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Authors: Sandra Heath
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herself. The stream sparkled coldly and the elder bushes were leafless, but nearby catkins seemed very golden as they trembled against the clear blue sky. Even the rattle of the ash keys seemed more pleasant. But would anything happen today?
The gate was open this time, and she heard a tractor on the breeze. Shading her eyes, she saw it working a field further on. She was sure it was the same farmer she’d encountered last night. There were fresh tractor marks in the mud and she glanced behind to be certain her car wasn’t in the way of anything. Then, crossing her fingers, she approached the gateway, but as she reached it the view didn’t change. She could still see the hotel and hear the tractor.
Deeply disappointed, she started to walk away. Clearly there wasn’t to be a close encounter this time, but then she hesitated. Maybe she’d give it one last try. She’d had to be partly over the gate last night, so maybe she had to actually go into the field. Turning again, she stepped through into the field, and with a jolt found herself where she wanted to be.
It was warm, sunny May again, and the original Deveril House spread grandly across its hillside again. She was Regency Laura, and in the lane behind her waited the carriage Blair had sent to convey her from the King’s Head. She’d just asked the coachman to halt while she plucked up courage for the imminent interview. She needed all her composure because she felt there was little chance of being engaged. No matter what Marianna said, Blair Deveril didn’t want to be constantly confronted with his wife’s ghost. The beloved shade, as Stephen was occasionally wont to privately describe Celina.
Wondering what lay in store, Laura smoothed her skirts nervously and then glanced down at her clothes. Today she wore a lilac velvet spencer over a plain white lawn gown, and her straw bonnet had wide purple ribbons. Regency Laura knew that the finer points of the clothes had been modish in about 1813, but nevertheless she was pleased with them. Sir Miles Lowestoft might be a monster, but he was a monster with good taste in fashion, although her false wedding ring was an unpleasant reminder that his good taste did not extend beyond clothes.
She heard men’s voices by the carriage, and turned. The lane had lost its modern paved surface, and was little more than a dirt track. The coachman was leaning over to speak to someone just out of sight. His voice was broad Gloucestershire. “I didn’t reckon I’d see you just yet, Ha’penny Jack. The fair’s not for another few days.”
The unseen man replied. “I knows I’m early, but there’s a plump widder woman I’ve a mind to see in the village. Name of Dolly Frampton.”
“But will she want to see you , that’s the question! You traveling showmen think you’re so marvelous, but you ent nothin’ really. You can’t neglect the likes of Dolly from one year to the next, and expect ‘er to welcome you with open arms when you deigns to come back. You’d best know she’ve been seen out and about with the butler from the big ‘ouse.”
Laura moved to see what someone called Ha’penny Jack was like. He proved to be a burly fellow of about thirty, with lank brown hair and a round face. There was a battered three-cornered hat on his head, and his brown coat had seen better days, but his clothing didn’t command much attention, instead it was the immense gaudily-colored box he carried on his back. He was bowed by its weight, and at first Laura couldn’t think what on earth it was. Then she realized, if he was a traveling showman the box had to be his puppet theater, and he was called Ha’penny Jack because that was what he charged.
The showman prepared to walk on, but then paused to nod back along the lane in the direction of Cirencester. “Reckon this must be the day for carriages to lurk in country byways,” he observed suddenly. “I just passed another one. It must have been coming along behind you,
The gate was open this time, and she heard a tractor on the breeze. Shading her eyes, she saw it working a field further on. She was sure it was the same farmer she’d encountered last night. There were fresh tractor marks in the mud and she glanced behind to be certain her car wasn’t in the way of anything. Then, crossing her fingers, she approached the gateway, but as she reached it the view didn’t change. She could still see the hotel and hear the tractor.
Deeply disappointed, she started to walk away. Clearly there wasn’t to be a close encounter this time, but then she hesitated. Maybe she’d give it one last try. She’d had to be partly over the gate last night, so maybe she had to actually go into the field. Turning again, she stepped through into the field, and with a jolt found herself where she wanted to be.
It was warm, sunny May again, and the original Deveril House spread grandly across its hillside again. She was Regency Laura, and in the lane behind her waited the carriage Blair had sent to convey her from the King’s Head. She’d just asked the coachman to halt while she plucked up courage for the imminent interview. She needed all her composure because she felt there was little chance of being engaged. No matter what Marianna said, Blair Deveril didn’t want to be constantly confronted with his wife’s ghost. The beloved shade, as Stephen was occasionally wont to privately describe Celina.
Wondering what lay in store, Laura smoothed her skirts nervously and then glanced down at her clothes. Today she wore a lilac velvet spencer over a plain white lawn gown, and her straw bonnet had wide purple ribbons. Regency Laura knew that the finer points of the clothes had been modish in about 1813, but nevertheless she was pleased with them. Sir Miles Lowestoft might be a monster, but he was a monster with good taste in fashion, although her false wedding ring was an unpleasant reminder that his good taste did not extend beyond clothes.
She heard men’s voices by the carriage, and turned. The lane had lost its modern paved surface, and was little more than a dirt track. The coachman was leaning over to speak to someone just out of sight. His voice was broad Gloucestershire. “I didn’t reckon I’d see you just yet, Ha’penny Jack. The fair’s not for another few days.”
The unseen man replied. “I knows I’m early, but there’s a plump widder woman I’ve a mind to see in the village. Name of Dolly Frampton.”
“But will she want to see you , that’s the question! You traveling showmen think you’re so marvelous, but you ent nothin’ really. You can’t neglect the likes of Dolly from one year to the next, and expect ‘er to welcome you with open arms when you deigns to come back. You’d best know she’ve been seen out and about with the butler from the big ‘ouse.”
Laura moved to see what someone called Ha’penny Jack was like. He proved to be a burly fellow of about thirty, with lank brown hair and a round face. There was a battered three-cornered hat on his head, and his brown coat had seen better days, but his clothing didn’t command much attention, instead it was the immense gaudily-colored box he carried on his back. He was bowed by its weight, and at first Laura couldn’t think what on earth it was. Then she realized, if he was a traveling showman the box had to be his puppet theater, and he was called Ha’penny Jack because that was what he charged.
The showman prepared to walk on, but then paused to nod back along the lane in the direction of Cirencester. “Reckon this must be the day for carriages to lurk in country byways,” he observed suddenly. “I just passed another one. It must have been coming along behind you,
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