The Time of the Hunter's Moon

by Victoria Holt

  He was trying not to laugh but he couldn’t help it and for a moment we gave ourselves up to our mirth.

  I said: “It will be most amusing. At present you only have one there. That’s very tame. I can see them all in various stages. Who shall produce a boy and win the prize? Poor Marcia. Hers was only a girl. What a shame!”

  I had seized the opportunity and made for the door. He was there before me and stood with his back to it facing me.

  He said: “Cordelia, I want you. I fall more and more in love with you every time we meet. It’s important to me.”

  “I should like to join Miss Barston.”

  He stood aside and I tried to open the door. It was locked.

  I turned to him; he was smiling at me and I thought: Yes, because I saw the purpose in his face, and I knew he was even capable…of this.

  “Well,” he said, mockingly. “What now?”

  “You will open this door,” I said, trying to sound firm but being somewhat unconvincing I was afraid.

  “No, Miss Grant, I will not.”

  “Let me out of here at once.”

  “No, Miss Grant.”

  “You lured me up here.”

  “You came willingly with my housekeeper.”

  “What is she…a sort of procuress?”

  “She is obedient to my wishes as I expect all my servants to be. You are not so calm now, are you, Cordelia? Do I sense little tremors of expectation? I will show you what you were meant to be. We’ll call forth that wonderful passionate woman. We’ll let her sweep aside the prim schoolmistress.”

  “You will let me out of here at once.”

  He shook his head. “I have wanted you for a long time. I wanted you…willing.”

  “Willing? Do you think…”

  “Once you really know how happy I can make you, yes. But you are rather stubborn, aren’t you. That schoolmistress facade is quite formidable. I began to see that I should have to help you break out.”

  With trembling hands I looked at the watch which was pinned to my blouse.

  “Always the time!” he said. “What do we care for time on occasions like this?”

  “I should be leaving now.”

  “Not yet.”

  “Don’t you realize…”

  “I realize one thing. It obsesses me. I want you and if you are so stubborn as to turn away from what is the best thing for you I shall have to insist on bringing you to reason.”

  “I hate you,” I said. “Can’t you see that? You expect every woman to fall into your arms. Not this one. And if you dare touch me you are acting like a criminal and I shall see that you are punished for it.”

  “What fire!” he taunted. “What rage! Cordelia, you and I are lovers…”

  “Haters for my part,” I spat out.

  “If you are going to fight…fight. But you will soon see how much stronger I am than you. Come, let me take your coat. You look flushed and overheated. My dear love, Cordelia, you are going to be so happy…We both are.”

  He was forcing me out of my coat. I kicked out at him and he laughed.

  “Are you really capable of this,” I stammered. “I am not one of your servants, you know, nor one of your tenants who are afraid to stand up to you. My family will avenge this and so will I. Rape is not within the law, Jason Verringer, even for men like you.”

  He took me by the shoulders and laughed at me.

  “I would insist that you came here willingly, that you provoked me, enticed me, which is true.”

  “You are a fiend.”

  “I warned you of my great ancestor.”

  Catching him suddenly off his guard, I broke away from him. I ran to the window. There were no bars across this one. He was close behind me and in desperation I beat on the glass with my bare hands.

  The glass shattered. The blood ran down my arms onto the sleeves of my dress, spattering my bodice.

  “Oh my God,” he cried. He was sobered. “Oh, Cordelia,” he went on almost sadly. “Do you hate me so much?”

  I felt bewildered. My emotions were so mixed that I did not know what I felt. I was afraid of him, yes, but at the same time I wanted to be with him. It was a thought I would not admit into my mind but I did believe half of me wanted him to carry me into the room with the barred windows. Yet I had made this futile attempt to break the windows to escape. I was brought face to face with the fact that I did not know myself.

  He was looking at my bleeding hands and his mood had changed. It was all tenderness now. He said: “Oh, Cordelia, my dear Cordelia!” and held me against him for a few seconds. I drew away from him. I could feel the tears on my cheeks. I wanted him to hold me tightly and to tell me that in some ways he knew me better than I knew myself. I was not the practical schoolmistress I made myself out to be. There was some part of me striving to get out.

  He had taken my hands in his. “These must be attended to immediately,” he said.

  He put an arm about me and led me to the door; and taking a key from his pocket unlocked it.

  We went downstairs. Mrs. Keel came out of the library with Miss Barston behind her.

  Miss Barston said: “We shall be late, Miss Grant. Oh…” She had seen my wounds.

  “There’s been an accident,” said Jason Verringer. “Miss Grant cut her hands on a window. Mrs. Keel, get something to put on this…some bandages…You have some lotions…”

  “Yes, Sir Jason.”

  I sat down in a chair. I was aware of Miss Barston’s scrutiny. Jason was quite calm. I was amazed and my anger against him returned.

  “You do look queer, Miss Grant,” said Miss Barston. “You have cut yourself badly…”

  “I don’t think it is as bad as it looks,” said Jason. “When the blood is washed away we’ll see what harm has been done. The cuts don’t appear to be so very deep. The great thing is to clean the wounds. Mrs. Keel is quite knowledgeable about these things. There are often such accidents in the kitchen and she always manages to deal with them. How do you feel, Miss Grant? Ah, you look better now. Mrs. Keel won’t be long.” He turned to Miss Barston. “I was showing Miss Grant one of the apartments tied up in our family legends…We were saying you would be interested to see it. Then this happened. I’ll send someone over to Miss Hetherington to tell her you’ll be a little late returning. Then you can wait and go back with Miss Grant in the carriage. Miss Grant is certain to feel a little shaken after this. One of the grooms can take your horses over when he goes with the message to Miss Hetherington.”

  How neatly he explained everything and how lightly he managed to introduce normality into the incident. I admired him while I deplored his expert manner in extricating us from an embarrassing situation. No doubt he had had a great deal of practice. I hated him for his suggestion and for his attempt to force me, and I was really rather amazed that he had so quickly given up his intentions at the sight of my blood.

  I hated him, I assured myself vehemently…far too vehemently.

  ***

  I was completely shattered by the experience and could not bring myself to talk of it. I answered questions as briefly as I could. Sir Jason had been showing me some of the apartments; I had unthinkingly put out my hands and broken the glass, cutting myself. Yes, certainly I had felt most embarrassed. I did not know whether it was particularly valuable glass. Yes, I must have put my hands out with some force. No, Sir Jason did not seem put out. He was most concerned about the damage I had done to myself. His housekeeper had bound up my wounds after carefully washing them and applying something; and Sir Jason had sent us back in his carriage.

  Daisy looked at me quizzically, but she did not probe. I think she had some idea that if she did, something unpleasant might emerge and wisely she left it alone.

  I was excused lessons for a day.

  “That sort of thing is a bit of a shock,” said Daisy.

  So I lay on my bed alone in my room and went over everything that had happened. The man was a monster, that much was clear. I must never be alo
ne with him again. I had saved myself from what was called “a fate worse than death.” The phrase had always made me laugh but I was a little more sober about it now. My imagination would not give me any rest. I kept thinking of what would have happened if I had not put my hands through the glass. I dreaded that happening…or did I?

  What had he said about a prim schoolmistress? Was I one? I supposed I was to some extent. My post made me so and I should get more so every day. I saw myself years ahead—white-haired, dignified like Daisy Hetherington…and as efficient. I could be sure of that, even though I did have my foolish moments. Had Daisy ever…?

  Alone with my thoughts I could at moments be honest. He was right. There was another woman beneath the schoolmistress. He knew she was there and he had done his best to release her. Yet he had been halted in his determination by the sight of a little blood. There had been a concern, a tenderness…Oh, how foolish. I was trying to make excuses for him.

  Stop thinking of him, I admonished myself. And never give him an opportunity again.

  It was three days after the incident. My wounds were healing thanks to the prompt treatment I had received and the lotion Mrs. Keel had given me. I felt calmer, getting more in command of myself, telling myself that I had given up to foolish emotions because I had been overwrought.

  I saw him now as he was—an arrogant sensual rake who thought any woman who appealed to him was fair game.

  Not this one, I said to myself firmly.

  I went into the town and called at the post office to buy stamps. Mrs. Baddicombe was serving someone but she looked up with pleasure at the sight of me.

  She finished serving and waited until the bell over the shop door rang as the customer left.

  “Well, Miss Grant, it is nice to see ’ee. How’s the hands? I heard about your accident. Nasty, wasn’t it?”

  I flushed slightly. Did the woman know everything?

  “They’re getting better,” I said. “It wasn’t very much.”

  “And is all well with the young ladies? Have you heard the news?”

  “News? What news?”

  “She be gone…disappeared…gone clean away.”

  “Who would that be?”

  “That Mrs. Martindale, of course.”

  “Where has she gone?”

  “That’s what we’d like to know.”

  “I believe she pays frequent visits to London.”

  “Well, this time she be gone for good and all.”

  “How do you know?”

  “The house be all shut up and Mrs. Keel at the Hall has sent servants down to clean it up. They do say Gerald Coverdale be going to move in. That house of his ain’t big enough now he be married with two children. They say he have had his eyes on it for some time. It can only mean she’s gone for good.”

  “But how can you be sure?”

  “I had her what does for the Coverdales in here only this morning. She says Sir Jason have told ’em they can move in when they like. I do wonder what’s happened to her…that Mrs. Martindale.”

  “I don’t think she can have gone off just like that.”

  Mrs. Baddicombe lifted her shoulders. “There’s no knowing. She was got rid of fast.”

  There was speculation in Mrs. Baddicombe’s inquisitive little eyes and I felt I could not remain in her shop. I wanted to get away to think about what she had said. What was she hinting?

  I said quietly and quickly: “I expect we shall know in due course. I just wanted some stamps, please, Mrs. Baddicombe. I have to get back quickly.”

  I came out into the sunshine. A sudden fear had seized me. Why? Surely if Marcia Martindale wants to leave in a hurry, there was nothing in that to arouse my concern.

  ***

  Miss Hetherington called a conference to discuss what she grandiloquently called “the Pageant.” She reminded us all that time was short and it would be most effective if it took place on Midsummer’s Eve. That left us about a month for preparation, which was not long, but she did not care for these things to go on too long because they had a way of interfering with schoolwork, as we had seen recently in the case of Cinderella.

  “We have some costumes,” she said. “Those which have been used in previous pageants, and Sir Jason Verringer has promised to lend us others. Naturally we must have monks…and some of the seniors can take those parts. The smaller girls will look incongruous in the habits. We shall do the usual three-act piece. The beginning leading to the Dissolution; the Elizabethan age and revival; and today with the school. All the girls can take part in singing the school song, etc. If it is warm and fine it will take place out of doors. There will be a full moon, which is ideal. The ruins will make a wonderful setting. I hope and pray it will not be wet. Then it will have to be in the refectory hall or perhaps Sir Jason would offer us the ballroom at the Hall. That is really very suitable but I should have to wait for him to offer. Mr. Crowe, you could get down to work on the singing. There should be quite a lot of that so that everyone can join in. Miss Eccles, you could do the settings, and Miss Grant of course will choose the pieces for recitation and direct the players. Miss Parker, I think for the final part they might do a few attractive physical exercises. We could have a few folk dances, Mr. Bathurst. We must make an interesting evening and if it is a success we could repeat the highlights just before break-up when the parents could come. Not many of them would want to make the journey in midterm even to see their offspring perform. The thing is to get into action without delay. Any questions?”

  There were a few and there was no talk of anything else in the school but the Pageant. I threw myself into it with fervor, trying to forget those alarming yet stimulating moments in the Devil’s Den. I knew that he had been on the verge of treating me barbarously and I continued to be amazed that the sight of my injuries had had such an immediate effect on him and brought out the little decency which must be in him. Perhaps he had really believed until then that I had wanted him to seize me, to possess me as he had clearly threatened to do. Perhaps I did. Yet, I had made that desperate gesture almost without thinking, for it would have been quite impossible for me to have escaped by the window.

  I could not forget it. It was there in my dreams.

  And now Marcia Martindale had gone. What could that mean?

  He called at the school and was closeted with Miss Hetherington in her study. I was summoned with Eileen Eccles. I avoided looking at him as much as possible. He asked about my hands and I told him they were recovering fast. We talked about the Pageant, and I believe I was quite cool and certainly aloof. He tried to make me look at him and it was always as though he were pleading for forgiveness.

  Daisy went to the gates to see him off and during the next days I did not go out riding alone. I was afraid of meeting him and I kept reminding myself that I must never again be alone with him.

  I learned from Teresa that the new maid, Elsa, was voted “very jolly” by most of the girls. She was not like the others. She never complained about untidy bedrooms and when she knew that Miss Hetherington was going to make an inspection she had hastened into Charlotte’s room and tidied up. They thought that was “very sporting.”

  She seemed to like that foursome particularly and was always gossiping with Fiona, Eugenie and Charlotte. I was surprised, for Charlotte was not the sort to talk to servants but evidently even she had been won over by Elsa.

  “I remember her well,” I told Teresa. “She was like that at Schaffenbrucken, a great favorite with the girls.”

  It must have been about a week after the departure of Marcia Martindale that the rumors started. Mrs. Baddicombe, I was sure, had kept up her comments on the strangeness of the situation, and when one of the baker’s boys delivering to the post office told her that he had driven his cart past Rooks’ Rest and seen a lady standing at the door with a child in her arms, Mrs. Baddicombe was determined to wring as much drama as she could from the situation.

  The lady seen by the boy was probably Mrs. Coverdale, who had a you
ng child, and it was quite natural that she should be at the door holding her youngest child in her arms.

  However, Mrs. Baddicombe would not accept such a simple explanation.

  “Poor Tom Yeo! He was struck all of a heap. Said his hair stood on end. She was surrounded by a misty light, and she held up her hands as though calling for help.”

  “I hope she didn’t drop the child,” I said. “And why didn’t Tom Yeo go to help her or at least see what she wanted?”

  “Why, bless you, Miss Grant, have you ever come face to face with that what’s not natural?”

  “No,” I admitted.

  “If you had, you’d understand. Poor Tom, he just whipped up his horse and got off fast as he could.”

  “But the Coverdales have moved in, haven’t they?”

  “Not yet they ain’t. Like as not won’t want to now.”

  “Mrs. Baddicombe, what are you thinking?”

  “Well, she did go rather sudden, didn’t she?”

  “Mrs. Baddicombe,” I said seriously. “You ought to be careful.”

  She drew herself up and looked at me suspiciously. “Careful? Me? Ain’t I always careful?”

  “I’d like to know what you’re hinting.”

  “Plain as the nose on your face, Miss. She comes here…and then when she’s not wanted no more…she goes.”

  “Not wanted?”

  Mrs. Baddicombe smirked. “I read between the lines…” she said.

  “And compose the script,” I added angrily.

  She looked at me blankly.

  “Good day, Mrs. Baddicombe,” I said.

  I was trembling as I stood outside the shop. I thought how foolish I had been. I should now be cut off from the information she had to offer; and although half of it might be false, I wanted to hear what was said.

  The extent of my foolishness was obvious when Eileen Eccles met me in the calefactory and said: “You’re becoming involved in the dramas of Colby, Cordelia. The Sybil of the post office whispered to me that she thinks you are ‘sweet on’ Sir Jason Verringer, and she has known for some time that he had his eyes on you, and ain’t it a funny thing that poor Mrs. Martindale, who has had her hopes raised for so long, should, as if by magic, disappear when she is not wanted.”