Читать книгу Cavendon Hall - Barbara Bradford Taylor - Страница 21

Daphne sat at her dressing table, studying her face in the mirror. The bruise had finally faded away. It had only been a scrape really; powder and rouge had done the trick. No one had noticed it except Dulcie, who had prattled on about it but had fortunately been ignored. Everyone else was concentrating on other things.

Her aunt had been given only six months to live at the most, and so her mother and father had been preoccupied with this tragic news all week. They had also been concerned about the upcoming arrival of Hugo Stanton, her father’s cousin, and making plans for his weekend visit in July.

And so they had not paid much attention to their four daughters these past few days, much to her relief. They had not noticed the bruise; she had not mentioned her fall in the woods. Neither had DeLacy. She had asked her younger sister not to bring it up, and DeLacy had agreed to keep silent.

So, all in all, she had managed to get through the week without any explanations. But it had not been easy for her. Her body had begun to heal, the bruises and scratches calming down, but her mind was extremely busy.

It was virtually impossible for her to expunge that violent physical attack from her mind. The angry face of Richard Torbett, when she had pulled off his disguise, and his deadly threat to have her mother and Dulcie killed, were engraved on her brain.

When Mrs Alice had returned her clothes in perfect condition, and put them away in her wardrobe, she had thanked her, but made no reference to them. And neither had Mrs Alice. Instead she had said in a low voice, ‘I understand that there are poachers on our land, so don’t be surprised if you see more woodsmen around than usual. They’re keeping their eyes open for trespassers.’

Daphne had nodded, and later wondered about this comment. Yet she fully understood that no Swann would ever discuss an Ingham with someone else. Her secret was safe, there was no question about that. Still, it had occurred to her that the woodsmen were out and about because of her, without any of them knowing it. The Swanns were making sure she was protected. That was the way they worked. In clever ways. Secret ways.

Smoothing her hand across her hair, Daphne then dabbed a bit of powder on her cheeks, and adjusted the jabot of her white blouse.

Last week, when Madge Courtney and Julian Torbett had come to call, she had passed on her father’s invitation to Madge to come to the summer ball. And she had agreed to go riding with them this morning. It was Saturday morning, and she was dreading it all of a sudden. Julian was nothing at all like his dangerous older brother, who was known to be a reprobate and a gambler. But, nonetheless, she couldn’t help feeling uncomfortable, even though Julian was her childhood friend. Being near him made her think of the rapist.

Madge was joining them, and she had asked DeLacy to come along as well. Her sister was delighted to be invited to go riding with this older group, and had accepted with alacrity and pleasure.

There was a knock on the bedroom door, and DeLacy, her face full of smiles, came in, asking, ‘Are you ready, Daphne? Everyone’s waiting for you.’

Daphne reached for her elegant lady’s bowler hat; looking in the mirror, smoothing her hand over her bun, she perched the bowler on top of her head. ‘Yes, I’m ready,’ she answered, and stood. Picking up her gloves, she pulled them on, and continued, ‘I don’t feel like riding today, but I didn’t want to disappoint Julian and Madge.’

‘You don’t want to disappoint Papa, either,’ DeLacy exclaimed.

‘Papa! Is he joining us?’ The thought of her father being with them cheered her up enormously, brought a smile to her bright blue eyes.

‘Yes, he is. He told me a good gallop would do him good, that he needed to clear his head. Mama is not going to Harrogate today, and she invited Julian and Madge to join us for lunch, after our ride.’

‘That’s nice,’ Daphne nodded, attempting as they walked downstairs together to shut out the vivid image of Richard Torbett’s angry, snarling face.

The Earl, Julian and Madge were waiting outside, standing next to their horses and chatting amiably. Daphne and DeLacy went over to join them; after greeting her father, Daphne stepped over to welcome Julian and his fiancée.

Madge Courtney was a striking redhead, good looking, forceful in her manner, and taller than Julian; she had a friendly personality, was outgoing, and good company.

Daphne had always thought they looked odd together. Julian, of medium height, fair of colouring and with soft features, appeared to be much younger than her. Yet they were the same age; Julian was introspective, less flamboyant.

Julian hugged her, as always gentle and loving with her, and told her she looked beautiful. ‘So elegant, Daphne, in your dark blue riding habit. An unusual colour. And I love the bowler. That’s a snappy touch.’

‘Thank you, Julian,’ she answered graciously, and said to Madge, ‘I’m so glad you can come back for lunch with us.’

‘I’m looking forward to it,’ Madge answered, and then turned to DeLacy to speak to her.

A few minutes later, they were all mounted. DeLacy was riding Dreamer, a horse she had long favoured, whilst Daphne was on Greensleeves, a beautiful roan, which she had owned for several years, a gift from her father.

Within minutes they were trotting out of the stable block, heading for the long stretch of fields where they would be able to enjoy their gallop, racing each other, and giving their horses a good run.

As they swept across the open fields, Daphne began to feel better. Her father was right, fresh air cleared the head. Blowing the cobwebs away was a grand idea, she decided, and settled into her saddle, handling her horse with her usual skill and finesse.

Once they came to the end of the fields, exhilarated by the race, they slowed down, and wheeled their horses to the left. They headed along one of the wide bridle paths that ran along the right side of the bluebell woods, slowly progressing back to Cavendon.

It was a beautiful day, sunny and mild, with a blue sky, and no hint of rain for once. Daphne blocked out the image of her assault in the woods last week. These were their woods, and she would not avoid them, even if she had to grit her teeth to forget her ordeal. But she would put it behind her. It wouldn’t happen again, she was certain of that. Their land would now be patrolled regularly by their own men, thanks to the Swanns.

As she trotted along the path behind DeLacy, enjoying the shade created by the overhanging branches of the trees, Daphne noticed that her lovely heron was back. It was standing in the pool of water in the middle of the woods, and it brought a brief smile to her face. It had found a home, she decided.

Unexpectedly, she caught sight of Walter’s brother, Percy, who was head gamekeeper at Cavendon. She saw her father beckoning him over, and Percy started to run. Then he stood talking to the Earl for a few moments before he hurried off.

Suddenly, in the distance, there was the sound of gunfire. Shots rang out, startling them all, especially the horses. Greensleeves snorted and reared up on her hind legs, tossed her head, frightened by the sudden noise. Daphne tightened the reins, tried to calm her, to gain control of her. Somehow she managed it. And then she saw, much to her horror, that Julian’s horse had not only panicked but bolted.

It was galloping down the bridle path, hell for leather, obviously totally spooked by the rifle fire. And then she filled with fear as she saw Julian thrown off his horse. He landed heavily, hit a large boulder, rolled over onto his back, and lay still.

Daphne noticed that the other horses were in the same state of great agitation, pawing, tossing their heads, and rearing up. DeLacy was still struggling with Dreamer, trying to calm her. But finally her father had his stallion Blackstar under control, much to Daphne’s relief.

Julian’s horse ran on, galloping down the bridle path, still a terrified animal.

DeLacy and Daphne galloped forward. As they drew closer to Julian they reined in their horses, and jumped to the ground. Their father was running towards Julian, where he lay unmoving on the ground. He was obviously badly hurt.

Only Madge remained on her horse, frozen by shock and fear, and unable to move a muscle. She had lost all colour, her eyes wide with horror.

Glancing around, DeLacy asked no one in particular, ‘Where did those shots come from?’ And then she went to join her father, who was kneeling next to Julian.

The Earl shook his head. ‘I’ve no idea, DeLacy. But we never have guns out at this time of year.’ He felt Julian’s pulse. It was faint but it was there. The young man was deathly white, and Charles noticed that the gash on his forehead was deep, bloody. His eyes were closed; blood was splattered on his fair hair. He was still, very still indeed, hardly breathing. Charles was filled with fear for the young man. The fall had been bad, awkward, and his legs were skewed, looked as if they were broken.

Percy Swann was suddenly back with them, panting from running hard. ‘Our lads weren’t shooting, m’lord. None of our men have guns out here. I’m not sure where those shots came from, m’lord.’

‘Torbett land,’ Daphne interjected, certainty ringing in her voice. Half turning, she pointed behind her. ‘Definitely back there.’ She couldn’t help thinking it was Richard Torbett, up to his tricks. Then she looked down at Julian, and was struck by his total inertness, his extreme pallor. She was afraid for him. She knew he was in a bad way. Her chest tightened, and anxiety flared in her as she wondered if he would recover. She doubted it. He looked so … damaged. He lay there like a broken doll.

The Earl said, ‘I don’t think we should move Mr Julian, Swann. Or carry him away. It could be dangerous to do so. He’s lying in a funny way. His neck could be broken, or his spine. If I remember correctly, don’t we have some sort of makeshift stretcher at Cavendon?’

‘We do, Lord Mowbray. It was made for Sir Redvers Andrews, when he had a heart attack on the grouse moor last August. And it’s still there in the cellars, as far as I know. I can get it, m’lord, and be back in a few minutes with some of the woodsmen.’

‘Thank you, Swann. Have Hanson make a phone call to Dr Shawcross. He should tell the doctor we need an ambulance. Mr Torbett will have to be taken to hospital. Harrogate’s the nearest.’

‘Right-o, m’lord,’ Percy answered, and began to move away.

Daphne said, ‘Papa, Swann should take my horse, it’s faster riding than running, surely.’

‘Good idea, Daphne. Take Her Ladyship’s horse, Swann,’ the Earl said.

DeLacy was kneeling on the ground next to her father, and she now asked in a concerned tone, ‘Do you think Julian is going to die, Papa?’ She thought he might actually be dead already, but didn’t dare say that out loud.

‘I’ve absolutely no idea. I pray to God not. He took a terrible, very hard fall. He must have damaged his spine, and he must have a bad head injury. Look at all the blood on the grass. He’s certainly unconscious.’

‘I know,’ DeLacy said. As her sister spoke, Daphne walked back to Madge. She knew she must offer some sort of comfort to the young woman, who was still sitting on her horse, as if frozen in place. She was like a statue. Her face was the colour of chalk, and looked unnatural. It was stark against her vivid auburn hair.