“He’s not an easy man, perhaps, but despite what you may think, he listens to me. You already know my father does what I say and so it is with the dark lord.” She smiled, using every bit of Thespis’s talent to inject an assuredness into her look. “He will do whatever I ask.”
“Is that so? Among my people no man would listen to a woman because they had lain together, but perhaps among your people it is so?”
“That’s not why he will listen to me!” Anne exclaimed, then calmed herself, and continued, “He is a reasonable man and here, in my home, he defers to my knowledge of the gypsy folk and your ways.”
Madam Kizzy was silent. Anne could see the process in the woman’s mind, the thoughts whirling. Gypsies, from what she had seen in her life, were nominally a patriarchal society, but women often held a surprising amount of power once past the childbearing years, and so it was with this woman. She was the tribe’s seer, their connection to the other world and knowledgeable about this one. She seemed vital to the group’s ability to plan for the future and decide what must be done and how to get along with the gajo community. Her recent problems had been the result of her illness, not an inability to plan ahead and be wise.
The woman finally raised one long finger and waggled it in Anne’s face. “I do not tell you this for him, the dark lord, but because I see in your eyes honesty. I have been troubled by this for some days now, but did not know if we could really trust you. My son, Bo, approached the man, saying he wished to help him. I sent him, for I thought we must understand what the fat man was doing. I did not trust him.”
A surge of triumph coursed through Anne, but she was careful not to show any emotion. “You are wise, madam, not to trust Hiram Grover.” She shut her mouth, willing herself not to ask any questions and praying Tony didn’t follow her right that moment. He had a talent for shutting people’s mouths with his overbearing manner. She had held back information from him herself, on occasion, simply because he commanded her to tell him. He had that unfortunate effect on any woman with spirit.
And that was what he meant when he spoke of his worries if he married a weak woman, she supposed. He said he would hate himself for making his wife over into a cowardly, mindless ninny. Anne must show him that it could go the other way, if he married a spirited woman, that she would soon learn that she could not be honest with him if she wanted to live a life with freedom. That would be their problem if he didn’t soon learn that he couldn’t just forbid her to do things and expect her to obey. Unless he was willing to talk over courses of action and be swayed, on occasion, when she was right, then she must trust her own heart and mind and constantly defy him.
“Madam, trust me, please!” Anne finally urged.
“I will tell you what I know,” the old woman said, fussing with her covers. “But only because I have begun to worry about Bo. That is his child being born today,” she continued, waving her hand to the encampment. A woman screamed in the pain of childbirth. “He is not here. He should be here to see the baby and name it.” She moved restlessly. “I worry, now, for there are other men, he says. Others from the village, and they are men who do not like gypsies.”
“All right. We have a common cause, you and I, and that is to see those with the bad man, your son and my … the dark lord’s brother, both safe and with their loved ones. With family.”
Kizzy began to talk. She had sent her son to follow the fat man and offer him help, she said, because she wished to make sure he didn’t have any plans to hurt them. Anne believed there was more to it. Madam Kizzy probably saw a chance for some profit, but Anne didn’t interrupt this example of careful editing in the gypsy woman’s tale. There was, the woman told Anne, a loose chain of gypsy families that communicated through a system of sending messages in stages, from encampment to encampment, and she had last heard the day before that Bo had taken on a task for the man. He had been promised great riches, but now the gypsy mother was worried. She was afraid her son would be caught in some lawbreaking, and perhaps jailed. To be jailed was to die.
“Where is this ‘task’ being performed? Did he say what it was that he was doing?”
The woman’s gaze wandered, and Anne could see a struggle in her, whether to trust this gajo woman and tell her all, or withhold some key part that either incriminated her son or involved him in something dishonest or illegal.
“My only wish,” Anne said, heavily emphasizing the word “only,” “is to find the brother of Lord Darkefell, and see him safe, and also to see the fat man, Hiram Grover, taken to suffer English justice. My man already has the fat man in captivity. I don’t care what Bo has done. As long as he has not hurt Lord Julius, your son will be returned to you, and I will reward your tribe. I vow it, solemnly.”
“I have heard,” the gypsy woman muttered, her dark gaze boring into Anne, “that Bo is holding the dark man’s brother in a cabin on the property nearby, the land of the man who also grows hops and has cabins for the workers to live in during the hop-picking season.”
Anne thought. There was more than one possibility in this case, but she had an idea that it was the hop workers’ cottages on the farm of Sir Wedderburn Cooper, of which Madam Kizzy spoke. They were more isolated than any others in the area, but still close to Harecross Hall. Sir Wedderburn didn’t live on his property, but came down from London in August to oversee the harvest. Mr. Cooper, a distant relative, managed the farm for him but didn’t live on the property either, preferring a cottage in the village to the isolation of Sir Wedderburn’s hops farm. Sir Wedderburn had another hired couple who lived on the premises, but they did little but drink and fight until harvest and wouldn’t notice if someone was hiding out in one of the hops workers’ decrepit cottages.
That must be where Julius was being held, Anne thought, a spurt of hope energizing her. “Do you have anything else to tell me?” she asked.
“Bo sent me this,” she said, leaning over with a grunt of discomfort and digging out a dirty piece of paper from under her mattress.
She handed it to Anne, who peered at it in the dull light of the cart. It looked like a kind of map to her, and depending upon which way she turned it, it could describe two places, both on Sir Wedderburn Cooper’s property. “May I take this?”
For the first time, she saw fear on the old woman’s face. She said nothing for a long moment, but finally she nodded. “I worry, lady, about my son.” Her voice trembled. “He is not a fool, but if the lord’s brother hit him, Bo will hit him back. If he … if he hurt him, will the dark lord take revenge?”
“I can’t speak for Tony,” Anne said, moved by the woman’s concern for her son, but unwilling to lie to her. “He would be angry if Bo hurt Julius, but he’s not an unreasonable man and I do have influence with him.”
She nodded. “I can see it.” She took Anne’s hand and said, “Please, help Bo.”
“I will do my utmost to return your son to you.” Anne slipped from the cart, taking a deep breath of cool fresh air. Darkefell entered the camp just then and she caught his eye. As he approached she clutched the map and said, “I may know where Julius is!” She took his arm and directed him out of the encampment. She didn’t want him exclaiming at the gypsy woman’s son being involved. “Let’s go back to the Hall and regroup.”
***
It irked Darkefell that he had to rely on Anne’s knowledge of the area to find Julius, but she would neither relinquish the map she had nor give him any information beyond what she thought he needed. It would do him no good, she said, for the map would not mean a thing to him. He argued that Sanderson knew the area as well as she, and so would be able to read the map and find the cottage where Julius was being held, but she would have none of that. She was going to go along, with Sanderson, several of the grooms, Osei, and himself. She promised to stay out of the way, but she wanted to be there; she’d promised the gypsy mother that she would send her son, Bo, back to her, and so she would, she said firmly.
Darkefell was in a fever to get going but they
could not go unprepared. Grover, grubby and pitiful, was guided by Sanderson out of the shed, blinking at the bright sunlight, and pushed along, staggering and stumbling. He stank of feces and urine and looked wholly miserable, but Darkefell felt no pity. The man had his fate in his own hands. If he would not help them find Julius, then he deserved whatever he suffered. Sanderson lifted him into the cart and Darkefell grimly shoved him down to sit. He felt like kicking the bastard, but as the urge swept over him he saw the look Anne gave him.
The anger that burned in his gut at Grover’s many crimes must not reduce his own humanity, Darkefell thought suddenly. He was better than that, Anne’s warm expression said to him, better than his more brutal urges, his need for vengeance. Caught by her gray eyes, he met her gaze and nodded. He was better than that. She believed it, and told him so with a smile, the corner of her beautiful mouth turning up slightly.
At long last they were ready. It was still only about nine, a brilliant sunny spring day, but the faces of the gathered men were grim. Darkefell and Osei were on horseback, Sanderson drove the cart, with Anne beside him, dressed in a plain gown. The three grooms who had taken part in the rescue of Lord James were to walk behind, armed and willing. At the last minute Irusan came tearing out of the house and leaped up beside Anne on the cart seat, sitting like a lion surveying his pride.
“Keep that beast away from me!” Grover cried.
“Mr. Grover, you are one of those poor souls who are afraid of cats?” Anne said, looking down at him over her shoulder. “He’s a very civilized cat, sir. Unlike the more disgraceful examples of humanity, he only kills to eat, and then never his own kind.”
“Let’s go!” Darkefell said sharply. “How far is it, Anne?”
“About three miles.”
“More like four, milady,” Sanderson said.
Anne was tight-lipped. Darkefell knew she had told her father what she was doing. The earl had no doubt remonstrated with her, but he should know better than anyone that his daughter would not be stopped once she had decided on a course of action.
He rode up close to the cart and kept pace. “Should we not go to the house first to see if Sir Wedderburn is home? I’d not countenance someone riding onto my property unannounced.”
“He’ll not be there,” Anne said, her hand around Irusan. “He’s the disgrace of Kent, the way he treats his property like a bank, there to make him money, not caring one whit about his tenants.”
“Sounds like Pomfroy,” Darkefell said about his magistrate. “That man has hundreds of sheep, but wouldn’t recognize his estate manager by sight. The manager bleeds the tenants dry, then chastises them for letting their cottages fall into ruination. All Pomfroy wants is a political position.”
“He and Sir Wedderburn must be cut from the same cloth.” After a time, Anne said, “Now we have crossed onto his land.” She glanced at the map. “Follow the cart path there,” she said, pointing to an overgrown path that led away from the road, “and through that wooded area toward the pond.”
“You’re on a fool’s errand!” Grover howled.
Darkefell dropped back and stared down at the man. “Shut up, Grover. We know where he is. You’ve lost.”
They proceeded more slowly, Darkefell alert to anyone possibly following them. He didn’t trust the gypsies as Anne did, and could think of too many reasons why the gypsy mother may have lied about the extent of her son’s involvement, or even how many gypsies were involved. There could be half a dozen and who would know? The gypsies seemed such an amorphous group to him, the men slouching about, shifty-eyed, the women almost identical in their dark-eyed prettiness or work-worn middle-age.
He would do what Anne requested for now, but the moment he scented trouble he would do what he felt right. He had a loaded pistol in his waistband and a knife tucked in his boot. Tension coiled up his spine and crept through his muscles until he was wound so tightly he felt a band constricting him across his chest. Osei was silent and grim-faced, ignoring the taunts Grover still threw his way.
“You have my permission to shut his mouth,” Darkefell said to his secretary.
“He is nothing to me, my lord.”
“You’re a better man than I, Osei Boatin!”
Anne, who had been watchful for the last half mile or so, suddenly cried, “Stop just up there, in that little turnabout area.” She pointed to a clearing where cart trails wound around in a circle.
It was likely that the trail was used to haul out deadwood from the forest for tenant fires. Darkefell and Osei cantered ahead and dismounted, while Sanderson pulled the cart into the open area and turned in his seat to give instructions to the smallest of the men to stay with the cart and horses, a pistol trained on Hiram Grover, while the rest of them tackled the problem of Julius, Bo, and whomever else they must face.
“And you stay right here with the cart, too, my lady,” Darkefell said, looping the reins of his mount over the cart horse traces.
“I would, Tony, honestly, but this time I must be there,” she said, clambering down without his help. She straightened and firmly said, “I’m the one who spoke to Bo’s mother and I am the one who was entrusted with the map. I gave her my word.”
“This is not a game,” Darkefell said, reaching her in two long strides and clutching her shoulders in both his hands.
She shook him off with a swift look at the men watching them. “I will go, Tony,” she muttered. “Please don’t make a scene. I promise I’ll stay out of trouble and only approach when I can see you have the situation under control, but I must be present.”
“How did your father feel about you going?”
“He hated it. He was ready to don his hunting clothes and accompany us to make sure I stayed out of trouble, but Epping and I persuaded him that he is stout, gouty, and has an unsound heart. This trouble is no place for him. If he died or suffered another attack I would never forgive myself.”
He watched her eyes. He was beginning to understand her; there was something else. “And? What else, Anne?”
She would not meet his eyes. “I … I used a little blackmail on him, too,” she said.
“Meaning?”
“I told him I wanted him to live to see my … my children someday.”
His heart melted as she looked up at him with her wide gray eyes searching his face. He wanted to kiss her, to tell her he would make sure she was protected even if it cost him his own life. His breath caught; after the night before, she could even now be carrying his child. Was that what she was thinking? He could not think of that now or he’d be a danger to himself, with wandering thoughts and giddy imaginings.
There was no saying her nay, he was beginning to realize. She’d defy him at every turn, to do what she wanted, or needed, to do. He must just do everything in his power to keep her safe while saving Julius. Somehow she always got her way, and made it seem the only reasonable path, yet he could feel no anger toward her.
Nodding sharply, he turned and said, “Lady Anne is going to follow us, staying in the woods. Once we have assessed the situation and secured the cottage, she will come out to talk to the gypsy fellow who is helping to hold my brother captive. He is not to be harmed unless he draws a weapon! My lady promised the gypsy queen, and I have pledged to support that promise.”
“You’ll be sorry, Darkefell!” Grover croaked, struggling weakly against his bonds. “You’ll be sorry. You’ll end up dead!”
“You could stop this now, Grover,” Darkefell said, banging the side of the cart. Irusan hissed and growled. “Sorry, old man,” Darkefell said to the cat, but it looked away then leaped down to stand with Osei. “What do you say, Grover? We can end this and you can clear your conscience, tell us everything.”
“Never!” the man howled, spittle flying out.
“Fine,” Darkefell said. “Let’s go, then, men! And lady.”
The grooms gazed at him in a kind of reverential awe and Anne had to admit he was a fine figure, broad-shouldered, dark as a gypsy and twice as
bold. She turned toward the other men and said, “I will stay out of your way, I promise. Listen to Lord Darkefell, and failing him, Mr. Boatin or Sanderson.”
Darkefell gathered them with a sweeping gaze. “Shall we proceed? We’ll evaluate and make a proper plan as we get closer to the cabin.”
Sixteen
The woods was dank, damp and dark, even on a brilliant June day. The brush was overgrown and the hut itself was near a mucky, algae-covered pond. A more ramshackle dwelling Darkefell had never seen. There were gaps between the bare wood boards and the roof had holes in some places, moss in others. If this was the kind of shack Sir Wedderburn Cooper expected his hops workers to live in during the harvest, the man deserved the scathing opinion Anne held of him. Osei crept up behind him, while the others hung back with Sanderson, obeying his orders. Darkefell and his secretary watched for a few moments, but the only window, covered in a hank of sacking, showed no movement.
“Do you see any sign of life, my lord?”
“No,” Darkefell grunted. “Not yet.” He surveyed the surroundings. “I wish we knew what we were getting into. We have no idea if there is one man inside, two, ten! Or none. We could be completely wrong. Does anything, anything at all, indicate someone has been staying here?” he asked.
“Yes,” came another voice behind him. “I smell wood smoke from a recent fire.”
“Anne!” he yelped, whirling.
“Shush!” she hissed, her hand on Irusan’s mane as she squatted down behind Darkefell and Osei.
“You go back to the cart right now!” he growled, glaring at her.
“I’m safe here, Tony. And I promise I won’t go any closer.”
He struggled to defeat a swirl of anger that rippled through him. She would always do exactly what she wanted, then make up for it later, he guessed. He would either have to get used to it or abandon her. That was unthinkable. He was as firmly committed to her now as if they had stood before a vicar and pronounced wedding vows. “Then stay down! If, as you say, you smell wood smoke, then it means they must have had a fire recently.”
Lady Anne 03 - Curse of the Gypsy Page 18
