He allowed me to lead him out of the kitchen, but when we had reached the hall he stopped. "I cannot have tea now," he said, his voice devoid of all emotion. "I have an appointment in town."
I managed to keep my voice level too. "I see. And when do you expect to return?"
"I do not know." There was no warmth in his voice, no affection in his face. I might as well have been Hillyer, being informed of his departure like a servant.
A cold chill settled over me, and I pressed closer to Edward's side, hugging to me the arm that I had tucked mine through. "I shall hope that you finish your business in town and return in time for dinner," I said in my cheeriest tones. I smiled at him, too, hoping to elicit some answering warmth. But there was nothing. He was as cold as the stone walls—and just as unfeeling.
He pulled his arm free from my grasp. "I must go," he said.
His coldness unnerved me and I did what was for me quite an unusual thing. I threw myself into his arms. But even that evidence of affection brought no answering warmth. He simply set me aside. Like a piece of furniture or a cloak he no longer wanted, he set me aside and walked out.
I stared after him, his name rising to my lips. I opened my mouth to call out to him, to beg him to stay, but I closed it again without uttering a sound. I had always been a proud person—and after his rebuff I could not bring myself to plead.
And so I stood in stunned silence until my husband was out of sight. Then I felt a rising anger that I should be so foully treated! How could the man love me so tenderly and then treat me so coldly? It made no sense.
Neither did my anger, but it would not dissipate, and finally, in desperation, I took my hooded cloak and set out for a walk. Since our first walk together I had not gone often abroad. The weather had turned cold soon after our arrival and I had been busy with the boys.
Besides, I did not like to venture on the moor alone. Edward had warned me that it was an easy matter to lose one's way there on the land that, though it looked flat, was deceptively rolling and could cut off distant views when one least expected it.
But now I did not care for warnings or for anything else. The castle seemed to be closing in on me, its chill reaching to my very bones, its air fetid and numbing. I had to get out of there.
A brisk walk, I told myself, would restore my spirits. But I knew differently. It was going to take more than a walk to make me accept my husband's treatment of me with any aplomb. And if he did not come to my bed that night, if he left me to sleep alone—
I dared not think such thoughts. Pulling my cloak tighter around me, I hurried down the path. The winter air was more than brisk, it was dank and cold, but I preferred it to being shut up in the castle.
I made my way through the twisted trees, walking carefully because the snow-covered ground was damp and slippery. I tried to concentrate on keeping my footing, but my thoughts reverted to my husband and his peculiar behavior. Why did he vacillate so toward me—one moment passionate and loving, the next cold and distant? Could he be like the old earl, a man whose passion for women was almost legendary, but who, from what I'd been able to gather, used and then discarded them?
A shudder sped over me, a shudder that had little to do with the cold air of winter. Could my Edward be like his father? Like his brother, Robert? Would my husband tire of me and look to take his pleasure in another's bed?
The thought brought a sob to my throat and tears to my eyes. I didn't think I could stand the pain of such a thing. I blinked and tried to clear my vision.
Then I struggled to take myself in hand. My imaginings were farfetched, I told myself sternly. Perhaps Edward had something serious on his mind today, perhaps tonight he would be his former self—loving and passionate, yet gentle. After all, he had apologized for his harshness before.
I looked up, blinking back the tears, determined to concentrate on the scenery around me. The wood was growing darker. The trees, though not towering, reached high enough so that their twisted, tangled branches hid most of the sky. The wood was bathed in dark shadows so I surmised that clouds were then covering the sun.
I shivered. I should return to the castle before I got a chill, but first I wanted to reach the end of the path through the oaks, to gaze for a moment on the peaceful beauty of the moor.
It took me only a few more minutes. Then I stood at the edge of the wood and caught my breath. Even in winter the moor had an untrammeled beauty. I stepped forward, wanting to see a little farther, to absorb the sense of peace and beauty that seemed to hang in the still air.
I took a few steps, then a few more, but mindful of Edward's cautions about getting lost, I went no farther than ten feet from the edge of the wood. There I stopped, drinking in the pristine beauty, the peaceful silence—
The silence was broken by a familiar sound, that of a galloping horse. I swung around, thinking that Ned was returning from a ride, but it was not Ned approaching me. The sun behind him blinded me, allowing me to see only a rider on a dark horse, a rider so cloaked and hatted as to be unrecognizable to me.
There was no time to think. Even as I watched, the rider put the spurs to his great black horse and the animal sprang straight for me.
In panic I turned, trying to make the shelter of the wood, thinking the twisted trees would protect me. But the ground was wet and my shoe caught in the hem of my cloak, hurling me into the wet snow.
I could see the trees; their safety was only a few paces away. I scrambled to my hands and knees, trying to get to my feet. The horse was almost upon me, the pounding of its hooves thudding in my ears. My breath was coming in great gasps, my legs would hardly support me, but I kept my eyes on the trees, the twisted contorted trees that meant protection.
Then the horse was upon me. In one last effort I lunged toward the wood. The horse galloped by, hitting me a striking blow that threw me into the edge of the wood. And then they were gone, horse and rider pounding off over the moor.
I lay in the wet snow where I had been thrown, trying to pull breath into my tortured lungs, trying to assure myself that I was still alive. There was no doubt in my mind that the horseman had seen me. The sun had been at his back, and my dark cloak had made me stand out against the snow.
As my breathing gradually slowed I faced the frightening truth. Someone had tried to run me down! Perhaps to kill me!
Shaking, I pushed myself to my feet. My gown and my cloak were muddy and wet. My teeth were chattering from the cold and my limbs trembling in the aftermath of fear. Why? Why should someone try to kill me?
True, there had been that eerie voice that urged me to leave the castle. And the clammy hand that had touched my cheek in the darkness. But that had been weeks ago, when I first came to Grey Cliffs. Nothing like that had happened since.
I started back toward the castle, but I staggered and had to reach out to a tree for support. Somehow the touch of the bark reminded me of the kitchen, of Cook kneading dough and telling me about the old earl's last meal.
The hair stood up on the back of my neck. This attack had been made upon me shortly after Edward and his brother found me discussing their father with Cook. Had she said something that someone thought might help me discover the old earl's killer?
A gust of cold, salt-laden wind hit me and I shivered again. I'd better get back to the castle before I took a real chill. Otherwise nature might well finish the task the horseman had bungled.
* * * *
I managed to get in through the kitchen entrance without being seen and hurried up the backstairs to my room. I didn't want anyone to see me because I hadn't yet decided if I would mention this attack. I did not like to be suspicious of my husband. But I could not be entirely sure of his love. And until I was—
I pushed open the door to my room and slipped into its dimness. Breathing a sigh of relief at being safe, I turned.
And then I gasped. Standing in the door to his room, holding a candelabra, was Edward. "Where have you been?" he demanded gruffly.
"I went for a wa
lk."
He raised an eyebrow. "In this weather?"
"Yes, Edward, in this weather." My usual calm spirits seemed to have forsaken me. My patience was exhausted. I was cold and wet—and angry. I took off my cloak and dropped it, a sodden mess, to the floor.
Edward came closer, setting the candelabra on the table. He reached for me.
"I missed—" he began. "God God, Hester! You're soaking wet!"
"I fell."
His fingers tightened on my arms. "Fell? How?"
Standing so close to him, still I could not suspect him. I moved into his arms. "A rider, a man, tried to run me down. The horse hit me and knocked me over."
"People should be more careful," Edward said. "And you, what were you doing on the road?"
"I was not on the road," I returned. "I was standing on the moor, just at the edge of the wood. And he rode right at me."
I felt Edward's body go tense. His arms tightened around me till I could hardly breathe. "Hester! My God! Were you hurt?"
"No, only frightened." I shivered, even there in the safety of his arms. "But it seemed like he meant to kill me." I gulped. "Oh, Edward, why should someone try to kill me?"
My husband was silent for a moment, clasping me to him. "It can't be that," he said finally, his voice muffled in my hair. "It was probably some youngster, you know how they are. Looking to stir up some excitement. After all, he didn't come back. He didn't trample you."
Edward was right about that. And yet I knew that this had not been some young man's boyish prank. There had been about that horseman an air of deliberate, malicious intent.
But while I debated trying to explain this to my husband, he turned me around and undid my hooks. "Come," he said, leading me to the washstand. "Let's get some of that mud off you. And then we'll warm you up."
By the time Edward had finished washing me off and taken me into the great bed to warm me in the way most favored by husbands and wives, I had almost forgotten the horseman and my horrible experience. It was not until some time later, several days in fact, that I realized that Edward had never explained to me the reason for his cold behavior that fateful afternoon.
Chapter Eleven
The next day I came upon the twins in heated conversation. They were using their private language. Though unknown to them I had been able to piece together some of it, I was unable to make out what had so excited them.
Ned, playing ball with the dog in a corner of the nursery, seemed to have no interest in them at all. Until Paul slipped over to him and whispered something I couldn't hear.
Ned looked up, his face alight, and a sudden chill danced down my spine. I could think of only one thing that would excite the boy like that. The twins had found the secret passageway!
But if they had, they were not going to tell me.
"Can we go out to the stable?" Ned asked. "We like to play out there."
"Of course," I returned. Pretending ignorance, I watched them get their jackets and set out. But I knew quite well that their destination was not the stable. Moments later, I slipped out the door. Lingering in the shadows, I listened for the sound of their youthful voices.
To the right, I decided. I headed in that direction, the direction of the portrait gallery, carefully keeping to the shadows.
There was little need for me to take care, however. The boys were so excited with their find that they forgot to keep their voices down and never once looked behind them.
I kept to the shadows and drew closer. As I did I saw that the full-length portrait of the old earl had been swung out, away from the wall. Evidently it was set upon some kind of hinges. And beside it the excited boys peered into a black hole. I was right! They had found the entrance to the passageway!
I debated my next course of action. Should I slip away and pretend I knew nothing of the matter? Or should I accost them? The blackness of the hole decided me. I could not let them venture into such a dangerous place alone.
I stepped out of the shadows. "So," I said sternly. "This is how you obey the earl."
The twins dropped their gaze, lowering their heads submissively, but Ned faced me defiantly. "My father's not fair," he cried. "He brought me to live in this castle! I want to know all about it."
I looked into Ned's reddening face and said calmly, "But he did not tell you about the priest hole." I was only guessing, but I believed I was right. Edward had made it plain that he wanted no one to search for the secret passageways. And knowing his son as he did, he would not have told him stories that would impel the boy to undertake such a search.
No, someone else had told Ned about the passageways and the priest hole and the dry bones. I bent down to look into the absolute darkness of the hole in the wall. It was so black in there, blacker than the blackest midnight. The air was stale, fetid. In spite of myself, I shuddered.
I straightened and drew back. "We cannot go in there without a light. It's impossible to see."
Grinning, Paul produced a handful of candles from his pockets. I held back a smile. One day soon Hillyer would be wondering what had happened to deplete his supply of candles.
Paul took one and scurried off to hold it to the candelabra at the end of the gallery. When he came back, he lit a candle for each of us.
"We must stay together," I said firmly. I knew Edward would disapprove of us doing this. But I also knew there was no way I could keep these excited boys from exploring their find. Since I could not stop them, and I could not let them go in there alone, I must go with them. This I told myself, preparing, as it were, the explanation I would give Ned's father.
The passageway was pitch black, the entrance a frightful darkness even in the gloomy gallery. The boys hung back, and I sensed fear mingled with their excitement. For myself, I felt more fear than anything else. But I took a step forward, into that black void. And immediately something struck, clung to my face.
It was only by biting down hard on my bottom lip that I stifled the scream that rose in my throat.
"Cobwebs," Ned said gleefully. "There's cobwebs all over in here."
I let my breath out in a sigh of relief. Holding my candle high, I saw that Ned was right. The passageway was festooned with cobwebs. We brushed them aside as we moved farther on.
Paul turned to pull the portrait shut behind us. As the gallery faded from our sight, I shivered. If we should get lost in this terrible place—
"Set the candle in front of the doorway out," I told Peter. "That way we can find our way back."
Peter did as I'd suggested and lit another candle. Then we moved on down the passageway, a silent band of explorers. After a few minutes, when nothing untoward happened, the boys began to regain their usual good spirits.
"I bet this leads to the priest hole," Ned said, satisfaction in his voice. "If we find that, we'll have a secret hiding place." He turned to me. "If Hester doesn't tell on us."
Until that moment, the possibility of keeping the boys' find a secret had not dawned on me. But I realized that Edward was going to blame me. No matter that I hadn't initiated this search. I had not stopped them from pursuing it. I had accompanied them. And where before I had merely seen Edward's temper—and it not directed at me—this time I was sure to bear the brunt of his rage.
Still, that was not sufficient reason to lie to my husband. "We shall see," I said to Ned. "By the way, I thought you were going to the stable."
Ned looked sheepish. "We were, after a bit. We want to look at the new horse Father got."
"A new horse," I repeated, more to keep the boy talking than anything else, since horses were hardly my favorite topic.
"Yes," Ned said. "A big one. Black as this old hole."
A cold hand seemed to clutch my heart. A black horse. The man that had almost run me down had ridden a black horse. And Edward had been away from the house when it happened. Could my husband, that I loved so much, have tried to kill me?
I stopped in the passageway, gasping for breath as the awful thought hit me. But why? Why would Ed
ward—or anyone else—try to kill me?
And the answer came, the only answer possible. I knew something, something that pointed to the old earl's killer. Something that might unmask him. But what was it?
"Hester?" Ned was pulling at my sleeve anxiously. "Are you sick?"
"No. No, Ned. I'm all right. I just wanted to rest for a minute."
We pressed on then, and I made up my mind. For now at least, I would not tell Edward we'd found the passageway. It was not to escape his anger, but because I was afraid—afraid that the attack upon me at the edge of the wood might have come from the person I loved most in the world.
The passageway ran on for what seemed a very long time, finally ending in a little wooden door.
"I knew it!" Ned cried. "We found it—the priest hole!"
And indeed we had. The door opened with a slight creak and there beyond it was a dark dismal room. Poor priest, I thought, who must hide in such a hole. With no light and little air.
"Oh!" breathed the twins.
"What a place!" Ned cried. "A great hiding hole!"
At first I was minded to forbid the boys the place. But I took my candle and made a circuit of the little room. It took very little time, since it was more hole than actual room. And I saw that there was no way they could be hurt here. There were no windows to fall out of. And with walls and floor of cold, bare stone, nothing to be set afire. The passageway led straight to the place. There was no way to get lost.
I turned to face them. "I know you will want to play here."
Three youthful faces looked to me with mingled hope and despair.
"I will allow it," I said finally.
The twins hugged each other and Ned actually hugged me.
"But there are some rules to observe," I went on.
"Oh, we will," said the twins together.
"Me, too," Ned cried.
"First, no one must come in here alone." They all nodded. "Second, you must always leave a candle at the portrait door."
The Haunting of Grey Cliffs Page 9