The Master of Phoenix Hall (9 page)

My basket was half full of flowers as I penetrated deeper into the woods. It was dark and damp and full of the wonderful aromas of spring. I had no destination in mind, at least not consciously, yet when I got to the clearing at the edge of the woods and stared at Phoenix Hall, it seemed that I had intended to come here all along. I was directly behind the clumsily constructed shacks of the workmen, a dozen or so wooden huts thrown up any which way. Piles of lumber and stacks of brick littered the area, and there were bags of mortar, coils of rope, kegs of nails. I saw trash and debris and thought the place was rather like a small slum area in back of the mansion. I knew from Billy that the repairs would be completed soon and that the men would all go back to Devon soon after the first of May.

I turned to leave. I did not want anyone to think that I was spying. I was rather nervous and apprehensive at being so near the place. Phoenix Hall held nothing good for me, and I did not want to be found near it. I did not hear the footsteps behind me, and I let out a little cry as the hand gripped my arm.

“Hey, fellows! Look what I've found.”

The man was large and burly with a hard, leathery face and ugly gray eyes that danced with malice. His thick lips were curled into a leer. He wore a pair of dusty black boots, tight brown pants and a tan shirt with the sleeves rolled up over his muscular arms. The fingers gripped my arm tightly. I tried to pull away and he jerked me closer to him. Two more men came around the corner of one of the shacks. They were dressed exactly like the first and had the same blunt, peasant features.

“Let go of me,” I said, trying to keep calm.

“Now, little Lady—keep still.”

“What have you got there?” one of the men asked, grinning.

“Little local lass. She's probably heard how nice we were and oome to see for herself. Yeah—that must be it.”

“Pretty little thing.”

“Brung us some flowers, too.”

“Don't squirm so, Lassie,” the man holding me said.

I held my breath. I must keep calm. I tried to summon all my mental resources to prevent hysteria from overcoming me. The other two men crowded around me. I could see their eyes gleaming with malice, and I could smell their breaths. They were crude, common, ugly men, with no morals. I thought of all the tales Billy had told us about them, and I shuddered. There was nothing I could do. If I screamed I would bring more of them. I could not break away. I had to use my intelligence. I had to outthink them. My voice trembled as I spoke.

“Let—let go of me,” I said. “You don't seem to know who I am. I—I'm the minister's daughter. I came to—to see Miss Laurel, and I will tell Mr. Mellory if you don't release me—now.”

“Listen to her.”

“She's lying. The minister doesn't have a daughter.”

“No young ladies call on that Miss Laurel. Ain't one been to see her since we've been working here.”

“Naw—the girls in town told 'er about us. She came to have some fun, and your ugly face scared her, Burt.”

The man called Burt held my arm tightly. I tried to jerk away. He pulled me around and pinioned me against his chest, one arm around my waist, the other about my shoulders. He was breathing heavily.

“What we goin' to do with her?”

“I found her. You all go on back—”

“That ain't no way to be now, Burt. We'll take her to the shack.”

“Yeah—”

I placed my hands against the man Burt's chest. I drew in a deep breath and then shoved with all my might. He stumbled backwards, and I was free for a moment. I tried to run. One of the men caught my skirt. I jerked it free, and I could hear the material ripping. I ran toward the clearing, but I got only a few steps when a hand grabbed my arm and another seized my hair. My bonnet had fallen off. The basket of flowers flew into the air. I could see the flowers flying, and then they were crushed beneath heavy boots as the men circled about me. I fought wildly, blindly, striking out like a person possessed of a demon. I caught a hand between my teeth and bit down hard until I could taste the blood. I raked my fingernails across a cheek, and I saw four red streaks where the flesh was torn. My head swam. My heart pounded. I was thrown onto the ground. The breath was knocked out of me. Through heavy lids I saw the men coming toward me.

And then I heard the scream. It sounded like the cry of a wounded animal, shrill, loud, pierced with agony. I saw the whip curling around the man's face, and when the black coils vanished there was blood dripping. I heard the loud slashing explosion as the whip flew through the air again, the sharp crack as it made contact with flesh. There was another scream. And another. I heard footsteps running away and curses shouted by a new voice. Then there was silence.

I tried to get up. My head was going round and round in circles. I felt a hand on my wrist, pulling me to my feet. I saw dark black eyes, burning with anger, and I had an impression of the face. My eyes were not focusing, and my head seemed to go round faster and faster. I felt my feet firmly on the ground and I tried to say something. Then everything began to swim and I fell forward. I felt the strong arms catch me up, holding me tightly, and then the black wings in my head fluttered, closing in, and I knew nothing.

I was first aware of the smell, sharp but not unpleasant, tantalizing my nostrils. The layers of black lifted slowly, turned gray, and then my eyelids fluttered and I seemed to see everything through a hazy fog. There was a dull ache at the back of my head, and my arms hurt where the fingers had gripped them so tightly. The room I was in was strange and I blinked my eyes, trying to get rid of the fog. My whole body felt heavy and the dull pain grew worse as I tried to sit up.

The room was dimly lighted, the heavy rose curtains drawn to, the sunlight coming through weakly. I was on a small sofa of rose velvet and there were several cushions under my head. I saw the walls papered with embossed gray material, and the rich old carpet of some crimson colored plush that had begun to fade. The furnishings were elegant and very old, candles in ornate old gold candelabra, chests of dark brown wood, highly varnished, a fading tapestry of peacock blue and green hanging on one wall, depicting some Medieval scene. I tried to sit up but the pain was fierce. I fell back with a little groan and blackness enveloped me again.

It was much later when I awoke for the second time. The light was dimmer, darkly gold, indicating late afternoon. Some of the pain was gone, and the fog had vanished. There was a box of smelling salts on the table beside the sofa, and a cut glass decanter of brandy with two glasses on a heavy silver tray. The man was standing at the window. He had his back to me, and I saw his powerful shoulders encased in expensive black broadcloth. He was very tall, very straight, with long, well turned legs and thin hips molded in the same black broadcloth as his jacket. One large brown hand held the draperies back and the other was curled around the handle of the whip. The long black lash coiled on the crimson carpet like a serpent.

I sat up with a slight groan, supporting the side of my head with one palm, and the man turned around. We stared at each other for a moment, our eyes locked. I felt a shiver of fear rush through me as he carefully rolled the whip up, his eyes never leaving mine. He laid the whip on a side table and smiled, the corners of his lips turning up ever so slightly.

“Are you feeling better?” he asked.

“I—I think so.”

“I don't think you were really hurt. You've had a hard knock on the back of your head—nothing more serious. No, don't try and get up just yet. Rest there for a while.”

“Where am I?”

“You're in the parlor of Phoenix Hall.”

“And you are—”

“Roderick Mellory, at your service.”

He made a little mock bow, his dark black eyes burning with malice. That strange smile still hovered on his lips. He seemed to be enjoying my predicament. I still felt very weak. I rested on the cushions and closed my eyes for a moment. When I opened them the Master of Phoenix Hall was still staring at me. I felt uneasy. I wished those eyes would stop burning so fiercely as they examined me. Roderick Mellory came over to the table and poured a glass of brandy.

“Take this, Miss Todd,” he said.

“You know my name?”

“I know everything there is to know about you, Miss Todd.”

“What do you mean?”

“Exactly what I said. I know everything about everyone who lives on my estate. That includes you.”

“Dower House is mine. It isn't part of Phoenix Hall.”

“To your way of thinking, no.”

“And to your way of thinking?”

“We won't go into that now, Miss Todd. Your lawyer told me that you had no intentions of selling it to me. So legally it is yours. We will let it rest at that for the present.” His thick lips curled into the malicious smile. “We have other things to discuss, it would seem. Drink your brandy, Miss Todd.”

I sipped the brandy. The fumes were strong and the liquid burned my throat. I could feel the warmth stealing through my body, and the strength began to come back. I drank the brandy slowly, while Roderick Mellory moved restlessly about the room, touching objects, moving things, looking out of place in this elegantly appointed room. I took this opportunity to study the man.

Raven black hair covered his head in unruly waves, so black that it had a dark blue sheen to it. It grew in narrow sideburns down his thin, tanned cheeks, and it curled in soft tendrils about the nape of his neck. The eyes were actually dark brown, so dark I had thought them black. The hooded lids were heavy, and the brows rose in winged arches, giving a truely demonical cast to his face. His nose had a hump at the bridge, as though it had been broken at some time. This was strangely attractive, I thought, unable to deny the powerful magnetism of the man. He had an aura of brutal strength, of arrogance, the air of a man who had always had his way and will see to it that he always has.

Roderick Mellory frightened me. I was afraid of him, as one would be afraid of a caged panther, and yet I had to admit that he was the most fascinating man I had ever seen.

“I am extremely sorry this—this incident took place, Miss Todd. I can assure you that the men have already been discharged and are already off the premises. They—uh—mistook you for another kind of woman.”

“So it would seem,” I replied.

“Your dress is badly torn. I will see to it that you have a new one immediately.”

“You needn't bother, Mr. Mellory.”

“Oh, but I shall,” he replied, making the mock bow again. “I must do all I can to make up for this—unpleasantness. I do not want my new neighbor to have bitter feelings about Phoenix Hall.”

I said nothing. I could feel my cheeks flushing, and my anger began to rise. I hoped that I could control it. Roderick Mellory already had me at a disadvantage, and I did not want to make it worse. He perched on an ivory upholstered chair and spread his legs out, then he leaned forward, lowering his voice to a casual, conversational tone I found exasperating.

“You look enchanting when your cheeks glow like that,” he said. “In fact, I find you a very enchanting young woman, not at all what I expected when I heard that Lucille Dawson's niece had inherited Dower House.”

“What did you expect, Mr. Mellory?” I asked tartly.

“A dried up old maid, I'm afraid. Someone prim, prissy, given to charitable organizations and knitting.”

“I'm sorry you're disappointed,” I snapped.

“Oh, disappointment is hardly the case.”

“Are you paying me a compliment?”

“A perceptive young woman would know that instinctively.”

“Perhaps I'm not perceptive. And compliments will do you no good, Mr. Mellory. I have no intentions of letting you have Dower House. It belongs to me. You cannot charm me into changing my mind.”

“Was I trying to charm you? Dear me, I didn't realize that.” His tone was mocking. He grinned. “Your eyes are flashing, Miss Todd. You must not excite yourself. I would think you'd had enough excitement already for one day.”

“Those awful men—” I began.

“One can hardly blame them.”

“What do you mean?”

“You were there—a pretty young woman—on my property, trying to see what you could see—”

“I was here by accident,” I protested.

“Accident? Surely one doesn't arrive at Phoenix Hall by accident, Miss Todd.”

“I—I was gathering flowers in the woods. These woods are unfamiliar to me and I lost my way. I—I just found myself behind those shacks. I had no intentions of being here—to see anything.” Even to my own ears this sounded unconvincing. Roderick Mellory only smiled.

“You lost your way?”

“Surely you don't think I would have come deliberately, not after all the terrible things I've heard about you.” I hoped this barb would hit home. Instead of causing him concern, it seemed to delight him.

“You've heard terrible things about me?”

“Many terrible things.”

“You believe all you hear, Miss Todd?”

“Not everything.”

“If it's about me, you should believe it. I am quite bad. Anyone will tell you that.”

“You sound proud of your reputation,” I said.

“Proud? No, not proud of the gossip of a bunch of yokels who have no understanding of a man with purpose. Not proud of stories that paint me as Satan. Proud that I am what I am, something those people can never hope to sympathize with. If they called me a saint instead of a devil, I would worry. My father was a saint. My father went bankrupt. I had to work like the devil they say I am in order to make up the losses. Phoenix Hall is in the clear now, because of the devil in me.”

I was silent. I could think of no quick retort, and I had sensed a quality in the man that I could almost admire. I had worked to repay the debts my father had left when he died, and I could understand this about Roderick Mellory. I could almost see, for a moment, the purpose he spoke about, and I could almost sympathize with him in it, but I did not want him to know this. He would despise my sympathy more than anything else.