The Lodestone (30 page)

“I promised a dying man that I would deliver it into the hands of Ramona Parker—and none other. I know you will carry out his wishes.” He opened the music box and took out the tiny portrait. Holding it out to her, he said,
“This is also for your mother. He kept it in his money pouch and wore it next to his heart, waking and sleeping. His last wish was that I inform his dear wife of that fact. The music box he found and claimed as a spoil of war, and he intended it to be her wedding present. I’ve already given her the lodestone he used as a compass.”

Cleome took the little portrait and he placed the leather pouch and the music box in her lap, along with the worn parchment and shock of curly auburn hair. Try as she might, she could not still the shaking of her hands as she opened the pouch and poured the contents into her lap. There were three gold sovereigns, a rusty razor, a shaving brush with a rough wooden handle and a wedding band. Slowly, she put everything back in the small bag.

“He fashioned the ring himself, out of a gold sovereign,” Drake explained. “The money is his pay. The lock of hair, which you will notice is the same extraordinary color as your own, I took from his head on the day he died.”

Carefully, Cleome folded the certificate and put it back in the music box, along with the money pouch. With one hand, she clasped the only legacy her father had left her and with the other, she steadied herself as she got to her feet, using the desk as ballast.

“I’ll take you home,” he said. “Let me have the coach brought round.”

“I can walk from here. You have forgotten we are neighbors.”

“Cleome, be reasonable.” He took up her cloak and placed it around her shoulders, and then he pinned her hair back with the diamond and emerald combs. “It is cold tonight.”

“I have my anger to warm me, sir,” she replied. “And no doubt you have Mignon ready to resume her place, now that you have made the ultimate fool of me.” She turned her back on him and walked out the door, down the stairs and out into the darkness.

**

Drake followed at a discreet distance, to make sure no harm would come to her. Her shoulders drooped as if she carried the weight of the world, and he saw that she clutched Jimmy Parker’s legacy tightly to her bosom with one hand, while with the other, she wiped often at her eyes. His heart was breaking as she let herself into her townhouse, not even a mile from his own; and for the first time in his life, he had no idea how to stay a woman’s tears.

Chapter Thirteen

Cleome stared out the window, first at the reflection her eyes made in the glass, and then down on the street where snowflakes drifted silently, swirling like a mist of diamonds around the lamp post. She had not fully appreciated the miracle wrought by a fresh snowfall until she came to live in London. There was nothing so comforting, she’d discovered, as having the filth that bred in city streets camouflaged beneath a cloak of virginal white. In a matter of minutes, the row of houses across the double-laned avenue had been turned into virtual storybook dwellings—not that they weren’t already beautiful and grand. Cleome lived in one of the most elegant neighborhoods in London. She knew that her neighbors’ gardens, like her own, were as lovely as she had seen hers that morning.

“Oh, milady,” Jacqueline had exclaimed joyfully as she and Cleome walked earlier in the day through the small, white mounds that now hid the walk. “It is a setting fit for a
reine de neige
. You say it, how? Snow queen?” The maid translated for herself, and Cleome absent-mindedly returned her smile as they strolled between ice-frosted shrubs and hedges that were neatly trimmed in the shapes of deer, bears, elephants, swans, dragons and unicorns. With the snow lightly dusting them, they took on the appearance of shaggy mystical beasts from some bleak prehistoric tundra.

Snow queen, indeed,
Cleome considered wryly now, as she gazed out the window at day’s end.
Enthroned in splendid solitude, safe within my palace of ice.

A cheerful glow filled windows here and there in the houses facing her as lights were lit early in defiance of the premature gloom brought by the storm. It had started snowing just before dawn. She knew, because she had been standing there, peering into the dark street below. She had stood like that for hours after Drake followed her home, long after he had walked away and disappeared into the gloom.

The sun had risen faintly in the frigid, gray fog, and then it had started to snow. As the flakes blew and drifted, the ice had accumulated around her heart until it was frozen solid and she felt like the slightest jar to her senses would cause it to shatter into a thousand pieces. Only then had she moved away from her lonely post at the window and allowed Jacqueline to coax her briefly outside. Eventide found her back at the window, staring out into the encroaching darkness, taking comfort in the heightening storm.

Somehow, Cleome swore, she would find a way to forget the shame of the previous evening. But she could never forget the cruel game Drake had played with her. She wanted more than ever to go home. She did not want to stay any longer in London, so far away from those she loved, and who loved her. With a fortune at her disposal, home could be anywhere she chose. But she could not move Ramona in the dead of winter. At least, not as far as London—but perhaps she could lease a house near Oakham for herself, her mother, Mary and Jacqueline. And there they could wait together until spring.

Facing the Eastons and all their friends was now impossible, after the scandal she had helped to create in Drake’s club. In a way, it was a relief, for she was tired of the charade. Now that she saw the haughty, cruel gambler for what he was, there was no point in remaining in the city. In a day or so, she would send a note to Edwina, but first, she had to try and take in all that had happened, and the enormity of Drake’s deception. She had been prepared to give herself completely to a man she didn’t even know.
But I do
, her heart cried rebelliously,
I do know him and he did try to explain
. But she couldn’t think of any reason he could have to betray her so brutally, and to withhold from Ramona something so important, so precious.

With a sigh, Cleome ended her vigil at last, drawing the shades closed and allowing Jacqueline to bring her supper. She was by no means hungry but now that she’d made the decision to go home, there was much to do. She must keep up her strength. As she was finishing her soup, the front doorbell clanged loudly. Higgins went to answer and moments later, he stood before her with a silver tray upon which lay a small white envelope. Recognizing Mary’s handwriting, Cleome snatched it up eagerly and ripped it open.

Dear Miss Cleome (milady),
she read.
Your ma is very ill. You must get here as fast as you can. She has not been able to shake the ague of winter and is now took with fever. Please come straightaway as doctor says she hasn’t much time.

“Messenger says he’ll be returning to Oakham in a day or so, weather permitting,” Higgins informed her. “Should he stop back again for your reply, mum?”

“No thank you, Higgins. It’s not necessary.” She did not tell Higgins that she’d take the reply herself, but her mind was made up. She would go as soon as all the servants were in bed. There was only one horse in all of London that could get her through the snow and back to the tavern house quickly, and she would have to steal him from Drake Stoneham.

**

Cleome decided, in the end, to leave Jacqueline a brief note.
I must get home
, she wrote quickly.
Mamma is worse. Please do not worry
.

She put an extra pair of woolen stockings on her feet and then pulled on her new, sturdy boots. An extra flannel petticoat, her warmest dress and her old, mended cloak completed her outfit but she desperately wished she had some boy-clothes. Although she and Edwina had discussed the possibility of disguising themselves as boys to go shopping in Burlington Gate, they had never mustered the nerve to do it. After tying the ribbons of her new velvet bonnet securely under her chin, she drew on her gloves and scooped up her elegant new saddlebags in which she had packed a few things, including the music box which held her father’s legacy.
I’ll be home before I have need of much
, she thought as she slipped out into the night,
for I’ll stop only as needed to feed Epitome or let him rest
.

It was almost midnight and the snow had finally stopped. First, she would go to Drake’s house. He’d be at the club at this hour, and with any luck, he’d have left Epitome stabled at home. The risk of being caught would be greater if she had to go to Stoneham House. Chances are he hadn’t yet started showing off the horse and boasting about his supposed conquest of her. But, her heart protested, he would never do that. Drake played every card close to his chest and his opponents never knew what he was thinking or feeling. That’s why no one knew anything about the enigmatic Mignon. Shaking off all thoughts of him, Cleome reminded herself of the reason for her journey. Her mother needed her. That was all that mattered now.

Security was surprisingly light around Drake’s residence, with only one sleepy groom and a guard who was already snoring heavily. It was simple enough for Cleome to hide in the thick shrubbery that ringed the stable and wait until the groom had climbed into the hayloft and she heard his lighter snoring. Silently then, she crept inside and found Epitome in his stall. The colt whickered softly in greeting and she quickly put her hand on his neck to quiet him. She found harness and reins and as she would need no saddle, that would simplify her escape. At the last moment, she spied a pair of trousers, a rough shirt and an old cap hanging on pegs near the door. Gratefully, she slipped into Epitome’s stall and changed into them, leaving her dress and petticoats in a heap on the floor. On top of them, she left the note she had scribbled earlier.
Mr. Stoneham,
she’d written,
I am deeply grateful for the loan of your horse. My mother is ill and I have been summoned back to the Eagle’s Head. If there were any faster way to get home, I would not borrow the colt as I do not wish to be in your debt in any way. Cleome

Getting out of London, even at that hour or perhaps because of it, was no trouble. She was scarcely noticed, and the heavy traffic had kept snow accumulation to a minimum, at least in the city. But out in the open country, travel was more tedious and the path more difficult to see. She rode for hours, until a gray mist, tinted with a faint touch of pink, lit the sky. She was well out of the city when dawn made its way over the bleak fells and snow began to fall again, in large, powdery flakes that seemed to multiply with each gust of wind that whistled past her. The bitter cold assaulted her at first, but then numbness spread over her body. Her fingers grew stiff as they clutched Epitome’s reins. The new storm fed upon itself, building up in thickness and velocity. Even with the urgency of getting to Ramona driving her on, she knew she had to find shelter.

It was as if the world became an endless, frozen desert of snow spilling over at its edge into a white universe, and she an inconsequential pilgrim caught in a timeless infinity. Terrified that Epitome would founder in a ditch or a snowdrift, she dismounted; and leading the horse, she inched slowly forward. Then, by some miracle, she spotted in the distance what appeared to be a deserted shack. No smoke crawled from its crumbling chimney and it was the time of morning when a farmer would be up and about his chores, if anyone lived there. Gratefully, she made her way to the abandoned structure.

It looked as if it had been deserted for some time, but it was dry and provided protection from the storm. It had caught fire at some time past, obviously the reason it had been forsaken, for a charred wall with a gaping hole in it stood on the downwind side of the cabin. Epitome seemed as glad of the sanctuary as Cleome, and their physical discomfort somewhat relieved, she found she was ravenous. She had remembered at the last minute to take some biscuits from the pantry, along with a bit of cheese, and these she devoured. After giving Epitome a handful of oats, she curled up in a corner, wrapped her cloak more closely about herself, and with her arms hugging her knees to create more warmth, she fell asleep.

It seemed only minutes when a dull thudding on the sole of her boot awakened her. Caught in the twilight state between wakefulness and slumber, Cleome sat up with a start, her lips already forming a cry.

“You’ve no need to protest so bitterly, milady,” he informed her in a voice as hard as granite and quite as unyielding. “It is not I who have stolen
your
horse.”

Fully awake now, she sat up, her muscles stiff and her bones aching. She was astonished to find Drake standing before her, staring at her coldly, his face masked against any emotion. One hand held a riding crop, with which he gave a final rap to the bottom of her shoe.

“You’ve behaved rather foolishly for such an intelligent creature,” he continued. “Did it never occur to you to simply ask for the loan of my horse? It would have saved us both a great deal of trouble.”

“You didn’t have to come after me,” she began hotly but his angry, hazel eyes silenced her.

“No,” he replied. “I could have left you to freeze to death or be set upon by any tramp with whom you seek to share the road. And perhaps injure my horse in the process. Now get up, your ladyship. The storm has lessened but dark clouds are moving rapidly in our direction. We have a long ride ahead of us. I’ll see you to the Eagle’s Head so you can attend your mother, and then I trust you will return my horse. Your other debt I have excused.”

“I don’t need your help—”

“Perhaps not,” he admitted, cutting her off. “But you do need my horse. Are you aware that I could have you arrested for stealing him?”

“Oh, I have no doubt,” she fumed. “But if you’ll be so kind as to let me see my mother before you have me taken off to prison, I would
so
appreciate it.”

“After you, milady,” he said sarcastically, stepping aside.