Anne Barbour (14 page)

Charlie remained still for a moment, his hands on Sally’s. She hoped he could not feel her still thundering pulse beneath his touch.

“There,” he said at last, turning her wrists slightly. He withdrew from her hastily. “Now try it.”

This time the tiny lure flew to its designated spot, and Sally turned to the group, flushed with triumph.

“Let me do it now!” cried William, his brown eyes sparkling in anticipation. He grasped the rod handed to him by Sally with enthusiastic, though inexpert hands. His first cast, as might be expected, was less than successful.

“Oh, you wretched boy!” exclaimed Elizabeth, disengaging the hook from her skirts.

“Here ...” said Charlie. “Let me ...”

He attempted to wrest the pole from William, but the boy, with an outraged “No! I can do it!” had already whipped the line rearward preparatory to a mighty cast.

Charlie watched in amusement as the line flew skyward and arced behind the group. His grin, however, turned to openmouthed dismay as he followed the line’s path. The next moment, Sally uttered a soft sound of dismay and her hands flew to her face. To Charlie’s horror, blood began immediately seeping from between her fingers.

Time seemed to slow, and to Charlie, an eternity passed before he was able to push past the others in order to reach her side. He was vaguely aware of Chloe’s shrieks and of Elizabeth’s quietly urgent request to Sedgewick for a handkerchief. Sally had fallen to her knees, and he sank down beside her.

“Sally! Oh, my dearest girl—let me see. What— where ... ?” Gently, he pried her trembling fingers from her cheek, gasping at what he saw there. The tiny hook had imbedded itself in her temple, a mere fraction of an inch from her eye.

“Mmm,” said a voice at his elbow. “It is bleeding somewhat profusely, but the barb does not appear to have gone very deep.”

An unreasoning rage swept through Charlie at Sedge’s tone of clinical detachment, and he gathered Sally in his arms.

“You seem upset, old chap,” continued Sedgewick. “Would you like me to remove the hook?”

“No!” said Sally sharply, speaking for the first time. “Charlie, you do it, please.” Her eyes lifted to Charlie’s. “Please,” she repeated.

Charlie said nothing, but his gaze remained locked with Sally’s for a moment before he nodded briefly. Gently steadying her head, he grasped the lure, and with great care loosed it from the feathers, leaving the shank end of the hook free. He was thus able to ease it, by its barbless end, from her flesh. Grateful that his hands had not betrayed the sickening tremor he felt in the pit of his stomach, he dropped the wickedly sharp bit of metal into the snow and allowed Elizabeth to wipe the blood from Sally’s face with the handkerchief Sedge had dampened in the river.

The group returned to the house in relative silence.

Charlie, suppressing an urge to shake young William till his teeth rattled, strode wordlessly beside Chloe. Ahead, Lord Walford walked with Sally, bending solicitously over her and turning to Elizabeth now and again to offer advice as to the treatment the wound would require when they reached the house. Sedgewick Home was certainly an expert on everything, Charlie reflected sourly. The thought occurred to him that he should have allowed Sedge to come to Sally’s immediate assistance. Surely, rendering aid to a damsel in distress would have drawn Sedge further into the net he and Sally had spread for him. Charlie shrugged. It had simply not occurred to him to let anyone but himself go to her. God, he shuddered inwardly, what if the thing had gone into her eye? Picturing those huge brown eyes, raised so trustfully to his, he bent a murderous glance on William, who had retired, pale, shaken, and remorseful, to the rear of the group.

Ahead, Sally reflected uneasily on her insistence that it be Charlie who removed the barb from her flesh. Her words had burst from her, uttered through pure instinct. It was Charlie she trusted—Charlie whose sure hands had mended broken dolls and sparrow’s wings and who had never failed to come to her when she needed him. But what of their grand plan for Sedgewick? She watched Lord Walford covertly as he conversed earnestly with Elizabeth, and at that moment, he turned to bestow a look of concern upon her and to examine again the tear in her flesh that lay beneath the handkerchief she held to it. Sally smiled. All was well. All was proceeding as she had foreseen.

* * * *

“Just listen to this one.” Charlie spoke disapprovingly, his dark hair catching mahogany reflections from the candlelight. He and Sally had been poring over volumes of Wordsworth’s works for some hours in the small study that Sally had claimed as her own. “Seems to me the feller’s a dashed loose-screw. What the devil is he talking about here? ‘... In thy voice I catch the language of the former heart, and read my former pleasure in the shooting lights of thy wild eye.’ Shooting lights of thy wild eye?” he repeated incredulously.

“I should think it means that his love’s eyes are sparkling and tempestuous” replied Sally, smiling.

“Well, why didn’t he just say so? Could have done the job in half the words.”

“Yes, but it would not have been so well expressed.”

“Sounds like a lot of hogwash to me. Why do these writing coves have to make everything so complicated?”

“It’s not at all complicated, Charlie. Wordsworth is simply trying to express what is in his soul.”

“If that’s what is in his soul, the feller needs a good physicking, if you ask me.” He turned again to the page he had been perusing. “Never heard such rot in my life.”

“He’s speaking of the woman he loves, Charlie. How would you describe a woman who was particularly dear to you? Let’s say she’s, oh, blond and blue-eyed and slender.”

“Well, that’s what I’d say.” He struck a pose and, grasping Sally’s hand, pressed it to his lips. “Wilt thou be mine, oh blond, blue-eyed, slender person?”

Sally giggled. “Charlie, you are so absurd. Just how far do you think that would get you? We females, you know, like to have our hair compared to a cascade of sunshine. Or, in my case, a—oh, let’s see—a cloud of—” After a few moments in thought, she fluttered her fingers in a gesture of defeat. “Well, I guess there’s not much you can do with plain brown hair.”

Charlie gazed at her with narrowed eyes. “I told you before, idiot, your hair is not plain. No—if I were one of those poet blokes, I’d call it—um ...” His hand reached to touch a curl that fell in charming disarray over her forehead. “I’d call it a deep, spicy brown with russet highlights that puts one in mind of late afternoon sunlight falling on brown silk, or perhaps the river, where it runs clear and sparkling through a spring meadow.”

“Why, Charlie!” Sally blushed with startled pleasure.

Charlie, too, flushed a deep scarlet, and he hastily withdrew his hand from the curl he had been stroking and closed the book with a snap.

“That should do it for tonight,” he said briskly. “Now tell me, how are you coming on your gown for the Valentine Ball?”

Sally blinked. “Why—why, all right, I suppose. Elizabeth is making it for me, you know.”

“Mmm. I know she’s handy with a needle, but do you think you can trust her to turn out something really stylish?”

“Elizabeth always dresses in the first stare, and most of what she wears is her own handiwork.”

“That’s true, but ... Tell me what it looks like.”

“My ball gown? Well, the underdress is amber satin, and—”

“That’s good. Amber is vastly becoming to you.”

“Thank you,” she replied with some asperity. “It has a gold tunic that will be sewn with brilliants. The sleeves are puffed and caught up with gold ribbon. Does that, too, meet with your approval?”

Charlie rubbed his hands in satisfaction.

“You’ll look smashing, particularly if you get your maid to do something with your hair. Pile it on top of your head in one of those loose knots. What are you doing?” he interrupted himself, staring at Sally in bewilderment as she gathered paper and pen to her and began writing.

“I want to get this all down,” she replied, her color high. “Since I cannot be trusted to rig myself out in proper style, I do not wish to miss any of your extremely instructive comments.”

He lifted his hand in a placating gesture. “Sally, that’s not what I meant. I just want you to look your best, that’s all.”

“Of course! I want to be in prime condition when you lead me into the ring to auction me off to Sedge-wick Home?”

He looked at her, puzzled. “But wasn’t that the idea? And I’m not auctioning you off. We entered this bargain together, after all.”

“And do you,” she continued, her eyes fairly spitting sparks by now, “believe that I cannot attract a man without you to see to the placement of every hairpin in my head?”

“Good God, Sally, what’s come over you? I believe nothing of the kind! I only meant ...”

Sally silenced him with an angry gesture. “Oh, never mind, Charlie, you said you were leaving, did you not? Do me the courtesy of seeing yourself out. If you will excuse me, I shall retire now.”

Charlie stared after her receding back, and remained so for several minutes after the door closed behind her.

* * * *

It was three days before Sally again saw Charlie. In the meantime, Sedgewick visited the ladies at The Ridings with an assiduousness that astonished and delighted Lady Berners.

“I believe he is becoming quite smitten with you, my dear.” She beamed on her oldest daughter, who sat opposite her at the breakfast table. “And you say he is planning a visit this morning?”

“Yes, Mama. He has been attempting of late to compose some verse of his own that he wishes to read to me.”

“How very delightful,” replied Lady Berners with a broad smile.

However, when Lord Walford put in an appearance some hours later, he found Sally in a small room adjacent to the greenhouse, wherein hung row upon fragrant row of dried herbs and other plants.

“I am so sorry, my lord, but Mr. Fletcher’s gout is acting up again and Mrs. Fletcher has sent for some of my mixture. I blend goutweed with a sprinkle of Good King Henry, and of course, a little madder. Then I must see to my fairy roses. They are Lady Winstaunton’s favorite bloom, and I have promised her several tubs full for the ball. They are at a rather critical point, I’m afraid.”

“Ah, yes, the famous Valentine Ball. I must confess I am looking forward to it. Lady Frane speaks of it with great anticipation. I understand there is to be some unusual entertainment.”

“Oh, yes—the Token Auction.” Sally dimpled in laughter. “Lady W. has proposed it as an innovation this year. Each unmarried lady present is to bring with her a token. It must be a personal item, but not one that would be well-known to her friends. She must keep it in hiding until the night of the ball, when it will be placed with the others in full sight of everyone. The unmarried gentlemen will bid on the tokens, and the lady who furnished the token of his choice will be his dinner partner, as well as his partner for not two, but three dances. Most improper, but it is for a good cause. The funds raised will be donated to charity.”

“I see.” Sedgewick grinned broadly. “I suppose it would do no good for me to ask what you plan to bring? Or Miss Elizabeth, either,” he added hastily.

“Not a particle,” replied Sally, her eyes sparkling with mischief. “And speaking of Elizabeth. She and Mama and Chloe are in the morning room. If you would join them for a few moments, I shall be through here shortly and will come then.”

“Of course.” Sedge’s bow was a miracle of manly perfection. “By the way,” he added as he stepped through the door to the outside, “I have been allotted a shed—a thoroughly isolated structure you may be sure—for my explosive experiments. Would you and Miss Elizabeth care to examine my efforts?” He smiled his devastating smile. “I promise not to blow up anything while you are there.”

“Oh. Ah, yes, that would be delightful.” Sally hastily shepherded him through the door, and when it closed behind him, she leaned against it limply. In a moment, she shook her head resignedly and returned to her work.

As it turned out, a great deal more than a few minutes had elapsed before Sally was able to put in her appearance in the morning room. Lord Walford, however, appeared perfectly at his ease. A packet of verse lay on the table, and he was reading aloud to the ladies.

“But, my lord,” Lady Berners was saying, “you have a rare talent. Have you thought of taking your poems to a publisher?”

Elizabeth and Chloe said nothing, but gazed on Lord Walford with rapt attention. Really, thought Sally, advancing into the room, the three of them might have been in the presence of the Bard, himself. Seeing Sally, Sedgewick sprang to his feet, scattering papers in all directions.

“Ah, my dear,” said Lady Berners, “Lord Walford has been entertaining us with his excellent verse.” She turned to Sedgewick. “Do please read again the one about the sunrise.”

Sedgewick assisted Sally into a nearby armchair before settling himself again. Retrieving the pages, he cleared his throat modestly and began:

A ON BEHOLDING A SUNRISE

The morn calls and I rise to greet the day.

From my window I behold the palette of the sky,

Where streaked colors play.

Pale azure blooms to rose, then to flaming red ...

I wished to put in crimson there,” he broke off, “but I couldn’t think of a rhyme.”

Until at last, sleepy Apollo

Rises from his cloudy bed.

He lay the paper on the small table before him, a dreamy expression in his eyes. “I haven’t finished it yet, but I rather fancy I have a good start.” He looked expectantly at the faces before him.

“Oh, yes,” breathed Elizabeth. Chloe echoed this sentiment, though she had begun to squirm visibly during the recital, while Lady Berners merely nodded, spellbound.

“Yes, it’s very nice,” agreed Sally in a kind voice. “It’s a little derivative, don’t you think? But that is surely understandable in a beginner. Are you working on anything else?”

“Not at the moment,” he replied a little stiffly.