THE HEART´S DARKNESS - The Look Inside (2)

Extracts from chapter 2

I opened the door to the largest room in the house, the sitting room. In the fireplace a fire was burning and crackling and filled the room with pleasant warmth and the scent of wood and resin. As so often, my father, Alastair MacDonnell, was sitting at his desk, a secretary that stood close to one of the tall windows, and was busy with notes or accounting of some kind.

I remained standing at the threshold and knocked softly on the door frame.

“Good evening, Father,” I greeted him. “May I come in?”

My father raised his head, took the pince-nez from his nose and smiled briefly, before he drew his silver watch from his jacket pocket. He threw a shrewd look at its face.

“It is almost six o’clock, my dear young daughter. Where have you been all this time?” he asked sternly, but happily not really cross.

“Please forgive me, Father. I was in the woods and...” Through the open door to the kitchen, I pointed to my basket, which I had placed on the kitchen table in a readily visible position beforehand. “I made good use of the nice weather and went to collect blackberry leaves again for the tea that you like to drink so much.”

My father’s expression lost its severity, while he ran his hand through his short grey hair. He always made this gesture when he was considering whether he should reprimand me, or show himself to be merciful. I hoped for the latter.

“Well, if that’s the case, for once I’ll do without a tongue lashing,” he grumbled with a soft chuckle.

“Can I speak with you, Father? It’s really important.”

“Go on, my child, what’s on your mind?” He settled himself in his armchair and folded his hands over his stomach.

“Eibhlin told me that we have guests?”

“Yes, a Mr. Benjamin Preston from Lone Oak. He was looking for a place to stay for the night. I offered him the attic, and his people are staying in the barn.”

My father looked me over, from head to foot. “What’s wrong, Gwen? You are so pale, that you might have seen a ghost.”

“It wasn’t a ghost, but I saw Preston and his men while I was gathering blackberry leaves in the woods.”

“Then you sent him to me? He didn’t mention anything to me about it.”

“I didn’t speak to Mr. Preston. With a dozen strange men prowling through the forest, I thought it was more sensible to hide...the men come from Lone Oak, you said?”

“Yes.”

“The Lone Oak that I know lies at the bottom end of Pleasant Lake, that is, north of Glensemais.”

Thoughts were running swiftly through my mind, and the picture that they created made me truly uneasy and gave me a queasy feeling in the pit of my stomach.

My father frowned in thought. “I don’t know where you’re going with this, Gwen.”

I heard footsteps on the stairs.

“Father, please listen carefully to me,” I began hastily, “this Preston didn’t come from the direction of Pleasant Lake, but from the south.”

I had hardly ended my sentence when there was a knock at the door and, without waiting for an answer, a tall, elegantly-dressed, middle-aged man entered the room. I recognized him immediately. He had ridden the dark stallion, and thus confirmed my assumption that he was the head of the company.

The man looked around the room with arrogant curiosity, before his eyes came to rest on me.

My father had stood up when the guest entered. Now he came out from behind the massive oaken desk and stretched his arm out to the newcomer in welcome.

“Gwenyth, I would like to introduce you to our guest,” he said in a friendly tone.

I knew that my information had not left him untouched, but throughout all the years during which we had had to be constantly on guard, he had become accustomed to concealing his feelings carefully from his surroundings.

The stranger came towards me with a determined step. He was almost half a head taller than my father and was of lean stature. Nevertheless, he made a tough and determined impression and reminded me of a hunting dog who was just about to take up a scent. With a thin smile on his lips, he gave me his hand, while he inspected me, half out of curiosity and half furtively, with his pale grey eyes.

“My pleasure, miss, my name is Benjamin Preston,” he said, introducing himself.

“Gwenyth Mary MacDonnell. Alastair MacDonnell...” I began and shook his hand hesitantly.

“...is your father,” our guest finished my sentence. “I am informed. And I can assure you, that your father gave a proud report of his daughter.”

He relinquished my hand. For some unknown reason I was glad, as deep within me a feeling advised me to avoid every kind of familiarity between Preston and me.

“I’ll leave you and my father alone now,” I said with an apologetic gesture in the direction of the kitchen. “With so many guests there is a lot of preparation.”

“I think Macey and Eibhlin can manage quite well. Come, sit here with us and keep me and Mr. Preston company for a while,” my father replied.

I felt his hand on my back, and it directed me gently but firmly to the sofa and to the two inviting upholstered chairs in front of the fire.

Enjoy your read. In the next few days you will find more excerpts on this blog. 
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