A Pale Horse - Charles Todd [2]
And that was the nub, of course. She was growing quite fond of Simon Barrington. She hadn’t shown a preference for any of her suitors, not for years. Not since Richard, who never was her suitor, but possibly the only man she’d loved. She was clearly disappointed that Barrington was out of the city.
More than usually disappointed.
He made a mental note of it, then answered, “All right, I’ll come, if you give me a quarter of an hour to change. Help yourself to a drink, if you like.”
She gave him a swift embrace. “I knew I could count on you.”
As he walked into his bedroom he called, “Who is the other person? You mentioned that I knew him?”
“It isn’t a him—it’s a her. Meredith Channing. She and Maryanne have become friends.”
He stopped on the point of taking off his coat.
Meredith Channing…
An attractive woman who knew far too much for comfort. About him, about the war, about—
He’d almost said Hamish, but he was nearly certain she hadn’t read that nightmare in his mind. He’d blocked it for so many years now that it was habit to keep the Somme and Hamish and the firing squad shut firmly away where no one could find it.
Hamish said, “Don’t go.”
And Rutledge caught himself just in time, before he answered aloud. “I’ve already promised,” he said silently. “I can’t go back on it without explaining why. And that I shan’t do.”
3
YORKSHIRE
Late That Same Night
Hugh Tredworth, the ringleader, possessed a goodly amount of charm. It was his stock-in-trade. Whispers claimed that his real father had been a Scottish tinker, but Hugh’s grandfather had had the same red hair and wicked smile—and his auntie as well, come to that. As his mother was fond of pointing out. Hugh had also been cursed with older brothers, the butt of their jokes and malicious tricks for as long as he could remember. These had sharpened his wits and taught him cunning, which he was careful to conceal.
At eleven, he was the eldest of his four cohorts. Johnnie and Bill, cousins, were ten, as was Tad. Robbie, only nine, tagged along because he had always been his brother Tad’s shadow. They had fallen under Hugh’s spell when he’d missed a year of schooling after complications of scarlet fever. Their scrapes and escapades had never drawn blood, and for the most part their parents looked the other way.
This night—it was well on toward morning in point of fact—the five boys had tramped nearly five miles cross-country to reach their destination.
Robbie, tiring, lagged a little now, and Tad threatened to leave him by the wayside. Hugh hissed them to silence. “Hurry! Or we’ll be too late.”
Ahead lay the grounds of the estate and, beyond, the ruins of the great abbey. One of Hugh’s neighbors had worked as undergardener there for a summer, regaling everyone with descriptions of all he’d seen. Only, everything appeared larger and harder to find in the dark. Or else Mr. Pritchert had been a liar and made up half his tales. Hugh moved his precious book from one hand to the other, unfamiliar nerves getting the better of him.
He’d purloined the book from the schoolmaster’s shelf. The subject was alchemy, about which he knew nothing. But there were spells in these pages, and he intended to try them out.
Bill, the tallest, carried a sack with apples, a corner of cheese, and a heel of bread in it. Like Napoleon’s army, he traveled on his stomach. They’d wanted to bring cider, but hadn’t discovered a way to steal a stone jar for the night.
They skirted the grounds of the estate—Mr. Pritchert swore it had dogs that bit first and barked later—then threaded their way through a wood so dark the moon vanished. But soon enough they arrived at a point where they could see what lay ahead.
It was awe inspiring. An enormous complex of mellow stone stood before them. Ranges of monastic buildings jutting across the lawns, a square soaring tower, great arches running high into the moonlit sky, tall, haunted windows with no glass, doorways that opened into blackness unlike any they’d ever looked into.
“Gor!” Johnnie whispered, stopping short.
Robbie felt his bowels stir.