The Golden Maze (6 page)

How crowded the small shop seemed, for that was what it really was; a stationer's, newsagent and sweet shop with a side made over to be a sub-post office. Now it 'seemed full of women talking again as they turned their backs on her and she made her way to the post office counter.

She caught words here and there; words spoken loudly as if the speaker hoped they'd be overheard. "No right t'it, has she ?"

"Jumping the bridge afore it's built .. ."

"Of course she musta seen the paper now ..."

Trying to ignore the crowd, Cindy bought a stamp. The postmistress looked at her with cold eyes.

"Reckon you're pleased with yourself, Miss Preston," she said. "A good day to you now."

Puzzled, Cindy hesitated. What had she to be pleased about? The talk with Mr. Fairhead had been depressing and even alarming, for she could see no solution to the problems she'd have to face if the

castle was hers. How could it be a good day? Perhaps she meant the weather?

So Cindy smiled. "Yes, it is a lovely day, isn't it?"

There was another silence and she felt a cold wave of anger go through the small shop. She hurried outside as fast as she could, almost forgetting to stick the stamp on the envelope and drop it into the letterbox.

Once outside she almost ran to her car. She had to get away. Somehow or other sh
e had angered the villagers. but
how? Or why? Maybe it was absurd, she thought unhappily, but it frightened her. It was like walking on the edge of a volcano here—she was never sure when or how she might anger the local people.

As she started the car, she remembered a holiday she had once spent in Cornwall. There an old inhabitant had laughed.

"Take no notice of them," she had said. "I've lived here fifty year and I'm still a 'furriner'. You have to be born here to be accepted."

Maybe it was the same in the Lake District, Cindy thought as she drove down a road she had never been along. Soon she was driving along a wider road, not sure where she was going, not really caring. Passing

a public callbox in a small village, she stopped and put a call through to the castle. Mrs. Stone answered it.

"Oh, it's you now, is it?" she said, her voice impatient. "Has to something to tell me?"

Cindy stifled a sigh. "Just that I shall be out to lunch, Mrs. Stone."

"Is that so now? I'm not surprised. Celebrating

with champagne, I don't doubt !" she said, and slammed down the receiver.

Putting down the receiver too, but slowly, Cindy went out into the cold crisp mountain air. So Mrs. Stone was also mad ! What on earth was wrong with them all ?

Back in her car, Ci
ndy started to drive. She had no
idea where to go, but probably she would find herself in a town at lunch time and could eat there. She felt she could not face Mrs. Stone's cold anger or Paul's cheekiness.

The road lay along the side of the hill, going slowly downwards. One side was covered with heather, the other-with huge boulders perilously balanced—or so they looked, while clumps of trees kept hiding the lake that was, as could be expected here, in the valley below. Here it was peaceful, she thought, as she drove through a tiny village. The church was outside, alone in dignified solitude. Nearer the village a house that had to be the vicarage and a' church school—then just a row of small shops and a few cottages huddled together as if whispering secrets.

Turning a corner, she found herself suddenly on a level with the lake. She saw it was a waiting place for a ferry and already two cars were parked, waiting as the flat-bottomed ferry slowly made its way towards them across the sun-sparkled lake. She might as well go across, she thought, and parked behind the cars.

Looking up at the sky, she saw the sun was about to be temporarily hidden by a strangely grey cloud and that behind it darker grey clouds looked ominous. Perhaps the sunny period was over and the rain near? Well, it matched her mood, she thought unhappily,

for suddenly everything seemed to have gone wrong and the excited happiness that had filled her ever since she had received Keith Ayres' letter had vanished.

The lake water rippled gently as the ferry came towards them with a strange, slow dignity, almost as if the journey was effortless. On the opposite bank was a large white house down near the water. In the middle of the lake, a small island. If there was a cottage on it, it was hidden by the dense cluster of trees.

Cindy drove on the ferry with the other cars. It was only when she chanced to turn her head she saw that in the car next to hers, David Baxter sat !

Had he seen her? she wondered. He was sitting, his arms folded, his head turned to look the opposite way. Was it on purpose? she asked herself. Then he turned suddenly and caught her staring at him. She half-smiled nervously, but feeling perhaps she should make the first move, and he lifted a newspaper that lay by his side and waved it angrily.

For a moment she thought he was going to throw it at her and then he dropped it down on the seat and deliberately turned his back on her.

She turned away, too, shocked and bewildered. Now what on earth could she have done to have so offended everyone ? She stared without really seeing them at the masses of gulls who were swooping down to dive into the water. Suddenly she saw that the white house had become a great deal bigger than before and she realised that the ferry was nearing the opposite shore. Several swans swam slowly past, looking at the ferry arrogantly, almost as if defying it

to run them down, Cindy thought, as she tried to forget the look of anger on David Baxter's face as he waved the newspaper at her.

She drove ashore and straight up the hill, concentrating on looking at the scenery to distract her thoughts. She saw a squat little church with a square tower that stood in a churchyard and seemed guarded by a row of dark dignified cypresses that appeared determined to shut out the world. Suddenly she was on a straight road, running alongside the lake but much higher. The grey clouds had moved and the sun shone. How yellow the fields looked, but she knew it was only golden bracken. Up here on the other side of the road she saw the flag walls that Mr. Fairhead had told her about. In the quiet fields sheep were grazing while a few small lambs were gambolling about, having what looked like a lot of fun.

As she drove on, she reached Ambleside. Startled, because she had thought herself much farther from the castle, Cindy stopped and had lunch. She also bought a booklet of coloured pictures of the different parts of the Lake District and decided to drive up past Langdale and towards Keswick. She had no desire to go back to the castle, though she knew she would have to—no matter how long she postponed it.

Now, as she drove, she found herself in a totally different countryside. The mountains seemed larger and they were no longer covered with trees and grass. Bracken, yes, but mostly they were bare rocks. Suddenly it was eerie—the huge grey and green mountains standing high above the quiet lakes threateningly while the distant .view was of mountains going away in their curving beauty. She shivered, for

now the sun had vanished again and the grey coldness seeped through her warm coat. Realising how late it was, she turned to drive home. Maybe things would be better next day, she thought. She had liked Luke Fairhead; perhaps she could ask him what she had done to offend the local villagers and then she might be able to put the matter right.

Turning a corner, she slowed up instinctively, driving off the road on to the grass verge to stare at the scene before her. It was horribly desolate, yet had a beauty she had never seen before. The mountains had grown dark as the sun fell. Now they were silhouetted against a sky of weird loveliness, a sky of pale grey with streaks of palest mauve and a wonderful clear yellow of the remains of the sunshine—all this reflected in the still lake. Down by the water, stood some trees, their bare branches spread upwards as if appealing to the darkening sky—their delicate twigs looking like fine crochet against the light.

She sighed. How she loved this beauty—if only she could find a way to keep the castle—if, that is, the castle was going to be hers.

It was dark when she reached Claife Castle. She saw a car parked outside, but drove on round the back to the garages. She walked round to the front of the castle, thinking again that there must be a way to find the money to rejuvenate it. Would a bank manager consider her old enough—or reliable enough —to be loaned the money? If she ran it as a hotel .. .

She knocked on the front door. It opened immediately as if Mrs. Stone had been waiting for her. Now she stood back, her face bright with triumph.

"You're late, Miss Preston. I thought you might be lost now. There's a gentleman waiting to see you."

"A gentleman ?" Cindy was startled. Who did she know who'd be visiting her? A sudden rush of hope filled her. Could it be David Baxter? Come to apologise for his strange and rude behaviour?

She pulled off her coat and scarf, running her hands through her hair, and went to the big drawing-room.

A tall man stood by the fire. Now he turned to look at her. It was David Baxter ! In his hand was a newspaper.

HE came towards her with no smile or sign of friendliness on his face.

He lifted the newspaper. "How do you explain this ?" he asked.

She stared at him, startled, indeed bewildered. He had changed ! His voice was much deeper—his face ' more suntanned, his fair hair shorter. How could he have changed in so short a time?

"You are Mr. Baxter ?" she said uncertainly.

"Of course I am. Why else should I be here? I want an explanation of this." He lifted the paper again as he spoke curtly.

Something seemed to snap inside her. "About what? I haven't seen a paper today, but I'm absolutely sick of your rudeness. Waving the paper at me on the ferry like that !"

"What on earth are you talking about? What ferry? I drove up from London as soon as I read the article." Suddenly she knew I It was the voice she had been
unable to forget. The voice he
had used in London as he teased her about her eyes and her height.

"You are . . ." she hesitated. "You are David Baxter ?"

He frowned, his thick eyebrows almost meeting. "David Baxter? Of course I'm not. I'm Peter Baxter."

"Peter !" Without thinking, Cindy put out her

hand vaguely and the next moment the man had her by the arms and was gently pushing her into an armchair.

. "Let's get this straight," he said briskly. "You seem to have had a shock. What made you think I was David Baxter? Incidentally, he's my cousin."

"I can see now you're so different. I thought when I saw him—that it was you."

"If you remember, you'd left your glasses behind, so you didn't really know what I looked like."

"No, I didn't. He was big and tall and fair and .. ." Cindy shook her head slowly, her long hair swinging. "I'm beginning to understand."

"Understand what ?"

"His behaviour. I spoke to him and he . . ."

"Was rude? He's not noted for his good manners. Has a foul temper, too. What's all this about waving a paper at you?"

"I . . . I was on the ferry . . . I wanted to get away. They were all so unfriendly, I couldn't understand it .... and then I turned my head and he was in the next car and he looked furious. I thought he was going to throw the paper at me and . . ."

"I see." Peter pulled up a small straight-backed chair and straddled it, looking at her thoughtfully. "You haven't read the paper today?" He passed it to her. "I suggest you read the front page article. It might explain a lot of things."

Cindy opened the paper and stared at the headlines.

TEENAGER PLANS TO SELL MOCK CASTLE

SHE MAY INHERIT FOR

TWENTY THOUSAND POUNDS

Underneath it said : "A nineteen-year-old girl who may become heiress to a mock castle in Cumberland has been offered twenty thousand pounds by an American who plans to demolish the castle and rebuild it, stone by stone, in America. A distant ancestor of his lived in the castle soon after it was built and he has always wanted to live in it himself—but in his own country. Of course there is always the possibility that the real heir—the son of the deceased—may appear. No one seems to know why this girl, who is no relation to the Baxter family, should have been made heiress at all. She said that if the castle is hers, she will sell it to the American. Local people are angrily against the project. It is their castle, they say, not hers."

Cindy looked up as she finished reading. "But it isn't !" she said, her voice shocked. "No American has offered me twenty thousand pounds." Her hand flew to her mouth. "Today, just-before lunch, there was a letter for me. But it wasn't really for me—it was addressed to the owner so I sent it to Mr Ayres .. ."

"After opening it ?"

Cindy frowned. "I didn't open it. I am ... was not the owner, so I went straight down to the village and posted it off." -

"Paul Stone says you opened it and smiled."

Cindy was on her feet. "Paul is lying." She glared at the man. "Of course, if you prefer to believe him ..." She turned and walked to the door, but Peter Baxter was quickly on his feet, grabbing her by the arms, turning her round.