Читать книгу Miss Winbolt and the Fortune Hunter - Sylvia Andrew - Страница 9

Chapter Four

Emily was equally silent on her way home in the Winbolt carriage, though this was not noticed as quickly. Rosa was full of the ball and its guests. ‘Maria Fenton is as lovely as ever,’ she said. ‘But I was disappointed in our conversation. She didn’t seem to be very interested.’

‘My lovely, sweetest Rosabelle,’ said her husband. ‘It was obvious to everyone but you that Mrs Fenton’s eye was on William Ashenden. The beautiful Maria wouldn’t waste much time on another woman, however old a friend she is.’

‘Oh!’ said Rosa. She sounded disconcerted. ‘I thought…I thought Sir William seemed quite taken with Emily. He was certainly attentive enough later on.’

‘No! He wasn’t! He can’t have been!’ Emily said this with such force that both Philip and Rosa regarded her with astonishment. ‘I mean…’ She faltered. ‘I mean we only danced once.’

‘Well, you may not have noticed, but he hardly took his eyes off you after that one dance. Emily, what is wrong? Why do you find the idea that he was interested in you so distressing? I would have said he was exactly the sort of gentleman who would appeal to you. You haven’t taken a dislike to him, have you? I do hope not. We are to see quite a bit of Sir William and the Deardons in the near future.’

‘We are?’ said Emily apprehensively. Her heart sank. How long could she avoid being recognised? She was very much afraid that William Ashenden was too intelligent a man to be deceived for ever. Sooner or later she would say or do something to remind him, and she didn’t like to think of what he might do then. Added to that was this strange power he seemed to have over her. Tonight, she had lost her balance in more ways than one. When she fell against him she had had to fight an overwhelming urge to hold him even closer, to rest her head against him even longer, to hold her head up for his kiss. It had taken every ounce of determination she possessed to stand away. He must have wondered what had come over her. He had certainly been surprised and embarrassed. She sighed. She was just as strongly attracted to him as Rosa could wish. If only she had met him for the first time at Lady Langley’s ball, she might have found someone she could learn to love. But that was now out of the question. She could never relax with him, be herself. It would be too dangerous. When she caught herself sighing again, she told herself to be sensible. It wouldn’t have done much good anyway. Sir William Ashenden was interested in Maria Fenton, a far lovelier woman than she could ever be. Meanwhile she was living with a sword over her head. How long would it be before it fell?

Emily’s worst fears were in the process of being realised. William’s suspicions were already stirring, more because of his own astonishing reactions to her than anything she herself had said or done. He had been surprised at the strength of the desire he had felt for the girl in the hollow and had been quite unable to forget her. For a man who prided himself on his self-control, this was bad enough, but now, within a space of weeks, he had experienced the same degree of desire, this time in the highly civilised atmosphere of a ballroom. And not with a practised charmer like Maria Fenton, but with Miss Emily Winbolt, of all people! He had come damned close to kissing the girl in public! But on thinking it over later, he realised how very odd her reaction had been. Far from being angry with him for holding her longer and more closely than strictly necessary, she had apologised to him! Why? Why had she felt the need to apologise? Miss Winbolt was indeed the enigma he had thought her.

He lay awake that night, still puzzling over her behaviour. The more he thought about it, the stranger it appeared—and not only after that dance either, but throughout the evening. Coolness might have been expected—after all, there was no reason why she should look more kindly on him than on anyone else. But fear? That was the emotion he had seen in her eyes before she had looked away, and her hand had trembled when it rested on his arm. Why? And why had so much about her seemed familiar when he had held her in his arms—her touch, the scent of her hair, her eyes…silver-grey eyes… Those eyes were her outstanding feature—clear silver grey, like the water in the stream which ran along the valley in Stoke Shearings.

The girl in the hollow just above the stream had such eyes, too…silver-grey… A thought came into his head at that point which appeared to be so completely fantastic that he began to wonder whether his obsession with the girl in the hollow was affecting his mind. It was impossible to believe that Emily Winbolt and that girl were one and the same… No, it was quite impossible!

But as the night wore on the idea began to seem no longer quite so absurd. It would explain a lot—her alarm at meeting him tonight, her reluctance to talk to him, the strange sense of familiarity… Was it because he had met her before tonight? Had held her in his arms before? Shearings, where the Winbolts lived, was not far from the spot where he had rescued the girl from the tree, and she had run in that direction. Could it possibly be true? If it were…

William started to smile. What a situation that would be! Emily Winbolt, born spinster, society’s model of rectitude, abandoning herself to making love with a stranger in the fields! What a hypocrite that would make her! He lay for some time thinking about the two women, and fell asleep at last still trying to reconcile what he knew of them.

William had an important appointment the next morning with his architect at Charlwood. But after his sleepless night he had decided to look first at the spot where he had met the girl who had haunted him. He rose early, and instead of setting off towards Charlwood he made for Stoke Shearings. He left his horse once again at the inn and followed the path alongside the stream. The water was as clear as he remembered, the slope above it just as steep. The hedge and even the oak tree where he had first caught sight of her soon came into view. He climbed up the slope and stood beside the oak. Someone had cleared away the broken branch and tidied up the hedge, but it was unmistakeably the spot.

‘You’re not thinking of climbing through that there hedge, are yer, sir?’ William looked down. A man was standing on the path below, shaking his head. He went on, ‘I don’t advise it. It’d be the last short cut yer’d take. There’s a vicious animal in the field on t’other side.’

‘Really?’

‘Black Samson, Farmer Pritchard’s bull. A dangerous beast, if ever there was one.’

‘Thanks for the warning,’ William said. ‘I’ll take note. And you are…?’

‘Will Darby, at your service, sir. I work close by for Mr Winbolt.’ He clambered up the slope and went on, ‘I could tell you a tale or two about that bull, I could. Job Diment. Elias Carter, they’m both still laid up after ’e attacked ’em. Not worked for weeks and weeks, they ’asn’t. Why, it’s not long since Mr Winbolt’s own sister barely got away with her life. Don’t go near ’um!’

‘I certainly shan’t. Miss Winbolt, you say?’

‘Aye, sir. You’m be looking at the very spot where she escaped. Leastways, that’s what Mr Winbolt said when he told us to mend the hedge just where we’re standing. Lucky, that’s what she was. With the branch giving way under ’er and all.’ He looked curiously at William. ‘Be you bound fer Shearings, sir?’

‘’Er, no. Not today. I’m going in the other direction. Well, thank you, Will.’ They clambered down the slope together and William slipped a coin into Will Darby’s hand. ‘I’ll be on my way—and I’ll take your advice and go the long way round!’

To William’s relief Will Darby gave him a toothless grin, touched his cap, and set off without asking any more questions. He had no desire to lie to the man, but nor did he wish to explain what he was doing in that quiet spot at such a very early hour.

William Ashenden suffered from an over-developed sense of humour and a strong sense of the ridiculous. His friends frequently told him that his major fault was a desire to tease. The situation he was in the process of uncovering was so perfectly bizarre, so exactly to his taste that, as he rode on to Charlwood, a bubble of mirth was growing inside him. He was hard put to it not to laugh out loud. Ice-cool Emily Winbolt and his passionate seductress—what an unlikely combination! Soberly dressed Emily Winbolt and a raggle-taggle, bare-legged gipsy girl—what a contrast! Oh, yes! The alarm in Miss Winbolt’s eyes, her fear of him, were both now perfectly understandable. Indeed, she must be worried out of her skin lest he should recognise her and tell the world what she had been up to. His grin broadened. What fun he would have with her! The little cheat deserved a bit of teasing before he put her out of her misery.

For a moment he paused. Did she deserve it? Was she in the habit of finding secret pleasure with strangers? Or was she indeed a respectable woman who had been under the same spell as he had been that day, unable to resist, swept up by some mysterious force? For a moment he hesitated, but then shrugged his shoulders. It wouldn’t do her any lasting harm. Circumstances had forced him to be too serious lately—he felt in need of diversion. The problem of what to do with the children had been worrying. The question of a wife and a home, and the chores associated with renovating Charlwood, had been interesting, but not exactly amusing. A brief spell of teasing Miss Winbolt would provide some light relief. Not for long, though. He couldn’t keep her in suspense for long. And, whatever happened, the affair would be strictly between himself and the lady. She might worry for a short while, but she would understand that the world outside would never learn from him what had happened between them one evening in May.

Rosa’s invitation to the Deardons threw Emily into a panic. She realised that she would sooner or later have to meet William Ashenden again, but this seemed altogether too soon. During the intervening week she attempted to find a dozen reasons why she should not be present, but her sister-in-law frustrated them all. Rosa thoroughly approved of William Ashenden and knew Philip liked him, too. This was enough to persuade her that this was indeed ‘just the man’ to be Emily’s salvation and she was determined to promote the acquaintance. She genuinely could not understand why Emily didn’t agree, and was convinced that once her sister-in-law got to know Sir William better she would acknowledge that Rosa was right. She was disappointed, therefore, when Emily appeared just before Lady Deardon and Sir William were due to arrive.

‘Emily! You have so many pretty summer dresses! Why on earth are you wearing that one?’

‘What’s wrong with it?’

‘It’s…it’s so dull. And surely you’d be cooler in one that didn’t fasten right up to the neck? Why didn’t you wear your new pale green muslin? It’s so pretty, and the colour suits you perfectly.’

‘I’ve decided that it is cut too low, Rosa. I prefer this one.’

Rosa was not finished. ‘And what have you done to your hair?’ she exclaimed. ‘It’s more suited for a walk through a cloister than a summer afternoon in the garden!’

Emily, who had taken pains to make herself as unlike the girl who had fallen out of that tree as possible, was pleased, but did her best to sound offended. ‘I’m sorry you don’t like the way I look,’ she said. In fact, she agreed with Rosa’s every word. Her dress was plain, in an unflattering shade of grey, and fastened up to the top. Much to her maid’s distress, she had insisted on having her hair pulled back and twisted into a low, tight knot at the back of her neck. Fashionably thin sandals, her usual wear in summer, had been replaced with boots. Emily had decided not to give in without a fight. She would deceive William Ashenden for as long as she could, until she could decide how to deal with him. She heard the sound of a carriage drawing up at the door. ‘But I’m afraid it’s too late to change my dress now,’ she said, doing her best to put a note of regret into her voice.

Philip and Rosa made their guests welcome, then led them into the garden. All five walked about in it for an hour or more, Emily using considerable ingenuity to avoid William’s company. When Rosa suggested they should sit in the shade for a while Lady Deardon accepted with pleasure, and the party made its way to a cool arbour, which had been furnished with a table, chairs and one or two benches. Here they sat down—all of them except Sir William.

‘You said something about an avenue of trees planted by your great-grandfather, I believe, Winbolt? I’d like to see them. Perhaps Miss Winbolt could show me the way and tell me about them?’

‘What a good idea,’ exclaimed Rosa. ‘She knows almost as much about the grounds as my husband, Sir William. I’m sure she would be delighted to be your guide. And you must ask her to show you the maze. The Shearings maze was once quite famous, but it was in a sad state before Philip and Emily restored it, along with the rest of the gardens.

‘A maze? That sounds very interesting. Miss Winbolt?’ He held out his arm.

Emily stared at him hopelessly. ‘I…I don’t think…’ she began and then stopped. She couldn’t come up with a single reason why she should refuse to go with him, except that she didn’t want to!

‘I do hope you can oblige him, Miss Winbolt,’ said Lady Deardon. ‘A large number of the trees at Charlwood are old and decayed, and will have to be replaced. William is becoming quite an expert on the subject. He has already inspected the plantations at Thirle. I’m sure he will find your avenue very interesting.’

Emily smiled weakly and took his arm. Sir William’s request was harmless enough. To persist in refusing, especially after his godmother’s encouraging words, would seem ungracious, and might well make him suspicious. But go into the maze with him she would not!

Once they were out of sight of the arbour Sir William stopped and asked, ‘Is something upsetting you, ma’am? The sun, perhaps? Or are you tired? We could easily sit somewhere and talk, if you would prefer it.’

‘No!’ exclaimed Emily with more vigour than politeness. Her companion raised one eyebrow and regarded her with surprise. But she could have sworn there was more than a touch of laughter in his eyes.

‘I mean…I like w-walking,’ she stammered. She took a breath. This would never do. If she was to impress this man with the contrast between the gipsy in the hollow and Miss Emily Winbolt, she should watch her responses! They walked on in silence while Emily tried frantically to think of something to say. After a while she said with commendable calm, ‘My sister-in-law tells me you were in the Navy. Have you seen much action?’

‘When I first joined, yes. But the Navy is no place for a man in peacetime, Miss Winbolt. So I took the… bull by the horns and sold out.’ Emily was startled. She almost stumbled. Had he meant anything by that pause in front of ‘bull’? She stole a glance at him but he looked unconcerned, and she was reassured as he went on, ‘I was in the West Indies at the time, so I went off to explore South America.’

‘How interesting. Where did you go? Brazil?’ To her relief the conversation that followed as they walked through the grounds was very conventional, mostly about his impressions of Mexico and Brazil. Emily began to relax.

But then he said, ‘But we’ve talked enough about me. These trees are truly splendid specimens. Are they oaks?’

‘Oaks? N…no! They are lime trees, I believe. There are one or two oaks scattered about the grounds, but they’ve been used as specimen trees.’

‘I saw a splendid old oak the other day. But sadly, it had lost one of its major branches.’

‘Oh?’

Sir William laughed. ‘In fact, I met one of your brother’s men there. A Will Darby. Do you know him?’

He knows, thought Emily. I’m sure he knows. But she suppressed any hint of fear and said calmly, ‘Of course I know him. He’s one of the grooms. Have you seen enough of the trees, sir? I think I’ve shown you the best of them.’

‘He warned me about a dangerous bull that was kept in the field where the oak grew.’

Emily put on a puzzled frown, then said, ‘Ah, yes! I think I know the one you mean. That would be Farmer Pritchard’s bull. Black Samson. Shall we turn back now?’

They turned and started to walk back towards the gate to the gardens. But her tormentor was not to be put off. ‘Of course I already knew about the bull,’ he went on. ‘I had seen it before when I was last in Stoke Shearings.’

This time the twinkle in his eye was even more marked. Was he playing some sort of cat-and-mouse game with her? Emily felt a spurt of anger. She was not about to weaken. She must keep her head and marshal her wits.

‘You’ve been here before? I can’t remember meeting you…?’

He went on, ‘I had a walk along the stream through the valley when I was last here, too. It’s a beautiful spot. You know it?’

Emily nodded.

‘Very steep sides to it, of course. I would have called on your brother, while I was staying in the village, but lost my way during the day, and…’ Emily stiffened. He shook his head and went on apologetically, ‘With one thing and another, by the time I got back to the inn it was too late.’

‘Really?’ she said with admirable indifference.

Her adversary was not deterred. He said, ‘I wish I had made the time now.’

The meaning was plain and she decided that this was the moment to stall him. ‘I am sure my brother would have made you very welcome, Sir William,’ she said primly. ‘So would my sister-in-law.’

‘And you?’

She gave him a smile full of insincere regret. ‘Alas, I was not here at the time. I…I was with my g-grandfather in London.’ She shouldn’t have added that last bit. She had stammered. Rosa had always said that she wasn’t a good liar.

The silence grew. ‘Now that does surprise me,’ he said at last.

‘Why?’ Emily asked with a touch of belligerence.

‘Because…’ He regarded her with amusement as she lifted her chin. Then he went on, ‘Because London would have been so crowded at that time of year. The middle of June, wasn’t it?’

‘No, the middle of May.’

‘Oh, yes. So it was. How did you know?’

‘How should I not know when I pay visits to my grandfather, Sir William?’

‘Quite! But how did you know that it was May when I was in the district?’

They had reached the gate at the end of the trees. Emily had never been so thankful in her life to reach a simple gate. ‘My sister-in-law will be wondering where we are,’ she said and hurried through, deliberately letting the heavy gate swing to behind her. It must have hurt when it hit him, but apart from a swiftly drawn breath he gave no sign, and soon caught up with her again. They were just by the entrance to the maze and she attempted to hurry past. He took her arm and stopped her flight.

‘But, Miss Winbolt! Isn’t this the entrance to the famous Shearings maze? You can’t have forgotten that Mrs Winbolt particularly wished me to see it. She would surely be disappointed if I said I hadn’t even ventured inside. Shall we go in?’

‘Oh, but I…’ Without quite knowing how he did it, Emily found herself being led into the maze, where they were soon surrounded by a high wall of hedges. But, she thought grimly, if Sir William Ashenden thought she was about to wander idly through the maze with him, he would find he was mistaken. The situation was far too dangerous for her peace of mind. She knew the maze inside out and had every intention of losing him as soon as she could. Within minutes she had taken a swift turn to the right, then another, then hurried along to the left. Slightly out of breath, she stopped and looked round. There was no sign of him. She waited a moment or two, then, smiling with satisfaction, she turned a corner to make her way out. Sir William was there, sitting on a bench that had been placed to rest the weary at the centre of the maze.