It didn’t take long to find out what Perry and Bysshe were up to, indeed it became clear that very night, although at first all seemed well. Rowan had returned from Salisbury, and he, the boys, and Marigold dined together. During the meal, there was no indication of approaching trouble, although the relish with which both boys devoured Mrs. Spindle’s superlative cooking made their claims to illness seem increasingly specious.
Rowan and Marigold remained at the table afterward to discuss everything yet again, and for a while Perry and Bysshe stayed with them, but then decided instead to adjourn to the adjacent billiard room, which also opened onto the terrace. There was still no hint of what was to come when they returned to the grand parlor at about eleven o’clock to say good night, and then retire to their beds. But schoolboy plans were afoot, as was soon to be revealed.
In the meantime, Rowan and Marigold’s intensive dining room debate continued. The curse was raked over, then raked over again. She told Rowan about her second experience at the standing stone, and they tried to decide what form her supernatural ability actually took, but all it seemed to be was a susceptibility to visions or hallucinations.
Having failed to pinpoint the power’s form, they turned their attention to the painting, but although they scrutinized it for well over an hour, they perceived nothing new. Jenny’s “answer” remained infuriatingly elusive, and they concluded that if there was a hidden message or clue, it was so well concealed it had been rendered impossible to find!
Sir Francis was with them, having flown onto the table after it was cleared. Once again he’d settled beside Marigold, and neither she nor Rowan made any attempt to remove him, because it was always easier to let the mallard do as he pleased. And speak as he pleased as well, for their conversation was constantly punctuated by his bill rattling and decidedly bellicose chuntering. He didn’t seem at all pleased with either of them, fixing first one then the other with his bright eyes. Occasionally he gave a snort that was so disparaging that at last Marigold confided in Rowan her suspicion that the drake understood what they were discussing.
“I’m beginning to think the same,” Rowan replied dryly, “and by his attitude I’d say disagrees with us!”
“I think he’s definitely part of all this,” Marigold said then.
“A very opinionated part.”
She smiled. “Maybe, but all the same ...”
Rowan nodded. “I concede the point. You’ve been right about him all along, although I still cannot imagine who he is.”
“The first Lord Avenbury?”
With an emphatic quack, Sir Francis stretched his neck to look long and hard at them both.
“Well, I suppose it’s as feasible as everything else.” Rowan gave a rueful grin. “I must be unique. It isn’t every nobleman in England who can claim descent from ducks and wrens!”
“A very exclusive genealogy,” Marigold replied, and then bit her lip as without warning tears sprang to her eyes. “I—I can’t believe we’re joking about it.”
Sir Francis rattled his bill soothingly, and rested his head against her arm. Rowan took her hand, and smiled again. “Our web-footed friend doesn’t want you to cry, my darling, nor do I. It’s always better to smile than weep. Come on now, let’s recapitulate everything we know, or think we know.”
Taking a deep breath to compose herself, Marigold stroked the drake while she and Rowan went over the whole puzzle again. They were not to know that schoolboy ears were pressed to the door, or that schoolboy eyes widened more with each startling revelation. Sir Francis knew though, for he looked toward the door, but he didn’t raise the alarm.
At last the two boys drew well away from the door, and whispered together. They had been about to secretly leave the house when they’d commenced eavesdropping, now they went quietly to the front door, and slipped out into the summer night. The moment they’d gone, Beech emerged from the shadows at the top of the stairs, and hurried downstairs to follow. He tracked them around the side of the house, and watched as they ran past the terrace toward the ha-ha, and then to the common. He waited until he was sure they were intent upon examining the ashes by the oak tree, then he hastened back into the house to tap urgently upon the dining room door. “My lord?”
Rowan glanced around from the portrait. “Yes?”
The butler came in. “Begging your pardon, my lord, but I think you and her ladyship should know that the young gentlemen have been listening at this door, and have now gone out to the oak tree.”
Marigold was dismayed. “Listening?”
“Yes, my lady.”
“Do you know for how long?”
“No, my lady. I only saw them for a moment, before they slipped away outside.”
“Then they may have been there for some time?”
“Yes, my lady.”
Marigold looked unhappily at Rowan. “Heaven knows how much they may have heard.”
“Well, it’s done now,” he replied, and nodded at the butler. “Thank you for informing us, Beech, it’s much appreciated.”
“My lord. Do you wish me to bring the young gentlemen back to the house?”
“No, leave it with me.”
“My lord.” The butler bowed and withdrew.
As soon as the door closed behind him, Marigold rose agitatedly from her seat. “Oh, Rowan, what if they heard everything we said?”
“Then what’s done is done.”
“But what we were saying is so utterly outlandish!”
Rowan smiled, and got up to go to her. “My dearest darling, I think our Eton invalids wallow in the outlandish! In fact, I’d go so far as to suggest they’re so steeped in the amazing and unlikely, they’d be disappointed by the mundane. I don’t recall hearing any frightened gasps at the door, do you? No one came rushing in tearfully, or collapsed with the vapors. No, the little monsters lapped it all up.” He put his arms around her.
“Do—do you really think so?”
“I know so. Well, no doubt we will now be obliged to discuss it all with them, for to refuse to do so would be a little absurd. Actually, that might be a good idea,” he added, and Sir Francis clacked his bill.
Marigold glanced at the mallard, and then at Rowan. “Discuss it with the boys? Oh, I don’t know ...”
“My darling, Bysshe’s huge interest in the occult and so on might prove useful.” Sir Francis quacked, and nodded his head. Rowan indicated the drake’s response. “He thinks it’s a sensible notion.”
“Well, I suppose ...” Marigold smiled. “I’ll go along with whatever you decide.”
“Good, because the first thing I intend to do is teach them both a lesson for snooping upon other people’s private conversations.” He kissed her nose, then went to get her shawl from her chair. “Come on,” he said as he placed it gently around her shoulders.
“Where are we going?”
“To your bramble refuge.” He ushered her to the French windows, and Sir Francis immediately fluttered down to accompany them. Rowan turned with a frown. “Not you, I want things quiet, and you’ve got far too much to say for yourself!” he breathed, trying to gently push the drake back inside with his boot. Sir Francis gave several highly indignant squawks, then took to his wings over Marigold’s head.
“Damn and blast him!” Rowan cursed, watching the mallard disappear toward the village. “I vow that when I next have duck à l’orange, I shall eat it with considerable relish!”
“I don’t think I shall ever be able to eat duck again,” Marigold said.
“I intend to make a point of it,” Rowan replied with a quick smile. “Come on, let’s give our young friends a small fright.” Taking her hand again, he led her along the terrace.
The lawns behind the house had been scythed that day, and the night air was scented with cut grass as they made their way toward the ha-ha. There was no mist, and the moon was out, so they could see the boys using sticks to poke the ground at the foot of the oak, presumably to inspect the charred remains of the druids’ fire. Rowan and Marigold kept low as they negotiated the ha-ha, then hurried to the brambles, where they lay down to peer through the thorny branches. Marigold glanced at Rowan. “What are you going to do?” she whispered.
In answer, he nodded toward the moat, where it left his land and skirted the common. “Look,” he said softly.
She saw what appeared to be faint blue flames hovering above the water, and she shrank closer to Rowan. “What is it?”
“Ignis Fatuus, will-o’-the-wisp, jack-o’-lantern, call it what you will. It’s only marsh gas, and used to appear quite frequently here, but over the past year or so I’ve had the moat cleared out, and only that one stretch remains. I didn’t expect to see it now, but it’s most convenient to my purpose. Ah, our young friends have espied it!”
She watched as Perry shook Bysshe’s shoulder, and pointed toward the weird blue flames. Bysshe turned to look, and Rowan immediately cupped his hands to his mouth and called out in a horribly hollow voice. “Behold, the flames of hell!”
The boys froze, and then shrank together, glancing around in all directions.
Rowan grinned at Marigold. “Let’s see how much Coleridge they know.” He cupped his hands again. “ ‘Like one, that on a lonesome road, Doth walk in fear and dread, And having once turned round walks on, And turns no more his head; Because he knows, a frightful fiend Doth close behind him tread.’ “ He emphasized the frightful fiend part.
The boys clung together in terror, then as one began to dash back toward the house. Rowan waited until they had just passed the brambles, then he shouted out. “He’s behind you! Run! Run!” With shrieks, they fled even faster, stumbling over the ha-ha, and then kicking up their heels toward the kitchens, where welcome lights shone. Rowan laughed out loud. “There go our brave occultists!”
“Oh, Rowan, that was cruel. The poor things were frightened out of their wits,” Marigold said sympathetically.
“Serves them right for eavesdropping. Anyway, I’ve had my revenge, so now we will go and reassure them.” He got up, and held out his hand to her.
She accepted, and he drew her to her feet, but then slipped his arms around her. “First I will have a kiss,” he said softly.
She gladly surrendered her lips to his, sinking against him as naturally as if she had spent her entire life with him. They had known each other for so short a time, yet were completely one. Her mouth softened beneath his, her lips parted, and as his body pressed to hers, she felt desire stirring hungrily through her. She also felt the physical proof that the erotic hunger was shared.
He drew back, and smiled in the darkness. “I trust we will be soon abed, my lady,” he murmured, holding her against his urgent loins.
“I trust so too, my lord,” she whispered back, closing her eyes as delicious feelings danced over her warm skin.
His lips sought hers again, and they kissed for a long, long moment, then he gently released her. “You tempt my base male nature so much, I am liable to give in and take you right here and now, but I think our unfortunate young diabolists require our presence.”
“Yes.”
“I love you, Lady Avenbury.”
“I love you, Lord Avenbury.”
They walked arm in arm back to the house, and followed the boys into the kitchens, where they came upon a repeat of the scene with Spiky Blackthorn. Mrs. Spindle was just handing glasses of water to the two white-faced boys. Maids and footmen had gathered around, but Beech was seated calmly in his favorite chair, reading a newspaper as if nothing untoward had occurred. The butler had guessed what had happened, and so was totally unmoved by tales of a “frightful fiend” creeping around outside.
Perry gave a cry of relief when he saw his mother. “Mama! Oh, Mama, Bysshe and I have had a dreadful scare!”
“I know,” she replied.
“You—you know?” His eyes fled from her to Rowan, and then back again. Bysshe looked at them as well, and rose slowly to his feet, belatedly suspicious of trickery.
Rowan raised an eyebrow. “So, gentlemen, it seems you are frightened of marsh gas. I’m disappointed you really thought it was hellfire.” As their faces flamed like the fire in question, he went on. “Nor, it seems, do you know your Coleridge very well.”
“Coleridge?” repeated Perry.
“ ‘Like one, that on a lonesome road, Doth walk in fear and dread, And having once turned round walks on, And turns no more his head; Because he knows, a frightful fiend Doth close behind him tread.’ “
Bysshe’s face was a picture of embarrassment. “It—it was you, sir!”
“I fear so. Well, not entirely me, I have to say a certain ancient mariner helped a little.”
Perry looked quite sick. “You had us well and truly, sir,” he said.
“I know, so let that be a lesson to you not to listen in on what does not concern you.”
They glanced at each other, hugely dismayed to have been found out. Bysshe recovered first. “You know we did that, sir?”
“Yes. Beech was good enough to tell me.”
As the boys gave the butler dark looks, Rowan wagged his finger. “Beech is not at fault, sirs, you are. May I ask how much eavesdropping you did?”
“Quite a lot, sir,” Perry confessed ashamedly. “In fact, I—I’d say we heard most of your conversation.”
“I see.” Rowan looked from one boy to the other. “As I understand it, gentlemen, you are both supposed to be recuperating from chicken pox, but I have to say you seem hale enough to me. Mayhap you should be dispatched back to Eton first thing tomorrow.”
They were appalled. “Oh, no!” they cried in unison.
“Can you think of a good reason why not?” Rowan inquired.
Bysshe nodded. “Yes, my lord.” He glanced at the listening servants, and then dropped his voice to a stage whisper. “I’m sure I can be of assistance with all those birds, in fact, I’m quite an, er, ornithologist.”
“I rather wondered if that might prove the case,” Rowan replied, glancing at Marigold. “Very well, sirs, we will discuss the matter at the breakfast table. Tell me, how did you convince Dr. Bethel you had chicken pox? Flour on your faces, red ink for spots, and feigning sleepiness?”
Bysshe gave a shamefaced grin. “Something like that,” he confessed.
“Hmm. Well, to bed with you, sirs.”
They obeyed with alacrity.