The Wizard’s Daughter

by Barbara Michaels

  "I appreciate the thought," Marianne said. "I promised, you know, that I wouldn't tell anyone about that."

  "I won't tell either," said the Duke, tossing his apple high.

  Marianne thought he was probably speaking the truth, not because of his noble nature but because the incident gave him a hold over his tutor. She considered admonishing him about the evils of blackmail but decided that if this thought had not already occurred to him she would only be putting ideas into his head.

  "I would like very much to ride with you another day," she said. "I will need an escort after Mr. Carlton has returned to London. But today we must talk about certain business matters. It is a private talk. You would be bored."

  "No, I wouldn't."

  "Another time," Marianne said. Moving quickly, she got inside her room and bolted the door.

  She wondered, as she changed, whether she had been wise to tell Henry that she and Carlton would be discussing private matters. His curiosity would certainly be piqued by that. But she felt sure they could find a place removed from any possibility of eavesdropping, even by the ingenious Duke.

  Her spirits rose as she studied her reflection in the full-length mirror. The riding costume, made of the usual dull black cloth, set off her fair coloring and fit snugly around the waist before billowing out over a small bustle. Simple as the gown was, it had the unmistakable air of superb tailoring, and the hat was delicious – a dashing cavalier style with a broad brim and sweeping plumes.

  When she came downstairs Carlton was waiting for her. He carried a leather crop, which he switched impatiently against his boots as he strode up and down.

  "You were long enough," was his only greeting.

  "A gentleman would say that the wait was well worthwhile," said Marianne, conscious of how pretty she looked.

  "That depends on what one is waiting for. Come along. I have selected a mount for you and only hope you are up to it."

  "I would have preferred to select my own."

  "The choice is not that great." A footman hastened to open the door for them, and Carlton went on, "There is only one horse in the stable suitable for a lady. The head groom assures me she is gentle and tractable."

  From this Marianne fully expected a timid old mare or a fat pony. She was agreeably surprised when she saw the horses a groom was leading up and down along the drive. One was a tall bay gelding which was stamping and blowing, impatient to be off; the other, which carried a lady's sidesaddle, was an elegant gray. Mild brown eyes turned to study Marianne as she approached, and a velvety soft mouth nuzzled the hand she extended.

  "But I have nothing for you," she whispered. "Next time, I promise. How beautiful you are!" She turned to the groom. "What is her name?"

  "Stella," was the reply. "Ye'll hae no trouble wi' her, miss; she's gentle as a lamb."

  Marianne was about to reply that she was not at all afraid when she saw Carlton looking superciliously down at her from his saddle and a wicked impulse came over her. When the groom offered his hands to help her mount she made a clumsy business of it and wriggled around as if she were having difficulty finding her seat.

  They started off at a walk, with Carlton leading. As soon as his back was turned Marianne settled herself more comfortably.

  Carlton stayed on the path until they were out of the grounds. They went out a back gate instead of following the main drive to the road, and found themselves on the open moors, with the mountains forming a magnificent backdrop. The terrain was not too unlike the moors of Marianne's home, and as a fresh breeze tugged at the plumes in her hat she felt a rush of delight flood her veins. She had not realized how much she had missed the open air and the joy of finding herself on the back of a good horse.

  She knew she rode well; had not her father, the best horseman in the West Riding, taught her? Indeed, these lessons had been the only occasions when Marianne felt close to her father – because only then was the squire unselfconscious with her. He had taken pride in her aptitude and made no allowance for her sex, except to insist that she ride sidesaddle after she grew too old to let her bare legs dangle. Noting the eager arch of the horse's neck, she knew Stella was yearning to run. The mare was too well trained to do so without an order from her rider, but her muscles quivered with desire.

  So when Carlton said, "We might try a trot, I suppose, if you think you can stay on," Marianne yielded to her evil angel. It was only necessary to raise her hands and make a soft wordless sound of encouragement, and Stella was off.

  Marianne heard Carlton's cry of alarm far behind her and tried to look as if she were being run away with; but after the first moment she forgot her intention in the sheer rapture of speed. The squire had owned some fine horses, but she had never ridden an animal that moved as well as Stella. Marianne urged her on with a shout, and lost her hat. The wind tore her curls loose from their net.

  It was not repentance or fear that finally made her slow the horse's reckless pace, but awareness that she did not know the terrain and had no right to endanger the splendid animal by risking a stumble or a fall. Only then, as the whistling of air in her ears diminished, did she hear the pound of hooves behind her. Glancing over her shoulder she saw Carlton urging the gelding on at a desperate pace. He rode like a centaur, but the sight of his taut, anxious face made her want to burst out laughing. As he drew closer he shouted, "Hold on, don't let go the reins! Try to pull her in."

  Marianne did so. The obedient Stella stopped, so suddenly that Carlton went shooting past. He turned his mount with ruthless strength and rode back more slowly.

  The truth had dawned on him by then, and his expression was too much for Marianne. She doubled up over Stella's neck. Carlton waited until she had controlled her mirth. Then he said grimly, "I hope you enjoyed that."

  "I did. So did Stella." Marianne stroked the mare's neck. Stella turned her head and curled her lips back as if joining in the girl's amusement. "Oh, it was wonderful," she went on exultantly. "I didn't realize how much I had missed it. And she moves like a dream – she is a wonder!"

  "She is," Carlton agreed. "And you are a thoughtless, reckless young idiot." He studied her laughing, unrepentant face with its frame of tumbled curls, and after a moment the corners of his mouth twitched. "I suppose I sounded very smug, didn't I?"

  "Yes, you did. I could not resist."

  "I can't say that I blame you. All the same, you took a risk you should not have taken, and frightened me half to death. My heart has not stopped pounding yet."

  "I didn't know you cared," said Marianne, lowering her eyes and looking up at him through her lashes.

  "The Duchess would never forgive me if I let anything happen to you," was the cool reply. "Now, if your sense of humor is satisfied, shall we go on?"

  "Well," said Marianne, after they had proceeded for some distance side by side, "what was it you wanted to talk to me about?"

  "First I want you to tell me something. What precisely happened between you and Bagshot?"

  Marianne's hands tightened. The intelligent Stella rolled an inquiring eye back at her, decided that the movement had not been meant for her, and proceeded onward at the same steady pace.

  "I don't want to talk about it," Marianne muttered.

  "I fear you must if you want me to trace your Maggie. I was unable to discover what had become of her. I must have more information if I am to proceed."

  "You tried to find her?" Marianne's pique evaporated. She gave him a look of sincere gratitude. "That was kind."

  "But ineffective, so far. I learned something of her history from the performers at the club, but none of them knew her well, and no one admits to having seen her after that night. Did she ever mention where she lived, or the name of a friend with whom she might have taken shelter? I must know everything she said."

  "I didn't know what sort of place it was!"

  Marianne burst out. "You must think me very stupid… but there are respectable theaters. I only wanted to earn my living singing. I see now that Mr. Wils
on must have taken pains to keep me from finding out that the Alhambra was… And Maggie said something… what was it? Something to the effect that she should have known what he – what he was after. She watched over me, and I never realized. I believe he had sent a false message of some sort, that night, to lure her away."

  "She would know of Bagshot's reputation," Carlton agreed dryly. "It is notorious, to say the least. And I myself observed him watching you the first night I attended your performance."

  "You probably thought I would encourage his attentions," Marianne mumbled abjectly. "He certainly did. He walked into my dressing room as if he owned the place – and me. At first I think he could not believe I was sincere in rejecting him. Then he became very angry. His face was like a devil's! I wish I could forget it."

  She closed her eyes and shivered. After a moment Carlton said gently, "I am sorry to put you through this. If it is any comfort to you, I believe you were as innocent as you claim."

  Marianne opened her eyes and looked directly at him. "But you don't believe I am innocent now. You think that when I learned of the Duchess's fantasy I determined to take advantage of it."

  "That is not the issue. Finish your account, please."

  "But… Well, it is soon finished. He seized me. I resisted. My resistance only enraged him more. I did not see Maggie come in; I was – I was on the verge of fainting, I think. I felt his grasp relax; then he fell at my feet and I saw Maggie holding the stick with which she had struck him – his own gold-headed cane."

  "Hoist with his own petard," Carlton said, his lip curling. "That stick is as notorious as its owner; it is lead-filled, and has often been employed as an offensive weapon. What happened next?"

  "I was too dazed to think," Marianne confessed. "But Maggie was wonderful. She escorted me out of the place and hailed a cab. She told me never to come back, to leave London if I could." As she spoke, the events Marianne had tried to forget came back with a peculiar vividness. Once again she seemed to stand shivering in a fog-shrouded street, with the distant gaslights glimmering through the mist. Again she heard Maggie say, " 'E didn't see me, but 'e'll know who done it. 'E allus knows. They say 'e's in league wif the Devil. Old 'Arry'll take me in…"

  She repeated the words. Carlton nodded thoughtfully.

  "Old Harry. Well, it's not much, but it is more than I had. Don't worry; I inquired at the hospitals and the police stations, and no one answering her description has turned up."

  "Why are you taking so much trouble?" Marianne asked. "She is only a poor ignorant woman -"

  "My motives need not concern you," was the curt answer.

  But Marianne thought she knew. Carlton believed that Maggie was more than a casual acquaintance and that she might give information about Marianne's real background – information that would prove to the Duchess that she was the fraud and the cheat Carlton believed her to be.

  She tried to be angry, but the memories of her folly had so lowered her opinion of herself that she could only feel chagrin and remorse. How could she blame Carlton for thinking the worst of her? And the clergyman… Marianne's heart sank when she thought how that saintly man would receive her story. She imagined the handsome face hardening with revulsion and she felt like bursting into tears.

  "Perhaps it would be better to forget it," she said in a stilted voice. "Trying to trace her might only call attention to her. Mr. Bagshot seems to have dismissed the incident."

  Carlton did not reply for a moment.

  "Possibly he has," he said at last. "But… I don't want to frighten you, but you are so incredibly careless and naive! The man is well known for harboring grudges, and it would not be difficult for him to trace you if he cared to do so. His presence at the opera that night may have been a coincidence. Or he may have heard a description of the Duchess's protegee and followed her carriage to see if you were the girl he was seeking. Are you all right? You are not going to faint?"

  "Certainly not," Marianne said, though her lips were so stiff with terror she could scarcely shape the word. She had convinced herself that she was safe from that danger, at least.

  "You are very pale. Mind you, I think it unlikely that Bagshot would dare pursue you here. I only mention the possibility to warn you. Don't wander about alone."

  "No. And you will look for Maggie?"

  "I have people in London searching for her. I will telegraph the information you have given me at once."

  In her distress Marianne had not been aware of her surroundings. Now she realized that they were approaching a ridge of low but jagged hills, harbingers of the more distant mountains. Bare granite spurs stood up between the pines that clothed their slopes.

  "Are you recovered?" Carlton asked. "Do you wish to return, or have you strength to go on a little farther?"

  "I would prefer to ride awhile longer."

  "Follow me, then. We must go single file for a time."

  Before long they were among the trees and riding along a narrow path blanketed with fallen needles. As they proceeded the going became more difficult. The trees closed in and the silence was profound. When Marianne heard a burst of song from a lark winging high and unseen above the overhanging boughs, it was as startling as a shout. Then she became aware of another sound, a distant murmuring, and she realized that the path had taken a downward angle. Ahead she caught glimpses of sunlight and was glad to see it; the green gloom around her was depressing.

  They came out of the trees and Carlton's arm shot out like a bar, grasping Stella's bridle and stopping her.

  They were on a rocky ledge, wide enough to make Carlton's gesture a needless precaution, though an unskilled rider or a frightened horse might easily go over the brink. Below, a wide mountain stream ran murmuring over peaty brown rocks. So steep was the gorge through which it ran that although the sky above was visible, the sunlight would only strike down into the depths at midday. Now the oblique rays cast a strange light over a scene of wild grandeur – the rocky slopes and twisted tree trunks, the bubbling water, the glistening stones in its depth.

  The murmur she had heard was now a roar. Looking for its source Marianne saw that some distance to the left the water dropped over a small waterfall, no more than ten feet high, but narrowing so that the stream dropped with considerable force into a dark pool beyond. The pool and the portion of the stream below it seemed quite deep. She could not see bottom there. A brooding silence hung over the place. She would not have been surprised to behold a brown, inhuman face crowned with twisted horns peer out from behind the rocks.

  And then, as unmistakably as if he had spoken, she knew why Carlton had brought her here.

  "Is this where it happened? Where he died?"

  "It seems that your claims of clairvoyance are not entirely unfounded," Carlton said. "Yes, this is the place. Holmes's cloak was found caught among the rocks beyond the waterfall. He was a great walker, and this was one of his favorite spots. The stream is comparatively shallow now. When there are heavy rains – as there were that autumn eighteen years ago – the water rises and the current is extremely swift. Gruffstone told me he had never seen it so high as it was that year; one of the men in the searching party he led came close to being swept away himself."

  "But his body was never found," Marianne mused.

  "That is not surprising. This stream is a tributary of the Tay, which it flows into a few miles downstream. The body might have been swept down all the way to the sea, or it might have been caught under some rocky bank."

  "Yet I find it hard to believe no trace was ever found. The Duchess must have had every inch of the area searched."

  "I believe she still harbors the belief that Holmes was snatched bodily into heaven like the prophet Elijah," Carlton said. "Don't start imagining things, Miss Ransom. If he had survived, even wounded and suffering from that convenient device of novelists, temporary amnesia, he would have been found eventually. The Duchess offered incredible rewards."

  "I suppose so." Marianne tugged at the reins and turned
Stella. "The place is uncanny. Let us go back – unless you have any other unpleasant news or ugly encounters for me."

  "No, I have done my share. No doubt Gruffstone will have more to say."

  Marianne grimaced. She had forgotten that the doctor was due to arrive shortly. She wondered what his specious excuse for coming might be. She knew the real reason, for it was also Carlton's. They feared her influence over the Duchess. She wished the doctor did not regard her so inimically, for she felt the need of someone she could confide in and lean upon. Carlton had his moments of kindness, but if she tried to lean on him he was just as apt to step back and let her fall to the ground.

  Instead of going back the way they had come, they followed a great circle that led to the main road beyond the village. Before long the church spire came into view. Conscious of her disheveled state, Marianne slowed Stella to a walk and tried to effect repairs, not an easy task without comb, mirror or…

  "My hat!" she exclaimed in dismay. "Oh, dear, I have lost my beautiful hat."

  "You can hardly blame me for failing to retrieve it," Carlton said. "I was too concerned about your breaking your head to worry about its covering."

  "But it had real egret plumes," Marianne mourned.

  She struggled with her windblown hair, trying to bundle it back into the net that dangled from a few pins. As he watched her, Carlton's face assumed its most disagreeable expression, eyes narrowed, lips curled in a sneer.

  "One would think, after the serious matters we have discussed, that you would have no time for egret plumes or hats. But women's minds are incapable of intellectual concentration; and yours is really one of the most -"

  If he was attempting to provoke her, he succeeded; the quick temper Marianne had acquired from her father flared up, and she interrupted Carlton's insult with a wild swing. He avoided the blow with an easy turn of his head.

  "Temper, temper," he said. "You'll fall if you continue to bounce around that way."

  Marianne became aware that her lacings were too tight. She could not get enough breath to shout. This was just as well, since she might have used some of the words she had heard the squire employ when he was in a rage. Finally she managed to say, "I would rather dispense with your escort, Mr. Carlton. Leave me."