The Whispering Rocks

by Sandra Heath

  “It’s been a long time,” she said, knowing that the words sounded lame.

  The harness of the pony and trap jingled as Paul climbed down, handing the reins to Martin. “What brings you to Mannerby, Holland?” There was a definite coolness in his voice and Sarah was instantly aware of it.

  Jack looked away from her. “I come on Stratford’s business, Ransome. It’s a small matter concerning the stud.” He was smiling, but his eyes were half closed, as if to conceal their true feelings, and there was a thinly disguised contempt in his bearing which Paul could not help but notice.

  Sarah glanced from one to the other in surprise. What had these two to dislike in each other?

  Paul inclined his head stiffly. “Then no doubt you’ll seek me out directly.” Nodding briefly at Sarah he turned on his heel and went toward the stable block.

  There was an expression of challenge in Jack’s eyes as he watched the other man walk away, for all the world as if some unseen gauntlet had been thrown down. He looked at Sarah again, his eyes softening and his smile becoming as warm as the spring day itself. He took her hands and pulled her to face him properly. “My sweet, sweet Sarah, I have missed you.”

  The directness of his approach covered her with confusion. It was what she so wished to hear him say, and yet when he did so she was thrown completely off balance. She became uncomfortably aware of the curious glances of the groom who was leading Jack’s yellow phaeton toward the stables, and of Marks who stood inside the doorway waiting for her.

  “If you’ve missed me, why did you not come to see me sooner?” She was angry with herself immediately the words had passed her lips. Why could she not be satisfied that he had come at all instead of carping at the delay? After all, she had no right to expect anything of him, anything at all.

  His thumbs caressed her palms. “I came at the first suitable moment, Sarah. I had to have a good reason for calling here at Mannerby or the gossipmongers would begin their chattering again.”

  She raised her eyes to his face, trying to hide her longing but not succeeding. “And now you have a good reason?”

  He released her hands and walked slowly toward the lilac tree. She walked at his side. The lilac filled the air with its sweetness as he ducked his head beneath a low branch. “Yes, I have a perfectly legitimate reason for coming, and I have the Duke of Wellington to thank.”

  “The Duke?”

  “Yes. Had he lost Waterloo then I would still be casting around for my reason. Napoleon’s defeat meant that your father could realize a cherished ambition. There is a stud in France, a very fine one, on which your father has cast his covetous eyes this longtime. Now it is his. He paid a goodly sum for it, I might add, and I was instrumental in achieving all this for him. Your father has a great admiration for French horseflesh, whereas Ransome holds a poor view of both the French and their horses. I am here to, er, pave the way, you might say, because Ransome has to be informed that the French horses will be replacing some of his stock here. He will not take it kindly.”

  “You? You are doing all this for my father? That will surely cause no small ripple in London’s best circles.”

  He smiled lazily. “I’m a law unto myself, Sarah. Had you not realized that yet?”

  She thought of Ralph Jameson. Yes, Jack was indeed a law unto himself. “But what of Paul? There’s nothing wrong at all with the way he conducts Mannerby.” She knew she was defending Paul.

  Jack’s eyes were opaque. “You rush to protect him.” He spoke quietly.

  “Why yes, and why should I not? The results of his hard work and care are there for all to see. Mannerby horses are the finest in England. There can be little justification for what my father seeks to do.”

  “Your father owns Mannerby and is perfectly entitled to do as he pleases. Besides, I was not and am not concerned with the rights and wrongs of what is proposed.... It’s merely a means to an end for me.”

  “I wish there was some other way.” She glanced toward the stables.

  Jack raised an eyebrow. “I begin to envy Ransome having such a spitfire to defend him. Perhaps I’ve left it too late to come here.”

  She was startled. “Oh no, it’s nothing like that, please believe me.”

  “I find it a little disconcerting that you should strive so in his defense, Sarah. Perhaps these weeks here without a chaperone to watch over you have not been wasted by the redoubtable Mr. Ransome.”

  She colored. “That was not necessary, Jack.”

  “He was lacking in common sense, Sarah, for he should have seen to it that you were not alone in the house after his sister’s death.”

  “Oh, you know about Melissa then?”

  “It was in the London papers. She was of some interest, being the sister of Paul Ransome. As you say, the Mannerby stud has an enviable reputation.” He reached up and snapped off a twig of lilac, twisting it between his fingers until the blossoms spun.

  “Jack, Paul was not lacking in common sense. He has sent for a relative to come here, and, besides, what else could I do but remain here? I have nowhere else to go and my father has ignored me since I left Rook House. Perhaps he is too occupied with Liza.” It was unfair to drag Liza’s name in, but Sarah could not help it. She felt unhappy and insecure, more insecure than her father’s unloved little mistress.

  “Liza? Oh yes, my late wife’s maid and now your father’s, er, companion. No, I don’t think poor Liza fills his thoughts very much. And you’re wrong about your father, Sarah. He has not ignored you. He’s one of those men who doesn’t put pen to paper unless he has something specific to say. He will write to you when he wishes you to return to him, not a moment before. The only news I can give you is that the preparations are apparently going ahead for your marriage to Edward, and that your father has at last succeeded in engaging the services of a lady to instruct you. You see, I made it my business to find out all I could.”

  Her heart sank. So there was to be no change in her father’s plans then. Melissa’s death made no difference. “Oh. I had thought—’

  “What?” He saw the despondency steal over her face.

  “I had hoped that the marriage would be dropped now that Melissa is dead.”

  “Melissa? What has the late lamented Melissa Ransome to do with it?”

  “She was the woman Edward had fallen in love with.”

  “Ah.” He handed her the sprig of lilac. “She was very beautiful by all accounts—I didn’t know her, but have heard it said.” He leaned back against the trunk of the tree. “It cannot have pleased her to have you here.”

  Sarah remembered the hate which had filled Paul’s sister and she shivered. “No, it didn’t please her at all.”

  “Well, I’m afraid that the idea of you marrying Edward still appears to rather appeal to your father. He wants to keep his family fortune intact. Melissa makes no difference; you are doomed to make an unhappy marriage.” The gray eyes wavered away from her face and she found herself wondering about his marriage—about his wife. What had really happened to her?

  He held out his hands. “Come here, Sarah.” She went to him and he kissed her. That kiss left her still deeper in his spell. She returned the embrace, forgetting all else but her great love for him.

  He untied her bonnet and hung it on a branch of the ash tree. It swung there in the breeze like an immense flower, its long pale pink ribbons streaming and flapping. He rested his cheek against the softness of her hair. “Well, at least we may look forward to a week or so together.”

  Somehow she felt a vague, barely tangible disappointment. He made no protestations of love. He did not speak of persuading her father to change his mind. He did not mention wanting her himself. She swallowed. “You will be here for that long, then?”

  “Until the French horses arrive. Ransome will have to put up with my company, I fear.”

  “Why don’t you like him?”

  “For the same reason he doesn’t like me.”

  “And what reason is that?” She
looked up into his eyes.

  He smiled slowly. “I rather fancy we both desire the same woman.”

  Desire? But that was not the same thing as love. She looked away, knowing that she was blushing. “I think you are wrong. Paul regards me merely as a friend, no more.”

  “You don’t do yourself justice, Sarah. I saw the look on his face when you first drove into the courtyard.... He regards you as something more than a friend.”

  Desperately she turned away, biting her lip. “And how do you feel about me, Jack?”

  He put his hands on her shoulders and turned her to face him. “Do you need to ask?”

  “Yes—yes I do. What do you feel?”

  “Oh, Sarah, I thought you could see it written on my face. I love you. Of course I love you. I’ve had a wife; I’ve had mistresses, but you are the one I have fallen in love with. I hardly know you and yet I feel that you’ve always been there.”

  She closed her eyes weakly. He loved her; he said that he loved her.

  Someone coughed apologetically and she turned, covered with confusion, to see Marks standing there. “I’m sorry to interrupt, madam, but it’s about the meal. The cook is threatening all manner of things if it’s not eaten soon, for it will spoil. Mr. Ransome says that he will not be eating, and so I was wondering if you and ...” He glanced at Jack.

  Sarah cleared her throat, her head still spinning a little. “Of course, Marks, we’ll dine now. Please present my apologies to the cook.”

  As Jack took her hand to walk into the house she could have danced. She could have laughed and sung, so great was her joy. He loved her. Jack loved her….

  Chapter Nineteen

  It soon became apparent that the changes Sir Peter intended at Mannerby were swinging. In the morning after Jack’s arrival, the two men were closeted together in Paul’s study for two hours, and Sarah, sitting in the drawing room next door, could not help but overhear some of what was said. She sat quietly with a book upon her knee, and the same unread page faced her for a long time. She gleaned from the fragments of conversation which drifted to her that her father was going to change most of the stock, and then put in another man, of his own choosing, to run the stud with Paul.

  Her heart was heavy when at last she rang the bell for Marks to bring some refreshment for them all. Sadly she turned the unread page of her book. There was little if anything to fault in Paul’s management of the stud, and yet her father must change everything; to Sarah it seemed like change for the sake of change, little more, and knowing as she did that her father’s method of gaining Mannerby had been underhand, she found herself almost despising the absent Sir Peter.

  It was the beginning of the end for Paul. Her father intended to oust him completely; Sarah could sense it. Through the open window she saw Martin carefully washing and polishing the yellow phaeton, and she thought of Jack. She knew why he had come, why he had chosen to lower himself by conducting her father’s business, but she did wish that he gave at least the semblance of regret at what he was doing to Paul Ransome. But Jack seemed to find no difficulty at all in telling Paul that his life’s work at Mannerby was to be wrecked.

  Marks entered with a silver tray holding gold-and-white cups and saucers, a dish of the cook’s fine spice biscuits, and a tall silver coffee pot. As he set it down beside her she suddenly remembered that she and Paul had been invited to the Blue Fox that evening.

  “Has Mr. Ransome made any mention of today’s evening meal, Marks?”

  “Yes, madam. At least he did so yesterday morning. He said that the staff could all have the afternoon off as you and he would be dining out.” He went to tap on the door to the study.

  “Thank you, Marks,” she said, as he walked slowly from the room and closed the door behind him. Did the invitation now extend to Jack? she wondered. She and Paul could hardly go without him, for that would be the height of bad manners.

  Chairs scraped in the adjoining room and Paul and Jack came out. She met Paul’s gaze for a moment and then lowered her eyes uncomfortably. Yesterday’s picnic might as well have been enjoyed by two strangers, for there was more of a barrier between them now than ever there had been during Melissa’s life.

  Jack sat down beside her, his hand clasping hers in the folds of her peach-colored morning gown. “We have sadly neglected you this morning, Sarah, but now we are come to foist our company upon you once more.” He lifted her hand to his lips and kissed it.

  Paul looked decidedly bored and stretched his long legs out before him as he lounged in a crimson velvet chair. Sarah was aware of the studied manner in which he did this and she was a little piqued. It hurt her that he should turn so swiftly and so coldly away from her like this. After all, he must have known that she loved Jack, so why should Jack’s actual presence make any difference?

  Marks returned and stood by Paul. “I’ve come to remind you of your words yesterday, sir. At what time may the staff take their afternoon off?”

  Paul looked startled and had quite obviously forgotten. “Oh yes, it had slipped my mind,” He glanced at Sarah. “We’re invited to the Blue Fox, aren’t we?” A brief smile touched his lips and then was gone, leaving her almost in doubt as to its ever having been there.

  “Yes, Paul, we are, but if you’d rather not—

  “No. My word has been given, both to the staff here and to James Trefarrin.” He stood, obviously wishing that he did not have to utter the next words. “Holland, of course, the invitation now extends to you as well, for you are my guest here.”

  Jack’s gray eyes were impenetrable. “Thank you, but no. I’m sure that Mr. Trefarrin has no wish to entertain me, a stranger. I won’t embarrass him—or you. Perhaps Marks here could arrange for a cold supper to be left for me. I will go for a ride on the moor instead.”

  Sarah was disappointed. She did not wish to be parted from him, even for so short a while, but she knew that he was only doing what etiquette demanded.

  Paul nodded. “Very well. Marks, will you see to that for me? And you may all leave directly after the midday meal has been served.”

  “Yes, sir. Thank you, sir.” Marks left silently, and Sarah realized that she hardly ever heard the old butler either coming or going.

  Paul took the cup of coffee she held out to him, not looking at her but at Jack. “When do these French beasts arrive, then?”

  “Sometime within the next few weeks. They’re to be shipped to Plymouth and word will be sent to me directly they arrive.” He smiled but his eyes remained cool. “You look as if you regret the outcome of Waterloo, Ransome. Such thoughts are treasonable.”

  Paul put down his cup quietly. “I’ll be proved right in the end. Sir Peter is an atrocious judge of horseflesh.”

  Jack’s smile did not waver. “But I have picked these animals, Ransome.”

  Paul stood, smiling with equal falsity. “Stratford must be unable to believe his luck in having so exalted a stable boy.” Still smiling, he took his leave of Sarah and went out.

  Jack laughed as the door closed behind him. “There’s fire in our friend—not a great deal, but nonetheless, it is there.”

  She said nothing, knowing how deeply Paul was feeling the situation. She could not understand Jack, or indeed any man, she decided—and men had the audacity to say that women were unpredictable!

  Later, after all the servants had gone for the afternoon, Sarah sat in the kitchen garden. Jack had gone for his ride on the moor and Paul was busy in the stables with a mare who was having difficulty giving birth to her first foal.

  She looked up at the flawless blue sky. The day was warm, so warm.... In the stableyard she could hear the horses being led out for their afternoon gallop on the lower moor. Their hooves clattered noisily on the cobbles. From the farrier’s shed came the acrid smell of smoke and the sound of a hammer on the anvil.

  She unfastened the top two buttons of her high-throated gown, wishing now that she had worn the blue-and-white silk instead. Beyond the garden the moor shimmered in the heat.
The leaves of the heather were fresh and green and the birch trees which lined the route of a stream were a ribbon of pale green and silver. The gorse which littered the moor was alight with bright golden flowers and as she looked away into the distance, Hob’s Tor seemed to sway in the haze.

  There was no mist or cloud to engulf it today and she could see clearly the great boulders on its summit, those whispering rocks of which Paul had spoken. She wondered what their whispering sounded like. She was so lost in her thoughts that she did not see the dog cart coming down the track from Bencombe. It came into the courtyard and through to the stableyard, its driver calling for Paul.

  She yawned and leaned back against the tree, wishing that she was out riding with Jack. There was a heaviness about the afternoon which made her drowsy, like some powerful opiate which was determined to deaden her every sense,

  Paul’s boots were almost silent as he crossed the grass to where she sat by the poplar tree. He sat down beside her, touching her arm to draw her wandering attention. “So sleepy, Sarah?” There was a hint of his former friendliness in the smile he gave her.

  “I’m ashamed to admit it, but I am sleepy. It’s so hot I think I’ll change my gown for one a little cooler.”

  “There’ll be thunder before midnight, Martin informs me, and he’s seldom wrong.”

  “But we shall be back from Bencombe long before that, surely?”

  “Well, that’s what I’ve come to speak to you about. I’m afraid that we’ll all be eating cold suppers tonight, for news has just come from James that there was a fire at the Blue Fox this morning and some damage done. He cannot entertain us tonight, nor for some time I fear.”

  “How terrible. Was anyone hurt?”

  “No. The parlor has been destroyed and part of the kitchens. Anyway, I’m going to ride over to see if there’s anything I can do to help.” He stood up, brushing the grass from his breeches.

  “Paul, how is the mare in foal?”

  “She is well enough, the mother of a sturdy son!” He smiled, and then crouched down beside her again, his face serious. “Sarah, do you love Holland?” He spoke softly.