"Thank you so much for the fortunes," she began firmly, "but what--"
"Oh, I know all about it, dears!" Agatha interrupted kindly. "Two pretty girls lost on a wild night, scared and tired, looking for
the way home. You let old Agatha take care of that. We'll take you home, don't worry. Can't have you out in a storm like this, no. And the only question is, who will take whom? Let's see, where did they go? What's your name, dear, Kate? And who will take Kate home, eh?"
The taller man was leading his horse, a large gray hunter that any gentleman might be proud to own. Kate noticed that the man limped slightly. That, along with the high shoulder. Old age? His posture was unaffected, and he carried himself with dignity. He couldn't be old; he had laughed like a young man, and when he spoke, his voice was not an old man's voice. It was rich and pleasant, naturally commanding. "Don't worry, Agatha. I'll take your Kate home, of course." Amused and tolerant. Amused at what? The old woman? Their silliness in getting lost?
"Oh, Marak!" breathed Agatha delightedly, turning her twinkling black eyes on him. Kate felt again that sense of unease. Why the delight and excitement over a simple, good-hearted gesture? The man brought his horse up to her wordlessly and turned to check the saddle. She could see nothing but a black cloak. Good cloth, Aunt Prim would say. Expensive cloth, generously cut. Big, gloved hands pulling down the stirrup. Kate looked more closely. The right hand had six fingers.
"W-wait!" she stammered. "You--you don't know where we live. How can you promise to take us home if you don't know where we live?" The man paused for a fraction of a second and then continued his work without looking up. She turned quickly, hoping to see a surprised look on Agatha's face, hoping to find some answer to the riddle she was facing. But Emily blurted out helpfully, "Yes, we live in the Hallow Hill Lodge. Do you know where that is? Are we very far from there?"
"Of course we know where you live, dears," replied Agatha with a chuckle. "Do you think anyone in this country doesn't know
of the pretty girls come to live with the two old ladies up in the forest? We've not got much to gossip over around here. Now, let's see. Marak, shouldn't Thaydar take the little one along? Such a receptive nature, such pluck."
"I think so," replied that amused, amiable voice. "It's probably for the best. So, ready?" And he turned to Kate, putting out his hands to boost her up onto his horse. Emily was stroking the horse's neck delightedly. He was far finer than any at the Hall.
"No!" said Kate, stepping back and treading on her sister's foot. "I--I prefer to walk, thank you." A silence swept across the little group.
"Oh, Kate!" Emily gasped.
The rider dropped his hands slowly and seemed to stare down at her from beneath his hood. He was almost a head taller than she was. "Really," he said distinctly, all amusement gone from that commanding voice. His manner was beyond cold. It was glacial.
Kate forced herself to hold up her head and face him as the blood rushed through her cheeks in a tingling wave. She wasn't sure why she had said what she did, but she would not be faced down now by strangers. Something was wrong here; she knew it. She refused to be a fool for them.
"Yes," she replied as calmly and formally as she could. "Please lead my sister and me to the Hallow Hill Lodge, where we live. If you do, we will be very grateful. I hope we are not far from the Lodge because we do not wish to try your patience too long."
The hooded man continued to stare at her for a long moment. Then he gave a short laugh. "Well, well, how intriguing! No," he continued firmly over Agatha's spluttered protests, "we will certainly humor the cautious young woman. Thaydar, I'll not need you. I believe one horse is sufficient to point out the way." He swung up into the saddle. "Now, shall we begin our walk?" he added to the
two girls. "Or, that is--" he went on, bending toward Emily. "I assume that you
prefer
to walk, too?"
"I do not!" said Emily decidedly, glaring at her sister. She caught the rider's arm and let herself be swung up before him.
"Em!" shouted Kate, panicked, but it was too late. He settled her little sister comfortably and put the horse into a plodding walk. Kate stood for a second, hands shaking, unsure what she had expected. Then she had to scramble after them.
The darkness pressed in around them as they left the bonfire behind. Lightning flickered and flashed. Marak's good humor seemed to have returned, and he soon had Emily telling him all about life at the Lodge. Kate stumbled along at the horse's flank, trying to keep up. She felt like a complete fool.
"So your name is M. That's a letter, isn't it?" he asked. This notion caught Emily's fancy powerfully, and she couldn't stop giggling.
"My name is Emily Winslow, but my sister calls me Em. Or maybe she calls me M. I wonder what I stand for." Kate tripped over a root and thought Emily sounded like an idiot.
"Isn't it funny how humans name a child one thing in order to call it something else? So many names. It's like a game. M's a new one. Kate--now, that's a name everyone knows."
They were walking through a field of weeds. The weeds were up to Kate's waist, and she kept slipping on the long stalks. "Miss Winslow," she muttered through clenched teeth, but Marak heard her. He must have very good ears.
"Oh, hello, Kate, are you all right down there? Are you enjoying your walk? So, Miss Winslow. How convenient. You have one name for friends and another for enemies." Emily giggled again. He certainly was making a hit with her.
"I do not have a name for enemies," Kate answered sharply. "Polite society dictates the use of a person's name." She emphasized
polite;
she just couldn't help herself. "I am Kate within my family and Miss Winslow to strangers."
"Oh, good, Kate," came the cheerful reply. Really, this was intolerable. "I can keep calling you Kate and still be part of
polite
society. I'm family, you know. Hugh Roberts of Hallow Hill is a relative of mine. His grandfather and my mother were cousins. Their fathers were brothers."
"Really?" exclaimed Emily excitedly. "I didn't know we had any more relatives." Neither did Kate. She felt her mortification could not go further. Perhaps this man had been on his way to visit his cousin. He must have known all about the two new wards. And now everyone would know how absurdly she had acted. But why had he been so rude? Why the hood, the wordless meeting? Really, it was his fault she had made such a colossal blunder. She was upset to the point of tears.
"I'm afraid if you're Mr. Roberts's relative, you're no relative of mine," she snapped before she realized what she was saying. Oh, no! After keeping quiet all this time!
"What?" demanded Emily, and, "Really?" exclaimed her tormentor. He reined in the horse and turned to face her. "What do you mean, you're not a Roberts? I thought you were living with your great-aunts."
"Oh, Em, I'm sorry," faltered Kate, looking up through the darkness at the pale smudge that was all she could distinguish of her sister's face. "It's old news, really; no one minds. Our great-grandmother was adopted into the family, that's all."
There was a pause. Then Marak urged the horse back into a walk.
"I can't say I'm sorry," he said thoughtfully. "New blood is very good for the Hill. But which great-grandmother are you talking about?" Thoroughly cowed, Kate told the story of Elizabeth's
adoption, Adele's death, and their own consequent arrival, but she was rather scandalized when Marak laughed at all the wrong places.
"That's not how my mother told that story, Kate," he said carelessly. "I wouldn't believe everything that fool Roberts tells you." Emily snorted delightedly, but Kate was bewildered.
"Do you mean you think he lied about the adoption?" she asked, struggling along by the horse's side.
"Oh, no. That's the only thing I do believe, but what a thing to tell you. Poor Kate!" he teased. "I don't think Roberts likes you at all."
If he calls me Kate one more time, thought Kate, I'll do some thing horrible. Then she thought about the several horrible things she had already done that evening and subsided into misery again.
"We don't like him, either," confided Emily heatedly. "He's just hateful, with his long words, and his
hallow hill
, and his
hollow hill
, and his linguistic persistence of ignorance."
"What?" The rider seemed highly amused. "He's been explaining everything for you, has he? Tell me, what did he say about the Hill?" Emily went into a somewhat confused rendition of their cousin's speech on the place-names, and this time Marak laughed at all the right places.
"Well, Letter M," he announced, "almost every bit of that is wrong. Completely and thoroughly wrong. Pigheaded. Would you like to know why it's really called Hollow Lake?"
"Yes!" exclaimed Emily.
"It's called Hollow Lake--because it's hollow." There was a momentary pause.
"Now, what does that mean?" Emily burst out.
"It's just hollow, that's all."
"How is it supposed to be hollow?" demanded Emily. "You're just being silly!"
"No," the man replied pleasantly, "I assure you I never lie. Now, that's a funny thing, lying. If you notice, M, most humans can't do without it. They consider it an essential component of--how shall I call it?--
polite
society." Kate felt the sting in his words and set her teeth. She wondered when this interminable journey would end.
"Humans lie to each other constantly. They mean to. They think it best. They tell you what a clever child you are when they mean someone should muzzle you, and they tell one another how handsome they look when they think they look absurd. They believe they're doing the world a favor by lying. Why, take your sister as a case in point."
I won't say a word, Kate promised herself stoically, and Emily rushed to defend her sister against her newfound favorite.
"Kate doesn't lie!" she said indignantly.
"Oh, doesn't she?" answered Marak, sounding much amused. "Well, M, I'm sure she doesn't lie often, but such is the frail nature of humans that she simply couldn't help herself. Imagine"--he lowered his voice dramatically--"as she stood by the bonfire tonight, she saw outlandish and otherworldly sights, and when I came toward her to lift her onto this horse here, she knew--she just
knew
--that if she let me put her onto this horse, she'd be galloped away beyond the world we know into some strange, shadowy underworld." His voice dropped to a whisper. "And not one of the mortals on this earth would ever see her again."
Emily went off into gales of laughter. Kate felt a swift chill run through her. How could this stranger know what she had felt? She hadn't even known it herself. But that was it exactly, down to the last detail.
"And so," continued Emily's storyteller cheerfully, "what on earth could your sister say? Could she say, I think you are about to steal me for what awful ends I know not? No, she is a human. She
fell back on the
polite
lie. And so she said"--and here he took on a haughty tone--" 'I prefer to walk.' "
Kate forgot her promise to keep quiet. "You must think that I am a perfect fool!" she exclaimed.
"Oh, no," the rider assured her. "You are a woman of rare perception. Not one woman in a hundred--maybe a thousand--would have realized in time. I find myself wondering," he added thoughtfully, "just how you managed it."
Kate tried to puzzle out this strange speech. Another riddle for her to solve. It sounded very important, but she was too tired to make any sense of it. If the walk continued much longer, she was afraid she would collapse. She felt as if she had never done anything else but stumble through blackness.
"And here we are," concluded Marak. They came up a rise. The orchard trees loomed out at them. Gravel crunched underfoot. And in another minute, there stood the Lodge itself, solid and comforting, with golden light streaming out of all the downstairs windows. The rider swung down from the saddle and lifted Emily to the ground. "Off you go," he told her. "I stay here."
"But won't you come in, Mr. Marak?" begged Emily. "I know the aunts would love to meet you."
"Oh, I know them," he answered carelessly. "I remember when they first came here. A pretty young thing the blond was then, I assure you! But newly widowed. That was a real pity," he added feelingly. "No, I'll come in another time."
"Good-bye, then, and thank you for the ride!" Emily wrung his hand and dashed up the path. He turned to Kate, who stood hesitating, almost too tired to walk farther. Now that they were back in the light again, she found his cloak and hood insulting. She could make out nothing about him, and he seemed to know everything about her.
"Kate, you look terrible!" he said sincerely. "You're completely exhausted. Well, you won tonight, and I'm not a good loser. I'm not used to it. But until next time"--and he held out his six-fingered hand.
Kate shook her head and put her hands behind her back. She glared up at him, beside herself with indignation. She said firmly, "I hate to appear rude--"
"Yes, you do, don't you." He laughed. "Oh, I know what's bothering you," he teased before she could turn away in disgust. "The cloak and hood. It's been on your nerves all evening. You've been imagining all sorts of horrors, I'd guess."
This is just another way to goad me, Kate thought grimly, but he was absolutely right.
Marak tugged back his hood and examined her stunned expression. He watched her cheeks grow pale, her lips bloodless. He grinned in delighted amusement.
"You imagined all sorts of horrors. But maybe not this one." And he swung back into the saddle and rode away.
"Mr. Marak brought us home," Emily said from Aunt Celia's arms. "He's so nice, he let me ride his horse, and it was such a beauty, too! We should invite him over to say thank you."
Aunt Prim knelt before the fire, heating water for tea. Never mind that it had been steamy all day; with the thunderstorms around, the air at the Lodge had turned gusty and chill. Besides, Aunt Prim believed in treating any case of accidental contact with inclement weather as if the victim had just been dragged out of a snowbank.