Jayne Fresina (20 page)

She scurried into the house, rushing to get away, almost tripping over the step. One of these days, she’d stop running away, he mused. She’d better, because he prided himself on not chasing after women, and he’d already broken that rule several times since she came to live in his house.

* * * *

On Wednesday he went to market in Norwich and since Lucy refused to go with him, he took Alice Croft.

They were home by supper.

Altering one of Mistress Carver’s old gowns, Lucy was seated in the window seat, making the most of the lingering summer evening light, and when the cart rolled up through the gates, she saw Alice was still with him. Nudging the window open further with her elbow, she heard him ask the girl inside and Alice, smiling, agreed. Then he put up his arms to help her down.

“Ouch,” Lucy pricked her finger and sucked on it quickly.

Mistress Carver peered over her shoulder. “Looks as if she’s coming in.”

Setting her sewing aside, Lucy hurried over to sit with the piglet, claiming her place in the shadows of the hearth. She supposed it was inevitable other young women would come to the house sometimes and she had no right to be bothered by it. Poor Alice deserved his attention. She, a married woman who would bring him nothing but harm, did not.

They came in chatting and his mother greeted Alice warmly, while John petted his dog, glanced over at Lucy, and asked how the runt faired today.

When she didn’t answer, he came to her chair, rested both hands on the back of it and leaned over to look at the sleeping piglet in her lap. She stiffened, hardly daring to breath. He reached down to touch the piglet, but on their way back up again his fingertips strayed briefly over her shoulder, stroking back a lock of hair. It was over in seconds, noticed by no one but them, yet it left a deep pain in her heart.

“Don’t,” she whispered, fraught. Such a small word, but so full of heartache.

He withdrew his hands from the back of the chair as if the wood scalded him, or a spark flew up from the fire. He was angry with her, she knew, because she’d said “don’t” and he felt he had a right to do exactly as he pleased, get whatever he wanted the moment he snapped his fingers. John Carver was unfamiliar with refusal. Apparently his day trip to Norwich without her had not helped matters.

“I’ll only stay a few minutes,” said Alice, somewhere behind them. “My father will be expecting me home.”

Oh, why did he bring her into his house? It was too cruel. Lucy was undecided who would suffer the most out of the three of them, but each one would be wounded; it was inevitable.

Mistress Carver drew another chair up in front of the fire for Alice, and John took a seat between the two young women. Lucy would gladly have feigned a headache and gone to bed but Vince lollopped over to sit, as was now his usual custom, with his big head in her lap, and she hadn’t the heart to move the silly beast. Somehow that dog knew, from the first day, he was more likely to receive a treat from her hands than from any other in the house and so he chose his spot wisely. Alice watched the dog with a nervous, skittish eye, much as she watched Lucy.

The conversation progressed slowly, most of it left to John and his mother.

“Did you get the rest of the money from the old villain Winton?”

“No. He wasn’t in. Or so I was told. I suppose he was watching me from behind the shutters.”

“Next time you’ll know not to trade with the wretch.”

“Aye. That old bugger’s had his last fleece from me.”

Whenever he spoke, Alice riveted her attention on John’s face, ready to agree with any point he made, or to laugh, if he told anything with the slightest resemblance to a joke. During a lull in the conversation, she ventured to ask Lucy how long she planned to stay in Sydney Dovedale. Everyone, it seemed, wanted to know this, although they all had different reasons.

“Until Captain Downing returns,” she said. Having heard it countless times from John’s lips, it came out of hers now by rote, but as she spoke she heard him expel a labored sigh, tinted with acrimony.

Next Alice addressed John. “Your cousin sailed off to fight the Spaniards?”

Agreeing this was the case, his reply was informative mostly for its brevity. Alice directed her next question to his mother.

“Do you think we’ll be invaded, Mistress Carver? They say beacons have been lit all along the coast. The Spanish galleons have been sighted and shall soon be upon us.”

“I have the greatest of faith in our fine fleet, Alice, and in our fighting men, not to mention the tenacious spirit of the English. We shall never be invaded.”

“You sound so confident, Mistress Carver, I am put at ease.”

There was a short pause while John leaned forward to poke at the fire with considerable savagery.

Alice, watching the sparks fly, exclaimed with real feeling, “I do hope Captain Downing comes back safely. And soon. I shall pray for it.”

Mistress Carver thanked her for the sentiment and said she had no doubt Nathaniel would turn up again, like the proverbial bad penny.

“And then Miss Lucy Friday will go back to Yarmouth with Captain Downing?” Alice quietly inquired.

“I might go to Scotland,” Lucy chirped. “I haven’t decided.” Yes, she thought to herself, she should go soon, before she caused John Carver any further trouble.

They all looked at her. John sat back in his chair, muttering resentfully, “I don’t know why you keep jabbering on about Scotland. You don’t even know where Scotland is.”

“I do. It’s north.”

He tapped his boots with the poker. “And what’s in Scotland to fascinate you so much?”

She hesitated, for she didn’t truly know what was there, but it always sounded like a most exotic, wild place and one had no need to cross the sea to get there, which was an advantage in her opinion. Surely it was far enough away.

“Many things,” she replied.

“Have you traveled much, Mistress Friday?” Alice asked, unblinking, prim hands clasped in her lap. “I suppose you went many places with Captain Downing?”

“I’ve been…here and there.”

“To London?”

Every eye turned to her. She patted Vince’s warm head. “Yes.”

“Is this another one of your fibs?” John demanded.

Alice looked at him, eyes narrowed, fingers tightening in a firmer knot.

“No,” Lucy replied steadily. “It is true.”

“Oh that’s right.” He stabbed at the fire again with the poker. “You don’t lie. You conceal the truth. You’re lucky you’ve got such a pretty face and all the rest of it, or you’d probably be in the stocks by now.”

Alice flushed, her gaze darting side to side as if she didn’t know where to look. Surely, Lucy thought, the girl ought to be familiar with his loud mouth ways by now, his bull-headed, opinionated announcements which paid no heed to feelings or propriety. Or was he usually on his best behavior around Alice? In any case he was not being discreet tonight, just his usual self. It was as if he didn’t care who heard.

If she could do so without him letting everyone know, she would have kicked him, but she knew he’d make a squawking fuss over it.

“I lived in London for many years,” she assured him.

“Tell us about it then.” He stuck out his jaw, challenging her.

“What would you like to know? It’s a large, dirty, stinking town and I was heartily glad to leave it.”

Alice ventured sadly, “I’ve never been further than Norwich, but I should dearly like to see the great city of London one day.”

“It’s not so wonderful.” Lucy thought of the street outside her father’s tall gates, where gentlemen rode in litters, pushing poor, shoeless children into the gutter. She remembered the ceaseless clatter of hooves, the pitiful cries of desperate beggars and the shouts of those who fell victim to cutpurses on the streets. She could smell the stench of open sewers, the contents of chamber pots tossed lazily onto the uneven cobbles, and she saw the severed heads, dipped in tar, left on the gatehouse above the bridge. “The streets are filthy and crowded. You are much luckier to live here with...” She stopped abruptly and looked down at Vince, while she caressed his ears. “…the beauty of the country at your door.”

“Of course, I love Sydney Dovedale,” Alice eagerly reassured them all, as if any suggestion to the contrary was treasonous. “But I should like to visit London nonetheless. Perhaps I would catch a glimpse of the Queen.”

“The Queen!” John sneered, swinging the poker again. “What makes her better than anyone else? She was born of a woman, same as you and I. She picks her nose, scratches her backside and sits on the privy same as we do.”

“John!” his mother cried. “For pity’s sake, must you speak so before guests?”

He did it on purpose of course, enjoying the shock value.

“Actually,” Lucy advised him matter-of-factly, “she has someone to do all that for her, and to wipe her arse, too.”

Alice Croft whimpered in alarm, but John laughed, almost choking.

“You two are as bad as each other,” Mistress Carver exclaimed, trying not to laugh herself. “You must forgive the pair of them, Alice dear, I think they try to outdo one another.”

Lucy smiled as she stroked his dog’s head and wondered what Her Majesty would make of surly, opinionated John Sydney Carver, descended from a long line of noble barons and so eager to deny it. Apparently, despite his new leaf, he still liked to point out other folks’ failings, just as he did when he was a boy, the way his mother described it so colorfully, standing on the pew in chapel and mocking the other parishioners for their hypocrisy. One thing for sure, you knew where you were with him. He liked you or he hated you and he didn’t care who knew it.

She dearly wished he would stop looking at her the way he did, making her feel guilt, making her fall a little more in love with every passing glance.

“You’re a caution, you are, Lucy Friday,” he muttered, still chuckling.

But Lucy caught the frown on Alice Croft’s face and it was enough to wipe her own smile away.

Chapter 13

While he took Alice home, Lucy tried on her newly altered gown.

“It may be nothing fancy,” said his mother, “but it looks a treat on you, my dear. Much better than it ever looked on me.” Walking around to get the full effect, she said, “Why not let your hair down? It’s such a lovely shade and it brightens this old, mousy gray gown. Here, take that silly cap off and let it down.”

Before Lucy offered any protest, the pins holding her linen cap in place were removed and her long hair spilled free. Most of the dye was now completely faded, leaving her natural auburn to shine. It worried her, for the distinctive color made her far more recognizable.

“Perfect!” Mistress Carver proclaimed with a beaming smile. “You must wear it loose more often. I don’t know why you would want to hide such bounty.”

She should have pointed out that only unwed maidens wear their hair loose and since she was not one, she was not entitled. Instead she mumbled, “I never wear my hair down in the summer,” and she fussed with it over one shoulder. “The back of my neck gets too hot.”

So Mistress Carver braided it for her and Lucy allowed it, overcome again by the lady’s kindness. John’s mother was gentle and thoughtful toward her, as no one else had ever been. It was done quite naturally, loving, open and generous, expecting nothing in return. Was this what mothers did? She had no other experience of course, but it felt right, it felt…motherly. It brought a lump to her throat.

* * * *

He helped Alice down from the cart, taking care to warn her of the puddle in her way.

“Thank you, John,” she purred softly, lashes lowered.

Although he knew she waited for a kiss, she didn’t turn her face up for it. Alice would never be so forward. Not like his other hussy.

The moon was full tonight, the air warm and slightly damp from an afternoon of summer rain. It was the perfect evening for a sweetly romantic kiss with a pure maiden of good family. A kiss to go no further, demand nothing more from him. A kiss to leave her happy and him discontent. Alice didn’t expect anything else before they were married and he must wait, be polite, civilized.

All day in Norwich he’d tried his best to give Alice his full attention, but failed miserably. Even without Lucy at his side, being there in Norwich reminded him of her constantly. Why hadn’t she wanted to go there with him? He’d thought she would enjoy the ride on his cart. They might have spent the day alone together, getting to know one another away from the daily chores. When she stoutly refused to go with him, he was angry, disappointed. He’d hoped, by taking Alice instead, he would make her jealous, but she’d showed no sign of it. The only thing he’d achieved that day was to prove his feelings for Lucy were beyond what they should be, beyond anything he’d ever felt before. He’d even come home early, cutting the day short to see her smile again and his first thought, upon entering the house, was to look for her, reassure himself she was still there.

She filled his mind when he should be thinking of other, worthier, sweeter young women. Women who answered his questions with no evasion and didn’t cheat at cards.

In a sudden burst of resolve, he grasped Alice’s hand and she went very still, holding her breath.

This was the moment. He closed his eyes. Get it over with. Propose. Now. Do it.

Reformed rogues didn’t need Friday wenches complicating their lives. They needed good girls, pure girls, honest girls.

He brought her cool hand to his lips and kissed it gently.

“Good night, Alice.”

He heard her exhale. “Good night, John.”

Not looking at her, he leapt up into his cart, grabbed the reins and rode away, feeling like a cad, furious with himself for this indecision.

But mostly furious with Lucy for causing it.

* * * *

When he got home his mother had gone to bed, but Lucy was still up, sewing the hem of a gown, while keeping an eye on her piglet and alternately petting Vince, who occasionally reminded her of his presence with one paw on her foot and one lick of his tongue across the back of her hand.

She was too preoccupied to hear John come in and he was deliberately quiet, expecting them both to be upstairs. He stood a while, just inside the door, beholding the tranquil scene of a beautiful woman seated by his hearth, making herself useful. Waiting for him to come home. Again he felt incredible relief to see her there still, as if her disappearance would be his death and he was granted a stay of execution once more.