Lessons in French (34 page)

It all started with the turkeys, a sudden burst of black wings and wattles as the birds

exploded from a falling stack of crates. Four big hens tumbled and recovered themselves

amid a flutter of feathers and splintering wood. As their owner shouted in alarm, they

began to run, sleek ebony missiles darting hither and thither between the legs of goats and

through fences and under the skirt of a cottager's wife.

Callie had just begun to calm herself a little, thinking she must have misunderstood the

intent of that malevolent stare from Trev, that it was merely the particular effect of his

dark gypsy eyes that made it seem as if he intended to commit some sinister mayhem at

any moment. But she went stiff at the sound of shouting from just at the place he had

been standing. God in heaven, what mad thing did he think was he doing?

All about, every animal came alert for danger. One frightened beast startled the next,

and suddenly the pens seemed no more than flimsy toothpicks. The cart pony reared as a

turkey dashed under its belly, its silken hoof feathers f lying while pumpkins smashed

onto the pavement. They bounced and rolled beneath the feet of an uneasy yearling calf.

It bucked and bolted away from the attack of these alien objects, lead rope trailing.

Suddenly there were geese waddling free, f lapping their wings to f lee from sheep

crowding through an open gate and flooding onto the pavement. The air filled with bleats

and quacks, disorder mushrooming into chaos.

Callie picked up her skirts and ran. A big drover waved his arms and shouted, spooking

the loose calf and sheep away from a street fire. The frantic calf sheared off; Callie

grabbed hold of its lead just before it leaped through a shop window. The rope burned

across her gloved fingers as she threw herself backward to turn the animal. When the calf

hit the end of the lead, the momentum hurled her to her knees. Her head struck hard on

the wooden window sash. For an instant she was stunned, the pain ringing down through

her whole body like a bright, terrible bell. Tears sprang in her eyes. But she held herself

upright with her arm against the sill, her head spinning, refusing to let go of the lead.

Someone helped her up. She didn't stop to see who it was. She took a loop of the calf's

rope and pulled it along with her, plunging for the Malempré pens. Amid the chaos they

passed the corpulent pig—the only animal sitting calmly, contemplating the open gate of

its pen without even trying to rise. Callie grabbed a loose piglet with one hand just before

it tottered out, tossed it back, and slammed the barrier shut. She picked herself up from

another half stumble and plowed through the confusion, reaching the Malempré pen in

time to see the canvas rock and sway as if the earth quaked.

She panted and lunged forward, almost going down on her knees again when she

stepped off the curb. A strong hand caught at her elbow, saving her. The tarps lifted and

flailed. With a squealing bellow, Hubert burst forth, tossing a sheet of canvas and a

green-coated herdsman aside with one powerful sweep of his head. The herdsman went

down on his rear and Hubert broke into a thunderous trot, flinging his nose from side to

side, his eyes rolling white as he emerged into the street.

Callie stood still, her mouth open, as he put his head down and hooked a bag of

potatoes, pitching them on his horns right through a trestle table full of jam and

preserves. The board collapsed, sending jelly f lying through the air. Farmwives

screamed and scattered.

"Hubert!" Callie cried, as the bull swung his great head and threw a barrel aside. It

rolled along the street, barely missing Colonel Davenport as he ran pell-mell toward

them. He leaped out of its path, losing his hat, but came on, closing with Callie on the

rampaging beast. From somewhere Trev's footman Charles had appeared, running at her

side. Everyone else scattered away, wise in the ways of enraged bulls.

"Hold!" Callie screamed at Charles, flinging out her arm before he could run past her.

"Colonel! Stop! Don't go near him!"

The men froze in midstride. Hubert bellowed, the strange squealing sound echoing over

the turmoil in the street. He turned toward her, searching, his breath frosting in the air

like great puffs from a steam engine. Callie's knees were failing under her. Her head spun

with pain. Someone pulled the calf's lead from her hand, but she never took her eyes from

the bull.

"Hubert!" she called, tasting blood in her mouth. "Come now, Hubert…" She put that

little note in her voice, the sweet note that promised treats and an ear scratch, but the bull

was confused and angry, uncertain of where he was. He lowered his head and pawed the

street.

"Come along," she crooned. A red hen trotted past her, zigzagging toward the bull and

away. Hubert made a charge at it, almost taking out its tail feathers before it squawked

and flew out of range. "Come along," Callie warbled desperately. "Walk on, Hubert.

There's a good boy."

He swung his head, eyeing a kid goat that pranced too close. Callie held her breath,

dreading for him to strike out with his horns. But the little animal stood with its legs

spread, staring up at the snorting giant above it as if Hubert were the eighth wonder of the

world. Hubert lowered his horns and pawed once, staring back balefully.

Everything had gone quiet around them. Even the loose animals seemed to pause. The

kid gave one tiny, uncertain bleat. The bull snuff led. They touched noses.

As if some question had been answered between them, Hubert heaved a great sigh and

gave the little fellow a lick that near bowled it over.

"Good boy," Callie said. She began to walk toward him slowly. Her knees were

knocking. The kid darted away as she approached, but Hubert merely swayed his head

toward her and blinked in a dreamy way. She caught the lead dangling from his nose ring.

A crowd had gathered in a wide, wary circle around them. The Malempré pen lay in

ruins.

"It's Hubert," she managed to say in a small voice, remembering her part. The darkness

at the edge of her vision seemed to close in on her. Her breath failed. "This isn't… a

Belgian bull. It's… Hubert."

Everything seemed to slide away from her at once. The last thing she remembered,

before the spinning world closed in, was Trev's muff led face above her, his arms

catching her up just before she hit the ground.

She was already awake before they conveyed her into the Green Dragon. She knew it was

Trev who carried her; she heard him snarl a fierce command at the others to stand back,

but she couldn't seem to gather her wits to speak or even lift her head. And then he was

gone somehow, and she was lying on a sofa surrounded by a great number of anxious

onlookers, bewildered as to how she had got there.

"Hubert?" she mumbled, trying to sit up.

"He's penned all right now, my lady, good and tight." She recognized her drover's

familiar voice. "Don't you worry."

She could trust Shelford's own drover, who had handled Hubert since he was a baby

calf. She subsided for the moment, closing her eyes, allowing someone to take her hand

and squeeze it reassuringly. The top of her head hurt abominably. She wanted Trev,

wanted him to be holding her close while she ripped his character to shreds, beginning

with his unforgivable foolishness and continuing through his criminal negligence and

winding up with his unpardonable stupidity, and then starting on it all over again, louder.

"Was anyone hurt?" she mumbled.

"Only a few scratches." She thought it was Mr. Price who spoke. "But for you, my lady.

You took a sharp rap, eh? The doctor's on his way."

A vial of hartshorn appeared under her nose. She wasn't fond of smelling salts, but just

at this moment, a deep whiff went straight to her brain and cleared some of the mist. "The

animals?" she asked, blinking her eyes open.

"We're making a head count," he said. "No injuries or losses reported yet. We may be

fortunate, thank the good Lord. Only there was a good deal of damage to property. But

don't you try to talk, ma'am. We've sent word to Shelford."

"Oh no," she said, with a drifting vision of Lady Shelford's reaction to this news.

"Where's—" She broke off, realizing that she shouldn't ask openly for Trev. She looked

about her and saw him standing at the foot of the sofa, his scarf slipped down off his nose

and only covering his mouth. His expression was white and set, almost frightening. She

wanted to tell him that he should take care, but her brain was a little confused, and she

thought it better to say nothing rather than risk a mistake.

She wondered vaguely, since Trev was standing there, who it was holding her hand.

Peculiar lights seemed to go off in f lashes when she turned her head, but she discovered

Major Sturgeon kneeling at her side, rubbing his palm over the back of her hand.

"Oh," she said and sat up, pulling free.

Everyone chided and clucked at her, but she closed her eyes and took a deep breath of

the salts to make the world stop whirling and straighten itself again.

"I'm quite all right," she said, when the horizon had settled. "May I have some tea?"

"Bring her some tea," the major ordered, just as if a bustle had not already broken out to

accomplish this task. People hurried back and forth and said things, and it was all rather

confusing. She kept her hands folded tightly in her lap, except for once she dared to look

aside at Trev and brush her fingers up her cheek to try to tell him that his disguise was

slipping.

He didn't seem to comprehend her, or if he did, he didn't appear to care. He met her

eyes with that look again, such a look, his eyes a deep black glitter, so that she didn't

know if he was nearer to tears or to cold blooded murder. It seemed it could be either.

Callie herself felt inclined to murder, if only her head had not felt as if a blacksmith

were using it as an anvil and pounding horseshoes into shape on top. She accepted the

teacup, sitting up straight as it rattled in her hand. "Where is this Monsieur Malempré?"

she demanded, as loudly as she could manage. Her voice was shaky, but strong enough to

draw the attention of everyone around her.

From the corner of her eye—if she turned, she feared that her wobbly stomach would

betray her—she saw that Trev finally took her hint and pulled his collar and scarf up

about his face. Fortune and the general disarray of things favored them; no one even

looked at him twice as a clamor went up regarding the where abouts of the mysterious

Belgian gentleman.

"Shabbed off, I'll wager," a deep voice rumbled. Callie recognized the drover who'd

prevented the panicked calf from running into the fire. "His jig's up, ain't it?"

"Look for him at the Gerard." Major Sturgeon stood up beside her, scowling. "He was

there last night."

"Major," she said plaintively, reaching for his hand. "Will you find him for me?"

"Certainly, my lady." He bent down and kissed her fingers. "Davenport, can you send

someone? I don't want to leave her side."

"No, please—" She pulled her hand away. "I wish to go to my room. But… Colonel,

you were right after all, he did steal Hubert." She looked again at Major Sturgeon, putting

on her best imitation of a lost puppy. "But you have such resolution, Major—will you

hunt for him yourself? I hope you won't let him get away."

It seemed to have a good effect. "Of course. Of course not." Reluctantly he let go of her

and then caught her elbow again as she pushed herself to her feet. "Let me help you—no,

that's the wrong way, my dear."

She turned, ignoring him, tottering a step toward the foot of the sofa. She managed to

trip on her skirts and fall against Trev's chest. "Oh," she muttered. "I beg your pardon.

Where is… where is my maid?"

His arm came round her, holding her up as she allowed her knees to crumple. "Have a

care, Miss," he muttered through his scarf. Then, without further ceremony, he bent down

and picked her up bodily. "Where's 'er lady's slavey?" His voice was a rough growl, a fair

imitation of a local drawl muff led within the scarf. The sound of it rumbled against her

cheek. "You, inn'it? Lead us on up, then, and sharp about it. Shove over, let me through."

The knot of spectators parted. He swung her round, mounting the stairs as Lilly hurried

ahead. Callie closed her eyes, clinging to his neck. She was aware of the sound of many

people on the stairs, of talk of the doctor's arrival, and then of passing under the door to

her rooms. Trev carried her through to the bedroom. As he laid her down, she held on to

him and hissed into his ear, "Don't you dare leave!"

He grunted and stepped away. Lilly bustled about, ejecting several interested persons

who had followed them upstairs. She allowed the doctor in, so Callie sat up quickly,

pretending to a considerably stronger state of revival than she felt. She submitted to an

examination of the bump on her head, trying not to wince every time the doctor touched

it, promised that she would rest quietly and not go out for several days, and positively

refused the administration of laudanum. The doctor shook his head and went away

complaining that a young lady ought to have a guardian with her when she traveled,