Breaking the Rules (16 page)

She wore her emerald-and-white-checkered morning gown again, but it did not make her look as bright and fresh as usual. Was there anything that would make her bright and fresh after two nights of such broken sleep? Probably not, she thought as she toyed with her plate of cold scrambled eggs? It was all very well to tell herself what she must do, to
know
what she must do, but that was to ignore the less worldly aspects of it all.

Mr. Elcester watched her. “You seem very preoccupied this morning, m’dear.”

“Mm?”

“Is something on your mind? If there is a problem, perhaps I can help?”

“No, I’m quite all right,” she replied quickly, and with a shameful lack of honesty. She could hardly tell him what she was really thinking about, because that would mean confessing she had disobeyed him a second time where the woods were concerned. On top of which, this time she really had been in danger! And then there was the added embarrassment of being alone with Sir Conan, whom she would probably never see again anyway. Besides, what was there to really say? That Bellamy Taynton and twelve others liked to dress up in druidic robes and carry out peculiar ceremonies in the woods. Her father would be appalled, but if such a story were to reach the local newspapers, she could just imagine the mirth with which it would be read in every drawing room in Gloucestershire. Oh, no, she realized that for the sake of Elcester Manor and her reputation, she had to hold her tongue.

Mr. Elcester poured himself a final cup of strong black coffee. “I have to ride into the village later to see the Reverend Arrowsmith about some parish matters, and before returning here I might call at the Green Man to see Taynton.”

“Oh?” Ursula looked up quickly.

“Yes. It’s a curious thing, but after going to Fromewell Mill yesterday, I made a point of riding into Stroud itself to make inquiries about the escaped prisoner who is apparently taking refuge in the woods. No one knew anything about it.”

What a surprise, Ursula thought wryly.

“Anyway, it could be that it wasn’t the Stroud authorities Taynton alerted, but Nailsworth or even Dursley. I mean to find out.”

Ursula felt guilty for not telling him she was sure there had never been a prisoner; it was just that Taynton
et al
required the woods to themselves, but she couldn’t bring herself to do it. What Taynton’s explanation would be remained to be seen. No doubt it would be suitably smooth and convincing.

A maid tapped at the door and entered with a sealed note on a little tray. “Begging your pardon for interrupting, sir, but this has just been delivered. The messenger says it’s important, and that he will await your reply.”

“Who is it from, I wonder? Ah, I perceive the paper to be Lord Carmartin’s,” Mr. Elcester murmured, taking the note and breaking the seal to read it. “Oh, this is a little unexpected,” he said then.

“What is?”

“The note is from Mr. Greatorex. He graciously accepts the invitation to dine tonight, but respectfully requests that he may bring his friend with him.”

“Friend?”

“A fellow by the name of Merrydown.”

Ursula stared at him. “Merrydown?” she repeated faintly.

“Yes. Sir Conan Merrydown. It seems he has accompanied Mr. Greatorex from London. Well, no doubt the cook can manage another setting.”

“No doubt.” Ursula struggled to reply levelly, for she was on the verge of panic. This could not be happening to her! It was too unfair for words. How on earth was she going to carry
this
off? Sir Conan might not know who she was at the moment, but he certainly would the moment he entered the house!

To her relief her father tossed his napkin onto the table and got up. “It’s stopped raining, so I’ll order Lysander to be saddled, and be off on this wretched parish business. Oh, I do so loathe going over church matters with Arrowsmith. The fellow is dull to the point of tedium. Blunted by his atrocious wife, no doubt.”

As he left the room, Ursula closed her eyes for a long moment. If she had to make a prediction at this moment, it would be that her match with Theodore Greatorex was doomed. Of course, Sir Conan may prove to be the soul of discretion; indeed he had given every sign of being just that, but she would be very ill-advised indeed to bank upon it. There was nothing for it but to face up to the situation and keep her fingers crossed that somehow she would retire to her bed tonight without even a tiny scratch on the surface of her respectability.

She glanced out of the French windows, which opened onto the terrace. The cloud was breaking up a little, with here and there a patch of blue to relieve the hitherto uniform gray. Sky shadows swept across the valley, scudding over the Green Man and allowing a brief shaft of sunlight to lighten the church tower beyond. As she looked, a squirrel ran up to the glass and peeped in at her. It looked at her long and hard, twitching its beautiful tail. Then it turned away and ran a few yards, before looking back at her again. It was almost as if it were trying to make her follow it. Suddenly, the head groom’s terrier appeared from nowhere, yapping excitedly. The squirrel fled.

Ursula rose from her chair and went to look out properly. The squirrel had gone now, and the head groom had called the terrier back to the stables. She looked across the valley at the inn and saw Taynton setting off in his pony cart. He was dressed in his best clothes, which meant he had some business to conduct, and by the road he took she guessed he was going to Dursley. Her father would not be able to speak to him after all.

She glanced at the inn again. If Taynton wasn’t there, she might be able to see Vera. Maybe a little information could be wheedled. Maybe, too, she would be able to free the white squirrel. It was worth a try. And it would help to temporarily banish thoughts of the coming evening. She would ride there directly after she had changed.

* * * *

At Carmartin Park, Conan and Theo were talking in the grand hall. Conan was dressed in his pine green riding jacket and cream breeches, in readiness to ride the spirited gelding—the only white horse in Lord Carmartin’s stables—that was about to be brought around to the door. A folded cloak lay waiting on one of the twelve chairs against the paneled walls, together with his top hat, gloves, and riding crop.

Theo could not believe he wished to go riding. “Haven’t you had enough of being out and about? Right now there isn’t much I’d rather do less.”

“You have no stamina, my friend.”

“Perhaps I have more sense,” Theo retorted.

“Perhaps.” Conan smiled, and went to get his things from the chair. “I hope I won’t need the cloak, but it’s better to be safe than sorry.”

Mrs. Anthony hurried toward them. “I’m sorry, sir,” she said to Theo, “but I’m afraid the wolfhound is nowhere to be found.”

Theo sighed and ran agitated fingers through his hair. “Where on earth has that wretched canine gone?”

This was the first Conan had heard of Bran being missing. “When did you last see him?” he asked.

“When we arrived. Now I seem to have ... um, mislaid him.”

Conan raised an eyebrow. “How does one
mislay
something as large and noisy as Bran the Blessed, Son of Llyr?” he inquired dryly.

“With consummate ease, as it happens,” Theo confessed. “Oh, he’ll turn up when he’s hungry.”

“That at least can be relied upon.” Conan laughed, and turned to go out as he heard the groom with the admirably white gelding, which he’d been informed was rather unoriginally named Snowy. Names aside, whatever else one might think of Lord Carmartin, he had an eye for prime horseflesh, and it amused Conan to ride this example in an area where many believed white animals to be magical.

Conan rode down through the park to the double lodge, then east across the vale toward the escarpment, which seemed very green and close after all the rain. The air was cool, invigorating and filled with the scents of spring. Hawthorn petals drifted like snowflakes, the creamy lace of cow parsley was beginning to unfurl on the verges, and the air was alive with birdsong. It was good to be out on an English April day like this, Conan thought, as he brought the gelding up to an easy canter.

He gradually felt that someone was following him, and glanced back, but the road was empty. He rode on, but the feeling swept over him again. This time he reined in to look back. Once more the road was empty, but the sensation of being stalked was uncomfortably strong. After a moment he rode on.

He was right to suspect a follower, but it was only Bran. The wolfhound slunk close to the hedge, where his white coat blended with the hawthorn and cow parsley. Two squirrels made their way through the hedge beside him.

As Conan urged his mount up the steep climb to the top of the escarpment, Ursula was already alighting from Miss Muffet in the yard of the Green Man. She had not taken any chances with the mare this time, and had come by way of the road, pausing at Hatty Pedlar’s Tump on the way to make sure it had not suffered any further damage. She was dressed in her lilac riding habit again, with her hair contained as neatly as possible in the black net pinned another bow of the lilac ribbon.

By chance she had managed to pick a quiet time at the inn. There was a private traveling carriage drawn up in a corner, and a post chaise was about to continue its journey to Gloucester, but apart from these the yard was clear. A Stroud stagecoach had not long departed, and the
Meteor
wasn’t expected for another half an hour, so most of those employed at the inn were taking advantage of the lull—and of Taynton’s absence in Dursley—to enjoy a little time to themselves.

After tethering Miss Muffet to the post, Ursula raised the veil on her little black hat and went inside. The murmur of voices in the dining room revealed the whereabouts of the party from the traveling carriage, and when she glanced around the door, she saw them seated at a table at the far end of the long, low room. They had finished a meal and were being served coffee by a maid, but it wasn’t Vera, so Ursula crossed the hall to the taproom, where the squirrel was hunched unhappily in its cage, its tail drooping, its whole demeanor one of utter misery.

Vera was laying the tables. Her hair was pushed up beneath a mobcap, and she wore a dull green linen dress that did nothing for her coloring. She looked less than lighthearted, and as Ursula watched, she suddenly sobbed silently and hid her face in her hands.

Concerned, Ursula hurried to her. “Vera? Whatever is it?”

Startled to realize she had been seen crying, Vera struggled to give a falsely bright smile. “Oh, it’s nothing. Miss Ursula. I have been slicing onions, and they always affect me.”

“You haven’t been doing any such thing, Vera Pedlar. You were laying these tables and just started weeping. I saw you from the doorway.”

Vera avoided her eyes. “I’m foolish, that’s all.”

“Allow me to be the judge of that. Come and sit down here.” Ursula ushered her to a settle by the inglenook. “Now then, what’s wrong?” she asked when they were both seated.

“Nothing, Miss Ursula.”

“Don’t fib, Vera. Is it Taynton?”

Vera drew away. “No, of course not,” she said quickly.

Ursula glanced across at the squirrel, which was now alert and quivering, its astonishing green eyes imploring her across the room. She longed to release it right there and then, but couldn’t do that with Vera watching. It didn’t matter that Sir Conan thought the blacksmith’s daughter had participated only reluctantly in the night’s ceremony, she had still been there. Vera was Taynton’s lover, and as such could not be trusted. “Vera, something must be making you unhappy. Is it because of the rift between you and your father?”

Vera’s eyes filled with tears again. “I-I’m so miserable about it all, Miss Ursula. I want to be my father’s little girl again, but I can’t.”

“Because Bellamy Taynton is preventing it?” Ursula ventured.

“Maybe.”

Encouraged to probe a little more, Ursula asked another question. “Why have you come here to the Green Man, Vera?”

“There was no other way.”

“What do you mean? Is it because you love Taynton so much?”

Vera gave a wan smile. “Oh, I love him with all my heart, Miss Ursula, but even if I did not, I would still have had to come here. It is something that must be.”

“Must
be? I don’t understand.”

“Mr. Taynton is my master, Miss Ursula.”

Ursula paused a moment. “That’s a very unusual way to refer to one’s lover, Vera.”

“Lover? Oh, he isn’t my lover, either, Miss Ursula. I only wish he was, for I would be more than willing.”

Ursula stared at her. “I really don’t understand. You have cast aside your reputation and the respect of your father for
nothing?”

“If you loved someone as much as I love him, Miss Ursula, you would not be so surprised. Besides, you don’t know him as I do. He can be so kind and gentle, and he can make me laugh as no one else can.”

Ursula blinked. Were they talking about the same Bellamy Taynton?

Vera smiled. “Oh, you may look like that, Miss Ursula, but it’s true. There are two sides to him, the one you know, and the one I know. I would do anything to spend the rest of my life with him.”

Ursula simply could not believe the vile Taynton could be such a paragon. “What is going on here, Vera? How can you possibly expect me to believe what you say about him? And what of that poor squirrel? Why is it so important to him? I want to help you if I can, and to start with I’d like to understand.”

Vera became guarded. “Don’t ask me more, Miss Ursula, for I must not say.”

“Vera, it’s wrong to keep a squirrel caged like that. It ought to be set free and—” Ursula broke off as one of Taynton’s grooms appeared in the doorway. His shrewd gaze rested on her for a moment before he addressed Vera.

“The
Meteor’s
on its way, I heard it a moment since.”

Vera got up quickly. “It’s early! I’ll go to the kitchens,” she said.

“Do you know when the master will return?” the groom asked.

“No, but I imagine it will be before nightfall,” Vera replied.