Read Online The Indigo Pheasant: Volume Two of Longing for Yount: 2 by Daniel A. Rabuzzi - Free Book Online Page A

dog-eared papers.
    “Barnabas, what I told Sanford last night, is that I need to talk to you today about something other than the Project. Something even more important—yes—and assuredly more needful of prudential action, the discretion of Caesar’s wife, the caution of the most cautious enterpriser in murky waters.”
    Barnabas sat back, mystified.
    “Pray proceed,” he said.
    “Did you happen to notice our new serving girl last night, the black one?” said Sedgewick.
    Nothing Sedgewick could say could have nonplussed Barnabas more. In fact, had Sedgewick inquired as to the likelihood of parrots standing for parliament or asserted that the Man on the Moon was coming down for dinner that very evening, Barnabas would have been no more flummoxed.
    “I, well, yes,” he said. “But what on earth does that have to do with anything, with anything at all?”
    “A great deal, I am afraid,” said Sedgewick. “There being no nice way to express this, I will come simply to the facts. I believe my Africk serving girl is your first cousin once removed, Barnabas, which thus makes her second cousin to Sally and Tom.”
    “I . . .” said Barnabas, stroking his vest (snuff-coloured, with dashes of Zoffany red). “Beans and
bacon
. . .”
    “Start at the beginning, Mr. Sedgewick,” said Sanford.
    “While you were away, I had some adventures of my own, if I may call them that,” said Sedgewick, closing his eyes. “Nothing as brash or brawny as what I presume you endured,
certes
, but nevertheless picaresque enough to disturb the equilibrium of my small, lawyerly world. Among other things, a bailiff of Edinburgh’s courts delivered to me the last will and testament of—be staunch again, Barnabas, here comes another shock—of your mother, Belladonna McDoon, born Brownlee.”
    Barnabas stood up, so great was his excitement, nearly overturning his tea cup and the slops-bowl.
    “Yes, yes, I know,” said Sedgewick, opening his eyes. “I should have told you earlier but it has been ridiculously hard, even for me, to bring myself to the point. Three times I wrote letters to you on the subject, and thrice I tore them up as being inadequate to the task. I deemed it best to reveal all this in person—and of that judgment I remain convinced, especially now that I see your reaction. Sanford, it was, who cemented my resolve, in the brief conversation you observed us conducting at yestereve’s assembly.”
    Sanford poured more tea for Barnabas and said, “To the point now, Sedgewick, to the most acute point you can make of it.”
    “Indeed,” said the lawyer. “I will leave for you both the will itself and all the other papers I received; it will take you a while to encompass their entire meaning. But this afternoon, allow me to guide us through the most strange and brocaded of their contents, namely, the events Belladonna relates about her sister.”
    “My aunt?” said Barnabas. “The Old McDoon never, ever talked about her, his wife, who died long ago. Some sort of scandal, all hushed up, but my uncle was harsh on absolutely everyone . . .”
    “Eusebianna McDoon,” said Sedgewick. “Born Brownlee. Two sisters who married two brothers. Less common now than it was then, but still no seldom thing. Two Brownlees becoming two McDoons.”
    Sanford stood, walked to the window with teacup in hand, watching the traffic on Mincing Lane as Sedgewick unreeled the story.
    “The two sisters were very close to one another, and united it seems in the odd rumours that swirled about them. Barnabas, I will not yield to superstition, but the statements contained in these papers defy my most reasoned approach. What is clear is that the good burghers of Edinburgh saw the Brownlee sisters as witches, hard as that is to countenance or explain.”
    “I have heard something about that, but not while I was a boy,” murmured Barnabas.
    “Yes, well, allegations of witchcraft and intercourse with the fairies have never done women any good,