Judith Ivory (20 page)

Christina had got down her trunks and thrown half her things in before she suddenly stopped. Not knowing why, she left her half-packed trunks and clothes in her room. She began to wander the house.

It was so empty and quiet. Everything so much the same. Yet so irrefutably different. On a hall stand, in an empty rose bowl, she found a stickpin. His. She’d seen it stuck through his cravat on several occasions. A tiny sword with a diamond hilt.

She carried the pin out onto the terrace, fiddling with it. The leaves of the large maple trees at the side of the house were beginning to turn. Autumn. Life went on. Adrien had been gone four or five hours, and already it felt like a lifetime ago. She felt like the autumn leaves. Cycling into a reddish, yellowing phase. Awaiting the wind to take her down, down to the earth; reality.

She unclenched her fist to look at the pin. It reminded her so of him. A dandy, she smiled. He was that. He groomed himself with a flourish, with an eye toward the ladies. Christina looked at the pin more closely. Yet
she believed him when he said he had not been with another woman all summer. She was even inclined to believe him when he said he had not lived in such proximity to a woman in a dozen years. Her divorce was over. She had no better plans; no plans at all in fact. So why couldn’t she stay?

“Mrs. Pinn?”

Christina turned. Sam Rolfeman. Her “bodyguard” was proving to be something of a nuisance. He didn’t let her long out of his sight.

“I haven’t gone anywhere,” she told him.

“I noticed your bags are down, your clothes are out.” He took a deep breath. “Mrs. Pinn, I would appreciate it if you would not lead me a merry chase from here into London or wherever it is you are planning to go. Adrien asked me to look out for you. He’s apparently worried about someone—Who? Is it your husband? Someone who might harm you. Why don’t you make my life easy—?”

Christina turned and walked past him into the house. “My husband, Mr. Rolfeman, isn’t going to hurt me. Adrien was overly alarmed by two trivial incidents a day ago. I’ll be fine, and you don’t need to follow me about to assure that.”

“But I do. For one thing, I promised. And for another, if anything should happen to you, Adrien would turn me inside out for allowing it.”

She turned to him at the foot of the stairs. “I don’t want you to follow after me. Do you understand?”

He didn’t answer immediately, but made a tight glum mouth and dropped his eyes. “I’d heard you were difficult,” he murmured.

“Difficult? You haven’t seen difficult yet, Mr. Rolfeman. Leave me alone. I don’t want you hounding me.”

With that, Christina took two fistfuls of skirt and turned her hoops and bustle around. She tossed the stickpin into its bowl as she headed toward the front
door. Anywhere to get away from this—this irritating shadow that Adrien had set upon her.

She was almost to the stables when she noticed Adrien’s coach had returned. She peered into the carriage house. “What’s this,” she asked the man unhitching the team. “I thought His Lordship had taken this carriage to the coast.”

The man turned out to be no more than a boy of fifteen or sixteen. It was John Piper, Adrien’s footman. “No, mum. He sent it back once he got to the inn. There were horses waiting.” The boy blushed and made a show of turning from her, hanging the riggings on the wall. Then he turned back. “Maybe I oughtn’t to be saying this, mum, but I was on back of the coach this morning when you and His Lordship was arguin’. And someone oughta be telling you—you oughtn’t to go so spare with His Lordship. He’s hopeless gone on you. Ain’t never raises his voice at you. Never loses his temper. And he’s al’ays there. Ain’t never seen ’im fancy so after one woman since I can remember—and I was born upstairs in the attic of that house—”

His eyes dropped from her face to her chin; a seeming shyness coupled with a determination not to look away. “And I wanna tell you,” he added, “I don’t hold with none of the gossip—it’s nothing you c’n help, you know. It’s just people don’t see true square with someone’s pure lovely as you.” He took a breath. “But, for me, I can’t believe you’d, well—you’ve the look of an angel.”

Christina was taken aback. She had seldom heard a remark both so rude and so well-intentioned.

Then a further surprise. The young footman’s eyes dropped a full six inches. His tongue wet his lower lip quickly as his eyes scanned Christina’s white blouse at breast level. He eyed the cleft in the fabric that fell over high, round curves. Christina laughed.

“God in heaven,” she said, “if you look at all angels like that…” She instantly regretted the remark.

The young man blushed a red so vivid it seemed as if all the blood in his body had rushed straight to his face. His eyes glassed to tears. He turned and began fumbling to put the last bridle on the wall.

Christina moved forward and touched his shoulder. “I’m so sorry. You see, I—Look!” She reached both hands out to his and smiled. She had to lean forward and peer up into the downcast face. “Flesh and blood.” She squeezed his hands. “Human. Capable of saying just the wrong thing at the wrong time. Truly.” She was able to unbend at last and look straight into his eyes. “I am so flattered that you think I’m pretty. And that you think well of me—except, of course, that you think I am not kind enough to His Lordship.” She laughed softly.

A slightly sly grin began to materialize on the face of her young confidant. “He’s all hell with the ladies, isn’t he?”

Christina made a disapproving face. “A bit, yes. I’m afraid so.”

The grin vanished. “Oh, I’m very sorry—”

“No need to be,” she said. “You’re right. And everything you’ve heard, what people are saying about me, is probably true as well. Can you imagine the earl giving up two, almost three months of his company to a pure sweet angel, John?”

The young man smiled slightly. “I suppose not.” His cold hands were warming in Christina’s grip. She saw acceptance in his young face; there was no harsh judgment.

Christina drew herself up to her full height, a scant inch shorter than the boy. If John Piper could accept it, then so could she. She was the Earl of Kewischester’s mistress. Which was not such a bad thing to be. In fact, it was a damn sight better than being Richard Pinn’s wife. She felt wonderful, her morning’s irritation forgotten. As she looked at the footman she realized a rather curious kind of social position lay there waiting for her
to embrace it. A position of respect—of sorts—and power. Yes, she could love this—if she would only let herself. And she loved Adrien. She…

“Oh, God.” She put her hand to her mouth.

“What’s wrong.” Her new friend was immediately there.

“I never told him.” Christina suddenly wanted to cry. She loved Adrien. She had loved the summer. She
was
happy living here. Yet she had let Adrien depart thinking she was deeply discontent. How could she have been so stupid? And so afraid! She had lost sight of how deliriously happy she had been in the present, because—practical, plotting little lawyer’s daughter—she could not see how she could profit by it in the future! “What an absurd, scheming woman you are, Christina Pinn.”

“Oh, no, mum, you’re not—”

“Oh, yes, I am. But I am owning up to it and going to do something about it.” But what? She didn’t know.

Then John’s half-smile froze as his eyes swung up and over Christina’s shoulder. Samuel Rolfeman stood at the door.

“Where are you going, Mrs. Pinn? And if you’re getting a horse for her, John, you had better get one ready for me as well.”

Christina wheeled around.

Glaring silence.

John Piper broke it. “She was just fixin’ to go to the inn. To surprise His Lordship. You know, he’ll be at the inn all night, and he all but invited her—I heard him this morning. It’s hardly a surprise he wouldn’t welcome.”

Christina threw a sideways glance in the direction of her gallant rescuer. He continued.

“He’s at the Three Rose. Mrs. Pinn was just saying that on horseback she could be there in under an hour; it would make a gosh fine surprise.”

Mr. Rolfeman looked at her. “You should know, madam, that Lord Kewischester is not much one for surprises. And he has business that would undoubtedly keep him—”

“Oh, a pox on his business!” Christina pushed by him. “And a double pox on your odious interference. You may forget the entire idea! I suddenly don’t feel like going at all! John—” She turned, a deliberate insult on the man in the doorway. “I’ve had enough of boring jailers.” She nodded an affectionate good-bye to the footman and left Mr. Rolfeman without a word.

And by this exit, she finally succeeded in getting a rise out of the stoic Mr. Rolfeman. He called after her, shaking his fist. “I am not Adrien’s servant! I’m his friend! The second son of a viscount, the owner of four hundred acres…” He went on, listing his assets, ad nauseam, until Christina had slammed the door and thereby drowned him out. Then, out of pure malice, she locked the front door. It was only ten minutes later, that he managed to get in at all—via the servants’ entrance.

At seven, just before dinner, Christina went back to the stable. She had decided to at least explore the possibility of getting a horse that night without anyone’s knowing.

At first, she was disappointed. John was gone. She had thought to ask for his help. Christina ventured into the tack room at the back of the stable, looking for him. All she found were saddles, bridles, rigs for large and small carriages; all manner of saddlery. But then she spotted the crowning prize; it made her realize the deed could be done: Sitting neatly folded on a drying saddle were a pile of clothes. John’s regular work clothes. With the earl away, the proud young man had paraded home to supper in full livery.

Christina picked up a pair of breeches and held them to her. Oh, she laughed to herself, This is very, very
wicked. Then she rolled up the clothes and tucked them under her arm. A horse was no problem. There was a stable full of them. The bridle and light saddle she could manage, given enough time. And now, the last obstacle while she did this—Mr. Rolfeman—had become negotiable; she could get around him.

He would never question John Piper out here brushing the horses and oiling the saddles. He would only be a little alarmed when he saw him take one of the horses for a ride.

As she stepped out of the kitchen entrance, Christina felt suddenly giddy. The scheme was crazy and dangerous and not conceived with the best of sense. It was, however—as odd as it felt to consider this again—fun. As she climbed over the low garden wall and ran round the side of the house toward the stables, Christina was laughing in a way—silent, private, all for herself—she hadn’t in years. Sheer joy.

Wait till Adrien saw her! She straightened John’s snug cap, tucking in a stray piece of hair at her forehead. Adrien was going to have a fit! He was going to roar with laughter! How good this was going to be!

A half hour later, Christina climbed onto her horse and set off. Her father, she thought, had always sought to curb any unconventional rash behavior. Richard, the blighter, had fought from the very beginning to extinguish even the first thought of it. But Adrien—his way of looking at life accepted this sort of thing, she told herself, even encouraged it. And this adventure was going to outclass making love on the front lawn; it was going to make pale by comparison a few
brandy-soaked sheets in a provincial little inn. With luck, it would equal any French escapade Adrien had ever dreamed up.

The reality of her adventure, though, was a little less jolly.

She made bad time. It was ten o’clock before she’d even gotten off the estate. Then, to add to her anxiety, she had not ridden five miles when she came across some fellow travelers who immediately saw her for a woman. They were pleasant enough. A few raucous comments were all she had to contend with. But the immediate recognition, in the dark at that, was unnerving. She stopped to remove her stockings, John’s stockings actually, and she bound them around her breasts. At least that would reduce her profile and decrease some of the jiggle beneath the loose shirt. Then, as an afterthought, she untucked the shirt completely; this would veil her femininity even more. She remounted her horse, resolving to ride and move “more manly.”

Nothing, however, could restore her blithe courage. The prank could have serious consequences, Christina realized, if she met the wrong sort of person on the road. Briefly, she considered going back, but that was out of the question. She couldn’t face Sam Rolfeman. Besides, it was as far back to the house now as it was forward to the inn. The only thing to do was to push on. She pulled the brim of the little cap down over her face, and tried not to think of disappearing into raped, robbed, and murdered oblivion.

The signboard of the Three Rose Inn brought welcome relief.

When Christina took her own horse around to the inn’s stable, she immediately recognized several horses, including the mud-colored stallion the earl himself frequently rode. Adrien was surely there.

Seeing Thomas in the courtyard boosted her sense of mischief again. This still could be amusing. She pulled
the cap down and proceeded into the establishment.

“Hey! Boy!”

It took three calls for Christina to realize someone in the large common eating room was talking to her. Unlike it had been on her last visit, the Three Rose Inn was bustling with activity tonight. Virtually every table of the common room was filled. André could be seen, harried, in the far corner, serving spirits.

“Boy! Be ye deef?” It was another man, wearing an apron and also serving food and ale.

“No, sir,” she answered, not knowing what else to say.

Thomas pushed past her and went up the stairs.

“Tek the wutter uptiz lor’ship’s rum.”

“Pardon?”

“Stupid lout! The wutter!” A bucket of water was thrust at her by the handle.

She took it.

“Rum thray, ye lout.”

She stood still, unable to fully understand the man’s vernacular.

“Rum thray.” A foot on the buttocks started her, and the next remark—understood at last—sent her on her way. “Kewischester’s rum.”

Perfect. She’d have an excuse to walk right up to his door. Room three.

The water was heavy. While she tugged it up the stairs, she watched Thomas go into the room. A boy with an empty bucket came out. Then, two unfamiliar men went in and came out again.

At the door, she heard Thomas speaking—though if she hadn’t seen him she might not have recognized his voice. She had never heard him sound so abrupt and out of sorts.

“Everyone’s accounted for. But Rolfeman and Sloane. Charles, I know, was making a quick trip home. A mes
sage from his wife—her waters broke. But as to Rolfeman, I don’t know where the son of a bitch is—”

There was a small splash, then the sound of a beautiful, deep voice that sent shivers through Christina. “I forgot to tell you,” the voice said, “he won’t be with us this time. Will you toss me that cigar?”

There was a plop.

Then Adrien’s voice again. “Very funny. Now will you hand me a dry one and be as clever at making one burn as making one float. What’s got into you tonight, Thomas?”

“Rolfeman has some nerve,” Thomas answered in a mutter, “backing out on this one. He’s our best tracker. Here. Be careful where you drop your ashes.”

“Thank you. I’ll be most careful.” There was a long groan of contentment, then a slosh of water. “Lord, I’m going to miss a frequent hot bath. Did I tell you that Claybourne has me going over as a coal loader? Coal! He loves to cast me grimy and poor. I can almost hear his glee over my heaving coal for a few days. I really think that man gets more peculiar by the day.”

There was a pause. Then: “Well, I will tell the others we will have a quick go-over in half an hour. Since Rolfeman has gotten cold feet, we needn’t wait—”

“I apologize. Don’t think it’s Sam. I asked him to stay.”

Adrien was talking with something—the cigar?—in his mouth. Christina smiled in anticipation of hearing how precious her well-being was to him in that slightly muddled way he had of talking and smoking at the same time. He went on.

“He’s keeping Christina Pinn from asking questions and giving answers.”

Christina puckered her mouth and twisted it to one side in a frown. That didn’t sound the least bit like his original definition of “bodyguard.”

“Mmm. A good idea,” Thomas said after a moment’s contemplation. “I’m glad you haven’t let your vanity make you less cautious.”

“Vanity! Believe me, I have no delusions with regard to that woman. I’m just relieved to have a little respite from her. It takes the patience of Job to deal with her. It took me all summer to coach her into one little lie. And it took every spare moment to keep her out of things. She’s as curious as a monkey. And about as polite. There is no part of my house or my life she hasn’t stuck her little fingers into. There is simply no predicting what she’ll get into next.”

Monkey! That woman! Christina put the pail down and folded her arms over her chest. She leaned against the doorjamb, preparing a list of his crimes to hit him over the head with as soon as Thomas left. Lying, deprecating, son-of-a—

“What are you doing, boy? Are you going to bring that water in or not?”

Christina stopped breathing. She was staring at the toes of Thomas’s boots. He’d opened the door. The only logical move presented itself. Head down, she shoved the bucket at him. He took it and went out of sight around the door.

“Ah! That’s cold! I asked for hot! Tell that idiot to get his ass downstairs and bring hot water!”

The bucket was thrust at her again, empty, with appropriate commands. The door closed. Christina breathed.

After ten seconds of battling her heart to a reasonable beat, she tossed the bucket over, planted her bottom on it and squatted, elbows on knees, to eavesdrop further, mumbling curses on Adrien Hunt’s head and the heads of all his ancestors. She heard Thomas speak her own name again.

“Some of the men are still worried over the Christina
Pinn problem. They’re thinking perhaps to frighten her again might better insure her—”

“Frighten?” Adrien sounded amused.

“They think her silence that day after the woods had more to do with fear—”

Adrien laughed. “Who? Give me their names. I’ll speak to them. Lord, you’d think full-grown men would have more respect for the vastness and density of female silences—what’s wrong? Are you one of them?”

“No. No, I’ll gather them up and send them in to you. I’m just a little concerned over—”

“Over what?”

“Why? Why are you protecting this ‘little monkey’ so personally?”

“You
are
one of them! You want to scare Christina? Hurt her to make her be quiet?”

“Don’t be ridiculous. I would never hurt Christina. What I want to know, though, is why are
you
so adamant about protecting her?”

“I see.” Adrien laughed. “I am allowed to save all the—how many are we up to? twenty or thirty now?—French aristocrats I like. But my wanting to protect one small woman, who just by chance got in our way—”

“I understand why you save aristos. You’re part of them. You like the risk. I think, also, you feel guilty after messing in—confusing—their politics for so many years—”

“My dear fellow, I do not feel responsible for an entire French Revolution—”

“Not exactly—”

“Not at all. I’m getting out.”

“What?”

“I think, after this one, we should shut down.”

“Why?”

“It’s getting too dangerous. England is hailing the
damn revolution as ‘great social reform.’ The worse it gets in France, the better the English like it; serves Louis right, people say behind their hats, after supporting the insurrection in the colonies ten years ago. And the French authorities would like to catch us and take us apart, limb by limb. Claybourne is sending in more informers. France has Italian mercenaries trying to track us down. We can’t go on like this forever. As soon as we gather up this last batch of aristos—with my grandfather among them—I think the Old Man’s ‘madman’ should disappear into the wind.”

Silence. Thomas clearly didn’t know what to say to such a declaration.

Christina squirmed on her bucket. Her bottom was going to sleep on the tin rim. But Thomas’s voice cut into her discomfort.

“Christina Pinn,” he began. “We’ve got a long way from the topic. Why? To what extent is she influencing your thinking? Are you envisioning dreams of settling down with her?”

Adrien let out a burst of laughter. “You are persistent, Lillings. Do you have designs on the woman yourself?”

“No. I just want to know if you have personal reasons for protecting her.”

“Well, I’d rather like her to be there when I come back.”

“Sweet man,” Christina thought. She leaned closer, ready to perhaps alter her opinion of his motives.

“Look, Thomas, she’s a nice woman,” he continued. “Pretty. Bright. A little too curious, and a damn sight too honest. But I suppose I even like her a little for that.”

“And that’s all?”

There was some mischief in the reply. “Well, that’s not quite all.”

“You love her.”

Adrien uttered a startled sound of objection. “Lord, you’ve been living in France too long. I like her, Thomas. She’s a sly, grasping, argumentative little shrew. But she’s so damned honest about the whole business, I like her anyway—”

Christina nearly fell off the bucket. If that wasn’t the most condescending, degrading declaration of feeling she had ever—”

“You love her,” Thomas repeated, sounding regretful over his own pronouncement.

Adrien rattled something at him in French, which concluded with, “so stop talking like some stupid Frenchman who thinks everything begins and ends with love.” He harrumphed. “It’s a wonder I’ve survived the summer. She seemed so sheltered, so pliable. But behind that sweet feminine diffidence, she hides a strength of purpose, a will of iron—No, Thomas. She’s an impressive little baggage who’s prim across the dinner table and exotic under the sheets. It’s an interesting combination, but that’s all. Besides, what are you complaining about? You yourself said that once we were faced with how her little mind worked, my association with her could do nothing but help.”

“You were trying to ‘associate’ yourself with her before we all came to the decision that you ought to.”

“She’s a very pretty woman.”

“And you ‘like’ her.”

“And I like her! Do you mind?”

“Adrien, you’re very good at manipulating women. That’s why we thought you should pursue her once she started in with her questions and letters—”

Very put out, Adrien interrupted. “So I did it! Much to my discredit. I have lived with a woman I would rather have run from just to assuage everyone’s worry. I have cajoled her and humored her when, half the time, I would rather have turned her over my knee. But enough. Leave me some shred of self-respect. Allow me to have
enjoyed the woman for a few moments of a grueling, teeth-gritting summer! And leave me in peace!”

Grueling, teeth-gritting summer! The bucket rocked under Christina, making a clack on the floor. She was livid. How big of him to have enjoyed a few moments!

“What was that?”

Christina felt her heart stop, then give a wild kick in her chest. She had a strong urge to throw open the door and confront the double-dealing bastard. But a stronger sense of caution, tinged with panic, shot through her. They had discussed “hurting” her. Dear God, let her sneak out and ruin him from a safe distance!

“Maybe it’s that boy with the bucket of hot water. I’ll see.”

“Just send him away. I have to get out in a minute anyway.”

The door opened. Christina scrambled in front of the bucket to hide its emptiness. A silver coin was tossed at her. It jangled to the floor. She used it as an excuse to bend down.

“That’s all, boy. His Lordship doesn’t want the water after all.”

The door closed.

Christina thought she was going to faint from relief. She collapsed to her knees and waited for the strength to stand. Behind the door, Thomas pursued Adrien’s feelings for her with a persistence she found unexplainable.

“Richard Pinn,” he continued, “might disagree that you only ‘liked’ the woman. He’s spread it around that you gave him a black eye and bloody lip for just touching her arm. Explain to me again how this was ‘necessary.’”

“I will not—”

“A great ‘show,’ you said. And Maxwell, who knocked her down that afternoon, said you scared the
pants off him. He said you actually gave chase for a few seconds.”