Breaking the Rules (7 page)

Ursula was awakened before dawn the following morning. She didn’t know what had disturbed her, and for a few moments was too drowsy with sleep to stir properly. The oak-paneled room was in shadow, with only a faint glow of ember light in the hearth of the heraldic stone fireplace, and the last of the moonlight slanting low through the pale green curtains. It was a beautiful old room, with an intricately decorated Tudor plasterwork ceiling, and an uneven wooden floor that was scattered with rugs. Her four-posted bed was hung with heavy lemon-white-striped silk, gold tasseled and fringed, and the fireside chairs were upholstered in the same material. There were two doors, one to the passage, the other to the adjoining anteroom, which served as a dressing room, with a washstand, dressing table, and wardrobes.

Ursula lay with the tendrils of sleep still curling all around. The air was cool, and she shivered a little, drawing the bedclothes up around the shoulders of her lace-trimmed nightgown. Then the window curtains moved a little in a draft. She looked drowsily toward them. Had she left the window open last night? Oh, it didn’t matter now, for she wanted to sleep again. Her eyes began to close, but suddenly there came a soft scampering sound. The scampering became a scuffling, and she sat up in alarm, pushing her tangled hair back from her face.

A squirrel was sitting on the floor, looking at her. For a split second Ursula thought it was a rat, and gave a gasp of horror, at which the little creature darted away toward the window and disappeared out into the night.

She heard the ivy rustling against the wall as the squirrel made its escape. Flinging back the bedclothes, Ursula got up to hurry to the window, where there was an upholstered window seat upon which she always knelt to look out. The predawn air was cold in the embrasure, and the mullioned window was indeed ajar, although she was certain it had been closed when she retired.

Her room faced south over the hidden valley toward the Green Man and Elcester village. A spring mist enveloped the woods at the bottom of the valley, so that only the tallest trees were visible, but the sky far above was clear, and the moon, more than three-quarters full, cast a cold clear light over the countryside. To the west rose the ridge along which the Stroud road passed; to the east the valley descended gradually and secretly toward the hamlet of Inchmead, some two miles away, and two miles beyond that the small mill town of Nailsworth.

Below the window, the manor’s terraced gardens descended into the mist. The fountain played in the topiary garden, where the paths were laid in a symmetrical pattern that had been set down in the sixteenth century. Ursula’s attention was drawn to two squirrels playing around the base of the fountain; then she saw more running along the low urn-topped wall between the topiary garden and the rose garden on the hazy lower level. In fact, there were squirrels everywhere. Daniel Pedlar was right, there
was
a plague of them!

Then something else caught her eye, an incongruous bobbing light on the far side of the valley. Someone was carrying a lantern down through the field behind the Green Man. Who would be out at this hour? Not Rufus Almore, that much was certain. As she watched, the lantern disappeared into the mist as whoever it was entered the woods close to Hazel Pool. Down in the gardens, the squirrels had melted away into the mist.

A dog began to bark in the grooms’ quarters over the manor stables, and she heard the horses shifting nervously in their stalls. Voices drifted up to her as the men were aroused from their beds and went to see what was wrong. Ursula wanted to know as well, so she hastily donned shoes and a sensible aquamarine merino gown and dragged a brush through her hair before tying it back with a white ribbon. Seizing her gray cloak, she hurried from her room.

Her father had also been disturbed, and was down in the stables in his nightshirt, purple dressing robe, and tasseled hat. The dog was no longer barking, and the horses were quieter. No one knew what had upset the animals, for a search had revealed no sign of an intruder. The head groom shook his head in mystification, and then muttered something about it being ‘that whatever-it-was down in the woods’. Ursula felt a chill finger pass down her spine as she remembered the lantern.

Mr. Elcester decided to make another search of the stables himself, and would not hear of Ursula staying outside. “No, m’dear, you go back to your bed.”

“But—

“Do as I ask, m’dear.”

“Very well.” She kissed his cheek and began to return to the house, but as she passed the steps down to the first garden terrace, she paused to look in the direction of the woods and Hazel Pool. The first gray light of dawn now marked the eastern sky, and a vixen screamed somewhere, an eerie sound that always made her heart quicken a little. Then she thought she heard something else. Voices? She wasn’t sure. A strange feeling of excitement and curiosity began to course through her. If something was going on in the woods—her father’s woods— then she ought to find out what it was. Her father wouldn’t know what she was up to, because he would think she was safe in bed. Valor nudged common sense aside, and she gathered her skirts to hurry down the steps.

She descended through the terraces, and on reaching the misty rose garden at the bottom, she opened the door in the tall boundary wall. Beyond it lay the lower park sloping away toward the woods. Rufus Almore’s fright crossed her mind briefly, but then she was outside and hurrying along the path through the dew-soaked grass. The mist swirled around her, sometimes cloaking everything, sometimes thinning so that she could see almost clearly.

The edge of the woods loomed before her, fringed with the creamy white of hawthorn blossom, which filled the dawn with perfume. She entered slowly, for the well-remembered trees seemed menacing, and it was impossible not to remember that May Eve—Beltane—was imminent, when witches took to the air to do their wickedness. She thought she heard odd little sounds; the squirrels maybe, for she sensed them nearby, and once or twice she glanced up to see one leaping from branch to branch overhead. There was no birdsong, she noticed, for usually the dawn chorus would be getting under way at this hour.

Voices sounded again. They were singing. No, chanting or reciting something. She felt she should recognize what they were saying, for there was something familiar about the rhythm. The woods folded over her, and the scent of hawthorn gave way to the more subtle fragrance of the bluebells that lay in drift upon moon-silvered drift all around. Wreaths of mist curled and uncurled, but always the path remained visible, leading her on toward Hazel Pool in the heart of the woods.

The gentle babble of water told of the little stream that overflowed from the pool and made its way down toward Inchmead and Nailsworth. Its water was clear up here near the head of the valley, but the mill just outside Inchmead would stain it with blue dye. Flowers bloomed close to the water—violets, golden kingcups, and forget-me-nots, which in daylight would be bright splashes of color, but in the mist and moonlight they were as silver as the bluebells.

A squirrel bounded across her path, and Ursula began to wonder if she should turn back. She hesitated, but all was quiet now, no rustlings, no birds, no voices, just the burble of the brook. The scent of the bluebells was almost intoxicating, as if the dew had freed it tenfold, and suddenly she realized what the voices had been chanting—an ancient ring game.

In and out the dusky bluebells,

In and out the dusky bluebells,

In and out the dusky bluebells,

I am your master.

Tipper-ipper-apper
—
on your shoulder,

Tipper-ipper-apper
—
on your shoulder,

Tipper-ipper-apper
—
on your shoulder,

I am your Master ...

She had watched the village children laughing as they played it, but here, now, the words seemed threatening.

A twig snapped somewhere ahead, and she halted with a sharp intake of breath. Something moved. A man was walking along the path toward her—a gentleman by his fashionable silhouette. She shrank back in alarm, for he must be able to see her as clearly as she could see him, at least ... She could see
through
him. He wasn’t really there at all. He held his hand out to her. There was something in it—a ribbon. Her ribbon! For a split second she saw his face in the moonlight; it was the fair-haired man she had seen in the London carriage! Who was he? What was he doing here? And why did she know she loved him so ... ? As she stared, he vanished as suddenly as he’d appeared, leaving just the path through the bluebell glades.

Ursula’s heart lurched sickeningly. She was seeing things! Was she ill? Was she losing her mind? Rufus Almore came to mind, and then the echo of Taynton’s words to Vera.
“Remember, wench, I am your master!”

But even as the thought struck, a hand suddenly clamped forcefully upon Ursula’s shoulder, and she screamed in utter terror.

‘Don’t be afraid, Miss Elcester, it’s only me,” said Taynton’s soft voice.

She wrenched herself free and whirled about, not knowing whether to be relieved or still be frightened. “How
dare
you creep up on me like that!” she cried, taking refuge in attack.

He gave an apologetic smile. “I didn’t creep, Miss Elcester. Indeed I spoke to you several times, but you didn’t seem to hear me.”

Spoke? He hadn’t said a word! “Why are you here in the woods?” she demanded,

“I might ask the same of you,” he replied.

The retort angered her. “The woods happen to belong to Elcester Manor,” she reminded him.

“I know, Miss Elcester, but I thought you had more sense than to come here when it’s so dangerous. It’s as well I saw you, for who knows what might have happened,”

“There was a lantern ...” she began, then glanced back along the path where she had seen the gentleman.

“You
saw it too? I wondered if someone in the village was helping the escaped prisoner. I came down to investigate, and then saw you. You really shouldn’t be here, miss, a young lady alone  ... ”

She didn’t believe him; in fact she was sure
he
had been the person with the lantern. She couldn’t prove it, of course, but his use of the phrase ‘I am your Master’ was surely too great a coincidence. Nor could he be alone, for there had been a number of voices chanting. She wanted to challenge him, to confront him with her suspicions, but that would hardly be wise. No one at the manor knew she was anywhere but in her bed, and as he had pointed out, she was a young woman alone.

He gave her another of his facile smiles. “I will escort you safely home. Miss Elcester.”

“I am quite capable of finding my own way back.”

“I do not doubt it, but I feel it is my duty as a man of honor to see that you return unharmed.”

“Mr. Taynton—

“I insist, Miss Elcester,” he broke in, quietly but firmly.

She did not argue further, and without a word began to retrace her steps toward the manor. She hurried, obliging him to quicken his gait to keep up with her, and she was very glad indeed when they emerged from the woods. The eastern sky was lightening by the minute now, and the mist was beginning to lift. All the birds began to sing, and then a cockerel crowed at the Green Man; normal enough sounds, but this morning they unsettled her more than ever. Taynton’s close proximity made it worse. How Vera could have gone to live with him Ursula still could not imagine. Young, handsome, and eligible he might be, but he was also very strange, and not a little frightening.

They reached the door in the rose garden wall, and she hoped he would leave her there, but to her dismay he insisted on accompanying her right up to the house, where her disappearance had somehow been discovered.

Her father was in a great alarm, and a search party was being formed to look for her, so her sudden return with the innkeeper caused much relief all around. Relieved or not, Mr. Elcester wasn’t at all pleased with his disobedient daughter, whom he banished to her room without further ado. He didn’t care how many lanterns she had seen; she should have informed him, not gone to the woods on her own, especially when she had been expressly forbidden to do so. Taynton, on the other hand, was a grand fellow who received warm thanks for finding her and bringing her home. As Ursula left to go upstairs, she heard her father repeat his invitation to Taynton to assist in the locating of the lost villa.

She paused to look back, a dark expression in her eyes. Bellamy Taynton was up to no good, and after this she regarded it as her bounden duly to find out what it was.
And
she was going to seize the first opportunity to release his imprisoned squirrel from its cage!

* * * *

Earlier, as Ursula first entered the woods at Elcester, Conan was asleep in his London town house. His blue-and-white bedroom was furnished in classical style, and the curtains were tightly drawn to shut out the lamps of Bruton Street. The bells of the capital struck the hour, but he didn’t hear them. He was dreaming of being lost in a strange misty wood, his senses were stirred by the scent of flowers. He was holding the mysterious ribbon in his hand while he searched for the young woman, so beloved to him, who had left it on the St. James’s Square railing. He could see her on the path ahead, and went forward gladly to return the ribbon, but she didn’t take it. Hurt, he turned to walk away again, but looked back to see someone creeping up behind her! He couldn’t make out the man’s face, but sensed danger. He tried to shout a warning, but his voice would not obey him. The person behind her was going to grab her shoulder ... !

Conan awoke with a cry as his own shoulder was shaken urgently. He stared up to see Theo grinning down at him by the light of a candle.

“Are you all right, Conan? I fancy you were having a nightmare.”

“A-a nightmare?”

“Yes, judging by the racket you were making. I could hear you from my room.”