CHAPTER THREE
I
was as good as my word, and within ten minutes of agreeing to leave with the baron, I was in his carriage, my carpetbag and butterfly net perched on the seat beside me.
I left the remains of the Harbottle treasury with a note for the landlord and considered the matter closed.
I reasoned the sum should be sufficient to settle the damages.
I had brought with me my own slender funds, tucked carefully into a clever pocket hidden in my jacket.
I had changed from my mourning ensemble to a costume of my own design, and the baron regarded me curiously.
“You are not what I expected,” he ventured at last, but his tone was not unkind and his eyes shone warmly.
I nodded.
“I seldom am.
I have tried, I assure you.
I have been brought up to do good works and to conduct myself with propriety and decorum, and yet I am forever doing the unexpected.
Something always gives me away for what I really am.”
“And what are you, child?”
“A woman in search of adventure,” I said gravely.
The baron sketched a gesture that encompassed me from head to toe.
“And these garments will help you to find one?”
I was quite proud of my ensemble.
My boots were flat and laced almost to the knee to protect my lower limbs from thorns and branches whilst butterflying.
I had modified my corset to a more athletic arrangement with light steel stays that might, in an hour of necessity, be used as weapons.
I wore slim trousers tucked into the boots, and over it all a narrow skirt with a peculiar arrangement of buttons that permitted it to be raised to the knee or opened entirely to allow me to ride astride.
There was a fitted jacket to match with an assortment of clever pockets, and into one I had tucked the good luck charm I was never without—a tiny mouse of grey velvet called Chester, the sole relic of my childhood.
My only jewelry was the small case compass pinned to my jacket, a present from Aunt Lucy to commemorate my first expedition—“So you will always find your way, child,” she had told me, her eyes bright with unshed tears as I left home for the first time.
I brought with me nothing of Aunt Nell’s except an appreciation for a clean white shirtwaist.
The fabric of this curious suit was a serviceable dark grey wool, but I had made one or two allowances for vanity.
The grey wool was trimmed with scrolls of rather dapper black silk passementerie, while my hat was an absolute confection.
Broad of brim, with a snug, deep crown, it was crafted of fine black straw and wound with a length of black silk tulle that could be lowered to veil my face should bees prove troublesome.
A bouquet of deep scarlet silk roses clustered on one side, a splash of delectable color I had been powerless to resist.
But even they had a purpose to serve in the field, being the perfect perch for delicate specimens with damp wings.
The hat was a stroke of inspiration, and I pointed this out to the baron.
“You see, the fashion for narrow brims has made it necessary for ladies to carry a parasol as well, but that means the hands are never free.
With this hat, I am entirely protected from the elements, yet my hands are unencumbered.
I can lower the veil if I like to shield my face, and the hatpin is reinforced to make a very fine weapon.”
I gave a short laugh.
“You needn’t look so startled, Baron.
I do not anticipate having need of it.”
“Even after you find an intruder in your home?”
he asked softly.
I folded my hands in my lap.
“Yes, about that.
I know you said you believe my life is in danger, but I must tell you I think you are quite wrong.
No, the fellow was a lowly villain in search of easy pickings.
Doubtless he, like you, read in the newspaper of poor Aunt Nell’s passing and realized the cottage would be empty during the funeral.
It is a common enough occurrence.
The fellow was simply an opportunistic housebreaker, and I surprised him by coming home somewhat sooner than he expected.
When I gave chase, he was alarmed at the thought of having a witness to his crimes and attempted to frighten me by making it seem as if he would carry me off.
That is all.”
The baron looked pained.
“But if you do not truly believe yourself to be in danger, why have you come away with me?”
My tone was deliberately patient.
“Because you were leaving Little Byfield.
I was planning to depart this afternoon in any event, but you have very kindly saved me the cost of a ticket to London.
I am obliged to you.”
The baron clucked his tongue and muttered an imprecation in German.
“And I thought I had persuaded you.
Oh, child, what must I say to convince you of the dangers before you?”
“Surely it cannot be so bad as all that.
I expect you are merely hungry.
Things always look darkest when one is hungry or tired, I find.”
I reached for my carpetbag and unbuckled the straps.
“I have some apples in here and some cheese.
I regret there is no bread, but this will serve until we can stop for some refreshment.”
I proffered an apple and a wedge of weeping Cheddar, and the baron took them, turning them over in his hands.
“The apple is a bit soft now, but it is from the orchard in Little Byfield and quite sweet, I promise,” I told him.
The baron shook his head.
“I do not require food, my dear.”
“Spirits, then?”
I rummaged in my bag until I found a flask, which I withdrew with a flourish.
“It is a little something I acquired in South America, very good for restoring one’s nerves.”
He handed back the food but took the flask, swallowing a mouthful under my watchful eye before choking hard.
“Very nice,” he gasped.
I assessed his color.
“You’ve a bit more pink in your cheeks, I am glad to say.
You looked quite pale, you know.
Have you difficulties with your health?”
“My heart,” he told me, handing back the flask.
“Sometimes the breath, it does not come easily; sometimes there is pain.
But I have work yet unfinished.”
“Work?”
I replaced the flask carefully and tucked the food back into a clean cloth.
“What sort of work?”
“To keep you safe,” he said softly, and it was this gentleness that caught my attention.
I peered at him closely, scrutinizing him from his aristocratic brow to the well-formed lips under the generous mustaches, the graceful hands that clasped his knees loosely, the watchful eyes that never left mine.
“You have her eyes,” he murmured at last.
“Your mother’s eyes.”
My heart rose in my throat, threatening to choke me.
I could not speak for a moment, and when I did, my usually low voice was quick and high.
“You knew my mother!
How very extraordinary.
I must confess, I know nothing of her.”
He hesitated.
“She was the most beautiful creature I have ever seen,” he said simply.
I gave him an arch smile.
“I suspect I look nothing like her, then.”
The baron protested, as I had expected he would.
“No woman can be so lovely and not know it,” he told me firmly.
He put a finger under my chin and tipped my head this way and that, studying me carefully.
“You might be her twin.
It is uncanny, as if I were looking into her face once more.
The same lips, the same cheekbones.
I told her once I could cut glass upon those cheekbones.
And of course, the eyes.
I have never seen eyes that color before or since.”
“Aunt Nell used to say it was not decent to have violet eyes, that they were the telltale sign of a bad nature, like ginger hair or a hunchback.
And village children used to tease me about being a bad fairy—a changeling child.”
“Children can be very stupid,” the baron said gravely.
“And dull, which is why I have no interest in becoming a mother of six,” I told him.
He lifted his brows.
“Six is a curiously specific number.”
“I had a curiously specific offer today, but let us speak no more of that.
Of course, I do not wish to be a paid companion or a daughter-in-law either.
I have had quite enough of attending to elderly ladies,” I finished absently.
“They were good to you, though?”
he asked, his tone shaded with anxiety.
“The Harbottle ladies?
They treated you with kindness?”
“Oh yes.
I was fed and clothed and I don’t suppose I ever wanted for anything, not really.
I had a new dress every season and new books to read.
Of course, that was due to the lending library.
We moved so often I could never keep books of my own.
Aunt Lucy always bought a subscription to the library as soon as we settled in a new village.
As I grew older, I pursued my own interests.
I have traveled far and seen much of the world, and when the aunts had need of me, I returned to care for them.
It was a pleasant enough life.”
“Did you mind, all of this moving to and fro?”
I grinned.
“If I am honest, I loathed it as a child.
It always seemed that we moved just as I had amassed a good collection—eggs, frogs, beetles.
I was forever leaving behind something I loved.
The aunts were driven by their whims.
One year we might live the whole twelvemonth in Lyme.
The next they would have us move from town to town, four within the span of a year.
I learned to accept it, as children do.
And it taught me to travel lightly.”
I narrowed my gaze.
“You said you knew them.
I do not remember meeting friends of theirs.
They kept so much to themselves.
And I never knew my mother, not even her name.
What can you tell me?”
The baron opened his mouth, his lips pursed.
Then he closed it sharply and shook his head.
“Nothing at this moment, child.
The truth is not mine to speak.
I must seek permission before I reveal to you what I know, but I promise you, I will seek it, and when the moment is right, I will tell you all.”
I sighed.
I was, truth be told, quite frustrated at the baron’s obstinacy, but there was something steely in his manner that told me he would not be moved upon the point.
“I suppose I will have to be satisfied with that.”
The baron relaxed visibly then, but almost as soon as his expression eased, a shadow passed over his features again.
“For now, the most important thing is to make certain that you are safe.”