The heat persisted into the following week, slowing their digging and even stopping it on two occasions. Moreover, they had little success to lighten the burden of temperature. Mr. Rowntree’s estimate of the chapel’s location appeared to be slightly off, and they dug deep holes in several places without striking any evidence of it. Erland and Gerald were discouraged, and the former had shown Rowntree the charts they had discovered in hopes of pinpointing the proper spot. Joanna’s father, delighted with these documents, had returned to his study to pore over them and make notes.
On the day set for the riding party, Joanna stood before her wardrobe uncertainly in the early morning. She did not think she could wear her pink velvet habit in this hot weather, yet her only other riding dress was an old and shabby pale blue cloth. She had had that habit since she was fifteen, and it was not at all the thing for a ride with Sir Rollin Denby.
She went to the window, looked out, then sighed. It was a perfect day, cloudless and still. But even now, only an hour after dawn, the air was warm. It would be hot again, and she would stifle in velvet. Resignedly, she took the blue habit from the hook and began to put it on. She had had it pressed, foreseeing this unfortunate contingency, so it looked as well as a three-year-old riding habit, well used, could look.
She ate her breakfast abstractedly, thinking of a lovely peach-colored riding dress she had seen in a fashion plate last week. Sir Rollin would think her a country dowd in her blue; he would probably be sorry he had asked her to go riding.
“Do be careful not to get overtired today, Joanna,” said Mrs. Rowntree.
The girl started. “What?”
Her mother repeated her admonition.
“Oh, oh yes.”
Mrs. Rowntree watched her daughter narrowly for a moment, started to speak, then changed her mind. “You go at nine?” she asked blandly.
“Yes. It is almost time, in fact.” Joanna rose. “I must have Sybil brought round.”
Her mother watched her hurry from the room. “If I only knew just what I should do,” she murmured.
“Eh? What’s that?” Mr. Rowntree peered out from behind hiss newspaper and looked at his wife questioningly.
“Nothing, dear. I was merely thinking aloud.”
The man went back to his reading, and Mrs. Rowntree stared out at the back garden.
Sir Rollin arrived betimes, bringing with him Constance Williston and Jack Townsend, and the party started off toward Oxford immediately. Without appearing to maneuver in any way, Sir Rollin placed himself beside Joanna, leaving Constance and Jack to amuse each other. Constance’s face showed a distinct lack of appreciation as young Townsend enthusiastically began to describe a new hunter he had purchased only the day before.
“And so, Miss Rowntree,” said Sir Rollin.
“And so?”
“Yes.”
Joanna smiled. “What do you mean?”
“Why nothing. It was a mere feint, said to gain me time to recover from the dazzlement of your joining us.”
“Pooh,” said Joanna.
He raised his eyebrows. “You don’t care for compliments?”
“Not that sort.”
He considered. “Not that sort,” he repeated musingly. “What sort do you like?”
Joanna had expected him to ask what sort she meant, and she was a little taken aback by this question.
When she didn’t speak at once, he added, “I can see · what you mean, of course. It was a conventional compliment, perhaps a bit fulsome.” He considered again. “Yes, decidedly fulsome. I really put very little thought into it. But you must tell me what sort you do like if I am to mend my ways.”
Joanna burst out laughing. “What a complete hand you are.”
“I? But haven’t you just told me you dislike my style of compliment?”
“I don’t think I could say anything to put you out.”
“Is this your aim? I am desolated. But if it is what you wish, I shall endeavor to be put out by the next remark you make.”
“You are too absurd.”
Sir Rollin’s eyebrows came together; he appeared to concentrate. Then, a chagrined expression crossed his face. “There,” he said.
“What is it?”
“I was put out. Couldn’t you tell?” He looked down. “I suppose I haven’t the way of it.”
Joanna laughed again. “You must practice.”
“Oh, no. I should much rather not. But you haven’t answered my question.”
“Which?”
“About the sort of compliments you like.”
“Oh.” Joanna flushed a little. She found Sir Rollin’s conversation very novel and invigorating, but she did not quite know how to reply to this. “Well, I like sincere compliments.”
“Was I not sincere?”
“It is difficult to tell with you.” Joanna hurried on before he could speak. “And I like truthful ones as well. And no one could think I looked dazzling in this old habit.”
Denby surveyed her appreciatively, taking in her sparkling dark eyes, flushed cheeks, and slender erect form. “Could they not?”
Joanna’s flush deepened slightly. “No, not dazzling.”
“Ah, perhaps I should have said charming.”
The girl looked down. She had gone rather beyond her depth.
“I shall remember,” continued Sir Rollin. And to Joanna’s relief, he turned the subject. “You have visited Oxford many times, I imagine, Miss Rowntree?”
Joanna agreed that she had.
“It has been years since I was there. In fact, I daresay haven’t set foot in the place above twice since I came down. I declare I shall go to look at my old college.” He laughed.
“Which is it?” asked Joanna, a little puzzled. Her father visited the colleges all the time.
“Christ Church. The house.”
“Oh, my father was at Magdalen. So is Gerald.”
Reaching the town, they turned their horses onto the Broad and trotted by Clarendon Building and the Divinity School. Constance and Jack came up with them, Constance looking determined to join their conversation. “Shall we go up into the cupola of the Sheldonian?” she asked. “I love to look out over the roofs.”
“Later,” murmured Sir Rollin with a careless wave of his hand. “I want to go down to Christ Church first of all. How amusing this is.”
Constance looked affronted and said nothing more.
They rode on past the Sheldonian Theatre to the corner of the Broad. Sir Rollin lazily remarked on places he remembered. “Blackwells. I was in there once or twice, I believe. Shall we? But no, books are hardly a proper diversion for a riding party.” He turned his horse, and they went on, passing High Street and Bear Lane. Denby paused suddenly. “The Bear,” he exclaimed. “How long is it since I thought of it? Let us leave our horses there and continue on foot. It is a paltry inn, but dear to my heart.”
There were no protests, so the group turned into Bear Lane and rode along to the pub. The man there took their horses with some reluctance, but Sir Rollin ignored him and hurried the party through one quadrangle and into Tom Quad of Christ Church. He stopped in the center. It was the long vacation, so few students were about. Only those like Gerald, who were working for some special purpose, lingered.
“Charming, charming,” murmured Sir Rollin as he looked around the Quad. The others stood about behind him. Suddenly, he laughed rather mockingly. “Let us stroll about town,” he added.
And so, they did. They walked back up through Oriel and All Souls, looked at the Radcliffe Camera and the Bodleian, and ended up on Broad Street again. Throughout, Sir Rollin’s mood seemed odd. At moments, he appeared to be enjoying himself, but most of the time his comments were sarcastic. He paid no attention to anyone else’s wishes in the matter of sights, but went just where he pleased and stayed as long as he was diverted. Constance’s mouth began to tighten, and Joanna was puzzled.
As they came out on the Broad once more, Constance said determinedly, “I should like to go up in the Sheldonian now.” The look in her eye seemed to challenge Sir Rollin to deny her, but he made no move to do so.
They walked down to the theatre, looked at the inside, and got the caretaker to let them into the stairs for the cupola. In a few moments, all were on top, looking out over the spires of Oxford. Constance was very pleased. She hurried to an opening and began to point out various landmarks to Jack. “See, there is the Magdalen tower,” she said. Jack muttered some reply as Joanna walked over to another aperture. She had been here before, but not often, and she loved the view from the top of the building. The roofs of Oxford were spread out below them, each seeming more fanciful than the last. Here, one was ornamented with grotesque figures and gargoyles; there, slender carved spires pointed to the heavens. And perhaps the best part was the diversity. Each small building or college quad had its own distinct style. Some of the garden enclosures, with bright flowers in the sun, were also visible.
They stayed for some time, all but Sir Rollin enjoying the view and trying to pick out the buildings they knew. Denby leaned in one corner, listening to their talk with an amused expression, but contributing nothing. His interest in Oxford seemed to have been exhausted.
It was nearly one before they descended again, and the streets below were getting quite hot. A breeze in the cupola had obscured the growing heat of the day.
“Time for refreshment, I think,” said Denby. “Shall we go back to The Bear? They used to serve tolerable cold meat.”
No one objected, and they retreated in the direction they had come, more quickly and with less indirection. By the time they reached the little inn, Joanna was very hot indeed and very ready to go inside and relax.
They had a light luncheon of cold meat and fruit, with large pitchers of lemonade and ale to cool them after their walk. Conversation came chiefly from Constance, who knew a great deal about the town’s history. Seeing the others had little to say, she shared her knowledge.
By the time they left the inn, it was midafternoon and sultry. They had decided to sit in one of the shady gardens for a while before riding home, but when they came into the lane once more, Jack Townsend noticed a bank of clouds on the horizon. “Thunderstorm,” he said positively, and so they ordered their horses at once, having no wish to be caught in a downpour.
In less than a quarter of an hour, they were riding up Catte Street on their way out of the town. They went quickly and said little, one or the other glancing back from time-to-time to see whether the clouds were much closer. They had passed the corner of Catte and Broad and were riding by Trinity Garden, when Joanna heard someone call her name. She turned and saw Gerald standing on the pavement waving to her. She pulled up, and he came over, but she said only, “Hello, Gerald. I didn’t think to see you. We have been looking about Oxford, but now we are hurrying home. There is a storm approaching.”
Gerald held her bridle. “There is indeed. You will be lucky to make it to the house before it breaks.”
“Well, let me go then,” retorted Joanna.
“Yes, of course.”
At this moment, the rest of the party came up. Gerald started a little when Constance spoke to him.
“Let go,” said Joanna again, more sharply.
Gerald stared at her like one in a trance, then stepped back hastily. “Of course,” he said again.
“I will see you Thursday,” Joanna called back over her shoulder, not wishing to be uncivil to her brother.
Gerald waved vaguely, his eyes following their group as it trotted down the road away from him.
When they left the town, they stepped up the pace. Dark clouds covered a good part of the sky now, and there was no question that it would soon rain. Sir Rollin seemed particularly averse to the idea of a wetting. On his more powerful mount, he gradually moved to the head of the group, and then pulled away a bit until he was leading by several lengths. The others kept generally together.
When they were about half way home, they heard the ominous roll of thunder behind them. The clouds had obscured all but a line on the opposite horizon, and the storm was very near. Joanna saw one or two large drops spatter the dust on the road.
“It’s beginning,” Denby called back over his shoulder. “We had best gallop from here or we shall be thoroughly wet.” Without waiting to see if the others agreed, he spurred his big black and pulled ahead.
Jack Townsend frowned a little, but he agreed. “He’s right. Are you set for a run?”
Joanna nodded, and Constance added, “I suppose we must.” Constance was a fair rider, but she did not hunt and preferred a more sedate pace.
The three of them urged their mounts to a gallop. Though the horses were a little tired, they seemed as eager as their riders to reach a dry haven before the storm burst. As they hurtled along, they occasionally glimpsed Sir Rollin ahead of them. His powerful horse pulled further and further away as they rode.
They had covered another quarter of the distance, when Constance suddenly cried out. Joanna turned quickly to see that her horse had stumbled in the road and was trying desperately to recover its stride. “Hold his head up,” cried Jack Townsend, and Constance valiantly tried to do so, but her mount’s imbalance was too great, and in another moment, both she and the horse were down in the middle of the lane.
Joanna had already pulled up, and now she jumped down, holding her horse’s bridle and running toward Constance. But although she had been quick, Jack was before her, leaping from his mount even before it stopped. He reached Constance first. He took her arm and leaned over her.
“I’m all right,” said Constance shakily, “only bruised. How foolish of me.”
“Wasn’t your fault,” answered Jack laconically, “bad rut just there.”
Joanna came up, and Jack left Constance to her as he went to the latter’s struggling horse. He got it up and began running his hands down its legs.
Joanna put an arm around Constance to help her up. The girl started to stand, but when she put her left foot on the ground, she cried out again and would have fallen if Joanna had not supported her. “Oh, my ankle,” said Constance. “I must have come down on it.”
Jack looked up. “Can you walk?”
Constance tried, leaning on Joanna’s arm. “Ow! No. Oh, I am sorry.”
“Nonsense,” put in Joanna. “It was not your fault at all. It might have happened to anyone.”
The other girl smiled wryly. “But it did not, did it? You three all ride better than I.”
Jack came to their side. “Well, you will have to ride my horse,” he said. “Yours has a badly strained shoulder; shouldn’t be ridden.” He looked about for his gray, and at that moment, they all realized that Jack’s horse was gone. He had not held it when he leaped off.
As they gazed helplessly up and down the road, trying to see it somewhere near, the storm broke violently over their heads, huge drops of rain pelting them backed by a stiff wind.
“Damn!” exclaimed Jack, not bothering to excuse himself.
As one, they turned their backs to the wind and rain, using the two horses as a shield. Already, they were soaked through. “Constance can ride with me,” gasped Joanna, the cold water making her breathless.
“It looks as if she will have to,” agreed Jack. “I can lead her horse home.”
“Oh, no,” cried Constance. “You mustn’t.”
The young man shrugged. “Well, I must walk in any case, since I was so foolish as to let go of the reins. Thunderbolt is my newest horse; he won’t know to come back. And if I am walking, I may as well lead yours.” A flash of lightning and clap of thunder followed one another very closely. The girls jumped.
“Sir Rollin will see that we are gone and come back,” said Joanna. “Then you can ride with him.”
They all looked down the road; they could see nothing but rain. Jack looked doubtful.
“Of course,” replied Constance, but she sounded unsure.
“Well, you must go along,” Jack said finally. He lifted Constance onto Joanna’s horse, she helping all she could with her right foot. Then, he helped Joanna get up behind her and gave Joanna the reins. “You will have to go slowly,” he added. “The mud will be slippery, and your horse is overburdened. Take care.”
“We will,” answered Joanna. The two girls looked down at him.
“Go on.”
“Leaving you here…” began Constance.
But Jack made an impatient gesture. “It will do no good for all of us to stand about in the storm. Go on.”
Joanna tightened the reins. “We will send Sir Rollin to you when we come up with him,” she said. “He is probably searching for us now.”
“Do,” replied Jack. He picked up the trailing reins of Constance’s horse and started forward. The animal limped slowly along.
“Well, good-bye,” said Joanna.
“Yes, yes. Go on.”
Joanna touched the mare’s flanks, and they started off. Their pace was barely above a fast walk, but they left Jack behind even so. Both girls huddled against the storm, bending their heads and trusting the horse to keep on the road.
Though the remaining distance was not long, it seemed so. Constance said little, and Joanna was certain that her ankle pained her. The wind drove the rain into their backs, and it dripped down their collars clammily. Before long both were shivering. The air was much cooler than it had been earlier.
They reached the vicarage without seeing anyone on the road. Joanna wondered briefly what had become of Sir Rollin, but she was too grateful to see the house looming ahead to do more than that. She pulled up in front of it and carefully slid to the ground, turning to brace Constance as she did likewise. Then, with Constance leaning heavily on her arm, they walked slowly up the two steps and into the front hall. The door, thankfully, was not locked.
As soon as they were safely in, Constance sank onto a chair. “Oh, I am cold,” she said.
Joanna shut the door. “I will find your mother.” But she was not required to go looking, for at that moment, attracted by the noise of the door, the butler came into the hall. He exclaimed when he saw the dripping girls and began ringing bells and snapping orders at once.
Twenty minutes later, Constance and Joanna sat in the former’s bedroom before a crackling fire. Their drenched habits had been taken away to be dried, and both wore dressing gowns, Joanna’s borrowed. Mrs. Williston was examining her daughter’s ankle, while Joanna stared out at the darkening day. “Oh, I hope they have found Jack,” she said, for the third time.
“I’m sure they must have,” replied Mrs. Williston soothingly. “Well, I do not think it is broken, Constance. But it is a nasty sprain, I believe. We will have the doctor.”
“Oh, I feel so foolish,” said Constance.
“There is one of the grooms with your mare,” cried Joanna from the window. “They must have found him. But where is he?”
“I daresay he went to his own house,” said the older woman. “It is hardly a step.”
“Yes, of course.” Joanna came and sat before the fire. “I am so glad he is not still out walking in this rain. I suppose the note I sent to my mother has arrived also.”
“Certainly.” Mrs. Williston got up. “And if the rain has not stopped after dinner, we will send you home in a closed carriage, just as we told her.” She glanced out the window. “I don’t believe it will stop.” With this, she went out.
Constance leaned her head on the back of the chair she sat in and sighed. “Does your ankle hurt you?” asked Joanna sympathetically.
“Only a little. But I feel strangely tired.”
“Yes, I am tired, too. It was a long day.” She rose and went to the window again. “Whatever can have become of Sir Rollin? I hope he did not lose his way in the storm.”
Constance grimaced. “I imagine that he rather got home dry and safe. At the pace he was going, he should have.”
“Oh, no. He must have looked for us.”
Constance raised her eyebrows, then shrugged.
“Constance! He would have. No one could have left us in that storm.”
The other girl shrugged again.
“Well, I know he would have. I hope he did not blunder down some lane and lose his way. He does not know the neighborhood.” Joanna looked out at the driving rain once again. “I suppose it’s no use sending someone to look for him.”
Constance frowned, started to speak, then changed her mind. “He must have found his way home by now,” she answered drily. “It is nearly six.”
“Yes, I suppose so.”
Constance looked at her for a moment, then with a tiny shake of her head, abandoned the subject.