Devil's Mount Part 5

They had reached the porch at the top of the steps, and Rhys Llewellyn set down her cases with evident relief. The child, Dulcie, danced about his long legs, begging to be picked up. Julie estimated that she was not more than five or six, and from her behaviour she guessed she was used to getting her own way.

But just at the mom/mt, Rhys was more concerned with introducing Julie to his sister-in-law. Nerys Llewellyn had said nothing as yet, but her eyes rested frequently on her brother- in-law's dark face, and there was in those eyes a look which even Julie could not mistake. For once, it seemed, William had not been exaggerating. Nerys Llewellyn was involved with her brother-in-law, but whether he was involved with her was another matter.

"This is Miss Wood, Nerys," Rhys was saying, somewhat wearily.

"Miss Wood-my sister-in-law, Mrs-Llewellyn."

"Llewellyn-Edwards," corrected Nerys smoothly, arousing an Impatient declaimer from her husband's brother. "How do yoji do, Miss Wood? Should I say, welcome to Devil's Mount? For once William was telling the truth. You are-more his age than ours, aren't you?"

The words were spoken with deliberate intent, and Julie had to bite back her indignation. Fortunately perhaps, at that moment, Dulcie grew tired of being ignored and set up a sulky wailing, and as Rhys bent to lift the child into his arms, another man appeared behind Nerys. He was not a young man, at least sixty, Julie surmised, with a shock of grey hair and bushy eyebrows. But he walked without any sign of a stoop, and lifted her cases without apparent effort.

"You'd all better come inside," he said, with the lilting accent of his ancestors. "How can I keep the place warm with doors standing open on a night like this?"

His actions promoted a general move inside the heavy doors of the building, and Julie looked about her with curious interest. The light which had illuminated the steps before the older man closed the door behind them came from a chandelier suspended incongruously above a hall that was sadly lacking in either design or comfort. Dust smudged the wood- blocked floor, revealing fingermarks on an enormous ebony chest. There was room for an ugly old-fashioned sideboard at the foot of stairs which ran along two walls of the hall and formed a balcony above the others. A single runner of carpet crossed the hall and followed the line of the stairs, its faded pattern eloquent of the atmosphere Julie could sense with a feeling of dismay. No one cared about this place, she thought almost sadly, and like an ugly woman it had lost its sparkle.

Her eyes shifted to Rhys Llewellyn, who was pacifying the little girl with a bar of candy taken from his pocket. Julie, who suspected Dulcie required a little more of the treatment he reserved for his son, felt a curious sense of displeasure watching the child in his arms, but Nerys was obviously well pleased, keeping close beside them, her eyes lingering deliberately on Julie as she whispered softly in Rhys's ear.

"Will I show the young lady to her room, Mr. Edwards?"

The older man had spoken, and Rhys set the child firmly on her feet again before straightening to introduce his new secretary. But Julie was not paying any attention-not to Dulde, who was complaining bitterly that Uncle Rhys didn't love her any more, nor to her mother, who was comforting her with a.s.surances that she was still his little sweetheart, nor even to Rhys himself as he told her the man's name.

She was back in Hector Hollister's office, and he was telling her about a Welshman who had returned home on the death of his elder brother, an elder brother whom he had thought to have been married! Rhys Edwards - she remembered the name distinctly, an ex-mercenary, who had inherited his brother's lands and his t.i.tle. And that was the name Nerys had added to her name, too, only she hadn't given it a thought at the time. But now... Did that account for that curious feeling of ident.i.ty she had experienced since getting out of the car?

"Miss Wood!"

Her own name, spoken with asperity, brought her head up sharply, but she could not entirely hide the startled awareness of her eyes. Yes, this might well be the Rhys Edwards Mr. Hollister had spoken of.

Those lines of toughness and harsh cynicism in his face had not been etched by a gentle existence, that ruthless quality about him came from years of fighting for what he wanted, without giving or demanding any favours from anyone..

His eyes narrowed as he looked at her, and for a heart- stopping moment she thought he had guessed what she was thinking and intended taking her up on it. But instead, he indicated the older man.

"Haggar will take you up to your room," he stated expressionlessly.

"I've told him you haven't eaten, and instructed that you should have something brought to your room. I expect you're tired after your journey, so we won't enforce your company this evening. However, breakfast is at eight in the morning, and I shall expect you to be ready for work by nine. Is that understood?"

Julie nodded. She could have protested that he had not told her his real name, that to a certain extent he had brought her here under false pretences. But she remained silent, conscious, as Nerys watched her with faintly scornful eyes, that he was treating her as his employee for the first time. And she couldn't honestly say she liked the experience.

Haggar was walking towards the stairs, and she was following him, when a door to the right of the hall was wrenched open, emitting a draught of warm air into the decidedly chilly reaches of the entrance.

William's thin, ungainly body appeared in the aperture, his face flushed and hectic-striped pyjama trouser legs showing below his grey woollen dressing gown. Julie was surprised at the relief she felt upon seeing him, but her reactions were tepid compared to the boy's.

"Julie! Julie," he exclaimed, and then after a salutory remonstrance from his father: "I mean-Miss Wood!" He spread his hands. "I didn't hear the car!" He opened the door invitingly wider, and Julie could see the reflection of flames from a fire leaping up the walls. "What are you doing out here? Come on in! I've been waiting for you."

Before Julie could speak, his father had crossed the hall and was propelling his son bad; into the warm room.

"Stay inside, William!" she heard Rhys say impatiently. "You're not even supposed to be out of bed! Doctor Matthews will lynch me if he finds out you've been wandering about draughty hallways in your condition."

"But I want to see Julie-"

Julie heard his protests before the door was kicked to behind than, and Dulcie set up her own shrill objections.

"Why has Uncle Rhys closed the door, Mummy? Why has he shut us out? I want to go in there, too. Uncle Rhys likes me, not that silly Willie!"

She darted across the hall to the room where the murmur of voices could still be heard, but as Haggar was already standing on the first landing waiting for her, Julie had no choice but to follow him upstairs. She was aware that Nerys crossed the hall after her daughter, and presently the door opened and closed behind both of them.

CHAPTER FOUR.

JULIE'S room was at the back of the house, facing the deep channel which separated Wales from southern Ireland. It was an enormous apartment, with a high, moulded ceiling and bare, colourwashed walls. A marble-topped washstand was flanked on one side by a huge tallboy, and by a wardrobe big enough to store a dozen bodies on the other. The bed was four- posted, strong and square, its faded bedspread matching an equally faded canopy. But the sheets were very clean, and when she slid between them later that evening, she found a stone water bottle to warm her feet. There was a fireplace, and someone had thought to light a small fire in the grate, and this more than anything gave the room a welcoming appearance.

Waking in the morning to the sound of the waves breaking on the rocks below Devil's Mount, Julie lay for several minutes absorbing the strangeness of her surroundings. The night before, she had found sleep a welcome escape from her thoughts, but this morning her brain was clear and active, impatient to accept the incongruity of her situation.

Could this really be the home of a wealthy man, eccentric or otherwise? The fire had died in the night, and the room was cold and chilly, significant of the lack of any adequate heating system. The square of carpet that protected her feet from the icy contact of the lino was made of the cheapest materials, and even the curtains hanging at the windows had seen better days.

The curtains aroused her to the fact that the previous evening, darkness had prevented her from seeing anything beyond the windows. Now she slipped out of bed and ran across the room, drawing back the curtains and peering out.

The view was breathtaking, making her forget the cold. The early morning sunlight was gilding the breakers which rolled continuously into the sh.o.r.eline, shadowing the curve of headland which stretched into the distance, ruggedly formidable. Beneath her windows, a brief gra.s.sy sward gave on to the cliff edge, and the rocks which shattered the waves into flurries of spume were hidden below their vertical face.

The sense of excitement she had felt so briefly the night before returned again. No matter what happened, she was not sorry she had come here. She was not foolish enough to deceive herself that it was going to be easy. There were undercurrents here which she had never even suspected at the time of her acceptance of the position, but no matter how brief her visit, she would not have missed the experience.

And what kind of an experience might it be, living in the house of an ex-mercenary, who, according to Mr. Hollister, had hated his own brother, and whose brother's wife obviously regarded him as her personal property. Was that why the brothers had quarrelled? Had they both loved Nerys? And now that his brother was dead, was he simply waiting until a decent interval had elapsed before making her his wife? Curiously enough, she found something distasteful about that idea. But why? Unless, as her instincts told her, it was because William's position might well be made intolerable by such an event.

With a shrug, she turned and surveyed the room behind her. Although it was uninspiring at the moment, with newly painted woodwork, some decent wall covering, a warmly fitted carpet, and fresh curtains and covers, it would look rather splendid. Its proportions were generous, and the ceiling mouldings were cleverly elaborate, if a little grubby right now. The fireplace had a real marble mantel, and the tarnished fittings in the grate could easily be cleaned.

So why hadn't it been done-along with the central heating system she had longed for the previous evening? The bathroom adjoining the bedroom had been an ice-box the night before, and while the water had been reasonably hot from the taps, its coppery tinge had indicated the age of the boiler. If Rhys Llewellyn-no, Edwards-was a wealthy man, why didn't he use some of his money to put his house in order?

Realising she was getting frozen just standing there in her nightgown, she walked briskly across the room to the bathroom door. A noisy gurgling in the pipes indicated that someone else was getting up, too, and she consulted her watch for the first time that morning. It was a little after seven-thirty, and she hurried over her teeth-cleaning, forgoing the bath she had promised herself in her efforts to be ready for breakfast at eight.

She dressed in a three-quarter-length skirt of navy blue wool, teaming it with a white blouse and navy tank top. She was confident she looked neat and businesslike, and regarded her hair with some misgivings before deciding to secure it with a leather slide at her nape. She was applying a faint eyeliner when there was a knock at her door, and frowning slightly, she went to open it.

To her surprise, William stood outside, wrapped in the same grey dressing gown he had been wearing the night before, although now his hair was rumpled from the pillow. His face looked less feverish this morning, and she stepped back almost automatically, allowing him to enter the room.

"I'm not disturbing you, am I?" he asked, closing the door behind him, as though the question was purely rhetorical. "But I didn't have a chance to speak to you last night, and I wanted to welcome you to Devil's Mount."

Julie was touched. "Well-thank you, William. But for you, I wouldn't be here."

"I know." He grinned conspiratorially, and she wondered what that grin was supposed to mean. "But you are here, aren't you, and I, for one, am-delighted!"

Julie finished stroking the brush across her lashes, and put-ting it away, gave him a wry look. "I'm glad someone is."

"Oh, you mean Nerys?" He misunderstood her remark. "Yes, she wasn't very pleased, was she? But I suppose that's only natural. She doesn't like compet.i.tion-not from anyone."

Julie gasped. "I'm not compet.i.tion!" she exclaimed. Then: "In any case, that's not what I meant.'

"They had one h.e.l.l of a row last night, my father and Nerys," William went on with evident relish, and although Julie was curious to know why, she knew she had to stop him from gossiping to her.

"Your father's affairs are no concern of mine," she put in hastily. "It was nice of you to come here, William, and I expect we'll be seeing a lot of one another from now on, but right at this moment I have to go down to breakfast It's after eight o'clock."

"I shouldn't worry about that," remarked William, making no attempt to leave, but instead fingering the bottles on the stand in front of her, opening jars of cold cream and skin perfume, inhaling their fragrance with apparent enjoyment. "My father may demand punctuality in others, but he rarely practises it himself."

"Is that so?" Julie took a flagon of perfumed spray out of his enquiring fingers, and set it back on the marble-surfaced washstand.

"Nevertheless, I think on my first day I ought to make an effort, don't you?"

"He was late meeting you at the station yesterday evening, wasn't he?"

Julie's mouth turned down at the corners. "I understand that was hardly his fault."

William looked petulant "I know. I made a scene. I guessed he'd have to tell you!"

"I was angry with him. I'd been waiting almost half an hour!"

exclaimed Julie indignantly.

William's expression cleared. "You-were angry with him[" He chuckled delightedly. "What did he say?"

Julie checked her appearance in the mirror. "I don't think that's any concern of yours!" she stated firmly, picking up her bag.

"Now-you'll have to excuse me."

William looked disappointed. "Can't you stay and talk just a little while longer? No one ever talks to me."

Julie sighed. "What about your cousin?"

"Dulcie?" William was aghast. "You can't be serious. What?-talk to that tale-bearing little b.i.t.c.h-"

"'William!" Julie was shocked. "Don't speak about your cousin in that way."

"Why not?" William was unrepentant "She is. Exactly like her mother."

"That will do, William." Julie could not allow him to go on. He had already said too much. Taking the initiative, she swung open the door again on the draughty corridor beyond. "After you."

William hunched his thin shoulders, and walked ahead of her out of the room. Unwillingly, her sympathies were aroused by his air of wounded vulnerability, and although she had half expected him to march off in a huff, she was relieved when he halted just outside the door and faced her again.

"Will you come and see me at lunchtime?" he asked, his features hopefully appealing, and Julie did not know how to refuse him. "My room is further along here." He pointed along the corridor which was an extension of the gallery above the hall. "The third door-see? I'm not allowed to get up until after lunch."

Julie shook her head. "Then what are you doing here?"

"I told you-I wanted to see you. Well? Will you come?"

Julie bit her lip. "I suppose so. Now, hurry back to your room. Don't go catching any more cold. I want you to show me around, and you can't do that if you persist in putting up your temperature."

William's face brightened considerably. "If the weather stays fine, I should be able to go outside within the week," he told her.

"That's good. Now, I must go."

"Do you know where?"

"Where what?"

"Where to go? To have breakfast?"

Julie hesitated. "Why, no, I don't think I do."

William nodded. "I thought not Well, the door to the dining room is to your right at the foot of the stairs. But don't be surprised if you eat alone. Nerys never rises much before eleven and my father, as I've said, doesn't always practise what he preaches."

Julie ignored this, and thanking him for the information, set off along the corridor towards the gallery above the hall. Although it wasn't quite as cold now as it had been the night before, the lack of heating about the place quickened her step, and she ignored the general air of neglect about the house. The hall was deserted, but following William's directions, she opened the door to her right and found herself in a large room, overlooking the cliffs as her room did above.

To boast its right to being called a dining room, there was a long table, presently covered by a rather grey-looking white cloth, and an equally long sideboard, with carved fittings and tarnished bra.s.s handles, which should have supported serving dishes. But the white cloth was the only sign of the room's designation, and the twelve ladder-backed chairs which flanked the sides and both ends of the table were a mocking salute to times past.

Julie walked uncertainly into the room, wondering whether there was a bell she should ring, or whether indeed she should take the matter into her own hands and go looking for the kitchen. This enormous room was not meant to be used by one person alone, and besides, it, too, was exceedingly chilly, in spite of the fire crackling in a wide grate.

She looked round when the door behind her opened, but was disappointed to find only Dulcie's sulky little face staring at her. The child hovered indecisively in the doorway, allowing draughts of icy air from the hall to penetrate the room, and Julie sighed rather impatiently.

"Are you coming in?" she enquired, in what she hoped was a friendly tone, but Dulcie just continued to stare.

"Are you going to have breakfast with me?" Julie tried another overture, but Dulcie merely screwed up her face into an ugly grimace, allowed the length of her tongue to appear between the twisted contours of her lips, and then disappeared out of the door again before her startled victim could make any protest.

Well! Julie went to stand with her back to the fire, feeling distinctly put out. So that was Uncle Rhys' "favourite", was it? Julie was inclined to favour William's estimate just at that moment. What a rude little girl! Her hands itched to take the child and put her over her knee and administer several hard slaps to her small rear.

When the door opened a second time, she turned sharply, prepared to tell Dulcie, in no uncertain terms, exactly what she thought of her behaviour. But instead of the child, Rhys Llewellyn-or should she call him Rhys Edwards now?- entered the room. His eyes flickered over Julie's unknowingly aggressive stance, and then he said sardonically: "Now let me guess what you're going to say... your room is cold, your bed wasn't comfortable... or you had no idea what a remote place this was going to be when you accepted the post?"

Julie endeavoured not to be intimidated by his remarks. "I was going to say none of those things, actually,' she replied.

"No?"

"No."

"Then am I to be privileged to know what words trembled on your tongue as I came through that door?"

"If it pleases you." Julie tried to sound indifferent "My words were to have been- what an ignorant, ill-mannered little girl you are!"

"Ah!" Comprehension deepened the lines beside his mouth. "I gather my niece has already presented herself.'

"You could say that."

Rhys flexed his back muscles, and walked further into the room with that curiously stiff gait she had noticed before. "You must forgive Dulcie. She's a lonely child, too much in the company of adults, and I'm afraid a little spoilt in consequence."

"A little?" echoed Julie meaningly, and his dark eyes narrowed.

"She is only six, Miss Wood," he countered drily. "No great age, you must agree."