Forbidden (7 page)

Lamb paid no heed.

The horse stood quietly as I put the saddle and bridle on him and fixed the reins.

“What is your name?” I whispered to him. “Do you have a name?”

In this strange place, I would not have been startled if he’d answered. I shook my head. Such nonsensical thinking would only deter me from my mission.

“I will call you Dobbin,” I said. “Is that all right?”

With difficulty, I got my uninjured foot into the stirrup and was on.

“Go, Dobbin!” I whispered.

He walked slowly through the wooden gateposts. I knew I should push the gate closed again, but I was in a hurry to be gone. “Stay!” I told the hens that were huddled under a lean-to shelter. If they wandered and became lost, I suspected I would be in great trouble. For that, and for taking the horse without permission.

The horse and I ambled along the road I’d come on last night. There was no way to hasten him, but it did not matter. My aunt and uncle would not be back till the tide turned, and that would be much later.

I was accustomed to riding sidesaddle. But I was quite comfortable. What a pretty sight I must look, I thought, with my dress raised, my pantaloons exposed on either side of Dobbin’s back, my bedraggled stockings, no bonnet on my head to save my skin and to tame my curls, no gloves to cover my hands. Not correct attire for a young lady. How Eli Stuart would smile at my concern with modesty! Thanks be that he couldn’t see me.

I could still hear the sea, and my lips tasted of salt.

When I twisted around in the saddle and looked back, I could see Raven’s Roost and several other houses jumbled along Brindle Point. I could see the house among the trees where Eli lived.

My mind suddenly filled with him. His blue-green eyes, his smile, which I had seen only twice but remembered with such vividness, it made me gasp. What ailed me? Why was I so beset with thoughts of him?

Which house was Daphne’s? Daphne who pined for him? Was she beautiful?

“Go, Dobbin,” I said. “Go quickly so I have no time to think or wonder. Carry me to Brindle.”

CHAPTER EIGHT

I
SAW THE VILLAGE IN THE
distance, and as we got closer, I realized there was no noisy disturbance, no groups of jeering onlookers to taunt me. It appeared to be a normal town, with men and women, suitably attired, in the streets. There was a cart filled with peat, probably taken from a nearby bog, and two horses tied to a railing.

Then I became aware of the faces peering out at me from behind curtains. House after house had curtains closed, twitching to indicate watchers behind them. A shiver crawled along my body. I noticed that those we met stared at me with more than curiosity. There was hostility. And the smiles I offered were not returned.

We passed a blacksmith’s shop, where the smell of burning hooves wafted toward us. The blacksmith stopped hammering and came to stand at the door as we passed. I was sure I was a strange sight, though he called out, “Good mornin’, Mistress,” before he took off his cap and scratched his head and called again, “Mistress! What is your business here?”

I did not answer.

Here was a produce shop with a barrel of cabbages on display outside.

Here a tavern with a swinging board proclaiming,
THE FISHERMAN’S INN
.

Next to it was a fancy-looking establishment called Jackdaws. I led Dobbin over and managed to slide down from his back. A man stopped to watch.

I looped the reins around the railing.

“Good morn,” he said, doffing his hat. “I am Clifton MacIntyre, mayor of Brindle.” His eyes were small, and a drooping mustache hid his mouth.

I tried to smooth my hair. “I am happy to meet you, sir.”

“You may not think Brindle sufficiently important to have a mayor,” he said in a voice both pompous and patronizing. “But we are quite a thriving community, though small. We get visitors from towns afar. They come to shop at Jackdaws.” He nodded slightly toward the fancy shop behind him.

“I am sure,” I said.

“And you, Mistress, are?”

“I am Josie Ferguson, niece to Caleb Ferguson of Brindle Point.” At my words, I saw his face change. Change to what? I wasn’t certain. He was less watchful now, as if reassured. That I did know.

“You are here to stay?”

“For a long time,” I told him. “But not forever.”

He absently leaned over and stroked Dobbin’s head. “I should have been more observant,” he said. “You are riding your uncle’s horse.”

“Yes.” I smoothed Dobbin’s mane. When I got back to Raven’s Roost, I would find a comb and untangle it.

“Well,” the mayor said at last. “Your aunt and uncle are fine people. Please give them my regards.”

“I shall,” I informed him, though indeed I was hoping to be back at Raven’s Roost before they missed me. I watched him walk away, then curiosity tempted me and I pushed open the door of Jackdaws. Perhaps I would find stockings. A polite bell tinkled. Sun slanted through the windows, illuminating the interior, and I caught my breath. I felt as if I’d stepped into another world, a hushed hidden world.

Aladdin’s cave.

Around me and displayed on polished tables and shelves was bric-a-brac of all kinds. China angels, china dogs, snuffboxes, jewelry, ladies’ fans, some of which were broken and stained. A glimmering blue dress was spread across a chest. And there were stockings, finer and less serviceable than any I’d ever worn. Those would not do for me. I saw a ship’s steering wheel made of gleaming mahogany. There was a prie-dieu, all faded scarlet and gold. I had the uncomfortable feeling that someone was watching me, but when I turned around, I saw that it was a ship’s figurehead, a beautiful plaster woman with golden locks and a bare bosom. For a moment, I imagined her on the prow of some great ship, facing the wind, reaching out for unknown territory. What had happened to that ship? How had the figurehead come here?

A piano stood next to me and, without thinking, I tapped on the keys. Sound shivered out, and I lifted my fingers as if they’d been burned.

A woman, very stylish in a dove gray dress and shoes with buckles, came out from a curtain at the rear. Her yellow hair was parted in the middle with small kiss curls clamped around her face. I wondered why she had not appeared before. I could have easily stolen something. But then I became aware of all the mirrors that hung on the walls. She would have watched me as I strayed around the shop.

She greeted me with a smile. “Good morning to you, Mistress. Thank you for looking in on my humble place of business. I am the proprietress, Mrs. Esmeralda Davies. But please call me by my given name. In Brindle we are all family. Have you traveled far to visit Jackdaws?”

“Not at all,” I said. “Today I came from Raven’s Roost. I am niece to Caleb and Minnie Ferguson. I am here to stay with them on Brindle Point.”

“Ah.” It was a long-drawn-out exclamation. “Your aunt and uncle come in here often.”

“Indeed?” I thought of Raven’s Roost and its plain interior. The only extravagances that I had seen were the grand table, the dresser in my room, the serviette ring, the splendid three-armed candlestick, and the violin. I could have been mistaken when I thought they’d retrieved them from their old home. Perhaps they had bought them here.

“Are you interested in something I might provide?” Mistress Davies asked. “A dress? You would look very pretty in that blue shantung.”

“Thank you. But I have no use for a dress.”

She glanced up at me. “I have a lot of merchandise. May I suggest something else? Forgive me, but I can see that you are in need of stockings and shoes.”

“My foot is injured.” I tried to raise it above the hem of my dress. “My shoe is tight on it.”

She nodded. Even the movement of her head did not stir the circle of kiss curls on her forehead. “I have slippers . . . dancing slippers. A little fancy perhaps, but soft and comfortable for time at home. They might be of help to you till your ankle heals.”

She disappeared behind the curtain and reappeared holding a pair of blue satin slippers, beaded on top. “They belong with the dress, but I am willing to let them go their separate ways.”

I took them from her. I had never seen anything so delicate, so exquisite. They were inappropriate, ridiculous even, but I wanted them. As I held them, the picture came, unbidden, of me, in these blue jeweled slippers and my white muslin dress, dancing with Eli Stuart. We were waltzing, my head on his shoulder, his lips against my hair . . .

“Do you wish to purchase the slippers?” Esmeralda asked, rather sharply. “One shilling.”

I felt dizzy, as though I had indeed been dancing. “Please,” I said, and took one of the coins from my pocket.

“You are certain you do not want the dress?” she asked in a coaxing tone. “They go well together.” She lifted the edge of the gleaming skirt and let it fall. But not before I had seen, printed across the wooden chest, the name
BONIFACE
.

I stared. That was the name on my aunt’s serviette ring. Had she sold some of her family possessions here?

I looked around. On a crate were laid out three pairs of men’s trousers of various lengths. Should I? I recalled my aunt Minnie’s apparel and, at the same time, thought of the look of me on Dobbin’s back. If my aunt and uncle should allow me to ride Dobbin while I was there, a dress would be unsuitable. I could, if I desired, wear trousers under the dress. Strange and unladylike, but better than displaying my pantaloons and perhaps my garters. My aunt and uncle would see them and know I’d gone to Brindle. But no matter.

One pair of trousers seemed to be altogether smaller than the others, perhaps sewn for a boy rather than a man.

“How much for these?” I asked Esmeralda.

She tittered, picked up a fan to cover her mouth, and said, “A shilling will be plenty. Do you plan on emulating your aunt Minnie?”

“Perhaps.” I took the second shilling from my pocket and gave it to her. Mrs. Chandler—worse, my mother—would faint if she saw what I was purchasing.

“The trousers will be useful for the work,” Esmeralda said, all saleswoman again.

The polite doorbell announced another visitor to Jackdaws.

“My word! We keep meeting,” Mrs. Kitteridge said to me on entering the shop. Her beringed fingers shot off sparks.

“You have met Mistress Ferguson?” the proprietor asked, her quick glance stabbing toward each of us in turn.

“Please call me Josie,” I said, and added jestingly, “I hear tell we are all family in Brindle.”

“Indeed.” Mrs. Kitteridge inclined her head. “I was introduced to Josie this morn. By Eli Stuart,” she told Esmeralda.

“Eli Stuart!” All of the proprietress’s smiles and greetings disappeared. “Do not speak his name in my establishment!” She glowered at me. “Does your uncle know you have been in his company?”

“No,” I answered. “I do not see why he would object.”

“You do not see?” she snorted. “Eli Stuart should be driven out of this town. He does not belong here.”

Mrs. Kitteridge interrupted. “You know full well, Esmeralda, that we have done our best to be rid of him. Three times. And three times we failed. None want to try again. They do not dare. The Decree of Three . . . It is accepted he may not be killed.”

“Sometimes I despair of the absurdities of the people around me.” Esmeralda sniffed to show her disgust. “The Decree of Three applies to animals. Not people. It is to save the livestock.”

“It is to show they are under divine protection,” Mrs. Kitteridge said, clasping her hands in a gesture of supplication.

Esmeralda’s voice was cold. “It is superstitious nonsense. If I had the means to do it, I’d take care of Eli Stuart myself.”

She would get rid of Eli Stuart? He could not be killed?

Esmeralda turned her hard stare on me. “I advise that you keep your distance from him, Mistress Josie, lest you too come into disfavor.”

“Shush, Esmeralda!” Mrs. Kitteridge soothed. “You are frightening the lass!” Her voice turned brisk. “Now. I have come with something in mind. Since my Daphne saw the blue shantung dress, she is convinced she must have it. You know I can never deny that girl anything she desires.”

“Even Eli Stuart? Even though you know how he abhors us?” Esmeralda’s voice was almost a hiss.

Mrs. Kitteridge went on as if there had been no dispute, though I noticed how she fumbled with her words. “He does not abhor Daphne. I have already told her she cannot have the dress. It is altogether too dear. But it is her seventeenth birthday, so I have relented and come to town without her. I will purchase it as a surprise.”

“You will need to shorten it,” Esmeralda said with a sly smirk.

Mrs. Kitteridge waved her beringed hand dismissively. “I can do that.” She addressed me. “Josie! You must come and call on her. She loves to have company.” She seemed to suddenly become aware of the trousers I had hung across my arm and the blue satin slippers I still held. “Oh, those are the matching slippers. I must buy those also.”

I childishly put the slippers behind my back. “I am afraid I have already purchased them.”

Esmeralda, excellent proprietress that she was and sensing a second sale, said quickly, “She is correct, Mrs. Kitteridge. But I have another pair of exquisite slippers from the same source. The latest fashion. They are silver and are perhaps even prettier than the blue ones.”

She disappeared behind the beaded curtain and came back with the silver slippers.

Mrs. Kitteridge’s pout vanished. “Oh, yes. These are lovely. I will have them.” She turned them over appreciatively and asked, “From the same source?”

“Indeed.”

“Everything from there has been high-class,” Mrs. Kitteridge said. “I wonder if this next one . . . ?”

Esmeralda gave her a telling glance, though I did not know just what she was telling.

Mrs. Kitteridge clapped her hand to her mouth, and her rings dazzled, red and blue and scarlet. “Sometimes I forget,” she said. “We are not yet all family.”

“Thank you for coming into Jackdaws, Josie,” Esmeralda purred. “You must hurry home. A prodigious storm is on the way. Angus MacCormick came by to . . . to warn me.”

“Is it certain?” Mrs. Kitteridge raised her eyebrows and smiled broadly. “The Lord be thanked!”