"'Tis only Rook," she said, opening the door to admit a white lurcher. He was thin, with sorrowful eyes and a clutch of long, pretty feathers in his mouth.
"What have you brought me, little one? A fat pheasant for the pot?"
He dropped it and gave her a worshipful stare. She patted him and waved him toward the fire. He stretched out before the hearth, giving a contented sigh as he settled onto the warm stones.
Mrs. Smith put her prise into a basin and laid it aside.
"I will clean it later. Perhaps your ladyship would like the feathers for a hat?" she added hopefully.
They were lovely feathers, and I knew she would haggle tirelessly over the price.
"That's quite illegal, you know," Miss Allenby commented, nodding toward the basin. "That dog is a poacher."
Mrs. Smith roared with laughter, holding a hand to her side. "Bless you, lady, of course he is! All Gypsy dogs know the value of a fat bird. He was of no use to my husband because he is white, but he suits me well enough."
I had heard before that the Roma never kept white dogs as they were too easily detected when they were thieving, but I was more interested in the other little titbit Mrs. Smith had revealed.
"Your husband? Does he travel then?"
"Aye, lady. He travels with our family, but I keep a place for him here when the caravans come this way. That is his violin," she said, nodding toward the instrument on the little table. "And the bed is wide enough for two."
She roared with laughter again while Miss Allenby and I looked politely away. Had it not been for Miss Allenby's company, I might have joined in her laughter. I had always had an affinity for such women—comfortable and at ease in their own skin—and I had known a few of them. My father's particular friend, Madame de Bellefleur, and Minna's own mother, Mrs. Birch, came to mind. But Miss Allenby was cool to the point of primness and I did not like to shock her.
She reached for her basket then and presented it to Mrs. Smith. "Godwin slaughtered a lamb, and Mama has sent along a small joint. I hope that will be sufficient?" It was a question, but only just. It was apparent from her tone that she considered the haunch a fair trade for the medicinals she had come to fetch.
Mrs. Smith peered into the basket, inspecting the lamb carefully. She put it aside and handed the basket back to Miss Allenby. "It will do," she said at length. "The dew will be dry now. Go and cut an armful of mint. I will fetch the ointment of St. Hildegarde and the quince jelly."
Miss Allenby rose and took up her wraps and basket. Rook the lurcher raised his head lazily when she opened the door, then laid it back down.
"He is a lazy one," Mrs. Smith commented with a fond look at the dog. "But his company suits me."
"It must get lonely for you," I ventured, "alone up here, with only the odd villager for company."
Mrs. Smith shrugged. "I told you, lady, I have a purpose. If one has a purpose, life is bearable enough, do you not think so?"
I did think so, in fact. I had spent the better part of my widowhood searching for one.
"But I think you will be lonely here," she said suddenly, leaning toward me and pitching her voice low. "And when you are, you must come to Rosalie. You will have no greater friend on the moor. Do you understand?"
I did not, but I smiled at her, wondering if she had perhaps become a bit unhinged living in such isolation.
"How very kind of you," I began, but she waved me off.
"I am not kind," she said firmly. "My family is known for its gifts, but I do not have the sight. I do not see the future, although I do feel when danger is about. I feel it now, and it hovers over you, like a creature with great black wings."
I stopped myself from rolling my eyes in annoyance. I had heard such things before, always from a Gypsy fortune-teller who wanted her palm crossed with silver.
"I do not wish to have my fortune told, Mrs. Smith, and I am afraid I have no coin on me at present."
To my astonishment, she grabbed my hand and held it firmly in both of hers. Her hands were warm and smooth and I could catch the scent of herbs on her skin. "Lady, I do not want your money. I speak honestly of friendship. You must call me Rosalie, and you must come to me whenever you have need of me. Promise me this."
I promised, albeit reluctantly. She rose then and rummaged in the black-painted cupboard. She returned with a tiny pouch of brightly-patterned red cotton. She pressed it upon me.
"Carry this with you always. It is a charm of protection."
I must have looked startled, for she smiled then, a beautiful, beneficent smile. "I am a shuvani, lady. A witch of my people. And I want you to know I will do everything I can to protect you."
I took the little pouch. It had been knotted tightly with a silken thread and it held several small items, nothing I could recognise from the shape. "I do not know what to say, Mrs. Smith—"
"Rosalie," she corrected. "Now keep that with you and show it to no one."
Obediently, I slipped it into my pocket, and only then did she resume her lazy, good-natured smile.
"I think Miss Ailith is ready to leave," she commented, nodding toward the window. "Have you finished your tisane?"
"Yes, thank you." I collected my wraps and bent to pet the lurcher. He gave a little growl of contentment and thumped his tail happily on the floor.
"Tell me, Rosalie," I said, twisting the unbecoming shawl over my hair, "if all herbs have a purpose, what was the point of giving me borage?"
Rosalie smiled her mysterious smile. "Have you never heard the old saying, lady? Borage for courage."
* * *
I collected Miss Allenby from the front garden and we bade Rosalie farewell. She pressed the jar of quince jelly and a tin of ointment upon Miss Allenby who thanked her graciously. As we passed through the wicket gate, I fell deeply into thought, pondering what Rosalie had told me. Perhaps she belonged to a more subtle variety of Gypsy than those I had yet encountered. Perhaps, rather than overt offers to tell fortunes or lift curses, Rosalie's methods were more insidious. I had not paid her for the little charm, but who was to say that on my next visit she might not insist the danger was growing nearer and that only a costly amulet might hold it at bay? It was a cynical thought, but one that bore consideration, I decided as I tripped over a stone.
Miss Allenby put out a hand to steady me, aghast. "My apologies, Lady Julia. I would have warned you about that stone, but I did not imagine you could have missed it."
She was right about that. It was nearly a yard across, a marker of sorts at the little crossroads in front of the cottage, and though it stood only a few inches proud of the earth, it was enough to catch an unwary foot.
"I was woolgathering," I said apologetically.
She nodded. "I can well understand, although I have never found the moor a good place to think—the wind seems to drown out my very thoughts. But my brother used to walk the moor quite often when he was puzzling out a problem, and my sister still does. Perhaps you will find it a restful place as well, should you stay for some time."
As a conversational gambit, it was blunt and inelegant. I rose to it anyway and replied with perfect truth. "I do not know how long I shall be at Grimsgrave. Some weeks at least, I should expect." Heaven only knew precisely when Brisbane would return, and it could take some time after that to settle matters between us.
She nodded, as if I had confirmed some private conviction of hers. "It is a great distance to travel for a shorter visit," she observed.
"That it is," I agreed.
We moved down the path toward the turning for Grimsgrave Hall. The wind had died a little, and I seized the opportunity to take a better measure of Miss Allenby's situation.
"Your brother was Sir Redwall Allenby?"
She nodded, her face averted.
"I understand he was an Egyptologist, a scholar," I ventured.
She paused, but still did not turn to me. "He was. He made quite a name for himself in certain circles."
The lovely mouth was thin now, t
he lips pressed together as though to hold back some strong emotion. Impulsively, I put out a hand.
"I believe his death was fairly recent, and I can see that it grieves you still. Please accept my condolences on your loss."
She opened her mouth to speak, then shut it, sudden tears shimmering in her eyes. After a moment she composed herself and turned to me.
"You are very kind, Lady Julia. It was sudden and you are quite correct. It does grieve me still."
She started slowly down the path and I hurried to keep up with her longer stride. "Everything changed when Redwall died. I had no idea the house had been mortgaged. His death left us paupers, Lady Julia, beggars in our own home. My mother and sister and I are dependent upon Mr. Brisbane for every crust of bread." She stopped to take a breath, her hands fisted at her sides. "We are to remain at Grimsgrave until a home can be fitted out for us."
I felt a rush of pity for her then. I could only imagine how difficult the past months had been for her. To lose a beloved sibling, a home, and a fortune was too much to be borne. I could only hope Brisbane was not making the situation more difficult in his present bad humour.
"I do hope Mr. Brisbane is proving a hospitable landlord," I offered.
She shot me a questioning look over her shoulder, and I quickened my pace. "I simply mean that he can be terribly short-tempered. But his bark is much worse than his bite. If there is anything you need, you have only to ask him. He really is quite generous. To a fault at times."
She turned abruptly, fixing me with an appraising look. "How well do you know Nicholas Brisbane?" she asked without preamble. I nearly stumbled again, this time into a rabbit hole.
"As well as anyone could," I told her. "He is a singular sort of person. I would imagine it would take a lifetime to know him completely."
She paused again, raising delicate gold eyebrows. "Really? I have not found him much changed."
I stared at her, and for some unaccountable reason, I felt the chill of the moor wind as I had not felt it before. "You knew him? Before he came to Grimsgrave?"
Miss Allenby nodded slowly. "We were children together. Didn't he tell you? He was a boy in this place."
She turned and led the way back to Grimsgrave Hall. The wind had risen again, and conversation was impossible. It was just as well. Ailith Allenby had given me much to think about.
THE SIXTH CHAPTER
Crabbèd age and youth cannot live together.
—William Shakespeare
"The Passionate Pilgrim XII"
When we reached Grimsgrave, Miss Allenby and I went our separate ways. She left her basket in the hall, inclining her head graciously toward Valerius who passed her upon the stairs.
"Are you just now rising?" I asked him. He yawned broadly.
"I am. I have not slept so well in years. Something about the air up here, I think," he commented, smiling.
"I am suspicious of you, Valerius. You look entirely too cheerful for a person whose presence here has been secured by means of extortion."
He shrugged. "I am of a gentle and pleasant disposition," he said mildly.
I opened my mouth to argue, but he held up a hand. "I am in no mood to quarrel, Julia. I have a mind to walk out over the moor, perhaps to the village. I am rather curious about how they manage for a doctor in Lesser Howlett."
"Not very well," I told him. I quickly related what Rosalie had revealed about the village doctor.
He rolled his eyes. "I am not surprised. Any medical professional with the slightest bit of acumen would have had something done about the drains in Howlett Magna. I mean to see if they fare any better in Lesser Howlett. Good drains are fundamental for public health," he added. I hastened to divert him before he warmed to his theme and we spent the better part of the morning discussing public hygiene.
"And you might like to stop for a chat with Rosalie Smith whilst you're out," I advised. "She seems quite knowledgeable about folk remedies." We parted then, Val full of schemes for his entertainment, and I felt a little deflated. With Brisbane gone there was nothing pressing, and I looked about the hall for something to do. Ailith had taken herself upstairs. Portia and Lady Allenby and the mysterious Hilda were nowhere to be seen, and I was seized with a sudden, childlike urge to explore Grimsgrave on my own.
I crept to the nearest set of doors, enormous, panelled things, and pushed one open, holding my breath as it creaked in protest upon its hinges. I moved into a handsome hall of excellent proportions, the walls panelled, the plaster ceiling worked in a repeating pattern of lozenges and crowns. The room was impressive, not the least because it was entirely empty. Not a stick of furniture nor vase nor picture warmed the room. It was a cold, austere place, and I shivered in spite of myself.
I turned to leave, surprised to see that I had been quite wrong in thinking the room was bereft of decoration. Hung just next to the great double doors was a length of tapestry, bordered in flame stitch, and fashioned as a sort of genealogical chart. The names and dates had been worked in thick scarlet wools, and far back, just near the top of the tapestry, several of the names were surmounted by crowns heavily stitched in tarnished gold thread.
I moved closer to read the names. Those at the top were Saxon royalty, the kings of England before the Conqueror came from across the sea. From them descended an unbroken line, all the way down to Lady Allenby herself, married to Sir Alfred Allenby, I noticed. Peering intently, I could just make out that they had been first cousins, and that Lady Allenby had been orphaned quite young.
"I wonder if that was arranged," I murmured. It seemed too neat otherwise, the orphaned heiress of the old blood royal married off to the sole heir. Rather like royal marriages of old, I thought irreverently, keeping the bloodlines and the family fortunes secure. Still, the notion of an arranged marriage left me cold, and I hoped it had been one of affection instead.
I traced the line between them, and down to where Sir Redwall's name had been stitched, the year of his death still bright and untarnished. Some distance apart was Ailith, and between them a place where another name had been recorded but had clearly been unpicked by a careful needle. After Ailith was Hilda, the letters quite narrow and cramped, looking rather like an afterthought. My eyes returned to the empty spot between Redwall and Ailith.
I passed then to a smaller room, the dining room I suspected, a similar chamber with panelling and plaster ceiling, its furniture also missing. In these panels I noticed the crowned initial A carved over and over again, endless reminders of the once-royal blood that still flowed in the Allenby veins.
I clucked my tongue at the carvings. There were royals within my own family, but most of them were not the sort worth remembering, I reflected wryly. For all our exalted history, the Marches were very much country gentry, deeply connected to the land and its people. We had a gallery of painted ancestors, but as their exploits were always of the wildly eccentric and deeply embarrassing sort, I had learned to ignore them. I was much more attached to the modern, American idea of finding merit in one's efforts rather than one's birth. But I had little doubt the Allenbys would find such a notion heresy.
I crossed the hall again, feeling very intrepid indeed as I made my way into the dust-sheeted room next to Brisbane's bedchamber. I crept through, scarcely heeding the ominous, ghostly shapes in the half-light. I was bound for Brisbane's inner sanctum, for reasons that did me no credit.
"Curiosity is a dangerous pastime," I reminded myself as I edged into his room. But then so is love. I sat on the edge of his bed for a long moment, breathing in the scent of him. It was an easy thing to imagine him there, lying with his black hair tumbled across the soft white linen of the pillow. I put out a hand to touch it, then drew it back in haste.
He had made his bed, skilfully as any housemaid would have done, and I was suddenly glad of it. I had been seized with such a tremendous sense of longing I might well have lain down.
I surged up from the bed, realising I had strayed into rather dangerous territory. I had n
ot come to build castles in Spain, I told myself firmly. I had come to find some clue as to Brisbane's state of mind as master of Grimsgrave.
His trunk yielded nothing unexpected, save a copy of Socrates in Greek, the endpapers heavily marked in Brisbane's distinctive hand. I had known he had a facility for languages, but I had not realised Greek was among them.
I tucked it neatly back into his travelling trunk, along with a small leather purse full of what seemed to be Chinese coins, and a set of false white whiskers so realistic I started back in fright at the sight of them. I had seen Brisbane in them once before and had not known him, I reflected with a smile. We had come quite far since then, and yet not far at all.
I rose and moved to the covered table in the corner, lifting the linen cloth carefully. A set of scientific instruments reposed there, some chemists' glass, a scale, and most impressively of all, a microscope even finer than Valerius'. "No wonder Brisbane keeps that under cover," I mused. "He would never know a moment's peace if Valerius suspected this was here."
"Talking to oneself is the first sign of a disordered mind." I whirled to find Lady Allenby standing in the doorway, leaning upon her rosewood walking stick, her expression gently reproving.
I dropped the cloth and straightened. "I was just—"
Her expression softened and she held up a hand. "There is no need to explain, my dear. I was once your age. And I was in love."
I took a deep breath. "Is it so obvious?"
"Only to someone who has also suffered."
I dropped my head. "It isn't always dreadful, you know. In fact, it is rather wonderful most of the time."
She gave me a moment to compose myself. I took a deep breath and forced a smile.
"I was looking over the other rooms as well. The dining room and the great hall. They must have been magnificent."
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