Nothing had changed since those early days—except of course that I looked at him differently. I was no longer the wide-eyed innocent child. I saw him as he was, a buccaneering adventurer, determined to get the most out of life, completely self-centred, and a man whose own interests would always come first. The frightening thing was that it didn’t make any difference. I still wanted to be with him; the hours were dull when he was not there, although we spent most of the time in verbal conflict that was more exciting than the most friendly conversation with anyone else.
Our afternoon ride had become a ritual now. All the time he was trying to charm me, to lull my suspicions and to give him the opportunity of seducing me. So far I had resisted his attentions and I intended to go on doing so.
When we rode past Enderby, he said, ‘Why don’t you come and have a look over the house?’
‘Whatever for? I have no intention of buying a house so why should I want to look over it?’
‘Because it’s interesting. It is a house with a history. It’s haunted, you know, by all the ghosts of the past … those who have lived such evil lives that they can’t rest.’
‘I expect it is very dirty.’
‘Cobwebs. Dark shadows. Strange shapes looming up. I’d be there to protect you, Lottie.’
‘I would need no protection from cobwebs and shadows.’
‘Ah, but what about the ghosts?’
‘I don’t think I have anything to fear from them either. Why should they be interested in me?’
‘They are interested in any who brave their domains. But I see you are afraid.’
‘I am not afraid.’
He looked at me slyly. ‘Not of the house … but of me.’
‘Afraid of you Dickon? In Heaven’s name, why?’
‘Afraid of giving me what I want and what you so much want to give.’
‘What’s that? You have Eversleigh, you know.’
‘Yourself,’ he said. ‘Lottie, you and I were made for each other.’
‘By whom?’
‘Fate.’
‘Then Fate made a very poor job of it. I assure you I was certainly not made for you … nor you for me. You were made for Eversleigh perhaps. That’s a different matter.’
‘You do go on about Eversleigh. You attach too much importance to it.’
‘No. It was you who did that.’
‘Thy tongue is sharp as the serpent’s. Did someone say that? If they didn’t they ought to have done. In any case I’m saying it now.’
‘And I say beware of serpents.’
‘Come. Admit the truth. You are afraid to step inside Enderby with me.’
‘I assure you I am not.’
‘Back up your assurance with words.’
On an impulse I dismounted. He was laughing as he tethered our horses to the post. He took my hand as we advanced towards the house.
‘The window with the broken latch is round there. It is quite easy to get in. Someone wanted to look at it a few weeks ago and I showed him the way in. I wonder if he made an offer for the place.’
He had found the window, opened it, looked inside and helped me in. We were in the hall, at the end of which was a door. It was open and we went through it into a large stone-floored kitchen. The spits were still there. We examined the great fireplace with its fire-dogs and cauldrons. There were layers of dust on everything. I found it quite fascinating and prowled about opening cupboards and exploring.
We must have been there for about five minutes before we went back to the hall. Above us was the minstrels’ gallery.
Dickon put his fingers to his lips. ‘The gallery is the most haunted spot. Let’s explore it.’
He took my hand and I was glad of the contact as the eeriness of the house began to wrap itself about me. I could well believe that at night the ghosts came to relive their tragic lives once more in such a house.
Our footsteps rang out in silence.
‘Cold, isn’t it?’ said Dickon. ‘Are you just a little scared, Lottie?’
‘Of course not.’
‘You look a little.’ He put his arm about me. ‘There. That’s better.’ We mounted the stairs. Some of the furniture remained, though most of it had been taken away.
‘Let’s go into the gallery. Defy the ghosts. Are you game?’
‘Of course.’
‘Come then.’ We mounted the staircase and went into the gallery; we leaned over the balcony and looked down on the hall.
‘Imagine it full of people … people dancing … long-dead people … ’
‘Dickon, you know you don’t really believe in ghosts.’
‘Not when I’m outside. In here … can you feel the malevolent influence?’
I did not answer. There was certainly something strange about the place. It was uncanny, but I had the feeling that the house was waiting for my answer.
‘Let’s defy the dead,’ said Dickon. ‘Let’s show them that at least we are alive.’
He put his arms about me.
‘Don’t do that, Dickon.’
His answer was to laugh. ‘Dear Lottie, do you think I am going to let you go now that I have you again?’
I tried to hold him off. My strength, I knew, was puny against his. He would not dare to force himself on me. He would have to be careful … even he. I was no village girl to be lightly raped and no questions asked. And that was not Dickon’s way. He was too sure of his charms and he wanted to be gratefully accepted; he would not want reluctance … not from me in any case.
