Laurel babbled on, thrilled and excited by everything around her. It was nice to see her so animated, but I thought how she would have to pay for this over-excitement later on with those severe headaches she suffered with. I had no doubt she would be in bed for days with a painful migrain, but I supposed these few hours of breathlessness were worth it for her. I was glad someone was enjoying the ball. Paul wasn’t, and I doubted if Roderick Mellory really was, excepting his self-satisfaction. I certainly was not enjoying myself. My nostrils quivered with disapproval of all the waste and frivolity, but I tried not to let Laurel notice this.
After we had eaten, a young man came over and swept Laurel away to the strains of the music. In a moment the young soldier with golden hair asked me to dance. He was indeed tipsy, but he danced marvelously, his arm tight about my waist, his body moving with supple grace. He talked amusingly and whispered an indiscrete question in my ear. I merely laughed at him, smiling at his youthful enthusiasm. Everyone seemed to be dancing now. Couples crowded the floor, and I had lost sight of Laurel. A man with silver hair asked me to dance after the young soldier had left, and then another. I had no idea how long I danced, in the arms of one man after the other. It felt exhilarating to hold my head back, my eyes half closed, spinning around. My feet seemed winged, my body seemed without will, to be turned and whirled by the man who was leading me. For a while I thought about nothing but the music and the man who happened to be guiding me at the moment.
After what seemed like hours I began to tire, and I asked my partner to lead me over to one side of the room where people were standing, watching. A servant brought me a glass of champagne, and I did not have the will to refuse, although I was already giddy. I drank it too quickly and my head began to swim. I felt like I was floating, suspended over the ballroom, seeing everything from a height. I knew that I needed fresh air. I made my way blindly to the French doors that opened onto the terrace and gardens, walking very carefully and in fear that I would stumble and fall.
It was very cool outside, but the fresh air felt wonderful. Moonlight poured over the tiled terrace, and everything seemed to be dark blue shadow and wavering silver. I took several deep breaths. My head stopped spinning around, and I could feel my equilibrium returning. A path led down to the formal gardens. There were tall box shrubs and carefully trimmed rose bushes. A white marble fountain stood in the center of a clearing, sprays of misty water billowing like plumes, and I moved toward it slowly. All this was washed in moonlight. It was calm and serenely beautiful after the bright flamboyance of the ballroom. A bird sang prettily from the bough of a tree and I stood lost in thought, listening to the warbling of the bird and wondering what Nan would say when I told her about this evening.
I did not hear footsteps. He must have come very quietly, deliberately making no noise. He might have been standing there for a long time, observing me, for when he spoke he was standing beside a trellis, one hand on the wisteria vine, the other jammed in his pocket. It was a casual pose. Perhaps he had been there all the time, even before I came.
“A perfect picture of maiden in moonlight,” he said.
I whirled around, startled.
“No, no, don’t move. You spoil the picture. You look perfect just as you are, silhouetted against the fountain.”
“How dare you frighten me like that,” I snapped.
“I thought you were the woman who didn’t frighten.”
“Spare me your witticisms, Mr. Mellory.”
“I see you are not wearing the dress I sent,” he remarked, coming toward me in a lazy stride. “Did it not fit?” He laughed softly. “I thought I was rather good at judging a woman’s dress size.”
“You judged this woman wrong,” I retorted.
“Really? I must say the dress you are wearing is quite nice. The color is very becoming, even in moonlight. Tell me, are you enjoying the ball?”
“I—it’s very lavish.” I hoped my voice showed my disdain.
“Indeed it is. You don’t like lavish things?”
“I’m afraid not.”
“The simple life for you. A little home in the country and the sounds of cocks crowing in the morning. Is that really your kind of thing, Miss Todd? I can imagine you in far more elegant surroundings.”
“I see no point in discussing it with you.”
“With what I would give you for Dower House you could have many elegant things. You could travel to Europe. You could wear fine gowns. You could become a young woman of fashion.”
“I’m sure your offer is very generous, Mr. Mellory, but I’ve told you before that I have no intentions of selling Dower House.”
“You and I are going to fight, you know,” he said in a low voice.
“I’m prepared for that.”
“I fight dirty.”
“I’m prepared for that, too.”
“You think you can win against me?”
“I shall try.”
He was standing directly in front of me, his hands resting on his hips and his legs spread far apart. The jacket of his suit fell open, exposing the silverstitched blue vest that fit tightly across his wide chest. He was staring into my eyes, his own filled with something dark that I could not read. I could not look away. I could not give him that satisfaction. For a long time we stood like that, then Roderick Mellory began to smile. I could hear the music from the distance, a soft, muted sound that was not as loud as the bird’s song.
“I do admire your will,” he said. “It’s rare.”
“Will you step aside, Mr. Mellory? I think I shall leave.”
“Where is your escort—the gallant Mr. Ingram?”
“He had to leave. A child became ill at the school.”
“I see. It seems I am always finding you without escorts,” he said, referring to that day at the May Fete. “It seems a shame, an attractive and personable lady like you.” He was working slowly now, trying to irritate me further. His voice was gentle, sincere, but the smile on his lips was cynical.
“Your sister said one of your carriages would take me home,” I said.
“I will see to that—later.”
“I would like to leave now,” I replied, stressing the last word.
“But you are my guest,” he said, his voice mocking, “and I must be a good host. You’ve seen the ballroom, you’ve tasted the food, and you’ve drunk the champagne, but you haven’t danced with me yet.”
“I’ll gladly forgo that pleasure.”
“But I won’t,” Roderick Mellory said, pulling me into his arms. With a quick series of motions he had propelled me into a dance, and I could not do anything but follow his lead. His arm was like a tight vise around my waist, and his free hand gripped my wrist. I struggled for a moment, helplessly, then, realizing the futility of my efforts, I let him do as he desired, whirling me around over the smooth surface of the ground. The music was far away, soft, but he moved in perfect time. Moonlight poured over us as we circled the fountain.
I closed my eyes, trying to resist the power of the man as best I was able. I moved rigidly, refusing to relax, and his arm tightened about my waist. “Relax,” he whispered in my ear, “just relax,” and in a moment I was relaxing, against my will, moving as he moved, swept away as in a trance. He was a wonderful dancer, masterful yet fluid in his movements. I felt his body against mine, and I felt his strength, and it seemed that I had no will, no being, no power to do anything but melt against him and be what he wanted me to be.
My head felt dizzy, and my wrists felt weak, and I tried to fight the sheer pleasure of the moment. I hate him, I hate him, I told myself, over and over, but another me, momentarily stronger, came alive, causing each nerve to tingle. I could not open my eyes. I could not catch my breath. I could only yield to the moment and savor it with all my body.
He stopped. I was too weak to move. I rested against his chest for a moment, trying to pull myself together. Roderick Mellory put his hands on my shoulders and pushed me away, gently.
“The
re,” he said. “I’ve done my duty.”
I could not speak, nor could I look up at him.
“You are an excellent partner,” Roderick Mellory said. “A little like a thoroughbred filly, though. A thoroughbred has too much spirit, and the spirit must be broken before the true grace will show.”
“You haven’t broken my spirit.”
“Not entirely. Not yet.”
“You are insufferably rude.”
My voice trembled slightly. He had won. I had given in when we were dancing, reluctantly allowing him his little victory. Reluctantly? I wondered. At first, yes, I had fought him, but later—I refused to examine that too closely. I closed my mind to it.
“You are trembling,” he said.
I tried to still myself.
“Look up at me.” It was an order.
I kept my eyes closed tightly, refusing to obey.
Roderick Mellory wrapped his fingers around my chin and tilted my head up. I looked up at his face through fluttering lashes. Every feature was distinct in the moonlight. I saw the strangely attractive hump on his nose and the eyebrows, demonically arched over his eyes like dark wings. I saw his smile, and my cheeks flushed hot with shame. His smile was one of pure self-satisfaction. It was like a leer.
I drew away from him, anger replacing any other emotions I might have felt.
“You are loathsome,” I said. “Loathsome.”
“And you are very young, very unwise.”
“What they say about you is true. You are a devil.”
“Don’t make me fight you. Don’t do that.”
“A devil—” I repeated.
“I will hurt you. You won’t like that.”
“I don’t believe you have the power to hurt me,” I replied, as firmly as I could.
“No?” he asked, his voice gently mocking.
“No!” I retorted.
He pulled me into his arms, very casually, almost without interest in what he was doing, it seemed. He swung me around, fitting my body against his, one arm wrapped loosely about my waist, the other enfolding my shoulders. He held his face over mine, looking into my eyes. His own were dark and glittering with amusement. His lips curled into that ironic smile, and then they covered my mouth. It had all happened too quickly for me to struggle. After his lips began to move firmly over mine I lost any will to even try to resist him. I would have fallen but for his arms holding me against his body.
He released me abruptly. I staggered for a moment but managed to stand. He laughed quietly. I dared not look at his face again.
“I will send for a carriage, Miss Todd,” he said. “It will be waiting for you in front in a few minutes. You can go home now.”
Roderick Mellory left, sauntering away with his hands in his pockets. He continued to laugh quietly, and the sound rang in the quietness of the garden. I heard his footsteps pass across the tiled terrace, and there was a loud burst of music as he opened the French doors. I stood alone in the garden, surrounded by wavering moonlight and heavy blue shadows. The bird had stopped singing, and it was very still. There was only the sound of my own rapid, uneven breathing.
XI
THE SKY WAS the color of ashes. A stain of color began to spread on the horizon. I watched the faint orange penetrate the veils of gray. I had been sitting here at the window for hours, still in my ball gown, looking out at the night. A cock crowed in the distance, far away, a mournful sound, I thought. Peter lay curled at my feet, sleeping soundly, his silver coat all sleek and glossy from the bath Nan had given him last night. She was asleep when I came in, and I had not awakened her. I had not felt like talking. I had not felt like sleeping. I had sunk into the chair by the window, glad of the darkness and silence.
The darkness was going now. It had rained during the night and now fine veils of mist hung over the ground, like shrouds, I thought. The trees were tall, skeletal figures, half hidden by the mist. The cock crowed again and the light changed from orange to gold, penetrating the mist. I saw a farmer going slowly down the road, leading his cow, and three men with hoes walked across a field, moving slowly and lethargically at this early hour. I heard a banging noise in the kitchen and knew that Nan must be up. My solitude had ended, and I was sorry for that.
Peter stirred uncomfortably in his sleep and then raised his head, looking up at me with large, thoughtful eyes. I stroked his head. I knew without consulting a mirror that my cheeks were wan, my face colorless. My gown was crushed and rumpled from my night vigil, but I did not care. I would not ever wear it again. I stood up, bracing myself on the chair, surprised that I had the energy to move. I felt depleted. Even the slight task of getting out of the chair seemed to take more energy than I possessed. I stood for a moment, swaying a little as I felt the blood rushing through my numb body.
Nan came into the room, rubbing her eyes sleepily. A white lace cap was perched precariously over her tousled gold curls. When she saw me, a little cry escaped her lips, and she hurried to my side. She started to ask a dozen questions, but I raised my hand up in protest. She knew that questions would be futile, and she grew very calm, even dictatorial in an effort to take the situation in hand.
“You must get in bed—that lovely dress, all rumpled like that! How could you—and rest up. Your face is as white as, I don’t know what. I am going to make a pot of coffee and some breakfast; we have ham, and I’ll scramble some eggs. Now you go on up and change.”
“I’m all right, Nan. Don’t be so bossy. Breakfast sounds lovely. I will be all right after I have some food.”
“Whatever happened?”
“I came home. I didn’t feel like sleeping. I sat up, watched the sun come up.”
“Well, I must say …”
“Don’t say anything. Just hurry with that coffee.”
Nan’s boisterous attitude and her lively comments helped me to brace-up. After all, I told myself, life would go on. I had had an argument with Greg, and I had made a fool of myself before Roderick Mellory. I had spent half the night thinking about it, feeling humiliated, then angrily upbraiding myself, then feeling hurt, then puzzled. Continuing to brood about it could do me no good. I could not forget what had happened, but I certainly had better sense than to let it throw me into a fit of dejection. I would solve the problem of Greg somehow, and there would be another encounter with Roderick Mellory. The next time I would show him.
I brushed my hair angrily, thinking of the Master of Phoenix Hall. Spots of color came into my cheeks, and good, healthy anger made even the lack of sleep unimportant. As I walked down the stairs the tangy smells of coffee and ham made me feel even better. I felt full of life and energy, thoroughly revived. Activity, much activity, would be the best thing for me today. I quickened my step, full of good intentions. I would clean out the cupboards, wax and polish the floor, and perhaps, if there was time, I could do some weeding in the garden. If I kept busy enough, there would be no time to think.
Nan was bursting with all the questions I had not allowed her to ask earlier. We sat at the table, eating the slices of thick, juicy ham and the fluffy yellow eggs she had cooked. After a cup of the steaming coffee I felt more like satisfying some of Nan’s curiosity, but only some. She was primarily interested in the people and the dancing, and I gave her a much abridged account of the evening, merely by saying that Greg had been called away and that Laurel Mellory had furnished a carriage for the ride home. I told her about Lady Miriam Alton, and her eyes grew wide with amazement when I described Lady Miriam’s gown and her jewels.
“She’s a notorious hussy,” Nan commented. “It would serve Mellory right if she bagged him. What a scandal, her married and all! Wouldn’t it be glorious if they ran away together?”
“And what did you do last night?” I asked a little later.
“I bathed Peter. He gave such howls, but isn’t his coat shiny? And, oh yes, Billy Johnson came to call. We—uh—took a walk.” This last was said rather evasively. “That Billy Johnson! He gets fresher every time I see him!”<
br />
She spread strawberry jam on a biscuit, preferring to dismiss Billy Johnson from the conversation, but I noticed the twinkle in her eyes and the sly little smile on her lips. I wondered just what had happened during that walk.
I took a sip of my coffee. Ironically, it seemed I had never felt better in my life. From where I sat I could look through the window and see part of the granite quarry behind the house. The sun had completely evaporated the mists now and it sparkled and glittered on the sharp gray stones. There was certainly nothing forbidding about the quarry this morning. I thought about what Paul Mellory had said, and I was suddenly filled with an irresistible urge to explore all those quarries he had spoken of. It was a dazzling beautiful day, and the sunshine and exercise would do me good, I reasoned.
“Nan,” I said, “we’ve never explored the quarries.”
“Who’d want to?” she said without enthusiasm. “I see enough of it every day—ugly pit of a thing with all those rocks.”
“But there are others,” I said.
“Of course. More of the same thing. Spoiling the countryside.”
“Wouldn’t it be nice to get out of the house for a while? We could take Peter with us. It’s such a lovely day.”
“I thought we were going to polish the floors and straighten up the cupboards?”
“We can do that any time. Where’s your spirit of adventure?”
Nan looked up at me sharply. She must know that this sudden desire of mine to explore the quarries was not usual. She probably suspected an ulterior motive, but she decided to indulge me. I did not want to go tracking off alone, and her lively company would make the jaunt pleasant instead of arduous.
The sky was a luminous white, only slightly washed with blue, as we skirted the quarry behind Dower House. Peter ran on ahead, barking lustily as he scampered over the vivid green grass that grew down to the edge of the pit. I had really had no idea how large the quarry was before. It loomed below us, a great vast pit like a wound in the earth. Some of the gray rocks were tinted with violet and blue, crusted with radiant chunks of mica. We were on the far side now. Across the yawning chasm Dower House looked very small, like some child’s toy perched there, surrounded by tiny trees and small patches of garden.
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