The Honorable Marksley (20 page)

As she reached the lower steps to the hall, Marksley
was just exiting the dining room. He noted her flushed
cheeks.

“There was no need to race, Hallie. At this rate,
Gibbs might be tempted to back you at Epsom.” She
thought she heard a quickly shushed laugh from the
dining room. “Would you now care for something more
refreshing than coffee?”

Hallie met his smile with a tentative one of her own.
“I still prefer coffee, thank you”

Marksley extended a hand to her as she descended
the stairs. When his hand grasped hers the immediate
warmth of the contact startled her. Before she could
stumble, Marksley’s arm clasped her waist.

“Careful,” he said softly.

He practically lifted her from the last step. Hallie
could scarcely breathe. She backed from him quickly
and made a futile effort to arrange her shawl.

“Allow me” He took the garment from her suddenly
clumsy hands and draped it across her shoulders, his
fingers teasing the curls at her nape as he positioned the
soft wool.

“I am surprised you have need of it, Hallie, as warm
as you are.” He must not have felt her shiver or he had
known it was not due to cold. For an instant, his dark
glance met hers. Holding his gaze, she thought it likely
she would forget everything Miss Binkin had told her.

His palm at the small of her back urged her forward,
else every piece of her would have turned to him again.

She led the way into the library, a room she had not
entered since her initial meeting with him less than
three weeks before. Yet it had been an age, she thought,
and resolutely took a seat by the fire.

Marksley walked over to his desk. “I wanted you to
see where we are located-at Archers, Penham,
Denhurst-and to see where I believe your gypsy band
is camped” He pulled some documents from a drawer
as he spoke and now stood with them in one hand.
“Then, since you know horses, I thought you might also
like a look at the plans for Penham’s new paddocks-”

Gibbs had knocked on the open door and entered the
room with the coffee tray. Beecham’s letter to Marksley
was propped against the silver service.

Jeremy! Hallie raged, instantly, silently. She sat forward in her chair.

“What the devil-?” Marksley muttered. He placed
his documents slowly upon the desk and reached for the
folded note. He handled it carefully for a second, as
though it were a live thing that might suddenly take
flight.

“Gibbs”

“Yes, my lord.”

“This letter-did it arrive with the runner from the
bank, from London?”

Gibbs, pouring out the coffee, glanced at the document as though it had committed some unforgivable
trespass.

“No, my lord. ‘Twas left in the drawing room, on the
mantel. No one reported its arrival. I know you are
most particular about such matters”

“Yes, Gibbs. Indeed. But how did it get here? ‘Twas
not posted. No one has been in the drawing room today,
surely?”

“A maid would have pulled the drapes, my lord, and
just now Thomas entered to prepare for the coffee,
before I directed him to the library.”

“Send both of them in to me, if you would please,
Gibbs.”

When the butler departed Marksley turned to test the
latches on the French doors to the garden. Then he
faced Hallie, his manner distracted.

“I beg your pardon, my dear. An unexpected matter … Your coffee..

“I have no need of it.” Hallie moved to rise.
“Richard-”

“No, do not leave me, Hallie. I shall join you in just a
minute. Ah, Thomas, Mary.” Thomas bowed as Mary
curtsied. “Did either of you notice whether the drawing
room doors were open to the garden earlier?”

“No, milord,” they chimed. “They was locked,”
Mary added.

“Nor whether this letter was on the mantel when you
were in earlier today?”

“I didna see it when I was pullin’ at the drapes,”
Mary said, “Mighta been-”

“Only caught my eye on the mantel just now, milord. Can’t say as I would notice one more paper in the usual
way,” Thomas offered candidly.

“Just so,” Marksley observed, with a rueful glance at
his paper-strewn desk. “Did either of you observe a
stranger about the grounds this evening before supper?”

“There was of Clem Tarkenton down the lane,
repairing the tinwares an’ such,” Mary said. “But he’s
never come up near the house afore, on account o’ his
dogs bein’ so sporty after Mrs. Hepple’s chickens.”

“I see. Thank you, Mary. And you as well, Thomas.
You may go”

For a few seconds he idly rubbed one thumb against
the seal on Beecham’s note. Then, abruptly, he broke it.

Hallie watched him as he read, watched the lowering
of his dark brows and the part to his lips, as though he
would read the contents aloud. She silently repeated the
words to herself. When at last he looked across at her
she felt the intensity in his gaze.

“The poor fool is in love,” he said. His eyes, holding
hers, were accusing.

“Pardon?”

“Beecham. ‘Tis plain as day. The poem says it all. No
wonder I have had nothing from him. The besotted
moonling has succumbed to the charms of some female.
Although,” and he frowned, “there is that about it-”

As he returned to the letter, Hallie again rose uncomfortably to her feet and stood with hands clasped before
her. She felt cold, miserably cold and utterly unprepared. It was time for the masquerade to end. Jeremy had ensured it. But first she had to ask: “Is it not a good
poem?”

“Oh, aye,” Marksley muttered as he read. “‘Tis a
good and terrible poem”

Hallie swallowed.

“Richard,” she began once more, only to falter as
that considering gaze suddenly fixed on hers. “There is
something I must tell you. I should never have left it so
late, but I feared … feared you would not understand
or … forgive.” As Marksley’s frown deepened, Hallie
tried to rush ahead. “Because of my uncle, whom you
have reason to know too well, after Tolly’s death, I
needed a way-” She stopped as a flurry of footsteps in
the hall preceded Gibbs and a strange child, an
unkempt boy with unruly black hair and ragged clothes
that bespoke his gypsy ties. He was very thin, but
Hallie guessed him to be about ten years old.

“My lord, this scamp has news of Beecham,” Gibbs
announced, maintaining a hold on the child’s arm,
though the boy made no effort to escape.

“Beecham again? Release him then, Gibbs, as I can
only assume he came here freely.”

“Too right, yer excellency,” the boy said in a high treble. “‘At I did. There’s a cov what’s hurt hisself at our
camp, see. An’ as none of us knows `is name-not `is
proper name as you’d know it-there’s on’y this then”
He handed over a sheet of paper, which Hallie recognized as one of Marksley’s letters to Beecham. She had
last seen that page when she entrusted it to Jeremy, with
the letters of credit for George Partridge.

“George-” she gasped, only to draw her husband’s
alert regard.

“George?” he asked.

“I … it simply reminded me of something. Pardon
me.”

He looked most dissatisfied, but turned to the boy.
“You say the man is injured at your camp?”

“Just happen he stood too close to a fight twixt my
uncle Sherengo and Rosabelle’s new beau. Hurt `is
head an’ arm. `Taint so bad, but he’d best leave.”

“And where are your wagons?”

“‘Bout three miles t’other side o’ the river bridge, on
the highway. I ken take ya. I ran most the way,” he
added proudly.

Marksley turned to Gibbs. “I shall take the boy with
me on Apollo, Gibbs. Send the carriage after us and
summon the doctor. If Beecham can be moved, I shall
bring him back here.”

“Yes, my lord.” Gibbs responded with surprising
alacrity, but paused at the door. “This explains the other
letter then, my lord, does it not?” To Hallie’s hearing,
the elderly man sounded relieved.

“It might, Gibbs. It very well might.” But Marksley’s
face was troubled as he at last set Beecham’s poem
carefully down on his desk. He looked at the boy.

“This stranger … he was not your Rosabelle’s new
beau by any chance?”

“Cor!” The boy exclaimed. “Why Rosabelle wouldna look at him! A gorgio-not a brother-an’ on’y
along to listen to the jib.”

“The jib?”

The lad shifted his feet and looked down. “The way
we talk `mong ourselves”

“Will you be afraid to ride with me on my stallion? I
shall keep you safe, but he is very tall and fast.”

The imp grinned in delight. “‘Taint scared, yer worship,” he breathed.

Hallie’s thoughts were racing. She felt responsible for
George, though she knew he had always pursued his
researches in his own eccentric way. That particular note,
in which Marksley had explained how the letters of credit would work at the banks, might have led the gypsies to
believe he had funds on him or easy access to funds. Why
else had the lad been sent all this way, if George’s injuries
were not severe? Marksley might be heading into a trap.

“My lord,” she said, “had you not best take Thomas
with you, or perhaps a groom, in case there are many of
them?”

Marksley’s understanding was quick, but he
responded with equanimity. “I am quite certain there
are many of them” He turned to the boy. “What did you
think when you first read this letter?” he asked.

“Can’t read, yer excellency” The boy grinned. “No
one can. ‘Twas on’y my uncle Sherengo seen the sign,”
he pointed to the letterhead, “on the gate, out at the
road” For a second he looked suspicious. “It’s the same
sign, idnit?”

As Marksley glanced triumphantly in her direction,
Hallie struggled to think of some other way to keep him
from the camp. George Partridge had been injured, even if unintentionally. Something similar might happen to Marksley.

“Richard,” she urged, surprised by the panic in her
voice, “will you not wait for others? Surely the magistrate, Squire Lawes-”

“‘Twill be sufficient to inform him once I have
assured myself of Beecham’s safety.” Marksley spoke
even as he walked to the door with one hand on the
boy’s shoulder. He turned to offer her a quick smile.
“Do not fret, my dear. I thought you had expressed an
interest in this very camp? I promise you I shall return
shortly”

She could not believe him. The second he quitted the
room, Hallie followed him to the stable, intent on keeping him in view. Perhaps George’s injuries were worse
than portrayed, enough so that the gypsies had sought
outside help. Could not something similar happen to
Marksley? That people should settle their differences in
so violent a manner led her to suspect the possibility of
further harm. In that, she knew, she was interpreting the
gypsies’ behavior in the worst light, but as all she now
cared for rode untroubled into their camp, she could not
view the situation dispassionately. Augusta Lawes’ dire
warnings of their unruly ways had found a susceptible
mark after all.

Hallie was determined that Marksley and George
should have her aid, that they should not be alone.

She listened to Marksley speaking softly to the restless Apollo as the stallion was saddled. As soon as he
had left she presented herself to the stable boy and asked for a mount of her own. The lad looked uneasy;
he wished his lady would go out with the carriage, but
he did as she requested and dubiously handed her a
small lamp as well. Though the night was moonlit and
clear, Hallie would be traveling an unfamiliar road and
she could not be certain to keep the speedy Apollo in
view ahead of her.

Her gentle mare started at a steady trot, leaving
Archers’ grounds then turning from the road that lead
to Penham. In the moonlight, Hallie had no difficulty
following the stable boy’s direction to the ancient stone
bridge over the river. Away from the river the road led
to Denhurst and the few lights she could see, but the
moonlight, though not full, was sufficient for her needs.
Her one challenge was the chill in the air, for though
she had draped a wool stable blanket across her shawl,
she felt the want of a cloak. Her thin dinner gown hardly sufficed for an autumn night’s venture.

When she caught sight of a rider ahead on the road,
she quickly doused her light and pressed on. As her
mare tossed her head, Hallie concentrated on keeping
the animal quiet. The unexpected outing, or perhaps the
scent of another horse on the road ahead of them, had
clearly excited her.

For a mile or more, the road was level and empty,
then it turned away from the river valley and Denhurst,
and narrowing, began a gradual, curving ascent through
a fragrant forest. The shadows of the trees loomed
somberly along the way. Just as the dark proximity of
the woods began to oppress her, the trees yielded abruptly to a wide field, lying fallow now in the late
season. At the far end, a number of lanterns danced
brightly. Though still almost half a mile away, Hallie
could hear laughter and smell wood smoke.

Apollo’s large, burdened shape was very clear
against the lights-too clear, in Hallie’s estimation. She
dismounted at the lane’s margin, leaving the little
mare’s reins to trail and keep her from wandering, then
set out on foot to the gypsy camp.

In the short time it took her to reach the edge of the
camp, Hallie’s feet in their evening slippers learned to
resent the cold, hard ground. She was so chilled that
she gazed longingly at the blazing fires around which
the caravan clustered. In the flickering firelight, she
could see horses and donkeys confined in a makeshift
pen of rope and wagons. Dark women in colorful skirts
passed to and fro before the flames while children
scampered at their feet. A number of scruffy dogs, hungering for scraps from the table, circled a seated group
of men. Some raucous game or gambling appeared to
be in progress. Occasionally a voice rose above the others or someone laughed loudly.

Hallie’s anxious gaze scanned the circle once more.
She saw no sign of Marksley, although one of the boys,
hovering eagerly near the group of men, looked very
much like the young visitor to Archers. Hallie studied
the wagons more closely, perceiving that a few of them
were occupied, the lamps inside casting silhouettes
against curtained windows and entrances.