Jessica was so outraged by what Eric had said that she was momentarily unaware of how helpless she was against three adults. “If you ever raise a hand to me, I promise that you’ll regret it, Uncle Eric,” Jessica said and turned and walked quickly from the library into the hall.
When she heard the sudden rush of footsteps behind her, the girl started to run, but it was already too late. Uncle Eric’s long, sinewy hands caught her wrists and twisted one of her arms cruelly behind her back. And when he increased the pressure, the pain in her shoulder was so fierce that a scream of anguish forced itself past her lips.
Jessica pounded the heel of her riding boot down onto Eric’s glossy moccasin and was rewarded by his bellow of anger.
“Little bitch!” Maud said. She stood watching with Tony Saxe in the doorway of the library.
Panting with exertion, Eric said, “You badly need a lesson in manners, young lady, and you are going to get it.” Tightening his grip on her arm, he forced another cry from Jessica’s throat.
From the corner of her eye, the girl saw a blur of movement on the wide stairs, Fluter’s merle blue-gray ruff rising like a crest around his powerful jaws.
“Fluter!” Jessica cried.
The huge collie jumped, a snarl breaking past its bared teeth.
Maud screamed and Tony Saxe shouted, “Eric! For Christ’s sake — watch it!”
Eric wheeled, his face twisting with panic. Fluter’s body struck Eric’s chest, its weight driving them both in a heap to the floor. Eric screamed, kicking his feet desperately.
“Get him off me! Get him off!” he shouted.
Jessica ran into the vast dark dining room, calling over her shoulder, “Come, Fluter. Come!”
After snarling barks, which chased Maud and Tony back into the library, the collie wheeled and rushed after the girl.
She had by then parted the brocade draperies and pressed fretwork knobs that caused a walnut panel to swing back from the priest hole.
Whispering to the dog, she prodded him down a flight of steps into the cold hiding place, then pressed the lever that forced the panel to swing smoothly back into position.
After a breathless moment, Jessica heard Eric’s voice in the dining room beyond the priest hole.
“I’ll put a bullet through that damned dog’s head...”
She heard footsteps then, the men’s heavy on the old floorboards, Aunt Maud’s high heels clicking like a woodpecker on a cold day.
When the sounds faded in the direction of the pantries and kitchen, Jessica lifted a corner of matting from the floor and raised the trap door exposing steep steps leading to the cellars.
Jessica went down the stairs and snapped her fingers. When the big dog joined her, she whispered, “Stay, Fluter. I’ll come back with Miss Charity...”
On the second floor, Eric and Maud snapped on lights in both wings, checked closets, swept back draperies and dust ruffles, and threw open bathroom doors. Meanwhile, Tony Saxe examined the windows and doors on the first floor. When they regrouped, he said, “No way she could of got outside. The whole place is locked tight.”
“Get a flashlight, Maud,” Eric said. “Maybe she got to the attic...”
Jessica ran down the dew-slick lawn from the gardens of Easter Hill to the staff cottages and stables.
In the darkness of the horse barn, she felt along the walls until her hand touched a bridle and bit on pegs. Pulling them down, she ran to Windkin’s stall, climbed a mounting stool and coaxed the big mare close to her with a cluck of her tongue. There was no time for a saddle; she would ride bare-back to Miss Charity’s. But Windkin pulled away from her, neck muscles flexing and hooves pounding in staccato rhythms.
“Now stop it! You’ve got to help me, Windkin! Please...”
The overhead lights flashed on. Jessica turned and saw the new groom walking toward her, a puzzled smile on his battered features. He had obviously been sleeping. His black hair was pushed up on the back of his head like a cockatoo’s crest. His cheeks were creased from a wrinkled pillow.
“Kind of late to go riding, ain’t it, kid?”
His smile was easy and insolent and when his eyes moved from her shoulders to her narrow waist, she felt exposed and vulnerable.
She said, “My dog is ill. I’m going for the vet.”
“Why don’t you make a phone call? Or get your Uncle Eric to take you in the car?” Putting a cigarette between his lips, he slanted it up toward his cheek but didn’t light it. “What’s going on, little lady?”
“I’ve told you, my dog is sick.”
“You better level with me, kid.”
“I’m telling you the truth.” Jessica was angry with herself. She felt close to tears, resisting an impulse to cross her arms over the thin twill jacket covering her chest.
“Look. Your uncle and aunt know what you’re up to?”
“That’s none of your business.”
“Wrong, kid. I gotta check you out. There’s a phone in my digs. Come on.”
“I’m not going anywhere with you,” Jessica said furiously.
“Got a hot temper, right?” he said. “I kind of like that.” Removing the cigarette from his mouth, he dropped it into his shirt pocket and then, with a powerful sweep of his arm, caught her about the waist and pulled her down from the stool.
He was frighteningly strong. She struggled desperately against him, almost gagging at the smell of liquor on his breath. But his arm was like an iron band around her slender body.
Laughing, he carried the girl from the stables to his cottage where he snapped on a lamp and dumped her onto a sagging leather couch. Seating himself beside her; he pinned her down, his hands locking her arms above her head.
“Hey, cut the act, kid!” he said, and laughed as she struggled.
“You have no right to touch me, you — bastard.”
He laughed again. “Oh, come on. Old Benny’s not such a bad guy when you get to know him...”
There were footsteps then, a shadow from the open door, and a voice loud around them.
“Take your hands off her, you scum,” Capability Brown said.
When Benny Stiff spun around, the tines of the pitchfork the old man held were just inches from his eyes.
“Hey, hey!” Benny Stiff raised both arms above his head in a gesture of entreaty. “Cool it, pal. We were just having a little fun.”
“On your feet,” Brown said.
“Sure, anything you say.” Moving slowly, Benny stood and inched back and away from the shining pitchfork.
“Did he hurt you, child?” the old man said.
“I’m all right, Mr. Brown.” Jessica said, scrambling from the couch. And it was then, when the old Irishman turned to put a protective hand on the girl’s arm, it was then that Benny struck, a savage right that caught the old man in the face and knocked him across the flagged hearth of the fireplace, the pitchfork clattering to the floor from his suddenly limp hands.
“Get up, you old stumble-bum,” Benny Stiff said. “On your feet!”
But Jessica knew from the unnatural angle of Mr. Brown’s head and neck that he had been badly hurt.
Staring down at the small, huddled figure of the gardener, Benny Stiff’s expression changed.
“Hey, get up!” he said, his voice troubled and uneasy.
But the old man didn’t stir. Eyes that had appreciated all growing things, that had kept vigil through many nights for his country’s enemies, were now fixed and staring on the hearth stones.
“Hey! What’s this? Some kind of act?” Benny said. “I didn’t hit him that hard.”
“You’ve killed him!” Jessica said, her voice rising. “You’ve killed Mr. Brown.”