Lure of the Falcon Read online

  'Farming family,' she confessed.

  'Do you ride?' Val's voice was eager, the subject they were all discussing temporarily forgotten for the moment in the light of this new attraction. 'We could find you a mount,' he offered as she nodded assent, 'there's some fine riding country hereabouts.' He evidently saw himself squiring her, thought Wyn with some dismay, and she butted in hastily.

  'I came to work,' she pointed out, conscious, if his brother was not, of the fact that Russell's brows were again drawn together in a frown.

  'You won't be working all the time, surely? Our revered uncle did that,' Val complained, boyishly disappointed.

  'He also left us with an insurance problem to sort out, and a will to find,' his brother reminded him sharply, and Val's face fell into crestfallen lines.

  'May I see the letter the solicitor had from your uncle?' Wyn closed the subject firmly, showing both the brothers, she hoped, that while she was here she had only one object in mind—two if she was to search for the will, but cataloguing the contents of the house and will hunting were correlated. Then she wanted nothing more than to get back to their own business as quickly as possible to relieve the pressure there until Bill was fit again.

  'I've only got a photostat copy, the original is with the solicitors.' Russell dug into his breast pocket and

  sorted out a sheet of notepaper that showed dog-eared evidence of being much read. He resumed his chair next -to her, and pulled up a small table on which he smoothed out the paper, so that she could easily read what was on it. Wyn looked at it incredulously. She had had some strange assignments before, but now she felt she must be dreaming. It was more like enacting the fantasy of some mid-Victorian work of fiction than anything she had encountered yet in real life. Spidery handwriting scrawled' across the page without any regard for lines, bp it was nevertheless clearly legible. It said :

  'My property shall go to my rightful heir, whom I have named in my will.' Then underneath, underlined, and slightly darker in tone, as if the writer had pressed on his pen to emphasize his words, 'My hounds shall be its guardian.'

  'There's only one thing to do.' She looked up from the paper and found the eyes of her companion looking at her once again with that odd mixture of question_ and hope. 'When the furniture and so on is being catalogued we must thoroughly examine every piece. Secret drawers aren't all that mysterious if you know how to go about looking for them,' she told them frankly, 'and if the backing of a picture has been tampered with it should be noticeable to a close scrutiny.' She did not like the responsibility that had been suddenly thrust upon her, any more than she liked the man who had forced her practically into the position of saving his home for him, but her spirit rose to the challenge that it presented. 'We'll find the will,' she spoke confidently into the tense waiting that was setting her own nerves as much on edge as those of her companions. I'd like

  to be the one to find the will myself, she thought suddenly; it would justify her position to Russell Tylar if she did. His doubts about her competence rankled as much as his description of her as a 'chit of a girl'. 'The man who claims to be your uncle's heir would have to get planning permission before he could use the house and land for such a purpose as he has in mind,' her lips curled at the thought, 'and I should say he would find that impossible.' No one in their senses would put the seal of approval to such a scheme, she was convinced.

  `Don't be too sure,' Russell silenced her coldly. 'Think yourself round the countryside hereabouts. Sorry,' he instantly retracted, 'I forgot you're not familiar with the district. But think of the number of ancestral homes that have been opened to the public in the last few years. Little more than grandiose public houses, now, for the most part.' His hurt at such a fate for the Grange rode him like a storm cloud. 'The man would have precedence on his side—and something else,' he added harshly. 'This is a rural area in the old-fashioned sense of the word. There's virtually no employment locally, except for farm work and the village pubs. There are one or two shops in the larger villages, but they're all small family businesses. It would be a brave Authority that would refuse the opportunity of extra employment within an area such as this.' His logic was devastatingly far-sighted and impersonal, and he did not shrink from his own conclusions, which must have been as painful to him as they were to the others.

  'Then the sooner we get started the better,' she replied practically. 'May I keep this? I'd like to browse

  over it.' She folded the piece of paper together and looked up to Russell for permission.

  'If you want to,' his tone was indifferent. 'We know the contents well enough by now ...'

  'We've got to go to bed, now.' He broke off as a resigned voice came from the doorway, and the two children appeared looking cherubic, freshly bathed and pyjamaed, and Wyn glanced at her wrist watch with a sense of shock. Surely it wasn't an hour since they had gone out to play? It was nearly six, and it dawned on her that their own preoccupation had done the small pair a favour, and long postponed bedtime.

  'Night-night, Gran.' They descended on their grandmother, then Val, and without any noticeable hesitation on Wyn as well. She felt herself kissed soundly, and laughingly returned their caresses.

  `You like children, miss?' Their nurse's smile held a glow of approval.

  'Yes, we've got several of both sorts running about at home. I miss them,' she confessed.

  'You promised to come up with us.' Jane held out chubby arms to Russell, and he bent and lifted her high into his own.

  'You said you'd finish telling us about your horse,' her brother put in another reminder. 'You got as far as the race last night, and Pendelico was winning.' Evidently whatever story Russell had regaled the children with had impressed his young listeners, Wyn thought with a smile.

  `So I did,' he agreed gravely. 'They were neck and neck—oh, excuse me,' he broke off and spoke to Wyn, and now his look was warm and friendly, unguarded

  so that for a moment a different man shone through, one the children were familiar with, and no doubt his immediate family, but who else? wondered Wyn. Except for Diane, of course. The rest of the world probably saw him as she herself did, like a house with shuttered windows, drawing back aloof from human contact in a way that reminded her curiously of a marble statue, untouched and untouchable, yet desperately vulnerable to breakage.

  'As you see, I've got a prior engagement,' he excused himself politely to his guest—employee? That was what she really was, Wyn admitted, and it would not do for her to forget it. Russell Tylar did not strike her as a man to excuse liberties, and the welcome she had received at Tylar Grange had come from his family, not from Russell himself. 'I've got a prior engagement ...' She wouldn't forget that, either, she thought wryly. She suspected Diane was his prior engagement, whether it was official or not, and it was probably the other girl's influence as much as his own old-fashioned ideas that had ranged him against her in the first place.

  'And did Pendelico win?' She did not see Russell again until dinner, and Wyn was glad she had had the foresight to pack a couple of evening outfits when she came away. Her chocolate brown evening skirt and sleeveless top of cream, hand worked lace was an ideal in-between, she thought with relief, plain enough to pander to the fact that she was here on a job, but of a quality that brought a murmur of admiration from her hostess.

  'The lace is exquisite.'

  'It's handworked,' Wyn replied. 'It was a present

  when I was in Belgium some time ago.' It had in fact been a very special—and she suspected very expensive —gift from a grateful client, who was nevertheless wealthy enough to stifle any qualms of conscience she might have had on this score, and whom she had ,been instrumental in saving from the consequences of an ill-informed attempt to purchase a totally worthless painting, but she did not say so to her companions, it would look as if she expected a similar gift when her work here was done.

  'Pendelico won,' Russell replied gravely. 'He had to, of course. They'd never forgive me if I let their favourite horse
lose.'

  'All fictional characters must be unbeatable,' Wyn retorted. It would be nice to be like one occasionally, she thought, conscious that her own efforts in this house would be critically watched.

  `He's no fictional character,' Val responded, 'he's Russell's stallion.'

  'It's an odd name for a horse.'

  'You won't think so when you see him,' Russell told her, 'he's pure white—he's named after the marble,' he explained, and Wyn nodded.

  'I recognised the name.' It looked as if she might even be favoured with a glimpse of the animal while she was here. But not tonight. A combination of an excellent dinner, and equally excellent wine, old like much of the contents of the house, and therefore potent, had made her sleepy. She stopped Russell's hand with a gesture as he went to refill her glass, and he instantly desisted, which chalked up a reluctant point in his favour, Wyn thought; she liked people who could take `no' for an answer. Using her drowsiness as an excuse,

  she sought the privacy of her bedroom. As much as sleep, she wanted to think. Her fingers urged to take out Tempest Tylar's letter again, to study it as his family must have done until the contents were imprinted on her own mind. She spread it out before her on her dressing table, her hairbrush lying unused on the mohair skirt of her dressing gown, and her mind once again eagerly alert. The words were irrational enough, but the handwriting was firm, denoting that the writer, even if he was eccentric, was far from being of unsound mind.

  'I thought you might like a hot drink, miss.' A tap at her door heralded Nanny bearing a tray containing, to Wyn's delight, an antique, silver chocolate pot, complete with stirring rod, and a delicate china cup and saucer, with a sugar basin to match that Wyn's quick glance placed as early Doulton. At least where antiques were concerned, she thought, the Tylars were people after her own heart; they believed in using their treasures, instead of putting them away in cupboards, as so many people did, where they could be of neither use nor joy to anyone.

  `Mrs Tyler thinks it's better to use them and risk them getting broken, rather than lock them away,' the elderly woman replied to her exclamation of pleasure. 'And I've put you a few of those shortcake biscuits. I noticed you enjoyed them for your tea. They're my own make,' she added, and Wyn smiled her thanks, grateful for the kindly thought. She had made a friend in the children's nurse, for which the children's acceptance of her was mainly responsible, she guessed. She wondered if Diane liked children. It would not matter much, of course;

  Russell's younger brother would no doubt get married in time, and produce an heir if Russell did not, which would keep the family name going.

  `That letter,' Nanny gestured towards it in disgust, 'it's a pity it wasn't burned,' she grumbled. 'The trouble it's caused, already, and I don't doubt it'll cause a lot more before this lot's settled,' she said aggrievedly.

  'You've seen it too, then?' She could not have too many eyes helping her in her search, thought Wyn, and if the pair watching her were elderly, they were still keen, and made keener by her affection for the family with whom she worked.

  'Oh, I've seen it. We've all talked about it, little else since the solicitor came over with it to see Mr Russell,' Nanny sighed, and Wyn waved her to a chair. Elderly legs grow tired at the end of a busy day, and it was long past nine o'clock now. Her companion nodded her appreciation of Wyn's consideration, and perched on the edge of the seat, and Wyn had a moment of misgiving. It looked as if she was settled for a talk, and since she had made the excuse of tiredness to leave the others after dinner it would not look good if they realised she was indulging in gossip with one of the house staff. Still, there wasn't much she could do about it now ...

  'You'd think that solicitor man would have had the sense to destroy it,' her companion's voice was vibrant with contempt for the lack of common sense shown by the legal profession, and Wyn bit back a smile.

  'They can't do that,' she pointed out gently, 'that's why we must find the will for Mr Tylar. Though even

  then it might not name him as the heir to the Grange. She did not want to bolster false hopes in the loyal soul talking to her.

  `An' him giving up his commission with his regiment, to come and look after the Grange,' she worried. 'An' Corporal Benny came out of the regiment along with him! He's mad on horses and jumped at the chance. Mr Russell's more worried about his man's career than he is about his own.' She shook her head perplexedly. 'What'll he do if it says this Cedric Plumb creature is the heir?'

  'Cedric—who?' For a second Wyn wanted to laugh, but the urge passed as quickly as it had come. It was no laughing matter for the family. She did not like Russell, but just the same his predicament gained her sympathy, just as it had gained her willingness to help. The more so now after what Nanny had just told her. A man such as Russell Tylar would gain honour and high rank in a military career, and to throw it up to come and take over his ancestral home, then find he might not be the owner after all, would be a double blow. No wonder the strain showed.

  `Cedric Plumb. That was his father's name, though he says Tenipest Tylar was his father,' snorted Nanny belligerently. `You see, miss,' she leaned forward in her seat confidentially, `Mr Tempest's wife was an actress. He married beneath him, she was no fit mistress for the Grange.' The snobbery of the old family servant was very evident now, but once again Wyn did not feel like smiling. The loyalty that lay behind it was both rare and precious. `In a way, I suppose, it wasn't all her fault,' Nanny struggled to be fair. 'She was used to the stage. Bright lights, and people,' she spread her hands

  expressively. 'Down here it's quiet, you see.' Wyn could well believe it; the place was as isolated as her parents' farm, and to anyone not accustomed to such a life the effect of such isolation would be dreadful. 'Well, in the end she left him and went back on the stage, and got married to this Plumb fellow. He was an actor, and they fitted one another. What made Mr Tempest so bitter was, she had a son.' The elderly eyes were fixed on the letter, brooding, treading paths that were best forgotten, but which had to be walked again now for the sake of the future of the Grange.'If the boy had been his own, surely he could have claimed custody of him?'

  `Ah, but he wasn't, you see. This Plumb man was his father, we all know that. But it made Mr Tempest bitter. He locked himself away here, he wouldn't even see Mr Russell and Mr Val, I suppose the sight of them as boys reminded him that he had none of his own, though he used to be fond enough of both of them before that,' she said regretfully. 'He spent his time here with just one manservant, and a woman from the village to do the rough work. He seemed to hate the whole world for what his wife had done to him,' she sighed again and shook her head sadly, mourning a man's wasted years.

  'Then we must find the will, and get it settled once and for all, then Russell will know what he has to do,' Wyn said briskly.

  'It's not only Mr Russell, miss, it's the others,' her companion pointed out, and Wyn wondered what was coming now. The actions of one embittered recluse seemed to be like a stone thrown in a pool, she thought, their consequences reaching out in all directions.

  'It's Mrs Louise—Mr Russell's mother, the lady you met,' she explained. 'She's sold up her home so that she could occupy the Lodge at the end of the Grange drive.' Wyn had seen it on her way in, it was a large, roomy-looking dwelling, probably from its size built as a dower house for just such a purpose, she guessed. 'You see, she has the children to look after for a year or two,' Nanny explained. 'Their mother's her daughter, she's several years older than either of the boys.' Wyn sup: posed Russell and Val would always be boys to their former nurse. 'She and her husband are out East on a plantation, arid it's no life for children when they get near school age, what with the heat and the lack of education and so on, they tend to grow up a bit wild.'

  That explained the children. Wyn had wondered about them.

  'I stayed on with Mrs Louise after the boys had grown up,' Nanny went on complacently, `so the two little ones are no bother to her. And if Mr Val would make up his mind, he'll be joining th
eir parents on the plantation soon,' she added, with a note of sternness in her voice that told Wyn she thought Val should have made up his mind before now.

  'Does he have a career in mind?' Wyn stifled a sudden yawn and took a sip of her chocolate to cover it up.

  'Oh, he's mad an aeroplanes,' Nanny said indulgently. 'But that's not a job, is it?' she airily swept aside the vast concourse of military and civil air pilots. 'He belongs to a flying club quite near here, and goes up most weekends. It's all right for a hobby, I suppose. There, I've kept you talking, and you're tired,' her glance detected a second yawn which Wyn was unable

  to smother in time, and she rose. 'Breakfast won't be until eight o'clock.'

  'Goodnight, Nanny.' Russell's voice spoke to her from the gallery as she went out through the door, and Wyn's heart sank. She had dreaded this very thing happening, and now it had. He would think she was being standoffish by not remaining after dinner, and probably suspect her of gossiping as well. Her cheeks warmed at the thought.

  'I've just brought Miss Wyn up a pot of chocolate.' Wyn let out a small sigh of relief that she instantly despised herself for as her visitor explained her presence in the room, and clinched the effect by turning as she closed the door. 'Don't go to sleep and forget your drink, now,' she warned Wyn, rather as if she was one of her charges, she thought with a smile, but nevertheless she used her hairbrush as a paperweight to keep the letter on her dressing table top ready for the morning, and picking up' her tray of chocolate she thankfully left Russell and his problems until the next day, and curled up in the most modern article of furniture in the room, the supremely comfortable bed.

  She bumped into him literally as soon as she was dressed the next morning. The sunshine poured through the windows with the promise of a lovely day. One she would have to spend mostly indoors, working. A glance at her watch confirmed that she had followed her usual practice and woken early, there was an hour to go before breakfast, and a stroll outside tempted her. She pushed Tempest Tylar's letter into her slacks pocket and opened her door, intending to cross the long gallery to the windows that beckoned on the other side for a preliminary look before she went downstairs.