by Regina Scott
She forced herself to focus back on the landscape. She had to stop her negative thoughts if she were to be of any use to her family. She watched the black swans her father had purchased a few years ago floating serenely across the pond, heading for the rushes on the far side. One turned instead toward the far end, where the dam lay. Another piece of foolishness, she couldn't help thinking, although it at least had been her great-grandfather's doing. The swan waddled out on the bank, then strolled across the wooden planking of the dam. Something must have startled it, for it rose suddenly, neck outstretched, and flapped back toward the rushes. She could only hope nothing was wrong with the structure. Lord knows, in the six years they had been gone, everything seemed to have aged twice that. The roofs in the gardener's sheds needed replacing according to Chimes, the bell tower her father had installed seemed to be listing, and at least three of the chimneys smoked. She had managed to convince her mother that these things could be taken care of when they returned to London but most likely her family would have to learn to live with them.
Her gaze swept down the empty creek bed, still a deep cleft in the hillside even though the dam let through a mere trickle of the former stream, down through the undergrowth that inhabited it now across the stone wall to where the cleft opened on the Pentercast side of the property. Everything there looked neat as a pin, and a part of her wanted nothing more than to mess it up. She shook her head again. An unkind thought. For all Alan's faults, he seemed to have taken extraordinarily good care of his place. Truth be told, she envied him. With a sigh, she turned to see about her hunting.
Unfortunately, the game were no more cooperative than on Christmas morning. She had the woods essentially to herself, and, although she stayed out much later than she had planned, she saw nary an animal worth the shot. The day was crisp and clear, though quite cold, and she wondered if they would yet get snow before the twelve days of Christmas were over. She tried not to think about what the end of those twelve days would mean to her or her family. And she refused to think about what it would mean should Alan win his wager.
She walked down the hill and through the woods to come out into a small clearing on the far side of the estate nearest the Pentercast land. She had just about decided to give up for the day, when she heard a rustling in the undergrowth to her right. Darting behind a tree, she checked her Lepage to make sure the bullet was in the pan, then peered cautiously around the boll of the tree. About her, the wood had become quiet, much too quiet even for winter. The few birds she had heard earlier were silent. Even the morning breeze was still. Had she been spotted? Or was it a predator like herself? She leveled the gun at the offending bush, waiting. A moment later, Geoffrey Pentercast backed into view.
Gen scowled from her hiding place. She knew full well she was still safely on her own land. And he had to have crossed the wall to reach this spot. He was dressed in a deep red hunting jacket, belted at his waist, and black trousers tucked into boots. He had a game bag at one hip, and a rifle in the other hand. The man was poaching! She was tempted to plant a shot between those mud-spattered boots of his just to teach him a lesson. Instead, she watched as he straightened, turning toward her. With surprise, she noted he held a ferret up by the tail. The animal was obviously still alive, for it twisted in his grip, snapping and hissing. She wondered if he had loosed it from one of Chimes’ snares. Whatever the case, he grinned at the little beast, then carefully dropped it into the leather game bag at his hip. By the way the bag bounced around, the ferret found no more delight in his company than her sister did. As he turned, settling the bag more carefully, she saw a brace of birds at his other hip. They were all black.
She frowned. Why would he poach blackbirds of all things? You couldn't eat them, and they presented little sport as the ridiculous birds were everywhere and hardly quietly hiding. Still, it galled her that he had had better luck than she had this morning, and on her own land to boot. She considered again leveling a shot at him as he made sure of his own rifle and turned to move on. Then his head came up, eyes narrowing.
She heard the sound too: Something large was moving through the trees toward them at a fast clip. He had the advantage of being closer and with fewer trees between him and the approaching animal. But she was determined that he wasn't going to beat her this time. She leveled her rifle past him even as he brought up his own weapon. As a shape loomed up between the trees, the guns roared together, sounding like a single shot in the clear winter air. Someone screamed. Branches and leaves scattered as a large black horse erupted from the wood and galloped out of the clearing, reins trailing.
Geoffrey Pentercast dropped his rifle, paling, and dashed into the woods toward the scream. Gen froze where she was, heart pounding in her ears. What had she done? Shaking, she lowered the Lepage to the leaf-strewn ground. Her feet refused to carry her forward. Her stomach heaved at the thought that she might have taken a life. She nearly cried aloud as Geoffrey reappeared, one arm around a woman who was weeping into his shoulder. As they reached the small clearing, the woman raised her head, and Gen gasped as she recognized Allison.
"Are you sure you're unhurt?” Geoffrey was pleading, staring down into her eyes as if he couldn't quite believe it.
"I ... I think so.” Allison sniffed, and Gen sagged with relief. “It was just so sudden. And my horse just bolted on me, silly thing."
Geoffrey took out a pocket handkerchief and wiped the tears from her pale face. “I'm very sorry, Miss Munroe. I fired without thinking, I'm afraid. I've never been so thankful for being a poor shot, I assure you."
Allison blinked up at him. “You mean you did that on purpose?"
He stuffed the handkerchief back into the pocket of his hunting jacket, avoiding her eyes. “Well, I wasn't actually trying to hit you. I thought you were a deer."
Her face reddened, even as Gen bit her lips to keep from interrupting. Time enough later to tell her sister that Geoffrey's hadn't been the only shot. At the moment, she was almost enjoying watching a Pentercast get his due.
"Geoffrey Pentercast,” Allison declared, “I always thought you were a loose screw, and now I know it! How dare you endanger my life with your paltry hunting? And come to think of it, why are you hunting on our land? You ... you poacher!"
"If you want a poacher, talk to that Chimes fellow of yours,” he sneered in return. “Seems I've seen his face in our woods often enough."
"That is beside the point! You tried to kill me!"
In the distance, Gen heard Bryce, their abigale, calling for Allison. Geoffrey must have heard it as well, for his head came up, and he stepped away from Allison.
"Hush, now,” he cautioned. “We both know that's not true."
"It is!” Allison maintained, refusing to be mollified. “And I shall tell the entire village what a villain you are!"
Geoffrey's hand shot out and covered her mouth, even as his other arm imprisoned her waist. Allison struggled against his grip. Gen, fearing the worst, reached in her pocket for another ball and began preparing the Lepage. She doubted she could actually shoot Geoffrey Pentercast, but she wanted to have a loaded, primed rifle in her grasp if she needed to defend her sister. Her hands shook on the powder, but she steadied herself, darting glances at the struggling couple.
"Hush, I said,” Geoffrey ordered, and to Gen's surprise, Allison stilled. “Now, I don't want any trouble from your family, and I don't think you do either. Who knows, they might even force us to marry each other to make up for the scandal."
Above his large hand, Allison's eyes went wide.
"Yes, I didn't suppose you'd much like that thought. Now, before your abigale gets here, think hard. You say you're unhurt, and I'm quite willing to forget this incident. Let's come to an agreement.” He shifted his grip and the bag at his hip bumped against Allison. The ferret must not have liked the agitation, for the bag shuddered, and Allison's squeal came out muffled under Geoffrey's hand. Gen slid the ball into place and leveled the rifle, watching him down the barrel.
Bryce's calls were becoming more concerned, and much closer. Gen shifted her grip on the rifle, watching her sister. Allison appeared to think it over, then nodded. Slowly, Geoffrey removed his hand. Gen lowered the rifle.
"I agree with your plan, Mr. Pentercast, but only because I wouldn't want to marry you if you were the last man on earth,” Allison informed him, head high.
"How very delightful,” he quipped. “Clichés at dawn. If you'll excuse me."
She grabbed his arm. “When will you bring the ferret?"
"Patience, infant. I've got to tame him first. You wouldn't want him to bite you, would you?” As Allison paled, he grinned. “I'm sure I can have him to you before you go back to London—say Epiphany? Now, I really must run.” He snatched up his rifle and melted into the woods on the far side of the clearing just as Bryce's horse cantered into sight on the right. Allison squared her shoulders.
"There you are, Miss Allison,” the dark-haired abigale cried. She did her best to look stern, but the worry was all too easy to read in her dark brown eyes, her normally pretty face puckered. “Why didn't you answer me?"
Before Allison could answer, Gen stepped from hiding. “It's all right, Bryce. I've been with her all along. She found me hunting and didn't want to scare away the game, isn't that right, Allison?"
Allison stared at her as if she'd grown horns and a tail. “Yes, of course."
Bryce looked between the two of them. “But what have you done with Blackie?"
Allison tossed her head. “That useless nag bolted when Gen made a shot. I cannot believe Father ever brought such a ridiculous beast as a country horse. I vow I will replace him when we return to London."
Bryce shook her head. “Well, next time you get away from me, you come when I call, hunting or no. And when it comes to that, perhaps next time you needn't ride so far ahead."
Allison pouted but said nothing.
Gen knew she and her sister needed to have a private talk. “Bryce, I'm afraid I didn't bring a horse, and it seems a shame for Allison to have to walk all the way back to the Abbey. Why don't you ride back and get Chimes to bring around the carriage? We could meet him at the head of the road."
Bryce frowned, and Gen wondered what she could possibly think they were up to. A woman only slightly older than she was, Bryce seemed to feel it her duty to protect her young ladies from some mysterious harm. She appeared to think danger and depravity lurked behind every bush. At times in London the trait had come in very handy. Here in the country it seemed unfounded. Well, she mused, in a few more days, it wouldn't matter, as they could no longer afford her watchful eye.
Finally, Bryce nodded, promising to return soon, and rode back through the woods. She was no sooner out of sight then Allison heaved a sigh and turned to Gen.
"How much of that disgraceful scene did you see?"
Gen smiled ruefully. “All of it, I'm afraid."
Allison blushed. “Well, I told you he was a reprobate."
"I think you do him an injustice,” Gen chided gently. “I'm afraid I fired at the same time he did, and as he owned he was a miserable shot, most likely it was my bullet that nearly hit Blackie."
Allison's azure eyes widened. “Oh, Gen, no!"
Gen nodded. “I'm very sorry. And I promise you I've learned my lesson. I won't aim at what I can't see again. I'm just very glad you weren't hurt."
"It was rather scary,” her sister admitted with a shiver. Then she brightened. “But I shall have a pet ferret for my trouble."
Gen laughed. “I wouldn't count on that if I were you. Geoffrey Pentercast doesn't strike me as all that dependable."
"True.” Allison sighed, smile fading. “A shame he isn't more like his brother Alan."
Gen gathered up her rifle and moved across the clearing. “Come along. We promised Bryce we'd be waiting."
"You're still quite put out with him, aren't you?” Allison asked, scurrying to keep up as Gen set off at a sharp pace through the bare winter woods. “Honestly, I think you're doing him an injustice as well."
Gen steadfastly refused to talk about the matter. She could say nothing that would not ultimately lead to the subject of the wager or their finances. They trudged through the estate woods in single file, breaths puffing white in the cold air, until they reached the drive that wound through the land to the Manor. Only a short time, Chimes picked them up in the carriage.
When they reached the Abbey's carriage house and Allison was safely on her way inside, Gen took him aside. “Chimes, I've been trying to apologize to you, but you're entirely too stubborn to listen!"
Her man grunted, moving away from the carriage to allow the groomsmen to unhitch the horses. “I'm less stubborn then some,” he muttered, pulling her out of their earshot. “But I'll accept your apology, if you'll accept some good advice."
Gen narrowed her eyes. “What advice?"
"Don't get so uppity, Missy. I know you've been trying to do your best by your sister and mum. Marrying Alan Pentercast would solve all your problems. Let the man win his wager."
She closed her eyes against the headache that was building. “I appreciate your thoughts, Chimes. But I must do what I see as best for all concerned."
He snorted, and she snapped open her eyes to glare at him. He held up his hands in surrender. “All right, I'll say no more on the subject. Just you think on what I said. It's the easiest way out, for all concerned.” When her look turned darker, he scurried off, muttering under his breath. Gen threw up her hands and stalked back to the house.
She saw no more of Chimes that morning or at lunch. However, she knew he hadn't changed his opinion when afternoon brought a visit by Alan accompanied by the Reverend Wellfordhouse. She frowned as Chimes ushered them into the parlor where she and Allison had been helping her mother sort through dress patterns to use on some material they had found in a trunk. He winked at her before hurrying out. She vowed to have another talk with him later.
"William, Mr. Pentercast, what a lovely surprise,” her mother offered as Allison simpered and Gen glowered. “To what do we owe this visit?"
William exchanged glances with Alan. “I was accompanying Vicar York on a visit to the Manor and ... er ... “.
Gen stiffened, afraid of what was coming. Surely William would not blurt out the facts of the wager in front of her mother?
"I suppose he was there visiting Fancy,” her mother said with a snif, and Gen relaxed slightly with the change of subject.
Alan frowned. “So it seemed. How did you know?"
"Your mother and I have discussed the matter,” her mother replied archly, “and we are of the opinion that the Vicar is courting Fancy."
"Is he indeed?” Alan intoned, leveling a glance at William, who fiddled with his cravat and paled.
"Yes, well, be that as it may,” William sputtered, “I believe we came over here because the Squire had expressed a desire to see Miss Genevieve."
Gen bit her lip in chagrin. Her mother raised an expressive eyebrow, glancing at her. “Oh, and why would that be, pray tell?"
Gen released her lip, but felt herself blushing despite her best efforts. Before she could answer, Alan, who had wandered over to where they had spread the patterns in the sun filtering through the gauze curtains on the twin windows, spoke up.
"You know, Miss Munroe,” he murmured, cocking his head to study the patterns, “I have the very bonnet to go with that one."
Gen frowned at the non sequitur. “Bonnet, sir?"
William coughed. “Yes, well, a bonnet of sorts. I believe Miss Wilkins in the village made it up for the Squire as a favor, isn't that so, Alan?"
"What are you talking about?” Gen demanded, feeling as if she'd somehow wandered in on the middle of a
conversation. Allison was looking confused as well. Even her mother was frowning. Alan excused himself to go fetch a parcel from the entry hall.
"Well, my brother Geoffrey informed me that your hunting wasn't going as well as you'd wanted, Miss Munroe,” he said with a smile, offering Gen the hat box with a bow. “I hoped this might make up for it."
Gen took the box, almost afraid to open it. What was today, the fourth day of Christmas? Wasn't that gift four colly birds? She had visions of four black birds flapping out of the box when she lifted the lid, like the old nursery rhyme of “Sing a Song of Six Pence.” But Alan was grinning beside her, and Allison and her mother were eagerly awaiting a look. With a sigh, she untied the pretty blue ribbon and pulled off the lid.
Inside lay a mass of shiny black feathers.
She looked up at Alan, frowning.
"Pick it up,” he urged.
Gingerly, she slid her hand around the feathers and found they were anchored to a frame of some kind. Scooping them from the box, she saw she held a slender straw bonnet entirely covered with black feathers. A ribbon of a vibrant shade of blue encircled the crown, and several of the feathers curved enticingly over the brim. “My word,” she managed.
"Oh, if only you'd had that when you were in mourning!” Allison cried.
William bit his lip, and Alan smothered a smile.
Her mother pursed her lips, frowning at Allison. “I'm sure your sister can put it to good use now as well, Allison. Isn't that right, Genevieve?"
Gen found it impossible to tear her eyes from the bonnet. “What, what is it made of?"
"Colly birds,” Alan replied. “Four to be exact."
"Of course,” she murmured. An image sprang to mind—Geoffrey Pentercast, four black birds at his hip. That's what he'd been doing out this morning. She wondered if she could disqualify him because his brother had poached them. Somehow, she didn't think William would allow that. She sighed, reaching up to settle the bonnet on her thick hair. “How charming, Mr. Pentercast,” she murmured for his ears alone. “First you ask me to eat crow, and now you expect me to wear them."