Elisabeth Kidd (8 page)

“Well, Miranda, are you impressed?”

“I certainly am. Good heavens, I had no idea boating was such hard work!”

He laughed. “Admittedly, locks like this are few and far between.” He ran his hands back over his damp hair and heaved a sigh. “And a good thing, too.”

“Six miles now to Market Harborough,” George called from the stern.

Following this excitement, the Market Harborough arm seemed very tame, flowing much like a river through a variety of rural scenes. At times, woods or hills coming down abruptly to the canal hid the landscape from view, but elsewhere the fields fell away from the canal, leaving open vistas.

Sabina settled herself in a chair and soon found herself nodding off from the effects of sun and excitement. She was awakened suddenly from a nap she had not intended to take by the hail of a passing boatman. She sat up and saw that they were nearing Market Harborough, a bustling little market town dominated by a tall church spire.

She looked around for James and saw him at the bow of the boat, looking ahead for their landing place. There was a great deal of activity near the basin, so she did not dare distract him.

When they were safely tied up, however, he turned and looked for her.

“Did you have a pleasant nap, Miranda?”

“Why did you let me nod off like that? Such disgraceful behavior!”

“Nonsense, you needed it. You may think you have all your strength back, you know, but fatigue catches up with one in the most inconvenient ways sometimes. I remember nearly falling off my horse once in Spain after I hadn’t slept for two nights, and poor Salamanca was just as tired and barely achieved a trot, poor fellow.”

Presently, they were standing on the wharf, having secured the narrowboat. They agreed to meet Rose and Bill at the Angel Inn in two hours to compare notes and decide when to set off on the return journey. Sabina thought that James’s mind was elsewhere during this discussion, for he looked distracted and only nodded in agreement when any suggestion was made.

He was no more voluble when they set off on foot to explore the town.

“What’s the matter, James?” she asked.

He looked at her, and after a moment of seeming indecision, smiled. “I beg your pardon. I was only thinking what you might like to see in the town. There are any number of famous sights—St. Dionysius church, the old school…”

“Which is closest?”

“The church, I think.”

“Then let us go there first.”

He took her hand and they set off down the street. Sabina had passed through Market Harborough before, but had never really looked at it. It was a busy, crowded place, particularly around the large central square, yet it had a certain elegance. Old timbered buildings lined the cobbled streets, and numerous old inns had their doors opened invitingly to the street. Fragrant smells drifted out and mingled with the sweet smells of fruit and vegetables on the farm barrows that lumbered past, bringing supplies to inns and markets.

It was quieter in the church close and nearly silent inside the ancient building itself. They sat down on a pew toward the rear and gazed upwards at the delicate tracery around the windows. Occasional muffled footsteps from somewhere beyond the nave was the only sound other than their whispers. Sabina was glad she was with James in such a lovely, serene place.

“Have you ever been here before?” James asked.

“No,” she said, gazing about. Then she remembered. “At least, not that I recall.”

“There is nothing quite like an English church,” he said. “I thought Spanish cathedrals were grand, but they seemed—I don’t know, not so friendly as our village churches, even such a venerable old one as this.”

Sabina remembered that she and Peter were to be married in the Ashtonbury village church, a tiny building with barely enough pews for her family, let alone his. She had always been fond of that church, but she had not been in it since.

“What’s the matter, Miranda?” he whispered.

She realized that she was on the verge of tears and quickly wiped her hand over her eyes. “Nothing, I was being silly. It’s only that I feel so—alone, with no family and no past.”

“You aren’t alone, Miranda,” he said softly, then leaned over to kiss her. “You will find your past soon. You have us in the meanwhile.”

She leaned into his kiss, grateful for the brief oblivion it gave her, but the sound of a door closing somewhere in the church brought her back to reality.

“Oh, dear, how improper we are being.”

He smiled. “Who is to know.”

She glanced around. “Only God, I suppose.”

“Somehow, I don’t think He is offended.”

They sat for a few minutes, saying nothing. Then she became aware that he was watching her, and she turned to look at him. She studied his face, a little browner today after so long in the sun, his slightly crooked nose more evident in the dimness of the church. His mouth curved slightly upward when she turned to him, although his blue eyes were unsmiling. Suddenly she had the a premonition that this would be the last time they looked at each other in quite this way.

“James, I—.”

He put his fingers on her mouth. “No, don’t say it. I can say it—I love you, Miranda—because I know I always shall, whoever and whatever you may be. But you must not promise yourself when you may be promised already, or may find your circumstances to be such—”

“They aren’t. I’m not.”

Oh, why could she not confess now? It was not too late, surely? What if she pretended to remember on the return journey, or even here in town? Yes, she would do that! she thought, her heart leaping with excitement. If—when—an opportunity presented itself, when something—anything—happened that might seem to jog her memory, she would let it. She must be alert and not let any opportunity slip by.

But would she have the courage to make use of it?

When they finally left the church and returned to the outside world, they did not go directly to their next sightseeing objective, for Sabina, to prolong their return and search for some means of convincing James that she had regained her memory, began looking into shop windows and then searching her pockets. “I suppose I did not have any money?”

He smiled. “I daresay Rose kept it somewhere safe on the boat. What would you like? I believe I am able to advance you whatever sum you need.”

She pointed to an ivory hair ornament in the window. It was much like one her Uncle Brendel had brought back from India for her. Perhaps it would serve. James said gravely that he did not think this would bankrupt the exchequer, and they went into the shop. Sabina tried on a number of other ornaments, turning her head so that James could admire them and say which one he preferred, while she tried to think how she could put her plan into operation.

She had just decided on her choice when she chanced to turn and saw two people entering the shop.

“Good heavens!” she exclaimed unthinkingly, for her mind was too confused between past and present, real and imaginary Sabinas, that she could no longer think, “Dulcie! Henry! What are you doing here?”

There was a charged silence for a full minute before anyone responded to this surprised outburst. Then Dulcie came forward and embraced her sister-in-law.

“Oh, darling, I so glad you remembered!” She hugged the unresisting Sabina again and turned to James.

“You were right, Robin. Thank you!”

Sabina’s own words had temporarily robbed her of further speech, but at this her mind suddenly snapped back into operation and she turned toward her companion. “Robin? What does this mean?” She gazed at him as if he really were a stranger. “Who
are
you?”

He looked half-abashed, like a schoolboy caught in a prank, and half fearful, as if he had slapped her and couldn’t believe he had done so. “Robert Ashton, Lady Sabina, at your service.”

He took her hand as if to raise it to his lips, but she snatched it away.

“You deceived me!” she cried, unable to look into his eyes. “If you had told me from the outset, I would never…”

She caught Henry’s astonished glance and fell silent before she betrayed herself entirely. Could he have known from the outset who she was? And if he did, what had possessed him to lie to her, to pretend to be James Owen? It was as if Robert Ashton had murdered James Owen.
My only love sprung from my only hate…

“Take me home, Henry,” she said in a low voice.

“Miranda, I’m so sorry—wait!”

But she ran out of the shop before she heard another word. She could not stay. She could not let the traitor see the tears in her eyes.

Chapter 6

Without looking back, Sabina strode away down the street, heedless of where she was going until she bumped into a plump lady carrying a basket over her arm.

“Look where you’re going, love,” said the woman, not entirely without sympathy. Doubtless, Sabina thought angrily, she and every other person within hearing distance had witnessed the scene in the shop. Mumbling an apology, she chanced to glance back. James—no, Robert, curse him—was nowhere to be seen. Obviously, he had no intention of offering an explanation, much less an apology, for his treachery. For some reason, this caused her to burst into fresh tears. She fumbled in her unfamiliar pocket for a handkerchief, which gave Dulcie a moment to catch up with her.

“Sabina, for heaven’s sake, stop!” Dulcie cried, a little breathlessly. “Where are you going?”

“I don’t know,” Sabina sobbed and proceeded to weep into Dulcie’s shoulder which, Dulcie being several inches shorter, put them both in an uncomfortable position, both literally and figuratively.

“Let us repair to this public house which you were sensible enough to stop before, and find a private parlor,” Dulcie said, leading the unprotesting Sabina inside a small, dimly lighted hostelry which, judging from the lack of any odor other than sawdust and ale, was at least clean. Dulcie went off to rouse the landlady, leaving a dazed Sabina standing where she was left.

Moments later, the ladies were seated at a table in a small upstairs parlor, Dulcie pressing a glass of ratafia upon her sister-in-law with one hand and patting her shoulder ineffectually with the other. The cool interior of the inn, the silence, and Dulcie’s soothing voice finally began to have an effect. Sabina’s sobs subsided and she heaved a great sigh, but did not speak.

“I’m so sorry, dearest,” Dulcie began. “I had no notion that our—my little plan would turn out so disastrously.”

“Not in the least,” Sabina said. “I daresay it is just as well I learned what a—a deceiver he is before—”

“Do not blame Robert, dearest. He only acted in what he believed was your best interest. It was I who was in error. Of course, I had no notion that you had not really lost your memory….”

There was nothing accusatory in her tone—indeed, she seemed to be considering this unexpected twist as simply part of a larger puzzle. But all too aware of her own fault in the affair, Sabina lashed out at the absent target.

“Do not defend him, Dulcie. He is an Ashton, and knowing who I was all along, he no doubt had some nefarious purpose in lying to me. People who have been known to cheat at cards and steal their neighbors’ sheep will stoop at nothing. I daresay he hoped to take advantage in some way of my vulnerable situation. I’m sure I cannot imagine what, but then, I am not an Ashton and do not understand how they think.”

“Oh, do stop talking nonsense, Sabina,” Dulcie said, giving in to exasperation after all. “Robert’s actions had nothing to do with that foolish old quarrel. And do stop calling him by pronouns. He does have a name.”

Sabina calmed suddenly and sighed. “Yes, but what is it? Who was it whom I—I thought to be my friend, Dulcie? Robert Ashton or James Owen?”

Dulcie left off trying to reason with her distraught friend and changed the subject.

“Well, we are certainly glad to see that you suffered no real hurt from your injury, Sabina—that is, you
look
remarkably well. I expect we could tell the family that you had simply gone away to be alone and think, or some such excuse, and no one will have any reason to suppose otherwise, if you do not wish them to do so.”

She waited for Sabina to respond to this suggestion, but Sabina could only shrug. She wished she could hold on to her anger, which was more comforting than weeping like a ninny over what was over and done with. But she could no longer think, no longer make the effort to sort out her thoughts and feelings.

“Whatever you think best.”

Dulcie perused her sister-in-law’s striped blouse and long green apron. “Of course, we must find you something else to wear. I’m sure that ensemble is very picturesque—quite the kick of fashion on the canals, I have no doubt—but I do not think it would be wise for you to go home in it.”

Sabina dabbed at her eyes one last time with Dulcie’s damp handkerchief and said, “Do you mean, no one knows where I have been? How did
you
know?”

“No one but Henry and I knew, I should say. I chanced upon Captain Ashton the very day of your accident, and he kindly informed me of your circumstances so that we need not be worried about you.”

“Kindly, indeed,” Sabina muttered.

To forestall another bout of recrimination, Dulcie said hastily, “Perhaps you should lie down for half an hour, dearest, while I go and find something for you to wear. Heaven knows why I did not think to bring…well, perhaps the modiste here may have something suitable made up. You have patronized her in the past, I believe. What is her name?”

“Miss Morville. On the High Street.”

“Oh, yes. Well, I shall go at once. Do you care for another glass of wine?”

Sabina looked at the glass in her hand, unaware of having emptied it. “I may as well. Is it true that one forgets things when one is foxed?”

“I doubt that mere ratafia will produce oblivion all that quickly,” Dulcie remarked dryly. “Henry is downstairs, by the way, if you need anything else.”

With that, she adjusted her bonnet and stood up, closing the door softly behind her as she left the room. Still unable to sort out her disordered thoughts, Sabina stared at the closed door, then lay down on the sofa and closed her eyes. The image of a laughing face and a tall, handsome figure against a green hillside filled her vision as quiet tears rolled down her cheeks. She paid them no heed.