The Golden Maze Page 3

  Cindy hesitated. She had just had coffee ! Then she realised it was just Mrs. Stone's habit of adding the word now on to most sentences.

  "No, thank you." She stood up. "I thought I'd drive around."

  "Better to do so while the sun is out. 'Tisn't often sunny, here. Fearful lot of rain for weeks on end," Mrs. Stone said depressingly as she lifted the tray and disappeared.

  Cindy wandered round the dining-room with its long walnut table. She wondered how long it was since a dinner party had been held there. In the big glass-fronted sideboard she could see beautiful glasses of every shape and size. Once upon a time this must have been a beautiful room. Now it was sad—sad for the loss of beauty that time and lack of money had caused. But it could be put right. If the drab walls were repainted and cheap curtain material bought...

  Upstairs, she put on her thick coat and a scarf round her head. Where should she go? Maybe just wander around. No, perhaps the local village at the bottom of the hill was a good place to start.

  She drove through the wide open gates slowly, then ignored the track by which she had come and drove down a track that seemed to be going straight down the hillside. It wasn't, of course, instead it went sideways in a series of twists, rather like the way a snake moved, Cindy was thinking as she glanced about. Far

  below she could see the spire of a church—from behind a clump of trees came rising the smoke from a cottage. Every now and then she saw the lake below as the branches of the trees moved. She wondered where the path from which the castle got its name was.

  At last she saw the village ahead. Here the fields were gently separated by the fascinating dry stone walls, each one a miracle to Cindy as she wondered how they stayed put for so many centuries. Now she could see the church with its long pointed spire, the old timbered house by its side and what was obviously a school, then a cluster of houses, all made of grey stone. She drove over a humped bridge made of mellow stones and then there was a space in the cottages and she saw the lake.

  How peaceful it looked with the bushes and trees clustering round the edge. Not a ripple on it. Just so still ...

  She parked the car in an open space and then walked along, looking for a post office. She had promised both Keith Ayres and Mr. Jenkins that she would let them know she had arrived safely, so maybe postcards showing the beautiful countryside would be a good idea. Finding the post office, she turned and stopped dead, almost bumping into a tall man as he came out.

  Cindy recognised him instantly. But today with her glasses on, she could see his face clearly. A handsome face if you like a square chin, a rather long nose, and cold blue eyes.

  Cold eyes that looked at her and halted the smile

  of recognition she was giving him. She had already started to speak.

  "Fancy meeting you here !" she began.

  "Excuse me," he said coldly, moving her to one side and walking by her, paying no attention as he walked fast down the side of the street.

  It was as if he had slapped her in the face. Never had she felt such a shock. She turned round and walked down the road in the opposite direction. It was absurd, of course, but even her legs were trembling. Why had he been so rude? Cutting her dead, worse still, implying that she was trying to pick him up !

  How could he do such a thing to her? But he had.

  CHAPTER THREE

  SOMEHOW Cindy walked along the narrow pavement, her mind in a whirl. Why had he been so rude to her? Maybe he hadn't recognised her in her glasses? Perhaps he was short-sighted. She found herself making excuses for his behaviour, yet it all boiled down to one thing and that was what shocked her so. He hadn't wanted to see her again. It was a real brush-off.

  She noticed a small tea-shop and went in and sat down. It was empty, but Cindy didn't mind. She wanted to be alone so that she could think. What could she have done to annoy him so ? For annoyed he had been. She shivered as she remembered the coldness in his eyes.

  Though perhaps his eyes were always cold? After all, she reminded herself, she hadn't seen his eyes before. Yet his voice had been so different. Here, it was so curt.

  "Excuse me," was all he had said.

  Yet in London he had teased her, joked and even been sarcastic, but there had been no curt coldness in her voice.

  Suddenly a tall girl came from the back of the shop. Cindy gazed in amazement. Why, she was beautiful ! A real model type, tall, with long slender legs well revealed by the elegance of her sea-green skirt and pale cream tunic. She had high cheekbones and

  surprisingly dark eyes as compared with her blonde hair which was beautifully curled.

  "I'm sorry I didn't hear you come in," the girl said. "Would you like some tea?"

  "Please," said Cindy.

  When the tea came, the tall girl smiled. "Mind if I join you? One gets so bored here with never a new face. You're Miss Preston, now ?"

  Cindy looked startled. "Yes, how did you know ?"

  The girl laughed. "Everything is known in the village. The castle will be yours if Peter Baxter doesn't turn up. Right ?"

  "Yes, but ...

  "He still may, though I doubt it. I'm Johanna Younge." She smiled ruefully. "Believe it or not, I was once a beauty queen, then, like an idiot, I' fell in love with a country boy and here I am." She waved her hand vaguely. "Thirty-five and stuck in this dump—a widow looking for a rich husband. Thought I'd found one, but it seems he's not as wealthy as I thought." She laughed. "Nor as interested."

  Cindy stirred her tea slowly. "Why stay here?" she asked.

  Johanna shrugged. "Because I'm a fool. I love him."

  "Oh," said Cindy. She couldn't think of anything else to say. What did one say? A startling frightening thought struck her. Was she in love? In love with a man she'd only met once—no, twice if you could count today's a meeting? If not, why was she so upset? If he was just an ordinary man, would she care?

  "This place does well in the summer, but in the

  winter . . . well, you can see for yourself. Every year I swear that next year I'll go to London, but I stay here. I know I'm a fool."

  In the distance the telephone bell shrilled. Johanna Younge quickly drank her tea and stood up. She smiled at Cindy.

  "The village is coming to life, I think. You're the second southerner we've had here in the last week. Both interested in the castle, too. The castle ! What a farce—it's no more a castle than I'm a beauty !" Johanna shrugged as she walked away.

  Cindy drank her tea slowly and ate the delicious scones with jam and cream. She glanced at her watch. The sun was still shining—should she drive around Or . . .

  Johanna joined her again. "Sorry about that. Wrong number as usual. Look, if you want to know anything about the castle—and you'd be very odd if you didn't—I suggest you go along and see old Mrs. Usher. She's lived here all her life. Never been outside the village and, hard as it is to believe, never wants to go anywhere else. She'll tell you about the castle and the Baxters." Her voice was bitter.

  "You don't like them ?"

  Johanna shrugged. "I met Peter once or twice and liked him, but of course David, his cousin, and he never hit it off. I don't know why. The old man I never knew—bit of a recluse, you see. Didn't like visitors—at least, according to his housekeeper." Johanna chuckled. "Now there's a broken heart for you !"

  "Mrs. Stone ?" Cindy was startled.

  The phone bell shrilled again. Cindy stood up, hastily paid for her tea and left.

  Outside she looked up and down. There was not a soul in sight. Somehow she didn't feel in the mood for driving round and she had an absurd urge to learn more about the castle. What was the old lady's name ? Usher ! That was it !

  Cindy went into the Post Office, chose two postcards with lovely pictures of Windermere, wrote

  quickly on each to say she was fine, and then got

  stamps. The postmistress, fat and cheerful, beamed.

  "Did Mr. Baxter knock you down ?" she asked.

  "Mr. Baxter ?" Cindy echoed, puzzled. Mr. Baxter


  was dead, she nearly said.

  "I saw it happen. You were coming into the shop now and out he went, stormng like a madman because the telegram he's expecting hasn't arrived. Not my fault, and I told him so—"

  "Was that Mr. Baxter who bumped into me ?" Cindy blinked her eyes, shaking her head, for her mind felt muzzy. "But . . ."

  "Yes, David Baxter, the late Robert Baxter's nephew." The postmistress chuckled. "I bet he's feeling mad. Did you have a cup of tea? I guessed that was where you were now. What do you think of our local beauty queen ?" she chuckled again.

  "I thought she was very beautiful."

  "So she is—but he just doesn't see her."

  "He ?" Cindy said, puzzled.

  "David—David Baxter. Johanna is crazy about him, seems like he prefers to be a bachelor."

  Cindy drew a long deep breath.

  "Mrs. Younge is in love with David Baxter ?"

  Cindy said slowly. Gone was her last hope. How could a short ugly girl who wore glasses compete with such a beauty?

  The postmistress gave her the stamps with another chuckle.

  "We all thought once they were going to wed, and then he changed. It's ever since his uncle died that he's been so bitter. Not that I'm surprised, mind." Her eyes narrowed. "Are you Miss Preston ?" she asked, her voice losing its friendliness suddenly.

  Cindy felt uncomfortable. Now what had she said to upset the postmistress? Why had her attitude changed so suddenly? At that moment, the door bell clanged and two elderly women came in chatting. Both stopped talking as they saw Cindy and she hurried past them, uncomfortably aware that they were staring at her.

  In the street, she hesitated, looking up and down, An elderly man in breeches and a jacket, his cap pulled over one eye, paused.

  "Where's ta gaan ?" he asked sympathetically. Cindy smiled. "I'm looking for Mrs. Usher." "She'll be there any time. Fourth cottage on the

  left—a dog in t'garden. He don't bite now." He

  smiled, touched his cap and hobbled by her.

  Hurrying down the street, Cindy found the cottage. A typical Lake District cottage, she was to learn in the days ahead, with a door and four windows. .A beautifully cared-for garden with snowdrops in flower and some of the bushes showing green, buds. A spaniel lying on the white doorstep stood up and wagged his tail friendly.

  The door opened instantly, and a tiny woman stood

  in the doorway. A thin woman whose dark grey woollen frock hung loosely on her narrow shoulders. Her skin was perfect, rosy pink as though the crisp air acted as a tonic. Her eyes shone.

  "Miss Preston," she said with a warm welcoming smile. "I hoped you'd come and see me."

  "I . . . it .. ." Cindy began. "The village knows everything."

  "But of course, and you are news. Do come in. I hope you aren't allergic to cats, dogs or budgies, because I've got the lot !" She opened the door wider and Cindy walked in.

  The main room was surprisingly big with a huge log fire crackling merrily and a tray of tea and cakes waiting. As Cindy went in several cats stood up, stretched, took one look at her and lay down again. Two dogs came racing, one a gracefully slender greyhound, the other a Corgi who gave Cindy a good look up and down, then turned away and lay down. Pushed gently into a deep comfortable armchair, Cindy was given a cup of tea and induced to eat some of the delicious home-made cakes.

  Mrs. Usher never stopped talking. She had an attractive voice with a sort of Welsh lilt. "I'm so glad you've come, dear, I hoped you'd be here earlier, but I suppose it was the fog, because we expected you yesterday—and how do you like the castle? Rather sad, isn't it, poor Robert was a generous man and the castle suffered for it."

  She poured out another cup of tea and then sat

  back in her chair, folded her hands and smiled at

  Cindy. "Now what do you want to know, dear?"

  Cindy didn't know what to say. After all, what did

  she want to know? She grabbed at the first thing that came into her mind.

  "Why is David Baxter so bitter? The postmistress told me how he'd changed after his uncle died and . and I met Mrs. Younge and she said he had changed —and what I can't understand is that I met him by chance in London and .. . we talked. You see, it was like this ..." Cindy told . the white-haired old lady the whole story. "He was so different in London. Not rude and ... cold as he was here," Cindy finished.'

  "I didn't know he'd been to London lately," Mrs. Usher said thoughtfully, "but you travel so fast these days that you're often back before you know you're going."

  ,They laughed together.

  "He is bitter, but it's natural like. You see ... you see, he always thought he'd be his uncle's heir."

  "Oh, he thought he'd get Claife Castle?" Cindy frowned. "But why didn't he tell me when I told him about the castle? He must have known it would be the same one."

  Mrs Usher shrugged. "The Baxters have always been a funny lot. I've known them all my life."

  Driving home to the castle an hour later, Cindy thought of all Mrs. Usher had told her : how Robert Baxter had been a domineering man and his wife very quiet and biddable. Peter had been like his father, yet different—where his father knew he was always right, Peter Baxter queried it and was willing to accept advice. The one thing he had been adamant about, though, had been his refusal to go into his father's business. Peter wanted to be an engineer. So they had quarrelled.

  "Very sad indeed," Mrs. Usher had said. "I think poor Robert often regretted his own obstinacy and probably poor Peter wished they could have seen eye to eye. Peter was a nice lad. I was fond of him and sorry, too. He hated hurting anyone, but sometimes you have to. Then David took over the job that should have been Peter's. When Robert grew older and was suffering from gout, he sold his business to David at a very reasonable, almost absurd figure. A generous man, Robert, but sometimes foolish. David was certain he would inherit the castle and everything. When he heard about you ... an unknown stranger ..."

  And yet, Cindy thought as she drove carefully up towards the castle, David had shown no anger or coldness in London and he must have known she was the girl who had literally stolen the castle from him, though without knowing it.

  One thing, she told herself, this settled her stupid dream about him. No wonder he didn't want to know her !

  She drove the car round behind the castle and parked it in one of the open garages. Paul was in the yard, but he ignored her. Cindy was tempted to go to him and say how sorry she was—yet could she say that truthfully? she wondered. Mrs. Usher had explained Mrs. Stone's animosity.

  "She hoped that Robert would leave Paul the castle. Why she should think that I don't know. After all, they'd only been with him ten years. Again Robert was too generous. He paid for a good education for Paul, but look what the boy's like now—a typical

  hippy, lazy as they come. Adored by his mother, of course, who sees no fault in him."

  Cindy had sighed. "It makes me feel pretty miserable. I didn't want to hurt all these people."

  Mrs. Usher had smiled. "Not to worry, dear child. Robert often talked to me of you. He loved your mother, you see. That's why you were asked to stay here. Unfortunately your mother said no and that was that, but he never forgot how you loved the castle. He knew, you see, that both the Stones and David would sell the castle. Only Peter wouldn't .. . nor you."

  Now as Cindy hurried to her bedroom to change into another frock, she wondered just how she was going to keep the castle going—always of course allowing for the fact that Peter didn't turn up. How David must hate her, she thought unhappily. Why, oh, why had she to meet a man she liked so much on sight only to find he hated her. ?

  CHAPTER FOUR

  CINDY was very quiet as Mrs. Stone served up dinner. Cindy had never felt so uncomfortable before in her life. She had no desire to hurt the Stones or David Baxter; indeed, she herself had nothing to do with it—but perhaps they didn't realise that? What was there she could say ? Unable to answer that question, Cindy decid
ed it might be wiser to keep quiet.

  Afterwards the sat alone in the huge cold drawing-room before a log fire that crackled and sparkled. How quiet everything was. If she ever lived there, Cindy decided, she would certainly have a dog, or even several, and some cats. How wonderful to have a real home—not just a box-like bedsitter where you had to ease your way round the furniture that took up what little space there was. Suddenly restless, she got up and wandered down the lofty dark hall, dimly lit by a very old chandelier that looked as if it might fall at any moment.

  The click-clack of her heels on the polished floor sounded absurdly loud and echoed and re-echoed as she went from room to room. There was little difference in them, for they were all full of old antiques—each article amazingly clean and polished. Mrs. Stone certainly worked hard, Cindy thought. Poor Mrs. Stone—her dream demolished.

  The library was the most interesting, even though it

  was so cold. Cindy walked past the crowded bookshelves, looking for something to read.

  After she had collected several books that looked interesting—all biographies she paused by the huge old desk, and opened it. There were a few papers in it, neatly folded, so obviously whoever had gone through Uncle Robert's papers had taken everything of value. It was a fascinating desk with so many drawers and shelves of different size. She had a job getting one drawer shut, and as she pushed and pulled it, a small door-like board swung open.

  "A secret drawer !" she said slowly, her eyes wide with excitement. Of course many of these old desks had secret drawers, she knew. She put in her hand and slowly pulled out a long thin flat book. Opening it, she peered at the incredibly tiny neat writing. It was hard to read.

  Suddenly she heard footsteps—angry ones, she I thought, as they went clomp, clomp, clomp, along. I It could only be Mrs. Stone !

  Hastily Cindy closed the desk, pushed the flat book under her cardigan and moved to the bookshelves.