The Secret of Hollyfield House, Jude Bayton [books for 20 year olds txt] 📗

I frowned, uncertain of her meaning.

Peregrine must have seen my confusion for he smiled kindly. “Billy Wolfe is not like a normal young man, Miss Farraday. He is struck with Mongolism.”

I stared blankly at my host as I absorbed the term.

Evergreen interjected. “Surely you know what that means? The boy has the mind of an infant. He is an imbecile.”

THE USE OF THE LAVELLE carriage was offered for our journey home, but Uncle Jasper politely declined. He announced, “The night is pleasant, the moon full, and a walk will help digest the gargantuan meal I have consumed.” Though I was tired and the prospect of walking home was unappealing, I had to agree with his choice.

Uncle Jasper kept a steady pace. No doubt his legs were strong from all his rambling on the hills. As we went along, the conversation eventually turned to our evening of repartee. More than anything, I yearned to learn more about the Wolfe family. Though I could not define my reason, thoughts of Dominic Wolfe resided on the fringes of my mind. What was it about the man that held my interest?

“Uncle, how well are you acquainted with the Wolfe family?” I asked as we reached Lake Road, which was quiet at this time of night.

“I knew the parents before they died. They were good people. If I remember correctly, we first met when they gave me permission to examine a species of liverwort growing in one of their west fields. It was a wonderful specimen. Still have it in the study.”

“What were they like?”

Uncle Jasper fell silent, gathering his thoughts. He cleared his throat. “Well, Arthur Wolfe kept a rather fine ale, and I seem to recall a delectable slice of Mrs Wolfe’s plum cake which—”

“Uncle,” I groaned. “I mean what kind of people were they?”

“Hmm.” I realised the question was not an easy one for him to answer. My uncle could describe a mushroom in poetic detail, but human beings were of an alien species.

“I do not recall them being particularly spectacular, Jilly. Just hard-working farmers. But now I think on it they were a mismatched pair. Arthur was a respected village elder, a serious chap, never much to say. But his wife. Now there was a striking woman. Pretty eyes, I recall, and of elegant stature. Violet Wolfe was well versed in herbal remedies and such like. We had several interesting discussions on the healing components of lichens, especially when used as poultices on infected wounds. Although she was not a proponent of the use of leeches—”

“Uncle. I mean for you to tell me about them. What were their personalities like?”

He shrugged. “No better nor worse than most, Jilly. I did not know them well, you understand. As a matter of fact, I am on better terms with Dominic. His parents were good people who unfortunately succumbed to scarlet fever and left the care of a young boy to the more competent elder son. They have a small, working farm, and seem to rub along well—all things considered.” He frowned and appeared to engage his thoughts elsewhere. I knew that was the total sum of his opinion of the Wolfes’, and no more would be forthcoming.

As he prattled about his upcoming lecture, my mind drifted like a leaf upon the lake, and the rippling current of thought brought the image of a handsome dark-haired man—with eyes the colour of a tiger’s.

Chapter Six

I AWOKE UNUSUALLY GRUMPY—the prospect of the day unappealing. I had slept fitfully, my dreams a cavalcade of strange events. I dreamt of the moonstone and my mother, of Marabelle and the blacksmith, though I could not remember anything more than feeling disturbed.

As the day progressed, Mother stayed on my mind. Her lovely smile, and her gentle touch. I would find myself pausing from transcribing Uncle Jasper’s notes to stare off into space, my thoughts whirling with impotent understanding. Though I did not like it, I allowed myself to accept theoretically that Mother had been involved with someone other than my father. This unknown man surely gave her the moonstone, for she would not have had the coin to purchase the blasted thing. So, who was this mysterious person, and where had she met him? Why had their relationship ended?

I had too many questions and no answers. Those, Mother had taken to the grave. I would speak with Uncle Jasper once again. He must know more about what happened before I was born.

Mrs Stackpoole went off to the village to the butchers. Not long after her departure, I heard a rap upon the front door, followed by the sound of Uncle Jasper’s feet going down the hall. I heard him speak and then the higher-pitched tone of a woman. Who on earth was here?

I put down my pen and went along to the study. There, among the cluttered room littered with piles of papers, sat Evergreen LaVelle. Why my uncle had not taken her into the parlour was beyond me. I was overwhelmed with shame at the poverty of our home, distressed she would find us in no fit state to receive company.

“—and here she is, Miss LaVelle.” Uncle Jasper gestured in my direction as I stood speechless in the doorway.

“Come in, Jilly. Look, we have a visitor.” His face beamed with pleasure and I knew he had no idea how out of place Evergreen LaVelle appeared sitting on our threadbare armchair by the hearth.

“Jillian,” she exclaimed, a smile on her face. “I do hope you can forgive me for showing up unannounced, but I’ve come to ask a huge favour.”

I stepped closer and took the opposing chair. Uncle Jasper mumbled something about going out to the vegetable garden and left the room.

“A favour?”

“Indeed.” Evergreen sighed and leaned back in the chair. Her immaculate dove grey cloak accentuated how old and worn the furniture appeared. “I have commissioned Dominic Wolfe to paint my portrait as a birthday gift for my father.”

“That is a lovely present,” I