Dark Before the Rising Sun (35 page)

O! I am Fortune's fool.

—Shakespeare

Rhea Claire Leighton, the new mistress of Merdraco, glanced back at the dark towers which were no more than hollow shells crumbling down around the spiraling steps that climbed ever upward toward turrets silhouetted against the blue sky. The towers were all that remained of the baronial castle begun in the eleventh century by a Norman adventurer seeking to hold the conquered lands he had won from defeated Saxons. As a feudal stronghold, Merdraco had been inaccessible because of its position atop a rocky mound dominated by sheer cliffs on three sides.

Originally a wooden tower surrounded by palisading, Merdraco, as the years progressed, had grown into a fortified stone edifice, with a stone keep with fifteen-foot-thick walls, and a towering gatehouse guarding its vulnerable flank, and closing the gap between the encircling, turreted rampart walls.

As the centuries passed and the threat of invasion lessened, and the turbulence of civil disorder had quieted, so had the need for a fortressed castle perched high above the sea where it was under siege by the storm-blown arctic winds which invaded and conquered in a manner no army could have hoped to achieve with catapult and battering ram. It was no longer necessary to stay in so drafty and forbidding an abode. Nor, indeed, had such a place been acceptable once Gilbert Leighton, the sixth Earl of Sandrake, was created the Marquis of Jacqobi.

So the great castle of Merdraco had been torn apart—not by an enemy's hand, but by masons. Under the guidance of an architect and with the assistance of glaziers and plasterers and an army of workmen, the masons reassembled it into a magnificent Tudor mansion of gables and slim chimney stacks, of mullioned windows and stone carvings, of arches and courtyards.

And all that remained of the Norman castle were the two dark towers standing in solitary beauty, a tribute to Raoul de St. Draquet, the Norman who had conquered the wild stretch of coast. The towers also served as a reminder to the locals of their first liege lord and of the allegiance to the Leighton family expected of them.

“Well, what do you think?” Dante demanded as he halted atop a gentle rise and stared down at the somber gray stone of the house he had been born in.

It was certainly not Camareigh, Rhea thought, or anything like her home with its stately, well-balanced wings of honey-hued stone and the classic, porticoed entrance. Merdraco looked forlorn and unkempt, like a favored pet left to shift for itself by its beloved master. But there was a wild beauty about the house. Ivy grew unrestrained along a garden wall, and aged trees were overgrown with climbing roses. The yew hedges had grown tall and bushy, while brambles and weeds encroached upon the flowerbeds of the forecourt.

Rhea felt an overwhelming sense of melancholy from the abandoned house. Did it long to hear voices echoing once again down its empty halls while sweet wood smoke, drifting from the chimneys, scented the cool air? Rhea suddenly felt as if the house were beckoning to her. She wanted to open it up to the light again, to banish the darkness that had enveloped it for so many long, lonely years.

Dante, who had been watching her anxiously, felt all his fears vanishing with the tender look in her eyes. She had accepted the house.

“I could not have wished for a more beautiful home, Dante,” Rhea spoke, seeing beyond the ravages of time to a home where they would find happiness.

Robin and Conny, however, were not so wise, and to them the mansion looked as if it had seen better days. They wondered if this was truly Merdraco.

Kirby, seeing the great house for the first time since he had followed its master to sea, was speechless with remembered awe. In his eyes, Merdraco had not changed. He did not see the weeds choking the gardens or the broken panes of glass or the gaping hole in the steep roof. Kirby was seeing the Merdraco of the past, when coaches rolled up the circular, yew-lined drive and when lights sparkled behind every pane of glass, and the gardens held an unending supply of flowers to be arranged in vases in every room.

Alastair, on the other hand, was seeing both the past and the present. He had heard stories of Merdraco for years, and so he guessed how great a house it had once been. He could sense some of that glory despite its dilapidated appearance. But he knew that there was quite a lot of work to be done.

Francis, like Rhea, was accustomed to the classic beauty of Camareigh, with its well-cared-for lawns and gardens. And because he would not have to live at Merdraco, he found it less easy to be generous. He found the house quite depressing, and although he didn't envy Rhea coming to live here, it was certainly better than if the original castle still stood upon that rocky promontory.

The master of Merdraco urged his sorrel-maned chestnut down the incline, following the lane through the woodland, which seemed to be the only link connecting the outside world, the ruins of the castle, and Merdraco.

Suddenly, rising up before them was an imposing, two-storied gatehouse with mullioned oriel windows and turrets. Wrought iron gates across the gatehouse should have kept out trespassers, but the gates were hanging free of their hinges.

Dante frowned. They had not become unhinged by themselves, and as he inspected the hinges, he saw that they had been purposefully sprung.

“Looks as if there might have been some uninvited visitors,” Alastair spoke warningly.

“Does this lane lead only here, to Merdraco?” Francis asked abruptly, for something had been worrying him since they had left the castle ruins.

Dante seemed surprised by the question. “Yes, but it continues a little farther into the woods. This is the only way one can reach Merdraco by way of Merwest Cross. Why?”

Francis shrugged self-consciously. He did not want to sound fanciful.

“Well, it seemed to me, when we were at the ruins, that there had been a bit of activity thereabouts. The lane we came up on from Bishop's Grave Inn showed signs of much travel. Didn't you notice how deeply rutted its surface was, despite all the recent rains?” Francis asked, his eyes meeting Dante's.

“I can't say that I did. I was so preoccupied with reaching Merdraco,” Dante admitted, then glanced back toward the dark towers looming in the distance. “But now that you mention it, the lane was in rather good condition, considering that no one should have been traveling it since the house has been closed.”

“I saw signs of activity too,” Alastair said as he thought back on what he had seen at the ruins. “I remember thinking that one of the stone dragons at the base of the tower had taken quite a bit of abuse, but I figured 'twas only natural considering how old it probably was. It was almost as if someone had been using it for a target,” Alastair said, glancing around apologetically. “Of course, it could have been my imagination, but I wonder if—” he started to say, then shook his head.

“What?”

“No, 'tis nothing, really,” Alastair remained silent.

“You don't think it was a ghost, do you, Mr. Marlowe?” Conny breathed in growing excitement, little realizing how deeply his words might hurt the captain. “The Pale Lady of the Ruins is what Mrs. Lascombe calls the ghost. Says nobody comes up here anymore 'cause they're frightened of seein' her.”

“The maids say we've got a ghost now at Camareigh because of the horrible death that happened there,” Robin confided, not helping to relieve the tension.

“Robin!” Francis warned. “That is ridiculous. And if you start repeating it, you'll have half the staff afraid of the dark.”

“I do not think that is what Alastair is referring to, is it?” Dante asked slowly, his gray eyes contemplative. “You were thinking that some enterprising smugglers might have been running contraband through Merdraco. What better way to keep the villagers at a distance than to invent a ghost to haunt the ruins? The flashing of a lantern's light, with perhaps a green cloth thrown over it to lend an eerie glow, that would do it.”

Rhea found herself remembering something Dante had told her in London. He had spoken of his mother, saying that some of the locals claimed to have seen her windswept figure standing on the cliffs near Merdraco. But how had Dante, who had not returned to Merdraco until now, known of that?

But Rhea forgot her speculations when she heard Dante's amused laughter. Much to her amazement, Alastair joined in, and she glanced at the two men as if they'd taken leave of their senses.

“'Tis ironic, isn't it, that Merdraco should be used by a smuggling gang while I have been trying to make my fortune smuggling between the Indies and the Carolinas in order to return to my home and lead a life of respectability,” Dante said, the humor of the situation amusing him greatly. “When in London, Sir Morgan Lloyd was questioning me about the smugglers hereabouts, for he had heard something of their activities from his brother, who is stationed along this coast. I am afraid Sir Morgan believes that I could never give up my former profession,” Dante remarked as he dismounted and then assisted Rhea from her mount's back.

“Really? I had no idea,” Alastair said, lowering Conny to the ground.

“'Tis just as well he has returned to the colonies. If he were on duty here, he would most likely suspect me of being the leader of the smuggling gang. After all, I have the best credentials for it.”

“I don't see how he could think such a thing,” Alastair said. “You've not even been in these parts for years. I should think that fact alone would absolve you of suspicion.”

“Have you never seen a puppeteer, Alastair?” Dante asked, his mind on something.

“Yes, of course,” his former supercargo replied with a frown, wondering what a childish amusement from a fair had to do with so serious a subject.

“Then you will know that a person does not always have to be seen in order to be in control of something. The puppeteer pulls the strings of his puppet, but he is never seen. What better protection could I have, should I be the leader of this notorious smuggling gang, than not to have been here at all? And, who better than I to be their leader? But now that I am a wealthy man, who would suspect me of smuggling except, perhaps, the very suspicious Sir Morgan Lloyd, who knows that I might still desire the daring of the game rather than the profits?” Dante said. His argument almost had Francis and Robin and Conny believing that he was indeed the leader.

And even Alastair, for just a second's doubt, could almost have believed it true, until he saw the laughter in Dante's eye, and the shaking of the little steward's head in that manner which left little doubt that he felt he was putting up with an awful lot of spoofing by someone who should know better.

“What does that say, Cap'n?” Robin demanded, having picked up Conny's style of addressing Dante.

Dante followed Robin's gaze to the family coat of arms supported by dragons, which had been carved into stone above the curving arched entrance to Merdraco. “‘Chance not, win not,'” Dante spoke proudly the words that had served his family well throughout the centuries. “If my ancestor, St. Draquet, hadn't taken a chance and crossed the Channel with William, then there would be no Merdraco today. And had that not been our family creed, then there would have been no
Sea Dragon
and no sunken treasure to make all of us wealthy. Nor would I be standing here now, master of my fate, my beloved by my side,” Dante said, speaking the last words so that only Rhea could hear them.

“'Twould seem as if you have defied them all, Cap'n, and won,” Alastair said, thinking that Dante Leighton, captain of the
Sea Dragon
, Marquis of Jacqobi, and master of Merdraco, indeed had the devil's own luck.

Alastair breathed easier. It seemed as if all would turn out as the captain had dreamed it would. Still thinking about Dante's good fortune, which had certainly benefited Alastair, he walked beneath the arched entrance to Merdraco.

“Come, let me show you Merdraco,” Dante invited, and taking Rhea's small, gloved hand in his, the reins of their horses grasped in his other, he led her beneath the arched gateway, passing freely beneath the dragons' stony gaze.

They entered a large inner yard, where a curving drive surrounded by once-magnificent terraced gardens led to the great house sitting on a gentle slope at the opposite end. The inner yard was overgrown now, and once tamed hedges of yew and box overran the paved road, and rhododendrons and hydrangeas were splashes of color spilling across the green slope of lawn in the center of the drive, where leaves floated in the filthy water of an ornamental fountain. Once through the gatehouse, one could see the high stone wall that ran the distance of the yard until connecting with the gabled stable block. That block closed off the rest of the forecourt on the right side until it reached another arched entrance near the great house. Directly across from the stable block, on the other side of the yard, was a wing of the house. It also connected to the high stone wall which completed the enclosure on the left side of the gatehouse.

A nervous silence engulfed the group as they walked along the curving drive. It was as if they were trespassing in a cemetery. The tall weeds breaking through the cracked paving stones reached out for Rhea's skirt, pulling against it as she passed. The slow clop, clopping of the horses' hooves sounded like thunder to Rhea's sensitive ears. She felt like an intruder in this abandoned place.

If Dante was at all disappointed in the dilapidated appearance of Merdraco, he certainly kept it to himself. As they walked past the long stable block, he said conversationally, “Thanks to His Grace, we have the beginnings of a fine stable. I only wish that we might be able to persuade that young man in charge of the coach horses to come back here after he returns to Camareigh with the other coaches and wagons. He certainly knows his job.”

“He should,” Rhea explained. “He trained under Butterick's critical eye. We have lost quite a few of our stable boys to other families just because Butterick teaches them everything he knows. I wouldn't be at all surprised if that isn't why Butterick sent him along. He knows we need a good master of the horse. Butterick could have sent someone else, for even a new hand in the stables could have handled the teams. Perhaps he wanted Clauson to see Merdraco, and find out if he could get along with you.”