Beneath the Major's Scars(27)

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.