by Sandra Heath
Chapter 4
For a moment Ursula found it hard to see after the brilliant sunshine outside, but then her eyes grew accustomed to the shadows of the long, wainscotted hall. The floor of uneven stone flags was scattered with sawdust, and the dark oak walls were lined with coat hooks and smoke-stained sporting prints. An old long-case clock ticked slowly beside a narrow table, on which stood bowls of water, soap, and clean towels in readiness for the passengers of the Cheltenham Flying Machine stagecoach. There was a mixture of smells, ale and strong coffee, the dried herbs suspended from a beam, and the roast beef that was ready and waiting in the kitchens.
The door to the main dining room, which was empty at present, opened to the left, and that of the taproom to the right. At the end of the hall was the staircase to the upper floors and cellars, and beside it the narrower passage leading to the kitchens, private accommodation, and other offices. The voices of her father and the innkeeper were suddenly much louder now she was inside. They still did not realize she was there, so she went softly to the door, and peeped inside. The two men were out of sight, but she could see much of the room.
It was used as much as the dining room for serving meals, so there were a number of round, white-clothed tables. A huge dresser laden with pewter and blue-and-white crockery stood against the wall next to the chintz-curtained window through which she had eavesdropped, and in a mirror she could see the cavernous, soot-darkened inglenook where a fire flickered.
Gleaming copper pots and pans reflected the leaping flames, and a large kettle sang softly on a trivet. There were settles and Windsor chairs, as well as benches and stools, and a long trestle on which stood bread, cold meats, jars of pickles, a pat of butter, and a Double Gloucester cheese. Behind the trestle was a row of tapped barrels containing the expected selection of beer, ale, mead, perry, and cider.
Vera Pedlar was laying out cutlery on one of the tables. She was as buxom and pretty as ever, her rounded figure neat in a beige linen dress and starched white apron. Her brown hair was pinned up beneath a neat mobcap, and her cheeks had that country bloom that always looked so healthy. Her soft brown eyes were downcast as she went about her work, and she looked the same as always, although Ursula had expected otherwise.
Then another movement caught Ursula’s attention, and to her dismay she saw a squirrel in a metal cage; not an ordinary red squirrel, but an almost completely white one that gazed directly at her as it clung forlornly to the side of the cage. Only its head was the usual russet red, and even its eyes were unusual—they were a vivid green, almost like emeralds. She hated to see such a beautiful wild creature caged in such a way. Where had it come from? Was it one of the ‘plague of squirrels’? If Daniel Pedlar saw it, no doubt he would say it was a fairy squirrel, for he was convinced all white animals belonged to the little people.
Her father suddenly realized she was there. “Why, Ursula, m’dear, what a pleasant surprise to see you here. Why on earth are you lurking at the door? Come on in.”
Feeling a little embarrassed to have been perceived before she was quite ready to make her presence known, Ursula went in. “Hello, Father,” she said, but her gaze was upon his companion.
Bellamy Taynton was in his early thirties, tall and well made, with patrician features that might have seemed more appropriate at Almack’s than at a country inn. His eyes were a very pale blue, his flaxen hair was combed back from his face, and he wore a faded indigo coat, fawn breeches, and top boots. Such attire was plain enough, but in his neckcloth there was a gold pin such as any London lord would be pleased to wear, and on his lapel was pinned a handsome nosegay of woodland flowers, bluebells, wood anemones, and violets. There was a half-smile upon his lips, and his eyes bore a bland expression that made him a closed book. Everything about him made her want to shiver.
Mr. Elcester came to kiss his daughter’s cheek. He was unlike Taynton in almost every respect, shorter and broader, with hair that was now little more than a gray monastic tonsure. His pine green riding jacket had flat brass buttons and a velvet collar, and his cream corduroy breeches were of very fine quality. He wore a mustard-colored waistcoat, and his neckcloth also sported a gold pin, but it was more modest than the innkeeper’s. His bushy-browed face was amiable, but his tired hazel eyes showed the strain of the past months. “How is Mrs. Arrowsmith?” he inquired.
“Very well, and the babies are the bonniest I have ever seen.”
“With such saintly parents, they are most likely cherubs.” Mr. Elcester chuckled.
“Mrs. Arrowsmith thinks so.”
“No doubt.”
Ursula smiled across the room at Vera. “Hello, Vera.”
The young woman bobbed a quick curtsy. “Miss Ursula.” Her voice was low and clear, and because of her well-bred mother, far more well-spoken than her father’s.
Mr. Elcester hastened to do the honors between his daughter and the innkeeper. “M’dear, allow me to present Mr. Bellamy Taynton. Taynton, this is my daughter, Ursula.”
The innkeeper bowed courteously. “Miss Elcester.”
“Sir,” she replied bluntly, fixing him with a glare that was disapproving because of both Vera and the squirrel.
Her father glanced at her in surprise. “Is something wrong, m’dear?”
“I couldn’t help noticing the squirrel.” She couldn’t very well mention her displeasure over Vera as well.
“Squirrel?” Her father hadn’t seen.
“Over there by the barrels.”
Mr. Elcester turned. “Good God, an albino!” he cried.
Ursula shook her head. “Not quite, for its head is red and eyes are green.”
“So they are.” Her father turned to Taynton. “Where did you get it?”
“Oh, I’ve had it for quite some time.” The innkeeper turned to Ursula, and for a moment she saw a fleeting glint of annoyance in his pale eyes. “The creature comes to no harm, I assure you, Miss Elcester. Indeed, it is much loved, so you do not need to fear for its comfort.”
Ursula was unimpressed, as the brief glint in her eyes bore full witness. Much-loved creature or not, one only had to look at the squirrel to know it was miserable! Battle lines were drawn in those few seconds, and she could tell that Taynton wasn’t accustomed to defiance, least of all from a woman. She disliked him more with each second, and found it impossible to believe that someone as sweet as Vera could possibly find him worth the sacrifice of her good name.
The innkeeper changed the subject rather pointedly. “I understand you are soon to be married, Miss Elcester.”
She was startled. How did he know? Her father was unlikely to have mentioned it to him, and Daniel Pedlar certainly wouldn’t. Nor would the blacksmith have told Vera, because she had left for the Green Man before the marriage was suggested.
Mr. Elcester was taken aback as well. “How did you come by that information?” he demanded.
“Someone mentioned it. I don’t recall who.” Taynton looked a little uncomfortable, and clearly wished he’d held his tongue.
“As it happens, marriage may indeed be in the offing,” Mr. Elcester said then, much to Ursula’s annoyance. Why confirm anything? Taynton had no need to know.
“May I ask who the fortunate groom will be?” asked the innkeeper.
“Lord Carmartin’s nephew and heir, the Honorable Theodore Greatorex.”
The squirrel became suddenly excited, making strange little noises and twitching its bushy tail, at which Taynton’s breath caught slightly. A new wariness entered his eyes as he looked at Ursula, as if something had suddenly become clear to him.
Ursula wondered if Mr. Greatorex was known to him. A direct question was necessary. “Mr. Taynton, are you acquainted with Mr. Greatorex?” she asked.
“Why no, Miss Elcester. Why do you ask?”
“It’s just that his name seemed to convey something to you.”
“No, miss.” But his eyes were veiled.
Mr. Elcester cleared his throat. “Well, I must ask you not to spea
k of this to anyone, Taynton. There is nothing final yet, so it wouldn’t do for there to be talk.”
“You have my word, Mr. Elcester.”
“And that goes for you too, Vera,” Mr. Elcester added, looking across at the blacksmith’s daughter.
Vera bobbed another curtsy. “Not a word will pass my lips, Mr. Elcester,” she promised.
Ursula noticed how often Taynton’s eyes rested upon Vera, but his expression wasn’t loving, more reluctant, almost as if he found her attractive and wished he didn’t.
Mr. Elcester was ready to leave. “Good. Well now, Ursula, shall we ride back together?”
“I’d like that,” she replied.
“Through the woods?”
At that Taynton spoke up quickly. “I would not advise that, sir.”
“Eh? Why ever not?”
“I’m given to understand there is a villain of some sort lurking there, an escaped prisoner, it’s said. I know nothing for certain, you understand, but it seems some of the local men have had unpleasant experiences, and have decided to give the woods a wide berth.”
“This is the first I’ve heard of it,” Mr. Elcester declared, clearly astonished.
“It may be a fuss over nothing at all, sir, I merely thought I should mention it.”
Ursula did not like being advised by the innkeeper. “Mr. Taynton, I rode through the woods earlier on, and it was perfectly safe.” Their eyes met, and she knew that somehow he was aware of the difficulty she’d had with Miss Muffet.
“That’s as may be, Miss Elcester,” he responded, “but people have been badly frightened by something there, and I have had reports of several horses almost bolting.”
He did know about Miss Muffet! But how? The only other person to know about her mount’s fractiousness was Daniel Pedlar.
The innkeeper addressed her father again. “Mr. Elcester, I know I may be speaking out of turn, but I have taken it all very seriously and rode to Stroud yesterday to report matters to the authorities. I am assured that a watch will be kept, but in the meantime it is advisable to stay away from the woods. Just to be safe.”
Ursula’s father was in full agreement. “Oh, indeed so. Well, if the authorities have been notified, there is no need for me to act.”
“No need at all, sir.”
“Excellent.”
The sound of a stagecoach key-bugle playing “Oh, dear, what can the matter be?” carried from the distance, announcing the approach of the Cheltenham Flying Machine. Taynton turned sharply to Vera. “Make sure they’re ready in the kitchens!” he called out with an imperiousness that bordered on the theatrical.
“Yes, sir,” Vera replied meekly, but as she began to quickly lay the rest of the cutlery she still held, Taynton became irritated.
“Remember, wench, I am your master!”
Now he was being theatrical, Ursula thought, not knowing whether to laugh because he was so ridiculously pompous, or frown because he was so insufferably overbearing.
Vera’s eyes widened, and as she hastened out, her starched apron rustling, “Oh, dear, what can the matter be?” was heard again.
The innkeeper turned back to his guests with a facile smile. “I trust you will both excuse me, for I will have guests directly, and this particular coach company allows only twenty minutes for the halt.”
“Of course, of course.” Mr. Elcester offered Ursula his arm, and they left the inn to emerge into the sunshine again. Ursula felt in more ways than one that she had come out into fresh air!
Chapter 5
The key-bugle sounded imperative as the approaching stagecoach rattled into the village, past the churchyard and around the green, so that Ursula and her father had to step aside as it swept beneath the archway into the inn yard. There was dust, noise, and clatter as Taynton’s men hurried out to attend to the passengers and horses, and Ursula was relieved to mount Miss Muffet and ride out to the road with her father; relieved too to get away from Bellamy Taynton, who made her positively shudder.
Hawthorn hedgerows filled the air with scent as they rode along. The village slipped away behind, and a light breeze trembled through the cowslips that flourished at the wayside. The road to Stroud led along the ridge between the hidden valley to the right and the great vista of the Severn’s wide vale to the left. The valley was called hidden because only paths wound through it, and from spring to autumn it was concealed beneath a thick cloak of trees. Many a stranger traveling along the ridge had gazed down into it and wondered what secrets it held. At the moment the canopy of leaves was still not entirely unfurled, so that there was an occasional glimpse of a dell of bluebells, and of Hazel Pool, the fishy denizens of which had caused so much trouble in the past between Elcester and Carmartin.
Elcester Manor glowed in the sun on the south-facing slope of the valley. It was a Tudor mansion of great beauty, with lichen on the roof, mullioned windows, and curls of smoke rising from the tall, twisting chimneys. Behind it climbed an open park, splendid with specimen trees, a herd of deer, and a drive that led toward the lodge over the horizon. To the front were three terraced gardens, then another area of park that gave way to the cloak of the woods filling of the valley floor.
The horses’ hooves clopped slowly on the road, and Ursula and her father rode in companionable silence for a while, but then she couldn’t hold her tongue a moment longer. “Why did you tell Taynton about the match?” she asked reproachfully. “I mean, there’s nothing firm about anything, and it may yet not happen, so—
“I know, I know,” Mr. Elcester broke in guiltily. “I was so surprised that I just didn’t think.”
“How do you think he found out?”
“Well, I did talk to Pedlar about it,” her father confessed.
“Daniel told me, but he’d rather flatten Mine Host of the Green Man on an anvil than exchange tidbits of gossip with him.”
“True.”
They rode on for a moment more, and then Ursula looked at her father again. “Did you notice how Vera and Taynton addressed each other? She called him sir, and he reminded her he was her master. Very affectionate.”
“Each to their own, m’dear.”
“Maybe, but I think it very peculiar, and he is so condescending and arrogant. What can Vera be thinking of?”
Mr. Elcester chuckled. “My dear daughter, I don’t think the man exists who would meet with your approval. Be sensible now. Taynton is young, handsome, well-to-do, and clearly possesses charm when he chooses. If he is imperious when it comes to the running of the inn, well, that cannot be entirely bad. For someone like Vera Pedlar, he is what is vulgarly termed a catch.”
“Catch or not, good innkeeper or not, I didn’t detect much charm,” Ursula replied caustically.
“You weren’t exactly overflowing with civility yourself,” her father pointed out.
“How can I be civil to a man who keeps a squirrel in a cage and pretends it is the happiest creature on earth? And who lures an innocent young woman from her home, then makes her the talk of the neighborhood by declining to marry her? I’m sorry, but Bellamy Taynton is not the sort of person to whom I can warm.”
“That much is clear. Still, he has been good for the Fleece ... er, I mean the Green Man.”
Ursula pulled a face. “Hmm. It’s a truly dreadful name, to say nothing of the atrocious sign he has erected. I’ll warrant it terrifies the village children.”
“It takes a great deal more than that to frighten country children. Besides, it’s only a depiction of the old spirit of summer.”
“The only summery thing about it is the leaves—the face is positively demonic.”
Mr. Elcester raised an eyebrow. “I can see you’re determined to find fault with everything.”
“Mr. Bellamy Taynton has provided me with a great deal of ammunition.” She lowered her eyes for a moment. “Father, isn’t there anything we can do about the squirrel?”
“Do? No, m’dear, I’m afraid not. Keeping a squirrel isn’t illegal, and the animal cer
tainly doesn’t look starved.”
“Nor does it look happy,” Ursula retorted.
“Well, the Green Man is freehold, so Taynton can almost do as he chooses. Within the law, of course.”
“More’s the pity.” Ursula fell silent for a moment. “Father, have you heard anything about a so-called plague of squirrels in the area?”
“Not a plague exactly, although my keepers have commented that in recent weeks there seem to be many more than usual in the woods.” Mr. Elcester sighed. “Squirrels in abundance, but not a shred of Roman evidence. Well, almost not a shred.”
“What do you mean?”
“I took a stroll by Hazel Pool last week and found a coin that must have been dislodged from the bank during the winter. Anyway, I’ve examined it closely now, and it appears to be a gold solidus of Emperor Magnus Maximus.”
Ursula reined in with interest. “Really? That’s odd. How many emperors were there with the name Maximus?”
Her father halted Lysander as well. “Why do you ask?”
“Well, it’s just that the next myth I intend to translate from Mother’s manuscripts is The Dream of Macsen Wledig. Macsen Wledig means Lord or Prince Maximus, and he was supposedly an emperor of Rome.”
“Not supposedly, m’dear, he was. That is, if Magnus Maximus and Macsen Wledig are the same man. Magnus Maximus was sent here as Dux Britanniarum, but he rebelled against Rome, and was declared emperor by his troops.”
Ursula gave a surprised laugh. “So the myth might be about a real figure?”
“It’s possible.” Her father chuckled. “How very agreeable it would be to think he might have lived right here in Elcester, but I must not place too much faith in the discovery of a single coin. I might be barking up entirely the wrong tree where that villa is concerned.”
“If you are, then Taynton is too,” Ursula replied, recalling the innkeeper’s suppressed reaction to that particular subject.
Mr. Elcester gave her a wry look. “I think we’ve vilified him enough, don’t you? Tell me, what exactly is this Macsen Wledig supposed to have dreamed?”