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  Chapter 4

  Huntington Manor sat within the backdrop of a Green valley, as the largest estate on the fifty mile island of Cyrianne. The Manor boasted columns that reflected the light and stood proud in the tropical sun. Painted white with eight rooms, stone walkways and stained glass windows, the walls were paneled in elegant Rosita wood. Island themes with rattan furnishings dominated the rooms, and the large sitting room had side tables made of bamboo. It provided an intimate atmosphere for the family and they gathered after hours to talk about subjects of mutual interest, or a place to wind down after the hectic flush of the day.

  A retreat for the wealthy and powerful and protected under Great Britain’s international law, Cyrianne remained an attractive destination for those who desired the island way of life, under the umbrella of their native land. When Sir Walther Huntington first arrived, in a cloud of questionable circumstances, he did it with the gift of a governorship in reward for his family’s ancestry. Unfortunately for Sir Walther he contracted the Caribbean fever, and died shortly after. However, his death did not see the manor thrown into abandonment or decay. Huntington Manor survived to become a landmark thanks in no small part to Vivian Mansfield, widow of Huntington.

  A handsome woman of forty five, her face appeared younger and high cheekbones were sculpted in graceful strokes under upswept blonde hair. Her cream linen suit fit her slim form in tailored lines, and the red oval brooch gave a subtle touch. With swanlike grace she rose and made her way to the tall window, which overlooked the gardens of the estate. Flowers that should bloom in beauty appeared sad and heartbroken, many of their buds on the ground. No matter how many gardeners worked at the estate over the years, not one of them could coax the flowers to grow as they did so many years before.

  Her gaze traveled beyond to the dilapidated gardens to the small pond filled with ducks, and red fishes that swam in the cool waters. It could be a lovely place for a picnic or to watch the rays of the evening sun. Or even an arranged engagement would work quite well. When a gentle knock sounded on the door, Vivian turned away from the window and called out “Enter.”

  Ms. Potts the portly housekeeper scampered in with a bright smile, her arms buried under white sheets “Good morning Ma’am, glad to see you are well this morning.”

  Vivian shrugged. “It will be good when my son arrives. Has he called yet?”

  Ms. Potts shook her head and busied herself around the four poster bed, plumping the pillows. “No, ma’am, Charles has not called yet today. Will you like me to get your breakfast now? I can do that after I spread the bed.”

  “That will not be necessary. I will eat with my daughter in the sunroom this morning. Have her join me there and leave the bed. You may clean up after I eat.”

  Ms. Potts scurried away, a faint trace of lavender following her steps. Vivian returned to the window and continued her perusal of the outdoors. She would have to get a better gardener to care for the plants. She longed to see them blooming again in all their glory, but perhaps when Charles arrived he would have an idea. A lawyer in training should have quite a bit of knowledge running around in his head. Or perhaps Edith would know. She was quite a successful young woman in her own right, being the owner of a trendy boutique. Vivian was happy to know that both of her children resembled her not only in abilities, but also in temperament. Their obedience and easy going attitude made for a carefree upbringing, and their lives were blissful. But that blessed feeling was under attack, by a nondescript minx called Summer Mansfield.

  Vivian’s face deepened into grooves of displeasure, at the thought of dealing with the situation. Why couldn’t that girl act like every other worker on the estate? What did it cost her to be at the beck and call of a benevolent aunt who only wanted what was best? As far as Vivian could see, to clean the dining room at two o clock in the morning built character. Washing the rugs of eight rooms by hand built strength, and polishing the silverware until they shone like the sun built stamina.

  Six days of twelve to fourteen hours did not incur punishment, but rather a blessing. Of course at first Summer had been malleable, almost like clay in the hands of a potter. Willing to serve and eager to attend to her aunt’s every need, she had been quite an asset to the household, but since the child turned twenty, things changed. Now the girl drowned in a spirit of rebellion that had to be broken at all costs.

  An hour before, Vivian learned that the girl had left for town. The only reason to go there, as the shopping had been done the day before, would be to visit that blasted library. It seemed impossible to pry the girl away from the love of reading books and Mr. Neely was no help. His flagrant dismissal of her decree that Summer was forbidden to visit or borrow books had fallen on deaf ears. Bothersome pest! And yet, Summer did not bear the brunt of the blame. Most of it rest with her father, Matthew.

  He turned his back on the family when he married an island wretch by the name of Daisy McField. Vivian refused to attend the wedding and cut her brother cold in more ways than one. No longer welcomed at Huntington Manor, he couldn’t even step inside the manor’s grounds. But then Daisy got pregnant, and despite intense pressure from Vivian herself, she carried to term, and produced a daughter instead of a son. A daughter with a wild streak that appeared untamable.

  When Daisy got a fever and died a year after Summer’s birth, Vivian forced herself to return Matthew to the estate. She had to save face and to leave him and his daughter to a poor existence with the Mansfield surname, would not display her forgiving spirit. But she was not content and it showed. From day one, she enforced Summer’s low status within the household. Barred from school and childish behavior, she couldn’t even eat with the family.

  Vivian didn’t view her harsh treatment as hate. After all, when a person knew their place in the world, disappointments remained few and far between. But something had to be done with the girl’s excessive book reading. Perhaps a bonfire would serve. With a cold smile Vivian turned away from the window and went downstairs to talk to Edith about the idea of burning Summer’s books.

  ~~~~~~0~~~~~~

  He must weigh a ton of bricks. Summer tried to lift the stranger and maneuver him to one of the chairs in the corner of the room, but her hands wouldn’t cooperate. When she heard him crash into the floorboards for the second time she winced. This had to stop. He would die of internal injuries after she finished with him. That meant she needed help, but who would help her? Softly she mused to herself “If I ask any one of my neighbors, they will rat me out to Aunt Viv, and that won’t work. They guy will probably end up in the town jail, or the loony bin. So, who can I call that will keep their mouth shut?”

  The idea came in a flash. With a whoop and a skip she raced back to the front desk and dug harder. It took ten minutes to find the missing key, and then she scurried from the library, jumped into the antique jeep and slammed the gas. Hang on Mr. whatever- your- name is; I’ll be back in no time. She calculated fifteen minutes to get from the library to Old Ben’s, who lived in a little shack by the water. A fisherman as ancient as the stars, she knew he would keep her secret.

  The little two door jeep leapt under her touch, and maneuvered well despite its old age. A bit loud with rusty patches here and there, it served its purpose. Get from point A to point B, and that’s all she needed. With confidence she drove through snake-like roads that could be treacherous, but the ocean breeze along the way refreshed her soul. Evergreen trees with wide, flat leaves peppered the edges of the roadway, and a few nut trees crouched under clinging vines. The main street could barely fit two cars, but Islanders didn’t care about the size of the street. They only whipped around corners and over hilltops as fast as they could go. It was an island rule that pedestrians had the right of way, and hurting someone could give you a night or more in jail, so keeping a firm eye on the road remained a necessity.

  When Summer got to the rundown shack which resembled a small dilapidated structure, she flew inside the open door bellowing each step of the way “Ben, come h
ere please. I need your help. Ben, where are you?” A quick search revealed an empty house, and then she heard a reply from beyond. “Oy there Ms. Summer. I’m out here in the back.”

  Summer followed the voice all the way out and found Ben on the small dock over the water. His mahogany skin gleamed under his bald head, as he tackled a big fish with a sharp knife. His smile of genuine affection when he saw her eased her fears as did his comforting words “Come on now, what you doing running all around here like a wild thing girl? You need Old Ben to help you with something?”

  Summer laughed in delight and pointed to the fish “Yes I do need your help, but I want some of that fish later on, so promise to sneak me a little piece all right? You know I love the way you clean it and I can sneak it into my hut and have a nice meal. That will be so nice don’t you think and then I can invite my —”

  Ben raised his hands to stem her effusive speech “Sure Ms. Summer. You know I don’t forget my girl, but you didn’t come here for fish. Tell me why you here hollering this morning?”

  Summer’s cheeks flushed a delicate pink. How could she have forgotten that quickly? “Good gracious Ben, where is my mind? I have a man problem. Well it is not my problem, but I need to do something with him. He’s in Mr. Neely’s library and he’s out cold. So can you help me to take him to the cove? That way my aunt won’t find him, and I won’t get into trouble again.”

  Ben got up and walked over to Summer. He towered over her and shook his head with a concerned look “A man Ms. Summer? I ain’t gonna help you take no man nowhere now. You should know better girl.”

  Summer clutched his hand and pulled him toward the jeep “It’s all right Ben. I’m not doing anything wrong, but he is sick and I want to make sure he gets better. Now I need you to help me and you have to go now.”

  Ben was not convinced and plodded along “Ms. Summer, are you sure about that? I don’t want you getting into no trouble. You know your Aunt Vivian and she don’t like me none and if I help you do this, she will be real upset. That could get my boy in trouble. You know he works over in the supermarket now and a bad word from the miss could hurt him.”

  Summer pushed him in the back, muscles straining to get Ben moving faster “I know ok, I know. But nothing will happen because no one will know and she won’t find out. Besides I wouldn’t do anything to hurt you or your family, but this man really needs my help. He’s sick, ok, and I need to get back.”

  Ben shuffled from foot to foot, resisting her attempts and torn between his fears and Summer’s pleas. With a resigned sigh, he stopped and crossed his trunk like arms with a firm gaze “Now just where did this man come from girl?”

  Out of a mirror. No, not out of a mirror. From behind the mirror. That was the correct explanation, but she did not think Ben would laugh. But how did the man get there in the first place? She would think about that later. “He came from abroad and landed here this morning. I think he got air sick and maybe the dust bothers him. You know people are not used to our primitive airport facilities. The last time we flew, before I could get into the plane we ate more dust than fuel. Now come on. I need your help, and please don’t tell anyone about this.”

  He didn’t budge. Blast it! With a final push Summer thought about the one thing that would get Ben to act. “Uh if you help me, I will come for a whole month, every Sunday and clean your little shack. Will you like that?”

  His expression spoke volumes and Summer smiled. “Then come on before he wakes up.” With that she nudged Ben towards the jeep and stuffed his large frame into the passenger seat. She could barely get the seatbelt across his large frame, but she snapped it in. When they got back to the library, she breathed a sigh of relief to know she hadn’t dreamed the whole scenario. With a bit of effort thanks in great part to Ben’s strength they put him in the jeep, and drove towards Huntington Manor in record time. Before they entered the massive oak gates, they took a right turn along a small uneven road and made their way down to the waterfront towards the cove.

  ~~~~~~0~~~~~~

  Summer’s secret retreat or cove, adjoined the manor’s beach front property. Her personal touches stamped the area in the way of a rattan table, two rattan chairs with colorful cushions, a kitchenette and a hard bunk bed. No love nest by any means, but it was home and the only place she felt like someone instead of something.

  The entrance had a deceptive charm and appeared small and awkward, but once inside it branched out to three different sections, connected into one about thirty feet inside. After that the rock formation dipped beneath the sea level into another chamber, and opened up into Summer’s small retreat. It was there that Ben carried the man from the library. He laid him on the bunk bed and stared at the stranger with a worried gaze. “Ms. Summer, now I don’t want no trouble now. You take care of this gentleman, get him well, and you send him on his way. If not, I have to tell your father and you know I don’t want to do that.”

  Summer nodded curling her dark hair behind her ears “Just give me two days Ben, three is the tops, and I will give him that island brew that will have him up in no time. Then he will be gone and you need not worry again, all right?”

  Ben looked at the man on the makeshift bed and raised his brow in confusion “Ms. Summer, what is that man wearing? Is that a costume or something? That necktie thing looks really tight on him. If you ask me, he fainted because he couldn’t breathe.”

  Summer giggled and glanced at the bed. Ben was right. The man’s clothing looked really uncomfortable, but maybe he needed it for a costume party or something and then he fell out, uh, from behind the mirror. “Don’t worry Ben, he will be gone soon. Now run back so you can bring me a piece of fish. Can’t wait to have a bite.”

  Ben nodded and left, content at least for the time being. But Summer knew he would only wait for two or three days as he said. So she had better get the man up as soon as possible. And…the song of an alarm clock on the table made her flinch. It was time to get dinner ready and if she didn’t hurry, she would be late.

  ~~~~~~0~~~~~~

  Malcolm’s head felt as though he had fallen from his steed. The pain in the back of his neck along with a bout of nausea created an indescribable sensation. He craved a drink of water, but did not have the strength to get it. Slowly he turned his head and reached for the bell. It was not there. Surprised he felt around and touched not the soft round table by this bed, but a hard solid surface. What in the King’s name was going on? Opening his eyes, despite the intense pain, he focused on the surroundings, as the blurry objects became clear.

  He was in a large room made of stone. There were lamps of some kind in the corners, and decorations of flowers hung from the ceiling. For the most part the room was sparsely furnished with a chair, table and some sort of bed that he laid upon. It must be a dungeon, but like one he had never seen before. Perhaps Sedgwick had tricked him and did something at the ball. Something in his drink perhaps? Or could it be the old woman?

  Perhaps he lay inside the library in the passageway. The only thing he remembered was darkness after he touched the mirror. The strange mirror that echoed with a voice from beyond. No, not any voice. The voice of someone that needed him. Then he appeared in a strange library, with a female that looked like an enchantress from the forbidden woods. Long black hair, eyes like the summer sky and a form like a Grecian nymph. Her body enclosed in rare attire, indecent if he recalled, but intriguing nonetheless. It was all he could remember, but, where did the elusive maiden go? Or could it be a dream? A sound caught his attention and he turned. The enchantress had appeared. He wanted to speak but nausea gripped him, and he felt the need to empty his insides. Unable to stop the pain, he clutched at his chest and emptied the contents of his stomach on the hard floor.

  ~~~~~~0~~~~~~~

  Summer ran to the corner to fetch a piece of cloth and a basin of water. She felt responsible to some extent for the man’s weak condition. After letting him fall a couple times, no wonder he couldn’t keep anything down. Slowly she lifte
d his face, and with tender care wiped his brow and cleaned around the edges of his mouth. His waxen complexion with dark circles around his eyes stared at her in mute horror, as though stunned by his sickness. His clothes had gotten dirty, so she would have to change them, and he would need to bathe sometime soon.

  “Who are you enchantress?”

  His whisper brought Summer to a standstill somewhat at a loss for words. She forgot they hadn’t been formally introduced. “My name is Summer Mansfield and yours?”

  “Malcolm Theodore Fenton, Marquis of Thornbrook.”

  She smiled gently. Now his head had been affected. “I’m sorry. Did you say Marquis of Thornbrook?”

  “Yes, I did.”

  Delusional for sure but she didn’t want to upset him, so she played along. “All right then…let me see. Wait a minute. Just a minute. I have read historical novels from Regency England and if I remember correctly, a Marquis is some sort of English nobility or something like that, right?”