Starlight & Promises (2 page)

In the boisterous, smoky Blue Boar Inn, the air hung close and thick with odors of boiled mutton, a blazing pinewood fire, and unwashed bodies. As they dodged pinching fingers and wandering hands, serving maids with platters balanced on their palms and mugs of ale dangling from their fingers swung through tightly packed patrons. Outbursts of ribald laughter followed their swishing skirts.

Richard and James sat at a scarred table in one corner, ignoring the tumult around them and the mutton chops cooling and congealing in their own fat. Their heads close together, the two men conversed in lowered voices.

Richard pulled a pen, a bottle of ink, and a sheet of stationery from his pack and laid them on the table. “I plan to write to Samantha, explaining the situation and the importance of maintaining secrecy. Knowing her, she will pull together an expedition in record time.”

James frowned and took a swig of ale. “Samantha? Our Samantha? I cannot help but worry. I fear your expectations exceed her talents and her ability to be discreet. This discovery is far too important to remain a secret for long. My God, a Smilodon! ‘Tis beyond the wildest imaginings of even the most optimistic scientist. Done properly, it will ensure the career of the first person to record it.”

“That’s why I’m depending on Samantha. I feel certain she can be cautious and still get the job done. I have no doubt she’ll manage without creating a stir. Samantha’s not one to take no for an answer; though now that I think about it, she may muddy the waters a bit, in a manner of speaking. Her tenacity could be our undoing.”

James raised an eyebrow. “How?”

“I’d place a wager of a hundred pounds that when the expedition shows up Samantha will be heading it.”

“Surely not!” James looked shocked. “This is not an expedition for a lady.”

Richard leaned back in his chair and laughed. “And what does that have to do with Samantha?”

“Samantha may have, um, spirit, but she
is
a lady. If she
does
arrive with the expedition, you shall simply have to send her back. You cannot possibly take responsibility for her under the conditions of a jungle expedition.”

Richard grimaced. “I’ll certainly try. But Samantha, as you are well aware, does not take orders in good cheer. That
spirit
with which you so generously gift her is more akin to obstinacy. At best, I might convince her to remain behind in Hobart.”

“You are her guardian.” James bent a stern eye on his friend. “I realize Samantha can be difficult at times, but you must be firm. Rein her in, or she will never be manageable and suitable for marriage.”

“Believe me, I’ve tried,” Richard replied with a cynical smile. “Nonetheless, Samantha considers herself a
modern
woman. Nothing I say or do seems to have effect.”

James cocked a brow. “A modern woman? I cannot say I have familiarity with that term, nor have I heard her express such sentiments. What does it mean?”

“Cannot say I truly understand it myself. To Samantha, I gather it means she does not take orders from men, any men, myself included. I finally stopped fighting it. Her arguments wore me to a nub.”

James waved with his mug of ale. “Then marry her off. She’s certainly old enough. A husband will curb her rebellious nature.”

Richard snorted, nearly choking on his ale. “I would, but I know of no one I dislike enough to inflict so vile a torture. Perhaps you would offer yourself as sacrifice?”

James gulped his ale with haste, unlike his normally moderate self. “Not me,” he mumbled. “I’m a confirmed bachelor.”

Richard pushed the paper aside, stuck a fork in a chop, and transferred it onto his plate. “Enough about my recalcitrant niece,” he said through a mouthful of stringy mutton while gesturing with the fork. “She is the best qualified to handle this situation. When she arrives, we’ll deal with her. My primary concern is planning a successful expedition from our end. We must be ready.”

At a prickling on the back of his neck, Richard half-turned in the chair to examine the tavern’s patrons. ‘Twas as if someone, or some malevolent presence, was watching them, listening in on their words. His survey revealed only heads bent over platters and eyes focused on tankards of ale. The mixture of sailors, merchants, and settlers seemed to pay them no heed. He dismissed his edginess as due to the secretive nature of his conversation with James.

While dividing his attention between the mutton and the list of supplies and personnel he jotted on the paper, he discussed with James their needs for a fully equipped expedition. Confident he had recorded all his requirements, Richard extracted a new sheet of paper. Taking up the pen and dipping the nib into the ink bottle, he began …

My dearest Samantha …

Two tables away, a man sat with his back to Richard and James. While eavesdropping on them, the man clenched and unclenched his hands beneath the table.

A serving maid edged up to him, her bovine bosom threatening to spring loose from the tight confines of a low-cut bodice. She regarded him with a lascivious gaze and ran her tongue across her lips. Bracing her hands on the table, she leaned over, nipples visible in their insecure nest. “What can I get fer ye, luv?” She wet her rouged lips again with the tip of her tongue.

When he turned and sent her a malicious stare, she jerked back with a sharply inhaled breath and hurried away, the heels of her shoes clacking in a rapid pattern on the plank floor.

Berkshire County, England

“B
last it!” Samantha tripped over a tangle of sedge grass and landed on her hands and knees in the muck of the bog. A marsh hawk, skimming the vegetation, released a piercing cry and wheeled over her head, as though to mock her clumsiness. She canted her face to the bird, saying, “You needn’t be so ungallant.” Sitting back on her heels, she examined her muddy hands and ruined walking outfit. No help for it now. Wiping her hands on her skirt, she looked down and, from her vantage point, spied her quarry. Movement in the grass. The wriggling of a common lizard, also known as the viviparous lizard,
Lacerta vivipara
. It hid beneath a clump of shiny, dark green leaves, its gray green color merging into the stonewort, round-leaved sundew, and marsh orchids.

“Aha. There you are, and you would choose stinging nettles for your refuge. For the longest time, I thought I should have to go home empty-handed. I shall call you Albert.”

Pulling down her sleeves to cover her arms, she poked beneath the nettles. The elusive lizard burrowed farther into the muck. She dug a bit under it, tipping it into a hollow in the ground, and scooped it up, tucking it into her pocket.

More of the tarlike bog mud now smeared her gown, and burrs clung to the skirt. A tear along the length of one sleeve added to the outfit’s disreputable look.
Oh, bother!
Given that her clothing was beyond repair, she crawled about, in the event she should come across some other interesting creature. When shrill young voices rose nearby, above the trilling of frogs and whistling of sparrows, she lifted her head and peered over the spears of grass to view three schoolboys wielding sticks and beating at the reeds.

Samantha lumbered to her feet and approached the boys. They halted their activity and turned sullen faces her way. She now recognized the trio, the unruly offspring of her aunt’s hay man.

“What have you there?” she asked with a tight smile, letting her sharp gaze touch on each boy.

The one she knew as Bradley spoke up. “Nut’n, m’lady.”

She crouched down and searched the vegetation they had beaten flat. “Well, it must be something, or you would not have taken such care to punish the reeds.” She sucked in a breath at the sight of the battered grass snake, its long, heavy body twitching in obvious pain. She gathered it into her hands and gently lifted it from the ground. It still had life in it and wriggled in her palms. Cradling it in the crook of her arm, she stood and faced the boys.

They hung their heads and shuffled their feet, making a rustling in the grass. The youngest, Madden, she recalled, snuffled and wiped his nose with a dirty sleeve.

“You shall receive a switching for this,” she said, barely able to contain her ire.

“‘Tis only a snake,” Bradley said, raising his head and sending a mutinous look into her eyes.

“‘Tis the snake’s home, Master Bradley. It has the right to be here. You do not. It caused you no harm. Indeed, it could not, as it is a harmless species. I shall speak with your father tonight.” Wrapping the snake in her shawl, she strode off through the marsh, eager to get the injured reptile home and nurse it back to health.

A mile from the house, the lowering sky sagged farther, the ragged scraps of clouds knitting together into dirty gray sheets. A misty drizzle evolved into rain, and by the time she reached the steps of the country manor, her hair hung in a wet, matted mess. She pushed it away from her face with a grimy hand. Her rain-soaked wool jacket weighted down her shoulders, and her dragging skirt wrapped about her legs.

She circled the house to enter by the servants’ door. Muddy footprints following her across the wide oak-plank floors of the kitchen, she sloshed into the hallway in relative silence, considering her condition.

“Samantha!”

Aunt Delia’s voice issued with authority from the drawing room. Before Samantha could squish her way to the staircase, Delia appeared ahead of her, bursting through the opening framed by double pocket doors, and confronted her like a mongoose challenging a king cobra. Delia came to a halt, her bow-shaped mouth puckered into an expression of censure.

“I do declare,” Delia said, “I have looked everywhere for you. I should have known you were tramping about the bog, communing with those slimy creatures. I only hope you did not bring another reptile into this house.”

Albert stirred in Samantha’s pocket, and the grass snake flexed in her arms. She hugged the shawl closer to her chest.

Delia waved a hand. “No matter. The postman brought a letter from Richard. It has come all the way from Tasmania.”

“Tasmania? How wonderful.” Samantha stretched out a hand. “Let me see it.”

“Not until you change. From the looks of the hall, I believe you have brought the entire bog into the foyer.”

Samantha fled up the stairs, deposited Albert and the grass snake—who had yet to inspire her with a name—with the rest of her reptile collection, threw off her muddy clothing, and pulled on a day dress. Tugging on the waist of her dress to center the seam over her hips, she stepped over to the cheval mirror.

With her butterscotch hair straggling down her back and about her shoulders and the hectic flush in her cheeks, she looked younger than a twenty-year-old spinster. She laughed at the turn of her thoughts, her golden eyes sparkling back at her in the mirror. Tripping out of the room and back down the stairs, excitement bubbling up inside her, she sped into the drawing room.

Richard in Tasmania. How delicious!

“Smilodon,”
Samantha breathed and hugged the letter to her chest. She read it again and broke into laughter, spinning around the room, her skirts flinging papers from the desk to the floor.