Читать книгу Lord of the Beasts - Susan Krinard - Страница 13

THERE WAS NO PART of England, Donal reflected, more thoroughly English than the Cotswolds.

The view from the carriage window was one of gently rolling hills dotted with clouds of grazing sheep, low stone walls turned golden in the clear sunlight, homely farmsteads and quaint cottages with thick thatched roofs. Westmorland and Yorkshire still had their shares of wilderness in crags and sills, heaths and moors, becks and forces and lakes—hidden sanctuaries where patches of ancient woodland and unsullied mountains crouched just beyond the fringes of civilization—but Donal doubted he would find such places here.

He leaned back in the seat and pinched the bridge of his nose. The minds of the animals he had heard along the winding road to Edgecott had been largely contented ones that knew neither worry nor anticipation of the future. Even Sir Geoffrey Amesbury’s matched bays were well fed and glossy of coat, never asked to push beyond their endurance or forced to suffer the brutality of the bearing-rein. In the amber sunshine of a bright spring morning, it was almost possible to forget the cruelty and indifference that seemed so much a part of human character.

Donal did not forget. But he allowed himself to be distracted by the look on Ivy’s face as she craned her neck to absorb every detail of the neat little village that gave the Amesbury estate its name. Round-faced children and prosperous cottagers waved from the verge of the cobbled lane that passed through the center of the village, and Ivy waved back.

Once she had made the decision to visit Edgecott, her hard shell of defiance and suspicion had dropped away like the halves of a ripe walnut. Soon after she and Donal had boarded the train in York, she had cast off her fears with the impulsiveness of youth and wholeheartedly embraced the excitement of the journey.

Her enthusiasm eased Donal’s mind. Seventeen years old she might be, but her childhood had been robbed of so many simple pleasures that she devoured each new experience with innocent delight. Sir Reginald, who had chosen her as his new lifelong companion, perched on her lap and laughed with a lolling tongue, sharing her joy.

Neither girl nor dog had been in the least constrained in Donal’s presence. He had no interest in enforcing arbitrary rules of conduct, and ignored the occasional pointed stares and whispers aimed at “that wild young woman” by starchy matrons and stiff-rumped gentlemen who resembled exotic fowl escaped from their pens. Ivy had not yet been introduced to corsets; her blossoming figure was now quite apparent to Donal’s previously ignorant eye. Yet he had no desire to cut short her last days of freedom before Mrs. Hardcastle applied the shackles of rigid morals and genteel hypocrisy.

He prayed that Ivy’s courage and adaptability would enable her to accept the world Cordelia intended to make for her.

The carriage rattled out of the village and past fields and pastures bordered by light gray dry-stone walls. Soon it reached the high iron gates that guarded Edgecott’s stately park.

The gates stood open in welcome, but Donal regarded them with a shiver of foreboding. They were merely symbols of power and prosperity, harmless in themselves, but to Donal’s mind they resembled nothing so much as a cage. A part of him believed that once he passed through them, he would be caught in the snares of civilization forever.

“Look at the trees!” Ivy said. “I never saw such tall ones in Yorkshire!”

The woods of Edgecott’s park were indeed impressive. They reminded Donal of the ancient forest of Hartsmere, where his father had roamed for millennia as guardian and protector of every living thing within it. Yet most of these trees had been grown, not by nature, but by Amesbury ancestors who had planted the wood to enhance their prestige and shield their property from the eyes of lesser mortals.

Donal was so lost in thought that he didn’t see the great house until Ivy drew his attention with an exclamation of approval. She had good reason for her admiration. The main house at Edgecott was built of the fine native stone, and while it had obviously been altered over several centuries, with a classical wing and ornamentations added well after its original, Elizabethan construction, it was a handsome building as such things went.

Standing in a neat row at the foot of the stairs were several male and female servants, including footmen, maids, an older woman who must have been the housekeeper and a tall man of impeccable dignity whose demeanor declared him master of the household staff. As the carriage rounded the gravel drive, one of the footmen broke ranks and hurried up the stairs.

The coachman eased the horses to a stop before the stairs, and the footman leaped down to lower the steps. Ivy hopped out, ignoring the footman’s proffered hand, and stood gazing up at the massive limestone facade.

Donal descended more slowly, not in the least eager to deal with a bevy of servants whose only purpose was to wait hand and foot on their employers. He avoided them by going directly to the horses, thanking them for their work and examining their legs and hooves while the coachman watched curiously.

Ivy inched up beside him, Sir Reginald in her arms. “They’re all staring at me,” she whispered, glancing back at the servants. “Where is Cordelia?”

Like Donal, Ivy had taken to referring to Mrs. Hardcastle by her given name, and Donal had not discouraged her. “I’m certain she will wish to welcome you herself,” he said, giving the horses a final pat.

Ivy gripped his sleeve. “Maybe it wasn’t such a good idea to come here after all,” she said. “I don’t belong in a place like this.”

“How do you know, when you’ve scarcely seen any of it?” he said. But she gave him a narrow look that suggested she knew he was every bit as nervous as she.

“You really are going to stay?” she demanded.

“As long as you need me.”

Her shoulders relaxed, but her gaze remained fixed on his face. “You like Cordelia, don’t you?”

“Of course I do, Ivy. She has been nothing but kind to you, and the animals—”

“No. I mean you like her.”

He reminded himself again that she was no child, and that her very survival in London had depended on the keenness of her observations. He pretended a sudden interest in the knot of his cravat.

“I admire her, certainly,” he said. “She is a formidable woman.”

Ivy snorted. “You’re no good at lyin’, guv. I seen ‘ow you watched at ‘er at the farm, roight enough.”

“And how did I watch her, pray tell?”

“The way ol’ Rooster Tom looks at the ‘ens after ‘e’s ‘ad ‘is fill o’ crowin’.”

“Ivy!” Heat rushed to his face, and he steered her away from the avid ears of the footman who lingered nearby. “It would be best if you abandon rookery speech at Edgecott, since Mrs. Hardcastle hopes to give you the advantages of a lady.”

Ivy thrust her nose in the air and performed a deep curtsey. “As you wish, Your Majesty.”

He sighed. “Also, consider what you say. I have no objections to your frankness, but you’ll find that it may be advisable to think before you speak.”

Ivy’s playful demeanor melted into seriousness. “It sounds like a lot of work.”

“It is work to be grown up, Ivy, no matter where you are. Whatever you may face here, it will be nothing compared to London.”

Ivy pressed her face into Sir Reginald’s warm coat. “Do you think I could be a lady, Donal?”

“I think you can be whatever you choose.”

“Then if I work hard and wear pretty dresses, will you look at me the way you look at Cordelia?”

Donal heard Ivy’s words with amazement and consternation. His cravat seemed to tighten like a noose. As he struggled to find an answer, a footman emerged from the house and held the door open for the one who followed.

Cordelia Hardcastle swept down the stairs in a rustle of deep blue skirts, a smile animating her resolute features. She walked past the servants and extended her hands to Ivy. There was no mistaking the warmth of her greeting.

“Ivy,” she said, “Dr. Fleming. Welcome to Edgecott.”

Ivy took Cordelia’s hands. “It is a beautiful house,” she said with uncharacteristic shyness.

“Thank you, my dear.” Cordelia glanced up at Donal. “I hope that your journey was a pleasant one?”

Donal inclined his head. “We found it most enjoyable.”

Her gaze lingered on his face. “I am so glad that both of you have been able to join us.”

The rote courtesies expected on such occasions flew out of Donal’s mind. Somehow he had forgotten a few small details of Cordelia’s features in the two weeks since she had left Stenwater Farm: the clean arch of her brows, the tiny dimple in her left cheek, the fullness of her lips that hinted of sensuality kept under strict control.

Those lips parted, and Cordelia’s breath sighed out as gently as the breeze stirring the leaves overhead. How easy it would be, how scandalously improper, if he were to lean down and catch her mouth with his own….

“Donal?” Ivy said.

He shook his head and looked away. Cordelia casually put another several feet of distance between them. “I’m certain you must be famished,” she said to Ivy. “Cook has prepared a grand luncheon fit for the Queen herself. It will be served at one. You will wish to rest, and change into fresh clothing. Your boxes are already being taken up to your rooms.”

“I hadn’t much to bring,” Ivy said. “Only the dresses you and Donal bought for me.”

“Of course, my dear. But we shall soon remedy any deficiencies in your wardrobe, I assure you.” She turned to Donal. “Our butler, Croome, will escort you to your chamber, Dr. Fleming. Mrs. Priday, our housekeeper, takes a personal interest in seeing to the comfort of our guests.”

Mrs. Priday, who was blessed with the round, pleasant face and stout figure that seemed the very hallmarks of an English country housekeeper, took Ivy under her ample wing. After a brief backward glance, Ivy went with her. Croome stood waiting while Cordelia hesitated.

“I trust that Miss Shipp is well?” Donal said to fill the silence.

“She has a slight ague, Dr. Fleming, which is why she was unable to greet you. I shall tell her that you inquired after her.”

“Yes.” Donal glanced across the park. “You have a fine wood here, Mrs. Hardcastle.”

“Thank you. The Amesburys have always appreciated nature.” She paused. “Perhaps you would like to come in?”

Donal looked from the gaunt-faced Croome to the wide, heavy door. A rush of panic caught at his throat. “I should be happy to look at your animals now, if it is convenient,” he said.

“Dr. Fleming, I certainly do not expect you to work after such a tiring journey. That can wait for another day.”

“Nevertheless, I … Do you perhaps have an empty groundskeeper’s cottage, or a room above the stables? I believe I would be more effective in working with your animals if I lived closer to them.”

She stared at him with raised brows, doubtless wondering whether or not to take offense at his apparent rejection of her hospitality. From her perspective, she must be doing a simple country veterinarian considerable honor by inviting him to stay in her titled father’s country manor.

“There is another reason it might be best if I lodged outside the house,” he said quickly. “You and Ivy will naturally spend more time together without the distraction of my presence. It is, after all, to our purpose if we encourage her to prefer your company over mine.”

“And she will not do so if you are in the vicinity?” Cordelia asked, too sweetly.

He knew he had blundered, but the constant effort of making himself agreeable was wearing on his patience. “Mrs. Hardcastle,” he said, “it hardly matters how we attain our mutual goal as long as we achieve it.”

Her eyes snapped with annoyance. “I quite agree, Doctor.” She spoke to Croome, who signaled to one of the footmen and went inside the house. The footman set out across the park in the direction of the stables.

“I have sent for our head groundskeeper,” Cordelia said, “who will know if there is a cottage available. It may require a few hours to arrange. In the meantime, perhaps you will condescend to make use of your room to refresh yourself. You do wish to set Ivy a good example.” She started for the door and paused, glancing over her shoulder. “You will, of course, join us for meals. I would not like Ivy to think that I have banished you from the house entirely.”

With that, she marched into the house, and the last remaining footman closed the door behind her.

Donal stood staring at the door, feeling very much the fool. For one mad, impossible moment he had been ready to admit to Cordelia the real reason he couldn’t bring himself to stay in the house. In that moment he had desperately wanted her to understand.

But if she had ever felt the need to run untrammeled in the wilderness, to cast off all bonds and renounce the walls and bars and conformity of man’s civilization, she had long since judged such needs irrelevant to her life. And that would make her no different than a hundred thousand other English men and women who either denied the animal within themselves, or set it free to rend and devour their own kind. For most humans, there was no middle path.

With a sigh, Donal picked up his bag, turned on his heel and strode onto the neatly groomed lawn of the park. He tore his cravat loose and stuffed it in his pocket, finally able to breathe again. Soon he was walking beneath the high, arched canopies of oak, ash, elm and lime. He opened his mind and let it wander, brushing over the small, bright flashes of avian thoughts sparkling among the branches, sensing the horses in the stables and the sheep that kept the grass so well trimmed. Close to the earth he heard mice and voles and rabbits, all busy with the endless work of searching for food or raising the next generation.

But beyond those familiar souls, so like the ones he had known in Yorkshire, were others … far less penetrable minds, whose waking dreams were filled with harsher light and deeper shadow than any to be found in England.

Donal followed where the outland voices led him. He climbed a low hill, and on the other side he found the menagerie.

He had not known exactly what to expect, and had dreaded finding tiny, bare cages that would drive any sensible beast to madness in a matter of weeks or even days. But Cordelia’s facilities were spacious, well-furnished and separated so that no animal was too close to another.

Donal descended the hill, holding his mind receptive. The animals heard him well before he reached the first of the cages, but there was a stillness in them that told him something was wrong. He deliberately slowed his pace and imagined himself as a only another denizen of the park and wood, no threat to any creature, captive or free.

He needn’t have bothered. He felt no fear as he approached, and only the barest flicker of curiosity. The floor of the nearest cage, sand and gravel and rock, was so dappled with shadow from thick tree branches that he wouldn’t have seen the black leopard if not for his Fane senses.

The animal lay stretched out in the shade near a small doorway that led to the covered portion of its cage. Donal crouched close to the bars.

The roar of gunfire bursts in his ears. He presses them flat to his head, for the sound fills him with terror. But soon all he knows is pain. The bullet has lodged in his flank, and blood spatters on the earth, marking his path for all to see.

He falls back, his legs trembling with effort after so long a flight. They are drawing closer. His ribs heave as he struggles to suck in air. Heavy footfalls shake the ground behind him. He smells the acrid scent of his enemies. Their harsh, alien voices are like the roar of the sky in the season of falling water.

He can go no farther. He closes his eyes, shutting out what he cannot bear to see. The relentless footfalls come to a stop, and the net falls over him as the voices bellow their victory….

Donal gasped and tumbled free, his heart hammering with panic. He slapped at his left leg, certain he would feel the hot rush of blood and the ragged edges of a bullet wound.

But his flesh was whole, no tear in his trousers to mark a bullet’s passage. He bent his head between his knees and let the wash of dizziness pass. He had felt such fear in animals before, often when they were in pain and he was preparing to heal them. But never had any bonding struck him as vividly as this.

He straightened and looked into the cage. The panther must have felt his mental intrusion, yet the animal barely lifted his head. His golden eyes blinked once to acknowledge Donal’s presence. Then he laid his chin back on his paws, his elegant tail motionless against his flank.

Donal clutched the bars of the cage and got to his feet. His legs were still trembling as he moved on to the next cage. A pair of tailless monkeys—macaques, he guessed—clung to the uppermost branches of the small tree that had been provided for them. As soon as Donal offered his greeting, they leaped gracefully down and ambled toward him. Though they showed a more active interest than the leopard, their intelligent eyes were dulled with sadness.

Bracing himself for another painful memory, Donal opened his mind again.

He clutches his mate’s hand and tries to pull her away, but she will not leave the little one, who has already fallen to the raiders. The family scatters, their voices high-pitched with fear and anger. But it is too late to save the youngest; they cry and tremble in their captors’ nets. A few lie still among the rocks, never to stir again….

This time the apes themselves broke the contact. They were back up in the branches before Donal fully regained his senses. He wrapped his arms around his chest and heard the cries of his brethren fade away, replaced by the gentle chatter of birds in the wood.

“I am sorry,” Donal said, pressing his forehead against the bars. But he knew it was an empty sentiment. These creatures suffered not only from their unnatural imprisonment, but also from the shock of their captures at the hands of callous hunters. He might learn to refine his healing abilities to erase such terrible recollections from the animals’ minds, but he would have to work closely with them, live beside them just as he had warned Cordelia.

With weary resignation he moved on. The next cage held no sign of its inmate, but Donal heard the sluggish thoughts of the animal secluded in its den and formed an image of the cage’s occupant: a bear, born on another continent, whose memories drifted in lush, warm, green forests. It had chosen to live in its ursine imagination rather than accept the intolerable reality that surrounded it.

Unable to reach the bear, Donal passed to the largest cage. Three wolves paced among the large stone scattered across the enclosure. Two were female, and one, the male, kept watch from a higher vantage. He might have been magnificent save for the dull, patchy quality of his once-thick gray coat, and he stared at Donal for only a moment before dropping his gaze in submission.

Sing for the lost children. Sing for the mother, dead with life still growing within her body. Sing for the mountains and the rivers and the empty dens, ravaged and plundered by the two-legged killers….

Donal bent his head to the leader wolf in a gesture of respect and left them to their endless mourning. Half-blind with grief, he staggered up the hill back toward the house. He was nearly to the door of the manor when he collided with another man heading in the same direction. The man drew back, cursed under his breath and straightened his coat, all the while subjecting Donal to a thorough examination.

Donal came back to himself and met the man’s eyes, recognizing him at once. The handsome, fine-boned face was topped by a thick and fashionably curled head of blond hair, and the blue eyes were of the precise color to make ladies swoon with admiration. His tailcoat was designed to broaden his shoulders and nip in his waist, his trousers were snug enough to show a lean length of thigh muscle, and his black shoes had been buffed to a scintillating polish.

Lord Inglesham tapped his gold-headed cane on the drive. “Do I know you, fellow?” he asked with an air of condescending good humor. “Are you the new groundskeeper Mrs. Hardcastle spoke of employing for her menagerie?”