Sylvia Andrew – Miss Winbolt and the Fortune Hunter (страница 10)

The girl in the hollow just above the stream had such eyes, too…silver-grey… A thought came into his head at that point which appeared to be so completely fantastic that he began to wonder whether his obsession with the girl in the hollow was affecting his mind. It was impossible to believe that Emily Winbolt and that girl were one and the same… No, it was quite impossible!

But as the night wore on the idea began to seem no longer quite so absurd. It would explain a lot—her alarm at meeting him tonight, her reluctance to talk to him, the strange sense of familiarity… Was it because he had met her before tonight? Had held her in his arms before? Shearings, where the Winbolts lived, was not far from the spot where he had rescued the girl from the tree, and she had run in that direction. Could it possibly be true? If it were…

William started to smile. What a situation that would be! Emily Winbolt, born spinster, society’s model of rectitude, abandoning herself to making love with a stranger in the fields! What a hypocrite that would make her! He lay for some time thinking about the two women, and fell asleep at last still trying to reconcile what he knew of them.

William had an important appointment the next morning with his architect at Charlwood. But after his sleepless night he had decided to look first at the spot where he had met the girl who had haunted him. He rose early, and instead of setting off towards Charlwood he made for Stoke Shearings. He left his horse once again at the inn and followed the path alongside the stream. The water was as clear as he remembered, the slope above it just as steep. The hedge and even the oak tree where he had first caught sight of her soon came into view. He climbed up the slope and stood beside the oak. Someone had cleared away the broken branch and tidied up the hedge, but it was unmistakeably the spot.

‘You’re not thinking of climbing through that there hedge, are yer, sir?’ William looked down. A man was standing on the path below, shaking his head. He went on, ‘I don’t advise it. It’d be the last short cut yer’d take. There’s a vicious animal in the field on t’other side.’

‘Really?’

‘Black Samson, Farmer Pritchard’s bull. A dangerous beast, if ever there was one.’

‘Thanks for the warning,’ William said. ‘I’ll take note. And you are…?’

‘Will Darby, at your service, sir. I work close by for Mr Winbolt.’ He clambered up the slope and went on, ‘I could tell you a tale or two about that bull, I could. Job Diment. Elias Carter, they’m both still laid up after ’e attacked ’em. Not worked for weeks and weeks, they ’asn’t. Why, it’s not long since Mr Winbolt’s own sister barely got away with her life. Don’t go near ’um!’

‘I certainly shan’t. Miss Winbolt, you say?’

‘Aye, sir. You’m be looking at the very spot where she escaped. Leastways, that’s what Mr Winbolt said when he told us to mend the hedge just where we’re standing. Lucky, that’s what she was. With the branch giving way under ’er and all.’ He looked curiously at William. ‘Be you bound fer Shearings, sir?’

‘’Er, no. Not today. I’m going in the other direction. Well, thank you, Will.’ They clambered down the slope together and William slipped a coin into Will Darby’s hand. ‘I’ll be on my way—and I’ll take your advice and go the long way round!’

To William’s relief Will Darby gave him a toothless grin, touched his cap, and set off without asking any more questions. He had no desire to lie to the man, but nor did he wish to explain what he was doing in that quiet spot at such a very early hour.

William Ashenden suffered from an over-developed sense of humour and a strong sense of the ridiculous. His friends frequently told him that his major fault was a desire to tease. The situation he was in the process of uncovering was so perfectly bizarre, so exactly to his taste that, as he rode on to Charlwood, a bubble of mirth was growing inside him. He was hard put to it not to laugh out loud. Ice-cool Emily Winbolt and his passionate seductress—what an unlikely combination! Soberly dressed Emily Winbolt and a raggle-taggle, bare-legged gipsy girl—what a contrast! Oh, yes! The alarm in Miss Winbolt’s eyes, her fear of him, were both now perfectly understandable. Indeed, she must be worried out of her skin lest he should recognise her and tell the world what she had been up to. His grin broadened. What fun he would have with her! The little cheat deserved a bit of teasing before he put her out of her misery.

For a moment he paused. Did she deserve it? Was she in the habit of finding secret pleasure with strangers? Or was she indeed a respectable woman who had been under the same spell as he had been that day, unable to resist, swept up by some mysterious force? For a moment he hesitated, but then shrugged his shoulders. It wouldn’t do her any lasting harm. Circumstances had forced him to be too serious lately—he felt in need of diversion. The problem of what to do with the children had been worrying. The question of a wife and a home, and the chores associated with renovating Charlwood, had been interesting, but not exactly amusing. A brief spell of teasing Miss Winbolt would provide some light relief. Not for long, though. He couldn’t keep her in suspense for long. And, whatever happened, the affair would be strictly between himself and the lady. She might worry for a short while, but she would understand that the world outside would never learn from him what had happened between them one evening in May.

Rosa’s invitation to the Deardons threw Emily into a panic. She realised that she would sooner or later have to meet William Ashenden again, but this seemed altogether too soon. During the intervening week she attempted to find a dozen reasons why she should not be present, but her sister-in-law frustrated them all. Rosa thoroughly approved of William Ashenden and knew Philip liked him, too. This was enough to persuade her that this was indeed ‘just the man’ to be Emily’s salvation and she was determined to promote the acquaintance. She genuinely could not understand why Emily didn’t agree, and was convinced that once her sister-in-law got to know Sir William better she would acknowledge that Rosa was right. She was disappointed, therefore, when Emily appeared just before Lady Deardon and Sir William were due to arrive.

‘Emily! You have so many pretty summer dresses! Why on earth are you wearing that one?’

‘What’s wrong with it?’

‘It’s…it’s so dull. And surely you’d be cooler in one that didn’t fasten right up to the neck? Why didn’t you wear your new pale green muslin? It’s so pretty, and the colour suits you perfectly.’

‘I’ve decided that it is cut too low, Rosa. I prefer this one.’

Rosa was not finished. ‘And what have you done to your hair?’ she exclaimed. ‘It’s more suited for a walk through a cloister than a summer afternoon in the garden!’

Emily, who had taken pains to make herself as unlike the girl who had fallen out of that tree as possible, was pleased, but did her best to sound offended. ‘I’m sorry you don’t like the way I look,’ she said. In fact, she agreed with Rosa’s every word. Her dress was plain, in an unflattering shade of grey, and fastened up to the top. Much to her maid’s distress, she had insisted on having her hair pulled back and twisted into a low, tight knot at the back of her neck. Fashionably thin sandals, her usual wear in summer, had been replaced with boots. Emily had decided not to give in without a fight. She would deceive William Ashenden for as long as she could, until she could decide how to deal with him. She heard the sound of a carriage drawing up at the door. ‘But I’m afraid it’s too late to change my dress now,’ she said, doing her best to put a note of regret into her voice.

Philip and Rosa made their guests welcome, then led them into the garden. All five walked about in it for an hour or more, Emily using considerable ingenuity to avoid William’s company. When Rosa suggested they should sit in the shade for a while Lady Deardon accepted with pleasure, and the party made its way to a cool arbour, which had been furnished with a table, chairs and one or two benches. Here they sat down—all of them except Sir William.

‘You said something about an avenue of trees planted by your great-grandfather, I believe, Winbolt? I’d like to see them. Perhaps Miss Winbolt could show me the way and tell me about them?’

‘What a good idea,’ exclaimed Rosa. ‘She knows almost as much about the grounds as my husband, Sir William. I’m sure she would be delighted to be your guide. And you must ask her to show you the maze. The Shearings maze was once quite famous, but it was in a sad state before Philip and Emily restored it, along with the rest of the gardens.

‘A maze? That sounds very interesting. Miss Winbolt?’ He held out his arm.

Emily stared at him hopelessly. ‘I…I don’t think…’ she began and then stopped. She couldn’t come up with a single reason why she should refuse to go with him, except that she didn’t want to!

‘I do hope you can oblige him, Miss Winbolt,’ said Lady Deardon. ‘A large number of the trees at Charlwood are old and decayed, and will have to be replaced. William is becoming quite an expert on the subject. He has already inspected the plantations at Thirle. I’m sure he will find your avenue very interesting.’