Falcon's Keep

by Henrietta Reid

  ‘Oh, Rikki!’ Ginny laughed in exasperation as she took down a silver bowl and began to arrange the greenish-cream blossoms.

  ‘All the same,’ Rikki continued, his voice suddenly serious, ‘I do feel there was something mighty fishy in her kind offer, but then maybe it’s only my nasty suspicious mind. I think I’ll pop upstairs and have a drink, perhaps it will make me break out in the Christmas spirit. ’

  When he had gone Ginny became absorbed in her arrangement, and it was only when after several attempts she had finally got it to her satisfaction that she became aware of the penetrating cold of the pantry with its slabbed floor and slate shelves. The warm fug of the kitchen would be welcome, she decided. Apart from that, Rikki’s half jocular remarks had given her a feeling of faint unease.

  As she pushed open the kitchen door she was met by great clouds of greasy black smoke. Coughing and spluttering in panic, she raced across the kitchen and flung open the oven door. She choked back a despairing sob as she saw that instead of being golden brown the bird was charred and blackened. How could it possibly have happened? she wondered. She had been so particular about setting the oven to the correct temperature. Then she glanced at the dial and realized with a sense of shock that the oven had been turned full on. She swung round to question Anthea, then realized that she was alone in the kitchen. So Rikki had been right, she thought dismally. Anthea had been determined that her efforts should end in failure.

  Later on when she had given the final touches to the table in the dining-room she wearily climbed the stairs to her room. Everyone would assume she was responsible for the charred turkey, and she could imagine the expressions of amazed disbelief if she should attempt to give the true explanation.

  Inside her room she gazed despondently at herself in the long mirror. Her hair was untidy and her nose had a distinct shine. Slowly she set about affecting repairs, dreading the moment when she must face them all.

  But when the moment came and the turkey was placed upon the table old Mr. Nicholas was kind. ‘You mustn’t feel too bad about it, Ginny my dear,’ he said. ‘After all, it isn’t completely inedible.’ Wearing a paper crown, he managed to look both benevolent and austere, and Ginny realized that he had been too courteous to mention that the turkey was both hard and dry.

  ‘Strange,’ Anthea mused, ‘you gave such an impression of being competent. I must say I was taken in. In fact I was getting quite an inferiority complex. ’

  ‘You, with an inferiority complex?’ Rikki asked incredulously. ‘Anyway, he added, ‘just how did this fiasco occur?’ He fixed an accusing glance on Anthea.

  She shrugged. ‘How should I know? I’ve never pretended to be domesticated.’ She turned towards Ginny. ‘But how did it happen, Ginny?’ she inquired sweetly. ‘You must tell us.’

  Ginny hesitated. Anthea was staring at her challengingly. She had flung down the gauntlet and Ginny longed to exonerate herself. A silence had fallen on the table and Ginny was the focus of interest. Suddenly overcome by weariness and confusion and the realization that no explanation was possible, she jumped to her feet and struggling with sobs raced from the room.

  The library door stood open and she went in and flung herself down, burying her head in one of the cushions.

  ‘Ginny darling!’ Luke’s voice held a tenderness she had never heard in it before. Slowly she turned her tear-stained face and looked at him in wonder.

  ‘I do wish you’d stop being kind and - and patronizing, as if I were a sort of stray who had wandered under your roof!’ she sniffed.

  ‘Now you’re being silly,’ he said mildly.

  She blew her nose and nodded. ‘I expect I am,’ she said in a muffled voice. ‘I had no right to take so much on my shoulders at the beginning. I expect,’ she added dolefully, ‘that it’s as Mrs. Clarkson used to say, I bit off more than I could chew.’

  ‘If you did, it was with the best of intentions,’ he said gently. ‘Not many people would have taken on such a burden at a moment’s notice. I had the strangest feeling too,’ he added slowly, ‘that there was more in the turkey incident than met the eye.’

  ‘I’d better go back into the dining-room,’ she said, getting to her feet hurriedly. ‘It was dramatic and stupid to run out like that. Are my eyes very red?’ she asked anxiously, turning her face up to his for inspection.

  Very gently he took her by both shoulders. ‘Not really,’ he said gravely. ‘They’re more like two rather damp stars.’

  She gave a little spurt of laughter at the extravagance of his remark.

  He raised his eyebrows. ‘I’ve made you laugh. I thought only Rikki could do that. ’

  ‘I expect it’s because it was so uncharacteristic. You’re not the kind of man who makes pretty speeches.’

  ‘You’re quite right,’ he said firmly. ‘I’m not. I’m convinced that actions speak louder than words.’ And before she was aware of his intention he had pulled her towards him, his lips meeting hers in a long kiss. ‘Now,’ he said at last, ‘am I still being kind?’

  CHAPTER EIGHT

  Perched on the window seat in the sitting-room, Ginny laid down her book and gazed out at the snow- blanketed ground. It was the time of day she liked best, when the room was beginning to fill with shadows and the wood fire leaped and crackled in the wide grate. The setting sun lingered behind the skeleton trees, outlining in jetty silhouette every thrust and turn of the branches.

  She had heard Luke’s car draw up on his return from London. He would probably have gone up to old Mr. Nicholas’s room, as he usually did, she surmised, and wondered vaguely what common grounds they met on. Or was it simply a cold and dutiful observance on Luke’s part? It was impossible to tell. To her his manner seldom lost its air of impenetrable reserve.

  She gave a little start as she saw a figure advance along the snow-covered drive, Something in the walk, with its faint swagger, was familiar, and it puzzled her as to where she had seen it before. Suddenly she remembered the Copper Kettle and Muriel Johnson’s slightly plump outline swaying provocatively towards them when she had gone there with

  Rikki. But why on earth was Muriel visiting Falcon’s Keep? she wondered with alarm. Well aware that she was not welcome, Muriel was not the type to believe in conciliatory methods. Was it possible she was bent on a show-down with Luke - the sort of encounter she would secretly enjoy, stormy and filled with recriminations?

  It was just then that Luke entered, a bundle of papers under his arm, pipe in mouth. ‘All alone in the dark, Ginny, with your nose pressed to the window? Why on earth don’t you switch on the light?’

  ‘It’s not really dark,’ Ginny said a little defensively. ‘I was watching the sun go down behind the trees. It’s exactly like an old-fashioned Christmas card: all that’s needed is ladies, hands in muffs, skating on the lake.’

  He looked at her quizzically and was about to say something when the bell clanged through the hall. He frowned, ‘I wonder who this can be: as far as I know we’re not expecting anyone.’

  It was on the tip of Ginny’s tongue to inform him who the visitor was, but she forbore, not altogether sure how he would receive the information.

  Mrs. Hingston appeared in the doorway. ‘There’s a person asking to see you, Mr. Luke,’ she said, her voice tight with disapproval.

  Luke glanced at her impatiently. ‘You sound like the voice of doom, Mrs. Hingston. Who is this person you so obviously disapprove of?’

  ‘A Mrs. Muriel Johnson,’ she said.

  Luke’s face stiffened and after a short pause, he said,

  ‘ Show her in, Mrs. Hingston. ’

  Ginny jumped to her feet, anxious to escape before Muriel should come into the room, but Luke said quickly, ‘Stay where you are, Ginny. As you’ve already met Mrs. Johnson and are perfectly aware of the circumstances there’s no reason for secrecy.’

  Reluctantly Ginny sank back on the window-seat, wondering if Luke were fully aware of the type of character he

  would have to deal w
ith in Muriel Johnson.

  The door opened again and for an instant Mrs. Hingston stood with averted eyes as Muriel paused in the entrance. In spite of the coldness of the day she wore a light figure-hugging coat of tangerine yellow. She looked brilliant and vivid: the cold had reddened her cheeks and her berry-brown eyes surveyed the room with a look of self-possessed insolence.

  Her glance moved from Luke to Ginny. ‘What I have to say to you, Luke Kendrick, doesn’t need an audience,’ she said brusquely.

  ‘I’m afraid I’m the one who decides that,’ he said easily.

  For a moment Ginny thought Muriel was going to do battle over this point, but she shrugged indifferently and advanced into the room. ‘Well, aren’t you going to ask me to take a chair, or am I to say my little piece standing?’

  ‘By all means, take a seat, Mrs. Johnson,’ Luke said quietly. ‘And may I ask why the bellicose attitude? Whatever you have to say, we can discuss quietly, and observe the proprieties as much as possible.’

  ‘If by that you mean you expect me to talk sweet ladylike nothings, you’ve another think coming, Luke Kendrick! I’m telling you straight to your face, you’re a rotten snob. You’re holding up Rikki’s money just because you think he’ll meet somebody more suitable later on. Well, you’re wrong there! Any girl worth her salt would spot right away that Rikki’s a light-weight, without a bit of initiative or backbone.’

  Luke tapped out his pipe thoughtfully. ‘Then why the anxiety to marry him?’

  ‘Because I happen to understand him. I like a good laugh and Rikki’s full of fun. Next time I marry it won’t be to a stodgy stick-in-the-mud like my last husband. That type may be worthy citizens, but they’re frightful bores to live with.’ She crossed her legs and regarded her well-shaped ankles with approval.

  ‘Just why have you come here, Mrs. Johnson?’ Luke asked suddenly. ‘What did you hope to gain from this visit?’

  His question seemed to jolt her out of her mood of placid self-satisfaction. She sat bolt upright, her eyes bitter, and said angrily, ‘Just to let you know that I’m dead serious about Rikki. If you don’t release his money, I’ll marry him without it, and let’s see what you’ll make of that, Mr. High-and-mighty Kendrick! The Copper Kettle is a nice little business. I admit Rikki won’t be much use in running it, but we’ll do quite well

  - anyway, I’ll be Mrs. Kendrick then and you’ll be forced to receive me whether you like it or not. When I marry Rikki it’s going to be no little hole-and-corner affair with me skulking down in Netley as though I had something to be ashamed of!’

  There was a long pause, then Luke said, ‘And haven’t you, Mrs. Johnson?’

  The colour left her cheeks with surprising suddenness. ‘What are you getting at?’ she asked with dangerous calm.

  He raised his eyebrows with an air of solicitous inquiry. ‘In spite of the fact that we lead a sheltered life here at the Keep, stories have percolated that don’t redound exactly to your credit. ’

  ‘So? What about it?’ she asked, her voice hoarse and raucous. ‘I’m not denying that I like a bit of company and I’m not particularly nice, but when I marry Rikki I’ll be one of the family and you’ll have to lump it whether you like it or not.’

  In her place by the window Ginny listened with growing dismay. It was clear to her that Luke’s aversion to his brother’s infatuation for Muriel stemmed from something more than mere snobbishness. on her own admission Muriel was generous with her favours and Ginny wondered if Rikki was aware of her reputation. People, she decided, might be reluctant to discuss such a matter with him, knowing of his infatuation. She felt, too, hotly aware of her own foolishness in impulsively calling Luke a snob. He had not even bothered to defend his own attitude then, obviously considering her too much of an outsider to merit any justification on his part.

  ‘So you see, Mrs. Johnson,’ Luke was saying with the same unhurried calm he had preserved throughout the interview, ‘even if you do decide to support my brother and become what you fondly imagine will be one of the family you’ll never set foot in Falcon’s Keep. The fact that the people of Netley may consider you ill-used and a victim of my snobbery won’t trouble me in the slightest, I can assure you, so it is useless to pursue your blackmailing methods as far as I’m concerned.’

  Muriel jumped to her feet, her eyes blazing. ‘Who are you to talk?’ she shouted, losing all control. ‘It’s well known that you’re crazy about that actress — and her living under the same roof, so cut out the holier-than-thou act with me, Mr. Luke Kendrick, for it doesn’t cut any ice, I can tell you that!’

  She turned and stamped from the room, crashing the door behind her.

  ‘Well,’ Luke exclaimed, calmly refilling his pipe, ‘that was quite a performance! I’d say she enjoyed herself thoroughly. But what’s the matter, Ginny? You look quite pale and shaken. ’

  Ginny laughed a little tremulously, and rising, crossed to the fire and knelt down on the thick sheepskin rug, warming her hands at the blaze. ‘It’s just that violent people can be rather disturbing, unless one enjoys it too, of course.’

  ‘And you don’t?’

  She shook her head. ‘At Clarkson’s we had rather a violent person too, a Mrs. Morley. She’d become simply furious if the toast was burnt or the potatoes were lumpy. She used to make me feel all trembly inside. I expect,’ Ginny added dolefully, her eyes on the blazing fire, ‘I’m the mouse-like type that people with strong personalities despise, the sort of person who wouldn’t say boo to a goose.’

  ‘Aren’t you getting your metaphors a little mixed?’ he asked.

  ‘Perhaps I am,’ she admitted, ‘but you know what I mean, don’t you?’

  He nodded, relighting his pipe, and contemplated her. ‘No one could look less like either a goose or a mouse than you do at this moment. In fact I can’t imagine anything more pleasant than having you as a fixture on my rug, someone to come home to every night, knowing you’d be kneeling there, the light shining on your hair and those velvety eyes of yours fixed on some dream-world of your own. ’

  She turned towards him swiftly. ‘Do you really mean that, Luke?’ Her voice was eager and shy with happiness.

  He raised his eyebrows. ‘Do I usually say things I don’t mean?’

  ‘No, but it might be just a consoling pat on the head, because I flung myself on your sympathy.’

  He leaned forward and placed his arm gently around her shoulders and she slowly tipped back until she was resting against him. ‘I’m not in the habit of patting girls on the head,’ he said softly. ‘I believe in a more direct method.’ She felt his lips touch her cheek. ‘As you’re so fond of animal comparisons, Ginny, what exactly am I, or have you not yet got around to classifying me?’

  Pressed close to his side, she smiled into the fire. ‘Oh, but I have. You remind me of an eagle.’

  ‘A bird of prey?’ he asked sardonically.

  She gave a small secret smile. ‘Perhaps you are a little, but mainly because you’re proud and free and master of your own fate.’

  Just then the door opened and Rikki swept in with his usual elan. ‘Do I disturb a scene of domestic bliss,’ he inquired, ‘or are you simply discussing the international situation?’

  Embarrassed, Ginny pulled away swiftly. Coolly Luke got to his feet. It was lucky, Ginny thought, that Muriel had so timed her visit to the Keep as to coincide with Rikki’s absence. It was obvious from Luke’s attitude that he had no intention of discussing the matter with his brother.

  At dinner that night, however, Anthea did not show a similar reserve. ‘Who was the girl in the tangerine coat who looked rather like an overblown Carmen?’ she inquired plaintively. ‘I know it’s really none of my business, but I’m simply bursting with curiosity. I saw her from my window and she looked simply furious.’

  ‘As you say,’ Luke returned mockingly, as though to take the sting out of the words, ‘it’s none of your business.’

  ‘Oh, don’t be such an old stuffed shirt, Luke,’
Rikki snapped irritably. ‘After all, she’s one of the family. I can’t see how you could have any possible objection to telling her who the wretched woman was.’

  Luke laid down his glass and contemplated his brother in silence. ‘Perhaps you’re right,’ he said slowly. ‘The wretched woman happened to be Muriel Johnson. ’

  ‘Muriel Johnson?’ Rikki echoed, shock robbing him of his usual sang-froid. ‘But what on earth was she doing here?’

  ‘Evidently determined to fight your battles,’ Luke said coldly.

  Anthea, who had been listening with parted lips, put in quickly, ‘So that was Rikki’s girl-friend - but she’s miles too old for you, Rikki dear. I could see that at a glance. When you marry it must be to somebody young and gay and utterly charming.’

  Rikki glanced at her, making no effort to disguise his dislike. ‘Like you, for instance?’ he asked viciously.

  Anthea’s heavy eyelids fluttered downwards with an air of mock embarrassment. ‘Dearest Rikki, always so gallant,’ she cooed, ‘but I’m sorry to disappoint you, you’re just not my

  typ’

  ‘No, I don’t expect I am. You’ve got your sights lined up on someone very different. ’

  ‘Now, now, children,’ Mrs. Clifford put in with a nervous laugh, ‘don’t let’s quarrel! Little birds in the nest should agree, shouldn’t they, Luke?’

  Luke glanced up. ‘Anthea, I see, is one of the very few women who can look furiously angry and beautiful at the same time. However, I agree, it’s definitely not an aid to digestion.’

  Rikki seemed not to have heard him and was on the point of launching another attack on Anthea when Mrs. Clifford said a little wildly, ‘I do believe it’s thawing. Spring will be on us any day now. I do so love the first flowers. I intend to gather masses of daffodils when they come up in the woods.’ She rambled on rather incoherently, but something in her monologue seemed to rivet Rikki’s attention.

  He gazed at her as though she had made a remark of breathtaking originality. ‘But you’re quite right, Mrs. Clifford,’ he said silkily. ‘Spring will soon be upon us, and spring is the time, if my memory doesn’t fail me, when a young lady’s fancy turns to the theatre.’ His glance returned to Anthea. ‘Isn’t it time you were going to London for that famous audition? I remember how eager you appeared when we discussed it before Christmas. You were simply bursting for the part then.’