Authors: Angel
“That was vastly exciting!” she declared. “Lyn, will you race against me now?”
This time, Angel won the race by half the length of the course. Beth’s horse cast a shoe at the midpoint, and regretfully she pulled up.
“Another day perhaps,” consoled Sir Gregory.
“Come up before me and I will give you a ride to the Hall,” offered Lord Welch.
Beth gave him a freezing look.
“I should not dream of doing anything so improper,” she said haughtily. “Mrs Sutton will certainly take me up in the gig.” And turning her back on him, she walked away.
The viscount was furious. “Little vixen should be whipped at the cart’s tail,” he muttered, forgetting how close he was to Sir Gregory. “Once we’re hitched I’ll soon bring her to heel!”
“Did you speak?” enquired Sir Gregory, at his most urbane and leaving no doubt that he had heard every word.
“I’m going to see the earl. I’ve news for him he’ll be grateful for.”
“I think not. His lordship is far from well, as I believe I have mentioned before, and I cannot permit him to be disturbed.”
“Devil take me if I intend to ask your permission!”
“The servants have orders to allow no one near my uncle without it.”
“The iron fist in the velvet glove, eh? Everyone knows you have the old man penned up until you get what you want from him, but there’s one person you haven’t reckoned on, jailer!”
“I prefer ‘guardian,’” said the baronet coolly, “and believe me, there is no one I have not taken into account. Ah, Miss Brand! Lord Welch is on the point of departure, so if you do not mind dismounting, I will do likewise and we may walk together. Unless, sir, you wish to leave Star to be rubbed down and sent over later?”
“I’ll take her,” growled his lordship, and was soon trotting homeward, leading the mare, while Angel begged a ride on Atlas.
“I don’t need a sidesaddle,” she assured Sir Gregory. “I have even ridden astride before now, though it is not possible in skirts.’’
“I am sure it is easier without,” he agreed gravely.
Chapter 14
Angel woke up on Monday to the shocking realisation that only three weeks remained of her sojourn in Westmorland. What is more, it was raining, and the freedom of the past two weeks of unprecedented fine weather would undoubtedly be curtailed.
Not that the light drizzle could prevent today’s meeting on the Crag, but it was bound to make it uncomfortable and short. Angel hoped the others knew a more sheltered place.
Lord Dominic, Gerald Leigh, and Osa were waiting for them at the edge of the Grisedale woods.
“The track is slippery,” explained Dom. “We did not want you to ride up there. Beth, do you remember the place we used to call the Cave? We thought we’d go there.”
Leaving the horses in Abel’s charge, they pushed through the dripping undergrowth until they came to a rocky hollow. A tiny rill here formed a deep and rather sinister-looking pool, to one side of which a low cliff leaned forward protectively. The ground beneath was dry, well carpeted with pine needles, and though the pines shut out the light and made the place gloomy, they also added their shelter from the rain. They sat down, and Osa joined them, smelling strongly of wet dog.
Beth and Gerald went a few paces farther; their voices were drowned by the chatter of the stream and the constant drip of rain from the trees by the pool.
“It looks like a good place for a murder,” remarked Angel with a shiver, and to counteract that impression she gave a lively account of Saturday’s race. “So I walked back to the house with Sir Gregory,” she concluded, “and he was charming. I think I have misjudged him.”
“I doubt it,” said Dominic. “He can bring the ladies around his thumb, I daresay. Look at the way Beth dotes on him! But he is a high-handed, prosy bore at bottom.”
“Catherine thinks you resent him because he is older than you and was always allowed to be more independent.”
“Fustian! A slow-top like Cousin Gregory doesn’t know how to make use of independence anyway. And she is another female he has brought round his thumb! Besides, he is out to feather his nest with my inheritance.”
“Well, you are not doing anything to get it back, are you? It is two weeks since we brought Beth to meet you and you are not an inch closer to seeing your father.”
“There’s no hurry. I shall come about, never fear. What would you have me do, ride up to the Hall and demand admittance?”
“You might ask Sir Gregory for help.”
“He came over to Upthwaite while you were away and offered his assistance. Pitching it rather too rum, and so I told him! We had a flaming row.”
“And said a thousand things you did not mean, I’ll wager, and now you cannot take them back.”
“Are you taking his side against me, Miss Brand?”
“No, of course not. But I do think you are being cloth-headed. However, I don’t mean to quarrel with you. Let us talk of something else. Do you think it will rain all week?”
“Who knows?” said Lord Dominic gloomily.
“I hope it does not, for I want to climb Helvellyn.”
“I cannot do so. It may rain for a month, for me.”
“You are monstrous disagreeable this morning! We shall ride up as far as possible, and you can come that far.”
‘‘It is all arranged?’’
“Well, we decided this would be a good week for it if it turns out fine. Mr Leigh! Has Beth told you we are going to climb Helvellyn?”
The vicar stood up and helped his beloved to rise.
“Yes,” he said, coming over to them. “If it clears up, of course. I thought I had best go to see my mother tomorrow in case Thursday turns out to be a good day.”
“Good. Ask her if we can all come to see her next week. I spoke to my aunt and uncle about it and they would be happy to make her acquaintance. Uncle Clement suggested next Monday, if it is fine.”
“This rain ruins everything,” complained Lord Dominic.
“I shan’t see you tomorrow then, Gerald?” asked Beth.
“No, love, but why don’t you and Miss Brand persuade Miss Sutton to chaperone you to the vicarage on Wednesday? Perhaps she could find some parish business of her father’s to make it unexceptionable.”
“I never thought to hear you suggest such a thing, Leigh!” exclaimed Lord Dominic. “Three young ladies to visit a male household!”
The vicar flushed. “Do you think it improper? I suppose you are right. I had thought that as she is your sister, and with Miss Sutton . . .”
“I think it a splendid plan,” Angel assured him, “and quite unexceptionable. We will see you on Wednesday. Come, Beth, before he changes his mind.” Giggling, the two girls pushed their way back through the bushes and were soon out of sight.
Lord Dominic had difficulty rising and limped heavily as the gentlemen followed.
“This cursed dampness!” he muttered.
“You are in a bad skin,” commented his friend. “Cross as a bear at a stake.”
“I know, I know, don’t rub it in. I suppose that is why no mention was made of coming to see me tomorrow.”
“Does that rankle? I daresay you are right.”
“I haven’t seen Beth for nearly four years, and now she is so taken up with you she scarcely speaks to me!”
“I have not seen her in nearly as long,” reminded the vicar. “But I am heartily sorry if you are offended. She means no harm, you know, and loves you as much as ever. Only falling in love, being in love, is quite different.”
“So I gather from the way you are abandoning your antiquated notions of propriety. No, I am not vexed, though I should be, I daresay, had I not Miss Brand’s company, ramshackle minx that she is. Devil take it, I believe Thunder is going lame!”
They were halfway up Dowen Crag by now. Lord Dominic dismounted and found a stone deeply imbedded in his horse’s hoof. Neither of them was carrying anything which might serve to remove it.
“You cannot ride him in that state,” said Gerald, swinging down from his sorrel gelding. “Here, take Rusty.”
“I shall walk.’’
“Come, Dom, don’t be—”
“Dammit, leave me alone!”
He set off up the path. Relieved of his burden, Thunder moved more easily, but his master was soon staggering, until at last he had to stop and cling to the saddle.
“Windmills in your head,” remarked Gerald dispassionately, dismounting once more. “Get up.”
“Gerald, if you were anyone else I’d kill you for being here.”
“Yes, cockerel, except perhaps for Miss Brand.”
“Oh, she’d never have let me make such a cake of myself in the first place.
Adelante, amigo
!”
Having already strained his leg, Lord Dominic found the rest of the ride painful and exhausting. To his fury, he had to be helped into the house. Mrs McTavish fussed over him unbearably until, in order to escape her ministrations, he retired to his chamber. Mr Leigh dined with him there, went off to fetch some cards to keep him amused, and came back to find him fast asleep.
He woke late next day, just as his friend was about to leave to visit his mother. His leg was much improved, his spirits not at all. He went to see Thunder.
“’Tis healing nicely,” assured the vicar’s manservant, who counted stable work among his varied duties. “’Tweren’t big, but sharplike, the stone, and worked in right deep. ‘Twon’t do to ride ‘im a couple o’ days yet.’’
“Thank you, Forrester,” said his lordship, and tipped the man a shilling. The act reminded him of another of his worries. A lieutenant’s pension was a mere pittance, and he could not go on sponging on Gerald forever.
Besieged by blue devils, he toyed with the elaborate luncheon Mrs McTavish had prepared to tempt him, and then retired to the study. A half-full bottle of brandy caught his eye and he poured himself a glass although, usually abstemious, he had no real intention of drinking it. He sat down and gazed blankly at the drizzle beyond the window, rolling the glass between his hands. Osa sat beside him, her head on his feet, but for once she brought no comfort.
Linnet was right, he must do something. And he had quarrelled with her for saying so. The memory was so disturbing that he began to examine his feelings for her, then quickly dropped the thought. Supposing, just for the sake of argument, that he found he was falling in love with her. As a penniless cripple he could have nothing to say to her, though in her presence his injuries seemed unimportant. What an enchantress she was, a provoking, mischievous, outspoken darling.
Cripple! he reminded himself fiercely, and gulped down the brandy. He had eaten very little and it went straight to his head. He sat in a haze of half-thoughts until an insistent knocking at the front door roused him. He vaguely remembered that Mrs McTavish had gone marketing and it was the maid’s afternoon off. He had not drunk enough to impair his balance to any noticeable degree, so he went to answer the door, if only to stop the noise.
To his distant surprise, he found on the doorstep the idiot, Herbert, who made a habit of carving three-sevenths of his name on every available surface.
“What can I do for you?” Lord Dominic enquired amiably.
“Where at’s t’vicar, yeronner?”
“He is not at home, Herbert. Can I help you?”
“T’vicar’s to come to Uplands Farm right quick. ‘Tis a ‘mergency, yeronner.”
“Mr Leigh is out.”
“T’vicar, he’ve got to come. Been’t you t’vicar, yeronner?”
“No, Herbert, he is not here. He cannot come now.”
The halfwit began to snivel.
“I dassn’t go back wi’out t’vicar,” he insisted piteously. “Please, yeronner, I dassn’t—”
“Oh, very well, I will come and explain, and perhaps I can be of assistance. Do you wait here while I fetch my horse.”
“Oh, aye, yeronner, I c’n wait!”
Still feeling somewhat fuzzy behind the eyes, Lord Dominic donned coat and hat and headed for the stables. He was nearly there before he remembered that he could not ride Thunder. The horse whinnied hopefully when he recognised his master and the dog. Dom took a windfall apple from a sack and presented it with a word of apology. He saw that Rusty was in his stall. Gerald must have walked down to the boat rather than leave the sorrel standing in the rain.
“Forrester!” he shouted. The man appeared. “There is an urgent call for Mr Leigh, and as he is not here I shall go to see if I can do anything. Saddle Rusty, if you please.”
“’Tis rainin’ yet, sir. Ye’ll not want to go out.”
“I’m not made of marchpane, man! Don’t be an old woman.”
“Aye, sir.” Hoping that his lordship would return before he had to explain to the vicar why he had let Lord Dominic ride out when he was obviously on the go, Forrester saddled the gelding. “Ye’ll not be riding up t’Crag?” he asked anxiously.
“No, to Uplands Farm.” Dominic led the horse out, mounted, and called to Herbert. The manservant watched them cross the fields, Osa bouncing ahead, and shook his head in puzzlement. Now why would Mrs Norman over to Uplands send the simpleton on such an errand?
Lord Dominic, not being thoroughly acquainted with the Norman household, did not ask himself that question, but he was wondering what quixotic whim had persuaded him to undertake an inevitably fruitless mission. If a minister was needed he could be of no conceivable use. The chill dampness cleared his head in no time and he nearly turned back. Only the sight of Herbert, patiently plodding through the mud and looking at him beseechingly as if he read his mind, made him continue. He pulled down his hat and hunched his shoulders against the persistent rain.
They were skirting a coppice when a shot rang out. Startled, Rusty reared. Under normal circumstances, Lord Dominic would have had no difficulty controlling him, but his weak leg betrayed him. As a second shot cracked, he slid backwards over the horse’s rump and landed flat on his back in the mud in the most undignified posture.
Sitting up, he saw Herbert running hell for leather back the way they had come. There was a crashing among the trees that sounded like a horse galloping through brush, and then Osa came and licked his face. By the time he had fended her off, the departing drum of hooves was the only evidence that he had not been alone.
He picked up his hat. There was a neatly drilled hole in each side of the crown.