The Secret of Hollyfield House by Jude Bayton (first ebook reader TXT) 📕

gate for me, following me to the door where he paused as I brushed past Uncle Jasper, and entered into the hallway.

“I cannot stop, Professor,” he commented. “I must get back to the farm and check on Billy. But I was pleased to introduce myself to your great-niece and accompany her back home.” He turned his head to look at me. “It was a pleasure to make your acquaintance, Miss Farraday. I do hope we speak again soon.”

“Likewise, Mr Wolfe,” I said politely. My face felt flushed, and I was glad to be in the shadow of my uncle.

“Well, come back another time for tea, Dominic. I’ve a mind to discuss a new variety of lichen I spied just last week on Compton Hill.”

Dominic thanked Uncle Jasper but looked directly at me. “You can count upon it, sir,” he replied.

Chapter Three

I SPENT THE NEXT MORNING examining the last few pages of notes Uncle Jasper had given me the previous day, and soon became completely absorbed in my work. When the mantel clock chimed eleven, I put aside the papers and went upstairs to freshen my appearance. I looked frightful. My old dress had seen better days, the dark blue fabric almost grey from wear. But my hair was brushed and pinned into a chignon, and I was clean and tidy. It must suffice. Mrs Stackpoole pronounced me presentable, and when the LaVelle carriage arrived promptly at noon, I bade her farewell.

It was the same driver who had knocked me over. He opened the door and help me into the vehicle and had the courtesy to look embarrassed. I gave him a friendly smile and hoped it would ease his mind.

The carriage went down the lane, turning onto Lake Road, the main thoroughfare which wound towards Lake Windemere. It was early May, and the tulips and daffodils were in riotous blooms of bright yellows, dazzling oranges and reds. We passed a small farm, and I admired the sumptuous green pastures full of lazy mother sheep with their frisky lambs. Nature astounded me with its palette—no wonder spring was my favourite season. The trees and bushes burst with colour, elegant red maples, vivid lemon forsythia, everywhere my eyes turned there was new life in abundance.

We rounded a bend with the calm, blue lake straight ahead and I kept my gaze averted from the direction I had been yesterday. I thought of the blacksmith’s grief-stricken mother and quickly dismissed it. Having so recently known my own loss, it was unimaginable to comprehend a mother’s pain.

Mrs Stackpoole had given a good account of my destination. Therefore, I easily identified the sizeable house situated on what looked like a small peninsula, where the land fingered into the lake. As the carriage turned into the driveway, I craned my head out of the window for a clearer view.

Hollyfield House was positioned so that both the front and rear of the building faced the water. It was not in the least ostentatious, being of modest size with a short driveway leading up to its entrance. Built from stone, the structure was accented with thick aged timber which framed many windows peppered along both storeys, along with tentacles of thick ropes of ivy. Though a dignified building, there was yet a wonderful rustic appeal. Tangled green vines clung fiercely to the walls, their tendrils snaking in all directions. High up on the pitched roof, I spotted a weathervane shaped in the fashion of a yacht.

The carriage deposited me at the front of the house, and I walked down the pathway admiring the well-kept beds, teeming with spring flowers.

A young girl in her early teens answered my knock on the door. She bobbed a deferential curtsey which I found extremely embarrassing as we were of similar social standing. I gave her a friendly nod, then stepped inside at her invitation and followed her through to the sitting room.

Evergreen LaVelle rose from a window seat, a vision in pale blue silk. She glided towards me like a swan, a broad smile spread across her lovely face.

“Miss Farraday, I am so pleased you are come.” Her eyes sparkled, and she grasped my hand and led me to the window. “Let us sit here while we wait for luncheon to be served. Tell me, how do you feel? Improved I hope?”

“Yes, indeed,” I assured her, for I was much better. “I beg you not to worry, Miss LaVelle. It was an accident and could have been far worse.”

“Oh, do call me Evergreen, and I should also like to call you by your Christian name. After all, we shall be good friends. I am sure of it.”

I know my expression registered surprise, yet she paid no notice and continued.

“I have learned only today that you were the unfortunate creature who discovered the dead man in the lake. No wonder you were in a state when first we met. My poor dear, you have had a rough go of it these few days. I cannot imagine what a terrible shock it must have been—”

“Please,” I asked. “I appreciate your kind words, but I would rather not revisit the experience. In fact, I should prefer we not speak of it at all. I did not come here to discuss such upsetting things. Can we talk of other, more pleasant topics?”

She nodded in understanding, and the subject was dropped.

“Tell me, do you miss your friends in Devon?” Evergreen asked. But before I could formulate an answer, she continued. “I miss all of mine in London. We always had such a jolly time of it. In truth, I am so very bored here at Hollyfield. ’Tis nothing like the city and I would leave in a moment if I could.” She gave a mournful sigh.

I was somewhat bewildered at this sudden outburst. We were scarcely acquaintances, yet she spoke as though I was a trusted confidante. I did not respond.

“My father remains in the city but insists Perry and I spend several months here.” She gestured with