The Girl at Danes' Dyke - Margaret Rome Read online

  She wanted to run from the glowering giant whose look swivelled in her direction yet, perversely, she longed to be able to stay.

  She held her breath as visibly he struggled with an urge to refuse, before unwillingly submitting.

  'It seems I am left no choice,' his voice bit with aggravation. 'But heed this, Miss Anonymous, labour is a way of life to people who live on the moors and you'll be expected to work your passage. If the thought is discouraging, then I advise you to think carefully before deciding to stay!' '

  CHAPTER TWO

  While Thor showed the doctor out, Raine wandered around examining the many curious objects scattered around the room. They were predominantly nautical, models of old sailing ships, brass lamps, a selection of crudely fashioned tools of indeterminate use, and above the fireplace a long-handled, wickedly pointed lance hung aslant, as if the hand that had placed it there wished for a weapon permanently at the ready.

  Hastily she transferred her attention to a table holding a scattering of intricately carved black figures. She was admiring a beautifully detailed stallion, mad-eyed, wild-maned, with front hooves poised ready to strike, when the deep-timbred voice of her host projected from the doorway.

  'Sit down, Miss——' He checked himself impatiently. 'One of the many things which need to be established if you are to remain here is your name.'

  'It's Raine, I'm certain of it.' She leant forward so eagerly she seemed in danger off falling off the edge of her seat.

  Barely glancing her way, he sat down at a roll-topped desk and reached for a sheet of writing paper. With his back turned towards her she felt free to examine at will the broad expanse of shoulders stretching the width of a white, cable-patterned fisherman's jersey to capacity. His strength drew her like a magnet. In his presence she felt safe and secure and the inexplicable fear which so often rose up to threaten her was dispersed immediately he appeared.

  'According to the doctor you have suffered some deep shock and your resulting amnesia is a form of defence, a mental mechanism engineered to blot out whatever fear is imprinted upon your mind. He assures me, however, that once your health improves and your confidence returns you will begin to recall small, seemingly unlinked incidents which might mean very little in isolation but which will eventually form a complete pattern. He suggests it might help if we keep a diary, jotting down any clues your subconscious may let slip about your old life while you are busy coping with the new.'

  The dryness of his tone stung her almost to tears.

  'You don't really believe I've lost my memory, do you, you're pretending just to humour me! Can't you take my word instead of harbouring the suspicion that you have a liar in your midst? Won't you at least give me the benefit of the doubt?'

  When he pushed back his chair over bare floorboards the resulting noise grated raw across her nerves. She quivered, as with two giant strides he swallowed the gap between them and after a couple of quick gulps she obeyed his silent demand that she should meet his eyes. They were hard green stones, angry, implacable.

  'All women are liars and cheats and without exception attempt to screen their hard hearts with soft words and pitiful looks,' he grated. 'Understand this—while you remain here you will be afforded none of the privileges your sex demand as a right. This is an all-male household and in order to retain the atmosphere I prefer I have given orders that you are to be treated as just another worker—no chivalrous offers to lighten your chores, no peacock preening to attract your favours. In fact, no disruption, whatever of our usual routine! The farm workers have a midday meal in the kitchen each day except Sunday and you will join us there, rubbing elbow with grimy elbow and suppressing any inclination you might feel to turn up your nose at the smell of good honest sweat—is that clear?'

  She exerted superhuman effort to suppress a very feminine desire to weep and supplied an answer with one nod of her shaggy head. Her eyes were downcast, so when his grim chuckle came surprise jolted through her body. She looked up, then quickly away to evade scornful eyes that missed not one wrinkle in her disreputable outfit.

  'I don't know why I bothered the men with a warning lecture.' The indifference of his glance was degrading. 'They'll laugh their heads off when I present you in place of the siren they're probably expecting.'

  Although hurt by his rough handling of her feelings, she felt no desire to retaliate. Instead pity stirred for the man whose animosity towards her sex obviously stemmed from some bitter experience that had left deep inward scars. Instinctively, she sensed hidden beneath his tough exterior a well of compassion channelled away from all members of her sex, present only for the benefit of those fortunate enough to be numbered among his friends.

  She felt a sudden longing to be one of them!

  Wisely, she hid the thought behind a tentative smile. 'Thank you so much for allowing me to stay, you're very kind.'

  His red head jerked up, taken aback by her meek acceptance of all he had outlined. Beneath the beard his lips tightened with annoyance and his voice was brusque as he turned to walk back to his desk and demanded, 'We'll begin by cataloguing what little knowledge we have. Name: Raine— what a flight of fanciful nonsense!'

  'No more fanciful than Thor, the Norse god of thunder,' she dared to defy.

  He swung round to glare. 'My name is Torquil, a family name used by generations of Haldens. Many of the people along this coast are descended from Vikings who centuries ago came from across the sea to conquer. Many of them settled here and over the years much of their culture and many of their skills were absorbed by those with whom they came in contact. My own ancestors were shipbuilders—the name Halden actually means "half Dane".'

  She could not feign surprise when from the first moment of meeting she had likened him to a plundering Viking!

  'And do you still build ships?' she questioned eagerly, fascinated by his glimpse into history.

  'No, we do not.' Curtly he extinguished her curiosity and returned to the matter in hand. 'Judging from the state of your hands and the overall slightness of your limbs you're a stranger to manual work. Your clothing, good, but 'showing signs of wear, adds up to a liking for the expensive but a lack of sufficient funds with which to indulge your tastes. A, certain grace of movement and an educated voice would seem to indicate that you might be a member of a somewhat impoverished family. Would you agree that assumption could be correct?' he snapped, swinging her a questioning look.

  'I suppose so… I'm not sure,' she gasped, wilting under the pressure of his dominance. She jumped to her feet, twisting agitated hands in a gesture of supplication. 'I would tell you if I could, but I honestly don't know, please believe…' The floor heaved beneath her feet. She swayed and would have fallen had he not crossed swiftly to swing an arm around her waist.

  'I'm sorry,' he apologized stiffly. 'We'll leave further questions until later.'

  He guided her to a chair, then left her to tug savagely at a bell rope. Simeon's rapid answer to the summons brought a flicker of a smile to Raine's lips; the old man was so anxious to be rid of her he seemed always to be hovering in her vicinity expectant of hearing her commanded to leave. His dismay was visible when his master instructed, 'Fetch, Miss—Fetch Raine some tea, hot and strong —none of your lukewarm dishwater, mind—and be quick about it!' When Thor turned away Raine caught the full malevolence of Simeon's glare. She stared back, transfixed by the hatred on the old man's face, then as weakness swept over her she closed her eyes, nauseated by a feeling that once before she had experienced such a look, a look that had preceded a tragedy so horrible her mind had refused to retain its memory.

  She was left alone in the dismal room to drink the tea—hot and strong as Thor had directed. Her hand shook as she lifted the heavy earthenware pot to pour out a cupful and a small click of annoyance escaped her when some of it spilled over into the saucer. She looked around, searching for something with which to mop up, and was startled almost out of her wits when she glimpsed a head rising slowly above the back of a sofa. F
or shocked seconds she stared at the face of a small boy whose solemn expression did not waver while he watched her struggle for composure.

  'Who are you?' she finally managed to whisper.

  I'm Vulcan, and I don't need womanly influence, like the doctor said, I don't need anybody but Thor, so go away, d'you hear, I don't want you here!'

  Carefully she set down her cup. The boy was no more than five years old, red-haired and mutinous, and already showing signs of becoming as anti-feminist as his… father? No wonder the doctor had voiced concern, the precocious child was obviously in need of a woman's care.

  'Do you make a habit of eavesdropping on grown' ups' conversation?' she asked mildly, carefully avoiding a note of censure.

  Defiantly, the boy stepped closer. 'It's the only way to find things out,' he admitted without shame, watching hopefully for signs of shock. 'Nobody tells me anything, but that doesn't stop me from finding out all I want to know!'

  She disappointed him by remaining calm. 'But what if your father should find out, I imagine he would be extremely angry?'

  For an instant he looked startled, then an impish grin split his face. 'He doesn't care what I do so long as I keep out of his .way.'

  There was a ring of truth about the statement and for the first time since her arrival she felt moved to anger. What sort of man was the master of Danes' Dyke? Already she knew him to be hard and insensitive in his dealings with her own sex, but to extend such feelings towards a child—his own child—was positively inhuman!

  Conscious of his keen scrutiny, she made an effort to hide her indignation. 'Have some tea,' she almost pleaded, 'and tell me more about yourself.'

  'I don't like tea,' he refused unblinkingly, 'but I'll talk to you for a while longer.'

  "Thank you.' She had to strive not to sound too eager in case he should decide to cement the small crack in his reserve. Whether he would admit to it or not, the child was lonely, bored and starved of an interested audience. 'Tell me about the house,' she asked, once he had settled himself on the sofa.

  'Danes' Dyke was built by my great-great—I'm not sure how many greats—grandfather Halden. He was a famous sea captain,' he boasted proudly, 'almost as famous as Captain Cook!' She nodded, looking suitably impressed. 'He hunted whales in the waters of Greenland and caught four times as many every trip than any other captain ever known. And not only did he have bigger catches,'he stressed what he had obviously heard stressed, 'but he always returned to port earliest and because of the freshness of the blubber his oil was always graded "best quality". Whale meat is called blubber,' he informed her kindly, 'did you know, that?'

  Daring herself to smile, she shook her head, crossing her fingers to cancel out the lie.

  Looking satisfied, he continued, 'When he was very rich he retired from sailing and began building whalers, but after a while there were fewer and fewer whales because so many had been slaughtered and those that were left became scattered and were so rarely to be found that fishermen went for weeks without catching sight of one.' He sighed. 'That was when great… grandfather Halden decided to build this house and farm the land. I do wish he hadn't,' he concluded wistfully, 'I'd much rather live aboard ship than on land and so would Thor, I know, 'cos I've heard him say so.'

  She experienced such distaste at hearing him use his father's Christian name that her tone was sharper than she intended when she admonished. 'We can't have all things exactly as we would wish. Living on a farm can be fun, I love feeding chickens, milking cows, exercising the horses——‘ She stopped on a quickly-held breath, shaken by words that had tumbled glibly-from her lips.

  'Whoopee, you lived on a farm!' Vulcan scrambled from his seat and ran towards the desk. 'We must write that down, Thor said everything you remember must be entered in the diary!'

  That first minor slip began a game Vulcan thoroughly enjoyed, his initial resentment forgotten as he shadowed her around the house, studying her as keenly as a specimen on .a pin, sifting every innocent sentence for further clues to her past. At first he made her nervous, but gradually as she became used to being constantly shadowed she found his chatter amusing and was amazed at the amount of information the infant eavesdropper had managed to cull. Once she tried to remonstrate, knowing his father would be appalled by the boy's references to family affairs gleaned, she suspected from the blunt way in which they were framed, from the outspoken Simeon.

  'You ought not to listen to servants' gossip,' she scolded. 'Your father would be very annoyed if he knew—both with yourself and with Simeon, who ought to know better than to discuss personal matters in the hearing of an inquisitive little boy.'

  She wondered why he always betrayed small amusement, quickly marshalled behind a bland, poker-faced facade, whenever she referred to his father.

  'Thor never gets annoyed with Simeon, they yarn together for hours about then- sailing days and of how they long to get back to sea. Simeon's too old now, of course, but Thor could get command of a ship any time he liked if it weren't that he's tied here looking after me.'

  They were walking towards the kitchen as he spoke and she halted in her tracks, stunned by the implied cruelty of his words. 'I'm sure you've misunderstood, Vulcan,' her voice wobbled as she met the child's wide, unblinking stare. 'People in a reminiscent mood might often seem to yearn for days past, but given the choice they seldom choose to pull up their roots. I'm certain that however much your father loves the sea he much prefers living here with you.'

  'That's silly!' he scoffed, rounding't>n her like a miniature tornado. 'All Halden men have salt water in their veins, Simeon says sol. One day, I'll sail to Greenland, just like Great-great-grandfather Halden did, and I'll bring back hundreds of whales! But,' the darkness of the passage they had just entered seemed to absorb a small sob, 'I've got to grow up first and that takes ever such a long time…!' She dared not attempt to comfort the sturdy little individual, but as her footsteps slowed, allowing him time to compose himself before they entered the kitchen, tears pricked behind her eyelids and her own troubles faded as she pondered on how best to penetrate the shell of hurt gathered around the heart of a child.

  As she pushed open a green baize door the contrasting brightness of the kitchen made her blink. Outside, the storm had abated and weak sunshine was penetrating the huge room, playing upon glistening copper pans hung around colour-washed walls, upon a table and benches scrubbed so thoroughly the grain of the wood stood bared, and upon a red-tiled floor so spotless Raine felt loath to set foot upon its surface.

  Vulcan had no such inhibitions, he left her hesitating on the threshold and ran to greet his father who, accompanied by his farm workers, had begun filing into the kitchen through an outside door. Seven men took their places around the table, Thor, Simeon and five workmen, and as they all, after the curtest of nods, ignored her presence and proceeded to eat, she felt herself an outcast from male society.

  Covertly she studied them as food was handed around the table, forced, by lack of introductions, to name each one secretly in her mind. The youngest, a lad of about seventeen who looked as if he had spent the night outdoors, she christened Sleepy; Simeon fell naturally for the title of Grumpy and when, to her secret amusement, one man sneezed as his grinning companion waved the pepper pot under his nose, they were immediately dubbed Sneezy and Happy. Thor she did not attempt to caricature, his conflicting roles of ogre and protector defied description!

  Few words were spoken as crisply-roasted potatoes, stewed steak and vegetables were quickly demolished to make way for slices of sponge pudding smothered in custard, then, obviously replete, the men gathered up mugs of tea and began making their way into a rest room set apart from the kitchen. Simeon made to follow them, and as he passed Raine tentatively offered, 'You're an excellent cook, Simeon, the meal was delicious! Don't hurry back, I'll do the washing up.'

  She shuddered with shock when he spat angrily. 'You'll do no such thing! I'll have no woman interfering in my kitchen!'

  'But I…" Her prote
st died as he stumped away, resentment in every stiff step.

  Calmly stuffing the bowl of his pipe with tobacco, Thor explained, 'In this kitchen Simeon reigns supreme, just as he did in the galley aboard ship. The rest of the house is top-heavy with dust, as you may already have noticed, but all Simeon cares about is his kitchen. Please don't try to encroach upon his territory, I value my digestion too highly to risk having him upset.'

  'I only wanted to help/ she gasped, still reeling from the onslaught of the old man's resentment.

  'Can't you dust or something?' Vaguely he waved his pipe through the air. 'Or if you feel up to it you might try keeping Vulcan out of my hair. When the weather improves get him to show you around, take him to the coast—he'll spend hours just hanging around the harbour.'

  'Rain used to live on a farm!' Vulcan's small voice piped from nowhere. 'We discovered that this morning and entered it straight into the diary, just as you said.'

  Raine jerked upright; at times the boy withdrew so quietly into his shell one was apt to forget he was, there.

  Curiously, Thor studied her flushed face. 'Discovered… ?' he murmured, then waited with eyebrows uplifted.

  'I happened to remember that I like feeding chickens,' she stumbled, feeling somehow bound to plead her case, 'and exercising horses…'

  'Interesting!' he drawled. 'I wish I'd been present to decide for myself whether the information was the result of jolted memory or, what seems more likely, an unthinking slip of the tongue!'

  CHAPTER THREE

  After a few days the weather improved to such an extent Raine felt it would be criminal to remain indoors. During their enforced captivity she and Vulcan had explored the house thoroughly, dusting and cleaning as they went Until, although still far from perfect, the rooms were respectable enough to be left unattended until more time was made available by a further spell of bad weather.

  Their most promising discovery was a mini-car found tucked away in one of the outhouses, three of which had been converted into garages. One housed Thor's Range Rover, the second was' empty and in the third, covered by a tarpaulin, was a small red car which, judging from its appearance, had lain dormant for quite some time. As soon as she saw it she felt confident she could drive, but the urge to experiment was frustrated by the absence of the ignition key necessary to start up the engine. Nothing would have induced her to approach Thor. Something about the abandoned car seemed to indicate that it had been bought for the use of a woman—his wife, perhaps—and the thought of reviving memories of the woman who was either dead or had deserted Vulcan and his father was repugnant to her. ,