The Cross of Love (10 page)

But no yellow shone through the gloom.

John groaned aloud and plunged his hands back into the earth.

"There has to be something," he said. "There has to be - what's this?" "Have you found anything?" "Yes, but I don't think it's anything much." He brought out his hand and raised it to the lamp, so that she could see a small, leather purse. Opening it, he showed her another coin.

And I think there's another one in there," he said. "But that's all."

They searched a little longer, but found nothing else.

"Well, at least you gained something," she said, trying to cheer him. "It was worth trying."

"What did you say?" he shouted, getting to his feet and trying to make himself heard over the wind.

She raised her voice and repeated the words, also shouting over the wind.

"Let's go home," he yelled.

"Yes, let's."

In that moment the lightning split the sky again, seeming to streak down to earth, and there, in a narrow space between the trees, she saw Wyngate.

She caught her breath at the sight of that wicked, brooding presence, standing so terribly still. Then there was darkness again, followed by a clap of thunder so monstrous that it was as though the earth had split in two.

"What is it?" John asked when he could speak.

"Nothing, I - I thought I saw him - over there."

Another flash of lightning lit up the space.

It was empty.

"Rena, you're getting him on the brain. You were the one who said we shouldn't do that."

"Yes It must have been my imagination," she said, dazed. "Of course."

"Come along."

He grasped her arm and guided her firmly away. In a few minutes they were out of the wood, battling across the open space to the sanctuary of the house.

Never had the kitchen seemed so welcoming. They slammed the door behind them, drew the curtains and huddled over the range, which still had some warmth.

"Tea," she said, filling the kettle.

"My poor girl! Are you all right? It's not like you to have hallucinations."

"I know, but I think you're right. I'm letting my mind dwell on him, and I mustn't. Oh John, what did we find? Do look."

He took out the coin which he had thrust into his pocket, then felt around in the purse and took out another one. They were the same as the others.

"They might be so valuable that these few are enough," he said hopefully.

But they both knew it was a forlorn hope.

"How do we find out?" she asked.

"I told you I came back from the tavern the other night to write letters. One was to an old friend in London. He's a retired clergyman, and also a very learned historian, with a great knowledge of antiques. I met him when I was a young midshipman in the Navy."

John reddened before he added, "He got me out of a bit of trouble. All my own fault."

"I'm sure you were a demon," Rena laughed.

He nodded. "I wasn't the best behaved lad in the world. Anyway, I wrote to the Reverend Adolphus Tandy. I described the coins as well as I could, hoping that he might write back to tell me what they were. We shall just have to wait for his reply."

He was drowned out again by a violent crack of thunder overhead, followed by the sound of rain pounding down.

There seemed nothing for it but to go to bed and hope for better weather in the morning.

* Rena woke to a drenched world. During the night the rain had flattened the long grass and swollen the stream. She slipped outside and breathed in the cool, clean air.

She had meant to go straight in again, but something drew her down to the bridge. On this bright morning the fears of the night before seemed absurd.

She stood on the bridge looking down into the racing water, enjoying the beauty of the day. Of course she hadn't really seen Mr. Wyngate in the flash of lightning. He was just an ordinary man, and could be fought, like any other man.

So lost was she in these thoughts that she did not hear the approach of footsteps, and it was something in the silence that made her look up.

And she saw him.

He was standing just a few feet away, watching her in silence.

The shock was terrible.

It was as though a demon had come up through a trapdoor. Rena had no idea how long he had been there, his cold, dead eyes fixed upon her.

"Good morning," she said, trying to sound firm.

He didn't bother with courtesies.

"You're a very clever woman," he grated. "Cleverer than I thought at first. Only a really sharp intelligence can play the idiot as well as you did."

"You flatter me, sir. I assure you it was no performance."

"Don't waste my time with that stuff," he snapped. "We both know what this is about."

"Then you have the advantage of me."

He sighed impatiently. "I thought better of your wits than this."

"Shall we go into the house and I can inform His Lordship - ?"

"Stay where you are. It's you I came to see. Walk with me."

He left the bridge and began to follow the rough path to the trees. Rena followed him.

"I thought you had returned to London," she ventured to say.

"I put up at the local hotel last night," he said tersely.

"There are things to be said."

"Then let me call the Earl -"

"Not to him, to you," he interrupted her. "Just wait until I'm ready."

Suddenly he stopped and swung round, staring at the house. They were now some distance from it and had a clear view of the whole structure, with the tower rising incongruously but magnificently from the centre.

"The man who built that house knew what he was doing when he added the tower," Wyngate said abruptly.

"The tower isn't part of the original structure," Rena pointed out. "It was added a hundred years later by the seventh Earl."

"Then he knew what he was doing. A man could climb up to the top of that and be monarch of all he surveys. That's what a tower is for. It should be bigger. Much bigger."

"It's already too large for the house," Rena objected.

"It should be bigger," Wyngate said obstinately.

An uneasy feeling was creeping over her. They had seen this man off the day before, and now he was back as though nothing had happened. Had his mind actually taken in the fact that John had refused? She began to think it hadn't.

Wyngate's gaze was still fixed on the tower. He spoke to Rena without looking at her.

"The trouble with my daughter is that she never seems to be interested in the men I want her to be interested in."

"Maybe that's because you can't choose for another person," Rena replied. "It's up to her and I think it would be foolish of her to marry someone unless she was very much in love with him."

Her voice unconsciously softened on the last words. She felt as though a dream had come over her, but she was startled out of it by his furious voice.

"Matilda will love and marry the man I want her to. What woman is capable of choosing well, when her father is as rich as I am? "Of course men will want to marry her because they know I am rattling with golden sovereigns, but I know what is best."

"Then it seems to me that your money is her misfortune," Rena replied quietly.

"Rubbish! Don't talk in that drivelling fashion. I know who will make her happy, not only for a short time, but for the rest of her life. That is why she must learn to obey me!"

"You care nothing for her happiness but only for your own.," Rena said. "You think only of trying to make yourself bigger and more important than you really are."

"What did you say?"

Her temper was beginning to rise. "You heard exactly what I said. Love comes from the heart and only God can bestow it."

At last he withdrew his gaze from the house, and turned to stare at her.

"Are you serious?" he asked. "Are you saying that love is something religious?"

"Of course it is," Rena replied. "People search for it, hoping that if they can't find it in this life, they will do so in the world to come."

"Stuff and nonsense! Marriage is what women are there for and to produce children who will carry on the name and position of their father."

"That is what you think," Rena retorted. "I believe that love comes from God. When we fall in love it is something holy and it mustn't be thrown aside by money, position or anything which is of importance in this world."

He stared at her as though unable to believe his ears.

"I think you really believe all that stuff."

"Passionately!"

He gave a grunt that might almost have been humorous.

"Well, maybe you think you do. You'll change your tune when you hear what I have to say."

"Mr. Wyngate, I am not interested in anything you have to say."

"Everyone is interested in money, Mrs. Colwell. Or should I say, Miss Colwell?"

If he had hoped to disconcert her he was disappointed. To his astonishment Rena laughed.

"Miss is correct. My father was the vicar here until recently, now I'm Lord Lansdale's housekeeper. He invented a husband for me to prevent you thinking exactly what you are thinking."

"You're very frank."

"Ah, but I don't care in the least what you think of me, Mr. Wyngate." She could hardly believe that it was herself who had said those words. Was she really this cool, composed female who challenged this unpleasant man, and refused to let him disconcert her? It was he who backed down, pretending not to hear her last remark.

"So your father was a clergyman. They always think that God will turn up at the last moment and do for them what they should have done for themselves a long time ago. But people who want money, have to fight for it."

"And what about the people who don't want money, Mr. Wyngate?"

"They don't exist," he said savagely.

"They exist, but in a world you can't enter." She added softly, "That's why you hate them."

He swung round on her and the malevolence was there in his eyes again. She had flicked him on the raw this time.

"I don't hate them," he said at last. "I despise them. Once you have money you can buy many things which make a human being happy."

"Yes," she said unexpectedly. "Many things. But not all. Your tragedy is that you don't know the difference."

"What do you mean, tragedy?"

"The greatest tragedy in the world."

"Don't feel sorry for me!" he screamed.

She didn't answer.

"Don't feel sorry for me," he repeated emphatically.

"It's time I was going in."

"Wait! I haven't said what I came to say to you. recognise you as a formidable woman. I respect that."

She was silent.

"Name your price," he said at last.

"Please stand aside and let me pass. I have work to do."

"I said name your price. You can make it a high one. You're an obstacle in my way, and I'm prepared to remove you in a way that's pleasant to yourself. You get out of here and you can have a comfortable life on my money."

"You don't really think you can bribe me?" she demanded. "You must have taken leave of your senses."

"Look, there's no need for outraged virtue. I've said I'll pay you well, so don't waste my time with meaningless mouthings."

Rena regarded him curiously, as she might have studied a loathsome insect.

"You'll - pay - well?" she mused.

"Extremely well."

"That sounds splendid, but it isn't very specific."

"So you want figures. Five thousand pounds."

She laughed.

"Very well, ten thousand!"

"I thought you were a serious man, Mr. Wyngate. Good day to you."

She tried to move past him but he grasped her arm and snapped, "If I go higher than that I'll want more than your silence in return. Is that what you're after, you grasping little doxy?"

Before she could answer this insult he said something that took her breath away.

"Very well, you can have it. I'll set you up in a fine house in Park Lane. You can have jewels, servants, cash, a box at the opera, all the clothes you want. And you'll belong to me, any hour of the day or night that it pleases me."

He meant it, she thought, her mind reeling. She had a wild desire to laugh. A moment ago she had felt insulted, but this was too monstrous for that.

And then came the wicked thought - "I must share this joke with John. How we'll laugh together!"

She pulled herself together. Her own reprehensible amusement was surely the most shocking thing of all.

"There is no point in discussing this further," she said. "I'm going now."

"You'll discuss it as long as I want," he shouted, tightening his hand on her arm.

"There is nothing to say," she shouted back. "You do not appeal to me, sir. Is that plain enough for you?"

"Don't tell me my money doesn't appeal to you. What'll happen if you stay here? A drudge all your life, ending up destitute? You don't think he'll marry you, do you?"

She froze, meeting his eyes in horrified self-discovery.

How had this cruel demon put his finger on a secret buried so deep that she hadn't even seen it herself until now? "All this fancy talk about love," Wyngate sneered. "Weaving pretty dreams for yourself, aren't you? Dreams and nothing else. His mistress is all you'll ever be. He needs money and you don't have it.

"Well, if you can be his mistress, you can be mine, and I'll give you a better time than he could. I know how to treat a woman, you see - in bed and out of it."

"Until you throw her out and she's just as destitute as before," Rena snapped.

"Then you'll have to keep me happy so that I don't, won't you? By God, I'm going to enjoy owning you! What a fight of it we'll have, my lady. I'll enjoy that. I'll overcome you in the end, but it'll be a pleasure showing you who's the master. You're a worthy opponent, you see, and I haven't had one of those for a long time."

Disgust had silenced her, but now she found her tongue.

"Let go of me at once," she said breathlessly. "I will not be your mistress, now or ever. I will not accept your money on any pretext, and I will not be driven out."

"Then we will be enemies," he said coldly. "People who make an enemy of me always regret it. For your own sake, don't be my enemy, Miss Colwell."