Magic in the Stars (37 page)

The notion of blind Duncan with a shotgun was appalling
enough. Desperately, Aster sought other solutions. “If they see me leave in a
carriage, would they go away? Perhaps if I didn’t come back . . . ?”

Hugh turned, looking shocked. “You wouldn’t do that!”

Well, yes, she would and had. Her younger siblings had
survived and become used to her absence by now. The twins would, too.

But this time, she was resisting the idea. She watched
Duncan hopefully. He didn’t have her family’s strong belief in her gift. Surely
he wouldn’t believe sending her away was a solution.

“Be the mother duck who leads the predators astray?” Duncan
asked with his dreadful intellectual interest. “It would be dangerous.”

And Theo would die a thousand deaths if he knew what she was
about. He might never forgive her.

“I don’t think we can trust the difference between
assassination and catastrophe,” Duncan concluded dryly. “You’re safer behind
stone walls.”

“I’ll go out and sneak up on them,” Hugh declared bravely.
“Maybe I can tell who it is or hear what they mean to do.”

“No!” both Duncan and Aster said together.

“The grooms will warn Mr. Browne,” Aster continued. “He’ll come
back and catch them by surprise. They won’t expect that.”

That satisfied Hugh. She could tell it didn’t satisfy
Duncan, who was clutching his fingers so tightly his knuckles had turned white.

It didn’t satisfy her either, not when danger and violence
hung over her head.

If Uranus had corrected the inexplicable parts of her
chart—altering everything she’d believed—could it mean that
she
was meant to change?

Her heart pounded as she considered this switch in
perspective.

Instead of
limiting
her possibilities by staying safe and alone in her home, perhaps her chart meant
she was to go out and
conquer
the
dangers, not hide from them? That would be an abrupt about-face, but
acting
instead of running . . .
She took a deep breath to steady herself.

If the Uranus in her chart meant she should take action
against danger instead of running from it—what could she do? The list of things
she
couldn’t
do was infinite.

“Where is Jacques?” Aster demanded as an intriguing notion
occurred, brought on by Hugh’s brave suggestion that they learn who the
invaders were.

“He’s guarding the back door. The front is bolted and I’ve
ordered a guard seated at it with a shotgun and pistols,” Duncan said as if he
were ordering fish for dinner.

Aster wrinkled her nose at the idea of weapons in the foyer,
but she would need to learn to live with male reactions to trouble—another possible
Uranian change in her life. Studying men would be fascinating, if only all the
changes would give her time to observe instead of causing her to run in circles
of terror.

For herself, she preferred a more peaceable response than
weapons. “I’ll need Jacques’ help. I’ll send Hartley to you, and he can serve
as messenger. James can take over Jacques’ guard duties.”

She left before Duncan could protest. He would most
certainly object if she described what she meant to do. Her vague notion wasn’t
much more practical than sending sneaky horsemen to the house to scare her. By
doing what? Burning the Hall? Shouting threats? Table-turning seemed logical,
if she could think of something suitably scary.

She sent Hartley to his father, and gesturing for the
footman to follow her, she hurried downstairs. She found Jacques with his boots
propped on a table, reading a stack of paper. A pistol and gunpowder rested on
the table, easily at hand—giving her still another idea. She really was good at
adapting, wasn’t she? She’d thank Uranus for that too. She should start looking
for the positive aspects suggested by the new planet.

Jacques shoved the papers in a drawer and stood up. “You’re
not thinking of going out there, are you?” he asked warily. “Theo would cut my
head off at the groin if I allowed it.”

Aster laughed at his crude expression and helped herself to
the gunpowder bag. She brushed right past him, knowing gentle Jacques wouldn’t
lay a finger on her. “I’ll take care of Theo. We’re about to make what I
believe is a reconnaissance mission, and stage . . . what is it
the military calls a diversion?”

“A diversion,” Jacques said dryly.

“We need brooms and cloaks. James, will you gather what you
can find as quickly as you can and carry them to the stable? Be very quiet,
please.” Aster hurried into the starlit night, clutching the bag of explosive
powder. The moon was low, but the gravel reflected enough light to find her
path. “I don’t suppose you have any of your gas sconces out here?”

“We do,” Jacques said, gazing around as if expecting
soldiers to leap from the nonexistent bushes. “We used to light up the drive
for parties. Haven’t lit them in ages, but they operate off the same coal as in
the house.”

Aster smiled in delight. “Do you think you could figure out
how to turn them on?”

“As boys, we turned them on so we could play outside at
night—until our father caught us. I assume they’re still connected. What are
you plotting?”

“I noticed that while he was here, Erran was experimenting
with a machine for tying hay into squares for storage in the stable.” She had
thought it an odd occupation for a lawyer at the time, but he seemed happier
playing with wire than sitting in the house.

“Erran was trying to help out by creating a hay press. It’s
stationary, so we can’t take it from field to field, which makes it pretty
useless, but the bales are easier to haul and store. And in this wet weather,
we needed dry storage, why?” He halted at the trough.

“Do you know the opening scene to Macbeth?” she asked,
eyeing the lovely stacks of hay just recently hauled in and not yet stored.

“I have it memorized. Want me to find a cauldron and eye of
newt?”

“That would be entertaining, too.” She turned as James came
running with an armful of brooms and cloaks. “But a stage production with
flaming torches, brooms stuck in hay bales, a few cloaks . . .
Those men out there think I’m a witch. Can you produce a witchy scene?”

She could almost feel Jacques light up as his imagination
caught fire.

“I have no idea what it will accomplish, but I can do that,”
he agreed. He grabbed a handful of the fabric James was carrying and swung it
dramatically. “More wind would be helpful.”

“Knowing who is down the road and what they’re saying would
be more helpful.” Aster took a cloak for herself, disguising her hair beneath a
hood and draping the cloak over her clothing so she might blend in with the
night. “Stage your scene with the haystacks. The intruders are coming up the bridge
path from town, so make your witches visible from that direction, please. Light
the torches when you hear me chanting.”

“You’re not heading down there alone!” Jacques cried, his
delight dissipating with alarm.

She shrugged. “I’m small and quiet and they won’t even know
I’m there. The hedge is thick. I just want to listen, I promise.”

She ran off, knowing Jacques wasn’t Theo and wouldn’t sling
her over his shoulder and bodily haul her back to the house. She loved that her
husband wanted to shield her from harm, but he needed to learn that he wasn’t
the only one with a duty to protect others.

And this time, she would defend her family by
meeting
trouble instead of running from
it. If she had been limiting her possibilities by staying safe at home, then
change meant she must go out and
conquer
the dangers instead. The ability to act filled her with excitement. No wonder
Theo preferred to just
do
rather than
dither as she often did. She must overcome the debilitating effect of fear.

Taking action offered exciting freedom.

The grass was lush from the summer rain. Her slippers
scarcely made a sound as she hurried along, blending in with the darkness of
the hedgerow, disturbing the creatures who lived there. They rustled and
scattered, but her attention was more on the murmur of voices emerging from the
lane. They were leading their horses, so the soft plod of their hooves in the
mud wouldn’t be heard from the Hall. She couldn’t peer over the hedge to see
more.

She should be terrified, but she was simply furious. If
these were the men who had harmed Duncan and forced Theo into a position he despised,
she’d like to see them drawn and quartered. She realized it was impossible to
prove what had happened the night Duncan’s horse had thrown him—but she could
prove what was happening tonight.

When the voices rose more loudly from the far side of the
hedge, she slowed down, wary of snapping twigs. But the intruders were making
more noise than she was.

“They won’t let me past the front door,” a vaguely familiar
voice whined. “You should have sent someone else.”

“There ain’t anyone else we can trust,” a less educated
voice growled in response. “Just be convincing, tell her Miss Caldwell needs
help, get her out in the open. And we’ve got Maeve going to the back door. Even
if you don’t sway her, her maids will come running, and she’ll believe them.”

“I don’t like it,” the familiar voice whined. “Theo will
kill me. You should have sent Margaret. They’ll believe her.”

“You ain’t got nothin’ to worry about. His lordship won’t
know who was at the door. You just get the lady out where we can take her. Once
he talks with her all nice like, she’ll run back to town where she belongs.”

Aster shivered. She had no doubt they were talking of her,
but who was the person meant to persuade her into running away?

“He’ll never talk her out of leaving all this wealth,” the
whiny gentleman continued. “He’s better off burning the Hall or crippling Theo
the way he did Ashford.”

Aster stifled a gasp and grabbed a tree branch to steady
herself. She should have brought a stout hoe and beat them over the head! Who
the devil was this murderous “he” who apparently wasn’t with them?

“Burning the manufactory can be blamed on the rioters.
Another accident would be too suspicious,” another voice joined in. “We just
want to discourage bringing in any more ladies with powerful families. His
lordship’s bewitched now, but he’ll give up if she’s not around. We talked it
all out, and this is the plan. Don’t go backing out now, Montfort.”

Ah! She remembered the drunken young man Theo had popped in
the nose. Most excellent. Now she had a name, and Theo could ask questions
later.

She really would like to know what kind of story they’d
concocted that they could possibly believe she would leave Theo over it, but
she’d heard enough. Bewitched! She almost laughed aloud at that. If they
believed anything of the sort, they deserved what she’d planned for them—and
more.

Picking up the heavy cloak, she ran back toward the stable. A
fox dashed out in front of her, and she squeaked in alarm, cursing herself even
as she did so.

“What’s that?” one of the intruders asked nervously.

She froze as the horses halted. An owl hooted, and she could
almost hear the intruders exhale in relief. Or perhaps that was her.

“Just critters,” the leader scoffed. “Come on.”

She wanted to whoop and cackle and scare them more, but she
was too close. Reacting instead of hiding didn’t mean putting herself in
danger. Now that she knew a little more, she picked up her skirt and ran.

The horsemen would have to break cover when they reached the
open stable yard. She wanted to be in place before then.

How dare the monsters think they’d frighten her!

She wished she had one of Theo’s telescopes so she could see
where the grooms were. She had no doubt that Theo would come running if he
thought the Hall was in danger, but that would mean he’d have to sacrifice his
manufactory to the rioters. She’d rather catch these predators on her own and
leave Theo to save his livelihood.

As she entered the yard, she observed Jacques’ stage setting
with approval. He had set up the hay, broom sticks, and cloaks just as she’d
hoped. Once turned on, the gas torches would create as much shadow as light,
and the straw “witches” would loom spookily. She smiled at the superstitious
fools who had given her this notion.

Locating a pitchfork, she stationed herself at the bottom of
the ladder the men used to climb up to the loft, waiting for the low murmur of
male voices approaching. From the Hall, she heard a knocking and calling at the
servants’ door—Maeve? Aster hoped their malicious ex-tenant had a good view of
the stable to frighten her into the next county.

Once she heard the clop of horses, she assumed the invaders
could hear her. She summoned the Latin she’d learned in order to read her family’s
older journals and began loudly intoning passages of nonsense. Jacques’s shadow
immediately appeared at the corner. She waved at him and began climbing the
ladder, pitchfork and gunpowder in hand. The climb was awkward with the cloak
dragging and her skirts wrapping around her ankles, but she was furious enough
to scale mountains.

The breeze was chillier on the roof, but she had the heavy
wool cloak for warmth. Aster chanted louder, giving her voice depth and
direction, delighting in the farce. Maybe she was meant to be a witch. She
laughed wickedly at the thought—just as the small group of men and horses
entered the open yard. Perfect timing! They froze at her cackle of laughter and
glanced around, searching for the source.

She threw more Latin at them, just as the gas torches
abruptly flared on. The flames illuminated the stable yard in flickering
shadows, casting the haystack witches into threatening flares of dark and light.
Jacques had set his stage with the cloaked hay and broomsticks perfectly,
creating wonderfully eerie figures. For emphasis, Aster shouted louder nonsense
and waved the pitchfork, as if she were truly casting spells.