by Nancy Butler
“No, of course not. I’m sorry if you’re bored in this house with nothing to entertain you, but I can’t allow you on the river. Besides, you are barely recovered from your fever.”
“Indeed, I am recovered,” she insisted. “And I’m not bored in the house. Not at all. But it would please me enormously to go out on the river. Just once. I promise I won’t be any trouble.”
He scowled. “It’s a foolhardy notion. I can’t imagine why it would interest you.”
“I want to see what you do, Romulus. This is all so new to me.”
She detected a slight softening of his stony expression. “Please, just show me a few of the nesting sites.”
“Let me think on it,” he said as he moved into the sitting room. Diana followed close on his heels, rather like a cygnet herself. She’d follow him anywhere, she knew. If only he’d let her.
“Here,” he said, passing her his rucksack. “I’ve a young friend among the Gypsies. He was able to find you some clothes…. I can’t take you on the river in my dressing gown—you’d scare off all the wildlife.”
Diana disregarded this last remark as she dug into the sack and proceeded to pull out two muslin blouses, one yellow and one pale blue, and an embroidered skirt whose ground color was the deep violet of pansy petals. There was also a flounced petticoat and a patterned kerchief.
She looked up at him in wonder. “I am overwhelmed. And I’m sure I can pay your friend, once I get my own life back. From the looks of that ball gown, I must not have been a pauper.”
“The Gypsies won’t take my money, Allegra. I doubt they would take yours.”
Her brows knit. “I thought Gypsys liked money. At least that is the common conception.”
“Aye, and not a false one. But even more than silver, they like a good trade. I traded them something a while back, and they think they still owe me for it.”
“What did you trade?”
“Enough questions,” he said sharply. “You rattle on fit to break a man’s earbones. Come and have your lunch. Then, if you take a proper nap, I might consider bringing you out in my boat tonight.”
* * *
Diana could barely stand to close her eyes. She stretched deliciously on the bed, her arms crossed behind her head.
Romulus was taking her on the river!
She, who had scoffed at trips to Vauxhall Gardens and outings to the Tower Menagerie, who had belittled Astley’s Amphitheater and been unimpressed by the assemblies at Almack’s, now shivered with anticipation at the prospect of sitting in a rowboat with a man.
Ah, but what a man. Surly, sarcastic, short-tempered and altogether divine.
She grinned at the cygnets. “You are very lucky,” she observed, “he is a wonderful swankeeper.”
She ticked off all his fine qualities on her fingers. “He is wise, gentle, very patient—at least with you, if not with me. He is skilled in doctoring and knowledgeable about so many things. He is even friendly with the gypsies, which I find remarkable.”
There was an abrupt, single knock at the door. “Stop talking to my birds,” Romulus growled through the wooden partition. “They need their sleep as much as you do.”
“And,” Diana whispered to her fuzzy companions with a wry grin, “he is the soul of consideration, don’t you think? I doubt I will ever meet his like again, no matter where I travel.”
Somehow that last observation deflated Diana’s high spirits. She knew in truth that there were few men like Romulus Perrin in the world. She counted herself lucky just to have met him. But she knew when the time came to leave him, she might not think herself so blessed. He had already crept far past her guard. No, that wasn’t precise—she’d never had her guard up with him at all. She hadn’t needed to. She had trusted him implicitly from the moment he had lifted the cup of broth to her mouth.
Unlike the men she had met in the ton, he never made her feel self-conscious or tongue-tied. Quite the opposite, in fact. She had been in his company wearing no more than her chemise and his dressing gown, without ever blushing for her lost modesty. And she had chattered away to him without reservation. Perhaps a bit too freely, she thought, recalling her numerous slips. It was dashed difficult keeping her past from him, when she longed to tell him everything about her life. How unhappy she had been since coming to London. How much she missed her father and the bleak, beautiful moors of the East Riding. Things that she dared not share with him, without admitting full knowledge of who she was and where she belonged.
But at least he was no longer pressing her for her name, as though he were willing to be part of her arrant charade. Yesterday he couldn’t wait to be rid of her, but today…today he was going to take her out on the river. She was going to see the Thames through his eyes.
She gave a huge yawn and roiled onto her side, wondering as she drifted off to sleep whether the keeper of the swans might be in the market for an apprentice.
Chapter 4
Off to the west, the setting sun was sending streamers of fiery red through the gunmetal clouds that edged the horizon. High above the river the sky had darkened to a rich gray-blue, like the wing of a rock dove, iridescent with new stars.
Rom handed Diana into his boat. As she stepped over the side he gazed in fascination at the bare feet revealed by the raised hem of her Gypsy skirts. He’d forgotten to get shoes for her, he realized. Her ten perfect toes teased him from beneath her petticoat as she settled onto the stern seat.
He pushed off from the slip with one oar, then settled in the center seat and began to row. He couldn’t take his eyes off Allegra, who was lounging back, her elbows braced against the stern. She had drawn her hair off her face with a brightly colored kerchief, and the dark curls tumbled over her shoulders in charming disarray. Her skin glowed like alabaster in the waning light, especially where the wide-necked gypsy blouse displayed a tantalizing glimpse of high, firm breasts. The sight of her bosom, with its delicate muslin covering, was almost more than mortal man could withstand.
“Birds!” Romulus muttered to himself. “Keep your mind on the birds!”
He kept the boat close beside the edge of the island, out of the currents that ran amidstream. Low-hanging branches dangled just above their heads as the boat coasted along. It wasn’t until they were past the island, and in the center of the Thames, that Diana saw how at home he was on the river. With easy sweeping strokes, he sent the skiff toward the western shore, plying the oars so smoothly that the boat cut through the water with barely a sound. He made it appear so effortless, as though the strong current was no more than a ripple on a pond.
She was impressed by his skill and his strength, more so when she recalled her own clumsy efforts with her brother-in-law’s rowboat. She had deemed herself such a capable little boater, as she clunked against the breakwater, or slewed her craft around in a circle.
“So quiet, little witch? Thinking of spells to cast on my birds, so they will not fly away from us?”
Diana gave him a reassuring smile. “Just some spells to keep the poachers away. But I am feeling a trifle jealous. You handle the boat so well.”
“This is my life, Allegra. Rivers and boats, I’ve been tending to waterbirds since I was a boy.”
“Even in Italy?”
As he nodded, a thick lock of hair fell forward over his brow. Diana resisted the urge to lean forward and sweep it back from his face.
“My father worked for an Italian nobleman,” he explained. “The Conte d’Ancona. He kept swans at his villa and many ornamental ducks. And peacocks. Thank God we didn’t have to look after them.”
“Why? I think peacocks are quite elegant.”
“Elegant and prissy and ornery as a tinker’s hound. And they make the most Godawful noise, especially late at night, when a boy needs his sleep.”
Diana laughed as he raised one hand to the darkening sky and pointed. “Look—”
Two large white birds were flying overhead, one slightly ahead of the other, their wingbeats creating a haunting
whir as they swept through the air.
“Wild swans,” he breathed as he raised the oars and let the boat drift. “A cob and a pen, I suspect. And recently paired, by the look of things, as they have no cygnets to tend.”
“Newlyweds,” Diana said wistfully, as she watched the birds disappear around the bend in the river. She lowered her eyes to Romulus. “When do they usually pair off?”
“They normally do their courting in February,” he said in a voice he hoped was matter-of-fact. He wasn’t sure how prudent it was to discuss mating rituals with Allegra, considering how frequently his thoughts of her wandered in that highly provocative direction, “It’s a delicate dance they perform out on the water,” he continued. “The cob postures for his chosen pen, and she acts demure and shy, but then in a week or so she lets him come closer. Sometimes while they are courting, they swim toward each other and touch the tips of their bills—so that the arch of their necks forms a perfect heart.”
Diana smiled at the image. Swans were frequent harbingers of romance in mythology—Aphrodite, the Greek goddess of love, had a swan as her insignia. And then there was the tale of Zeus, who, disguised as a male swan, had taken the unwitting Leda as his consort. Diana had blushed when she’d read that story as a girl, wondering at the strangeness of such a conquest. She blushed now, in the shadow of the river trees, as she thought of being taken by a princely man disguised as a swankeeper.
“I expect that’s why swans have been the emblem of lovers since the time of Homer,” she remarked, trying to distract herself from her wayward thoughts.
“There’s another reason,” he said. “You see, swans mate for life.” He then added dryly, “Though they do dance around each other every year at mating time, even when they are already an established pair.”
“That’s very reassuring. And wise of them not to let their affection for each other grow stale.”
Romulus smiled as he again set the oars in the water.
Diana was surprised to discover that the river at dusk was teeming with life. Overhead the swallows and bats skimmed and darted, feeding on the insects that hovered above the water. Every so often a trout or bream would rise up to feast on those same insects. She could hear the clean splash of their sleek bodies breaking the surface as they returned to the water. Once, as she and Romulus neared a bend in the river, something large shifted back from the bank, and then went leaping away. A deer, she thought, having a drink in the shadowed safety of the oncoming night.
As if he understood her enchantment with this unfamiliar world, Romulus said very little. He kept the boat parallel to the shore, letting the current do most of the work. From the island, the river seemed mysterious, dark, and remote. But being on the Thames with him had given Diana a view into its secret heart; she’d seen the flow of life as well as the flow of water.
She knew that he watched her intently at times and tried not to let that fact fire her imagination. He was merely her teacher, one who was pleased that his lone student was so taken with her first lesson.
She pointed to something small and dark in the water, swimming near the shore.
“Coot,” he said. “The white bill makes it easy to spot. Watch that mallard that’s coming toward him.”
“Oh!” she cried out as the coot darted across the water and snapped viciously at the mallard drake.
“Very territorial,” Romulus said. “And very protective of his family. See the babies near the tussock of grass.” He levered the boat so that it drew up closer to the shore. Sure enough, seven baby coots were bobbing along behind another adult.
“But they’re so tiny,” she said. “I wonder they can even walk yet, let alone swim.”
Romulus grinned at her. “For waterfowl, swimming and flying are the important things. Ah, look, over on your right.” Again he shifted the boat so that they approached an odd-looking bird with a pointy beak.
“Horned grebe,” he said.
Suddenly the bird submerged, disappearing right under Diana’s startled eyes. “Whatever is he doing?”
Romulus held up his hand. “Wait….”
Nearly a minute had passed before the bird reemerged with a king river eel wriggling in its mouth.
“Rather talented divers, the grebes. Not as daring as cormorants, however—”
Diana stopped him in midsentence with a laugh. “Enough, enough. I can’t take in so much at once.”
“I thought you were one of those bluestockings who lived for your studies?”
She chuckled. “Well, even if I were, I doubt I ever studied birds.”
“A sad lack in a lady.” His eyes narrowed in mellow humor, and his wide, mobile mouth was slanted into a crooked grin. “And one we can easily remedy. After supper I will show you my collection of bird books. I assume from your choice of Mr. Pope last night, that you are an eclectic reader.”
Diana was about to reply that her father had acquainted her with every book in his well-stocked library, but she caught herself in time. That would have been a most difficult lapse to cover up.
She merely shrugged and said lightly, “Who can say what my taste in books is?”
“Who indeed?” His voice oozed sarcasm.
Diana poked him playfully on the shin with her bare foot, but her tart response to his drawling words died in her throat when she caught sight of his eyes. He was looking at her as a starving child gazes at a rich man’s table. With longing and hunger and boundless hope. She sat there in breathless anticipation, less than three feet from him, wishing they were anywhere but in the restrictive confines of a rowboat.
He leaned forward, leaving the oars to drift upon the water, and lifted her foot from the planking, wrapping both hands around her ankle. He never took his eyes from her face as he stroked one finger along her instep. His flesh was warm against her skin, but she felt a shiver ripple up her spine.
“I’ll have to see about getting you some shoes,” he said.
“I like going barefoot,” she whispered hoarsely, wondering what had happened to her voice.
Any reply he might have made was cut short as the boat bumped against a submerged log. Romulus let her foot slide from his hands and reapplied himself to the oars.
Diana felt the intimacy of the moment quickly dissolve. She longed to reach out and touch his face, to thank him for sharing this night with her. For sharing his special place.
“Thank you,” she started to say, but realized he was no longer heeding her.
He raised a finger to his lips, motioning her to silence as he angled the boat toward the tall water weeds that grew along the shore.
They had for some time been traveling on an uninhabited stretch of the river. Before them spread a shadowed wilderness of swamp grass, reeds, cattails, and mallow. Five yards inland the trees began, oak, ash, and maple, growing among stands of cedar. The flat light of dusk lent the scene a hazy, unreal quality.
Romulus leaped from the boat and tugged the bow up onto a ledge of moss. He leaned over the side. “Stay here,” he whispered, his mouth soft against her ear. “There’s someone moving up ahead in the grass.”
Diana shivered again from that brief contact, wishing that duty had not called him away at that moment. She sat where she was for several minutes, listening intently for any sound of movement. A night bird called in the trees overhead and another answered from farther upstream.
She wondered if poachers ever carried guns and worried that Romulus might be in danger. Perhaps he had a pistol tucked in his rucksack or in his coat pocket. Was it legal for a river warden to shoot a poacher? She found it hard to reconcile the man who handled the cygnets with such fond tolerance with someone who could kill a poacher, even for menacing the adult swans.
When she could stand the waiting no longer, she climbed from the boat. After securing the boat rope to a sapling, she went forward into the high grass, which in many places reached above her head. It was nearly dark now, and she feared to lose her bearings in that dry, rattling maze. As she struggled onwa
rd, the sharp fronds of the reeds sliced against her bare forearms. There were occasional places that squished beneath her bare feet, which she prayed were patches of mud and not slugs or submerged bullfrogs.
Diana searched for several minutes without catching sight of Romulus. She was thinking of returning to the boat, when she saw a light moving through the high grass some distance beyond her. It flickered sporadically in her vision like a wandering firefly. As she moved toward it, someone grabbed her around the waist and rumbled her sideways. A hand slid over her mouth before she could cry out.
“I should have known you wouldn’t stay put,” Romulus growled into her ear. “Now lie still.” She nodded against his hand. “And don’t make a sound.” Again she nodded. He drew back his hand.
“What is it?” She hissed the question at him.
He rolled his eyes in exasperation—even in the darkness she could see it. “The poacher. He’s up ahead. Checking his snares, no doubt. Now stay here. I need to get closer.”
He slid away from her, moving noiselessly through the reeds. Undeterred by the threat of the poacher, Diana followed after him, mainly because she didn’t like lying there on the swampy grass at the mercy of every mosquito and gnat on the river.
The wavering light had moved even closer now. A wiry man clad in dark clothing came hurrying into the small clearing in front of her. He carried a shuttered lantern which cast a wobbling light as he scuttled toward the trees. A large white creature dangled from his other hand.
“Oh-h-h!” Diana’s voice echoed out over the clearing as her hands flew to her mouth. The partially lit figure stopped for an instant at the sound of her ragged cry, and then raced for the cover of the trees. Romulus sprang up from the grass directly in front of her and took off after him.
Diana ran, too, thrusting the tall reeds away as she hurried into the clearing. Romulus and his quarry were gone, but the lantern lay on its side where the man had tossed it, casting a skewed light. He had also discarded the swan. It was staggering pitifully in the beam of the lantern, flapping its enormous wings in panic as it lurched from side to side. Diana saw that one of its legs was horribly mangled, as though the man had hacked at the limb to free it from the wire snare.
