Nina Coombs Pykare (7 page)

As the little mare moved swiftly along, Jennifer’s thoughts went backward to her encounter with Lord Haverford. He had been so friendly, so at ease. How well he had managed to draw her out. And how well the children had taken to him.

Unconsciously she pulled up on the reins as though pulling up on her unruly thoughts. The little mare danced skittishly. “Sorry, girl,” said Jennifer with a wistful smile. “I was woolgathering. You’re doing just fine.”

She set herself, then, to focus on the beauty of the countryside. All around were trees and flowers in bloom. Their fragrance filled the air. From the distance came the song of a bird, in lilting notes proclaiming its joy at the fresh beauty of the day.

  And then she heard the sound of a horse approaching from behind her. Someone else evidently liked an early morning ride. Or perhaps, she thought, suddenly, per-haps one of the children needed her. This caused her to turn in the saddle and instantly she colored up. It was not some groom from Seven Elms come to fetch her, but the blond and handsome Lord Haver-ford that she saw.

He gave her a cheerful smile. “Ah, Miss Whitcomb. We meet again. I see that you also are an early riser.” His stallion drew alongside the little mare Ladyfingers.

“Yes, Milord,” she mumbled, acutely aware of the frayed and shabby condition of her old riding habit.

If he noticed it, Haverford gave no sign. “The morning is by far the best time of day,” he observed with another smile.

Jennifer nodded. “Yes, everything seems fresh and new then.”

“Precisely.”

The two horses ambled on side by side, and Jennifer could not help casting a sidelong glance at his lordship. Many days in the sun had darkened his face. She sighed. It was just such a man that she had envisioned when the right to dream about husbands had still been hers.

“Do you find your position at Seven Elms all you expected it to be?” asked his lordship politely.

“Oh yes - and more.” After she had said this, Jennifer wished she had kept silent. She hurried on, hoping to keep Haverford from asking any questions. “The children and I are dealing together quite well. Mr. Parthemer is very much concerned with their proper education.”

“I have heard that he is quite pleased with you,” Haverford observed quietly.

Jennifer flushed again but did not answer.

“And how do you find Mrs. Parthemer?” The Viscount’s tone was even but a certain twinkle in his eyes indicated to Jennifer that he had already made her employer’s acquaintance.

“She is - rather different than most mothers,” she finished lamely.

Haverford smiled encouragingly. “Come, there’s no need to defend her. The whole country knows she pays more attention to that monkey than to her children.”

Jennifer looked at him in surprise. Even in the country the servants would talk. There was no way to keep the truth from getting about.

“Never mind,” said the Viscount. “You need not reply. Your loyalty to your em-ployer is quite evident.

  “By the way, I am on my way to the seashore. Sometimes of a morning we enjoy a run on the sand.” He patted the stallion’s neck. “Perhaps you would care to join us. I could show you the way that I pointed out yesterday.”

Jennifer’s heart was pounding in her throat. More than anything she wanted to go with him. There was plenty of time and no one would know. But the voice of con-science won out. “I cannot. Milord. I... I must return to Seven Elms.”

Haverford eyed the mare. “You have not given her any exercise to speak of.”

Jennifer was covered with confusion. “I... I...” She could not continue. What a perfect block he must think her, she scolded herself. She could at least behave sensibly. “I fear that I have miscalculated my time.” She tried to make the lie convincing, but a look at his face told her clearly that she had failed.

However, he did not call her into account but nodded. “I see. Perhaps on some other occasion then.” And, bowing gravely, he spoke to the horse and cantered away.

  Jennifer pulled the little mare to a stop and blinked rapidly. She would not give in to this wild desire to cry. She had done the sensible thing in denying herself this ride. Being with Haverford could serve no good purpose and she knew it. It was not sound practice for governesses to consort with lords, however innocent such things might be.

Still, as she turned the little mare back toward Seven Elms, she knew that her joy in the lovely morning was gone, not to be recaptured.

When Jennifer returned, Seven Elms was a scene of chaos. Liveried footmen struggled back and forth through the great hall loaded with armfuls of iron rods and coils of rope, and other curious para-phernalia.

Jennifer, on her way to the morning room for breakfast, paused in the doorway of the Red Room. It had already been stripped of all its furniture. Only the heavy red drapes remained. In the center of the room were several large oaken tubs - the
baquets,
Jennifer surmised, noting that each was four or five feet in diameter and about a foot deep. Each of them was enclosed in another tub and had a lid made in two pieces.

Intrigued in spite of herself, Jennifer moved closer. At the bottom of each tub were bottles laid in rows, their necks turned in toward the center. Other bottles lay with their necks turned outward. Kitchen maids were busy carrying pails of water to fill the tubs.

  Monsieur Dupin emerged from the little sitting room. Though everything around him was utter confusion, the Frenchman was entirely at ease, immaculately dressed all in black. “Ah, Mademoiselle Whitcomb. All is in the upset now, but by this evening when the guests have arrived, all will be prepared. Yes, all will be in working order and you shall see science perform its cures. Let me explain to you. Here in the bottles is the magnetized water. This tub is now at high pressure and will be filled up with water.”

Jennifer kept her skepticism to herself. “I hope that you have everything you need.”

“Indeed, Madame has been most kind. Most kind. As soon as the tubs are filled I will add the iron filings. The rods that you see will be grasped by the sufferers. They will carry the fluid to them.”

“What does the fluid look like?” inquired Jennifer.

“The fluid,” said Dupin with a little smile that revealed a row of gleaming teeth. “The fluid is superfine. It cannot be seen. It can only be felt.”

  A shiver coursed over Jennifer’s body. It was ridiculous, she told herself, to think of the mesmerist as some kind of predator, his sharp teeth ready to tear the flesh from his victims. And even if Monsieur were a charlatan, there was nothing she could do about it. Mrs. Parthemer had quite ob-viously become enamored of the dark young Frenchman and to try to interfere with his mysterious treatment, whatever it was, would only gain Jennifer her dismissal and leave the victims still at his mercy.

“This is all very interesting,” she said in a tone that conveyed politeness and nothing more. “But the children will soon be ready for lessons and I must get my breakfast first.”

Monsieur Dupin bowed. “Mademoiselle must answer the call of duty. My day has already been brightened by the sight of her so lovely face. And this evening I shall show her what I can accomplish.”

Jennifer smiled and turned away. As she left the room, she searched in her memory for any scraps of information she could dredge up about mesmerism. It seemed to her that long ago in that golden time before she had been a governess that someone had talked of seeing Mesmer.

  Yes, she thought as she made her way to the breakfast room. She remembered now. It was a friend of Mama’s who had come calling one day. In their reminiscences they had touched on time spent in Paris in their youth. There was something, Jennifer remembered, about the great Mesmer wearing a robe of lilac taffeta and staring deeply into the sufferer’s eyes. Mama’s friend had been young then and not afflicted with any ailments, but
her
Mama had had rheumatism. And the Master had cured it.

As she settled to her breakfast Jennifer shook her head. Perhaps the great Mesmer had been a real healer. That such men existed she did not for a moment doubt. But that Dupin was such a man - devoted to healing - she could not believe. If Dupin were devoted to anything, it was gold guineas. The only person about whom Dupin cared at all was - Dupin. Of that Jennifer was quite sure.

Later that day she was entirely of the same opinion as she watched him greet the arriving houseguests. Mrs. Parthemer, resplendent in a purple gown that made Jennifer want to wince, seemed quite spry as she greeted her guests and sent them off to their various rooms.

She insisted that Jennifer remain with her and so the excursion she had planned for the early afternoon had to be post-poned. The children’s faces had crumpled at the bad news and Jennifer felt like crying herself. It was not, of course, because there would now be no chance of seeing a certain viscount. It was just that she needed the fresh air and she wanted to get away from the strangely unnerving Monsieur Dupin.

But, of course, Madame’s word was law and Jennifer resigned herself to some hours of boredom. Lady Carolyn Kingston was the first to arrive. Jennifer, Mrs. Parthemer, and Monsieur Dupin heard her horses and went to the door to meet her. The coach was heavily gilded and carried her Papa’s coat of arms on the panels. Lady Carolyn herself was dressed rather conservatively in a gown of pale pink jaconet which set off her dark beauty admirably.

Jennifer saw the young lady’s eyes widen at the sight of Mrs. Parthemer’s purple gown and she sympathized with her. Mrs. Parthemer’s gown was a real shock. But Lady Carolyn recovered nicely and made her greeting.

“Oh Lady Carolyn, my dear,” gushed Mrs. Parthemer. “I am so pleased to see you. And here is Monsieur Dupin.”

Lady Carolyn’s dark eyes met those of the Frenchman and faltered. As though on command she extended her hand and Monsieur Dupin kissed it.

“I am most pleased to meet the lady. I have heard much of her beauty, but none has been sufficient to describe it fully.”

Lady Carolyn’s cheeks colored. How accomplished he was, Jennifer thought. It was fortunate for Lady Carolyn’s Papa that Gretna Green was a considerable distance from Dover. For it was obvious that Lady Carolyn was much impressed by the Frenchman.

Poor Ingleton, thought Jennifer. He certainly had more here than he could deal with. And the celebrated Lord Proctor had not yet arrived.

There was a bustle at the coach and a little woman, almost as wide as she was high, was helped out. “Lady Carolyn,” she cried as she hurried up to them. “Why didn’t you wake me? Oh dear!”

In her hurry the speaker had knocked her bonnet quite askew and now, just as she reached them, it slid forward to cover her face. She pushed it back with a pudgy pink hand and revealed a face the color of a ripe apple. “Oh dear, I’m all a fluster. But travel does fatigue one so. And I do sleep soundly.”

Her eyes lit on Monsieur Dupin and her chatter ended abruptly, almost as though that gentleman had willed it so.

“This is Mrs. Parsons,” said Lady Carolyn. “Papa has engaged her to travel with me.”

Mrs. Parthemer bestowed a small smile on Mrs. Parsons, one equal to her social status. “We are very pleased to have you visit us. This is Monsieur Dupin.”

Then she turned her attention back to Lady Carolyn. “I have given you the Blue Room,” she said. “And Mrs. Parsons has the adjoining Green Room. I hope the journey was not too tiring.”

Lady Carolyn shrugged her dainty shoulders. “Papa’s carriage is quite comfortable.” Her eyes glinted suddenly with mischief. “The worst part of the journey,” she whispered, “was hearing Mrs. Parsons snore!”

Fortunately that little woman was at the moment engaged in directing the footmen who were gathering up the sundry bags and boxes that Lady Carolyn’s coachman and groom were unloading. Lady Carolyn, thought Jennifer, did not travel light. Not at all.

“Is no one else arrived?” Lady Carolyn was asking petulantly as Jennifer swung her attention back to her employer.

Mrs. Parthemer shook her head. “No, my dear. But don’t fear. I have his answer brought by his own footman. He will arrive before dinner.”

   Lady Carolyn colored up at Mrs. Par-themer’s reference to the unknown him, but she did not trouble to deny her interest in the man. Undoubtedly the celebrated Lord Proctor, thought Jennifer. Lady Carolyn was far too transparent about her partialities.

It was a shame that such a lovely girl should be without a Mama. It was cer-tainly a disadvantage to Lady Carolyn, whose Papa evidently had little sense where choosing chaperones was concern-ed. Mrs. Parsons could not be depended on to recognize a fortune hunter, let alone to keep him off.

On the other hand, someone obviously knew how to dress the girl to best advantage. And it was unlikely that that someone could be Mrs. Parsons whose gown of red silk gave her an even greater resemblance to an apple.

Another carriage bearing the Kingston arms pulled up and Jennifer watched it disgorge the servants. There was one among them - a youngish woman whose clothes, though modest, seemed cut along more fashionable lines than the rest. It was she, Jennifer hazarded, probably Lady Carolyn’s dresser, who had turned the young woman out so nicely.

They were about to turn back to the drawing room when the sound of hooves reached their ears and around the bend trotted a chestnut mare. She was not in the best of condition, Jennifer’s sharp eyes noted. Her coat was dull and she held her tail oddly. But the rider on her back appeared finely turned out. His coat of superfine was perfectly cut. His buckskin breeches betrayed not a single wrinkle. His cravat fit snugly under his ears and boasted the mathematical tie. His top boots reflected the gleam of the sun from highly polished surfaces. Whatever money could do in turning out a man had been done for young Lord Proctor. And only Jennifer, of all those watching him, sensed that the condition of the horse was more indicative of his financial status than that of the man. A man who sacrificed his horseflesh to his vanity would not, in her opinion at least, make a good husband. Certainly not for a naive young heiress.

Behind the young lord trailed his valet and a pack horse covered with baggage. These horses, too, showed the effects of a long cold winter on insufficient feed.