The Master of Phoenix Hall (3 page)

Life had been hard during the past few years, and I had been as patient as it was possible to be, waiting for that change that I knew would come, despite my rather grim, realistic outlook. Now it had arrived, and I felt like a new person. Before, I had felt old and weary; I was twenty-one years old, but I might as well have been forty-one. Now I felt as young as these children and lighthearted. A whole new life was opening up for me, like a flower whose petals had been tightly closed, and I was not going to let Phoenix Hall or any of the people there cast a shadow over it.

II

I
T SEEMED
that we had been riding for days. The coach was uncomfortable and crowded. Although Nan and I were the only passengers, there were a great many boxes that kept tumbling onto the floor. Nan had brought along her canary, a bright yellow bird with a little golden beak, perched disconsolately on the swing of its small gilded cage. His feathers dropped, as though he too was finding the trip unbearable. The horses galloped over the rough highway, and the wheels jogged over huge rocks, causing the whole coach to rock sideways. We could hear the driver curse occasionally and the sharp slash of his whip as he urged the horses on. Even though the windows were closed the dust was thick inside the coach. The vehicle smelled of sweat and old leather.

“How much longer will it be before we reach the inn?” Nan cried.

“Surely not much longer,” I replied.

The coach jogged violently and we were both thrown forward.

“I don't know if I can endure much more,” she protested.

“Patience, Nan.”

“We've been riding so long!”

“I know.”

“I think the driver must be mad, going at this speed.”

“He is anxious to get to the inn, too,” I informed her.

The last rays of the sun touched the sky with crimson, and it would soon be dark. Through the window I watched long stretches of rolling hills covered with dead brown grass, huge gray rocks rising up in fantastic shapes surrounded by gnarled black trees. It looked ominous and forbidding. It was completely alien to anything I had ever seen before, and I shivered when I thought about those lonely deserted stretches.

Nan spoke comforting words to her canary and made a face at him. It was comforting to have her along, for despite her pretended anguish she was finding this a great adventure. Her face was lit up with excitement. Her golden curls were held back by a small blue bonnet, a sprig of purple velvet clustered about the brim. She wore a new dress of lilac colored linen with many rustling blue and violet petticoats. I had never seen her look so charming with her flushed cheeks and the tiny golden brown freckles scattered across her nose.

“Just think,” she said, “tomorrow we will be in our own house. I am sure it will be in a shambles. We'll have to spend a week cleaning.”

“I hope there is enough linen,” I said.

“I brought along several cakes of lye soap,” Nan said, “and some of that strong polish Mrs. Clemmons used. I hope she doesn't miss it.”

“Nan, did you steal it!”

“And this bonnet, too. Isn't it delightful?”

“Anything else?”

“Only some stockings”—she hesitated—“and a lavender silk parasol with an ebony handle.”

“Nan,” I scolded, only half in earnest, “you should be ashamed.”

“The old crow owed it to me after all those years of sweeping up after her and takin' her tea when she'd had a drop too much. We will never have to set foot in the shop again. Never have to hear her roaring when a customer hasn't been satisfied.”

“It is well behind us,” I agreed.

“I wonder what is ahead,” Nan said, reflecting.

“Something wonderful, I hope.”

“I am anxious to see the Master of Phoenix Hall,” Nan said. I had told her everything I knew about Phoenix Hall and its inhabitants. Nan's curiosity about them knew no bounds, and while I tried to be more nonchalant, I too wanted to know all I could about that fascinating family who would soon be my neighbors.

“I don't imagine there will be an occasion for you to meet him,” I said primly.

“What a shame, after all I've read about him in the papers.”

“What have you read?” I asked, trying not to sound too anxious.

“Surely you remember all those stories in the tabloids, Miss Angel. They were scandalous!”

“I never read the tabloids, you know that.”

“I know—you miss so much. You're always reading those dreary old books by Mr. Dickens and missing all the juicy things.”

“What did the papers say about Roderick Mellory?” I asked.

“I can't remember too well. It's been some time ago. But one story told about a duel he had with an officer in the East India Company. They were fighting over the favors of a music hall actress and they met early one morning in Hyde Park and exchanged shots. The officer got a bullet in the shoulder, and he would have got one in the head as well if the seconds hadn't restrained Mr. Mellory. There was a big write up, police called in and everything.”

“The papers always exaggerate those things,” I said.

“And there was the time Lord Fitzhubert found Roderick Mellory with the Lord's young wife in a private box at the Ascot Races. Lord Fitzhubert slashed Mr. Mellory across the face with a riding crop. It seems that Mr. Mellory had been seeing young Lady Fitzhubert privately on many occasions. She's a lovely blonde thing, they say, always wearing her pearls and lots of pink silk.”

“Gossip,” I said, intrigued in spite of myself.

Before leaving London I had seen Mr. Patterson again. He had a list of instructions to give me and more papers for me to sign concerning some investments he wanted to make. I had pressed him for more information about the Mellorys and he told me that Roderick Mellory was trying to put the estate back in order. It had lost considerable sums since his father died, and the new master of Phoenix Hall had spent three years in India, occupation unspecific, earning money to spend on the estate. He had recouped most of the losses, invested the money with the Bank of England, and only recently had started making repairs on the house. Getting back Dower House seemed to be an obsession with him, and Patterson had received another inquiry about the purchase of it since the first day I was in his office.

He had also told me something more about Laurel Mellory. Her mother had brought her to London for The Season and the young debutante had been presented at Court. She had been squired about at all the balls and parties and had gone to all the fashionable places, yet it had been a failure for the most part and mother and daughter had gone back to Cornwall, disillusioned with London society. Young Laurel was evidently more interested in her good deeds, her young brother, and the gardens than in finding a suitably wealthy husband. Mrs. Mallory had died two years later with her daughter still unwed.

I was interested in them all: the Master with his violent disposition, the pale young girl who had been a failure in London, the gentle boy with his lame leg and love of music. My new neighbors might prove to be antisocial, but they would certainly never be dull.

All the light had washed out of the sky now and heavy shadows veiled the horizon. The coach lurched and shook. I felt my eyelids growing heavy, and my head nodded. Nan was already asleep, curled up in the corner on her side of the coach, the canary's cage in her lap, her arm curved about it protectively.

A box tumbling to the floor awoke me. It fell with a crash, and I sat up with a start, my eyes wide open. If the coach had been going fast before, it was fairly flying now, crashing over the road at a pace that seemed impossible. Nan and I were like rag dolls caught in a box being tossed up and down by some demonical child. Nan let out a shrill scream as a pile of boxes tumbled over her. I gripped the leather strap by the window, trying to catch my breath.

The air around us seemed to be full of explosions. It sounded like Trafalgar Square on Guy Fawkes night, firecrackers bursting. What we heard was the driver's whip slashing the air violently, rocks flying up to crash against the side of the coach and tree limbs that scratched it. There were shouts, too, from more than one throat. Nan was quite plainly terrified, and my heart felt as though it were going to leap into my throat.

“God in Heaven!” Nan screamed, her blue eyes twice their normal size. “What is it!”

There was an ear-splitting explosion and I saw a flash of flame. It was followed by the splintering of wood. The coach almost toppled over, but somehow the driver managed to hold it on the road. There could be no doubt now. We were being pursued by highwaymen.

“Guns!” Nan yelled. “Murder! Lord preserve us!”

I saw a dark figure streak past the window. It seemed that we were surrounded by horses. There was a final great lurch, the screeching of wheels and a jolt as the coach came to a stop. There was a sudden silence and Nan and I stared at each other. My heart was still beating, but I was not nearly as frightened as I had been when the coach threatened to go off the road and crush us as it rolled over. Nan sat up, adjusting her skirt and retrieving her bird cage from the floor. Her bonnet had fallen off and her golden curls were scattered chaotically over her head. There was a large streak of dirt across her cheek. She peered out the window with curious eyes.

“Keep still, Nan,” I warned.

“We're surrounded,” she whispered excitedly.

We heard loud voices and the sound of the driver climbing down from his seat. A lantern was lit and held up. We saw a group of shadowy figures in the flickering yellow glow. The door was jerked open and a hoarse voice commanded us to get out. I moved slowly, stepping out carefully. A hand seized my arm and pulled me into the open. Nan fairly leaped out of the coach, clutching the canary's cage. The bird, for some strange reason, was chirping a bright, monotonous song.

“Just keep quiet, Ladies,” a voice directed, “and you will not get hurt.” The voice was hoarse and gutteral, but it was obviously not natural. The man was disguising his normal speaking voice, and rather poorly, I thought.

There were three men, but the man with the forced voice was obviously the leader. He was very tall, powerfully built, and dressed entirely in black: highly polished black leather boots, tight black pants, black coat. There was a silky black hood over his head, with holes cut at eye level to enable him to see. On top of that he wore a broad-brimmed black hat, similar to those affected by the cowboys in America. The other men were burly brutes in leather jerkins and dusty trousers, bandanas tied over the lower part of their faces. One of them held the lantern.

“Who are you?” Nan cried.

“No questions, young woman.”

“Don't you touch us. Don't you dare.”

“Shut up, Nan,” I hissed.

“Take your friend's advice,” the man in black told her.

“You don't frighten me,” she snapped.

“No?”

He moved toward her slowly, menace in every step. He raised his black-gloved hand as though to strike her, and Nan stood there without flinching, her chin thrust forward arrogantly. She was a ludicrous figure in her lilac dress, holding the bird cage tightly, the smear of dirt across her face. I took her wrist and jerked her beside me, putting my arm about her waist. I had to admire her for this outburst of courage, and somehow I got the impression that the bandit did, too. We both stared up at him, and he watched us for a moment, his head held to one side as though he were making a decision. Then he chuckled.

“Brazen pair,” he remarked to his companions. “Most of the women scream or faint or both.”

He stepped over to me, peering closely into my face. I could feel his eyes examining me.

“What about you?” he asked. “Are you going to faint?”

“I don't think so,” I replied calmly.

“All calm and collected. Cool. Well bred.”

“Would you prefer us to scream? Do you enjoy intimidating women?”

He chuckled again, nodding his head. “Spirit, too,” he said to the others. “I like that.”

Our driver was leaning against the coach, his face pale and his chest heaving. One of the men held a long pistol aimed at the driver's head, and the poor man was much more terrified than either Nan or I. He was still panting from the exertion of the chase. The horses were standing quietly in their traces, their coats gleaming wetly in the light. I saw a large splinter near the top of the coach where the bullet had gone in.

“What do you want of us?” I asked.

“Of you, nothing,” the man said. His voice was more normal now. I caught a cultivated accent that bespoke of education. This man was not a peasant. He carried himself too well. Even clothed all in black as he was, there was an unmistakable elegance about him.

“We have no valuables!” Nan snapped.

“Indeed you do,” he said with a tone that was very low, “but I am afraid we don't have time for that.”

I blanched. Nan called him a highly unflattering name. He laughed. The other men stood as silent as dolts.

“We are not going to harm you,” he said. “All we want is that box tied to the top of the coach. You”—he turned to driver—“get it for me.”

“You can't take that box!” the driver cried, suddenly finding his voice. “It belongs to the Government!”

The man moved very slowly. He stood in front of the driver, who cowered against the coach, his eyes rolling in fear. Quickly, almost too quickly for the eye to follow, the black gloved hand slammed across the driver's face, then again, making two sharp, loud explosions as leather met skin with impact. The driver gasped. In the dim yellow light I could see his Adam's apple bobbing.

“Next time it will be with the butt of a pistol,” the man said quietly. “Now get me that box.”

The driver clambered up to the top of the coach and unfastened the small metal box that had been secured there with some of our luggage. I watched his shoulders fall dejectedly as he tossed the box down at the feet of the man in black. The box split open. Several gold pieces rolled about our feet. The two silent brutes began to gather it all up quickly. The man in black stood watching them.