[ Pobierz caÅ‚ość w formacie PDF ] had long been hoped for by Sir Giles and Lady Thornton. Everyone of any social standing in the county was invited to the ball except”—Ned paused as if the wind had forced the words back down his throat—“except the Haverfield family, which was comprised of Squire John, his lady wife, and their son Edward, a young gentleman who was still some months from attaining his majority.” “That means he had not yet turned twenty-one,” Aunt Honoria told me with a poke of her stick, which missed me by several inches, suggesting that despite her earlier protests she was becoming caught up in the story. “Why weren’t Edward and his parents invited?” I asked. “The Haverfields were of the Roman faith.” Ned said as if reading off words printed behind his eyes. “And as such the Thorntons shunned any association with them even though Haverfield House lies only a few miles from here. Sir Giles had instructed Anne when she first began to ride beyond the grounds that Edward and his parents would in less lax times have been put to the chopping block for their popish ways. He forbade her to acknowledge the lad should they chance to meet upon one of the bridal paths.” “And in those days,” Aunt Honoria said for my benefit, “a young girl never set foot outdoors unaccompanied by her groom or governess. But that didn’t always put a stop to misbehavior. I suspect from what we saw of her face that Anne was the darling of the household and such being the case her chaperons would not betray her to Sir Giles and Lady Thornton when she inevitably met young Edward and embarked on a budding friendship with him under the greenwood trees. One wonders”—she looked at Ned—“how he reacted to her engagement to Roger Belmonde.” “Edward came to the ball.” Ned stepped down from the stone ridge and looked at us with a pensive smile further creasing his face. “It was easily done with all the invited guests masked and in costume. He slipped 31 into the thronged hall at a little before midnight when the revelry was at its zenith. He came in the guise of Cupid with a quiver of golden arrows. He merged with the press of faceless youth in their wide silk skirts or satin knee breeches. Among the dancers, bowing and curtsying as they traced out the steps of the minuet, while the old ladies in powder and patch drank sack and the old men propped their gouty legs on footstools and talked hunting days of yore, Edward found Anne Thornton.” “A planned meeting, I presume,” said Aunt Honoria. “Most certainly, madam. Anne escaped the watchful eyes of her betrothed by telling Roger Belmonde she had left her fan in her green-and-rose sitting room. She went with Edward gladly to the tower room even though she knew she was going to her death.” “I don’t understand.” I wrapped my arms around myself to ward off the cold. “Edward Haverfield and Anne Thornton loved each other,” said Ned. “They had done so from their first meeting, through stolen rendezvous and the fear of discovery. He was the lamp who lit the flame of joy we saw in her face. Marriage to the man chosen for her by Sir Giles and Lady Thornton would have been for Anne a living death. And her loss unending anguish for Edward. So the lovers decided upon a means that would ensure none would ever part them. They agreed he would come to the ball in the guise of Cupid with a golden arrow in his quiver and she would go with him to this tower room. It seemed so right to Anne that after one last kiss Edward would draw his bow, piercing her heart with love’s arrow, and her soul would be set free to wait for him to join her within moments on a far rainbow-lit horizon.” “Why didn’t they just run away together?” I asked. “Where could they have gone, little miss?” Ned responded softly. “Their families would have cut them off without a shilling and seen them starve in the gutter sooner than recognize their union.” “But death is so horribly final!” “Don’t babble, Giselle!” said Aunt Honoria as our shadows loomed monstrously upon the walls. “I’m sure Ned would like to get back to cleaning the brass today, if not sooner.” She speared him with an eye as 32 sharp as Cupid’s arrow. “How did young Mr. Haverfield intend to achieve his own demise? Step into one of those windy apertures and throw himself off the tower?” “That was the plan, madam, but when the moment came and he stood poised to jump, his courage failed him and his limbs locked. He closed his eyes against the dizzying drop to the courtyard below; he tried to picture Anne waiting for him with outstretched hands, but his mind was blinded by panic. He stumbled down from the aperture and crawled to where her lifeless body lay upon the floor. Cradling her in his arms, he wept over her, begging her forgiveness and praying that his fortitude would revive.” “What a rotten egg!” I pressed my hand to my mouth and my cruel shadow mocked the motion. “I don’t feel the least bit sorry for him.” “Neither, little miss, did Roger Belmonde,” said Ned. “That young gentleman had grown uneasy upon [ Pobierz caÅ‚ość w formacie PDF ] zanotowane.pl doc.pisz.pl pdf.pisz.pl blacksoulman.xlx.pl