April Lynn Kihlstrom
This title was previously published by Avalon Books; this version has been reproduced from the Avalon book archive files.
As the bus bounced and jolted its way along, Wendy was beginning to doubt the wisdom of this trip. The tour had sounded good: visit seven castles in one weekend for one low price. But now she wondered if it was worth it. If the bus and guide were any indication, the tour would definitely be low budget. She sighed and sent up a silent prayer that all the inns would have hot water.
What worried Wendy most, however, was Kevin’s irritation at her determination to take the tour. Bored by castles, he couldn’t understand that she might find them more interesting than a weekend with him. Well, that worried her, too, frankly. If she really loved Kevin Lisle, wouldn’t she have stayed in London?
With another sigh, Wendy leaned back and closed her eyes. But only for a moment. England was still so new to her that she was reluctant to miss any of the countryside. The late Friday afternoon sky was cloudy and Wendy hoped it wouldn’t rain. At least not until after midnight on Sunday when she would be back in London.
The guide was standing now and began to speak. That must mean they were near the first castle. She looked at the list on her lap. Pellen’s castle, called Trondelaine, was first. That was what the guide was saying. “…Trondelaine. First built, heaven knows when. There are still some old ruins on the estate, presumably from the original Trondelaine. No one is to go near those ruins! Is that absolutely clear? Now, the castle we will see was built in the sixteenth century; repaired and added onto since. It is at least the third castle to stand on that spot. The current owner is Lord Richard Pellen, nineteenth Earl of Loftsbury. Unlike some of the families of castles we will see, his family still has money left. So we are lucky to be allowed to see the castle at all. He doesn’t need the money.”
“Then why’s he letting us see it?” someone called out.
Amid laughter, the guide shrugged. “Don’t know. He’s a bit of an eccentric. Nice one minute, snappy the next. So don’t plague him with questions. Ask me.”
His speech concluded, the guide sat down. Wendy yawned. She glanced around at the others on the bus. Every seat was full. Judging by the accents she had overheard, they were mostly British, with a few Americans. But accents could be deceptive. Her own was American, but she was half British by birth. And, at that moment, if asked to which nationality she belonged, Wendy could not have answered.
She avoided looking at the young man who sat next to her. Twice, already, he had tried to start a conversation, but she was definitely not interested. She thought again of Kevin. How she wished he were sitting beside her, instead of this stranger. If he loved her, as he said he did, why hadn’t he been willing to come along on this tour when he knew it mattered so much to her? She sighed once more.
“Something wrong?” the now familiar voice asked her.
She turned to face the young man. “No,” she said coolly.
He laughed, not unpleasantly. “Not to worry. I know you want to be left to yourself.” Then he went back to his reading.
Resolutely, Wendy turned and stared out the window. They passed a number of farms, but no villages. Then the bus was driving up a long, winding, poorly paved road. And Wendy had her first sight of the castle. It rose ponderously, a massive structure with the oddness of a building that has seen many alterations.
At one end, about a hundred yards past the castle, stood one of the ruins the guide had mentioned. It was an ancient tower, now roofless, with gaping holes. The bus came to a halt at the opposite end of the castle and everyone tumbled out, hurried by the guide. At the steps of the castle, on a terrace, a man stood waiting. From the bus, Wendy could not be certain, but it seemed he smiled sardonically.
Wendy paused to glance around. A well-trimmed lawn surrounded at least two sides of the castle. Farther on, however, trees grew in abundance, some of them very old and tall. From somewhere came the scent of roses, and Wendy guessed there must be a garden. She was still looking about when the guide’s voice called, “Come, come, Miss! We haven’t all day, you know!”
Wendy flushed as she realized he meant her. She ran up to the group on the terrace. The man waiting by the steps glared at her and, unconsciously, she tilted up her chin in defiance. The guide began his explanation, first repeating most of what he had said on the bus. As she listened, Wendy stared at the other man.
He was about thirty and had dark brown hair and light-colored eyes. His entire expression was one of boredom. He dressed with a casual elegance that marked him as wealthy. There could be no question: this was Lord Pellen. Wendy felt a vague surprise that he was not older. Oh, well, it was none of her affair.
She concentrated on the guide, who was saying, “Notice that the castle is built of stone, not brick, as Hampton Court was. That is because the castle was built from the stone of the previous castle that stood on this spot. That is also the reason the castle is shaped in the form of a U, and not a rectangle with an inner court, like most of the castles of its day. There simply were not enough stones.
“You may wonder why the tower and other ruins were not torn down for their materials. The answer is that there was said to be a curse on these ruins, and that each member of the family that tore them down would die a horrible death. The first Lord Pellen decided not to test the curse. Now, as we enter the castle, it will be into the Great Hall. You will notice the huge fireplaces at each end.”
The guide turned and led the way. Even now, in the middle of summer, the Great Hall was very cool. It was furnished very differently than it must have been originally. There were thick carpets on the floor, but no tapestries on the walls. Light, airy curtains instead of heavy draperies guarded the windows made of heavy, leaded glass. Here and there, tapestry-covered chairs stood against the wall. Between these chairs were glass-fronted cabinets holding daggers and pistols and swords. The guide led them quickly past the cabinets, describing the contents of each very briefly.
He also called attention to the plastered walls and painted ceilings. Lord Pellen moved ahead of the group without seeming to be aware of its presence. At one end of the hall, a grand stairway swept upward. But to Wendy’s disappointment, Lord Pellen led them to a door at the opposite end of the hall.
This door opened onto a hallway. “When the castle was first built,” the guide said, “hallways did not exist, as such. Rooms simply opened into each other. All of the hallways in this castle were added by the eleventh Earl of Loftsbury around the beginning of the nineteenth century. Now, the first room we come to on the left is the dining hall. The second will be the billiard room.
“The furnishings are typically Victorian and were chosen by the wife of the fifteenth Earl. On the right side of the hallway are the more interesting rooms. These are the four sitting and drawing rooms, each furnished from a different period. Each of these rooms is associated with either a king or a prince who used the room while a guest at Trondelaine, and the furnishings reflect this.”
There was barely time to look at each room before they were being urged forward by the guide. The different furnishings interested Wendy. And she was the last to join the group standing at the base of the stairway at the end of the hallway.
The guide, who stood on the first step of this impressive staircase, was saying, “On my right is the guest wing, which we will not visit. It also contains the music room, but as that has been recently refurnished in a modern style, it is of no interest to us. On my left is the library. It is of no historical interest and we will now proceed upstairs.
“At the top of the stairs, to your right, will be the master bedrooms, which we will not see. These were traditionally put at the disposal of visiting royalty.
Facing the stairs, you will note a sturdy seat set against the wall. In former times, lackeys would do nothing but sit there waiting for a guest or member of the family to give them orders.
“Tradition has it that the practice of having such lackeys in attendance ended here at Trondelaine after it was discovered that one of the lackeys was performing the task of delivering messages a little too well, and an elopement resulted.”
He paused for a moment, to permit laughter, then continued. “On the left, along the hallway, is a series of guest rooms, which we will not visit. We will proceed directly to the gallery, or Long Room, which is on the right, just past a large linen closet. Come along!”
Everyone mounted the stairs, Lord Pellen in advance, as usual. The Long Room held portraits. Every Lord (and Lady) Pellen seemed to be represented, except the present Earl. There were also paintings of various sons and daughters. Every window had a soft window seat and Wendy wondered whether any courtships had taken place in this room. It seemed unlikely with so many ancestors looking on.
Soon, the guide was calling them across the hall to the tapestry room. “Most of the castle’s tapestries are now to be found in museums,” he explained. “In this chamber are preserved the best of the family tapestries. Temperature and humidity are carefully controlled. Please do not touch! Good. Next we go to the weaving room.”
Noisily, everyone followed directions with Lord Pellen remaining silent. Some time later, as everyone clustered around the base of the stairs again, the guide said, “For those of you who need it, you will find a W.C. under the staircase. I’ll wait for you. Those who aren’t in need will proceed with Lord Pellen to the garden. We all meet at the bus at nine p.m. sharp!”
Wendy was one of those who followed Lord Pellen through the Great Hall to the dining room and out the door. The garden was full of all varieties of flowers, but predominantly roses.
“The old well,” Lord Pellen said curtly, pointing to a structure in the center of the garden, “still supplies the castle water, but now with an electric pump. Out past the east wing is the castle chapel. It is locked at the moment.”
He seemed to consider that sufficient explanation for all possible questions. Wendy, like the others, began to wander. She decided to look at the chapel, if only from the outside. She was delighted to discover that it was an octagonal building with stained-glass windows. As Lord Pellen had said, it was locked. She turned and saw the ruined tower she had noted from the bus. Recklessly, she ran toward it.
Wendy was about fifteen feet away when she noticed five children watching her from a gaping hole in the tower wall. One of them waved and, automatically, Wendy waved also. The heads disappeared and, curious, Wendy moved closer. She reached the base of the tower and stood looking up at the stairs. They circled upward, into darkness, crumbling and cracked. Suddenly, one of the children screamed. Instinctively, Wendy mounted the stairs as quickly as she could.
“I’m coming!” she called.
Then it happened. Her foot slipped and she slid down, several feet, and landed, her foot twisted under her. Footsteps from above clattered down toward her, overlaid by anxious children’s voices. They stopped as they saw her.
“Cor!” the biggest boy exclaimed. “It was you screamed just now!”
Had she? Wendy’s head was swimming and she couldn’t be sure. One of the little girls said, “We didn’t mean no harm. It was a joke, Billy yellin’.”
“C’mon!” the first boy said. “We got to get out of here. They’ll have heard ‘er. Anyone catches us here we’re in for a beating.”
He started forward, followed by the others. The pain of her foot blocked all other thoughts from Wendy’s mind. As the children eased past her, one of them whispered, “Not to worry, the master’ll be here any minute.”
Wendy closed her eyes against the pain. Then she realized she was alone and panic gripped her. “Help! I’m in the tower!” she began shouting.
After what seemed an eternity, an angry voice came floating up to her. “Who is up there? Come down!”
“Wendy Pratt. I’m with the tour. And I can’t come down. I’ve hurt my foot.”
She heard the voice swearing. Another joined it. Wendy recognized the guide. The two voices conversed for several moments, but Wendy did not even try to follow what they were saying. She was crying now. Other voices also became audible. Apparently the entire tour was grouping itself around the tower.
Finally, she heard footsteps come up the stairs, cautiously. Hastily, Wendy wiped her eyes with the back of her hand. The first face she saw was Lord Pellen’s, the mouth set in a hard line. Close behind him was the tour guide.
As soon as he saw her, he began complaining, “You! I might have guessed! I told you no one was to go near these bloody ruins. Now what are we supposed to do with you?”
Lord Pellen interrupted, “What’s wrong?”
“My foot-or the ankle-it hurts!”
Lord Pellen reached out and felt the ankle gently. Wendy winced. He turned and faced the guide. “We’ll have to get her down somehow. I can’t be sure, but the ankle may be sprained or broken.”
The guide shot a look of pure hate at Wendy. “We’re late as it is! I can’t wait around here until some doctor comes. We’re due at the inn at ten, and they won’t hold supper long. And what’s she going to do on the tour with a busted ankle?”
Lord Pellen interrupted again. “First, we are going to get her down those stairs. Then I’ll take care of her. You’ll leave her here at the castle and go on with your group. If she’s got a valise, you’ll leave it here.”
“All right, your lordship,” the guide said with relief. Then he turned to Wendy. “Mind you, there’s no refund! You were warned not to go near these ruins!”
Wearily, Wendy nodded. She didn’t care about the refund. She just wanted to get out of there. Gripping the shoulders of the two men, she started down the stairs between them. Progress was slow because of the condition of the stairs. But at last they were outside.
“You may take your people and go,” Lord Pellen said to the guide. “But be sure to leave her bag.”
The guide nodded. Then he turned to the crowd. “All right, everyone. Come along, now. Back to the bus if you want your supper tonight. Come on, everyone.”
Obediently, the group members trouped back to the bus and Wendy was left alone with Lord Pellen. He spoke curtly. “My servants are calling for the doctor. I won’t move you any more until he checks you and says that it’s safe to.”
“I-thank you, Lord Pellen,” Wendy said meekly. “You’re being very kind about all this.”
Lord Pellen turned to face her, his expression impossible to read. “Don’t deceive yourself-Miss Pratt, was it? You will be cared for as is necessary. But I’m not a fool. I am well aware that it was your intention to find a way into my castle. You have succeeded, but do not imagine that will further your plans.”
Wendy gasped and said stiffly, “I don’t know what you’re talking about. Nor do I intend to trespass on your hospitality. Once the doctor has seen me, I’ll be quite pleased to go and stay at the local inn.”
His laugh was harsh. “Don’t act like a fool. You know very well there is no inn within an hour’s drive from here. You have to stay at the castle. And I’m quite sure you knew that in advance. Let us understand one another. There are only four possible reasons why you might be here. One is that you are a journalist. Two is that you hope to become my mistress or marry me. The third is that you intend to pretend to be hurt far worse than you are and sue me. Four is that you are part of a burglary gang and are here to `case the joint,’ as they say. You will not succeed.”
As she listened, Wendy grew steadily angrier. “I suppose hurting my foot was all part of the plot?” she demanded sarcastically.
His answer astonished her. “Yes. That or some similar injury. Oh, be honest! You were well warned not to go near these ruins. And why else would you? Even the children on my estate know better than to play here.”
&
nbsp; “Do they?”
“Yes, Miss Pratt, they do. They’ve been told that if they are caught playing here, they’ll receive a good beating. None of them would risk it.”
Wendy stared at him, hesitating. She wanted to vindicate herself, but she did not want to betray the children. “I assure you, Lord Pellen, I have no intention of suing you, robbing you, or interviewing you. As for pursuing you, I happen to be engaged.”
“Oh?” His eyes were on her left hand. “You wear no ring.”
Wendy bit her lip, already regretting the lie. She tried to brazen it out. “The ring is in the jeweler’s shop, being resized.”
He continued to stare at her. “I meant what I said. You will not succeed in whatever it is you intend. I plan to have you well watched.” He paused at the sound of a car. “That will be Dr. Witter.”
In the growing darkness, the two continued to regard each other warily. They turned away only as another figure came into view. He was tall. Much taller than Lord Pellen, with dark hair and eyes. He seemed to be about Lord Pellen’s age and carried a medical bag.
“Hello, Richard!” he called jauntily. “What’s wrong here? Charles said a young lady had hurt herself.”
Lord Pellen waved a disdainful hand at Wendy. “Good evening, Roger. This is the girl. One of the tourists. Hurt her foot in the tower.”
Every inch of Wendy’s twenty-three-year-old frame bristled at the appellation “girl.” Roger smiled as he noted her anger. He crouched down to examine the foot. “Does it hurt here? Here? What about here?”
“Yes. No. Yes, Doctor.” Wendy winced.
For several minutes the doctor was silent. Lord Pellen became impatient. “Is it broken? Will she have to be taken to the hospital?”
The doctor frowned. “Certainly not the hospital. But she’ll have to come to my clinic for X-rays. I want to be sure nothing is broken. If it is, I can set it there. Unfortunately, I haven’t any spare beds at the moment.”
“Not to worry,” Lord Pellen said grimly, “I’ve already arranged for her to stay here at the castle.”
Trondelaine Castle Page 1