by Sandra Heath
As Longton unharnessed the horses, tied the overnight bags and jewelry cases together to fling over their backs, and then took out a lantern from the box beneath the carriage to light with his tinderbox, Lady Letitia went back into the lane for a last look. She was hoping against hope to see Corinna hurrying toward her through the darkness. But nothing moved at all.
Longton managed to light the lantern, and Anthea called softly to her aunt. “Come on, Aunt Letty. We mustn’t linger here.”
Reluctantly Lady Letitia returned. “We—we can’t just go and leave Corinna.”
“But she isn’t here anymore, Aunt Letty, and we don’t know where to look. We must seek shelter at the castle. Someone there will know what to do. Maybe even Jovian himself.”
“You think he is here, my dear?”
“I—I think he may be, for there are lights at some of the castle’s upper windows.”
“Maybe Huw Gadarn is still there too, my dear, and I do not think I could bear to see him again. He may have lived in happiness since we parted, whereas I... well, I have wasted my life in heartbreak, have I not?”
“You haven’t wasted your life, Aunt Letty, and if Huw shared your love, then maybe he is still alone too.”
“That is very doubtful, my dear, and we both know it.” Lady Letitia took a shaky breath. “Oh, dear, the very last thing I wished to do was return to the castle, for whatever reason, but it seems I must. So many memories, so very many memories ...”
Longton was restless. “We should be going, because every second we dally—”
“Yes, I know,” Anthea replied, and gently ushered Lady Letitia out of the lane.
A few moments later, with the women leading a horse each and Longton taking charge of the remaining two, the little procession began to make its way by lantern light along the edge of the lavender field toward the castle.
The moon had begun to rise, and its cool blueness was the very opposite of the fiery sunset that had gone before.
Chapter Nineteen
The light moved with the swaying lantern, the horses snorted occasionally, and the heady fragrance of the lavender was like an opiate as the benighted travelers proceeded toward the castle. There was such a dreamlike quality about everything that Anthea wondered if she was really asleep and might awaken at any moment.
Then, strange new feelings began to steal through her, as if the finest lavender oil flowed through her veins, and her clothes were fashioned from lavender flowers and leaves. She had become an ethereal being, with hair of spun silver, and bare feet that brushed the cool grass without actually touching the ground.
Glancing at the center of the field, she was startled to see a vision of herself, ghostly blue in the first beams of moonlight, walking back toward the lane; and for a moment, distant and muted, the chanting drifted to her ears.
The fanciful sensations only subsided when she followed the others through an open gate into the little wood of Scotch pines at the edge of the park. Longton paused before entering the trees. “Now then, we must be careful to stick to the path, your ladyships, for I do not know how His Grace feels about poachers. We don’t want to step into snares or traps set by his keepers.”
Lady Letitia nodded. “Well, if the present duke is anything like his father, the keepers will be very active,” she said, turning to look back the way they had come, hoping in vain to see Corinna running after them. But there were only night shadows in the light of the rising moon.
They made their way between the tall, leggy pines, where the thin canopy was high and whispered very faintly. Holly and brambles grew in abundance, making Anthea think of the Sleeping Beauty, around whose enchanted castle rose a briar thicket so high and dense that no one but her prince could reach her.
They had only just reached the middle of the wood when Jovian’s urgent whisper alerted Anthea to danger. “Have a care, my darling, for Lethe is riding toward you! Get out of sight, for we need him to be well on his way!”
Almost immediately the sound of a slowly cantering horse approached from the direction of the castle. She acted without hesitation. “We must hide! Over there, behind those holly bushes!”
Lady Letitia dithered. “But it may be someone who can help us....”
“And it may not! We might be taken for poachers, or at the very least trespassers, and keepers have been known to fire guns first and only ask questions afterward. Now come on!”
Swiftly Anthea led her horse through the thorny undergrowth toward the shelter afforded by the prickly holly foliage, praying as she went that no traps or snares lay in her way. Startled into unquestioning compliance, Lady Letitia and Longton followed, and they had all just led their horses out of sight when a lone horseman appeared along the path.
Sir Erebus rode at a leisurely pace, but he suddenly reined in to glance around, as if sensing eyes upon him from the shadows. Everyone froze and kept soothing hands on their horses’ muzzles, and all was quiet as he continued to look around. Anthea held her breath as she watched him through the spiky leaves; then to her relief, he rode on and the sound of his horse’s hooves died away into the darkness.
Lady Letitia breathed out shakily. “That man gives me the shivers,” she said, then looked curiously at Anthea. “You guessed who it was, didn’t you?”
“I—suspected it might be him,” Anthea replied lamely.
“Hmm. Well, his presence would seem to indicate that Jovian is at home, for Sir Erebus is his friend—although heaven alone knows why!—and I suppose it is only to be expected they would call upon each other here in the country.”
“Sir Erebus is not Jovian’s friend,” Anthea replied unguardedly.
“Oh? But I thought—”
“So did I, but Jovian loathes Sir Erebus and does not trust him an inch.”
Lady Letitia was astonished. “Well, that is indeed a turnup for the books, for I was under the impression that the two were bosom companions,” she murmured, “especially as it was through Sir Erebus that we learned of Jovian’s recommendations concerning Miss Wheatley.” When Anthea didn’t comment, Lady Letitia went on, “When did you learn of Jovian’s thoughts upon Sir Erebus?”
“I ...”
“An answer, if you please.”
Anthea struggled for words. “It was at the Red Cow.”
“In Hammersmith? But we hardly stopped there at all.”
“I know. He was riding past and we spoke for a moment or so. He told me then.” It was part truth, part fib, but was all Anthea could think of.
Lady Letitia was astonished. “And you did not see fit to mention it?”
“Well, it was a little difficult. You were being cool with me, and Corinna wasn’t speaking at all. So I thought it better not to say anything.” Anthea crossed her fingers behind her back. “Anyway, it’s not important. Come on, we must get on to the castle.”
Lady Letitia sighed and nodded. “Very well, but oh, these brambles have played the very devil with my skirts.”
“Pulled threads are the least of our problems,” Anthea replied, as she led her horse behind Longton so that this time it was her aunt who brought up the rear.
At last they emerged from the wood beside an expanse of grassy park, at the other end of which the castle stood amid the gardens once tended by Huw Gadarn—perhaps tended by him still. Lights still shone in the low wing and at the upper windows, but there seemed no one around. Longton turned to Anthea and her aunt. “Begging your pardon, your ladyships, but do you know if His Grace keeps guard dogs?”
“I have no idea at all,” Anthea answered.
Lady Letitia wasn’t sure. “Once again I have to say that his father did, but I have no idea about the present duke. However, Sir Erebus would seem to have passed safely enough.”
The coachman pursed his lips. “That’s true. Well, just to be sure, I’ll hold the lantern up high, to show we aren’t up to no good.”
Brandishing the lantern aloft as obviously as he could, he followed the path across the open park, and
after a moment Anthea and her aunt continued too. As they neared the castle they found a deep grassy ditch barring their way. Called a ha-ha, it was there to protect the extensive gardens from deer or cattle in the park and did not spoil the view from the castle as would a wall or fence.
The path led along the top of the ditch toward the lodge and main drive, and incredibly the lantern still seemed to go unnoticed, even though it swayed brightly. No one seemed aware there were intruders in His Grace of Chavanage’s grounds, which was all very lax, Lady Letitia thought, recalling how difficult she had once found it to slip away to meet Huw without anyone knowing.
The ha-ha ended at the main drive, which led past the impressive south frontage to a Tudor gatehouse straddling the way into the courtyard beyond. The gatehouse was covered with ivy and climbing roses and resembled a little half-timbered house. Tears welled in Lady Letitia’s eyes as she saw it again. Nineteen lonely years had passed since last she had seen those small diamond-leaded windows. Nineteen years ... the length of Corinna’s entire life.
“Oh, Huw, cariad.” The Welsh word for sweetheart came to her as easily and lovingly now as it had then. “What a fool you were, Letitia Wintour. You found true love and let yourself be torn away from it.”
Anthea heard her aunt’s voice. “Did you say something, Aunt Letty?”
“No, my dear. At least, nothing worth repeating.” Just the words of a penitent old maid who would have behaved very differently if she had her time over again....
Everything remained quiet as they left the path to follow the drive instead. Longton led the way past the castle frontage, where more ivy and roses flourished against south-facing walls that enjoyed so much sunshine summer and winter alike that an orangery had been built against them, its line of gothic arched windows exactly in keeping with the rest of the castle. There was a faint light inside, and they stopped hopefully, thinking someone must be there, but although a candle had been placed on the tiled floor, the place seemed deserted.
The wavering flame cast a very poor light with confusing shadows, but it was sufficient to reveal that the orangery had fallen into sad disrepair. It no longer appeared to serve its proper purpose, all the plants except one small tree having withered or died. Anthea became aware of a movement by the living tree and after a moment realized a woman was picking fruit from it.
She was thin and a little angular, and Anthea estimated from her figure and manner that she was about forty. A lace shawl over her hair hid her profile, her brown long-sleeved gown appeared to be of fine quality, and Anthea saw the glitter of diamond earrings as she turned slightly to place fruit in a basket over her arm. Who was she? It seemed unlikely she was Jovian’s latest love; she was too well dressed to be his housekeeper; and, as far as Anthea knew, he had no other female relatives.
Lady Letitia took it upon herself to rap loudly on the glass. The woman gave a frightened start and looked around, but the upward cast of the candlelight distorted her features. Seeing faces outside, she gathered up her skirts and hastened away with her basket, causing a draft that made the candle smoke and then go out.
Lady Letitia was indignant. “Well, really! What a very foolish creature she must be to scuttle away like a frightened rabbit.”
Or hare, Anthea found herself thinking, although she did not quite know why, but then the woman was forgotten as a rough male voice—foreign but in perfect English—shouted loudly from the direction of the gateway. “Who are you? What do you want?”
Men with torches had emerged beneath the gatehouse, and it was their leader who had addressed the newcomers. By the flickering light of the torches Anthea saw that he was swarthy and of almost shaggy appearance, with wavy bronze-colored hair that was long enough to just brush his broad shoulders. He had dark eyes, a large pointed nose, and a receding chin, and when he spoke again, she was put in mind of a dog’s hollow bark. “Answer me! Who are you? What is your business here?”
Lady Letitia recovered from her startlement. “No, sirrah, who are you?” she demanded, finding him presumptuous in the extreme.
“I am the Duke of Chavanage’s steward, Sebbriz.”
The mythical guard dog, Cerberus, Anthea thought. He seemed human enough, and yet—there was something oddly canine about him.
Lady Letitia’s thoughts were surprisingly similar. “Sebbriz? Cerberus, more like,” she whispered to Anthea, “although to be sure the fellow appears to have just two legs and one head, and I cannot imagine Cathness Castle is the entrance to Hades.”
“Is Huw Gadarn among the men?” Anthea whispered back.
“No, definitely not. Even after all this time I would know him anywhere.”
Sebbriz did not like the whispering and came closer, followed by the others. “If you do not tell me who you are, I will have you thrown into a dungeon,” he threatened, in an accent that Anthea, who had once been introduced to a gentleman from Athens, now recognized as Greek.
Lady Letitia eyed the steward. “The dungeon? How very medieval, to be sure. Very well, Mr. Sebbriz, I will identify myself. I am Lady Letitia Wintour, sister of the Earl of Daneway, and this is my niece, Lady Anthea. Our male companion is my coachman, Longton. We were on our way to stay with a Miss Wheatley when we became lost. Now my step-niece, Miss Pranton, has disappeared, and we have come in desperation to seek His Grace’s hospitality and assistance.”
Unexpectedly, the steward’s grim face broke into a smile, and Anthea felt he had known who they were all along. “Ah, welcome to Cathness Castle, my lady,” he said smoothly. “I crave forgiveness for my curtness, but I had no idea I was addressing so fine a person. His Grace is in residence, and I am sure he will gladly extend his help and hospitality to you.”
“Well, that’s a little better,” Lady Letitia replied, mollified, “although I fear that you and the other servants here are guilty of gross dereliction of duty. We might have been robbers or murderers; yet, we have all but reached the castle doors without being detected. I will be having strong words with the duke.”
“My lady.” The steward’s smile did not waver, and he bowed deeply, “Please come this way.” The other men parted as he turned to lead the weary travelers beneath the gatehouse into the confines of Jovian’s castle, so beautiful in daylight, so mysterious and daunting after dark when the moon was blue.
Chapter Twenty
Footsteps and hooves echoed beneath the gatehouse as Anthea, Lady Letitia, and Longton followed Sebbriz into a graveled courtyard where wall torches and clipped bay trees in large terracotta pots created an entirely Tudor atmosphere. To Anthea, it was like stepping back in time. A farthingale, a ruff, and a red-curled wig looped with strings of pearls would have been more in keeping with these surroundings than their modern fashions.
Cathness Castle possessed some of the most magnificent mullioned oriel windows she had ever seen, certainly as fine as those at Hampton Court. Formed of five curved-bay levels set with leaded glass, they were not only very handsome but admitted a great deal of sunshine. At present the ground floor was in darkness, but hooped chandeliers on the upper floor revealed paneled walls, exquisitely ornamented plaster ceilings, and sumptuous Elizabethan furniture of a grandeur to suit Gloriana herself.
In the far corner of the courtyard, the principal entrance was approached up a flight of worn stone steps, at the foot of which everyone halted while the luggage was quickly unloaded from the horses by Sebbriz’s men. As two of the men then assisted Longton in leading the animals away to the stables, Sebbriz started up the steps, expecting the two women to follow, but Lady Letitia remained obstinately where she was.
“What of the carriage that we have been obliged to abandon?” she asked.
Sebbriz was glib. “No harm will come to the carriage or its contents, my lady.”
But Lady Letitia, accustomed to the business of London thieves and pickpockets, was not so easily fobbed off. “Sir, I am sure there are villains even in Cathness.”
“Certainly not, my lady. We do not even require
a constable.”
Confounded, she stared at him. “No constable?” she repeated.
“No, my lady, nor are there magistrates. Cathness does not need them. Disputes are heard by the manorial court of record, presided over by His Grace or occasionally by me. That is the way.”
“Indeed? Well in the eleventh duke’s time there were constables, magistrates, justices of the peace, and all other officers of the law. There were also proper courts of every description, not a manorial hodgepodge that has been cobbled together in order to usurp absolute power. The full panoply of the law is required in a town where the children are disobedient ne’er do wells, for such offspring reflect very badly indeed upon the adults and are proof positive that a mere court leet alone cannot successfully administer the required penalties.” Lady Letitia was at her most scathing and unreasonable.
“Billy Dennis is but one boy, my lady, and he will be severely reprimanded if found at fault.”
“If?” Lady Letitia glared with gimlet eyes. “My good man, are you presuming to question my word?”
Anthea quickly interrupted. “How did you know about Billy?” she asked the steward.
His eyes slid briefly to hers. “I was at the Cross Foxes not long after you called there,” he said smoothly. “Obed Dennis happened to mention that his boy, who I assure you is of excellent character, had gone with a fine carriage to direct it through the lanes. I merely put two and two together now.”
Anthea did not believe a word. Sebbriz knew about Billy Dennis because he was part of whatever it was that involved Sir Erebus Lethe, and therefore—she was sure—party to Corinna’s disappearance. But mindful of Jovian’s instructions to go along with whatever transpired, she did not press the matter further.