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Authors: Of Paupersand Peers
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a ghost with remarkably poor vision, for Mr. Fanshawe is quite fair, and the duke’s people have always been dark.”
“On the contrary, Miss Darrington,” James said in a flippant tone that belied his unnerving experience. “It would be a perfectly natural mistake. I have always felt there is nothing quite like a black eye and a fat lip for lending a fellow a certain aristocratic air.”
Margaret acknowledged this sally with a smile, but declined to answer it with one of her own. “In all seriousness, Mr. Fanshawe, I believe there are gypsies camped in the home wood; no doubt the person you saw was one of them.”
“Gypsies!” Having captured the elusive butterfly, Amanda now joined the party with her prize clasped loosely in her hands. “Oh, Meg, do let us have our fortunes told!”
Philip added his entreaties to his sister’s. James, for his part, had no great confidence in the purported psychic abilities of gypsies, but as he had had little enough success in ascertaining anything about himself, he reasoned that they could hardly do worse than he had thus far done.
“What say you, Miss Darrington?” he asked with a hint of a challenge in his voice. “Shall we visit the gypsies and put our fates to the test?”
“Yes, let’s,” she agreed readily, taking his proffered arm. “So long as we return home in time for tea, else Aunt Hattie will worry.”
His smile was somewhat sheepish. “I confess, Miss Darrington, you have taken the wind out of my sails. I felt sure you would consider such frivolity a shocking waste of funds.”
“And so it is.” The twinkle in her fine dark eyes robbed the words of any severity. “But surely everyone deserves an occasional flight of fancy. It has been my observation that harsh reality inevitably rears its ugly head.”
It struck James that Miss Darrington had not known enough frivolity in her life. Was she practical by nature, as he had first thought, or had she been forced by circumstances to become so?
As if she had read his thoughts, she added, “Besides, I suspect a close look at the camp will disabuse Amanda and Philip of any romantic notions about the nomadic life.”
In this assessment she was almost too correct. Seen at close range, the colorful canvas tents of the gypsies appeared grimy and faded. Two gaunt hounds of mixed breed snarled at their approach. The dogs’ animosity was reflected in the hostile stares of a trio of unkempt young men, one of whom poked at the smoldering embers of the campfire with a stout stick.
“What d’ye want?” was this individual’s unpromising greeting.
James suddenly found both his arms seized—the left by his employer, and the right by her sister. Glancing first at Miss Darrington, then at Amanda, he saw the two very different young ladies regarding the gypsies with identical expressions of trepidation.
“I—Good day.” Seeing the dauntless Miss Darrington for once bereft of speech, James assumed the role of spokesman for the group. “The ladies would like to have their fortunes told, if you please.”
Apparently the gypsies did not please, for they stared at the group for a long moment before making any attempt to accommodate them. At last one of the young men spat on the ground, then bellowed some strange words in a language James did not understand. Immediately the flap of one of the tents was thrown back, and an elderly woman appeared in the aperture. Her olive skin was deeply lined, but her black hair was scarcely touched with gray in spite of her advanced age. She held a brief discourse with the young man in the unknown tongue, then turned to address the newcomers in heavily accented English.
“You come in.”
James did as he was told, steering the Darrington siblings in the direction of the tent and stooping to lead the way through the opening. The abrupt change from sun to shadows made him blink. The interior was too dimly lit to make out much detail, but this might be a good thing, if the smell
“On the contrary, Miss Darrington,” James said in a flippant tone that belied his unnerving experience. “It would be a perfectly natural mistake. I have always felt there is nothing quite like a black eye and a fat lip for lending a fellow a certain aristocratic air.”
Margaret acknowledged this sally with a smile, but declined to answer it with one of her own. “In all seriousness, Mr. Fanshawe, I believe there are gypsies camped in the home wood; no doubt the person you saw was one of them.”
“Gypsies!” Having captured the elusive butterfly, Amanda now joined the party with her prize clasped loosely in her hands. “Oh, Meg, do let us have our fortunes told!”
Philip added his entreaties to his sister’s. James, for his part, had no great confidence in the purported psychic abilities of gypsies, but as he had had little enough success in ascertaining anything about himself, he reasoned that they could hardly do worse than he had thus far done.
“What say you, Miss Darrington?” he asked with a hint of a challenge in his voice. “Shall we visit the gypsies and put our fates to the test?”
“Yes, let’s,” she agreed readily, taking his proffered arm. “So long as we return home in time for tea, else Aunt Hattie will worry.”
His smile was somewhat sheepish. “I confess, Miss Darrington, you have taken the wind out of my sails. I felt sure you would consider such frivolity a shocking waste of funds.”
“And so it is.” The twinkle in her fine dark eyes robbed the words of any severity. “But surely everyone deserves an occasional flight of fancy. It has been my observation that harsh reality inevitably rears its ugly head.”
It struck James that Miss Darrington had not known enough frivolity in her life. Was she practical by nature, as he had first thought, or had she been forced by circumstances to become so?
As if she had read his thoughts, she added, “Besides, I suspect a close look at the camp will disabuse Amanda and Philip of any romantic notions about the nomadic life.”
In this assessment she was almost too correct. Seen at close range, the colorful canvas tents of the gypsies appeared grimy and faded. Two gaunt hounds of mixed breed snarled at their approach. The dogs’ animosity was reflected in the hostile stares of a trio of unkempt young men, one of whom poked at the smoldering embers of the campfire with a stout stick.
“What d’ye want?” was this individual’s unpromising greeting.
James suddenly found both his arms seized—the left by his employer, and the right by her sister. Glancing first at Miss Darrington, then at Amanda, he saw the two very different young ladies regarding the gypsies with identical expressions of trepidation.
“I—Good day.” Seeing the dauntless Miss Darrington for once bereft of speech, James assumed the role of spokesman for the group. “The ladies would like to have their fortunes told, if you please.”
Apparently the gypsies did not please, for they stared at the group for a long moment before making any attempt to accommodate them. At last one of the young men spat on the ground, then bellowed some strange words in a language James did not understand. Immediately the flap of one of the tents was thrown back, and an elderly woman appeared in the aperture. Her olive skin was deeply lined, but her black hair was scarcely touched with gray in spite of her advanced age. She held a brief discourse with the young man in the unknown tongue, then turned to address the newcomers in heavily accented English.
“You come in.”
James did as he was told, steering the Darrington siblings in the direction of the tent and stooping to lead the way through the opening. The abrupt change from sun to shadows made him blink. The interior was too dimly lit to make out much detail, but this might be a good thing, if the smell
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