Ariadne's Diadem

by Sandra Heath

  The pony trap was conveying a rather nervous Mrs. Jenkins home after her visit to her sister. She had been chattering quite happily until the bolt of lightning startled her into silence. Now she glanced uneasily up at the flawless sky and shrank a little closer to her unruffled brother-in-law, who was too wise a countryman to be surprised at anything Mother Nature chose to do. Lightning out of a clear sky? Why not? There were stranger things at sea. So he stoically tooled the stocky pony along the lane, watching the animal’s pricked ears and fat rump, but then he reined in surprisedly as the top hat appeared in the beam of the lamps.

  He climbed down to inspect it, and as he brought it to the lamp, Mrs. Jenkins gave a cry of dismay and clambered down as well. “It’s Miss Anne’s! Oh, no, was she struck by the lightning?”

  “Don’t be daft, woman, for if that had happened, she’d be lying here all crisped to a cinder!” he replied.

  “Oh, mercy on us, don’t say such things!” cried Mrs. Jenkins, now in more of a fluster than ever.

  As they glanced around, a strong stir of wind fluttered the white scarf on the hawthorn bush. Mrs. Jenkins’s dismay increased. “That’s her scarf—only Miss Anne wears lace like that!” she gasped, and gathered her skirts to hurry into the meadow.

  “Come back, woman,” grumbled her brother-in-law, but she took no notice, and so he followed her, grumbling all the time about foolish old fowls that flapped about anything and nothing.

  There was another gust of wind, and this time it rattled a loose timber on the barn. Mrs. Jenkins’s gaze flew toward the sound, and as she looked, she heard a soft moan. Alarmed, she ran toward the barn, where she found Anne beginning to stir.

  “Oh, Miss Anne, Miss Anne, whatever has happened?”

  “I don’t really know,” Anne confessed, her brow wrinkling in puzzlement. Why on earth was she in the barn? She didn’t remember anything, except riding along the riverbank toward the bridge.

  “Are you injured?” asked the anxious housekeeper, kneeling down beside her.

  “No, except for a little bruising. To be truthful, I simply feel as if I’ve been asleep.” She also felt strangely warm and relaxed, as if something exceedingly agreeable had just taken place, although she couldn’t imagine what.

  Mrs. Jenkins’s brother-in-law helped Anne to her feet, and she smiled a little foolishly as she brushed the hay from her riding habit. “I feel perfectly all right,” she assured them both.

  “Are you well enough to walk to the trap?” the housekeeper asked.

  “Yes, I’m sure I am.”

  Sylvanus and Gervase had observed everything from the safety of the hedgerow, and at each gust of wind the faun had shivered, for he knew it was the work of the god of wild nature. Once Anne had been helped back to the trap, which then continued swiftly along the road toward Llandower, the secret watchers emerged. Sylvanus breathed out with relief as the pinpricks of light disappeared along the land. “Well, she’s safe now,” he declared.

  Gervase gave him an angry look. “And still a virgin, although no thanks to you!”

  “I didn’t touch her!” protested the faun indignantly.

  “Maybe not personally, but you certainly saw to it that I did!” snapped Gervase, overcoming a strong impulse to bring a clenched fist down upon each of Sylvanus’s horns in turn.

  The faun shuffled penitently. “I know, and I’m sorry. I just couldn’t help trying to use a shortcut. You see, I knew that you and she would be helpless to resist my power, and I foolishly thought my master wouldn’t be watching, but he was. He knew I’d be disobedient again, and I proved him right. I’m a very bad faun.”

  “I’ll go along with that statement,” Gervase replied with feeling as he ran his fingers through his hair. ‘Tell me something, Sylvanus, is there anything you can do properly? Apart from incite two total strangers into conduct that would surely have culminated in full intercourse if it hadn’t been for divine intervention! How dare you make me do what I did in that damned barn! I didn’t feel in control, thanks to you, and it wasn’t a feeling I appreciated. In future I want to be left to my own devices.

  “Don’t worry, you will be!” The faun thought a moment, and then gave a cheeky grin. “I must say she was more enthusiastic than I expected. You’re in luck, you know, for she’s far from being cold!”

  “So it would seem,” Gervase murmured, remembering every little caress, every little sigh. He looked at the faun. “Why did I think we were in a wheat field?”

  “Wheatfield?” Sylvanus shrugged. “I don’t know, unless, of course, she has a deep longing to make love like that. Yes, that’s probably it”

  “Really?” Gervase raised an eyebrow. Miss Anne Willowby was becoming more interesting by the moment.

  “She’s almost as sensuous as a nymph. Almost, but not quite,” the faun added approvingly.

  Gervase didn’t reply. Sensuous? Yes, she was that, more sensuous than any woman he’d ever held. As they began to walk back toward Llandower, he wondered a little more about the wheat field, and whether or not a specific lover figured in the scheme of things. At this thought a pang of something akin to jealousy struck through him, for whoever Anne Willowby imagined herself to be with, it wouldn’t be the late un-lamented Gervase Mowbray, who had treated her so casually and arrogantly.

  He knew he had no right to feel jealous—indeed he could hardly believe that was how he was feeling—but something had happened to him from the moment he looked into her wonderful eyes.

  Chapter Eight

  After spending the remainder of that night in the rotunda talking with Sylvanus—learning of the lies Hugh had told the Neapolitan authorities, and learning too a great deal that was new to him about Roman mythology, but failing to decide upon a course for winning Anne’s heart— at dawn Gervase was obliged to resume his place on the plinth. Sylvanus curled up on the bench in the greatcoat, grumbling constantly until at last he fell asleep.

  Not long after first light the weather changed for the worse, becoming cold, windy, and very wet. A Monmouth doctor was summoned by Mrs. Jenkins to examine Anne, and left again shortly afterward having found nothing wrong with her. Anne informed the housekeeper about the letters she’d received from London, and of her decision to accept this new ninth duke. The rather startled Mrs. Jenkins could only wonder again what lay behind the match, for as sure as eggs were eggs, it wasn’t love!

  The day went on, and the presence of the statue remained undetected. No one glanced out from Llandower’s upper windows or came into the maze as the previous autumn’s leaves were whisked from nooks and crannies and whirled through the wild air. Gervase didn’t feel anything as the rain lashed dismally along the valley, but the unhappy, long-suffering faun huddled in the greatcoat. All Sylvanus could think of was the much warmer Italian home he wouldn’t see until this wretched English business was over and done with. There was one consolation, however, and that was an unexpectedly welcome scent that carried now and then on the wet gusting air. At last the faun sat up to sniff attentively.

  Gervase’s curiosity was aroused. “What’s up?”

  “I can smell Roman incense. I thought I detected something last night when we first arrived, now I’m sure. There’s a temple hidden here somewhere underground.” The faun’s nostrils twitched wistfully, and he got up to patter to the edge of the rotunda, staying just out of reach of the downpour. “I hope I’m right, because it would provide the perfect shelter for me until I can go home. I’ll have to look for it.”

  “How?” It seemed to Gervase that finding a hidden temple wouldn’t exactly be easy.

  “By following my nose,” Sylvanus replied simply, then gave a sigh. “Oh, I’m so hungry that my insides are rumbling. It’s no good, I’ll have to find some food.”

  “You’re going to leave the maze in daylight?” Gervase was startled.

  “I can’t wait any longer. Besides, I need to sleep, and I can’t do that when I’m hungry. Don’t you want to eat too?”

  “I’m not in
the least hungry,” Gervase replied.

  The faun thought for a moment. “No, I suppose you might not be. My power does that sometimes.” He turned up the collar of the greatcoat, and before Gervase knew it, he’d stepped out into the rain, his little hooves crunching on the wet gravel as he disappeared among the high hedges.

  By the time Sylvanus reached the edge of the maze he was more wretchedly cold than ever. Wet and dripping like the hedges, he slipped unseen across the deserted courtyard, where the hitherto faint scent of incense became so powerful that he paused to test the air again. He sensed that the smell came from beneath the wind-rattled trapdoors leading down into the cellar, but then he espied Mr. Willowby’s mounting block, and with a faint bleat he hurried across to it. His moments of fond Roman memories were short-lived, however, for his rumbling stomach reminded him how hungry he was, and with a sigh he went to the nearby kitchen door, listened closely for any sound of someone inside, then carefully lifted the latch.

  Peering in, he saw some currant buns and a Madeira cake Mrs. Jenkins had put out to cool. Licking his lips, he darted in to devour as many buns as he could. He wasn’t a tidy eater, leaving crumbs all over the scrubbed table, and he broke the cake into so many pieces that its original shape could have been anyone’s guess. After that he drank the entire jug of milk he discovered on the cold slab in the pantry, dipped eager fingers into some gooseberry preserves, and then stuffed the greasy remains of a cold roast chicken into the pockets of Gervase’s greatcoat to take back to the maze for later. Then he glanced through the doorway that gave into the rest of the castle. He saw a passageway leading to the entrance hall, and halfway along it a door into the cellars. From the entrance hall there wafted yet another delicious smell— the distinctive and delicious fragrance of water nymph! The faun’s lustful eyes lit up, for naiads were his favorite nymphs. He was sorely tempted to follow the enticing scent, but then a door banged upstairs and he heard Mrs. Jenkins’s busy footsteps approaching.

  Drawing hastily back into the kitchens, he was confronted by Joseph’s lurcher, which had slunk in to steal some of the buns. Alarmed to find a creature he couldn’t identify as either man or beast. Jack began to bark frantically, silenced only when a well-aimed goat hoof sent him flying. For a split second Sylvanus considered turning the stupid creature into marble, but then decided that a solidified lurcher was perhaps not the best thing for the housekeeper to find on the kitchen floor, so he gathered the greatcoat and ran. Jack followed at a safe distance and contented himself with barking furiously at the entrance to the maze long after Sylvanus had vanished inside.

  Mrs. Jenkins arrived in the kitchens to find the devastation of crumbs on the table. Her eyes darkened. “Just wait until I lay my hands on that mangy mongrel!” she muttered darkly, hearing the distant barking.

  Anne, meanwhile, was seated by the fire in the drawing room, where the dismal weather made it dark enough to light Penelope’s candles. Her hair was brushed loose, and she wore a green fustian gown, with her new plaid shawl around her shoulders. She was holding a cup of hot chocolate in both hands as she puzzled about what had happened during her ride. How could her hat have been found in the road, and her scarf on the hawthorn bush? And how could she have been found in the barn? There was a horrid blank in her memory, and it was most disconcerting.

  She sipped the chocolate. Maybe she’d been knocked on the head after all, for she felt generally rather odd today. It wasn’t an unpleasant oddness; indeed an almost lazy warmth seemed to pervade her entire body, and when she’d opened her eyes this morning, there lingered a very sensuous dream containing all the elements of the erotic tryst she’d observed so long ago. Warm color flushed her cheeks, and she glanced wryly at the wooden nymph, whom she was occasionally wont to address. “I’m afraid I was very shameless in my sleep last night, Penelope,” she murmured.

  The naiad gazed back at her, and Anne was about to sip the chocolate again when Jack began to bark outside. As the barking continued, she got up to go to the window. The scene was blurred by rain, but she could just make out the lurcher dashing up and down by the entrance to the maze. After a moment Joseph came from the kitchen gardens, gave a sharp command, and the dog ran to him. Then Anne had the uncanny feeling she was being watched. She hesitated, trying to look through the rain-washed glass, but she saw nothing untoward. With a sigh she resumed her seat by the fire.

  Gervase’s marble eyes had been upon her. It was a long time since he’d experienced kisses that were such a bewitching blend of innocence and sensuality, and on seeing her again now, he pondered the irony of his situation. If only he’d come here to Llandower at the outset, by now he might have been married to her and enjoying to the full the charms he’d begun to appreciate so very much last night. As things were, it might be Hugh who possessed her first.

  His wistful thoughts broke off as Sylvanus arrived breathlessly back to the rotunda, made himself as comfortable as possible on the bench, and explained what had happened. They decided that when darkness came and Gervase was brought to life to properly commence his campaign of seduction—the exact form of which was still unresolved—the faun would go down through the cellar trapdoors to look for the temple. After that—he’d find the water nymph! Eyes glittering with lusty anticipation, the faun ate some of the chicken, then wiped his hands on the greatcoat before curling up to sleep.

  Gervase was resigned as his costly coat was subjected to further ignominy, for he knew that the unfortunate garment would never again achieve its former glory. His tailor would expire of the vapors if he knew.

  * * * *

  Rain was falling in London as well, and the Knightsbridge street where Kitty’s house stood was deserted. Firelight flickered over the painting of the bacchanalia as the actress lay naked on the bed, watching Hugh use the floor-standing mirror to accurately tie his gray-and-white striped neckcloth in the complicated Irlandaise knot. Kitty’s eyes were calculating. After her bitter disappointments with Gervase and Sir Thomas Fanhope, he was the best hope she’d had of a voucher into the aristocracy, and now that it was the eve of his departure for Llandower, she felt he should be made to think his hold upon her was only fragile.

  She caught his eyes in the glass. “I will be very late back tonight,” she murmured.

  He turned in surprise. “But it’s the last night before I leave!”

  “That cannot be helped. After the performance of Julius Caesar, there are the first rehearsals for the next production.” She plucked at the coverlet on the bed, pouting her lips and avoiding his eyes in a way she knew would unsettle him.

  “What rehearsals?”

  “The next production. Harlequin Undone, I believe it’s called. Some such name, anyway.”

  He came to the foot of the bed. “Why haven’t you mentioned this before?”

  “It just slipped my mind, I suppose.”

  He searched her eyes. “There aren’t any rehearsals tonight, are there? What are you really doing?”

  She didn’t reply.

  He came closer, then reached down to put a hand to her cheek, and forced her to look at him. “I will have the truth, Kitty. Who are you seeing?”

  “It’s none of your concern.”

  “How can you say that when I’ve promised to make you my duchess?”

  “Maybe you have, but as yet another woman stands in the way. Besides, how do I really know you’ll honor your word to me? Men are untruthful when it comes to getting what they want. The one I’m meeting tonight was untruthful to me in the past, promising me all and then marrying another. Now he’s being equally untruthful to his new wife in order to try to win me again.”

  Hugh’s mind raced over the possible candidates. “Fanhope? Is that who you’re seeing?” He was startled, for Sir Thomas was known to go in dread of a wife who was as hard and cold as her family’s famous pottery.

  Kitty remained enigmatically silent.

  Hugh sought to belittle his unexpected rival. “Well, you would be advised to take any of
his financial promises with a pinch of salt, for I hear that his father-in-law’s finances are becoming somewhat precarious, and since Fanhope has no money of his own...” He shrugged. “Besides, if he and his wife aren’t already out of town, they soon will be. Staffordshire calls, I understand.”

  “But before he leaves...” Kitty smiled. The truth was that the Fanhopes had left for the country the day after Hugh had arrived in town; indeed Sir Thomas had been so bold as to call upon her in order to tell her. Poor Thomas, how much he regretted marrying the Queen of Pots.

  Hugh put his hands to her bare shoulders, caressing her with his thumbs. “How can I prove that I will marry you? You ask the impossible. Kitty, and I think you know it. I must make overtures to this rustic milkmaid, but you are the one I want.”

  “I so want to believe you, Hugh, but I can’t help my doubts.”

  “Oh, my darling, if I could make you my bride today, believe me, I would, but that would mean forfeiting a great fortune.” Suddenly, he thought of something and caught her hand to pull her from the bed. “Come here.”

  “What...?”

  He ushered her before the mirror and made her stand there while he went to the chest of drawers in the comer. He bent to remove the lowermost drawer, and then took out something he’d hidden underneath. It was wrapped in soft maroon cloth, which he unfolded to reveal the diadem.