"I do not suppose," Carlton said, "that you are any sort of horsewoman, Miss Ransom."
"Why should you suppose that? I dote on riding."
They were sitting at the breakfast table, together with M. Victor, who remained resolutely in his chair nibbling on petrified toast, even though Carlton ignored him completely after the first curt greeting.
"Will you join me in a hearty gallop, then?" Carlton inquired.
Marianne gave him a sweet smile. "Unfortunately I am engaged. M. Victor has promised to show me the castle and tell me thrilling tales about the family."
M. Victor choked on a crumb and turned crimson in the face before he got his breath back. Finally he managed to gasp, "Honored… I had hoped, indeed," and a few other phrases indicative of pleasure – and surprise. Marianne did not mind. She wanted to make sure Carlton knew he was being snubbed.
To her annoyance he did not appear to be at all hurt.
"After luncheon, then. You cannot mean to spend the entire day roaming these dusty halls; a few hours of it will make you anxious for some fresh air, I assure you."
Marianne was forced to agree to the appointment. She knew the lawyer's sudden interest in her equestrian skills was only a device to get her alone so he could discuss the business he had mentioned. She assumed he had discovered, or believed he had discovered, something to her detriment, so she was not particularly anxious to hear it.
At Victor's suggestion she changed her fresh muslin gown for something more practical. The uninhabited parts of the castle were dusty and unheated.
At first Marianne rather enjoyed the tour. The Great Hall of the old keep, with its minstrels' gallery and ten-foot fireplaces, was thrillingly Gothic in character. It was in the Portrait Gallery, beyond the Hall, that she first noticed a change in Victor's behavior.
Most of the pictures were old, the newer portraits having been scattered through the other rooms. Some were so ancient that the features of the fifteenth- and sixteenth-century Devenbrooks could scarcely he made out. Victor had not exaggerated when he boasted of knowing the family legends. Many were tales of desperate deeds and desperate men, dark rumors of revenge, treachery, and murder.
They came to a full-length portrait of a woman, or rather a sort of Scottish Fury; a voluminous plaid draped her stately form, her dark hair writhed around her head as if blown by a gale, and in her upraised hand she held a trunkless head. Gouts of painted blood dripped from this ghastly trophy, whose eyes were fixed in a horrid stare.
"Good heavens," Marianne exclaimed. "How dreadful!"
"The fourth Duchess, nee Lady Flora MacMonihan," said Victor. "Known before her marriage as the Iron Maiden of Monihan. The reference is to an antique device of torture -"
"I have heard of it." Averting her eyes, Marianne would have moved on. Victor caught her arm.
"Don't you want to hear about the lady? The head is of her former lover, Angus MacGonigal, who had annoyed her by abandoning her for another. They say she had it sent to the home of his betrothed and served up to the girl at dinner. She went raving mad."
"No wonder." Marianne shuddered. Victor casually slipped an arm around her waist.
"Ah, they were barbaric times, to be sure. Not like -"
"Sir!" Marianne pulled away from him. "What are you doing?"
" 'Tis begging your pardon I am. The place is chilly and I thought -"
"You thought wrong. I have seen enough." She turned and started back the way they had come. With an agile leap Victor barred her path.
" 'Tis shorter by the way I'll be showing you. Ah, now, don't pout at me, that's a darling; I'll be behaving myself after this."
His manner left a great deal to be desired, but he did not try to touch her; and since Marianne was uncertain of the precise path they had taken, she decided to follow him.
They passed through the heavy oak door at the end of the Portrait Gallery. Victor shut it carefully behind them and proceeded along a stone-flagged corridor lighted only by narrow slits high in the wall.
" 'Twas the passage to the old kitchens and scullery. Indeed but the food must have been icy cold before it reached the Banqueting Hall."
He continued to chatter, interspersing bits of historical information with courteous warnings about broken flagstones and other impediments to walking. The darkness imperceptibly thickened as they went on, but Marianne was caught completely off guard when he suddenly turned and folded her in his arms, pressing her against the cold stone wall.
"Come, now, it's private we are, and no one to see us at all, at all. Give us a little kiss to start, me darling, and then we'll -"
Momentarily Marianne was paralyzed, not so much by what was happening but by her memory of what had happened in the past. However, the tutor's breath, though far from pleasant, was not heavy with wine fumes; his fumbling hands had not the maniacal strength of Bagshot's. Turning her head to avoid his wet lips, Marianne freed one hand, doubled it into a fist, and brought it down on Victor's cheek.
He let out a howl of pain and relaxed his hold. Marianne twisted away. Three quick steps brought her to the door which she could dimly see through the gloom. She threw her weight against it; after a moment's resistance it yielded, admitting a flood of light from the windows in the hall beyond. This she recognized as a portion of the more modern wing, not far from the main staircase. This path had indeed been the shortest way back; Victor had been truthful on that score., at least.
"Wait." The tutor's voice, close behind her, made her turn quickly. She was no longer afraid, for a hearty scream would undoubtedly fetch help. What a contemptible-looking creature he was, nursing his cheek with one hand, his shoulders bowed and his eyes narrowed.
"Stand back," she said. "I don't want you near me."
"And no doubt you'll be off to Her Grace and tell her what happened."
"No doubt."
Victor made a sudden move. Marianne opened her mouth, prepared to cry out for help. But he made no attempt to seize her. In a way, what he did was worse. He dropped to his knees and clasped his hands. Marianne saw, with a thrill of disgust, that his eyes were overflowing with tears. He burst into a tempestuous appeal, of which, between his brogue and his sobs, she understood only the gist. He groveled, he apologized abjectly, he assured her no such thing would ever happen again. It was her fault, because her beauty had driven him mad; but it was his fault since nothing could excuse such vile, unmanly conduct. He begged her not to have him dismissed from his position.
The young Duke needed him, his "poor old mother in Killarney" would die of starvation and heartbreak…
"Oh, do stop it," Marianne exclaimed. "Stand up and act like a man instead of a baby, and perhaps…"
Victor's sobs cut off. His tears had been genuine enough; his face was drenched, and when he wiped at his eyes with his dusty hands, trails of mud ran down his cheeks.
"Is it granting me mercy you are?"
"Well…" Seeing his eyes again overflow and his lips tremble, Marianne said disgustedly, "I will say nothing of this so long as there is no repetition of it. Only keep away from me in future."
She left him still on his knees babbling protestations of undying but respectful gratitude.
Ludicrous as the performance had been, Marianne had no impulse to laugh. She had been thoroughly repelled, and when, on reaching her own room, she saw that the sleeve of her dress bore the marks of the tutor's dirty hand, she stripped it off so quickly she burst half the buttons.
It was later than she had thought. She was still scrubbing vigorously at her face and arms when Annie knocked to tell her luncheon was served.
She had not expected that Victor would have the effrontery to appear for luncheon., nor did he. This was an informal meal when no visitors were present; the family came or not as they pleased. Lady Annabelle was always accompanied by one or more cats when she attended the meal. Today Marianne was glad to see that her companion was the enormous red Horace. He at least could be trusted to remain in his mistress's lap.
The Duchess studied Marianne with an expression of concern, and the girl squirmed self-consciously. Perhaps the Duchess did have psychic powers and could read her mind! But, as it turned out, the lady was thinking of another matter entirely.
"I fear this is dull for you," she said. "We will have to plan some outings. I only wish there were young people in the neighborhood with whom you might associate. Dr. Gruffstone is coming today or tomorrow, but he is not the gayest of companions. Roger, cannot I persuade you to stay for a few days and help entertain Marianne?"
"Thank you," the lawyer replied smoothly. "You tempt me. In fact, I had already arranged to go riding with Miss Ransom this afternoon."
Marianne had forgotten this arrangement, and she might have tried to get out of it but for the Duchess's response.
"What a splendid idea! I had thought of suggesting it, but it would be quite unsafe for her to venture out alone. Of course one of the grooms could accompany her, but this is much more suitable."
With the scheme thus approved, Marianne had no choice but to smile and say she was looking forward to it.
After the meal she went up to change into her riding habit. She was halfway up the stairs when a head popped out from between two of the carved banisters, with such an unnerving effect that only a firm grip of the handrail kept her from falling. She was irresistibly reminded of the painting of Lady Flora and her dreadful trophy. Then she saw that the head belonged to the young Duke, and that he was standing on a chest in the hall below.
"I gave you a start, didn't I?" he inquired complacently. "I did that to Annie once and she fell all the way down the stairs backwards. It was great fun."
"Annie did not find it great fun," Marianne replied with some asperity. "Nor will you, if you get your head caught between those posts and can't remove it."
"I got it in. I can get it out."
"So you think. I once saw a young rascal get caught in just such a way, between two iron railings. He got his head in, all right, but it required two large constables and a crowbar to get him out."
"Oh." Henry tried to withdraw his head. An expression of alarm crossed his face when he found himself momentarily caught; Marianne watched with un-Christian satisfaction. Then the boy turned slightly, freeing his ears, and made good his escape. He looked thoughtful, however, and Marianne hoped she had put an end to this particular sport.
She continued up the stairs. Henry swung over the rail and followed. "Where are you going?" he asked.
"Riding, with Mr. Carlton."
"I will come along."
"Shouldn't you be at your studies?"
"Oh, I don't have to study. I am really quite clever, you know."
"I am sure you are." Marianne paused at her door, knowing that Henry would follow her in unless she dismissed him in no uncertain terms. "But you cannot come with us."
"Why not?" "I don't want you."
Henry's lower lip began to swell like a rising blister.
"You had better let me come. If you don't, I will tell my grandmother that you let Victor hug you and kiss you."
"What?" Marianne gasped. "You dreadful little… Were you following us this morning?"
"I do that a lot," said the Duke. "I'm very good at it. I practice in the woods, walking like Natty Bumppo; not a twig snaps."
"But sneaking – eavesdropping – that is most dishonorable!"
"But very interesting. People do the most amazing things when they think they are alone. This place is full of secret passages, you know. I have explored them all."
He took an apple from his pocket and juggled it as he spoke. Something about the restless gesture and the animation of the boy's face gave Marianne an unexpected feeling of sympathy. He seemed to have no companions of his own age and very few occupations; and if Victor was his preceptor it was no wonder Henry's notions of honorable behavior were deficient.
"If you followed us you must have seen that I did not allow M. Victor to do anything," she said.
"You hit him a good one," said the Duke admiringly. "I didn't know you were so strong. But Victor is a poor weak sort of fellow. I'd have come to rescue you if you had needed rescuing," he added. "The place where I was… it's a little hard to get out of it in a hurry."
"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. Wilson 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."
"I can safely do so, I suppose, since we are in sight of the village. Remember my advice, Miss Carlton, and don't go dashing off after your egret plumes."
He lifted his hat, made her a genteel bow, and trotted off down the road.
Realizing that Stella was moving uneasily as she sensed her rider's agitation, Marianne calmed herself. She did not regret trying to slap Carlton; she only regretted missing. She waited until he had vanished around a turn in the road before following. By the time she reached the first houses of the village he was out of sight.
There were few people abroad, despite the unseasonably mild weather. The cottage windows were tightly sealed. Presumably the hard-working peasants had no time to enjoy nature. The men would be at work, the women tending children and preparing the evening meal. The only signs of activity were at the Devenbrook Arms. Marianne could see through the open gates into the innyard, where a coach and horses stood waiting for some traveler. This reminded her of Bagshot and of Carlton's warning. Ridiculous, she told herself angrily. Bagshot would not dare to show his face in such a small place as this, where every stranger was immediately observed.
The houses thinned out; only the church and the vicarage, a neat stone house somewhat larger than the others, remained to be passed before she turned into the drive leading to the castle. Though she had convinced herself she was in no danger, she felt nervous and had lifted the reins, preparatory to urging Stella into a trot, when she saw the church doors open and a familiar form appear. The sunlight caught its cap of golden hair and set it aglow.
Without any conscious intent on her part, Marianne's hands tightened and Stella came to a stop. The vicar saw her at the same time. Lifting a hand as if to ask her to wait, he quickly descended the steps and came toward her.
He had to speak to me, Marianne thought, her heart pounding. He saw me stop – why was I so forward? – and felt obliged to greet me. But the glow of pleasure on St. John's face made her hope that this depressing idea was wrong.
"What a welcome and unlooked-for surprise," he exclaimed. "If I thought the Almighty concerned himself with such trivial matters, I would almost believe this meeting to be an answer to prayer."
Marianne did not quite like being considered trivial, but the speech was otherwise so gracious she decided to overlook that part of it.
"It is a pleasure to see you, Mr. St. John. I hope you are well?"
"Splendid, thank you. But you are wondering why I stopped you."
"Not at all," Marianne murmured.
"I wished, first, to apologize for the unpleasantness that marred what was otherwise a delightful evening."
"You have no need to apologize. I am only sorry -"
"No, no, the fault was mine. I was too abrupt. Her Grace was quite right in accusing me of a lack of tolerance. I assure you, I have been berating myself ever since."
Indeed, Marianne could now see the delicate strains of sleeplessness and worry marking his eyelids. They only made him look more romantic.
"I hate to see you in distress," she said impulsively. "The Duchess is the kindest woman in the world; if you go to her and tell her you have changed your mind -"
"But I cannot. I have not." He looked up at her, his hand resting on Stella's neck. "That is where my trouble lies, Miss Ransom. You do understand, don't you?"
"I am not sure -"
"Prayers for the dead – that is sheer popery!" His eyes glowed with a fiery light. "Her Grace may call it a memorial service, but she wants more, more than I can in conscience give. Yet I might be tempted to do something of the sort if I sincerely believed that she had abandoned her heathen practices. Oh, Miss Ransom, I must say this, hard as it is – I must warn you. Do not, I beg you, participate in those actions which can only endanger your immortal soul."
Before the burning intensity of his look Marianne's eyes fell. She would like to have disclaimed any knowledge of what he meant, but she could not; those clear eyes seemed to see straight into her heart.
"I owe her so much," she murmured.
"She took me in when I was friendless, poor -"
One more minute and she would have confessed the whole shameful story. But Mr. St. John did not give her the opportunity.
"You owe her gratitude, companionship, devotion. But your soul you owe to no man – or woman," he added punctiliously.
Marianne wanted to promise anything he asked. His voice thrilled her; mind, heart, and soul responded. But her buried streak of obstinacy made her say, "I can't see that there is any harm in it."
"I tell you these manifestations are of the Devil! Have you read that splendid pamphlet, Table-moving Tested and Proved to be the Result of Satanic Agency} Or Tableturning, the Devil's Modern Masterpiece?"
"No," Marianne admitted.
"The table confessed," Mr. St. John said solemnly, "that it was moved by the spirit of a lost soul sent from Hell."
"Oh, dear."
"Will you read these books if I give them to you?"
"Yes; but -"
"Wait here. Wait only a moment."
Any other man would have looked foolish running at such a pace, his coattails flapping; but Mr. St. John – his admirer thought -even ran beautifully. He vanished into the parsonage; in a moment he came pelting back, waving several small volumes.
"Here," he panted, pressing them into her hand. "Read and heed the blessed words in them. Read and pray, my dear Miss Ransom. And if you should ever require spiritual guidance, I am at your service – at any hour of the day or night."
A thrill ran down Marianne's spine. "Thank you," she said. "I… I must go now."
"Yes, you must." The young man stepped back. "I have kept you too long. But it was well done, if my words bear fruit. Remember."
"I will."
He looked as if he would have said more, but a burst of distant laughter from the inn made him recollect himself. He made her a formal bow and turned to return to the house.
Stella looked inquiringly at her new mistress. "May we go on now?" she seemed to say. Marianne said absently, "Yes, Stella, go on, do," and they trotted sedately off, with Marianne's head craned to watch the vicar until he disappeared inside.
Stella knew her way home, which was fortunate, because her rider was daydreaming.
They had passed into the drive before Marianne realized it would never do to let the Duchess see the books the vicar had given her. She thrust them into the front of her jacket. They made an unseemly bulge, but at least their titles were not visible.
She found one of the grooms waiting by the front steps, sent, he said, by Mr. Carlton, who had promised she would be along directly. After an affectionate farewell to Stella, Marianne crossed both arms awkwardly over her breast to hide the books and made a dash for her room. She thrust the dangerous little volumes into her wardrobe under a heap of undergarments, and just in time – a tap at the connecting door heralded the arrival of the Duchess.
"Well," she exclaimed, smiling, "from your appearance, my dear Marianne, I would conclude that you have spent a happy, busy day."
"I lost my hat," Marianne said.
The Duchess laughed outright. "I heard about that. Roger pretended to be annoyed at the trick you played on him, but I could tell he was greatly entertained. Don't concern yourself, child; he has sent one of the menservants out to look for your hat, and if it is not found we well get you another. I would sacrifice a dozen hats to see you looking so bright and healthy."
"You are too kind," Marianne said miserably. She felt as if the offending volumes were out in plain sight, blazoning their messages aloud.
"Not at all." The Duchess patted her cheek. "What do you say to a cup of tea here in your room, and a little rest? My dear old Gruffstone has arrived, so we will be seven for dinner. I sometimes allow Henry to dine when Horace is here; they are so fond of one another. And one can't exclude M. Victor, he is so sensitive… And Annabelle, of course. I only hope she will not bring half a dozen cats. A bientot, then, my child."
She went out, leaving Marianne no opportunity to speak even if she had wanted to – which she did not. As she watched the maids running in and out with trays of tea and cakes, buckets of hot water, warm towels, and other luxuries, she felt like a racehorse being groomed – and bribed – for the evening's performance.