The Judgement Of Love Part 6

One moment she found herself favouring William, the next Lionel, and she knew that because they were both on their best behaviour, because they were wooing her, and because she was seeing them always to their advantage, it was very difficult to asp them accurately.

Now as she walked in the shadow of the trees she asked herself frankly whether she really wished to spend the rest of her life with either of them.

What did they have in common with her?

She found that for instance neither of them was particularly interested in books.

This was something that she told herself she had no right to expect; for Sir Roderick was not a great reader except where the Financial columns of the newspapers were concerned.

He could also become immersed in doc.u.ments which arrived daily from his office in London and which she told herself were as difficult to understand as a foreign language for a person who was not knowledgeable in monetary matters.

But because she loved books, because they meant so much in her life, she wondered if she would find conversation entirely on day to day subjects, which of course would include the local gossip, somewhat restricting.

She realised that William moved in far more important and naturally more scandal-loving society than did Lionel.

The latter was deeply connected with the affairs of his Regiment, and Astara found it interesting to talk to him about Regimental life and the soldiers he commanded.

She was quite certain that if he remained as he obviously wished to do in the Life Guards he would eventually end up as a General, and she questioned whether from her own point of view that was what she would enjoy.

One thing puzzled her and that was why Vulcan Worfield had not replied to his uncle's letter.

She had the feeling that because he had ignored it Sir Roderick had completely dismissed him from his mind and no longer considered him to be an applicant for the 'Golden Apple"Has there been no message from your third nephew?" she had asked Sir Roderick last night before dinner when she was alone with him.

Sir Roderick shook his head.

"I imagine he has gone abroad again, or else he is just not interested in seeing me," he replied.

She heard the sharpness in his voice.

"Perhaps he did not receive the letter."

"I questioned the groom who took it," Sir Roderick retorted. "He told me he put it through the door and there was therefore no possibility of it being lost in the post, or mislaid in any way."

He looked at Astara and added : "I think we can write Vulcan off as a non-starter." Astara however was looking up at the picture she so admired.

"There were three G.o.ddesses," she said. "Hera, Athene and Aphrodite. It does not seem fair somehow that we should forget Vulcan."

"He obviously wishes to be forgotten, " Sir Roderick replied.

There was no mistaking now from the tone of his voice that he was annoyed.

Astara was not able to reply as at that moment William and Lionel had come into the Salon.

She found the meals they had together were very amusing.

Each young man vied with the other to be charming and witty and she had always enjoyed Sir Roderick's dry humour.

She knew he was watching her, wondering all the time which she favoured, and there was no doubt if the choice were his who would be the winner.

The weather was warm for April, and walking through the wood Astara slipped off the light shawl she had worn over her gown.

She had deliberately put on a very simple one that she had bought in Italy.

It was deceptively simple because it had been in fact exceedingly expensive and so had the chip-straw bonnet ornamented only with a wreath of wild flowers.

'The path twisted and turned through the trees and after a while Astara found her shawl heavy on her arm.

After a moment's thought she laid it down among the celandines that were in bloom beneath the trees and thought that no-one would notice it if they were pa.s.sing casually by.

Then as she walked back to the path she took off her bonnet and carried it by its ribbons.

Now she could feel what breeze there was on her hair and the warmth of the sun as it percolated through the boughs above her.

There was the scent of spring in the air and she wanted to stop and pick some of the yellow primroses that grew in profusion in clumps beneath the trees, vying in colour with the wild daffodils.

Then she told herself she had no time and a few minutes later she had her first sight of the thatched roofs of the cottages of Little Milden.

At the edge of the wood she stopped and saw in the distance the square grey tower of a Church.

She had expected also to see a Mill towering above the other roofs, but there was none in sight and she wondered as she came from the wood whether she should turn right or left.

Outside the first cottage she came to was a woman tending to a small bby who had fallen down and grazed his knee. Astara stopped at the gate.

"Excuse me," she said. "Can you tell me the way to the old Mill?"

The woman glanced _ up at the sound of her voice and saw that she was bare-headed. She obviously did not think she was Quality and therefore not ent.i.tled to a curtsey.

"Ye takes th' left fork where th' road turns," she answered with her soft Hertfords.h.i.+re accent. "Be ye a-goin' to Mister Worfield ?"

"Yes, that is right, " Astara answered.

"Then ye tell 'im our Moll'11 not be a-comin' to him no more," the woman said.

She spoke sharply. Then as Astara did not reply, she added: "Ye can tell 'im, if he be interested, that our Moll's took off with a traveller, an' very upset Farmer Jarvis be about it."

"Why should he be that:" Astara asked interestedly.

She was wondering how Moll, whoever she might be, concerned Vulcan Worfield.

"What wi' th' lambing an' th' calving, they be busy up at th' farm at this time o ' th' year, " the woman 'explained. -"An' Farmer Jarvis thinks it be too bad o' our Moll t go off wi'out a word. But there, that s girls for ye!"

"Is Moll your daughter?" Astara enquired.

"Aye, me first, an' pretty enough, Oi grant ye that, but wi' never a thought for no-one but 'erself.

What Oi says is that Mister Vulcan just panders to 'er conceit. Ever so proud, 'er be if 'e wants 'er up at th' Mill. But that don't help Farmer Jarvis, as Oi tells 'en "

Astara was slightly bewildered, but she thought it would seem inquisitive to ask too many questions.

"You say I take the turn on the left?" she said, "and thank you for helping me."

"That's orl right," the woman said still busy bandaging the small boy's knee. "Don' ee forget t tell Mister Vulcan that Moll'Il be a-coming no more. "

"No, I will not forget," Astara promised and walked on. She found herself extremely curious as to why Vulcan Worfield should want Moll to come to the Mill.

What use could he make of a pretty girl who worked on a farm?

Astara did not like to give an answer to that question. Then as she took the turn to the left she saw ahead of her the old Mill standing by itself at the side of a large pool. It was not as high a building as she had expected and the great iron wheel which the water had once turned was still and rusty.

The rest of the mill had been painted white and its beams blackened.

It had a picturesque attraction especially as she drew nearer and saw that there was water on both sides of it.

She drew nearer still and saw that the door, and there was only one, was open, and she wondered if it had been left in such a manner because Moll was expected.

She looked for a knocker, but found none, and after hesitating for a moment she walked into the narrow pa.s.sage in which the walls were painted white and the floor covered rather attractively with old flagstones.

Everything was very quiet and there was only the soft sound of her feet as she moved along feeling that she was on the threshold of an adventure!

At the same time she thought her curiosity and unconventional manner of entering the Mill might be misunderstood.

On the left-hand side of the pa.s.sageway she saw another door and this too was open and she realised she had found what she sought.

In front of her was a room that she realised stretched from one side of the Mill to the other. It was quite unlike any room she had ever seen before.

She took a step inside and saw a man seated at an easel in front of a window which stretched from floor to ceiling.

He must have heard her, for without turning his head he said sharply: "You are late as usual! Do not waste time but get on the throne and for Heaven's sake, hurry up!"

He spoke in a deep voice with a note of urgency which made Astara smile.

She had been in artists' Studios before and now she under-stood why Vulcan Worfield had required Moll to come to the Mill.

The throne on the inevitable artists' dais was at the side of the window. It was draped with a piece of green brocade and lying on a chair was a sheaf of wheat.

"Hurry!" Vulcan Worfield said as Astara stood indecisive, "and try to hold the wheat correctly as a symbol of fertility not as if it was a bundle of old f.a.ggots!"

Astara walked across the room and putting her bonnet down on the chair stepped onto the dais.

She picked up the wheat and held it in her arms rather, she thought, in the manner that a woman would now a child.

She stood quite still and looked at the man who was intent on the canvas which stood on the easel.

"The light was perfect half-an-hour ago! " he grumbled, "but I suppose the farmer kept you and what I am doing is not as important as milking one of those noisy cows. "

There was a hint of amus.e.m.e.nt in his voice now. Then he said in a very different tone: "If I cannot get your head right to-day, I think I shall go mad!"

He looked up as he spoke and was frozen into immobility.

Now Astara could see his face full on and she realised that Vulcan Worfield was in fact as handsome as his two cousins, but in a very different manner.

Not only was his hair dark, but his skin doubtless from long exposure to the elements was the warm, golden-brown that she connected with men who came from the East.

He was thin and his cheek-bones were prominent like the sharp lines of his chin. His eyes, surprised by her appearance, were enquiring and at the same time penetrating.

He looked at her for a long moment. She did not move or speak but merely stood in her white gown holding the sheaf of wheat as he had requested her to do.

Then without saying anything Vulcan returned to his picture.

He rubbed out what he had painted and started to use his brush swiftly and decisively.

He worked for several minutes before he asked: "What is your name?"

Then before Astara could answer he added: "No, do not tell me! You are Aphrodite and you have come down from Olympus to take the place of a recalcitrant shepherdess! "

Astara did not reply for a moment. Then she said in a low voice: "Moll could not come."

"Thank G.o.d for that!" Vulcan said. "Raise your chin a trifle - that is perfect! Do not move! "

He painted so that his brush seemed to fly over the canvas, looking up at her, then back again while she kept the pose he required.

After what seemed to her to be a long time, he said: "How could you have known - how could you have been aware that, I needed you so desperately? But then, of course, the cries of mankind have always been heard by the G.o.ds when they trouble to listen to them."

"Moll has gone away with a traveller."

"I thought she would succ.u.mb to his blandishments in the end," Vulcan remarked. "And why not? He can doubtless give her a fuller life than she would find here."

"Will he marry her?'

Still painting she thought that Vulcan metaphorically shrugged his shoulders.

"I hope not! Cluttered with children she might as well have stayed at home."

"I imagine from the way you speak," Astara said, "that you do not think marriage is a particularly

enviable state." "It is certainly confining both for a man and a woman." "Then what is the alternative?"

"To be free to roam the world and develop the mind, but perhaps you would not understand that."

"You think I would prefer to be confined with children and, of course, a regular wage coming in every week?" He glanced up at her to say sharply: "Keep your chin up ! Look up as Persephone would have done towards the sky!"

"Seeking the light?" Astara asked quietly.

"But of course! As if the Greeks ever did anything else!" He was silent for a moment, then as if he spoke to himself, he quoted: "'When Apollo poured across the sky flas.h.i.+ng with a million points of light, he healed everything he touched and defied the powers of darkness'."

Astara drew in her breath.