Gene of Isis mt-1

by Traci Harding

  Miss Granville, you are already in harm’s way, Albray explained, and I’m afraid you are going to have little choice in your change of circumstance as Chiara would like to claim her favour now.

  ‘Now?’ I was surprised. ‘But we are nowhere near Italy.’

  The gypsy witch appeared beside Albray, concern written across her face. Something terrible has happened to my people, she said, using a mix of Italian and what I suspected was Romany—which I hadn’t studied, but as the gypsies moved around a lot, their tongue borrowed words from many other European languages. Clearly, Chiara was very upset.

  ‘Be calm,’ I said. ‘I need you to tell me your troubles slowly, and in Italian preferably.’

  Chiara nodded. My people seldom venture this far west. Gypsy traders are not so appreciated in the midlands of France. Not a mile down the road, you will come to a caravan of women, and you must help them! Our men have been taken. I don’t know the circumstances, she sobbed. You must help them. I did not expect to ask so big a favour in return for my services, but if you do this for Chiara, she pleaded, placing a hand over her heart, I shall vow to you a lifetime of service.

  That’s a very generous offer indeed, Albray granted.

  ‘But this will surely delay our quest,’ I said, speaking aloud.

  Delays can prove beneficial in my experience. Albray didn’t seem too worried. If you fall into the company of gypsies, it will provide you with the perfect cover and you could have no better guides if travelling on the cheap.

  ‘Fear not, Chiara, I will do what I can for your family,’ I assured her, noting Nanny’s surprise at my words. Chiara began blessing me in several dialects. ‘No need to thank me, as it is clearly the best solution for all of us.’

  ‘So what have we decided?’ Nanny was quick to ask, sounding a little wary.

  ‘I think I might surprise you with this one, Nanny.’ I patted her hand. ‘But not to fear, all shall be made clear within the hour.’ I smiled broadly at Albray, rather excited by the prospect of sampling gypsy life.

  I could see Nanny was very curious, as I moved from the left to right window looking out for the caravan, but often gypsies had the reputation of being thieves, witches and devil worshippers, so I thought it best to just let the scenario unfold. Nanny was a good judge of character and could make up her own mind about Chiara’s kin.

  When I had the coach pull up beside the caravan, I laughed at Nanny’s doubtful expression. ‘I made a promise to someone that helped us escape the Chateau De Vere. I am bound to return this favour,’ I explained and, although Nanny was worried, she trusted me and did not question my course of action.

  As I climbed out of my carriage, I was struck by two things: firstly, by how surprised these people were that I had stopped to speak with them, and secondly by how colourful and cheerful their attire was—their bleak expressions were in distinct contrast.

  Unlike Chiara’s drab attire, her descendants had obviously travelled and traded more broadly, for these women displayed a kind of Oriental splendour, with gold coins woven into their dark masses of hair and around their necks and breasts. Their skirts were striped and spotted in vibrant clashes of colour. Bright colours and patterns featured in their shirts, shawls and the scarves that were bound about their heads. Chiara had a very handsome clan indeed.

  ‘Are voi nella difficoltà, signore?’ I asked them if they were in trouble, hoping they still employed Italian as well as their native Romany. I also wondered where all the men of the band were. ‘Where sono i vostri uomini?’

  They all stared at me and I wondered if I should try French. Then the eldest woman rose from her chair and replied in Italian: ‘What concern is that of yours, my lady?’

  ‘Well,’ I took a deep breath, and as I was beholden to no one any more, I thought I’d try something novel and tell the truth, ‘I owe Chiara a favour and she requested I stop and help you in return for her service to me.’

  There were many gasps from those present, and the women muttered quietly among themselves.

  ‘A mystic.’ The old woman was pleasantly surprised and quite confident about her claim. ‘If Chiara has sent you, you must be more than you appear to be, for we have very great troubles indeed.’

  ‘Hmmm.’ I looked at our coach driver who was fidgeting impatiently. ‘If I may impose on your hospitality, ladies, I shall be glad to hear your woes and do what I can.’

  ‘Any soul sent to me by Chiara is welcome in my wagon,’ the old gypsy confirmed. ‘My name is Chavi Choron. Chiara was my grandmother.’

  ‘Pleased to meet you Chavi. I am Ashlee—’ I paused before announcing my second name, ‘Winston.’ I decided to take Nanny’s second name as that was safest. ‘Miss,’ I added, so that no one would wonder where my other half was. ‘Unload our luggage, thank you, driver,’ I instructed. ‘We shall not require your services further.’ I paid the coachman double to forget he’d ever seen us and he seemed satisfied with the arrangement. He turned his coach around and headed back to Paris.

  As I entered the circle that the horse-drawn caravans formed, the women and children of the clan were smiling shyly at me in greeting. Chavi introduced us to every person there—so many incredibly exotic names whizzed past my ears that, if I didn’t have the ability to read minds, I would have been hard pressed to remember them all. From what I could assess, there were about four extended families in the band.

  I introduced my ‘mama’, Beatrice Winston, and they all repeated the foreign name in awe. Nanny was won over from this point on. When she learned that a number of the children present were orphans and in need of tending, Nanny Beat realised she’d just walked into paradise.

  I left Nanny with the children and followed Chavi to some chairs that were by her wagon. The old woman’s seat had many cushions and a table was between her seat and mine. As I sat Chavi asked, ‘And who is the knight that comes with you?’

  Albray laughed. It seems we have another mystic in our midst.

  I looked to Chavi and she wore a cheeky grin, as did I. ‘He is Albray…he is the one who put me in touch with your grandmother.’

  ‘Chiara wove a spell for you,’ Chavi stated more than asked. Then she went into trance and for a moment she wore a grave expression. ‘You are running from love…but it will catch up with you.’ The old gypsy sounded happy about the latter.

  ‘We are here to speak about your problems, Chavi,’ I reminded her kindly, so as not to insult her obvious talent. ‘Tell me, where are your men? Chiara said that you don’t usually travel so far west into France.’

  I was told that it was true, they usually confined their trading within southern France and Lorraine.

  Chavi had a grandson, Cingar, who was widely known to play the violin so passionately he could bewitch any woman’s heart. The Duchess of Orleans heard the rumour, so her husband, Gasgon de Guise, summoned Cingar to his court for the duke to examine the truth of this claim. As the duke had never taken kindly to gypsies, Cingar knew it was a trap and yet could not resist such a challenge, for such occasions became the heart of legend and folklore. Cingar was also the captain of this band of gypsies, and where one member of the clan went, they all went.

  ‘So Cingar did bewitch the duchess,’ I presumed.

  ‘Completely,’ Chavi said, both proudly and ruefully. ‘In a fit of jealousy the duke had Cingar arrested.’

  ‘On what charge?’ I frowned, drawing a blank. Yet the answer was so obvious.

  ‘Heresy, of course.’ Chavi was surprised I hadn’t guessed. ‘The duke said that Cingar’s playing was beyond pure mortal talent and that he must have made a pact with the devil.’

  I rolled my eyes as the charge was so typical of a jealous aristocrat. ‘Have we not come out of the Dark Ages yet?’

  ‘That is not the worst of it,’ Chavi continued. ‘The same night as my grandson was arrested, the duke’s son fell ill and de Guise accused us of cursing his boy. Our men were all seized by the duke’s soldiers and he has threatened to kill them all if
his boy dies.’

  ‘So, why are your caravans on the road to Paris?’ I wondered.

  Chavi smiled broadly, as if I should know why. ‘I was told by an anonymous spirit that I would find our saviour on the road from Paris to Sens.’

  ‘How long have you been waiting for me?’ I was hoping that the duke’s son had not died already.

  ‘We’ve just arrived after two days of travel.’ Chavi also appeared worried for the boy.

  ‘Then there is no time to waste.’ I stood and looked about at all the idle horses. ‘Give me a horse and a guide to Orleans and I shall bring your men back within the week.’ I looked at Albray to see what he thought, but all he did was wink in approval.

  Chavi went into a trance, and then told me: ‘I believe it is the truth. Rumer.’ Chavi called for her grand-daughter, Cingar’s sister. ‘Prepare two horses and provisions. You shall ride with Miss Winston.’ Chavi winked at me and I wasn’t too sure if that was to set me at my ease, or to imply that she knew Winston was not my true name.

  When I stopped to consider in more detail what I proposed to do, fear grew in my gut, and I looked at Albray who stood shaking his head at me.

  Between your talents and my own, what is there that we cannot achieve?

  I smiled, considering it a fair question. I hope we are not about to find out. FROM THE HONEYMOON JOURNAL OF LADY SUSAN DEVERE

  Today was one of the most exciting days of my life.

  It was like something straight out of one of Ashlee’s stories. I am so pleased to have thought to keep an account of our pursuit. My hope is that one day, when this whole mess is unravelled, Ashlee will be able to laugh at the merry chase that she led us on.

  And I must comment at this point for your benefit, dear Ash, that every day I pass in the company of the Devere brothers, the more fond I become of them both. I fear you have too harshly judged your husband’s motives, for I have never seen a man so single-minded in his purpose. I see clearly how his mind is absorbed at every waking moment with thoughts of you; he will have no peace until we find you safe and well.

  My husband, on the other hand, was just this morning in the foulest of moods and completely exasperated with the pursuit of you, dear sister.

  There we were in a carriage, bowling along the road out of town, and we hadn’t seen any of Paris yet—you can just imagine what my lord thought of that!

  ‘I want to know why your wife is running from you, Earnest,’ James demanded. ‘I know there is something I’m not being told.’

  Mr Devere and I looked at each other, at a loss as to where to start and wondering how much James needed to know, when another carriage passed us on its way back to Paris. It captured my brother’s interest immediately.

  ‘What is the matter, Mr Devere?’ I asked, as he was so preoccupied.

  ‘That was her coach,’ he claimed. In a rush for information, Mr Devere stuck his head out the window and ordered our coachman to turn us around with all speed and catch the coach that had just passed us by.

  ‘That’s a bit of a long shot, don’t you think?’ James was quite put out that we were doubling back for no good reason. ‘How could you know for sure that was our sister’s conveyance?’

  ‘Your brother’s instincts have proven excellent so far,’ I reasoned, as the carriage turned around. I served Mr Devere a look to let him know he had better be right about this.

  ‘I am absolutely certain,’ he stated.

  Mr Devere later told me how it was that he could be so sure—the explanation started with yesterday.

  We had traced Ashlee to her accommodation in Paris. Molier had cunningly asked his assistant to inform Mrs Devere—on the first day she was at the library—that, as a safety precaution for the holy archive, she was required to sign the guest book and give a contact address in Paris. The woman who had let the rooms to Ashlee had seen her leave in a carriage, but her tenant had left no clue as to where she was bound. Mr Devere kissed the lady’s hand in parting, and had extracted from the brief contact a precise image of the carriage in which Ashlee had left Paris.

  It seems Devere’s talents had grown stronger since Ashlee’s departure, for rather than being weakened by her absence, each day he achieved some new marvel. So perhaps the true source of his power was not just the act of making love to Ashlee, but also the love she evoked in him.

  Which brings me back to the excitement and drama of how we came to be in hot pursuit of another carriage.

  ‘Earnest, I demand that you stop goading our coachman. You’re endangering all our lives!’ Lord Devere put his foot down.

  Our brother reluctantly stuck his upper body out the coach window, and as he conversed with the driver a coach wheel collided with a rock. Earnest disappeared out the window, and the driver was catapulted out of his seat and onto the side of the road.

  Fortunately, Mr Devere had kept hold of the luggage rack on the roof, from which he now dangled and as the coach was speeding along he was unable to find a foothold.

  ‘Nobody ever listens to me.’ My lord sprang into action. He opened the coach door and reached out to haul his brother inside the carriage. Before Mr Devere had even drawn breath, my Lord Devere was out the window, on the roof and into the driver’s seat. He had a bit of a time getting hold of the reins, and even when he had them in hand, the horses were at a charge and not easy to steady.

  Just as we felt the horses finally submitting to my husband’s will and we had breathed a sigh of relief, the pace of our passage picked up again.

  Mr Devere called out the window to his brother to find out what was happening, when he spotted the coach up ahead. ‘James is a good man,’ he told me grinning from ear to ear, and sat back in his seat, relieved to have achieved his goal.

  ‘That he is,’ I agreed, ‘good enough to deserve the truth from us.’ I felt guilty keeping him in the dark about so many things.

  Lord Devere called the other coach to a stop and when the coachman did as he asked, my husband finally brought our transport to a halt alongside. Mr Devere was out the door like a flash and off to question the coachman.

  My lord jumped from the driver’s seat to assist me out of the carriage. He was windblown from his ordeal and there was colour in his cheeks and a large smile on his face. ‘That was rather more fun than I expected,’ he confessed. ‘Though I hope our coachman hasn’t been too badly injured.’

  ‘For such a reserved gentleman, it seems you have a hidden audacious streak, Lord Devere…that was frightfully gallant.’ I kissed my husband, for I was very proud of his heroics.

  Although my lord was enjoying my admiration, we became aware that Mr Devere was getting rather agitated with the driver of the other coach.

  ‘Look, I know that you transported my wife out of Paris,’ Mr Devere was saying.

  ‘I told you my fare was not a Mrs Devere, just a mademoiselle and her mother,’ the coachman barked, getting ready to move on.

  ‘Miss Granville.’ Mr Devere attempted to guess the identity of the mademoiselle.

  ‘No! Now if you don’t mind I—’

  ‘Miss Winston,’ I called, and the coachman calmed a little when he saw me. That was the thing with Frenchmen—they had far more patience with foreign women than with foreign men, especially if that woman also spoke the language.

  ‘That’s a bit more like it,’ he admitted, somewhat vaguely.

  ‘A bit more like it, or exactly it?’ Mr Devere demanded to know, at his wit’s end.

  ‘I don’t remember!’ the coachman insisted, until my lord held up a bag full of gold francs.

  ‘Does this jog your memory?’ Lord Devere jangled the pouch to make it clear it contained many coins.

  The coach driver’s eyes opened wide and his memory was miraculously restored. ‘I left the mademoiselle late yesterday at the gypsy camp further down the road.’

  ‘Gypsies!’ My Lord Devere’s worried expression returned, as he tossed the bag of coin to our informant in payment.

  ‘Then we need to move
quickly,’ resolved Mr Devere, moving to take up the coachman’s position on our carriage.

  ‘If it’s all the same to you, little brother, I’ll drive until we recover our coachman,’ Lord Devere suggested. ‘I assume we’d all prefer to remain able-bodied and in good health?’

  I took advantage of the novelty of the situation and rode up front with Lord Devere as we returned to our original direction and searched for our coachman.

  ‘There is something I have to tell you about our dear sister.’ I tested the waters. I had never seen my husband in such light spirits, so I guessed now was the best opportunity to bring everything out in the open.

  ‘I am listening,’ he prompted, still smiling.

  ‘Ashlee is different to most people,’ I began awkwardly.

  ‘Well, I can honestly say I have never met the like of her.’ He did not sound entirely pleased about that.

  ‘You know that my aunt, Lady Charlotte, is famed for certain talents she possesses.’ I thought suggestive hints might work better than a straight confession.

  He looked at me, his good cheer waning. ‘I don’t believe in psychics.’

  ‘Well, I dare say you don’t believe in Buddha either, but that does not mean he never existed.’ The comment was a little shocking to him, but it did get my point across nicely. ‘There are many unexplained mysteries in this world, Lord Devere, but denying their existence will never further our understanding or make them disappear.’

  Lord Devere did not look happy, but he nodded to concede my point. ‘Are you going to tell me that our sister is a psychic?’ He glanced at me, awaiting my answer.

  ‘It is a little more complicated than that. You see…’ I had to take a deep breath for this one. ‘Um, it seems our sister has awakened these talents in Mr Devere as well.’

  ‘What!’ My lord was astonished by the claim.

  ‘And that’s not all,’ I warned, but was saved from continuing the confession alone when I spotted our coachman sitting on the side of the road. He was nursing his head, but was obviously not seriously injured.