Judith felt her cheeks grow warm. She suspected Miss Currivard was referring to Lord Kelthorne. “I thank you most sincerely, but now you have made me blush.”
Miss Currivard set her feet in motion once more. She began marching once more uphill. “Oh, dear,” she murmured. “I keep wanting to ask you the most impertinent questions, which I know I should not. When I go beyond the pale, pray give me a setdown for I would not offend you for the world, but I am utterly intrigued by your presence in this acting troupe. There is, however, something more, something quite inexplicable about you that is even more a mystery to me.”
Since she fell silent, Judith glanced at her wondering what it was she had meant to say. “Do go on,” she encouraged her, “for you have quite intrigued me.”
“Well, I am not certain how to say this, but I have never found it so easy, so comfortable to speak with anyone before now. I cannot explain it except that it must be something in your manner or perhaps your kind disposition.”
Judith was surprised. “But I have seen you with your friends and there appears to me to exist a quite enviable camaraderie among you.”
“Harriet is my good friend, but I fear our friendship is centered almost exclusively on the worst habit of gabblemongering. But her heart is good. As for Faith, she is very sweet but scarcely has two words to say for herself and will not speak unless prodded with a stick.”
“I have been fortunate in the troupe. Margaret is my dearest friend and we have a wonderful rapport. Only four years separate us. She was eighteen when I joined the troupe. So many years later, we have numerous shared experience, Shelly amongst them.”
Miss Currivard turned to look at her, a frown between her brows. “But that would make you, good Lord, still in the schoolroom when you came to be with the troupe.”
“Yes,” Judith said, “but on that subject I will not for the present say more.”
The shots that reached them now were scarcely troubling.
Miss Currivard smiled. “And I thank you for saying so much as you have.”
Judith did not know how it was, but she was inclined to confide in Miss Currivard. “There is one thing I am not reluctant to speak of.”
“Indeed?” Miss Currivard smiled broadly.
“Well, I am not without my own plans for the future. I hope very much to one day purchase a cottage in Devonshire, and live as respectably as a retired actress may, in some village or other.”
“And you would be content after such a life as this?” She whirled about and swept a broad stroke with her arm encompassing the fair-like atmosphere at the bottom of the incline.
“More than you can imagine,” Judith said. “Such a life might be grand for a season but there is a weariness that attends the troupe, particularly in the depth of winter when traveling is labored. Tempers grow short and our funds dwindle. We must work very hard all summer to sustain ourselves through the dark months.”
“I see. I suppose on a beautiful day such as this, I am seeing the life of your troupe as something quite idyllic but not necessarily realistic.”
“On such a beautiful day as this, even I can see the troupe quite easily through your eyes.”
“Do but look. There is Mr. Doulting waving to us. I see that the tables are now laden with food.”
Judith called to Shelly. “We are to have our nuncheon now. Come, dearest.” Shelly stepped from the stream, shook off her feet, plopped to the ground and began replacing her stockings. Once her shoes were on her feet, she began running down the hill.
Judith might have hurried after her but in the distance she could see that Margaret had caught sight of her and was even now running in her direction with her arms wide open. At the base of the hill, Kelthorne’s servants were busily arranging nuncheon for the castle party and for the troupe.
Mr. Doulting approached them, his expression grim.
Chapter Seven
“What is it, Mr. Doulting?” Miss Currivard asked.
Mr. Doulting turned to walk beside her. “That fellow, Hemyock,” he said in some exasperation. “He will be the death of us all. I hope I do not give offense, Miss Lovington, but he is as deuced a fellow as ever was born. ”
“You cannot offend me by saying such things,” Judith said, smiling but keeping her voice low. Sounds could travel quite nicely the length of a stream. “Poor Mr. Hemyock. I fear all his abilities are in his acting voice since in all other ways he is a perfect cretin. Only, what has he been doing?”
“I chanced to stand beside him while he was firing his rifle and I cannot tell you how many times he pointed it at me while adjusting the pan or asking the servant if he needed more powder. And worse, he did not comprehend why I kept tilting the barrel away from me or suggesting he do so. ‘My hand is not on the trigger,’ he would shout as though I had lost my mind.”
“It is so like him,” she said, sighing. “It is almost as though there is no one else in the world but him.”
“Well, at least we are to eat.”
“Are you grown a trifle peckish, Mr. Doulting?” Judith asked. She could not help but smile. There was something so endearing about Laurence Doulting. Perhaps it was his curly hair, which served to give him a youthful appearance, or perhaps the keen look of intelligence in his eyes. Or maybe it was because he supported her opinion of Charles Hemyock. Whatever the case, she liked him.
“I confess that I am. Only tell me what it is you both have in your hands.”
Miss Currivard explained about Shelly’s bee. Mr. Doulting laughed then addressed Judith. “On another subject, however, permit me to say that your song earlier was quite magnificent. I had tears in my eyes.”
“Indeed?” Judith queried.
He then whispered, “Only pray say nothing of it to Aubrey, that is, Kelthorne, or I will not hear the end of it for a twelvemonth.”
“Your friend seemed less pleased with my performance. For if I recall, he spent most of the time looking at the horses.”
For some reason the pair next to her began to fidget, plucking at shirtsleeves and gloves and clearing throats. She wondered suddenly if either knew of his visit to her tent two nights past. She tried to keep a blush from rising on her cheeks.
“I feel quite certain,” Miss Currivard said, “that his lordship was only looking at the horses so that he would not follow Mr. Doulting’s lead and become a watering pot as well.”
“At the very least,” Mr. Doulting said, but he laughed.
Miss Currivard as well.
Judith wasn’t entirely certain what was behind all these gestures and remarks but fortunately, Shelly ran toward her and called out, “‘Tis time to eat, Judy. ‘Tis time to eat.”
Judith parted company with her new friend and Mr. Doulting and moved to a separate table where the troupe had already taken their seats. She was grateful to return to her more usual surroundings but was dismayed to find that the only seat remaining was at the very end, which turned out to be opposite Kelthorne. At least the tables were some ten feet apart. Still, she could hardly avoid meeting his gaze now and then.
Fortunately, Mr. Emborough, who proved to be garrulous, sat beside Kelthorne and was busy taunting him. The latter had apparently lost the shooting contest to Mr. Emborough.
Freddy addressed John quietly, “Mr. Emborough is also skilled with the sword. Mr. Doulting said as much. Maybe we could ask for a demonstration. He might show us something we could use in one of our performances.”
Before John could answer, Charles said, “He’s an amateur in every sense of the word and a buffoon.”
Horace, who had risen from his seat to assist Mrs. Marnhull, stared at Charles angrily. “He helped me wi’ the horses when you would not. ”
“I am an actor,” Charles stated boldly and in a voice that caused the party at the next table to turn to stare at him.
“And we ain’t never permitted to forget it, are we?” Horace returned hotly.
Laughter rang around the table. Judith joined in, but she had never quite s
een Horace so enraged before. Charles, however, had quite worn out his welcome. From nearly the day he joined the troupe, his demands were consistently high-handed and on every occasion requested as though he held supremacy among all the actors. When Horace was not quick enough to perform a given task for him, Charles often read him the riot act.
Presently, Charles leaned back slowly. He lifted his chin, raised a brow, and crossed his arms over his chest. “In even one passage from Shakespeare by my reading, I am more than ye could ever be in a thousand.”
“Oh, Charles,” John said. “Do stubble it, fer God’s sake, man. Ye sound like a coxcomb.”
He swept a dramatic arm in Horace’s direction, a young man at least sixteen years his junior, and said, “Well, he began this nonsense.”
“Then see that ye finish it.” John. Always the voice of reason.
“I should be happy to,” he stated grimacing, “but I do not believe it an honorable thing to engage in fisticuffs with my inferiors.”
Horace made a move in Charles’s direction.
John instantly rose from his seat and grabbed at Horace whose face was now flaming. He turned him around and walked him in the direction of the horses.
“He’ll hardly grow into a man if John keeps protecting him,” Charles stated.
Judith, who saw that both Henry and Freddy were ready to tear Charles limb from limb, interjected softly. “Has anyone explored the caves yet? Miss Currivard and I passed by them but we did not venture inside. What of you, Bobby? I saw you there earlier. Did you chance to make even the smallest exploration?”
“Nay,” he responded, casting a dagger-glance at Charles. “I looked in. Had I not been in costume, I should have explored as far as I could go but ‘twas too damp.”
Judith, seeing that Charles would speak again, once more interjected. “Mrs. Marnhull, would you pass the bread, please, and the butter? The ham looks marvelous. Angelique, you will be content today, for I know how much you like ham and that is perhaps the finest I have seen in a twelvemonth.”
“‘Tis a wonderful thing to have friends wat live in a castle,” Angelique said.
Since Judith’s request sent the food once more moving about the table, tensions dwindled in quick stages. Judith observed, and not for the first time, that it would never do to allow men to get very hungry. Tempers never raged more, than with too many hours stretched between one meal and the next.
A moment later, the dropping of a linen to the ground at Kelthorne’s table, caused Judith to glance in that direction. She found that the earl was looking at her in a somewhat marked manner. He smiled and nodded, and in his eyes she saw his approval.
She inclined her head in response, but since her heart fairly leapt in her breast at such a smile, she set to vigorously decimating with knife and fork, the ham on her plate.
After what in the end became a pleasant dinner, Henry, Freddy, and Bobby entertained the castle party with another powerful display of tumbling. All three young men were quite strong, lithe, and skilled so that there were as many bursts of applause as there were sudden gasps in fear that the entire act would fall off the stage. But the tumblers held fast.
Later, several of the men of the troupe exchanged their costumes for more serviceable clothes and with Mr. Doulting and Mr. Emborough, explored the caves that proved, indeed, to be quite damp. John very sweetly took Shelly within as well though they emerged but a few minutes later with Shelly in tears. “She became frightened,” he explained, holding her close.
“I expect she would,” Judith said. “I cannot even bring myself to go within. Shelly, you are far braver than I. Let me take her, John. I know very well you wish to return.”
Since Shelly reached for her, John smiled somewhat sheepishly. “Thank ye, Judy. I do, indeed, but are ye certain? I would not wish to trouble ye.”
“Pray, do not be absurd. Now go. As for you, my dear,” she said drawing back and meeting Shelly’s gaze, “why do we not find things to make a house for your bee in addition to the bed?”
Shelly agreed with a sniff and a quivering of her lip. Judith continued to hold her and walked back down the hill. In the distance, she could see Charles near the wagons. He was alone and she could not help but wonder what mischief he was plotting this time.
Not far distant, she saw Lord Kelthorne extend his hand to Miss Currivard as he assisted her in crossing the stream not far from Charles. Judith thought they made a rather stunning pair since they shared the same thick, wavy blond hair. The knowledge that she was regarding a future that could never be hers forced her to look away and to refuse to ponder the longings which of late had been dogging her heels.
She lowered Shelly to the ground and helped her to cross the gentle stream. They jumped from boulder to boulder and in the end both their gowns were wet to the knees. But the day was fine and they proceeded to the opposite side of the narrow gorge in search of woody treasures fit for bee-house building.
“Look!” Shelly cried, pointing up. “He’s come back.”
Judith lifted her gaze to the top of the cliff and there, poised at a lower edge of a narrow footpath was a young stag. She still marveled that the animals were so fearless with so many people around and wondered if they often canvassed this lower portion of the gorge for bits of food once picnickers had departed.
Suddenly, a rifle shot boomed in her direction and in a split second, the stag leaped into the air, twisting and turning then striking the granite wall once before falling to the earth but a few yards from where she stood with Shelly.
Judith was so startled that for a moment she froze and thanked God that she had Shelly still in hand. The stag, however, was still alive and quickly struggled to gain his feet his antlers shaking about nervously. She saw that his shoulder had been grazed and was bleeding steadily, but that he could walk and worse still that his eye, wild and terrified, had become fixed on her.
“Oh, dear God,” she murmured. “Shelly, get behind me. Now!”
Shelly did not hesitate but did so, clinging to her skirts and crying.
“Walk backward, darling, very slowly. There, that’s a good girl. A little more. Yes, a little more.”
The stag began advancing on her and in that moment, Judith realized there was absolutely nothing she could do. The animal was wounded, in no small degree of pain and frightened out of his wits.
A mere fifteen feet separated them, now ten. “Shelly, you must run to your father now. Go!” She felt Shelly leave her skirts and she could hear her small feet splash once more through the stream.
Behind her, the men had emerged from the caves and were making an enormous commotion, hoping to divert the animal but with little effect. She closed her eyes, waiting, expecting to be gored when suddenly a second rifle shot echoed up the gorge, followed by a heavy thud. The ground trembled at her feet.
She opened her eyes and, lying there with a shot through his skull, was the deer, twitching still in death. She felt violently ill, weaved on her feet, and then nothing.
*** *** ***
Kelthorne dropped the rifle where he stood and began to run. He had understood precisely what had needed to be done and had not hesitated. He had run to Charles, taken the weapon from him, and loaded it with speed and care. He did not give pause to feel even the smallest particle of justified rage at the fool now swaggering beside him and claiming to be an excellent shot.
Once the rifle was loaded, he lifted it to the now advancing deer, took precise aim and without considering how close the animal was to Judith squeezed the trigger, steadily and purposefully.
To his great relief, the stag had fallen at her feet.
“Is she hurt? Is she hurt?” he shouted, beginning to run toward the group now clustered about Judith. At such a distance, he could not tell what had happened since she had fallen at nearly the same moment the stag had.
Laurence was bending over her while Mr. Ash cradled her in his arms. “No,” Laurence shouted back. “She has merely swooned. Good God, Aubrey, but that w
as a fine shot.”
“It was a lucky shot,” he returned.
A few seconds more and he could see for himself that Judith was uninjured. Her complexion, however, was a sickly white. Betty held a vial of smelling salts beneath her nose and with a weak hand, Judith kept pushing it away.
“Ye saved her life and Shelly’s as well,” Mrs. Ash said to him, tears running down her cheeks. She was holding her daughter tightly in her arms.
Kelthorne saw that though Judith’s eyes were open, they were dazed and unseeing. Mr. Ash began to weep and Kelthorne, without knowing precisely why, understood him. “Allow me,” he said, taking Judith from his arms. “Please, tend to your daughter. She will need her father’s arms about her.” Mr. Ash rose and took Shelly in his arms. His wife patted his arm and wiped her face on the sleeve of her gown.
By now, the entire party was gathered about Kelthorne and Judith.
Miss Currivard said, “Bring her to my carriage. We will be able to see to her there. I am certain she will be more comfortable within.”
Kelthorne glanced at her, not quite seeing her, but nodded in response. He carried Judith gently if briskly to the coach. Miss Currivard entered and after sitting down allowed Kelthorne to place her in her arms. Kelthorne stood at the doorway. “Is she all right?” he asked again. “Are you certain she is not bleeding or bruised perhaps?”
Miss Currivard shook her head. “Not a single wound, not even a bruise. Your shot was true. You performed beautifully, my lord.”
Kelthorne stepped away from the coach and realized that his arms and legs were trembling. Suddenly, he knew there was business yet to take care of. He caught sight of Mr. Hemyock boasting to one of his servants of having brought the stag down first. He made a path through the crowd that had followed him to the coach and approached the actor.
Kelthorne remembered Mr. Hemyock’s words earlier, words to the young lad, Horace, so he said, “Unlike you, Mr. Hemyock, I do not hesitate to use fisticuffs with my inferiors.” And with that, he planted Mr. Hemyock a facer that sent him flying backwards. He lay unmoving, his eyelashes fluttering.
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