Come to Castlemoor (15 page)

“You'll leave,” he said.

He turned away from me abruptly. He took the horse by the reins and led it out of the circle of stones without once looking back at me. I heard the horse's hooves clattering on the ground for a while, then echoes, then no sound at all but the wind whistling softly as it blew gently through the great ruined city. For a long time I stood there amidst the ruins, stunned and shaken by the encounter with Burton Rodd. I frowned. Was he the demon people said he was, cold, cruel, amoral? At moments he had seemed so, and at moments he had seemed a man weighed down with some tragic burden, tormented and torn asunder by life. The ravaged face, the weary lines, the sad eyes—all gave weight to that impression.

I had run through a whole gamut of emotions in his presence, and now I felt depleted, unable to judge him. Perhaps that was part of his power. Perhaps he used it to weaken his victims before closing in for the kill. I wondered about that moment of curious affinity. Had it been real, or had I merely imagined it? I couldn't be sure. The only thing I was sure of was that Burton Rodd intended to try to drive me away from Castlemoor, for reasons unknown, and that I had no intentions of leaving, no matter what tactics he might employ in order to achieve his goals.

CHAPTER TEN

Dorothea Rodd's invitation came late that afternoon, after I returned from the ruins. I was in the study, compiling notes, when I heard voices. Glancing out the window, I saw Bella, cheeks flushed, expression irate, arguing with Buck Crabbe. In boots, tight tan trousers, and leather jerkin, Crabbe looked the stupid peasant, his face sullen, his lower lip thrust out. He seized Bella's wrist, jerked her toward him. She looked small and helpless against his great frame, her brown curls tumbling about her shoulders, her pink skirts fluttering like butterfly wings against his legs. Buck Crabbe leaned down to whisper something in her ear. Bella pulled away from him and slammed her open palm against his face.

He looked stunned, an uncomprehending brute. Bella stood with hands on hips, cheeks blazing, daring him to do anything. Crabbe loomed up before her, incredibly large, incredibly ugly, and for a moment I thought he was going to strike her. His lips moved sullenly, but I couldn't hear the words. Bella threw her head back and laughed, the sound tinkling merrily on the air. Crabbe creased his brow, thrust his lower lip out, and seemed to stagger a little, as though he would topple over. Then he turned around and left, lumbering away like some enormous animal. Bella was still laughing. As she came toward the house, I noticed the slip of paper in her hand.

“What was
that
all about?” I inquired as she came into the study.

“He brought an invitation from the castle,” she said, handing me the slip of paper. “And he had a personal invitation for me. Imagine the cheek! Stood there like a lummox and flexed his muscles and lowered his lids kinda sleepy-like and expected me to meet him behind the castle at ten! Just like that, as though he was doin' me a great big favor. I told 'im when I decided to dally I'd do my own choosin', and he said I didn't know what I was missin', and I said I'd as soon touch a boa constrictor!”

“And what did he say to that?”

“Somethin' perfectly
awful
, Miss Kathy! I wouldn't dare repeat it!”

Her eyes sparkled, and there was a saucy smile on her lips. I knew she had been thoroughly elated by the encounter. She fluttered about the study, her voluminous pink skirt rustling crisply over her starched petticoats. I could imagine how she would embroider the incident for Alan tonight when he came to take her for a moonlight stroll. She settled at the window to watch the last orange banners fade against the horizon, and I read the note from Dorothea Rodd.

It was more like a summons than an invitation. Dorothea Rodd would expect me for dinner at eight the next night, formal, and one of her servants would come to fetch me and escort me across the moors to the castle. I was irritated by the tone of the note, and I started to crumple it up and toss it aside, but my curiosity was too great. Few people had an opportunity to see the insides of the castle. I knew I would go even if the note had been openly insulting. I wondered if Burton Rodd had instigated the invitation. It seemed likely.

“You've got to make a marvelous impression,” Bella exclaimed after I had shown her the invitation. “What will you wear? Something magnificent! Show them how
real
gentry dress.”

“I don't have anything magnificent,” I told her.

Bella narrowed her eyes, her head cocked to one side. She was mentally examining my wardrobe. “The yellow silk? Not this time of year. The white linen—lovely, but it makes you look like a schoolgirl! The black-and-white-striped taffeta? Too severe. I have it, Miss Kathy! The garnet velvet! It'll be perfect!”

“Really, Bella, the dress is much too—”

“It'll be grand. You'll look like a duchess!”

My brother had bought the garnet velvet dress for me the day after his publishers accepted his book. He had paid an outrageous price for it, and I had scolded him for spending so much money on a dress when we needed new curtains in the parlor and were already two months behind in the rent. Donald had brushed all these arguments aside and insisted I wear the garnet gown to the opera. I wore it once and felt extremely uncomfortable as we sat in the box. I was certain that all eyes were upon me, and after wearing it that one time, I folded the dress away in tissue paper and mothballs and referred to it thereafter as “Donald's folly.”

“I couldn't wear it,” I protested.

Bella was adamant. “You shall!” she cried. “And we'll have to do something spectacular to your hair!”

At seven-thirty the next evening I sat at the mirror, extremely nervous as Bella applied the finishing touches to my coiffure. It was already dark outside, and only one lamp burned in the room. In the shadowy glow, I studied the reflection in the glass. This wasn't Katherine Hunt. This was Katherine Hunt masquerading as something she wasn't. I knew that any man would be beguiled by what he saw, and most women would be envious, but I remained unmoved by the softly lighted reflection. Still, it would be pleasant to see the expression in Edward's eyes when he saw me tonight, and it would be interesting to note Burton Rodd's reactions to this woman who was so completely unlike the book-bearing, scholarly creature he had seen yesterday at the ruins.

The gown had long, tight sleeves that extended to the edge of my palms, and form-fitting bodice and waist, with a skirt that cascaded to the floor in richly gathered folds. It was extremely modest in front, completely covering my shoulders, yet it dipped down alarmingly in back, exposing an improbable amount of naked flesh. Bella said I had a lovely back, perfect shoulderblades, but I would have been happier had the cut not been so extreme. The soft, crushed velvet was a deep garnet hue, a silvery mist over the nap. Castlemaine herself might have worn the dress with flair, but Miss Katherine Hunt felt ill at ease.

Bella had pulled my hair back sharply from my face, molding it tightly against my head like a golden skullcap, with three long ringlets dangling down. She arranged the ringlets over my left shoulder, stood back, sighed, clasped her hands together, and said I looked like a painting. I leaned forward to study my face, so painstakingly made up—violet-brown shadow applied lightly over lids, a hint of rouge brushed over sculptured cheekbones, bare suggestion of coral smoothed over lips. I looked like a sophisticated woman of thirty, and I felt like an awkward girl of thirteen.

I stood up. Bella handed me my wrap, a stole of gossamer black lace, exquisitely made like black cobwebs with frail jet flowers sewn on. It had been another gift from Donald, and I wrapped it about my shoulders now. He would have been pleased with me tonight, I thought. He would have loved to take me out, show me off, as though he had been solely responsible for all this sophistication and elegance.

“I see a torch moving down the slope,” Bella said. “It must be the servant comin' to fetch you.”

“It must be,” I replied vaguely. “You and Alan behave yourselves while I'm gone. He is coming?”

“He brought a tub of pecans this afternoon,” she said. “We're goin' to sit in the kitchen and shell 'em. Have a good time, Miss Kathy.”

“I'll try,” I said.

I was waiting in front of the door when Buck Crabbe came up with the flaming torch. He was tall, impassive, dressed in a dark-brown livery that looked incongruous on his hulking body. He held the torch aloft. The flames cast flickering shadows over his broad bony face and caused the tips of his bronze-blond hair to glisten with orange. He turned, silent, and led the way up the slope toward the castle.

The night air was cold, stirring restlessly over the moor. I wished my wrap were more substantial. The gossamer net did little to protect my naked back. I could feel chills on the bare skin. Crabbe walked slowly, solemnly, like a zombie, I thought, but even so it was hard to keep up with him in my high-heeled black shoes. I stumbled once and had to catch hold of his arm to keep from falling. He stood still, waiting for me to right myself, his face expressionless, his mouth drawn tight. I felt like telling him he was a real bundle of personality, but I didn't quite dare. I felt sure the sarcasm would have gone unappreciated.

The sky was full of ponderous black clouds. Moonlight spilled over the dark rims, to drip a misty silver light over the moors. Everything was black and gray, slopes of gray rolling to a distant black horizon. The silence was heavy, broken only by the rasp of insects and the sound of footsteps crunching over the hard ground. The torch wavered, yellow and orange, throwing off an odor of tar and smoke. The castle was ahead, looking even more sinister shrouded in shadows, the thick gray walls stained with misty silver. Lights burned behind a few of the windows, and the great oak door stood open. We walked beneath the oak trees. Just as we reached the door, Buck stopped, turned to me. His blue-gray eyes studied me for a moment. His wide mouth curled down at the corners.

“Leave the girl alone,” he said.

“I beg your pardon?”

“The girl. Nicola. Leave her be.”

“What—what do you mean?”

“Don't meddle, miss,” he said in a flat voice. “That's what I mean.”

Before I could form a reply, he turned and led the way through the huge door. It was very dark inside, the torchlight flickering over thick damp walls and an extremely low ceiling. I realized we were passing through a sort of tunnel that would eventually open onto the courtyard. My heels made a tapping noise on the cobblestone floor. I had a feeling of claustrophobia and was glad when we finally reached the courtyard. It was enormous, with several tall trees growing around a huge, cracked white pond full of dirty brown water, dead leaves floating on the surface, a broken statue standing dejectedly in the middle, holding a fish aloft. There were several buildings—a stable, a deserted blacksmith's shop, a granary. A white flagstone path wound among shabby flowerbeds, weed-infested, thorny. Torches were stuck in the ground, burning smokily, illuminating everything with a dim yellow glow.

I had an eerie feeling as we crossed the courtyard. The place was immense, the size overwhelming, and there was an atmosphere of decay—gray walls streaked with soot and glittering with moisture, loose stones fallen on the ground, everything suffering from neglect. The castle had once been the home of dozens and dozens of people, and now only a handful lived here. I tried to picture them milling around in this vast, aged place. I saw long deserted halls, great empty rooms, cobwebs, dust, emptiness. I shuddered in spite of myself.

Buck led me up the curving gray marble steps that led to the portico in front of the main building. Round white pots held rubbery green plants, torches burned in niches, tossing wavering yellow shadows over the steps. We passed under the arch supported by smooth black columns and walked under the colonnade. A great oak door stood open, and we walked down a long hall tiled in black and white marble squares, ancient tapestries flapping on the walls. We turned, moved down a smaller, darker hall, illuminated only by Buck's torch, turned again, moved up a short flight of stairs, and passed through a great deserted room with tattered red damask on the walls, sheets over the furniture, cobwebs draped over the four chandeliers. I was completely lost now, could never have found my way back to the courtyard. One would need a map to get around in this place, I thought as Buck led the way down a long hall with padlocked doors on either side. We went around a corner and passed down another hall, well lighted now, the torches illuminating enormous dark portraits hanging in ornate gold frames.

Doors stood open at the end of the hall. Buck led me through them and stood back, his mission accomplished. I heard voices, but I couldn't tell where they were coming from at first.

The room was enormous, large enough to swallow up my whole house. The ceiling was two stories high, painted a dark blue and gilded with gold-leaf designs. The gold leaf was tarnished, the paint flaking. The walls were a yellowed ivory, adorned with gold leaf, and the floor was exquisite parquet, gold, brown, red woods all smooth from decades of wax, buckling a little at the seams. There were clusters of furniture, but the room was so large that it seemed empty despite the furniture. Although fires burned in two white-marble fireplaces at either end of the room, the air was still laced with frosty chill.

Buck left, closing the doors behind him, and I stood hesitantly, peering through the gloom, feeling lost and absurd in my velvet gown. I had the feeling that this was a dream fast taking on the qualities of nightmare. I was lost, locked in a museum, abandoned, forgotten, left to wander through these ancient rooms, through cold halls. Panic was just beginning to set in when I heard footsteps and saw Edward coming toward me.

He was resplendent in black pumps, black suit, shirt-front gleaming, white silk tie matching white silk cummerbund. His burnished golden hair was heaped in heavy locks over his forehead, and his cornflower-blue eyes showed his pleasure. He smiled, took my hand, led me across an acre of parquet to the cluster of furniture before one of the fireplaces. Although at least fifty candles burned in silver sconces and candelabra, there wasn't enough light. The figures grouped around the hearth looked hazy, as though seen through a mist.