Not Quite a Lady; Not Quite a Knight Page 3

  Addie shifted her position, trying not to think how precarious it was. The tree creaked in the wind. “Shh…Trudy…’tis only a little longer. The carriages are just now leaving. Why there goes the Baron of Torsford now.”

  Trudy snorted. “You must have eyes of an owl, to see in this dark. Does it not seem as though a fog is rising…?”

  “Shh…it is your imagination,” Addie hushed. The fabric in her hands was slippery, not wanting to stay put. She shifted again, trying to keep the bundle of cloth firmly pressed against her abdomen until needed.

  Not that she need worry. The day had been warm, the cold air now settling over the village had given rise to wisps of vapors that collected in pockets of air around the buildings. It was getting harder to see, no one could possibly discern what she carried, even if they knew where to look.

  Voices from the Arms were carrying strangely in the fog, seeming to come from directions that should not have been possible. There was really not that much space between the two inns. This copse of trees was a poor idea at best. The lights from the neighboring buildings had long since been snuffed out, one after another. The good people of Upper Nettlefold slept, or were even now trundling home.

  “Addie, I canna stay…we will be in trouble if we are gone much longer…”

  “Hush…another moment.”

  “Right sorry I am, but I cannot.” Trudy’s voice faded, her footsteps on the flagstone path loud as she fled.

  Botheration.

  Which of course was the precise moment that the door over at the Arms opened and closed. It was hard to see through the gathering fog, but the man who exited seemed rather tall. And there wasn’t another carriage in the courtyard waiting. He was walking. It had to be him, it simply had to be.

  Dash it all. Trudy wasn’t there to help. It was she who was supposed to call him over, and disappear, to make sure that he walked under the trees.

  Addie opened her mouth, then paused. If she made a sound, then he would perhaps be looking up as he came under the trees. Her hands clenched on the voluminous fabric as she debated what to do.

  He whistled. He whistled as he walked. For a moment she held her breath, trying to figure from which direction the sound came. Was it? It had to be…in a moment he would pass just below. She didn’t need Trudy’s help after all.

  Timing. The timing would have to be right. She shifted again, the tree creaked. The wind wasn’t blowing this time.

  From below came his voice. Questioning. Unsure. “Who’s there…?”

  Addie deepened her voice to a low moan. “The ghosts of Upper Nettle—“

  CRACK.

  The branch beneath her cracked just as she bent to throw the cloth down. But her attempt to drop a ghostly figure down upon the unwary head of one false fortune-teller was too much for the tree she sat in. With the snapping of the branch, she was left airborne for a single breathless moment while around her the cloth billowed, and caught in the branches. She caught at the edge, bringing herself to a sudden and ignominious halt, dangling a handful of feet from the ground.

  Right where Sir Ainsworth was standing.

  He reached up to catch her, large hands spanning her waist most improperly as he set her on the ground before him.

  “The spirit seems to have been willing, but the branches are weak,” he observed drily. “’Tis a miracle you are unharmed, my lady.”

  Addie jerked herself free of his grasp, trying to pretend that she was entirely unmoved by the entire experience. “Only one from the devil himself could have such an incredible streak of luck. Tell me, good Sir, for what amount have you given your soul?”

  “I gave my soul for the sake of a smile from a maid with blue eyes and hair the color of summer sun,” he said, and sure enough the devil was in his eyes.

  “Oosh! Do not say so,” she said looking around as if a devil may appear this moment to take his soul. “’tis my own fault for asking, I am sure. If you would excuse me. I am certainly lax in my duties and must return.”

  “From what I understand you have only worked at the inn a matter of days. If that is our good hostess’s best sheets, I might question the fact of your employment somewhat.” He nodded to the fabric still caught in the tree.

  “I am at a loss to understand what went wrong. It worked so well when we practiced it,” she mused, eyeing the matter. “If you could perhaps reach up on your end we might be able to extricate it without my having to go up again after it.”

  “That you climbed the tree at all, is a wonder. Do you truly dislike me so?” he asked, reaching up and trying to untangle the sheet. He actually worked with care not to tear it. Leaves cascaded down around them both, making an eerie effect in the gathering fog. “I only knew one lady so versed at climbing. She rescued my great aunt’s cat.”

  She froze for a moment. No. He could not know. “It’s near impossible to see,” she complained, tugging at her end, resulting in him stumbling in rather close to her as his hand was gripping the other end.

  “Perhaps that is to our advantage,” he said softly, his face only inches from hers.

  Addie swallowed hard. “Hardly. I do believe you can let go now.” She bundled the fabric in her arms. “I shall have to wash that tomorrow I suppose. I thank you for your help, Sir. My apologies for trying to scare you; it was a folly.”

  “Why do you dislike me so?” he asked plaintively.

  She considered. “I do not know whether I dislike you personally. It is your profession I detest.”

  “I fail to see the wrong in it. Some would say a fortune-teller deals in hope and possibility.”

  “Fancy names for lies,” Addie returned, putting her back to him and stomping toward where she thought the inn might be. Truly she was turned around. It was truly dark now. The entire world had fallen silent, but for the hoot of an owl. A rush of wings nearby made her reel back, heart thundering in her chest from the suddenness of it.

  “Allow me to escort you home,” Sir Ainsworth said from somewhere behind her. “It is only a few steps, but maybe I can render some assistance.”

  “Can you see any better than I?” she challenged him, drawing the bundle of fabric closer to her chest. Indeed, it was unseasonably cold out. She could see her breath, but little else.

  “Perhaps I can use my powers to find my way,” he said with a quiet chuckle, drawing her hand through his arm, as if he were the finest gentleman escorting his lady in to dinner.

  “Your powers should have seen this disaster then,” she said sourly, glad he could not see her blush in the dark.

  “Perhaps they did, which was why I was there to catch you when you fell.”

  The fog lifted as they drew close to the inn. The moon darted out from behind the clouds, illuminating the servant’s entrance plainly. “Stay out of trees,” he said in all seriousness as he handed her up onto the stoop of the building, he held her hand a moment longer than necessary. “I shall return by the front door as is proper,” he said.

  Addie nodded, watching him until he faded from view, the mists enfolding him once more. His touch upon her hand stayed with her long after she’d gone in and returned to her work.

  She could not help but notice that while she might not have been able to haunt him, he was extremely skilled in haunting her.

  6

  Addie had perhaps gone too far with her little prank last night. Mrs. Truscott had discovered the soiled sheet, and Trudy wasn’t even speaking to her since she’d gotten scolded for disappearing for so long. Everything was coming up a perfect disaster, and Addie could not quite bring herself to admit that any of it was her fault. The blasted Sir Ainsworth was the one who taunted her to such actions. He was indeed a devil.

  At least she still had her position. Of course, that was only because Mrs. Truscott would be sorely shorthanded if she let Addie go. The fair began early that morning, and the bustle in the streets meant a greater number of patrons at the Bell and Whistle than normal, especially with Mrs. Truscott’s meat pies selling so che
aply. Little did the patrons know that they were like to get nothing but gravy and a tiny scrap of meat in all the crusting. Still, all morning long, Addie was kept busy in serving food and drink to their guests.

  It was one of those perfect autumn days. The foggy misery of the night before had burned off with the morning sun, leaving a sparkling dew on everything. This was the finest of diamonds, she thought. She needed no other gems, but those provided by the hand of God. The fields around them, were burned golden with the drying sheaves, the leaves which still clung to the trees in bright profusion competed with the gaudy decorations of the fair. Every shop in town had put on finery of bunting and streamers, and every stall in the market had taken on a multi-colored hue. Produce, fresh from harvest littered the stalls, and while there where not many hiring, which was the entire purported reason for the fair, there was much in the way of entertainment. Overnight troupes of entertainers had descended on the village: storytellers and jugglers alike. Even the blacksmith showed off his skills in axe throwing, which elicited a round of girls tittering even though Mr. Brassey was a married man now. Mrs. Phoebe Brassey glared at them and Mrs. Hardcastle shooed the bevy of girls home with much ado, while the men proposed a contest that ended with drinks at the Inn.

  Addie had no difficulty at all in avoiding Sir Ainsworth. His wagon, repaired now, had turned out to be more of a Gypsy caravan, and sported a tent next to it where he plied his trade. She was right about him, she thought. He was nothing but a charlatan. On a trip outside to empty kitchen scraps into the pen that held the sow behind the Inn, Addie was able to escape for a minute, just to look at the change that had come over Upper Nettlefold. Again she saw the tent, and the giggling line of girls from the town, anxious to question the man as to their prospects.

  Addie shook her head. Fate was in one’s own hands she thought as she returned inside. She wondered that so many would waste a ha’penny on such a thing, especially when Trudy came in breathless, her face flushed, and eyes full of wonder as she reported that she would soon marry a sturdy built man with sandy hair.

  It was less an assurance given from the spirits, as a truth repeated that anyone with eyes already knew; Ned Dawkins had made a point of visiting every night since he had discovered Trudy at the bar one evening and was rumored to be building a house on a patch of land that belonged to his father not far from town. The entire village expected a proposal before the end of the year.

  Whatever the case, at least Sir Ainsworth was not bothering her.

  Only…as the day wore on…Addie kind of missed him. She’d grown somewhat used to his teasing, his constant appearing every time she turned around. Despite the fact that he was a charlatan, she found she rather enjoyed his outrageous sense of humor, and his constant need to laugh. It has been too long since she had laughed for the pure joy of it.

  That was why she smiled when she heard his voice later that evening, as he came into the Inn with a crowd of revelers who were fresh from the bonfire. They were looking for a drink and the camaraderie. The group was not quite ready to end the festival for the night.

  “Miss Walker! I would speak to you, when you have a moment!” Sir Ainsworth called to her as she served those at the next table first, by dint of their having entered the room first.

  She waved in response and turned to fetch more ale.

  It was near closing before she had a chance to talk to him, and by then he’d dozed off in a chair near the fire. She stood and watched him sleep, the gentle rise and fall of his chest, the way his lips parted slightly as he snored lightly. He did not look so dangerous now. In fact, he looked quite harmless. She debated letting him be, but curiosity overcame her. He had seemed rather excited about something or another, and she’d wondered all night what it could be.

  She kicked his boot in passing, going to wipe a table nearby so that when he snorted and nearly upset the chair when he awoke, she was busy elsewhere and could not take the blame for it.

  “Impertinent wench,” he growled and sat up to stretch. “Come talk to me, I have a proposal for you that might be of interest.”

  Addie stopped in her tracks, her cheeks going scarlet. While she was aware that there were some girls in the establishment that would visit a traveler’s room for coin even if the practice was frowned upon; she was most assuredly not one of them. She opened her mouth to let him know this in no uncertain terms, but he was already laughing at her. Once again, he’d found a way to make her seem a fool. He rose in haste when he saw her turn and head for the kitchen, coming around to block her path, his expression earnest as he put out his hand to stop her.

  “Miss Adelaide Walker, would you please do me the honor of sitting a moment that we might talk? Truly I was not suggesting what you seem to think, but had another matter entirely in mind.”

  “What I think?” She said. “Have you added mind reading to your repertoire?”

  “Perhaps,” he said grinning. “You were thinking that I might be improper.”

  Well, he was improper. She eyed him suspiciously, but followed him back to his chair, He drew up another and she sat gratefully, thankful that Mrs. Truscott had long gone to bed, and that in fact, with the exception of Trudy, who sat talking softly with her farmer on the other side of the room, that in fact all was quiet. Unless you wished to count old drunk Amos snoring near the door. She and Trudy had agreed it was too cold to throw him out no matter what Mrs. Truscott might say.

  “Miss Walker, I have been rude perhaps in my speech. What I meant to ask you before was whether you would be interested in earning another coin tomorrow night, for it will be All Hallows Eve and I am in need of an assistant.”

  “An assistant?” Addie blinked. Of all the possible things he could have said, this was the last she would have expected. “What do you mean by an assistant?” she asked frowning a little.

  “Tomorrow, as you may well know by now, there is to be a masked ball at Westwood Hall. I am to be in attendance as part of the evening’s entertainment.”

  “This I knew,” she said softly, wondering what this would have to do with her.

  “Because the ball is a masked affair, I was rather hoping that you would be in attendance, acting as my assistant, though in a manner that no one could possibly ascertain. I would only ask that you listen to what others there say. Nothing more. No one will ever even know it is you.”

  “You wish me to help you cheat people of their coin?” she asked, reeling back in horror. “Are you truly this despicable?”

  “I am paid the same coin from the host regardless of how many fortunes I choose to tell. I gain nothing by this other than an insight, provided by yours truly.”

  “To guide you in telling people what they wish to hear? You truly are a fraud!”

  “I peddle only hope and possibility,” he reminded her softly. “Is there any harm in that?”

  “Why me? What makes you think I can walk into a ball without anyone there the wiser, a servant girl who works at a coaching inn fitting in with such as they?”

  He chuckled a little, leaning forward so that his forehead nearly touched hers. “’tis quite simple, my dear girl. Because you are, in fact, the missing daughter of the Baronet of Glastonbury, Miss Constance Adelaide Waltham, unless I miss my guess.”

  “No,” she backed away horrified. He could not know that. If he knew her, then he knew that she was one of the young girls stolen, imprisoned, and very nearly sold. If he knew that, he knew she was ruined, for though her body was saved, her reputation was not. “You must say nothing,” she said wide eyed and terrified. Her voice dropped to a whisper “If you tell anyone, I will lose my job.”

  “I shan’t,” he promised, putting a hand on her arm. “I did not seek to upset you.”

  7

  “How did you know?” She asked, determined not to let the story spread.

  Sir Ainsworth said, “There are very few servants who have such a fine familiarity with Scott. Or literature of any sort, I should imagine, and your vocabulary is a bit more
than I’d expect from a serving girl. Though I will admit, I was not sure until you fell out of the tree. I remember you once climbing a tree as a child. It was so far for a little girl to climb.”

  Addie bit her lip, staring at her now work-roughened hands. She had in fact come to work here from a farm, it just hadn’t exactly been a farm she had grown up on, as she’d implied. It had been one she knew well from her childhood, a place where she had learned to milk cows and climb trees, things that horrified her fine parents, though the truth was they paid little attention to their daughter’s antics, and she wondered if they even knew she had been kidnapped. When she returned to them, Addie realized that the family estate had been sold. She learned her father’s income failed and the estate was eventually sold to pay off his rather considerable debts. Her father could not bear the shame and took his own life.

  Her mother had finally found a home at the very farm that had once supplied their home with eggs and milk. She’d spent her days in staring outside, and remembering her lost daughter and the husband who had died along with his fortune. When Addie appeared before her mother, the woman did not know her. She insisted that her daughter was dead. Addie supposed it was preferable to being dishonored.

  Addie suspected her mother did recognize her, because she pressed into Addie’s hand a bit of money which she said she had been able to save. “Go,” she told Addie. “Go somewhere where no one will know you or your shame.”

  Numb and teary eyed, Addie had bought a ticket upon a coach, saying, “How far will these coins take me?” She wanted to be as far from her unhappy memories as she could go. That ticket brought her here, to Upper Nettlefold.

  And now, because of some stupid exploit as a child that had involved climbing higher than even the church steeple to rescue a stranded cat, she had been found out.

  “Mittens was his name, I believe.” Sir Ainsworth said. “My great aunt loved that cat more than my cousins I think.”