by Mary Balogh
He turned abruptly and went crashing off through the trees, climbing quickly back up to the castle. Rebecca closed her eyes and stayed where she was. She clamped her teeth together, willing herself not to call his name until he was out of earshot.
***
Something was wrong when Rebecca entered the courtyard again fifteen minutes later. Uncle Humphrey was standing, leaning heavily on Maude's shoulder and waving a lace handkerchief in front of his nose. His face was more than usually pale. Maude had one arm around his waist and was clearly supporting much of his weight. Mrs. Sinclair was standing close by, openly weeping. Mr. Sinclair was patting her on the back rather ineffectually and absentmindedly. He was staring across the courtyard.
Christopher, Julian, Philip, Ellen, and Primrose were clustered together close to the entrance to the dungeons, all talking at once. Harriet, Mr. Bartlett, and Mr. Carver were nowhere in sight. Rebecca took in the scene at a glance and had a horrid presentiment of what was wrong. She hurried across the grass toward the larger group.
"What has happened?" she asked.
"Probably nothing at all," Philip said calmly. "But your cousin seems to be missing, and it seems likely that she has gone down to the dungeons."
"Surely she would not be so foolish," Rebecca said. "Did she not go walking with the others?"
"Yes," Julian said, "she started to. She was walking with me. But she don't seem to enjoy my company these days," he added humbly. "She took Bartlett's arm and they were walking more slowly than the rest of us. They never did catch up."
"But you must have noticed if they turned back," Christopher said impatiently.
"We just assumed that they were lagging," Julian said, "but when we turned back, we did not meet them at all."
"Would you not have seen them, Philip, if they had come to the dungeon steps?'' Rebecca asked.
"Not necessarily," he replied. "We were sitting out of the wind over there, and the entry way here would be hidden from view."
"I am sure they must have gone down," Ellen said. "Harriet would not have given in so meekly when she had her heart set so on going, and Mr. Bartlett is so obliging that he would find it hard to say no to her."
"They should be up by now," Christopher said uneasily. "I had better go down and see what is happening."
"Oh, please do not," Primrose pleaded. "Mr. Carver has already gone down. You will all be tripping over one another if you go too."
They stood around uneasily for a few minutes, peering ineffectually into the darkness that quickly swallowed the narrow winding stone steps at the top of the spiral. Finally Julian made an impatient gesture and announced his intention of going down.
"No, Jule, I'll go," Christopher said. "No offense, old man, but I am stronger than you to help if anyone is hurt. If we just had a light — it would help. The dungeons themselves, of course, are lit faintly by a small opening onto the hill, but the staircase is infernally dark, if memory serves me right."
He disappeared from sight after pressing himself against the stone wall on the outer edge of the steps. Rebecca found herself clinging to Philip's arm and leaning quite heavily on him. There was a ringing in her ears. She thought she might faint.
Fortunately for the anxious group in the courtyard, the wait was not a long one. Christopher was the first one to come into view again. Behind him came Mr. Carver, his face glistening with perspiration, carrying Harriet in his arms. Behind them came Mr. Bartlett.
Everyone spoke at once.
"Harriet, are you all right?"
"What happened?"
"Where did you find her?"
"Did she fall?"
"Did she faint?"
"Someone fetch her some water."
"Bring a blanket. She must be cold."
"I knew something like this would happen if you insisted on going down there, Harriet."
Everyone talked; no one listened.
Harriet said nothing. She was looking rather pale and disheveled. As soon as they were safely clear of the steps, Mr. Carver stooped down and placed her on the grass.
"One of the steps crumbled under her," Mr. Bartlett explained. "Fortunately it was almost at the bottom. She has sprained an ankle, I believe. But I was having a deuced hard time getting her back up again."
"Nothing for it but to pick her up and carry her," Mr. Carver said. He was wiping his face with a large linen handkerchief.
"I was unwilling to take the risk," Mr. Bartlett said. "If I had slipped with Miss Shaw in my arms, I might have killed her."
"Not t'mention yourself," Mr. Carver mumbled into his shirtfront.
"It seemed safer to walk beside her and encourage her to climb slowly," Mr. Bartlett said. His eyes were steely, his lips thin. "Though it was very dangerous to have to climb the narrow part of the steps myself. Of course, it was very heroic to climb to the top with the lady in your arms, Carver."
Maude had hurried over with one of the blankets, which she wrapped around Harriet's shoulders. Rebecca meanwhile had kneeled down beside her cousin and was gently exploring her ankle to try to estimate the damage. It was already badly swollen; it was impossible to tell if it was merely sprained or if perhaps there was a broken bone.
"What I would like to know, Bartlett," Christopher said, "is what you were doing down there in the first place."
"It is Miss Shaw's birthday," Mr. Bartlett said, "and she wished to see the dungeon. Where I was brought up, Sinclair, men were taught to respect the wishes of ladies. No one else had the courage to accompany her; I did so."
"You're a damned fool, Bartlett!" Christopher said. "Did the lady's safety mean nothing to you? Must you be forever trying to impress the ladies?"
Mr. Bartlett did not respond to the anger in Christopher's voice and manner. He remained cool. "You and I both know that there is no love lost between us, Sinclair," he said. "I suggest we show enough good breeding not to air our differences in public. If you wish to pursue our quarrel, perhaps we could make a private appointment?"
Harriet was beginning to recover from her fright, though she grimaced in pain when Rebecca tried to move her foot. She looked around her with interest.
"Why is everyone talking about me as if I were not here?" she asked. "I am not at all sorry that I went down the steps. It was by far the most exciting part of the day. And I would not have twisted my ankle had not someone been inconsiderate enough to leave a loose stone on the step. Do please stop fussing, everyone." But she looked as if she was thoroughly enjoying the attention she was receiving.
"You are not sorry!" Mr. Carver exclaimed. Rebecca looked up in surprise. She had not imagined that his voice could sound so formal or so cold. "It don't matter, I suppose, that everyone up here was worried half to death? Look at your papa! And it don't matter that Sinclair and I might have been in danger coming to rescue you."
"Well," Harriet said, tossing her head, "I might have known you were poor-spirited, sir! I don't know why you came down to find us. No one asked you to, I am sure."
"Harriet, love," Maude said, "Mr. Carver carried you up most of those steps. You should be grateful. And he is right about your papa. He is very upset. And really Stanley was greatly at fault in agreeing to accompany you down there. He should have known better."
"Oh," Harriet said, "you are all horrid. No one here has an ounce of spirit except Mr. Bartlett. This has not been a pleasant birthday after all. I wish to go home at once."
"Come on, Sinclair," Mr. Carver said, "let's carry Miss Shaw between us to her carriage. If you ask me, ma'am, you are fortunate not to be given a sound beating for this and a ration of bread and water for the next few days."
"Well!" Harriet said. "Well! I have never been so insulted. How dare you! Get away from me, sir. I would rather crawl every inch of the way to the carriage than have to be beholden to you for the smallest favor. Get away from me!"
The last words were almost shrieked as Mr. Carver advanced menacingly on her, scooped her up into his arms, and marched off with her in the di
rection of the stone archway that led to the hill and the conveyances. Rebecca, gathering up the discarded blanket, glanced uneasily after them. Mr. Carver, especially in his present mood, looked quite large enough to squash the life out of Harriet. Both Christopher and Philip, she noticed at another glance, were grinning.
Chapter 12
Harriet was almost subdued for the next few days. Her ankle really was severely sprained, as the doctor confirmed on the evening of the outing. Consequently, she was confined to the house until she could get about again. She sat on a sofa in the morning room for most of each day, her injured foot propped on a cushioned stool in front of her.
She need not have been unduly bored. Her own family and the Sinclair family did their best to ensure that she constantly had company, and news of her mishap brought many other visitors, too. But Harriet had decided to be bored and generally out of sorts. The only person with whom she was in charity was Mr. Bartlett, who had not only been the only one with the courage to accompany her to the dungeons, but who also was the only one who had in no way blamed her for what had happened. In addition, he had been ill-used himself, notably by Mr. Carver and Mr. Christopher Sinclair, and it was up to her to console him.
The two spent hours together, talking, playing cards, reading-Mr. Bartlett read aloud to Harriet. On two occasions, he carried her out onto the terrace so that she might sit in the fresh air for a while.
Maude seemed not to like her brother and her stepdaughter being alone together. Whenever possible, she brought her work into the room and sat silently, her head bent to the embroidery until someone else arrived. But Maude could not always be there. Lord Holmes-claiming that the long journey to Cenross Castle, the wind and fresh air in the courtyard, and the shock of his daughter's accident had quite undermined his delicate health-had taken to his bed. The doctor was sent for daily to examine some new symptom. And Maude was the only nurse allowed near the somewhat petulant patient. She was constantly in attendance on him when he was awake. Fortunately for her, he slept quite frequently.
Harriet was quite out of charity with both Christopher and Julian. She did not quarrel openly with them, but she behaved with cold hauteur during their daily visits, to the frustration of Julian and the apparent amusement of Christopher.
"I say, Harriet," Julian said unwisely one afternoon, "you ain't going to go around with your nose in the air for the rest of the summer, are you? It's deuced uncomfortable trying to converse with a female who is on her high ropes."
"I do not recall asking you to converse with me, Julian," Harriet said with such a bored drawl that Christopher got to his feet and strolled to the morning-room window so that he might have his back to the company for a few minutes.
Harriet was civil to Ellen and Primrose, though she behaved as if she were twenty years older than they and condescended so shockingly that both became quite indignant and confined their conversation to the ever-charming Mr. Bartlett for all subsequent visits.
Almost undoubtedly Harriet would have treated Mr. Carver with a special disdain. However, she was not given a chance to do so in the days of her confinement to home. He did not visit even once or send any messages that she might have answered in a suitably contemptuous fashion. It was left to her, in fact, to show an awareness of his existence.
"Never tell me that Mr. Carver has finally gone home," she said to Christopher one afternoon. "I thought perhaps he was planning to take up permanent residence with your mama and papa."
"Luke?" Christopher said in some surprise. "Oh, he is still here. And when he came, he accepted a very firm invitation to stay until my own return to town in September. He is in the village this afternoon, visiting Miss Shaw at the school, I believe. He seems to have developed a social conscience since coming into the country. His mother will be delighted."
"Well," Harriet said acidly, "it is as well that he has some feelings for the poor. He seems to have none for the sufferings of his own class."
***
Mr. Carver was indeed at the school. Rebecca had been surprised to find him standing on the doorstep soon after luncheon when she answered his tap on the door. She looked nervously around, fully expecting to see that Christopher had accompanied him, but he was apparently alone.
He smiled, removed his hat, and bowed. "Came to see how you were doing, ma'am," he said. "Can I be of any assistance?"
Rebecca raised her eyebrows in surprise. "I am sure the boys will be delighted by your presence, sir," she replied. "Pray come inside."
She had discovered from experience that, though somewhat nervous at the presence of visitors, the boys were also exhilarated by it. It was novel for them to be the focus of attention to persons of quality.
Mr. Carver strode to the back of the room and stood with his hands behind his back for several minutes while Rebecca continued with her lesson on Greek mythology.
"Coo, miss," one of the bolder boys said when she had described the Parthenon to them, "do any of them buildings still exist?"
"I would not think so, Teddy," she said, "though there are many buildings in England now, you know, that imitate ancient Greek architecture."
"Pardon me," Mr. Carver said in his deep voice, "but you are quite mistaken, Miss Shaw. There are still many signs of ancient Greek civilization in Greece. Been there," he ended lamely.
"Oh, have you?" Rebecca said. "How I envy you! Do share your memories with us, sir."
The boys turned around to him with eager faces.
And so Mr. Carver found himself in the unlikely role of guest speaker at the village school, telling an enthralled audience about his travels in Greece and answering innumerable questions. When the time came for school to close for the day and Rebecca announced the fact, there was a collective moan of disappointment from the boys.
She turned to Mr. Carver, laughter in her eyes as the last of her pupils dragged himself almost unwillingly from the building. "You have missed your calling, sir," she said. "If you could just see these boys as they usually are when the end of the day comes. If they were just a little stronger, I believe they would leave the school without even opening the door first, such is their haste to be outside."
"Glad to be of assistance," Mr. Carver said. "Ain't much of a speaker, though."
"How can you say that," Rebecca said, "when you saw how delighted the boys were with what you had to say? And I too," she added. "I have never before had the chance to speak to someone who has actually been to Greece. It is the ambition of my life to travel there and to Italy."
"Could come in next time you are here," Mr. Carver said, "and tell the boys about Italy."
"Oh, would you?" Rebecca said, her tone dispelling any fear he might have had that she was being merely polite.
"Walk you home," Mr. Carver offered. "I can lead m'horse by the reins. Unless you would like to ride, that is. Won't suggest that we ride together. Poor animal would collapse in the middle." He gave a short bark of a laugh.
"I would far prefer to walk," Rebecca said, "and I should be delighted with your company, sir."
They talked about the school for part of the journey until Mr. Carver changed the subject. "I hear Miss Shaw's ankle is bad enough to confine her to home," he said gruffly.
"Yes, indeed," Rebecca said. "But poor Harriet hates to be immobile. I predict that she will be up and about within the next day or so."
"Serves her right," Mr. Carver said. "Hope the injury will teach her some sense. Glad she didn't break any bones, though. Wouldn't wish the little chit any real harm."
"Well, I would have to agree with you that she deserved the accident," Rebecca said candidly. "She has been dreadfully spoiled all her life, you see, and still feels that all her whims should be gratified instantly. I think a really strong person might still force her to grow up. Despite all evidence to the contrary, I have always believed that there is some good in Harriet. However, I do believe that any man with the necessary strength of character would cry off as soon as he saw how selfish and willful she is."
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"Hm," Mr. Carver said, "all she needs is one good thrashing when she does something like that escapade at the castle. I would have given it to her in a moment had I been her papa or her brother."
"Yes," Rebecca agreed, "or her husband."
It had been a totally innocent remark. Yet glancing up at the big man who walked beside her, Rebecca was completely taken aback at the flood of color that rushed to his face. He withdrew a large handkerchief from his pocket and affected a coughing spell that lasted for all of one minute.
"Pardon me, ma'am," he said when he had recovered himself, "not used to so much walking."
Rebecca said nothing but resumed the walk, which had halted while he coughed. She was feeling somewhat stunned. Had she been mistaken? Did Mr. Carver have a tendre for
Harriet? It was not possible, surely. Since his arrival a few weeks before, he had shown nothing but contempt for her cousin. And well he might. Harriet had made no effort to hide the disdain she felt for his giant figure. Poor Mr. Carver. If he really were nursing tender feelings for Harriet, he was doomed to nothing but disappointment.
Mr. Carver was obviously concerned with changing the subject. "Sinclair was at the school yesterday," he said. "Seems to have become attached to that protege of his."
"Protege?" Rebecca said.
"Young lad with the eyeglasses," Mr. Carver said. "Says that he saw promise in that lad from the first day he saw him-time when you pointed out that he could scarcely see, I believe."
"Protege," Rebecca repeated. "He has the nerve to use that word. Well, that is the outside of enough. Philip went out of his way to finance a school; both he and I have worked hard to teach Cyril; I discovered his disability; Philip used money he can ill afford to buy the boy eyeglasses-and he is Mr. Sinclair's protege! Merely because Mr. Sinclair has spent a few hours with the boy, helping him to read. He is nothing but a town dandy."
"I say," Mr. Carver exclaimed, "not quite fair, Miss Shaw. Sinclair don't like it to be known that he helps the poor, but he has already spent a large part of his fortune on projects like this school of yours, y'know."