Silent in the Sanctuary (17 page)

As I moved away I heard Sir Cedric give a sharp exclamation. “He bit me! Here, sir, I shall not want this horse. The damned thing bit me!”

I covered a smile with my hand and hastened my steps. Retrieving his money from Jasper’s pocket would be a frustrating and ultimately futile exercise. Watching him try would have been tempting, but there was other game afoot.

As I neared the ladies, Mrs. King approached me, having abandoned her efforts at conversation with the Gypsy child.

“My lady!” she called. I waited for her, and she hurried, her face a trifle pale.

“Mrs. King, are you quite all right?”

She paused, biting at her lip. “I do not know. My lady, can you tell me if that woman—Magda, I believe her name is—can you tell me if she is quite truthful?”

I shrugged. “She is as truthful as any of her race.”

Mrs. King blinked at me. “I thought you were their champion. I am surprised to hear you speak thusly.”

For some unaccountable reason I felt cross with her, and I did not trouble to hide the edge in my voice. “Mrs. King, I am no one’s champion. I hope the Roma may be treated with respect and compassion. But those hopes do not prevent me from seeing them as they are. They have been greatly persecuted by our laws for centuries. Duplicity is simply their means of surviving in an unjust world. If I say they lie, I mean it as a statement of fact, and only because they are forced to it, as you or I would be in the same circumstances.”

She shook her head. “I do not mean to quarrel with you about the Roma. But I must know if this woman speaks truly. Does she have the sight?”

I tipped my head to the side and looked at her carefully, from the pale complexion to the tiny lines sketched at the corners of her eyes. I had not noticed them before. “She frightened you, didn’t she? When she told you your fortune.”

Mrs. King dropped her eyes, but not before I saw them fill with tears. “She touched my betrothal ring at first. I thought she was going to give me a fortune like Miss Lucy’s. I expected her to speak of wedding trips and trousseaux. Instead she dropped my hand and stared straight through me. She bored into me with those black eyes. I felt quite faint for a moment, but I heard her distinctly. She warned me about ghosts. She said I was in danger, if I did not leave the Abbey, some terrible fate would befall me.”

I nearly snorted, and to cover the sound, I coughed behind my glove. Mrs. King clapped me heartily on the back.

“Are you quite all right?”

I waved her away. “Perfectly, I assure you.”

Magda, for all her faults, could occasionally perpetrate an act of genius. Doubtless she had heard through the grapevine of village gossip that Mrs. King was betrothed to Brisbane. And though she liked to utter her Cassandra-like warnings about him to me, she also knew I harboured a tendresse for him. Magda and I had had our troubles, but she would always be loyal to me, in her own fashion.

I touched Mrs. King’s arm. “I should not worry if I were you, my dear.”

Mrs. King clutched at me. “She said I should retire early, bolt my door, and not stir until morning,” she whispered.

Gently, I detached her fingers. “Excellent advice. The Abbey is full of odd little staircases and twisty corridors. One might take a nasty tumble in the dark. Far better to stay safely in your room.”

She nodded, clasping her hands together. “I must warn the others though. It would be selfish of me not to do so.”

I raised my hand to pat her again, then thought better of it. “Do whatever you think is best, my dear.”

She thanked me, and I think would have even tried to embrace me, but Brisbane had spotted us together and was moving rapidly in our direction.

“Ah, here is your fiancé now. I am sure he will be only too happy to allay your fears. If you will excuse me,” I murmured, making a hasty retreat.

When I was a safe distance away, I hazarded a glance back over my shoulder. Mrs. King was turned away from me, her face buried in Brisbane’s shoulder. He was staring over her head at me, his expression unfathomable.

Then I remembered the lesson of Lot’s wife, and hurried on my way.

Men should be what they seem.

The rest of the afternoon idled pleasantly by. The Roma provided us with a simple tea—just thickly-cut bread with fresh butter—but, sauced with the lovely view and the brisk air, it was utterly delicious. Father managed to avert a disaster by purchasing Mephistopheles from Sir Cedric himself, and Plum completed a rather superb series of sketches from his vantage point on the little outcropping. Mrs. King insisted upon telling the party of her ominous fortune, and though the ladies responded with murmurs of sympathy, the gentlemen jollied her out of her fears by telling the most outrageously silly ghost stories. Father went to great lengths to soothe her worries by insisting the ghosts of Bellmont Abbey were of the very best sort, and terribly friendly as well.

“That is precisely what I am afraid of,” she pointed out, and the entire group broke into laughter. She laughed as well, and after that seemed much more at her ease.

Alessandro was prevailed upon to tell us tales of Tuscan strega, and Mr. Ludlow and Mr. Snow made their contributions as well, relating folktales of their travels to India and China. Then Jasper was persuaded to bring out his guitar and sing a few Gypsy songs. Several of the children had crept quite close to hear the ghost stories, and they sang along with Jasper’s melodies, a high, sweet chorus, not as pure as any in Westminster Abbey, but just as engaging. They were enchanting, and it was not until the sun had sunk completely below the horizon that Father rose to his feet and motioned toward the gathering darkness.

“It will be full dark soon, and I do not like the look of that sky. The temperature is falling as well,” he added, rubbing his hands together briskly. “I think we shall be in for a bit of snow from the look of the cloud just over the Downs.” Naturally the gentlemen had to spend another quarter of an hour debating the weather as the ladies stood shivering, Portia rolling her eyes at me behind Father’s back. In the end, they all agreed that, yes, it was indeed growing colder and darker and we ought to depart at once for the Abbey.

“Thank God for that,” Portia muttered, thrusting a hand into the crook of Alessandro’s arm.

We made our thanks to our hosts and pressed coins upon the children. As we picked our way to the carriages, Mr. Snow fell into step beside me.

“What think you now, Mr. Snow?” I teased gently. “Do you have a better liking for our travelling friends? Or do you still mean to reform them?”

He smiled and took my elbow in his hand, guiding me over stones in the dusk. “They do seem happy enough, I grant you. But it will be cold tonight, bitterly so, and I cannot help but think of them, shivering in their caravans, huddled together for what meagre warmth they can find.”

I glanced ahead to where Brisbane strode, tall and strong, a far cry from the starveling child he had once been.

“If today teaches you anything, Mr. Snow, let it be this—you must never underestimate them. No race on earth has a greater capacity for survival.”

Mr. Snow sighed theatrically. “It is difficult for a man to admit his errors, my lady, but how can he resist so lovely a teacher?”

This gallant speech was accompanied by a lightly mocking smile. I fixed him with my sternest expression.

“You are outrageous.”

“You are not the first to say so. And since you have seen this leopard in all his spots, let me say further that I am extremely pleased to have been invited to join this happy party, if only because it means I shall be in proximity to the most enchanting lady I have met in a very long time.”

His charm was thick as treacle and just as cloying. He could be a merry companion, but I was in no danger of falling prey to him.

“Tell me, what led you into the church? Did you always have a vocation for the religious life, or were you converted in a brilliant flash of light, a new St. Paul on the Damascene road?”

If he was disappointed his attempt at flirtation had fallen flat, he bore no grudge. He relaxed then, and I decided I liked him better when he was at his ease.

“I was in the army, that last great hope of all second sons. My father was a knight, and a poor one at that. My elder brother inherited a crumbling estate in Surrey and four sisters to keep. I was bought a commission and sent into the world with a pat on the head and one good suit of clothes.” I slid a sidelong glance at the suit he wore now. Well-cut and fashioned of quality tweed. His tastes were beyond the reach of a curate’s meagre compensation, and I wondered idly how he managed.

“And did you like the army?”

“I did, actually. I found I was terribly competent at standing in a row and marching where I was told. I was even rather good at shooting. I did, however, find it quite disturbing when my opposite number in a skirmish decided to shoot back at me.”

“I can well imagine,” I murmured.

“I was lightly wounded, not enough to maim me forever, but enough to permit me to leave the army without lifting eyebrows. My brother prevailed upon connections of his to find me a living, and so I entered the church. This is my third parish, and I must say, it is my favourite thus far. I find I am suited to the contemplative life.”

He was smiling again, that small smile that hinted at some greater amusement and invited me to smile with him. He seemed to take nothing too seriously, including himself. We had reached the carriages by then, and he handed me in, leaving his hand in mine a trifle longer than strictly necessary. I watched him as he strode away. He reached his conveyance just as Emma moved to enter the carriage. She stepped back shyly, but he put out a hand, smiling as winsomely as he had at me. She laid her tiny hand in his gloved palm, darting a tremulous glance at him from under her lashes, and I sighed. It was a pity that something as mundane and dull as money should prevent a marriage between otherwise suitable partners.

As we rode back to the Abbey, Brisbane again stared out of the window, and Alessandro was a captive audience to Mrs. King’s prattling, leaving me free to think on Mr. Snow. He was mischievous and gallant, and I would wager there was a fair bit of roguish Irish blood in him. But I knew better than to think his attentions were reserved for me alone. I had observed his flattery toward Portia as well, and it was not difficult to understand him. An impoverished younger son with a sybarite’s tastes, his way in life would be greatly eased by the acquisition of a rich wife. He had scarcely spoken two words to Emma, not out of any inherent unkindness, I decided, but simply because she was poor, and a poor lady could do nothing but weigh him down, like stones in a drowning man’s pocket. No, his charm had been directed solely at the unattached ladies of means—or at least the ladies he thought were unattached. It seemed impossible he could have failed to hear the gossip that followed Portia, and he had even met Jane, although it was possible he had not guessed the precise nature of their relationship. Or perhaps he had and was prepared to be a liberal husband about such matters. After all, the Duke of Devonshire had entertained a similar arrangement between his wife and her best friend, I mused. Of course, the lady in question had shared her bed with the duke as well as his wife, but for all I knew that might have been an attraction to Snow.

“Penny for your thoughts,” Mrs. King said suddenly, smiling winsomely at me.

“Not for a pound,” I replied tartly. “Look there, the Abbey. How lovely it is, blazing with lights! Quite the faery palace.”

We were silent the last few moments of the drive, and matters quickly fell to chaos when we alighted. There was much calling back and forth, noise from the dogs, orders being shouted to the footmen and grooms, and it was some minutes before everyone was sorted.

Just as I was about to step inside, I realised Mrs. King had lingered in the inner ward, hanging back as the carriages were driven away and the gates were rattled into place for the night, locking us in as effectively as any prisoners. The inner ward was deserted except for the small, lone figure in black. She stood perfectly still, staring up at the stone walls of the Abbey and did not stir, not even when I went to her.

“Mrs. King? If you stay out here, you will take a chill, and as I must stay with you out of politeness, I shall take one also, and I would very much rather not.”

For a long moment she did not look at me, but when she did, her expression was one of awe. “I wonder, my lady, I do wonder if you realise how lovely it all is.”

I blinked at her. “I beg your pardon?”

She sketched a broad gesture with her arm, sweeping from the courtyard cobbles to the great iron bell of the Galilee Tower, encompassing all of it, from moss-slick stones to the crooked little watchtower that looked as if it might well have been laid by a slightly inebriated mason.

“All of this. This place, your family. I wonder if you know how perfectly wonderful it all is.”

I thought on it for a moment. “I don’t suppose I do. It is all I have ever known,” I told her, a trifle apologetically.

She nodded, her lips pursed. “Yes, that makes sense. I don’t imagine Parisians go around marvelling at how wonderful Paris is either.”

“But Paris is not wonderful. It is appallingly filthy. Of course, it is a garden compared to Rome. Now Rome—”

She laid a finger on my arm, tipping her head slightly as a kitten will when it is being especially appealing. “Thank you, my lady. I have never been so warmly welcomed, nor so kindly treated as a guest.”

“Ah, well, we do try. It is a draughty old place really, and with Aunt Hermia gone I cannot entirely vouch for the maids. Aquinas does his best, but he is far too soft with them. And just so as not to catch you unawares, I must warn you that arguments will erupt. It is not a March family party until something is broken,” I said, with an attempt at lightness.

Mrs. King shook her head, her face sweetly serious. “I still think it is wonderful—so natural and unaffected. I really do not think you realise how extraordinary your upbringing has been. To be raised with such liberality, such freedom.”