Gene of Isis (25 page)

Our brother reluctantly stuck his upper body out the coach window, and as he conversed with the driver a coach wheel collided with a rock. Earnest disappeared out the window, and the driver was catapulted out of his seat and onto the side of the road.

Fortunately, Mr Devere had kept hold of the luggage rack on the roof, from which he now dangled and as the coach was speeding along he was unable to find a foothold.

‘Nobody ever listens to me.’ My lord sprang into action. He opened the coach door and reached out to haul his brother inside the carriage. Before Mr Devere had even drawn breath, my Lord Devere was out the window, on the roof and into the driver’s seat. He had a bit of a time getting hold of the reins, and even when he had them in hand, the horses were at a charge and not easy to steady.

Just as we felt the horses finally submitting to my husband’s will and we had breathed a sigh of relief, the pace of our passage picked up again.

Mr Devere called out the window to his brother to find out what was happening, when he spotted
the coach up ahead. ‘James is a good man,’ he told me grinning from ear to ear, and sat back in his seat, relieved to have achieved his goal.

‘That he is,’ I agreed, ‘good enough to deserve the truth from us.’ I felt guilty keeping him in the dark about so many things.

Lord Devere called the other coach to a stop and when the coachman did as he asked, my husband finally brought our transport to a halt alongside. Mr Devere was out the door like a flash and off to question the coachman.

My lord jumped from the driver’s seat to assist me out of the carriage. He was windblown from his ordeal and there was colour in his cheeks and a large smile on his face. ‘That was rather more fun than I expected,’ he confessed. ‘Though I hope our coachman hasn’t been too badly injured.’

‘For such a reserved gentleman, it seems you have a hidden audacious streak, Lord Devere…that was frightfully gallant.’ I kissed my husband, for I was very proud of his heroics.

Although my lord was enjoying my admiration, we became aware that Mr Devere was getting rather agitated with the driver of the other coach.

‘Look, I know that you transported my wife out of Paris,’ Mr Devere was saying.

‘I told you my fare was not a Mrs Devere, just a mademoiselle and her mother,’ the coachman barked, getting ready to move on.

‘Miss Granville.’ Mr Devere attempted to guess the identity of the mademoiselle.

‘No! Now if you don’t mind I—’

‘Miss Winston,’ I called, and the coachman calmed a little when he saw me. That was the thing with Frenchmen—they had far more patience
with foreign women than with foreign men, especially if that woman also spoke the language.

‘That’s a bit more like it,’ he admitted, somewhat vaguely.

‘A bit more like it, or exactly it?’ Mr Devere demanded to know, at his wit’s end.

‘I don’t remember!’ the coachman insisted, until my lord held up a bag full of gold francs.

‘Does this jog your memory?’ Lord Devere jangled the pouch to make it clear it contained many coins.

The coach driver’s eyes opened wide and his memory was miraculously restored. ‘I left the mademoiselle late yesterday at the gypsy camp further down the road.’

‘Gypsies!’ My Lord Devere’s worried expression returned, as he tossed the bag of coin to our informant in payment.

‘Then we need to move quickly,’ resolved Mr Devere, moving to take up the coachman’s position on our carriage.

‘If it’s all the same to you, little brother, I’ll drive until we recover our coachman,’ Lord Devere suggested. ‘I assume we’d all prefer to remain able-bodied and in good health?’

I took advantage of the novelty of the situation and rode up front with Lord Devere as we returned to our original direction and searched for our coachman.

‘There is something I have to tell you about our dear sister.’ I tested the waters. I had never seen my husband in such light spirits, so I guessed now was the best opportunity to bring everything out in the open.

‘I am listening,’ he prompted, still smiling.

‘Ashlee is different to most people,’ I began awkwardly.

‘Well, I can honestly say I have never met the like of her.’ He did not sound entirely pleased about that.

‘You know that my aunt, Lady Charlotte, is famed for certain talents she possesses.’ I thought suggestive hints might work better than a straight confession.

He looked at me, his good cheer waning. ‘I don’t believe in psychics.’

‘Well, I dare say you don’t believe in Buddha either, but that does not mean he never existed.’ The comment was a little shocking to him, but it did get my point across nicely. ‘There are many unexplained mysteries in this world, Lord Devere, but denying their existence will never further our understanding or make them disappear.’

Lord Devere did not look happy, but he nodded to concede my point. ‘Are you going to tell me that our sister is a psychic?’ He glanced at me, awaiting my answer.

‘It is a little more complicated than that. You see…’ I had to take a deep breath for this one. ‘Um, it seems our sister has awakened these talents in Mr Devere as well.’

‘What!’ My lord was astonished by the claim.

‘And that’s not all,’ I warned, but was saved from continuing the confession alone when I spotted our coachman sitting on the side of the road. He was nursing his head, but was obviously not seriously injured.

Lord Devere pulled the carriage to a stop, so the driver could once again take the reins. ‘How long have you known about this?’

‘Our brother only told me after Ashlee disappeared.’ I saw my beloved’s jaw tense in anger. ‘Please, my lord, your brother is very scared and saddened by all that is unfolding around him. I fear that he is in greater trouble than he will even disclose to me.’

My husband took a deep breath, and patted my hand to reassure me that he was not angry, and that he would be diplomatic.

I felt lightened of a great load by the time we arrived at the gypsy camp. The air had been cleared between the Devere brothers, and even though they were still at odds in their beliefs, my lord had resolved to continue helping his brother if only to see where this little adventure led. Still, Mr Devere would not discuss the brotherhood to which he and their father belonged. And, rather than feeling overlooked, my husband was extremely glad he’d been left out of the club that was now causing his younger brother so much grief. My lord didn’t ask Mr Devere to prove his claim of psychic talent. I felt that perhaps my husband didn’t want his scepticism overturned, at least not today.

It took a while to establish what language to converse with the gypsies in, but after a couple of attempts we all settled on Italian. My Italian was a little better than that of my male companions and the women seemed more disposed to conversing with me, so I urged Mr Devere to allow me to do the questioning.

It was the elder of the band who spoke with me; she led me to a caravan and sat me down on one of the seats by the table there. Mr Devere followed us, and as there was no seat for him, he stood behind me and placed his hands on the back of my chair to
listen in and try to follow the conversation. The old gypsy insisted that she hadn’t seen any mademoiselle, but invited us to join them for the evening meal as it was growing late.

Mr Devere shook his head; he wanted to keep moving and was already halfway to the carriage.

I thanked the old woman and as I rose she gripped my hands and closed her eyes for a moment. ‘You are a good friend to this woman you seek,’ she told me with a reassuring smile. ‘All will be well for her, and you.’ She let go of my hands.

I hadn’t had my fortune told in a long while and I was pleased to have good news. ‘Shall I find her, do you think?’

The gypsy woman shook her head and smiled warmly. ‘How can you find what is not lost?’

I felt I caught her meaning and was amused. ‘It is true, Ashlee is never lost. Perhaps I should have asked, would she find us?’

The old woman nodded to concede that was a more apt question. ‘All in divine order,’ she replied as I wandered toward the carriage from which both my companions now beckoned.

‘You gave up very easily, Mr Devere.’ I seated myself beside my husband in the carriage, feeling a little frustrated. ‘Could we not have taken up the offer of dinner? We might have learned something. Now we have run out of leads.’

Mr Devere ignored me and motioned the coachman closer to have a quiet word with him. ‘Take us to Orleans.’

The coachman looked as if he had had enough for one day, but he confirmed the order and acted on it.

‘My wife was sitting in that chair,’ Mr Devere motioned toward where I’d been sitting with the

old gypsy, ‘when she made the decision to go to Orleans.’

‘Why Orleans?’ I wondered. ‘That seems a strange route to Italy.’ Privately, I thought that Ashlee would head for the exotic Eastern lands, as Hereford had been so fond of them.

‘She’s on a rescue mission,’ he confessed, very concerned, and a little sad. ‘I sense there is a male travelling with her whom she trusts implicitly.’ He looked to me for confirmation.

At first I was stumped by the suggestion. ‘Ashlee does not have a lover, if that is what you are suggesting.’ I dismissed his foul implication. ‘If she did, I would know of it, I assure you.’

Mr Devere appeared thankful and ashamed. ‘There is somebody, I know it!’ He begged me to think harder. ‘A friend, perhaps?’

I strained to think, but outside of my family there was no one. ‘No,’ I assured him, ‘men do not interest Ashlee—’ And there was the answer! I clicked my fingers, having solved the puzzle. ‘It’s a spirit.’

Mr Devere knew I was right and smiled, relieved to have an alternative to the more obvious lover scenario that he’d envisaged. My Lord Devere, however, was distressed.

‘Have you both gone mad?’ he growled. ‘Just listen to yourselves. I think you are making this all up as we go along, and Mrs Devere is really back in Paris.’

‘I would not play games with her life,’ Mr Devere assured his brother. ‘I am happy to go on alone. I’d move faster on horseback.’

I feared that this was the excuse Lord Devere had been waiting for in order to pull out of the chase and return to Paris.

‘I am hardly going to pull out now. All this
mystique
is so intriguing.’ He grinned his sceptic’s grin. ‘We should soon, however, find lodgings for the night and something to eat.’

Clearly, Mr Devere would have kept going if given the choice. He looked out the window and nodded.

‘She’ll have to rest too, Earnest.’ Lord Devere knew what his brother was thinking.

‘My husband is right,’ I said, fearing that Mr Devere would take off on his own and then we’d never find him or Ashlee! ‘Ashlee may have superhuman talent, but she does not have superhuman stamina.’

I do.

I could have sworn I heard the thought resonate from Mr Devere’s mind, but he looked at me and forced a smile.

‘We could all use the rest,’ he said, most unconvincingly.

I had never experienced anything quite so exhausting as the ride to Orleans on horseback. Rumer and I only stopped to eat and answer nature’s call. We slept a little when we lost the moonlight and could no longer see the road. For two women travelling alone at night it was safer to keep moving at good speed, but as I lay down in a field under the stars that night, I did not fear for my person for I knew my knight was keeping watch.

Fearful for her brother and kinsmen, Rumer kept me moving and encouraged me on when I thought I would drop. I felt a little ashamed that
one day in the saddle could deplete my energy so badly, or perhaps being on the run was starting to take its toll. I really longed for a big hot tub and somewhere to relax—read a good book perhaps!

As we approached Orleans, I felt Albray join with me, and his strength and vigour aided to uphold my weary form. He spoke to me in my thoughts as we rode, suggesting how we might handle the forthcoming audience, if indeed the duke would agree to see me.

Upon approach to the duke’s estate in Orleans I stopped to tidy myself and gain the right frame of mind. I was a nineteen-year-old girl who held no diplomatic power whatsoever. What had I been thinking when I’d agreed to do this?

Our plan will work,
Albray assured me as I mounted my horse to ride the final leg to my quest.

I’m betting my life on it.
I hadn’t come all this way to lose faith in my own ability and Albray’s—I was going to do this come hell or high water. ‘Shall we go fetch your brother?’ I asked Rumer, who smiled broadly and took off ahead of me.

She was feisty and fun to travel with. Full of energy and sound logic, Rumer was a year younger than I was and far more worldly. Her hair hung in long masses of dark curls and her large dark brown eyes added to the animation of her confident character. If Cingar was anywhere near as alluring in appearance as his sister, women probably fell in love with more than just his violin playing.

With her big flared skirts, Rumer rode her horse in the male fashion, which I could not hope to do in my frock without baring more than was wise. What I wouldn’t have done for a pair of men’s trousers!

When Gasgon de Guise was informed that an English woman had come to plead for the lives of the imprisoned Italian gypsies, he must have been intrigued to say the least.

I was led into the duke’s room of court and after thanking the duke for his time and consideration I was asked to explain myself.

‘Your grace,’ I began, ‘I have been commissioned by the relatives of your prisoners to ascertain what evidence your lordship has to verify the claim that witchcraft was responsible for your son’s ailments.’

The duke was astonished. ‘Are you a lawyer, Miss Winston?’ he said in a very condescending tone, as if to imply that it was impossible.

‘My area of expertise is not law, your grace, it is witchcraft,’ I informed. ‘It is an academic study. My governess was the Dowager Countess, Lady Charlotte Cavandish. Perhaps you’ve heard of her?’

‘Of course I have heard of her! That name is legendary in France.’ He seemed insulted and yet heartened at one and the same time. ‘The Countess Cavandish would have been able to tell me what was ailing my boy, whereas my surgeons have proven useless. Every day he grows sicker and sicker…damn those gypsies!’