Read Online Bride of the Castle by John Dechancie - Free Book Online Page B

dancing girls?”
    â€œI’m sure I saw some veiled harem beauty doing the hoochee-coochee,” Thaxton said. “Unless it was my imagination.”
    â€œYour imagination is perfectly capable of it, as is mine.”
    â€œWell, shall we go in and take a look-see? Can’t do any harm.”
    â€œI don’t know. If we’re wrong, inhabited aspects can be dicey.”
    â€œWe’d just be stepping in for a look round, old man. First sign of trouble, we’ll nip right out.”
    â€œOkay, I’m game.”
    â€œStout fellow.”
    They stepped over the invisible dividing line between the Castle and this strange new world—but it did not appear so strange to Thaxton, nor very new. In fact, the place seemed familiar.
    â€œBy God, looks like parts of Surrey, where I was brought up.”
    â€œReally?”
    Thaxton continued his survey as he walked. “On second thought, it resembles Leicester. A bit, anyway.”
    â€œMaybe we’ve discovered another portal to Earth,” Dalton ventured.
    â€œCould there be more than one?”
    â€œNever heard of that, but anything’s possible in the Castle.”
    â€œWell, in that case,” Thaxton said, stopping suddenly, “we should go back.”
    â€œWhy?”
    â€œSomeone might recognize me. It would be awkward.”
    A loud report came from over the trees, somewhere off to the right.
    â€œTrouble?” Dalton wondered.
    Turning toward the source of the fire, Thaxton shook his head. “Perhaps someone’s out for game?”
    Another shotgun blast confirmed his conjecture.
    â€œWell,” Thaxton said, with some satisfaction. “Well, well.”
    â€œDeep subject,” Dalton said. “You’re right, we’d better vamoose.”
    â€œLet’s not be too hasty,” Thaxton said.
    â€œI thought you said—”
    â€œHalloo!”
    â€œOops, we’ve been spotted.” Dalton turned toward the woods.
    A man in tweeds had just crossed the treeline, coming across the lawn. He held a shotgun and was advancing toward the two interlopers. His manner, however, did not appear menacing. In fact, he seemed friendly.
    â€œHello, hello! Can I help you in any way?”
    â€œJust passing by,” Thaxton said. “Heard the shooting.”
    â€œMuch shooting, not much to shoot at, I’m afraid,” the man said. “The grouse are bloody wise today, excuse my French. Hello, there. Petheridge is the name. Colonel Petheridge.”
    â€œThaxton, here. And this is Dalton.”
    Petheridge shook hands with both, warmly. “Out for a stroll, are you?”
    â€œYes, rather. Do you own this place?”
    The man, portly, with a thatch of white hair sticking out from under his tweed cap, laughed good-naturedly. “Not likely. This is Festleton’s place. Lord Festleton.”
    â€œAh. Lord Festleton.”
    â€œYes. You’re visiting, I take it? Wait half a minute. Thaxton. Didn’t you just buy Durwick Farm?”
    â€œWell, actually . . .”
    â€œI’d heard Throckmorton. Thaxton, is it?”
    â€œThaxton’s the name.”
    â€œPleased to meet you, Thaxton. Well, we’re neighbors, then. I’m just up the road from Durwick.”
    â€œUh, seems so,” Thaxton said.
    Petheridge swung his gun barrel toward the manor house. “Yes, that’s Hawkingsmere, the Festleton place. George Huddersmarch, Eighth Earl of Festleton. The resident pukka sahib, don’t you know. I do believe those were his shots you heard. In fact, I was just going out to tell him . . .”
    A woman’s scream rent the chill air.
    â€œWhat the deuce!” the colonel exclaimed, whirling about.
    â€œWe’d better see about that,” Thaxton said.
    The three men ran off into the woods, Petheridge leading the way. They wound through brambles and thickets. Dalton’s sweater caught on a branch, and he fell behind. Thaxton