“It looks so snug,” I said. “So peaceful.”
Nan nodded in reply, standing beside me. The wind whipped about us and caused our skirts to flutter about our legs. I looked at Dower House for a long time, my heart filled with the joy and pride of ownership. It was all mine, the only thing in the world I had, and no one would ever be able to take it away from me. Nan shared my emotions. The place meant almost as much to her as it did to me.
“Do you ever think about London?” I asked quietly.
“Not if I can help it,” Nan retorted.
“Do you remember that day Mr. Patterson came into the shop? That day changed everything.”
“I remember it well.”
“It seems so long ago, doesn’t it? So much has happened since then and our lives have changed so much.”
“Well,” she said, not caring for this sentimental reverie, “we’re a lot busier now, and you, Miss Angel, are a lot flightier, sitting up all night and then wantin’ to run all over the countryside like a colt! I swear, it perplexes me!”
“It’s perfectly—”
“One would almost think,” she snapped, interrupting me, “that you were in love.”
“Nan! That’s absurd.”
“Is it?”
“Come along now. We have a lot more to see.”
We walked on for almost half a mile. The quarry behind Dower House diminshed in size, grew narrow. We lost it completely for a while as we passed through a small wooded area. It was dark and shadowy, only a few wavering bars of sunlight falling through the roof of green and brown foliage above. We had to cross a small stream, and we stepped carefully over the flat rocks. The water gurgled pleasantly and there was the smell of moss and thick mud. Peter leaped over a rotten log, slimy with moss, and lunged at a squirrel on the other side, barking furiously as the tiny animal scurried up a tree and scolded him from a limb high above.
“He’s certainly enjoying this,” I remarked.
“I’m glad someone is,” Nan snapped.
“Don’t be so grumpy. The exercise is good for all of us.”
“I’ve scratched my arm,” she said, “and look at this.” She held up her yellow skirt, examining a large tear in the material where she had caught it on a thorn.
“Perhaps it’s the company that displeases you,” I said, teasingly. “I’m sure you’d find it more enjoyable if Billy Johnson were with you.”
“Miss Angel!” she said, shocked. But she didn’t complain any more.
On the other side of the woods there was a hill sloping down gently to the edge of another quarry. The grass was thick and luxuriantly green and thousands of buttercups were scattered in bright spots of yellow over the hill. The quarry was narrow here, gradually widening and becoming deeper as we moved along. Far off, across the quarry, there was another wooded area, and beyond I could see the roof of Phoenix Hall spreading majestically over the tops of the trees.
“This quarry connects with the one behind Dower House,” I said, “although you can’t tell it. Look, see how this rock has a pinkish shade? It’s slightly different from the other. If you look carefully, you can see the caves and tunnels down there. See where the shadows are? Some of the caves were made by the men who worked in the quarries, some of them are natural, washed away by the sea centuries ago.”
“I don’t care to stand that close to the edge,” Nan said. “You be careful, Miss Angel. Those rocks are slippery. If you fell—”
“Nonsense. I’m not going to fall.”
We walked on for a long time. I peered down at the quarries. I could see now why they would furnish such a good hiding place: vast, rugged, rock filled, affording any number of places for concealment, and there were also great yawning holes in the side of the earth that opened like dark mouths, tunnels leading into labyrinths of connecting caves. Someone had said that some of the caves went down half a mile into the earth.
“It does look dangerous, doesn’t it?” I said, standing at the edge of the quarry.
“It looks downright spooky. A person could get lost and never be found down there.”
I agreed, nodding my head.
“Do you know about the highwaymen’s attack the other night?” she said in a quiet voice.
“Paul Mellory told me,” I replied. “How did you find out about it?”
“Billy was part of the search party. He rode around half the night, swinging his lantern and shouting at shadows. He said they’re sure about the highwaymen having a den somewhere in the quarries. You knew that?”
“Yes.”
“So that’s why you wanted to come?”
“Not really,” I replied evasively.
“Miss Angel, do you remember those lights we saw?”
“Of course.”
“It gives me the creeps,” she said, folding her arms about her.
“Don’t be silly, Nan. If they do have a hideout somewhere in these quarries you can be sure it’s not near Dower House or anyplace where there are people living. They’d be foolish to run the risk of being seen.”
“But those lights—”
“Probably a farmer looking for a stray calf.”
The explanation sounded weak even to me, but I did not want to alarm Nan, and I spoke the words for my own benefit as well. I did not like all the things that had been happening, and I was glad we had Peter to keep us company at the house. As I stood looking down at the quarries I resolved to examine the little gun I had found in Aunt Lucille’s drawer more closely and also to learn how to shoot it.
We might have been gone for two or three hours when the weather went into one of those abrupt changes so typical of Cornwall in late spring and early summer. Clouds had begun to skim across the surface of the white sky and a suddenly brisk breeze caused the grass at our feet to undulate like miniature waves. The clouds banked up, changing from white to gray and gradually to black. Soon the whole sky was crowded with great lumbering black clouds that rolled like whales on a stormy sea The wind turned fierce, whipping at us with stinging force. I could smell the tangy smell of the salty air blowing from a nearby channel that came in from the coast, and a solitary sea gull went soaring overhead, screaming in anguish as he fought the wind.
We could not possibly get back to Dower House before it rained. There was a large wooded area beyond the next clearing and we hurried towards it with Peter leading the way. The countryside, so lovely a short time ago, seemed to have been drained of color. Everything was tinged with gray and the woods ahead looked dark, the trees black outlines. They would give us some shelter from the wind and rain. We ran quickly. I stumbled once and would have fallen if Nan hadn’t caught my arm. We reached the woods, out of breath and panting, huddling under the thick arms of a great oak which stood on the edge of the clearing.
The rain fell heavily for a while, blinding sheets of rain that blotted out everything. Nan and I leaned against the trunk of the trees, relatively dry, although rain dripped down from the boughs overhead. Peter shivered at my feet, whimpering as thunder drummed loudly. Flashes of lightning illuminated the clearing in front of us and I could see puddles of mud. I did not mind the rain. Safely under the tree, I felt rather awed by this exhibition of nature’s fury. It was but another part of the country that I had grown to love since I had come to Cornwall.
After a while the rain diminished into a fine, light mist and the clouds rolled away, leaving a wet gray sky that glowed with a curious greenish tint. The field in front of us was a sodden mass and the quarries beyond were ugly, all dark gray and black in the light. The air itself seemed to borrow a cast of faint green from the sky. It was a world completely changed, almost eerie now with the unrelieved gray and green and black.
Nan wiped away a damp tendril of hair that had plastered itself against her temple. We were both a little damp, with dark splotches on our clothes where rain had stained them. Peter stood shaking drops of water from his silver coat. His paws were muddy and he looked up at me with reproachful eyes. I pulled a piece of bark
from the tree, hesitant to start back in all that mud, and it was then that we heard the shouting.
It came from the other side of the woods. The voices were distinct, although we could not make out any of the words. Then a man rode across the field, his horse kicking up splurts of muddy water. He was but a silhouette in the light, but Nan grabbed my hand, squeezing it tightly. I thought at first that the gesture had been one of terror, but her face showed not a bit of alarm, merely intense excitement.
“That was Billy!” she cried. “Whatever is he doing? What is all that shouting? Oh, Miss Angel, let’s go see.”
“Are you sure it was Billy?”
“Of course. Don’t you think I know Billy Johnson when I see him? Something dreadful has happened, Miss Angel, I just know it!”
The woods spread out for several hundred yards and then ended abruptly. The quarry that had been in front of us when we were under the oak tree made a gradual curve, spreading out to form a natural ravine at the side of the woods. Nan and I hurried around the trees, ignoring the mud that splattered the hems of our dresses. When we cleared the woods we could see a knot of men on a hill some distance away. There were several horses and a carriage. Billy was just dismounting, leaping off his horse to say something to one of the men. The men were making excited gestures and pointing down into the ravine. As we neared the gathering, Peter barked loudly, and the men looked up, no doubt astounded to see two women out in the countryside so soon after a storm.
They all fell silent, looking grim and secretive, moving closer about the carriage and watching us with worried eyes. I recognized the local constable and two of the men who were his assistants. There was a farmer in a battered hat, a mournful expression on his face. He stood with his hoe in hand, apparently bewildered. His young son stood cowering behind his father’s legs, his eyes wide with fright. Billy Johnson stood beside the constable, and another man stood a little apart, looking down at the ravine.
He turned around, and I saw that it was Roderick Mellory. He wore tall black boots and a black cape that whipped about his shoulders. He looked at me with dark eyes, his face like a mask.
“What has happened?” Nan cried, hurrying to Billy.
“You all shouldn’t be here,” Billy said, his voice solemn. “What are you doing out here?”
“We went for a walk and got caught in the rain. We heard the shouting. What’s happened, Billy?”
Billy was uncommunicative, standing with his arms folded and looking very sober and masculine. Nan was infuriated, but she knew that she could not handle him when he was in such a mood and she fell silent. Whatever had happened was something they wished to keep from us. There was an atmosphere of male conspiracy and they all treated us like unwelcome intruders. Tension hung in the air, heavy like something tangible over our heads, ready to explode at any moment.
Roderick Mellory continued to stare at me. I was very conscious of my mud-splattered blue dress and my damp hair. I stood with my hand resting on Peter’s head, trying to still him. The Master of Phoenix Hall was not really a part of this group. He stood apart, his cloak whipping about his shoulders like furious black wings. Alone, standing on the edge of the ravine, he still dominated. The men glanced at him uneasily, not wanting to say or do anything that would not meet with his approval.
“I suppose we’ll have to tell them?” the constable said, and Roderick Mellory nodded solemnly, still staring at me.
“Is something wrong?” I asked, the words sounding foolish even to me. I knew something was wrong. I could feel it all around me, and I felt suddenly very cold, afraid of what the constable would tell me.
“There’s been a—an accident,” he said. “Young Kip was out looking for a ewe that had strayed. He was hunting in the ravine and almost stumbled over the man—the body.”
“Someone is dead?” I said, looking at the frightened child.
“Kip rushed back to the farm and told his father, and his father drove into town to get us. Mr. Mellory and Johnson here came along to help identify the body. We believe we know who he is. He isn’t one of the Lockwood lads, that’s for sure. Johnson has just returned from summoning the doctor. We don’t want to do anything until he arrives and has a look.”
“He’s—down there?” Nan asked, her eyes wide.
Billy nodded in reply. Nan stepped to the edge of the ravine. I saw her shoulders grow rigid, and when she turned around her face was very pale. She rushed straight to Billy, and he put his arms around her protectively. I could not help myself. I had to look. The constable put his hand on my arm, trying to restrain me, but I shook it off, determined to see for myself.
The man was sprawled out only a few yards below. His arms and legs were flung out over the rocks. His eyes were wide open, staring sightlessly up at me, and his face had frozen into a shape of pure terror, the mouth wide and the lips pulled back over the teeth as though he had died with a scream tearing from his throat. One hand still grasped a black mask and the other held a few gold sovereigns. There were several gold pieces scattered around over the rocks near him, glittering brightly in the dim gray-green light. A knife protruded from the man’s chest.
I don’t know how long I looked. I felt a dizzy sensation, as though I were about to fall, and I closed my eyes, feeling my body grow weak. Strong hands clasped my shoulders, pulling me back. I rested against a firm body, trying to overcome the whirling black wings that threatened to close over my brain, and in a moment I was able to stand without support.
“That was a foolish thing to do,” Roderick Mellory said, releasing me. He looked into my eyes. I thought I read concern in his expression, and his voice had certainly been gentle.
“It’s one of them, all right,” the constable said. “They’ve had a falling out. This one probably tried to take more than his share. There is no honor among thieves, despite what people might think. They’ve been strong up till now, sly and wary, but they’re beginning to split. That’s a good sign. We’ll catch them now, for sure, and soon.”
I hardly heard his words. None of this was real. It was a nightmare. I would wake to find that none of it had happened. The mist still fell, fine, sharp needles burning our cheeks, and the faint green light glowed over the grim faces of the men, and over what was below. There was no sun. There was no beauty. There was only this ugly thing that had happened, and it was real. I knew that. I knew it would be impossible for me ever to forget what I had seen, no matter how often I awoke.
Roderick Mellory stepped over to the carriage. When he returned he had a small flask of brandy. He unscrewed the silver top and forced me to drink some of the burning liquid. I shook my head in protest, but he insisted and I saw that it would be futile to resist. I could feel the liquor burning inside me, and as the warmth spread some of the dizziness left. He took the flask and put its top back on, never saying a word.
“Then they’re definitely holed up in the quarry?” one of the men asked.
The constable nodded. “This makes it a dead certainty. They’re in here somewhere, and we’ll find them. It’s only a matter of time. We’ve searched before, but they were too clever for us. Things have changed now. They are getting careless. We’ll get them,” he said with finality.
Roderick Mellory took my elbow and led me to the carriage. He motioned to Nan and she came and opened the door, helping me in. There was a road just ahead. It wound around the outskirts of the village and back to Phoenix Hall. Nan held my hand tightly as we rode, and I was aware of nothing but the joggling motion of the vehicle and the feeling of extreme exhaustion. The carriage stopped in front of Dower House and we got out, Roderick Mellory not speaking as he held the door open for us. He climbed back up on his seat and drove away and I watched the carriage disappear with feelings even more mixed and confusing than those I had felt in the garden the night before.
XII
THE NEXT DAY was bright and busy. Nan and I did all the things I had postponed the day before. We waxed the kitchen floor until it gleamed with a golden she
en. Nan polished all the copper pots, humming to herself, while I cleaned out the cupboards. There was a bustle in the house as we moved from one part to another with energetic activity. I re-tacked the carpet on the stairs, driving the tacks in with a tiny hammer, and Nan starched and ironed all the curtains. The canary chirped contentedly in the parlor and Peter rested in front of the hearth, a little nervous at all this noise and activity.
It was after noon when Billy arrived in his wagon. I was standing on a small ladder, hanging the freshly ironed curtains. Nan was putting the finishing touches on the furniture, whisking about with a feather duster. We were both tired, but it was a contented tiredness, comfortable. Billy brought some fertilizer for the garden and he spread it out with a rake while Nan and I finished the last chores. When we had finished we stepped outside to watch while Billy spread the last shovelful.
“There,” he said, leaning against the handle of the rake. “That’ll do it.” He looked up at us with a broad smile, contented with a job well done. Nan studied him with admiration, her hands on her hips. Billy wore a sleeveless leather jerkin and tight pants faded of any color. His light brown hair, damp now with perspiration, was already a little bleached from the sun, and his arms were bronzed. He had the look of a healthy animal, magnificent in strength. Only his penny-colored eyes were gentle as they looked at Nan.
“All finished with your work?” he asked her.
“Just about,” she replied, studiedly indifferent.
“Got any plans for the rest of the afternoon?”
“Not unless Miss Angel has something else she wants done.”
I shook my head. Nan’s face had that look of pleased anticipation. She and Billy would spend the rest of the afternoon together, flirting, quarreling, being carefree. How easy it is for them to forget all else when they are with each other, I thought.
The Master of Phoenix Hall Page 16