It had been Carolyn's idea, earlier that night, for the two of them to go on this walk along the beach beneath the beautiful Collinwood estate. Cousin Barnabas' costume gala was winding down and Carolyn, so beautiful in her period dress, had wanted to walk and enjoy their gowns and get a chance for the two of them to visit privately away from the chattering of all the guests.
Hope had agreed immediately if for no other reason than to escape the steady gaze of Barnabas which was disquieting for reasons she couldn't quite articulate. She raised the topic as Carolyn was kicking off her shoes but Carolyn made light of it and turned the conversation with a comment about the Princess' sandals which were quite appropriate for the sand-walking that lay ahead. Hope allowed herself to be lead but broached the topic again a few minutes later by attempting to voice the almost indiscernible qualities of Barnabas' eyes. They were strong and manly, yes, but also gentle and almost feminine in the way they seemed to look out from a great depth of... of... Agh! What was it? Intelligence? Compassion? Yes, those eyes expressed that, but there was so much more... time? Yes, though he was a young man, his eyes seemed to gaze across an expanse of time far beyond his years. Carolyn had grown silent when she heard that and, when she turned, Hope was shocked to see something of the same look in her eyes. She saw something else too and it cemented another element of Barnabas' eyes that had escaped her... pain! Yes, the pain was inescapable and in those eyes it formed the very basis of his intelligence and compassion.
Carolyn broke the mood by turning toward the quiet irregular waves that washed ashore just beneath them and they continued along the beach picking their way among the boulders still wet from the receding tide. They spoke of the scents made by things from the sea exposed for such a brief time to dry air. Some of the odors were good and wholesome, interesting to note the differences from a coast on the other side of the ocean. But there was something else, always present at low tide, the smell of something decaying; not a strong scent or dreadfully unpleasant but vaguely mournful like settling dust. She thought again of Cousin Barnabas and shuddered as a cold finger seemed to touch her heart. Carolyn was telling some light tale of a fiddler crab grabbing poor Roger by the toe, but paused just as Hope shook her head and sighed. If it had been just the wind and dampness, why did Carolyn seem to have felt it too?
That had been hours ago, before Carolyn left her here in this chilly cave to wait. Being a royal, Hope was accustomed to waiting and could do so almost as if a switch were thrown shifting her into inactivity. She remembered being instantly intrigued by the cave opening when Carolyn explained that they were directly beneath the old house. Was that a strain of music she heard from the party above? Carolyn laughed and clapped like a child as she lead her into the cave and showed her a dry clean place to sit. Then she giggled and told her to wait while she fetched a surprise. Hope had no reason to doubt her old friend except for a feeling of unease which had been growing; that, and the edgy sound in Carolyn's laughter as she ran out of the cave and down the beach. Why was everything so different on this trip? What had changed in her dear friend? Why couldn't she turn off these busy thoughts and just wait as requested? She didn't want to admit that the sharp edge of Carolyn's laughter was malice echoing back through the night.
As she waited, it seemed to Hope that the distant party sounds receded until only a single repeating phrase of music was left to mingle it's seductive bass rhythm into that of the waves. Gradually the cave became warm and pleasant as the bright full moon moved fully into a gap in the wall behind her and cast light on the far wall. Though by nature the moonlight was cold and white, it's reflection off of the yellow-brown stone seemed to grow in warmth and intensity until she felt as though she were sitting in a dappled afternoon garden. On and on the sound droned until she was sure it was seeping into her heart the way honey on a plate is soaked into a crumpet and waiting for the delicate touch of a fork. Waiting... yes she was waiting, though she no longer had any idea how much time had passed, nor did she care. She felt as if her entire body and mind, having absorbed all of the rich ambience, were glowing with sweet light both real and spectral. It was as if she were the delicate morsel waiting for what? Waiting for who? Suddenly she smiled and knew. She was waiting for the master's touch.
To be continued ...