Part 34 (2/2)

I went to the kitchen, but Mrs. Darendal was not there. The cellar door was closed; Lanna must have come up, but there was no sign of her. I went to the parlor, back into the front hall, and then up to the second floor. Still I saw no trace of the housekeeper. I looked in every room, even daring to crack the door to his study and peer in. I went to the servants' stair and up to the attic, all in vain. It was possible she had gotten around me by way of the main stair. The house was so large, so dim, I might go in circles for hours and never find Mrs. Darendal.

By then I was quite perturbed. What right had she to conceal herself from me like this, when it was because of her son that I sought her? I went back downstairs and through the front hall with the intention of returning to the kitchen to start my search again.

A blast of damp air struck me as I neared the entry. The door stood open, and rain lashed in. Jance must not have latched it behind him. I pushed it shut against the gale, then started again toward the kitchen. As I did, I heard a sound through the opening that led back to the front hall. So she had circled around me-as was her intention, for all I knew! I turned and marched back into the front hall just as another peal of thunder shook the windows. A figure stood not ten steps away, back turned to me.

It was not Mrs. Darendal.

He was tall and wore a knee-length coat of wine-colored velvet. His boots were spotless, as if he had not just ridden through miles of inclement weather. Gold hair fell loosely over his broad shoulders.

The man stood before a stuffed wolf. He must not have heard me over the thunder. After a moment I recovered from my surprise.

”Mr. Darendal, I did not know you had come in,” I said, moving closer. ”I have been unable to find your mother. I will keep looking, of course.”

”That won't be necessary, Mrs. Quent,” he said in a low voice as he stroked the wolf. A ring glinted on his hand: it was wrought of thick gold and carved into the shape of a lion's head.

”Oh,” I said. I tried to say something else, but speech was beyond me.

He turned around and grinned, an expression not unlike that worn by the wolf. I recalled how I had thought on the mail coach that he was likely handsome. I saw now that he was. He closed half the distance to me with a long, easy stride.

”You need not look for my mother,” he said. ”I told her it would be best not to be at Heathcrest when I arrived.”

”It was you,” I managed to say. I wanted to retreat, but my legs would not move. ”It was you the soldiers were looking for. Only you vanished from the coach when we stopped.”

He pressed a hand to his chest. The lion's head ring flashed like his tawny eyes. ”By G.o.d, I've been discovered! Whatever will I do?”

My fingers searched blindly for the door frame, discovered it, gripped it hard. ”What do you want, Mr. Darendal?”

”n.o.body calls me Mr. Darendal.” He gave an elegant bow. ”You must call me Westen, Mrs. Quent.”

”Westen,” I murmured, as if it had been a command. I managed to move a step back. At the same moment he took a fluid stride forward, maintaining the distance between us as perfectly as if we were dancers at a ball.

”The soldiers,” I said. ”Why were they looking for you that night?”

”What makes you think they were looking for me, Mrs. Quent?”

I thought of the things I had heard in the village and what Mr. Quent had told me. ”You had something they wanted. It was in your coat-a letter, or money. Something to help those who plot against the Crown. You are one of the common thieves who stalk the highway and aid them.”

”On the contrary,” he said with another grin, ”I am a most uncommon thief. Indeed, I can guarantee you, Mrs. Quent, that you could ride all across this county and the next and not encounter a highwayman like myself.”

I gasped and tried to retreat, but he reached out and caught my hand in his own. He bowed and touched his lips against it.

A shudder pa.s.sed through me. His grip was gentle, yet I knew it could tighten cruelly in an instant. ”Why have you come?” I whispered.

”You know why I've come.” He stroked the back of my hand with his thumb. ”Tell me, has Mr. Quent returned from his journey yet? No? Perfect-I did not think so. But he is due to return very soon, is he not? In which case we must be ready for him. We cannot let him arrive before we have made our...preparations.”

I shook my head. I could utter no sound but a moan of dread.

He placed his free hand against my cheek. ”Hush, now. Do not fret. It will be quick as a wink. He will make no struggle. Indeed, I am sure he will give himself up freely. What man would not do the same for the sake of his lovely new bride?” He bent close, so that his lips brushed my ear. ”And you are indeed lovely, Mrs. Quent.”

His breath was warm against my cheek. His hand slipped from my cheek, down my throat- There was a bang in the entryway behind me. The door had flown open, striking the wall. I tried to turn my head. Had the wind thrown it open, or was it a figure I saw amid the las.h.i.+ng rain?

”Jance!” I cried out. ”Don't come in! He is a brigand and a rebel! You must tell-”

He let out a hiss and thrust me down to the floor. My words ceased as the breath rushed out of me. I heard him go by; then came the sound of the door slamming. I had but a moment. Clenching my teeth against the ache in my chest, I rose up and ran across the front hall.

I heard his shout behind me, followed by the gunshot sound of his boots against the floor. However, I did not look back. I ran up the stairs and along the corridor on the second floor. I could hear him behind me. I had only time to dart through the nearest door and shut it. Even as I turned the lock, the door shuddered from a great blow.

”That was very clever of you, Mrs. Quent,” he called out. ”But you cannot think you are safe in there.”

Again the door shook.

No, I was not safe. However, there was a side door in the room that led to a sitting room. I went through, again latching the door behind me, crossed the sitting room, and pa.s.sed through another side door, which I also latched. I found myself in a dim chamber filled with furniture draped in sheets, like a silent chorus of ghosts.

I went to the door that led back to the second-floor corridor and pressed my ear against it, listening. I had to wait for the right moment. I heard another blow strike the door of the room into which I had first fled, and another. With this last blow came the sound of wood cracking and hinges crying out.

I did not hesitate. Even as that other door burst inward, I opened my door and dashed out into the corridor. I risked a glance to my right and saw the broken door hanging ajar. He had gone through, but he would discover my trick in a moment. There was no time to head for the main staircase; that would lead me past the broken door. Instead, I made for the servants' stairs and dashed up them.

At the top of the staircase I halted, waiting for his shout of anger and the sound of his boots coming up the stairs. A minute pa.s.sed; two minutes, three. I heard only my own ragged breathing.

He must have thought I fled downstairs. Soon enough I must. I could not stay here; I had to go to the village, to find Mr. Quent before he returned. My best hope, I decided, was to take the servants' stairs down to the kitchen and go out that way. Only, what would I do outside? It was raining, and night drew near. I would perish of the chill before I reached the village if I went out unprotected.

My room beneath the eaves, which I had continued to inhabit in Mr. Quent's absence, was near the top of the stairs. I went there quickly, without sound. I took my cape from its hook and threw it around my shoulders, then retrieved my bonnet. Both were gray. The fog was thick outside the window; I would fade into the mist. I turned to make my escape.

He stood in the open doorway, a smile on his handsome face.

”She told me your room was up here.”

The bonnet dropped from my hands. I stumbled back against the bed and sat down. Mrs. Darendal had told him-she had told him everything about the house. Then she had gone, leaving him to his dark work. She had betrayed us. She had betrayed Mr. Quent.

Now that all chance of flight was gone, I felt a strange calm descend over me. ”Does your mother know what you intend?”

His only answer was a sly look. He made an examination of the room, walking slowly around, even stopping at the table to read some of the pages I had written to you, Father. All the while I looked at the open door, but I knew there was no hope. The room was small. If I moved, he would have me in an instant.

”A modest chamber,” he said. ”But charming. Like yourself, Mrs. Quent. I can see why you chose it over the grander rooms below. The view to the east must be excellent in fine weather. True, it's a bit chilly up here, but you have your cape on. How fortunate! This strikes me as a good place for us to wait.” With that he sat in the bent-willow chair, leaned back, and put his boots up on the table.

I lifted my chin and looked at him directly. ”What of the preparations you said we must make?”

”They are already under way.” He laughed at what must have been my look of astonishment. ”What? Did you think I had come alone? There-look out the window. You can see them now.”

The calmness I had felt drained away, leaving a cold hollow inside me. With great effort I moved to the window and looked out.

”Do you see them?”

I saw nothing but shadows flitting below. I started to say this, then gasped. The shadows did not move with the swirls of fog but rather stalked and prowled around the house. The mist parted before them and closed behind. Never could I see them in full-it was too dim, the fog too thick-but here and there I saw crooked limbs, sinuous backs. At times they seemed to walk upright, and at others they bent low, as if going about on all fours.

”What are they?” I said, falling back from the window.

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