Ariadne's Diadem (11 page)

“I suppose so,” Gervase replied resignedly, and got up as well.

“Just watch out for that stupid dog,” Sylvanus warned, leading the way out of the maze.

Chapter Ten

Gervase and Sylvanus left the shelter of the maze and crossed to the gatehouse, where the noise of the stormy night was increased between the crowding walls of the castle. Water gurgled along gutters and down drainpipes, and ivy leaves shone in the swaying light of the lantern, which Anne had replaced on its hook. Everything seemed to be deserted, and there was no sign at all of Joseph’s lurcher.

Sylvanus sniffed the air again, and then followed his nose across the courtyard to the double trapdoors. Lifting one, he clambered inside and disappeared from view down a ladder. Gervase knew it would be as black as pitch in the cellar, so he brought the lantern, then went down after the faun. The air was musty, and the flagstone floor very uneven as he followed Sylvanus’s damp hoofprints between stacks of garden tools, rows of cider casks, and empty racks. He could hear a scrabbling noise from the darkest shadows ahead, and as he drew near, he saw the faun clawing desperately at one of the farthest flags.

“Help me get this up,” Sylvanus cried, striving to get his fingers beneath the heavy stone.

“You’ll never raise it like that,” Gervase said. “Wait, I saw a crowbar with some garden tools.” He went back, found what he was looking for, then returned.

Sylvanus almost snatched it from him, and in a few moments the flag was lifted free of its neighbor. As it fell aside with a thud, a dark hole was revealed beneath, and although Gervase couldn’t smell anything, the faun gave a sigh of pleasure as the heady scent of incense drifted up. Sylvanus promptly disappeared down some worn steps into the subterranean darkness.

As Gervase followed, the lantern revealed a mosaic floor of Dido and Aeneas hunting on horseback. The temple had been hacked from the solid rock, where rusty torches and incense burners were still fixed to wall brackets. A spring welled silently from a wall fissure, filled a polished stone bowl containing coin offerings, and then splashed gently over to vanish into another fissure. At the far end of the temple there was a blue marble altar on which stood a chalice and two dishes, almost as if the worshippers had only just departed, except that everything was covered with dust and cobwebs.

In an alcove behind the altar was a gilded likeness of the goddess Minerva, to whom the temple was dedicated, and Sylvanus was making very low obeisance to her. His forehead pressed to the floor and his goat tail aloft, he muttered a prayer in Latin. When he’d finished, he scrambled to his hooves again and pattered across to Gervase, who’d waited at a respectful distance. “This is perfect,” the faun declared. “I shall be able to sleep very comfortably here.”

“Well, good for you,” Gervase muttered, thinking of his sparse plinth and the openness of the rotunda.

“Provided I behave respectfully, Minerva will not mind if I sleep here, but I will have to make it safe from the dog. It will smell my presence as surely as I could smell this temple, so I’ll deter it from the trapdoor.”

“How?”

The faun smiled. “I’ll put something there that looks like a snake. Anything will do, even a piece of rope. It always works.”

“Really?” Gervase had never heard of such a thing before.

Sylvanus patted his stomach. “I’m hungry—let’s find something to eat. There’s a way up into the kitchen passage; I saw the door when I explored earlier.”

Gervase was reluctant as he followed the faun back up out of the temple. He still didn’t feel quite ready for the risky business of actually going into the living quarters of the castle, even in the dead of night, but Sylvanus had already found the door.

The faun’s capacity for rash curiosity was to the fore again, and before Gervase could stop him, he’d opened the door, but instead of going to the kitchen, he went the other way to the entrance hall. Gervase hastened uneasily after him. “Come back!” he whispered, but the faun took no notice as he crossed toward the staircase.

Gervase was becoming angry. “Sylvanus, if you don’t come back, I swear I’ll leave!”

The faun paused on the bottommost step and looked reproachfully at him. “Can’t you smell her fragrance?”

“Fragrance? Whose?”

“The naiad’s.”

Gervase stared at him. “The
what?”

“Don’t you know what a naiad is?” Sylvanus was shocked.

“Yes, a water nymph. I’m just startled that you think there’s one here.”

“Oh, there is. She’s up there somewhere.” Sylvanus pointed up to the next floor, and before Gervase knew what was happening, the faun had hurried up into the shadows of the landing above. Gervase followed as quietly as he could, but it seemed that every floorboard creaked like the shriek of a barn owl, and every door passed might be flung open at any moment.

Sylvanus’s nose was unerringly accurate, leading him directly to the drawing room, where he found Penelope standing so prettily with her candle tray. Falling hopelessly in love at first sight, the faun moved delightedly around her, examining her from every adorable angle, and reaching out at last to put a tender hand to her cheek.

Gervase put the lantern down and looked at the room. He recognized the bundle of letters tucked behind the candlestick. Feeling as he did now, he could hardly believe he’d ever put pen to paper in such a way. If ever a man was paying a price for leaping to conclusions, he was. Simply by giving Anne Willowby the benefit of the doubt, he would have avoided rushing off across Europe with Hugh, and thus avoided the predicament he was in now. Oh, the benefit of hindsight. He was so engrossed in his regrets, he didn’t notice Sylvanus suddenly dive behind the curtains at the window, nor did he hear the door swing open. The first he knew of anything was when a blunderbuss jabbed imperatively between his shoulder blades, and a rough male voice addressed him.

“Who might you be, then? Eh? And why are you here in the middle of the night?”

It was Joseph, his legs protruding inelegantly beneath his nightshirt, and behind him stood Mrs. Jenkins, her plump face pale and startled in its frame of white-frilled night bonnet.

“I, er...” Gervase didn’t know who stood behind him and didn’t dare turn around and risk the blunderbuss being fired. He saw the telltale trembling of the curtain that told where Sylvanus had gone, but he also saw the hem of the greatcoat peeping out. If the owner of the blunderbuss should see and investigate, the Lord alone knew what his reaction would be discovering a faun! The seconds hung as his mind raced confusedly.

Joseph poked him with the blunderbuss. “Your name, before I blow a hole in you!”

Mrs. Jenkins gasped alarmedly and hurried away calling for Anne.

The blunderbuss was removed as Joseph stepped back a little, but he kept it aimed at his captive. “Put the lantern on the table and turn around.”

Gervase obeyed slowly, being careful as he did so to move farther from the window, so the gardener was less likely to notice the greatcoat. “There’s no need to be hasty,” he said in an amiable tone.

“Don’t think I’m a country bumpkin who can be gulled by a toff,” Joseph growled. “I’m ready to fire this thing right into your rascally hide if need be, so have a care.”

“I won’t do anything rash, I promise.”

Female footsteps hurried back along the passage as Mrs. Jenkins returned with Anne, who was still fastening her wrap. Her dark blond curls were tousled, and her green eyes wary as she faced Gervase. For a heart-stopping moment she stared at him as if in half recognition, but then she seemed to dismiss any notion that they’d met before. “Who are you, sir?” she demanded.

At last he found his wits. “Charles Danby. Your servant, Miss Willowby.”

He was sure a shadow of disappointment crossed her eyes, but then it was gone. “You know who I am, Mr. er…Danby?”

“Certes,
madam, for I am the junior partner of Messrs. Critchley, Faulkner, Oliver, and Danby,” he bowed, praying she did not ask for proof of identity.

She was incredulous. “You have been discovered breaking into these premises in the middle of the night, and yet you claim to be a
lawyer?”

“I haven’t broken in, not in the true sense of the phrase, for I’ve been sent to examine the castle accounts prior to the betrothal taking place.” Oh, how thick and fast the untruths came now!

She was ice-cold. “And what, pray, do my father’s accounts have to do with the betrothal? The forthcoming contract may be a matter of convenience, but it is certainly not one of fortune, and since the duke will be able to examine them himself in a day or so, I would rather you told me the truth.”

Joseph and Mrs. Jenkins glanced at each other, for this was as close as Anne had ever come to admitting the nature of her match with the duke.

Gervase’s eyes didn’t flicker at the mention of Hugh’s expected arrival. “The duke knows nothing of accounts, Miss Willowby,” he said.

Anne continued to hold his gaze. “I still do not believe your story, Mr. Danby—if that is indeed your name.”

“I swear I am Danby the lawyer, and that my intentions are entirely legal,” he insisted.

“Since when has it been legal to break into people’s homes, sirrah?” she asked coolly.

Her poise under such circumstances was truly impressive, Gervase thought admiringly, even as his mind skimmed over a suitably convincing story. “Miss Willowby, I admit I’ve acted foolishly, but in truth I thought there was no one in. I was under the impression that you and your family had gone to Ireland, and I thought to conduct my business during your absence. I’m staying at an inn in Monmouth because I have other business in the area, and I set out in good time to reach here in daylight so that I could explain myself to your servants, but when I dismounted to examine one of my horse’s shoes, the wretched creature bolted and left me stranded in the rain. It was nearer to walk here than to go back, so that is what I did. I arrived a few minutes ago, and rather than awaken everyone, I simply entered to get on with things. I thought it the most prudent, discreet, and practical procedure.”

Anne’s eyes flashed, and she tossed her hair back. “Oh,
did
you! Well, sirrah, I would call your actions reprehensible, not prudent, discreet, or practical! How
dare
you enter my home uninvited, and how
dare
you presume to examine my father’s accounts without his express permission!”

“You are right to censure me. Miss Willowby,” he conceded.

“And how did you know about the visit to Ireland?” she asked suddenly.

“I beg your pardon?”

“How did you know?”

His mind went horribly blank, and he ran his hand through his hair. “I, er...”

“Well, sirrah?” Her eyes followed the unconscious gesture.

“I believe your father notified Mr. Critchley of his intentions.” He met her gaze squarely.

She hesitated for the first time. “Well, I suppose that
is
possible,” she conceded.

“I have told you the truth. Miss Willowby,” he insisted, conscious that at last he was gaining a little credibility.

She suddenly made up her mind. “You may lower the blunderbuss, Joseph, before it goes off and sprays not just Mr. Danby but the entire room.”

Gervase breathed out with relief, for he was out of danger, and had successfully embarked upon his false identity. But it remained to be seen if Anne Willowby’s heart could be as easily won as her trust.

Chapter Eleven

Joseph was reluctant to let his prey off the hook. “I’m not sure that’s wise, Miss Anne....”

“I don’t think Mr. Danby has come here to murder us in our beds,” Anne replied, and then turned to Mrs. Jenkins, who had hovered in the doorway throughout. “Please prepare the south room.”

The south room was the one kept aired for unexpected guests, so the implication was not lost upon the appalled housekeeper.
“Surely
you do not mean to offer this man hospitality, Miss Anne?”

“I can hardly turn him out into the rain.”

As the housekeeper’s lips parted to give any number of reasons why Mr. Charles Danby should be ejected forthwith, Anne sternly forestalled her. “I feel obliged to offer hospitality, and that is the end of it, Mrs. Jenkins.”

The unwilling housekeeper hurried away, and Anne looked at Gervase again. “Since you represent the late duke’s lawyers, you may stay here tonight, but the surrendering of my father’s ledgers is a matter to which I will have to give further thought. I trust you understand?”

“I do indeed. Miss Willowby, and thank you for your graciousness. I am aware that I do not deserve it.”

“No, you certainly do not.” She came a little closer suddenly, searching his face in the light from the lantern on the table. “Your face seems very familiar—have we met somewhere before, Mr. Danby?”

“I don’t believe so, Miss Willowby,” he replied with commendable poise. He could smell her perfume, warm like summer roses.

She continued to look closely at him. “If you say we have not, then we have not, but it is a fact that I feel I have at least seen you somewhere in passing.” She turned to the gardener. “Please conduct Mr. Danby to his room, Joseph.”

“As you wish. Miss Anne.”

Something occurred to her. “Joseph, what can you tell me about the statue in the maze?”

“There’s no statue in the maze. Miss Anne,” he replied in astonishment.

“Yes, there is—it’s in the rotunda and I examined it tonight. Maybe Mrs. Jenkins knows something?”

“If a statue had been taken into the maze,
I’d
know about it.” Joseph hesitated. “Mayhap you dreamed it. Miss Anne.”

She shook her head. “I was very much awake. Oh, well, I don’t intend to argue about it now, but tomorrow you and Mrs. Jenkins must see for yourselves.”

“Yes, Miss Anne.”

“Now please conduct Mr. Danby to his room.”

“Miss Anne.”

Her eyes moved to Gervase for the last time. “Good night, Mr. Danby.”

“Good night, Miss Willowby.” As he took her hand and raised it to his lips, the physical contact aroused so many echoes of the sweet emotion they’d shared in the barn that he was hard put to quell the instinct to catch her close and kiss her. He saw a soft flush of color enter her cheeks, but as he began to wonder what she was thinking, she lowered her eyes and slowly withdrew her fingers.