Suzanne Robinson (13 page)

Her life wouldn’t be lived in Society, true. Yet it could be interesting and even amusing. In America her little fortune would afford her more luxuries. She might be able to afford a home and a maid. Who knew what other opportunities that young country might offer? It was a fearful prospect, though, and Prim had to be firm with herself. She would not succumb to dread.

Sipping her second cup of tea, Prim gazed out the windows at the inner bailey, now an expanse of green lawn dotted with trees in sun-burnished autumn shades of red, yellow, and gold. It was a much more calming vision than the one she had of the future. At one time, the bailey would have been crowded with people carrying on business at a blacksmith’s forge, a dovecote, an herb garden, an alchemist’s shop. There would have been children playing with tops and wooden swords, dogs being readied for a boar hunt, falconers attending to the mews, knights at sword practice, all raising a
din. Now there was a lawn and trees with leaves like jewels.

Perhaps it was in just such a place that her book of hours had been kept. Prim took another sip of tea, but the hand holding the cup paused on the way to the saucer. The book! Hastily she set the cup down and went to the bedroom. It had been tidied and the bed made. She searched under the covers, between the mattresses, under the bed. No book. Hadn’t she been looking at it when she fell asleep? Or had she left it somewhere?

Prim rubbed her forehead with the tips of her fingers. It could be that she only
thought
she’d been looking at the book. Whirling around, she rushed to the bureau and grabbed her drawstring bag. It was empty.

Prim’s hands were suddenly cold and damp. She began to pace. Had a servant stolen the book while she slept? Prim’s steps slowed, then halted. Wait. Wait. Could she imagine Mrs. Snow employing anyone inclined to steal? Who in the castle stole things?

“Nightshade!”

Prim hurried to the bell pull and yanked on it. Then she raced to the wardrobe where the maids had stored the garments her host-captor had provided. A quick search revealed a black riding habit and boots. Prim began undressing and was pulling on the habit when the maid assigned to her entered.

“Yes, miss? Oh, let me help, miss.” The girl pulled the skirt down and fastened it.

“Thank you, Rose.”

A military-style jacket followed along with a riding hat in the male style.

“Rose, you did say Sir Lucas wasn’t in the castle?”

“Yes, Miss. He left after breakfast to visit Mr. and Mrs. Hawthorne at Vyne Cottage.”

“Direct me to the stables, Rose. I’m going to pay Sir Lucas a visit.”

It wasn’t long before Prim was riding a fast little roan mare behind a groom she had asked to guide her to Vyne Cottage. The journey took her through Beaufort park lands and into a dense wood. She followed the groom along a winding, sun-dappled path that eventually meandered down to the stream. There she glimpsed the ruins of a great abbey, its hollow shell soaring above the trees. They walked the horses across a shallow place in the stream, climbed the bank and entered the wood again.

Suddenly the trees thinned, and through them she saw a stone cottage of three stories, its walls draped with thick curtains of ivy. The house appeared to have sprouted in the midst of ancient oak trees. Their limbs sheltered the place, and they only gave way at the front, where a sunny garden had been planted with so many varieties of flowers that there seemed little room for people.

A plump woman with dark gray hair in a knot on the top of her head was sweeping the brick walk that wound through the garden. Her clothes were covered with a fine coat of dust, and she attacked the bricks with her broom as though they’d committed some terrible offense. The exertion had reddened her face to the cherry color of her skirts. Freckles dotted her nose and cheeks, giving her a cheerful yet practical air.

As Prim dismounted and handed her reins to the
groom, the woman looked up and smiled. Her front teeth protruded a bit, and her grin gave her an extra chin. She came to the gate in the white fence that surrounded the house and opened it.

“You must be Miss Dane. Welcome, dearie. Our Luke has been telling us all about you.”

Before she could respond, Prim was swept along the brick path, around a bank of enormous pink flowers, and into the shade of an oak where white wicker chairs and lounges had been grouped.

“Sit, dearie, sit and let’s get acquainted.”

“Mrs. Hawthorne?”

The lady put her hand against her damp cheek. “Where are my manners? Yes, dearie, that’s me. Louisa Hawthorne. Pleased, I’m sure.”

When Prim removed her riding glove, her hand was taken and given a good shake. The broom waved at a chair, and Prim had to sit in it quickly in order to avoid the burst of sweeping that followed. Mrs. Hawthorne brushed a pile of fallen leaves off the path before sinking into the chair beside Prim and letting the broom fall to the ground beside her.

“Whew! A rare warm day, this is. I’ll send for Elsie to bring us some lemonade in a moment.” Mrs. Hawthorne blew a wisp of hair off her forehead and paused to catch her breath.

“Mrs. Hawthorne, I have some business with your son.”

“Oh, he’s around, dearie. We’ll find him, never fear. Our Luke has been telling us what a terrible time you’ve been having.”

“He has?”

Mrs. Hawthorne leaned closer, and Prim found herself gazing into brown eyes that beamed contagious sprightliness. It was all Prim could do not to return Mrs. Hawthorne’s smile.

“Don’t you worry. Our Luke will keep you safe until your little problem can be got rid of.”

Prim twisted her gloves and looked away from Mrs. Hawthorne’s cheerful honesty. “I’m afraid there is no remedy for my situation, Mrs. Hawthorne. At least, not here. And through no doing of my own, I find myself in circumstances of deep disgrace.”

“What are those, Miss Dane?”

Unaccustomed to being asked such direct and intimate questions, Prim pursed her lips and glanced out at a bed of late-blooming crimson roses.

“Oh, you mean being in the stews without an escort all that time, and being alone with our Luke.”

Prim started when a plump finger touched the sleeve of her habit.

“Fie! Our Luke will arrange everything. You’ll go home with your character unbesmirched, safe as houses, don’t you know.”

What could she say to this woman? Mrs. Hawthorne appeared to think her son a cross between a magician and King Arthur.

With a shake of her head Prim said, “I doubt if that is possible, Mrs. Hawthorne, but I thank you for your good wishes.”

“Good wishes, says she.” Mrs. Hawthorne gave a birds-chirp laugh. “Bless your bright eyes, Miss Dane. Our Luke is the prime thief in London. Was, that is. He can do anything.”

The woman spoke of thievery as if it were just another occupation, but Mrs. Hawthorne was quick to perceive Prim’s disapproval. She contemplated the younger woman for a few moments in silence. Then she began to chatter again, and Prim found it hard to take advantage of the infrequent pauses in her speech to again request the presence of the lady’s son.

“Ah, what fine weather. Not like what we have in London most days, is it? Lord bless me, but I remember the foul weather the night I found our Luke. He was just a little bit of a thing, not more than four. His mother had died of the cholera in the night. The poor thing thought she was asleep. He tried to wake her and couldn’t, so he ran away.”

Mrs. Hawthorne lowered her voice and cupped her hand around her mouth. “A fallen woman, don’t you know. Anyway, I found the little thing asleep in my doorway. He’d been wandering the streets with the urchins, filching food, running from the shopkeepers and police. Mr. Hawthorne said we should take him to an orphanage or a workhouse, but I couldn’t.”

Tears glistened in Mrs. Hawthorne’s eyes. “Lost three of my own babes, don’t you know. He looked at me with those great big eyes with them long lashes, pleading like. You should have seen him. I gave him milk and porridge, and he took his bowl and cup and went to a dark corner and ate it so fast he nearly made himself sick. The poor little thing thought I might take it back, don’t you know.”

“How terrible.” Prim felt a pain begin in her heart, one she’d felt for the Kettle children and their like.

“You know what was more terrible? When he
heard Mr. Hawthorne talk about the workhouse and all, he didn’t cry or nothing. He just put his bowl and cup on the table and started to walk out of my kitchen. I couldn’t believe it. He pushed the door open with both his little hands and stepped outside. He just stood there, looking out at the dirty street. Then he hung his head, and I heard this tiny sigh.

“But after that, he straightened his thin little shoulders and started to march away. That was when I told Mr. Hawthorne if that boy went, he might as well go too. But you know what? Mr. Hawthorne had already made up his mind, and he fetched Luke back at once.”

“I’m so glad.”

“My only regret is that we were too poor to give Luke a proper upbringing. Then he wouldn’t have had to do thieving to provide for the family. But Mr. Hawthorne got injured at the docks, and my cleaning money never brought in enough to make up.” Mrs. Hawthorne’s whimsical smile reappeared. “But I always talked to the Lord about it. Kept him informed about our Luke, so there would be no misunderstandings in heaven, don’t you know.”

“I see,” Prim said faintly, wondering at this novel approach to Christian morals.

“So, Mr. Hawthorne took to rag-and-bone work, but times was hard. Still, I don’t think Luke would have took to a bad life it he hadn’t found out what his mother was. Some foul young idiot told him. Fleet was his name. And after that, I think Luke felt thieving was all he deserved. It’s a good thing he was so expert at it, don’t you know.”

“Then it is a curious thing that he left his chosen—er—profession and became a gentleman.”

Prim had made this remark to provoke Mrs. Hawthorne into revealing more about Sir Lucas’s past, but before the lady could reply, an elderly man came out of the house and limped toward them using an ebony cane with a gold top. The elegance of the cane contrasted with his worn suit and soft, crushed hat. A fine gold watch chain made the age of the suit even more obvious. His jaw had the mushy appearance of those unsupported by teeth, and his hands were stiff and gnarled from years of hard labor.

Upon reaching them, he doffed his cap to reveal a dome of bare scalp. “Mother, I see we have a caller.”

“Yes, Hawthorne. This is Miss Dane, that our Luke told us about.”

“And I suppose you’ve been telling her all about him, which you shouldn’t.”

“Why not? He’s respectable now.”

“And don’t you apologize for him, neither. He was the finest thief in London, and he only took from those that deserved to lose.” Tusser Hawthorne sat down beside his wife and beamed with pride. “Our Luke has a proper talent for stealing the finest—silver, jewels, paintings. Paintings bring a high price from the right purchaser, he says. What I don’t understand is why he stole all them books. To read, of all things.”

“Hawthorne, you’re nattering.”

“Speaking of books,” Prim said.

She got no further, for a screech shattered the balmy quiet of the garden. Then a young maid came skittering around the corner of the house. Right behind
her clattered an angry goat, yammering and shaking its head. Luke Hawthorne followed, calling to the maid and laughing at the same time.

Mrs. Hawthorne sprang from her chair, grabbed her broom, and charged across the garden to meet them. She bashed the goat in the head with the bristles of the broom, then shooed the creature around to the back of the house. The maid had already raced inside and slammed the door. Still chuckling, Luke joined his father and Prim.

“Good afternoon, Miss Dane.”

Prim gave him a startled nod and looked past him to see if any more mad goats threatened.

“Never fear,” Luke said. “The rest of the animals are still in the pens. Rose has never gotten the right of milking, and the goat knows it.”

“Mr. Night—Sir Lucas, I think you know why I’ve come here.”

“Must be a treat to get out in the good country air,” Luke said as he braced himself on the back of his father’s chair. “You being in London for so long.”

Prim frowned at her host, but Tusser Hawthorne forestalled her reply.

“Don’t see how she can enjoy herself up at that mountain of stone you live in. Near drove me mad having to live inside that great warren.” Tusser leaned toward Prim on his cane and winked at her. “Got lost so many times I kept a ball o’ string in me pocket and let it out if I was going someplace I hadn’t been before.”

Luke groaned and said, “Pa, Miss Dane don’t want to hear all that.”

“And you should have seen Mrs. Hawthorne. The place gave her the vapors, and she never had them in her life.” Tusser leaned back, took a deep breath and let it out as he surveyed the garden, the secluded house and the wood beyond. “No, this place suits us much better. Mother was right. That castle was too grand for the likes of us.”

Prim watched Tusser pat Luke’s hand, then said, “I should think no accommodation too grand for persons of the character of Mr. and Mrs. Hawthorne, but certainly a castle can occasion great difficulty for domestic comfort.”

Tusser gave her a puzzled look and glanced up at his son. Luke grinned.

“She thinks you and Ma are right fine folk, and she agrees that the castle is too big.”

Whistling and shaking his head, Tusser thanked Prim. “You’ll have to excuse me, Miss Dane. Mother and me, that sort o’ conversation ain’t in our way.”

“Don’t worry, Pa. She doesn’t talk like that all the time.”

“She’s a right proper lady, is Miss Dane.”

Wishing to prevent the two men from discussing her any further, Prim rose suddenly. “Sir Lucas, I would have a private word.”

She got no further, for Mrs. Hawthorne appeared at the front door and called them inside. With Tusser preceding them, Sir Lucas offered his arm. Prim stepped aside—ostensibly to allow room for Tusser’s cane on the path—and moved into a pool of sunlight. Sir Lucas gazed at her with a strange expression on his face, as if he was seeing something he hadn’t expected.
Prim frowned at him again, and he abruptly bent down and whispered to her.