘it is no hardship to spend an afternoon in the company of a lovely and intelligent young lady.’

  In the end, Miss Powell acquiesced. Whatever misgivings she might secretly harbor, there was little she could do when her young charge was as insistent as anyone. Gingerly taking the arm which Richard offered, she escorted him out of the cloistered courtyard and around a corner of the building, where they immediately came upon the rose garden. It was set out like a wheel, with a sundial at the centre and narrow paths radiating out from it like spokes. Between the paths were rose beds in alternating colours of yellow, red, pink and white. A slight breeze wafted their fragrance up to them as they crossed into the centre.

  So far they had not spoken. Miss Powell seemed in a somewhat taciturn frame of mind, no doubt still smarting from having been out-manoeuvred. As for Richard, for the first time in years he was uncertain what to say to a woman. This one was no ordinary female, but one quite out of the common way. He bent to touch a deep-red rose nodding beside the path.

  ‘The symbol of love,’ he commented.

  ‘Mind the thorns,’ Rosalind warned, prosaic as ever.

  ‘You are clearly not of a romantic disposition, Miss Powell.’

  She shrugged slightly. ‘The abbey has all the trappings of romance, but it is a building like any other.’

  ‘I beg to disagree, ma’am.’ He checked the time on the sundial, noting that it was almost two o’clock in the afternoon. ‘Not every house is so grand, and not many buildings can boast such lovely inhabitants.’

  ‘Ah!’ The look she gave him was one of contemptuous amusement. ‘Now comes the flummery.’

  ‘Which is of no avail with a dragon.’

  ‘Dragon?’ She looked taken aback at this. Then, with a rueful grimace, ‘I suppose I can be rather a fearsome creature.’

  ‘My knees knock together at the thought of your wrath,’ he quipped.

  ‘Permit me to doubt that, sir.’

  ‘So fair a Diana might well weaken the knees of the strongest man.’

  ‘I wonder if your friend is treating Cassandra to the same Spanish coin?’ she mused aloud.

  He laughed. ‘You refuse to be flattered, I see.’

  ‘You seem to be of a mind to play the role of Don Giovanni.’ She stood on the other side of the sundial, and seemed as stiff and stony as that object. ‘But I am no Donna Elvira, sir.’

  ‘You are immune to the tender passion, Miss Powell?’ He traced the roman numerals on the round stone. ‘Yet Donna Elvira ended her days in a convent. And here you are, already residing in an abbey.’

  ‘There the resemblance between us ends. I am not such a fool as to pine for a noble lover, however dashing or handsome he may be.’

  ‘You never dream of a handsome knight who would sweep you off your feet and into his strong arms?’ he quizzed.

  She opened her parasol with a snap. ‘Any man I might allow myself to dream of would more likely resemble Don Quixote than Don Juan.’

  ‘An old dotard?’ he enquired, in some surprise. What next would this woman say?

  ‘A man who — whatever his age or appearance — has a noble soul,’ she countered. ‘Don Juan would bore me to tears very quickly. But life with Don Quixote would be one adventure after another.’

  ‘You long for adventure then?’

  She did not deign to answer this, but turned her back on him and began to walk on, saying that there was more to see in the garden. He followed in her wake at first, but soon caught up with her, in spite of her swift strides. They traversed a small Elizabethan knot garden, which she said had been painstakingly designed by an antiquarian with a love of herbs. She did not rest here, however. He guessed that she was eager to bring this period of enforced intimacy to an end as soon as possible, but he had other ideas.

  Pas
sing through a vine-covered arbour, they came next to an open terraced garden, with a rectangular pool filled with water lilies in shades of pink and white. A bench was placed at either end, the better to enjoy the view. In the centre was the nude statue of a Greek athlete, who seemed to be throwing a javelin in the direction of the small orchard beyond. Richard supposed that these gardens provided some variety to the confined space behind the cloistered walls of the abbey.

  ‘Would you not care to rest for a few moments, Miss Powell?’ He indicated the conveniently placed bench.

  She declined the offer, adding that she was not in the least fatigued and was quite ready to continue on.

  ‘That is a fine grove of fruit trees,’ he said, conventionally.

  ‘Apples and pears, for the most part.’ He was sure that she was well aware he was gently mocking her, but never would she rise to his carefully dangled bait.

  ‘This water garden is enchanting as well.’

  ‘Indeed.’

  They were standing directly before the statue. It was slightly smaller than life-sized, and set on a pedestal, so that the waist was roughly at the level of their sight. He glanced from Rosalind to the very prominent portion of the male anatomy before him.

  ‘I do not believe,’ he said, ‘that you ever stated your question in regard to the verses from Ezekiel which you were reading earlier.’

  He watched her color rise, despite her best efforts. ‘How odd!’ she declared - quite mendaciously, he thought. ‘I have quite forgotten what we were discussing earlier.’

  ‘The subject,’ he obliged, ‘was a comparison between adultery and idolatry.’ He warmed to his theme. ‘There was some reference to harlots and teats. But perhaps you had some difficulty with the analogies referring to the male physique.’

  She was quite red now, but attempted to recover herself. ‘It is of no matter, sir, I assure you.’

  ‘No, no,’ he contradicted. ‘Knowledge is never something to be spurned, my dear Miss Powell. Allow me to enlighten you, I pray. As a man myself, I can provide insights of which you may be quite ignorant.’