The Whispering Rocks (17 page)

Her heart was heavy when at last she rang the bell for Marks to bring some refreshment for them all. Sadly she turned the unread page of her book. There was little if anything to fault in Paul’s management of the stud, and yet her father must change everything; to Sarah it seemed like change for the sake of change, little more, and knowing as she did that her father’s method of gaining Mannerby had been underhand, she found herself almost despising the absent Sir Peter.

It was the beginning of the end for Paul. Her father intended to oust him completely; Sarah could sense it. Through the open window she saw Martin carefully washing and polishing the yellow phaeton, and she thought of Jack. She knew why he had come, why he had chosen to lower himself by conducting her father’s business, but she did wish that he gave at least the semblance of regret at what he was doing to Paul Ransome. But Jack seemed to find no difficulty at all in telling Paul that his life’s work at Mannerby was to be wrecked.

Marks entered with a silver tray holding gold-and-white cups and saucers, a dish of the cook’s fine spice biscuits, and a tall silver coffee pot. As he set it down beside her she suddenly remembered that she and Paul had been invited to the Blue Fox that evening.

“Has Mr. Ransome made any mention of today’s evening meal, Marks?”

“Yes, madam. At least he did so yesterday morning. He said that the staff could all have the afternoon off as you and he would be dining out.” He went to tap on the door to the study.

“Thank you, Marks,” she said, as he walked slowly from the room and closed the door behind him. Did the invitation now extend to Jack? she wondered. She and Paul could hardly go without him, for that would be the height of bad manners.

Chairs scraped in the adjoining room and Paul and Jack came out. She met Paul’s gaze for a moment and then lowered her eyes uncomfortably. Yesterday’s picnic might as well have been enjoyed by two strangers, for there was more of a barrier between them now than ever there had been during Melissa’s life.

Jack sat down beside her, his hand clasping hers in the folds of her peach-colored morning gown. “We have sadly neglected you this morning, Sarah, but now we are come to foist our company upon you once more.” He lifted her hand to his lips and kissed it.

Paul looked decidedly bored and stretched his long legs out before him as he lounged in a crimson velvet chair. Sarah was aware of the studied manner in which he did this and she was a little piqued. It hurt her that he should turn so swiftly and so coldly away from her like this. After all, he must have known that she loved Jack, so why should Jack’s actual presence make any difference?

Marks returned and stood by Paul. “I’ve come to remind you of your words yesterday, sir. At what time may the staff take their afternoon off?”

Paul looked startled and had quite obviously forgotten. “Oh yes, it had slipped my mind,” He glanced at Sarah. “We’re invited to the Blue Fox, aren’t we?” A brief smile touched his lips and then was gone, leaving her almost in doubt as to its ever having been there.

“Yes, Paul, we are, but if you’d rather not—

“No. My word has been given, both to the staff here and to James Trefarrin.” He stood, obviously wishing that he did not have to utter the next words. “Holland, of course, the invitation now extends to you as well, for you are my guest here.”

Jack’s gray eyes were impenetrable. “Thank you, but no. I’m sure that Mr. Trefarrin has no wish to entertain me, a stranger. I won’t embarrass him—or you. Perhaps Marks here could arrange for a cold supper to be left for me. I will go for a ride on the moor instead.”

Sarah was disappointed. She did not wish to be parted from him, even for so short a while, but she knew that he was only doing what etiquette demanded.

Paul nodded. “Very well. Marks, will you see to that for me? And you may all leave directly after the midday meal has been served.”

“Yes, sir. Thank you, sir.” Marks left silently, and Sarah realized that she hardly ever heard the old butler either coming or going.

Paul took the cup of coffee she held out to him, not looking at her but at Jack. “When do these French beasts arrive, then?”

“Sometime within the next few weeks. They’re to be shipped to Plymouth and word will be sent to me directly they arrive.” He smiled but his eyes remained cool. “You look as if you regret the outcome of Waterloo, Ransome. Such thoughts are treasonable.”

Paul put down his cup quietly. “I’ll be proved right in the end. Sir Peter is an atrocious judge of horseflesh.”

Jack’s smile did not waver. “But
I
have picked these animals, Ransome.”

Paul stood, smiling with equal falsity. “Stratford must be unable to believe his luck in having so exalted a stable boy.” Still smiling, he took his leave of Sarah and went out.

Jack laughed as the door closed behind him. “There’s fire in our friend—not a great deal, but nonetheless, it is there.”

She said nothing, knowing how deeply Paul was feeling the situation. She could not understand Jack, or indeed any man, she decided—and men had the audacity to say that women were unpredictable!

Later, after all the servants had gone for the afternoon, Sarah sat in the kitchen garden. Jack had gone for his ride on the moor and Paul was busy in the stables with a mare who was having difficulty giving birth to her first foal.

She looked up at the flawless blue sky. The day was warm, so warm.... In the stableyard she could hear the horses being led out for their afternoon gallop on the lower moor. Their hooves clattered noisily on the cobbles. From the farrier’s shed came the acrid smell of smoke and the sound of a hammer on the anvil.

She unfastened the top two buttons of her high-throated gown, wishing now that she had worn the blue-and-white silk instead. Beyond the garden the moor shimmered in the heat. The leaves of the heather were fresh and green and the birch trees which lined the route of a stream were a ribbon of pale green and silver. The gorse which littered the moor was alight with bright golden flowers and as she looked away into the distance, Hob’s Tor seemed to sway in the haze.

There was no mist or cloud to engulf it today and she could see clearly the great boulders on its summit, those whispering rocks of which Paul had spoken. She wondered what their whispering sounded like. She was so lost in her thoughts that she did not see the dog cart coming down the track from Bencombe. It came into the courtyard and through to the stableyard, its driver calling for Paul.

She yawned and leaned back against the tree, wishing that she was out riding with Jack. There was a heaviness about the afternoon which made her drowsy, like some powerful opiate which was determined to deaden her every sense,

Paul’s boots were almost silent as he crossed the grass to where she sat by the poplar tree. He sat down beside her, touching her arm to draw her wandering attention. “So sleepy, Sarah?” There was a hint of his former friendliness in the smile he gave her.

“I’m ashamed to admit it, but I am sleepy. It’s so hot I think I’ll change my gown for one a little cooler.”

“There’ll be thunder before midnight, Martin informs me, and he’s seldom wrong.”

“But we shall be back from Bencombe long before that, surely?”

“Well, that’s what I’ve come to speak to you about. I’m afraid that we’ll all be eating cold suppers tonight, for news has just come from James that there was a fire at the Blue Fox this morning and some damage done. He cannot entertain us tonight, nor for some time I fear.”

“How terrible. Was anyone hurt?”

“No. The parlor has been destroyed and part of the kitchens. Anyway, I’m going to ride over to see if there’s anything I can do to help.” He stood up, brushing the grass from his breeches.

“Paul, how is the mare in foal?”

“She is well enough, the mother of a sturdy son!” He smiled, and then crouched down beside her again, his face serious. “Sarah, do you love Holland?” He spoke softly.

“Yes, I have since I—almost since I first met him.”

He took her hand, “Then be careful. Don’t do anything you may later regret.”

A blush swept hotly over her and she snatched her hand away. “I think I may be trusted to behave myself, thank you!”

He stood once more, nodding. “I meant no insult, Sarah. I only sought to—to ...” He shrugged and turned away, swinging his riding crop to slice at the leaves of the poplar tree. She watched him until he was out of sight.

She stood up, still feeling the hot flush on her face as she walked back toward the house to change her gown. As she reached the doorway she heard Jack’s voice and turned. He was standing by the gatehouse where Martin was inspecting the foreleg of his horse. He saw her and crossed the courtyard toward her.

“What’s happened to your horse?” she asked.

“I hadn’t long gone when it went lame. I walked back with it. I hear that your visit to the Blue Fox has been canceled.”

“Yes, there was a fire there this morning.”

He took her hands and her anger at Paul was dispelled immediately. It would be deliciously wicked to contemplate misbehaving with Jack....

Loosening his excellent cravat, Jack smiled. “Then shall we take fresh mounts and ride together?”

Her eyes brightened. That would be marvelous. “I would love to, except—”

“Except what?”

“Well, I don’t think Paul would appreciate such an unescorted ride.”

His eyes clouded with anger and he thumped the trunk of the ash tree beneath which they now stood. “And why should his objections carry any weight?”

“Because I am placed under his protection. Jack, I dare not flout his wishes. It would not be right.”

“No, but it’s perfectly acceptable for you to go picking flowers alone with him?” There was an edge to his voice.

She slipped her arms around his neck and leaned against him, ignoring Martin’s interested gaze. “I’m not in love with Paul—there is the difference.”

His arms tightened around her immediately and he held her close. “Then how can we manage our ride? There must be some way.” His lips were against her hair and a shiver of delight ran through her.

“Janie and Martin,” she said, catching sight of Martin. “They could come with us.”

Jack laughed. “But surely they too would rather be alone? They are ‘courting strong,’ or so I believe.”

“Yes, but Janie’s mother is very strict. I think they would welcome the chance of riding with us, and then we can all chaperone each other and all impropriety will be eliminated.” She smiled up at him and he kissed her again. She could hear nothing but the thundering of her pulse and she knew that Paul’s warning had been justified; her love for Jack passed common sense and verged on the willful. Why, oh why, could her future not be with him instead of Edward?

A short while later she and Janie were in the kitchens rifling the cook’s cupboards and shelves. It was like playing truant, thought Sarah, as she packed a warm loaf into the hamper.

The sun was still high in the sky as the four rode up the village street toward the moor. Janie and Martin rode side by side, chattering together cheerfully, the hamper bumping against the shoulder of Martin’s sturdy horse.

Before them spread the glittering, sun-drenched moor, crowned by the pinnacle of Hob’s Tor.

An ancient bridge of stone crossed a wide stream which babbled lazily over pebbles, splashing and sparkling in the sun. The horses paused by the water, dipping their muzzles into the cool stream.

Sarah breathed in deeply the mixed smells of the wild countryside. Bracken, heather, foxgloves, and moss all intermingled with the perfume of gorse; combined they made Dartmoor. Hob’s Tor seemed unexpectedly near as she looked at it. Each boulder on its rocky tip could be discerned and the heat made the hill dance. It seemed to be trying to attract her attention, she thought, immediately shaking her head at such a foolish notion.

“What hill is that?” Jack pointed with his crop.

Martin looked at it. “ ‘Tis Hob’s Tor, sir.”

“Hob’s Tor? Is it a place of magic then?” Jack was grinning.

Martin looked back at him seriously. “They say it’s a place where the hobgoblins go, sir. I wouldn’t know about that, but one thing is certain: it’s an evil place. Things used to happen there, bad things.”

Jack was interested. “What sort of things?”

“Well, I can’t say for certain, sir, but things to do with witchcraft—you know, sir, the Old Religion. ‘Tis not so long since the Old Religion was followed hereabouts. At certain times of the year they made sacrifices on Hob’s Tor. And other things were done.... Anyway, the place has a bad name now, and no one will go there unless they have to.”

“What a lot of nonsense. It’s only a hill like any other hill. It doesn’t look far—shall we ride there and prove everyone wrong?” Jack turned his horse and looked toward the tor.

Janie looked dismayed. “I’d rather not, sir, please.”

“Sarah?”

Sarah stared at the tor, feeling its curious mute beckoning and the strange appeal of the whispering rocks. She felt suddenly that she must go there. She glanced at Janie and Martin. “Oh come on, you two. It cannot harm us to go there. Perhaps we can have our picnic somewhere on its slopes.”

Jack waited no longer; he spurred his horse forward through the stream, ignoring the bridge. The water sprayed up in shining droplets which spattered over Sarah as she followed him. Very reluctantly, Janie and Martin rode across the stream and toward Hob’s Tor.

The heat played them false for the tor was further than it seemed and it was fully two hours before they reached the lower slopes. Sarah was hot and thirsty, but still determined to have the picnic on the tor. No one had noticed that the sun had become less intense. The shadows of their horses were blurred now and not sharply defined as they had been. From behind them came spreading across the skies an angry bank of yellow storm clouds. The blue of the sky was turned to gray.

Unexpectedly the land sloped downwards before them to a small, deep valley which could not be seen from further away. Sarah reined in abruptly, for an unpleasant sensation was moving over her, tingling across her scalp and resting coldly on her damp skin. Jack glanced at her in surprise. “What is it?”