Storm In A Rain Barrel

by Anne Mather

  In the hall she hesitated, not sure where to find her guardian, but as she hovered there looking rather young and attractive in the unusual garb, her plait falling over one shoulder, James Mannering himself emerged from the direction of the kitchen looking younger than she had previously seen him in riding breeches and a navy sweater.

  He halted when he saw her, and a calculating look came into his eyes. ‘Well, well,’ he said, ‘who’d have thought Melanie’s gear would have become you so well!’

  Domine compressed her lips. ‘These are not your cousin’s pants,’ she admitted uncomfortably. ‘They belong to Lily.’

  ‘Lily Manvers?’

  ‘If she’s the maid, then yes,’ replied Domine, flushing. ‘Miss—Miss Grant’s were too—too large for me!’

  A smile broke his harsh features, and he ran a lazy hand over his dark hair. ‘I rather thought they might be,’ he murmured mockingly, ‘however, I imagine that was part of my mother’s plan, too.’

  ‘What do you mean?’ Domine looked bewildered, and he shook his head.

  ‘You’re to provide a distraction to the charms of my cousin,’ he murmured sardonically, and she didn’t know whether or not he was serious. ‘Unfortunately, you’re not supposed to provide an attraction as well,’ he continued.

  Domine couldn’t understand a word of this, and she turned away in exasperation as Melanie Grant came down the stairs as she had done the previous evening, still wearing the same jodhpurs, but a different coloured sweater. She carried a small whip in her hand which she flicked against the knee-length boots she wore, and Domine realized she was only wearing thin-soled shoes. Still, she thought, she had no boots anyway, so there was no point in distressing herself on that account.

  Melanie viewed Domine rather insultingly, then said: ‘Good heavens, that isn’t the outfit I sent you! Where did you get those cheap pants?’

  James intervened smoothly. ‘Lily lent her them,’ he said. ‘Yours—didn’t fit!’

  Melanie studied his expression, decided not to take offence and said: ‘Oh, very well, shall we go?’

  Outside, Domine had her first glimpse of Grey Witches in daylight and without the disguising sheet of rain. The sky was tinged the palest of pinks, and the clouds which had hung so heavily yesterday had dispersed to leave only a fleecy edging in the sky. The air was fresh and invigorating, with that wonderful smell of damp grass and vegetation, that seemed to add a subtle scent of its own. Smoke curled in the air from the chimneys of the houses down in the village which Domine realized now was some feet below them in the valley, while all around, outside the environs of the garden, stretched the violet-hued reaches of the moor. The colours dimmed from pastel green to deepest ebony and Domine felt her spirits rise excitedly. If the house had disappointed her, then certainly the moor did not, and she could not ever remember seeing so vast an area without any sign of habitation.

  She found James Mannering by her side, and glanced at him nervously. ‘Well?’ he said. ‘This is more like it, isn’t it?’

  ‘I—I think it’s beautiful,’ she confessed enthusiastically. ‘The vastness—the desolation. It has a peace somehow.’

  Melanie Grant turned to survey her impatiently. ‘You’ve never had to live here when the snow piles high against the walls and we’re cut off sometimes for weeks on end,’ she said dampeningly.

  ‘And nor have you,’ remarked James Mannering, looking at her rather mockingly. ‘And doesn’t it rather depend with whom one is isolated? For instance, I can think of nothing more romantic than being marooned out here, on the moors, with nothing to do but eat and sleep and….’ He allowed the sentence to finish itself in the minds of his listeners, and Domine was aware of an unusual tingle running up her spine. His voice had been deep and husky, and when his eyes turned to hers she had the feeling he was deliberately using his undoubted expertise to arouse some kind of reaction, most probably in an attempt to tease his cousin. But instead, it was Domine who felt disturbed, and she was glad when Melanie flicked her whip and suggested they went round to the stables.

  There were four horses in the stables; a bay gelding that the stableboy had saddled in readiness for Melanie, a grey, placid mare that was obviously a suitable mount for Domine, and two sleek hunters which looked the kind of mounts one would use to ride to hounds. James Mannering took one of these and suggested that Domine take the mare.

  ‘She’s a quiet animal,’ he said, stroking the mare’s muzzle. ‘My father used to ride her sometimes. She was his favourite.’

  ‘I thought that was your mother!’ remarked Melanie tauntingly, mounted on the gelding which moved about restlessly in the stable yard.

  Mannering looked up at her contemptuously. ‘What was that supposed to mean?’ he asked harshly.

  Melanie shrugged, flushing. ‘Oh, nothing,’ she said sulkily. ‘Are you ready? If so, let’s go!’

  Domine was again conscious of the undercurrents here, and she was glad to mount the mare and taking the reins she dug in her heels and sent the animal trotting out of the yard. To her relief, the previous experience she had had kept her in good stead, and she kept up with the others easily as they left the drive of the house and gave the horses their heads across the moor.

  It was exhilarating galloping along in the chill, morning air, the steam of their breath mingling with that of the horses. Domine had never felt such a sense of freedom and she decided to leave the others to their conversation and galloped on ahead, ignoring James Mannering when he called to her.

  Over a rise, an exciting view awaited her. Away ahead, shimmering in the distance, was the sea, only a paler shade of blue than the sky in the morning light. A watery sun was rising and it made her raise her hand to shade her eyes from the glare. She found she was sweating a little herself from the exertion of controlling the mare, and she shed her cardigan, fastening it to the pommel and dismounting slowly.

  An outcrop of rock provided an unexpected resting place, and she sat there feeling at peace with the world. The mare cropped the clumps of grass nearby, and there was a stillness that she had never before felt, not even in the chapel at the convent when she had requested to attend a service as a spectator.

  She sighed and stretched, raising her arms high above her head in a completely natural gesture when she realized she was no longer alone. James Mannering had walked his horse over the rise and was standing on its brink watching her, with eyes that contained a most enigmatic expression. He did not look particularly pleased, and she wondered whether she had inadvertently trespassed on to someone else’s property.

  Colouring under his gaze, she rose confusedly to her feet and realizing that a button of her blouse had come loose as she was stretching she fastened it hastily, wondering whether he could hear the sudden pounding of her heart.

  ‘I—I’m sorry,’ she said, feeling that she must break the ominous silence that had fallen. ‘Have you been waiting for me? Wh-where is Miss Grant?’

  ‘Miss Grant has returned to the house,’ he replied, at last, when she was beginning to think he wasn’t going to answer her. ‘What do you think you’re doing, wandering off like this?’ His tone was harsh.

  Domine was amazed at the anger he was so obviously suppressing, and she couldn’t begin to understand why her innocent expedition should have been misconstrued.

  ‘I—I thought you and Miss Grant might prefer to be alone,’ she faltered uncomfortably. ‘I—I didn’t imagine I was doing anything wrong.’

  Mannering’s brows drew together in a frown darkening a countenance that was already darkened by the sideburns that grew down his cheeks. Domine twisted her hands together, realizing that his attitude was doing something that she had hitherto not anticipated, that of making her aware of him not as her guardian, as a man old enough to be her father, but simply as a human being, a human male moreover, with human needs and desires. She shivered suddenly. Until this moment she had not appreciated the width of his shoulders, the muscular strength of his chest and litheness of his l
egs, but now she was conscious of the physical attraction of such a man, and it was not a comforting realization.

  With jerky movements, she turned her back on him, and gathered the mare’s reins preparatory to mounting.

  James Mannering ran his fingers caressingly down his horse’s neck, and said: ‘In future you will ride with us, is that understood?’

  Domine stared at him, for once shaken out of timidity. ‘Why?’ she asked sharply. ‘Am I to be allowed no freedom?’

  ‘Not on the moors, no. There are plenty of places where a man can hide here, hidden caves and gullies, where the canals used to flow under the moors, and still do in darkness. It could be dangerous!’ His eyes flickered impatiently. ‘Surely you have the sense to realize what could happen to you!’

  Domine mounted the mare. ‘I think you’re deliberately exaggerating, Mr. Mannering,’ she said irritably. ‘I don’t know why, but something has angered you. Just don’t make me the whipping boy for that kind of frustration!’

  And with that comment she dug in her heels and sent the mare cantering away, leaving him still standing by his hunter. She was trembling when she reached the stables, and she was in no mood to cross swords with Melanie Grant, but obviously the other girl had been waiting for her.

  ‘So James didn’t find you,’ she said, with some satisfaction. ‘Riding off like that! What did you hope to achieve? A tête-à-tête with your guardian, perhaps?’

  Domine brushed past her. ‘Oh, don’t be ridiculous!’ she exclaimed impatiently.

  Melanie caught her arm, preventing her escape. ‘Yes,’ she said, surveying Domine insultingly, ‘I suppose it is ridiculous really. Little mouse, what on earth was old Henry doing putting you on James’s conscience? A sort of—love me, love my dog situation, isn’t it? Or in your case—inherit my house, inherit my great-niece!’ She laughed mockingly, and Domine stood, staring at her uncomprehendingly.

  ‘What do you mean?’ she asked unsteadily.

  Melanie gave a smirk of satisfaction. ‘Don’t you know? Of course, James would keep a thing like that to himself!’ She turned and slapped the rump of her horse so that it moved a trifle protestingly.

  Domine caught her arm. ‘Tell me!’ she said; then appealingly: ‘Please!’

  Melanie’s expression softened a little. Then she sniffed. ‘Well, I suppose I might as well. Aunt Geraldine is bound to let it slip sooner or later. Your name wasn’t mentioned in Henry Farriday’s will. But the solicitors knew of your existence, and as there were only six months to go to your reaching the age of independence, James agreed to become your guardian in place of his father!’

  CHAPTER FOUR

  FOR a moment after Melanie had finished speaking Domine just stared at her, her eyes wide and disbelieving and yet already mirroring the pain she was feeling. Melanie seemed instantly to regret that she had spoken so rashly, and in an attempt to distract Domine’s attention from her revelations, she shaded her eyes and said: ‘Why, here’s James coming now. He’ll be relieved to see you’ve got back safely.’

  Domine stared at her a moment longer, glanced once in the direction Melanie had indicated, and then with a muffled sob she ran blindly across the stable yard, and into the house, panting as she sped up the stairs to the comparative sanctuary of her room. Once there, she sank down shakily on to her bed and buried her face in her hands. Oh, God, she thought despairingly, so that was why he had found her such an encumbrance. He had not expected or wanted a ward, and his treatment of her, a mixture of impatience and gentleness, had been merely a front to hide his real feelings. Only today, on the moors, he had shown she was merely a nuisance to him, someone who deserved his contempt for being so utterly reliant upon him.

  She pressed the palms of her hands against her cheeks, feeling unutterably miserable. So much had happened since she left the convent two days ago, so many complex problems had arisen, so many undercurrents had become apparent to her, and she was not equipped to deal with them. Even now, she had barely touched the surface of the man who was her guardian, whether of his own volition or otherwise. These three people into whose lives she had unwillingly been thrust all had involvements of their own and she was the least knowledgeable of them all.

  She got unsteadily to her feet and as she did so caught a glimpse of herself in the many mirrors of the dressing table. She looked different somehow, and she realized it was the trousers Lily had lent her which gave shape to her slim hips and slender legs. The blouse was taut across her rounded young breasts and she realized with almost a sense of shock that she looked less of a child and more of a woman. Was that how James Mannering had seen her? Was that just another thing to annoy him, the realization that she could not be dismissed to the schoolroom like a child could have been?

  She turned away from the mirror. Whatever her feelings she could not stay in her bedroom indefinitely, and presently no doubt someone would come to make the bed and tidy the room. After breakfast she would have to get around to unpacking her clothes, but right now she must make herself look less flushed and windblown.

  She unfastened her hair from its confining braid and taking a brush she began to smooth it over her shoulders. It was amazing how much frustration could be dispelled by that simple action, and she tried not to think of the implications of Melanie’s revelations. How could she stay here now, knowing he had merely taken pity on her? Somehow she must get away, make a life for herself, get a job! Oh, how thoughtless Henry Farriday had been, disregarding his guardianship of herself completely. Even if he had only left enough money to enable her to finish her schooling, she could have managed.

  She was in the process of considering what her first actions should be when there was a knock at her door. Thinking it was Lily, she called ‘Come in’ and continued to brush her hair. Thick and silky, it fell straight and smooth, framing her face and drawing attention to the darkness of her eyes.

  But when the door opened it was not Lily Manvers who entered the room but James Mannering, looking dark and angry, those naked blue eyes raking her mercilessly. He closed the door, and she rose from her seat at the dressing table feeling suddenly disturbed by his intervention into her thoughts. She was intensely conscious of her unbraided hair and tear-stained appearance, and she held back her hair from her face and faced him with apprehension.

  Mannering ran a hand through his own hair, then said rather huskily: ‘I want to know what Melanie told you in the stable yard that caused you to dash up here just now as though the devil himself was at your heels.’

  Domine pressed a hand to her throat, shaking her head. ‘I—I’d rather not talk about it just now,’ she said, compressing her lips. ‘I haven’t had—had time to consider it.’

  ‘Oh, for the Lord’s sake!’ he exclaimed. ‘I know what she said!’

  Domine coloured. ‘Then why ask? You must know how I felt. She—she merely clarified your position, that’s all. Now I need time to clarify mine.’

  He put his hands on his hips. ‘There’s no clarification needed,’ he snapped shortly. ‘It doesn’t make the slightest bit of difference.’

  ‘Oh, but it does,’ she contradicted him unsteadily. ‘I—I can’t stay here now. I don’t want your charity. I’m quite capable of getting a job—’

  ‘You think so?’ His tone was sardonic and cold.

  ‘I know so.’ She turned away, biting her lip to stop it from trembling. It had been bad enough before, but this was worse.

  There was silence for a moment, and Domine took a deep breath. Then he said in a quiet voice that nevertheless brooked no argument: ‘Now, I’ll tell you what you’re going to do, shall I?’ When she did not answer he continued: ‘You are going to forget every word that Melanie said. She’s not so bad when you get to know her, but like my mother, she’s grown used to fighting for what she wants, and she’s forgotten there are still people in the world who are not tarred with the same brush.’

  Domine bent her head. ‘You can’t make me stay here,’ she said tightly.

  �
��Oh, but I can,’ he muttered icily.

  ‘I’m nothing to you. I’m not even your ward.’ Domine swung round. ‘I should have thought you would have been only too glad to discharge your responsibilities!’

  He glared at her. ‘What is that supposed to mean?’

  Domine stiffened her shoulders. ‘I don’t want to stay here, anyway. I’ve met nothing but antagonism since I came. You’re not going to pretend your mother would care if I left.’

  He stepped towards her, his eyes brilliant with his frustration that she should cross him in this. Maybe he had thought she was like a pawn on a chessboard, thought Domine—silent and helpless, willing to be moved when it suited him. Now he had discovered she had a will of her own.

  ‘Has our treatment of you been so terrible?’ he asked harshly.

  Domine’s colour deepened. ‘No, of course not. But I’m in the way here—’

  ‘Who said so?’

  Domine shook her head. ‘Why didn’t you just leave me in the orphanage?’ she asked unhappily.

  His eyes were glitteringly close to hers. ‘Because I was foolish enough as to imagine you might be glad to leave an institution for a proper home life,’ he bit out furiously.

  ‘Here?’

  ‘Where else?’

  Domine lifted her shoulders. ‘And if I still want to go?’

  ‘Then I should have to think of some method of preventing you,’ he replied. ‘And believe me, I would find some way.’

  ‘But why?’

  ‘Because I have no intention of turning an innocent like you loose on the world. As I told you before, my father would have gauged my reactions. He never did anything without reason.’