“At last, my dear—welcome,” she said, in a deep, throaty voice.
“A pleasure, Lady Cornwall.”
“Oh pooh! Call me Angela. After all, we are cousins,” said Angela Cornwall, rising to take Kira’s arm. She led her to a chair across from the one she’d been sitting on. Between two chairs was a small table, laden with a china teapot and a tray of cakes.
“I hope that the rest in your rooms has helped you feel refreshed after your long journey.”
“Very. Thank you.”
“Good,” Angela nodded. She lifted the teapot and poured the brew first into Kira’s cup and then into her own, embellishing each with a drop of cream.
“Thank you.” Kira took a sip. The tea was stronger than she was used to, but it felt good against the back of her throat. Angela Cornwall offered Kira the tray of cakes, but Kira declined it with a quick shake of her head.
“Please do. We dine rather late,” Angela said, as she put one of the cakes on a small plate in front of Kira. “Not what you’re used to at home, I suppose. Oh, it’s going to be such fun showing you all of the civilized things you don’t have in America,” she declared.
Angela Cornwall, between sips of tea, regaled Kira with an exhaustingly detailed account of the fortunes of Cornwall Manor—the things one could do there and the whims of the servants. At first Kira thought this account was an attempt to make her feel welcome, until she realized she was being instructed, not informed, about her new home. Under the seemingly idle chatter, Lady Cornwall told her what she would be and what she wouldn’t be allowed to do. She learned a lot about Angela Cornwall and a good deal about Stephan during the course of the hour. They had been married twelve years, the marriage having taken place a year after the death of Angela’s first husband.
“I understand you have a son?” Kira asked politely. A strange look passed through Angela’s gray eyes, but quickly disappeared.
“Yes, William is the son of my first marriage,” she said, and quickly changed the subject. “My dear, I know being in a new place, a strange place, can be a bit difficult, and I hope that I will be able to make things easier for you.
“Your uncle James is very concerned for your health. You have suffered much recently and you need rest and quiet to recover properly. I understand these things; I, too, have suffered greatly in my life.” Angela paused for a moment and a theatrically overblown look of tragedy suffused her face before she continued. Kira again felt the invisible bounds of a prison surround her, and fought to hold on to her composure and keep her growing disquiet from showing in her face.
“So, my dear, both Stephan and I feel that it would be best if you stayed on the estate. You can use anything you want here—the horses, the gardens—but do not leave the property.” Although the last words were said in tones of concern, they were clearly a warning.
“Could we possibly go to London one day? I’ve so wanted to see it.” Kira was curious to see how severe her imprisonment would be.
“Oh! Perhaps after you’ve sufficiently recovered,” Angela replied. Kira nodded, acquiescing to everything. She could make a good guess as to what Uncle James had told them. That she’d been terribly ill over the death of her father, and also that she held her father’s political views and could not be trusted.
“I see,” she said in an even tone. “Whatever James tells you, you do, even if it’s illegal.”
Angela Cornwall stood and offered a smile to Kira.
“I’m sorry you feel that way. Please try to understand, we do what is necessary for our family and its future. We mean you no harm and certainly hold no animosity toward you.” The smile faded for a moment and then returned. “Please try to make this your home as well as you can, accommodate yourself to what must be. But when you are asked to stay in your room, we expect you to comply with our wishes. Is that understood?”
“Of course,” replied Kira, as she, too, stood and curtsied graciously. Even that bit of sarcasm did not affect Angela Cornwall.
“Fine. We dine at nine-thirty. Dinner is formal. I will see you at the table.” She turned and walked to the double doors, opened them and disappeared down the corridor.
“Formal?” Kira whispered, looking down at the finery she wore.
Kira woke several times during the night, each time feeling unseen eyes staring at her. She gripped the knife near her breast until finally, exhausted, she gave up her vigil and slept until the sun was well up in the morning sky.
Rising at last, she went to the window and looked down at the gardens. Flowers bloomed in mixed profusion, giving up their last color and fragrance to the start of fall. Although there was no chill in the air, there was a subtle difference between this morning’s coolness and that of the late summer at home. She was not looking forward to either fall or winter in England.
She went to the boudoir, relieved herself and as she finished washing her face, there was a knock at the servant’s door.
“Come in.” Polly entered, curtsied to Kira, and smiled shyly.
“Did Mum have a pleasant sleep?” she inquired, with a deep country accent. Kira nodded but remained silent. Perhaps she would be able to draw Polly out and confide in her.
“Lord Cornwall went to London this mornin’,” she informed Kira, “and m’lady told me to tell you that after breakfast she would take you on a tour of the estate. Would y’ be wantin’ yer ridin’ clothes?” she asked, going to the closet.
Kira nodded absently, but she had other things on her mind. “Polly, all last night I felt as if someone was watching me,” she said.
“Watchin’ ya’?” the girl inquired. Although she seemed puzzled, Kira detected something else in her expression.
“Yes. I woke up several times last night and each time I felt there was someone there.”
Polly shook her head. “Sorry, Mum, it was probably sleepin’ in a new bed.”
“Where was Angela’s son last night? Why didn’t he join the family for dinner?” This had bothered her during the elaborate meal last night, but she had not felt comfortable enough with her cousins to ask.
“He was feelin’ poorly and had his meal in his room,” Polly said, pulling out a brown riding outfit and held it up for Kira’s approval. Kira nodded but continued her questioning, to which Polly persistently shrugged or giggled. Eventually Kira gave up trying to get any information from the girl. Either she didn’t know or wasn’t going to give Kira any help.
After dressing, she went down to the smaller dining room, where Lady Angela was waiting. Following breakfast, they went on a full tour of the estate. The outing lasted into early afternoon, and although Kira was glad to be on horseback again, she was tiring. By the time the sun had passed its zenith, they were approaching a gazebo. Angela Cornwall turned to Kira with a smile.
“You must be famished by now, my dear. I’ve had lunch sent here.” She smiled and stopped her horse. Before either woman could dismount, a liveried servant ran out of the house and helped them both.
Lunch was laid out on a large table inside the gazebo, with place settings of fine china and silver. As they took their seats, a servant began to serve. Wine was poured, catching the sun and turning it a deep burgundy that sparkled like ruby fire. Cold chicken was served on the plates and a sauce unlike any that Kira had tasted before was poured over the meat. They ate the meal silently, Kira feeling more content than she had in a long time.
“I hope William is feeling better,” she said to Angela. There was a moment’s hesitation as Lady Cornwall framed her response.
“Why, yes. Thank you. How did you know he was a bit under the weather?”
“I asked Polly why he hadn’t joined us last night.”
“I see. Yes, poor William suffers from migraines. They strike him at the most inconvenient times. But he’s anxious to meet you,” she said with a slight edge of nervousness to her voice. “I hope he will be joining us for dinner tonight. Now,” she went on, wiping her hands and rising from the table, “you’ve seen the grounds, so I
hope you won’t feel too confined.”
“It is lovely, but I must tell you that any boundaries will always make me feel confined.”
Angela voice tightened. “We all have our sacrifices. Those who survive are those who learn to live within whatever limits are set for them. Some are boundaries of land, others are boundaries of the mind or body.” With that, Angela Cornwall walked out of the gazebo, leaving a startled Kira to stare at her back.
Kira did not know whether to follow her and offer her comfort or to stay where she was. She was unsure whether this was a ploy to make her accept her imprisonment or a genuine display of emotion.
Impulsively, Kira decided to trust her feeling, and she went to join the woman. Angela stood near the edge of the woods, staring deep into the trees. As Kira approached her, the woman gave no sign of acknowledgment.
“Angela,” she began tentatively, “I’m sorry, but being a prisoner, even with as many freedoms as you offer, does not make me any less a prisoner. If you could understand, if you could know what I’m going through…”
Angela Cornwall smiled and this time the smile held a genuine warmth. “You are not the only one who is imprisoned, my dear, nor the only one longing for escape.” Then she lifted her shoulders, shrugged, and said, “Come, we must return to the house. After we refresh, we will have tea.”
What a complex person Angela Cornwall seemed to be, Kira mused—so full of contradictions. The two women mounted their horses and started back at a walk, talking easily, and giving themselves more of a chance to get acquainted. Kira decided she would not jump to any conclusions about Angela until she learned more. But, with her curiosity aroused, she would make every effort to find out.
<><><>
The clock in her bedroom chimed nine when Kira pulled the brush through her hair for the final time. She wanted to look perfect, because she would be having dinner with both Angela and her son, William.
Kira had picked a dress of green silk, much the same as last night’s blue one. She hoped that her wardrobe would suffice for her stay with the Cornwalls, but if her attire seemed less grand than Angela’s, that was probably all to the good. The dress hung softly in folds that started beneath her breasts and continued in a flowing line to the floor. The bodice was square in cut, exposing the tops of her smooth breasts. She wore a simple necklace of silver, and a gold ring. The latter, which had a piece of deep green jade set in the center, had been a gift from her father.
“Y’ looks lovely, Mum,” said Polly.
“Thank you. Dinner should be interesting tonight,” Kira commented as she smoothed out the material of her dress and looked at her reflection carefully in the full-length mirror.
“Yes, Mum,” was Polly’s only comment before opening the door.
Leaving her rooms and descending to the main level, Kira walked the long hallway toward the dining room. She took her time, deciding it would be unwise to be early. When she neared the dining room, she found Charles, the butler, standing by the door.
“Evening, Madam,” he said in a very cultured voice. He seemed to be the most educated of the servants.
“Good evening, Charles,” she said as she walked over to him. “Could you arrange a mount for me tomorrow? I’d like to ride by myself.” Kira waited to see how far her real restrictions would be.
“Of course, Madam. Would you also require lunch?”
“No. I don’t think I’ll be out that long. I’d like to leave around ten.” Charles bowed low, and Kira bestowed a flattering smile on him.
Kira entered the large dining room, and the flickering light of many candles welcomed her. What was William like? All she knew was that he was eighteen.
When she stepped deeper into the room, she saw Angela in conversation with a young man whose back was toward her. Angela said something when she noticed Kira and the man turned around. He was breathtakingly handsome; no, he was almost beautiful. His eyes were almond-shaped and gray, like his mother’s, but they were a clearer, crystalline shade of gray. His hair, a light corn silk blond, was slicked back from his brow. His features were similar to Angela’s, and he stood only a few inches taller than his mother and Kira. His body, beneath his formal clothing, was very slim. When he approached Kira, she noticed the fluidity and grace of his movements.
“Kira, this is my son, William,” said Lady Angela as William reached Kira and brought her hand to his lips.
“I’m glad to meet you at last.” William’s voice was soft and gentle as his eyes locked with hers.
CHAPTER 21
They arrived in port closer to dawn than to midnight. This way, Sean would have a chance to disembark without too many eyes registering his passage.
An American ship docking in this small French port would not cause any alarm, but it would be noted by British spies and informants, and it was better not to advertise Sean’s presence. He was a master spy and, as a result, was not completely unknown.
When Sean left the sloop, he went directly to a small inn on the outskirts of town as instructed. By the time he arrived, dawn was breaking and the first hint of orange-red light flooded the hills.
The innkeeper, a paunchy Frenchman named Herz, took him to a small room on the top floor and advised him to get some sleep. It would be early evening before someone would come for him.
Sean unpacked his small carrying case and began to undress. He had just removed his shirt when there was a gentle knock at his door. He tensed, carefully opening the door a crack. He relaxed when he saw the young girl standing there.
About thirteen, with dark eyes and clear olive skin, she held a breakfast tray in her hands. Sean told her to enter. She spoke quickly; her voice was high and musical, and introduced herself as Jeanne.
It had been several years since Sean had been in France, and he’d almost forgotten how beautiful the flow of the language was. He smiled, replying with the exact inflections of a Parisian. She gaped in admiration of his perfect French.
“Papa said you were from America,” she pouted and placed the tray on the small table.
“I am,” he replied.
“But you sound—you speak—as if you were born in Paris.” Confusion was evident on her pretty features.
“It is all illusion,” he said as he began to twist the vowels and shorten the consonants into the dialect of a dockworker of Marseilles. The girl’s brown eyes grew larger as she listened.
“Are you a magician?”
“No. I study language so that I may use whatever parts I find necessary.”
She shrugged, confused, but went on. “My father says you should sleep and that when it is dark he will take you to the people you seek. Shalom,” she added, as she started toward the door.
“Shalom?” he asked.
“Peace,” she replied. “It is Hebrew. Rest well,” she added before closing the door behind her.
Sean locked the door, then he went to the table and ate his first real meal since leaving Norfolk. The bread was light, and the small piece of fresh meat and mound of potatoes tasted as good as they looked. Sean washed it all down with a cup of tea and smiled contentedly. He finished undressing and lay down on the soft feathered bed. He closed his eyes, waiting for sleep to claim him, and realized he was going to sleep without the gentle rocking motion of a fighting sloop.
<><><>
He was already dressed and smoking a cheroot when the innkeeper knocked on his door. Sean unbolted it and let the man in.
“We leave in half an hour. There is food waiting for you. We have no guests yet.” Sean followed the man downstairs and sat with him. When they finished the small meal and drank a final glass of wine, the innkeeper cleared his throat.
“You asked for certain information about a woman?” Sean nodded but remained silent. “I received word that she stays at the estate of Lord Stephan Cornwall, in Farnham, about two-thirds the distance from Portsmouth to London.”
“She is well?” Sean asked anxiously.
“The man who gave me the message said she
arrived eight days ago. As of three days ago, she was well.” The innkeeper paused for a moment, and lifted the wineglass to his lips for a sip. “I was also told that she is in a certain amount of danger.”
“What danger?” Sean demanded in an alarmed voice.
“The messenger wasn’t explicit, Monsieur, and said only that there are many rumors about the occupants of the estate. There is one who may be an insane person and a murderer.”
Sean grew cold at this piece of news. He despised being helpless and being this far from Kira. “Can I get a message to someone in London?”
“Of course. I have been told to give you as much assistance as possible.” Sean drew a piece of paper from his jacket pocket and wrote while the innkeeper assured him the message would be delivered within four days. Sean nodded. Within the next six days he would complete his business and arrive at the rendezvous with Francine.
Their horses were already saddled, waiting for them at the rear of the inn. Their destination, Herz told him, was an hour’s ride away. The man they were to meet, the man Sean had crossed the ocean to see, would be waiting.
As they rode through the darkened countryside, Sean let his mind wander across the channel to Kira. He pictured her as he last saw her, and he prayed that no harm would befall her and that he would arrive in time. After tonight’s meeting, if all went well, he would slip across the channel to England. The day after tomorrow, then, should find him on his way to Farnham.
Herz pulled his horse off the main thoroughfare into a small road, and ten minutes later they entered a modest estate. When they dismounted, the innkeeper led Sean to the front of the house and they entered. Sean noticed that Herz did not remove his hat, but did not comment. When they passed the salon, they came to the main room, and went through a doorway off to one side. Sean found himself in a small study and the innkeeper asked him to have a seat while he waited.
A Whisper Of Destiny Page 20
