Carisbrooke Abbey Page 6

  She arranged her silver comb on the dressing-table, thinking fondly of her mother as she did so, and set her silver-backed hand mirror beside it. Her father had bought them for her mother when her parents had been first married, and on her mother’s death they had passed to Hilary. She continued to unpack her portmanteau, taking out her two dresses and shabby petticoat. She was going to hang them in the wardrobe, together with her pelisse, but when she opened it it was musty, and so she arranged her clothes over the back of the settle instead. It only remained for her to put her novel on the table by the bed, and set her half boots by the fire, and she was done. She looked round the room again. It could not be called home-like, but it was more welcoming than it had been before she had started her work.

  A gleam of sunshine falling through the stained glass window awoke her to the fact that the rain had stopped. The clouds were still low and heavy, but there was a small break where the sun shone through. She was tempted to venture out for a walk. Her ankle was still a little sore, but set against this was her desire for fresh air. If she did not put her weight on her foot, and did not go too far, it should not cause her too much discomfort.

  She thought of Lord Carisbrooke’s command that she should not venture out into the grounds but decided to ignore it. There could be no reason for it, other than curmudgeonliness, and she had no intention of letting his bad temper deprive her of some exercise.

  Taking heart from the break in the weather she put on her pelisse and bonnet then pulled on her gloves. She went downstairs and out into the grounds.

  A brisk wind was blowing, sending the clouds scudding across the sky. Despite the present pause in the rain, the bad weather looked set to last. As she followed the gravel path that skirted the abbey, separating it from its wide lawns and untidy shrubberies, she wondered how high the river had risen overnight. She decided to turn her footsteps in that direction. Although she could not see it, she could hear its steady rushing noise, and was in no doubt as to where it lay. She had hardly turned towards it, however, when she saw a young lady coming along the path towards her.

  Who ... ? she thought in surprise, as her eyes ran over the young lady’s beautiful face, voluptuous figure, and wonderful clothes. She had not expected to meet anyone on her walk, and certainly not another woman.

  Her eyes lingered on the young lady’s dress. It was truly exquisite. Made of the finest lace, it looked as though it had come straight out of a fashion plate. Its low-cut bodice was decorated with pink ribbon, and its skirt, falling from a high waist, flowed effortlessly round the young lady’s figure before falling in soft folds to the floor. Hilary could not help comparing it to her own dress, which sat lumpishly around her.

  So engrossed was she in the details of the beautiful dress that Hilary did not at first find it odd that a fashionable young lady should be wearing evening dress in the middle of the morning. Or that she should be walking out of doors on a cold November day without so much as a pelisse.

  ‘Hello,’ the young lady said, with easy, unaffected manners. ‘I don’t believe I know you. I’m Esmerelda.’

  Esmerelda’s face was as enchanting as her gown. Her eyes were large and expressive, and her skin was like porcelain. Her nose was short and retroussé, and her mouth was beautifully-shaped. Abundant hair was piled in dark coils on top of her head.

  ‘I’m Hilary,’ said Hilary. Adding, ‘Miss Wentworth.’

  ‘Ah!’ said Esmerelda mischievously. ‘We are to be formal, then. Very well. I am Miss Varons. How do you do. You are going for a walk, I see. May I go with you?’

  ‘Of course.’ The two ladies fell into step. ‘I didn’t know you lived at the abbey,’ said Hilary, wondering whether the enchanting young lady could be a relative of Lund’s, a niece, perhaps, or a granddaughter; although the thought of the dour Lund being related to this beautiful creature seemed ridiculous.

  ‘Oh, I don’t,’ said Esmerelda. ‘I’m a guest at the rectory. I have just walked over here. I was tired of being cooped up by the rain.’

  ‘But I thought the roads were flooded,’ Hilary protested, before remembering that Lord Carisbrooke had said there was a foot bridge.

  Esmerelda smiled, then said, ‘It has been a pleasure meeting you, Miss Wentworth, but I’m afraid I must leave you now.’

  And so saying, she turned and walked back the way she had come.

  How strange, thought Hilary. Esmerelda had departed very suddenly. And yet she knew that beautiful young ladies were often capricious, particularly if they were also wealthy. Esmerelda had obviously spent as much time as she meant to on a plain and dowdy librarian.

  Dismissing Esmerelda’s sudden departure from her mind, she continued on her way towards the river. As she did so, her eyes roamed over the small trees and large bushes that comprised the tangled shrubbery surrounding the abbey.

  To her surprise, she noticed something unusual: a pinnacle, rising out of the rhododendrons. What could it be? She hesitated. Curiosity prompted her to investigate, but concern for her ankle, which was starting to ache, prompted caution. In the end, curiosity won. Limping slightly so as to favour her sound foot, she followed a path through the shrubbery, coming at last to a clearing.

  In the middle of it was a folly. She had seen pictures of such buildings in her uncle’s library. He had been fond of architecture, and had had a great many books on the subject, but she had never seen one in actuality before. It was built in the style of a ruined temple, with tumbledown walls and a gaping roof. Ivy, whether by art or nature, trailed gracefully over the walls. Tall grasses grew between them, and around them grew thorn bushes. But despite the folly’s dilapidated state it was elegant and beautiful, its ruination carefully contrived so as to be picturesque.

  She was just contemplating a particularly lovely stone, beautifully weathered and covered in moss, when a flock of starlings, startled by a noise, rose into the air. Turning round she saw Lord Carisbrooke.

  ‘Hell’s teeth! What are you doing here?’ he growled, his brows drawing together forbiddingly. ‘Get inside at once.’

  Her anger rose. ‘I will not be spoken to in such a manner,’ she returned. ‘And as for going inside, I will do no such thing. I will return to the abbey when I am ready to do so, and not before.’

  ‘It isn’t safe out here,’ he growled, his eyes flashing with anger.

  ‘Of course it is,’ she returned. ‘The folly is not going to collapse. It is solidly built and will last for centuries, despite its precarious appearance. There is not the slightest danger.’

  ‘Curse you, woman! Will you do as you’re told and get inside?’

  ‘No, I will not! I have every right to take the air, and mean to make the most of it as long as the rain holds off.’

  ‘You will return to the abbey at once, or so help me I’ll throw you over my shoulder and carry you there.’

  He took a menacing step towards her, but she stood her ground. She could not think what had come over him. He had always been curmudgeonly, but this surpassed anything she had yet seen.

  ‘I cannot believe you mean to lay hands on me —’

  But she broke off as he took another step forwards and she saw that he meant to do exactly that.

  A sudden thought occurred to her. What if there were really danger, and not of the folly collapsing as she had supposed he meant, but of poachers or thieves on the loose?

  ‘If you will give me an explanation of the danger I am in, I will return to the abbey on my own,’ she said more softly.

  ‘I cannot,’ he growled.

  ‘If I’m in danger, I have a right to know.’

  ‘You are not in danger, as long as you return to the abbey at once.’

  ‘Is it poachers?’

  ‘I cannot tell you any more than I have done,’ he rumbled.

  It must be something of the sort, she reasoned, to send him into such a taking, although why he would not tell her was beyond her. However, if there was a chance that there were armed men prowling round the groun
ds, then she would rather be inside.

  She relented. ‘Very well, I will go in.’

  ‘I will see that you do.’

  He fell into step beside her, his long stride pressing her to go more quickly than she would have liked. Her ankle was hurting, and she was limping badly by the time they reached the door.

  ‘Go in, and don’t venture into the grounds again unless I give you leave,’ he rumbled, before turning on his heel and leaving her.

  Well! she thought, not knowing what to make of the strange encounter. Had there really been any danger, or had Lord Carisbrooke taken leave of his senses? He had certainly been very agitated, but she did not think he would make such a fuss without cause.

  Belatedly she thought of Esmerelda. If there were poachers roaming the grounds then Esmerelda, too, would be in danger. But it was too late to do anything about it now. Besides, Esmerelda was probably already half way back to the rectory.

  Sighing deeply, she went indoors. She could not face the long climb up to her room. Nor did she want to go into the drawing-room, where she suspected she would find Mr Ulverstone. At the moment, she did not want company. But she must do something. After a minute’s reflection, she decided to look for the library. She was curious to see how large it was, and what kind of books it housed.

  Pulling off her gloves, she untied the strings of her bonnet then removed her pelisse and laid it over her arm. She looked about her. Two passages led off from the cavernous hall, one in either direction. One led to the drawing-room, so she decided to follow the other one. She stopped outside the first door leading from it. She hesitated, then went in.

  She found herself in what must have originally been the abbey cloisters. Arched windows lined the far wall, making the most of the daylight. It was a very long room, and housed a pianoforte, a sofa and half a dozen chairs. Other than that it was bare. There were no tapestries on the walls or rugs on the floor. As well as being a music room, it was probably used for exercise on rainy days, she guessed.

  She went out again.

  She ignored the next two doors, knowing they would lead into the cloisters further along its length, and instead opened one further along the corridor. It housed a few battered pieces of furniture and smelled musty. She tried the next door, and this time found what she was looking for. She went inside.

  The library was an imposing chamber. The ceiling was arched, and the windows were tall and pointed. Huge oak bookshelves lined the centre of the room, and on them was the largest collection of books and manuscripts Hilary had ever seen. They jostled for position, some standing and some lying down, whilst others were stacked in piles with their gleaming spines facing out into the room.

  At the side of the room was a pile of dust sheets. They had evidently been removed in preparation for the arrival of the librarian.

  She turned her attention back to the shelves. She was fascinated. The library was a treasure trove. She began pulling out some of the scrolls. They dated back hundreds of years. If she had been accepted at the abbey, she would have enjoyed arranging them.

  An idea occurred to her. If she made a start on organizing the library then Lord Carisbrooke might change his mind about appointing her. Once he saw that she was diligent, he might decide she could stay. And if not, it would at least give her something to do whilst she was forced to remain.

  She lay her pelisse over the back of the chair, and put her bonnet and gloves on the seat. Then she began to empty the first shelf, the one that was easiest to reach. She carried the books, scrolls and manuscripts over to the table and dipped into them to see what they contained. It soon became clear that whilst some of them related to the abbey, being either plans or deeds or other such documents, some were works of learning, and others were works of fiction. The plans arrested her attention. Here was something straight out of the pages of a Gothic romance, for the abbey possessed a number of secret passages. Having seen an age of religious persecution, in common with many old houses it had a number of passages leading to secret rooms where priests could be hidden. Fortunately such hiding places were no longer needed.

  She turned her attention back to the task in hand. Once she had sorted the ancient tomes she wanted to return them to the shelf. It was, however, very dusty. She went over to the dust sheets. On top of them were laid a number of small rags, evidently intended for cleaning.

  She set to with a will, dusting the shelves and then replacing the books and scrolls, now neatly organized. She was just about to start on the second shelf when the door opened and Mr Ulverstone entered.

  ‘So there you are!’ he said with a charming smile. He glanced round the room, and evidently realized what she was doing. He frowned. ‘I thought my cousin refused to appoint you as his librarian.’

  ‘He did. But I must have something to do, and I thought that if I could make a good job of it ....’ She trailed away as she saw Mr Ulverstone’s expression.

  ‘You must do as you wish, of course, but my cousin does not like to be crossed. I fear he will not be pleased.’ His frown cleared. ‘But enough of this. Whatever Marcus’s thoughts on the matter, you have been working hard and need a rest. I have come to ask you if I can persuade you to give me a game of cards or chess.’

  Hilary hesitated. She would really rather continue with her work, but seeing no way out, she gave in with a good grace.

  ‘Willingly,’ she said.

  He offered her his arm, and together they went into the drawing-room, where the cards had been laid out on an inlaid table.

  He held out her chair for her, then sat down opposite her, flicking up the tails of his coat as he did so.

  ‘What would you like to play?’ he asked, picking up the cards and shuffling them with a proficient air.

  ‘I don’t know many card games,’ she confessed.

  ‘Then you should! They form an agreeable way of spending a winter evening. I will teach you.’ He put the cards down on the table. ‘Would you like to make a small wager, to render the game more interesting?’ he asked with a smile.

  ‘I think I’d better not,’ she said ruefully. ‘I could not afford to lose!’

  He laughed. ‘You are very wise. In London the stakes are so high that entire fortunes can be won or lost on the turn of a card! Now, I suggest we start with piquet.’

  Chapter Five

  Marcus prowled back to the folly, looking about him all the while. Once there, he gave it a thorough search and then proceeded to search the shrubbery. At last, frustrated, he turned his steps into the heart of the shrubbery, following what was little more than a track. At the end of it, after several twists and turns, he came to a small cottage. Taking a moment to prepare himself, he knocked three times. The door opened, and an elderly woman opened the door. She was of middling height and had greying hair scraped back from her face in a bun. She was dressed in a black dress with a high neck and long sleeves. On her feet were a pair of stout shoes. Behind her, the cottage looked inviting. Sprigged curtains decorated the windows and cheerful paper covered the walls. The chairs and sofas were soft and appealing. A table pushed to the wall at the left hand side of the door was covered with a snowy white cloth. And sitting peacefully by the fire with a doll on her lap, was the beautiful Esmerelda.

  ‘Thank God! She’s here,’ said Marcus as he strode in to the cottage. His words were heartfelt.

  The elderly woman shut the door and locked it behind him.

  ‘Yes. She came back of her own accord in the end.’

  Having satisfied himself that Esmerelda was safe, Marcus turned to the elderly woman. ‘How did she manage to get away, Mrs Lund?’

  ‘I had to go out for some more logs for the fire —’

  ‘I’ve told you to lock the door behind you whenever you have to leave her,’ he growled.

  ‘I did,’ returned the elderly woman. ‘But she climbed out of the window.’

  Marcus looked towards it. It was a very small aperture.

  ‘I didn’t know she could get through.’
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  ‘Neither did I,’ said the elderly woman. ‘Until today.’

  He breathed a great sigh of relief. ‘Well, at least she’s back. But we’ll have to have the windows barred. We can’t risk her getting out again.’

  ‘Lund is already seeing to it.’

  He nodded.

  Esmerelda, crooning to her doll, had not looked up, but now she turned towards him.

  ‘Hello, Marcus,’ she said.

  ‘Hello, my dear.’ His voice was gentle. But his eyes were tinged with pain. ‘That’s a pretty dress,’ he remarked, making no mention of her recent adventure.

  ‘Do you think so? Lundy likes it, but I think it’s too plain.’

  He smiled; but only with his mouth. ‘Come, now, Esmerelda, it’s made of the finest lace.’

  ‘I know,’ she sighed. ‘But I do wish I could have silk.’

  ‘I thought you didn’t like silk?’ he asked, without surprise, for her capriciousness was well known to him.

  ‘No more I don’t. But I like it better than this.’

  ‘Then I will buy you a new gown,’ he said gently.

  ‘Will you? Oh, Marcus, you are good to me.’ She got up and kissed him.

  ‘But come now, Esmerelda, I want you to do something for me,’ he said, taking her over to the comfortable sofa that was set in the middle of the room and sitting down with her. ‘I want you to promise me you’ll stay in the cottage with Lundy and not venture out of doors, at least until our visitors have gone.’