The Lady of Lyon House (19 page)

He grinned. “Too much for you?”

“Quite.”

“I'll just go collect my bet. I'll be back shortly.”

He went to collect his money. I felt someone tugging at my arm and turned around to find Molly standing beside me, a vivid smile on her red lips. Her curls fell in a glossy black tangle about her shoulders, and her eyes sparkled. She wore a bright blue dress with pink bows at the bodice, which she filled amply. The dress was soiled with perspiration and the skirt was streaked with something that looked suspiciously like grass stains.

“Isn't it exciting!” she cried. “I'm havin' the grandest time!”

“I haven't seen you around today, Molly,” I remarked.

“Oh—” she said, stretching the word out, “Bertie and I've been here most of the day, but we've been down by the river, watchin' all the boats and things.” She smiled coyly.

“Where is your Bertie?” I asked.

“Oh, he's goin' to wrestle! Isn't it wonderful? I do hope he wins! And where is Mr. Edward?”

“He's gone to collect the money on a bet he placed,” I replied.

“Look, there's Bertie! I've gotta run and wish him luck.”

Molly rushed over to speak to the boy. He was a giant, over six feet tall, his tanned body rippling with muscle. Waves of dark blond hair fell over his forehead, and his dark gray eyes were full of confidence as he wrapped tape about his wrists. His nose was slightly crooked, his mouth thick lipped and sensual. He grinned when Molly touched his shoulder and made a fierce expression for her. Molly giggled and stood up on tiptoes to whisper something in his ear. He stroked her shoulder and drew back his lips, exposing his teeth. Molly pretended to swoon then skipped back over to me as the bell rang for the match to begin.

“He's just grand!” Molly cried. “Dumb as can be—and fresh! But what can you expect?”

Molly jumped and squealed during the contest, elated. I looked around for Edward, wondering where on earth he could be. Almost half an hour had passed since he left me. The match ended. Bertie had lost. Molly frowned and said he was too confident and really a dumb creature but she was going to let him dance with her just the same. I paid no attention to her chatter. She noticed this.

“Is something wrong, Miss Julia?”

“I was wondering where Mr. Lyon has gone.”

“He should have been back by now,” Molly said.

“I know. I think I'll go look for him.”

“You'd better wait,” Molly said. “Bertie will be here in a minute, as soon as he's washed up. We'll help you look for Mr. Edward. It isn't a good idea for you to be alone—”

“Don't be silly,” I said.

Molly looked a little doubtful, but she was too excited to have much concern about anything. She said she would see me later and stood up on her tiptoes to see if she could spot Bertie. I pushed my way through the crowd.

I searched for Edward but did not see him anywhere. I passed stalls with barren shelves, the merchandise all sold or put away. The carousel had stopped and the painted horses looked tired and bedraggled. A man was spreading sawdust over the emptied livestock pens and steam rose from piles of manure. A dog scratched about in an overturned vegetable cart. Those people not watching the wrestling matches walked aimlessly, waiting for the activity of the night. Men were stringing Japanese lanterns around the dance pavilion. A man sprinkled sand over the wooden floor and a huddle of empty chairs around the pavilion waited for the musicians to arrive. I could hear the shouts of the crowd at the wrestling ring, far away now. The sun had disappeared, leaving dark orange banners on the sky. Shadows were thickening, spreading purple over the ground.

Edward was standing by our hay wagon, talking intently with a man I had never seen before. He was short and stout, wearing a black and gray checked suit, an apple green tie and a dark brown derby hat. His face was fleshy, the jowls hanging down, and his small brown eyes shifted about as he talked with Edward. The two men stopped talking as I approached. Both seemed to resent the intrusion. Edward frowned. The man in the derby gave me a long appraising look. He had the look and smell of London about him. He was not one of the bookies. I wondered who he was and what Edward had to do with him. Their abruptly concluded conversation seemed to hang in the air, waiting to be continued. I felt uncomfortable.

“Were you looking for me?” Edward asked, casually. “I thought you would still be watching the fights.”

“I couldn't take any more. You were gone so long—”

“I collected my money and then ran into an old friend.”

“Oh?”

I waited for an introduction. There was none.

“Are you ready to leave?” I asked.

“I have some business to discuss,” Edward said. “The dancing will start in a little while. I'll meet you by the pavilion, Julia.”

“Who's the girl?” the stranger asked, his voice heavy.

Edward ignored this. “I'll see you later, Julia,” he said.

He had not introduced me to the man. He had no intentions of doing so. There was a moment of awkward silence, and then I turned away. I headed back for the grounds. The men waited until I was out of hearing range before resuming their conversation. My head was throbbing. I wondered why Edward had not wanted the man to know who I was, and I wondered if he were the man Edward had been looking for all afternoon.

CHAPTER FOURTEEN

T
HE WRESTLING MATCHES
were over. The crowd spilled over the grounds once more, talking too loudly. The sky was a very dark blue, turning purple, the air thick with shadow. The musicians were playing at the pavilion. The sound drifted to where I stood, leaning against a deserted stall. In the distance I could see the Japanese lanterns, bobbing smears of color against the darkness. I saw a man stumbling towards me, and I hurried away, not wanting to be alone. Molly would be at the pavilion with Bertie. I did not know how long it would be before Edward would be ready to leave.

The pavilion was surrounded by darkness, shadows thick all around it, but it was a jewel box of light and color. The lanterns swayed in the breeze, spilling splotehes of color on the dancers. Strapping country girls danced with muscular lads. The girls wore vivid dresses, the skirts flashing like butterfly wings as they whirled in the dance. The boys wore boots and dark pants and leather jerkins over white shirts, the sleeves gathered full about the wrists. Faces were flushed. Bodies moved furiously to the music. The noise of boots stomping the wooden floor reminded me of a cattle stampede; it almost drowned out the music. Boys seized girls about the waist, twirling them around. Music blared and bodies whirled. It was a moving frieze of energy and vigor, red blood and muscle.

The music stopped and the dancers paused, chests heaving, foreheads beaded with sweat. I stood among the shadows, just outside the circle of lights, watching. I noticed a particularly beautiful girl with red-gold hair, wearing a yellow dress that had been fitted with men in mind. She swirled the skirts of her dress, swaying to and fro as a dozen boys surrounded her, each begging for the next dance. I heard one of them call her Connie. She must be the notorious baker's daughter. I watched her as I might have watched a particularly exotic animal in a zoo.

The music began again, and the stomping and whirling started once more. I saw Molly, radiant with her Bertie. I watched the dancing for a long time, and all the time I wondered when Edward would come. Time passed, and he still did not come. The dancers grew tired, and the music changed from rowdy polka to a slower, more sinuous sound. Bodies were closer together and faces were more expressive. Molly danced with her hand caressing the back of Bertie's neck, her lips half parted. There was intimacy where there had been abandon, meaning in every movement.

I felt isolated standing there in the shadows, watching something I was not part of. I felt like an orphan standing outside a grand house, watching a festive party through the opened windows. It was absurd, of course, but that was the feeling I had. I was very lonely, and I realized it without shame. My life had always been full of people, full of activity. The rich, crowded life in London was behind me now. I had been cast out, for reasons I could not understand. I was in a strange, alien part of the country, and I did not belong here. I had no one to turn to and I felt that lack very strongly now.

Everything was in shadow now, only the dance pavilion brightly lit. Couples began to steal away, hand in hand. Shrubbery rustled. A cold night breeze sprang up. My arms and shoulders were cold. I was exhausted by all the activity and excitement of the day. I wanted to go back to Lyon House. I did not belong there, either, but at least I had a room of my own where I could brood in comfort.

I felt rebuffed by Edward's treatment of me. I was seeing facets of his character I had never suspected. He was charming and easy-going on the surface, but there was much more there than met the eye. He seemed to be bothered by something. Perhaps it was a gambling debt, I thought. That would explain his nervous restlessness today. Perhaps the strange man had come to collect money from Edward, money he didn't have. Molly had mentioned something about Edward's gambling. She said Corinne had scolded him about it and refused to pay his debts.

I was thinking about this when I heard footsteps approaching. At first I thought it was Edward coming to fetch me and then I saw the two boys. They had both been drinking. I could smell the fumes. They were both large and blond, country boys who spent most of their time behind the plow and were unaccustomed to the spirit of revelry. Seeing me in the shadows, they stopped, grinning at one another. Evidently they had not been able to find a compliant wench, or they would have been moving about on the dancefloor with the others.

I backed away a little, sensing trouble. As they came nearer, I had a feeling of unreality. Edward had jokingly predicted something like this. The boys came closer.

“Hey, Rodd,” one of them said, “look here what I found. All ready 'n waitin' for a good lookin' fellow like me to come along. All by 'erself, too.”

His voice was coarse and rather slurred. His shoulders strained against the material of his shirt, and his large brown hands hung down at his sides. He looked stupid and dangerous.

“Ain't fair,” the other said. “I saw 'er first, Clem.”

“Find one for yourself. This un's mine.”

They glared at each other, fists clenched, neither looking at me. They were young and raw and ugly, and I might have been a pretty toy they had discovered. The one called Rodd pushed the other away, and he seized my arm before I could move. I was terrified.

“Wanna dance, sweetheart?” he said.

“No, thank you,” I said crisply, but my voice trembled.

“Aw—come on. Be friendly.”

“Let go of me.”

He ignored the remark. He began to chuckle with delight, proud of his toy.

“Shove off, laddies!”

I recognized the voice immediately. He stepped out of the shadows and came towards us slowly, casually. The lad holding my arm looked completely bewildered.

“Hey, who do ya think you are? This here's—”

“I said shove off!”

The voice was harsh and menacing. Philip Ashley stood in a patch of moonlight, looming there like a demon. The boy saw the man's face, and he released me immediately. Both of the boys stumbled away, reeling off into the darkness. Philip Ashley watched them leave. He arched a brow and turned to me.

“Are you all right?” he asked.

“I'm a little shaken up, but—I'm all right.”

“It seems I've done my good deed for the day,” he said.

“Thank you,” I replied.

“Very foolish of you to stand about like this, alone. You should be in bed—with a glass of warm milk.”

“I'm quite capable of taking care of myself,” I said icily.

“So I've just observed,” he said, grinning.

I blushed. This seemed to delight him.

“Where is your Mr. Lyon?” he asked.

“He's—he's talking with a friend.”

“Conspiring would be a better word. That would be Mr. Herron.”

“Herron?” I said.

“I saw him earlier. Wondered what he was doing in these parts. He is a friend of your Mr. Lyon?”

“I've never seen him before today.”

Philip Ashley nodded his head. I could see his face very clearly, the moonlight sculpturing it in silver and shadow. It was sharp, all angles. The jagged line of the scar was like a black mark in the light. The dark eyes studied me.

“Fortunate that you came along when you did,” I said.

“Indeed,” he replied.

“Or had you been there all along?”

“All along?”

“Watching me.”

“Let's say—watching over you.”

“You admit it?”

“I admit standing in the shadows, watching over you to see that nothing happened, to prevent any such episode as the one that I did indeed prevent.”

“Why?” I asked.

“I saw you wandering around the grounds alone. I saw it could lead to trouble. Does that satisfy you, lass, or do you have other questions?”

“Why did you follow me in London?” I asked bluntly.

“So you know about that?”

“Yes, I know.”

“I tried to stay concealed. I didn't want to frighten you.”

“And you came to the music hall afterwards to see me.”

“I came to the music hall, yes, but not necessarily to see you.”

“You left as soon as my act was through.”

“Indeed I did.”

“Explain that,” I demanded.

“When the time comes,” he said.

“I want to know now!”

“Steady, lass. You're losing control of yourself.”

“Tell me,” I insisted.

He laughed softly. I turned to leave.

“Where do you think you're going?” he asked sharply.

“I'm going to find Edward—Mr. Lyon.”