He went into the small bedroom and dressed hastily, not bothering with his cravat, barely taking time to comb his hair. When he came back into the sitting room, the servant came to attention, bowing respectfully. David crossed the room and picked up the note, stuffing it in his pocket.
Hobbs stood to one side, holding the door open and as David passed through, he closed it behind him, then hurried to beat the gentleman to the door at the bottom of the stairs, that he might open it for him.
Just because the fellow lived in reduced circumstances he was yet a gentleman and Hobbs liked David Strongbow, despite the reputation he had for debauchery. Hobbs had worked for the aristocracy all of his life and knew the difference, and knew as well, true character often times had little to do with one's baser habits.
They flew through the streets, empty at this late hour, and arrived at the townhouse in record time. David hit the ground running, for the message had been explicit about life or death, though he was not certain who was ill, or what the situation was.
Coming up the stoop, he tripped in his haste and would have fallen but for the quickness of Hobbs, who steadied him. The door was flung open by a very harassed-looking March, who bowed the man in with a breathless greeting. "Evening Master Strongbow, good to see you again."
"Evening, March. Sir Gordon has sent for me."
"Of course, sir. He is awaiting you just here in the study."
David followed the aging retainer, slowing his step so that he would not overtake the man and perhaps embarrass him, and arrived at the door to the study at a pace designed to let him catch his breath. Little did he know that March had perceived his agitation and was slow moving for David's benefit, not his own.
He stepped into the cozy room and went forward, grasping his friend's hand in greeting. "Gordon, old fellow, what's amiss? Who is dying?"
"David, so good of you to come at this late hour. You read my note?" At the other man's nod, he continued, "Good, then I shall only tell you that my sister Allie lies desperately ill and the doctors hold out little hope. I was told your mother is a healer of some repute in her valley, and I would that she could come and see what she can do for the girl."
"I will send off a note to her tonight and we will have an answer tomorrow."
"Tomorrow? That is quick. How then will it be delivered?"
"Carrier pigeon."
"Oh, of course."
"What did you think? That a broom would fly across the moon?" David asked.
His amused look made Sir Gordon uneasy, as he had thought that very thing. He didn't much like the feeling that his thoughts were so closely monitored by another, but dismissed it as fantasy, for his face must have shown something that had alerted the other fellow.
"Will you have a brandy? I would that we could discuss this in depth, so you might give your mother a good grounding on the problem."
"Yes, it would be very helpful to her, I'm sure. And the brandy will be helpful to me, I vow." David followed his host across the room, and sat in the armchair indicated, accepted the brandy and settled down to listen.
Sir Gordon unfolded his tale, leaving out nothing, fearing the smallest detail might be important. "I have documented the entire incident as closely as possible and all medical treatment given to date. Do you think she might be interested in that?"
At David's nod, he continued with a recounting of the last week and how the girl had lost her senses so totally that she had to be spoon fed like a babe and had taken to staring vacantly at the wall.
"And so, you can see that we are at our wits end. There is nothing left to do—even the specialist we had brought from the continent could do nothing—shed no light. It is desperation that brings me to this."
Sir Gordon sat forward with an earnest look. "And please do not be insulted, it is just that in my world the learned men of our society are supposed to aid us in these matters."
He was relieved to see David had not been insulted. "Of course, I have a deal of respect for the mysterious and unexplained, as you know, and herbal healing is an ancient and time-honored art."
David crossed and uncrossed his legs, fidgeting in his chair. He wasn't certain his mother would be of any use in this matter, as her l healing skills were limited to the usual illnesses. Chest colds, birthing, broken bones and the occasional removal of a so-called spell.
David himself was a skeptic regarding many of his mother's activities, but of course would never say so. Choosing his words carefully, he kept his eyes on the dancing flames of the hearth. "If my mother does come, it is not certain that she can help, of course. Her healing is more in the line of birth fevers, common pneumonia, aiding one who has been beset with boils; that sort of thing.
"If this is a brain fever, mayhap, there is something she can do, but for a mental problem, or even the proposed damage that the blow might have given—well, I must tell you not to get your hopes up too high."
"I was led to believe that your mother's healing powers went far beyond boils and fevers. It has been said that the very laying on of her hands can often make a difference."
David's head came up sharply—for he could have sworn there was something rather sly in Sir Gordon's voice—and he eyed the other man with some astonishment. "Are you accusing my mother of witchery?"
"Of course not," Sir Gordon replied mildly.
He sat up straighter in his chair and continued to stare at his host. Sir Gordon's face was a study in innocence, leaving David in no doubt he was sincere. Relaxing, he put the whole thing down to his naturally defensive nature. "It is true she has been successful on more than one occasion with a seemingly hopeless case. Let us pray that this one will be the same."
They passed no time in idle conversation, and David took his leave, accepting Sir Gordon's thanks and leaving his regards for the family. A family that had always treated him with respect and affection, despite his nefarious beginnings.
He hurried to prepare a message and get it sent off immediately. Instructing the coachman to take him to a section of town where there was a gypsy colony, he assured the man they would be safe.
"Actually, Hobbs, I have a relative in that place, so rest assured that no harm will come to us. It is urgent, so please do not spare the whip."
Hobbs, with total confidence in his passenger, slapped the reins and the coach bowled down the dark streets, and the coachman vowed he had never been on such a grand adventure, albeit it was a sad one.
* * * * *
"My mother has never left the valley and I'm sure she wouldn't come here, even for me, so please do not feel slighted in any way. She does have a suggestion that might just serve. A cousin of hers is a remarkable healer, a man of many powers.
"Since my mother has learned at his knee, so to speak, she has every confidence he can succeed where she probably would not. She said tell you, though, that if you can bring the girl to her, she will see her."
"This cousin, where does he live?"
"Near the place they call Stonehenge in the great Salisbury Plain."
"That is a prodigious distance, and we have already waited a day for this reply. Are you certain she will not come?" Sir Gordon was desperate at this point and willing to try anything. Mary Strongbow had seemed his last resort. He was uncertain this soothsayer would serve the purpose and his hesitation was written in his eyes.
"Can she travel?"
"I do not know how it would affect her. All of her vital signs are good and her general health seems acceptable, it is just her mind that is gone from us." Sir Gordon nearly choked on his words. Disappointment at the news had clouded his emotions and dampened his hope. "Can this cousin come here then? And would you use the carrier pigeon to summon the man? I will pay anything he wishes."
"Yes he can come and yes to the carrier pigeon, but I'm sure that he already knows of this and I would not be surprised were he to appear on the doorstep within hours."
At Sir Gordon's skeptical look, David laughed. "My mother, no doubt, has already contacted hi
m and he is not one to wait upon invitation if he feels strongly he can help. At least that is my understanding of him. If he left immediately and took the small roads across the dales, he would cut many hours off his travel time, and he has had near thirty hours to get here, at this point."
"Yes, well this time I was not thinking of broomsticks, I was merely astounded that anyone could travel so far so quickly—and you need not laugh at me. Most of us take the high roads, you know, and they lead in a more roundabout way than the dales. If he appears, can you tell me his name, so that I can alert the staff to be on the lookout and see him immediately?"
"Athol Strongbow."
"Athol. Is that not a Welch name?"
"Yes, it is." David looked duly impressed at the other man's knowledge. "The Strongbow family originated in Wales, and migrated to Cheshire and Salisbury sometime in the ninth century, I believe."
"The ninth century? How far back can you trace your ancestors David?"
"On which side? Larkspur or Strongbow?" He looked with some satisfaction at his host, proud of his heritage and ready in an instant to convey it to such a worthy person. "The Larkspurs, of course, came with the Conqueror, but they are traceable to the year four-hundred A.D., I believe.
"The Strongbow ancestors cannot be traced quite that far back, for the recordkeeping in ancient Wales was very sketchy, outside Mother Church, and they were not Christians." He laughed uproariously at the knight's incredulous look, and could not help baiting him. "Some say that Merlin was the founder of the Strongbow family, but I would need proof before I'd believe it."
"Merlin is a myth."
"Not necessarily. King Arthur is a myth if Merlin is. There are many who believe in their existence."
"Well, I'd not dispute either claim, having no knowledge of fact. But I will tell you that at this point, I would shake hands with the devil to get my sister well."
David came up in his chair, a grim look mixed with the alarm on his face. "Never say such a thing, even in jest. I fear I have just enough superstition in my blood to recoil at such words. Were my mother to hear you say it, she would immediately cast a spell around you to keep Satan from your door."
After a long silence, during which both men stared at the flames, David explained. "I meant to say—or what I should have said—is that they followed the old religion until the last century, and some still do, I vow. They were Celts and led by the Druids."
"And what payment would he want for his services? As I said, I will beggar myself for Allie, should it become necessary." A business man to the core, Sir Gordon returned to the topic, if only to change the subject, for he was not quite comfortable with this talk of paganism.
"I'm sure the man would ask nothing of you, for he is a humble servant of God and his gift is for God's children, to be used for the good of all." David turned in his chair and looked toward the windows. "I think he is coming this way. I met him as a child, but I do not recall much. Just a feeling I have, really."
"Are you clairvoyant?"
"No. Well, perhaps a little. My mother has the gift of sight, though she dislikes it. It is something that has to be developed, like any tool, and I have never cared for such things."
The hair on the back of Sir Gordon's neck prickled, his gaze returning time and again to the windows. "Might be a handy tool."
David appeared uneasy with the subject, so Sir Gordon revisited the matter of a gratuity. "Perhaps, if he wants nothing for himself, there is something else I can do to aid him. A school or an orphanage perhaps? Something for the community?"
"That, my friend, is an excellent idea. And it is exactly why I call you friend, Gordon. Not many would think of such a thing these days. Most with wealth keep it to themselves and are quite stingy about dispersing funds to the poor."
David studied his host's eye movements for a moment then said in a very casual voice, "By the by, he will not likely come flying through the window, most likely he will simply knock at the door. And I should not expect him until at least daybreak, for even he cannot cover that much ground so quickly."
David did not add in his earthly form—for he did not wish to incur another bout of skepticism from his host. It had been years since he'd thought of the old man, who had been old even when David was a child.
With memory came a stirring up of old mystic feelings—feelings David could not be easy with in the modern world in which he dwelt. Almost sorry was he, to have become involved here, but for the girl lying above stairs fighting for her life—or giving it up—whichever the case.
"Will you stay the night, David? It would be most helpful, I'm sure, to have you here when your relative arrives." Sir Gordon was in no doubt that the man was on his way, but just in case he was not, he added, "Have you sent a message to him yourself?"
"Yes, actually, I did. By return carrier pigeon," David replied, grinning at his friend. "I shall stay if you wish. Be assured that the ancient one is on his way." He did not tell his friend that the old man had likely known he would be coming here before they had even thought of him. He'd probably been prepared and ready to leave weeks ago, for he had a visionary sight, giving him glimpses of the future that were very accurate.
The two men settled in with their brandy, spending the next three hours gazing at the flames and speaking little. Sir Gordon, fascinated with David's family history, finally began to question him once more.
"The ancient one. Is that how you normally refer to your elders?"
"Not at all. Just this one. He is the titular head of our family, of course and I respect that. He is ancient, though, and I believe he is closer now, for I hear a knock at the door."
"I hear nothing." Sir Gordon, his voice strident, chided his guest. "You are funning me, David, and it is quite cruel, under the circumstances. I had thought better of you—"
His admonishment was interrupted by March, who came to announce a visitor. "There is a Master Athol Strongbow to see you Sir." The old retainer looked astonished, but his visage was very calm. Calm and serene.
"Send him here immediately, March. Don't dawdle." Sir Gordon stood up and looked an apology at David, who merely smiled at him mysteriously and shook his head, standing as well.
Sir Gordon refused to question the timely arrival of his guest, for he knew no one on earth could have covered that much territory in so short a time. It was enough to make the hair rise on his neck, but he steeled himself to be courteous. If the ancient man who now came into the room was able to help his sister, he cared not if he flew on a broomstick or came by carrier pigeon.
He watched the elderly man, dressed in clothing of homespun that would have served in the last century, as he came closer.
"Good eventide, David. Introduce me please, to your friend." Athol Strongbow came even closer and peered up at his host, a smile of such beauty on his face the knight was drawn immediately to him.
"Cousin, may I introduce, Sir Gordon Pendleton." David took his cousin in a warm shoulder hug and faced Sir Gordon, still gripping his relative by the shoulder. "I believe he has great need of your assistance."
"Your sister, Sir. Is there no change?" Athol, not waiting for a greeting in response, looked at Sir Gordon with clear, silver eyes that seemed almost out of place in his ancient, weathered face. His long, aquiline nose matched that of David Strongbow's perfectly.
He was short, coming only chin high to the knight, and his hair was as a halo of white cloud on his pink scalp. "I would see her at once, if you have no objection."
"Mr. Strongbow, I am pleased to meet you and I shall take you to her at once if you wish, but would you not rather refresh yourself? You must be nigh exhausted after such a journey."
"I will rest later, perhaps. But I think the important thing right now is to see the girl. Take me there, please." His voice a gentle command, the old man turned back toward the door, never looking to see if the other men followed. He knew they would.
March led them all up the stairs and when he would have turned left at the landing, t
he usual way to Allie's room, the old man stopped him.
"She is not there at the moment. I believe she is in another room. This way." He turned to the right and proceeded alone, for the others could only stare at him in disbelief.
He turned back and beckoned them with a hand. "Come now, I know you have questions, but they will be answered later. Show me where Lady Alana's suite is. She has the girl with her."
Thinking a change of scene might benefit the girl, Alana and Rothburn had taken her to their rooms, and given her a small party, along with Griffin. The girl had indeed been asleep the night before and when Griffin had closed her eyes, it had been the right thing to do. Relief had flooded him, for as long as the sleeping potion was the cause of her inert behavior, he still had reason to hope.
Sir Gordon, wondering at the old man's foreknowledge, stood rooted, and it was March who stepped forward with seeming casual acceptance of the situation. "It is the third door on your left, sir."
David Strongbow excused himself and returned to the study to wait. He had no wish to intrude and knew—should he choose to—he could close his eyes and hear every word. Since Athol's arrival a few minutes before, everything he'd learned as a child came back to him in a rush. He was not certain, however, he wanted that memory, or the unusual power it brought, and went to fix himself a brandy instead, keeping his eyes wide open.
Answering the knock, Rothburn knew immediately who stood before him and gave a deep bow of respect to the seer. "Come in please, and I shall introduce you to my wife and my niece."
"No need to tell me which is your wife. Countess Rothburn, at your service, and quite enchanted. Motherhood becomes you." He looked at Lady Alana's startled face for a long moment, then nodded as though satisfied with what he saw, turning to the young girl who sat beside her. "Hello, Allie. I am Athol Strongbow, come to listen to your problems and help you grow stronger."
A Curious Heart (Love Vine: A Regency Series) Page 27
