The Whispering Rocks (23 page)

He lowered his eyes. “I didn’t think you would ever hear from any source.” He turned back to Mathilda. “Why did you not tell Ransome about all this?”

“I did!”

Sarah was taken aback. “And he did nothing about it?”

“That is what happened, Sarah. I had followed Melissa one day and discovered the house in Brightwell Street that she shared with ‘Mr. Hobson’ here. I confronted her with my discovery, and informed her that I would send her groom, the Frenchman, with a letter that very day. Her brother should be made aware of what was going on.”

Jack was smiling now. “And there you have the reason for Ransome’s inactivity, my dear lady. The Frenchman would never deliver a letter which would harm Melissa. He was”—he glanced at Sarah—”her most faithful and loyal servant.”

“I was a foolish old woman. I should have written again and again when Paul didn’t reply.”

“But you didn’t, Mrs. Ransome.”

“No, I didn’t. I thought Paul’s silence denoted that he wished to hear no more on the subject and that he didn’t intend doing anything. So I abided by what I thought was his decision. However”—she looked at Jack with dislike—”it does not alter the fact that your actions in coming here to Mannerby are despicable in view of all that happened.”

He colored a little, his eyes bright. “You seem to think that I’m amused by all that has been stirred up by your arrival, and I do assure you that that is not the case.”

He went to sit beside Sarah, taking her hands and making her look at him. “Forgive me, sweetheart, but I could not bring myself to tell you. I no longer felt anything for her; that was all long since dead by the time I met you. From that moment on I loved only you. Please believe that. Tell me that I’m forgiven.” His thumbs moved slowly in her palms, caressing the hot skin calmingly.

She clasped his fingers tightly in answer, and closing his eyes with relief he pulled her into his arms. “I have never, never meant to hurt you, for I love you too much,” he whispered. “In fact I love you too much for my own good.” His eyes went to the window, to where Hob’s Tor shimmered in the sun.

Mathilda stood and, going to the polished sideboard, picked up the decanter of cognac. Slowly she poured herself a liberal glass. “I trust that you’re telling the truth, Mr. Hobson—or should I now call you Holland?—for I’ve already become very fond of Sarah and should not take it kindly were you to betray her love.”

Sarah watched him looking at Hob’s Tor. Melissa had been his mistress—surely he must have known what she was. As if he knew her thoughts, he shook his head gently. “I didn’t know everything about her, Sarah, not until that day in the cave,” he whispered. She clung to his hand, wanting desperately to believe him.

Mathilda drained her glass and looked appreciatively at the decanter. “And shall you face my nephew now?” she asked.

“I shall. Besides, I have no choice, have I? I must await the farrier from Plymouth in the morning, concerning the French horses, before I can formally hand them over to Ransome. I do assure you, madam, that I shall leave directly after the matter is accomplished, for I’ve no desire to foist my presence upon you a moment longer than necessary. The situation is, er, delicate, is it not?”

“Delicate? It most certainly is, sir! I think you’d be better advised leaving immediately, before Paul returns from Bencombe.”

“I’m no coward, Mrs. Ransome, and I shall face your nephew squarely enough.” He squeezed Sarah’s hands. “You forgive me my deception, my love?”

She smiled and nodded.

Ignoring Mathilda, he leaned forward and kissed Sarah’s lips. “Then that’s all that matters to me,” he murmured.

Mathilda walked to the window and stared out, glancing behind her at Jack. “Well, now we shall see what you are made of, Mr. Holland, for my nephew is returning.”

The interview with Paul was conducted in Paul’s study, and Mathilda took Sarah up to her room and made her sit there until it was all over. Sarah was convinced that Paul would at the very least strike Jack, but the conversation between the two men was polite and calm. Paul listened quietly, nodding once when Jack finished speaking.

“Very well, Holland. I accept what you say, but you must understand that even if you are here on Stratford’s business, I can no longer tolerate your presence.”

“There’s the matter of the report on the new horses.”

“I shall expect your departure immediately after the man has given his opinion.”

Jack inclined his head.

Paul stood and left the study, going out to the stables. He did not return to the house for the remainder of the day.

In the early evening, after a meal which was memorable for its absolute silence, Jack and Sarah went for a walk up toward the moor, with a determined Mathilda accompanying them. They sat in the shade of a silver birch tree, looking out at a tiny brook which bubbled up from the depths of the earth and trickled away down toward the distant sea. The air smelled sweetly of bracken and damp moss, and high overhead a skylark sang. The bracken swayed in the soft wind, rustling and shaking, and tall heads of foxgloves nodded to and fro in unison.

“Mrs. Ransome, I trust that I may speak freely in front of you. There are things I wish to discuss with Sarah, and as I’m leaving tomorrow they must be said now. You insisted on coming with us and so now I must ask you to respect my confidence.” Jack looked at Mathilda’s set face.

“Mr. Holland, I was never one to spread gossip. For Sarah’s sake I’ll maintain my previous unblemished record!”

He smiled at the qualification. “Then for Sarah’s sake I thank you,” he said softly. Mathilda’s eyes flickered to his face and away again. He smiled at Sarah. “I shall go directly to Rook House tomorrow. I think there are matters to discuss with your father.”

“Matters?”

“Yes. I want to marry you and he must be made aware of the fact.” He spoke as if he had come to a sudden and unalterable decision.

She blushed. “But he wants me to marry Edward.”

“And will you? If he insists?”

She shook her head. “Not anymore. If I cannot be with you, then I will go back to Longwicke.”

He was surprised. “You would go back to that life? You would give up everything?”

“Yes. No riches are worth torment.”

His eyes moved away from her face. “You are right, my dearest, dearest Sarah. No vast fortune is worth—” He smiled quickly. “But Longwicke shall not be your fate, for you shall be my wife with or without your father’s consent, with or without your father’s fortune.”

“But your position at court, my love—I can only harm that,” she whispered anxiously.

He touched her face, looking intently into her eyes. “I must have you, Sarah, and I’ve been a fool until this moment, striving to have everything when the only thing that really mattered was you. But we may find your father amenable to the idea. After all, he moved heaven and earth to persuade me to attend one of his dreadful house parties. I rather fancy his desire to become a leading member of Society may outweigh his desire to keep his wealth within the family. I may be doing him a severe injustice, but I don’t think so, and apart from that he is already aware of my interest in you—as is everyone. Anyway, it may all be resolved when Trefarrin goes to Rook House. With God’s luck he will identify Edward.”

“But, of course, you don’t know! James Trefarrin is dead. He died in another fire at the Blue Fox when you were away in Plymouth.”

“A fire!” He went very pale suddenly, his eyes swinging immediately toward Hob’s Tor. She could feel his hands shaking.

“You’re thinking of the drawing in the cave?”

“What else?” he asked sharply.

“It must be Edward, for he would have known James had seen him with Melissa.”

“Yes. Yes, of course.”

“Unless it is Armand, although why he should do such a thing escapes me for the moment.” She was watching Jack a little anxiously, for his reaction to the news was dramatic and alarming.

“Armand would do it. Of course he would! He was her disciple, and Trefarrin could harm her. And the drawing was by the cave where Armand had been.” Jack’s haunted eyes did not stir from Hob’s Tor.

“Jack?” She pulled at his hands to make him look at her. “You frighten me a little.”

He stared at her and then smiled, his gray eyes warm and loving. “It was the shock of having to face again that Melissa was a practicing witch and that somehow or other her wishes are still being carried out even after her death. Forgive me.” He kissed her.

He picked a long blade of grass and twirled it between his fingers. “Well, we now have scant hope of placing the blame squarely on Edward. Still, I’ll face your father with what has been going on here. It doesn’t really matter, as you’ll not marry your cousin anyway, but it could be that your father will disinherit him completely in your favor, which would be a desirable state of affairs, would it not?”

He smiled at her and she forgot Paul’s wishes concerning the fate of Edward Stratford. “I’ll have you even if you come penniless, but I confess that I’d prefer to have you as a rich wife.”

“Perhaps. I don’t know. What I’ve never really had I’ll not miss. But you have so much to lose if you marry me.”

“You’re worth it to me, and I curse that I didn’t realize it before. But I do mind that Edward Stratford should have all and you nothing.”

“Do as you wish, Jack. I don’t mind. I only want to be with you.”

He stared again across the rolling moor toward Hob’s Tor, where the sky was beginning to turn to pink and gold as the sun sank. “You shall be with me, Sarah—that I swear.” He looked away from the tor and back to her face. “The Prince Regent will be enchanted with you. In fact I wouldn’t put it past him to flirt outrageously with you.”

“Oh.” The Prince Regent? Sarah had not even begun to think what marrying Jack would mean. The circles he moved in were high indeed, the highest in the land, and as his wife she too would enter those circles,

He laughed, taking her hands and pulling her to her feet. “Will you not sleep tonight for thinking of that?”

“It’s just that—well, I hadn’t thought about it before.”

“It doesn’t matter, you know, for you’ll enchant them all.” He kissed her on the lips and she closed her eyes.

Mathilda cleared her throat. “The evening begins to get chilly, Mr. Holland. I think it’s time we returned to the house.”

“Yes, Mrs. Ransome, you are right. Come, Sarah, I have much to do tonight, for I’ll be gone before noon tomorrow. I must see to it that my phaeton is prepared.”

They walked down the hillside and, as they passed through the gates of the house, Jack turned and looked back toward Hob’s Tor, which was ablaze with the colors of the sunset.

He took his leave of the two women and went to the stables. In the entrance hall of the house, they encountered Paul, who was just leaving the drawing room.

“Ah, there you are, Paul. I trust that we shall see a little more of you tomorrow.” Mathilda untied her bonnet.

“There is no reason why not, Aunt.” His brown eyes rested on Sarah coldly.

She felt a flush of embarrassment, knowing that he was hurt by her calm acceptance of everything. She lowered her gaze miserably, hating to see such an expression in his eyes. “Forgive me, Paul, but I do believe him and all he says. I don’t mean to hurt you....” She broke off. She could not stay at Mannerby now; it was not right or fair. But what could she do? “I’ll ask Jack if I can go with him tomorrow.”

Mathilda gasped. “You cannot do that, child!”

Paul sighed. “I’ll not allow that, Sarah. You’re my responsibility, and there’s no need for such drastic action.”

She did not want to do it. She did not want her life with Jack to begin so ignominiously, but she shrank from living at Mannerby any longer. She loved Jack and that placed her firmly on the wrong side of the wall; she had no right to remain.

Paul suddenly gripped her arm and practically shook her. “Think, woman! Holland is so eager to place mercenary motives on Melissa’s every move, but I pray you think about his reasons. Are they not equally as dubious?”

Her face was hot. “I will leave tomorrow,” she whispered, almost running up the stairs away from him.

* * *

Later that night she sat in her bed, a candle burning beside her and the book of Shakespeare open on her lap. Outside the window the ash tree scratched insistently in the slow breeze, and the moon shone spasmodically from behind the clouds which lay scattered across the sky. The clock on the mantelpiece ticked quietly in the silent room and she looked up from the book to see that it was two o’clock.

She sighed, knowing that she would not be able to sleep. She had not seen Jack to tell him what she intended doing. Oh, this was not how it should be! She lay back against the pillow and stared out of the open window. The curtains were not drawn and stars twinkled in the velvet darkness.

Something made her get out of bed. It was peaceful outside as she looked out. She opened the window and gazed toward Hob’s Tor. There was a light. A fire. Someone had lit a fire on Hob’s Tor in the middle of the night!

She stared, the same feeling of loathing and fear creeping over her as she had experienced when she had ridden down in the valley below the tor. The ash tapped the window, scraping against the glass, which pressed it away from the wall. The air whispered through the branches and she thought she could hear Melissa’s voice, whispering quietly in the night. She stepped back from the window, shaking, but then she shook herself. No, such notions were foolish. A human hand had lit the fire on Hob’s Tor.

She left her room. She would tell Jack.

She knocked quietly on his door and waited. There was silence. He must be asleep. Again she knocked. After a while she turned the handle and went in. His room was in the oldest part of the house and the floorboards were crooked. As she crossed the room the boards creaked and the door of his wardrobe swung open. The curtains flapped idly in the breeze from the open window, moving like stealthy white ghosts. Her heart was thundering now as she drew aside the curtains around the bed. It had not been slept in.