Fairly Frightening
Saturday arrived at last. Yesterday at Shard House had been fairly quiet.
Jocelyn had seen little of her housemates.
Leonora had claimed a sickening headache.
Though Jocelyn doubted the woman’s excuses, she did not bother to protest. Since the evening of the fog, Jocelyn could not shake the idea that someone watched her.
She sat beside Claude as the open carriage followed a shire road towards the abbey and where the fair would take place, though she was no longer so enthusiastic about attending, but she did not think she could remain another day at Shard House without screaming in fear at the top of her lungs.
There was too much silence. Even Claude had lost his chattiness.
“I hope our bull is chosen as best,” Claude said as he directed the carriage to where the others were leaving their wagons and horses.
“I shall say a prayer,” Jocelyn said with little enthusiasm, as two young children rushed forward to tend the horse. “Romani?” she asked under her breath.
Claude frowned. “Have you an objection?”
“I have never seen one,” she admitted.
“In the shires, you’ll find them often, especially as they are the performers at numerous fairs.”
She did not reply.
“Just keep your reticule close and trust no one.”
“Not even you?” she dared.
“These fairs are often rowdy. Lots of beer and men leaving their toils behind. An occasional fight. Young people sneaking off into the dark to steal a kiss.”
Jocelyn was again sorry she had come. As Claude lifted her to the ground, she looked across to where tents of all sizes and colors billowed outward with a steady autumn breeze.
Stalls. Banners. Ribbons. Pennants. A carousel suspended from a pole.
Livestock. Hundreds of people. Horses everywhere.
Carriages and wagons. A ring of all forms of transportation created a semicircle, marking the actual fairground, not that anyone could miss them.
Off in the distance was the Rosedale Abbey or, rather, what remained of it.
Claude had told her that the abbey had been largely dismantled under Henry VIII’s reign, with its stone used as a quarry for local building as the area grew.
“I think there might be a few of the stones in parts of Shard House, used for repairs and the sort.”
Soon they were in the midst of the fair.
Animals bellowed. Children ran about in anticipation of something they could not name.
Stalls held handmade bracelets and ribbon bouquets and food.
Despite it being frightening, Jocelyn found it also exhilarating.
Everyone meant to name the day as the best they had ever known.
Everyone pushed and jostled against each other in a desperate pursuit of purposeful pleasure.
When one of the locals nearly knocked Claude to the ground, everyone about cheered when Claude responded with a strong arm that set the fellow on his arse.
Mr. DuBois appeared emboldened by the merriment, but, dressed as a gentleman, which his cravat and waistcoat indicated, he was “untouchable” by the village people.
Jocelyn noted how Claude’s head was constantly looking right and left, and she wondered for whom he searched. “Are you expecting to meet someone here?” she dared to inquire.
“Why would I when I have the prettiest woman already on my arm?”
Jocelyn quickly swallowed her retort and smiled instead.
Once the livestock had been sold and Shard House’s bull had won all the accolades, the atmosphere of the fair changed. Mothers and children departed. Men continued to drink, but most had become more sullen, bringing out the worst part of a man’s nature.
Jocelyn suggested, “Should we not consider departing also?”
“Fireworks are planned, near the abbey’s ruins,” he explained. “Have you ever…”
“Yes. At Vauxhall Gardens.” She looked around, noting the restless nature of the crowd. She repeated, “Do you not think we should leave?”
“I wish to watch the horse skills of the Romani,” he said. “Then we’ll leave.”
At the horse ring, she stood to the side and watched Claude make one bet after another. Jocelyn briefly wondered whether the money had been presented by Leonora to her nephew.
“I must collect my bet,” he told her a few feet away. “I’ll return before two shakes of a lamb’s tail.”
Before Jocelyn could protest, he walked away, but towards the stands, rather than the tent where those betting on a variety of games and skills had gathered.
For a few minutes of panic, Jocelyn could not find him anywhere.
At last, she spotted him on a flat cleared area, set aside for dancing.
He held his partner close as they circled others in a cross between a country waltz and some sort of Romani dance, characterized by improvisation and passion.
The woman was a beautiful blonde, with bouncing curls, a heaving chest, and a brilliant smile.
She wore a dress meant to entice all the men, and Mr. DuBois appeared equally enthralled.
Jocelyn watched from the shadows, outside the circle of light, knowing she had never been permitted such complete abandon.
Was she jealous? It was as if she had been the only one not invited to the party.
As she reflected on her life, she had not known this all-encompassing loneliness since the day she sat all alone before the theatre—before Desmond had found her.
Her life—the one filled with people—was gone.
She was now a stranger in a strange land. “No one to turn to,” she murmured.
Jocelyn pivoted slowly in a circle, searching for help, but there was no one to assist her. Ironically, she would be glad to return to Shard House. “I do not belong there, but at least I have a room where I can hide away.” She was terrified by Claude DuBois’s abandonment.
A voice from behind her said, “Look what I’s discovered here in the shadows.”
Jocelyn could smell the heavy drink on the man’s breath. His voice held a coarseness she had rarely heard.
“Wanna dance, ma’am?” the taller of the two men said.
“No, thank you.” Jocelyn stepped back but her exit was blocked by the shorter man.
“You should be friendlier,” that man said as he caught her arm.
Before she could protest, a voice Jocelyn recognized warned, “Leave the lady be.”
The larger man argued, “Just asked for a dance.”
“And was denied.” Anthony Brandon stepped into a shaft of moonlight to loom over the two men like the Devil’s most faithful demon.
Both men nodded their heads in unison. “Meant no harm.” They lifted their hands in a salute to her and disappeared into the darkness.
“Are you well, miss?” he asked.
“Just a bit shaken.”
“Where is Mr. DuBois?” He looked around him as if expecting Claude to appear.
“Dancing with a friend.”
He studied the dance floor. “He has not asked you to dance.”
“Were you watching us?” she demanded bluntly.
“I never meant to frighten you.”
“Explain why you followed me about, here, and I suspect also in London.”
He did not deny her accusation. Instead, he said, “I cannot yet speak to the specifics.”
“I do not require a chaperone, especially one I cannot trust, Mr. Brandon,” she retorted.
“I disagree, Miss Byers. Come along.” He caught her hand and wrapped it about his elbow.
“Where are we going?”
“To the abbey and the river to view the fireworks.”
“What am I to do afterwards?”
“Eventually DuBois will leave his interest in the blonde behind.”
“Did you follow me in the woods?”
He stopped their progress. “I did not. When was this?”
“The evening of the thick fog.”
“What happened?” He studied her features while he listened to her response.
“You followed me in London,” she accused rather than to answer his question about the foggy night.
“I did. I followed you in London, but not on the night filled with fog on Wednesday.”
“Why should I believe you?”
“Because you have no other choice.”
“Why are you so interested in Mrs. Blanshard and Mr. DuBois?” Jocelyn changed her tactics.
“Perhaps I am simply curious by nature or perhaps I am planning a heinous crime. I will, however, offer you a warning: Do not place yourself between me and the Shard House residents.”
They finished their walk in silence and remained quiet as the fireworks broke over the river and fell into the dark water.
Jocelyn felt nothing but despair. At last, Mr. Brandon said, “Permit me to walk you back to Mr. DuBois’s carriage.
” Jocelyn simply nodded her agreement. There was much to say, but there was no time to do so.
She held a hundred more questions about Mr. Brandon’s reason for following her in both London and here in Yorkshire, as well as why he seemed set on protecting her.
When they came close to where Claude waited, Mr. Brandon said, “Do not speak of our encounter. Someone from the village recognized you and offered to escort you back here. Something along those lines if you must say anything.”
A moment later, Claude saw her. “There you are.” He hustled over to greet her, but he never asked where she had been nor with whom she had spent her time, and, as Mr. Brandon had instructed, she offered Claude no explanation.
They remained quiet on their return to Shard House.
She thought she saw Mr. Brandon in the shadows, watching them as they departed the fairgrounds.
The man was a paradox, and she wondered why he did not frighten her, for she had every reason to know concern.
“Lovely night,” Claude declared.
Jocelyn could feel Claude’s elation. He had thoroughly enjoyed the fair and all its secrets.
It consciously bothered her that Mr. DuBois had not thought twice of her whereabouts or her safety.
He asked her no questions of who or what she had seen in the hours they were separated, and Jocelyn offered no explanations.
All about her, people held their secrets close to their chests, and now, so did she.