Conan and Theo breakfasted at the same table as the night before, and Bran sat on the floor at their feet. He was behaving very well, except for growling every time Taynton limped even remotely near. The innkeeper’s calf was evidently very sore indeed this morning, for he frequently rubbed it and then cast dire glances in Bran’s direction. He had also acquired a chill from his soaking in Hazel Pool, and sneezed into a large handkerchief at regular intervals. In fact, the master was a rather sorry sight this morning, even to his nosegay of apple blossom, which looked rather limp.
All in all he did not look worthy of the fine antlers and solid gold torque in which he’d postured the night before. He was also in a sour mood because, rain and injuries notwithstanding, he had to drive the pony cart to Dursley that afternoon to purchase various provisions in readiness for the lavish hospitality he’d so rashly promised for May Day.
A master’s life was certainly not all sweetness and light, Conan thought with pleasure.
Taynton felt the same. The sacred grove had been violated the night before, and this morning the innkeeper had dispatched half a dozen men— presumably from the thirteen—to bring the wooden guardians back to the inn. To leave such things there when there had been an unidentified witness would be proof of some strange, if not horrific, going on in the woods. He told himself the woman had to be from Elcester Manor, a servant probably. Surely no one would believe her if she told what she’d seen? Well, there was nothing there to give credence.
Conan had seen the men’s return from his window. They carried the figures—for he knew what they were by their size and shape—wrapped in old sheets, took them into the stables, and emerged several minutes later with just the sheets.
The squirrel cage was still absent from the taproom, and Conan guessed it must be in Taynton’s quarters, where it would be rather difficult to get at. An escape plan of some sort would have to be hatched. But what? Daylight was a little public, and the innkeeper was clearly taking no chances. Conan mused upon the matter as he ate his breakfast.
Theo, meanwhile, knew nothing of the night’s goings-on in the woods, and had been told the same story as Vera regarding Bran’s presence in the inn instead of the stables. Conan had even made sure Taynton himself was within hearing when he related it, knowing that Theo’s genuinely dismayed reaction to the wolfhound’s escape would convince as nothing else could.
Apart from that brief animation, Theo was sunk in gloom and despondency, having awoken in the knowledge that everything he recalled about the previous evening really had happened. His mind was full of beautiful, mystical Eleanor, but his life was about to be filled with bookish, awful Ursula Elcester. It would be dinner tomorrow night with Ursula. No, not tomorrow,
tonight!
Their stay here at the Green Man had been a delay. Oh, dear God, however was he going to cope?
He had hoped that the cold light of day would dispel Eleanor from his mind, but that had not happened. He was still entranced by her, and still unable to understand—or even really accept—the magic surrounding her. Therefore he scowled at the world in general, and ate his breakfast in heavy silence.
This suited Conan, who had enough of his own to think about. Theo’s attitude merely confirmed his belief that it would be far wiser to keep everything else to himself until something
had
to be said.
Stagecoaches came and went at regular intervals, and the dining room was very busy as passengers consumed their breakfasts hastily because the weather was hampering times, and coachmen didn’t dare to dally. The Green Man’s breakfasts were as excellent as its dinners. The tables all had fresh white cloths, and a choice of beefsteak pie, ham, a round of cold boiled beef, as well as kidneys, steaks, eggs and bacon, toast and muffins was offered. Coffee and tea were brought whenever another cup was desired. The quality of the cooking was as high as ever; evidently Vera Pedlar’s culinary skills were not impaired by lack of sleep, Conan thought.
Theo was about to spear a kidney with his fork when suddenly he heard the mysterious voice again.
“Eleanor.”
He turned quickly, and saw that Vera had just put the cage back by the barrels. The squirrel’s emerald eyes gazed at him, soft and pleading.
“Eleanor,”
the voice repeated, and he knew now that it came from the caged creature.
Conan glanced up at that moment and followed Theo’s gaze. His brow cleared. The squirrel was accessible again. As both men watched, Taynton limped up to the cage. His manner was taunting and unpleasant, not at all that of a man with a much loved pet! He jabbed a finger between the slender metal bars. Conan willed the squirrel to bite it, and to his immense satisfaction the creature did just that. Taynton gave a yell of pain that silenced the taproom, and he was about to dash the cage to the floor in a fury when Vera hurried over to prevent him.
“Remember, master, no harm must befall her yet,” she said in a low tone that carried only because of the hush that had descended over the room. As Taynton hesitated, and then heeded her words, she smiled at him. “Come, let me dress your finger.” The innkeeper allowed her to lead him into the passage beyond the curtain where Ursula had hidden.
Conan and Theo exchanged glances, and Theo scowled again. “Don’t say a word, not one word, for I do not wish to hear it.”
Conan hadn’t been about to say anything anyway; he was too disturbed by what Vera had said.
“No harm must befall her yet.”
Yet? The implication was only too plain; sooner or later harm would indeed befall the unfortunate squirrel. It had to be freed without delay. One thing was clear—Taynton and his cronies wouldn’t return to the woods until tonight at the earliest, which meant the squirrel was safe for the rest of the day, especially as the master himself had been heard to say he would be absent in Dursley this afternoon. Conan decided to find an excuse to return to the inn at that time to do a little squirrel-freeing, as well as some snooping. He’d do it right under everyone’s nose by saying he’d something behind and asking after it. A seal from his fob, perhaps. Yes, that would do nicely. It wouldn’t be lost at all, just removed from his fob as if it were.
Half an hour later, the carriage containing Conan, Theo, and Bran set out from the Green Man en route for Carmartin Park. All was set for Conan’s speedy return to look for the ‘lost’ seal. But one mystery that he
had
solved was that of the large house across the valley. When he asked a groom what house it was, his worst fears were realized when he was told it was Elcester Manor. His Lady of the Ribbons was almost certainly Ursula Elcester.
His heart was very heavy as the carriage drove out beneath the inn archway onto the rain-drenched road. It would be impossible not to meet her again at some point. Such a meeting might not happen this evening, because he wasn’t included in the dinner invitation, but it certainly would when Theo issued the obligatory return dinner invitation to Carmartin Park. When that moment came, Sir Conan Merrydown would have to try very hard indeed to hide his desire.
At the crossroad Gardner turned the horses west onto the road to Gloucester. The beginnings of the May Day fair looked very sorry indeed on the village green. Makeshift tents of canvas and tarpaulin dripped and flapped, tethered horses huddled with their heads low, and fair people sat in forlorn groups around cooking fires, the smoke from which was torn away and dispersed by the wind. Anything less like May Day would be hard to imagine.
Once the village was behind, Gardner brought the team of white horses up to as smart a pace as practicable in such conditions, and the passengers looked out at the rain-distorted countryside. A stagecoach dashed past in the other direction, the key-bugle blaring advance warning to the Green Man, and Bran directed a volley of barks at it until Theo managed to settle him again. The road led over the edge of the escarpment, and then steeply down toward the vale of the Severn. On a clear day they would have seen the same wonderful view that Ursula and her father had admired from Hatty Pedlar’s Tump, but today it was lost in the waves of cloud and rain that swept inland from the estuary.
The descent was steep and none too safe in such conditions, but Gardner knew his business and managed the team like the expert he was. At last the escarpment was behind them, and the road began to level out on the floor of the vale. Isolated Carmartin Hill, thousands upon thousands of years ago an island in a shallow sea, loomed through the haze ahead, with Carmartin Park presiding gloriously on the summit. The armorial gates stood at the foot of the hill, with twin lodges on either side, and the lodge-keeper swung the gates open as the carriage approached. Gardner flung the horses forward to gain a little momentum for the climb through the deer park to the house.
Carmartin Park was formed of a pedimented central block with two flanking wings, and was built of Cotswold stone that had once been golden but was now aged to a mellow gray. Five stories rose from the basement to attic, the latter being marked by a line of handsome dormer windows that pierced the chimney-studded roof. A stone balustrade encircled a flat area at the very top, from where the view could be admired, and where a central cupola provided seats and tables for the enjoyment of summer meals. The main entrance, approached by a grand flight of steps, faced the escarpment as if awaiting their arrival, and indeed as the carriage drew near, the great main doors were flung open and four of Lord Carmartin’s brown-and-gold-liveried footmen hastened down the steps to attend it.
Conan and Theo, who had a close hand upon Bran’s collar, entered to find a square, very grand hall with oak-paneled walls and black-and-white marble tiles on the floor. Fine seventeenth-century chandeliers were suspended from the ceiling, and twelve high-back chairs stood against walls hung with twenty-eight half-length portraits of kings and queens of England, from William the Conqueror to William III. Two fireplaces at the far end flanked the double doors that led into the heart of the house. It was all very impressive, very impersonal, and far from welcoming. Theo’s spirits plunged even lower. Was
this
what he was marrying Ursula Elcester for?
The housekeeper, Mrs. Anthony, small, slight, and silver-haired, came to greet them. Her bunch of keys chinked pleasantly against the gathers of her dark blue silk gown as she sank into a respectful curtsy before Theo, whom she seemed to know was Lord Carmartin’s nephew, even though Conan might as easily have been. “I am Mrs. Anthony, sir. Oh, Mr. Greatorex, I’m
so
relieved to see you at last! I was becoming quite concerned, for his lordship told me to expect you yesterday,” she said, her glance sliding uncertainly to Conan, whom she definitely had
not
expected, either yesterday or any other day.
Theo warmed a little. At least
she
wasn’t cold or impersonal. “We had a bad journey and stayed overnight at the Green Man in Elcester. Oh ... this is Sir Conan Merrydown. I trust you will be able to provide him with suitable rooms?”
“Oh, yes, sir.”
Theo nodded, but looked puzzled. “Mrs. Anthony, how did you know
I
was Mr. Greatorex?”
“Because you have the Carmartin looks, sir.’
“I do?” Theo didn’t think he resembled his uncle. Ag least, he hoped he didn’t.
She took a sealed note from a silver-gilt platter on a side table. “This is from Elcester Manor, sir,” she said, handing it to Theo.
Taking it as if it were venomous snake, he broke the seal unwillingly and read. Then without a word trust it into Conan’s hand. It was the invitation to dine at Elcester Manor that night.
Conan smiled. “You have to go, you know,” he said.
“I’m aware of that.” Theo breathed out heavily, “I want you to come with me,” he declared.
“You can’t invite me to someone else’s dinner party.”
“I intend to send a note to Mr. Elcester, explaining that you are with me, and trusting that it will be in order for you to accompany me. It will be quite all right, I’m sure. One more or less at the table isn’t going to make much difference.”
This one will, Conan thought. He’ll make all the difference in the world! “Look Theo, it’s bad form to impose me upon them as well. I’ll stay here.”
“I need you there.”
“You don’t,” Conan insisted.
“Yes, I do,” Theo replied equally emphatically.
“But—”
“Please, Conan.”
Conan said nothing more. He’d have to go too, and that was that.
Theo was relieved. “It’s settled then. I’ll write the note as soon as I can.”
As Conan and Theo were arriving at Carmartin Park, Ursula and her father were almost at the end of another fairly late breakfast. Ursula was very tired, for she had now had two broken nights in a row. She had managed to creep back into the house undetected, and had hidden the old cloak at the bottom of her wardrobe, meaning to return it to the stables later. But when she tried to sleep, it again proved impossible because her mind was far too active. The moment her eyes closed, flashes of the night’s events kept returning, like a portfolio of watercolors. Now that it was day, albeit a miserably wet one that would culminate in the dreaded dinner with Theodore Greatorex, she could scarce believe what she had witnessed in the woods overnight; or whom she had met.
Sir Conan Merrydown. His name was sweetness to her;
he
was sweetness to her. She could not forget those moments when he held her hand. Her body still recalled the amazing feelings that had almost swept her inhibitions away. It was a seductive recollection, warming, aching, compelling. If such a moment should happen again, would she be able to resist? Would she even
want
to resist? Ah, she mused, that was the question. And if she gave in to temptation, what then of the slings and arrows of outrageous fortune that would follow? She had too much to lose and very little to gain from wanting him, so he had to be banished to the distant corners of her mind. And there he must stay.