Patricia Veryan - [Sanguinet Saga 10] - Lanterns (26 page)

''Lucky for me, certainly. I thought you had gone back to
Town, so that Sir Gavin could meet with the—er, sheikh, did you say?"

He threw the warm rug over her knees, swung into the curricle
and
took up the reins a small villager had held for him. "Correct, ma'am."
Tossing a coin to the child, he guided his team along the cobbled
street. "I could scarce wait to get back here. Dare I hope you missed
me? You were in my thoughts every—" 

"Oh! Do have a care!" she exclaimed.

He had driven to where the street widened outside the Seven
Seas
tavern and turned his team neatly but at a pace that caused a sturdy
man in smock and gaiters to jump for his life.

"Look before you leap!" shouted Coville laughingly. "Egad,
Miss
Marietta, how do you bear this bucolic wilderness? The dim-witted
yokels alone would drive me berserk!"

"That particular dim-wit is Jed Westmere. He was near blinded
by a
mine blast at the Battle of Badajoz, and probably did not expect anyone
to be driving on a narrow street at such a rate!"

"Oh, dear!" He gave her a quizzical look. "Then I beg his
pardon.
Come now, lovely one, do not pinch at me when I've missed you so." She
still looked stern and he added cajolingly, "I've brought you a little
surprise from the metropolis."

Marietta glanced at the small package he placed on the seat
between
them, and realized that her feelings for Blake Coville had undergone a
subtle change. She felt vaguely disloyal to be in the curricle beside
him because, charming as he may be, he was Diccon's enemy.

"Come now, open it," he urged. "You're never going to forbid
that I give you a very small token of my—regard?"

His eyes were full of laughter, the high crowned hat was set
at a
jaunty angle on his thick hair, and his coat emphasized the breadth of
those fine shoulders. He was undeniably a very handsome man, and the
eyes of every female they passed followed him admiringly. 'Which he
knows,' thought Marietta. But after all, he would be a fool not to know
it. And, besides, she was not betrothed, and was under obligation to no
one. Impatient with herself she took up the little box and unwrapped it.

The brooch was of gold filigree around a central oval on which
was
painted a picture of old London Bridge, as seen from the river. The
detail was extraordinary for such a miniature work and Marietta
exclaimed, "How lovely it is! Oh, but I cannot accept, Mr. Coville. You
are too kind, but you must know it would not be—"

"Now pray do not say it would not be proper! You will note it
is a
poor gift really, for I chose with care and there are no jewels, and
the gold is likely brass! Furthermore, it is a used piece that I came
upon in Town and hoped might not offend."

"Poor gift, indeed! It is an antique and I suspect valuable!
And as
for the gold being brass—" She broke off, for he was watching her with
a broad grin. "Oh, but you are teasing me. No, sir, truly I am most
grateful, but—"

"You must consider me a poor friend if so simple a gift cannot
be
accepted. Have I offended, Miss Marietta? Or is it, perhaps, that my
step-brother has been turning you against us? He is very cunning and
can twist truths to suit—"

"Please stop, Mr. Coville! Major Paisley has been very kind to
us and—"

"Whereas I am
unkind
and too evil to
dare present a little gift?"

"No! I did not mean that at all, but—"

"If you will not accept the brooch, ma'am, what else am I to
believe? I had hoped you were beginning to think of me as— more than a
friend. In spite of the depth of my own feelings, I've taken care not
to move too fast, but you must know what my intentions are."

Suddenly, her mouth was dry. Again, she searched his face. The
boyish grin had vanished. He looked sad, and she knew she had hurt him.
So he really meant to offer for her. That was surely the highest
tribute a man could pay a lady. It was what she had hoped for, wasn't
it? Papa would be ecstatic with joy. Any sensible maiden would at this
point lower her lashes and tremble and flutter her fan while stammering
shyly that she did not know what he meant, so that he would be obliged
to declare himself. She heard herself saying instead, "How could I
think you either unkind or evil, when you and Sir Gavin have been our
good friends? I promise you that Major Diccon Paisley does not speak of
your quarrel. Certainly, I do not wish to distress you. The brooch is
delightful and I will accept it most gratefully."

He gave a whoop of triumph. "Splendid! And you will wear it?
Not
take it home and hide it away in your jewel box?" She laughed. "I will
put it on now, if you wish." He did wish, and drew the team to a halt
while she pinned the brooch to her shawl. "There," she said, turning
for his appraisal. "Does it look nice?"

His admiring gaze was not on the brooch but on her smiling
face. He said huskily, "No. It looks fairly breathtaking!"

Lem Bridger climbed down from the box of the old coach and
handed
Madame Olympias out. "Coming on to rain, marm," he said in his crisp
London voice. "What time shall I call for you?"

"Oh, dear! I don't know!" She scanned peaceful meadows and the
rich
loom of the encircling woodland, and murmured, "What a bother this is!
Were we followed, do you think?"

"I don't, marm. Likely we might be on the way back, for Miss
Marietta's right, and folks is curious, no use denying. They want to
see where I go to meet up with Madame's coach."

Mrs. Cordova sighed. It was all Isolde Maitland's fault. The
wretched woman had cornered Fanny after Church and demanded to know how
Madame Olympias arrived at Lanterns, and where she came from. Fanny's
inventive mind had not failed her. Madame, she'd said, had been born a
gypsy but had married into a noble house. Sadly, the family had fallen
upon bad times, and when she was left a widow, Madame had found herself
very short of funds. She had resumed her occupation of telling
fortunes, but in the strictest secrecy, for, however impoverished, her
late husband's family was proud and would be horrified if they
discovered the source of her income. To preserve her secret she
occasionally borrowed her sister-in-law's coach, but instructed the
coachman to set her down at some distance from Lanterns. Sometimes, she
would walk through the woods to her caravan. Sometimes, she would send
a message asking that Bridger call for her at this or that hedge
tavern. After Mrs. South's remarks, Marietta had thought it necessary
to reinforce this tale, and Bridger had driven out in the coach this
morning with Madame Olympias hiding under the seat. Once they were sure
they were not followed, he'd detoured into a wooded area and when he
drove out again Madame Olympias had been "picked up" and was conveyed
to her caravan.

She consulted the letters in her reticule. "I've Miss
Deerhurst
coming at half past eleven," she said. "A Monsieur Gistel at one; he's
new and by his writing I think an elderly gentleman. Then there's old
Mrs. Middlewich. And I'd not put it past Isolde Maitland to call
without an appointment! You'd better come at four o'clock, Bridger."

The coachman nodded, carried a well-supplied picnic hamper
into the caravan, and went away.

As soon as she was inside, Madame Olympias brightened. This
cosy
little place was all her own; she felt stronger here and quite sure of
her powers. When she lit the solitary lamp she saw that The Mystical
Window Through Time was dusty. She wiped it off with the soft piece of
flannel she kept for dusting, but the crystal looked no clearer and she
peered at it uneasily. If it refused to cooperate she might have a
troublesome time with her new client, this Monsieur Gistel. She wound
her little clock and put it on the bookcase, then sat in the impressive
bishop's chair, rested her elbows on the round table, and prepared her
mind to receive her clients.

Miss Deerhurst arrived punctually, as always. A tall, stringy,
twittery spinster, she lived with her uncle in a fine house outside
Eastbourne that had been promised to her if she cared for the gentleman
for the balance of his lifetime. A good cook and a meticulous
housekeeper, she was keeping her part of the bargain, but she
mistrusted her crochety old uncle and had confessed that she was often
sleepless at night, dreading the prospect of what would become of her
when he went to his reward. It would be nice if there was something
encouraging to tell the poor woman, but thus far the only indications
were that the house would be left elsewhere and Miss Deerhurst's future
would not be bright. No point in telling her that. Time enough for
sorrow when the blow fell. Therefore, Madame Olympias listened
patiently to her fears, told her some entirely spurious stories of
ladies she'd known in similar circumstances upon whom Fortune had
smiled, and after consulting the Mystical Window Through Time, sent
Miss Deerhurst home twittering with excitement because of the
'stranger' who would soon appear to change her life.

There was now plenty of time for a leisurely luncheon, but the
rumble of carriage wheels and a shrill female voice announced the
arrival of the Widow Maitland, even as Madame Olympias had anticipated.

"I care not if you've other appointments," announced the
unscheduled
client, sweeping into the caravan with a rustle of petticoats and a
snap of her hard dark eyes. "They must wait! I was most displeased with
my last sitting. At the rates you charge, Madame, one is entitled to
expect satisfactory results. No! I do not wish to hear excuses! You
were not, I am assured, concentrating properly, or else your Mystical
Window was clouded or something. It certainly looks murky now," she
added snidely as she seated herself across the table. "Most murky! And
you need not bother with all your Jupiter in the ascendants, or Moon in
transportation, or such fustian. I am not easily gulled, I promise you.
I expect to be married within the year, and I wish to know if it is
truth that the gentleman in question may soon be rescued from his
financial, er—embarrassments."

'The horrid woman is afraid Lionel will slip through her
clutches if
one of the girls marries well,' thought Madame. " 'Ave I not tell you
at your last consult this gentleman is not for you?" she purred,
slipping a hit in under the widow's guard.

Mrs. Maitland scowled. "You told me almost nothing! I require
more
details. Look into your Mystical Window if you please, and tell me by
what means this change in his finances is to be accomplished."

Madame Olympias first demanded her fee, plus the amount the
widow had neglected to pay after her previous visit.

Mrs. Maitland quivered with rage, but fumbled in her reticule
and tossed the coins onto the table.

'Two guineas wrest from the miserly clutch-fist,' thought
Madame
Olympias gleefully. However, she really tried to give value for her
fees and she concentrated upon her Mystical Window. It was still
clouded, which was worrisome, but she said with high drama that she saw
nothing worthwhile in Mrs. Maitland's present romantic interest. "A
male is in your future, but yes. Another gentleman. This male, he is
not. For this male there is much trouble." To her inner dismay the last
sentence came involuntarily.

Abandoning her interest in "this male" Mrs. Maitland demanded
to
know more of the other "gentleman" and Madame Olympias painted a
glowing if unidentifiable portrait of good looks allied to rank and
fortune so that her client finally departed with far less antagonism.

As the door closed Mrs. Cordova sighed with relief, but the
unscheduled consultation had taken almost an hour and there was little
time now for anything but a hasty nibble at her bread and butter and
sliced cold pork. She was sipping a glass of milk when the caravan
rocked. A cow or some large animal must have brushed against the steps.
Glass in hand, she went over to pull aside the window curtain and peep
out. She stared, transfixed. A very tall individual was sauntering
towards the steps watching a groom who, although not above average
height, seemed to her to be gigantic. Immensely broad, with chunky legs
and long powerful arms, his features were of an Oriental cast and as if
hewn from solid rock; the mouth a narrow slit and the eyes deep-set and
almost hidden under the heavy overhanging brow. He had evidently
circled the caravan, and he approached the tall man and appeared to
make a brief report. His employer nodded and the groom turned and
strolled towards the carriage that waited in the shadow of the trees.

Emma Cordova flew back to her little table and whisked her
lunch
from sight, wondering with considerable indignation whatever this
Frenchman had expected that he must be so cautious. To be ambushed by
gypsies, perhaps? To be set upon and robbed by a gang of thieves of
which she was the ringleader?

In response to a firm knock she called harshly, "Be pleased to
enter."

He came in, stooping so as not to bang his head on the lintel.
Straightening, he said in perfect English, "Henri Gistel, madame. I am
expected, no?"

The smile that curved the full red lips was not reflected in a
pair
of very dark eyes that were strangely dull and devoid of expression. He
removed his hat politely, revealing lank black hair that emphasized the
extreme pallor of his long, narrow face. His demeanour was respectful
and mannerly, his garments of excellent fabric and superb tailoring. He
seated himself in the opposite chair and Mrs. Cordova's resentment was
forgotten. She sensed power, and a threat that caused her heart to
flutter. Struggling against a strong compulsion to run away, she
stammered, "I regret, Monsieur Gistel, but my crystal it—er, is today
clouded. In fairness I—I will postpone your appointment."

His smile did not waver, nor did he make any attempt to rise
but
instead began to strip off his gloves. "Perhaps Madame would be more
comfortable did we converse in French?"