Rainbows and Rapture (53 page)

She lifted her face to the sky and closed her eyes for a moment. The sunshine heated her cheeks and her determination. “I gotta try though, Big. It’s like that expression, ‘I’m damned if I do, and I’m damned if I don’t.’ If I
don’t
try, Uncle Asa’s gonna get us run out of Hallensham. And if I
do
try and get caught, we’re still gonna get run out. So why not try? Y’know I’ve been movin’ around with Uncle Asa ever since Mama and Daddy died. Big, I’m just plain weary of it. I want to belong someplace. This is such a purty little village, and I
am
part English, so it’s right for me to be here. And Big, if I
do
get away with my plan and convince the villagers that the duke is our friend, we won’t ever get sent away. We’ll have found a place where we can fit in and be happy for the rest of our days.”

Big almost choked on the compassion he felt for her.
A place where we can fit in.
He wondered if that would ever happen for her. “Goldie,” he whispered, “I—”

He broke off at the sound of hoofbeats. Looking up, he saw Dane Hutchins cantering toward them upon a fine horse. “My, but we’re having some grand company this morning, aren’t we?” he asked sarcastically. “Here comes God.”

“Miss Mae,” Dane greeted her as he reined in his horse.

Big stared up at the overweight man. “What the hell do you want, Hutchins?”

Dane kept his gaze on Goldie. “Inform your uncle I am here.”

“You got an appointment?” she asked, shielding her eyes from the glare of the sun as she peered up at him. “I heard English folks
always
make appointments before comin’ to visit. Y’see, I had this friend named Mildred Fickle. Mildred knew everything about—”

“Cease!” Dane thundered.

“Now wait just a damn blasted minute!” Big responded. “Don’t you talk to Goldie that way! You—”

“We don’t say
cease
in America,” Goldie decided to tell Dane. “Well, maybe some folks do, but most of us just say
shut up
. ’Course, even if you told me to shut up, I wouldn’t. I’d shut up if I knew I was bein’ ugly to you, but I haven’t said anything to have to shut up over, so—”

“Where is your uncle?” Dane asked, his tone suddenly much less strident. He reached up to his snowy neckcloth, touching the glittering stickpin there, then smiled at Goldie.

Big scowled. The man was strange—angry one second, and sweetness itself the next. Very odd. “Asa is sleeping, if it’s any of your business. Now what do you want?”

Dane ignored Big altogether. “Your uncle’s behavior in the pub last night has come to my attention, my sweet. There are people here who are not inclined to accept the three of you among them.”

“You’re not real popular around here either,” Goldie dared to inform him. “And I’m not your sweet anything.”

At the slight stir of the breeze, Dane hurried to smooth his hair. “Is my hair mussed?” he asked worriedly.

Big and Goldie frowned at each other, neither of them answering, then looked back up at Dane.

“Why are you staring at me like that?” he asked. “Is there something wrong with me?” He brushed at his coat sleeves and gave his hair another pat. “Do you have any idea
who
I am?”

“Do you have any idea how little we care?” Big countered, his question making Goldie giggle.

“I have the power to make you care very much,” Dane answered coolly, fondling his stickpin again.

“Look, Mr. Hutchins, we know you’re the estate boss,” Goldie said. “You live in the duke house, dress in fancy clothes, ride that fine horse…but you’re
not
the duke, y’know, and we don’t have to treat you like you are.”

“Do not ever say that to me again.”

Goldie stared at the fat, middle-aged man. She decided he had mean eyes and a cruel mouth. His extreme calmness made her feel slightly nervous.

“It has come to my attention,” Dane said, licking his bottom lip, “that you are going to attempt to bring back Lord Tremayne. Is there any truth to this, my sweet?”

“She’s not your sweet!” Big exploded. “And you—”

“Answer me,” Dane commanded Goldie.

“Yeah, I’m bringin’ him back.”

Another gust of wind swept through the yard, causing Dane to glower. “I must return to the house. I don’t like wind. I don’t like dust either.”

“Why do you live in the duke’s house?” Big asked.

Dane turned and looked at the mansion in the distance. “I wish the roses would bloom.”

Goldie cocked her head to her shoulder. “You’ll have to get out of that house when I bring back the duke. He won’t let you stay in it.”

Dane looked back down at her. “When do you leave for London?”

Goldie stared at his smile again. It made her feel as though ants were crawling on her. “In about two weeks.”

Dane smoothed his hair once more. “Indeed,” he drawled. “Then we shall wait and see what happens, shan’t we? Good day.” He pulled on the reins and sent his horse galloping down the dirt road.

“Great day Miss Agnes,” Goldie murmured, fanning dust away from her face. “That’s the strangest man I believe I’ve ever met.”

Big looked at her and smoothed an unruly flaxen curl back from her face. “Goldie, forget about His Highness Hutchins. Tell me the plan from beginning to end with no more interruptions.”

She heard the quiet resignation in his voice, and decided to take full advantage of it. “I was up almost all night thinkin’ it over,” she assured him excitedly. “It’s purty obvious that this Lord Duke Tremayne Ravenhurst fella’s never gonna come back here. And I can understand his reasons. His daddy, mama, and sweetheart all died here, Big. The place would only remind him of those tragedies. That and the fact that he hasn’t been here in twenty years…why would he up and come back now? So what I’ll do is have
my
duke come for just a few hours or so. He’ll talk to the villagers, and then explain that he has to get back to London. It won’t be
my
fault that he can’t stay. I’ll have done exactly what folks want Uncle Asa and me to do by gettin’ him here.”

With a sigh, Big sat back down, leaning against the stone wall of the cottage. “But Goldie, you don’t know what the man looks like. I realize these people haven’t seen this Ravenhurst duke in years, but they’ll expect to see some kind of resemblance between
your
duke and the real duke’s parents.”

She tossed her bright hair off her shoulders, rose, and ambled around the small yard, kicking pebbles, picking leaves, and taking deep breaths of the fresh air. “Late last night, I sneaked into that big ole mansion up there,” she admitted, staring at the wonderful castle-like estate again. “I crawled right through the window, and—”

“Good Lord, what if that Hutchins bastard had caught you?”

She bent to examine a rotten log. “He wasn’t there. I saw him leave with my own eyes. Dora was gone, too. Did y’know she’s all the time up there? Maybe she’s his servant. Besides, Big, I didn’t go in to steal or anything like that. I just went to see if there were any family paintin’s linin’ the walls. Rich people do that, y’know. Mildred Fickle said so. Big, in one closed-up room there were dozens of paintin’s. Dane must’ve taken ’em down and stashed ’em in there. All the portraits had little brass plaques under ’em that told who the paintin’s were of. The duke’s mama and daddy were there, and so was he. His name is Marion Tremayne. His middle initials are W. S., but I don’t know what they stand for.”

She strolled back to where Big sat. “You ever heard of a man bein’ named Marion, Big? Wonder what his mama was thinkin’ when she named him that? I reckon maybe she wanted a daughter so bad, she gave her son a girl name. Poor Duke Marion. Poor, poor Duke Marion.”

“Goldie, Marion is a boy’s name too.”

She stuck a leaf stem in her mouth and chewed on it, grimacing at its bitter flavor. “Sounds like a girl’s name to me. Anyhow, little Marion was only about three years old when his paintin’ was done, but after starin’ at his parents’ paintin’s along with his, I think I’ve figured out what he looks like now. He’s gotta be over six feet tall because both his mama and his daddy looked tall. His hair is black and wavy, he’s got a strong jaw, high cheekbones, and a long straight nose. I couldn’t tell too much about his mouth because it was sorta pinched up. Looked like he was antsy about havin’ to stand there and get painted. And I wasn’t sure about the color of his eyes either because he was wearin’ a hat that shaded ’em. His mama had blue eyes, his daddy brown ones, so I was gonna take my chances and do eenie meenie miney mo.”

She smiled at the look of dismay in Big’s eyes and turned to walk back out into the yard again, her hands clasped behind her back. When she’d traveled a few yards, she spun around quickly. “But lo and behold, Big, Aunt Della’s diaries say the duke’s eyes are green! They’re probably a throwback or somethin’ to one of his kin. That or his mama was messin’ around with some green-eyed milkman. Mildred Fickle says rich people
always
have lovers. That must be another one of those English customs. And I think Duke Marion’s real strong too, Big, because his daddy was all muscle if that paintin’ was tellin’ the truth. Muscles
are
inherited, aren’t they?”

Big stared into her tawny eyes and shook his head in exasperation. “And what are you going to do about fancy clothes, a carriage, and horses? You can’t dress your duke in tattered clothing, and you can’t have him saunter into the village with dust all over his boots. He has to dress—”

“I’m gonna borrow some clothes that are already up there in his duke house. I found some in a closet in one of those upstairs bedrooms. It was a real dusty bedroom, so I’m sure the clothes have been there a long time, and they don’t belong to Mr. Hutchins.”

“If they’ve been there that long, they’ll be outdated,” Big pointed out.

She stared at him for a long time. “Why do you have to make so many problems, Big?”

“Me?”
he asked in utter disbelief.

She continued to stare at him, her mind at work on the point he’d brought up. “Hell, Big, beautiful clothes never get outdated,” she decided out loud. “They stay in fashion forever. Everybody knows that. And great day Miss Agnes, you’ve never seen the kind of clothes up there in that house! I was so excited I almost set ’em on fire when I dropped my candle! Satins and silks, and some even had gold buttons! Fancier’n anything I ever saw Amos Hicks back in Shakin’ Pines, Georgia, wear. He—”

“Goldie, you are off of the subject again. I asked you not to interrupt yourself anymore.”

“Oh, all right, ill-box.”

“And don’t call me that. I’m not crabby, only impatient.”

She walked back to him, dragging the toes of her shoes in the dirt behind her. When she reached him, she looked over her shoulder at the lines her dragging feet had made. “As far as gettin’ a carriage and horses for the duke…I’m not that far in my plans yet.”

“What?” Big asked, pretending astonishment. “You mean there are actually some
holes
in this grand scheme of yours?”

“Not many, and I’ll fill ’em in later.”

Big fashioned a steeple with his fingers and laid his chin upon it. “Hole number two, Goldie: how are you going to get this poor common man you find to
agree
to these wild plans?”

She patted his shiny bald head. “I’ve got about five pounds of money. Uncle Asa bought some stuff the other day, and he told me that people here pay for things in
pounds
. I reckon they have to weigh the money before they can pay for stuff with it. I don’t know how in the world these English folks manage to carry more than, say…ten or twelve pounds around with ’em. Wonder what they do when somethin’ costs over a hundred pounds? Y’know, Big, now that I think of it, that might be why the duke’s daddy had so many muscles. A person would
have
to be strong to tote around so many pounds of money. Anyway, I have a whole pile of silver coins that I figure weighs about five pounds, and I’ll offer my duke three pounds of ’em for doin’ the job. I’ve been savin’ all these years, and Uncle Asa doesn’t know. Don’t tell him.”

Nothing Big could think of would induce him to tell Asa Mae about her savings. The bastard would steal it from her and spend it all on drink. “All right, Goldie, let’s pretend your plan is foolproof. Just where do you propose to find your Marion W. S. Tremayne?”

“Well, at dawn tomorrow—”

“Tomorrow? You just told Hutchins it would be two weeks before—”

“I lied because he yelled at me.” She tilted her chin up and folded her arms across her breasts. “Y’know how I hate it when folks yell at me, Big. He deserved to be lied to. We’re leavin’ tomorrow mornin’. We’ll just keep on travelin’ till—”

“We?”
Big scrambled up from his seat so quickly he lost his footing and tumbled to the ground. “Goldie—”

“Big, why’d you fling yourself into the dirt?”

Big stood and slapped soil off his knees and elbows. “I always pitch myself down when I’m happy! And your scheme has made me just delirious with joy!”

“Oh, Big.” Goldie smiled and shook her head over his sass. “You have to go with me, y’know. What if someone tries to get me while I’m on the road? They have lots of highwaymen here in England. Mildred Fickle told me all about ’em. Would you be able to sleep at night knowin’ I was out there at the mercy of those dreaded English highwaymen? They wear these black capes and boots, ride black horses, and they carry these long, vicious swords! What if one gets me? What if—”

“All right, all right! But—’”

“We’ll have a weapon too, Big. Diaries aren’t the only things Aunt Delia kept. She’s got her own sword in there, and I mean to tell you it’s the biggest thing you ever saw. She wrote that it’s a Scottish claymore. Belonged to somebody in her family. The thing’s so big, I can’t hardly lift it. But see, the size alone will scare any dreaded English highwaymen who try to get us. I’ll just sorta let it hang off Dammit’s saddle in a warnin’ kinda way.”

“Thank you, Goldie. I can’t think of the last time I felt so safe.” Big shook his head again.

She nodded and tapped her chin with her finger. “I’ll leave a note to Uncle Asa tellin’ him that we went to get ole Marion. It’s better that he doesn’t know about my real plans because of the kind of mouth he has when he’s drinkin’. I’ve gotta find the man somewhere faraway, y’see. I can’t take the chance of pickin’ some commoner that one of the villagers knows. When I find him, I reckon I’ll need about two months or so to teach him duke stuff. Then I’ll—”