Amanda Scott - [Dangerous 02] (20 page)

“A wise child.” He glanced at Charley. “Do you mean to introduce me to these tenants of yours?”

“I do, if only to put a spoke in odious Alfred’s wheel by telling them he might not be the true heir. I just wish you were who you claim to be. The notion of Alfred filling Grandpapa’s shoes is almost more than I can bear. He is an encroaching toad.”

“May I remind you,” he said, raising his chin, “that you speak of one who is nearly related to me?”

She grinned more widely than ever. “Your brother, in fact.”

“Just so.”

“I just wish he
were
your brother. Something tells me you would have taught him better manners.”

“Ah, but he was still in leading strings when I went off to school, you see. At least,” he added with a thoughtful air, “I’m sure that’s how it must have been.”

Charley gave him a sharp look, but saw only quizzical amusement in his expression. She thought he might admit his true identity if she asked him, but she did not want to put that to a test just yet. Understanding him well enough to know he enjoyed the roles he played, she knew, too, that it would amuse him to know there were moments when she found herself believing he was really Sir Antony Foxearth-Tarrant. She was not ready to give him the satisfaction of knowing that, however.

Giving spur to Dancer, she leaned forward, urging the roan to a gallop, putting everything from her mind except the thudding of hooves on the turf, the cool morning air, the gentle rise of the nearby hills, and the colorful and shadowy undulations of the terrain ahead. Only when she heard echoing hoofbeats did she glance back to see her companions in hot pursuit. She noted with approval that Sir Antony rode as if he were part of Annabelle. She had known he rode well, but she had not seen him at speed before. Well aware that a stone wall lay not far ahead, she did not take her eyes from the moor for long. As she topped a low rise, the wall came into view. Glancing back again, she saw Letty draw her mare to the left, to jump the wide wooden gate instead of the wall. Sir Antony did not follow her. Nor did he pull right to take his own line. He was letting Charley give him a lead.

Pleased and a little surprised, she took the wall easily, and reined in shortly afterward to wait for the others.

Sir Antony said, “Where now, Miss Tarrant?”

Having expected a compliment on her riding, she hesitated. Then, catching his gaze and observing his amusement, she saw that he knew exactly what she had expected, and purposely had not catered to her vanity. She realized then that, except for the exaggerated admiration he had expressed when he first stepped into the drawing room in his guise as the haughty fop, he had never complimented her. She realized, too, that she wanted very much to win his approval.

Astonished at herself for reacting in a way which she despised in other females, she managed to respond evenly, “We’ll see Cubert and Wenna Breton first, or Wenna at least. You may have met Cubert yourself, for I think he occasionally helps the free traders. More to the point, you said your assassins may have friends in France, and I know at least one Frenchwoman hereabouts who may still have family there.”

“Angelique,” Letty said promptly.

When Sir Antony raised his eyebrows, Charley explained that Angelique was the dressmaker in Lostwithiel who had supplied her mourning gowns.

“Not that habit, surely!”

“No, I had this made in London, but Angelique is quite skilled.”

“If she is the connection, why do we visit these other people?”

“Their daughter, Jenifry, is apprenticed to Angelique, and I was disturbed to learn that she had not seen her parents since she began to work there. I want to tell them I’ve seen her, and suggest that perhaps we can arrange for them to do so as well. And, of course, they ought to know more than I do about Angelique, since they apprenticed their daughter to her.”

Sir Antony said, “I do not think we are looking for a woman, you know. Assassination is not generally a feminine act, and although I have known you long enough now to realize that you believe women capable of anything—”

Charley cut him off with a chuckle. “I don’t suspect Angelique of wanting to murder Wellington, sir. She is married, however, and it does occur to me that her husband might be someone who could tell us something useful. I do not know how they met, of course, but he could well have friends in France. We can talk to him, perhaps, and even to Angelique herself, but I believe Wenna Breton might be an even better source of information. She is a very fine spinster, you see, and spins yarn for other families, as well as for her own. Since she mixes a lot with others, she might give us some very helpful information.”

The Bretons’ small thatched cottage lay nestled in a hollow at the edge of the moor. A patch of garden rimmed with blackberry brambles sprawled in back with a sheep run behind that. Wenna Breton, a sturdy woman of about fifty, with sunburned cheeks and the deeply lined face of one who spent as much time outdoors as in, opened the door herself.

She exclaimed, “Miss Charley! What a treat. Come you in, lass, come you in.”

“Sebastian, stay!”

“Lordy, he can come in, sir. My husband’s dogs fair make themselves to home wherever they please.”

“Wenna, this is Lady Daintry’s daughter, Lady Letitia Deverill.”

“’Tis an honor, your ladyship,” Wenna said, making her curtsy. “You would be Lord Gideon’s daughter then, as well, would you not?”

“I am, indeed,” Letty said, looking around. “What a cozy home this is!”

“Thank you, my lady. My girls and me, we fashioned them throws and coverlets and cushions. They do brighten a place.” She looked expectantly at Sir Antony.

Charley introduced him, adding sweetly, “He may be Grandpapa’s heir, Wenna.”

“Be that so, then? I did hear there be some question about it. But come you in, and I’ll fetch out cakes and cider, Miss Charley. You’ll like that after your ride.”

When they had taken seats in the cottage’s main room, which served as kitchen and sitting room, and the cider had been poured, Wenna passed a basket of warm saffron buns.

Charley said, “We won’t be at all offended if you want to continue your spinning while we visit. I know you have much work to do, for you always have, and I can see that you were working when we arrived.”

“Thank you, Miss Charley, I will.” Setting the bun basket conveniently near Sir Antony, she settled herself on a low stool by her spinning wheel. A fluffy plume of white wool dangled from its spindle.

Wenna reached into a large basket of raw wool on the floor beside her and pulled out a handful, stretching and pulling it, her quick fingers picking out bits of detritus missed in the carding. This done, she held the mass near the dangling plume and began rhythmically to press the floor pedal. Using one hand to hold the wool and the other to feed it to the plume, she looked up at her guests again. Yarn appeared as if by magic from the spindle, winding its way to the bobbin below.

Fascinated, Letty got up from her chair and moved closer to watch. “Don’t you have to twist it?”

“Bless you, my lady, ’tis the wheel does the twisting.” Wenna smiled at Letty. Her hands continued their smooth, practiced motions without pause.

“Is it hard to do?”

“My Jenifry’s been spinning since her fifth year, my lady. Near all my girls started young. B’ain’t nothing to it but feeding the wool steady and keeping the rhythm. Even four-ply can be the work of a youngster.”

“Could I learn?”

The woman stared at her in apparent consternation, though her hands did not stop. “Spinning’s a chore for common folk, not for ladies of quality.”

“Oh.” Letty sounded so disappointed that Charley said, “Wenna spins to put food on her table, Letty, not for her amusement. If she takes time to teach someone who can’t help her, she will not finish all the work she needs to do.”

Wenna smiled. “It ain’t that, Miss Charley. I’d teach her in a twink. I just thought her own folks wouldn’t like it.”

Letty shot a mischievous glance at her cousin and said, “They won’t mind a bit. Moreover, if my hands were busy, I could let Sir Antony have the third saffron bun. He’s eaten two already and seems to be eyeing that last one as if he were starving.”

“He can have as many as he likes,” Wenna said, getting up to let the child sit on the stool.

“He cannot,” Charley said. “We mean to ride into town from here, Wenna, and I’m going to buy some pastry pigs from Dewy the Baker. He can have some of those. I meant to get some the last time we went to town, but we spent all our time at Angelique’s, and Dewy’s shop was shut up afterward. I’ve loved pastry pigs since I was a child, and no one makes them like Dewy.”

Wenna had been showing Letty how to hold the raw wool while Charley talked, but at mention of Angelique, she looked up. When Charley fell silent, she said, “Our Jenifry be apprenticed to Miss Angelique, Miss Charley. I don’t suppose …”

“I saw her, Wenna, a few days before the funeral, when I went into Angelique’s. I was surprised to hear that she has not been allowed to visit you.”

“We knew about Miss Angelique’s rules, Miss Charley, but we did think we’d be able to see our Jenifry if we went into town. But when Cubert went, he were told that were agin the rules as well. It don’t seem right, but Michael Peryllys himself were there, and he did show Cubert where it said as much in them papers he signed. He didn’t get so much as a peek at our Jenifry. It don’t seem right,” she said again.

“I don’t know people in Lostwithiel as well as I know them in Fowey,” Charley said, seeing without much surprise that Sir Antony seemed to be paying more attention to the conversation than to saffron buns, now that they were discussing Angelique. “We’re nearer to Fowey for one thing, and it’s so much smaller. How well did you know Angelique before you agreed to the apprenticeship?”

“Not at all, miss, her being foreign and all. Cubert knows Michael, of course, for they’ve … they’ve worked together now and again for years, at the mines and such.” Glancing away, she went on hastily, “We knew Miss Angelique makes dresses for many ladies hereabouts, and we hoped she could teach our Jenifry. Jenifry be a dab hand with a needle and thread, and she got her head set on making her own way in the world. Says she don’t want to depend on getting herself a husband, but I don’t know, Miss Charley. ’Tis a fact and all that I never knew how much I’d miss her, and it fair terrifies me to think of her going into womanhood without a man to look after her.”

Conscious of Sir Antony’s steady gaze, Charley forbore to explain her views on feminine independence, although in truth, those views had undergone some slight alteration since the reading of her grandfather’s will. She said, “I can well believe you miss her, Wenna, and I daresay, if I ask to see her, they will not refuse me. As I said, we mean to ride into Lostwithiel from here. Would you like us to look in on her?”

“Oh, if you would, miss! I just want to know she’s happy. Though, truth to tell, if she ain’t, I don’t know what we’ll do. Them papers what Michael made Cubert sign did say she must serve Miss Angelique for seven whole years and a day.”

“We’ll deal with that if she proves to be unhappy,” Charley said. “If she likes sewing, and works hard, one day she could set up her own business, Wenna.”

“Mayhap she could,” Wenna agreed, but the thought did not seem to cheer her. They remained a few minutes longer, and Charley noted that Letty had picked up the basic principles of spinning. Her motions were nearly as sure as Wenna’s had been.

“That was fun,” she said as they bade Wenna good-bye. “May I come to visit another day, and try again?”

“Bless you, my lady, come whenever you’ve a mind. I’ll enjoy the company.”

“I think I’ll ask Papa to buy me a spinning wheel,” Letty said as they rode out of the cottage yard, followed by the faithful Sebastian. “I think it would be fun to spin one’s own yarn and then use it to hook a rug or knit a shawl. Just think, the whole thing, from sheep to shoulders!”

Sir Antony laughed. “Do you intend to shear the sheep yourself?”

Letty wrinkled her nose thoughtfully. “Sheep are rather large. I could maybe shear a lamb, but I’m not certain about a sheep. I’ve never seen one shorn.”

“Well, I have,” Sir Antony said. “When I was about your age, my father took me to Holkham Hall for the shearing. It was a tremendous occasion with visitors from all over, like a large market fair. Big burly men did the shearing. They grabbed the sheep and held them upright between their knees, racing each other to see who could shear the greatest number in a day. It was a noisy, smelly business. I liked the splendid dinners much more, believe me, and the dancing bears and trained dogs even more.”

Conversation turned to dancing bears and other oddities the three had seen at fairs in England and in France, but Charley had not missed the casual reference to Holkham Hall, the famous home of Mr. Coke of Norfolk. So Sir Antony had at least visited that county. It did not mean a great deal, of course, since Mr. Coke was indeed widely known for his hospitality. His guests for the annual shearing were known to come from as far away as Ireland and Northern Scotland. Still, she filed away that piece of information with the rest of what she had learned about him.

He was a pleasant, easygoing companion. She liked him and was rapidly developing an odd sense of contentment in his company, finding his even temperament a refreshing change after her dealings with Alfred. Remembering then the hard look in Sir Antony’s eyes when he had intervened with the groom, and the way he seemed able to influence her with no more than a look or a touch, she found herself having second thoughts. Clearly, Sir Antony might not always be so easy of manner as he appeared.

When they reached Lostwithiel and she turned along the cobblestoned High Street toward Angelique’s, he reined in, saying above the ringing clatter of hoofbeats, “I’ll meet the pair of you at Dewy the Baker’s in twenty minutes. I daresay I can find the place easily enough.”

Eyeing him in surprise, Charley said, “You won’t have any difficulty at all. Anyone can tell you where his shop is to be found. But don’t tell me you are afraid you will feel out of place in a dressmaker’s shop, for I won’t believe you.”