Dear Impostor (47 page)

          So she allowed her eyelids to lower till she
could see only a glimmer of light, and she relaxed against the soft squabs,
giving herself up to the gentle rock of the carriage. As long as she was with
Gabriel, she would not fret over assassins nor scandal nor the threat of family
outrage. Gabriel’s presence, Gabriel’s love was talisman enough to ward off the
dangers of the morrow.

          When she woke, she raised her head from the
cushion; the swaying of the vehicle had ceased, and she heard a horse stomp its
foot. She felt his absence at once, even before she glanced at the empty seat. Psyche
bit back a cry. She was alone in the carriage, and the light was dim. Where
were they? Where was Gabriel?

          She peered out the small window, the glass
dusty from their travels, and saw that the afternoon was advanced and the sky
had clouded over. Before her she saw a high stone wall and a gatehouse; they
seemed to be paused at the entrance to some large property. Gabriel was talking
to the gatekeeper, and their discussion seemed animated, though she could not
make out the words. The gatekeeper waved his arms, his voice shrill. Gabriel
spoke more quietly, but she caught just a trace of his steely tone. At last,
Gabriel appeared to prevail. The gatekeeper went to push open the large iron
gates, and Gabriel climbed back into the carriage.

          He was frowning. She looked toward him, her
expression inquiring. He reached to take her hand.

          “We will stay the night at
an–um–acquaintance’s house,” he told her. “You will be safe here from Barrett’s
gang.”

          Judging by the size of the wall and the
intransigence of the gate keeper, she found that easy to credit. But what old
acquaintance was this, who kept such a large and secluded holding? The
mysteries about Gabriel’s past continued to mount. She thought of the old
rumors of murder, but pushed the memory aside. He would tell her when he was
ready; she would not be added to those who marked him guilty without any proof.
Did she not know him better than that? She knew his heart was good, no matter
how cynical the shell that he tried to hide it beneath.

          So she refused to question him now, though
curiosity stirred. But it was such a new feeling to have someone else looking
out for her, someone else ready to make decisions after years of bearing so
much responsibility all alone, that she found it strangely easy to put herself
into Gabriel’s capable hands. For now she would enjoy the comfort of having a
comrade in arms to lead them into the fray, someone she would–could trust
completely. So she rode in silence, knowing that Gabriel’s brow was furrowed
with thought. She felt his tenseness, and she knew that Gabriel was weighing
every danger, every possible ruse and defense and option, knowing with every
instinct in her that he thought of her safety first, that her well-being was
paramount. She would have trusted no one else so completely.

          The wood they rode past was thick with
towering, century-old trees, and once she saw a deer lift its graceful head
from browsing on a patch of grass. The drive was neat and well cared for. At
last the carriage rolled to a stop, and Gabriel, his expression wooden, opened
the door and alighted, turning back to offer her a hand.

          Psyche stepped down and looked around her. The
house in front of them was enormous, a great pile of gray granite imposing in
its formality, and strangely silent. No dogs barked, no servants could be heard
calling to each other, no children laughed amid their play. She glanced toward
Gabriel, but he was giving instructions to the driver, who nodded and flicked
the reins, taking the carriage around back to the stables. The sound of the
carriage wheels and the horses’ hooves seemed loud in the unnatural stillness.

          Gabriel offered her his arm.

          “Do they know we are coming?” she asked,
wondering if some lady was going to be upset by the unheralded arrival of two
guests.

          “No, but there is no shortage of guest rooms,”
he told her, flashing one quick smile. It did not lessen the tenseness of his
jaw, however, nor the guarded look in his eyes.

          “You are sure they will make us welcome?” she
asked again, feeling unusually shy.

          “Umm, not exactly, but they will house us,” he
said.

          Before she could demand an explanation of that
cryptic comment, she heard the front door open, and a footman at last emerged.

          Gabriel took her hand and led her up the wide
steps. “Greetings,” he said.

          The servant gaped at him in surprise. The man
wore a heavy wig and full livery, despite their isolated location, but he
seemed a little dim-witted. “Um, the m-master’s not at home,” he stammered

           “He will be to me,” Gabriel said calmly. He
ignored the footman who blinked at them in confusion and led Psyche through the
open door.

          Inside, an elderly butler hurried up, waving
his hands. “Here, ye canna come in like this, the master won’t allow it. Out
w’ye afore I loose the dogs.”

          Psyche paused in alarm. “We don’t want to
intrude,” she said to Gabriel.

          He didn’t seem to be listening. “There are no
dogs, McDuffie, he can’t abide their fawning ways. Don’t you remember how he
drowned the stray puppy I brought home, the year I was eight?”

          Psyche stared at her companion, her eyes wide.
The tall, skinny butler looked as if he might faint.

          “It’s yourself, sir! Come back to the manse .
. . I wouldna have credited it. ”

          Psyche’s curiosity was not just astir, it
positively boiled, and she wanted desperately to pull Gabriel aside and demand
to know where they were and what was going on. “Gabriel–” she whispered.

          Gabriel was focused on the servant who was
wringing his hands.

          “But his lordship–he promised he would have ye
horsewhipped if ye showed your face again after what ye said to him the last
time–I dinna think–”

          ”Leave his lordship to me, McDuffie,” Gabriel
said, his voice strangely calm in the face of the servant’s agitation. “I
suppose he’s in the study? I will speak to him. Oh, and tell the housekeeper to
prepare two guest chambers and add two settings to the table for dinner; we
will be staying the night.”

          Ignoring the man’s stuttered protests, Gabriel
strode down the hall, and Psyche roused herself to catch up with him. He
glanced down at her. “I would spare you this interview if I could, but unless
you want to wait in the drafty hall, I have no place else to put you. He will
not have fires built in any room but the one he uses every day. And it’s hardly
fitting for you to huddle in front of the kitchen hearth.” Gabriel smiled at
her, but his lips were taut, and the expression seemed more like a grimace.

          “Gabriel, where are we? I don’t think–” Too
late, they had evidently arrived at the study. Psyche bit back her protests.

           Gabriel rapped sharply on the heavy oak door
and then flung it open. The room was dark; a fire flickered on the hearth at
the far end of the room, but no lamps had been lit even though the afternoon
was overcast. Heavy draperies covered much of the windows, and the air smelled
stale, as if the room were in need of a good turning out.

          Gabriel stepped inside. Psyche followed,
feeling as if she were walking into a spider’s lair. It did not reassure her
that Gabriel nodded to her to remain near the door; she folded her arms and
struggled with an impulse to hide herself behind a large sideboard. Gabriel
walked on into the center of the room, then looked toward the hearth.

          “What the hell are you doing disturbing me at
this hour? It’s not dinner time yet,” a hoarse voice roared.

          “We will be brief,” Gabriel said. “I thought
you would wish to know that you have guests for the night.”

          Silence, then from the shadows of the room, a
figure stirred. The man had been sitting in a large wing chair pulled up to the
fire, and Psyche could not see his face until he rose and turned toward them.
She held her breath for an instant, then shook herself mentally. Why did she
feel like a child whose book of tales had opened to reveal an ogre?

          The man who took two heavy steps forward and
stopped to glare at Gabriel was indeed impressive in statute. He was as tall as
Gabriel and as broad shouldered, though his frame was massive, thicker through
the waist. He had sandy hair and fair, freckled skin, and his features were not
as pleasing. Of course, given the grimace of surprise and displeasure that
twisted his face, it was somewhat difficult to judge.

          “What the bloody hell are
you
doing
here?” His tone, as well as his words, was deliberately insulting. Psyche
gasped, but her indignation faded into shock when Gabriel answered.

          “Hello, Father. I was sure your welcome home
would be warm.”

          Gabriel’s inflection was even, his expression
politely cynical; how much effort each cost him she could only guess from the
tension she sensed in his body. He stood very still, as if prepared to face a
foe more dangerous than any they had so far encountered.

          “Why should I welcome you? After the words you
tossed at me when you left, what else do you expect?” The large man folded his
arms, his initial surprise overladen now by anger and what Psyche suspected was
an habitual scowl.

          “I believe I said, ‘What kind of father are
you?’ ” Gabriel pointed out, his tone still almost casual. “Under the
circumstances, it seemed a reasonable query.”

          “Damn impertinence,” the older man retorted,
his tone close to a growl. “After what you did–”

          ”Yes, but that is water under the bridge, is
it not? An old argument, for another time. Just now, for reasons of our own, I
am here, with a lady, and we must stay the night. We will be gone again in the
morning, and your peace will once more be unbroken.” Gabriel turned away before
the other man could answer.

          His father? Gabriel had not even introduced
her, Psyche thought, still bewildered by these continuing revelations. Why had
Gabriel never said that his father was so wealthy? How had they come to such
bad terms? The murder, the rumored murder of a well-bred lady–did it all return
to that?

          Without further discussion, Gabriel offered
her his hand and she was relieved to slip out of the room. Gabriel closed the
door behind them, and they found themselves alone in the hall.

          “Gabriel–”

          ”Later,” he said quietly. “I know you have
questions.”

          Questions? She was overflowing with them. But
he still held her hand and he guided her through the empty hallway–had the
servants fled, totally nonplused by the arrival of guests that she had to
suspect was a rare occurrence? Psyche began to feel that the house was indeed
haunted as in some fairy tale, a manse inhabited by ghostly denizens and at its
dark heart, a pugnacious demon who snarled at any unwelcome intruder.

          She found that Gabriel was leading her down a
side hall and out another door. Had he changed his mind; were they leaving
already? But the relief of getting out of that unwelcoming house was palpable;
Psyche drew a deep breath.

          “What–”

          Gabriel did not answer. He led the way past a
garden which was almost painfully neat; not a weed dared to protrude through
the formal beds, yet the whole effect was strangely sterile. Like the house, it
was nominally well tended, but it had no heart. Gabriel paused long enough to
pluck one early rose from a climbing vine, then walked on.

          Psyche tried to conceive of a small boy
growing up in such a bleak house, and she could have wept for the young
Gabriel. What was his mother like? Surely she could not be so harsh and
unfeeling as the man Psyche had just glimpsed.  

          “Gabriel?” She tried again to pierce the wall
he seemed to have drawn up around himself. His brow was knit, and he frowned,
almost unconsciously.

          “In a moment,” he said again. “I wish to
see–I’m seeking my mother.”

          Psyche pushed back the queries that threatened
to spill over and followed him in silence, past the formal garden, past a
kitchen garden filled with orderly rows of vegetables, where even the bean vines
seemed to grow in straight lines. Why would Gabriel look for his mother here? Did
she usually hide out in the gardens; was this her only refuge? With such a
husband, it was easy enough to imagine.

          But they continued walking, past an orchard
where no single twig littered the grass beneath the trees, past groves of
trees. At last they came to another smaller stone wall, and inside the boundary
she saw a family graveyard and in the center a small chapel of gray stone. Did
his mother take refuge in prayer? The door of the chapel was closed; she
expected him to walk that way, but he turned aside and led the way down the
pebbled path, then paused a moment to look around him.

          Psyche began to understand. Most of the
headstones were weathered with age; some leaned at crooked angles. The
Sinclairs seemed to be an old family; how had the current patriarch come to
such a solitary existence?