'You must have Mark tell you all about the history of the Marlowes,' Lena urged. 'You'll find it intriguing.'
'I'll do that,' promised the beautiful blonde girl.
When they reached the door, Lena raised the heavy brass knocker, which Sharon saw was in the shape of a huge lion's head with its massive jaws parted, and let it fall. A loud, booming sound echoed eerily through the foggy twilight, and Sharon shivered involuntarily.
They waited for several moments, and then, so suddenly that it startled Sharon and caused her to draw in her breath sharply, the door was pulled open. There, on the threshold, stood a mis-shapen, deformed little man — a dwarf. He was stooped forward, and Sharon could see that he was a hunch-back, in addition to his dwarfism. His face was round and expressionless, but his eyes were narrow and beady and seemed to shine with some inner fire. He said in a reedy voice, 'Good evening, Mrs. Alvaro. Is this our guest, Mrs. Court?'
'Yes it is, Wafto,' answered Lena, smiling at the malformed little servant.
The hunch-backed dwarf's eyes seemed to bore right through Sharon's clothing, right through her flesh; they roamed upward along the rich curves of her fine young body, paused on her face, and then skittered away to fasten on Lena again. Sharon repressed a shudder at the ugly little man's scrutiny of her; Lena could have at least warned her, she thought, that Mark's manservant was a dwarf — and a hunch-back on top of that.
'Won't you come inside?' Wafto said to them. 'The master is waiting in the library. He expected you'd be here about this time.'
'Thank you, Wafto.'
The dwarf, who was dressed in butler's livery, led them down a long dark corridor, hung with tapestries and medieval fighting equipment such as maces and broadswords and crossbows. Following, Sharon felt an added twinge of pity and discomfort to find that the little man was not only hunch-backed, but clubfooted as well; his right leg made sharp, staccato thumping sounds on the parquetted floor of the corridor.
Wafto opened a set of huge, ornately carved wooden doors and ushered them into an immense, high- ceilinged room with bookshelves lining two of the four walls, the largest fireplace Sharon had ever seen taking up an entire third, and beautiful tapestries decorating a fourth. The furnishings were old and heavy and comfortable- looking, of dark wood and leather. An impressive bar reposed diagonally across the corner between one wall of bookshelves and the tapestried one, and as the two women entered a tall, smiling man with wavy salt-and-pepper hair and classic features came toward them with his hands outstretched.
He wore a wine-colored velvet smoking jacket, a flowered ascot, and dove-gray slacks; on his feet were expensive doeskin moccasins. He was about forty and very handsome, with a small neatly-clipped mustache, and Sharon couldn't help but notice the graceful, fluid way he moved as he approached them. He was a very virile- appearing man, and his dark eyes reflected his masculinity as well as warmth and good humor.
'Lena — Mrs. Court!' he greeted them in his deep, resonant voice. 'So good to see you! Did you get the men off to Athens on schedule?'
'We certainly did, Mark,' Lena told him.
'You're looking lovely tonight, my dear,' he told her, kissing her warmly on the cheek. He turned to Sharon and took her hands is his. 'And so are you, my dear Mrs. Court. You're positively radiant.'
Sharon felt herself blushing appreciatively. 'Why… thank you, Mark!' she said, pleased at the compliment.
He smiled disarmingly, taking both women by the hand. He led them toward the massive Inglenook fireplace, where a roaring wood fire cast flickering shadows and welcome warmth into the remainder of the room. 'You must be tired, and cold, after your long drive from London,' Marlowe said. 'Would you like a brandy before you go to your rooms? It will take Wafto a few minutes to transfer your bags from the car upstairs, anyway.'
'A brandy would be lovely, Mark,' said Lena.
'Yes, thank you,' agreed Sharon.
They sat by the fire, drinking brandy, and talking of small things. Sharon found herself relaxing immediately, her furtiveness about the moors and the foreboding exterior of Marlowe Manor — and the disconcerting sight of the malformed dwarf Wafto — melting into warm relaxation with the brandy and the fire. The library was lovely, just as Lena had said it would be, and Mark was handsome and gracious and concerned. If the rest of Marlowe Manor turned out as fascinating as the corridor with its tapestries and medieval weapons — the library with its wonderful fireplace and cozy atmosphere — then she was really going to enjoy her stay here immensely. She could spend the whole time inside the stately grounds, and leave the exploration of the moors to the time when Neal came three or four days hence.
A half hour passed, during which time Mark told Sharon she had the complete run of the manor; she could explore the building and grounds at her leisure, or take a guided tour with he or Wafto. The young blonde wife, thinking of the pitiable dwarf, told him that she would probably do it on her own, but that she would likely be besieging him with questions about this and that. Marlowe laughed, telling her that he was there to serve her, and that she had only to ask in order to receive.
Wafto entered the library shortly thereafter and announced that the ladies' rooms were ready. Mark said that they would be having dinner around eight, a little better than an hour hence, which would give them plenty of time to freshen up and change.
Wafto led them up a marble staircase to the second floor. Sharon took the opportunity to whisper to Lena, 'Shall I dress formally for dinner?'
'I think it would be appropriate this first night,' Lena told her.
'All right.'
Sharon's room turned out to be sumptuously appointed, with a private bath. There was a great double bed with antique headboard and frame, a huge antique wardrobe, and several other pieces of furniture. Her bags had been placed on the carpet next to the bed.
When she had been left alone, the young blonde wife undressed leisurely and drew a hot bath in the ornate and old-fashioned leg tub. Then she slipped into the soothing water and closed her eyes, letting its warmth envelope her.
Yes, she thought drowsily as she soaked, this is going to be a wonderful vacation after all, even though Neal will only be able to spend part of it with me. I have a feeling that Lena was right in what she said in the car; I don't think I am going to forget these next few days at Marlowe Manor…
CHAPTER TWO
Sharon was overwhelmed by the dinner. The fine silver, the white bone china plates with the gold rims, the candelabras at either end of the long oak table…
She had never seen such sumptuousness, nor such food, nor such service, and she felt ill at ease. While Mark and Lena carried on a witty conversation, and sparkling rejoinders back and forth all through the five courses, Sharon kept to herself, only speaking when spoken to, nodding and smiling other times, and worrying about the sleeves of her blue organdy dinner dress when she wasn't eating.
The blue organdy was a bad choice, a mistake she instantly realized when entering the dining room, after having descended the broad, banistered stairs from the second floor. She didn't have the proper clothes for such an affair to begin with; being American and the wife of a still rising businessman, she didn't attend affairs of this caliber. The blue organdy was formal, but didn't have the polish, the sophistication, that, say the black lace Empire dress Lena was wearing possessed. The quiet, dignified grace just wasn't there — it made her seem young like a pubescent girl going to her junior-prom. She was in brief, embarrassed.
Wafto, impeccable in his black uniform, served and cleared with a subservience almost touching. It was obvious to Sharon that the little hunch-back doted on his master, lived and breathed to serve Mark Marlowe, to repay the debt of gratitude for being employed as a respectable man rather than a side-show freak. Wafto hobbled around at amazing speed, his miniature clubfoot with its built-up shoe thumping against the thick Oriental carpeting with the rapidity of a jack-hammer. He had to reach up to the table for the dishes and glasses, but in spite of his infirmities not a dish clattered, or a glass pinged.
Sharon watched Wafto, torn between her ambivalent feelings of repulsion and of pity. There was a sort of
