Victoria Holt Read Free Page B

we turned the bend. We would see it then rising high above the ravine.
    The scenery was superb. In the distance we saw mountain slopes, some of them wooded near the valleys, the vegetation growing more sparse farther up.
    “I wonder which of us will see him?” whispered Lydia.
    “None,” responded Frieda.
    Monique laughed. “It won’t be me because I am already bespoke.”
    We all laughed.
    “I think Elsa makes up half the things she says,” I added.
    “Do you believe that about her coming down in the world?”
    “I don’t know,” I said thoughtfully. “There is something about Elsa. She’s different. It could be true. On the other hand she might have made it up.”
    “Like the visions of Pilcher’s Peak,” said Frieda. “She’s going to laugh at us when we get back.”
    The sounds of the horses’ hoofs was soothing as we rocked happily to and fro. I should miss these outings when I left. But it would be wonderful of course to be home with Aunt Patty.
    “There’s the Peak,” said the wagoner, pointing with his whip.
    We all looked. It was impressive from this spot. It looked like a wrinkled old face…brown, creased and malevolent.
    “I wonder if it’s meant to be Pilcher?” said Monique. “And who was Pilcher anyway?”
    “We’ll have to ask Elsa,” I said. “She seems to be a mine of information on such matters.”
    We were in the forest now. The wagon drew up and our driver said: “I’ll wait here. Now you young ladies take that path. It leads straight up to the base of the rock. There’s a big oak tree at the bottom called Pilcher’s Oak.”
    “That’s what we want,” said Monique.
    “Less than half a mile.” He looked at his watch. “I’ll be ready to take you back say in an hour and a half. Orders is that you’re not to be late.”
    “Thank you,” we said and we set off over the uneven ground toward the great rock.
    “There must have been a violent volcanic eruption here,” I commented. “So Pilcher’s was formed and much, much later the oak tree grew. Seeds dropped by a bird, I daresay. Most of them are pines round here. Don’t they smell delicious.”
    We had almost reached the oak growing close to the rock. “This must be it,” said Lydia, throwing herself down and stretching out on the grass. “This smell makes me feel sleepy.”
    “That lovely redolent odor,” I said, sniffing eagerly. “Yes, there is something soporific about it.”
    “What now we’re here?” asked Frieda.
    “Sit down…and wait and see.”
    “I think it’s foolish,” said Frieda.
    “Well, it’s an outing. Somewhere to go. Let’s pretend we are shopping for gloves for my Aunt Patty. I do want to get her some before I leave.”
    “Stop talking about leaving,” said Lydia. “I don’t like it.”
    Frieda yawned.
    “Yes,” I said, “I certainly feel like that too.”
    I stretched myself out on the grass and the others did the same. We lay there, propping up our heads with our hands and gazing up through the branches of the oak tree.
    “I wonder what it was like when they threw people over,” I went on. “Just imagine being taken up to the top, knowing you were going to be thrown over…or perhaps asked to jump. Perhaps some fell on this spot.”
    “You make me feel creepy,” said Lydia.
    “I suggest,” put in Frieda, “that we go back to the wagonette and go into the town after all.”
    “Those little cakes with the colored cream are delicious,” said Monique.
    “Would there be time?” asked Frieda.
    “No,” said Lydia.
    “Be quiet,” I commanded. “Give it a chance.”
    We were all silent and just then he came through the trees.
    He was tall and very fair. I noticed his eyes immediately. They were piercing blue, and there was something unusual about them; they seemed as though they were looking beyond us into places which we could not see…or perhaps I imagined that afterwards. His clothes were dark and that accentuated his fairness. They were elegantly cut but