Strangers at Dawn (34 page)

S
ATURDAY MORNING DAWNED WITH SPOTTY
showers, but by the time the advance party arrived on Stoneleigh’s common to set up the marquee and booths for the fair, the wind had chased the offending rain clouds away, and everyone agreed it was an ideal day to hold the fair.

This was to be Sara’s first public appearance since returning home, and she was torn between a desire to show the world how little she cared for its good opinion and an equally strong desire to lock herself in a cupboard until the fair was over. She got little sympathy from Max. Whatever she wanted to do, he said, was fine by him. Peter Fallon would stay with her if she wanted to remain at Longfield. But he had been roped in to selling tickets at the fortuneteller’s tent and he wasn’t going to back out now.

He had come to her bed last night and made love to her. Though the rapture was still there, there was something missing. They weren’t together.
Mter
they’d made love, she’d tried to explain why the marriage contract was so important to her. Max had heard her out in silence, sighed, then turned on his side and gone to sleep. She had fretted half the night away.

If it hadn’t been for Anne, she didn’t know how she would have got through the last few hours. Anne understood her terrors only too well. She’d found Sara a job that would, for the most part, keep her out of the public eye. They were behind a canvas partition in the marquee where the ladies of the church were serving teas to a never-ending stream of customers. Their job was to fill the empty plates that came back and send them out again with fresh sandwiches and sliced cake. The only people Sara had to talk to were the ladies who were working with her and those who brought back their plates to be refilled.

At first, they’d worked in silence, but it wasn’t a hostile silence. It seemed to Sara as if everyone was afraid they would say the wrong thing. She’d known these ladies before her trial and had liked and respected them. They were the wives of local farmers and business or professional men. She’d visited them in their homes and entertained them at Longfield. But now her tongue seemed to be tied in knots and she couldn’t find a thing to say.

It was Anne, painfully shy Anne, who heroically broke the silence time after time, referring to husbands and children and drawing Sara into the conversation, until they were all chattering away as though Sara had never been tried for murder.

She wasn’t exactly enjoying herself, but it wasn’t as bad as she’d thought it would be, not nearly as bad.

Anne wiped her sweaty brow with the back of her hand. “It must be time for us to have our break,” she said.

“Break?” Sara didn’t want a break. She wanted to stay right where she was.

She wasn’t given a choice. Two other ladies came to relieve them, and Anne was helping her out of her apron before she could think of an excuse to stay behind.

“You can’t hide in here for the duration of the fair,” Anne said in an undertone. “Constance and Lucy will be
out there keeping places for us at their table. It will be all right, you’ll see.”

It couldn’t be worse, Sara told herself, than facing all the curious spectators at her trial. She took a moment to compose herself, then, with a nod to Anne, and lifting her chin, she entered the main marquee.

The noise was deafening. Ladies were scurrying from table to table, whisking away dirty dishes and setting our fresh crockery and cutlery. There was no standing on ceremony here. The only object was to raise money, and mistresses in aprons thought nothing of waiting on their own servants. No one noticed Sara.

They saw Constance and Lucy. Sara would have gone to join them, but Anne put a restraining hand on her arm. “William’s mother is with them,” she said.

Sara’s eyes flew to Constance’s table and she saw what she hadn’t noticed before. Lady Neville was in an invalid chair and she was gesturing with her hands, smiling first at Constance, then at Lucy.

Anne said, “William’s mother has joined the ladies’ guild at the church, and though I wouldn’t say we are friends, we are on speaking terms. Now that William is gone, I think she regrets having disowned us both.”

Sara said nothing, but she hadn’t forgotten or forgiven the cruel way the Nevilles had treated her whole family. They were neighbors, but they might as well have lived at opposite ends of England.

Anne flashed Sara a quick look. “Shall we go over? Are you up to meeting her?”

She would never be up to meeting William’s mother again. She shook her head.

“Who,” she said, a moment later, “is that striking-looking gentleman standing beside her?”

“That,” said Anne, “is Beckett. He’s Lady Neville’s footman. She never goes anywhere without him.”

No man could have looked less like a footman. He was too good-looking, too dramatic, dressed as he was in black, and far too bold with his eyes. But if he was bold, so was Constance. As Sara watched, her stepmother dropped her napkin. Both she and the footman bent to pick it up and their hands touched beneath the tablecloth, then they smiled into each other’s eyes.

Sara was coldly furious. Lucy was sitting right beside her mother, but fortunately, she was listening to Lady Neville and had missed this brazen act.

“They’re lovers,” said Sara. She looked at Anne. “They’re lovers, aren’t they?”

Anne shrugged. “Sara, don’t interfere.”

“Of course I’m going to put a stop to it. Constance is Lucy’s mother. She should know better.”

“Don’t blame Constance.” Anne’s lips trembled. “She’s lonely. And it’s not her fault that she’s beautiful and men find her desirable. Leave her alone, Sara. People must be allowed to live their own lives.”

A horrible suspicion flashed into Sara’s mind, and she gave Anne a sideways glance. She knew that her sister was deeply unhappy, and she prayed that this footman had nothing to do with it. She wished she could say something, but this was the second time that Anne had warned her to keep her distance.

Lady Neville’s footman had caught sight of them. His bold eyes roamed over Sara and he smiled. Her look was frigid. Laughing now, he bent his dark head and whispered something in her ladyship’s ear. A moment later, he wheeled the chair toward the exit.

“It seems,” said Sara, “that Lady Neville isn’t up to meeting me either.”

Lucy smiled as Sara took the chair next to hers. “We were just talking to Lady Neville,” she said. “Did you know her daughter, Sara?”

“Caroline,” said Sara and nodded. “But not very well. She was a year or two younger than Anne, and the Nevilles did not mix with Stoneleigh society.”

“She died very young,” said Anne. “I remember her father took her to the best physicians in London and they could do nothing for her.”

“Speaking of Sir Ivor,” said Sara, “is he here? Because if he is, I think I’ll make myself scarce.”

“Me too,” said Lucy. “I don’t like him at all. In fact, he makes my skin crawl.”

“Lucy!” Constance fingered the pearl pendant at her throat. “You are chattering. Pour the tea for your sisters.”

Sara half turned in her chair and gazed at the exit. It was the first time in her memory that Lady Neville had attended the local fair. If she’d known the Nevilles would be here, she wouldn’t have had the courage to come.

She looked at Constance and Anne and Lucy. Everything seemed normal enough, but there were undercurrents here that she didn’t understand. And there wouldn’t have been undercurrents if Lady Neville and her footman hadn’t stirred them up.

What in heaven’s name was going on?

Peter Fallon came up and joined their table.

“Where is Max?” Sara asked.

“Telling fortunes,” he said, chuckling, “and do you know what? He’s really good at it.”

“Max is telling fortunes?” Sara was astounded. “I though the was only going to sell tickets.”

Peter pushed his cup and saucer toward Lucy and watched as she poured out his tea. “The local doctor, I forget his name, was supposed to be the fortune-teller, but he was called away, so Max took his place. They’ve rigged him out as a gypsy with golden earrings, no less. You wouldn’t recognize him if you saw him.”

There was a moment of silence, then everyone began to laugh.

M
AX
LOOKED UP FROM HIS CRYSTAL BALL AND
saw Simon, a big smirk on his face, standing just inside the tent flap. “Your fortune is easy to tell,” said Max. “I see a tall, fair-haired stranger in your life who is going to have a profound influence on your future.” He stared down at his crystal ball. “You can make this easy on yourself or hard; the choice is yours.” He looked up and grinned. “But one way or another, things are going to be different for you, Simon.”

Simon’s smirk had been replaced by a vicious scowl. “You look ridiculous with that scarf around your head and those dangling earrings!”

“Do I? I don’t feel ridiculous. In fact, it wouldn’t surprise me if, in a former life, I
had
been a fortune-teller. I have a talent for it. As you’ll soon find out. That will be threepence, please.”

“What?”

“I don’t tell fortunes for nothing. Threepence, if you please. Don’t be such a bad sport. It’s all in a good cause.”

Simon fished in his pocket and counted out three pennies, which Max deposited in ajar that was filled to the brim with coins.

“Talking of sports,” said Simon, “it’s time for the boxing contest.”

Max rose. “Who is going to take my place here?”

“How should I know?”

“I can’t just leave my post! This is a little gold mine we’ve got going here. Look, take this jar to the vicar and tell him the problem. If he can’t find someone to replace me, he’ll have to do it himself. Go on. I’ll be all changed and ready when you get back.”

“Give it to me!” Simon reached for the jar of coins, hoisted it in his arms, and quickly left the tent.

After pulling the red kerchief from his head, Max carefully
removed his brass hooped earrings. He was really sorry to give up the earrings.

L
OOK AT THAT,” SAID MAX AS HE AND SI
mon left the fortune-teller’s tent. He was pointing to the long queue of people who had lined up to see the fortuneteller. “My fame has spread. There was only a trickle of people when I took over from Doctor Laurie. I don’t know what they’ll do when they hear the vicar has taken over from me. They may even riot.”

“Don’t let it go to your head,” said Simon. “It’s not your talent as a fortune-teller that has drawn that crowd. What they want to see is the fortune hunter who has snagged my sister.”

Max shook his head. “Do you know; I’ve never met a family like yours? It’s not only Sara. You’re all the same. Money is all you ever think about. Don’t you know how to have fun? Enjoy yourselves? That doesn’t take money.”

Simon flashed Max a look of pure dislike. “That’s easy for you to say, now that you’ve got control of my father’s fortune.”

Max studied Simon for a moment or two. “Sara didn’t mention-”

“What?”

“Sara didn’t mention our marriage contract?”

“Notto me. Why?”

A slow smile tugged at the corners of Max’s lips. “I thought-”

“What did you think?”

“I think,” said Max with a broad smile, “that your sister is beginning to see the light. Where is she, by the way?”

“She’s washing up dishes, now that the teas are over.”

“Alone?” asked Max sharply.

Simon misunderstood the edge in Max’s voice, and because he was thoroughly annoyed with Max’s good humor,
he said spitefully, “Of course she’s not alone. Drew Primrose is with her. You’d think he’d know better, now that Sara is a married woman.” He had his reward when Max’s lips thinned.

Max saw Simon’s smirk and said tightly, “I was going to go easy with you, but that last remark has made me change my mind.”

Simon gave an exaggerated shiver. “What, no holds barred?”

“No holds barred,” agreed Max grimly.

They walked on in silence, past booths that were mostly deserted now that all their wares had been sold. The crowds were thinning out, though the flame-thrower and swordswallower were still doing a brisk trade. In another hour, the fair would be over, and the monumental task of clearing up would begin. But there was one attraction that kept most of the men hanging around-the boxing contest.

It was as far from the ladies’ booths on that small common as it could possibly be, and if the vicar had had his way, it wouldn’t have been there at all. But the fair was not under the jurisdiction of the church. It was run by the mayor and aldermen, and they were astute businessmen who knew how to part a man from his money.

The area was roped off, and Simon gave a shilling to the ticket collector to pay admittance for himself and Max.

“Sam,” said Simon to the ticket collector, “this is my brother-in-law, Max Worthe.” Then to Max, “Sam is our local butcher.”

Max saw a small, monkey-faced man dressed in a dirty apron, who was eyeing him as though he were a side of beef.

“Well, what do you think?” asked Simon.

Sam Weaver shook his head. “I’ll give ‘im one round, if, e gets that far.”

Max took umbrage.
“My
dear man-”