“Well, I have come here to teach music, you know.”
“But not all the time surely. You must have some exercise.” She twisted her hands together. “Oh, Mrs. Verlaine. I’m so glad you’ve come.”
I was puzzled that she should feel so strongly. It was not, I was sure, because of any great affection she felt for me. She had sensed my interest in people; she had a faith in my knowledge of the world; she wanted to confide. Poor Edith, she was a very worried young bride.
We went down to the stables together, and one of the grooms selected horses for us.
I explained that I was something of a novice. “My riding has been confined to a London riding school though I’ve ridden occasionally in the Row.”
“Well you take Honey. She’s as mild as her name. And Mrs. Stacy, madam. I suppose it’ll be Venus.”
Edith said nervously: No, she thought not. She would like a mount as mild as Honey.
As we rode out of the stables Edith said: “My husband likes me to ride Venus. He says that Sugar-Plum…” she tapped her mount gently as she said her name… “is for children to practice on. The girls learned on her. Her mouth is quite insensitive. But I feel very comfortable on her.”
“Then you can enjoy your ride.”
“I am enjoying this with you, Mrs. Verlaine. Sometimes I think I shall never make a rider. I’m afraid I’m a great disappointment to my husband.”
“Well, riding is not the whole meaning of life, is it?”
“No…no. I suppose not.”
“You lead the way. You know it better than I.”
“I’ll take you toward Dover. I think the scenery’s magnificent. The castle on the skyline, and then that drop down to the harbor.”
“I’d like that,” I said.
It was a wonderful day; I saw things about the country which I had never noticed before. I was enchanted by the rich purples of nettles in a field and yellow cowslips in meadows.
“You can see the Roman remains from here,” Edith told me. “If you look back.”
I did, thinking of Roma.
“I suppose we should have heard if they ever found out what happened to that woman,” said Edith. “It’s horrible, isn’t it…to think of someone…just disappearing like that I wonder if there was someone who…who wanted her out of the way.”
“There couldn’t have been,” I said too fiercely.
I turned away from the remains and we went forward, keeping to the coast road.
The sea was a pellucid green and there was scarcely a cloud in the sky; the air was so clear that I could see the outline of the French coast.
“It’s beautiful,” I said. As we came within a short distance of Dover, she pointed out a haunted house on the road. “A lady in gray comes out when she hears the sound of horses’ hoofs. They say she was running away and came out to stop the coach as it passed. The driver didn’t see her and ran her down…and killed her. She was running away from a husband who was trying to poison her.”
“Do you think she will come out when she hears our horses?”
“It has to be by night. Most horrible things happen at night, don’t they? Although they say that woman archaeologist walked out in broad daylight.”
I did not answer. I was remembering standing with Roma not far from this very spot looking at that magnificent castle—the key and stronghold of all England, as it has been called. There it had stood for eight hundred years defying time and the elements, a grim warning to any unwelcome invader. Set proudly on the grassy slope it was a masterpiece in gray stone, dominated by the Keep—holding watch over that narrow strip of Channel. The rectangular Keep, the Constable’s Tower defended by the drawbridge and portcullis, the medieval semi-circular towers, the deep tree-lined moat, the mighty buttresses, the solid walls—all were so impressive that I could not take my eyes from them.
“It’s so strong, is it not?” said Edith, almost timidly. “So formidable.”
“Magnificent,” I replied.
“That’s Peverel’s Tower with the arched gateway, and over there on the northeast wall is the Avranches Tower. There’s a platform there on which the archers used to stand to shoot out their arrows. There are trapdoors in St. John’s Tower and platforms on which there are all sorts of appliances for pouring down molten lead and boiling oil.” She shivered. “It’s rather horrible—but fascinating.”
I was able to point something out to Edith—the remains of the Roman lighthouse which was older than the castle itself. Pharos, I remembered Roma’s calling it.
“Oh yes,” said Edith, “this is indeed Roman country.”
“Isn’t the whole of Britain?”
“Yes, but this is where they came first. Imagine! That lighthouse used to guide them across the sea.” She laughed, a little nervously. “I didn’t think about Romans until those people came. It’s because all that was discovered in our own park.”
And as we looked a horseman came up the hill toward us. I recognized him a second or so before Edith did. She was shortsighted, I learned—so I was able to witness the change in her.
She grew perceptibly paler and then flushed deeply.
Napier swept off his hat and called: “An unexpected pleasure!”
“Oh!” said Edith. It was an exclamation of dismay; he was aware of this, I sensed, and his reply was to give her a sardonic look. “What have they given you to ride?” he demanded. “Old Dobbin from the nursery?”
“It’s…it’s Sugar-Plum.”
“And Mrs. Verlaine? Oh, why didn’t you tell me you wished to ride. I should have seen you had a worthy mount.”
“And one of which I should have been far from worthy. I am no rider, Mr. Stacy. This mount suits me perfectly. I am assured she is mild as her name and that’s what I need.”
“Oh no. You are quite wrong. I shall insist you ride a real horse.”
“I don’t think you understand. I have been so rarely on horseback.”
“An omission you must rectify. Riding is a pleasure you should indulge in frequently. It’s superb exercise and most enjoyable.”
“In your opinion. Perhaps others might find different pursuits more to their taste.”
Edith looked uneasy; she had immediately lost confidence.
“Were you returning to the house?” he said. “Then let us go back together.”
The journey back was not the pleasant meandering one it had been coming, for he was not content to walk his horse quietly through the lanes. He took us across the country; he cantered and we did likewise. When his horse broke into a gallop mine followed and I was not sure whether I could have stopped him had I wished to. I was aware of Edith clinging white-faced to her reins and a great resentment rose up in me against this man who was making her miserable.
We had come out close to the haunted house of the gray lady and Napier looked at Edith to see what effect this had on her. I was conscious that she had kept close to me and I knew how nervous she was. I was angry. He knew too and he deliberately taunted her. He took her out for rides on a horse she feared. I could well imagine his breaking into gallops suddenly which she would have to follow.
A horrible thought occurred to me. It may have been the sight of the derelict house—half a ruin now—from which it was said the gray lady walked. Her husband had tried to poison her. What if Napier wanted to be rid of Edith. What if he brought her for these rides; what if he—skillful horseman that he was—could lead her to places which were dangerous for such a nervous rider. What if he should spur his horse to a gallop suddenly in some dangerous spot and hers should follow…and she be unable to control it…
What a fearful thought and yet…
I had ridden on and he was close beside me. He said: “You would make a good horsewoman, Mrs. Verlaine, with practice. But I daresay you would be good at anything you undertook.”