Lure of the Falcon Page 9

  'It's a couple of miles away, and the box is in dead line,' Val said with a satisfaction that drew a laugh from Wyn.

  'I thought you flew by instruments,' she teased him. 'What happens when it gets dark?'

  'We stop and ask the way ! ' he threw her banter back, cheerfully good-humoured. 'But I'm logging up quite a few flying hours, it's all experience,' he told her proudly.

  'What about your brother-in-law's plantation?' Wyn questioned him carefully, wary of treading on delicate

  ground. 'I thought you were going to join him eventually, and learn to help manage the place?'

  'The trouble is, I like flying ...'

  `Stop dawdling, can't you?' Diane called irritably, 'we shan't be over the level crossing before the train comes, otherwise.'

  'That won't matter ...' Russell began Mildly. 'We shall have to wait,' she retorted impatiently.

  'Yes, but only for a few minutes.' He did not sound

  unduly perturbed at the prospect. 'And I'm trying to

  get Pendelico used to the noise of the trains.'

  'It's too late anyway, the barriers are coming down,' Diane shrugged ill-humouredly.

  'Morning, Arthur.' Russell ignored her and raised his voice in greeting to the pink face, surmounted by an equally pink bald head, that appeared out of the signal box window.

  `Mornin', Mr Tylar. Mornin', all.' The shirt-sleeved occupant of the box beamed down on them. 'I daren't let you risk it,' he indicated the barriers, red and white striped horizontal poles, one on each side of the lane that ran away from the river fields on to an extension of the Grange land on the other side. 'These goods wagons travel quicker than you bargain for,' he nodded at the approaching black speck along the line. 'The track hereabouts is straight for a mile and a half and it makes the speed deceptive,' he explained, meeting Wyn's interested look.

  'I think I'll back off a bit.' The horse under her was a strange one, and Wyn's keen ear had detected a mounting clatter that sounded as if the rapidly approaching wagons contained an unmusical assortment of scrap iron. She was not far wrong. The assorted

  produce of some far-away foundry was in them, to judge by the name painted on their sides, and the noise soon made speech impossible. Her mare moved restlessly, responding to her request to back away with an alacrity that made her glad she had decided to move. She caught a flash of white out of the corner of her eye, and hastily reined away as the stallion suddenly jittered past her with wide flaring nostrils and dilated eyes. Russell's body swayed in lithe response to the sidestepping animal's movement and Wyn watched him, fascinated. He did not look up, he was totally absorbed in quietening his horse. It was like watching a strange sort of ballet as the two swung past, the horse finally rearing as the last of the wagons passed them with a noisier than ever clang at the end of the swaying train. Wyn saw the man's lips move, saw the stallion's one ear flick backwards, and then it gradually quietened as the train rumbled away in the distance, and the snorting animal calmed until only an occasional shiver along its white flanks betrayed the excess of fright that the easier nature of the mares had taken more in their stride.

  'He isn't used to it yet, Mr Tylar.' The signalman released a lever and reached out to turn the great spoked wheel in his box that raised the barriers to let them through.

  'He doesn't seem to mind the moving poles.' Wyn watched the stallion eye them indifferently as they rose and stuck skywards, clearing the way across the lane.

  `They go up in the air, so he reckons they're nothing to do with him,' Russell smiled. He did not even seem out of breath himself. 'I'll get him accustomed to the trains in time,' he raised his face to the friendly pink one at the signal box window. 'It'll take a bit of

  patience, that's all. Keep to the centre,' he continued to Wyn, 'the sleepers are laid between the rails and it's easy for the horses to step.'

  He waited for her to go on, and rode behind her, catching her up on the other side, so that once again the small party rode in pairs, only this time it was Val and Diane who led, and Wyn and Russell who followed behind.

  'Let's have another gallop.' Diane twisted round in-her saddle impatiently and spoke to Russell. The lane was too narrow for her to drop back and ride side by side with him, and the look she directed at Wyn spoke plainly of her feelings at the present arrangement.

  'I think I'll walk Pendelico for a bit. He's had a good gallop—and a bad fright at the end of it.' Russell's hand sympathised, running lightly down the side of the long white neck, which arched in response, showing the rapport between the two. 'I'd like him to have a chance to calm down before I put him back in the paddock, or he's likely to go 'off his feed, then Benny will wonder why.'

  'What's it to do with a groom?' Diane asked scornfully.

  'Everything,' Russell interrupted her quietly. 'Benny looks after him for me, and he is as interested in him as I am. I want him to stay that way,' he pointed out, and Diane righted herself in her saddle again, pouting. 'Head towards the Lodge, will you, Val?' Russell changed the subject abruptly, as if he found it distasteful. 'We'll see how Benny's getting on with his drystone walling. He might want a hand.'

  'You surely aren't going to help him yourself?' Diane looked genuinely shocked.

  'Why not?' Russell sounded equally puzzled. 'Drystone walling's an art on its own, it would be interesting to learn how it's done.'

  'It looks as if Benny's found someone to teach him.' Val pointed ahead of them to where the familiar figure of the ex-soldier turned groom bent over a pile of stone. He selected one and held it up to his companion, as if he was asking if it was suitable, then joined the other man at the wall.

  'Do you mind if I watch?' Russell jumped down and approached them, and Benny turned to him eagerly.

  'This is Enoch Marshall, Major.' He gave Russell his Army title. 'He used to be a drystone wailer.' It was obvious that he did not do it for a living any longer, his body was bent with years and rheumatism. 'I met him in the Horse and Hounds last night, and he said he'd show me how. I fetched him in the Land Rover,' he told his employer, with the confidence of a trusted employee who knows he has a free hand.

  'It was good of you to come,' Russell thanked the old man with the automatic courtesy he always extended to those who worked for him. 'If you don't object to having two pupils, instead of one?' He eyed the plumb rule in the old man's hand with interest.

  'It's all right by me, Squire,' the man answered him with dignified respect, and -Wyn saw him flinch. The craftsman would not know that he might not, after all, be the Squire of the Grange. 'It's good that the master should know the jobs his men have to do.' The old man set his rule and motioned Benny to fix the stone, which after some moving about he did to his tutor's satisfaction. Wyn watched the process interestedly. She came from a countryside where hedges outlined-the

  boundaries of the fields, and this was a craft she had never seen practised before, although she had admired the result often enough.

  'What are the two posts for?' She could contain her curiosity no longer. Two wooden posts, some six inches thick, and curving away from one another, so that they were about nine inches apart at the bottom where they entered the ground, and eighteen at the top, seemed to serve no useful purpose except to confuse the man doing the walling by having an awkward gap to fill in.

  'That's a stile, missie,' the old man smiled at her, in no way averse to his position as a teacher. He seemed to be enjoying himself, Wyn thought with a smile, and sensed that via Benny, Russell would see that he was well rewarded. 'They calls it "Fat Man's Misery" hereabouts,' he chuckled and Wyn laughed outright. The shape of the opening so aptly fitted its title. 'It keeps animals from getting out, he explained, 'but lets folks through. All this used to be sheep country,' he waved his hands at the green tide that flowed as far as the eye could see.

  'It's an ideal answer.' Nothing could get through that, certainly not a sheep, and no lamb small enough to get through would venture so far from its Mother's side.

  'Why don't yo
u just block the hole up and have done with it?' Diane did not intend to be left out of the conversation.

  'Can't do that, Miss de Courcey,' the man was a local, and knew her, 'you know you can't put barriers across footpaths. It's against the law.' He stuck his short, thick-stemmed pipe in his mouth with an air of finality, and turned back to' see what Benny was doing in a manner

  that told Wyn her companion was not popular among the local people. Her haughty attitude would make her disliked, Wyn thought shrewdly, added to the fact that she was badly spoiled, making her manner towards other people nothing to be desired.

  'If you want to go on, why don't you have your gallop now, on the way home?' Russell asked Diane, seeming to become conscious that she might be bored watching them.

  `That's a good idea. I'll race you,' Val challenged.

  He did not wait to see if she would respond, assuming she would be behind him, and speeded away from them with boyish enthusiasm.

  'I'm not racing anybody.' Diane scowled at his retreating back, and realised that Russell was not paying attention to her either, he was helping Benny lift a particularly large piece of stone in place on the wall. 'Maybe Wyn would like to, instead,' she snapped.

  Before Wyn realised what, she was about to do, or could make any move to prevent her, Diane brought her riding crop down with a vicious swish on the flank of Wyn's mount. It gave an indignant whinny and bucked, and with a grip that told its rider it had got the bit firmly in its teeth, and was therefore out of her control, it took off at a speed that put it swiftly out of earshot of the startled shouts coming from behind it, and bolted behind Val back home towards its stable.

  CHAPTER SIX

  Wyn sat tight. There was little else she could do. After the first wild buck the mare stretched out in a blind gallop. The ground fled beneath her at an alarming speed, and a tentative tug at the reins told Wyn the worst. The animal had indeed got the bit between its teeth, and with panic driving it she had no control whatsoever. The mare had a strength far in excess of anything she could exert, it was a useless waste of energy tugging at the reins, so she settled herself to the task of remaining on its back until the fright had passed and it slowed down of its own accord. She leaned low over its neck, riding easily, talking to it in the hope that Russell did the same; she had seen him talk to Pendelico, and the accustomed sound of a soothing human voice might be enough to calm her mount until she could gain some sort of control again, instead of just being a helpless passenger.

  She looked-up and ahead of her, but the countryside stretched out green and undulating, with only an occasional stone wall to present a hazard. She had seen no barbed wire on the Grange land, for which she was thankful now; it was one danger less, and there were several fields to go yet before they reached the stables in the distant buildings of the Grange. Russell had said the animals needed exercise, and she hoped fervently that the one under her would run out of breath before it ran out of space.

  A drystone wall loomed up in front of them, high, and ragged at the top. The wind whistled in Wyn's ears, and the flying hooves beat a tattoo that hammered in her brain with a monotonous accompaniment to the thoughts that despite, her predicament she could not stop running through her head.

  What would Russell say? Had he seen Diane strike the mare? Grimly, she faced the truth that if Diane thought she would be seen, she would not have done such a thing. And just as grimly, she knew that Russell would not believe her if she attempted to explain to him what had happened. The drystone wall raced towards them with terrifying speed. It was useless to try to turn the mare, any attempt to do so might crash her.

  `Don't let there be loose stones on the other side.'

  Momentarily, she shut her eyes and prayed. She had no protection for her head if she fell, and years of neglect by its late owner had left the walls on the estate in a dilapidated condition. All too frequently on their ride they had come across patches of wall that had crumbled, similar to the piece that Benny was learning to repair now, and Wyn had noticed the loose stones scattered in the grass on each side of the gaps, a deadly trap to racing hooves. Her throat felt dry. She cast a desperate look ahead, but the wall directly in front of them seemed in fairly good condition. She exerted all her strength, and her mount rose to her command. Rose and cleared the wall like a bird in a long, headlong jump that took it clear of the tangle of stones and bramble on the other side that might have thrown it over, and then they were racing clear again, on even turf, speeding across the next field, but with a slightly slackened pace. Cautiously Wyn tried the reins again,

  but the mare still had the bit, and she did not press the point, preferring while there was space to let her run herself out rather than bring her to a halt by brute force. She had automatically responded to the aids and cleared the wall, which gave her rider a flash of hope that they might clear the next wall in the same fashion. The field they were in now was narrow, and it seemed as if the mare had not taken many strides before the next wall confronted them. Buoyed by hope, Wyn tried the same tactics again, and they worked. The mare rose to the wall, and briefly Wyn shut her eyes. There was a pile of loose stones on the other side that they could not possibly miss. She had reckoned without her mount, however. The mare saw the stones too, and seemed to veer in mid-air. She landed awkwardly, but straightened out and continued to run. Wyn looked ahead for signs of Val, but he would hardly realise that there was anything wrong. He would, expect to hear another horse racing behind him, would probably think it was Diane trying to overtake, and would ride even harder to ensure that she did not.

  Vaguely she heard a thunder of hooves from behind her. She risked a quick glance over her shoulder. Russell was following her on Pendelico. He was gaining ground, the big stallion outpacing her smaller mare, and in seconds of her first seeing him he was riding beside her, his huge horse dwarfing her own. He checked Pendelico to the speed of the mare, and leaned sideways in the saddle.

  He's slipping! A thrill of horror ran through Wyn, and left her feeling weak. Her hands sought the front of the saddle for an insecure instant, and then shaky laughter shook her as she realised her mistake. With

  superb timing, and consummate skill, Russell adjusted his balance so that his body leaned at right angles to his mount, never for a moment losing his limpet-like

  grip.

  He's a polo player ... Realisation flashed through her mind along with the relief, and a kind of detached surprise that she could think of such a thing now. She had often admired the skill of the polo teams she had watched play during her travels abroad, wondering at their ability to remain atop mounts that spun and changed direction with the agility of cats, and the sudden recognition of the possible source of his skill—she learned later that he had played for his regiment —calmed her fears for his safety as he -stretched out a lean brown hand and grasped the mare's head leathers.

  His action drew the two galloping animals close together, so that they ran neck and neck, Wyn could feel the leather of Russell's riding boot hard against her own leg, and felt a moment of fear in case they should crash. He must not risk Pendelico, for her sake. She had sat bolting horses before, and coped, he must not risk his dreams to save her.

  'Don't risk it !'

  If he heard her shout he gave no sign. She saw his knuckles white with the force of his grip as he fought the strength of the mare. Gradually, ever so gradually, their pace slackened, the whipcord muscles of his arm standing out with the strain of the pull he exerted. The headlong gallop lessened, and after what seemed a lifetime to Wyn, though it could only have lasted a few minutes, Russell straightened in the saddle, relaxing his hold on the head leathers and grasping the reins instead, sure now that he had the mare under

  control. She dropped to a canter, then a trot, and eventually came to a standstill, her sides heaving and dark rivulets of sweat coursing down her flanks. Now that the ordeal was over, Wyn found she was trembling herself. She swung her leg over the saddle and slipped to the ground. For a second or two sh
e leaned against the mare's side, feeling the heat and the wetness of it through her sweater, and then two hands gripped her shoulders, their fingers digging into her .flesh mercilessly as Russell turned her to face him. Made her look into his eyes that were blazing with anger, which roughened his voice when he spoke.

  'Are you all right?'

  She nodded, shocked into silence by the black wrath that rode his face, and he rushed on, his eyes dark with the force of his feelings.

  'What possessed you to race a horse like that? You're riding an animal, not a machine,' he stormed. 'Look at the state she's in ...' Fury choked his words, and he gave her a shake to emphasize what he could no longer pronounce. Caught by surprise, she staggered, and he released her abruptly, as if afraid that he might shake her even harder if he left his hands where they were. Wyn put up her arm to keep her balance, and he caught her to him, realising she was in danger of falling, but 'she drew back abruptly, stung by his attitude. His rage at the condition of the mare was understandable, it would have been unforgivable to ride a horse into such a condition, but at least he could have given her a chance to explain first. Hot indignation coursed through her at the injustice of his charge, adding strength to her knees so that she stood upright, facing him with her chin uplifted defiantly.

  'I didn't ...' she began angrily, but he cut her short with an impatient gesture.

  'I, don't doubt you didn't mean to run her half to death,' he misinterpreted what she had been about to say, and put his own scornful construction on her words.

  Wyn stared at him in silence for a moment, matching his glare fearlessly. It was a relief, almost, to be able to dislike him again, she thought in a detached sort of way. At least it made a change from the ache she had felt for him since yesterday ...