Giles grunted and after taking a long draught from his tankard he gave Dominic a brief account.
‘Ah, ’tis all over,’ grunted Abraham Judd, puffing morosely on his pipe at the other end of the table. ‘Even Mr Buckland bringing down a fine Lunnon lawyer didn’t make no difference. Evanshaw claims the ditch is the boundary stream and Sir Arthur do believe ’un.’ He turned to spit into the fireplace at his back. ‘Stream! There’s more water in my pisspot than that there ditch, and allus has been!’
He stopped and glared at the doorway. Dominic felt the tension around him and looked up to see Miller, Sir Oswald’s bailiff, had entered. His glance at the long table was met with sullen stares. With a scowl he turned away, then thought better of it and came over to the long table.
‘Drownin’ yer sorrows?’ His lip curled. ‘I heard how it went today, so here’s a warnin’ to you all to keep off Sir Oswald’s land.’
‘But ’tedn’t his land yet, Miller,’ growled Giles Grundy. ‘Not fer another month.’
Miller shrugged.
‘As near as damn it, an’ I’ll be out with me gun every night, as will my men. Should any of ’ee want to argue the point, we’d be only too pleased to shoot ye.’
‘I really don’t think Sir Arthur would approve of that,’ remarked Dominic. He raised his head as he spoke and saw the bailiff’s eyes widen slightly as he recognised the face beneath the wide-brimmed hat.
‘Beggin’ yer pardon, Major. I’m merely passin’ on a message from my master. Besides, we’re permitted to shoot the deer, and how are we to know what’s man and what’s beast in the dark?’
‘Aye, well now you’ve passed on yer message, get yerself back to the Three Tuns with the rest of yer cronies,’ muttered Abraham Judd. ‘You bain’t welcome here.’
Miller scowled, and with a reluctant tug at his forelock towards Dominic he slouched off to the corner, nursing his mug of ale. The men around the table looked at each other.
‘Well, ’tedn’t too bad at the moment,’ remarked one, shaking his head, ‘but come summer we needs the high pasture for grazing. And in the autumn we’ll need to be collectin’ firewood. You’ve been very good, Major, lettin’ us forage in your own grounds, but that won’t be enough to keep us all going.’
‘Then we must hope you find the evidence you need to win your case.’ Dominic finished his ale and rose. ‘Now I’ll bid you goodnight.’
He strode out of the door, buttoning his coat, ready to continue his journey. Since the assembly he had been making a conscious effort not to drag his right leg and his stride was becoming easier. Perhaps the doctors were right, after all. There was nothing wrong with his leg. He grinned to himself. He had not been prepared to make the effort for the sawbones, but to please an impertinent slip of a girl...
‘Ooomph!’
As he stepped out of the inn a shambling, unsteady figure cannoned into him and collapsed on to the ground, cursing roundly. Dominic grinned as he recognised the ragged heap.
‘Old Robin.’ He held out his hand. ‘Up you come, man, and look where you are going next time.’
As he pulled the old man to his feet he turned his head away, grimacing at the stench of beer and onions on his breath.
‘Major Coale,’ he hiccupped and swayed alarmingly. ‘Just goin’ to wet me whistle...’
‘You should be going home, man.’
Robin gave a grunt. ‘A fine night like this, I’ll be sleepin’ in the woods.’
Dominic laid a hand on his shoulder. ‘Then take care where you lay your head. Evanshaw has armed men patrolling Prickett Wood.’
‘That’s very kind o’ you, Major, but I’ve been followin’ the deer into Prickett Wood since I was a boy an’ I don’t plan to stop now. It’ll take more’n Sir Oswald’s men to keep me out!’
With a nod he shuffled off into the inn, singing roisterously as he bounced from wall to wall.
Shaking his head, Dominic went off to collect his horse.
Summer was nearly here. Zelah could smell it in the air as she walked across the lawn towards Rooks Tower. Even in the few weeks she had been coming to the house she could see the changes Major Coale had wrought. The new road was only one of the improvements he had made—clinging ivy had been stripped away from the windows, which had been cleaned and painted and gleamed in the morning sunshine. The gates from the new road had been repaired and oiled and now opened easily on to the freshly gravelled drive. The house stood proudly amid its scythed lawns and seemed to welcome her. The weather was so glorious that Zelah was reluctant to go indoors and once she had reached the library she lost no time in throwing up the windows.
There was no sign of the major. Zelah assumed he had not yet returned from Exeter. A pity, she thought, since the oppressive, sultry air hinted that the good weather would soon break and she would have liked him to see his house on such a beautiful day.
Even with the windows open it was very warm in the library and she decided against emptying the last two crates that stood in one corner. She had peeked in them upon their arrival and knew they held large, ancient manuscripts that would require some exertion to move. Instead she settled down at her desk to continue cataloguing the books she had already sorted.
When the pretty ormolu clock on the mantelshelf chimed noon she looked up, surprised at how quickly the morning had gone. She got up and stretched. The still air was heavy and oppressive. She went to the double doors and threw them open, but the dark stillness of the shuttered salon did nothing to dispel the humid atmosphere. She stood for a moment, listening. The house was hushed, expectant, as if it was waiting for her to act. Zelah crossed to the first window and after a short struggle with the catch she folded back the shutters and threw up the sash. She went to the next window, and the next. As the fresh air and sunlight flooded in the room seemed to sigh and relax, like a woman released from her confining stays. Zelah chuckled at the image. The room was decorated in yellow and white with the ornate plasterwork of the ceiling and the magnificent chimneypiece picked out in gold and reflected in the straw-coloured sofas and chairs. She took up a cushion and hugged it, revelling in the glowing opulence of the salon.
‘What in damnation do you think you are doing?’
Zelah dropped the cushion and spun around. Major Coale was standing in the doorway, his scarred face pale with anger.
‘Well?’ he demanded. ‘What are you doing in here?’
‘N-nothing. That is...I thought this room could use a little air.’
‘I gave express instructions that this room is to remain shuttered. I hate this salon. It is not a room for levity.’
‘Oh, but it is,’ cried Zelah, throwing her arms wide and spinning around. ‘Just look at the colours and the space. Can you not feel it? The happiness? It is a room for children, and laughter and lo—’
She stopped.
‘Love? Marriage? A happy family?’ His face twisted into a bitter grimace, making the livid scar even more noticeable. ‘You are far too romantic, Miss Pentewan. In future you will confine your work to the library.’
He turned and stalked out. Zelah frowned, but even as she strove to understand his anger she saw what she had not noticed before, that between each of the windows was a pier glass, paired with its equal on the opposite wall. Wherever she went, whichever way she turned, she could not escape her reflection.
‘Oh goodness. Major!’ Picking up her skirts she flew after him. ‘Major Coale, wait, please.’
He was crossing the hall and she caught up with him just as he opened the study door. She put out her hands to stop him closing it in her face.