Desert Song (DeWinter's Song 3)

by Constance O'Banyon

  Bursting into the room, she blurted out, "Phoebe, Sir Gerald—"

  Phoebe was on her feet, immediately interrupting her. "No, Mallory, Sir Gerald isn't here. But you may greet Lady Dunmore."

  Mallory stared at Sir Gerald's wife with trepidation. "Lady Dunmore," she said, gathering her composure, "how delightful to see you."

  Sir Gerald's wife stared at Mallory, and there was comprehension as her eyes narrowed with anger.

  Phoebe had also understood the situation and spoke up quickly. "Mallory, go to your room immediately and change out of your riding habit. You've torn it again, and I don't know if we'll ever get the mud stains out." She turned to Lady Dunmore. "I have tried to make a lady out of Mallory, but she insists on spending most of her time on horseback. It's a thankless task to try to make a lady out of a girl who'd rather run wild."

  Lady Dunmore took in Mallory's disheveled appearance, her torn and muddy gown, her tangled hair. "It could be that she's up to more than riding. I'd look to her morals, Phoebe. When a girl has her kind of beauty and also has a wild streak in her, no woman's husband is safe."

  Mallory bit back an angry retort as her cousin ushered her out of the room. She wanted to shout at Lady Dunmore to look to her husband's behavior, but Phoebe silenced her with a glance and shoved her toward the stairs. "Go to your room," she told Mallory in a sharp voice. "Make yourself presentable before you come downstairs again."

  Mallory slowly climbed the stairs, feeling dejected. She would get no help from Cousin Phoebe. Most probably she'd get a dressing down and be blamed for the whole incident.

  After she stripped her gown off, she stood before the mirror assessing herself. Was she beautiful? Everyone seemed to think so. But beauty was only a curse to someone who didn't have the protection of a father.

  Chapter 4

  Lady Dunmore took a sip of tea before she spoke to Phoebe. "You should be more strict with that one. Mallory has become the talk of the village with her wild and undisciplined ways. No decent man would ever offer her marriage."

  Phoebe sat down, her anger smoldering close to the surface. "You should look to your own house before you try to clean mine, Winifred. As for Mallory, no one is of a sweeter nature. Her wild ways, as you call them, are nothing more than the behavior of a lonely young woman who has to fill her days riding horses when she should be attending balls and having fun."

  "She's too pretty for her own good," Lady Dunmore said pettishly. "Nothing good comes from a young woman who attracts men the way she does."

  "Perhaps the fault lies with the man, and not with Mallory."

  The woman's gray eyes snapped with indignation. "What do you mean by that, Phoebe Byrd?"

  "I mean that your husband chases everyone in skirts. Don't deny it. But if he's harmed Mallory, I'll not let it pass. You'd do better to keep him closer to home."

  Lady Durimore came to her feet. "You're a fine one to talk. No man has looked at you in years, if they ever did. You're just jealous because I have a husband and you don't."

  "Winifred, I much prefer my life to marriage to a philandering husband like Sir Gerald."

  Winifred gathered her shawl, glaring all the while at her hostess. "I'll never step one foot in this house again, Phoebe Byrd. This is what happens when one befriends a person beneath one's station."

  Suddenly Phoebe's eyes became sympathetic. "I pity you, Winifred, your life can't be easy."

  "Don't pity me. You are a nobody who lives on the charity of others. I have a fine house, a husband, and three daughters."

  "I don't accept charity, Winifred—I earn my own way."

  "I give you this warning, keep that little strumpet away from my husband, or I'll see that her name is blackened in the village."

  Phoebe shook her head. "Don't you realize, Winifred, that everyone in the village knows your husband for what he is? And as for Mallory, she is a sweet girl whose only crime is being born beautiful. Take your anger and lay it at the feet of your husband, where it belongs."

  To Phoebe's surprise Winifred's shoulders drooped and her eyes clouded with tears. "I'm sorry for my harsh words, because you have been a friend to me. I know in my heart what you say is true. I've always known about Gerald's women but as his wife, I'm expected to look the other way when his eyes wander." She glanced up at Phoebe. "If you are wise, you will keep Mallory under lock and key. She's not the first young girl he's lusted after. Up to now, the objects of his interest have all been village girls who have been only too willing to tumble into bed with him for a few shillings."

  Phoebe's mind was troubled. "Mallory isn't a village girl, as your husband is aware. It's time I did something about her situation. She is an innocent and shouldn't have to deal with a man like your husband."

  "You go too far, Phoebe. I'll not allow you to insult Gerald."

  "I'll do more than that if you don't keep him away from Mallory."

  Winifred moved to the door. She knew her husband's shortcomings, but she would not allow someone else to criticize him. She sailed out of the room and out of the house, climbing aboard her waiting carriage. She could no longer look the other way. She must now go home and confront her husband. It was time she reminded him whose money allowed him to enjoy his pursuit of pleasure.

  Mallory sat on her window seat, staring out into the gathering dusk. She waited for the sound of footsteps, knowing that when Cousin Phoebe came, she'd be outraged. She'd never be able to convince Phoebe that what had happened was Sir Gerald's fault.

  When Phoebe did come, it was with a quickness that took Mallory by surprise. She looked up into dark eyes that were strangely soft.

  "Did that man hurt you, my dear?"

  "I . . . no." Mallory came to her feet. "I'm sorry about what happened with Lady Dunmore, but—"

  "You're not to worry about that. We have more immediate problems to discuss."

  "If it's about my riding habit, I—"

  "No, dear child. What I have to say should have been said long ago."

  Mallory stared at Phoebe as if seeing her for the first time. She had always considered her a cold and unfeeling woman, who cared for her cousin's child out of duty and nothing more. Could she have been mistaken?

  Mallory watched as her cousin scooped up her torn riding habit and stared at it with contempt in her eyes. "He did this to you, didn't he?"

  They both knew to whom she was referring. "Oh, Phoebe, he was beastly." Mallory ran trembling fingers through her tangled hair. "He . . . kissed me, and when I escaped, he said next time I wouldn't get away from him. Why is he doing this to me?"

  "How long has this been going on?"

  "The first time he approached me was last spring at the Mathersons' party. That night he led me into the garden. I didn't see anything incorrect in his manner. But when he pushed me in the arbor and tried to kiss me, I slipped past him and ran back to the party."

  Phoebe folded Mallory's riding habit and placed it neatly on a chair. "I can't tell you how bad I feel about this. Why didn't you come to me before now?"

  "I... thought you would blame me."

  "No, child, I wouldn't have blamed you. I know you too well to think that you would encourage a man like Sir Gerald."

  Mallory could hardly believe that Phoebe was taking her part. "He frightens me."

  There was distress in the older woman's eyes. "You were left in my care, and I've failed in my duty."

  "It isn't your fault. He ... that man ... is—" "We both know what he is. The question is what to do about him."

  "He is a truly evil man. He warned me that you couldn't keep him away from me."

  "Unfortunately, I fear he's right. He knows I dare not go to the magistrate and make accusations against him because your reputation would be ruined." Her lips tightened. "It's time your father and mother took on their responsibility. They must, before it's too late."

  Mallory's eyes brightened. "Do you think they'll soon be returning to England?"

  "Unfortunately not. They will be in Egypt for at
least two more years."

  Mallory tried to hide her disappointment. "What will become of me?"

  Phoebe sat down beside Mallory, deciding it was time to tell her the truth. "I've heard your parents tell you often enough that they wanted a son to inherit the title and lands, and that as a daughter, you were a disappointment to them."

  Mallory had learned to live with the pain of knowing her parents didn't want her. "Yes, they have always made that clear."

  "I remember your eighth birthday when your mother explained that she gave you the name Mallory because they'd chosen it for their son. I wanted to cry with you when she told you how difficult your birth had been, and how it was your fault that she could never have another child."

  "I remember that day, Phoebe. I felt so guilty—I still do. But for me, they could have the son they wanted."

  "I believe not having a son was the only time your mother failed at what she had her mind set on, Mallory. But I want you to understand it wasn't your fault."

  "I've always felt as if I belonged to no one, and no one belonged to me. Sometimes I have a difficult time remembering my father's face, and my mother is little more than a blur."

  "That's understandable since you haven't seen them in ten years."

  "They do send presents," Mallory said, as if gifts were some proof of their love. "I suppose they just forgot that children grow up."

  "Yes," Phoebe agreed, wishing she could tell Mallory that sending presents was the way her parents eased their guilt for forsaking her. "We must make them realize their mistake. They must see that you are now a young lady and need their guidance."

  "But how can we do that? Will you write them?"

  "No, I'm going to do something I should have done years ago," Phoebe said with calm determination. "You are going to Egypt to live with them."

  Mallory stared at Phoebe. "Do you mean it?"

  "I do. This is no life for you. You should be attending parties and meeting young gentlemen of your station."

  Mallory shook her head. "Mother and Father won't want me with them."

  "They are your parents, and it's time they remembered that."

  Excitement stirred within Mallory. "I have always wanted to see Egypt."

  "And so you shall. I have a friend who will be joining her husband there, and she leaves in four weeks. I'll send word to her and ask if she'll consent to be your chaperon on the voyage."

  "But what about you?"

  Phoebe reached up and touched Mallory's cheek in a rare show of affection. "I inherited a small cottage from my father, along with a modest income that will meet my needs. I'll sit in the sun and tend my garden. But I shall miss you, dear child."

  Mallory realized in that moment that her cousin did care for her. She took Phoebe's hand in hers and was gratified when her cousin didn't pull away. "I will miss you, Cousin Phoebe. You were always a steadying influence in my life."

  "If that's so, then I have not failed."

  "When will I leave?"

  "As soon as possible."

  "Suppose Father and Mother are angry when I arrive and send me back?"

  "They may very well try. But when they see how charming you are, they'll be proud to show you off as their daughter. I'll write to them today and tell them to expect you."

  "Cousin Phoebe?"

  The older woman gave her a smile. "Yes, Mallory."

  "I truly will miss you."

  Phoebe cupped Mallory's chin in her hand and looked into the young girl's eyes. "I'll think of you every day, and imagine you basking in a warm Egyptian sun."

  "I never thought you loved me."

  "That's my fault, Mallory. I come from an unloving family and haven't been able to show my feelings as I would have liked. But always know that I have cared for you in my heart, and I'll always want what's best for you."

  "You taught me many things, Phoebe. You piqued my interest in reading, and instructed me in the ways to behave as a proper lady."

  "I wanted you to have every advantage. If it seemed to you at times that I was demanding, it was only that I wanted you to be armed with knowledge. It's time for you put childish antics aside and present yourself to the world as Lady Mallory Stanhope."

  "I promise not to disappoint you, and I'll try to remember everything you taught me, so I'll be a credit to you."

  "You have never disappointed me. I see in you the makings of a truly fine lady."

  Phoebe stood, and moved to the door. "Now I'll write those letters. Until you leave, I want you to remain close to home."

  Mallory nodded. She had no intention of being alone with Sir Gerald again.

  She turned to look out the window. Darkness covered the land, and she felt an ache that she would soon be leaving the only home she'd ever known. She had no illusions that her father and mother would welcome her to Egypt, and that was the deepest hurt of all.

  Autumn was in the air, and the weather was crisp and clear. Time passed slowly for Mallory. She was bored staying in the house, but she dared not ride Tibor, lest Sir Gerald be waiting for her.

  Phoebe had decided to engage a village seamstress to make Mallory lightweight gowns for the hot Egyptian climate. There was satisfaction in her eyes when she talked about sending the bill for the gowns to Mallory's father.

  One morning Mallory was called into the salon. When she entered the room, she saw a stranger having tea with Phoebe. Her cousin motioned her to sit beside her.

  "Mallory, this is Mrs. Wickett. She and I were girls together. She has agreed to be your companion on the voyage to Egypt."

  The rosy-cheeked woman with a rounded body and soft gray hair beamed at Mallory. "M'lady, I can't imagine why a lovely girl such as yourself would want to leave England for such a barbaric land. But I'll be glad for the companionship all the same. It's such an arduous voyage."

  Reality hit Mallory, and it left her breathless. She was actually leaving her home. It was somehow frightening, and yet, exciting at the same time.

  "Since my parents moved to Egypt, I have read books on Egyptian history. It is an exciting country, is it not?"

  "I would hardly call it that." Gloria Wickett sniffed. "It lacks any modern conveniences, the people are surly to foreigners, and the climate is abominable."

  "I'm looking forward to seeing the Nile and the pyramids," Mallory confided.

  "Well, m'lady, I do admit the pyramids are a wondrous sight. As for the Nile, it's only a muddy river that often overruns its banks."

  Mallory was not listening to Mrs. Wickett. She was thinking of her parents and hoping they would welcome her.

  Chapter 5

  The village seamstress arrived at Stoneridge House with her sewing basket in hand. She worked frantically, stitching a new wardrobe. Poor Mallory was measured and fitted for hours on end. She paid little attention to the gowns and allowed Phoebe to choose the styles and material from the seamstress's limited supply.

  When the task was at last completed, Mallory looked at her new wardrobe with a heavy heart. Not only were the gowns wrong for her coloring, but they were hopelessly out of date. Worst of all, they looked as if they had been sewn by a village seamstress.

  But Mallory put her disappointment aside and concentrated on the voyage to Egypt. She was caught up in the magic of the moment, and happiness sang in her heart. At times she almost believed she would be welcomed by her parents.

  * * *

  Saying good-bye to Cousin Phoebe had been more difficult than Mallory had anticipated. To leave all that was familiar to her was like tearing out part of her heart. She threw her arms around her cousin and fought back the tears. "I shall miss you, Phoebe, I wish you were coming with me."

  Phoebe patted her awkwardly. "Nonsense, child. You'll be far too busy to miss me. Go along with you now. And don't look back, Mallory—don't ever look back."

  Reluctantly Mallory climbed into the buggy that was to take her to the crossroads where she would take the public coach with Mrs. Wickett. When the buggy started, she glanced back at
the house. No, she would not cry. A new life was waiting for her in Egypt, and she must not be sad.

  When the coach pulled away from the crossroads, Mallory looked out the window for a last glimpse of Stoneridge. The red bricks were faded to a soft pink, and even from there it looked run-down. The house was shrouded in fog and was soon lost from sight. Mallory had a feeling she'd never see Stoneridge again. She was facing the unknown and realized for the first time that her old life was gone forever.

  The docks were bustling with hurried activity as a press of humanity went about appointed tasks with practiced certainty. Work crews for the Peninsula and Oriental Steam Navigation Company hurriedly stowed mailbags and luggage in the hold of the paddle steamer, Iberia, which was to put out to sea with the evening tide.

  Mallory watched the dockworkers shoulder her trunk and carry it up the gangplank. Her mind was on the voyage, so she didn't see the coach approaching from behind her. The morning shower had left pools of water on the cobblestone street, and when the wheels of the coach sped by, Mallory was sprayed with muddy water.

  Angrily she stared after the coachman, who hadn't even bothered to apologize. She was further enraged when the man inside the coach tipped his hat at her, and she stared fleetingly into sardonic green eyes. She bit back her anger, wishing she could give that man a dressing down. She hurried across the street, dodging several other carriages.

  Climbing the steps to the Dauphin Inn, where her traveling companion waited for her, she turned back to see the coach moving toward the docks.

  Mrs. Wickett was peering out the window and had witnessed the incident and she shook her head sympathetically. "What an unfortunate accident. Your gown is surely ruined."

  "The arrogance of that man," Mallory said, her anger still smoldering. "He showed no concern at all that his coach splashed me."

  The cheerful matron ushered her into the vestibule where they would wait until word came to board the Iberia. Gloria Wickett studied Mallory's dark gray traveling gown. "If you can get to it before it dries, you may be able to remove the stain."

  Mallory dabbed at her muddy gown with a handkerchief. "Today is the first time I've worn this gown. It was the only one I liked out of my new wardrobe."