“Well, James, I trust your hostelry has fare fit for us.” Paul dismounted, giving the Turk’s reins to a groom and holding out his hand to the innkeeper, who seized and shook it gladly.
“My inn can compete with any of your fancy London places—if that thieving vagabond by Hob’s Tor leaves my supply of mutton alone.”
“Vagabond? What’s all this?”
“Oh, some fellow hiding up there. They reckon perhaps in the old cave where— Anyway, no one will go up and look, not to that old place. But if he doesn’t stop soon we’ll have to get together and flush him out somehow—though who would come with me to that cursed place I don’t know. He’s had at least four sheep from my enclosure and the new folk in Mother Kendal’s old cottage have talked of losing eggs from the coops.”
Paul’s smile faded a little. “I’ll warrant if the old witch herself was still alive no one would ever dare steal her eggs.”
“Ah, well, Mother Kendal may be gone but her memory is fearsome enough. Her haunts are still avoided as surely as ever they were.”
“James, she’s dead, and so are most of her cronies, and those that remain have set that aside once and for all. Hob’s Tor holds no terror for me. I’ll help you seek out your thieving vagabond.”
James grinned broadly. “Reckon Old Nick himself would be sent running from you and me, Master Paul.”
“Aye, pitchfork and all!”
Trefarrin looked past Paul to where some ostlers were trying to control a nervous horse which had no intention of standing between the shafts of a cart. “Have a care, you dolts. That’s best Froggie cognac there.”
He grinned at Paul, rubbing his finger against the side of his nose, “The best the Revenue men have missed! And talking of Froggies, I reckon I saw that groom we all thought was drowned in Hob’s Brook. Early one morning a day or so back. I was up because my rheumatism was playing me foolish again. If it wasn’t him then it was someone just like him. Riding south he was, toward Mannerby.”
Sarah glanced quickly at Melissa, but the girl did not move a muscle. Paul merely shrugged. “It seems everyone is seeing Armand at every corner. I fear the poor man is dead. Unless, of course, he’s afraid to return to us in case he is blamed for the maid’s unfortunate death.”
James nodded. “Peculiar lot, the Froggies. Reckon Wellington’ll rub their foreign noses in the mud for old England shortly though, eh?”
Sarah reached down to the groom who was waiting to help her dismount. As she stood on the newly washed cobbles of the yard she looked at Melissa again. The girl was staring at James Trefarrin, her face filled with ill-concealed malice mixed with a hint of fear.
The innkeeper seemed anxious to speak to Paul. “Mr. Ransome, before you partake of a meal, could I maybe have a word with you in private? It’s rather important.” He glanced surreptitiously at Melissa, who was still watching him.
Paul nodded. “Yes, of course, James. I came here to speak with you anyway. Melissa, if you and Miss Stratford will go on into the parlor.”
He went off with Trefarrin, who began at once to speak in a low, hurried voice.
Sarah followed Melissa into the inn and soon the two women were sitting by a log fire sipping steaming mugs of mulled ale. Sarah did not like the taste, but the warmth was good. The flames leapt in the fireplace, sending sparks and smoke spiraling upwards. Copper pots and pans littered the stone grate, winking and reflecting the glow of the fire. A maid in a pale gray dress and white mobcap bustled around the cozy parlor, dusting and polishing the high-backed settles. In a far corner two men were deep in conversation over their ale, laughing occasionally and glancing surreptitiously at the two women who sat unattended.
The calm was disturbed suddenly and unexpectedly by Paul’s furious voice in the passageway outside. Anger quivered in every muffled word and Sarah stared at the door, waiting. Melissa straightened slowly, sitting on the very edge of her seat. The door burst open and Paul stood there, his riding jacket buttoned and his hat firmly on his head. He was pulling his gloves on roughly and a shocked fury emanated from him. He gazed reproachfully at his sister for a moment before his anger reasserted itself.
Sarah stood, her heart beating swiftly. What had happened? She saw James Trefarrin’s anxious face behind Paul’s shoulder, his watery eyes fixed on Melissa.
“Melissa, Miss Stratford, we return to Mannerby immediately!” Paul’s eyes were diamond bright.
“But why?” Sarah had to ask, for her curiosity was great.
“My reasons shall be explained quickly enough. Now please be so good as to do as you’re told.”
Sarah began to walk toward the door, tying her bonnet beneath her chin once more, but Melissa remained where she was, as if made of stone.
Paul’s temper burst. “Melissa, get yourself up and obey me, now! You especially are in no position to defy me!”
Amazed, Sarah paused, for she had never before heard him raise his voice to his sister. Melissa got to her feet then and Sarah could see the naked fear on her lovely face. As she walked past Trefarrin her eyes were evil and he stepped aside quickly as if to avoid all contact with her.
“Miss Stratford?” Paul spoke as patiently as he could, but patience ran perilously low in him now.
In the yard the grooms were standing ready with the horses. Sarah was lifted lightly into the saddle and turned to watch as Melissa mounted too. Paul paused for a last word with James Trefarrin, who was wringing his hands. “I’m sorry, sir, but I felt you had to know what was going on.”
“Yes, yes, you were right to tell me, James.” Paul was abrupt but his words seemed to satisfy the anxious innkeeper, whose relief was obvious. He mopped his brow with a large red handkerchief.
The ride back to Mannerby was swift and silent. Melissa was tense, her face white and her lips pale, and she looked increasingly apprehensive as each mile passed. Sarah urged her mount along as best she could, finding the headlong pace difficult with the dreadful sidesaddle to contend with. She put all her concentration into remaining seated, and into ignoring the rumbling of her stomach which had now gone without both breakfast and lunch. Her body ached, she was tired, and she was bewildered. What on earth had the innkeeper revealed? It seemed to have been something concerning Melissa, that much was certain.
Already the short winter afternoon was drawing in and the sun had taken on a reddish hue so that the rocks on top of the tor seemed alight. Sarah saw with relief that Mannerby was in sight, for they were at last riding down the long incline toward the village. The villagers looked up in surprise as they saw the hurried return of the gentry from the big house. Martin had been painting the gates and he put down his brush, rubbing his hands on his leather apron. His keys jangled as he opened the gates.
Paul alighted almost before the Turk had stopped, turning to grab at the reins of Sarah’s mount. “Sarah, go to your room if you please, and remain there.” He reached up and helped her down and then turned to his white-faced sister. “Melissa, you will take yourself to the drawing room and await my coming.”
Anger showed in his every movement as he helped Melissa to dismount. Sarah thought she heard a frightened little sob as the girl ran into the house, dashing past Marks, who stood aside in surprise.
“Go to your room, Sarah, please,” Paul repeated. “I will come to explain as soon as I can.” He met her glance and she saw that there was still a kind of stunned shock in his brown eyes.
“Is there anything I can do?” Surely she could help in some way.
He shook his head. “You can do nothing.” He walked slowly and heavily into the house, taking off his hat and gloves and thrusting them into Marks’s hands. As he vanished inside she suddenly realized that he had addressed her by her first name.
Sarah had not been in her room for long when a very excited Janie hurried in. “Miss Melissa’s in awful trouble ... awful.”
Interest quickened in Sarah. “How do you know?”
“They’re in the drawing room, her and Mr. Ransome, and he’s shouting ever so loudly. I didn’t think I’d ever hear him speak to her like that. She’s weeping and wailing, and all the servants are in the hall trying to hear what’s being said—even that miserable old Marks.”
A door slammed and footsteps pattered up the stairs and along to Melissa’s room. Another door slammed and there was silence.
Sarah waited, but nothing happened except for Melissa’s maid putting her head around the door and telling Janie that Mr. Ransome wanted to see all the servants in the drawing room immediately.
Alone, Sarah went to her favorite seat by the window. A milkmaid was walking down the street with her yoke and two brimming pails of milk. From their small enclosure the three cows called after her, ears swivelling to and fro and mouths chewing steadily. Down in the courtyard she could see Martin’s brush and pot of paint where he had left them when summoned to go and see Paul.
The wintry sun was sinking in a blaze of crimson and gold and the tor was now a stark silhouette against the sky. The air was chilly and she closed the window, pausing only to glance at the dark line of the woods, her eyes seeking the horseman, although she did not consciously realize that she was looking for him.
Slowly footsteps climbed the stairs and approached her door. It was Paul, and she had opened the latch before he reached it. He looked inexpressibly tired and his eyes were empty as he went to sit by the fire.
“I don’t know where to begin, Sarah, for I have discovered so much today which concerns you.” She sat down in a chair facing him and he leaned forward. “Why didn’t you tell me how cruelly Melissa was behaving toward you?”
She smiled. “Would you have believed me?”
Ruefully he returned the smile. “Perhaps not, perhaps not. Anyway, the truth is out now, for James Trefarrin after much deliberation decided to tell me. I am ashamed to say that my sister has been responsible for the spreading of all kinds of malicious gossip about you. Did you know that she was once engaged to your cousin, Edward Stratford?”
“Yes, I knew, but only by accident. I didn’t know before I came here.”
“Well, I found out only this very evening when I dragged from Melissa the reason for her behavior. She told me that she’d been about to marry Edward, then your father brought you to Rook House, telling Edward that he must marry you if he wanted to inherit anything. Is that true?”
She nodded, coloring a little. “Yes, it’s true. It seems my father was determined at all costs to prevent Edward marrying the woman he loved. To this day I don’t know why Melissa was considered so unsuitable. And before you think too badly of me for agreeing to this monstrous marriage, I wish to say that my life would otherwise be made intolerable.... At least with money there are compensations.”
She knew that she was coloring deeply now, but she felt the need to explain to him and was anxious lest he should think her totally grasping and only concerned with wealth.
He was silent for a while. “I can understand, Sarah, and there’s no need for you to explain to me further, for I of all people have little right to any explanation from you. In my way I’m just as guilty as my sister of harming and hurting you, for I was willing enough to believe everything she told me.”
He reached out and took her hand gently. “Sarah, I don’t wish to embarrass you, or alienate you, but must take that risk if I’m to tell you what Melissa has been doing. I think you should know.”
She lowered her eyes, swallowing, wanting to know and yet afraid of what she would hear. “Then tell me.”
“It began really when Melissa returned here last autumn. Until then she had been living with our Aunt Mathilda in London, enjoying the Season, going to balls, and so on. I was surprised when she came back, but she seemed unconcerned and so I did not press the matter. When you were sent here it was a vile stroke of luck for you, for Melissa’s frustrations boiled to the surface and she set about making your life unbearable and ripping your reputation to shreds.”
He looked at Sarah across the dancing light from the fire. “And she very nearly succeeded, didn’t she?”
She looked away from him, glad of the darkening shadows in the room. Outside it was dusk and the bell in the church tower was echoing across the moor. She could no longer see Hob’s Tor, for the sun had faded away behind the horizon, leaving no sign of its passing.
Paul released her hand and she turned back to him quickly. “Sarah, I was ungentlemanly enough to mention a letter from Ralph once. Well, I must say here and now that I’ve never even seen it. When I returned here with you, Melissa told me that the letter had arrived just after my departure and that she’d opened it in case it contained some news which should be sent on to me. It was merely, she said, a confirmation that Ralph was expecting me to come to view his thoroughbred stallion. It also contained, so she said, an account of Ralph’s affair with you.”
He took her hand again as she straightened, denial leaping to her lips. “I know now that it was a lie, Sarah, for there was no letter and Ralph never had a love affair with you.”
He held her hand gently. “This affair with Ralph was supposed to have been a torrid matter, and he professed himself almost scorched by your fervor. He also was claimed to have known that he wasn’t alone in enjoying your favors, for you were also engaged in dalliances with several of your father’s guests at Rook House. Your name was becoming notorious, and your father an object of ridicule because of your behavior. This information is what greeted me on my return here to Mannerby, and is partly why I found it so difficult to—to ...” His voice died on a note of the utmost embarrassment as he remembered how coldly he had behaved toward her.
“But you already disliked me even before we left Rook House. I know that’s so.”
He was surprised, for he did not know that she had overheard him that day on the grounds of Rook House. “Well, I’ll come to all that later, Sarah, for I’m determined that you shall know all it’s your right to know.”
He ran his fingers through his sandy hair and stood up, taking a candlestick from the nearby table and holding out the candle to the flames of the fire. Sarah watched the glow of the fire lighting his face. He put the candle on the table and sat down again.