Anne Barbour (7 page)

He said nothing, however, merely handing the boot to his patient, and a few minutes later Justin stood up, fully clothed and shod. With the aid of the crutch, he moved slowly about the room.

Well, now, this wasn’t going too badly. His foot was apparently not seriously sprained. He could even put a little weight on it, he discovered. Better and better. Now, if they’d just let him out of his room, he’d nip down to the stable to see how Caliban was getting on. The poor old fellow was no doubt missing him, and without proper exercise, he’d soon be up to no good.

Catherine watched him as he navigated the distance between the bed, the window, and then the writing desk at the far end of the room. He moved awkwardly, but with a silent intensity. Even hampered as he was by the crutch, the power of his stride was apparent, and Catherine was reminded of a caged lion she had seen once at the Tower. Suffering from a sore paw and confined by the bars of his cage, the big cat was still the king of the beasts—still menacing in his sheathed power. It was obvious from the way Mr. Smith clamped his lips together that he was in pain, but he persevered until he had made his way around the perimeter of the room.

“I’ll be leaving now, my dear.”

She turned with a start to observe that Adam had picked up his bag and was ready to depart. Catherine put her hand out to him. “Thank you for coming, Adam.”

He took her hand and sent her a speaking look. “You know I’ll come any time you ask, Catherine.”

Catherine could feel a blush creep over her cheek at the warmth of his words, spoken in front of a stranger. Was he sending Mr. Smith a message? she wondered. She experienced a spurt of irritation. She shot a glance at Mr. Smith, who was studiously surveying the scene outside the window.

An awkward silence fell, and at last the doctor cleared his throat.

“Good day, then,” he said gruffly, and Catherine produced a stiff nod. She followed him from the room and was surprised to find, upon reaching the corridor, that Mr. Smith had remained on their heels.

“But I can’t just stay in bed all day,” he said, his eyes wide. “I thought I might visit the stables. To take a look at my horse,” he finished hastily as he was treated to two blank stares. “If you would be so kind as to point me in the right direction ... ?”

“Of course.” Catherine’s voice was still tinged with embarrassment. “I shall take you myself if you will wait a moment while I see Adam to the door.”

She placed a hand on Adam’s arm and swept away, not sure if she was hurrying to escape those too perceptive gray eyes, or to get Adam out of the house before he committed any further faux pas.

“It’s all right, Catherine.”

Adam’s brown eyes suddenly sparked with mischief. “I could find my way around your house blindfolded by now. I’ll see myself out.”

Turning to Justin, he added, “Miss Meade and I are such good friends—I am sure you will understand, we do not stand on ceremony.”

With a wave, he set off down the corridor, leaving Catherine to fume impotently. Justin, availing himself of the arm Catherine held out for his support, was forced to grin to himself in appreciation. Rather a master stroke that. The doctor had managed to convey several messages in that brief statement, none of which was meant to offer encouragement to an importunate stranger taking up residence—even temporarily—in the house of Miss Meade.

Winter’s Keep was a very large house, Justin discovered. Catherine led him through several corridors, passing rooms of various functions, all elegantly furnished. Leaning heavily on her arm, he managed without incident the great staircase that led from the upper story of the house to the ground floor. The entry hall was impressive, to say the least. From the stairs, an ocean of polished marble flowed to a massive front door, lapping along the way at doors leading to small salons, elegant as jewel boxes, lying along the hall’s perimeter.

They did not cross to the entry, however, but turned toward the back of the house, which involved more passages that became darker and narrower as they approached the service wing.

“Whew!” breathed Justin at last. “Perhaps we should have packed a lunch.”

Catherine grinned. “Yes. Charlie Winter had a healthy respect for the concept of high living.”

“And all this is yours?”

“Yes. I really did not wish for anything so—so ostentatious, but I spent a good deal of time here as a child. In addition, Grand-mama said it was the only home she had to her name, so I would have to make do.”

“But are there not other relatives ...”

Catherine’s face hardened. “Indeed there are. My uncle and his sons all considered, and with good reason, I suppose, that Winter’s Keep should have gone to them, but Grandmama was adamant.”

Recalling her family’s howls of rage and anguish and the frantic machinations at Grandmama’s decision to give Winter’s Keep to their niece and cousin, Catherine smiled sourly.

“And do you feel at all overpowered to be the mistress of so much grandeur?”

“Oh, no. Since it is familiar to me, I rather enjoy it. It’s a little like living in a museum, surrounded by beautiful things. And I like being involved in the lives of so many people—the staff and the tenants, to say nothing of—

She bit the words off sharply. Really, she thought, the man had a knack for asking the most outrageous questions in such a matter-of-fact tone that one was prompted to answer as though he had asked for the time of day.

Catching her kindling glance, Justin laughed.

“You’re quite right, your Grandmama’s decision about where you should live is none of my business. It’s just that I cannot help being interested in how you live your life. Perhaps it’s because I seem to have none of my own at the moment.”

She shot another look at him. As he had no doubt intended, she fell a pang of compunction for his situation.

“You’re quite right, Mr. Smith,” she said coolly. “It is none of your business, but I somehow feel you rarely let that fact interfere with your actions.”

“You may be right,” Justin returned unrepentantly. “But, you must admit, I gain more information that way than I would by being polite.”

“As well, I should think, as the occasional punch in the nose.”

By now, however, Catherine was laughing, robbing her words of much of their sting.

They had reached the rear of the house, and Catherine led Justin through a back door. Crunching along a neat gravel path that took them past the kitchen garden, he soon found himself facing the stable block, a well-kept series of brick buildings trimmed with white. From one of these the sound of agitated voices could be heard. Inside, they were met with the sight of three stable men gathered about one of the stalls that lined the interior. Within, the largest horse Catherine had ever seen reared repeatedly, pawing the air and heaving against the restraining ropes that had been tied to its bridle. He was black as night, and his eyes rolled wildly. He was startlingly unattractive, thought Catherine, for his head seemed too large for the rest of him and his front hocks seemed to bulge out in all the wrong places. Lord, what a monster!

To her surprise, Mr. Smith did not hesitate, but approached the horse without fear. Moving past the grooms, he grasped the animal’s bridle and began speaking to it. She could not hear what he said, but his words had a marked effect. Almost immediately, the stallion slopped his mad bucking, and within a few seconds he had dropped his massive head into Mr. Smith’s bosom.

One of the grooms approached Catherine.

“We wasn’t doing anything to ‘im, Miss Catherine. One of the lads came to him with a curry brush, and you’d ‘a thought he’d brought up a whip ‘n chain. We only wanted to spruce ‘im up a bit. The contrary beast wouldn’t even take any grain nor water from us. Just tried t’murder us where we stood.”

“It’s all right now,” said John Smith over his shoulder. “He didn’t know where I’d got to and thought you all must be up to no good.” He hesitated. “Sometimes he just needs things explained to him “

Indeed, the horse now seemed perfectly amenable to being handled. He whickered encouragingly at the groom nearest him, pushing at the lad’s cap with his nose as though to make amends.

“How very extraordinary!” exclaimed Catherine. “Do—do you recognize him? That is, has he made you remember—

“I’m afraid not,” replied Mr. Smith, his face falling, “I have the feeling that I’m very familiar with him, but, . . It’s hard to explain. When I look at him, I can see myself on his back, and it’s as though I’ve been there many times. Oh!” He halted abruptly, his fingers busy with the horse’s bridle. “Look here! There is a name scratched on the leather.” He peered at it closely. “It’s very faint—the bridle looks old—but, I think it says—” He spelled out the letters. “C—A—L—I—and, I think a B. Why, it spells Caliban. That must be his name.”

He stroked the horse’s nose. “Is that it, old fellow? Is your name Caliban? Seems a little harsh, but I must say it rather fits.”

Caliban did not reply, but nibbled contentedly at his master’s hair.

Marveling at the sudden change in the animal’s mood, Catherine murmured, “Well, judging from his temperament—and his looks, too, to be honest, I’d say it’s the perfect name.”

Odd, thought Catherine. Mariah had said the horse looked expensive, and Mariah was an excellent judge of horseflesh, however, it looked to her as though three pounds might be too much to pay for such a misshapen animal, let alone three hundred guineas. Why, even his tail was crooked, she observed, as Caliban flicked the appendage in question, sparsely endowed and almost comically ill formed.

“Well,” said Smith, “I must have had some reason for purchasing him. He looks strong, at least.”

“Mm,” responded Catherine, eyeing Caliban’s deep chest and muscled withers.

“D’ye want him saddled, then?” asked one of the grooms. “He ain’t been exercised yet this morning, and I have t’say, sir, that none o’us is p’tick’ly anxious t’get on ‘is back.”

Smith laughed. “You have nothing to fear now, lad. But, yes, I’d like a good gallop above anything right now.” He turned to Catherine. “Could I persuade you to join me, Miss Meade?”

“Oh, no!”

Catherine was surprised at the spurt of nervousness she experienced at his invitation. She had no reason to shy away from his company, after all. Why should she feel so uneasy at the thought of spending a pleasant hour in the saddle at his side? “That is, I’m not dressed for riding,” she concluded a little breathlessly.

“Ah,” said Mr. Smith regretfully. “Another time, perhaps.”

They chatted for another few minutes while Caliban was led out of his stall and made ready for his outing. Then, with the aid of one of the grooms, he swung rather awkwardly into the saddle. Once in place, however, it was, thought Catherine, as though he had somehow become part of the great stallion. Man and animal moved with a fluid grace that made her breath catch in her throat.

With a wave. Smith galloped from the stable yard and out onto the gravel path, and in a few moments he was a blur against the parkland that swept away from the house. Slowly, Catherine dropped her hand from its returning wave and made her way back to the house.

Astride Caliban’s broad back, Justin reveled in the feel of the wind in his face. God, it had been a long time since he and the great horse had enjoyed an all-out gallop. What a good thing he’d embellished Caliban’s bridle with his name those many months ago in—where was it?—somewhere in the Estremadura, he rather thought. He himself might be able to get along without his name, but Caliban would be another matter. He doubted the horse would respond well to, “Oy—you!”

He recalled the day he’d cut the name in the leather. He’d been out all day, perched on a stony mountain side, waiting for the appearance of Soult’s troops. At that time, Justin had been one of the corps of “runners,” men with superbly bred horses who scouted out troop movements, then sped to Wellington’s headquarters with such details as number, speed, and direction of movement, contents of the baggage train, quantity of foodstuffs carried. Being an agent had still been a glorious adventure then.

When had it all begun to go sour? he wondered. Could he pin-point an hour or a moment? Certainly, the day he had betrayed Paulo Albendondez, a man who had called him friend, must rank as one of the first black moments of his career. Since then, of course, there had been many men—and women—into whose good graces he had wormed himself only to use them to his own ends.

And now, with the end of the war in sight, he had thought he was done with all that. But no, now it was all beginning again, with the very nice Catherine Meade and her little family. Only now, he was fighting for his very survival, and he could not afford the twinge of conscience that snaked through him at the thought of the ill he was about to do them all. No, he would do what he had to do, just as he had done all his life.

Turning, he urged Caliban back to Winter’s Keep.

Chapter Five

Dinner that evening was a convivial affair. Justin had established his ability to maneuver at will about the house, with the aid of his crutch and the ostensible assistance of a footman. Thus, he declared himself available to join the ladies, and lost no time in making himself the life of the party.

“But, do tell me something of your other neighbors,” he said to Lady Jane over his portion of veal fricandeau. “Squire Wadleigh sounds an excellent landholder, but if he’s the homebody you describe, he cannot be much company. Is there a family with whom you enjoy regular visits’?”

“Oh, yes,” interposed Mariah. “There are many. The vicar and his wife appear here as regularly as the postman, it seems. And then there are Mr. and Mrs. Woodcombe. They are lovely people, and they have a daughter and son near Catherine’s age.”

“Ah,” said Justin with an air of interest that was not altogether spurious. Might the son have a romantic interest in Catherine? So far, he had been unable to unearth the slightest hint of a man in her life, with the possible exception of Adam Beech, a fact he found difficult to understand. His hostess was not conventionally beautiful, but many men must find her attractive. More than attractive. Her eyes, green and deep as a jungle pool were by themselves enough to win masculine admiration.