Marry his daughter? Matt took a closer look at Squire Naughtworthy. He was graying-fifty, at least, with little piggy eyes, a blotch of nose, and a ruff of beard. The mere thought of an old satyr like that with pretty young Panegyra made Matt’s blood run cold-but he noticed that Pascal was drawing the young lady aside for some private conversation, so he went on to the next verse. The audience sang the chorus line with a bit more verve this time, and Matt, emboldened, switched over to the version from The Tempest.
And everybody joined in, with relish: “Ding, dong, bell!”
Everybody, that is, except Squire Naughtworthy, who turned purple and bellowed, “Would you rush us to our graves?”
The whole room fell silent, the whole family staring at him, taken aback. “My pardon, your Honor,” Matt said slowly. “I did not know you had a son.”
“I have not! But you clearly spoke of a man my age!”
Matt smiled with feigned relief. “No, good squire. I did not tell you how old the son was.” And before Naughtworthy could blast another objection, Matt struck the strings again, calling out, “Ding, dong, bell!”
“Ding, dong, bell!” The young folks grinned and sang it all the harder for Naughtworthy’s grousing. He turned magenta and swelled up for another blast-but his host very obviously disagreed with his complaint. He looked pleasantly surprised, and Matt guessed that it was the first time he had ever heard all the young folk agree on something-rather quarrelsome household, this. But Pascal and Panegyra were edging away toward the screened passage, so he decided to give his hosts a lesson.
Matt had them spellbound, but the greedy looks on their faces weren’t quite what he had hoped to evoke. Still, he was started now and couldn’t very well change songs in mid-verse-and Pascal had disappeared with Panegyra in tow, so Matt figured he had better hold the company’s attention awhile longer. Accordingly, he finished up the whole feud, managed to wipe out both families more thoroughly than the original feud had, then treated them to a brief scene in Hell where “old Devil Anse” met the real thing. The last part had them shuddering and looking over their shoulders again as he finished, and the squire frowned. “Has Pascal told you the history of our house, then?”
“Nay, cousin.” Panegyra had led Pascal back in during the last verse, looking flushed and very pleased with herself-but Pascal had a hangdog look that made Matt’s heart sink. He obviously needed a jolt, so Matt said, “You didn’t tell me you had resident haunts here.”
Pascal looked up, but didn’t quite focus. “Haunts?… Aye. What house of any age has them not?”
Matt was possessed of a sudden overwhelming curiosity at just what the girl had told his young friend, but he couldn’t very well come right out and ask. Instead, he said, “That’s true, but most of the ghosts I’ve heard of haven’t been malicious-just misunderstood.”
Pascal came out of his mood with a shudder. “Not this ghost, I assure you! Or the worst of them, I should say.”
“True,” the squire said judiciously, “and you have not even seen him, only heard tell of him.” He turned to Matt “We think him to be the ghost of my ancestor Spiro, who built this house-and seems to think himself still entitled to hold it.”
“He’s not willing to share?” Matt said carefully. “He would not if he could prevent it,” the squire said, “but he cannot-he is bound to the chamber in which he died.”
Matt grinned. “And that’s the room you were going to put me in if I was a bad boy, eh?”
“Oh, I would not truly have done so,” the squire protested-but Matt didn’t believe him. Still and all, when finally he retired, he had no complaint with the room they did give him-obviously a guest room, since it seemed to have been dusted in a hurry, though not too successfully, and the soot on the hearth looked to be ready for carbon 14 dating. The wall hangings were old enough to be brittle, but they were heavily embroidered and very attractive, and there was a very nice painting on the wall, though Matt really preferred his nudes to be somewhat less Neolithic in build. He did wonder why he had been moved out of Pascal’s room, then realized it might have been by Panegyra’s request. Well, getting away from the young man’s snoring wouldn’t be all that tough. He was just starting to unbutton his doublet when there was a knock at the door. He froze with a button halfway through the hole and called, “Who is it?”
“Pascal,” came the muffled voice. “Let me in, I pray!”
Well, so much for getting away from him. Matt stepped over to the door, drew the bolt and let the young man in. “Thought you were planning to sleep someplace else tonight.”
“Matthew!” Pascal stared at him, genuinely shocked. “Surely you do not think the fair Panegyra would-”
“No, but I figured you might.” Matt raised a hand to forestall the youth’s hot rejoinder. “I see I was wrong, though. No, you wouldn’t do a thing like that, would you? Not to her, anyway. So what did the two of you talk about?”
“Alas!” Pascal sank down on the bed, head in his hands. “She owns that she does not find me detestable, even finds me comely-but she will not bend from her father’s rule!”
“She won’t run away with you, eh?”
“Aye, and she owns that it is because she shudders at the life of poverty and hardship such a course of action would mean, even for the few years it would take before I built a good living for us.”
Matt thought it would take a bit longer than a few years, at least for the kind of living Panegyra had in mind. “She likes the soft life, huh?”
Pascal nodded heavily. “Not so much that she has a love of luxury, as that she fears poverty-and she fears what my fate would be if her father should catch us.”
Well, at least the girl was honest, though she added a bit of embroidery. Still, if it spared Pascal’s feelings, what harm was there? “And she doesn’t shudder at the sight of Squire Naughtworthy?”
Pascal shivered. “She claims to think him handsome, though I cannot see why!”
“Some women are attracted to older men,” Matt said slowly, even to men old enough to be their fathers-and they find strength and, urn, prosperity, attractive. Signs that the man would be a good provider. It’s possible, Pascal.“ But in Panegyra’s case, be didn’t think it was likely. The youth moaned and dropped his head back into his hands. ”She is sure he shall be a veritable kitten in her hands, that she will even persuade him to take her to King Boncorro’s court!“