Sons of the Wolf (6 page)

"And how do you like our cousin?" I asked, knowing that she must have been riding with Julian. "Not at all," said Ada promptly. It took me a moment to interpret that insult properly. "As a horseman, you mean."

"Yes. It is a pity. He is a well-set-up young man-I would have expected him to ride beautifully. But he is fidgety; he makes the horses nervous too, and then of course they misbehave."

She investigated the biscuit plate and took a particularly rich one, filled with jam.

"Well," I said, smiling, "if he does not ride well, nothing else matters. I suppose it would be useless to ask how you like him otherwise?"

Ada considered the question, her mouth open to receive the next bite from the sweet poised in her hand. With a sprinkle of crumbs on her upper lip, she looked like a contemplative cherub who has been raiding the biscuit box on the sly.

"He seems pleasant enough," she said, and bit into the sweet.

I abandoned the subject of Julian. I don't know what I had expected; he is the first "suitable" young man Ada has met here, and I suppose I thought ... but I ought to have known better. No man can charm Ada unless he is part equine.

What a spinsterish old matchmaker I am getting to be!

May 19

It is spring! I never noticed it until today.

This morning just after breakfast I was changing into my riding clothes. I have those linen presses in order now; besides, I remember Mr. Wolfson's concern about Ada's visits to the stable, a concern which I share. So I was preparing to go with her. But before I left my room a summons arrived from the master. I went at once to the library and found not Mr. Wolfson but William awaiting me.

"Mr. Wolfson, miss, asks you to go for a drive with him. He will meet you in front of the house."

Talking with William, I have discovered, is like conversing with an automaton. He says "yes" or "no" or "thank you, miss," and that is all. So I did not express surprise-which I certainly felt-or pleasure. I nodded and went on my way.

Uppermost in my mind was the question of how Mr. Wolfson proposed to go driving. In the few minutes' walk from the library to the front steps I considered several possibilities: that he could, after all, walk in a fashion, or that he might cause himself to be lifted into the carriage by the footmen. The true explanation never entered my mind-and no wonder!

He was already in the carriage, waiting; at first glance he looked like any other gentleman going for a drive as he sat in the open posting chariot with a rag covering his knees and his gloved hands firm on the reins. The seat beside him was plainly meant for me, and it was not until I had climbed into it that I realized the truth. Mine was the only real seat in the chariot. Mr. Wolfson was still in his invalid's chair, which stood beside me on the same level.

He saw me staring and condescended to explain. (With him, it is condescension.)

"The wheels are locked into position by a simple mechanical device." He demonstrated with his whip. "I had this carriage specially designed. I dislike being touched by servants."

"The chair itself is lifted onto the carriage?"

"No." Again the whip gestured, this time to one of the liveried grooms. The man reached down to the side of the carriage, where the steps would normally be, and unfolded a strange device. When fully extended it proved to be a ramp, hinged to allow being folded, with sliding bolts that held it rigid when in position.

"How ingenious!" I exclaimed. It was also-I thought this, but did not say it-rather admirable. I respect a spirit of independence, and he has contrived matters so as not to rely on other people any more than he must. While I was meditating thus, the groom folded the ramp back into position, Mr. Wolfson lifted the reins, and we were on our way.

He said coolly, "One is forced to be ingenious when one's physical resources fail. I am less handicapped than you might suppose, Cousin."

"I never think of you as handicapped," I said truthfully.

"Then you are unusually perceptive. But then I already knew that."

The statement did not seem to demand a reply so I made none. Instead I looked out at the countryside. It was a lovely day, with white clouds moving leisurely across the sky like scrubbed sheep grazing on a blue meadow. A mist of green surrounded the boughs of the trees. Crocuses and daffodils made streaks of bright color, primrose and purple, along the carriage drive. The lodge gates were open and the gateman stood at attention beside them. Mr. Wolfson acknowledged his timid salute with a wave of the whip. Then we were through the gates and moving at a rapid pace down the main road across the fields.

"Spring is a great event here, after the bitter winter," said Mr. Wolfson cheerfully. "It seemed only fitting that we make an occasion of it."

"Where are we going?" I asked, settling back with a little sigh of pleasure.

"I have business in Middleham. The village itself is ugly, but you like ruins, and there is a castle which may interest you."

"It's wonderful just to be out. I do prefer a comfortable carriage to horseback. Oh-"

"What is it?"

"Your guards." I glanced down nervously at my feet. "Don't tell me you have forgotten them."

He gave me a sidelong look from under his thick lashes.

"I didn't want to distress you," he said, sounding like a worried schoolboy. The change from his usual poised manner was so disarming that I laughed.

"Don't hold my foolishness that first evening against me. I've scarcely seen the dogs since then. It would be ridiculous to be afraid of them when they are obviously so obedient."

"Are you sure?"

"Sure!"

"Then-" This time the whip gestured behind us. I had thought that the back seat of the carriage was filled with articles of some sort, covered with a carriage robe. Now I realized that the shapes beneath the robe were not inanimate. I managed not to gasp or flinch; the immobility of the beasts was a great part of the terror they held for me. "Very good," I said, turning around again. Mr. Wolfson's eyes flashed approval and-I think-something warmer. "Very good indeed. You have courage, Harriet." "Not in this; Ada is the heroine with animals." "Ada's greatest charm-for a man-is that she completely lacks imagination, which is the mother of fear. To conquer a felt terror is the truer courage."

I changed the subject; I didn't want to talk about my courage, which is strictly limited, or about the dogs. There was much to talk about, for the scenery was new to me and full of interest. Some fields were covered with a carpet of light green crops, but most of the area seemed devoted to pasture, and it was occupied by the most charming sheep-fleecy, gray-white creatures with black faces. The little lambs looked like children masked for a party.

After a time we topped a low rise and I exclaimed aloud. Gone was the rolling pastureland with its cold but pastoral beauty. Before us, reaching to the near horizon, was a great stretch of empty country, covered with a flat wash or rusty brown vegetation. After the homely attraction of the other countryside, this was startling in its barrenness. I knew what it must be, but none of my reading had prepared me for the reality-the emptiness, the deadly color, like the stained floor of an ancient battleground.

"Howland Moor," said Mr. Wolfson. "Try not to lose yourself there, will you, Harriet? Especially not at night."

"I wouldn't willingly go near the place. How horrid it is!"

"When the new bracken and wild flowers are full-grown, it has a kind of austere beauty. But there are dangerous patches of bog, and it is easy to get lost and wander in circles once you are out of sight of the road. There is not a hut or a house for twenty miles."

I pulled the robe up around my shoulders.

"How far are we from the village?"

"Not far now."

The interval passed quickly; he talks so interestingly that I was surprised when the gray stone houses of the village came into sight. Mr. Wolfson drove along the short main street into a small and barren square. He stopped the horses before an inn.

The proprietor was on the threshold before the wheels stopped rolling. He had not even waited to put on a coat, and he stood bouncing up and down like an agitated ball, which he resembled in shape, rubbing his hands together in an effort to keep warm. Two loutish-looking men at once appeared and unfolded the ramp, and I watched with interest as Mr. Wolfson pulled a lever, releasing the wheels of the chair, and propelled himself down the ramp onto the ground. Although the slope was sharp he had the chair under control the whole time, with no undignified rush or bump at the end; even under his coat I could see the great muscles of his back and shoulders stiffen with the effort. Luckily the inn parlor was on ground level with no stairs-I wonder if that is why he goes there?

I was so fascinated by this performance that I had not looked about me. As I turned to go in, however, my attention was caught by the massive walls of a structure which loomed over the humble houses to the right of the square. Crenellated and towered, they announced their identity at once-the dwelling of some prince of the Middle Ages, now abandoned to birds and creepers but still retaining its air of frowning grandeur.

"In, in," said Mr. Wolfson, gesticulating. "It is too cold to linger out here, spring or no spring. I will tell you about Middleham Castle while we dine-if Henry can produce any food fit to eat."

Henry, the host, burst into speech whose rural accent was intensified by his evident nervousness and anxiety to please. He led us at once to a private room-a pleasant, if rustic, chamber with blackened beams across the ceiling and a rough stone fireplace filling one entire wall. The crackling flames made me realize that I was indeed chilled, and I took a seat on one of the rude benches that flanked the fireplace. Mr. Wolfson drew up his chair before the hearth.

I stripped off my gloves and held my hands before the fire; but after a few moments the greater attraction drew me away from the hearth to the window. Through its leaded panes I could see the distorted but overpowering outline of the castle walls.

"We will dine first," Mr. Wolfson insisted, "while I lecture you about the castle. Then, while I transact my business, Dodds, one of my more trustworthy tenants, will go with you and let you prowl the ruins. I'll warrant that even your enthusiasm will not keep you there long; the wind on that height is bitter. We must start back by three; an open carriage is no place in which to spend the twilight hours."

"I know what the castle is," I said, returning to my place. "I had forgotten it was here, that is all. I read about it in the guide to Yorkshire."

"Ah, I see! What a scholarly young woman you are! As soon as you learned you were to come into Yorkshire, you began studying its antiquities."

I sensed at once that I had blundered, and the mocking note in his voice-for I could not meet his eyes-assured me that he had caught it. The man is a wizard; he can read my thoughts as clearly as if my skull were made of glass. He knew I had read the guide in search of information, not about the beauties of Yorkshire, but about him. Probably he also knew what that impertinent book had to say about him.

Fortunately we were interrupted just then by the host, who burst into the room and proceeded to serve our dinner. Mr. Wolfson commands excellent service; within minutes a table was drawn up at his side, laid with silver and linen, and several smoking platters were placed upon it. The piece de resistance was mutton, and the meal was adequately cooked, if not up to Mrs. Bennett's standards.

We were served by mine host himself, with the assistance of a girl who might have been his daughter. These country people are as timid as hares; the child hovered just outside the doorway, handing in dishes but never venturing into the room. The host, for all his cheery rubicund face, said not a word the whole time, except to ask in muffled accents if the food was satisfactory.

Finally Mr. Wolfson dismissed him, rather curtly-his nervousness would make anyone impatient-and said we would wait on ourselves, which we did. Not until the meal was almost over did Mr. Wolfson revert to the subject of the castle.

"Come, Harriet, you shall lecture me instead. Your study of the matter is much more recent than mine."

"It is called Middleham Castle," I began bravely-and came to a dead halt. Staring down at my plate, I tried furiously to think. Surely I could remember something else from that book! A soft sound made me lift my eyes to Mr. Wolfson's face. He was laughing, softly but uncontrollably, and after a moment I joined him.

"Very well, Cousin, I give in," I said, wiping my eyes. "You know why I was reading that book. I don't remember a word of it, except what it said about you."

Our burst of hilarity had brought the host; the sight of his red face and popping eyes peering in the door set me off again, and it was some time before I could calm myself enough to beg, with mock humility, for the promised lecture.

"You mustn't expect too much," Mr. Wolfson began. "The place is a shell; it was badly damaged during the Civil Wars. Before that it was the property of several interesting personalities. One of them was your own ancestor-Richard Neville, Earl of Warwick.'-'

"Warwick the Kingmaker?"

"No less. You know your grandmother always claimed descent from those very Nevilles."

"Yes. But I was not aware that you knew."