Lord of the Beasts Read online

  She and Theodora ate alone, as usual, while Sir Geoffrey dined in his rooms. After Theodora had retired, Cordelia changed into an old dress she reserved for work outdoors and walked across the drive, past the kennels and stables and over the hill to the menagerie.

  The animals were often at their most active at dawn and dusk—restless, perhaps, with memories of hunting and being hunted. Othello, the black leopard, paced from one end of his large cage to the other, his meal of fresh mutton untouched. The two Barbary macaques pressed their faces to the bars and barked at Cordelia before scrambling up into the leafless trees that had been erected for their exercise and amusement. The Asian sun bear, Arjuna, lifted his head and snuffled as he awakened from his day’s sleep, but showed no inclination to rise. The North American wolves lay on their boulders and twitched their ears, golden eyes far too dull for such magnificent creatures.

  Cordelia sat on the bench facing the pens and rested her chin in her hands. She had done everything Lord Pettigrew recommended when she had set up the menagerie upon her final return to England. The cages were generous and consisted of both interior and exterior shelters, and Cordelia had added tree trunks, branches and boulders collected from the surrounding countryside to lend interest to the enclosures. Each animal had a proper diet carefully prepared by a specially trained groundskeeper. The cages were kept scrupulously clean. The fearful conditions under which the beasts had once lived were a thing of the past.

  I want only what is best for you, she thought as the twilight deepened in the woods at the crest of the hill. Why can you not understand?

  The animals could not answer. She knew she was mad to hope otherwise. And yet there was a man who talked to such creatures as if they were people, a man who could quiet a rampaging elephant and believed that it spoke to him….

  Cordelia rose and walked slowly back to the house. She was absolutely convinced of her own sanity, and perhaps that was part of the problem. She seldom found occasion to ask for help in any of her affairs. Perhaps, for the sake of those dependent upon her, she would have to set aside her pride and seek the assistant of one afflicted with just the very madness she required.

  CHAPTER FIVE

  STENWATER FARM, AMILE on poorly graded roads beyond the village of Langthorpe, was almost exactly what Cordelia had expected. It had something of the slightly rough and yet unpredictably charming qualities of its owner, and the moment the carriage pulled up in the yard, a round dozen dogs of mixed parentage charged around the farmhouse corner.

  Before the horses had a chance to shy or bolt at the unexpected assault, the dogs stopped and sat in a ragged line like schoolboys who had just remembered their manners. The coachman descended from his perch and let down the step, and as Cordelia climbed out she saw the horses twist their necks about to stare at the farmhouse door.

  Theodora stepped out after her, pausing to take in the scene. “Are you quite sure that Dr. Fleming will welcome such an unexpected visit?” she asked.

  “I do not know if he will welcome it,” Cordelia said, “considering his failure to respond to my letters. However, he is a doctor of veterinary medicine, and as such I assume he is available for consultation.” She followed Theodora’s gaze. “I assure you, the dogs are not vicious.”

  “They certainly do not appear to be. I wonder if Dr. Fleming sends such a welcoming committee to greet every guest?”

  “I rather doubt he has many guests.” Taking Theodora’s arm, Cordelia started up the flower-lined path. The dogs melted out of her way as she approached, a few wagging their tails while the others looked on solemnly and fell in behind her.

  “I feel as if I am being examined like a ewe at market,” Theodora whispered.

  “Doubtless Dr. Fleming intends such an effect,” Cordelia said. She strode up the flagstone steps to the porch, smoothed her skirts, and knocked on the door.

  It went unanswered for several minutes, though Cordelia was quite sure that she heard noises within the house. Finally the door swung open and an old man, slightly stooped but still of vigorous appearance, peered at the women with raised brows.

  “Good morning,” Cordelia said crisply. “I am Mrs. Hardcastle, and this is Miss Shipp. We have come to see Dr. Fleming on a matter of some urgency.”

  The old man blinked and let his gaze drift from Cordelia’s feet to the top of her bonnet. “T’ doctor is oot o’ t’ ’oose at t’ moment,” he said.

  Cordelia quickly translated the man’s thick dialect and nodded. “Can you tell me when he will return?”

  “’E’s with t’ coos in t’ byre yonder.”

  “I see.” Cordelia suppressed a sigh and smiled patiently. “Perhaps you would be so kind as to tell him that he has visitors who wish to consult with him in his professional capacity?”

  The old man grunted. “Weel, noo. ’Appen Ah can fetch ’im. If thoo’ll bide ’ere…” He closed the door, leaving Cordelia staring at peeling blue paint.

  “What did he say?” Theodora asked. “I didn’t understand a word.”

  “He said he would fetch the doctor.” She shook her head. “Like master, like man. One can hardly expect courtesy from Dr. Fleming’s servants.”

  “Perhaps it is simply the way of the people here.”

  “Perhaps.” Grateful that she had worn sturdy boots, Cordelia lifted her skirts and set off across the somewhat muddy expanse of trampled earth between the farmhouse and the outbuildings scattered in a rough semicircle sheltered by rocky hills. A hay meadow stretched out to the east where the little valley was widest, and there were several fenced pastures between the byre and what appeared to be a stable. Drystone walls marched up the hills, undulating with the curves of the landscape.

  She saw no other farmhands or laborers on her way to the byre, but of animals there were plenty. Chickens and geese wandered at will, snapping up grain and other tasty morsels spread out for them, and a pair of pigs had made a wallow where the mud was several feet deep. Horses in the pasture trotted up to the fence and poked inquisitive heads over the railing. A cat and five kittens paraded toward the meadow, tails twitching. Cows lowed and sheep bleated. Cordelia doubted that she would be surprised to find an elephant among the farm’s residents.

  The servant’s gravelly voice floated from the byre, followed by the familiar, educated accent Cordelia had heard twice before. Lord Pettigrew had been somewhat vague when he had written of Dr. Fleming’s background; Cordelia suspected that he knew more than he was willing to tell, but he would surely not have dealings with a man whose past was less than respectable.

  The social position of Dr. Fleming’s family was irrelevant to Cordelia’s purpose so long as he could provide the services she required. She turned to make certain that Theodora was behind her and picked her way to the byre’s doors.

  “…did you tell her I was in, Benjamin?” Fleming was saying. “I’ve already received three letters from the woman, each one more demanding than the last. I haven’t time to cater to some fine lady’s pampered pets. The very fact that she has come all this way proves that she won’t be dissuaded unless she can be convinced—”

  “Convinced of what, Dr. Fleming?” Cordelia said, stepping over the threshold. “That some gentlemen are so averse to human company that they will do anything to avoid it?”

  Fleming shot to his feet from his place beside a spindly, spotted calf, and the flare of his green eyes stole the breath from Cordelia’s throat. He opened his mouth to speak, stared at Cordelia’s face, and seemed to forget what he was about to say.

  “Ah told ’er ta bide at t’’oose,” Benjamin said mournfully, sending Cordelia a reproachful look.

  His words seemed to shake Fleming from his paralysis. “I have no doubt,” he said. “Mrs. Hardcastle,” he said with a stiff bow, glancing past Cordelia to Theodora. “Miss Shipp. I trust you have not been waiting long.”

  Cordelia matched his dry tone. “No longer than expected,” she said. “Have we interrupted you in your work?”

  He looked
down at the calf pressed against his leg and idly scratched it between the eyes. “Nothing that cannot wait.” He turned to Benjamin. “Put the poultice on his leg as I showed you, and I’ll see to him later.”

  “Aye, Doctor.” Benjamin gave Cordelia a final, appraising look and knelt beside the calf. Fleming brushed off the sleeves of his coat—which, like his waistcoat, trousers and boots, was liberally splashed with mud—and started toward the door. Cordelia noted that he wore no cravat, and his shirt was open at the neck, revealing a dusting of reddish brown hair.

  His face was as she remembered it, handsome and bronzed by a life spent outdoors. His brown hair was windblown and still in need of cutting. But he could barely restrain a scowl, and Cordelia felt that his slight attempts at courtesy were more for Theodora’s sake than her own.

  “I apologize for my appearance,” he said, sounding not at all apologetic, “but I didn’t expect guests. I fear I lack adequate facilities to entertain ladies.”

  “We are not here to be entertained,” Cordelia said.

  He stopped, gestured the women ahead of him, and followed them out of the byre. “Have you come far this morning, Mrs. Hardcastle?”

  “From York,” she said. “And previously by train from Gloucestershire.”

  “A long journey.”

  “Since I did not receive a reply to my letters,” Cordelia said, sidestepping a puddle, “I feared they had gone astray. One can never be sure of delivery in the countryside.”

  Fleming cleared his throat and offered his arm to Theodora when she hesitated at a muddy patch. “I have been…much distracted since my return from London,” he said. “I am not a practiced correspondent.”

  “Then you have read the letters.”

  He released Theodora at the foot of the flagstone steps and faced Cordelia, his hands clasped behind his back. “Yes.” He glanced away. “Have you breakfasted this morning?”

  “We have. Dr. Fleming…”

  “Would you care to come in for tea?”

  “I would not wish to put you to any trouble, Doctor.”

  His eyes acknowledged her feint, and his lips curved up at the corners. “No. You would only have me abandon my practice and attend to your private menagerie in Gloucestershire.”

  Theodora stifled what might have been a gasp. Cordelia returned Fleming’s smile. “Perhaps we shall accept your offer of tea, Doctor, if it will allow us to have a civilized conversation.”

  Fleming bowed again, far too deeply, and opened the door to the house. “Please regard my humble kitchen as your own,” he said.

  Humble the kitchen and house might be—certainly they bore no signs of luxury or a woman’s refining touch—but at least they were orderly and clean. Donal seated his guests at the long kitchen table and set about preparing the tea himself. As water heated on the massive stove, he disappeared and returned with a tray holding a pot of honey, a pitcher of cream and a plate of scones.

  “We were fortunate to receive a fresh basket of scones from Mrs. Laverick this morning,” he said, deftly placing the pots and plates on the table. A moment later he set out a fine china teapot and dainty cups and saucers.

  “How lovely,” Theodora said, unable to conceal her surprise.

  “An inheritance from my mother,” Fleming said shortly. He completed the preparations in silence and strained the grounds into the teapot with the same grace he had shown in stopping a charging pachyderm. “Will you pour, Mrs. Hardcastle?”

  She accepted his invitation and served the tea, which Fleming took absolutely plain. Once they had all spent a suitable time savoring the tea and scones, Fleming set down his cup and fixed his direct stare on Cordelia.

  “It is not my intention to be rude, Mrs. Hardcastle, Miss Shipp,” he said, “but it is impossible for me to accede to your request.”

  In spite of her previous meetings with him, Cordelia discovered that she could still be taken aback by his bluntness. She placed her cup on its saucer and folded her hands in her lap.

  “Surely, since we have come so far, you will allow me to elaborate on the subject before you dismiss it,” she said.

  He sighed. “Perhaps I misunderstood. Did you not suggest that I travel to your father’s estate in Gloucestershire to examine the animals in your private menagerie?”

  “I did.” She held his gaze. “When we met at the Zoological Gardens, I was most impressed by your dealings with the elephant. I made inquiries based upon the assumption that you had some connection with the Zoological Society. Lord Pettigrew is an old acquaintance of my father, Sir Geoffrey Amesbury. He told me of your profession, and that you had come to London at his request. He said that you were able to improve the health of a tigress and several other exotic animals within only a few days.”

  Fleming rose from the table and paced halfway across the room. “I went to London only because my family are also acquainted with Lord Pettigrew, and he presented his case as a matter of life or death for the animals concerned.”

  Cordelia also rose. “Perhaps I was not clear enough in my letters. My case is also urgent.”

  He came to stand at the opposite end of the room, pressed near the wall like a cornered animal prepared to fight for its life. “You wrote that your pets are suffering from a general malaise. This is hardly surprising in creatures forced to endure unnatural captivity.”

  She held onto her temper. “You can hardly judge what you have not seen, Doctor.”

  “I have seen cages,” he said, his voice growing distant and strange. “One is little different from another.”

  “I do not agree. I, too, have seen cages, all over the world, and beasts nearly starved or beaten to death.” She swallowed her anger. “My animals receive care equal to that of the Zoological Gardens. Expense is no object where their well-being is concerned…and that includes generous compensation for an expert practitioner such as yourself.”

  He emerged from the grip of memory and made a sound not unlike the snort of an irritated horse. “Sir Geoffrey Amesbury,” he said. “A knight?”

  “My father is a baronet.”

  “And your husband, Mrs. Hardcastle? Does he take an equal interest in your hobbies?”

  She stared at him, abruptly realizing that she had never clarified her marital status. “My husband, Dr. Fleming, is deceased. I am a widow.”

  Fleming gaped at her and then had the grace to look embarrassed at his faux pas. “I am sorry,” he said, tugging at his cravat. “I had not realized…When we first met in London, I had thought you unmarried. But your letters…”

  “Were not perhaps as clear as they might have been,” Cordelia finished. “My father is often indisposed, and has left the administration of the estate in my hands. So you see, I possess all due authority to request your assistance at whatever price we both deem reasonable.”

  Dr. Fleming was silent for several moments, regarding her as if she had confounded all his expectations. He collected the tea tray and carried it to a scarred sideboard. “You must be very comfortably situated, Mrs. Hardcastle,” he said at last. “My circumstances must seem extremely limited by comparison.”

  “If I have judged you in any capacity,” Cordelia said, “it has not been by your family—of whom I know nothing—your profession, or your residence.”

  “But you have judged that I must be in need of money.” He clasped his hands behind his back and gazed out the large kitchen window. “Do you believe that is my chief motive for the work I do, Mrs. Hardcastle? Are you attempting to bribe me with promises of fees I could never earn in such a backward place as this?”

  Cordelia strode to join him, her skirts hissing like a goaded serpent. “It seems I remain most ignorant in matters of your character, Doctor. Pray enlighten me. Why does a man of your obvious skill, whose abilities are lauded by a personage such as Lord Pettigrew, choose to hide himself in the wilds of Yorkshire? Why does he so discourteously reject a respectable offer of employment to heal the very creatures whom he so obviously prefers to humankind?
”

  He turned on her, the color of his eyes shifting like leaves dancing in and out of shadow. “Tell me, Mrs. Hardcastle,” he said, “why can you not bear to be refused? Have you never met a man who declines to tremble in awe at the force of your indomitable will?”

  His words hung in a sudden, shocked silence. Cordelia took a step back, her fists clenched at her sides, and tried to remember the last time any man had spoken to her with such contempt.

  No, not contempt. She gathered calm about her like an Indian shawl and considered him with cool deliberation. She had been correct in her assessment of him: he was hiding, here among his animals, and anyone who might drive him into the open must be considered a threat. A threat to be chased away by any means necessary.

  “You must have been hurt very badly,” she said, softly enough so that only he would hear. “I pity you, Doctor. I pity you more than I can say.”

  Fleming blanched. For once he seemed unable to think of a suitably cutting response. Cordelia’s heart clenched with a pang of regret. Had she not spoken too rashly, out of pride and anger? Had she not sworn to herself a thousand times since returning to England that she would never again allow passions of any kind to rule her life?

  She had opened her mouth to offer some sort of apology when a furious scratching began at the door. A moment later the door burst inward, and the dogs from the yard rushed toward Cordelia like a pack of wolves.

  She braced herself, half expecting the pain of fangs tearing at her flesh. But the dogs, all nine or ten of them, simply ran around her and pressed against their master, licking his hands and whining as they milled about him. It was if they had sensed his distress and responded to it in the only way they could.

  Their devoted attentions freed Fleming from his preoccupation. He met Cordelia’s eyes for only an instant and then walked past her to the door.

  “Forgive me for this disturbance, ladies,” he said. “The animals of Stenwater Farm are accustomed to an unusual degree of liberty.” Something in his voice, and in the half-twist of his lips, suggested that he counted himself among the fortunate beasts. “May I offer you anything else before you return to York?”