“Well that needs seeing to first,” said Ruth, pointing to his leg. The wound was bleeding profusely and needed bandaging.
Richard looked quickly round the room. “A pillowcase will do for now. I haven’t got time to rummage around the kitchen for the first aid kit. Rip one up, Ruth, please.”
Ruth ripped one off a pillow, knelt on the floor and wrapped up his leg. “That should hold for a while but it does need proper care.”
“You don’t have to tell me that … but it can wait a while. I must catch Delia.”
Despite being in pain, Richard was gone in a flash. Wearily, Ruth headed back to her own room, stopping to listen at Vicky’s door but all was quiet so she continued on her way, shutting her door behind her with relief. She hoped Richard would be okay but she certainly wasn’t going to wait up and see if he and Delia returned.
It only took a few moments to complete her toilette and she sunk into the softness of the bed with great pleasure and closed her eyes, but sleep eluded her. Her mind was too active. The scene last night with Delia, warning her off Richard; the ride this morning, Delia’s exhibition in the Canleigh Arms, dinner this evening enjoying Charles’ company; Vicky’s dreadful revelations and this final row in Delia’s room. All this in twenty-four hours … and she had come away for peace and quiet. She giggled. What a joke that was. It would seem very tame going back to Oxford after this little lot.
The roar of Delia’s powerful E-Type penetrated the stillness of the night. The car surged up the drive from the stables, passed the Hall and headed towards the main road. It turned towards Leeds and gradually faded into the distance.
Ruth wondered where Delia would go. She hadn’t mentioned any friends so maybe to a hotel somewhere. It seemed she was pretty wealthy in her own right thanks to the inheritance from the grandmother so money wouldn’t be a problem. She could go wherever she wanted. As long as she didn’t come back before Ruth and Richard left in the morning. Ruth didn’t think she could bear any more histrionics this weekend.
Sleep wouldn’t come. She tried hard, focusing on counting sheep and then counting down from three hundred very slowly but temperature seemed to be a problem. One minute she was too hot and then after throwing off some covers, too cold. Then she had a coughing fit and had to sit up and pour a drink from the water jug on the table beside her bed. A mug of warm milk was what she needed. That always sent her off. Would anyone mind if she ventured down to the kitchen? It surely couldn’t be hard to find and maybe Hardy or his wife, Betty, would still be up. Ruth put on her bathrobe and slippers and ventured out into the corridor. All was quiet with no sign of anyone. She made her way down the back staircase which Richard had pointed out earlier, turned on the lights at the bottom and followed her nose. The delicious aroma from their dinner was still lingering in the old stone walls and ignoring all the doors to her left and right she made straight for the open door at the end where she could see an enormous well-scrubbed table in the middle of the room. The staff had cleared up from dinner and gone to bed, Hardy and Betty to their flat above the east wing and the cook to her home in the village. Ruth found a cupboard full of mugs and she picked one displaying the cheeky face of a young black Labrador. Saucepans were hanging up by the Agar. She chose the smallest, took milk from the fridge, filled her mug and poured it into the saucepan, ready to heat it up on the modern electric cooker in the corner. A footstep behind her made her turn quickly. She hadn’t heard anyone coming down the corridor.
“Oh,” she gasped with relief, seeing Charles entering the kitchen, wearing pale blue pyjamas beneath his royal blue velvet dressing gown. He had obviously had a bath or a shower as his hair was damp. The faint hint of woody aftershave she would always associate with him drifted towards her.
“You frightened me for a second. It’s a bit creepy down here on your own … I hope you don’t mind,” she waved a hand at the milk, “but I couldn’t sleep.”
“Great minds think alike,” he said, taking a plain white mug with a gold rim from the cupboard and placing it next to hers. “I couldn’t either.”
He sat down at the table while Ruth heated enough milk for both of them and poured it into the mugs. She handed him his, intending to take her own back to her room. It had felt nice, doing something for him. Natural even. She liked the feeling. Oh dear, here she went again. This man had a peculiar affect on her that was for sure.
“Don’t go, Ruth … unless you really want to, of course. It would be nice to have a chat,” he said, smiling kindly, “without any hysterical interruptions from my offspring.” He gave a hollow laugh.
Ruth obliged. She didn’t want to go back to bed now. Tiredness had suddenly disappeared. She wanted to be with this man more than anything.
“I’m sorry about the dreadful displays this evening, Ruth. Delia has never been easy. Always headstrong, always wanting her own way but she went too far tonight. I can only apologise. What you must think of us, I really don’t know … all this has ruined your weekend.”
Ruth smiled understandingly. “It’s certainly been eventful.”
Charles smiled back, thinking what an easy person Ruth was to talk to. She listened readily and commented only when appropriate. He liked her very much and was so sorry the time she was spending at Canleigh was drawing to a close. A flicker of alarm shot through him at the prospect of not seeing her again.
“Delia’s driven off,” said Ruth. “Richard was going to try and stop her but he couldn’t have done as I heard her car. Where would she go … has she friends nearby?”
Charles sighed. “No-one close. She hasn’t been one for friends. In fact, she’s led a fairly sheltered life … living here and working with Philip at Tangles. He’s always been her best friend. So, no. I’ve no idea where she will end up … but I am sure of one thing ….”
Ruth looked at him questioningly.
“She’ll be back. She’s never been one for staying away for long. Oh blast, the horse,” he groaned. “Perkins is getting too old to handle Demon for any length of time. I’ll have to ring Philip in the morning. See if he can have him back at Tangles until Delia comes home. Philip is the only person who can do anything with him, apart from Delia. If the horse is left here, he’ll do a hell of a lot of damage if he doesn’t see Delia every day. I sometimes wish I’d never agreed that she should have him. He’s quite unstable … in fact he’s a liability.”
“Why did you … allow her to have him?” Ruth couldn’t resist asking.
Charles sighed again. “It was after my wife left Canleigh, after creating an unholy scandal … and Mother died. Delia had a nervous breakdown and stayed at Tangles, looked after by Philip’s grandparents. We thought it best at the time,” he added noting Ruth’s enquiring glance. “She received far better care there than she would have here. Anyway, Demon was born during the time she was recovering, she fell in love with the dratted thing and begged me to let her have it. I felt so sorry for her and she badly needed something to focus on, breaking it in, training it, etc., and so I agreed. It was wonderful to see her smiling again and there’s no doubt about it, the horse idolises her … but he’s a hell of a strong character … a force to be reckoned with and I do worry about him. Perkins doesn’t help either. He’s always muttering darkly about him and how he’s got a screw loose.”
Ruth remembered Demon kicking up a rumpus in the stables that morning and Perkins words. He might well be right.
“Philip won’t mind having him … now that he and Delia aren’t together anymore?”
Charles shook his head. “I shouldn’t think so … and I’ll pay Philip, of course … generous livery fees.”
It was cool in the kitchen and Ruth shivered. She took a quick sip of her warm milk.
Charles noticed. “You’re cold and I’m being selfish. Take your drink back to bed,” he said solicitously.
Half of her wanted to but the other half wanted to stay here, in the lovely, friendly bubble they had created. She really liked being here with him on her own
. There was a real rapport, a warmth of understanding between them that she’d not experienced with a single living person before. It was unique.
“I’m fine,” she reassured him. “It must be a ghost,” she joked, “sending a chill down my spine. I suppose there are ghosts at Canleigh.”
Charles smiled. “If you only knew how many times I’m asked that question but yes, there’s the lady in blue, the boy in green … and we mustn’t forget the headless coachman.”
Ruth’s laughter rang around the kitchen. “Oh no, not a headless coachman.”
Charles laughed too. “Oh yes,” he nodded. “With no coach and no horses.”
Ruth collapsed with mirth, Charles roaring with laughter too. He felt so good. He hadn’t laughed like this for a very long time. He put his hand on hers.
“Have you decided what you’re going to do, Ruth? When you get back to Oxford.”
Ruth composed herself. The feel of his hand on hers felt so right, so comfortable. “Yes. I have. I’m going to ring my parents as soon as I can and tell them I’m packing it in … then, while I’m deciding what to do with the rest of my life, I’ll do some volunteer work … the local animal shelter is always looking for people.”
“That’s a dramatic change. People to animals.”
“Perhaps that’s what I should do … become a vet instead of a doctor,” she mused. She hadn’t thought of that before but it was certainly an option to consider.
Sharp steps along the stone floor of the corridor approached the kitchen and realising it must be Richard, Ruth reluctantly withdrew her hand from Charles but not quickly enough. Richard, looking pale and tired and walking with a slight limp with his torn trousers flapping around his bandaged leg, looked hard at Ruth and his father as he entered the room.
“Did you speak to her … Delia?” Ruth asked feeling instantly awkward and like a naughty schoolgirl caught in the act of … an act of what exactly? She’d done nothing wrong.
Richard sank into a chair beside his father. “Briefly … but she wouldn’t listen.”
Not having noticed Richard’s injured leg; Charles finished his milk and stood up. “I shouldn’t worry about her. She’s twenty-one, has plenty of money and a brain in her head. She’ll manage and when she’s over her fit of pique she’ll be back.”
“You sound as if you’ve forgiven her,” stated Richard.
“Whatever she’s done and whatever she’s said, she’s still my daughter and I love her,” replied Charles. “And now I’m off to bed. Goodnight Richard. Goodnight Ruth. I’ll look forward to seeing you at breakfast … unless … I shan’t be up so early tomorrow so I might see you in the pool.”
Richard shook his head. He would have to drive back to Oxford after lunch and swimming, instead of stimulating him, always made him somewhat lethargic for the remainder of the day and anyway he couldn’t enter the pool with the injury to his leg. However, Ruth smiled and nodded. Having sat here for over an hour with Charles in their nightwear, she wouldn’t be at all self-conscious in his company in her swimming costume. She felt so safe with him and was keen to prolong their growing friendship.
Charles looking pleased at her nod, left the kitchen. Richard stood up shakily and grabbed a bottle of claret, normally used for cooking, from the wine rack beside the cooker. He found a corkscrew and opened it.
“God, what a night,” he groaned. “Delia caused such a commotion in the library … want some?” he asked, holding up the wine bottle and two glasses.
“No. I’ve just had milk. It will help me sleep. In fact, I think I’ll go up now.”
She had been happy to remain in the kitchen with Charles, chilly as it was but now he had gone it was like a light was suddenly switched off and she had no wish to remain down here with Richard, especially if all he was going to do was drink and moan about his sister. It wouldn’t be a good combination with tiredness and emotion.
“Please don’t, Ruth,” he pleaded. “I need to offload. Just a few minutes.”
Not wanting to be mean-spirited, Ruth stayed where she was. After all, he had been kind enough to invite her here to sort out her own problems, which even with all that had gone on this weekend, she had and although she was terrified of the coming confrontation with her parents, she felt better about her decision already. She should have made it years ago and not let them bully her into submission. She felt stronger than she ever had and wondered why. A sneaky suspicion that Charles had something to do with it flew into her mind. She didn’t know what it was but he boosted her courage and determination like no-one ever had before. It was strange. Very strange.
Richard was rambling on, already on his second glass of claret. His eyes were beginning to glaze over and he was becoming more annoyed as the words tumbled out, relaying what went on in the library and repeating Delia’s threat to kill both him and Charles.
“But she couldn’t have meant it,” said Ruth, taking more notice of what he was saying. “She’s your sister for goodness sake … your twin. She’s dreadfully upset, angry and disappointed. I expect she’ll come around once she’s had time to calm down.”
Richard drank the second glass of claret quickly and poured another. A wave of exhaustion washed over Ruth. Richard looked as if he was set to stay where he was for a while and she could have done without further discussion on his family’s theatricals.
“Oh, she meant it all right,” replied Richard. “Take my word for it. You should have seen her face … but actually …,” he paused. There was a lot he wanted to say and he wasn’t sure how to go about it. His mind was in turmoil but looking at Ruth, soft and cuddly in her bathrobe, her silky hair resting on her shoulders, his heart turned over and he knew he had to tell her how he felt about her … and get their relationship on a proper footing. He knew now that he wanted to marry her more than anything and he needed to tell her this very moment … before he lost his courage … but he had to find out if there was anything else going on before he committed himself.
“Yes. You were saying,” prompted Ruth, her patience wearing thin.
“Well, Delia is not what I want to talk to you about.”
“Thank goodness for that.”
“Ruth, is my Father bothering you?”
“What do you mean?” she gasped.
Richard warmed to his theme, uncomfortably realising that thanks to all the alcohol he had consumed that evening, his voice had a slight slur and he was becoming petulant and difficult but even so, he drank some more claret. He was in need of Dutch courage.
“He totally monopolised you at dinner … in fact it was hideously embarrassing … he really is a lecherous old devil.”
Ruth realised Richard was becoming alarmingly intoxicated but appalled by his description of his father was unable to stop herself and leapt instantly to Charles’ defence, although she kept her tone light.
“You are so wrong, Richard. Your father is one of the most charming men I’ve ever met. He’s done his best to make me feel at ease and I’ve thoroughly enjoyed his company.”
“I see,” said Richard sarcastically. He naturally wanted her to like his father but he was positive there was more to their closeness than mere friendliness. There was something else, some kind of spark and he wanted to know the truth. He blundered on.
“I had hoped I had the wrong end of the stick but it appears from your reaction that I was wrong.”
“What?” Ruth was aghast and couldn’t believe where this conversation was leading.
But Richard had the bit between his teeth. “If you want the truth, you were both behaving badly … you were positively playing up to him … and look at you both just now … sitting down here … in your nightclothes … pawing each other. I do hope you haven’t any ideas in that direction, Ruth.”
“That’s insulting, Richard … insinuating I’m setting my cap at your father,” Ruth spluttered, finding this conversation more disturbing than that with Delia the previous evening. What was the matter with this family? Did they think of nothi
ng else but that people were after their money and titles?
“I needn’t have been around this evening for all the notice you took of me,” said Richard sullenly, knowing how he sounded but unable to help himself. “You only seem to have time for Father … ogling you. It was disgusting to behold and I won’t have it,” he said forcefully. “He’s an old man and should know better, while you ….”
“Yes, Richard,” said Ruth coldly. “What about me?”
“You were behaving like a tart.”
Ruth stood up, pulling the belt of her bathrobe tightly around her. “I think I’d better go up before I say something I’m going to regret. It was exceedingly kind of you to invite me here but I’m not standing for this, Richard. You’re drunk and tired. I’ll see you in the morning.”
Richard rubbed his hand over his eyes. She was right. He was tired and knew he was making a difficult situation worse and instead of telling her how he really felt about her, he had only succeeded in making her angry.
“I’m sorry … I shouldn’t have said that. It’s been such a traumatic evening … everything ….”
“No!” Ruth exploded. “You certainly shouldn’t. Go to bed, Richard. You’re making something out of nothing.”
“That’s right,” he snapped, annoyed at the casual way in which she dismissed his doubts. “Brush it aside as if it doesn’t matter.”
Ruth turned to the door. “Goodnight, Richard.”
He grabbed her hand as she moved away from the table. “Can’t you see? Are you really so blind?” He paused nervously. He hadn’t much experience with women, even though they had been throwing themselves at him for years. He always rebuffed them, knowing they were more interested in his status than him. But Ruth was different. He continued clumsily.
“Ruth, I’ve fallen in love with you. I didn’t realise it until this last couple of days.”
“But …,” stammered Ruth. “We’re just friends … we’ve laughed about this … we know it wouldn’t work between us.”
He held her hand tighter. “But it would. It might not be a grand passion but we could make it work … I’ll do anything for you, give you whatever you want and if you don’t love me now, you will. Marry me, Ruth. Please.”
Rejection Runs Deep (The Canleigh Series, book 1: A chilling psychological family drama) Page 35