The Time of the Hunter's Moon

by Victoria Holt

  “That is the arrangement.”

  “It must be pleasant for them to be at school so near their home.”

  He lifted his shoulders.

  “You may have heard that we have just had a bereavement in the family.”

  “Yes, I am sorry. The funeral was yesterday—the day when I arrived.”

  “That was strange, wasn’t it?”

  “Strange?”

  “That I should have been coming from my late wife’s funeral when our carriages met.”

  “I would hardly call it strange. They just happened to be in the same spot at the same time. These lanes are very narrow. Vehicles meeting like that must be quite a common occurrence.”

  “Not as often as you would think,” he said. “I suppose we don’t get a great deal of traffic. I do apologize for ordering your carriage to go back.”

  “Please forget it. It’s of no importance.”

  “You thought me a little…arrogant?”

  “I understand that you must have been very upset on such an occasion.”

  “Then we are friends?”

  “Well…hardly that…” I looked ahead. “It seems rather a long way back to the town.”

  “You did stray rather far.”

  “Why, it is nearly a quarter to eleven. I am meeting Miss Eccles at the Drake’s Drum at eleven.”

  “The Drake’s Drum is a very good hostelry. It does good business on market days.”

  “How far are we from the town?”

  “You’ll be there by eleven.”

  “Is it as far as that?”

  He raised his eyebrows deprecatingly and nodded.

  There was something about the smile which played about his lips which disturbed me. I wished I had tried to find the way myself. I was sure that he had taken me round a long way.

  “I shall hope to see more of you, Miss er…”

  “Grant.”

  “Yes, Miss Grant. I hope you will visit the Hall sometimes. We have a concert now and then to which Miss Hetherington comes and allows some of her staff and even pupils to attend. There are occasions when I am invited to the school, so I am sure we shall have opportunities of meeting.”

  I was silent for a few moments. Then I said: “Are you sure this is the road?”

  “I assure you that it is.”

  We rode on in silence for some time and then with great relief I saw the town ahead of us.

  I spurred my horse and we galloped along together until we reached the outskirts of the town.

  “You see,” he said, “I have delivered you safely. I believe you thought at one time that I was leading you astray.”

  “I thought it was a long way back.”

  “For me the time flew.”

  “I know where I am now. Thank you for your help.”

  “It was the greatest pleasure.”

  He remained by my side until we reached the Drake’s Drum. Eileen Eccles was already there. She had come out into the porch where she had obviously been looking anxiously for me.

  “I lost my way,” I said.

  Jason Verringer took off his hat and bowed to us. Then he rode off.

  I said to Eileen: “I met him when I was wondering which road to take and he showed me the way back. Where shall I put my horse?”

  “I’ll show you.”

  She led me to the yard and then we went back into the inn parlor.

  “He has soon discovered you,” she said.

  “I was lost. He appeared by chance and offered to show me the way back. It did seem a very long way.”

  “I daresay he saw to that. Come into the parlor. I’ll order some cider for you. I was beginning to get a little worried.”

  “So was I. I thought I was never going to get back. I wasn’t sure of the way but I believe I could have found it myself as easily.”

  “So you were escorted by the mourning widower.”

  “He didn’t seem to be mourning particularly.”

  “Rejoicing more likely from what I hear.”

  The cider came. It was cool and refreshing.

  “They’re noted for it in this part of the world,” said Eileen. “So you haven’t seen anything of the town. Not that there’s much to see.”

  “Did you find what you wanted?”

  “Not exactly what I wanted but what I can make do with. This will help us along for a while. There won’t be any time for looking round now. We have to start back as soon as you’ve finished your cider.”

  “I wish now that I had stayed in town.”

  “He would have discovered you sooner or later. He has a reputation, you know, for assessing the females within his range.”

  “Oh…but he is in mourning at the moment. Only yesterday his wife was buried.”

  “I am sure he was scarcely beating his breast, tearing his sackcloth and scattering his ashes.”

  “Far from it.”

  “At least he’s honest. He probably feels like killing the fatted calf. No, that’s the wrong analogy. He’s rejoicing anyway…”

  “Was it as bad as that?”

  “There’s a tremendous amount of gossip about him. That’s one thing the Verringers have always done. Provided the neighborhood with plenty to talk about. The story is that he married that wife of his…arranged marriage…because she brought some big estate with her. But she had an accident in the hunting field not long after the marriage which crippled her and that meant that there was no Verringer heir—and as there have been Verringer heirs from fifteen hundred and something, ever since the Verringers took over the Abbey lands, that was a matter which could bring no delight to the family. Sir Jason would end the direct line because his younger brother, father of the two girls, died. Would the estates go to a female? Horror throughout the land! And yet, what short of murder could give Sir Jason another chance?”

  “Murder!”

  “Not a word to be lightly bandied about among ordinary folk. But Verringers? Who shall say? In any case the lady dutifully died, and as you arrived the bell was tolling for her.”

  “You make it sound very macabre.”

  “I am told that any adjective may be applied to the Verringers and often is. Well, the lady died and there are rumors around…”

  “I thought she was ill for a long time.”

  “Crippled. Useless for reproduction purposes. But not an illness which is going to prove fatal, you understand. Then Marcia Martindale appears on the scene, gives birth to an infant, and Lady Verringer dies.”

  “This is all becoming very involved.”

  “You are going to live here so you will have to learn something of the local inhabitants, and the most colorful, exciting, dramatic—one might say melodramatic—are the Verringers. With Jason there have always been…women. It is a family trait and with an incapacitated wife what can anyone expect of such a virile lusty gentleman. There’s a house not far from the Abbey. It’s called Rooks’ Rest—presumably because it is surrounded by elms in which rooks choose to make their nests. It’s a small house, Queen Anne and elegant. One of the Verringer aunts lived there for years. It must have been about eighteen months ago when Marcia Martindale was installed there—strikingly handsome and undoubtedly pregnant. Sir Jason set her up there, and there she has remained. It is rather blatant but when you are in the position of Sir Jason, you don’t have to worry about local reaction. He is after all the powerful overlord, owning all the property and the houses people live in. Such people cannot pass too much judgment on these little peccadilloes. They may be sniggered at, always behind a concealing hand, and little more than a shrugging of the shoulders, and raising of eyes to heaven is permitted.”

  “Nevertheless a great deal of scandal does seem to be circulating about that man.”

  “My dear Miss Grant…may I call you Cordelia? Miss Grant is rather formal and we shall be seeing a lot of each other.”

  “Please do…Eileen.”

  “That’s settled. What was I saying? Oh…little Miranda. Nobody doubts who her pr
ogenitor is. It’s all so blatantly obvious, and Sir Jason would scorn to cover up any of his actions because he would construe that as weakness. He is the law around here. The rumor is that he has one child and could get more. Who knows, the next might be the longed-for boy. The stage is set. And what happens? Lady Verringer dies.”

  “It sounds diabolical. How did she die?”

  “I believe it was an overdose of laudanum. She suffered pain and used to take it. That’s the story. You came in at the end of the act to hear the bell tolling for the departed lady. Now the curtain will rise again…on what?”

  “You do make it sound like a melodrama.”

  “Believe me, Cordelia. What did I tell you? Where that man is there will be melodrama. Now I have acquainted you with our greatest scandal, and what is more to the point, you have finished your cider. It is time we left.”

  We paid for the cider, complimented the landlord on his brew, and came out into the sunshine.

  ***

  Over the weekend the mistresses began to arrive as Daisy had said they would.

  There was Miss Evans, who taught geography; Miss Barston, who specialized in needlework stressing embroidery and gros point; and Miss Parker, who instructed the girls in physical exercises. Mathematics was taught by a man, James Fairley, who, like the dancing, riding and music masters, did not live in, as Daisy thought it was quite unsuitable for men to live under the same roof as the girls. She was sure the parents would not like it.

  “Not,” commented Eileen, “that they could not get up to certain tricks without necessarily sleeping under the monastic roof. But it is the look of the thing that counts.”

  I found my fellow teachers all inclined to be pleasant and I was sure that I was going to get along very well with them.

  It was the advent of the girls for which I was eagerly waiting.

  On Monday they began to arrive—many on the morning train and the others in the afternoon. The atmosphere of the place was immediately changed. The Abbey became a school. There were excited voices, reunion of friends, frenzied talk about what they had done during the holidays.

  On Monday evening at seven o’clock they were all gathered for what Daisy called Assembly in the hall which had been the Lay Brothers’ infirmary. I looked eagerly along the lines of faces. The eldest must have been eighteen; the youngest fourteen. I felt a little uneasy on account of my own youth rather than my inexperience. I wondered how many of those young women would feel about being instructed by someone not very much older than themselves.

  However, I was determined to be dignified and maintain discipline at all costs for I did know from my experience at Schaffenbrucken that once that slipped there could be trouble.

  There was a dais at the end of the hall and on this sat Miss Hetherington with her staff ranged round her. She addressed the girls briefly, welcoming them back to what she hoped would be a productive year.

  “We have to welcome a newcomer to our ranks. Miss Grant. We are delighted to have her with us, and I am sure you will greatly profit from what she has to teach you. She herself has lately come from Schaffenbrucken in Switzerland of which you will all have heard.”

  I saw one girl whisper to another behind her hand and the other suppressed a giggle. The whisperer was a tall girl with sandy hair worn in a plait round her head. I sensed something aggressive about her, and I felt that if ever she came within my orbit I might be called upon to do battle with her.

  “Now, girls,” went on Daisy, “we shall all go to supper and afterwards you will retire quietly to your rooms. Many of you are in the same ones as last term, but there have been changes. You will see from the notice on the board. Dismiss now.”

  We ate together—the mistresses at one table, the girls at another. Miss Parker said grace and I learned that she was responsible for religious instruction.

  After supper we went to our rooms. I was glad of this because I wanted to make the acquaintance of the girls who had been allotted to my care.

  I noticed that the Verringer girls were not there and remembered that they were among those who were returning on Tuesday.

  As I went into my room there was a hushed silence. I knew the girls were in their rooms listening and I thought it would be a good idea to visit them and have a little talk with each of them. I recalled what Daisy had told me about them. I knew Teresa Hurst of course and that she was sharing with Caroline Sangton. I didn’t expect trouble from Teresa. She and I had become good friends since our first encounter and I was aware that she was already growing fond of me. She had told me a little about the girls in my section. Caroline Sangton, who shared with her, was the daughter of a city businessman and rather looked down on by the others led by Charlotte Mackay because they had heard there was something derogatory about being in “trade.” Caroline was a stolid girl apparently who didn’t much care what the others thought and she and Teresa got along quite well together without actually becoming great friends.

  Most of the girls were crazy about horses and waiting impatiently for riding times—especially Charlotte Mackay who was the best horsewoman of them all. Teresa did not say, but I guessed, that she herself was not so eager and was, in fact, a little scared of the horses.

  I went first to Teresa who introduced me to Caroline with an air of pride because she already knew me. I was pleased to see how relaxed she was in my company. If all the girls were as easy to understand as Teresa, my task would present few difficulties.

  “We’re glad you’ve come, Miss Grant,” said Caroline. “Teresa was telling me all about you and my father is very pleased that we are going to have social training.”

  “I am sure you will profit from it, Caroline,” I said in my best schoolteacher manner. “You’ll keep your room tidy and there must not be talking after ‘lights out.’ I have explained that to Teresa.”

  “Oh yes, Miss Grant.”

  “Well, good night, Caroline, and good night, Teresa. I am sure you are glad to have your room-mate back.”

  “Yes thank you, Miss Grant,” said Teresa smiling shyly at me.

  I was sure I had an ally in Teresa.

  The next visit was not quite so harmonious and I was a little dismayed to find that the whisperer I had noticed was one of my girls—in fact she was the Honorable Charlotte Mackay, tall, rather gawky, though she might grow into gracefulness, sandy-haired with a quantity of freckles and scanty eyebrows and lashes. Her companion was Patricia Cartwright, the banker’s daughter. Patricia was small and dark and I guessed would not be a troublemaker on her own but might well respond to Charlotte Mackay’s influence.

  Neither of the girls was in bed. Patricia Cartwright was seated at the dressing table brushing her hair; Charlotte Mackay was sprawling on her bed fully dressed.

  She did not rise when I entered though Patricia stood up rather shamefacedly.

  “Hello,” I said. “Charlotte Mackay and Patricia Cartwright. I am looking in to see you all before we retire. I am sure we shall get along very well together if you keep your rooms tidy and remember that there must be no talking after ‘lights out.’”

  “Mademoiselle never complained,” said Charlotte Mackay. So I gathered Mademoiselle Dupont had occupied my room last term.

  “Then I am sure I shall have no need to either.”

  Charlotte and Patricia exchanged covert glances—a habit which irritated me as it implied a suggestion of conspiracy between them against me.

  “Good night,” I said firmly.

  “Oh, Miss er…” began Charlotte.

  I felt I should have told her to stand up when addressing me, but was unsure whether it would have been wise at this stage to insist on that. The last thing I must show was uncertainty, but I did not want to begin by declaring war on this girl whose manner betrayed a certain bellicose attitude toward authority.

  “Yes, Charlotte?”

  “Last term I shared with Eugenie Verringer.”

  “Oh, I see. This term she is with her sister.”

  “We wanted
to be together this term. We planned to be together.”

  “I am sure you will get along very happily with Patricia.”

  “Patricia was with Fiona.”

  “Well, it will be a little different this time.”

  “Miss Grant, I want to be with Eugenie and Patricia wants to be with Fiona.”

  I looked from one to the other. Patricia did not meet my eyes and I knew she was being forced into this by Charlotte Mackay.

  “I can’t see any reason why we should be changed,” went on Charlotte.

  “Miss Hetherington doubtless can.”

  “You’re in charge, Miss Grant. It is for you to say. It’s nothing to do with Miss Hetherington.”

  I was angry. I knew that she was baiting me as some young people did when they thought they had a weakling to deal with. I could understand why Teresa was uneasy when she talked about Charlotte. I had no doubt that Charlotte was a bully—and I would not have bullying while I was in charge.

  “Will you please stand up or sit up properly when addressing me. It is impolite to loll on your bed like that.”

  “Not how they do in Schaffenbrucken,” said Charlotte with a sly smile.

  I went to her, seized her by the arm and forced her to sit up. She was so taken by surprise that she did so.

  “Now,” I said. “I want you to understand. We shall get along well together while you behave correctly and in such a manner becoming to a young lady. You will occupy the rooms which Miss Hetherington has assigned to you, unless it is her wish to make changes. Do you understand? Good night and remember no talking after ‘lights out.’”

  With a feeling that I had won the first skirmish I went out and into the room occupied by Gwendoline Grey and Jane Everton. They were sitting up in bed and had evidently been listening. Their eyes were round with wonder.

  “Gwendoline. Jane,” I said. “Tell me which is which. Ah. I see. I am looking in to make everyone’s acquaintance as we shall all be together for this term. I am sure everything will be comfortable if you remember the simple rules. Well, good night, girls.”

  “Good night, Miss Grant,” they said.

  Pleasant girls, both of them, I thought; but I was still uneasy after my encounter with the Honorable Charlotte.