“I won’t take you to the part where the family lives, you know.”
“Of course not.”
“Very well, then — but only for a bit.”
With elaborate deceit she began the tour she knew so well. There was no one in the kitchens, no one in the pantry. She led him up a small winding staircase to a narrow passage, and then up still another staircase to small old rooms above, talking as she went.
“This is the original part of the castle. Queen Elizabeth was the one who built it bigger. Shakespeare was here, they say, and here he showed the Queen his Midsummer Night’s Dream. And quite recently, Charles Dickens was here.”
“Recently?”
“Only a century ago — that’s nothing—”
“How does this part connect with the rest?”
“There’s a passage here. Be careful! That’s a trapdoor.”
She drew him aside hastily. He looked down and saw at his feet a heavy iron ring in a rotting floor.
“Trapdoors everywhere,” she explained. “They lead straight down to the dungeons.”
“Dungeons?”
“The castle was a royal seat for five hundred years, and kings and queens are always putting people in dungeons, it seems — or used to. You could have fallen for miles, you know.”
“Not really miles?”
“I daresay you would think it miles if you were falling.”
They laughed together unexpectedly and something warm was in the laughter. Now it was she who stumbled suddenly on a warped board and he caught her.
“Careful there—”
She drew away from him. “I’m quite all right, thank you. I know the castle, probably better than anyone. I used to explore it as a child.”
“Weren’t you ever frightened?”
“Not really — I felt safe here. I was accustomed to being alone. And they were always kind to me.”
“They?”
“Sir Richard and Lady Mary.”
Why was she telling him all this? Like as not he was laughing at her. She glanced at him and saw no difference in the smiling eyes. But the joke was ended for her. She put out her hand frankly.
“Of course I know who you are, Mr. Blayne. I can’t think why I’ve been — mischievous!”
His mouth twitched — ah, it was a good mouth, sensitive and warm.
“I haven’t been quite honest, either, I’m afraid,” he said.
“But you couldn’t know me,” she exclaimed.
“No, but I’ve had a hunch—”
“Hunch?”
“An idea — a conviction — all along, that you knew who I was and why I was here.”
“Oh—”
“So now that we’ve both confessed and are honest again, will you tell me who you really are?”
She looked him straight in the eyes. “I’m Kate.”
“Kate? Kate who?”
“Kate Wells, the maid.”
“Miss Kate Wells,” he said slowly, looking down into her flushed face.
“Just Kate.” She drew back and then stepped ahead of him. “This way, please, Mr. Blayne. They are waiting for you in the great hall.”
She went ahead of him through passages so narrow that there was no possibility of their walking side by side until she came to the small door which led into the great hall. There she was delayed for a moment because the latch was rusty and would not turn. He caught up with her.
“Please—”
She refused to yield. “You don’t know the latch as well as I do. It’ll give in a minute.”
He waited for the minute and then took her by the shoulders and set her firmly aside. She caught her breath in surprise and said nothing. Let him! He wouldn’t be able to move the latch, but he’d have to find out for himself, cocksure as he was. To her chagrin the willful latch yielded at once and the door swung open. Inside the hall the four young men, who had long since given up their search, were sitting in the carved oaken chairs. At sight of him they made cries more of welcome than surprise.
“Here’s John Preston Blayne at last!”
“And we thought you were lost!”
Kate broke across their exclamations. “I don’t think you’ve been looking for him at all.”
The youngest one grinned clean across his face. “We didn’t need to, did we? He always turns up, and in the best of company.”
John Blayne laughed.
“We’ve brought the blueprints and are ready to get to work, John, just as soon as you say the word.” To prove it, the young man unrolled a set of papers he had been holding and spread them out flat on the table.
“Work!” Kate exclaimed. “Whatever do they mean?” Startled, she looked from the sheets of blue paper to Mr. Blayne, then to each of the four young men in turn, all of them looking so out of place in the great hall of the castle.
“Lay off, fellows,” John Blayne said good-naturedly. “I don’t blame Miss Wells for being shocked. You’re premature. Things aren’t settled yet, not by a long shot. Fold up your tents now and steal away until tomorrow. You have rooms at the village inn.”
Levity was blown away like mist before a gale. In spite of his casual air, John Blayne’s voice held authority. The young men looked at one another. The eldest coughed and cleared his throat. “As a matter of fact, John, it’s lucky you turned up at this moment. I’m glad nothing is settled. The job is impossible.”
John Blayne looked from one of his men to another and Kate saw his face harden. Tough, was he? Or just used to getting his own way?
“Impossible?” he said quietly. “I don’t recognize the word.”
“The beams are too weak,” one young man urged.
Kate burst into the argument. “Weak, are they? You’d be weak, if you’d been put up a thousand years ago. Weak! They’re as solid as the Bank of England.”
John Blayne threw her a look, amused again and gay. “Thank you, Miss Wells. And you, fellows — I know the castle isn’t Buckingham or Windsor, it’s too old. That’s the beauty of it, and that’s why we must take it down, stone by stone—”
They went into chorus again. “Part of it is brick”—“Those bricks will crumble to dust”—“We’re lucky if we can transport half of them.”
He cut them short. “You underestimate English workmanship!”
The argument grew hot. The nameless young men — and Kate was sure they were nameless because they looked so much alike, with their short noses and strong chins and similar haircuts — rushed into the deepening fray.
“You’ve done a lot of crazy things, John, but this is the craziest.”
“Remember that Japanese temple you bought and took to New York? Still lying in the warehouse — even the Met wouldn’t have it — nobody dares to tackle putting it together again. Why don’t you use that for a museum?”
“And that painting you said had to be restored—”
John Blayne stood rock firm, smiling, enjoying the onslaught, waiting until they were out of breath.
“Now,” he said. “Have you got everything off your chests? Yes, I’m crazy — but I get what I want in the end, remember that! Why don’t I put up the Japanese temple? Some day, at the right time in the right place, I will, and I’ll dare you chaps to tackle the job and you’ll take the dare. I don’t want a temple for a museum, the ghosts of Buddhist monks meditating among fat Rubens women and Roman gods and goddesses! A castle is exactly what I want and exactly what I’ll have. And I was right about the painting, wasn’t I? Under that hodgepodge of oils there was a Raphael. I could smell it. I shall hang it right there, above the chimney piece.”
Grim silence fell. The eldest young man sighed and took a notebook and pencil from his pocket “All right, but it will cost a small fortune — every brick to be wrapped in tissue paper—”
“Remind me to order a hundred tons of tissue paper.”
“And ships to transport the bricks and stone—”