Rivals of Fortune / The Impetuous Heiress (14 page)

The boy repeated his tale.

“Yes, I see,” agreed Erland when he finished. “You may be right. Of course, my uncle might have covered the spot with some of these stones.” He gestured toward the piles of rocks surrounding them.

“I thought of that. I looked under the smaller piles, figuring he could not have moved the big ones. There was nothing there but grass, and one snake.”

“Hmmm.” Erland looked around thoughtfully. “We have to search the house,” urged Frederick. “It must be there. Did you find anything on those old charts?”

“No, not yet.”

“Well, we must just start in then. What about the attics?”

The man groaned. “Have you
seen
the attics in this old barrack? They are huge, and crammed with every sort of rubbish. It would take weeks to go through it all.”

“I'm ready,” said Frederick, looking wholly undaunted by this prospect.

“Not now,” said Joanna. “It is nearly time for luncheon. Look, Father is getting ready to go home.”

Frederick started to protest, but Erland added, “And I am worn out with digging. You must give me time to rest, Frederick.”

“Pooh,” responded the boy. “We shall never find it at this rate.”

“Well, I am not ruling out the attics,” said Erland, “though I cannot believe that my uncle would have hidden anything in that mare's nest. But there are other places as well. The basements, for example. I believe they are extensive. We must make a plan before we plunge in.” Frederick looked mulish. “Oh, very well,” he muttered.

“Frederick, Joanna, we are going,” called Mr. Rowntree.

Joanna added one more line to her drawing, then began to pack up her things.

“I'll tell you what, Frederick,” added Erland. “You may help me plan this afternoon. Your father is otherwise engaged and won't be coming back today, so we can search together.”

The boy's eyes lit. “Oh, first-rate. I'll come right after luncheon.”

“You are welcome, too, Miss Joanna,” offered the man hopefully.

“I'm not sure,” she said, continuing to pack up. “I must see if Mama wants me.”

Erland looked down. “Of course.”

Mr. Rowntree called again, and they walked over to join him. In a very few minutes, they were driving back toward home, Joanna's father full of the progress they had made that morning.

When they entered the house, Joanna found Selina awaiting her in the drawing room. “Wherever have you been?” asked the younger girl. “I came to see you, and your mother asked me to stay to lunch.” She surveyed Joanna's smudged face and dusty gown with wide eyes.

“Hullo Selina,” replied Joanna without much enthusiasm. She didn't feel like chatting. She had been looking forward to washing her face in cool water and changing her dress. “I must go up and make myself tidy.”

“I'll come with you,” said Selina comfortably.

Joanna turned and started toward the stairs without further comment. She knew it was no good telling Selina that she did not want company.

“Where have you been?” asked the visitor again as they walked up the stairs together. “You are positively sticky with dust, Joanna. I have never seen you so. Were you out walking in this heat?” Selina's voice sharpened on this last question.

“I have been at the Abbey, helping at my father's digging.”

Selina gaped. “Whatever for?”

“He asked me to, and I wanted to help.” Joanna hurried on before Selina could frame another question. “And I am excessively hot and dirty and feeling quite out of sorts, Selina.” They had reached Joanna's bedroom by this time, and she went over to the washstand and poured some water from the pitcher into the basin. It was barely cool, but she began to splash her face.

Selina shrugged and plumped down on the bed.

“Well, I suppose you are, if you have been digging. But Joanna, I came today to tell you the most prodigious news!”

Joanna was patting her face with a towel, and her voice was muffled by its folds. “What?”

“The oddest thing. Or I shouldn't say odd, but…sad, or…oh…I don't know.”

“What?” repeated Joanna, a bit impatiently.

Selina clasped her hands together and opened her pale blue eyes very wide. “I saw Peter yesterday,” she said in thrilling accents.

Joanna raised her eyebrows, putting down the towel and going to her wardrobe to get out a fresh gown. “Well, and how is that news? He lives in the neighborhood after all. We must see him frequently.”

Selina leaned forward. “Yes, but Joanna, he was alone and so was I. I was walking across the field to the Townsends', you know, and he came up with me on horseback.”

“And the two of you chatted? You have known each other all your lives, Selina.”

“Joanna,” said the other girl reproachfully. “Of course I know that. Why won't you listen to me?”

“Well, I am listening, but I cannot see anything wonderful in what you have said so far.”

Selina looked hurt.

“I am sorry,” continued Joanna in answer to her look. “I told you I was out of sorts. What do you wish to tell me?”

Only partly mollified, Selina replied, “I wanted to tell you that we talked of
you
, Peter and I.” She looked up triumphantly.

“Oh dear,” said Joanna.

“It was the most romantic thing imaginable,” Selina went on. “Of course, he has made a mistake; I knew that from the beginning.”

“He said so?” Joanna was aghast. How could her friend have embarrassed her this way?

“He didn't have to say it. I knew.”

Exasperated, but relieved, Joanna turned to pull a fresh gown from her wardrobe. “Nonsense, Selina.”

“It is not. I could tell by his tone. He knows, of course, that I have your fullest confidence. It was so affecting, Joanna. Had you heard the way he spoke your name!”

“Well, I have heard it,” snapped the other girl, struggling to button the back of her gown. “I saw Peter myself not long ago.”

Selina stared. “You didn't tell me!”

“There was nothing to tell. We spoke briefly, I wished him happy—That is all.”

The younger girl leaned forward. “He was holding back and didn't trust himself. But he still loves you, Joanna. I know it!”

Joanna stared at her, appalled.

“He does,” repeated Selina defensively, beginning to quail under the anger in her friend's eye.

“Have you said anything of this kind to
anyone
else?” demanded Joanna.

“No, no, of course not. It is only between ourselves…”

“Good. You must promise not to do so. And you must understand that all is at an end between Peter and me. Please do not talk of me to him.”

“But Joanna…”

“It makes me shudder to consider what you might have said. You must never, never do so again.”

“But I didn't…”

“Don't you see, Selina, how very, very improper it would be if the things you said just now were true? They are not, of course, but everyone does not know that. If Peter did love me, which he does
not
, how dreadful it would be!”

Selina seemed much struck. “I thought it was romantic.”

“It is not at all. Think how uncomfortable it would be, living in the same neighborhood and seeing him constantly.”

“Yes.” Selina was amazed.

“So I hope you will forget this idea, as I have forgotten my unfortunate
engagement
to Peter. It was nothing but a childish misunderstanding, and it is over. I see now that Peter was never the sort of man I could truly admire. Now that I am out, and have met other gentlemen, I see what a mistake I nearly made.”

Selina gazed at her, awestruck. “What other gentlemen?”

Joanna lowered her eyes. “Why, all sorts. Sir Rollin Denby, for example. He is completely different. So assured, so much the man of fashion.” She began to comb out her curls before the mirror. “I am going riding with him again next week.”

“Joanna! With
him
? You shouldn't,” cried Selina, scandalized.

“Nonsense,” replied the other girl, still annoyed.

“But he is, you know, what I told you.”

“Malicious gossip, Selina. I don't wish to hear any more. I've been riding with him already, with only a groom, and he was perfectly polite and amusing.”

“You did? You have?” exclaimed Selina. She looked at the other accusingly. “I didn't know.”

“Well, I forgot to mention it. You see how harmless it was.” Joanna looked down. She had not told Selina because she wished to avoid just such a conversation as this.

“But Joanna, two riding parties. He is
flirting
with you!”

“Nonsense. I daresay he is bored here in the country and wants some amusing outing. You are making a great work over nothing.”

“But Joanna…”

“Selina, please! Come, we must go down to lunch.”

The younger girl paused, looking anxious and uncertain, then turned away. “I hardly know you now, Joanna,” she murmured, her voice breaking slightly. “You are so changed.”

“I am not, Selina.”

“You are. You used to tell me
everything
and to, to feel just as I did on every subject.
Now
, you care nothing for what I think, and you are…oh, I do not know, you are different.”

Somewhat taken aback, Joanna considered this. “Well, now that I am out, I suppose I
am
a little changed.”

“You are wholly changed,” wailed Selina, looking at her friend with tragic eyes.

Impatiently, Joanna turned and began to walk downstairs again. “I think you are making too much of a very trifling thing.”

Selina sniffed once, then hurried to catch up. “Well, I am sorry, Joanna. I did not mean to push in where I am not wanted, I'm sure.” When there was no answer to this, she added, “I
was
trying to help.”

“I know,” said Joanna. She kept her eyes on the stair carpet.

Selina peered down into her face anxiously. “You are not angry?”

“No, no. I believe I must be out of sorts still.”

“I didn't mean to…”

“It's all
right
, Selina. Let us talk no more about it.”

The younger girl fell silent, and they walked into the dining room together.

The heat persisted into the following week, slowing their digging and even stopping it on two occasions. Moreover, they had little success to lighten the burden of temperature. Mr. Rowntree's estimate of the chapel's location appeared to be slightly off, and they dug deep holes in several places without striking any evidence of it. Erland and Gerald were discouraged, and the former had shown Rowntree the charts they had discovered in hopes of pinpointing the proper spot. Joanna's father, delighted with these documents, had returned to his study to pore over them and make notes.

On the day set for the riding party, Joanna stood before her wardrobe uncertainly in the early morning. She did not think she could wear her pink velvet habit in this hot weather, yet her only other riding dress was an old and shabby pale blue cloth. She had had that habit since she was fifteen, and it was not at all the thing for a ride with Sir Rollin Denby.

She went to the window, looked out, then sighed. It was a perfect day, cloudless and still. But even now, only an hour after dawn, the air was warm. It would be hot again, and she would stifle in velvet. Resignedly, she took the blue habit from the hook and began to put it on. She had had it pressed, foreseeing this unfortunate contingency, so it looked as well as a three-year-old riding habit, well used, could look.

She ate her breakfast abstractedly, thinking of a lovely peach-colored riding dress she had seen in a fashion plate last week. Sir Rollin would think her a country dowd in her blue; he would probably be sorry he had asked her to go riding.

“Do be careful not to get overtired today, Joanna,” said Mrs. Rowntree.

The girl started. “What?”

Her mother repeated her admonition.

“Oh, oh yes.”

Mrs. Rowntree watched her daughter narrowly for a moment, started to speak, then changed her mind. “You go at nine?” she asked blandly.

“Yes. It is almost time, in fact.” Joanna rose. “I must have Sybil brought round.”

Her mother watched her hurry from the room. “If I only knew just what I should do,” she murmured.

“Eh? What's that?” Mr. Rowntree peered out from behind hiss newspaper and looked at his wife questioningly.

“Nothing, dear. I was merely thinking aloud.”

The man went back to his reading, and Mrs. Rowntree stared out at the back garden.

Sir Rollin arrived betimes, bringing with him Constance Williston and Jack Townsend, and the party started off toward Oxford immediately. Without appearing to maneuver in any way, Sir Rollin placed himself beside Joanna, leaving Constance and Jack to amuse each other. Constance's face showed a distinct lack of appreciation as young Townsend enthusiastically began to describe a new hunter he had purchased only the day before.

“And so, Miss Rowntree,” said Sir Rollin.

“And so?”

“Yes.”

Joanna smiled. “What do you mean?”

“Why nothing. It was a mere feint, said to gain me time to recover from the dazzlement of your joining us.”

“Pooh,” said Joanna.

He raised his eyebrows. “You don't care for compliments?”

“Not that sort.”

He considered. “Not that sort,” he repeated musingly. “What sort do you like?”

Joanna had expected him to ask what sort she meant, and she was a little taken aback by this question.

When she didn't speak at once, he added, “I can see · what you mean, of course. It was a conventional compliment, perhaps a bit fulsome.” He considered again. “Yes, decidedly fulsome. I really put very little thought into it. But you must tell me what sort you do like if I am to mend my ways.”

Joanna burst out laughing. “What a complete hand you are.”

“I? But haven't you just told me you dislike my style of compliment?”

“I don't think I could say anything to put you out.”

“Is this your aim? I am desolated. But if it is what you wish, I shall endeavor to be put out by the next remark you make.”

“You are too absurd.”

Sir Rollin's eyebrows came together; he appeared to concentrate. Then, a chagrined expression crossed his face. “There,” he said.

“What is it?”

“I was put out. Couldn't you tell?” He looked down. “I suppose I haven't the way of it.”

Joanna laughed again. “You must practice.”

“Oh, no. I should much rather not. But you haven't answered my question.”

“Which?”

“About the sort of compliments you like.”

“Oh.” Joanna flushed a little. She found Sir Rollin's conversation very novel and invigorating, but she did not quite know how to reply to this. “Well, I like sincere compliments.”

“Was I not sincere?”

“It is difficult to tell with you.” Joanna hurried on before he could speak. “And I like truthful ones as well. And no one could think I looked dazzling in this old habit.”

Denby surveyed her appreciatively, taking in her sparkling dark eyes, flushed cheeks, and slender erect form. “Could they not?”

Joanna's flush deepened slightly. “No, not dazzling.”

“Ah, perhaps I should have said charming.”

The girl looked down. She had gone rather beyond her depth.

“I shall remember,” continued Sir Rollin. And to Joanna's relief, he turned the subject. “You have visited Oxford many times, I imagine, Miss Rowntree?”

Joanna agreed that she had.

“It has been years since I was there. In fact, I daresay haven't set foot in the place above twice since I came down. I declare I shall go to look at my old college.” He laughed.

“Which is it?” asked Joanna, a little puzzled. Her father visited the colleges all the time.

“Christ Church. The house.”

“Oh, my father was at Magdalen. So is Gerald.”

Reaching the town, they turned their horses onto the Broad and trotted by Clarendon Building and the Divinity School. Constance and Jack came up with them, Constance looking determined to join their conversation. “Shall we go up into the cupola of the Sheldonian?” she asked. “I love to look out over the roofs.”

“Later,” murmured Sir Rollin with a careless wave of his hand. “I want to go down to Christ Church first of all. How amusing this is.”

Constance looked affronted and said nothing more.

They rode on past the Sheldonian Theatre to the corner of the Broad. Sir Rollin lazily remarked on places he remembered. “Blackwells. I was in there once or twice, I believe. Shall we? But no, books are hardly a proper diversion for a riding party.” He turned his horse, and they went on, passing High Street and Bear Lane. Denby paused suddenly. “The Bear,” he exclaimed. “How long is it since I thought of it? Let us leave our horses there and continue on foot. It is a paltry inn, but dear to my heart.”

There were no protests, so the group turned into Bear Lane and rode along to the pub. The man there took their horses with some reluctance, but Sir Rollin ignored him and hurried the party through one quadrangle and into Tom Quad of Christ Church. He stopped in the center. It was the long vacation, so few students were about. Only those like Gerald, who were working for some special purpose, lingered.

“Charming, charming,” murmured Sir Rollin as he looked around the Quad. The others stood about behind him. Suddenly, he laughed rather mockingly. “Let us stroll about town,” he added.

And so, they did. They walked back up through Oriel and All Souls, looked at the Radcliffe Camera and the Bodleian, and ended up on Broad Street again. Throughout, Sir Rollin's mood seemed odd. At moments, he appeared to be enjoying himself, but most of the time his comments were sarcastic. He paid no attention to anyone else's wishes in the matter of sights, but went just where he pleased and stayed as long as he was diverted. Constance's mouth began to tighten, and Joanna was puzzled.

As they came out on the Broad once more, Constance said determinedly, “I should like to go up in the Sheldonian now.” The look in her eye seemed to challenge Sir Rollin to deny her, but he made no move to do so.

They walked down to the theatre, looked at the inside, and got the caretaker to let them into the stairs for the cupola. In a few moments, all were on top, looking out over the spires of Oxford. Constance was very pleased. She hurried to an opening and began to point out various landmarks to Jack. “See, there is the Magdalen tower,” she said. Jack muttered some reply as Joanna walked over to another aperture. She had been here before, but not often, and she loved the view from the top of the building. The roofs of Oxford were spread out below them, each seeming more fanciful than the last. Here, one was ornamented with grotesque figures and gargoyles; there, slender carved spires pointed to the heavens. And perhaps the best part was the diversity. Each small building or college quad had its own distinct style. Some of the garden enclosures, with bright flowers in the sun, were also visible.

They stayed for some time, all but Sir Rollin enjoying the view and trying to pick out the buildings they knew. Denby leaned in one corner, listening to their talk with an amused expression, but contributing nothing. His interest in Oxford seemed to have been exhausted.

It was nearly one before they descended again, and the streets below were getting quite hot. A breeze in the cupola had obscured the growing heat of the day.

“Time for refreshment, I think,” said Denby. “Shall we go back to The Bear? They used to serve tolerable cold meat.”

No one objected, and they retreated in the direction they had come, more quickly and with less indirection. By the time they reached the little inn, Joanna was very hot indeed and very ready to go inside and relax.

They had a light luncheon of cold meat and fruit, with large pitchers of lemonade and ale to cool them after their walk. Conversation came chiefly from Constance, who knew a great deal about the town's history. Seeing the others had little to say, she shared her knowledge.

By the time they left the inn, it was midafternoon and sultry. They had decided to sit in one of the shady gardens for a while before riding home, but when they came into the lane once more, Jack Townsend noticed a bank of clouds on the horizon. “Thunderstorm,” he said positively, and so they ordered their horses at once, having no wish to be caught in a downpour.

In less than a quarter of an hour, they were riding up Catte Street on their way out of the town. They went quickly and said little, one or the other glancing back from time-to-time to see whether the clouds were much closer. They had passed the corner of Catte and Broad and were riding by Trinity Garden, when Joanna heard someone call her name. She turned and saw Gerald standing on the pavement waving to her. She pulled up, and he came over, but she said only, “Hello, Gerald. I didn't think to see you. We have been looking about Oxford, but now we are hurrying home. There is a storm approaching.”

Gerald held her bridle. “There is indeed. You will be lucky to make it to the house before it breaks.”

“Well, let me go then,” retorted Joanna.

“Yes, of course.”

At this moment, the rest of the party came up. Gerald started a little when Constance spoke to him.

“Let go,” said Joanna again, more sharply.

Gerald stared at her like one in a trance, then stepped back hastily. “Of course,” he said again.

“I will see you Thursday,” Joanna called back over her shoulder, not wishing to be uncivil to her brother.

Gerald waved vaguely, his eyes following their group as it trotted down the road away from him.

When they left the town, they stepped up the pace. Dark clouds covered a good part of the sky now, and there was no question that it would soon rain. Sir Rollin seemed particularly averse to the idea of a wetting. On his more powerful mount, he gradually moved to the head of the group, and then pulled away a bit until he was leading by several lengths. The others kept generally together.

When they were about half way home, they heard the ominous roll of thunder behind them. The clouds had obscured all but a line on the opposite horizon, and the storm was very near. Joanna saw one or two large drops spatter the dust on the road.

“It's beginning,” Denby called back over his shoulder. “We had best gallop from here or we shall be thoroughly wet.” Without waiting to see if the others agreed, he spurred his big black and pulled ahead.

Jack Townsend frowned a little, but he agreed. “He's right. Are you set for a run?”

Joanna nodded, and Constance added, “I suppose we must.” Constance was a fair rider, but she did not hunt and preferred a more sedate pace.

The three of them urged their mounts to a gallop. Though the horses were a little tired, they seemed as eager as their riders to reach a dry haven before the storm burst. As they hurtled along, they occasionally glimpsed Sir Rollin ahead of them. His powerful horse pulled further and further away as they rode.

They had covered another quarter of the distance, when Constance suddenly cried out. Joanna turned quickly to see that her horse had stumbled in the road and was trying desperately to recover its stride. “Hold his head up,” cried Jack Townsend, and Constance valiantly tried to do so, but her mount's imbalance was too great, and in another moment, both she and the horse were down in the middle of the lane.

Joanna had already pulled up, and now she jumped down, holding her horse's bridle and running toward Constance. But although she had been quick, Jack was before her, leaping from his mount even before it stopped. He reached Constance first. He took her arm and leaned over her.

“I'm all right,” said Constance shakily, “only bruised. How foolish of me.”

“Wasn't your fault,” answered Jack laconically, “bad rut just there.”

Joanna came up, and Jack left Constance to her as he went to the latter's struggling horse. He got it up and began running his hands down its legs.

Joanna put an arm around Constance to help her up. The girl started to stand, but when she put her left foot on the ground, she cried out again and would have fallen if Joanna had not supported her. “Oh, my ankle,” said Constance. “I must have come down on it.”