Authors: Karen Kay
“No. I canna.”
“Yes, you can.” Estrela placed her arms around the older lady and by sheer will alone, crawled toward the door.
And then it happened.
A pillar broke loose from a wall.
It crashed to the floor, over Estrela, over Mrs. Gottman, effectively trapping them both.
The two lay pinned to the floor, underneath the pillar, while the fire blazed all about them, its flames licking ever closer and closer.
But Estrela could not give up. She would not. If not for herself, then for Mrs. Gottman.
It was in the front of the house, somewhere Black Bear would never have thought to look.
He smelled the smoke, he saw the flames, he heard the screams.
Waste Ho.
He rushed toward that place, his heart pounding loudly in his ears. And reaching there, he almost wept.
Fire raged everywhere.
It looked impossible and yet—Waste Ho was in there.
Black Bear hesitated not even an instant. He rushed upstairs, grabbing his buffalo robe, then back down, out into the morning air, to the side of the house where he had seen a water butt. And there dipping his robe into the water, he waited and paced.
Wance, nunpa, yamini.
One, two, three.
He lifted the robe out of the water and tugging it into place over him; he shot back into the house, back into the room.
Flames darted around him, boards and furniture falling before him, smoke making it hard for him to breathe.
He couldn’t see her through the flames.
He hollered.
She answered back and Black Bear fled toward the sound.
He could see her now. Her foot was trapped, but she wasn’t struggling to free herself; she worked over the pillar that had trapped another, a woman who lay unconscious beneath the weight.
Black Bear ran toward them.
He freed Estrela at once.
“Leave!” he ordered her. “I will help the woman.”
“No!” Estrela cried. “She is an old friend. I will not leave her.”
Black Bear didn’t argue. There was no time. He set to work.
Wood crackled, walls creaked, plaster fell inward, flames whipped all around them.
The older woman awoke. “Go!” she said. “Leave me.”
“
Hiya!
”
“No!”
The older woman gasped. “I kinna breathe. It is no use. Leave.”
“We have you almost freed,” Estrela cried. “You will leave with us.”
Black Bear at that moment moved the pillar, and Estrela, with a burst of strength, pulled the housekeeper loose. Then Black Bear and Estrela dragged the older woman across the floor.
He spread his buffalo robe around them and getting them all to their feet, Black Bear, holding the older woman up, guided them to a window where, crashing the glass with his foot, he lifted both women through it, jumping through himself last. He hit the ground, rolling over and over in the dewy, wet grass, coming to his knees in an instant.
He crawled over to Estrela, feeling her everywhere, satisfying himself Waste Ho still lived.
He sat back, watching Estrela kneel over the older lady, the lady he now recognized.
Estrela held the hand of the woman, who lay unconscious before her.
“Do not leave me,” Estrela cried over and over. And as though in answer, the housekeeper opened her eyes. She glanced around wildly until, catching sight of Estrela, she smiled. “Doctor,” she murmured. “Important…doctor.”
It was the last thing she uttered, the last breath she took.
And Waste Ho, tears and soot running down her face, howled.
A raven chose that moment to take wing and fly, Estrela unaware of the movement; Black Bear, however, watched its motion, its path, the very flap of its wings, as it, a bird of prey, fled the scene.
Black Bear crouched down low, studying the boot prints left behind in the early-morning dew.
He followed the trail.
So, whoever sought to kill Waste Ho, Estrela, had not lived in this house.
The prints had originated from the bushes at the side of the house. Following them, Black Bear came upon more prints, though the boots were always the same.
One man. One horse.
And small feet.
Had Black Bear been anything but Indian, he would have smiled at this moment. But he didn’t. He merely looked at the ground. This person walked with a limp, something easily discernible from the tracks. The print of one foot, the right, was more deeply embedded in the grass than the other.
This man would be easy to find. It might take time, it might take patience. But this trail, Black Bear could follow.
At last, Black Bear lifted his head, thrusting his chin forward.
And all at once, he smiled.
There were no other casualties in the house fire, though the Duchess of Colchester lost all her linens and fine clothing, which she had brought with her in a trunk.
But no other servant, no other person lay trapped beneath the burning fire. As those in the household, a gathering of thirty to forty people, stood on the lawn, Estrela watched the flames devour the home she had only just remembered.
Black Bear had brought her here to help her remember. His plan had worked. Old images had been revived, the past recollected. But to no avail. As far as she knew, with this fire went all physical proof as to who she was.
She had found it, only to lose it.
Odd, too, she didn’t mourn that loss. No. Not that loss; it was something else.
In remembering, she had at last recalled the presence of a friendly woman in her early life, someone who had been as a mother to her, Mrs. Gottman.
She sniffled and Black Bear pulled her slight body more fully into the warmth of his own. “What did she say?” he asked, his voice low and gravelly in her ear.
Estrela swallowed. “She called out for a doctor,” Estrela answered quietly. “’Tis all.”
Black Bear nodded. “
Wanunhecun
,”
was all he said. “Mistake.” And to the Lakota, who had no word for “sorry”, his expression related all the sorrow that he felt and, oddly enough, gave her all the comfort she needed.
It was enough.
Chapter Twenty-One
“Jolly good to see you this morning.”
Estrela pulled up on her mount this pleasant day in November and smiled. “So nice to see you, too, M’lord.”
Prince Frederick grinned at her as he met her on the pathway at Shelburne Hall, but he really didn’t look at her. His gaze scanned the area around her. And at last, not finding that which he sought, he bestowed his glance upon Estrela.
Nearly a month had passed since that fire at the Earl of Langsford’s estate; nearly a month Estrela fought with herself, with her feelings of guilt over her inability to save Mrs. Gottman. And though she tried to tell herself that there was nothing more she could have done, it didn’t seem to help.
A horse whinnied, breaking into her thoughts, and Estrela glanced up quickly to look at Prince Frederick. She smiled. The man was holding his horse steady with one hand on the reins while he reached up to snatch a handkerchief from his pocket, and snapping the material in the air as was his habit, he brought the kerchief to his face.
“’Tis so hard,” he said, “to find good help these days. I do wish I had a manservant who was as good as your maid. And while we’re on the subject…” he hesitated, as though to inject just the right amount of disinterest into his voice, “…where is the maiden in question?”
“Oh.” Estrela pretended surprise. “You mean Anna?”
“Yes,” he replied, lifting his chin upward as he sniffed the air. “Rightly so.”
“She will be along in a moment. Yet I must tell you that she quite protests my requiring her company today, though she used to join me every day without question. She suddenly seems to believe that her place is in the house, attending to my chambers, straightening my rooms, taking care of my clothes. I’m afraid, sir…” here Estrela gave the Prince a flippant look, “…I’m quite afraid that Anna is turning into a prude.”
“Lady!”
Estrela laughed. “I do believe that Anna suffers from the malady. She seems to believe that just because she is my maid, she is not allowed to enjoy a quiet walk with me, a leisurely ride, a picnic. She seems to believe only her peers are entitled to such things. Why…” Estrela lowered her lashes, “…she may need someone to inform her differently. Someone besides myself, someone—ah, perhaps from the aristocracy. Someone…” she glanced all at once at the Prince, “…like yourself.”
“Me?”
“Yes.” Estrela smiled. “Someone like yourself. Will you do it?”
“M’lady. I…well, I…”
“Shh! Here she comes now.”
Anna rode toward them on a hack that looked more nag than horseflesh. The animal’s back was swayed, her coat drab, her eyes glossy and she kept stopping to graze at the lawn while Anna sat quietly atop her, waiting.
Estrela chuckled. “Anna.” She raised her voice to be heard. “Just jiggle the reins and click and she’ll come here.”
“I can’t, M’lady.”
“Of course you can.” Estrela grinned. “Just—”
“I say,” Prince Frederick spoke from beside Estrela, “may I be of assistance?” He was already trotting his horse toward the maiden, who, wearing one of Estrela’s riding habits, complete with top hat, looked more lady than maid.
The maid smiled at him as he approached, and patting her nag gently on the neck, she welcomed the Prince with softly spoken words that Estrela could not hear. Nor did she wish to listen. It was obvious to her that the Prince and her maid were attracted to one another. What was to become of that attraction depended on the two of them and their ability to battle society’s insistence on the status quo of its aristocracy.
There was little Estrela could do about it besides provide a constant friendship and a willing ear, should the need ever arise.
In the meantime she escorted Anna on their morning excursions where they inevitably met Prince Frederick, Estrela providing the necessary chaperon, although in truth, it was supposed to appear that the maid furnished escort and chaperon for the lady.
It was an odd day for November, but Estrela did not see it. As she rode up ahead of her maid and the Prince, Estrela hardly took note of her surroundings, her mind working over her own problems, which were considerable. But she looked up now and again and as she beheld the countryside more and more around her, her vision began to clear and Estrela suddenly noticed something. There was something unusual about this day.
It wasn’t in the trees; they were still bleak. It wasn’t in the grass, which was most commonly brown or golden, nor was it in the air, still seasonably cool and crisp. It was in the sky, the clear, blue, cloudless sky. The hour was early in the morning and yet the sky, which was normally overcast and dreary this time of year, was blue; even the sun, now risen, was strange for a November day. It felt warm upon her back, an unexpected sensation. And although its warmth was certainly not hot enough to heat the chill in the air, its presence upon her was invigorating.
She glimpsed a man out in the woods as she gazed off to the side, another. Ah, yes. The fox hunt season had begun as of last Monday, the first Monday in November, and as Estrela glanced about her, she saw several more people up and out early this mom.
It was still too early for the sportsmen themselves to be about, the hunters not usually arising until late in the morning. All Estrela could witness now as she gazed about her, were the men sent out by the master of foxhounds to ready the area for the sport; stopping up the fox holes to ensure the foxes could not return to their dens.
One of the men saw her as she set her horse along the path and tipped his hat to her. Estrela returned the gesture with a nod.
Personally Estrela did not enjoy the sport. She did not see the point. Perhaps if she had spent more time in England, in the country, she, too, would enjoy the enthusiasm of it, but not having lived here long, she found herself sympathizing with the fox.
Besides, it seemed a bit of laziness on the part of the hunter. Up late in the morning, he depended on others to ready the sport for him. He did not really “hunt” the fox, the whole adventure more an exercise in galloping over the countryside in pursuit of the hounds. And given her Indian upbringing, she could not see the sense in killing something one did not intend to use for practical purposes. To her, to the Indian, hunting with no intent to provide food, clothing, or something equally useful, but carried on for the sake of sport alone, was utterly contemptible; perhaps it was this that colored her view.
Estrela looked back now to where the Prince and Anna rode behind her, but they, caught up in themselves, did not attend to her glance.
Estrela slowed her mount and sat straight in the saddle, glancing all around her. Every day since she had returned to Shelburne Hall, she and her maid would take this ride in the early morning. She had needed the excursion, the exercise after she had arrived back from the Earl of Langsford’s estate. Shock and the knowledge that she had once again escaped a murder attempt, held her tense, kept her from feeling truly happy.
For she should be happy, or she should, at least, feel a shade of that emotion.
And on one hand she did.
She and Black Bear had never been closer. He came to her each night, performing as though he were husband. He guarded her. He protected her.
Even now, under Black Bear’s orders, Prince Frederick furnished protection for her, a necessary part of Black Bear’s arrangements.
Black Bear did not allow her even a single moment alone. Between the Prince, the three Indians and Anna, Estrela had not one bit of privacy.
On the other hand, however, Estrela despaired.
Though she dared not tell a soul.
She felt more and more deeply entrenched on English soil as each day passed.
For one thing, she was still married, still bound by a vow, but now, even more so.
Before their visit to Langsford Estate, she had begun to believe that perhaps Sir Connie didn’t exist, that maybe she had pledged herself to a phantom, that perhaps she was free to marry the man of her choice.