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‘No, my lady.’
‘And one more sniff of disapproval out of you and you can go straight back to London.’
Silenced, the maid flounced out, then stopped to bob a curtsy in the doorway.
‘May I come in?’
Cousin Elizabeth looked round the door and smiled when she saw Isobel was eating. ‘It seems everyone is much recovered this morning, although I have forbidden Lizzie to leave her room today.’
‘How is she?’ Isobel’s sleep had been disturbed by vivid dreams of loss, of empty arms and empty heart. She felt her arms move instinctively as though to cradle a child and fussed with the covers instead.
‘She is fine, although a trifle overexcited. What would you like to do, my dear? Stay in bed? I can bring you some books and journals.’
The sun was pouring through the window with a clarity that promised little warmth, but exhilarating views. ‘I thought I might take another walk, Cousin Elizabeth. If you do not require me to assist you with anything, that is. Perhaps Anne or Philip might join me?’
‘Of course, you may go and enjoy this lovely weather, just as long as you do not overtire yourself.’ She looked out of the window and nodded, as though she could understand Isobel’s desire to be outside. ‘Philip would join you, but his father has sent him to his studies—his tutor’s report on his Latin was very unsatisfactory, poor boy. And Anne has fittings with the dressmaker all morning—I declare she has not a single thing fit to wear for her come-out.’
‘Never mind. I do not mind exploring by myself,’ Isobel said. ‘It is such a sunny day and who knows how long the weather will hold at this time of year.’
‘Do you want me to send one of the footmen to go with you?’
‘Goodness, no, thank you. I will probably dawdle about looking at the view and drive the poor man to distraction.’
The countess smiled. ‘As you wish. The park is quite safe—other than the lake! Mr Harker and my husband will be in a meeting this morning.’ She delivered this apparent non sequitur with a vague smile. ‘And now I fear I must go and have a long interview with the housekeeper about the state of the servants’ bed linen. Do not tire yourself, Isobel.’
Isobel came down the front steps an hour later, then stopped to pull on her gloves and decide which way to go.
Over to her left she could glimpse the church with the stables in front of it. Time enough for viewing the family monuments on Sunday. A middle-aged groom with a face like well-tanned leather came out from the yard and touched his finger to his hat brim.
‘Roberts, my lady,’ he introduced himself. ‘May I be of any assistance?’
‘I was trying to decide which way to walk, Roberts.’ Isobel surveyed the long avenue stretching south. It would make a marvellous gallop, but would not be very scenic for a walk. The park to the north, towards the lake, she did not feel she could face, not quite yet. To the east the ground was relatively flat and wooded, but to the west of the house it rose in a promising manner. ‘That way, I think. Is there a good view from up there?’
‘Excellent, my lady. There’s very fine prospects indeed. I’d go round the house that way if I was you.’ He pointed. ‘Don’t be afeared of the cattle, they’re shy beasts.’
Isobel nodded her thanks and made for the avenue of trees that ran uphill due west from the house. At the first rise she paused and looked back over the house and the formal gardens.
Why, she wondered, had Cousin Elizabeth made a point of mentioning where Giles Harker would be that morning? Surely she did not suspect that anything had transpired between them beyond his gallant rescue?
And what had happened? Gi…Mr Harker seemed to accept that she was not some airheaded flirt. She was, she supposed, prepared to believe that he suffered from an irritating persecution by women intent on some sort of relationship with a man of uncannily good looks. But that kiss in the shrubbery, the look in his eyes as they stood at the door of his room, those moments made her uneasily aware that she could not trust him and nor could she trust herself. He was a virile, attractive male and her body seemed to want to pay no attention whatsoever to her common sense.
There was something else, too, she pondered as she turned and strode on up the hill, her sturdy boots giving her confidence over the tussocky grass. There was another man behind both the social facade and the mocking rake, she was sure. He had a secret perhaps, a source of discomfort, if not pain.
Isobel shook her head and looked around as she reached the top of the avenue and the fringe of woodland. The less she thought about Giles Harker the better and she had no right to probe another’s privacy. She knew what it was to hold a secret tight and to fear its discovery.
To her right was an avenue along the crest, leading to the lake and, beyond it, she could see the tower of the folly. To her left the view opened out beyond the park, south into Hertfordshire across the Cambridge road. A stone wall showed through a small copse. She began to walk towards it, then saw that it was the building she had noticed from the chaise when she had first arrived. As she came closer to the grove of trees it revealed itself as a miniature house with a projecting central section and a window on either side.
It was set perfectly to command the view, she realised, but as she got closer she saw it was crumbling into decay, although not quite into ruin. Slates had slipped, windows were broken, nettles and brambles threatened the small service buildings tucked in beside it.
Isobel walked round to the front and studied the structure. There was a pillared portico held up by wooden props, a broken-down fence and sagging shutters at the windows. The ground around it was trampled and muddy and mired with droppings and the prints of cloven hooves.
And through the mud there were the clear prints of a horse’s hooves leading to where a rope dangled from a shutter hinge: a makeshift hitching post.
Giles Harker’s horse? Why would he come to such a sad little building? Perhaps he was as intrigued by it as she was, for it had a lingering romance about it, a glamour, as though it was a beautiful, elegant woman fallen on hard times, perhaps because of age and indiscretion, but still retaining glimpses of the charms of her youth.
But he was not here now, so it was quite safe to explore. Isobel lifted her skirts and found her way from tussock to tussock through the mud until she reached the steps. Perhaps it was locked. But, no, the door creaked open on to a lobby. The marks of booted feet showed in the dust on the floor. Large masculine footprints. Giles.
With the delicious sensation of illicit exploration and a frisson of apprehension that she was about to discover Bluebeard’s chamber, Isobel opened the door to her right and found the somewhat sordid wreckage of a small kitchen. The middle door opened on to a loggia with a view of the wood behind the building and the door to the left revealed a staircase. The footprints led upwards and she followed, her steps echoing on the stone treads. The door at the top was closed, but when she turned the handle it opened with a creak eerie enough to satisfy the most romantic of imaginings.
