Lord of the Far Island by Victoria Holt (romance book recommendations TXT) 📗

and passed through. Here the trees grew less thick and I thought that if I went on I might come to a house and ask the way.

As I entered a clearing I heard the sound of horse's hoofs and a rider came into sight. It was a man on a gray horse and he hurriedly pulled up at the sight of me.

"Can you help me?" I asked. "I'm lost."

"You are in fact trespassing," he replied. "These woods are private because of the pheasants."

"Oh dear, I am sorry. I was really trying to find my way out of them."

"Where do you want to go?" he asked.

"I'm staying at the Polcrag Inn."

"You have come a long way."

"Longer than I realized, I'm afraid."

"The easiest way now is past the house. Actually that is even more private, but it's a shortcut."

"Do you think the owner would mind?"

"I'm sure he wouldn't," he said with a smile. "As a matter of fact, I don't and it's my house. I'm Michael Hydrock."

"Then these are your woods. I must apologize."

"Oh, strangers often stray in. It's so easy to slip into the private section. We should have more notices put up."

"If you will kindly show me the way I should be grateful."

"I will with pleasure."

I took a step forward and as I did so tripped over an old beech trunk and fell sprawling onto the grass.

He immediately sprang from his horse and helped me up. I noticed what a pleasant face he had, it was comforting to see that he looked really concerned.

"Are you hurt?" he asked.

"I don't think so." I stood up. Then I touched my ankle.

"You can stand on it, I see. Can you walk?"

"Yes. I think so."

"It might be painful later. You certainly can't walk all the way back. I tell you what we'll do. We're close to the house. We'll go in and see how badly hurt you are and I could send you to the inn in a carriage."

"This is too kind."

"Not at all. I'll help you onto my horse and I can walk it back," he said.

"That's quite unnecessary. I'm sure I can hobble."

"You might do some harm if you did," he insisted quietly.

"But I'm being such a nuisance. First I trespass and then you have to give up your horse for me."

"It's the least I can do," said the man.'

He helped me onto his horse and, walking beside it, led it forward.

There is one thing I shall never forget—my first glimpse of Hydrock Manor House. We had come out of the wood and there before us it stood—this gray stone dwelling with its embattled gatehouse and the pointed arch at the entrance, the spandrels of the doorway decorated with Gothic patterns. On the smoothest and greenest of lawns I believed I had ever seen strutted a gorgeous peacock, brilliant and disdainful, followed admiringly by his comparatively drab little mate.

I experienced a deep sense of peace such as I had never known before. Places had always affected me deeply. For no reason I felt suddenly happy to be there in spite of the fact that I had hurt my ankle and was dependent on the kindness of a stranger.

There was a gravel path cutting across the lawn to the archway and we went along this and through the arch into a courtyard. Here, too, the sense of deep peace prevailed. Little tufts of grass grew between the cobbles, onto which latticed windows looked out.

The man called "Tom!" and helped me from his horse. Tom, obviously a groom, came hurrying out; he gave me a look as if surprised and took the horses.

"Come this way," said my host, and led me through a door.

We were in a hall—not large but beautifully proportioned, with a hammer-beam-type roof. The floor was paved in a mosaic design and there was a dais at one end and a minstrel gallery at the other.

"I think," said Michael Hydrock, "that I'd better call my old housekeeper. She would know whether the ankle is badly hurt or not She's something of an authority on such matters. But first, do sit down."

He pulled a bell rope and I heard a bell clanging through the house as I sat down gratefully on one of the wooden chairs, which must have dated back to the sixteenth century, and looked up at the fine tapestry on the walls.

He followed my gaze. "It represents the events in the life of Bishop Trelawny, who is highly thought of here," he told me. "There you see him on his way to the Tower of London. And there you see the people of Cornwall marching. You probably know the old song. Most people do:

"And shall they scorn Tre Pol and Pen And shall Trelawny die . . ."

I finished:

"Then twenty thousand Cornishmen Will know the reason why."

"Ah," he said, "I see you do know it."

"Very well. I was wondering how many stitches have gone into all that fine work. It is very beautiful."

A manservant appeared. "Tell Mrs. Hocking to come here, please," said Michael Hydrock, and when the man had gone he explained: "Mrs. Hocking is my housekeeper. She has been with us all my life."

Before I had time to reply Mrs. Hocking had joined us. She was in her late sixties, I imagined, and there was about her the air of the servant who has been with the family for so many years that she regards herself as a privileged person.

Michael Hydrock explained to her what had happened and she knelt down and gently prodded my ankle. "Does that hurt?" she asked.

"A little."

"Stand up," she commanded. I did so. "Now step on it... put your whole weight on it." I did that too. "All right?" she asked, and I said I thought it was.

" 'Tis only a slight sprain," she announced. "I'd rest it today. Like as not it will be all right by tomorrow."

"I'll take you back to the inn in the carriage," said Michael Hydrock.

"Oh, surely I can walk," I protested.

Mrs. Hocking shook her head. "