The Lodestone (16 page)

Jacqueline and Fanny were busy in the public dining room, so Cleome had to serve Mr. Stoneham and his guest. She set the tray down before Drake who, with a graceful flourish of one large hand, indicated that she should pour it out. He was discussing horse racing with Garnett, and not once did he pause in his conversation. Garnett’s eyes met Cleome’s briefly when she handed him his cup. Her task finished, she went quietly to the door, hoping to make her escape without further notice.

“Miss Parker.” Drake’s voice stopped her and she turned to face him.

“Yes sir?” She waited expectantly while Garnett fidgeted in his chair.

“I’ve noticed in my perusal of the record books that you have quite a legible hand. I’d like you to join me in the study when you’ve had your tea and copy some correspondence for me. I have several letters that must be posted to London no later than tomorrow.”

“As you wish,” she replied. “Will there be anything else?”

“That’s all for now. Go and enjoy your tea, and pray do not rush on my account. I expect I’ll be with my guest for an hour or so.”

Again, she bent her knee to Drake; and as she turned to go, she saw that Garnett was staring morosely into his cup.

**

Earlier, when Garnett Easton had come thundering up to the door, Young Sam had been leading fresh horses around for the afternoon coach. The groom had quickly given the reins of the work nags to his grandfather so he could attend the gentleman. Thus, he had heard Easton ask for Cleome when Fanny opened the door to him. Now he watched with satisfaction as Easton took his leave. The new master had come in from his ride shortly after Easton’s arrival, and Samuel knew the dandified popinjay would have so little time alone with Cleome that it made his visit scarcely worth the effort.

Young Sam was not in the habit of speaking to his betters except when spoken to and he did not see any reason to break with this ironbound rule for survival. He could not fight tradition, so he obeyed it blindly. One of the bloody gentry could be on fire and he wouldn’t hear about it from Samuel, unless he
asked
was he on fire. His face a careful mask, he brought Garnett’s horse and placidly held the reins, waiting upon the heir to Easton Place with his own brand of contempt, carefully disguised as respect. Easton was annoyed, he was; and Samuel could guess the reason why. The master had interrupted whatever it was he had on his mind concerning Cleome, and serve ’im right, too.

The groom’s blood boiled at the thought of Garnett Easton with his fancy duds, alone in the same room with the girl. He didn’t mind Mr. Stoneham so much, for the new master was not one of the swells.
Well,
he thought,
if I can’t have ’er, I’d rather see ’er go to Stoneham—a man’s man if there e’er was one—than being took advantage of by a simpering fop like Easton
.

Even so, Samuel could not drive out of his memory the slight pressure of Cleome’s body against his the night he had carried her out of the stable. Repeatedly, since that night, a mounting need had plagued him, sending him repeatedly to the public house in Oakham where he could find satisfaction, until he had spent most of the money he had saved up for his future. He no longer liked turning to Fanny, who had taught him the baser pleasures when he was an eager boy coming into his manhood; but then, she was always willing and required naught but a few pretty words.

But it was none of those trollops he wanted, not the paid ones in Oakham nor the free ‘un, as eager as she was. He wanted Cleome, and now this flamin’ son of a lord was sniffing around the place, trying to put fancy notions into her head—notions that would get her nothin’ but trouble.

“If you will kindly let go of my horse,” Garnett snapped as he jerked the reins away from Young Sam and dug his heels into his horse’s sides.

The groom watched until Garnett disappeared from view, then he spat on the ground where the man had stood moments before. Turning back to the stables, he hoped for a glimpse of Cleome. She sometimes brought tea out to Samuel and his granda when the number of travelers stopping at the inn made it impossible for them to go to the kitchen.
But ’tis not to be so the day
, he thought regretfully. She was busier now than she had ever been when Desmond was alive and owned the inn. In her stead, Della came out the back door, bearing the tea tray. And Della always had a ready smile for him.

**

Drake Stoneham made such an imposing figure sitting behind Cleome’s desk, dwarfing it with his size, that it was all she could do to keep from closing the door as quietly as she had opened it and fleeing to the safety of the kitchen. It was too bad, she thought, that he was not as pleasant to be with or to look upon as Garnett. When she didn’t speak, he glanced up from his papers and waved her into the room.

“Sit down,” he said, indicating a chair that had been placed opposite him on the other side of the desk. “There is paper and pen, and here is the first letter. Please copy it exactly. If there’s anything that’s not clear to you, do not hesitate to ask questions, as my handwriting is not always distinct. You’ll find a space where sums have been omitted. I am presently completing those figures. Stop when you reach that point, and I’ll supply the missing information. Do you understand?”

“Yes, sir.”

Without another word, he went back to his ledgers. His close proximity was enough to unnerve Cleome, and her hands trembled a little as she began copying his firm scrawl. She had no trouble deciphering his hand, but every time he made an unexpected move, either to dip his pen into the inkwell or crumple a ruined paper and dispatch it to the fireplace, Cleome started. Finally, Drake put down his quill and sat staring at her, his fingers quietly drumming the desk top.

“Mademoiselle,” he said at last. “I do not intend to bite you, boil you in oil, or even to tread upon your pretty little toes. Kindly stop fidgeting so we can finish this loathsome task. I assure you I find it quite as unpleasant as you do.”

Helpless tears of rage filled her eyes, but she stubbornly blinked them away, inwardly cursing the day he’d learned she could read and write. If only he would leave her in peace to keep his house, or at the very least strike some kind of balance in his attitude towards her, she would be able to abide him. His gallantry mixed with his stinging sarcasm was almost more than she could bear.

“I have noticed,” he continued coldly, “that you do not find it so difficult to sit with the young master of Easton Place.”

In spite of her resolve to hold it in check, her temper flared. “At least he is a gentleman, which is more—” She stopped abruptly and clamped her mouth shut as she realized her rashness.

“Which is more than I can claim?” he finished for her. “My dear young woman, it seems you have much to learn about the ways of the world. Young
gentlemen
like Garnett Easton search out and often find many enjoyable pastimes to while away long hours in these charming rural settings. And when they return to the excitement of the city, they seldom give their country paramours a second thought.”

“I am not his paramour,” she managed with quiet dignity.

“Indeed?” was his curt reply. “What was he doing here? And do not tell me he came to see me, as that is not the case. I’ll no more believe it from you than I did from him.”

“I am not in the habit of lying, Mr. Stoneham.”

He pulled the small envelope, addressed in Lady Easton’s hand, out from under the stack of letters on the desk before him. “He came to ask you to the Easton’s Harvest Ball, then?”

His blunt inquiry forced a smile to her lips. “Garnett Easton is not so daring that he’d defy even Oakham’s modest society by inviting me to his mother’s party.”

“Do you know how to dance?”

“Yes sir,” she answered, still smiling though the question took her by surprise. “My education has been thorough, if so far futile.”

“Would you like to go to the ball, Miss Parker?”

“It matters not what I’d like,” she said. “The fact is, I am not invited. And even if I was, I have nothing suitable to wear for such a grand occasion; so there’s an end to it. Besides, I fear Lord and Lady Easton would be so thoroughly scandalized they would never recover.”

“And you, Miss Parker? Could you recover from such a scandal?”

“As my very existence is a scandal, sir, I doubt it would have much effect on me.”

Drake opened his mouth to speak again but a dull thud from the direction of her mother’s bedroom made Cleome jump to her feet in alarm.

“I beg your pardon,” she said, suddenly worried. “I believe my mother has been disturbed. May I be excused so that I can tend her?”

“Dammit all, of course! You do not have to ask permission every time you breathe!”

A vigorous rap came at the study door. Drake rose with an impatient gesture and jerked it open. Mary stood there wringing her hands against her apron.

“Oh, miss,” she said, ignoring Drake. “You ’ad better come. She’s trying to get out of bed again. I barely caught her afore she tumbled on her head. I tucked her back in, but she keeps on about a light in the stables. Can you see to her, Miss Cleome?”

Cleome raced from the room. Mary followed close on her heels, but with his long strides, Drake passed them on the landing and reached Ramona’s room just before them. He did not pause to knock, but quickly opened the door and escorted Cleome inside. Ramona was sitting on the edge of the bed, her arms outstretched, her wasted hands gripping the bedside table. Her parched lips were slightly separated and a small whimpering sound escaped them.

“Mamma!” Cleome admonished softly. “You shouldn’t be up. The doctor has ordered you to rest.”

“Darlin’,” the woman whispered, her voice unused to speech. “He’s come. I know he has, and for the life of me, I don’t know why you want to keep it from me. Don’t you see—I must go to him.”

Gently, Cleome put her mother back into bed while Mary wet a cloth in the basin, wrung it out, and mopped the woman’s perspiring brow. Drake stood in silence a little behind Cleome, but Ramona caught sight of him and studied him with a puzzled frown.

“Who is this?” she croaked. “Is this your young man, Cleome? Well, step up then, sir, and give us a looksee.”

“No, Mamma. He is not my young man. This is Mr. Stoneham, who has—” Here, Cleome faltered, not knowing how to explain Drake to her mother. After a moment, she finished, “Who has come to see Epitome.”

“I had a young man once,” Ramona said wistfully. “And he’s coming back. I know he is.” Again, she struggled to free herself from the coverlet. “I must get down to the stables. Mary, tell them. If Jimmy Parker comes back and I am not there—”

“Jimmy Parker!” Drake thundered as if greeting an old friend. He stepped forward and grasped Ramona’s outstretched hand. “Jimmy Parker, you say! Then it is you, madam, that I’ve journeyed so far to see.” He sat down on the chair beside the bed and looked into Ramona’s astonished face. His speech had adapted easily to the lilt of the working class, and he patted the invalid’s hand soothingly.

“What are ye sayin’, sir?” Ramona questioned him.

“Why, I knew Jimmy Parker. We fought together in service of His Majesty against Napoleon. You must be the little woman he went on about all the time. Oh, he was a fine ’un, back then. Always laughin’ and singin’, he was.”

“That’s me Jimmy, all right. Yes, dance like a linty, him,” Ramona whispered in awe. “You
know
him? You really know me husband?”

“Know him?” Drake chuckled as he spoke gently to the weakened woman. “Many’s the time we lay side by side in a ditch laughin’ at the cannon balls.”

“Jimmy’s comin’ back,” Ramona stated flatly.

“Last time I saw him, them were his very words,” Drake responded happily. “‘Aye,’ he says, ‘I’ve got to getting back to me beautiful Ramona.’”

Ramona’s eyes took on a new light and a slow smile spread across her wan features. “I wish he’d known about Cleome. But he was taken from me too soon. He spoke well of me? He weren’t angry about the way me mum treated ’im?”

“Not angry with his own dear Ramona,” Drake assured her. “What’s this?” he demanded, picking up the plate of biscuits and preserves that sat on the bedside table.

“’Tis her tea, sir,” Mary said. “And she hasn’t had a bite of it. Nor a sup.”

“Here now,” Drake scolded good-naturedly. “That won’t do a-tall. I’ll not have you lying here wastin’ away to naught when he rides up. Now, if I know Jimmy Parker, ’tis not a sickly woman he’ll be wantin’ to greet him at the door. He’ll be wantin’ someone who can walk in the woods with him, someone who can dance with him—not someone he’ll have to carry about all over creation!”

“Oh,” Ramona breathed. “You’re right, sir. Why, I never thought of that. Jimmy
does
love to dance.” Drake buttered a piece of the biscuit and held it to her lips; and obediently, she began to eat.

“Look here,” he reprimanded her as he buttered another bit of bread and held it to her mouth. “There’s hardly enough flesh on these bones to make a pastie, let alone take to a dance. You’ll have to do better than this, Mistress Parker, or I’ll be forced to tell me friend Jimmy that ye’ve lost the knack of tryin’, I will.”

Ramona beamed a smile at Cleome. “Dear,” she said, absently chewing on the biscuit and jam. “I approve of your young man. You’ve got me blessing. Only you must bring him back to talk with me about your da, once in a while.”

“Just try to keep me away,” Drake said cheerfully. “Jimmy told me to look after you ‘til he could get here, and look after you I will. But you’ve got to get better, else he’ll take the horsewhip to me when he comes. Say I’ve not been attending to me duty, that’s what he’ll say.”

Ramona laughed and Cleome couldn’t believe her ears. She had never heard her mother laugh, except in the delirium of a fever. She and Mary exchanged astonished glances, and then Mary moved to stand beside Drake.

“Better let me, sir,” she said as she took the plate from him, her voice trembling with emotion. “Your own dinner’ll be set down soon. And thank you sir. Aw, thanks from the bottom of me heart.”

“A gentleman never accepts thanks for doing his duty,” he replied, stealing a glance at Cleome. He winked slyly at Ramona as his speech returned to his usual refined tones. “Now,” he finished, pointing a finger at the ailing woman, “I’ll be back after you’ve had your dinner. And rest assured, madam, I shall personally check your tray and I had better see a reasonable attempt at the food I’ve ordered placed there. Jimmy Parker wants a woman—not a wastrel who lies abed all day!” With that, he playfully chucked her under the chin and she giggled like a young girl. Drake rose and bowed smoothly. “Until our appointed hour, then.”