No Brighter Dream: The Pascal Trilogy - Book 3 (11 page)

“Andre is obviously not ready for that. It’s enough that he sent her to us at all. Let’s be grateful for small blessings.”

“Yes,” Georgia said, her tone dry. “Just think. He might have sent her to the British Museum.”

Nicholas burst into laughter. “I hadn’t thought of that. Well, he didn’t, which shows he had a thread of feeling for her welfare.” He crossed over to the desk and picked up Andre’s letter again, putting on his spectacles and scanning the pages. “Hmm. Something tells me there’s a great deal more to this than meets the eye.”

Georgia tilted her head. “What do you mean?”

“I’m not exactly sure. It seems to me that Andre has gone to a great deal of trouble to make us think he is doing his civic duty and that is all there is to it. Yet if you read between the lines, you can see that there is a certain amount of concern for Alexis—or Ali, as he calls her in this one paragraph, which is telling by itself.”

“Ali? I suppose it makes sense that the Turks would have called her that. Maybe we should call her the same to make her feel more comfortable.”

“Yes, fine idea, sweetheart. But listen to this.” He read aloud.

“‘Although I expect that Ali will experience a certain amount of distress at being removed from her native surroundings, she is highly adaptable. Still, it might ease her arrival if you knew some of the things she enjoys. She is very fond of animals of any kind, but dogs especially. She loves listening to stories, the more improbable the better, and I found this to be an effective tool in teaching her language. Her mind is quick, her imagination staggering. Since she is extremely stubborn, the use of your own imagination will prove useful…’”

“These are not the words of a disinterested man,” he said, pulling off his spectacles and looking across at her. “He clearly cares about her.”

Georgia blew out a breath. “Possibly. Or maybe he’s just feeling guilty.”

“No. He must care about her very much to let his pride down to the point that he was willing to reopen communication with us.”

“Yes … yes, perhaps you’re right,” Georgia said thoughtfully. “I hadn’t looked at it like that.”

“Whichever, this could transpire to be very interesting. As Andre points out, we can’t turn Ali over to her family until she’s presentable.” He tossed his spectacles onto the desk. “We have a job ahead of us, Georgia my sweet. I suggest we get started immediately. There are lessons to be taught, clothes to be made, manners to instill—oh, all sorts of stimulating challenges.” He grinned. “We haven’t had an adventure for some time.”

“And I thought this sort of adventure was behind us when the last of the children married and left home,” Georgia said with a mock frown, although in truth she was pleased by Nicholas’s enthusiasm.

“Nonsense. So—where is this little Turk?” he asked, rubbing his hands together. “Maybe we should begin her education tonight.”

“Nicholas! You will leave her soundly sleeping in her bed. She’s exhausted. Tomorrow is soon enough.”

“Oh, very well. But it will do me good to have some fun. Life has become so dull since Charlie and Willy took over most of the business. India suddenly seems very far away with the two of them over there.”

“Perhaps you’re right. It will give you something to think about other than work. Not that you have ever been any example of propriety.”

She pressed her fingers against her temples at the very idea of trying to turn Alexis Lacey into a lady. She could see she had her work cut out for her.

Ali woke up the next morning to light suddenly flooding the room and the sound of someone moving about. She cautiously poked her head out from under the bed.

“Who are you?” she said to the woman making a fire in the fireplace.

“Lord Almighty!” the woman screeched, her hands flying up in the air in alarm. “And here I was thinking you was in the water closet! What are you doing under there, miss?”

Ali, who didn’t understand more than a word or two, climbed out on her hands and knees only to see Georgia standing in the doorway regarding her curiously. Her heart sank.

“Good morning, Ali,” she said. “Did you not approve of your bed?”

“It is nice …” Ali said, getting to her feet. “But it is very high off the ground. I was afraid I might fall off in my sleep.”

“I see.” Georgia cocked her head. “Tell me. Are you accustomed to sleeping on the ground?”

Ali nodded. “Is this not correct in England?”

“Well, England is not as warm a place as Turkey, and tends to be drafty,” Georgia improvised. “So the beds are raised up high to let the wind go under them. You’ll be warmer if you sleep on top instead of underneath.”

“Ahh,” Ali said. “Yes, it was cold on the floor, even though I put many blankets down.” She scowled at the woman in the white apron and silly puffed hat who still stared at her, mouth hanging open.

“Jeanette, who is French, will help you to dress,” Georgia said, “and then you may join us for breakfast. My husband is looking forward to meeting you.”

Ali looked at the gawking woman again in alarm. “She will help me to dress? But why? I can dress myself.”

“Perhaps, but it is Jeanette’s job, and her feelings would be very hurt if you did not let her do it. But that is not Jeanette, that is Mabel.”

“Mabel,” Ali repeated, dazed.

“Yes. Mabel is a chambermaid, which means that she looks after things in your bedroom. Jeanette is a lady’s maid, and she looks after your clothes, your hair, and your baths, personal things.”

Ali was dumbstruck. She closed her eyes for a moment, thinking that she had to be dreaming. She opened them again, but Mabel was still there, and she was still standing in the huge room with the enormous bed and the place behind the door that made a terrifying noise when one pulled the chain and water came roaring down.

“I know it is all a little bewildering, but you’ll become adjusted in no time,” Georgia said, patting her shoulder reassuringly. “A footman will show you down to the breakfast room when you’re ready.”

Ali swallowed as Georgia left. Now she was to meet the great lord himself. He would most likely banish her from his castle the moment he laid eyes on her.

In no time a gray-haired little woman appeared, and before Ali knew it, she had been divested of her night shift.

“Oh!” Jeanette gasped. “Why you poor, poor child—what on earth happened to you?”

Ali had no idea what she was talking about. “What do you mean?” she asked.

“But your back—it is covered in scars. And so red, so raw-looking. Oh, what a terrible thing!”

Ali colored fiercely. She hadn’t realized that the scars looked so awful, never having seen them for herself, only having felt their raised surfaces with her fingertips. But she had no intention of discussing what had happened to her. “They are nothing,” she said, dismissing the subject. “Please. I would like to dress.”

“Yes, yes of course you would, poor lamb,” Jeanette clucked. “Never you mind. But before I can dress you, first I must wash you. Here, child, over here.”

Within minutes Ali found herself washed and attired in a hideous hooped petticoat and a dress she’d never seen before.

“It is Lady Raven’s,” Jeanette explained with a twinkle as she did up the buttons. “She is taller than you, but I took up the hem this morning. The bodice I could do nothing about at such short notice,” she said sadly, plucking at the sagging material.

Then she sat Ali at a table with a mirror standing on it and started to brush her short cap of hair. “I am afraid there is not much I can do with this until it grows,” she said, producing a ribbon and tying it around Ali’s head.

“Have you been a servant here for a long time?” Ali asked, staring in horror at her reflection, the large bow on top of her head making her look like a monkey she’d once seen in the Dembre market. She wasn’t sure how much more of this she could bear.

“Goodness, yes,” Jeanette said. “I came shortly before the birth of Lord Braboume—he’s a grown man with children of his own now, of course. His eldest, Master Matthew, often visits us, now that he is over here on his studies.”

She prattled on while Ali fidgeted, then she gave one last tug on Ali’s dress. “There you are, Miss Alexis,” she said, opening the bedroom door. “Now Walter will show you downstairs.”

Ali nervously followed a man with powdered hair along the wide hallway, and down the immense stairs, her head turning back and forth and craning up as she gazed at the huge paintings that took up most of the walls. They were strange pictures of people dressed in strange clothing with even stranger hair.

But as she arrived at the bottom step she stifled a scream of horror. A man stood sideways in the hall, dressed all in metal, his face covered with a metal hood, a big double-headed hatchet in his gloved hand.

Ali took one look at Walter’s retreating back, then at the big front door where freedom lay. Without another moment’s hesitation, she bolted.

“I am sorry, your lordship,” the footman said in bewilderment. “One moment she was there behind me, the next she was gone. I searched the entire downstairs but could not locate her, and no one else has seen her.”

“Never mind,” Nicholas said, throwing his napkin down on the table and rising. “It’s not your fault. Miss Lacey probably took a wrong turn. I’ll find her.”

He waited for Walter to leave before addressing Georgia, who had paled. “Don’t worry, darling, she can’t have gone far.”

“Oh, Nicholas, I should never have left her, not for a moment! Something must have upset her. Poor child, it’s all so different for her.”

“There’s no point chastising yourself. We’re bound to have a problem or two, especially in the beginning.” He dropped a kiss on top of Georgia’s hair. “She’s probably outside somewhere. I’ll bring her back safe and sound, don’t worry.”

He walked outside into the wintry sunshine, considering where he might head if he were a young, frightened Turk. It was an interesting speculation for an old English earl.

One of the mares whinnied from the paddock, and a smile slowly spread across Nicholas’s face. He followed the path that led toward the stables, picking up a discarded hair ribbon along the way. Sure enough, huddled in the feed room against a hay bale was a young girl with cropped dark hair, the tabby barn cat held tightly in her arms, her face buried in its fur.

“Hello,” he said in French, his posture relaxed.

Her head shot up and a little tear-streaked face with two large dark eyes gazed at him in fright. Nicholas had to suppress a bark of laughter. Ali wore nothing but a pair of drawers and a chemise, a saddle blanket draped around her shoulders, her discarded dress and crinoline in a heap in the corner.

“I see you’ve met Martha.” He moved into the room and took a seat on a hay bale opposite her. “She is the finest mouser we have in the stables, next to the dogs, of course.”

“Dogs?” Ali said, the fear fading from her eyes. She wiped her nose on the back of her hand. “I did not know dogs could catch mice.”

“Oh, yes, terriers can. They’re very adept—I’ll have to show you. I take it that you like animals?”

Ali nodded. “I am good with animals. Are you the keeper of the horses?” she asked. “I—I don’t suppose you need someone to help you in your work? You are not a young man, and I am strong.”

“Well … I must say, although I don’t feel particularly infirm, I wouldn’t mind having someone to help me exercise the dogs. They need to be run at least once a day.”

“Oh—oh I can do that,” Ali said, her eyes lighting up. “And I can look after horses, and brush them and feed them and exercise them too.”

“In that case, I would be happy to have your company on my morning ride. But as I am too old to ride on an empty stomach, I must eat first. Would you like to join me?”

“You are very kind to offer to share your food,” she said, drying her eyes with her other hand.

“Not at all. I enjoy sharing my food. Maybe you would also like to help me check on the puppies?”

“Puppies?” Ali said, jumping to her feet, the cat spilling out of her arms. “Where?”

“They’re on the other side of the stable yard. But I think you might want to put your dress back on. It’s cold outside and you don’t want to catch a chill.”

Ali eyed the heap in the corner with distaste. “It is ugly,” she said. “And I do not like the cage.”

“Oh, the crinoline? Dreadful things, I know. Imagine how nice it would be to be a dog and never have to worry about one’s dress.”

Ali’s mercurial smile transformed her face. “I had not thought of that,” she said. “I would like to be a dog. Then I would not have to worry about learning to speak English, either. I am from Turkey,” she explained.

“I am sure it is a very beautiful country. I’ve heard that the horses in that part of the world are particularly fine.”

“Oh, yes,” Ali said proudly. “They are the finest in the entire world, strong and brave. The stallions can gallop for hundreds and hundreds of miles without ever stopping.”

“Really?” Nicholas said, hoping he looked suitably impressed with this gross exaggeration. “Goodness, they are indeed superior to European horses.”

“And the camels can go for months without water,” Ali supplied.

“Can they indeed? That is a feat.”

Ali nodded. “There are all kinds of wondrous things in my country.”

“I am sure. Sadly, the only wondrous thing I can think of to show you is that litter of three-day-old pups. They might not be Turkish, but I’m pleased with the way they turned out.” He glanced over at Ali’s clothes as if only waiting for her to dress.

His strategy worked like a charm. Ali instantly struggled back into her clothes, only asking for help with the buttons, which he obligingly fastened.

“Do you live here at the stable?” she asked, following him outside.

“No, I live up at the house,” he said, waving at one of the stable boys as they started across the yard.

“Oh. I have just run away from there. I think I will probably be in terrible trouble, but I could not stay another moment.”

“Why?” he asked.

“Because the great lord keeps an executioner in the hall! I think he orders his slave to chop off the heads of all who displease him. He must be very powerful.”