Love and the Loathsome Leopard (13 page)

He would soon recover and she was quite certain that by luncheon-time he would be his usual cheerful, enthusiastic self.

All the same, because he was depressed she felt her own spirits drop and, when she went from the drawing room to the salon to dust and tidy it, she felt an ache in her heart because she was so alone.

She looked at the chair where Lord Cheriton had sat, and thought that when she had found him standing in the room as she came through the window her whole life had changed.

Until then the future had seemed so dark and impossible that she had felt as if Jeffrey Farlow had a stranglehold on her and there was no escape from him except by death.

Then incredibly, unexpectedly, her prayers for help had been answered, and she had felt when Lord Cheriton put his arms around her that she had found the security and protection she had craved and that she need never be afraid again.

But it was not as easy as that. The fears had come back and perhaps in a way they were even worse because she was now fearful not only for Richard and herself but also for him.

‘Stuart!’ She whispered his name to herself and thought it sounded strong and masculine.

But she preferred to think of him as a leopard,
her
leopard – one of the fiercest and strongest animals in the wild.

She found she had been daydreaming and hastily went on with her dusting, polishing the tops of the tables and noting that some of the flowers needed replacing.

She would wait, she thought, until the mist had cleared.

But when she looked out the window it seemed to be more impenetrable than it had been before. It must have come from the sea with the dawn tide, and needed, she knew, a good strong wind to blow it away.

She finished the salon, then went to the library which she remembered she had not shown to the leopard when she took him round the rest of the house.

It was a room which she had never liked particularly and which even after her father had blessed it, it still seemed to retain some imprint of its late owner.

She had moved the furniture to make it more comfortable, but she noted there were many gaps in the bookshelves from which Richard had taken the volumes he wanted to read and had, of course, left them upstairs in his room.

‘What this room needs is new curtains and a new carpet,’ Wivina thought to herself.

Then it would seem different and perhaps the last lingering atmosphere of the man everyone hated would be eradicated forever.

Then she smiled at her own fancy of asking for new curtains. It was as wildly unlikely as that the fallen ceilings would be put back and the roof repaired.

The leopard had said he would take her away to safety, but even though she told herself it would be Heaven to be with him anywhere in the world, she could not help feeling that one part of her heart would always remain at Larks Hall.

There was something about the house that made her feel as if it reached out to her, asking her to save it, to restore its former glory and make it, as it had once been, important not only in the village but in the County as well.

‘I suppose it is stupid to love a house,’ Wivina told herself, as she went from the library into the hall.

But she knew the curve of the old staircase thrilled her to look at and the pictures on the walls seemed to have a special message for her.

‘I must talk about it to the leopard,’ she thought.

She remembered how little time they had had to speak of anything and she longed to tell him her thoughts and feelings, which she was sure somehow would be in many ways identical with his.

Then suddenly she asked herself what she knew about him.

How could she feel as she did about a stranger, a man she had seen for so short a time? No-one would believe for one moment that they could even have begun to think of love, let alone express it.

Then she remembered that that was what her father had felt about her mother, and she knew that it was not time that counted but what their hearts, their minds and their souls said to each other and perhaps had said before in previous lives.

‘He is my fate,’ she said to herself with a little smile, ‘and I have no wish to change it.’

She heard a horse draw up outside the front door and with a sudden leap of her heart thought that perhaps it was the leopard returning.

Then she knew that was most unlikely and, guessing who it might be, started to climb the stairs.

She was halfway up when the front door opened and Jeffrey Farlow came into the hall.

“Wivina!” he exclaimed, looking up and seeing her.

“I am busy,” she answered hastily, “and I have no time to talk to you now.”

“You’d better make time,” he said, “because there has been an accident.”

“An accident?”

Wivina could hardly breathe the word, then feeling as if the hall swum round her, she put out her hand to hold on to the banisters.

It was as if an icy hand had taken hold of her heart and was squeezing it. She knew only too well what an “accident” meant in the village of Larkswell.

“Yes, an accident,” Jeffrey Farlow said, “and Richard is asking for you.”

“Richard?”

Wivina said the word almost beneath her breath and looking up at her Jeffrey Farlow asked sharply,

“Who else did you expect to have one?”

“Richard is at the Vicarage.”

“No, he did not get there.”

“What happened? Was he run over?” Wivina asked frantically.

She had a sudden vision of Richard being bowled over by a phaeton in the narrow village street. It had happened last year to a child. One of the wheels had passed over him and he died in agony.

“You had better come and see for yourself,” Jeffrey Farlow said.

“Yes – of course,” Wivina answered.

She started to descend the stairs, wondering why her legs felt as if they did not belong to her.

Jeffrey Farlow watched her come and, as she reached the last step, he said,

“You will want your cloak. It’s damp outside and it looks as if it might rain.”

“My cloak?” Wivina repeated rather stupidly.

“I’ll get it for you.”

With the familiarity of one who knows the house, he went to the oak cupboard in the hall to take down from a peg the dark cloak that Wivina wore in the winter. It was threadbare, but she had no other.

She was just about to take it from him automatically when she said:

“We will be bringing him back here. I will tell Emma to get his room ready for him. I have not had time to tidy it.”

She turned and ran towards the kitchen quarters even as Jeffrey Farlow put out his hand to stop her, saying:

“No – wait, Wivina – it’s unnecessary.”

She did not stop, and, realising she was out of earshot, he stood waiting for her return, her cloak in his hand, a dark brooding look on his face.

Wivina came running back.

“I have told Emma,” she said. “It is not his bad leg, is it?”

“You had better come and see for yourself,” Jeffrey Farlow said.

He put the cloak over Wivina’s shoulders. When she went outside she saw to her surprise that there were two horses, their bridles being held by old Pender.

She had expected a chaise or the smart phaeton which Jeffrey Farlow had recently purchased and which he drove through the village at a quite unnecessary speed.

There was, however, no time for questions and she let Jeffrey Farlow help her into the saddle even while she hated the touch of his hands.

She noticed he had had time to procure a horse with a side saddle for her and wondered how long ago the accident had happened. She knew it could not be more than an hour since Richard had left the house.

The mist was very thick and Jeffrey Farlow rode ahead of her so that all she had to do was to follow behind, keeping his back in sight.

He took immediately to the fields, which surprised her as she had expected Richard to have been knocked down, or whatever had happened to him, in the village.

There was no point, she thought, in asking questions, especially as the mist, damp and thick against her face, would have made anything she said seem lost in the choking greyness.

They rode on and on, and now Wivina began to wonder almost frantically what could have happened.

She told herself that Richard must have played truant, being angry at not being able to ride the leopard’s horses.

Instead of going to the Vicarage for his lessons he must have gone to Jeffrey Farlow’s house, perhaps to ask if he could borrow one of his horses. It was something he had done in the past until she had stopped it, knowing that Jeffrey Farlow was only too anxious to bribe his way into Richard’s good graces because he thought it would influence her.

‘I shall be very angry with Richard if he did that to annoy me,’ Wivina thought.

It was still impossible to see where they were going, but Jeffrey Farlow appeared to know the way.

He did not turn his head to look at her nor make any effort to speak, and because the mist was so wet and uncomfortable Wivina pulled the hood over her eyes and just let her mount follow blindly where the other horse led.

Then surprisingly and unexpectedly she heard the sound of the sea and knew it was the waves breaking against the cliffs.

“Where are we going?” she asked aloud, and felt as though the mist forced the words back into her throat.

Although she thought she spoke loudly, it was obvious because he did not reply that Jeffrey Farlow had not heard her.

‘How could Richard have got so far as this?’ she asked herself.

Even if he had borrowed one of Mr. Farlow’s horses he could hardly have had time to take it from the stables and ride this distance.

She urged her horse forward, wishing to ride beside Jeffrey Farlow and ask him for an explanation. But suddenly there were men all round them and one look at their faces told her that they were the smugglers.

Jeffrey Farlow’s horse had stopped and hers did too, and, as he dismounted and came to her side, Wivina asked,

“What is happening? Why are we here? Where is Richard?”

The words seemed to fall over themselves so quickly that they were almost incoherent.

Looking down at Jeffrey Farlow’s face, she saw a glint of what looked like triumph in his eyes and felt as if her heart stopped beating.

“What is – happening?” she asked, and now her voice was hardly above a whisper.

“You are going on a little journey,” he answered, and there was a smile on his lips which made her want to scream.

“A j-journey?”

“To France. It’s a country I am sure you will enjoy”

“But – Richard? You told me that – Richard–”

“Richard is already on board. Come and join him. He is waiting for you.”

So this had been a trick!

It struck her with the impact of a thunderbolt and in a wild effort to escape she turned her horse’s head, kicking at him with her heel, but it was too late.

A smuggler’s hand was on the bridle and the next moment Jeffrey Farlow lifted her down from the saddle and to the ground.

“I will not come with you,” Wivina protested. “You know that. Let me go immediately.”

He looked at her and said quietly,

“Either you come willingly and quietly or I take you by force, gagged if necessary!”

Her eyes widened in fear, but she looked into his face and knew that he meant what he said.

The men were standing round waiting and she knew most of them by name.

She was aware how hopeless it would be to struggle, knowing that Jeffrey Farlow had only to give the order to seize and hold her and he would be instantly obeyed.

With the pride that prevented her from screaming, she lifted her chin and said scathingly,

“I hate and despise you, but, if Richard is on board, I will join him.”

“I thought you would,” Jeffrey Farlow said, again with that unpleasant smile on his lips.

Feeling as if she was going to her execution, Wivina moved away from him, walking in the direction of the sea.

As she did so, the smugglers ran ahead. Following them down into the creek, she had to walk slowly for the path was rough and she was afraid of slipping on wet stones.

Then she saw what she knew was a lugger standing a little way offshore.

As she reached the water’s edge, she stopped, not knowing how to proceed.

She heard Jeffrey Farlow behind her give an order and one of the smugglers bent down and picked her up in his arms.

With an effort Wivina prevented herself from screaming. Then as he carried her into the water she realised he was a boy she knew, in fact he was one of Mrs. Briggs’s nephews.

“How can you do this to me, Clem?” she asked.

“I be sorry, Miss Wivina,” he answered, “but orders be orders and I canna’ help meself.”

That was true enough, Wivina thought.

He waded until the water was above his knees and by this time they had reached the lugger.

It was anchored in the centre of the creek and the huge lugsails had not yet been set.

It was a large ship, far bigger than Wivina had expected, and as Clem helped her on deck she saw that there were a number of other smugglers busy getting the vessel ready for sea.

“I did not expect to invite you on board until this evening,” she heard Jeffrey Farlow’s hated voice say behind her.

She turned and saw that he too had been carried on board by one of the smugglers, having, she realised, no intention of getting his polished boots wet.

“You have no right to bring me here,” she hissed in a low voice.

“It’s a perfect day for a sail, when you wish to avoid being seen,” he said mockingly.

“That is your problem, not mine!” Wivina answered.

“Still spitting at me!” he exclaimed. “Make up your mind to enjoy yourself. Most women would look forward to a trip to France.”

“I am not like the sort of women you know,” Wivina retorted. “Where is my brother?”

“In the cabin.”

He put out his hand to assist her across the deck, but Wivina had moved rapidly ahead of him.

She knew where the cabin would be situated and she climbed down the companionway.

It was quite a sizable cabin and at the far end of it seated on a bench was Richard. At the sight of him Wivina gave a little cry.