inquired.
âYouâre dismissed,â he said irritably. âAnd ⦠one other thing, Iâm a busy man. I donât like to be bothered. Iâve devoted a considerable amount of time to you this morning because it was necessary to get things clear, but donât expect it in the future. If you have any requests to make you are to go through Madame DuBois, my housekeeper. Youâre free to do as you please, but stay out of the way. Do you understand what I mean?â
âPerfectly.â
âVery good,â he said brusquely. âNow get out of here.â
I left the room far more composed than I had been when I entered. Considering what I had been through, the icy calm was remarkable, but my mind was clearer than it had been for some time. The nervous apprehension, the mental anguish was gone. I was no longer plagued with doubts and fears. The worst had happened, and now I must try to adjust to it. As I moved through the main hall, I saw Madame DuBois standing by the mail table. There was a guileless expression on her face. I knew she had been eavesdropping.
CHAPTER FOUR
I couldnât stay in my room any longer. Yesterday, after the interview with Charles Danver, I had gone directly to my room, staying there until Susie came to announce dinner. My guardian and I dined alone in the lofty, baronial dining room, neither of us making an attempt at conversation. A long, miserable night had passed, and now it was after noon. The room was a haven, but I realized I couldnât stay shut in any longer. The walls were beginning to press in on me. I had to get out. I had to walk and think and come to terms with all that had happened.
Moving down the back hall, I followed the servantsâ stairs down to the kitchen. It was empty, al though there were bustling sounds coming from the pantry. A fire burned in the enormous rough stone fireplace, flames reflecting on the varnished surface of the tall golden oak cupboards and the dark red tile floor. Pots and pans were piled up on the zinc drain board. There was a delicious spicy smell and the fragrance of apples. Cookâs sleepy marmalade cat was curled up on a rag rug in front of the hearth, and he peered at me indifferently as I moved across the room. I followed a dark, narrow hallway to the back door and stepped outside.
No one had told me how to reach the back door. I had come instinctively, without directions, without even thinking about it. Realizing this, I paused on the back steps, bewildered. How had I known the way? Was I beginning to remember? Would the rest of my memory return? My head began to throb, and there was a sensation much like fear. Why? Was I afraid to remember? I pushed these thoughts out of my mind and moved on down the steps to the gardens.
The sky was a deep pearl color with the faintest touch of blue, strong white sunlight gleaming brightly. The gardens were tattered, dark green shrubs drooping, flowerbeds ragged. The rain had stripped the rose bushes, petals like shreds of pink and red silk scattered over the damp brown soil. To my left, beyond the vegetable gardens, stood the carriage house and the stables, a crushed shell drive in front of them leading around the side of the house. To my right, far away and sheltered by oak trees, Dower House looked neat and serene with sunlight gilding the roof.
I followed the winding flagstone path toward the line of trees in back of the property, passing the lily pond, passing the arbor where honeysuckle grew thickly on weathered white latticework trellises. I was going to the moors. I would find solace there. I sensed that, and I did not question my instincts. The moors seemed to call to me.
Pausing at the trees, I turned to look back at Danver Hall. It was a solid bulk of towering gray walls, heavily leaded windows like dark eyes staring back at me. Stout black smokestacks and sooty red brick chimneys studded the multi-leveled roof, and I could see the twin towers rearing up
âYouâre dismissed,â he said irritably. âAnd ⦠one other thing, Iâm a busy man. I donât like to be bothered. Iâve devoted a considerable amount of time to you this morning because it was necessary to get things clear, but donât expect it in the future. If you have any requests to make you are to go through Madame DuBois, my housekeeper. Youâre free to do as you please, but stay out of the way. Do you understand what I mean?â
âPerfectly.â
âVery good,â he said brusquely. âNow get out of here.â
I left the room far more composed than I had been when I entered. Considering what I had been through, the icy calm was remarkable, but my mind was clearer than it had been for some time. The nervous apprehension, the mental anguish was gone. I was no longer plagued with doubts and fears. The worst had happened, and now I must try to adjust to it. As I moved through the main hall, I saw Madame DuBois standing by the mail table. There was a guileless expression on her face. I knew she had been eavesdropping.
CHAPTER FOUR
I couldnât stay in my room any longer. Yesterday, after the interview with Charles Danver, I had gone directly to my room, staying there until Susie came to announce dinner. My guardian and I dined alone in the lofty, baronial dining room, neither of us making an attempt at conversation. A long, miserable night had passed, and now it was after noon. The room was a haven, but I realized I couldnât stay shut in any longer. The walls were beginning to press in on me. I had to get out. I had to walk and think and come to terms with all that had happened.
Moving down the back hall, I followed the servantsâ stairs down to the kitchen. It was empty, al though there were bustling sounds coming from the pantry. A fire burned in the enormous rough stone fireplace, flames reflecting on the varnished surface of the tall golden oak cupboards and the dark red tile floor. Pots and pans were piled up on the zinc drain board. There was a delicious spicy smell and the fragrance of apples. Cookâs sleepy marmalade cat was curled up on a rag rug in front of the hearth, and he peered at me indifferently as I moved across the room. I followed a dark, narrow hallway to the back door and stepped outside.
No one had told me how to reach the back door. I had come instinctively, without directions, without even thinking about it. Realizing this, I paused on the back steps, bewildered. How had I known the way? Was I beginning to remember? Would the rest of my memory return? My head began to throb, and there was a sensation much like fear. Why? Was I afraid to remember? I pushed these thoughts out of my mind and moved on down the steps to the gardens.
The sky was a deep pearl color with the faintest touch of blue, strong white sunlight gleaming brightly. The gardens were tattered, dark green shrubs drooping, flowerbeds ragged. The rain had stripped the rose bushes, petals like shreds of pink and red silk scattered over the damp brown soil. To my left, beyond the vegetable gardens, stood the carriage house and the stables, a crushed shell drive in front of them leading around the side of the house. To my right, far away and sheltered by oak trees, Dower House looked neat and serene with sunlight gilding the roof.
I followed the winding flagstone path toward the line of trees in back of the property, passing the lily pond, passing the arbor where honeysuckle grew thickly on weathered white latticework trellises. I was going to the moors. I would find solace there. I sensed that, and I did not question my instincts. The moors seemed to call to me.
Pausing at the trees, I turned to look back at Danver Hall. It was a solid bulk of towering gray walls, heavily leaded windows like dark eyes staring back at me. Stout black smokestacks and sooty red brick chimneys studded the multi-leveled roof, and I could see the twin towers rearing up
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