Lord of Misrule Page 2

  ‘I guess this is it,’ Paula said nervously.

  ‘Just how big is this house?’ Verity asked uneasily.

  ‘Simon just said it was big and old.’

  ‘Hmm. Well, we’re about to find out how big is big,’ Verity murmured, and pulled across the road into the entrance. She was about to get out of the car to open the gates when a woman emerged from the little lodge to the left and hurried to do it for them. The girls gave her rather tight smiles of thanks and drove on. ‘I suppose Simon didn’t mention anything about employing any staff, did he?” Verity asked hollowly.

  Paula shook her head, her eyes wide as she stared ahead, looking for the house.

  They drove past a deep bank of rhododendrons, turned a corner, and both gasped. ‘Oh, my God!I Paula exclaimed in an awestruck whisper.

  ‘Quite.’ Verity stopped the car again and they just sat and gazed at the house set on the other side of the shallow valley before them. It was a Georgian house, built of stone that had weathered to a mellow gold, but which shone like a jewel in the low autumn light, the sun reflecting from the many window-panes until the beauty of it hurt your eyes. Verity let out her breath on a long sigh. ‘I’ve never seen such a lovely house.’

  They turned to look at each other, Paula’s eyes seeking reassurance, and Verity grinned at her. ‘Welcome to the lady of the manor.’

  It was the right thing to say. Paula turned to look at the house again with an arrested expression in her eyes. ‘It is a manor, isn’t it? I had no idea it would be so big.’

  They gazed for a while longer, taking in the broad lawns in front of the house, which dropped down to a narrow river between steep banks that meandered along the bottom of the valley and disappeared into quite thick woodland at cither side. Letting off the handbrake, Verity drove slowly forwards, across a cattle-grid that rattled under the wheels, and then across a stone bridge over the river and on to the sweeping curve in front of the house.

  As they drew up, the big oak front door opened and Maggie Layton came hurrying out. ‘So you made it at last! Thank goodness you rang to say you’d be late; I’d have been so worried about you. Paula, my dear, how are you?’

  While the other two women greeted each other, ‘erity got out of the car and turned to look back over the gardens. From here she could sec that the driveway branched off past the right-hand end of the house towards some stables, and then narrowed into a track that crossed the river again by a wooden bridge overhung by a large chestnut tree. The sun filtered through the branches of the tree and dappled the ground, turning the leaves that had already fallen into a rich golden carpet. The colours and the faint sound of rushing water made an immediate appeal to Verity’s imagination, and she decided to go and explore the k as soon as she was free to do so.

  ‘Verity, how nice to see you again.’

  She turned as Maggie Lay ton came towards her, hand outstretched in greeting. ‘Hello, Mrs Layton. How arc you?’

  ‘Oh, call me Maggie, please. How annoying for you to break down like that. If Sebastian had been home I would have sent him to collect you and have your car sent on after it was mended, but unfortunately he’s been away for the last few days and isn’t due back until tonight. But do come in. I expect you’re both dying for a cup of tea.’ Verity went to reach into the car for the cases, but Maggie said, ‘Oh, don’t worry about those; I’ll have them sent up to your rooms shortly.’

  She led the way up the steps and through a wide hall into a very pleasant sitting-room. There was a big fireplace with logs that burnt brightly, chintz-covered settees, lovingly polished antique furniture, and paintings on the walls, but both girls’ eyes swept the room, settled on one point, and then met in a flash of amused relief. The house was centrally heated; there was a wide radiator, discreetly hidden behind a latticed screen, beneath each window.

  ‘Do make yourselves comfortable. I’ll just go and get the tea; Mrs Chivers will probably have it ready by now.’

  She went out of the room and Paula swung round. ‘Wow! I can’t take it all in. Simon should have told me about all this.’

  ‘I can’t think why he didn’t like the place. It’s a terrific house. And I can’t wait to explore the gardens.’ Verity walked across the room to look at a portrait over the fireplace. ‘Is this Simon’s father, do you know? It looks modern enough.’

  Paula came to stand beside her. ‘I suppose it must be, but I’ve never seen any photographs of him, so I can’t know for sure. He died a couple of years before I met Simon. All Simon ever said about him was that he was in his fifties when Simon was born. His mother was in her forties, too, and never got over his birth. She died when Simon was very young, and then a few years later hit. father married Maggie,’ She broke off as the door opened and Maggie came in carrying a silver tea-tray. ‘We were just wondering if this was Simon’s father,’ she said quickly.

  ‘Yes, it is. Although it was painted long before I knew him, of course. He was only about forty then, but he always told me it was a good likeness. Do you think Simon looked much like him?’

  After taking a second look at the painting, Paula shook her head. ‘No, not really.’

  ‘He must have taken after his mother, then,’ Maggie said lightly. She poured out the tea and began to talk easily of other things, the perfect hostess, completely at home in her setting.

  As Verity joined in the conversation she wondered if it had been much of a blow to Maggie to find that the house she must look on as her home now belonged to an unborn child. Although she had never owned the house herself, she had been the mistress here for many years; it must be an unsettling time for her now—and for her son. Verity realised that things might be difficult all round, and was doubly glad that she had agreed to come here with Paula.

  After tea, Maggie took them upstairs and showed them their rooms, which they were pleased to find were next to each other. Verity looked at her room and thought that it was so large that she could have got the whole ground-floor area of her little house into it. It was high, too, with a beautiful crystal chandelier in the middle of the ceiling, and two wardrobes at least seven feet tall against the far wall. She caught a glimpse of her slim figure in hip-hugging jeans and tight sweater in the full-length mirror on the front of one of the wardrobes, and realised that this was the first piece of furniture in which she’d ever been able to see herself fully. Usually they cut off her legs or the top of her head.

  Opening off the bedroom there was a pretty bathroom that smelt of pot-pourri from the large bowl of dried petals on a shelf. Verity decided that she might well be spending a lot of time in there now that she had some leisure on her hands. Which in itself was a strange feeling—usually at home she was always in a mad rush and had little time to spend soaking in the bath. Her cases had been brought up and she methodically unpacked and then went along to Paula’s room.

  ‘Hi. Need any help to unpack?’

  ‘I’ve done a couple of cases, but I think I’ll leave the rest till tomorrow.’ Paula sat down rather wearily on the bed. ‘Perhaps I’ll take a nap. There’s time before we have to get ready for dinner, isn’t there?’

  ‘Of course. It’s only five o’clock’

  ‘How about you?’

  Verity glanced towards the window. ‘I think I’ll go for a walk in the garden before the sun goes down. There’s a path that leads to the woods that looks inviting.’

  ‘I’ll see you later, then. Wake me when you come back, will you?’ Paula lay back on the bed and closed her eyes with a yawn.

  ‘OK. Have a nice sleep.’ Verity closed the curtains and hurried back to her own room, where she changed into a pair of flat-heeled boots. Opening the door of the wardrobe, she reached in for a jacket, but the day was still so warm that she settled on a woollen shawl instead, tying it in a loose knot on her shoulder.

  There was no one around as she went downstairs. Verity let herself out of the front door and walked briskly past the house and stables, glad to stretch her legs and to get some fresh
air. She made a pleasant picture as she strode along, tall and graceful, her shoulder-length chestnut hair lit into a flame as bright as the autumn leaves in the evening sun. Gravel crunched under her feet, but once she had gone past the stables the surface changed to compacted earth with the ruts of tyre marks near the edges.

  It was such a lovely day; Verity lifted her head to feel the sun on her face. There was still warmth in it, even so late, and it was so low in the sky and so bright that she had to shade her eyes to see where she was going. The grounds really were beautiful, landscaped to make the most of the terrain, with groups of tall trees that must be as old as the house. A momentary stab of envy filled her as she thought how she would love to live here and how lucky Paula was to have it, but then she immediately felt ashamed as she realised that Paula would give up this and everything else to have Simon alive again.

  The sound of water grew louder, although the river didn’t seem to be running very fast. To the right the path was bordered by a thick shrubbery, the track converging on the river at the bridge. Grass grew between the lyre ruts and was a little slippery underfoot. Verity moved over to the edge of the road and caught a glimpse of the sun reflecting off water through the bushes on her right. It puzzled her a little, because the water seemed to be at a much lower level, but as she came to the bridge she saw the reason why. Although it was invisible from the garden, the ground fell away steeply behind the shrubbery, dropping down to a quite large lake, thick with weed and lily pads. The water for the lake came from the river and was controlled by a sluice gate just beneath the bridge.

  Moving into the shadow thrown by the big chestnut tree. Verity leaned over the low parapet of the bridge and saw that the sluices were partly open, the water gushing down a good ten or twelve feet to make the loud noise she’d heard. The machinery of the sluice was red with rust, the cog-wheels dark and menacing as she looked down on them, the dank smell of wet stone filling her nostrils. A sudden shiver ran through her and she went to turn away, but then a movement caught her eye and she saw a big fish just below the surface of the water. She watched it swim among the stems of the weed, its steely skin like quicksilver in the rippling sunlight, until her attention was caught by a family of ducks down on the other side of the lake. The mother duck was trying to shepherd her five ducklings along, but the last two obviously wanted to play and kept darting behind the lilies, almost as if they were playing hide and seek. Their antics made Verity laugh, and she leaned further over to watch.

  The roaring of the water filled her ears and Verity didn’t hear the vehicle coming until it was quite close. It was a Land Rover, the son that farmers used for driving in rough country. It was coming from the direction of the house, the sun reflecting like arrows of light off the windscreen. Verity straightened up in startled alarm and took a hurried step towards the edge of the narrow bridge to get out of the way. She gave a yell of warning and started to raise her arm, her horrified gaze on the Land Rover. It came out of the sunlight into the shade, and for an appalling moment she looked into the face of the man at the wheel, a face that wore a fierce frown of ruthless determination. But then the Land Rover brushed against her and she was sent toppling over the wooden handrail, plunging down towards the dark pit of machinery and stone of the sluice. It all happened so quickly, just a few seconds, and yet Verity’s mind had time to realise where she was falling and to fill with terror, knowing that it meant certain injury if not worse.

  Perhaps it was terror that gave Verity the strength to grab at the edge of the bridge and cling on, halting her fall. She screamed, her voice stark with fear, as she dangled over the sluice, and somehow managed to swing her other arm upwards so that she was hanging on with both hands. Her shawl slipped from her shoulders and she saw it fall and catch on one of the iron cogs, its ends sucked into the stream of water. Her voice raw with fear, she screamed again, ‘Help me! Somebody help met’

  The noise of the rushing water was too loud for her to hear whether or not the Land Rover had stopped, and she couldn’t see anything on the bridge, but some instinct cut through her terror and made her look past the bridge over to the right where the road dipped down to the level of the lake and ran along beside it. The Land Rover was there. It had pulled up and the man was getting out. He stood in the shadows, tall and, to her petrified mind, satanic, as he stared across at her slim figure as she hung there. Verity’s terrified eyes looked into his and she was filled with the sudden dreadful conviction that he wasn’t going to help her, that he was going to stand and watch until she felt.

  The scream that broke from her then was one of deathly fear and despair, but suddenly the man seemed to jerk into movement and he came bounding back towards the bridge. Panic seized Verity and her fingers dug into the hard wooden planks as she tried desperately to pull herself back up. She was sure that he meant to break her grip and make her fall. He reached her and bent down, stretched his arms out towards her hands.

  ‘No! No, don’t!’

  Her petrified cry made him hesitate, and Verity tried to swing away, but then the man’s hands had gripped her wrists—and he began to pull her up on to the bridge.

  For several minutes she couldn’t believe that he was helping her, and she struggled against his hold, yelling and screaming at him to let her go until one of her hands almost slipped from his. He gave a muttered curse, then, and flexed his broad shoulders to suddenly heave her under the parapet and drag her to her feet. The transition from extreme danger to safety was so sudden that Verity was unable to take it in, and she continued to struggle against him, whimpering with terror, until he let her go and stepped back. She stumbled, too overcome by shock to have the strength to stand, and the man quickly stepped forward to catch her again. For a brief second she leant against his chest and felt the arrant masculinity of him, his height and strength, the musky sensuality of his warm skin. She lifted stunned eyes to look at him—and saw again the face of the man who had run her down. With a cry of fear and revulsion, Verity broke loose from his hold and fled back towards the house.

  CHAPTER TWO

  Verity’s terror-stricken run from the bridge to the house was like one of those ghastly nightmares where you were being chased but your legs wouldn’t move and no matter how hard you tried you couldn’t get away. By the time she reached the front of the house and staggered to the door her breath was coming in hoarse, chest-rending gulps and her legs would hardly carry her. But she opened the door and sent it crashing back against the wall, then made for the stairs, dragging herself up by the banister.

  Behind her, she heard a woman’s voice call her name, but she ran on up the stairs and almost fell into Paula’s room. ‘Paula! Paula! Verity dropped to her knees beside the bed and gripped the coverlet, her whole body shaken by terrified sobs.

  ‘Verity? Good heavens, what is it?’ Paula sat up and switched on the bedside lamp. ‘What’s happened?’

  ‘A man. A man, he—he.. .’

  Paula stared at her in horror and reached to put her arms round her friend. ‘What man? What did he do?’

  ‘Paula, has something happened to Verity? I saw her running in as if the devil were behind her.’ Maggie came into the room and crossed it to join them, her voice sharp and a worried frown on her broad brow.

  ‘I don’t know. She’s in a terrible state. She just said something about a man.’ Paula sat on the edge of the bed and stroked Verity’s shoulder. ‘It’s all right, you’re safe now. What happened, Verity? Did a man attack you?’

  A great shudder ran through her, but Verity managed to shake her head. ‘N-no. He—he ran me down.’

  ‘What?’ Paula stared at her in horror.

  Verity’s voice rose hysterically. ‘He ran me down! I was standing on the bridge and he knocked me over the edge. I almost fell in the sluice gates. Look! Look at my hands.’ She held them out, palm upwards, showing the dirt and splinters embedded in them where she had gripped the wooden planks of the bridge.

  ‘Oh, no! Are you badly hurt? We must c
all an ambulance, or take you to hospital.’

  Paula started to get agitatedly to her feet and Verity belatedly remembered that she was pregnant. Making a brave attempt to control herself, she said unsteadily, ‘No. No, I’m all right. Just—just shaken up, that’s all’

  ‘You poor darling.’ Paula cradled Verity’s head ainst her shoulder and turned an angry face up to Maggie. ‘We must find out who did this at once. Was it one of the gardeners, do you think?’

  Her face pale, Maggie shook her head and said in a voice as shocked as Paula’s, ‘No, the gardener will have gone home by now. I can’t think who it could have been. That track only leads from the stables to the old gamekeeper’s cottage, where Mr and Mrs Chivers live, and then to the lane leading down to the village. The staff mostly use it as a short cut. I can’t think’ She broke off as a sharp knock sounded on the partly open door, and went out into the corridor to see who it was.

  ‘Are you sure you’re OK?’ Paula said as soon as she’d gone. ‘You look terrible.’

  ‘Thanks,’ Verity said with a wretched attempt at a wry smile. Pulling herself up, she sat beside Paula on the bed and looked down at her hands. A great quiver of remembered dread ran through her. ‘I was so scared. I really thought I’d had it.’

  ‘You were lucky that you were able to climb back up. What did you do, fall on to the bank? You don’t seem to be wet at all.’

  ‘No, you don’t understand. I caught hold of the bridge as I fell and hung on to it.’ Verity gave an exasperated shake of her head. ‘You really need to see the place to‘

  ‘But how did you get back up, then?’ Paula asked in puzzlement.

  Slowly Verity lifted her head and turned to look at Paula, her green eyes wide in her pale face. ‘He—the man—he stopped and came back. He pulled me up on to the bridge.’

  Paula stared at her. ‘But I don’t understand. Where is he? Did he bring you back to the house? Why did he…..’