Come to Castlemoor (22 page)

He went back to the desk, ignoring me completely. I leaned against the wall, trying to catch my breath. He tossed the money back into the dusty green box, shoved the box back into the safe, slammed the huge black iron door, whirled the dial of the combination lock. He straightened up and ran a finger along his temple. He seemed to be trying to remember something. He snapped his fingers, took a paper out of the top desk drawer, folded it, and put it in his pocket, and then he glanced at me as though I were a piece of the furniture.

“We'll go now,” he said, his voice harsh.

We went out to the victoria and rode away from the factory, passing through Darkmead at a brisk gallop. Burton Rodd clicked the reins, urging the horse to go faster and faster. I was tossed and jolted on the seat beside him and had to brace myself to keep from flying out. He was like a man possessed by demons, his hair whipping about his head, his face expressing no emotion whatsoever. It was only after we passed the oak trees and were on the moors that he allowed the horse to slow. He heaved his shoulders, seeming to relax a bit. He hadn't said a word to me, hadn't once glanced in my direction. He might have been alone in the carriage.

The moors were brown, dark now at twilight. The sky was dark gray, with apricot stains fading on the horizon. I thought the place had never looked so lonely and desolate. There was no sound but the noise of hooves pounding and wheels spinning. I was stunned, almost numb. The victoria passed over a slope, and I could see my house ahead, warm-yellow lights burning at the windows. Bella would be frantic with worry, I thought. Whatever would I tell her? The thoughts seemed to be formulating under water. I seemed to be swimming in rippling, invisible waves. Burton Rodd stopped the victoria in front of the house and sat impassively as I climbed out and gathered up my packages. When he finally looked at me, his face was weary. He seemed exhausted, battered, fighting to stay in an upright position.

“I haven't lost,” he said. “There'll be another round. I'll win it. Don't think for a moment—”

He didn't complete the sentence. He snapped the reins and drove away. Bella came running outside, a look of alarm on her face, a dozen questions ready to pour forth. When she saw my expression, she stopped, looking at me as though she were seeing me for the first time, and then she looked at the carriage disappearing over the slope. Bella shook her head and smiled to herself, took my hand, and led me into the house.

CHAPTER THIRTEEN

Market day was over. The animals were all gone, sold to the highest bidder, although their smell was still quite present. The produce had been sold as well, just a few rotten cabbages remaining in the bottoms of the empty bins. The stalls where local women had sold preserves and handmade lace and assorted items were all closed up now, and even the fortuneteller had left her gaudy tent to mingle with the crowd milling about the great clearing on the edge of town, where the towering stack of wood awaited the touch of fire that would start it blazing. A fringe of heavy woods surrounded the clearing, and the river was nearby. The sky was deep purple stained with black, and darkness was rapidly falling.

A deafening babble of voices filled the air, loud, shrill, husky. At least three hundred people crowded the clearing, pushing, shoving, trying to find a good spot near the woodpile where they could best see the dances. There was a concession stand where glasses of lemonade were being sold, and another, far more popular, where the innkeeper's wife was selling huge mugs of beer. Several of the men were staggering, and there had already been two fights, quickly broken up. An atmosphere of tension and excitement in the air threatened to explode if the fire wasn't lighted soon. Townsmen, ordinarily repressed, felt this was their night to break loose and roar. Decorum and sobriety were tossed aside for these few hours, and the coarse, rowdy mood of the crowd made me slightly uneasy as I stood near the gigantic pile of wood.

“When are they going to light it?” Bella said impatiently.

“Soon as it's good and dark,” Alan told her. “Just hold on. It'll be worth the wait, I promise.”

“Your promises aren't worth much, Alan Dunne,” she said peevishly. Nevertheless, she allowed him to fling his arm about her shoulder. They were still edgy with each other after their argument, but I suspected that this night would find them firmly reunited. Bella wore a dress of buttercup yellow with tiny black stripes, Alan a blue silk shirt open at the throat and a shiny black suit that smelled of moth crystals and threatened to burst at all the seams. His hair was neatly combed, and his broad, amiable face was glowing with pleasure as he stood with his arm about Bella. I thought them the most attractive couple in the whole gathering.

“I've never seen so many people,” Bella said. “The whole town must be here.”

“Looks that way,” Alan agreed, “but a lot of folks stay away, thinkin' this celebration a bit too pagan for Christian tastes. You won't find many of the sober church members hangin' about. They're all at a big meetin' with the minister, tryin' to figure out a way to ban this celebration next year. These're factory folks, most of 'em, and farmers and townsmen who ain't too concerned about stayin' in the good graces of the deacons.”

“What're we going to see, for cripe's sake?” she retorted. “A bunch of young people dancin' around a fire. That's so shocking?”

Edward, standing beside me, smiled. “Wait till you see the dance,” he said. “It stems from the ancient traditional rites that go back all the way to the Middle Ages. It's been toned down through the years, of course, but it's still a mite too flamboyant to please our Queen. She's suggested that all such celebrations be banned, but no one can ban the traditions in these country towns far from London, not local deacons, not even Victoria.”

“Bah!” Bella snapped. “I'd rather be home cleanin' my pantry or makin' a batch of muffins. I don't even know why I let you bring me here, Alan Dunne. Back in London many a fellow took me to the music halls, and after I've seen those hussies dance the can-can, I'm not likely to be very excited about watchin' a pack of country yokels traipsin' about a bonfire.”

“If you want to go home—” Alan began warningly.

“I'll let you know when!” she replied testily, pulling away from him and brushing her skirts briskly. “Right now I want something to drink, and I'd thank you to go buy me a glass of lemonade if it isn't askin' too much. A
gentleman
would've already considered a girl's thirst.”

Alan stalked away with a sullen expression on his face. Bella smiled pertly, delighted with her hoydenish treatment of him and smug in the knowledge that he would come back for more of the same. Edward chuckled, amused by this display of basic amorous tactics. He was plainly excited about the celebration, hoping to gather a lot of material for his book. He carried his leatherbound notebook and a quantity of pencils, and his attention was constantly being diverted every time he heard a snatch of song from someone in the crowd. He looked handsome in a rust-colored corduroy jacket and dark-brown jodhpurs tucked snugly into the tops of his high brown leather boots. Bronze-blond hair unruly, tanned face aglow with anticipation, vivid blue eyes alight, he was finding it difficult to remain dutifully at my side. He gave my hand a squeeze, grinning.

“Seems like Bella should be giving me lessons in deportment,” he said in a teasing voice. “I'm supposed to be a gentleman, and I haven't yet inquired about
your
thirst. Would you like a glass of lemonade?”

I nodded, and Edward followed after Alan through the dense crowd, frequently giving a gentle shove to someone who blocked his way. Bella turned to me, all concern. She knew I wasn't enjoying myself, knew I was nervous and on edge, however much I might pretend otherwise for Edward's sake. She knew I had been moody ever since Burton Rodd left me at the house the night before, and she suspected the reason, although she had asked no questions about that episode.

“Maybe we should've stayed home,” she said quietly. “You look awful, Miss Kathy. I mean—well, you're dazzlin' in that green dress, and your hair looks stunnin' all loose about your shoulders, but your face is pale, even if you
did
use a little rouge, and you look ready to jump out of your skin!”

“Does it show that much?” I asked.

“Those men haven't noticed, if that's what you mean. Men are so concerned with the impression
they're
makin', they don't ever notice anything. A woman can tell, though. Mind you, I'm not makin' any accusations, but when you're with a man as big and good-lookin' as Mister Edward is and can't keep your mind on what he's sayin' and keep lookin' around the crowd like you're expectin' to see someone
else
—”

“Nonsense,” I snapped, irritated.

“Maybe so, but the person you
might
be expectin' to see is over there beside the empty bins, and he hasn't taken his eyes off you for the past half-hour.

I looked up quickly. Burton Rodd was standing beside the brown wooden bins, his legs spread wide apart, his arms folded over his chest. He wore the same rumpled black suit he had worn that day in the ruins and the same white shirt with ruffled front. His head was lowered, his eyes raised and staring rudely at me across the crowd. He might have been completely alone, so immune was he to the jostling humanity that swarmed about him. His lips were turned down at one corner as though in scorn, and he paid no attention to the women who found it convenient to pass by him again and again. He was aloof, his eyes pinioning me to the spot. I looked away, trying to control the blush that threatened to stain my cheeks.

“He just keeps starin',” Bella said in a low voice, “and he isn't the only one. See that man over there—the one in the tight suit with the pockmarked face and the cropped black hair? He's been watchin' you too. What an ugly lout he is.”

I glanced in the direction Bella had indicated. The man was the same one I had seen in town yesterday, the companion who had tried to restrain the blond who had approached me. When he saw that I was looking at him, the man averted his eyes, suddenly absorbed by a group of factory girls who were moving through the crowd arm in arm, flowers in their hair, bright skirts swaying. I stared at the man, and in a moment he looked back at me, shuffled uneasily on his feet, and turned his back. Bella had been talking, and I just now caught her words.

“… and I don't want to alarm you, Miss Kathy, but it's scary, downright scary. When I saw him, he stooped down with his instrument and tried to pretend he was busy payin' no mind, but I know for a fact he'd been hanging around for two hours, almost as if he was
keepin' watch
…”

“What are you talking about?”

“That man. He's the same one I saw this morning.”

“You—you saw him this morning?”

“First thing when I came downstairs. I looked out the kitchen window, and there he was—far off, granted, but watchin' the house. He had his instruments with him, and I didn't pay much mind at first. To tell you the truth, I hardly noticed. I was so busy gettin' the stove lighted and all, and I knew you wasn't feelin' well and was kinda worried about that—but when two
hours
passed and he was still there—” She shook her head, lips pursed. “I can tell you, it bothered me. I went outside and put my hands on my hips and just stared at him, and he looked kinda shaken up, like I'd caught him doin' somethin'
sinister.”

“Why didn't you tell me when I came down?”

“I didn't want to worry you, and he went off as soon as I stepped outside. Still, I had the feelin' he'd been there a long time, maybe even before
sun
up.”

“He's a—a surveyor,” I said. “He was probably just doing his job—you say he had his instruments. Maud told me yesterday they were out surveying the moors.”

“Humph!” Bella snorted. “You might believe that, but I don't! When I see a man with a face like his, I know he isn't up to any good. I don't mind tellin' you, Miss Kathy, if the men weren't with us, I'd be scared plum to death!”

Edward returned with a glass of lemonade. He raised an eyebrow when he saw that Alan hadn't come back yet. I drank the beverage quickly. It was extremely cold, a chunk of ice clinking in the glass, and I felt a sharp pain in my forehead from drinking too fast. I handed the glass to Edward, pressing my fingertips against my forehead. He smiled, said I drank it like a greedy child, and asked if I wanted another glassful. I shook my head.

“I'll just take the glass back,” he said, “and—you'll pardon me for a few minutes, won't you? I ran into old Jed Bosley over there at the stall, and he said he'd just remembered a song his grandfather used to sing. Will you be all right?”

“Of course,” I replied.

“I'll just be gone a little while. They're going to light the fire in a minute or so. I'll try to be back before the dances start.”

He hurried back through the crowd. Darkness was almost completely upon us now, everything shrouded with shadows, the sky black and frosty with starlight. Torches burned, casting weird orange lights over the crowd and filling the air with the odor of smoke and tar. The crowd was restless and growing noisier. I cast a surreptitious glance in Burton Rodd's direction. He was still watching me, his face all shadowy, his body silhouetted dark against the yellow-orange glow of a torch that burned somewhere behind him. Now that twilight was gone and night was falling in earnest, it seemed to grow darker by the second. I could barely see Alan's face as he staggered toward us, his hands empty and a lopsided grin on his face. His neatly combed hair had slipped into one heavy lock that covered his forehead, making him look like a naughty schoolboy. He shoved a man out of his way, too forcefully, and he looked sullen when the man rebuked him.