Ask Me No Questions (25 page)

"Whereupon," said Chandler, amused, "he told you he meant to become a sailor."

"Just so. He said his father had been a captain for the East India Company."

"You asked him, I take it?"

There was scorn in the tone, and Aymer flushed and said huffily, "I see no reason why I should not have done so." Chandler looked at him steadily. Aymer was reminded that he never had cared for those cold grey eyes. So devoid of any feeling. He went on, "Jacob said he wished to follow in his father's footsteps, save that he would be a naval officer. Next day, he was coaxing Sir Brian to take him up to the top of the old lighthouse. As if your father could manage to climb those hundreds of steps!"

"No, but the boy would not comprehend that. If he wishes to climb to the top, I'll take him."

"So your father promised. The next instant the child was wanting to play ball! Thinking to spare Sir Brian, I suggested we go to the library instead. Jacob thanked me very prettily, but said he would be a moonling to want to read a book when he might play ball!"

"Well? I am sure my father was pleased to play with "him."

"But—surely, you
must
see! 'Twas in direct opposition to what the boy had told me only the previous day! When I saw him later in the afternoon, I asked if he'd given any more thought to a career when he finished school. He said"—Aymer looked shocked—"he said he would like to be a—
pirate
!"

Chandler laughed heartily. "So should I when I was that age! Lord, what an uproar to build over a trifle! He said he wanted to go to sea, did he not? Besides, the mind of a small boy is a capricious thing, at best."

Considerably ruffled, Aymer said with unusual acerbity, "Perhaps that would explain why he told me yesterday that he had bacon and eggs for breakfast, which is his favourite, And this morning he shuddered when I mentioned my own breakfast egg, and said that he cannot abide eating
unborn chicks
! I tell you, Mr. Gordon, that child has some deep-seated brain disorder and should be taken to a surgeon."

Chandler's eyes, which had returned to the letter, lifted again and meeting them, Aymer recoiled instinctively. In a very quiet voice, Chandler asked, "Are you perhaps implying that Jacob belongs in Bedlam?"

"No, no! I never meant—I did not—I would not—"

"I'm glad." Chandler took up Durwood's letter once more. "Have you broached the subject to Mrs. Allington?"

"Not yet." Furtively mopping his brow, Aymer thought that Gordon Chandler's temper had most definitely deteriorated of late. He said, "I rather hesitate to do so. She is making such progress on the fresco that it seems likely she will not be here for much longer. But—in the name of human kindness, I should perhaps offer her the benefit of my counsel."

Chandler feigned boredom. "You must do whatever you think best, of course, though in my opinion 'tis a matter for the lady and her family to deal with. I must ask however, that you do not worry my father with your—theories."

Variously shaken and indignant, Aymer left him and walked slowly down the hall. How could the man have failed to notice that one day Jacob was as if glued to his coat skirts, and the next could scarce bear to be parted from Sir Brian? Chandler was not a man of high intellectual achievement, of course, but one would think him capable of noticing the inconsistencies in the child. On the other hand, Chandler might be too caught up in anticipation of the arrival of dear Lady de Brette to pay attention to other matters. At least, he had kept away from the chapel these past few days, and buried himself in his work, which was, thought Mr. Aymer sternly, just as well.

Gordon Chandler was not the only busy individual on the estate. Ruth laboured long and hard at her task, making good progress but becoming so wan and pale that Sir Brian became concerned, and at length insisted she rest for a day or so. Grace was in full accord with this edict, and when Ruth reached the cottage that afternoon she was at once ordered to bed with the promise of a dinner tray to be carried to her.

"Worn yourself to a shade, you have," said Grace, bustling Ruth up the stairs. "Worked hard enough for two this week, and worried half the night away by the look of you. Though why you should worry so much now, when the boys can venture out in safety is more than I can come at!"

"It is because they can take turns going out that I worry so," said Ruth, sitting gratefully on the bed while Grace laid out her nightdress. " 'Tis wonderful to see them so happy. But I dread lest one of them gives the game away."

Grace knelt to take off Ruth's shoes. "How should they? They're alike as two peas in a pod and good as gold about taking turns for their 'Jacob Day,' as they call it. Besides, there's many times, Mrs. A., when
I
cannot tell whether I'm talking to Master Thorpe or Master Jacob."

"I know, and truly I am grateful they are so happy. But the thing is, they're very young and not accustomed to being—devious. If Jacob should forget to tell Thorpe something he should know, or if Thorpe chanced to contradict something Jacob had remarked to somebody—"

"I don't never do that, Aunty Ruth," declared Thorpe indignantly, knocking on the door as he opened it. "We're awful careful. They don't even guess." He giggled and took a bite out of the apple in his hand. "It's fun to 'tend to be Jake. We're not a bit alike really, y'know. I thought they'd find us out the first day. But they're proper sillies and don't see it."

Ruth moaned. "Heaven forgive me! 'Tis wicked to deceive people who have been so kind—so good to us!"

"Run along now, Master Thorpe." Grace had heard the tremor in Ruth's voice. She closed the door behind the boy and said soothingly, "You've done the best for us as you knows how, and we're harming none. Into bed with you. You shall enjoy a nice book and tomorrow you can sleep late and be a lazy-lady so you can start work fresh on Friday."

Aware that she really was over-tired, Ruth was soon gratefully tucked into bed. She ate a light meal and after the boys had joined her for evening prayers settled down with a book. Her many worries would not let her read, however, and when she drew the bed-curtains at half past eight o'clock the future looked so dark and grim that the pillow was soon wet with her tears.

Morning sunlight was flooding the room cheerfully when she awoke. She washed in the cold water from her pitcher, and was brushing her hair when her eyes fell on the little clock on her chest of drawers. It was twelve minutes past six. "Good gracious!" she murmured. "Well, that's what you get, Mrs. A., when you go to bed so early!" She felt rested and refreshed, and ashamed of yesterday's surrender to melancholy. Crossing to the window she opened it wider and looked into the gardens.

It was a perfect morning, a few puffy clouds drifting in a cerulean sky and the air crisp and bracing. A perfect chance for an early walk, she decided, and was about to turn back into the room when she saw the shadow.

The breath seemed to freeze in her throat, and for a moment she was quite unable to move. It was exactly as Grace had described; a hunched, terrifying creature, with a long snout and a great mane about its shoulders. The shadow lay across the lawn in front of the cottage. She could not see the daemon, but her heart gave a lurch of terror as she caught a glimpse of Jacob's blue velvet coat in the far trees. She tried to scream a warning, but her voice was an almost inaudible croak. That fearful head swung towards the boy. Somehow regaining the use of her limbs, Ruth flew madly down the stairs, snatched up the poker from the parlour hearth, and was out of the door in a flash.

She was halfway across the lawn when she realized that the blue coat was not velvet but broadcloth, and that it was worn not by a child, but by a man.

For Gordon Chandler to spend the night tossing and turning through a futile rebellion against the machinations of Fate was a rare experience. It was all too clear that his sleeping heart slept no longer, and that this was no gentle awakening but a soul-shaking certainty that the perfect one was found. But the awakening had come too late, and had brought not joy, but anguish as relentless as it was pointless. At dawn he awoke from a fitful doze and took the old locket from his bedside table. He opened it and with one tender finger touched the silken gold strands he had appropriated with the aid of his pocket knife and that were now rather clumsily tied with a piece of string. He sighed. It was quite hopeless, and he was a very great fool. He was impatient with folly, especially his own, and be damned if he'd go back to bed and endure more hours of misery. He got up, cut himself shaving in icy water, took Carefree for a thundering gallop, and returned her to the stables. It being then still short of six o'clock, he decided not to astound the staff by appearing in the kitchen at such an hour, and wandered instead about the grounds. He had no intention of going anywhere near the blue cottage. Lost in thought, however, his feet betrayed him. He glanced up to find the cottage before him and a vision flying from the front door.

They both stopped, staring at each other.

Why she should have a poker in one hand he neither knew nor cared. Her hair was down and shimmered like a golden mantle about her shoulders, and the nightdress that billowed about her made her seem more of heaven than earth; an exquisite creature, all gold and white daintiness, her wide grey eyes fixed upon him, her lips a little parted.

Enchanted, he murmured, "How glorious is your hair…"

She watched him, standing there so tall and dark and un-moving, with a look on his strong face compounded of awe and delight.

Involuntarily, he reached out to her.

That she should appear surprised or offended did not occur to her. The husky quiver to his deep voice, the wistful tenderness in his eyes drew her irresistibly. She started to him, and not until she stretched out her hand and discovered the poker in it, did there come the shocking awareness that she was barefoot in the garden, clad only in her nightdress and with not so much as a wrapper for propriety. That did shock her, and with a startled gasp she turned away.

He snatched at her free hand. "No—-please don't go."

"I must! I am—I am not
dressed
! Goodness! If someone should
see
!"

Smiling because it had not occurred to her that
he
had seen, he asked, "Do you mean to strike me with your poker?"

"Of course not! 'Twas—Oh! I'd forgot! The
daemon
! I saw its shadow, just as Grace did, and I thought you were Jacob, and—" Her frantic gaze found the shadow, clearer than ever. Her lower lip sagged, and she pointed wordlessly.

Chandler found the shadow. The sun was in the east, so the creature must be… His keen eyes searching, he laughed softly. "There is your daemon, my dauntless warrior."

Clinging to his hand, Ruth saw the creature he indicated, clinging precariously to a branch of the tree at the southeast corner of the cottage. "
Being
!" she gasped.

He said with a chuckle, "I never thought I would be grateful to Jacob's pestiferous pet."

With a sigh of relief, she attempted to disengage her hand.

He tightened his grip. "If I let you escape, will you promise to come down again?" She hesitated, and he coaxed, "Now, Mrs. Ruth, we are both safely—er, bespoken. Is it so very bad to ask that you spend only a little time talking to a lone and lorn gentleman?" She looked troubled, and releasing her hand he added lightly, "And perhaps bring along something to eat. I'm fairly starved and the kitchen a deserted wasteland."

"I might have guessed you had some dastardly motive in mind," she said laughingly, and ran back into the cottage.

Until the last flutter of her nightdress had vanished Chandler stood looking after her. He walked away then, to wait amongst the trees so that no prying eyes might see him and leap at once to a logical but quite mistaken conclusion. He watched the door, counting the seconds until it would open again, and ignoring the small inner voice that said this was unwise. He had a right, surely, to just one brief hour? He had slipped a little bit just now, but he would be cool and controlled so that she would never know; and it was so little to ask; so small a time to hoard in memory.

After a while, she came to him. She had plaited and coiled her hair, and put on a primrose yellow morning dress with modified hoops. It seemed to him that a shimmer of gold still surrounded her, and he stared briefly, then took the basket she carried.

They chatted comfortably as they walked side by side through the deserted gardens. Of the birthday party, and the guests, some of whom would start arriving this afternoon; of the scouring of the estate by keepers, grooms, farmhands, footmen, and gardeners, none of whom had found a trace of the whistling man and his bullies, nor the least clue to explain their presence. Ruth's eyes became troubled and, quick to see, Chandler turned the subject to the fresco and the progress that had been made. The moments flew and it seemed a very short time before the buildings were far behind them and they were going down the long gradual slope to the cliffs.

He made for the old lighthouse and they sat on the rocks in the brilliant morning and breakfasted on slices of cold pork, crusty buttered bread, and cheese. The gulls were already wheeling and calling; the sun grew warmer, and the faint haze on the air burned away. Except for the gulls it was very quiet and still, and they might have been miles from human habitation; alone in a world of peace and beauty.

Ruth folded the napkins and replaced plates, mugs, and the water bottle in the basket. Leaning back against his rock, legs stretched out comfortably, Chandler watched the sunlight on her hair, the pretty movements of her hands, the shape of her lips.

"Tell me," he said, after a short silence, "about your husband. What sort of man was he?"

She smiled reminiscently. "He was a very dear person. Gentle and scholarly, and so kind."

It seemed an odd description of a husband. He turned his head and looked thoughtfully across the blue waters of the Strait to where a schooner made its slow way to the Tidal Basin and two fishing boats were far out towards France. "Was it an arranged marriage?"