Carisbrooke Abbey (2 page)

‘It’s a young woman, Obadiah. Lost her way, by the look of things. She’s as wet as a mermaid, poor dear.’

The woman ushered Hilary into a snug sitting-room. It was a cosy apartment, and provided a welcome contrast to the gloomy day outside. Despite the earliness of the hour the curtains were drawn. They shut out the sight of the wind-beaten trees, which bent and twisted with every fresh blast. Even the noise was somewhat kept out by their heavy damask. The walls were painted in a warm shade of apricot, which glowed in the firelight, taking on the appearance of red gold. The ceiling was low and crossed by heavy oak beams. Their heaviness was lightened by the furniture, which was more modern in style. A sofa upholstered in gold damask was set to the left of the door, and a wing chair was placed to the right of the log fire, which filled the inglenook fireplace and sent heat into the far corners of the room.

To the left of the fire sat an elderly man with his feet in a bowl of hot water. A towel was round his shoulders, and his breeches were rolled up to his knees.

‘I’m  ... achoo! ... sorry to greet you like this,’ said the rector, starting to rise.

‘Now don’t you get up, Obadiah. I’m sure the young lady will understand.’ She turned to Hilary. ‘Don’t come too close, dear. You don’t want to catch it. Here.’ She pulled a chair forward for Hilary, and set it down at the other side of the fire. ‘Sit down, and make yourself comfortable. We’ll soon have you dry.’

‘That’s very kind of you,’ said Hilary, ‘but I cannot stay. I lost my way in the woods and I have only stopped to ask for directions.’

‘Ah. You’ll be wanting the village,’ said the woman knowledgeably. ‘You’ve come from over the hill, I suppose?’

‘No.’ Hilary shook her head, and tried to ignore the pain in her foot. ‘I’ve come from Derbyshire. I am wanting to find the abbey.’

There was a sudden stillness in the room, and the woman’s kindly face went blank.

‘Carisbrooke Abbey,’ Hilary elaborated.

Martha cast her husband, the rector, a quick look, and they exchanged glances.

‘No, I don’t think you’ll be wanting the abbey,’ said Martha, with a falsely cheerful air.

‘Yes.’ Hilary was definite. ‘I have an appointment.’

Ordinarily their strange manner on hearing the abbey mentioned would have disturbed her, but at present she was too cold and wet to be troubled by it. She wanted one thing and one thing only: to reach Carisbrooke Abbey without delay.

‘Well ... ’

The woman looked dubious, but her husband turned to Hilary and said, ‘If you have an appointment, then of course you must keep it. But you cannot go any further on foot. John must take you in the carriage.’

‘On a night like this?’ demanded his wife.

‘Hush, wife,’ he said in admonishing tones.

‘I don’t want to be any trouble,’ said Hilary. ‘Perhaps if I could just borrow a horse?’

‘It is John’s duty as ... achoo! ... a Christian to take you,’ said the rector. ‘Martha, ring the bell.’

Fussing and flustering, Martha rang the bell, and before long a dour old man entered the room.

‘This young lady wishes to go to the abbey, John.’

‘To t’abbey?’ he asked suspiciously.

‘Yes, John. The abbey.’

John cast her a doubtful glance, but then shrugged, and said, ‘Very good, maister,’ before turning and leaving the room.

Well, his strange attitude was not to be wondered at, thought Hilary, finally realizing something was amiss. It wasn’t that she had precisely lied to secure the position at the abbey, but she had not been altogether truthful either, and she doubted that anyone in the neighbourhood would be prepared for a young woman to join the staff in such a position.

‘Now come and sit by the fire. You might as well get warm whilst John readies the horses,’ said the rector. ‘Never fear, he won’t be long.’

‘That’s right, dear,’ said Martha, all bustle once again.

She sat Hilary hospitably in front of the roaring blaze and Hilary made no further protest. She sank gratefully into the comfortable chair and stretched out her hands in front of her, warming them at the flames.

‘So. You’re going to the abbey,’ said the rector.

‘Yes.’ She hesitated. ‘Is it a real abbey?’

‘Oh, yes,’ nodded the rector.

Visions of dark tombs, creaking doors and secrets passages assailed Hilary’s imagination. Much as she enjoyed reading about them in Mrs Radcliffe’s novels, the idea of experiencing them was daunting. For a moment she wished she had not accepted the position, but as she had not been offered any other form of employment she had been driven to take it.

‘Or at least, it was,’ he continued, ‘but when King Henry dissolved the monasteries and sold much of the church’s land it passed into secular hands.’ He shook his head, as though mourning something that had happened three, instead of nearly three hundred, years ago. ‘That was when Lord Carisbrooke bought it  - the first Lord Carisbrooke, that is, the present Lord Carisbrooke’s ancestor.’

Hilary leant back in her chair. She could feel her injured foot starting to swell and press against the inside of her boot. She longed to remove it, but for the moment it was not possible.

‘And he, of course, turned it into his residence,’ said the rector.

The door opened and John entered the room.

‘All ready, John?’ asked the rector.

John tugged his forelock. ‘Aye, maister.’

‘Good.’ He turned to Hilary. ‘Then we mustn’t keep you.’

Hilary stood up. ‘Thank you for the use of your carriage, and the use of your fire,’ she said gratefully. ‘I really do appreciate it.’

She picked up her portmanteau and Martha showed her to the door. As she climbed, with some difficulty, into the carriage, Martha waved her off and then John closed the door. Leaning back against the squabs, Hilary felt a momentary qualm as she thought of what was to come, but she told herself not to be so cowardly. She had come this far. She would see it through.

There was a jolt, and the carriage pulled away. Rain thrummed on the roof and bounced from the puddles as John manoeuvred it carefully down the road, continuing in the direction Hilary had been heading. As the minutes passed she was more and more thankful that she had found the rectory. The abbey was evidently still some way away and she would have been exhausted by the time she had reached it if she had had to continue on foot.

At last, the carriage turned to the left and Hilary leaned forward. Peering out of the window she could see little through the curtain of rain, but by and by some dim lights showed in the distance and she saw the bulk of a large building outlined against the sky. So this was to be her new home. If her luck held, that was.

The carriage rumbled to a halt. John climbed down from the box and opened the door, and Hilary stepped out.

Seen beneath the black sky, which had turned the November afternoon into something resembling night, the abbey was not a welcoming sight. Its Gothic architecture was gaunt, with jagged spires reaching into the sky. Flying buttresses supported its walls and tall, narrow windows lined its sides. Before her was an arched door made of solid oak, set in a surround of heavily-carved stone. Above it was a rose window. The window should have been beautiful, but instead it was forbidding. It reminded Hilary of a huge eye, watching her.

But she was being fanciful. Besides, there was no turning back. She must do what she had come to do.

Steeling her nerve she went up the steps to the front door. It was enormous, and she felt tiny standing in front of it. She fought  down a shiver of fear, then straightening her pelisse she lifted the heavy iron knocker and let it fall. A loud clanging noise reverberated through the gloomy afternoon. By and by, the noise died away. No one came. She waited. Still no one came. She raised the knocker and was just about to let it fall again when she heard shuffling footsteps approaching the other side of the door. There was the sound of bolts being drawn back, and then the door creaked open.

An ancient butler, bent and crooked, stood there. He was dressed all in black. To Hilary’s overstretched nerves he looked like a bird of ill omen.

He bent forward and peered at her insolently.

‘What do you want?’ he asked suspiciously.

‘I am here to see Lord Carisbrooke,’ she said politely.

‘His lordship don’t want to see the likes of you.’

She was taken aback by his rudeness, but quickly recovering herself, she said firmly, ‘I have an appointment.’

A pleasant gentleman’s voice called from somewhere behind the door. ‘If the lady has an appointment, Lund, you had better let her in.’

Lund gave Hilary a sour look. Then he stood aside.

Hilary, summoning her courage, stepped over the threshold. She found herself in a cavernous stone-flagged hall. Suits of armour glinted in the shadows under the staircase, which rose in a sweep of stone from the corner of the hall before finally disappearing into the darkness above, and large tapestries hung on the walls.

A huge fireplace dominated the hall. It was flanked by two oak tables on which large branched candelabras were set, but their flickering flames, even when mixed with the leaping flames of the log fire, could not illuminate the corners of the massive space.

Above the fireplace was a fearsome-looking collection of weapons. Two-handed swords and heavy maces were mixed with spears and axes, interspersed with battered shields.

Hilary shivered. It was not a welcoming place.

But the sight of an amiable-looking gentleman standing in front of the fireplace with a large hound lying at his feet did much to dispel her forebodings. He had a handsome face and graceful posture, and was elegantly dressed. His cravat was arranged with precision, and there were frills of lace at his cuffs. His blue tailcoat was well cut, and his breeches were pulled smoothly over his slender legs.

‘My dear young lady, you are drenched,’ the gentleman said. ‘Do come over here and take a seat by the fire.’

Hilary was unwilling to impose on his hospitality and felt she must inform him of her status immediately.

‘That is very kind of you, Lord Carisbrooke, but I feel I should introduce myself. I —’

‘Lord Carisbrooke?’ His face broke into a charming smile. ‘I’m afraid you are under a misapprehension. I am not Lord Carisbrooke.’

‘No?’ Hilary was surprised.

His smile became rueful. ‘Unfortunately not.’

‘Oh.’

Hilary was disappointed. She was sure he would have honoured her appointment, if he had been the earl.

‘But perhaps I can be of assistance? I am his cousin - his distant cousin. My name is Ulverstone.’

‘Mr Ulverstone.’ Hilary inclined her head.

She was just about to explain her presence when the door, caught by a gust of wind, banged open. She started, then looked towards it ... and felt a sinking sensation in the pit of her stomach. For there, standing in the doorway was the broad-shouldered, shaggy-haired, bear-like figure she had met in the woods.

‘That won’t be necessary,’ he growled.

‘Ah, Marcus, there you are.’ The elegant young gentleman’s eyes twinkled. ‘You did not tell me you were expecting such delightful company.’

Marcus, Lord Carisbrooke, fixed Hilary with unwelcoming eyes.

‘That’s because I’m not.’ 

Hilary’s spirits sank at the knowledge that the bear-like gentleman of her earlier acquaintance was none other than the owner of Carisbrooke Abbey! As he stood there glowering at her, she felt herself quail. She had been determined to convince him of her capability and efficiency at their first meeting, and instead she had convinced him of quite the opposite. But there was no use repining. She would just have to go on with what she had been saying.

Fighting down her despondency she said, as calmly as she could, ‘Lord Carisbrooke.’ She held out her hand, and endeavoured to control it, for it seemed to have developed an alarming tendency to shake.

He glowered at her for a minute, and then descended the three shallow stone steps that led into the hall.

‘There was no one in at the rectory, I suppose. You caught sight of the lights of the abbey through the trees and decided to follow them. Though where the devil the rector can have gone on a night like this —’

‘No,’ she interrupted him. ‘You are mistaken. The rector was in at the rectory, as well as his wife. A charming couple.’ She came to a halt, realizing that she was babbling. Taking a deep breath, she continued more slowly. ‘They were good enough to lend me their carriage so that I could continue my journey and keep my appointment.’ She put on what she hoped was a confident smile. ‘I am very pleased to meet you, Lord Carisbrooke. I am Miss Wentworth.’

‘I don’t give a damn who you - Wentworth?’ he asked suspiciously.

‘Yes.’ She kept the smile fixed to her face.

He regarded her with narrowed eyes and Hilary had to fight an urge to step back as he drew closer.

‘
Wentworth
?’ he demanded, his eyes glimmering under beetling brows.

‘That’s right.’ Her smile was now stretched so tight her face was starting to ache. She wanted to lean back, but she fought down the impulse and remained standing upright.

He scowled, and then demanded suddenly, ‘Where the devil is your brother?’

She was so surprised she dropped her hand to her side. ‘My brother? I don’t have a brother.’

‘Your father then,’ he said dismissively, shrugging himself out of his soaking greatcoat and handing it to Lund. ‘He’s drunk himself into a stupor, I suppose, and sent you to tell me he’s fallen ill and won’t be here ‘til next week.’

‘I don’t have a father either.’

His chin jutted forward. ‘Then what do you have, Miss Wentworth? An uncle, a grandfather —’

‘I have no male relatives, sir - my lord,’ she corrected herself.

He looked sour.

Ignoring his expression, she continued, ‘I am here in my own right.’ She took a deep breath. ‘I have come to take up my position as your new librarian.’

 ‘My
what
?’ demanded Lord Carisbrooke.

‘Your librarian,’ she said, though she could not help her voice trailing away a little at the end of the sentence.