Carisbrooke Abbey (8 page)

‘It isn’t safe out here,’ he growled, his eyes flashing with anger.

‘Of course it is,’ she returned. ‘The folly is not going to collapse. It is solidly built and will last for centuries, despite its precarious appearance. There is not the slightest danger.’

‘Curse you, woman! Will you do as you’re told and get inside?’

‘No, I will not! I have every right to take the air, and mean to make the most of it as long as the rain holds off.’

‘You will return to the abbey at once, or so help me I’ll throw you over my shoulder and carry you there.’

He took a menacing step towards her, but she stood her ground. She could not think what had come over him. He had always been curmudgeonly, but this surpassed anything she had yet seen.

‘I cannot believe you mean to lay hands on me —’

But she broke off as he took another step forwards and she saw that he meant to do exactly that.

A sudden thought occurred to her. What if there were really danger, and not of the folly collapsing as she had supposed he meant, but of poachers or thieves on the loose?

‘If you will give me an explanation of the danger I am in, I will return to the abbey on my own,’ she said more softly.

‘I cannot,’ he growled.

‘If I’m in danger, I have a right to know.’

‘You are not in danger, as long as you return to the abbey at once.’

‘Is it poachers?’

‘I cannot tell you any more than I have done,’ he rumbled.

It must be something of the sort, she reasoned, to send him into such a taking, although why he would not tell her was beyond her. However, if there was a chance that there were armed men prowling round the grounds, then she would rather be inside.

She relented. ‘Very well, I will go in.’

‘I will see that you do.’

He fell into step beside her, his long stride pressing her to go more quickly than she would have liked. Her ankle was hurting, and she was limping badly by the time they reached the door.

‘Go in, and don’t venture into the grounds again unless I give you leave,’ he rumbled, before turning on his heel and leaving her.

Well! she thought, not knowing what to make of the strange encounter. Had there really been any danger, or had Lord Carisbrooke taken leave of his senses? He had certainly been very agitated, but she did not think he would make such a fuss without cause.

Belatedly she thought of Esmerelda. If there were poachers roaming the grounds then Esmerelda, too, would be in danger. But it was too late to do anything about it now. Besides, Esmerelda was probably already half way back to the rectory.

Sighing deeply, she went indoors. She could not face the long climb up to her room. Nor did she want to go into the drawing-room, where she suspected she would find Mr Ulverstone. At the moment, she did not want company. But she must do something. After a minute’s reflection, she decided to look for the library. She was curious to see how large it was, and what kind of books it housed.

Pulling off her gloves, she untied the strings of her bonnet then removed her pelisse and laid it over her arm. She looked about her. Two passages led off from the cavernous hall, one in either direction. One led to the drawing-room, so she decided to follow the other one. She stopped outside the first door leading from it. She hesitated, then went in.

She found herself in what must have originally been the abbey cloisters. Arched windows lined the far wall, making the most of the daylight. It was a very long room, and housed a pianoforte, a sofa and half a dozen chairs. Other than that it was bare. There were no tapestries on the walls or rugs on the floor. As well as being a music room, it was probably used for exercise on rainy days, she guessed.

She went out again.

She ignored the next two doors, knowing they would lead into the cloisters further along its length, and instead opened one further along the corridor. It housed a few battered pieces of furniture and smelled musty.  She tried the next door, and this time found what she was looking for. She went inside.

The library was an imposing chamber. The ceiling was arched, and the windows were tall and pointed. Huge oak bookshelves lined the centre of the room, and on them was the largest collection of books and manuscripts Hilary had ever seen. They jostled for position, some standing and some lying down, whilst others were stacked in piles with their gleaming spines facing out into the room.

At the side of the room was a pile of dust sheets. They had evidently been removed in preparation for the arrival of the librarian.

She turned her attention back to the shelves. She was fascinated. The library was a treasure trove. She began pulling out some of the scrolls. They dated back hundreds of years. If she had been accepted at the abbey, she would have enjoyed arranging them.

An idea occurred to her. If she made a start on organizing the library then Lord Carisbrooke might change his mind about appointing her. Once he saw that she was diligent, he might decide she could stay. And if not, it would at least give her something to do whilst she was forced to remain.

She lay her pelisse over the back of the chair, and put her bonnet and gloves on the seat. Then she began to empty the first shelf, the one that was easiest to reach. She carried the books, scrolls and manuscripts over to the table and dipped into them to see what they contained. It soon became clear that whilst some of them related to the abbey, being either plans or deeds or other such documents, some were works of learning, and others were works of fiction. The plans arrested her attention. Here was something straight out of the pages of a Gothic romance, for the abbey possessed a number of secret passages. Having seen an age of religious persecution, in common with many old houses it had a number of passages leading to secret rooms where priests could be hidden. Fortunately such hiding places were no longer needed.

She turned her attention back to the task in hand. Once she had sorted the ancient tomes she wanted to return them to the shelf. It was, however, very dusty. She went over to the dust sheets. On top of them were laid a number of small rags, evidently intended for cleaning.

She set to with a will, dusting the shelves and then replacing the books and scrolls, now neatly organized. She was just about to start on the second shelf when the door opened and Mr Ulverstone entered.

‘So there you are!’ he said with a charming smile. He glanced round the room, and evidently realized what she was doing. He frowned. ‘I thought my cousin refused to appoint you as his librarian.’

‘He did. But I must have something to do, and I thought that if I could make a good job of it ....’ She trailed away as she saw Mr Ulverstone’s expression.

‘You must do as you wish, of course, but my cousin does not like to be crossed. I fear he will not be pleased.’ His frown cleared. ‘But enough of this. Whatever Marcus’s thoughts on the matter, you have been working hard and need a rest. I have come to ask you if I can persuade you to give me a game of cards or chess.’

Hilary hesitated. She would really rather continue with her work, but seeing no way out, she gave in with a good grace.

‘Willingly,’ she said.

He offered her his arm, and together they went into the drawing-room, where the cards had been laid out on an inlaid table.

He held out her chair for her, then sat down opposite her, flicking up the tails of his coat as he did so.

‘What would you like to play?’ he asked, picking up the cards and shuffling them with a proficient air.

‘I don’t know many card games,’ she confessed.

‘Then you should! They form an agreeable way of spending a winter evening. I will teach you.’ He put the cards down on the table. ‘Would you like to make a small wager, to render the game more interesting?’ he asked with a smile.

‘I think I’d better not,’ she said ruefully. ‘I could not afford to lose!’

He laughed. ‘You are very wise. In London the stakes are so high that entire fortunes can be won or lost on the turn of a card! Now, I suggest we start with piquet.’

Marcus prowled back to the folly, looking about him all the while. Once there, he gave it a thorough search and then proceeded to search the shrubbery. At last, frustrated, he turned his steps into the heart of the shrubbery, following what was little more than a track. At the end of it, after several twists and turns, he came to a small cottage. Taking a moment to prepare himself, he knocked three times. The door opened, and an elderly woman opened the door. She was of middling height and had greying hair scraped back from her face in a bun. She was dressed in a black dress with a high neck and long sleeves. On her feet were a pair of stout shoes. Behind her, the cottage looked inviting. Sprigged curtains decorated the windows and cheerful paper covered the walls. The chairs and sofas were soft and appealing. A table pushed to the wall at the left hand side of the door was covered with a snowy white cloth. And sitting peacefully by the fire with a doll on her lap, was the beautiful Esmerelda.

‘Thank God! She’s here,’ said Marcus as he strode in to the cottage. His words were heartfelt.

The elderly woman shut the door and locked it behind him.

‘Yes. She came back of her own accord in the end.’

Having satisfied himself that Esmerelda was safe, Marcus turned to the elderly woman. ‘How did she manage to get away, Mrs Lund?’

‘I had to go out for some more logs for the fire —’

‘I’ve told you to lock the door behind you whenever you have to leave her,’ he growled.

‘I did,’ returned the elderly woman. ‘But she climbed out of the window.’

Marcus looked towards it. It was a very small aperture.

‘I didn’t know she could get through.’

‘Neither did I,’ said the elderly woman. ‘Until today.’

He breathed a great sigh of relief. ‘Well, at least she’s back. But we’ll have to have the windows barred. We can’t risk her getting out again.’

‘Lund is already seeing to it.’

He nodded.

Esmerelda, crooning to her doll, had not looked up, but now she turned towards him.

‘Hello, Marcus,’ she said.

‘Hello, my dear.’ His voice was gentle. But his eyes were tinged with pain. ‘That’s a pretty dress,’ he remarked, making no mention of her recent adventure.

‘Do you think so? Lundy likes it, but I think it’s too plain.’

He smiled; but only with his mouth. ‘Come, now, Esmerelda, it’s made of the finest lace.’

‘I know,’ she sighed. ‘But I do wish I could have silk.’

‘I thought you didn’t like silk?’ he asked, without surprise, for her capriciousness was well known to him.

‘No more I don’t. But I like it better than this.’

‘Then I will buy you a new gown,’ he said gently.

‘Will you? Oh, Marcus, you are good to me.’ She got up and kissed him.

‘But come now, Esmerelda, I want you to do something for me,’ he said, taking her over to the comfortable sofa that was set in the middle of the room and sitting down with her. ‘I want you to promise me you’ll stay in the cottage with Lundy and not venture out of doors, at least until our visitors have gone.’

‘You told me it was Ulverstone who was coming,’ she said accusingly. Her mouth made a moue of discontent. As she spoke, she looked him in the face. Her eyes were very beautiful, but there was something restless about them. They were like quicksilver, constantly shifting.

‘That’s right. And you know what Laurence thinks about keeping you here, so it’s best if he doesn’t see you.’

‘I’m not afraid of him,’ she said fiercely.

He shuddered. ‘No, I know you’re not.’ Adding silently, It is he who is afraid of you.

‘And besides, you lied. It isn’t Ulverstone.’ Her face became cunning. ‘It’s a woman.’

He felt his heart contract at the thought that Esmerelda had seen Hilary. When he had found Hilary walking in the grounds he had been horrified, forcing her to return to the abbey in an effort to help her avoid just such an encounter. Fortunately, she had come to no harm.

‘I didn’t lie,’ he said. ‘Ulverstone is here, but the young woman is here as well.’

‘She isn’t very pretty,’ said Esmerelda. ‘In fact, she’s plain.’ She smiled, pleased. ‘And her clothes are horrible. Did you see her pelisse? It had a patch on the bottom. And her dress was made of linsey-woolsey!’

She laughed delightedly.

So that’s what saved Hilary, thought Marcus. If she had been well dressed and beautiful ... His blood churned at the thought of what might have happened. But then he dismissed the feeling. It had not happened. Hilary was safe.

‘What is she doing here?’ asked Esmerelda.

‘She is a traveller, trapped here by the rain. She will be gone as soon as the roads are clear.’

‘I think I’ll invite her to tea.’

‘No,’ he said firmly.

Esmerelda grew sulky. ‘Why not? She liked me. I know she did.’

‘Of course she did,’ he said soothingly.

‘Then why can’t I have her to tea?’ she demanded.

‘Because I don’t want you to.’

She pouted.

‘Now, Esmerelda. Do you want a new dress or don’t you?’ he asked.

‘No,’ she said vehemently.

‘Very well. Then I will not buy you one.’

He stood up.

‘You will,’ she said.

‘Only if you do as I ask.’

Her face contorted in to a mask of fury. In a sudden movement she wrenched off her doll’s head and threw it at him.

He flinched, but it was not from the impact of the doll’s head. It was from love, and pity, and despair.

Her fury abated as quickly as it had arisen. ‘You will,’ she said again, this time wheedling. ‘Won’t you, Marcus?’

‘As long as you stay in the cottage until our visitors have gone. Then you will have a beautiful gown. Do you promise?’

She looked sulky again.

‘Esmerelda?’

‘Oh, very well,’ she said.

‘Good. And now, my dear, I must be going.’

On his way to the door, he said in a low aside to Lund’s capable wife. ‘Keep a close eye on her. I don’t want you to leave her even for a minute until the windows have been barred.’

Mrs Lund nodded. ‘Very well.’

Marcus glanced at Esmerelda, then he left the cottage.