Carola Dunn (9 page)

“It is only a half hour’s walk, and it is so quiet here. Please, Aunt Maria?”

“Well, if you will not do anything bird-witted, Angel.”

“I promise. Thank you.”

She waved good-bye and strolled down the village street towards Ullswater. Following a path that wound among the trees, she came to a clearing at the water’s edge. A coal-black horse was tethered to one side, and looking around for its owner, she saw Mr Donald Marshall sitting on a rock on the shore, gazing moodily across the lake, his dog stretched out beside him.

“Good morning, sir,” she called cheerfully.

He started, then turned round, while Osa bounced up and came to meet her.

“Miss Brand! I did not hear you coming.”

“I beg your pardon if I startled you.” She advanced towards him across the daisy-studded grass, one hand on the dog’s huge head.

“No matter,” he bowed. “Are you alone?”

“Yes, and I promised my aunt I would not do anything bird-witted if she allowed me to walk on my own.”

“Would she disapprove of your stopping to talk to me? Do you often do bird-witted things?”

“I
do not think so, but I do fall into scrapes quite frequently. I expect she would not like me to be alone with a young man with whom I am scarce acquainted.”

“Then do not tell her, Linnet.”

“I shall not, unless she asks. Then I shall say first that Osa was with us for chaperone, and then that you call me Linnet so I can not help but be bird-witted when I am with you!”

“When you are not being gooseish,” he agreed, laughing. “Well, since birds are
à
la mode
today, it seems, will you play ducks and drakes with me?”

“You mean skipping stones? I have seen it done but I’ve never tried. Will you show me?”

‘‘Find some flat pebbles and I will engage to teach you the art.”

They wandered along the shore, denuding it of suitable stones. Osa chased the first few they threw; she looked so hurt and embarrassed when they sank, leaving her no trophy to return to her master, that he found a stick and kept her busy with that, to the disgust of a family of mallards, which fled squawking for shelter. Each time the dog emerged from the lake she shook herself vigorously, and as she was not only large but shaggy, the humans were soon somewhat damp.

“How lucky it is warm in spite of the clouds!” exclaimed Angel, turning her back on the fifth shower.

“Yes, or poor Osa would be chilled to the bone. That water is icy.”

“Believe me, I know!”

Angel’s pebbles were soon skipping three or four times regularly, but try as she might, she could do no more. Mr Marshall, with effortless superiority, sent his bounding six or even seven times into the air from the lake’s surface.

“Now watch this,” said Angel at last. “This stone is a perfect shape, and if it does not do better for me I shall likely take a pet and never play again. Watch!” She flung it across the water. “There, it did five!” she crowed, and turned her laughing face to him.

He laughed too, but there were lines of fatigue about his mouth and his scar was scarcely whiter than his cheeks. “That last jump was more of a slide,” he said, “but we will allow it this once.”

“It was a very good jump! You look tired. Is your leg hurting? We had better sit down for a while.”

“I am perfectly all right.” His face was suddenly rigid, his mobile mouth taut. “We will go on.”

“Oh, don’t be bacon-brained!” begged Angel vulgarly. “I do not mean to offend you, but if you are in pain and will not admit it, it is you who are being bird-witted. Besides, I may never throw five jumps again and I wish to stop while I am ahead. Do sit down! Osa has more sense, look at her.”

He relaxed slightly and smiled with an effort. “Very well, Miss Brand. Here is a convenient rock. Will you be seated, ma’am?”

“Thank you, kind sir. Pray join me, will you not? What a delightful view!”

“Yes. Tell me, Linnet, do you always say precisely what comes into your head?”

“Usually,” she admitted, “though I can be discreet if I choose, I promise. But I cannot abide humbug.”

“And you consider that I . . . ?”

“Why, yes! You were trying to prove yourself something that you are not, and it was not even anything of importance.’’

“I see what you mean. Though to me it is important. I have not yet grown used to being a cripple, you see.”

“A cripple? Is that how you see yourself? Then it is no wonder that you are blue-deviled. Lord Byron limps just as badly, and he is the most sought-after gentleman in London, and odiously conceited too. Or so I have heard,” she added hastily, remembering her role. “Did you . . . No, I shall now show you how discreet I can be and not ask you if you were wounded in the Peninsula, for Catherine said she thought you did not like to talk of it. I know: if
you
will promise to be discreet, I shall tell you what happened to me in Penrith.”

Swearing secrecy, crossing his heart and spitting and hoping to die, Mr Marshall declared his eagerness to hear the tale. He proved a most satisfactory listener, expressing appropriate horror when the door clicked shut, thrilled at the discovery of the treasure, and disgusted with Sir Gregory’s cavalier attitude.

“Gregory always was devilish prosy,” he assured her, “or so Gerald says.”

“I still think it quite abominable that everyone should be told it was he who found my priest’s hole. Though I daresay it would not do to have people know I was in his chamber in my nightgown. We should have thought up a way to keep that secret. It was a famous adventure though, was it not?”

“Indeed, yes! Would that it had been I who awaited you at the foot of the stairs! Of all the things I wished to do when I was a child, finding treasure is one I have never accomplished.”

“I expect we might discover another if we tried,” Angel suggested hopefully. “It would not be so alarming with two of us. And if Osa was there, I should not be afraid at all.”

The dog, hearing her name, sat up and put her damp, heavy head in Angel’s lap. She looked up adoringly.

“Here, Osa!” ordered Mr Marshall. “Miss Brand is just beginning to dry out.”

“I was. Perhaps I had better start homewards before she decides to soak me again.” Angel stood up and brushed several long white hairs from her skirt. She saw that he was rising with difficulty from his low rock seat, and wanted to help him, but restrained herself. So as not to embarrass him, she watched the ducks diving for food.

When she turned back to him, he was picking a posy of pale blue flowers.

“I’ll wager you don’t know what these are,” he said with his boyishly engaging grin. “No, I’ll not tell you, but I’m sure you can find someone who will. Here.”

“They are very pretty, even without a name. Such a delicate shade of blue. I’ll pick some of those little red flowers to go with them.”

“They will close their petals if you do. That is scarlet pimpernel, and it does not like to be picked.”

“I’ve heard of that. I thought it only opened if it was fine. Perhaps we will have a sunny afternoon.”

“If so, the clouds had better blow away soon. It must be near two o’clock already.”

“Oh, dear, do you think so? They will never let me walk alone again!” cried Angel. “I did so mean to be good. I did not know it was so late.” As Mr Marshall pulled out his watch, a distant church clock struck one and she sighed in relief. “That is not quite so bad, then, but I daresay Aunt Maria will ring a peal over me.”

“It is entirely my fault,” apologised her companion. “Let me set you on your way. Thunder will carry two with ease.”

“Thank you, but I should be foolish beyond permission to ride through the village with you when I do not intend even to tell my aunt I met you! I may be bird-witted, but I am not a complete numbskull.”

“And I may be bacon-brained,” he responded with a grin, “but I am not so lost to all sense of propriety as to propose to take you up behind me on a public street. There are half a hundred ways to pass around Patterdale without seeing a soul.”

Angel had considerable difficulty arranging herself securely on Thunder’s rump.

“Skirts are so silly,” she said crossly. “In breeches it would be the easiest thing in the world. I do not feel very safe with no reins to hold.”

“You must put your arms about my waist.

“Oh.” She obeyed. “I have a lowering feeling that I should not be doing this. I am certain Mama would say it is quite improper, except perhaps in an emergency, which this is not.”

“It is, if you do not wish to find yourself in the suds for dawdling. Cheer up, Linnet, and consider that I cannot even kiss you while you are behind me, so it cannot be so very shocking.”

“Oh.” Angel considered. His slight body was strong and supple in her arms, very much alive. A sudden warmth flooded her cheeks, and she was glad he could not see her. She
never
blushed. “Do you . . . do you wish to kiss me?”

“Any young man who is not half dead always wishes to kiss a pretty girl.”

“That is not very complimentary!”

“Why not? I said you were pretty, didn’t I?”

“I do not think you can have had much opportunity in Spain to practise complimenting females,” she said kindly.

“True. May I practise on you? You must correct me when my efforts fall short of perfection.”

“If you wish. I have had a great deal of experience, so I am sure I shall be able to help you. Oh, look! Someone has carved ‘HER’ on that tree. I’ve seen that before, and scratched on rocks too. It seems such an odd thing to write.”

“It is short for Herbert. There is a halfwit of that name who lives in a hut on the mountain above Upthwaite. Someone once taught him to write his name and that is all he remembers of it.”

“Learning even that much must have been an important event in his life if he still goes about scrawling it everywhere. It is quite an achievement for an idiot.”

“He is not totally witless. I believe Welch occasionally makes him do a day’s work for his rent and has made a fair carpenter of him when he can be pinned down. In fact Gerald told me just the other day that he had been working fairly steadily, under threat of having his house demolished about his ears. Poor old Herbert is greatly attached to the tumbledown shack.”

“I expect it is all he has, and in this climate he certainly needs it!’’

“Do not malign our climate, Miss Brand. The sun is coming out this minute, as foretold by the pimpernels. And I must set you down here, I fear. If I take you closer someone may see us. Follow this track and you will very soon come to Grisedale Beck. Then it is but a few minutes walk to the vicarage. Good-bye, Linnet.”

“Good-bye, sir, and thank you for the ride.” She stroked the horse’s nose. “Thank you, Thunder. And good-bye, Osa, wherever you are!”

“After rabbits, I expect. I hope your aunt will not be out of reason cross.” He waved, set Thunder at the low stone wall, and cantered away across the meadows, where she saw Osa join him.

Angel sighed, for no reason she could explain, and set off homeward. She had not gone far before she heard hooves behind her on the stony path and turned to find Lady Elizabeth and Sir Gregory close behind her. The baronet smiled at her in the sardonic way she particularly disliked, while Beth greeted her with delight.

“Lyn! How glad I am to see you! We have had such a dull morning visiting tenants.”

“Good afternoon, Miss Brand,” said Sir Gregory, dismounting. “Are you walking alone?”

“Just up from the lake,” Angel replied, immediately defensive. “Aunt Maria said I might.”

“Are you tired?” asked Beth. “I am sure you might ride Cousin Gregory’s horse the rest of the way.”

“Certainly not. It is no distance. Beth, do you know what these flowers are? I found them by the water.”

“Why yes. They are forget-me-nots.”

“Oh. I am afraid I have sadly crushed them.” She regarded them thoughtfully but did not throw them away. “I went with Aunt Maria to see Miss Weir and Miss Swenster,” she went on after a moment. “They have lent me half a dozen novels, and they said you may borrow them too, if you wish, when I am finished.”

“I should like that of all things, but do not give them to me when Mrs Daventry is by. She thinks young ladies should read only sermons and essays and histories.”

“Catherine actually enjoys histories. It is very strange! She was reading about Richard III only this morning.”

“Have the Suttons recovered yet from the alarms of Penrith?” asked Sir Gregory. “Your aunt in particular was quite distraught when you disappeared, I believe.”

Angel had not considered this aspect of the episode and was not pleased to have it pointed out to her. “They are all very well,” she said shortly. “I suppose you have told Beth all about it, as I could not yesterday.”

“No, I was certain that you would wish to present your version of the story. If you choose to do so now, I promise I will not interrupt.”

With a disbelieving glance, but glad of the opportunity, Angel launched into a description of her adventure for the second time that day. Sir Gregory was as good as his word, leading his mount in silence and with an infuriating air of boredom, which was displaced by an even more obnoxious twitch at the corner of his mouth when she waxed eloquent on the subject of his uncooperative attitude.

Fortunately Beth’s breathless admiration made up for her cousin’s odious cynicism, and the denouement coincided with their arrival at the stepping stones behind the vicarage.

“And I stamped on the square, and the door opened at once,” Angel narrated. “Oh, here we are home already. Will you come in, Beth? Then I can tell you how
he
stole my treasure, and besides, if you are with me Aunt Maria will not scold me for being late. I will walk back to the Hall with you later, so Sir Gregory need not stay.’’

“I believe I should pay my respects to the vicar,” said that gentleman, calmly ignoring his dismissal. “Come, Cousin, let me take your bridle to cross the stream.”

As Angel had planned, her arrival with Lady Elizabeth and Sir Gregory silenced all remonstrances. She hoped her aunt would assume she had been with them all the time. Mrs Sutton rang for a pot of tea, and conversation turned upon the return of sunshine and the prospect of a sunny weekend.