by Janet Woods
She shrugged. ‘I heard the word mentioned, and I didn’t know what it meant. I thought it might have been a sort of fire-breathing dragon that toasted people before it ate them.’
‘You’re not far off, my dear, except a python is real, whereas a dragon is a mythical beast.’
‘Thank goodness. I’d hate to meet one accidentally and be toasted to a crisp. Do tell me all about pythons.’
‘Allow me a minute or so to gather my thoughts together,’ he said and tucked into a slice of ginger cake. After eating it with every sign of enjoyment, he said, ‘Now let me think – what do I know about pythons? To start with, it’s a snake … pythons come in all sizes from small to large, and are not poisonous, and they lay eggs.’
‘Like chickens.’
‘I suppose you could say that.’
‘Even the male pythons?’
The rector went slightly pink. ‘No, not the males.’ He hurried on. ‘As soon as they hatch, the baby pythons have to fend for themselves.
‘What do they eat?’
‘Depending on their size, other animals. They coil themselves round their prey to crush them and then swallow them whole – I believe the larger pythons could swallow a whole deer – after which they sleep for a week or so to digest them.’
‘Ugh! How disgusting,’ Miranda said, though she was as fascinated as Lucy seemed to be and found the rector’s conversation more stimulating than his sermons. But Lucy was never this thorough in her questioning unless there was a purpose behind it, and she was beginning to get an inkling of what it was. ‘Do we need to dissect the habits of a snake?’
‘Sorry, Miranda. Can I just ask one more question? I thought snakes were cold-blooded and needed warmth to give them energy. Can they live underground?’
She adroitly avoided the sharp glance Miranda gave her.
‘If there was a sufficient amount of warmth each day, and access to live prey, then I would imagine they could. But I’m not an expert. I learned all this from a missionary who worked in the tropics and had seen one. Most pythons, especially the larger ones, live in warm climates. I’ve heard of a Burmese Python that grew to twenty feet in length.’
They both gasped at the thought of a snake being so long.
‘They’re very strong, apparently. On the other end of the scale, we have the grass snake in England, which is harmless.’
‘So not likely to eat a human.’
‘Dear me, no … at least, not in England.’
‘Thank goodness, for I’d hate one to swallow me. I’d rather do the opposite and have it wriggling around inside me.’
‘Don’t be so gruesome, Lucy. You’ll have me dancing on the table before too long.’
Remembering Mrs Pridie’s tale, which Lucy had related to Miranda with much amusement, they exchanged a glance and laughed.
The door opened and Sir James entered. He gazed from one to the other, smiling. ‘You all sound rather lively, so I thought I’d join you for a while. I’m pleased to hear that my young ladies are entertaining you so well, reverend.’
Miranda gazed at him, wondering what his reaction would be if he knew how intimate she’d become with his nephew. ‘We were talking about snakes, Sir James.’
An eyebrow rose and his eyelids flickered. ‘That’s a strange subject. Why snakes?’
Quickly, Lucy answered, astonishing Miranda. ‘Why not snakes? Mrs Pridie told us an amusing tale about a grass snake coming into the kitchen, which I was just about to relate to the reverend. She and Nancy thought it was dangerous and they climbed on the table and you had to rescue them. Is it true? We must hear your side of it.’
‘It’s quite true. It must be the funniest thing I’ve ever seen.’ Sir James laughed as he launched into his own version of the event.
When he finished, Miranda turned to the rector. ‘You must eat another piece of cake, reverend, since Nancy made it especially for you.’
‘I must admit I’m fond of ginger cake.’ He patted his stomach with regret. ‘I’ve already eaten one slice.’
‘We won’t tell anyone if you eat another. Would you like a second cup of tea to go with it? What about you, Sir James? Shall I fetch you a cup and saucer? After we’ve eaten, we’re going to help the reverend choose a design for the new church window, since he can’t make up his mind. Why don’t you join us?’
Sir James had a pained look on his face. ‘No, thank you, Miranda. I wouldn’t want to influence the reverend in any way. I only dropped in for a few moments to make sure your guest was being looked after.’
He lied wonderfully well, she thought. He’d probably been listening at the keyhole.
‘The young ladies are delightful hosts,’ the rector said. ‘They make me feel quite young. I can’t remember the last time I enjoyed myself so well.’
‘And he hasn’t tried to save our souls once. You must invite the reverend and Mrs Swift to Miranda’s birthday supper, Sir James.’
‘I already have.’ Inclining his head, Sir James left the room.
They spent half an hour gazing at the designs. ‘I’ve chosen that one because my wife likes it,’ the cleric said, unrolling one dotted with woolly sheep. ‘She said it reminds her of lambs waiting to go to heaven.’
Cocking her head to one side, Miranda said, ‘It’s a lovely design, but it hasn’t got much colour, since there is a lot of white and pale green. Also, I’ve never seen a lamb with cherubic wings flying about the sky.’
Lucy giggled. ‘Poor little lambs. They’re so innocent and docile, and we’re cruel to eat them. Do you think they go to a different heaven to us?’
‘I hadn’t really considered it.’
‘You should pick that design of Saint George killing the dragon. It’s so colourful and dramatic. You can just imagine it with the sun streaming though all those colours. Besides, Saint George looks a bit like you, reverend – a knight in shining armour bravely slaying the dragon. Don’t you think so, Miranda?’
Miranda nearly choked on her tea. There couldn’t be anyone who looked less like Saint George than Reverend Swift. ‘Yes … I suppose he does.’
The rector looked slightly bemused. ‘My wife considered that design to be too expensive.’
‘Good gracious, it’s not as though Mrs Swift has to pay for it. Sir James offered you the designs to choose from, and that was one of them, so the cost won’t bother him.’
‘Do you really think so?’
‘I really do. Before you go, you must be honest and tell Sir James you like Saint George best. In the strictest confidence, he was admiring it just the other day and said he hoped you picked that one, so I’m sure he’ll be delighted.’
‘I don’t know what my wife will say.’
Miranda gently administrated the coup de grâce. ‘I doubt if Mrs Swift will object to the symbolism of the fight of good over evil. After all, Saint George is the patron saint of England, a martyr who died defending Christianity.’
‘I don’t think Mrs Swift considered that. Yes … I will choose that one.’
It was a little while before the rector finally took his leave, and he was smiling happily because they had all endorsed his choice of window.
‘I shall send a messenger to inform the window-maker at once, and before you change your mind again,’ Sir James said drily.
They said goodbye to the rector in the hall. ‘You must visit us again,’ Miranda told him. ‘We enjoyed your company.’
‘Watch out for serpents,’ Lucy said softly as he strode off, and shivered as she turned to her sister. ‘I feel guilty about fooling him, don’t you?’
‘I don’t, because it’s a better window, and it’s one he liked. So did Sir James. The reverend is a sweet, gentle man, and his wife is beastly to him.’
‘For a moment, I thought you were going to say the dragon looked like her.’
They began to laugh.
When they were upstairs, Lucy asked Miranda, ‘Why did you lie to Sir James?’
‘I didn’t exactly lie. I w
as afraid you’d tell him you’d been down to the cellars … You have, haven’t you?’
Miranda could always tell when Lucy had done something she shouldn’t have. ‘I only went a little way in. It was quite boring, with bottles in racks. There was only one interior door that I could see, and that was locked from the other side. Why shouldn’t I tell him? He likes me and he wouldn’t be cross for long.’
‘Because he doesn’t want us down there; he’s already said so. It’s dangerous.’
Lucy began to laugh. ‘You don’t really think there’s a giant python down there, do you? It’s just a rumour to keep people out. I overheard two men talking about it before I had to make my escape.’
‘Then you must ask yourself this, Lucy: if Sir James has got nothing to hide, why does he want to keep us out? And where does that cellar go if it locks from the other side? There must be another entrance. Use caution, Lucy.’
‘Goodness, haven’t you realized yet? It’s because Sir James is a smuggler and he keeps all his contraband down there. Isn’t that exciting!’
Fourteen
Exciting, it wasn’t. If it was true, highly dangerous was what it was. Smugglers wouldn’t hesitate to kill to protect their trade. It involved men from all walks of life, Miranda’s father had once told her. They’d kill anyone who stood in the way of their illegal profit – men, women or children.
Miranda didn’t know whether to believe her sister or not. Lucy was highly imaginative. Sir James seemed such an honest and upright man, with a position to uphold, as well as being a magistrate. But he was possessive. He’d referred to them as his young ladies when talking to the rector, something she hadn’t overlooked.
And then there was the explosion.
Fletcher’s theories as to that had been quite plausible.
But Simon Bailey? Surely he wouldn’t mix socially with known criminals – or blow their property up. He had a brash sort of courage, which she’d come to admire, despite not being sure whether she liked him or not.
The trouble was, Miranda didn’t want to believe it. If Sir James was a smuggler, she couldn’t help but wonder if Fletcher was involved, too. She hoped not. She knew she loved Fletcher, but she didn’t want to be tied to a criminal who lived on his wits, and who attracted the attention of men like Simon Bailey, with the might of the law behind them.
Fletcher had told her that his heart was in shipping rather than farming. He wanted his uncle to run the farming side while he concentrated on the shipping. Had he been lying? He’d grown up here; surely he’d know if his uncle was involved in illicit trading. To be fair, he had warned her not to trust Sir James.
And what if he used the shipping company as a front? She had heard that slaves were shipped from place to place, the unfortunate creatures treated like cattle.
‘Besides the Midnight Star, I have another ship,’ he’d told her. ‘She’s in a bit of a state, but is being refitted. I’ve named her after you, but I’d rather it was kept secret between us for the time being.’
‘Then why are you telling me … and why must it be kept a secret when you’re in a partnership with your uncle?’
‘There are reasons I’d rather not disclose … not even to you, though I know I can trust you. My intention is to distance myself from my uncle. I’ve named the new addition Lady Miranda, after you.’
‘Oh, Fletcher.’
‘Oh, Fletcher.’ He’d mimicked her in the same way that last time, when she’d laid abandoned in the grass with him that day. And when she’d kissed the amused little quirk at the side of his mouth, he’d added, his voice almost a caress, ‘I really didn’t want the complication of love in my life; now I’ll never be able to live without you. As for the new ship, she needs a great deal of money spent on her before she’s able to start earning her keep.’
The next day the servants were scurrying around, making rooms ready for overnight guests. They lifted rugs from the hall floor to create a smooth area for dancing. On hands and knees, they washed away the dust. Chairs were brought down from the attics, and traders’ carts arrived laden with goods and departed empty. Tables were set out with cutlery, bottles brought up from the cellars. Brandy and French champagne.
The terrace was decorated with coloured pots containing candles, and there would be a servant dispensing punch from a crystal bowl, and a little grotto with a gyspy telling fortunes for those who believed in such things.
‘The moon will be full that night,’ Sir James told Miranda, and she believed him, because the weather wouldn’t dare be so contrary as to produce clouds when Sir James wanted moonlight.
‘And at ten o’clock there will be a firework display, just for you, Miranda.’
Her heart sank; by going to such trouble and expense, he was telling everybody exactly what his intentions were towards her.
Her sister’s eyes flew open and she breathed, ‘I’ve never seen fireworks.’
Lucy was in a ferment of excitement the next day, when parcels were delivered after breakfast and carried up the stairs to their room.
‘It’s a new gown each. Something special to wear for the party,’ Sir James said.
Miranda’s spirits dropped. The gowns he’d already bought them were sufficient for the occasion, and pretty enough to grace any drawing room. ‘You’re too generous, Sir James.’
‘You don’t sound happy about my little surprise, Miranda. It gives me great pleasure.’
He was a spider spinning strands of silk to capture her and draw her into his web. If she allowed it, he would tie her up tightly and slowly suck the life from her. He’d never allow her to escape. But she would never forget Fletcher.
And what if she didn’t allow it? She didn’t want to speculate on that.
‘As I said, you are too generous. You have provided us with enough since we’ve been living here, and I’m … grateful. There is no way I can adequately repay you.’
‘We shall see,’ he said, and with such confidence that she felt a moment or two of unease.
He had not mentioned marriage since that first surprising moment of proposal. In fact, his behaviour towards her had been exemplary. Yet she was aware of that stated intention, because with it came an expectation, a tincture of possessiveness that went further than host and guest. She’d rather have chosen her own gown to wear, but she would wear the one Sir James had bought her for the purpose, because, after what had happened the last time, she was aware that such a scene could easily happen again if she thwarted him in this.
And even while her mouth yearned for and accepted the caresses of Fletcher, she felt under an obligation to her host.
To tell the truth, she was scared – scared that Sir James might catch her, and scared she might not see Fletcher again because of it. She was even more scared that she would see Fletcher – see him every day of her life thereafter, and observe the hurt in his eyes because she’d chosen his uncle over him. If she married Sir James, she would love Fletcher for ever, and never be able to express or acknowledge that love, while knowing he was as miserable as she.
No, she could not – would not – marry Sir James. Nothing he could do would change her mind about that.
The boxes were clearly marked with their names. Sir James had excellent taste, Miranda thought, as they readied themselves with the help of the maid, Anna.
Lucy wore white chiffon embroidered with blue blossoms over pale blue taffeta. It was just the thing for a young lady on the brink of womanhood. She rustled when she walked, which delighted her. Posies of blue flowers were attached to her hair and a matching posy secured by long ribbons to her wrist.
In similar fashion, but off the shoulders and with little cap sleeves, Miranda wore silk in a dark rose-pink. The hems of the double flounces were quite plain, but the pointed and boned bodice was embroidered with gold thread, pearls, and pink and white silk rosebuds that matched the flowery concoction attached to the nape of her neck.
Miranda felt graceful and feminine as she and Lucy went down the stairs to
gether. The little pads sewn into the upper lining of the bodice gave her a shape that wasn’t quite natural to her, but they, along with the stiff bone inserts, kept her bodice nicely in place and prevented it from slipping down her arms.
Sir James was waiting for her with a gift. ‘Happy birthday, Miranda, and may I say that you both look exquisite.’
There was nothing of the turkey cock about Sir James. He wore sober black, his only adornment a diamond pin in his cravat.
Lucy beamed happily at the compliment, while Miranda wondered whether he was actually congratulating them or himself on his choice of clothes for them.
She chided herself when he placed a circlet of creamy pearls around her neck, which until then had been cool and bare. The gift felt like a manacle.
‘You look beautiful,’ he whispered, his fingers a caress against her skin, and he prepared to escort her into the drawing room – his arm tucked into hers, as though they were a married couple – leaving Lucy to follow. He was giving a false impression to the other guests, and there was nothing she could do about it.
Her sister would be mortified with embarrassment at being overlooked.
Miranda turned and tugged Lucy’s hand. She pulled her against her side and slipped her free arm about her waist.
Fletcher stepped out of the crowd to rescue her sister. ‘Ah, there you are, Miss Lucy. How lovely you look. Allow me to escort you in and claim the first dance after supper.’ He offered his arm to her.
For a second, Miranda’s eyes tangled with Fletcher’s and she felt pleasantly scorched in an aware sort of way. He looked quite the dandy in a burgundy-coloured cutaway coat over pale grey trousers, the sleeves fashionably tight and buttoned against the muscular wrists. Fashioned from silver brocade, his waistcoat was topped by a matching cravat secured with a ruby.
Her breath left her body slowly when he smiled. He looked so very elegant, something to savour. He gave a little bow. ‘I hope your birthday is enjoyable, Miss Jarvis. You look lovely.’
‘So do you, Mr Taunt. Thank you for the gift.’ He had dropped in earlier on his way to Poole and left a musical box of enamelled silver for her dressing table. When the music began to play, a door sprang open and a couple began to dance, their arms around each other. As soon as the mechanism ran down, they would spring back from where they’d come from, until the next time she wound it.
