So Wild a Heart (35 page)

The abbey was an eerie place, stark and ruined, half-crumbled walls and flagstone floors overgrown with grasses and weeds. Many of the stones in the building's walls had been taken down and carted over to Darkwater to build the Aincourt mansion. Two walls of the central cathedral—one with a beautifully designed window, empty of glass—stood intact, large and imposing, with the customary medieval arches, but the other two walls had been reduced to rubble. Parts of the abbey were identifiable only by a line of stones half-buried in the ground, marking the shapes of rooms. In other places there were staircases leading upward to nowhere or empty gaping holes in me ground where the floors had fallen through into the cellars below.

Yet it had a unique beauty, too, Miranda thought, at once harsh and peaceful, defeated but at the same time unconquerable. After all this time and all that had been done to it, the abbey was still here, long after the men who had set out to destroy it were gone. When she looked at Devin's painting of the abbey, she saw that he had managed to convey the timelessness of the place, its haunting grandeur. She slipped her hand into his and squeezed it, smiling up at him.

At that moment, she did not think there was a happier woman on earth.

******************

The days that followed did nothing to alter her opinion. Miranda spent much of her time with Devin. She was neglecting her work, she knew, but she didn't care. Her father was quite capable of dealing with all aspects of renovating the house, and between him and Hiram, they were also able to deal with any business concerns that came up. As for Devin's estate, well, that could wait for a few more days; it had been waiting for years. She told herself that she would get back to it soon, but dealing with the neglect of years was too melancholy a task when one felt as Miranda did, as if she was bubbling over with joy every minute of the day.

Everyone noticed the change in Devin and Miranda. Her father smiled smugly, as though to say he had been right all along. One evening at supper he remarked jovially, "I'm surprised you two haven't decided to take a honeymoon trip. Go to Vienna or some place like that"

"That's the thing," Uncle Rupert agreed, with a nod of his head. "Be alone for a while. Good thing, I should think. No nasty drafts, either."

Devin smiled. "I suggested it to Miranda. But she would rather stay here and poke about a musty old house."

"That's not true. I said I would love to go, but first I have to get the estate back on track. Papa can take care of seeing that the 'musty old house' is being renovated. But I still need to have a meeting with the tenant farmers and visit some of the larger farms."

Devin cast a fond glance at her. "So I think our honeymoon will be a trip to the Roaches, in all likelihood. Miranda has a desire to see our land there."

"You mean Apworth Mountain?" Lady Ravenscar asked in astonishment. "Whyever would you want to see that, Miranda?"

"It is beautiful in its own way, Mama," Rachel pointed out.

"But there is no place to stay," Rupert said, siding with his sister.

"That's not true, Uncle," Devin said. "I have gone there several times. Bert Jones is always happy to let me stay with him and his family. He would be doubly so if I brought a pretty wife with me. From there, it's an easy ride to Apworth."

"Bert Jones?" Lady Ravenscar's eyebrows rose even higher. "You are going to put your wife up in a thatched-roof cottage?"

"I am sure I have stayed in worse, Lady Ravenscar," Miranda told her cheerfully. "Of course, we could always put up a tent. Devin says he has one."

Lady Ravenscar looked as if she might faint "My dear.. .camping..."

"It would be a wonderful place to paint," Devin went on, waxing enthusiastic about the idea.

"Really, Devin, you cannot go dragging your new bride all through the roughest country just so you can paint a landscape."

"But I want to see it," Miranda assured her. "I am interested in all areas of the estate."

Uncle Rupert shrugged. "Personally, I think I would choose Vienna for a honeymoon, but to each his own."

"We shall go to Vienna, too," Miranda assured them. "And Italy." The thought of a slow tour through Florence, Rome and Venice with Devin held a great deal of appeal for her. She looked over at him, and her heart swelled with emotion. "But we have a whole lifetime for that."

******************

Devin left early the next morning for Darkwater Tarn. He had finished his series of sketches of the abbey ruins a day or two before, and he had decided to move on to the inky lake that gave the house its name. Miranda arose late and went downstairs to the library. She needed to finish up some correspondence with the manager of her real estate in New York, and then, she thought, she would get Mr. Strong to show her around some of the tenant farms. She had been doing a great deal of reading on improved methods of farming, and she wanted to see more of the land to get a better idea of what she would have to do.

But when she reached the library, she found a note sitting on the table, waiting for her, that drove all thoughts of Strong and the tenant farms out of her head. Her name was scrawled boldly across the back of the note. Miranda smiled. She had seen Devin's signature only a few times, but she immediately recognized the dark spiky letters as his distinctive hand. She broke the seal and read the brief note inside:

Beloved,

Meet me at the cellar door in back of the house at 1:00. I have something to show you.

It was signed only with a large
R.
Below the message there was a crude map showing the location of the cellar door. Miranda read the note over twice, intrigued. She could not imagine what Devin wanted to show her or why he had chosen such a peculiar place. She had not even noticed that there was a cellar door located in that place. Besides, he was not supposed to be here today. He had said he was going to Darkwater Tarn. She wondered if he had changed his mind or if the tarn had been merely a cover for whatever surprise he had dreamed up. A smile curved her lips as she contemplated the afternoon. Whatever Dev had planned, she was sure that it would be far more fun than riding about the estate with Strong.

She sent the man a message that she would meet him the next day instead, then sat down to work on her correspondence, wanting to get it done before her appointment with Devin. It was difficult, for her mind kept wandering to the rendezvous with her husband.

She considered what she should wear. Should she change into an old dress more suitable to a visit to the no-doubt dirty cellars? Or should she assume that the cellars were merely a ruse and that he had some other ultimate destination in mind and that she should keep on what she wore, which was one of Devin's favorites of her dresses?

She finally came down on the side of vanity and did not go upstairs to change into an old dress. Instead, at one o'clock she slipped out the back door, walking as the map had illustrated in a westward direction. Almost halfway along the back wall of the house she saw the small inset door of the cellar, just where the map had shown it. It seemed odd that she had never seen it before. Then she noticed that the ivy around the door had been newly cut, and she realized that it must have overgrown the door before now, and Devin had had it cut aside especially for this afternoon.

With a smile on her lips, she reached for the door handle and pushed it open. She blinked, staring into the Stygian darkness inside, her eyes, accustomed to the summer light outside, unable to make out anything in the cellar.

"Dev?" she called tentatively, taking a step inside, still holding open the door with her outstretched arm. She peered into the gloom. "Are you here? I cannot see a thing."

At that moment a hand lashed out and gripped her arm, jerking her forward into the darkness. She stumbled, crying out a protest at his roughness, and in the next instant a hand pushed her hard in the center of her back and she tumbled forward into black, empty space.

_{Chapter 18}

Devin did not return from Darkwater Tarn until the light began to fail him. He had had a long and satisfying day, and as he rode home he thought with pleasant anticipation of showing Miranda the preliminary sketches he had made of the place. When he reached the house and handed over his horse to a groom, he headed straight for the library. It was empty save for Hiram, who was working at a sheaf of papers.

"Do you know where Miranda is?" he asked Hiram, who looked at him blankly. "Miranda," he repeated after a moment, wondering what was wrong with the man. "Do you know where she is?"

"But, I— Well, I thought she was with you."

"With me? No, I have been out at the tarn all day. Why did you think she was with me?"

"I— Well, I assumed it was you. She finished a letter to her banker in New York, then she handed it to me and said she had an appointment. Something about the way she smiled, I, uh, I thought she meant it was with you."

"No." Devin looked at him. "It must have been with her father or the architect."

The other man shrugged, but there was a doubtful expression on his face. "I suppose so, my lord. She didn't really say. It must have been my mistake."

Devin turned away and went upstairs. He checked her bedroom first, but she was not there. Something about the odd look on Hiram's face had set off an alarm inside him. The man had been certain that Miranda had been talking about him.
Why? Because she had looked the way she looked when she talked about him. That was what Hiram had meant. What other man would she look that way about? Obviously not her father... or anyone else that Devin could think of in this house.

His mind leapt unbidden to the young doctor in the village, and for an instant jealousy surged through him. Then reason reasserted itself. He was as certain of Miranda as he was of himself—probably more so. If she had decided to take a lover, she would have told him so outright. He told himself that Hiram must have been mistaken, but he could not quell the fear that was burgeoning in his chest. He had grown complacent over the last few weeks because nothing untoward had happened. And in any case, he had never thought that the danger threatened anyone but himself....

He whirled around and charged out of his room. He went first to the Upshaws' room, where he found both Joseph and his wife.

"Miranda?" her father said in surprise. "Why, no, I haven't seen her since luncheon. Have you checked the library?"

"She left there long ago."

"Where is she?" Elizabeth's voice rose hysterically. "Has something happened to her?"

He glanced over at the woman. He was rarely around Miranda's stepmother, who usually kept to her rooms, but as he looked at her now, an odd feeling swept through him. Then it was gone, as quickly as it had come, and he saw only a frightened woman.

"Did you do something to her?" Elizabeth went on, her voice almost a shriek.

"Elizabeth! Dear, what are you saying?" Joseph turned to his wife with a horrified look. He put his hands on her arms and turned her aside, leading her over to a chair. "Please, I am sure there is nothing to worry about. Miranda can take care of herself. She often goes off on her own. She will turn up before supper."

He returned to Devin, saying in a low voice, "I apologize. My wife is not feeling well, and she worries so over the girls. She has been, well, very anxious for weeks now. I'm not sure why. Let's go out and see if we can track down that girl."

But Elizabeth would not be left behind. She insisted on going with them as they looked for Miranda. They went first to Veronica's room, where they were informed that she had not seen her stepsister all day. Devin went from door to door throughout the house, his fear swelling with each passing moment as he opened and closed the doors on empty rooms.
Something had happened to her. He had been careless, unthinking, and Miranda had paid the price for it.

*

Miranda's scream pierced the air as she pitched forward into utter darkness. For one blind, panicked moment, she was certain that she was dead. Then she slammed into a hard wall and slid along it, her feet stumbling on the stone stairs. Her legs buckled under her, and she came down hard on her knees and banged her side into the wall once more. She stopped, crumpled against the wall, and for a long moment she just lay there, stunned.

Gradually the pain in various parts of her body pierced through the shock that had overtaken her. Her head hurt, her legs were twisted in an untenable position under her, and the palms of her hands stung, as did her left arm. Gingerly she moved, reaching up to brace a hand against the unseen wall as she swung first one leg, then the other, out from under her. She breathed a sigh of relief when her feet met stone steps and not mere air beneath them. A little more comfortable, she leaned against the wall, wrapping her arms around herself in an attempt to stop the shivering that had seized her entire body.

Someone had attacked her!
It took some time to get her mind around that thought. But clearly someone had lured her to this cellar door with a note, then jerked her inside and pushed her down the stairs. The assumption must have been, of course, that she would die. And so she would have, if the push she had been given had not propelled her to the side as well as forward, so that she met the wall beside the stairs instead of hurtling straight forward down them.

Miranda wished she could stop shivering. It was cold and damp in the cellar, and combined with the cold clutch of fear, she was chilled through and through. She huddled against the wall in the darkness, trying to think.
How had this happened? More than that, who would want her dead?