Souls Dryft Read online

  * * * *

  As threatened, the Earl brought his daughter to visit. Her face was pretty, but there were a dozen or more such faces in Sydney Dovedale. The most extraordinary thing about her was her clothes, lavishly embroidered with peacocks and lilies. It took some time to identify the source of the tinkling sound she made and I thought, at first, it must be pebbles rattling about where her brain should be, but then I saw her sleeves were edged with tiny silver bells. The little velvet cap she wore, decorated with a jaunty tassel of gold thread, was likewise trimmed with bells that shook as she giggled – which was often. At least the Captain would hear her coming, I mused; she certainly could never sneak up on her husband and surprise him.

  On her feet, she wore dainty satin slippers, soon caked in mud. She protested, lifting her foot to show me, as if she never suffered a smudge of dirt until she came here. I asked her if she was usually carried wherever she went, but the sarcasm was lost on her.

  "Yes," she lisped, showering me with spittle. "If there is nothing else for it."

  Her father was very attentive to her every want, in a manner markedly different to the treatment of his son. She talked in a soft, lisping voice, so we were all forced to go quiet and listen; even her father ceased talking when she opened her cherubic mouth. I recognized this soft voice as a deliberate stratagem to ensure she got what she wanted; like her little satin slippers, which meant she must be carried over puddles, her little voice meant she must be the only one talking when she had something to say. Her little voice, her little slippers and her little silver bells – her littleness in general did not fool me.

  Frances Percy was born into the life Bagobones lusted after; consequently my cousin would gladly have murdered Frances to take her place. Mary Sourpout also declared the girl to be a hideous creature, and therefore the three of us were united against a common enemy. Each time she came, she wore those little bells somewhere in her clothing and when we heard the delicate ringing it might as well be the toll for a curfew, so hastily did we scatter. Unluckily for me, she took it upon herself to be my friend and my cousins were only too glad to encourage it, just to save themselves the discomfort.

  Her favorite topic of conversation was Hugh Carver, and when I saw them together there was an evident familiarity.

  "Do you not think him handsome?" she giggled, trailing after me in the herb garden. "A pity his brother is not more so."

  "Will is something more than handsome, I think." It came out before I could hold my tongue.

  "Will?" She fluttered her pale lashes. "You mean Aloysius."

  Changing the subject, I asked if she had known Hugh long and she happily told me of their meeting at court that spring. He flirted with all the ladies, she said, but had a special eye for her. She believed the two of them were soul mates, as they had much in common and shared a sense of humor. Listening to her talk, I could hear myself, as I was only two months prior, convinced that he appreciated me like no one else could.

  "Now we are friends," she lisped, "I shall tell you a secret. I have longed to tell someone, and I know I can trust you, as you are his friend too."

  My stomach lurched, as if it knew, even then, what came next.

  "Hugh and I have been lovers since May. I am not supposed to tell a soul, but he would not mind you knowing. He says that you and he are just like brother and sister."

  Astonished by this sudden indiscreet revelation, I could only stare at the tinkling trim of her nodding headdress.

  She watched me slyly, her head on one side. "You are not shocked, are you?

  I wondered to whom else she told all her darkest secrets. It did not seem something one should share with a slight acquaintance known only a few days, but what did I know of fashionable manners? I was merely a penniless, illegitimate, half-breed in a borrowed gown.

  Bending to pick lavender, I assured her that nothing Hugh Carver did could shock me. No doubt he viewed her seduction as a game, another little mischief to make sport of Will. Once I admired Hugh for his free and easy ways, but that all seemed a very long time ago.

  Frances talked of her forthcoming marriage, as if it was wearisome, but a duty nonetheless. "I suppose Aloysius will keep his mistress." Her soulless eyes blinked at me. "She is in London, you know."

  "Oh?" My mouth was suddenly stiff and dry.

  "Lady Katherine Asher. All men must have their mistresses." She sniffed the rosemary in her hand. "As long as she keeps him out of my bed, I shall be quite content."

  I thought of that little portrait he kept – the initials K.A. on the back of it. She had a handsome face, if the portrait was a true likeness. Some might think her beautiful; certainly I could not compare.

  Remembering something I must do for Broad Bess, I made a hasty excuse and slipped away, leaving Frances in the herb garden, batting wasps away with her ineffectual little hands. I was heartily glad not to find a single redeeming quality about her; it would have been most inconvenient to find that girl at all likeable. After that, I did my best to steer clear of her, even though it left me prone to teasing from Tilda, who foolishly concluded I must be jealous. Alas, that Percy girl was remorseless, seeking me out wherever I hid.

  Before she came tripping up the lane one day, my escape was delayed by Nathaniel, demanding my company, hanging on my skirt like an anchor. We still struggled as Frances and Hugh arrived under the arch of the gatehouse. When I told her I was on my way out and could not stay, she actually stamped her foot.

  "But now I am come. I want you to stay. Tell her to stay, Hugh. She must."

  Seeing the boy there with me, Hugh’s eyes shifted suspiciously. "His mother’s not around, is she?" It was not like Hugh to come upon a woman with whom he wouldn’t flirt, but he even turned back once when he saw Beth Downing walking with me in the lane.

  "Hugh," Frances interrupted, "Make her stay. I begin to think she does not want to be my friend at all." As if I were a puppy, to be trained for her pleasure.

  "Do stay," said Hugh, showing off his most brilliant smile. "You can show us the horses. We might want to buy them. The Earl said that once the Baron is dead—"

  "The horses are not for sale," I exclaimed hotly.

  Hugh sneered. "Everything in this world is for sale."

  "Not everything," I replied curtly.

  "Are you going to get all righteous and preachy too now? Sakes, I do prefer a sinner, who will keep me warm in her muff, than a saint who will keep me in a horsehair shirt."

  Frances giggled up at him. "Hugh, you are so wicked!"

  I thought about writing a letter to Captain Aloysius Willem Carver, advising him to keep his bride tethered, but he would only accuse me of giving him unwanted counsel again.

  Feeling hounded out of my home, I grabbed Nathaniel’s hand and left them laughing together.

  Chapter Forty-Four

  The next morning, until Tilda dragged me out of bed by one foot. Nathaniel had disappeared and no one else could be bothered looking for him. Only when my uncle’s hunter also went missing was any alarm raised. The boy wanted to ride the hunter ever since he came, and although I warned him the beast would trample his brains into the earth and leave him to be picked over by crows and foxes, he was determined to get his own way.

  While I saddled the mare, Tilda worried that one of the men should go instead.

  "One of what men?" I exclaimed. As usual, there were none around when needed; all we had currently on their feet was Bob Salley, who had long outlived his usefulness and the stable lad, who had not even the presence of mind to take one of the horses and look for the boy, but stood scratching himself, catching flies with his open mouth.

  "What about the Captain?" Tilda suggested. "He came before when you needed him." Her wide brown eyes never blinked, but her lower lip vanished beneath the upper as if she knew she chanced her luck. She’d become altogether too mouthy of late – most unlike her. Suddenly she thought she knew what was best for me. It was vastly annoying, because I never interfered in her life, did I?


  "I will not run to him in every crisis," I protested. There was no time to reprimand her insolence further, and I rode out into the rolling mist alone, fearing the worst. I took the lane at a steady canter, searching for fresh tracks. The mist rose slowly as the sky warmed, awakening the earth. Coneys ducked and bobbed from the mare, hiding in the brambles. The chimneys of Souls Dryft were already busy, the air thick with wood smoke and ash.

  Urging the mare into a gallop, I took off for the top field, from where I would have a clearer view of the area. Once there, I drew her to a halt and she blew out a steaming breath, shaking her mane and her tail, enjoying the freshness in the air that gave her an extra spring in her trot. I looked down on the fortress and the rooftops of Souls Dryft, out over the pines, the lake, and in the other direction to the village. Where could the little bastard have gone? He was a willful, insolent child; all was well and good to him, as long as he got his own way, wretched boy. It was time he learned the consequences of his rash, impetuous actions!

  Oh, I was full of indignation and puffed up with my own righteousness.

  I rode on, expecting now to see the boy on the ground. Recalling the night of the accident, when that great beast clattered around the courtyard and fought my uncle’s strong will, I saw again those massive hooves, rearing over me. The boy would be lucky to get away with his life.

  The mare whinnied, suddenly dancing sideways. There, just a short way ahead, grazing on dewy grass, was my uncle’s hunter, the saddle still on its back, the reins and bridle all in place, but no sign of the boy. I led the mare alongside and they knocked necks gently together in greeting. "What have you done to that boy?" I whispered.

  Hearing a distant shout, I turned in the saddle. Just a field away, another rider cantered toward us, the early sun warming his head and the white shoulders of his shirt. He wore his sleeves rolled up, showing thick, brown arms. Seated before him, proud as a peacock, was a small person with a lot of dark hair and two legs, barely spanning the width of the horse.

  Before they reached us, the Captain was yelling, "Is there not one damned woman in that house with a grain of common sense? Do you think a six-year old boy should be allowed out alone on a horse? Any horse, let alone that beast?"

  Nathaniel opened his mouth to show me where he’d knocked out two teeth. "Look, Genny, look!"

  The Captain continued to rant, "And you... of all people…you had better be damned thankful that I happened to fi…find this boy in the ditch where he fe…fell."

  I waited for him to run out of breath, but still he was not done.

  "A small boy in the care of multiple ruddy women, and none has the wit to keep...keep...keep him out of harm’s way. Well? Time ticks on, and we’re all getting a good bit older while you fu…fumble for yet another ruddy excuse."

  Good lord! And he said I had a temper!

  At last he stopped, because Nathaniel suddenly went, "Ow!" Immediately all tenderness, he turned his attention to the boy, who promptly spat out another tooth.

  "Are you finished?" I asked sweetly. He glared at me over Nathaniel’s dark, spiky head, but was silent at last, apparently spent. "It certainly was not my idea to put him on that horse, any more than I would want him to fall off it," I said.

  He ground his teeth, still seething.

  "Oy! I live with ‘er now," the boy said, tipping his head back to look up at the Captain’s chin. "She’s my woman."

  Light sparked in Will’s eyes like sunbeams dancing on the ripples of a swift moving stream. "No, she’s not. She’s mine."

  He had some outrageous call—a man about to wed and with one mistress, a certain Kat Asher, already in London. Disgusted, I reached for Nathaniel, but he was not yet ready to leave the Captain’s horse. "Where do you live, Big Nose?" he cried.

  Will pointed over his left shoulder, toward the crooked chimneys. The boy clapped his hands, exclaiming, "I want that ‘ouse."

  We both spoke at once, "Just like a true…" But when I said, "Saint Denis", Will said "Carver".

  I looked at Nathaniel now with wide-open eyes. Of course, how could I be so blind?

  "Yours?" I demanded.

  "Wrong brother."

  I did not want to believe a word he said and really, why should I? But Hugh’s guilty avoidance of Beth Downing made sense, as did his unmistakable resemblance to that little bastard. Will’s shoulders relaxed, one hand resting on his thigh. "When I saw him on the ground like that, it reminded me of when I—"

  "I know," I said quickly, "you fell off a horse and lay unconscious for three days. Mary told me."

  He swallowed and laid a hand on the boy’s dark, curly head, ruffling it gently with his fingers. "I would not wish such a thing to befall him."

  I was shocked by that simple gesture of tenderness. If this pirate truly did ride out of my stories to capture me, I was in grave danger. His methods were much worse than I expected. Familiar with rough-handling, I was inexperienced when it came to his cunning. Afraid I might feel compelled to ask him about his fancy hussy in London, I hastily dragged Nathaniel from his lap to mine and turned the horse. Keeping my eyes fixed upon the way ahead, I resisted the urge to look back.

  When I asked the boy how he came to be on that horse, he told me, "Ol’ Baggybones put me on it. She said no one would mind." I should have guessed, of course. "I wasn’t going to let them buggers take that horse away," he declared. "We was runnin’ away, where they couldn’t find us."

  He’d overheard Hugh yesterday, discussing the sale of my uncle’s horses and decided on this desperate act. The boy already had that reckless arrogance, allowing him to race through life with no fear of comeuppance — getting away with it. A typical Carver, his ends always justified the means.

  Now he lolled against me, singing a bawdy tune, not in the least concerned that he might be punished. And, of course, he would not be. My uncle was exceptionally fond of that boy and let him get away with far more even than me. I began to suspect that Nathaniel was brought here especially to cause trouble. There was nothing my uncle enjoyed so much as causing mischief for Carvers, was there?

  Chapter Forty-Five

  Later that day, Lady Frances ran up the lane in her muddied slippers, sobbing and pulling hideous faces. Sourpout would have shut the door on her, but Bob Salley, being there first, would always defer to what he termed a "proper lady". Mary quickly retreated and Bagobones, seeing who it was, also took herself off to a shadowy corner. I was trapped indoors that evening, for Tilda had suddenly insisted I teach her to play chess. It was, in fact, a soothing pastime for my own oddly scattered nerves. There was a sense of something about to happen that evening; I could almost taste it, like the damp that dripped off the walls. By the time Frances appeared, I was on the edge of my chair.

  "Whatever is the matter?" I exclaimed, astonished by her untidy appearance.

  She dragged me aside. "That stupid sailor refuses to give up the sea." This was not news to me, so I had difficulty looking surprised. It gushed out of her in a whirlwind, "He refuses to do as he is told. Now he has been gone all day, since early this morning."

  I knew where he had been, at least part of the morning, riding around my uncle’s fields — but I was silent.

  "He was supposed to give up the sea," she cried, gripping the front of her gown. "My lord father promised me, but that stupid sailor declares he will not go to London and I am to be exiled to this," she gestured at the mud on her feet, "detestable place." She was outraged that anyone would dare refuse her anything. Now, probably for the first time in her life, she could not get her own way and her littleness held no sway with my pirate. "My lord father was right when he called the sailor a big, dumb beast!"

  With supreme self-control, I said, "If you do not want to marry him, tell your father so."

  She threw a sly glance at Tilda, who looked down again at the chessboard. "My father wants Souls Dryft, so I must marry Aloysius."

  I shook my head – all this fuss over a damned house.

  "
There is more," she added, "but you must promise never to tell." I did not want to be in her confidence, but she thought we were the best of friends already, her criteria for the post being so slight as to be fulfilled in just a handful of days and with no encouragement from me. "I must marry," she blurted. "It cannot be delayed. Not for many more weeks, in any case." Carefully, she placed her hands on her belly.

  I looked around the hall to see if anyone else listened. Broad Bess had just brought in a bowl of broth for Nathaniel, but he, being convinced she meant to poison him, led them all in a chase around the settle, upon which my uncle slept – at least, he pretended to be asleep.

  "Is it Hugh’s?" I whispered.

  "Of course." When I saw the victorious spite in her eyes, I knew she told me this because she thought I would be jealous. Hugh must have fed her a fine mash of lies, to explain my anger toward him the day before. I suppose I might have been mistaken for a betrayed, heartsick creature.

  "What about Will?" I demanded.

  "Aloysius need never know."

  "He has fingers enough to count nine months, Frances."

  She blinked. "Oh."

  I had not known, until then, that it was possible for a person to be both malicious and a dullard.

  The sudden clanging of the bell gave me an excuse to leave her clutches, and this time I beat Bob Salley to the door, but when I saw the man standing there, leaning slightly to one side, I knew it was trouble. For once his hair was brushed with something other than his sleepy fingers and he wore a new doublet. I told him I was too busy for another of his lectures and if he wanted to know about Nathaniel, I could report that the boy was his usual regrettable self.

  Mary came to see who it was at the door. "I hope you come for your bride," she snapped. He looked at me, and I jerked a thumb over my shoulder, but now he could hear Frances for himself, shouting that he had better be there to tell her he would give up the sea and take the house in London after all.