Amanda Scott (24 page)

“I don’t mind,” he said calmly. “Pray, do not hesitate to speak to my head gardener. His name is Frachet. I have always admired the gardens at Swainswick, and I give you
carte blanche
to amuse yourself here, or as much as you can at this season.”

“Can we look for slugs, Mama?” demanded the younger of the two boys, a fair-haired gentleman of nine. Grinning at Sydney, he confided, “Mama lets us put salt on them, Uncle Sydney, and they boil. It’s beyond anything great to watch them.”

His eyes atwinkle, Sydney said, “If you find any slugs, Stephen, you must ask Frachet what he wants done with them. I daresay he will be willing to listen to all your suggestions.”

The dowager said ominously, “Many persons particularly admire our gardens here at Bathwick Hill House, Sydney, and I cannot think that so clipped and shaven an appearance as that now displayed at Swainswick is what we should choose to admire.”

“Can you not, ma’am?”

Lord Skipton, shifting the heavy book he carried under his arm, said ponderously, “Not shaven, ma’am, dear me, no. Shouldn’t stand for that. Not that I know anything about the garden, of course. Matilda’s province, that is, and she don’t spend her time just snipping dead heads off the violets either. Daresay the gardens at home are the best in the county, and Matilda goes right to work with Feathers, gloves, trowel, and all her ten green fingers.” He beamed proudly upon his wife.

The dowager retorted, “Those gardens were well established long before you met Matilda, Basil, and she would do better to be spending more time looking after her children than her violets. Stephen is looking a little pale to me.”

“Why, ma’am, there couldn’t be a better mother,” Skipton said. “Furthermore, we’ve got Nurse Helmer, just as you had, to look after them. She wanted to look into the arrangements made for the children, but she’s with us, right enough, and you won’t tell me you don’t trust her, I fancy, not after she raised your own two sons so admirably.” Laughing at his own humor, he added, “Here she is now. Say good day to her ladyship, Nurse. You need stand on no ceremony here, as I hope you know.”

Nurse Helmer, a stout, formidable-looking woman of sixty, dressed in dark blue wool with a white cap perched on her crisp gray curls, smiled grimly at the dowager. “How do, ma’am. Good to see you in such health. You three, come along with me now,” she went on as she removed the toddler’s clutching hands from the dowager’s skirt and picked her up. “Time for your supper. And Master Sydney,” she added in the same firm tone, “I’d take it kindly if you’d explain to that cook of yours that I won’t have mince for the children. You ought to have remembered that, I’d think, but the nursery maid tells me she’s been sent up a cottage pie for their supper. I’ve sent word down to the kitchens, but I’d prefer you to explain the matter to the cook, yourself.”

Only Carolyn noticed that Sydney stiffened slightly before he smiled at the nurse and said, “I’ll see to it, Nurse.” When she had departed with the three children in train, he turned to his brother. “What’s that book you’ve got there, Basil?”

Skipton looked shocked. “Why, ’tis the family Bible, of course. Good Lord, man, you wouldn’t expect me to have left it behind, would you?”

“Why not?”

“Well, I presume that your parson will want the lesson read in chapel on Christmas Day, and I always do the thing at home.”

“Well, I know you do, but you won’t do it here. Dear fellow, you must know we attend Sunday services at the Abbey. And even if you are such a gudgeon as to believe you might be asked to read the lesson, does it not occur to you that there will be a great heavy Bible right there on the lectern?”

“I shouldn’t feel right reading from any but our own,” Skipton said, adding with a sigh, “I suppose if it is to be the Abbey, the bishop will take the service.”

“With a canon to read the lesson,” Sydney said firmly.

Skipton did not seem entirely convinced but he did not press the matter beyond commenting now and again, bleakly, that he had expected to read the lesson on Christmas Day, since it had been his habit for many years to have done so in Swainswick.

Their arrival having set the tone for the entire visit, Carolyn began to think even before Christmas dawned that the days had somehow managed to double in length. If the children were not into mischief, they had disappeared altogether and had to be searched for, and if the dowager was not complaining about their behavior, she was complaining that she had seen too little of them. The opening skirmish with Matilda having but whetted her appetite for more, she did not allow an hour to go by without more of the same, including a fierce dispute over the Louis-Fifteen table, which was ended only when Lord Skipton said flatly that Sydney was welcome to the ugly thing. By then both Carolyn and Sydney had begun to look upon the Regent’s impending arrival as a providential circumstance.

Christmas Day was hectic, for it had snowed in the night and the children clamored to go outside. The discussion over whether they might do so or not nearly brought their mama and the dowager to daggers drawn before it was time to depart for the service. Leaving Harriet in Nurse’s care, the others joined all Bath in the Abbey, where the boys were awed to silence by the majesty of the towering architecture and his eminence’s bellowing voice. The respite was brief, however, for they were in such tearing spirits afterward that Carolyn volunteered to take them into the hedge garden to build snow persons, but even with that interlude, which was none for her, there was scant repose for anyone. Thus, by the time the Regent and his party arrived the next day, despite the fact that the children and Nurse had departed a full hour before, the entire household was worn to a frazzle.

Carolyn felt as though she had been running for a week, and the announcement that the royal party had arrived only made her want to climb to the topmost attic of the house and hide. Taking herself firmly in hand, she smoothed her skirt, took a final glimpse at herself in the mirror, and set off down the corridor toward the grand stair.

A chambermaid intercepted her there. “If you please, ma’am, you must come at once to the kitchen.”

“What is it, Dolly? You must know I cannot come now. The royal party is at the door.”

“I know, ma’am, but he did say you’re to come at once.”

“Who said that?”

The maid looked around quickly and lowered her voice. “He says, tell you it’s Salas, miss, and I think he’s a gypsy, I do, really, though what in the world a gypsy can have to say to a lady in this house is more than I can imagine, and so I told him, but he said you would want I should fetch you to him right quick, and so I thought I’d best, miss, and so I have.”

“So you have, Dolly. Take me to him at once.” Hurrying after the maid, she wondered what on earth could have brought the gypsy back to Bathwick Hill.

Salas had not changed. Standing just inside the scullery, near the door to the yard, he looked the same as he had looked the first time she had laid eyes upon him in the gypsy camp. His flashing white smile was the same, and his dark eyes twinkled with the same mischievous merriment. But Carolyn was in no humor to be amused. Well aware that every ear in the kitchen had bent in their direction, she said, “Come outside, if you please, though I cannot think why you insist upon speaking to me.”

His smile widening, Salas said, “A man does not require a reason to speak to a beautiful woman.”

“Stop that,” Carolyn said. “I have many things to think about, and I do not wish to waste time with nonsense.”

“Telling a beautiful woman that her beauty is appreciated is not to speak nonsense, lady. I but—”

“What do you want, Salas?” she demanded.

“Salas comes only to request some small assistance,” he said. “He would prefer to speak with the master but is told that the master is occupied with your king who is not yet a king.”

“If you mean he is entertaining the Regent, that is so,” Carolyn said. “What do you think I can do for you?”

“You must speak to him, lady, tell him Salas requires help. Remind him that it is in his interest, since he will not wish Salas to say certain things to certain people regarding our previous encounter. Indeed, one thinks it will be good for all if Salas is to leave England for a time.”

“Good gracious, what have you done that you must leave the country? And why come here, of all places? I thought your camp had long since moved to the south.”

“The others are near the town of Salisbury,” he said, “a town of small-minded persons who lack understanding. It is most inconvenient of them to wish to lock Salas up, but so it appears they wish to do. One does not understand this.”

“Lock you up? Then I collect that, not being content with attempting to steal from Mr. Saint-Denis, you have continued to make such attempts elsewhere. And now you dare come to us for help?” She shook her head at his effrontery. “I must tell you, Salas, that if they only lock you up, it will be too good for you. And Mr. Saint-Denis will say the same thing. Or he would,” she amended, “if I were to agree to disturb him merely to ask for his opinion, which I assure you, I will not do.”

“Then you cannot be considering the consequence to yourself and to the master if Salas is taken. It is true that he has borrowed things, but only such few things as ought by rights to belong to all and to be used by those who have the greatest need of them. This is law among the Romany, for we do not live by the foolish, selfish laws of you English.”

“Since you chose to live in England, I should think it only sensible to live by English laws,” Carolyn told him severely, “and if you choose to flout them, then you must not be indignant when those laws say you must be punished. And why, may I ask, should there be any consequence to us, in any event?”

“Your words are perhaps logical to you,” Salas said, shoving a hand through his dark curls, “but it is not the Romany way to think one man should own that which can benefit many. And as to consequences, you cannot have reflected, lady, or you would have no need to ask. The master did not call for a constable that night because he had no wish to have it known that Salas sat at his table, pretending to be a foreign count, to deceive others. Deception is also better understood by the Romany than by the English, but is it not so that if Salas tells this tale, many besides the master will be displeased? He will be better pleased, one thinks, if Salas goes out of England instead.”

“Well, you are wrong about that,” Carolyn said indignantly, “if you think he will let you force him to help you esc—”

“No force, beautiful lady. English constables be most persistent and will catch Salas if he is here to be caught, so it be more practical that he disappear for a time to the Continent, where he has friends to look after him. It was Salas’s thought that the master would aid this venture to avoid having others know of attempt to trick people with Salas pretending to be foreign royalty. Perhaps,” he added musingly, “even to trick a king who is not yet truly a king. Word of such can fly like bird, one thinks, all over England.”

Aghast at this unexpected turn in the conversation, Carolyn began to think she was no match for the gypsy and to wish Sydney were at hand to deal with him. That Sydney could do so easily she did not doubt, but by the same token, she had no wish to disturb him while he was with the Regent. It would be better, she thought, to delay Salas until she could find time to think of a way to get rid of him herself, or else—lacking a plan of her own—until she could at least select a more convenient time to bring the predicament to Sydney’s attention.

“Look here,” she said at last, “you must realize that the master cannot take time just now to consider your difficulty. It will be better, I think, if I find you a place to hide until he can put his mind to your problem. There must be a room in the stables where you can hide out, and I’ll have someone bring you food there.” She regarded him with sudden suspicion. “Look here, you haven’t borrowed anything in Bath lately, have you?”

He grinned. “No, lady. When the master said we must depart at once, Salas was in no way to borrow anything, for not only was Salas’s father enraged but Salas had no wish to further displease a master who can turn him upside down only by touching him. Salas would like to learn that trick.”

“I daresay,” Carolyn said dryly, “but since you do recall how easily he bested you, you might take time now to consider whether you wish to displease him again.”

“One does not wish to do so,” Salas said flatly. “One has come only to do him the courtesy to warn him of certain consequences to himself should Salas be taken. One wishes him no harm, lady, truly. But Salas likes to talk. It is a—how you say—a fault that he has never properly overcome.” His eyes twinkled merrily, his expression inviting her to share his joke.

She grimaced. “You know perfectly well that you mean to exaggerate your story well beyond its truth, and you ought to be flogged even for threatening such a thing. I will not stay now to debate the rights of it with you, but I think I can promise you that Mr. Saint-Denis will be most displeased. Here, Dolly,” she called, seeing the little maid come out of the scullery, “do you know a room in the stables where this man can sleep until our guests have departed and the master has time to deal with him?”

“Oh, yes, miss,” Dolly responded, regarding the gypsy with wide eyes. “There be a room as won’t be used for a day or two that even has mats on the floor, so he can be right comfortable.”

“Good,” Carolyn said. Then seeing the way Salas looked at the little maid, she quickly added, “See that he has food and a couple of warm blankets, but you get one of the stable boys to help you. No doubt one of them will be glad to do so.”

“Oh, yes, miss, my brother Danny works in the stables. He’ll look after this man well enough.”

“Excellent.” Seeing the gypsy’s grimace of annoyance, she shot him a triumphant look and returned to the house, smoothing her skirts as she went and hoping both that her hair had not been mussed too much by the breeze in the yard and that the dowager would not have become incensed by her prolonged absence.

She found the family and their chief guest in the drawing room. When she entered, she saw the dowager’s lips fold together alarmingly, but Sydney smiled at her from his place near the fire. Lord Skipton, who had agreed with his wife that their departure was inconceivable with the Regent in the house, nodded in a friendly manner, and the Regent, looking pale and sitting at his ease in a large wing chair near the fire, said, “Damme, there she is! I have just this minute been asking Saint-Denis where he had hidden you, Miss Hardy! Pretty as ever, I see. And how have you been keeping yourself since Oatlands?”