The Bride of Time (13 page)

“All right, Master Monty,” Giles said, throwing back the quilt. He turned to Foster. “Take him below and have Lottie tend him. Stay with him. Once he’s dressed and has eaten, take him to the tapestry suite and stay with him while he repairs the damage he’s done.”

The boy’s Gypsy eyes flashed, and a scowl replaced the smug half-smile.

“Oh yes, Master Monty,” Giles said. “You will undo what you have done to the tapestry suite. You will remain there until every last fragment of broken porcelain has been swept up, and every stick of furniture put back where it belongs, if it takes a sennight, so you’d best eat a hearty breakfast, young man. You’ve got your chore set out for you.” A nod to Foster saw them in motion, and Giles went back to the solarium to begin his own restoration.

He decided to leave the easel and the painting where Foster had put them until all danger of them coming to harm was past. Thoughts of the painting darkened his spirits suddenly. Had he ruined all chances of ever having Tessa model again? Had he finally found the perfect model for the project, the perfect woman all the way around, only to muck it up by behaving like a rake? Could he charm his way back into her good graces? More pointedly, did he have the right to pursue her, considering the curse the strange Gypsy child had conferred upon him?

Thinking these thoughts, he almost didn’t see Dorcas approaching him from the servant’s quarters when he stepped off the first-floor landing.

“Sir, I was just comin’ ta find ya,” she said, sketching a curtsy. “Miss LaPrelle has expressed a wish to go in
search of suitable togs, since her duties with Master Monty have been postponed, so ta speak.”

Relief flooded Giles from head to toe. At least she wasn’t going to run screaming from the house. He might have his second chance at that. He would be more careful this time.

“You may tell her that would be quite acceptable, Dorcas,” he said.

“I’ll have ta have Able take her,” Dorcas said. “I was goin’ ta go with her when she went, but what with the house in sixes and sevens this mornin’, I can’t dare leave it all to the maids ta set ta rights.”

“That will be fine, Dorcas,” Giles said. “I shall be out of the house for a while this afternoon myself. I was just on my way to inform Able to ready Valiant for me after nuncheon. I won’t be needing him after that, so you can employ him here as needs must; Andy as well.”

“Very good, sir,” Dorcas said, but he called her back when she turned to go.

“No, wait!” he said. “I’ve a better idea. My errand takes me to the south moor. ’Tisn’t Truro, but the shops in Bodmin should suffice for her needs. I’ll have Able ready the small chaise instead and I’ll drive. That way, he can remain here…just in case you have need of him. Tell Miss LaPrelle to meet me in the drive after nuncheon. Oh, and Dorcas, if the ‘sixes and sevens’ you are referring to have anything to do with the tapestry suite, you are not to trouble. Master Monty will clean up the mess he’s made. You aren’t to aid him in any way. Foster will see to it. Is that clear?”

“Y-yes, sir,” Dorcas said. Sketching another curtsy, she waddled off.

Giles went on his way. Stepping out in the sunshine, he could scarcely believe the horror of the night before. Passing the gaping oriel window, he sighed. Had he
really turned into a wolf and crashed headlong through that window? The nagging pain on the inside of his thigh responded to that. Crashing through the oriel window was the last thing he remembered until sighting the Gypsy camp.

Able was shoeing a horse when he entered the stables. The man froze in position when Giles entered. “Forgive me if I don’t let go,” the stabler said. “It’s took me half-an-hour to get his leg between my knees…”

“Carry on, Able,” Giles said. “When you’re done there, I’d like you to ready the two-seater chaise. I’ve an errand to run after nuncheon, and I’d like to take Miss LaPrelle with me to fetch her togs from Bodmin, since it’s close by.”

“That old chaise?” Able asked, frozen in place. “Why don’t ya let me drive ya ’round in the brougham?”

“Because I need you here, Able,” Giles said. “Master Monty’s acting up again. I’ve left him in Foster’s care, but if he can’t handle the boy, I’d like to know there’s someone about who can put the fear of God into him.”

“You’ve got Rigby and Evers,” the stabler reminded him.

“Rigby will have no truck with the boy, and Evers is little more than a boy himself. I need you here in my absence from now on…until the matter is settled.”

“As you say, sir,” Able replied, wagging his head as he drove another nail into the horse’s hoof. “She’s in pretty fair shape—the chaise, that is. I’ve oiled the leather straps her chassis is hung on regular. But that don’t mean nothin’ in all the damp hereabouts. The calash hood is creased in spots, though I’ve oiled that, too. I wouldn’t take her at a gallop, sir. I wouldn’t take her at all, come ta that, but if you take her slow, she’ll get ya ta Bodmin and back.”

“Good! Bring it ’round to the drive in an hour, and,
Able, if you have to have dealings with Master Monty, keep clear of his teeth. He’s a biter.”

Tessa sat ramrod-rigid beside Giles in the chaise, trying to keep a respectable distance from him, but that was impossible in the small two-seater. No matter how she strained to distance herself from him, her thigh still leaned against his. He’d noticed that she had her hairpins back. The minute she’d stepped into the drive, his eyes were riveted to her coiffure. He either didn’t want to discuss it, or didn’t realize she must have gone into the solarium to get them. She certainly wasn’t going to bring the matter up. Instead, she tried to enjoy the beautiful patchwork hills they drove through, and they were approaching the south moor before Giles broke the silence she was trying to preserve.

“I’m glad you agreed to grant me this outing,” he said. “My business in the south shan’t take long. Afterward, I’ll drive you into Bodmin to make your selections.”

“What exactly is your business in the south?” Tessa asked, certain he’d contrived the whole outing just to force her company.

“It’s regarding your charge, actually,” he said. “Which is another reason I thought you should accompany me.”

“Master Monty?”

He nodded. “He is half-Gypsy, after all, and Gypsies have camped down here on the south moor. They do so every year. I consulted the old healer among them before they decamped last spring when this nightmare began. I was hoping they could shed some light upon the boy’s malady. She said if things…worsened, to come again. It is real, Miss LaPrelle, and I must confess I do not know how to deal with it, short of shutting him up in a sanatorium somewhere. I’m hoping they can give me an alternative.”

“You really believe he is a…a werewolf, don’t you?”

“I
know
he is, but I also know you won’t believe me unless you see for yourself firsthand. I’m hoping this little jaunt today will at the very least give you pause for thought.”

“I’ve always been possessed of an open mind, Mr. Longworth, but—”

“Since we are to be working closely together, mightn’t we dispense with some of the formalities? We are hardly
haute ton
here. Could you see your way clear to calling me ‘Giles’? As things are, by time you get ‘Mr. Longworth’ out, you could have come to serious harm.”

Tessa thought on it. It was a shameless ploy to promote familiarity, but he did have a point.
Mr. Longworth
was a mouthful to say in an emergency. Still, she made him wait a long time before replying.

“As you wish,” she finally said.

“Ah, good!” he cried. “And may I call you ‘Tessa’?”

“Yes, but that doesn’t mean—”

“Oh, I know,” he interrupted. “It’s just a convenience…and a precaution.”

As her employer, he had the right to call her however he pleased. Still, she knew what was behind the intimacy, and deep down, despite his scandalous behavior last night, she wanted it. She’d wanted it since the little gallery off Threadneedle Street. That he evidently wanted it, too, was more than she could have hoped for. But still she was wary. It was too soon, and his behavior was too mercurial to be trusted; she was in awe of it.

Mercifully, he said no more until they reached the Gypsy camp and reined the horse in alongside a low bracken hedge. Climbing out of the chaise, he reached to lift her down beside him, but she declined.

“No,” she said. “I shall wait with the carriage.”

Seizing her about the waist, he lifted her down without ceremony, wrenching a cry from her throat. “No,”
he said. “You need to hear this more than I do. Please…indulge me, Tessa. It could well mean your life.”

He could have told her to jump into the sea from the Cornish cliffs, speaking her name in that sultry, deep-throated burr, and she would have jumped gladly. It riveted her to the very soul and made her giddy enough to accept his arm in support as they approached the Gypsy campfire. An old woman seated there gave a nod and swept her arm wide, inviting them to sit upon logs set about in lieu of chairs.

“Steady on, Tessa,” Giles whispered. “I know these. They camp here on my land every fall and winter. They’ve come early this year. That means the winter will be a hard one, with many flaws, and maybe even snow, which occurs in Cornwall only every twenty years of so, give or take a year. Moraiva is a Roma princess. She is very wise.”

Others milling about the camp kept their distance. They almost seemed afraid to Tessa. Not so Moraiva, whose hard-eyed smile was trained upon her. In spite of all misgivings, Tessa took a seat and offered a token smile. It wouldn’t do to disrespect a Gypsy; with all that had befallen her, the last thing Tessa wanted was to court a Gypsy curse.

“You are come early this year,” Giles said to the woman.

Moraiva nodded, stirring the fire with a long thin branch. “Soon the snow flies everywhere else,” she said. “A winter like no other. We are come in hopes Cornwall will be spared, for there will be heavy snows and bitter winds to drive them in places that have never seen the like.”

“We can take that forecast as gospel, Tessa,” Giles said, though he never took his eyes from the old Gypsy’s wrinkled face. “You are welcome, as always,” he told the
Gypsy. “And I am glad you’ve come early. There is a matter that wants your expertise…if you will give it.”

The woman nodded. “You speak of the child,” she said. “Naught has changed?”

“No,” he responded, “except that it’s gotten worse since it began last spring.”

The woman cast a long hard look in Tessa’s direction, which made her more than a little uncomfortable. “This is your lady?” she asked Giles.

“I am the boy’s governess.” Tessa spoke up before he could reply.

“Which is why I wanted her to hear much of this conversation,” Giles concluded.

The Gypsy
hmm
ed, giving the fire a stir that sent sparks shooting into the air. “You will need to be especially careful in the handling of the child, miss.”

“He flaunts his…situation, Moraiva,” Giles said. “He pretended to bite her—”

“But he did not?” the Gypsy interrupted, her eyes frightening to view, so frightening that Tessa gasped.

“No, he did not, and Tessa here is not convinced of the problem.”

The woman smiled a smile that did not reach her eyes, and held out her hand to Tessa, palm upward. “Give me your hand,” she said.

Tessa hesitated, then finally did as the woman bade her.

Moraiva squinted toward Tessa’s palm for some time before her raisin-like eyes flashed up with a look that drove Tessa’s eyes away. “How have you come here?” she asked.

“I…I came from London…seeking employment,” Tessa said.
Lud! Could she tell? Did she know somehow
she’d traveled through time? Would she tell Giles?
Cold chills crippled her while imagining it. If she was revealed, he would surely demand an explanation, and she had no idea what she would tell him.

The woman stared long and hard at her, seeming to digest her answer. “When you return to London, you must stay in the good and perfect time that has lent you to us here.”

Even Giles was nonplussed at that, but Tessa knew exactly what the woman was trying to say. She was not safe here in his time, but she wasn’t safe there in her own time, either. Nodding, she lowered her eyes demurely.

“You know the child’s background,” Giles said to the Gypsy. “I believe he caused my sister’s death, Moraiva, and ironically I have become his guardian! I thought of sending him to boarding school, but I couldn’t inflict that upon the innocents there. I thought of a sanatorium, but I cannot bring myself to—”

“You are a good man, Giles Longworth,” the Gypsy said. “But sometimes…we cannot be good if we would do right. You are not alone. There are many like the boy among the Roma—those who were cursed before birth, those who have been infected through the parent host, or by way of an outside force through no fault of their own…and those who are pure evil. I see hope in your eyes, but there is none. There is no cure for a lycanthrope—a
werewolf
. I will come tomorrow, when much of the danger is past, but enough remains for me to see where he falls in the spectrum. Meanwhile, there are…precautions.”

“Any help you can give, Moraiva,” Giles pleaded.

The woman nodded. “He will need to be confined the night before the moon is full, when it is at its fullest, and the night after,” she said. “All danger will not be past until the shape of the waning is visible. During this time, arm yourself with silver. It will repel the beast…and it will also kill the beast if it comes in contact with a vital organ, whether it be a pistol ball, a silver sword, or a silver candlestick or other bludgeoning instrument. That is the only way to kill a werewolf.”

“That is not an option,” Giles said. “He is a child.”

“No, not for the child, but there will be…others,” the Gypsy warned. Holding her finger up, she got to her feet stiffly. “One moment,” she said, shuffling off to the nearest wagon.

“Where is she going?” Tessa wondered.

“Into her wagon,” Giles replied. “We must wait. I’ve learned to indulge her.”

“I think you are all quite mad!” Tessa said.