Nina Coombs Pykare (13 page)

“Yes. Oh yes. My dear Papa spoke to me.” Mrs. Parsons’s little eyes gleamed with gratitude and unshed tears. “He said that he and Abigail are both well. Oh, Monsieur Dupin, I can’t thank you enough.”

“No thanks are needed,” the Frenchman assured her. “Did he say nothing more?”

“Oh yes, Miss Whitcomb’s Papa was there and he told her to beware of men with yellow hair, but there are none of those here.”

“Miss  Whitcomb  will undoubtedly understand the message,” remarked Dupin. “It often happens that one who has gone on seeks to reach someone here. And he will use what means he can.”

  She would not believe such a thing, Jen-nifer reiterated to herself. She was sure that there was some chicanery here. And -if Monsieur Dupin really had the power he boasted of, it could only be an evil power. She felt that clearly. And she knew quite well that Papa, her dear Papa, would never have anything to do with such a power - not even to warn her of a danger.

No, there was something wrong here, something definitely wrong. The message from Papa had been trickery and nothing more. Whether or not Dupin could really read minds and had seen her image of Haverford or whether someone had happened to mention the Viscount’s appear-ance to him, she could not say. But, she told herself firmly, she would concede no supernatural powers to Dupin until she had positive proof that such powers act-ually existed. And the events of this night could scarcely be classified as proof.

Monsieur Dupin rose slowly from his chair. “I must have now some rest. This takes from me the much energy. Tomorrow night we shall do more.”

  Thus dismissed, Jennifer left the room as quickly as possible. Her escape was the more easily effected because Mrs. Parsons had cornered her ward and was giving her a very detailed description of her dear departed Papa. Ingleton and Lord Proctor, both hoping for the honor of offering the young lady their arm, were thus both a captive audience. Mrs. Parthemer, her arm tucked through that of her long-suffering mate, was busily engaged in recapitulating her momentous discoveries with Monsieur Dupin.

Jennifer slipped quietly into the hall. Taking up a candle, she lit a candelabra and made her way carefully up the dim stairs. The house seemed even darker and more eerie than before and Jennifer was forced several times to remind herself that no matter how old the house
looked
or how ominously the shadows formed and re-formed ahead of and behind her, this was in actuality a very new house and an entirely unfitting abode for the powers of darkness.

Her argument with herself was not en-tirely successful and by the time she had reached her room her heart was pounding in her throat. It was not, she told herself firmly, as she moved around the room lighting sufficient candles to disperse the shadows, that she believed in ghosts and demons or the like. But every sensible person must recognize that the world was not entirely good. Evil did exist. There was no denying that.

  And there was no denying the fact that she had come close to surrendering her will to a man that she very much mis-trusted. It was only with the most violent effort that she had kept herself from falling into his power.

Jennifer paced the length of the room. There was a great deal here to be puzzled out, but of one thing she was sure. What-ever mistrust she had of Haverford would be based on evidence and not on purport-ed messages from the dead.
 
Or, she told herself with a hint of defiance, on cryptic notes. Let someone prove to her incontro-vertibly that Haverford was a traitor and then she would believe it. After all, the fact that a man was a gambler and an expert in the muslin line was no assurance that he would betray his country. Indeed, if that were the case, three-fourths of the lords in London would be suspect!

With this reassuring thought Jennifer turned to her nightclothes. The children would rise early in the morning and she must be prepared for them. This foolish-ness of letting her mind wander while she was in their presence must stop, she told herself as she slipped out of her gown and into her nightdress. She had seen the ill results of it already in the squabbles of this morning. No, however upset she might be, life for the children must continue in the pattern she had established for them.

Candle in hand, she made her way to the children’s room where she found them all, as she had expected, sleeping soundly. This included Betty, who had been given a place in the corner of the schoolroom for a cot.

Softly shutting the doors behind her, Jennifer returned to her own room, where she made a slow circuit, blowing out the candles one by one. When she reached the window, she paused to look out over the lawn toward the pavilion. The moon had gone behind a cloud and the lawn below was all in shadow.

The scene was eerie, thought Jennifer;

no wonder Nurse, after recourse to the “medicine” bottle, should imagine she saw ghosts. And then one of the shadows moved and, as Jennifer watched open-mouthed, the moon came from behind the clouds and momentarily revealed the fair hair of a tall man who was making his way stealthily toward the pavilion.

Chapter Nine

When Jennifer woke in the morning after a restless night, she was again assailed by that dull sickish feeling in the pit of her stomach. That stealthy figure in the moon-light had been just the right height and he had had fair hair. She had seen that very distinctly. Every fiber of her being revolted against the idea that Haverford could be a spy, skulking around the grounds of Seven Elms in the darkness. And yet - she had seen someone, and no one in the Par-themer household had fair hair. No one at all.

With a deep sigh Jennifer rose and went about her morning duties. On this day she must and would keep her mind away from the Viscount. Her charge here was the children. She must concentrate on them.

She recalled how quarrelsome they had been the day before, then let her mind rove. She must find something for them to do. Then she remembered. She had pro-mised that in good weather they would do lessons in the pavilion, the pavilion toward which that fair-haired figure had sped last night.

She shook her head. Plainly there was to be no escape from Haverford. Wherever she went she would be reminded of him. Well, she told herself brusquely, having the tables moved to the pavilion would at least give her a chance to examine it. If the spies were using it as a meeting place, she might find some evidence of that.

She smoothed down her drab brown dress, twisted her hair into its inevitable knot, and went to waken the children.

An hour or so later found them all troop-ing into the pavilion, while some distance behind them two husky footmen struggled with a heavy table. Jennifer herself carried slates and chalk. For this morning, at least, they would do without books.

The sky was a beautiful brilliant blue and the sun warm enough so that the children were eager to shed bonnets and gloves and enjoy the coolness of the ivy-clad pavilion. “Remember, you must stay in the shade,” Jennifer cautioned the girls, and received a dutiful, “Yes, Miss Jen-nifer,” in reply.

  She cast a quick look around her, but could see no evidence of intruders. And then her heart skipped a beat. High up on one of the columns the ivy had been disturbed. Several leaves hung wilted and broken. Someone
had
been in the little pavilion. Jennifer felt a chill. Had she set up her little schoolroom in a rendezvous of spies?

Then common sense came to her rescue. No spies were going to rendezvous in broad daylight. She was not exposing the child-ren to any danger at all.

The footmen arrived at that moment and she was quite occupied with getting the table and benches properly situated and keeping the children out of the way. Finally all was arranged to her satisfaction.

As the footmen turned to go back to their duties, Cammie sighed. “I did hope we could have our picnic at the seashore today.”

“Not a cloud in the sky,” added Mortimer, casually surveying it.

Jennifer was about to refuse, dredging her mind for some excuse that would prevent the possibility of her seeing the Viscount. But a sudden thought of the sea and its peaceful calm raised a great desire in her. Perhaps by the ocean she could find some rest from her chaotic thoughts. And she
had
promised the children.

“Will you work at lessons very hard?” she asked.

“Oh yes, yes!”

  “Then we shall have our picnic today. Hobbs.” The youngest of the footmen nodded. “When you return to the house, ask Cook to pack us a picnic lunch and ask one of the grooms to harness the pony cart, pick up the lunch, and come here for us in two hours. We are going to have lunch by the sea.”

“Yes, Miss.” Hobbs’s face crinkled into a cheerful grin, as though his own memories of picnics at the seashore were not too distant. “I’ll see to it, Miss.”

Jennifer turned back to the children and found each of them waiting expectantly, slate in hand, for their assignments.

The morning hours passed quickly and not a murmur was heard as the children bent willingly to their tasks. By the time the pony cart was seen approaching, lessons were done, supplies stowed away, and bonnets and gloves put on. Jennifer sighed as she tied the bonnet strings. It was ridiculous to expect children to wear such things. What did they care if the sun freckled their noses and browned their skin? With gratitude she thought of her own childhood and the freedom she had known - freedom to be a child.

Well, she was doing the best she could for the children. She watched them take their places in the cart, checked the picnic basket, and noted with surprise a bundle of towels, clean but old, stuffed into one corner.

The groom noticed her glance. “Hobbs thought as how they might come in handy. By the sea and all.”

“Yes,” said Jennifer with the hint of a smile. “I’m sure they will.” Then she took her place on the seat and turned the pony toward the lane that led to the road.

“We’re going to have our picnic,” cried Cammie happily. “Oh, I’m so glad Miss Jennifer came to our house.”

Cassie nodded. “We’ve got a real gem. That’s what Papa said.”

Jennifer, pretending not to hear, cast a look at the sky.

“Still no clouds,” declared Mortimer, as though that fortunate condition was due to his direct interference.

“Yes,” agreed Jennifer absently. “It looks like good weather.”

They drove for some minutes, the child-ren happily chattering about the sights they passed. It wasn’t till Mortimer turned to ask her a question and she jumped that Jennifer realized she had been listening for the sound of hooves on the road. She was being ridiculous she told herself sternly and set the children to singing a jolly round.

  They were still singing when they reached the turn-off to the sea. And then the voices died down as everyone stretched their necks for the first glimpse of the water.

“There! There!” cried Mortimer and soon the ocean came into view. Jennifer tied the pony securely and lifted the picnic basket. It was rather heavy, but she thought she could manage it on the path. She turned to Mortimer. “Will you please bring those towels, Mortimer?”

“What do we need towels for?” he asked. “You will see. Now girls, let us go.”

The descent was a little difficult. Mor-timer, of course, managed it nicely, bundle and all, and was there to help Cassie with her little sister. The basket grew exceeding-ly heavy as Jennifer neared the bottom, but she made it without accident.

She stowed the basket in the shade of a huge rock. The sea was calm and placid, gently lapping the shore. Jennifer looked at the bundle of towels in Mortimer’s arms and then she smiled.
“We are going to do something extra special before we eat. And all because Hobbs was thoughtful enough to provide us with towels.”

“What are we going to do?” asked Mor-timer.

“When I was a little girl,” Jennifer re-plied, “I used to wade in the ocean.”

The girls squealed and Mortimer looked pleased.

“Now, you must remove your shoes and stockings very carefully and set them up on a rock. And then we will wade.”

“You too, Miss Jennifer?” asked Cammie, her brown eyes wide.

A certain sense of wildness swept over Jennifer. “Yes, me too.” She sent Mortimer behind an adjacent rock while the girls and she divested themselves of shoes and stockings. The sand was warm and moist between her toes. Jennifer sighed. How pleasant the feeling was.

She looked at the girls. “I think we can leave off our gloves. We would not wish to have them wetted. But we shall have to keep the bonnets on. And you must loop your dress so....” She demonstrated on Cassie. “So the water cannot reach it.”

She watched as Cassie helped her sister loop her dress up under her sash. Fortunately her own dress, which had been cut down from one of her Mama’s, was not one of the new kind that fell straight from below the bosom so it, too, had a sash and she could loop up her skirt before and behind, freeing her legs to the calves and keeping her gown out of harm’s way.

  “All right,” she said.
“We will walk that way.” And they set off down the beach, the children squealing with delight as the water lapped at their bare toes.

Jennifer followed behind, thus able to keep an eye on the proceedings and much enjoying their enjoyment. Each treasure that they discovered must be brought back for her inspection and quite soon their hands were overflowing. Jennifer untied her bonnet strings with a smile. For some time she had been wanting to remove it and now she had an excuse. Without thinking she also reached up and loosened the pins that held her hair. It fell in a gold-en cloud around her shoulders.

Cammie, the next time she turned, saw it and exclaimed, “Like sunshine. It’s really like sunshine.”

For a moment Jennifer debated with herself. She should probably stop and put it back up. This whole excursion was mad-ness. But something in her rebelled. She needed the sun on her face, the wind in her hair, and the gentle lapping of the water around her ankles. This was plea-sant, harmless fun and no one could see them. For a little while she could forget the strictures that society placed on her. For a little while she could be herself.