The Sherwood Ring by Elizabeth Marie Pope

Author:Elizabeth Marie Pope [Pope, Elizabeth Marie]
Language: eng
Format: mobi
Published: 2011-10-01T03:19:21+00:00

"In Scarlet Town, where I was born,

There was a fair maid dwellin',

Made every youth cry Well-a-Way!

Her name was Barbara Allen.

All in the merry month of May,

When green buds they were swellin' — "

"Get on with it, can't you!" I told myself fiercely. "The longer you put it off, the worse it will hurt in the end. You were a fool to let him talk to you at all."

"So slowly, slowly rase she up,

And slowly she came nigh him —

the voice from the kitchen sang behind me as I put the glasses on a tray and went back across the hall to the library.

Peaceable Sherwood was still lounging in his chair and gazing down at the fire. He did not glance up when I entered, nor did he try to return to the interrupted conversation about the intelligent young lady. He simply sat there looking most alarmingly like a man prepared to go on sitting there patiently, for years and years, if necessary, until he got what he wanted.

"These are the Venetian glasses," I said rather too quickly and nervously, putting one down on the table before him and returning to my own seat with the other. "Father brought them from Italy especially to serve this particular wine. Mine, you see, is shaped like yours, but sea-green and decorated with a dolphin instead of a snake. Curious, aren't they?"

Peaceable lifted his, and regarded it gravely. It shone in his hand like a jewel. The snake curled around the stem glittered and flickered in the firelight as if it were alive.

"Very curious," he agreed with me placidly. "And so easy to tell apart. No chance of the wrong person getting the wrong glass, is there?"

"No, I suppose there isn't. Don't you think we ought to drink a toast? To the New Year? Or the end of the war? Or anything you choose?"

"Certainly, Miss Grahame. And since these are the Venetian glasses, suppose we drink it after the Venetian manner?"

"What is the Venetian manner, Captain Sherwood?"

"This."

He moved so quickly that I did not even realize what had happened until I suddenly found myself staring down at the crimson glass on the table before me, and Peaceable Sherwood back in his chair languidly examining the dolphin curved about the stem of the green one.

"In Venice," he explained kindly, "the host and the guest always exchange their glasses before they drink a toast — I understand the fashion dates from the time of the Renaissance, when one never knew precisely when one might be poisoned. Pretty custom, isn't it? I have a great liking for pretty customs. They add so much to life. " Then, without altering his voice in the least: "What did you put in it, Miss Grahame? Your Aunt Susanna's headache drops?"

"I don't know what you mean," I stammered weakly.

"That's very fortunate, Miss Grahame. I should hate to see anything happen to you. Would you care to propose the toast now, or shall I?"

"Please give me back my own glass, Captain Sherwood, and stop this nonsensical foolery.

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