The Silver Rose

Chapter Ten

Ariel was at the far end of the paddock, a scarlet hunched figure on the ground. From the distance, Simon could make out the gray shape of one of her hounds. He forced himself to move more quickly, although the grass was thick and wet, riddled with molehills set to snag a hesitant foot or a misplaced cane. As he drew closer he made out another long gray shape in the grass. His stomach turned to acid.

Edgar had reached Ariel minutes before Simon came up to them. He too was kneeling in the wet grass beside the gray shapes.

Ariel looked up as Simon reached her side. Her eyes were living coals in a deathly white face, her lips were blue, her nose pinched. "How could anyone do such a thing?" she cried, her voice a long, sobbing moan of distress. She was sitting in the grass, both handsome great heads resting in her lap.

Simon saw immediately that the animals were still alive, although clearly suffering. Their eyes were open but rolling with pain, and green slime oozed from their hanging mouths. "What is it?"

"Poison!" she said, and now the despair had left her voice, replaced with an icy hardness. "I won't know what kind until I find the source, but we have to get them back to the stables. I can do nothing for them here." She beckoned one of the stable lads who stood gawping helplessly to one side. "Tim, fetch a cart. Quickly, boy!" she snapped when he seemed not to hear her.

The lad took off at a run. Simon awkwardly bent over the dogs. They looked far gone to him and his instinct was to put them out of their agony with a merciful bullet. "What do you think you can do for them, Ariel? Wouldn't it be kinder-"

"No, damn you!" she cried, her eyes blazing at him. "I will not give up on them. They're big animals, with the body weight of a human being. It takes a lot to kill them. I must try to do something to save them. Don't you see that?"

He ran a hand through his hair and looked down at the pitiful sight. Such magnificent beasts brought so low. "How could it have happened?"

"Ranulf," she spat out. "And I'll get even with him for this. I swear it on my mother's grave. I know the signs," she said, her face closed and hard. "It's arsenic or nux vomica." She stroked the dogs' heads the whole time she spoke, and her voice now was low and considering, as if she were speaking her thoughts and conclusions as they came to her. "But the dose must be carefully measured to be effective. Romulus and Remus would need a dose sufficient to kill a man. Ranulf may have miscalculated. I have to try!"

"I understand," he said quietly. He walked away, poking through the grass, looking for some clue as to what the dogs could have eaten. He found it in a ditch a few paces away from where the animals had fallen. He poked at the sheep's carcass with his cane. It was not fresh and had a strange bluish tinge to it. They didn't seem to have made too much of a meal of it, however. Perhaps its rotting condition had put them off.

He called Ariel over to look at the carcass. After a moment of investigation, she straightened and said, "I think it's nux vomica. If they can void the filth, it may not be too late." Ariel turned back to the dogs, her face set.

The cart had arrived, pulled by an old dapple gray mare who had seen better days. She stood, head hanging wearily, as the dogs were lifted onto the bed of the cart. Ariel clambered up beside them, taking their heads in her lap again.

In the stableyard, Ariel directed the lads to lift the dogs down and lay them on thick beds of fresh straw in the barn.

She didn't wait to see her orders carried out but ran as if the devil were on her heels back to the house.

"Of all the filthy bastard tricks." Edgar was mumbling as he bent over the hounds, gently easing their heads into the straw. "They're bleedin' devils, those Ravenspeares. May they all burn in hellfire!"

"You're both so certain who was responsible." Simon leaned against an upturned rainwater butt, easing his bad leg. His eyes were as cold as glacier ice.

"Aye," Edgar returned flatly. "Mean and vicious to a one. The dirtier the trick, the better they like it."

"I'll need help, Edgar." Ariel arrived breathless, speaking even as she dropped to her knees beside the animals, setting down a funnel and two jugs brimming with a vile-smelling liquid.

"What can I do?" Simon eased himself to his knees with an indrawn breath of pain.

Ariel glanced quickly at him. "This is no work for you, my lord," she said dismissively. "I must purge them of the foul matter. Even if you don't mind getting your hands dirty, I doubt you'll be willing to ruin your clothes."

"I'm not the lightweight you think me," he retorted. "Edgar must lift the head while I open the jaws. You may then pour down whatever emetic you have in that jug."

"Salt, mustard, and senna," she said.

Simon grimaced, but positioned himself to hold open the jaws of the hound whose head Edgar now held in the crook of his arm.

Her lips tight in concentration, Ariel inserted the funnel and slowly poured the thick liquid into the dog's mouth. The animal struggled weakly.

Simon gentled him with a soft crooning sound, massaging his throat so that Romulus swallowed convulsively. Ariel waited patiently until Simon had coaxed the last of the mouthful down his throat. Then she refilled the funnel. The dog's eyes rolled wildly and Simon knew that if the animal weren't so sick and feeble, he would have attacked them.

Ariel could see it too, but she spoke softly as she poured with a steady hand. Simon massaged the throat, and eventually the contents of the first jug had been absorbed by the dog.

"It'll start to work in a minute," Ariel said. "But we must treat Remus now."

The process was repeated this time to the accompaniment of Romulus's violent convulsions as he voided the contents of stomach and bowel into the straw, helpless to move himself. The mess splattered everywhere, but Ariel was completely unaware, and even when the last drops had disappeared down Remus's throat, she remained sitting in the straw between the two beasts, stroking their sweat-lathered necks and flanks, whispering to them almost in a lullaby.

Finally it was over and the animals lay with closed eyes, barely breathing. Simon stood looking down at them, hoping Ariel's heroic efforts hadn't merely caused them more suffering.

Ariel remained with the dogs' heads on her lap. They were quiet now, the sweat drying on their matted fur. "They can't rest like this," she said. "We must clean them up and then move them to fresh straw."

"Ariel, my dear, they're dying." Simon couldn't bear it any longer. He bent down to rest his hands on her shoulders. "Don't you see that? Leave them in peace now."

Ariel pushed his hands from her shoulders with a rough jerk that nearly unbalanced him. "They are not dying. Do you think I don't know what I'm doing?" She glared at him through the honeyed curtain of tumbled hair. Her face was streaked with dirt, her eyes bright with the residue of tears, sweat beaded her brow. "Do you think you know better than I do?"

It was a startling question. Simon ran a hand over the back of his neck. "I have some knowledge of horses and dogs," he said. "Army life teaches one such things."

"Yes, it teaches you to shoot rather than attempt to cure, because it's easier and quicker," she said scornfully. "Edgar, bring water, will you, please? And tell Tim to prepare a bed in the tack room with fresh straw. They can he up there for the rest of the day."

She sounded so absolutely confident that the dogs would live that Simon almost began to believe it himself. It was clear to him that Edgar had no doubts. Simon watched for a minute as the groom and his mistress began to wash the dogs down with buckets of water, then, with a resigned shrug, he struggled back to the barn floor and took his part.

Ariel gave him a quick surprised look, but she said nothing. When the hounds were clean, she took thick pieces of toweling and rubbed them as dry as it was possible.

And then both pairs of great yellow eyes opened and the wildness was gone from them. Simon hid his astonishment as he watched the return of intelligence. They were still too weak to move a muscle, but there was no denying that they were definitely alive.

"Help me carry them to the tack room, Edgar." Ariel stood up, her sopping skirts hanging around her. "If you take the hindquarters, I'll manage the head and shoulders."

Simon wanted to protest that she wasn't strong enough, but more than anything, he wanted to help. Bitterly he stood aside as the elderly man and the young girl struggled to carry the deadweight of first one and then the other huge animal into the tack room at the far end of the barn.

"I'll make up some gruel with birch bark." Ariel hurried past Simon, who had followed them to the tack room. "I'll sit with them throughout the day… Fetch water, Edgar. They'll need to drink as soon as they come round a bit more."

Simon followed her, trying to keep up with her half-running stride. "It will be expected that you attend the hunting party," he said mildly. "And don't bite my head off."

Ariel paused at the kitchen door, one hand resting on the jamb. "Have I done?"

"Several times."

Ariel bit her hp. "Then I apologize. You've been very kind to help with the dogs."

"Forgive me for having such little faith." He nodded to the curious kitchen folk and rested on a high stool beside the range while Ariel attended to her gruel.

"Mercy me, Lady Ariel, you smell like a pigsticker!" Gertrude stepped away from her own pots as Ariel moved in to the fire. She surveyed the countess of Hawkesmoor with astonished dismay. " 'Ceptin' there's no blood. But looks like there's everythin' else on yer clothes. Quite ruined they are."

"It can't be helped," Ariel said with a careless shrug. "His lordship's not much better." She shot him one of her mischievous smiles that always took him by surprise. Now that her dogs were saved, she seemed to be completely carefree.

He glanced ruefully down at his own britches and coat. "I'll go and change before the hunt. I'll tell your brothers that you have been delayed and will join us within… say, half an hour?"

Ariel opened her mouth to refuse, but he forestalled her, saying quickly, "I daresay you will not wish to give certain people the satisfaction of believing you distressed."

He had a point. Ranulf would grin from ear to ear if he knew how close she'd been to despair. But he would spit fire if he thought that his nasty little trick had failed to distress her.

And if she didn't accompany Simon, she wouldn't be able to watch his back. A hunt would provide many an opportunity for accidents.

Ariel turned back to her cauldron, unsure which of the two reasons carried the most weight. "Very well. Edgar will be able to care for them as well as I."

Simon nodded and left the kitchen.

Ranulf paced the Great Hall, his eyes glittering with malice as he waited for his sister to respond to his summons. Ariel hadn't appeared at breakfast and he'd sent a servant to fetch her. Had she found the dogs as yet? Or was she even now searching for them?

"Good day to you, Ravenspeare."

Ranulf spun on his heel. An insincere smile flickered over his thin lips. "Hawkesmoor. You didn't join us for breakfast."

"No, I broke my fast abovestairs," Simon said easily. "Then Ariel and I went for a stroll. She's changing her dress at present but assures me she'll be down in a few minutes." He glanced around the crowded hall, returning greetings with a nod and a smile. "It's a beautiful morning for a hunt."

"Aye," Ranulf said shortly, hiding his puzzlement.

"A rather later start than you had intended, I believe?" Simon raised an eyebrow. "A consequence of late nights and deep drinking, I find."

Ranulf, whose head was throbbing as if Thor's hammer were pounding behind his temples, glowered and said nothing. He caught sight of the servant he'd sent in search of Ariel, making his way across the hall toward him.

"I can't find Lady Ariel… I mean, Lady Hawkesmoor… mlord. She in't in the stables." He looked anxiously at his master. Failing in an errand was not wise in Ravenspeare Castle.

"I think you'll find her in her chamber," Simon suggested. "Did you have a particular message for my wife, lad?"

The lad tugged his forelock and looked at the earl of Ravenspeare, uncertain whether he should respond or not.

"Get out of here!" Ranulf flicked at the boy with his fingers, and the lad scuttled off. "I was wondering where she was," Ranulf said. "I expect my sister to appear at mealtimes. She knows that perfectly well."

"Ah, but your sister's position in the household has changed somewhat," Simon pointed out gently. "She has other duties and obligations now." He smiled. "To her husband… I'm sure you take my meaning."

Ranulf flushed darkly and, without another word, strode away. He joined his brothers, gathered at the foot of the stairs.

Simon smiled grimly to himself. The earl of Ravenspeare was not best pleased, and he would be even less so when he encountered the wolfhounds roaming around again, as they surely soon would be.

Ranulf took a cup of ale from a passing servant and glowered into its contents before drinking. Ralph's eyes were so swollen and bloodshot they were almost invisible. Of the three brothers, only Roland looked relatively fresh, but he had a poor head for drink and the wisdom to embrace moderation.

"Perry's Copse is prepared," Roland said in an undertone. "Oliver checked it this morning. Which of us is to lead him?"

"I will," Ralph declared somewhat thickly with a sneering attempt at a smile. "I'll lead the Hawkesmoor to the pit, never you fear."

Ranulf regarded his young brother with a degree of scorn. "In your condition, man, I doubt you'd be able to see your way to Perry's Copse."

Ralph flushed angrily. "I spend more time on the estate than you do, brother. I could find my way to anywhere blindfold."

Roland laughed, not troubling to hide his contempt for this boast. "If it were Ariel, I'd agree," he said. "The only time you ever ride around the estate with your eyes open, Ralph, is when you're in search of a bitch to service you."

Ranulf laughed as coarsely as his brother. "True enough, but grant you, Roland, that the lad goes as often on such an errand as any rutting stallion in a field of mares." His laughter was abruptly cut off as his eyes went to the stairs.

Ariel came running lightly down to the hall. She was wearing her old green riding habit, but Doris had taken a flatiron to it, and her white shirt was crisply laundered, her boots polished.

"Good morning, my brothers." She curtsied, every line of her body radiating mockery, as she greeted the three lords of Ravenspeare. "You passed a restful night, I trust."

"Where are your dogs?" Ranulf demanded. "You're not usually without those damn hounds at your heels."

Ariel's eyes flashed, then she said coolly, "Oh, they're in the stables with Edgar. You gave order last night that they should be kept away from you, so I thought it best if they didn't join the hunt. You wouldn't look kindly upon them if they interfered with the deerhounds, I daresay?" She tilted her head to one side as if in question.

Ranulf himself had lured the dogs to the poisoned carcass. He had left them sniffing and drooling around the meat. It was not possible that they were healthy, shut up in the stables. What the devil had gone wrong?

Tight-lipped, he spun on his heel and stalked out of the hall into the courtyard where the hunt was waiting to set out. He comforted himself with the reflection that the hounds were an insignificant problem so long as that drunken sot Ralph had done his work properly. If he had done, the earl of Hawkesmoor would not emerge alive from Perry's Copse this day, once he was lured within its tight dark confines.

"That is most satisfactory news, Mrs. Masham." Queen Anne nodded at her new favorite. "Such a lovely wedding it must have been." She slurped greedily at a bowl of oysters stewed in ale, disdaining the spoon, her fat little fingers curled around the silver bowl as she lifted it to her mouth. Juice dripped down her chin.

Mrs. Masham folded the letter from which she'd been reading an account of the wedding of the earl of Hawkesmoor and Lady Ariel Ravenspeare. She offered the queen a linen napkin. Her Majesty ignored the offering.

"Lady Dacre is a most reliable correspondent; remind me to present her with a little trifle of my appreciation when she returns to London." Anne examined a mounded blanc-manger of capon and rice. She nibbled one of the garnishing almonds as she dug her spoon into the dish. "This seems quite flavorful." With her mouth full she drank deeply of the fortified wine in her crystal goblet and reached her fingers into a dish of peasecods. She sucked the delicate peas from the pods, beads of sweat settling into the folds of her wobbling chins.

Sarah, duchess of Marlborough, turned her head away with a grimace of distaste. Although she had been dismissed from her post as Lady of the Bedchamber in favor of Mrs. Masham, the queen had not yet dismissed her from attendance. Deprived of the power that had made that close personal attendance tolerable, Sarah found it hard to disguise her physical revulsion for her sovereign.

"What kind of reward did you have in mind, Your Majesty?" she asked. "A lace handkerchief, perhaps? A fan?" Her voice dripped malice. Queen Anne was renowned for her stinginess. But the malice was lost on the queen, who considered the suggestions as she continued to suck peas from their butter-soaked pods.

"A handkerchief is a good idea," she pronounced, turning her attention to a dish of honey and almond sweetmeats. "Select one from my armoire, Mrs. Masham. One of last year's. But make sure the lace is not torn." She crammed a sticky mouthful between her glistening lips and was for a few moments silent as her mostly toothless gums wrestled with the sweet. She took another swig from her goblet to help the process.

Sarah removed Her Majesty's dirty salver and replaced it with a clean one, handing the dirty one to a very junior lady-in-waiting. "Perhaps a wedding gift for the new countess of Hawkesmoor would be in order, madam," she suggested in sugared accents.

The queen looked up haughtily. "I was under the impression that I had already gifted the bride." Her Majesty was no longer eager to accept suggestions from the duchess of Marlborough.

"A betrothal gift, madam." Sarah's curtsy was ironic but only her victorious rival could guess how deep ran the duchess's rage at her loss of power. "A gown and a string of topaz. Very generous, of course," she added, "but something to mark the wedding itself would be so much in keeping with Your Majesty's benevolence." She curtsied again. "If such a gift were to arrive during the celebrations-there are two hundred guests, I believe-Your Majesty's kindness and consideration would be so very marked."

Sarah waited, watching closely as the queen considered this while she gestured to have her goblet refilled. It would be a small enough exercise of influence, but any return to her old sphere was a triumph over Mrs. Masham. Sarah knew precisely how the queen's mind was working. A small gesture in front of a large audience would achieve maximum effect with minimum effort.

"Well, perhaps," Anne said eventually. "We will consider it."

Sarah hid her smile.