be praised!” Jenny replied. “’Tis the very thing I’ve wished for ever since your papa took so sick. Now that the new baron’s here, and being how he is, ’tis best ye git a household of yer own, with a husband to protect you. So, when be we goin’ to London?”
“We are not going to London. Cousin Nigel has already chosen my husband. In fact, he arrives tomorrow.”
Jenny’s enthusiasm chilled abruptly. “Already chosen? Who…who is it to be, my lady?”
“Lord Edgerton.”
Consternation extinguished the remaining traces of Jenny’s gladness. “Lord Edgerton! Why, that gentleman is twice your age or more! With a pack of unruly brats as would try the patience of the Virgin Mother herself, so the story goes! Surely your cousin—”
“My cousin is fixed upon it, Jenny, and will brook no opposition. Indeed, he’s threatened to lock me away if I resist. So there’s no purpose to be served in repining. Lord Edgerton arrives tomorrow and the wedding is to be the end of the week. A simple affair, cousin Nigel said. Given the circumstances,” she finished dryly, “you may dispense with the traditional wishes for my happiness.”
“My poor chick,” Jenny said, distress on her face. “’Tis a dastardly thing for the new baron to do, and I can’t help if I think it!”
Gwennor gave the maid a quick hug. “Bless you, Jenny. But you and the rest of the staff must be circumspect in what you say. I’m not sure who among you, if any, I’ll be able to take with me when I wed, and those who remain will have to work for my cousin.”
“Probably turn us all off without a character and fetch in some jumped-up London toffs,” Jenny muttered.
“I hope he will value you all as he ought. Now, would you tell Cook and Hopkins to make a room ready for Lord Edgerton and ask them to begin considering preparations for a wedding breakfast? I shall consult with them tomorrow about the details, but for now…” Gwen let her sentence trail off and tried to look mournful, not a difficult task. “I believe I shall ride.”
“Well, and I don’t wonder at it!” Jenny said. “Settin’ you up with a man old enough to be your papa, and marryin’ you off all havey-cavey, without even time to buy bride clothes! You go on, Miss Gwen. A ride will do your spirits good, and I’ll get Hopkins movin’ on the preparations.”
“Oh, and Parry will not be joining us for dinner. I told him I’d bring him a tray later…and I—I think I shall stay out late, helping him with the animals. I shall not be able to do so much longer, after all.”
“Bless me, Miss Gwen, whatever is to become of that poor boy with you gone? I worry about it, I do!”
“You know I would never allow anyone to harm Parry—no matter what I must do to prevent it. I shall think of something, Jenny.”
“You bein’ so clever and all, I suppose you will. Now, get you off ridin’, and leave the rest to Jenny.”
Gwennor gave one last hug to the woman who’d been more mother than servant to her for the last ten years. “Thank you, Jenny. You’re an angel!”
“If’n I was, I’d be spreadin’ out my wings and carryin’ you off to London,” the maid declared, still shaking her head in disapproval as she walked away.
Gwennor picked up her pace and sped to the stables. She must complete her mission and return with enough time to rifle the strongbox before cousin Nigel rose to dress for dinner.
Firefly, her ginger mare, whinnied a greeting as she approached the hay-fragrant stall, and Gwen felt a pang of regret and anger. Another dear friend, along with her home, she’d soon be forced to abandon.
Sending the stable boy back to his other chores, she saddled the mare and headed off at a trot, letting the horse stretch her legs in a gallop once they reached the open fields near the Home Woods, and then continuing on at a canter to the far south meadow.
“Please,” she prayed. “Let them still be there.”
When at last she saw the gaily-painted wagons beside the stream that formed the border of Southford land, she let out a gusty breath of relief.
Slowing Firefly to a walk, she proceeded to the end wagon. Before she’d even dismounted, a dark-eyed urchin with a thatch of black hair ran over to catch her bridle.
“A copper for you if you’ll take her to drink at the stream—but not too much water, now!”
Gwennor smiled as the lad trotted off, Firefly in tow, and turned to the old woman who sat by her campfire regarding her gravely.
“So, you come to have your fortune read, now that the Evil One descends upon your home?”
“No, Jacquinita. I’m afraid I know what you’d find in my palm,” Gwen replied with a grimace, not at all surprised the most revered of the gypsy soothsayers already knew of her cousin’s arrival. “I came to ask a favor.”
With a jangle of her many bracelets, the gypsy motioned her to sit. “What favor?”
“Parry and I must leave Southford immediately, but we must depart in a way that my cousin cannot trace. I want to ask Remolo to allow us to travel in your train, disguised as Rom. I will pay in coin and in jewels for this boon. Will you plead my case for me?”
The woman fingered a pleat of her full red skirt. “He means to harm you, your cousin, yes?”
“He wishes to marry me to his friend, but that is not why we flee. He intends to lock Parry in the attics and not allow him to roam free. The Rom, of all people, should understand what this would do to my brother.”
The old woman nodded. “He has the gift, your brother. Such a spirit should not be caged. Your father was a good man, for a gadjo. Every year he allowed us to camp in his fields. That one—” she spat in the direction of Southford Manor, then made a sign of protection against the evil eye “—will call the magistrates on us soon, so have I warned the people. Therefore we leave at dusk. I will speak with Remolo.”
“Dusk!” Gwennor cried with alarm. “If I am to depart undetected, I cannot leave the manor until near on midnight. Please, tell Remolo I will pay him well if he will wait and take us!”
The old woman stood, adjusting her full skirts and the multicolored head scarf. “I will tell him. You follow.”
Gwennor removed the small leather pouch and held it out. “Take him this. ’Tis a token and pledge. Tell him I will bring twenty more gold pieces when we come tonight.”
The old woman snatched the leather pouch from her fingers. “So will I say.”
Gwennor followed as instructed, praying a merciful God would intercede with the gypsy overlord. Swarthy, handsome, mercurial and unquestioned master over his band, Remolo’s decision—like her cousin’s, she thought with irony—would be final and irrevocable.
As she had only a very basic knowledge of the Romany language, Gwennor could not follow much of the conversation that ensued. The old woman offered the money pouch, which the gypsy lord accepted with a short bow in her direction. But after Jacquinita spoke for several minutes, with gestures and dark looks toward Southford
