Dark inheritance (4 page)

CHAPTER THREE

COMING downstairs one morning three weeks after Rockwood's departure, Barbara was surprised to see a low-slung racing car parked in the drive, and went into the dining-room to find it already occupied.

A man stood at the sideboard with his back to her, and for an instant she thought Rockwood had returned. The set of the broad shoulders and the solidity of the figure were the same, but when he turned round, the lid of a chafing dish in his hand, she saw it was a stranger. And yet obviously not a stranger to the house, for he came towards her with the easy assurance of someone completely at home.

"Hullo, there! I bet you're Aunt Ellie's new com
panion? I'm Mark Rockwood, Dominic's cousin." He held out his hand and took hers in a friendly grip.

"I'm Barbara Mansfield," she smiled.

He moved to the table and pulled out a chair for her. "Sit down and let me serve you with breakfast."

"Don't bother, thanks, I'd rather do my own choos
ing."

He attacked his plate vigorously, and for the next few
minutes concentrated entirely on his food. Barbara
seated herself and studied him covertly while they ate,
feeling she had had some justification in mistaking him
for his cousin. Although they were superficially alike she could see now that they were quite different except in type. Of the same height and build, he had none of
the other man's muscularity, and where Rockwood gave the impression of strength and sinewy resilience, Mark seemed soft and easy-going, although the line of his jaw
bespoke the same stubborn determination. His eyes had none of his cousin's intensity of colour; neither had his
hair, which was sandy and indeterminate.

He looked up suddenly and caught her eyes on him.
"Forgive the lack of conversation. I'm usually far more
sociable than this, even in the mornings, but I'm darned hungry,"

"So I see," she smiled.

He grinned back. "Drove up from London overnight,
and apart from stopping at Oswestry for some coffee in the early hours, I haven't had a bite."

"Do you mean you left London last night?"

"Yes. You sound surprised."

"I am, although I suppose it's only because the last few weeks here has made London seem so remote that it might be another world."

"I sometimes get that feeling when I'm here. Makes me glad to get back to town."

"You don't like it here?"

"A little of Crags' Height goes a long way with me. Don't know how Dominic has the strength of mind to maroon himself here year after year."

"I don't expect Mr. Rockwood would do anything unless he wanted to."

Mark shrugged, "What about some more coffee? I'll ring for Emily and ask her to make some fresh,"

Aunt Ellie greeted Mark's arrival with an enthusiasm of which Barbara did nut know she was capable, and
treated him with a playfully reproving but adoring man
ner which she never showed to her older nephew. Mark seemed to reciprocate her affection and responded light-
heartedly to her teasing, and watching the tiny figure walk round the garden on the arm of the big, sandy-haired man, Barbara grew to like Mark as much for his attitude towards his aunt as for his bland good nature. She never once saw him ruffled or in a bad temper, and although he must often have been bored with Aunt Ellie's vague chatter, he met everything that came with the same easy humour.

He took no interest in the estate, yet seemed familiar with all the landmarks in the surrounding countryside, but it was not until one afternoon when they went for a walk that he told Barbara anything about himself.

Their feet crunched on the drive as the dogs bounded ahead, their fronded tails waving as they barked in hoarse joy at their liberty. When they reached the mas
sive iron gates Mark halted and looked back at the house, its huge dark pile silhouetted against the colour
less grey sky.

"Bleak-looking place, isn't it?"
Barbara shivered. "Sometimes I feel it resents people
living in it." As she spoke she could imagine Crags' Height silent and empty, the staircase deserted, the
rooms with no voices to shatter their brooding stillness.
Mark looked down at her reflectively. "It wasn't al
ways like that, you know. When I used to stay here it was filled with people. Dominic's mother liked gaiety
and every weekend there was a house-party of one kind
or another."

"I thought you seemed to know it well," she said. They turned and swung down the hill leading to the village.

"I do," Mark replied. "My parents died when I was
about six and Dominic's father had me to stay with him.
He was my father's elder brother and I must say he al
ways treated me like another son. Dominic and I were brought up together, sharing everything—except the ownership of Crags' Height." He paused. "He was
always a strange fellow about this house—intense about
everything, like most Welshmen. One gets the feeling that he loves it and loaches it at the same time."

"You
don't strike me as being intense," Barbara put in.

Mark grinned. "That's because my mother was English. Apart from which my father was the younger brother and had no responsibilities to inherit. He knew Crags' Height would never belong to him and when Uncle Hugh married and had a son he thought no more about it."

"Did you spend all your childhood here?"

"Most of it. We had a tutor until we were old enough
to go to prep, school, and Dominic and I were- pretty
well inseparable except when he went abroad with his
father. Then he went up to Bangor University and I went to Cambridge."

"Why didn't he go to Cambridge with you?"

"You don't know your boss, young lady—he takes his heritage seriously! When he heard I was going to Cambridge he wouldn't speak to me for a week—said if every Welshman was like me there'd be no need of a University in Wales at all."

By this time they had reached the end of the hill, the hedgerows bare and leafless, the trees raising a tracery of black against the sky. Drifting plumes of smoke from
the cottage chimneys rose into the still air and as they
walked down the steep high street Mark exchanged greetings with people who recognized him.

They came to the end of the village street and Mark
halted. "Which way would you like to go? Straight on down to the sea or back up across the hill the other side of the house?"

"I didn't know there was another way round Crags' Height."

"There arc several. Come on, I'll show you one of them—Lloyd's Folly. It's well known around here and you can't live near Cwmllan without seeing it."

They skirted the village and after crossing the main road leading to Crags' Height walked up a tortuous,

narrow line that wound around the mountainside. It was so steep that Barbara had to stop every now and
then to get her breath, but her companion urged her on.
"Don't look back until we reach the top or you'll spoil the view for yourself."

"How much further is it?" she gasped. "Not very far."

He took her hand and pulled her up the last few yards, and she found herself on a concrete platform about ten feet wide with a stone shelter and wooden bench. A high railing ran round it, for there was a drop of several hundred feet, and Barbara gasped at the beauty of the view.

"Look, you can see the whole of the village," Mark
made a wide gesture with his arm, "and there's Crags'
Height over there."

She looked in the direction of his hand, drinking in the beauty all around. The afternoon was dull and grey,
yet it in no way lessened the loveliness of the scene. The
road they had just climbed looked like a long, narrow snake winding into the heart of the hill which was
covered with gorse bushes and patches of fern and fell
steeply to the valley, giving the impression that it was
going to topple and crush the puny little houses at its
foot, while far away to the left was Crags' Height, soft
ened by distance into a beauty of its own.

They turned and made their way down the narrow path again, Mark catching her hand and steadying her
as they ran the last few yards, arriving breathless at the
bottom.

Barbara felt closer to him after this, for the walk had
established them on a friendly footing, and weather per
mitting they went out every afternoon to explore the countryside together. The days flew past, and occasion
ally glancing at the calendar, Barbara was amazed how
quickly they merged into weeks.

One afternoon when they were all sitting in front of
the drawing-room fire Aunt Ellie surprised them by an
nouncing that it was her birthday, and Mark jumped up
with an exclamation and kissed her warmly on both cheeks.

"This calls for a celebration! We'll all put on our best
bibs and tuckers and have a proper dinner party tonight,
with some of mine host's wine and a bottle of that lovely
Bristol sherry."

The old woman clasped her hands together. "What a
good idea! I love parties, and it's a long time since we had one. The last I can remember was when Margaret was fifty. It was the last one she gave before—"

"Let's talk about something more cheerful," Mark interrupted. "It's no good thinking about the past, espe
cially on your birthday. Look to the future and to blazes
with everything else is my motto!"

The old woman beamed. "You
are
a naughty boy!" Then to Barbara: "Now what shall I wear—my wine
or black dress? No, not black today, I think I'll wear
something gay. Black is too depressing and funereal." She stood up. "If you'll help me to my room, dear, I'll have a little lie down and be fresh for this evening."

When Barbara had settled her to rest she went down
stairs again and found Mark sitting thoughtfully in front of the fire.

He looked up at her approach and smiled cheerfully. "Settled her?"

"Yes." She moved closer to the blazing logs and warmed her hands. "It was sweet of you to think of having a party, Mark. Aunt Elite's life is so uneventful that she'll remember this for months."

"I know, poor old girl—I'm sorry for her. I only wish I could do a bit more to cheer her up."

"Well, you certainly do what you can. If only "

she stopped and bit her lip.

"If only what?"

"Nothing. I was just letting my tongue run away with
me."

"Tut-tut, that's something no nice girl should do, especially if she happens to be thinking about her
employer! You were going to say something about my
inestimable cousin, weren't you?"

Barbara sat down in the armchair by the wide grate. "I do find him—rather strange," she admitted. "I mean, he treats Aunt Ellie as if he positively dislikes her. A times I've thought he dislikes everyone. He can hardly bring himself to be civil to me."

"Why do you stay here, then? A pretty girl like you must find it tedious being shut away like this."

Barbara smiled. "First of all I need the job and secondly it's well paid."

"Even so, you don't strike me as the companion type. What made you take a job like this?"

Suddenly Barbara found herself telling him the events
that had led up to her interview with Rockwood and his aunt. "So you see," she concluded, "the sort of job
I wanted was difficult to find and looking after Miss
Berrcsford is ideal."

"So you were a singer? I can't imagine you warbling on a concert platform."

"Warbling isn't a very attractive way of putting it, but that's what I hope to do eventually."

He looked contrite. "I didn't mean to sound rude, I just don't know the first thing about that sort of music."

When Barbara went in to aunt Ellie an hour later she found her in a dinner dress of deep purple velvet which although outdated was so beautifully cut that it still looked elegant "Do you think it's all right?" she asked, peering anxiously into the mirror.
"You look lovely," Barbara said warmly.
Aunt Ellie smiled and patted her wispy grey hair. "I'm so glad." She moved across to the wardrobe and took out a large square leather box, opening it to disclose a glittering pile of necklaces, car-rings and brooches lying on the velvet lining.

"Lovely, aren't they?" the old woman said com
placently. "Most of them originally belonged to my
sister, but they're mine now," She took out a sparkling
diamond brooch and pinned it on her shoulder, and drew two large solitaire rings on
to
her thin fingers. They were far too big and fell inwards against the palm, but she did not seem to mind and kept turning them back again.

"Do you think it's safe to keep all that jewellery up here?" Barbara asked. "I should have thought Mr. Rockwood would have preferred to keep it in the safe!"

"Oh, Dominic doesn't mind. The only thing he doesn't like is if I wear the opal ring and brooch my sister used every day. He can't bear to sec them."