He felt immeasurably cheered by this, for it indicated that she had no intention of breaking her bond with the house. If he had his heart’s desire, there would be no question of it.
‘Then shall we take the notes to the drawing room, and put the letters and family tree back? Or would you prefer to come at your leisure and read the letters here in the library? You are now assured that the cavity is without spiders, and do not need me to open it. To replace them.’
‘But a spider might enter, unbeknownst. I … I would prefer it if it was your hand not mine that was placed in the dark.’ She looked at him, a little shyly, and there was no attempt at a flirtatious coyness. She was simply a little embarrassed at the depth of her dread of spiders.
‘Consider me always ready to defend you from eight-legged foes, Miss Lound. It is not exactly dragon-slaying, but I hope you will consider it a knightly gesture.’
‘I might consider it silly if you did so in full plate armour,’ she replied, though her cheeks gained added colour.
‘Er, yes, it would seem excessive.’ He glanced at288the clock. ‘I think perhaps we ought to rejoin Lady Damerham, lest she think we have been grappled by giant spiders, or become lost in skeleton-infested secret passages.’
‘Could one have an “infestation of skeletons”?’ wondered Miss Lound, as he replaced the letters in their box, and thence into the secret compartment.
‘I doubt it.’ He secured the panel, turning the boss to catch the mortice behind, then he himself turned and smiled at her. She smiled back. It was but an exchange of smiles, they each told themselves, but it was as if they had touched. The only reason Sir Rowland could find for this phenomenon was that neither now had any defensive barrier raised, and the magnetic attraction that he felt was in some ways reciprocated.
It was a light-hearted pair who entered the drawing room, each trying to find the best term for a large number of skeletons in one’s house. When Lady Damerham heard them, she shuddered.
‘Do not, I beg of you. Horrible things, skeletons, not that I have ever seen one, thank heavens. I am not even sure it is proper to look at a picture of one, for after all it is the human shape, without any clothing.’
Both Sir Rowland and Miss Lound looked rather taken aback at this statement, but Miss Lound, successfully controlling the urge to giggle, managed a response.
‘I think, Mama, that the usual depiction of skeletons in art form is emblematic, symbolising the transience of life.’289
‘Well, emblematic is all very well, I suppose, but I am not entirely convinced.’
It was fortuitous that at this point Hanford entered to announce that dinner was served, and all mention of bones, articulated or not, ceased forthwith.
Sir Rowland, with a lady upon each side, was a relaxed and attentive host, pressing such dishes upon them as he thought might be to their taste, although Miss Lound did murmur at one point that she felt he was treating her like the Christmas goose.
‘For if I ate the half of what you urge, Sir Rowland, I would be too replete to even climb the stairs to my bed, and in no time at all I would cease to fit any of my gowns.’
For one very fleeting moment, Sir Rowland imagined her, not unable to fit in a gown, but simply not in one, and promptly choked upon a mouthful of curd tart, so much so that Miss Lound, casting propriety to the winds, thumped him forcefully upon the back. She then chastised him.
‘That, sir, is the penalty for imagining a lady so rotund as to be the shape of a ball. Your eyes are watering. Do, I beg of you, take a sip of wine. There, now you look recovered.’
It was another minute before he could thank her for her practical assistance. He drank but a single glass of port in solitary state at the end of the meal, and then joined the two ladies, who had both been feeling the oddness of the situation, sitting together as they had every evening290in this very room, as though nothing had changed in the last few months. Lady Damerham looked somewhat stunned, for Mary had revealed, once they were alone, the sum of money that had been discovered in the secret hideaway. Her ladyship was caught between delight that it would mean they could live for the better part of two years without eating further into their meagre capital, and the fear that having that much money in the carriage on the way home would make them liable to be held up by strangely omniscient highwaymen. Only when Sir Rowland suggested that they take but a small portion of the sum and that he would escort Miss Lound personally to the bank in Cheltenham at her convenience, was she in any way relieved of worry, but it had an adverse effect upon her train of thought, which became so obtuse that Sir Rowland was reduced to smiling and nodding. Miss Lound, seeing his desperate state, suggested that the tea tray be brought in early, and thus they parted a little after half past nine, with Lady Damerham chatting animatedly to her daughter, and not noticing that the replies were vague. Whilst she said that she would not sleep a wink for the excitement, her warmed bed soon proved her prognostication wrong, but neither of her dinner companions did so, though they were not unhappy. If anything, they lay awake until the midnight hour, wondering, wishing, hoping, and finally dreaming.
If the first part of October had felt interminable and dismal, the latter part passed, Mary felt, as quickly as291the scudding clouds across the frequently stormy skies. It was not that she encountered Sir Rowland every day, but that on those that she did not she was aware of disappointment and then anticipation. Initially, Sir Rowland was circumspect, and his ‘reasons’ for coming over to the dower house or inviting Mary to ride with him had validity, but it was too intoxicating, and they soon became patent ‘excuses’. He did realise that visiting his tenants too frequently might seem odd, and since Silas could always accompany them, simply inviting her to ride with him was not improper. He therefore suggested that, weather permitting, she might do so several times a week. To avoid gossip, and to enjoy the outdoors while she could, Mary also rode alone.
On one of these rides, she encountered the local ‘weather seer’, an aged individual known to all as ‘Old Matthew’. This worthy shook his white locks over the winter to come, and warned her it would be ‘a bad ’un’. Since he was often correct in his foretelling, she passed on the warning to Sir Rowland.
‘Do you give much weight to doom-laden utterances?’ He looked sideways at her.
‘Not in the general way of things, no, but one has to be practical, and Old Matthew has had an uncanny knack of being right far more often than wrong. You had better not mock, sir, for as Old Matthew himself said “woe betides them as does not take heed”.’ Her rustic accent, which was very accurate, was too much for him, and he let out a crack of laughter, which made her horse292toss his head at the sudden noise. He was laughing a lot these days, his spirits buoyed and each dawn greeted with anticipation.
The sober baronet within him told him he was moonstruck, but the rest of him simply agreed and declared how wonderful it was to feel this way. He put up no resistance to falling head over heels in love, and revelled in the slight madness of it all. They had, he told himself, learnt what it was like when they fell out, and it was too terrible to think about, so each would work the harder to ensure that any disagreements between them were of short duration. They did ‘argue’ over some small things, but never seriously, and if they did not come to a swift accommodation, agreed to differ, very happily. He was absolutely certain that he wanted to marry her, and he was increasingly confident that she would accept him if he offered for her, and not for the sake of living in Tapley End. Part of him was so eager, he would gladly make a declaration immediately, but there was also the idea of Christmas Eve and the yule log. She had mentioned it when she first showed him about the house, and it clearly meant a lot to her. He could imagine it, her lighting the log, even if there was nothing from the previous year with which to start, and then he would propose to her, in the great hall, beneath the armour of her ancestors. Yes, it would be more meaningful than in a field, on horseback, on a damp November day, or whisked into one of the rooms in the dower house. The only small difficulty he faced was that the more often293he was with her, the stronger the urge within him that wanted to hold her, feel her in his arms, murmur sweet nothings in her ear, and kiss her.
The last leaves had been prised from the trees that stood embarrassed in their nakedness, the temperature had dropped, and then there were gales for nearly a week. Even riding was out of the question unless it was a necessity. Sir Rowland walked over to the dower house on a couple of afternoons but felt that most of his time there was spent in warming up ready to return, and there was not the intimacy of being alone which they had when out riding, except for the unemotional presence of Silas, who rode a respectful three horse lengths to the rear.
Upon his last visit he revealed that he was leaving Tapley End for ten days or so, and visiting his mother in Richmond, spending a couple of days in London and then returning via Oxford, where he would collect his brother at the end of term. He was gratified that this was greeted with a surprised ‘oh’ from Miss Lound that held disappointment, although she thereafter sounded very calm. Visiting one’s invalid mother before the Christmas season was very understandable, and then to return with Tom was practical. One could scarcely decry such a plan. She therefore agreed with Lady Damerham that fulfilling filial duty was admirable, and hoped that the poor weather did not mean that there would be delays upon the post roads from fallen trees. It was only as he rose to leave that she said,294softly, ‘We will miss you, Sir Rowland.’ Her eyes told him that what she meant was ‘I will miss you.’
‘I shall not be absent for very long, Miss Lound. Tell me, is there anything that either of you ladies would like brought from Town? Some delicacy that Gloucestershire cannot provide?’
Lady Damerham, taking him at face value, frowned, and looked thoughtful. Miss Lound laughed.
‘Since I have never been to London, sir, I have no notion what “delicacies” are to be found there. You make it sound as though exotic provisions are sold upon every street.’
‘Hardly that, but there are some excellent perfumers, and grocers with the finest sweetmeats.’
