Joan Smith (19 page)

“The Fords never lived at Bath, did they? I don’t remember hearing Papa mention it.”

“Your great-grandmother made her home there for several seasons. She retired there for the waters and because she hated her son’s wife. That is my mama, who was an angel really, but Grandmama did not rub along with her. It had to do with raising the children like savages, which is not at all
true,
but only what Grandma said. Edward was trying to set up a flirtation with me the first year I met him, but Grandma was a Tartar. She would have none of it. He used to visit us every spring, however, despite her glowering and snapping at him.”

“Did Alice
visit you too?”

“No, she never did, which is why Grandma disliked it so. Then Alice announced she was going to visit Cornwall, letting on she did not care for Bath. Arundel popped up out of nowhere with his Aunt Gertrude to go with her, and they took the decision to go on the Princess Frederica, since it was leaving just at that time for America, but stopping at St. Agnes in Cornwall to pick up something or other. The ship ran into a dreadful storm just off Trevose Head and sank. Nearly everyone on board was drowned, but a few sailors made it to shore, and told the tale. They could
swim,
you see. I believe you told me
you
swim, Valerie? I wonder if Gloria could
...
”

This was no time for
Tenebrous Shadows.
“Alice did not make it to shore?”

“None of the passengers did. It was from one of the sailors Edward got the hint that Alice had no notion of getting off at St. Agnes, or Arundel or Gertrude either. There were
no
passengers aboard for Cornwall. The shipping company did not hire space out for such short jaunts. They wanted customers paying the full fare to America. And
that
is why Edward refused to keep up two years of mourning in the regular way, but married me out of hand, as soon as he was sure Alice was dead. Grandma raised a wicked row. Called me an ungrateful girl, and a wanton and conniver and I don’t know what all else, but I
never
was making up to Edward while Alice was alive.
He
was the one who did the flirting. He told Grandma he meant to marry me at once, with or without her approval, so she did not disallow it, but she would not come to the wedding. Was not that
spiteful
of her? She knew as well as I that if I let him get away, I’d never land him, for there was mention of some lady around the village here he had in his eye too. But I do not mean to imply he was a
womanizer
exactly. It is only that he
appreciated
women a little more than most gentlemen. I see you smiling out of the corner of your lips, sly puss! I know what you are thinking!”

“What am I thinking?”

“That I could not manage him, but I could. What you do with a man like that is agree with him that every saucy baggage who walks through the door is a perfect beauty. Praise her a little harder than he does, and within two minutes he will be finding a fault in her. Edward liked
looking
at all the pretty girls, and flirting with them, but he liked dogs and horses too. He admired pretty
things,
that’s all. We had a very quiet wedding. Too quiet, and then came straight home to Troy Fenners. All the neighbors were very nice about accepting me, for Alice was not at all popular, always feeling herself above the country folks, and trying to draw Edward off to London twice a year, and in general acting like a queen when she was at home.”

“Dr. Hill married some cousin of hers, I believe. What was the cousin like?”

“Quite different. Alice would never have married a doctor. She was too proud. But Walter’s lady, you know, was getting a trifle long in the tooth, and was happy enough to take the first one who asked her. It was a good match for them both. It did not bother Walter that she was old and plain, and it did not seem to bother her that he was countrified. He let her smarten him up. Was happy to do it, for he was a little ambitious, you know, as a young man will be.”

“Now he is smartened up so much he will be making an offer for
you,
I fancy.”

She blushed and giggled like a schoolgirl making sheep eyes at her dancing master. “I won’t say he has not
asked
me. I expect St. Regis would throw a fit. The fact is, he has some aging uncle he keeps threatening to send down to Troy Fenners for a visit. A retired Colonel, a widower, who expresses a keen interest in turning country farmer. He has not
said
so, but he thinks I will marry the man. He is a regular matchmaker, St. Regis. I don’t know why he does not make a match for himself. He is of the age.”

‘‘He probably has some heiress in his eye.”

“Yes, and will soon have her estates in his hands. Well, my dear, I think we should have some cocoa and go to bed. We have a busy day tomorrow. Chapter eighteen—I have been looking forward to getting at it.”

As I could think of no more questions, I agreed to cocoa, and an early bed in preparation for chapter eighteen.

By having Pinny spy for me, I was able to ensure missing Pierre at the breakfast table. My spirits were in enough turmoil without having to fight him off this morning. I ate more lightly than usual. I had only coffee, while awaiting Aunt Loo’s descent, becoming more chicken-hearted by the minute. I should have gone to the stable, got Nancy saddled up, and taken the jump the minute I came down, without thinking too much about it.

It was nine o’clock when Loo entered, wearing not one of her ghost-hunting outfits, but a decent blue cambric gown. She would go in the carriage to the tollgate to watch me commit suicide, for that was about the way I viewed the project by that time.

“I want to see how Nancy looks, as well as learn how you feel, Valerie,” she said. “How the tail flies out, you know, how the sun moves on the ripples of her muscles, the wild, frightened eyes of her. All that will make good reading. I mean to stretch the jump out to a couple of pages at least. I want a page of Gloria’s thoughts and feelings, so be sure to remember how you
feel.”

“Nauseated,” I told her, as a prelude.

“Now pray
don’t
go and be sick on me. It must be done today. I hate patching up a story, leaving a blank here and there, and going back over it like a carpenter mending a broken chair. It must be done in sequence, or the flow is interrupted. And I shall describe how beautiful you look too, my dear, with the fear pulling your facial muscles taut, and your fingers clutching at the reins. You will enjoy to read that, eh? But you must never reveal to your papa that it is you, or that I am Mrs. Beaton.”

“Let’s go.”

“I ain’t ready. I have not had a cup of coffee yet, and we cannot make the jump till ten-thirty. You will have plenty of time to pull yourself together. You look a trifle pale. Where is my toast? I want toast and marmalade.”

While she dawdled over the meal, I went along to the stable, praying Nancy would have a sprained ankle, a pulled tendon, or a bad cold, that I might delay the jump another day. Upon seeing her empty stall, I felt a surge of hope. Dr. Hill had taken her back, needed her for some reason. His own mount must have been crippled. “Where is Nancy?” I asked the groom.

“Mr. Sinclair took her, miss. Rode over to Winchester this morning he did, with Mr. St. Clair. He said you would understand.”

“Did he indeed!” I declared, caught in the grip of a powerful and fast-rising fury. “How extremely thoughtful of him.”

“Did you not give him permission?” the man asked, fearing he had done wrong.

“No, I did not, but a lack of permission has never stopped Mr. Sinclair from doing what he wanted.” I turned and stormed from the stable, plotting my revenge. It is strange it took me so long to realize what I must do. I hold my demented state of fury accountable. It was not till I got back to Aunt Loo that it occurred to me. I phrased it in a manner that I hoped she would find acceptable.

“Sinclair has exchanged mounts with me for the day, Auntie. He has taken Nancy to Winchester, and I am to make the jump on Diablo. I hope it will not interfere with your story.”

“Not at all, but do you think you can handle that wild stallion?”

“Diablo is a gelding. Sinclair must think I can, or he would not have made the exchange, would he?”

“Are you sure?
...
But of course if Diablo is in the stall in Nancy’s place, it is obviously his wish that you use his mount. He was afraid Nancy could not make it.” This rearranging of the facts satisfied her, and me. “I know you will not come to any harm. It would be a pity if you destroyed St. Regis’s mount, for it is a valuable one, you must know.”

Not a single word of concern about destroying myself. It was the horse that worried her. “I’ll drive with you in the carriage to the gatehouse. I am to pick up Diablo there.”

“Very well. Let us go. I have got my pad and pencil and telescope. I don’t want to miss a single detail.”

“Pity Dr. Hill is not here,” I said forlornly, thinking I might have need of him.

“He would enjoy to see it, but it would mean more to him if it were Nancy that was to do the jumping.”

I got down from the carriage and walked round to the gatehouse stable, a small affair with stabling for only four animals. There were three there—Sinclair’s team of grays used with his curricle, and Diablo. The animal was large. He stood sixteen hands high. His long silky, black tail switched back and forth. When I reached out to pat his haunch tentatively, he lifted his head, his black mane shaking, and turned to stare at me, just as though he were a person. He had fine, large eyes, the bulging forehead and small concave nose of the purebred. He dilated his nostrils and whinnied, giving one a good explanation for his name. He did indeed look diabolically mischievous.

While I tried to make my peace with the animal, Sinclair’s valet-cum-groom, Napier, came up behind me. “That there is a purebred Arabian,” he boasted.

“Very nice.”

“St. Regis bred and trained him at his own stables. He’s a goer.”

“Manageable?” I dared to inquire.

“If you know how to ride him. Nobody ever has, except St. Regis. And of course Mr. Sinclair,” he added.

This conveyed to me what I was afraid to hear. The groom was going to be difficult about letting me take Diablo out of the stable. “You must be Napier,” I said. “I have heard my woman, Miss Pincombe, speak of you, I think. She asked me to see if you have a moment free this morning. She most particularly wished to speak to you about some matter. She is free now.”

“Is she? I’ll take a run up to the house now, then, as soon as you’re finished looking around, ma’am.”

“Don’t let me detain you,” I responded at once.

He stayed for a few more minutes, but eventually romance won out over good manners, and he was off. I let him get well up the hill to Troy Fenners before I untied Diablo’s rope and led him, frisking merrily, from his stall. I am neither so short nor so frail as to have any difficulty getting a saddle down from its perch and buckled over a horse’s back. It was, of course, not a lady’s saddle, but I had used a man’s before. I preferred it, and preferred riding astride as well for such a jump as awaited me. To get into a footman’s trousers, however, would take time, and I had to get Diablo out before the groom returned. I could hardly ride down the public road astride in skirts either. I would take the jump sidesaddle.

Diablo seemed a compliant enough animal, so long as I patted his withers and flanks, and spoke in soothing tones. I led him to the mounting block, clambered up, and very carefully got on the beast. We generally assume animals lack intelligence. This one had the wits to lull me into a false sense of security till he was safely out of the stable. It was not till then he began living up to his name. He reared up on his hind legs in an effort to be rid of me, his mane floating out on the breezes, while he whinnied in exultation of the fine day. He wheeled his crazy circles, cantered a few yards, then stopped suddenly. He backed up a couple of steps, then flew forward suddenly again; he did everything but get down on his knees and roll over to dump me in the dust.

The more antics he played off, the more determined I became he would not throw me. I held firmly to the reins, without jobbing him. When he had worked off his fit of fidgets, I patted his neck and called the scoundrel a good boy. The performance led Aunt Loo, observing us from the carriage, to suggest I could not handle the mount. Diablo was completely amenable to flattery; a few more words of praise, and we went along fairly well.

“I can handle him,” I told her boldly.

Diablo looked over his shoulder with a sly smile, rolling his great shining eyes at me. I urged him forward at a trot till we reached the road, then let him out gradually. Not till the tollbooth appeared in the distance did I give him the office to fly. I had a sneaking suspicion Diablo had wanted to take that booth ever since he first laid his eyes on it. He went for it with a vengeance, his head lowered, neck stretched, hoofs flashing. I rode in rhythm with him, swinging my body forward as we approached the booth, to lessen the weight. There was none of the anticipated terror. I enjoyed every second of the flight, and flight it was, clearing the building by a safe margin of inches. It was a smooth landing too. Diablo’s head came up, I relaxed somewhat, only then realizing how tense I had been.

If I seem to be emphasizing the victory with Diablo, drawing it out to a page like Mrs. Beaton, it is to counterbalance the remainder of the ride. From the moment we hit the road on the far side of the booth, affairs took a sharp turn for the worse. I do not blame it on either rider or mount, but the mount’s regular rider, Sinclair, who should have been halfway to Winchester, instead of jogging down the road from the opposite direction. I thought I must be seeing things, for to tell the truth, I had wished he had viewed my performance.

I suppose it was the unexpectedness of seeing Diablo flying over the rooftop that caused him to behave so foolishly. He stood up in Nancy’s stirrups and shouted at us, waving his arms and generally acting like a Johnnie Raw. Diablo—I am convinced that animal possessed a human brain—was thrown into a pelter by the display, and feared for his hide. Why else would he take into his Arabian head to go tearing down the road at fifty or so miles an hour? I tried to rein him in, without quite ruining his mouth.