“You have chosen well, my dear.” The voice was rasping as though it had traveled through layers of dusty parchment.
“I have?” She was nonplussed, having no idea what this strange creature was talking about.
“You have chosen well in visiting me. Of all those at the fair, I am the one you have chosen.”
How had the old woman known that? She must have been watching me, Elinor guessed, watching me as I walked around the fairground. It was an uncomfortable thought.
The woman reached out again for both of Elinor’s hands and turned them palm upwards. “What do we have here, my dearie?” she rasped. “Ah yes, I see an interesting future for you. There’ll be a man for sure, a man to care for you and children to love. And they’re coming soon.”
It was the old staple of fortune telling, she thought caustically. Tell any girl who comes your way she will shortly be married and she will leave happy. But the woman was tightening the pressure on her hands and bringing them closer to her veiled eyes.
Her voice had dwindled now to a hoarse whisper. “You have chosen well, my dear, in coming to Allingham.”
She must mean the village, Elinor thought, not the Hall, unless the crone had earlier seen her in company with those she knew to be its servants. Another wave of discomfort flooded through her. She had been comprehensively spied upon! Indignation urged her to rise and leave but the woman’s next words were confounding.
“Allingham Hall is your home.” It was a statement of fact which allowed no dissent.
“For the time being,” Elinor amended.
“Allingham Hall is your home, my dear. You have come home for good.”
She felt a shiver of recognition but promptly dismissed it. True, she had felt a sense of belonging from the very first night, but her home? The grandest of houses belonging to a duke? It was nonsense.
“I’m not sure I know what you mean,” she said weakly.
The woman brushed across her palms again and fell slowly into a deep trance. Her eyes half closed, she swayed slightly and her voice when it came was like the rush of wind before a storm.
“There is a woman. Dark hair. Skin as white as alabaster. She comes from over the sea but she is in distress. Distress.” The syllables hissed around the hot enclosed space and Elinor felt her forehead break out in perspiration while a cold prickling flew down her spine.
“Her eyes are the green of a deep, deep ocean. Amazing eyes,” the old woman crooned. “But she is in distress.”
Elinor hardly dared to breathe.
“You will save her. You will make all right.”
“How?” There was no answer from her informant. “How?” she stuttered again.
At this the woman jerked upright and emitted a sigh that echoed around the tent, a sigh so heavy that it seemed dragged from the very earth beneath their feet. Elinor was transfixed and could not move. Gradually the woman’s eyes cleared and all vestige of the trance vanished.
She smiled cunningly, assessing her customer with newly focused eyes. “You’ll be all right, dearie. A nice man and plenty of babies in store for you.”
It was the trite commonplace of fortune telling once more and she realized the séance was over. Whatever the woman had seen, she saw it no more. She pushed back her chair hard and it fell to the ground.
“A few falls before you get there though, dearie.” And the woman let out a high-pitched cackle. Elinor fled.
She rushed through the tent flap as though pursued by a thousand demons and cannoned straight into Roland Frant. He took a firm hold of her shoulders to steady her and peered into her face. “Is that you, Nell? Whatever is the matter?”
“It’s nothing, Mr. Frant,” she murmured. “Really it is nothing.” The last thing she wanted was to tell what she had just heard.
“But, my dear, you came through that doorway like a bullet from a gun. Whatever ails you?” Her spirits sank. He was not easily going to let her go. “If you are in any trouble, maybe I can help,” he was coaxing.
“I am not in trouble but thank you for your concern. It is merely I found the fortune teller a little frightening.”
For the first time he looked up at the sign which hung high above the tent. “Madame Demelza?” He tutted loudly. “My cousin’s hand is everywhere. There was a time when the Allingham Fair was wholesome enjoyment but now every low criminal for miles around makes it their business to set up shop.”
“It was only a piece of fun, Mr. Frant,” she protested.
“But your face told quite another story.” She had to acknowledge he was right; she had been deeply scared.
“You know, Nell,” he said confidentially, “you should not visit such people. They are all charlatans and want nothing but your money. I hope you did not pay her.”
“Only a very little.”
He wagged his finger. “Even a little is too much. And see the result—you have been thoroughly frightened by whatever nonsense she has told you. That is foolish, most foolish.”
He might speak truly but really he was the prosiest of bores and she was tired of his censure. “I am sure you are right, Mr. Frant. But if you will excuse me now, I will look for my fellows and join them.”
“It may be best if I stay with you until you have regained your equilibrium. I am happy to act as your escort.”
“There is no need—I am perfectly restored. But thank you,” she added as she saw an expression of pique flit across his face. Before he could insist further, she slipped from his grasp and walked hurriedly away in the opposite direction.
The fair was turning into a very bad afternoon. The jarring noise and coarse smells were stretching her nerves thin and Roland Frant’s persistence had left her drained. It had come too quickly after the unnerving encounter with the clairvoyant. She’d had to be rude before she could shake him off. She sank down at one of the tables trying to gather her wits. What had the creature meant with her talk of a pale woman in distress? When she’d repeated that word, Elinor had felt a physical pain shoot through her. And now she was supposed to save this poor unfortunate. It was a daunting imposition. But had the old woman in fact meant anything? Had she simply been enjoying her power to disturb, and the evident discomfort of her victim? That was the most likely explanation. She must not dwell any further on the words she’d heard but shrug them off for the nonsense they were.
It was easier to say than to do for they echoed constantly in her mind. She sat immobile for minutes on end while all around the sounds of enjoyment seemed to come from a far off country. She was in a fair way to succumbing completely to the blue devils when a familiar voice hailed her.
“The fair is supposed to be a merry event, so why so sad, Mistress Nell?”
The duke stood before her, dressed in a close fitting coat of glistening blue superfine, his shapely legs encased in tight dove grey pantaloons and a pair of dazzling hessians, their little gold tassels swinging jauntily from side to side. She had never seen him look so magnificent. Somewhere his valet must be dancing a jig; twice in a week Summers had conquered the carelessness of his noble employer.
She must have been staring rather too hard because he said, “One has to dress to impress at these affairs, Nell.”
She pulled herself together. “You will certainly do that, Your Grace. Your boot tassels alone could buy the whole of this fair.”
She hadn’t meant her words to sound quite so disparaging but he did not seem to notice. “And what about you?”
“Me?”
“Where is your dress to impress?”
“Servants do not have such a luxury, Your Grace,” she said primly.
“Now that’s where you’re wrong. I have just bid farewell to Mrs. Lucas who is looking most becoming in a peach satin turban. So where is yours?”
“I do not possess one,” she said repressively.
“Not a turban perhaps, but a dress rich in color. Any color but grey! It is not a flattering hue, though you look most comely.”
She flushed w
ith annoyance. He might be her employer, he might have taken her a little into his confidence, but he had no right to judge her choice of dress.
“I do not wear grey to flatter myself, Your Grace, I wear it because it is eminently serviceable. And I am in service.” It was something he seemed prone to forget.
“I am aware, but you see I have brought you something which will improve matters immensely,” and from behind his back the duke brought forth a corsage of tiny pink roses nestling within a spray of lavender. The pale pink and mauve blooms chimed perfectly with her gown.
“Thank you but I cannot accept such a gift,” she stammered.
“Why ever not? Such a small present—but one I guarantee that will lift your spirits.” He paused for a moment. “Tell me, why are you so low?”
“I have a headache,” she extemporized.
He lifted two skeptical eyebrows. “And…”
For some reason she found herself blurting out her experience in the clairvoyant’s tent. “And I am supposed to rescue this poor woman,” she finished. “How on earth am I to do such a thing?”
He waited until she’d ended her recital but at this final wail he burst out laughing. “Nell, you cannot honestly believe such nonsense!”
“But she was in a deep trance, I swear, and why would she say such things?”
“Simply to make an impact. The trance is mere acting—bad acting at that—and the cryptic words will ensure you go away seriously awed by her powers. You will say to your fellows that they, too, should go to Madame Demelza’s tent and be frightened out of their wits.”
“I think she saw me with the other servants,” Elinor said slowly.
“Of course she did, and what a ready market they would prove. But you have disappointed. Instead of hastening to their side and spreading the word, you have been sitting here with a face as long as a fiddle.”
Her mood lightened. “You may be right but she was still quite alarming.”
“If she weren’t, would you have entertained for a minute one word she said?”
She would not, of course, and recognizing the truth of this, she relaxed into a smile.
“Now will you allow me?”
He held out his hand and raised her to her feet. His grip was warm and strong and she wanted very much for him to continue holding her hand. But he bent towards her and before she knew what was happening, had pinned the flowers to the bodice of her dress and stepped back to admire his handiwork.
“As I thought, a perfect complement. Now even the grey dress you love so much can burst into bloom.”
She didn’t love it, not at all, but its Quaker qualities had proved a powerful shield against the world, allowing her to go about her business unremarked. Until now. The brushing of his hand against her breast had made her pale skin flame, but she could not allow him to see her disturbance. “Thank you, sir, it is most kind in you.”
His face held a strange expression. “Kind? I don’t think so. Irresistible? More than likely.”
Why was everyone talking in riddles this afternoon? She wanted to demand an explanation but he was her employer, and his whims were not hers to question. They were still standing close together, Gabriel seeming unable to take his eyes from her, when she caught a glimpse of Roland Frant a short distance away, glaring fixedly at them. His expression was not pleasant. It would be wise, she thought, to disappear at this moment. She thanked the duke again, made a small curtsy and began the walk back to Allingham Hall.
Chapter Five
Gabriel whipped up his horses and swirled out of the fair in a pocket of dust. He was angry and the bays felt it, twitching and bucking in their shafts. He was angry with himself. He should have kept his distance and he hadn’t. The dairymaid held a fascination for him he could not explain. He thought back to yesterday, back to the woods and the secret glade. He had not been there since returning from the Peninsular; he could not have borne to do so and yet a few hours ago he had gone willingly and shared it with a girl he hardly knew, a servant girl at that. Conduct verging on the imbecilic! But he’d felt at peace with Nell beside him. He had no idea why that should be and it made him uneasy. For nigh on two years he had not wanted to be close to another and after yesterday’s unwise confidences, he’d drawn a silent line for himself which he’d vowed he would not again cross.
And what had he just done? He’d presented her with a corsage for her dress. Flowers, for heaven’s sake! He’d seen her sitting quite alone amongst a crowd of people, her eyes lowered, her shoulders sad—little, grey mouse. No, a tall, grey mouse. And he’d wanted to brighten her, to lighten her, to light up her eyes. The roses had been to hand and he hadn’t thought twice. He should have done. It was beyond stupid to single out one servant for special treatment, and this servant in particular.
He was still suspicious, convinced there was something smoky about her and that was an added reason, if he needed one, to keep away. He knew nothing of her references but presumed they were satisfactory; that was a matter for Jarvis and the butler seemed happy enough. Still, she had to be something more than the simple servant she claimed. Her manners, her voice, her education all told a different tale.
Whatever her history, he seemed impelled to gravitate towards her and it could not continue. He must put her back where she belonged—in the dairy and at arms’ length. Within the next few days his house guests would bring their interminable stay to an end and he would go with them, back to Brighton, to the color and intemperance of that lively town. That should do the trick. There was nothing to keep him here since Joffey, despite his faults, was capable of managing the estate without assistance. Jonathan would have done it differently, he knew; Jonathan would have flourished as the master of Allingham.
He remembered their childhood games when they had fashioned crowns from cardboard and robes from old curtains. Jonathan had always claimed the larger crown and the richer material and he had been content to let him. In his childish way he recognized Jonty was the important one, that one day his brother would be this person called a duke and that it was right he should practice. The practice never lasted long, of course, just until one of them tripped and fell on the over-long gown, a speedy invitation for the other to leap in and start an almighty tussle. The skirmish ended only when two small boys were trussed inextricably within the folds of curtain, rolled tight together, side by side, like sausages in a pan.
But Jonathan was dead and he had survived. Except for a quirk of military strategy he should have been one of the five thousand slain on the battlefield of Vitoria. While his brother lay dying, he was pinned the other side of rugged mountains with only a narrow defile to allow a straggle of troops to reach the plain below. Jonathan had died alone and far from Allingham. His remains had been scooped up and lowered into a hasty grave—the heat of a Spanish summer made rapid burial essential. The war was over and the grave lost; Jonty would never come home.
For his brother’s sake, he had tried to play the duke but his heart wasn’t in it. He needed to be elsewhere. He would return to Brighton, a town where masquerade was woven into the very texture of the air, and he would plunge into every last one of its dissipations. Until then he would keep out of Nell Milford’s way and this time really mean it. His guests, with one accord, had shunned this afternoon’s fair, complaining bitterly at his own forced attendance. Tomorrow he would proffer them compensation—a cross-country ride with a picnic as its goal. The outing would do double duty by ensuring his day was spent far from the Hall and far from temptation.
****
Elinor awoke the next morning still unsettled by events at the fair. In particular, the clairvoyant loomed large in her mind and though she knew the duke was right when he said cryptic utterances were vital to the old woman’s business, she couldn’t quite shake off the idea that some of it had meaning. The duke hadn’t been in the tent; hadn’t heard the change in the woman’s voice from platitude to urgency; hadn’t seen her frighteningly blank face when she’d dropped into a trance. And a
fterwards he’d done little to make her feel more comfortable—in fact he’d made things worse. Why accost her and then pin flowers to her breast? She had them still, brightening the small room she shared with Tilly. Last night the kitchen maid had teased her to distraction, mocking her for her unknown admirer. What would she say if she knew the flowers had come from the Duke of Allingham himself?
But it was fantasy to imagine his actions were anything more than a whim. She was in danger of drifting, beguiled by the beauty of Allingham and beguiled by its owner—the moments when they’d met and talked, the times when they’d crossed swords, the walk she had taken with him, the flowers she would keep pressed in her private notebook. She hadn’t felt so alive for years but she must not allow herself to sit out the summer in a dream. She must take action and soon.
She found Martha already at work. The woman looked up briefly and gave a grunt. “Get ter work on the cream, Nell. It needs be ready by ten.”
“Ten! But Chef…”
“Nuthin’ to do with Chef. The nobs is on a picnic and leavin’ round eleven.”
Elinor’s ears pricked, wondering if this might be her chance. “Do you know where they intend to picnic?”
Her mentor was evidently ruffled at having her schedule torn to pieces and her tone was truculent. “All I knows is the carridge takin’ the food leaves at ten and there’ll be ’ell to pay if we ain’t ready fer it.”
Elinor thought better of prolonging the conversation and set to work as fast as she could. By five minutes to the hour they had filled sufficient boxes with butter, cream and cheese.
“Yer best get it to the ’ouse, I’ll clean up ’ere. Leastways they’ll be gorn all day, if we’re lucky,” the older woman muttered testily.
This was sounding promising. If the company rode out and the duke rode with them, it might at last provide the opportunity to search Gabriel’s study undisturbed. She resolved to take the chance. It was likely to be the only one she would get.
Love's Tangle Page 6
