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She paused to run her fingertips over the rough grey stone, and stopped suddenly when she came to a panel inlaid in the wall. Some words were carved into it, and she read with difficulty.
Out of the gale, across the water,
Came one night a rich man’s daughter.
Eyes like jade, hair of ebony,
To marry the lord and save the family.
Meryl stood quite still in the dark corridor, listening to the wind that tore at the castle with powerful fingers and made the windows rattle.
‘How long has this been written here?’ she asked at last in a voice that sounded strange to her own ears.
‘Oh, hundreds of years,’ Hannah said. ‘It was written after the fifth viscount married a French heiress. The lord’s minstrel made a song of it and sang it at their wedding, and then someone wrote it up here.’
‘And she had “eyes of jade and hair of ebony”?’
‘Well, they say her eyes were greenish,’ Hannah admitted, ‘but her hair was more a dark brown. You can see her in the Picture Gallery. He said ebony because it was the closest he could get to family.’
‘So it really happened?’ Meryl asked. It was absurd and superstitious to be so relieved, but for a moment she’d felt as though eyes were peering at her out of the darkness. ‘It’s about the past, not the future?’
Hannah didn’t seem to hear the question, for she strode on, calling, ‘Your room’s just along here.’
Meryl hurried and caught up as Hannah threw open the door to a large apartment with a wooden floor on which a few scattered rugs tried unsuccessfully to look adequate. The tall windows were shielded by heavy curtains of dark red brocade, and in the centre of the room stood a four-poster bed, also with dark red curtains.
‘A real four-poster!’ Meryl exclaimed with delight. ‘But I would have thought the curtains would be green. After all, it’s called the Green Room, and I can’t see anything green in it.’
‘Probably the last curtains were green,’ Hannah said vaguely.
‘That must have been a hundred years ago, then. These look as if they’d fall apart if I touch them.’
‘They’re sturdy enough, and they’re grand for keeping out the draughts.’
The warmth of the coal fire didn’t seem to reach this part of the room. Meryl shivered and went closer to the grate. ‘I suppose you don’t have such a thing as central heating?’
‘In a place this size?’ Hannah exclaimed. ‘When I think of what that would cost—and him not having a penny to bless himself with! But there, I suppose central heating is what you’re used to, isn’t it?’
Meryl nodded. ‘It is a bit chilly,’ she said.
‘Never mind,’ Hannah told her consolingly. ‘You’ll soon get used to it.’
She went out, leaving Meryl aghast. Get used to it? No way!
Soon Hannah returned with supper and a nightdress of thick flannel, patterned with huge roses.
‘One of my own,’ Hannah confided. ‘It’ll keep you nice and warm tonight. And so will these.’ She produced a pair of thick socks. ‘They’re the master’s,’ she said. ‘But what he doesn’t know won’t hurt him. We all sleep in socks until summer, and sometimes even then. Now sit down and I’ll give you the tray.’
The meal was solid and comforting, with a bottle of wine to wash it down.
‘Did he put arsenic in it?’ Meryl asked, tasting the red liquid with care.
‘As if I told him!’ Hannah said. ‘What I do in my kitchen is my affair.’
‘But he’s the “mighty lord”. Aren’t you supposed to “serve and obey” him?’
Hannah gave a snort that showed what she thought of that notion, beefed up the fire, announced that she’d return later, and marched out.
The excitements of the day, plus jet lag, were beginning to catch up with Meryl. It was cosy here by the fire, and tempting to look into the heart of the red glow, feeling the comfortable warmth enfold her, and let her thoughts drift.
They began to float through her mind in an unbroken stream, so that the dark moor blended into her first confrontation with Jarvis Larne, barring her way, being thoroughly rude to her—but then he too slipped away and she was in the icy water, struggling from the car to be hauled out of the water by a man who lifted her as if she was a feather. And the hardness of his broad chest had felt good.
None of the men she knew made her feel good. They were focused, self-conscious, measuring every word, dressed in elegant suits. They charmed her and were pleasant company, but there wasn’t one she would have gone to with her problems.
But why should she? She was the fabulously wealthy Meryl Winters, who bought whatever she wanted and had no problems.
After a while she yawned and stretched, thinking how inviting the big four-poster looked. She unhooked the curtains and drew them about the bed, discovering that they did indeed shut out the draughts. Perhaps there was something to be said for medieval life, after all.
But she changed her mind when she climbed onto the medieval mattress, which seemed to be stuffed with medieval turnips.
This must be where they put their guests when they don’t want them to come back, she thought. It would be the first thing to change—if I was going to stay here.
CHAPTER THREE
SHE awoke to semi-darkness. Then she drew back the curtains to reveal a room where the light was fighting to get through the cracks. Bounding out of bed, she pulled back the window curtains and the sun flooded in.
The storm had passed, and before her lay the glory of an English spring morning. Her room faced the land, and there was the causeway, a barely visible ribbon under several feet of water. To her left was a small town with a harbour where several masted boats bobbed on glinting water. Across the causeway she could see the road she’d travelled the night before, leading far inland, back onto green moors, and then further on to where the land rose and became darker.
Entranced, Meryl opened the tall windows and stepped out into the bright morning light. From this little balcony she could look further around her at the sea, which moved gently after the storm of the previous night.
Suddenly she found herself standing totally still, and holding her breath as though she was waiting for something to happen. A peace seemed to settle over her as she listened to the blessed quiet. Not silence, because she could hear the call of sea birds and the soft plash of the waves, but those sounds seemed, mysteriously, to be only a part of the peace. Above her the sky was a deep blue, cloudless, except for a few white puffs.
Like rabbits’ tails, she thought with a smile.
Once the smile started it couldn’t stop, spreading until it took her over completely. She raised her head, closing her eyes to feel the warmth on her face, and taking deep breaths of the freshest air she’d ever known.
She showered in the antiquated bathroom, to a symphony of clanks from the plumbing, and emerged just as Hannah came bustling in with her suit, that had survived its ordeal thanks to skilled care. She also brought a pot of coffee.
‘We normally have tea, but I made coffee for you especially—you being an American.’
Her tone suggested that she was dealing with an alien and exotic species, and Meryl hid a smile.
‘Thank you, Hannah, this coffee is lovely,’ she said after a few sips. This was erring slightly on the side of generosity, but she felt tact would serve her better than candour.
‘When you’re ready come down to breakfast. It’s in the Morning Room, next door but one to the Library, where you were last night.’ She eyed Meryl’s slim figure. ‘You poor soul, you look starved. Never mind. I’ll feed you up.’
Nothing since her arrival had unnerved Meryl quite as much as this threat. It was with some caution that she descended the stairway a few minutes later and made her way to the Morning Room, wondering if Jarvis Larne would greet her with a vat of boiling oil perched on the door.
But nothing happened as she carefully pushed open the door and peered inside. At first she thought the room was empty, but then a voice said,
‘Hello, there? Are you inspecting your domain?’
By the window stood a very slender young man, of medium height. His voice was light and his blue eyes looked as though they laughed a lot. He was regarding Meryl’s entrance quizzically.
‘My domain?’ she asked, regarding him askance.
‘It will be if you become Lady Larne.’
‘What makes you think—?’ Light dawned. ‘Ferdy,’ she said. ‘Ferdy Ashton.’
His impish face brightened. ‘Fame at last.’
She came to stand with him in the window. ‘You’d better get out of here before Lord Larne murders you—or I do. How dare you write me that letter!’
‘I had to. Jarvis was being difficult about it.’
‘When I’ve finished with you, you’ll know the meaning of “difficult”.’
He looked hurt. ‘I just wanted to help my friend out of trouble. He needs money badly, and you have it. It’s really very simple.’
‘Except that he and I took an instant dislike to each other. You never thought of that, did you?’
‘I know he’s not an easy man, but I didn’t think you’d just turn up without warning. I was going to manage it carefully so that you’d take to each other.’
‘You’d have to be a magician for that. It was a disaster.’
‘So I’ve heard. Jarvis called me first thing this morning and spoke his mind very plainly. He wants my blood.’
‘He can join the queue. I want your blood.’
‘Ah, now, that’s a different prospect.’ His eyes twinkled. ‘You’re welcome.’
‘And stop trying to charm me. It doesn’t work.’
But she was lying.
He knew it, and she knew he knew it. Charm paid his passage through life, and in her eyes it was a fair currency. There weren’t enough charming people in the world, and trying to be cross with this one was like trying to reprove a sunny-tempered child.
‘The rage he was in, I’m surprised he waited until this morning,’ she reflected.
‘He didn’t. He called last night, but I was out, so he left a message that nearly burned up my answering machine, and he called me again early this morning, ordering me to get myself over here, fast.’
‘How did you get here while it’s still high tide?’
He laughed. ‘It isn’t still high tide. It’s high tide again. I have a little boat that I keep tied up on the shore. My sister, Sarah, insisted on coming with me. She’s gone in search of Jarvis. I warn you, she has designs on him.’
‘You mean she’s in love with him?’ Meryl asked, dismayed. ‘In that case maybe I should back off.’
‘Forget it. Jarvis has known Sarah most of his life, and if he’d wanted to marry her he’d have done it by now. But their only link is horses. He loves riding. She owns a riding stable, does a bit of breeding. The trouble is, she’s fixated on bloodlines, in people as well as horses. The Ashtons are “good family”.’
‘I’m glad you told me,’ she said, amused.
‘Yes, you’d never have known that I’m “the Honourable Ferdinand” would you?’
‘I wouldn’t have called you honourable in a million years.’
He grinned. ‘Well, I’m officially honourable. The Ashtons have married the Larnes before, and now Sarah thinks nobody else has any right to him. But love? No way. Just watch out in case she poisons your tea.’
‘If he doesn’t do it first.’
‘He improves on acquaintance.’
‘So I should hope,’ she said darkly.
‘You don’t think you might get to like him?’
‘Not if I live to be a hundred!’
‘That’s funny. He said the same thing about you.’
‘I don’t know why I’m even talking to you,’ she said, exasperated. ‘If I’d drowned it would have been your fault.’
‘But you didn’t. It was fate bringing you to us so that you could marry Jarvis, hand over impossible amounts of cash and save this place from falling down. Do you have impossible amounts of cash, by the way?’
‘Totally impossible,’ she assured him.
‘I thought so. I looked you up. You really are Craddock Winters’s daughter, aren’t you? Oil wells, etc.’
‘But he doesn’t believe that. He thinks I’m a journalist.’
‘Not any more. I’ve put him right. Jarvis needs a great deal of money, quickly.’
‘But if he doesn’t want to take mine, we’re no further forward,’ she pointed out. ‘And you still have to persuade me to waste even five minutes on a man who dislikes me almost as much as I dislike him. It’s a small point, but I thought I’d mention it.’
‘You’re right,’ he agreed solemnly. ‘One should always pinpoint the problems at the start. Then we can proceed to Stage Two—solving them.’
‘Don’t build your hopes up, Ferdy. As soon as my car’s been located and I’ve recovered my stuff I’m—’
She’d meant to say ‘I’m out of here,’ but she was standing by the French door with the sun on her face and the words died. All the sensations that had assailed her on the balcony returned with greater force. Moving automatically, she pushed open the door and found herself in the garden.
Here everything grew in profusion. Someone had tried to create a kind of order, but in a desultory fashion, so that there was none of the precision neatness that could make a garden appear soulless. Again there was the blessed sense of peace, and the realisation that she had never known it before today.
She began to wander along a path, slightly overgrown but passable. It twisted and turned and she followed it eagerly, stopping once or twice to look at the trees laden with blossoms. After the previous night’s storm everything was dripping. A large drop of water went down her neck, but she only laughed.
Ferdy trotted after her, a few feet away, watching her every move.
‘It ought to be better kept than this,’ he said, ‘but it’s a big job. And I’ve got plans.’
‘You’re the gardener?’
