Maggie MacKeever (4 page)

“We’re private now, ain’t we?” As he spoke, he led her determinedly down the hall. “Don’t dawdle, puss! The duchess will take it amiss if you tarry much longer. She’s the highest of sticklers.”

“Jem, this is important! I’m in such a horrid scrape!”

“Already? I’d hoped everything would go off perfectly well. You’d better tell me about it, hadn’t you?”

“Isolda wants me to marry her grandson! Jem, I told her I was betrothed to Jasper and you mustn’t give me away.”

Jem whistled softly. “So that’s the way of it. I suspected something was in the wind.” Loveday waited for the inevitable explosion, which was soon forthcoming. “You said you was betrothed to
who?”

“I knew you wouldn’t like it above half, Jem, but what was I to do?”

“Deuce take it, you could’ve told the truth! What maggot has got in your head that you should say you was engaged to a curst rum touch like Jasper?” Jem’s voice was a muted roar, for Jasper Assheton, a pet of the scandalmongers, was one of his least favorite people.

“I had to tell her something!  No one will know; I told her it was secret because Papa couldn’t approve. Please, Jem, don’t give me away! I vow I’ll confess the whole when we leave.”

“A pretty sort of gudgeon you must think me!” Jem retorted scathingly. “If I didn’t know you better, I’d think you’d taken leave of your senses. Oh, Lord, don’t take a pet! I still don’t see why you had to tell such a whopper, but that’s not to say I’ll give you away. Though it’s my private opinion,” he hissed, as they came to a stop outside the morning room, “that we’ll both find ourselves at point non plus!”

* * * *

Resplendent in emerald velvet, the duchess waited within. Loveday was surprised to find the pleasant room, with its yellow papering and draperies, vaguely familiar. “You spent much time with me here as a child,” Isolda said, and Loveday knew the astute old woman had noted her startled recognition.

Isolda was the sort of person who saw more than she should. Loveday wished Jem had stayed with her instead of rushing off to the stables.  “Good morning. I’m sorry I was delayed.”

“My housekeeper, no doubt.” The older woman’s comment was wry. “What did she prose on about this time? The grand Ballerfast tradition? Or did she offer to make you a charm? She dabbles in magic, you know.”

Loveday’s eyes widened. “Does she really?”

“She does, indeed. I own I have a favorite spell, though I am much too timid to try it myself.” Isolda’s voice changed to a low guttural chant, and her lids dropped to hood her brilliant eyes.

“The common lily,” Isolda said, in good imitation of her housekeeper, “if picked under the sign of Leo, mixed with the juice of laurel, and placed under a dungheap, will breed worms. These worms, powdered and placed in a person’s clothing, will prevent that person from sleeping.”

“Heavens! I should think so.”

Isolda, herself once again, smiled. “Shall I tell you a love spell? Wash your arms and hands thoroughly to open the pores; then rub them with a mixture of twenty grams of essence of cloves, ten grams of essence of geranium, and two hundred grams of alcohol at ninety degrees. Intriguing, is it not? Mrs. Snugglebutt claims that verbena works equally well.”

Again Loveday suspected that Isolda was testing her. “Come now, ma’am,” she protested, “you surely don’t mean to tell me that you credit such things!”

“Of course not. Mrs. Snugglebutt fancies herself a wise woman and I humor her in her odd flights. We’re so understaffed here that I shudder at the thought of her leaving us. Dillian believes, though, which you might bear in mind.”

Loveday was given little time to ponder Isolda’s strange comments, for the room was suddenly invaded by a huge, malevolent-looking black cat.

“That,” Isolda explained distastefully as the creature paused in the open window to inspect a hind leg, “is Verdelet. I believe you are about to make Dillian’s acquaintance. I must warn you again that she often displays a decided lack of stability.” Even as Isolda spoke, Loveday’s attention was arrested by a pure young voice from outside, softly singing a mournful air about unrequited love and tragic death. Loveday listened for the words.

A young woman suddenly appeared, pushing Verdelet off the windowsill and climbing in after him. She looked at Loveday with calm curiosity.

“You go beyond the line of being pleasing, Dillian!” Isolda snapped. “I detest these unbecoming ways. To begin with, you might learn to enter rooms in the conventional manner.”

Loveday was surprised at Isolda’s patent dislike for the girl, who was a fairy-tale creature with hair so light as to appear silver and eyes of a pale gray. She was clad in a plain dress of some durable fabric, but even the ugliness of the garment couldn’t disguise her elfin quality. Dillian seemed totally unconcerned with Isolda’s disapproval.

“I am sadly shatterbrained, I fear,” Dillian murmured vaguely in her sweet soft voice. She dropped gracefully to a stool by Loveday’s feet, and the cat immediately draped himself across her lap, with his head and paws hanging over either side, and fell asleep. “Are you going to be my friend, Loveday?”

“I hope so,” Loveday replied with sincerity. Dillian intrigued her. This was the strangest of all the Ballerfast group that she’d met thus far, but she saw no reason to call such an ethereal creature daft.

“There are those as won’t care overmuch for it,” Dillian commented cryptically. “Come! Let me show you the old wing.” She darted to her feet, pulling Loveday by the hand. Angered by this unceremonious interruption of his nap, Verdelet hissed and leaped through the open window.

“If the duchess doesn’t mind,” Loveday protested, though she wanted more than anything to go with this strange girl.

Isolda’s expression was unreadable. “Go on, children,” she said, with an airy gesture of one thin hand. “We can talk later.”

Loveday was hard-pressed to keep up with the elusive Dillian, who flitted ahead of her like a dancing butterfly, humming her unfamiliar song. The girl was probably some sixteen years of age, and Loveday wondered that she wasn’t in the schoolroom. Then she remembered Mrs. Merryweather’s tale of the last governess.

The castle stood on high ground, and what once had been a moat was now filled in with pleasant, rolling lawn. The worn stone structure was impressive; old and new had emerged to make a harmonious whole. Only one tower remained intact, though there had once been another in the ruined wing. The overall appearance was one of timeless, ageless beauty, and Loveday could almost feel the centuries fade away. She sniffed the clean country air as she gazed about her with delight. When she glanced at Dillian, she found the girl scrutinizing her.

“I have something for you.” Dillian took an amulet from around her neck. “It matches your eyes.”

Loveday took the necklace cautiously, as Dillian watched her. “It’s a gamahe, if you’ve never seen one before. You must wear it all the time.”

Loveday had heard of such stones, which bore curious and wonderful scenes. She inspected the amber amulet, in its strange golden setting, carefully. “It’s a unicorn,” she breathed with awe. The tiny animal was posed as if in flight.

“Unicorns bring good luck.”

“Dillian, however did you come by this? It’s exquisite!”

“It was pinned in my clothing when they brought me here. I suppose it was meant to keep me from harm.”

“All the more reason why I cannot take it,” Loveday protested.

“Fiddle!” retorted Dillian. “You have far more need of it than I.”

“Whatever do you mean?” Dillian made no answer, but snatched the necklace and fastened the thin gold chain around Loveday’s throat.

“There!” she said, with great satisfaction. “It looks very fine on you, and no one will suspect that it’s more than just a pretty ornament.”

“I don’t mean to seem vulgarly inquisitive,” Loveday apologized, “and I am very much obliged to you, but what leads you to believe that I stand in need of protection?”

Dillian smiled. “Perhaps I merely wished to make you a present. But this is fair and far off. Follow me.”

Dillian darted off before Loveday could question her further. “Around here,” Dillian called, and led Loveday past the kitchens. At that moment, an indignant bellow erupted from the house. Loveday started as Verdelet, spitting, flew through the kitchen door, followed by a frail, aged man, who was in turn pursued by a stout, red-faced woman who stopped in the doorway, brandishing a broom.

“That’s Kettleburn, the cook,” Dillian explained. The woman spoke in angry tones, but Loveday couldn’t understand the broad dialect.

“She’s saying that the cat’s an egg thief,” Dillian translated, disconcerting Loveday by her apparent mind-reading ability, “and that Samson’s an evil old goat who puts his hands where he oughtn’t.”

Loveday was startled into laughter, and relaxed. The events of the past few days had left their mark on her; she wasn’t ordinarily so tense.

“Samson is Mrs. Snugglebutt’s husband,” Dillian continued, suddenly seeming quite content to talk. “He looks frail, but he accomplishes a lot. He oversees the stables, and tends the gardens, and pesters his wife, and torments the maids.” She paused, as if to give Loveday a chance to reprimand her, but Loveday was determined to do no such thing. It seemed to her that Dillian received criticism enough.

Dillian continued cheerfully. “Isolda says that Mrs. Snugglebutt does a thriving business in spells and charms, while Samson occupies himself with impractical fantasies about the servant girls.  Here’s the original part of the castle. The rest was added on at a later date.”

Loveday gazed upon the structure with awe. This section did indeed date back to the fifteenth century, if not earlier, and she felt a brief pang of sympathy for the aged lord who had created such a magnificent setting for his unfaithful lady. The gray stone tower stood starkly silhouetted against the sky.

“I’ve seen the tower lady here,” Dillian said suddenly, again demonstrating her uncanny affinity with Loveday’s thoughts. “She jumped, you know. So did Geraldine.”

The last governess, Loveday thought, with sudden unease.

“Yes,” agreed Dillian. “Don’t ever try to go up there, Loveday. Promise me! No matter who wants you to.”

Loveday was surprised by Dillian’s sudden vehemence. “I thought the staircase was ruined,” she remarked.

The girl’s fingers closed tightly on her arm. “Promise!”

“Of course, if it’s that important to you.”

Dillian’s grip loosened. “You should see it at night,” the girl murmured, “with the moon behind the tower.” Loveday could well imagine the desolation of such a scene.

“Isolda has persuaded you to try and be a mellowing influence on me, has she not?” Dillian inquired abruptly. “There is no need to trouble yourself. I’d as lief not be a pattern-card of respectability.”

“I daresay I should not know how to go about turning you into one,” Loveday replied carefully. “Isolda seems to consider that you conduct yourself in a somewhat improper fashion.”

“And
you
are a model of propriety? Your conduct is reputed to be little better than my own.”

Loveday marveled at the speed of gossip. And that the inhabitants of the castle should be so interested in her pranks.  “My misbehavior does not excuse yours.  Moreover, our situations are quite different. Isolda was not in the best of moods, and I did not care to tell her that her hopes were doomed to disappointment. She would have been quite out of charity with the both of us.”

“I tax her patience greatly,” Dillian remarked.

“It’s hardly to be wondered at, when you seem to run counter to her at every opportunity.”

“I have other things with which to occupy myself,” Dillian retorted cryptically. “And I don’t why Isolda should encourage you to waste your time on me when everyone knows that I’m incorrigible.”

Loveday studied her. “Do you hold me in such dislike?”

Dillian looked startled. “Of course not. I simply do not wish to become a bread and butter miss.”

“Such would not become you,” Loveday agreed calmly. “However, we had much better not tell Isolda of our agreement on this head.”

“She’d be furious with the both of us.” Dillian passed a moment in deep concentration. “I’ll tell you what we’ll do! I’ll conduct myself becomingly in her presence, and she’ll believe that you’ve worked a proper miracle. What a lark!”

“A proper take-in,” Loveday agreed.

Dillian tugged at her arm. “There’s more to see.”

Loveday glanced one last glance at the tower.  She was a brief flash of movement. Startled, she looked again.

“You saw her, didn’t you? I thought you would.”

“I saw something,” Loveday admitted somberly, as she allowed Dillian to lead her to a portion of the castle where the gray stones had crumbled into jagged teeth. Loveday was saddened by the thought of all the people who had once dwelt within those ruined walls, people who were long dead and unremembered, their very names forgotten. Slightly amused by her unusually morbid thoughts, she moved closer to the ruins, and touched the crumbling stone. To her surprise, it was warm, as if the ancient structure still had life.

“Look out!” Dillian cried, her horror-stricken gaze fixed upon the shattered battlements. Loveday glanced upwards, just in time to see the massive, dislodged rock that plummeted down toward her.

Chapter 3

Averil read Isolda’s letter and swore. The other
two occupants of the room watched him with some trepidation: the Duke of Chesshire was suffering from an overindulgence of the night before. This time, however, it appeared that his lordship was not going to resort to violence, and Samson sighed with relief. He’d not been anxious to ride to London with Isolda’s missive; his ears still rang from the trimming Averil had administered the last time he’d dared to interrupt his lord’s revels.

“Tell my esteemed grandmother that I’ll return as soon as my business here is done,” Averil said, and Samson quickly departed, happy to have escaped so easily.

“He’ll make his way to the nearest tavern, I have no doubt,” Averil commented. His glance fell upon the other inhabitant of the room. “Why so glum, Huffington? Don’t deny that you’ll be glad to return home.”