The Master of Phoenix Hall (20 page)

“You are trembling,” he said.

I tried to still myself.

“Look up at me.” It was an order.

I kept my eyes closed tightly, refusing to obey.

Roderick Mellory wrapped his fingers around my chin and tilted my head up. I looked up at his face through fluttering lashes. Every feature was distinct in the moonlight. I saw the strangely attractive hump on his nose and the eyebrows, demonically arched over his eyes like dark wings. I saw his smile, and my cheeks flushed hot with shame. His smile was one of pure self-satisfaction. It was like a leer.

I drew away from him, anger replacing any other emotions I might have felt.

“You are loathsome,” I said. “Loathsome.”

“And you are very young, very unwise.”

“What they say about you is true. You are a devil.”

“Don't make me fight you. Don't do that.”

“A devil—” I repeated.

“I will hurt you. You won't like that.”

“I don't believe you have the power to hurt me,” I replied, as firmly as I could.

“No?” he asked, his voice gently mocking.

“No!” I retorted.

He pulled me into his arms, very casually, almost without interest in what he was doing, it seemed. He swung me around, fitting my body against his, one arm wrapped loosely about my waist, the other enfolding my shoulders. He held his face over mine, looking into my eyes. His own were dark and glittering with amusement. His lips curled into that ironic smile, and then they covered my mouth. It had all happened too quickly for me to struggle. After his lips began to move firmly over mine I lost any will to even try to resist him. I would have fallen but for his arms holding me against his body.

He released me abruptly. I staggered for a moment but managed to stand. He laughed quietly. I dared not look at his face again.

“I will send for a carriage, Miss Todd,” he said. “It will be waiting for you in front in a few minutes. You can go home now.”

Roderick Mellory left, sauntering away with his hands in his pockets. He continued to laugh quietly, and the sound rang in the quietness of the garden. I heard his footsteps pass across the tiled terrace, and there was a loud burst of music as he opened the French doors. I stood alone in the garden, surrounded by wavering moonlight and heavy blue shadows. The bird had stopped singing, and it was very still. There was only the sound of my own rapid, uneven breathing.

XI

T
HE SKY WAS
the color of ashes. A stain of color began to spread on the horizon. I watched the faint orange penetrate the veils of gray. I had been sitting here at the window for hours, still in my ball gown, looking out at the night. A cock crowed in the distance, far away, a mournful sound, I thought. Peter lay curled at my feet, sleeping soundly, his silver coat all sleek and glossy from the bath Nan had given him last night. She was asleep when I came in, and I had not awakened her. I had not felt like talking. I had not felt like sleeping. I had sunk into the chair by the window, glad of the darkness and silence.

The darkness was going now. It had rained during the night and now fine veils of mist hung over the ground, like shrouds, I thought. The trees were tall, skeletal figures, half hidden by the mist. The cock crowed again and the light changed from orange to gold, penetrating the mist. I saw a farmer going slowly down the road, leading his cow, and three men with hoes walked across a field, moving slowly and lethargically at this early hour. I heard a banging noise in the kitchen and knew that Nan must be up. My solitude had ended, and I was sorry for that.

Peter stirred uncomfortably in his sleep and then raised his head, looking up at me with large, thoughtful eyes. I stroked his head. I knew without consulting a mirror that my cheeks were wan, my face colorless. My gown was crushed and rumpled from my night vigil, but I did not care. I would not ever wear it again. I stood up, bracing myself on the chair, surprised that I had the energy to move. I felt depleted. Even the slight task of getting out of the chair seemed to take more energy than I possessed. I stood for a moment, swaying a little as I felt the blood rushing through my numb body.

Nan came into the room, rubbing her eyes sleepily. A white lace cap was perched precariously over her tousled gold curls. When she saw me, a little cry escaped her lips, and she hurried to my side. She started to ask a dozen questions, but I raised my hand up in protest. She knew that questions would be futile, and she grew very calm, even dictatorial in an effort to take the situation in hand.

“You must get in bed—that lovely dress, all rumpled like that! How could you—and rest up. Your face is as white as, I don't know what. I am going to make a pot of coffee and some breakfast; we have ham, and I'll scramble some eggs. Now you go on up and change.”

“I'm all right, Nan. Don't be so bossy. Breakfast sounds lovely. I will be all right after I have some food.”

“Whatever happened?”

“I came home. I didn't feel like sleeping. I sat up, watched the sun come up.”

“Well, I must say …”

“Don't say anything. Just hurry with that coffee.”

Nan's boisterous attitude and her lively comments helped me to brace-up. After all, I told myself, life would go on. I had had an argument with Greg, and I had made a fool of myself before Roderick Mellory. I had spent half the night thinking about it, feeling humiliated, then angrily upbraiding myself, then feeling hurt, then puzzled. Continuing to brood about it could do me no good. I could not forget what had happened, but I certainly had better sense than to let it throw me into a fit of dejection. I would solve the problem of Greg somehow, and there would be another encounter with Roderick Mellory. The next time I would show him.

I brushed my hair angrily, thinking of the Master of Phoenix Hall. Spots of color came into my cheeks, and good, healthy anger made even the lack of sleep unimportant. As I walked down the stairs the tangy smells of coffee and ham made me feel even better. I felt full of life and energy, thoroughly revived. Activity, much activity, would be the best thing for me today. I quickened my step, full of good intentions. I would clean out the cupboards, wax and polish the floor, and perhaps, if there was time, I could do some weeding in the garden. If I kept busy enough, there would be no time to think.

Nan was bursting with all the questions I had not allowed her to ask earlier. We sat at the table, eating the slices of thick, juicy ham and the fluffy yellow eggs she had cooked. After a cup of the steaming coffee I felt more like satisfying some of Nan's curiosity, but only some. She was primarily interested in the people and the dancing, and I gave her a much abridged account of the evening, merely by saying that Greg had been called away and that Laurel Mellory had furnished a carriage for the ride home. I told her about Lady Miriam Alton, and her eyes grew wide with amazement when I described Lady Miriam's gown and her jewels.

“She's a notorious hussy,” Nan commented. “It would serve Mellory right if she bagged him. What a scandal, her married and all! Wouldn't it be glorious if they ran away together?”

“And what did you do last night?” I asked a little later.

“I bathed Peter. He gave such howls, but isn't his coat shiny? And, oh yes, Billy Johnson came to call. We—uh—took a walk.” This last was said rather evasively. “That Billy Johnson! He gets fresher every time I see him!”

She spread strawberry jam on a biscuit, preferring to dismiss Billy Johnson from the conversation, but I noticed the twinkle in her eyes and the sly little smile on her lips. I wondered just what had happened during that walk.

I took a sip of my coffee. Ironically, it seemed I had never felt better in my life. From where I sat I could look through the window and see part of the granite quarry behind the house. The sun had completely evaporated the mists now and it sparkled and glittered on the sharp gray stones. There was certainly nothing forbidding about the quarry this morning. I thought about what Paul Mellory had said, and I was suddenly filled with an irresistible urge to explore all those quarries he had spoken of. It was a dazzling beautiful day, and the sunshine and exercise would do me good, I reasoned.

“Nan,” I said, “we've never explored the quarries.”

“Who'd want to?” she said without enthusiasm. “I see enough of it every day—ugly pit of a thing with all those rocks.”

“But there are others,” I said.

“Of course. More of the same thing. Spoiling the countryside.”

“Wouldn't it be nice to get out of the house for a while? We could take Peter with us. It's such a lovely day.”

“I thought we were going to polish the floors and straighten up the cupboards?”

“We can do that any time. Where's your spirit of adventure?”

Nan looked up at me sharply. She must know that this sudden desire of mine to explore the quarries was not usual. She probably suspected an ulterior motive, but she decided to indulge me. I did not want to go tracking off alone, and her lively company would make the jaunt pleasant instead of arduous.

The sky was a luminous white, only slightly washed with blue, as we skirted the quarry behind Dower House. Peter ran on ahead, barking lustily as he scampered over the vivid green grass that grew down to the edge of the pit. I had really had no idea how large the quarry was before. It loomed below us, a great vast pit like a wound in the earth. Some of the gray rocks were tinted with violet and blue, crusted with radiant chunks of mica. We were on the far side now. Across the yawning chasm Dower House looked very small, like some child's toy perched there, surrounded by tiny trees and small patches of garden.

“It looks so snug,” I said. “So peaceful.”

Nan nodded in reply, standing beside me. The wind whipped about us and caused our skirts to flutter about our legs. I looked at Dower House for a long time, my heart filled with the joy and pride of ownership. It was all mine, the only thing in the world I had, and no one would ever be able to take it away from me. Nan shared my emotions. The place meant almost as much to her as it did to me.

“Do you ever think about London?” I asked quietly.

“Not if I can help it,” Nan retorted.

“Do you remember that day Mr. Patterson came into the shop? That day changed everything.”

“I remember it well.”

“It seems so long ago, doesn't it? So much has happened since then and our lives have changed so much.”

“Well,” she said, not caring for this sentimental reverie, “we're a lot busier now, and you, Miss Angel, are a lot flightier, sitting up all night and then wantin' to run all over the countryside like a colt! I swear, it perplexes me!”

“It's perfectly—”

“One would almost think,” she snapped, interrupting me, “that you were in love.”

“Nan! That's absurd.”

“Is it?”

“Come along now. We have a lot more to see.”

We walked on for almost half a mile. The quarry behind Dower House diminshed in size, grew narrow. We lost it completely for a while as we passed through a small wooded area. It was dark and shadowy, only a few wavering bars of sunlight falling through the roof of green and brown foliage above. We had to cross a small stream, and we stepped carefully over the flat rocks. The water gurgled pleasantly and there was the smell of moss and thick mud. Peter leaped over a rotten log, slimy with moss, and lunged at a squirrel on the other side, barking furiously as the tiny animal scurried up a tree and scolded him from a limb high above.

“He's certainly enjoying this,” I remarked.

“I'm glad someone is,” Nan snapped.

“Don't be so grumpy. The exercise is good for all of us.”

“I've scratched my arm,” she said, “and look at this.” She held up her yellow skirt, examining a large tear in the material where she had caught it on a thorn.

“Perhaps it's the company that displeases you,” I said, teasingly. “I'm sure you'd find it more enjoyable if Billy Johnson were with you.”

“Miss Angel!” she said, shocked. But she didn't complain any more.

On the other side of the woods there was a hill sloping down gently to the edge of another quarry. The grass was thick and luxuriantly green and thousands of buttercups were scattered in bright spots of yellow over the hill. The quarry was narrow here, gradually widening and becoming deeper as we moved along. Far off, across the quarry, there was another wooded area, and beyond I could see the roof of Phoenix Hall spreading majestically over the tops of the trees.

“This quarry connects with the one behind Dower House,” I said, “although you can't tell it. Look, see how this rock has a pinkish shade? It's slightly different from the other. If you look carefully, you can see the caves and tunnels down there. See where the shadows are? Some of the caves were made by the men who worked in the quarries, some of them are natural, washed away by the sea centuries ago.”

“I don't care to stand that close to the edge,” Nan said. “You be careful, Miss Angel. Those rocks are slippery. If you fell—”

“Nonsense. I'm not going to fall.”

We walked on for a long time. I peered down at the quarries. I could see now why they would furnish such a good hiding place: vast, rugged, rock filled, affording any number of places for concealment, and there were also great yawning holes in the side of the earth that opened like dark mouths, tunnels leading into labyrinths of connecting caves. Someone had said that some of the caves went down half a mile into the earth.

“It does look dangerous, doesn't it?” I said, standing at the edge of the quarry.

“It looks downright spooky. A person could get lost and never be found down there.”

I agreed, nodding my head.

“Do you know about the highwaymen's attack the other night?” she said in a quiet voice.

“Paul Mellory told me,” I replied. “How did you find out about it?”