Rebel Enchantress (13 page)

“We’ve got to do our best to keep anybody from shooting” Nathan was saying. “This isn’t another revolution. It’s an economic crisis. Nobody’s going to win unless we all win. And it won’t happen overnight.”

“They’re not going to wait for their money,” Asa said. “Don’t know that I can either. Your damned bloody British merchants are squeezing me dry. If they would just let us trade with the West Indies—”

“That’s beyond our control” Nathan said. “We’d better concentrate on getting through the next few weeks with as few scars as possible. We all have to live together.”

“I’ll keep that in mind.” Asa regarded Nathan speculatively. “You’re mighty calm about this. They don’t want sensible advice, you know.”

“Then well have to give them a reason to take it.”

“I’ll think on it. Good night.”

Delilah hid in the shadow of the thornbush as Asa Warner mounted his horse and rode off. She tried to reconcile all the aspects of Nathan Trent she had seen over the last several days. He was in turn arrogant and insufferable, as unsettled by her physical presence as she was by his, silent and distant, ready to defend her from his family and his friends, and a blunt, efficient businessman. Somewhere in this combination of behaviors and attributes was the real Nathan Trent. Or was mere someone inside him she hadn’t yet discovered.

She started out of her trance at hearing a bolt shot home and a key turning in the lock.

She was locked out.

Chapter Eight

Delilah stared at the locked doors in dismay. She hurried back around the corner of the house, but the window was shut. She was just in time to see Lester close the drawing-room door behind him. It was out of the question that she bang on the door and have to explain to Nathan why she was outside again at this hour of the night.

Mrs. Stebbens! Did she have a key to the back door? If an explanation had to be made to anyone, Delilah would rather it be to that kindly woman. As she passed along the side of the house toward the wash-shed loft where Mrs. Stebbens slept, Delilah’s attention was caught by a light in the butler’s pantry. As much as she didn’t want to have to explain anything to Lester, he was still better man Nathan.

Delilah could just reach the lowest pane. She gave it a sharp rap and was amused to see Lester practically jump out of his skin. When he saw her face pressed to the pane, he turned so white she thought he would faint.

“It’s the, Delilah,” she called as loudly as she dared. “Let the in.”

Lester peered through the pane before he opened the window. “What are you doing outside?” he demanded.

“I was taking a walk” Delilah explained. “Mr. Trent closed the door before I could get inside.”

“What’s wrong with knocking?”

“Just let me in,” Delilah said, impatiently. “You can question me later.”

“I ain’t used to the help running about in the dark,”

Lester complained as he let Delilah in the back door. “I don’t approve of it neither.”

“I won’t do it again,” Delilah said. “I wasn’t dunking.”

“Don’t seem to me like you ever think,” Lester protested. “I never saw anybody stir up people like you do.” He gave her a sharp look. “You ain’t doing nothing bad, are you? And don’t give me that insulted look you give Mr. Nathan. I ain’t no fool. Better gals than you have got themselves in trouble.”

“What could I be up to?” Delilah asked. “Everybody’s in bed.”

“I don’t know, but never bring a poor man into a rich man’s house is what I say. Causes trouble every time.”

“I’m not a man.”

“That brings me to the next thing I mean to say.”

“Don’t tell me. I can guess,” Delilah said, forestalling him. “Now I’m going to bed.”

“Ain’t you going to tell me why you was outside?”

“No,” Delilah said with an impish grin as she slipped off to bed.

“That gal is up to something,” Lester said to the empty room.

An hour later Delilah’s door opened on silent hinges. Moonlight pouring in through the window at the front of the hall turned the landing into a study in black and silver. The dark brown of the floor had become a carpet of silver crisscrossed by a lattice of thin black strips. Chairs, tables, and the spokes in the bannister cast elongated shadows whose ghostly forms strained toward Delilah as she headed down the stairs.

She paused on the second floor long enough to make sure no light came from under Nathan’s door. The steps creaked in faint protest under her weight, but keeping close to the wall, she went down the main staircase quickly. Retreating into the darkened recess of the library door, she paused to listen.

She heard nothing.

Using great care, Delilah turned the knob and pressed in gently. Again a faint protest. She stepped into the room and closed the door behind her.

Leaning against the door frame, she took a deep breath. Her heart beat so hard it actually hurt her chest. If anybody caught her, what could she say to explain her presence in the library at this hour of the night?

She would get a book. It wouldn’t convince Serena, but maybe Nathan would believe her. She had twice seen him reading. Delilah pulled a book from the shelf—she didn’t even bother to read the tide—and hurried over to Nathan’s desk.

Locked! She should have expected that. She didn’t know any more about desks than she did about tea.

She smiled at that memory as she racked her brain for a way to get into the desk. She had to see that list. And she had to learn the names added to it in the weeks to come. But how? She had no reason to need Nathan’s key. She would just have to think of something. Reuben’s life might depend on it.

Delilah woke out of a deep sleep. She’d been dreaming about depraved English lords stalking her. She smiled to herself, turned over, readjusted her pillow so her cheek would rest on a cool spot, and started to drift off again.

Then she heard the footsteps again. Only this time she wasn’t dreaming. They came from outside her door. Someone was pacing the hall. Who? Why? She might have been frightened if it hadn’t been clear the footsteps went back and forth without pausing when they passed her door.

Then she heard a sound like a faint moan. Or maybe it was a whimper. Whoever it was stopped walking and halted in front of the entrance to her room. Delilah jumped out of the bed, grabbed a robe, and hurried to the door. She eased it open and peeped out.

Serena Noyes stood in the hall, pulling at a few loose strands of hair and crying silently. She had lost her nightcap, and her gown sagged so far off her left shoulder it nearly exposed one sagging breast.

Delilah stepped out into the hall, but Serena seemed to be in a trance, as if someone had hypnotized her. She stared into the space before her, seeing something Delilah couldn’t make out, mouthing words Delilah couldn’t hear, fearing something Delilah couldn’t identify. Tears rolled down a face that looked twenty years older than it had just hours earlier.

“You shouldn’t be out of bed,” Delilah said gently, draping her own wrap around Serena’s shoulders. “You’ll get chilled.” She tried to turn Serena toward the stairs. There seemed to be no tension in the older woman’s body, yet she was as immovable as if she had been carved from stone.

From the stench of Serena’s breath, she had been drinking heavily, but Delilah doubted she was drunk. “You can’t remain in the hall,” she said, trying to coax her to move. “At least come sit in my room.”

But Serena wouldn’t budge. Then, without warning, she started to moan, much louder this time. Delilah couldn’t understand any of the words Serena spoke, but it was clear she was frightened.

“No.” The word was quite clear. Now she looked straight at Delilah. “No!” she cried once more and began to back away. The more Delilah tried to help her, the more frightened she became. Then, quite unexpectedly, she extended one hand in front of her as though to ward off a blow, drew the other across her face, and uttered a sharp cry.

Delilah thought she heard two doors open on the floor below.

Serena stumbled, and as Delilah rushed forward to catch her, Priscilla came running up the stairs. It took both of them to help Serena to her feet. Even though Serena appeared thin and frail, Delilah had difficulty keeping her balance when Serena pushed her away.

“I’ll take care of her now,” Priscilla said with none of the coyness she used around Nathan. It was dear she didn’t want Delilah there.

“I found her standing in front of my door,” Delilah said, trying to explain. “I tried to get her to go back to her room, but she wouldn’t move. She seemed to think I was going to hurt her. That’s when she cried out.”

It’s all right,” Priscilla said, turning Serena in the direction of the stairs. “She’s not fully awake. She doesn’t recognize you.”

“Are you sure you don’t need some help?”

“No, thank you. I’ll return your robe in a few moments”

“Don’t bother. I only wore it to be decent.”

Priscilla didn’t respond to the friendly overture. Still talking softly and soothingly, she helped Serena down the stairs and back to her room. Delilah remained standing in the hall, completely mystified. What nightmare terrified Serena? What had caused the difference in Priscilla?

Delilah looked down toward Nathan’s room. No light shone under the door, but she could have sworn she’d heard a second door open. Was she mistaken? If not, why had he closed it again?

Only Priscilla came down to breakfast the next morning. She wore her usual pastel-colored gown, overloaded with white lace trimming at the bodice and the sleeves. She had carefully curled and dressed her hair, decorating it with a profusion of ribbons, and the perpetual smile was on her lips. But there was a tightness about her eyes. She looked tired. And unhappy. No, worried.

“Is your mother feeling better?” Delilah asked as she set a plate before Priscilla.

“Yes, but she’s too unwell to come down for breakfast.” She spoke in the same breathy voice but without the archness or coyness Delilah had come to expect from her.

“Shall I take something up to her room?”

“No. I’ll bring her something later. There’s no need for anyone to worry about Mother today.”

In other words, don’t go near her.

“Shall I tell Lester to take his orders from you?”

“Good Lord, no,” Priscilla said, lapsing back into her familiar personality. “What would I know about running a house? He ought to ask Nathan. Nathan owns Maple Hill.”

Delilah reeled. Would she ever be able to tell how Priscilla was going to act? It was like talking to two people and never knowing which one was going to answer.

“Nathan left before breakfast,” Delilah said. “He told Lester he wouldn’t be back until late in the day.”

Priscilla blinked for a moment, as though an unwelcome thought had crossed her mind, but her expression didn’t change. “Then let Lester decide,” she said with a flip of her lace-covered shoulders. She ate in silence, but when Delilah came in with the coffee, she asked, “Have you decided about the dresses?”

“I picked out three” Delilah replied, ashamed to admit she’d yielded to her own vanity.

“You’ll be tired of three dresses before the week’s out. Besides, Nathan will like seeing you dressed up.” Priscilla giggled. Positively giggled. “Don’t you just tremble and quake when he’s around?” Without waiting for Delilah to answer, she went on. “Even Mother’s a little scared of him. Whenever he turns that awful gaze on me, I feel he could murder me. When he gets mad, he’s worse than Uncle Ezra.”

“I don’t—”

“You should see him after he’s been studying Uncle Ezra’s books.” Priscilla shuddered. “Mama wants me to many him, but sometimes he frightens the to death.”

Delilah couldn’t imagine anyone being scared of Nathan. After growing up with Reuben’s uncontrolled rages, Nathan’s tightly controlled anger was a welcome relief. She supposed that came from being English. He was formal, maybe even haughty, but she couldn’t find any fault with that.

Of course she didn’t trust him when he started to smile in a certain way. She could tell he was about to do something unexpected.

“He probably feels surrounded by enemies,” Delilah said, realizing for the first time what it must be like for Nathan. “Your aunt loathes him for inheriting Maple Hill, the other River Gods despise him for being English, and the others hate him because they owe him money.”

Then I think you ought to be nice to him and wear all my dresses.”

“I hardly think that will make up for his being treated like he has the plague,” Delilah replied rawer astringently.

“I won’t have a servant in my house dress like that,” Serena told Nathan the next morning. It’s not proper.”

“She did look awfully pretty.” Priscilla smiled idiotically at Nathan. “Did she look as pretty as me?”

Nathan didn’t look up from his plate. His cousin’s simpering grated on his nerves so badly he couldn’t make a civil response.

“She could never look as pretty as you, darling” Serena said. “Not that you should have to be worried about being better dressed than a servant. Whatever possessed you to give her that dress?”

“You said it made me look all washed out, and Nathan said he wanted Delilah to wear something pretty. She didn’t have anything, so I thought I’d give her that old dress. She did look nice in it. Did I do something wrong?”

Nathan watched, fascinated, as a great big tear began to form in each blue eye.

“No, darling, it was sweet. It’s just that you shouldn’t give servants things that are too nice. It encourages them to get above themselves.”

The words had hardly left Serena’s mouth when Delilah entered the dining room. The green dress she wore had clearly come from Priscilla’s wardrobe.

“Where did you get that?” Serena demanded, in such a dramatic tone that Delilah had to struggle to keep from spilling the contents of the bowl she carried to Nathan.

“Priscilla gave it to me.”

“How many dresses did you give her?” Serena demanded, rounding on her hapless daughter. “Do you think I spent all that money on clothing you just so your gowns would end up on some servant’s back?”

Priscilla started to cry, but that didn’t slow Serena for an instant.