Lure of the Falcon Read online

  'There's some metal rod in that workshop place next to the garage.' Val strolled to the door of the breakfast room and took an interest in the proceedings. 'There's some welding equipment in there, too. I used it on one of the chassis members of my own car the day before yesterday.' Typically, Val ran a low-slung sports car with snarly exhausts. Wyn had seen him come in with it just after she arrived. 'I'll put you a new strap on your battery carrier if you like,' he said generously.

  `I asked Russell.' Diane's voice was the reverse of grateful.

  `I thought you were going to guide Wyn round the old ancestral home this morning?' Val turned to his brother innocently, and Wyn sighed. She suspected Val's words might not be so innocent as they sounded —certainly their effect on Diane was electric. She sent a barbed glance at Wyn, which told her quite plainly that she had made an enemy, and her voice was frosty as she spoke.

  'Oh well, if you're that busy ...' Her tone made it quite clear that she thought it a poor excuse, and blamed Wyn for it.

  'I must tackle the job here some time,' Russell reasoned with her, 'the solicitors are pushing me to get the work done, I can't put it off any longer.'

  `You employ people to do that kind of work.' Diane's implication was as contemptuous as her tone.

  `But some of it I must attend to myself,' Russell insisted, and the girl pouted.

  `Bill Stapleton wouldn't have had to be supervised,'

  she complained, relegating Wyn to the position of an ignorant junior, and Wyn flushed angrily, and bit her lip. She would not be goaded into retaliating, she thought furiously, if the other girl wanted a back alley squabble she must go elsewhere. Resolutely she kept silent, though it cost her an effort, and her faint, impatient stirring brought Russell's attention to the fact that she was still by his side.

  `Val will put a new strap on for you,' he told Diane quietly. 'He just told us he wanted something to do, and he makes a good welder, he'll do the job so you won't even detect a join,' he answered her. 'Why not get it done now and I shall probably be free later in the morning, we could go for a ride then. Stay for lunch,' he suggested hopefully, and the girl tossed her head.

  `I've got something else to do,' she snapped. Her tone said she had something better to do. 'Are you coming?' she spoke to Val in a manner that if Wyn had been mending her battery carrier for her would have been enough to make her down tools on the spot, but Val merely grinned with a conspiratorial wink in Wyn's direction, and followed her out of the door.

  Wyn turned after Russell towards the first room door leading off the hall. He had paused to. speak to the children's nurse as she passed by with her arms full of small, freshly, ironed garments.

  `I'd be grateful if you would,' she heard him say, and then he ushered her into a large panelled room she had not seen before.

  `Except for the bedrooms the family occupy, everything's been left more or less as we found it,' he told her. 'There hasn't been time to make any changes, and

  when the solicitor said there was a doubt about me inheriting the property I thought it best to leave it exactly as it was. Until that problem is settled I'm really only a caretaker here ...'

  His voice was devoid of emotion, his expression as controlled as that of the marble statue Wyn likened him to, only the look in his eyes betraying his deep love of his family home that would make him its devoted caretaker for life if it were only he whom Tempest Tylar had named in his will.

  'Your uncle had an eye for beauty,' she commented. For all that the embittered recluse had spent half his life collecting antiques, he had not done so without thought. None of the rooms that Wyn had seen so far had been over-furnished. True, they were spacious, a fact which might have tempted many collectors to fill them over-full, but the room they stood in bore out the impression she had gained from the others, of tasteful choice, each fresh acquisition chosen to blend with those that were already there so -that wood, silver and porcelain combined to complement each other, and made a room that was a delight to live in as well as to look at. Each piece was so placed as to show it to its best advantage, the true touch of a connoisseur, and the walls showed the same restraint. Only one picture was in evidence, which, if it was genuine, was priceless, Wyn knew.

  'It's an original.' Russell interpreted her glance and answered her unspoken question. 'So are these,' he preceded her back into the hall and shut the room door behind them, and gestured to the family portraits that mounted the wall above the stairway. There was no pride in his voice as he spoke, it was a simple statement

  of fact that yet could not hide his appreciation as he gazed at the assembled canvases, portraying generations of his family whose painted faces gazed blandly back at this latest scion of their race as he stood with one hand resting lightly on the newel post and his head lifted, gazing upwards, an unconscious nobility in his bearing marking him as one of them.

  'You've had some of the pictures moved.' Wyn's quick eyes detected signs of disturbance among one or two of the portraits—the ones that had dogs among their subject.

  'Hounds!' Russell corrected her grimly.

  'I hadn't forgotten,' Wyn said impatiently, pricked by his correction. She slid Tempest Tylar's letter from her pocket, wanting but not needing to read the words again that were as familiar to her now as they were to Russell.

  'My hounds shall be its guardian.' There was plenty of choice, she thought with something akin to despair.

  'The first half dozen portray hounds, and as for that one ...' She gestured towards a hunting scene in which a whole pack seemed to be included.

  'You've taken on quite a job,' Russell agreed, and there was a note of challenge in his voice that lifted Wyn's chin, and a gleam lit Russell Tylar's eyes as he saw his shot had gone home.

  'You've already started the job for me,' she pointed to the pictures that had been removed from the wall and later returned. 'Did you find anything of interest behind them?' There was a fine edge of sarcasm in her voice which she could not quite control.

  'No, and we were afraid to tamper with them in case

  we did irreparable damage. We left them for the ex-

  pert,' Russell retorted promptly, acknowledging her status with a bite in his tone that kept Wyn's chin high as she followed him from room to room until even he began to flag, and she had to admit that Bill Stapleton's assessment of the size of the task before her had been no understatement.

  'Oh, there you are Mr Russell. I've taken your coffee into the morning room.' Nanny annexed them as they came downstairs again.

  'It'll be welcome,' Wyn admitted with a smile. 'I feel parched!' She stopped as the sudden roar of an exhaust shattered the silence outside the windows, and the screech of ill-used tyres betrayed a driver who was either showing off, or in a foul temper. The latter, Wyn suspected, and slid a glance at Russell's face. His jaw tightened, and he tensed, listening.

  `Where are the children?' His voice held sudden strain.

  'In the garden, sir. They're trying to get out of the maze without cheating,' the elderly woman smiled, and his face relaxed.

  He's afraid they might get in Diane's way ... Quick anger boiled inside Wyn at the thought of the possible consequences of the girl's reckless driving, and her eyes met Nanny's in wordless agreement on the senseless performance.

  `Black or white?' Russell broke the small moment of tension, and Wyn dropped thankfully into a chair.

  `White, please. My feet and my neck need the refreshment most,' she complained ruefully.

  'Your neck?' Russell's enquiry was amused.

  'It's a hazard in our profession,' Wyn laughed. 'Looking up at things,' she explained. 'Mostly at pictures.'

  'You should have said—I'd have lifted them down for you.'

  'There's no need this morning. Though I'll want a tall stepladder this afternoon when I start working properly,' she told him. 'I shall want to be able to see on the tops of cupboards and so on, as well as lift pictures down from the walls.'

  'I'll lend you a stepladder for the
cupboards,' Russell told her, 'though I insist you don't touch the pictures until someone else is here to take them down for you.'

  'Some of the big ones are too heavy for me,' Wyn agreed. 'I'll have to ask for help with those, but the smaller ones I can manage.'

  'They're all too high for you to reach up to,' Russell interrupted her. 'I can't risk you falling. I'm responsible for you while you're in my—in this house,' he corrected himself quickly.

  'I'm insured,' Wyn told him lightly. He need not feel in the least responsible for her, she thought, nettled by his tone, as if he had been giving instructions to one of the children. If Bill. Stapleton had been able to come and do the job himself, she was sure Russell would have left him to do it in his own way, with an offer of help only when he asked for it.

  'That's hardly the point.' Russell's brows drew together in the now familiar frown, and Wyn sighed. She'd set off another mine ...

  'I don't want you descending at speed from the top of a ladder and breaking your pretty neck while you're here,' he snapped.

  So he admitted it was a pretty neck ... Wyn bit back a smile at the backhanded compliment. He obviously doesn't mind if I go and break it somewhere else, she

  dissected the rest of his sentence candidly.

  'I've got quite enough problems on my hands as it is,' he added in a deflatory tone, and she held up her hand in a gesture of surrender.

  'I promise I'll ask.' She picked up the coffee pot and took up his cup to refill it, using the small service as he had done, as a gesture to cover a momentary awkwardness. Her action revealed the full beauty of the silver salver that bore the coffee set, and she ran her finger lightly across the gadrooned border, turning the circular tray so that the exceptionally fine engraving in the centre faced towards her.

  'Your family crest?' He nodded, and she studied it thoughtfully. A black-crowned peregrine falcon looked back at her with fierce gaze, its wings half uplifted, poised ready for flight from the mailed fist on which it rested.

  'Does the title go with the property?' Long years ago falconry had been the sport of kings and nobles, and to fly a peregrine was to hold no less a rank than earl, she knew. Yeomen had to be content to fly the lesser hawks.

  'The title fell into disuse many generations ago,' Russell took her train of thought without difficulty. 'The direct line was broken. The name survived, and the crest with it, but no one laid claim to the title afterwards.' He sounded indifferent. His pride lay in his own family name and the honour brought to it by each individual who bore it, Wyn guessed shrewdly; her companion would have scant regard for honours handed down by other men.

  'If you've finished with these, sir, I'll clear them away before I call the children in for lunch.'

  'I'd no idea it was so late.' Wyn finished her coffee hurriedly, feeling guilty at her leisurely enjoyment of their break.

  'There's still over half an hour to go,' Russell glanced at the carriage clock on the mantelshelf.

  'By the time I've scrubbed Jane and Jon,' their companion stated significantly, 'lunch will be ready to serve.'

  'I'll be out,' Russell announced. 'I've got a small commission to attend to.' Lunch with Diane, Wyn finished his sentence for him silently. He had asked her to lunch at the Grange, and she had refused. Rudely, but it was still a refusal, and he probably wanted to make peace between them again. 'I'll just go upstairs and get my jacket.'

  'I think I'll go up too, and tidy up,' Wyn decided. 'I can start work on the cataloguing as soon as we've eaten.'

  'Only on the things at floor level,' Russell reminded her. 'I'll bring you a stepladder as soon as I get back,' he promised. So he intended to return some time during the afternoon. It looked as if he was sure of making it up with Diane.

  'I'll be in the first room we started on this morning,' she told him. 'The panelled one.'

  'Tempest used it as his study.' Russell paced beside her up the stairs.

  'In that case I'll take extra care in that one,' Wyn replied thoughtfully. 'If he was hiding his will, it seems the most likely place.'

  'I'll look in as soon as I get back, to see if you've had any luck.' With a casual nod Russell passed along the gallery to the door of his own room, and Wyn thank-

  fully opened her own door, suddenly realising that her ribbed woollen sweater felt too warm. The sun had increased as the morning progressed, and she headed for her dressing table, intent on changing it for the short-sleeved silk top she remembered packing before she came away.

  She pulled the dressing table drawer open, her hand reaching down inside to grasp the garment before the emptiness of it struck her.

  `That's odd,' she spoke aloud to herself. 'I thought I'd used all the drawers.' She must have missed this one. She slid it to and opened the next one down. That, too, was empty. Slowly she straightened up, her eyes taking in the bare top of the dressing table. With a puzzled frown she turned to the big wardrobe in the corner, and flung its doors wide. It was as empty as the drawers. Bewildered, she spun round, and her glance fell on the bed. It was stripped bare to the mattress, in the centre of which lay one of her suitcases, with the lid open and her lingerie neatly folded and packed inside, just as she had brought it.

  It was Russell who had done this!

  Russell, who had ordered her things to be packed ready for her immediate departure, while he himself had made a pretext of guiding her over the house as an excuse to make sure she did not return to her room to see what was going on. Of her other suitcase there was no sign. Doubtless it was waiting outside in the vestibule, ready for her to leave.

  Wyn surveyed the rest of the room. Every personal thing that bore witness to her presence there had vanished. So Russell was determined to get rid of her after all. And he had chosen this cowardly way of tell-

  ing her. He had not got the courage to tell her to her face. He was even missing lunch so that he should not see her again. Trembling with anger, she hurried to the door and flung it open. She would go to Russell now, make him face her ...

  'Miss Wyn ! Just a moment, miss.'

  She halted and turned, her hand still on the knob, as the children's nurse bustled along the corridor, her face pink with hurrying.

  'There now, you've come up and found your things moved,' she clucked vexedly. 'It was those two young scamps kept me, with their naughtiness, and me wanting to be up here before you got back to tell you where ...'

  'Tell me what?' Wyn's voice bit. 'That I'm moving out? I can see that,' she said hardly.

  'Yes—well, you see, miss, we were expecting a man to come.'

  It was so old-fashioned as to be almost feudal, Wyn thought, disbelief rendering her momentarily speechless. Russell's thinking hadn't progressed any later than one of the portraits they'd been studying beside the staircase, depicting a seventeenth-century soldier and his dogs—hounds! she corrected herself sarcastically.

  'Men don't notice rooms so much as ladies. So long as they've got a comfy bed to sleep on, they don't usually care. It's different with young ladies, they like a dainty room.' Nanny got her breath back and prattled on happily. 'The one we've moved you to is bigger than this. Leave your case with the undies in, you won't need them for now, will you?' she questioned.

  Wyn shook her head, hardly able to take in what her companion was saying. The force of her fury against

  ,Russell left her feeling weak, and she-followed the older woman in a bewildered fashion along the long gallery, trying to break out of the daze that held her and grasp what Nanny seemed to think she should have understood automatically.

  'I'll have your case taken into your new room for you, and I'll put your things in the drawers myself.' Her companion was so obviously pleased to have another charge under her wing that it drew a simile from Wyn, who was beginning to comprehend what had happened.

  'You're only moving me into another room?' Sheer relief brought her words out in a gasp. Relief that was almost as great as the anger that had shaken her a moment before. My pride must have been rubbed harder
than I thought, she realised ruefully; it could be the only reason for the upsurge of thankfulness inside her that she was not, after all, to leave Tylar Grange so abruptly.

  'Why, of course, miss.' Kindly eyes turned a look of surprise in her direction. 'There you are,' Nanny flung open a door towards the end of the gallery, and ushered Wyn into the room beyond. 'I've hung up your frocks for you,' she was told, 'and put the rest of your things where I thought you'd want them'.

  'Thank you.' Wyn still felt bemused. 'Oh, this is lovely!' she exclaimed impulsively. She had been quite content with her other bedroom, which was supremely comfortable, if austere, but this was a boudoir par excellence.

  A dainty mahogany table with lyre-shaped supports held the photograph of her family, without which she rarely travelled. A small kneehole desk with a leather

  top, its borders picked out in gilt, acknowledged that she might remain at the Grange for long enough to require letter-writing facilities, and her second suitcase stood on top of a large carved chest with a beautifully inlaid lid. A marriage chest. Her glance placed its origins at least two hundred years ago, and she wondered which Tylar bride it had been made for, and whether she had been happy here. It would be difficult not to be happy in such a room.

  To complete the effect, a large antique wine cooler stood under the one window, its brass bands gleaming softly in the midday light, its lead lining making an ideal stand for two large earthenware jugs full of late spring flowers, among which were placed enough velvet-soft wallflowers to permeate the room with delicate fragrance.

  'The mattress is modern, miss, the same as the other bed,' Nanny hastened to assure her, but Wyn did not care. She would have slept on boards for the joy of inhabiting such a room, if only for a few nights.

  'I must thank Mrs Tylar,' she turned a delighted face to her companion. 'How kind of her! I'll go down right away ...'