Free The Golden Leopard by Lynn Kerstan

for you to leave High Tor.”
    When there was no response, Jessica returned to the door where Mariah stood with tears streaming down her too-thin face. She made a helpless gesture, her eyes clouded with resignation. Jessica had seen that look before, in the eyes of a lamb caught in the boggy moorlands and slowly sinking to its death. Unable to reach it, she had watched until the ground closed over the lamb’s small head. She had watched a horse die in the same fashion, and a dozen years ago, three escaped prisoners of war had been gulped down only a mile from the house. If you didn’t know where to put your feet, Dartmoor could be lethal.
    “It will be all right,” Jessica managed to say, not at all sure how one went about giving comfort. After a moment, she wrapped an arm around her sister’s waist and led her to a small bench. They sank on it together, their skirts billowing.
    Long minutes passed. Jessica’s arm grew numb. Then, abruptly, Mariah slid to the edge of the bench and dug into her pocket for a handkerchief. “G-Gerald doesn’t like to be crossed,” she said. “And I did promise, you know, to obey him.”
    “What of it?” Jessica waited until Mariah blew her nose. “A promise to the devil need not be kept. Should not be kept. Has he struck you?”
    “Matters between a husband and wife,” Mariah said after a pause, “must not be discussed with others.”
    “Yes, then. He beats you. He has, I know, spent all your dowry and sold everything of value, including your riding horse, Ginger. I remember her. You loved her. Do you love him?”
    “What does it matter now?” Mariah clambered to her feet. “I am married to him. And truly, it is always best to do as he says.”
    Jessica swallowed her first several responses and carefully disciplined her tone. “You have received no letter. It won’t arrive for several days, if at all. So you see, there is no reason to go home.”
    “You would have me lie to him? Oh, I could never do that. I am a terrible liar.”
    “Then leave it to me. We’ll speak of this later, when I’ve had time to make plans. Promise you won’t do anything foolish.”
    Mariah produced a watery laugh. “Do you know, Jessica, I believe I am more afraid of you than of Gerald.”
    She hadn’t meant that to hurt, Jessica knew, but surprisingly, it did. Still, she would play the ogre if an ogre was required. She rose, wandered to a patch of lavender, and plucked a spike of blossoms. They were silvery with moisture. “You have not explained how the conservatory came to be restored. Come, walk with me.”
    “Oh, dear,” said Mariah, catching her up near a table strewn with potted violets. “I dislike being the one to tell you. This is all the work of Mrs. Bellwood, a widow who lives near Ridington when she is not in residence here. For the past three years, she has been Papa’s mistress.”
    The lavender snapped in Jessica’s hand. “Oh, my. Have you met her?”
    “Several times. I quite like her. Without raising the slightest fuss, she has brought order to the household. The servants are sworn to secrecy about her existence, of course. You’re not . . . that is, you don’t object?”
    “I think it’s marvelous. But why isn’t she here now?”
    “That wouldn’t be proper. Whenever Papa has guests, she returns to her cottage.”
    “Then you must take me there and introduce us. Perhaps tomorrow, when your eyes are not red and swollen. Why don’t you place cucumber slices over the lids and have a nap before dinner? I can potter about here on my own.”
    Mariah, openly relieved to escape, sped to the door.
    Jessica went slowly in the other direction, pausing to enjoy the small, neat plots of flowering plants marked out with smooth white stones. Deeper into the conservatory she discovered grapes and pineapples, artichokes, flats for winter cauliflowers, and rows of potted lemon and orange trees, shiny-leaved and heavy with fruit.
    When last she entered the conservatory,