Seeking Philbert Woodbead ( A Madcap Regency Romance ) (The Fairweather Sisters) (16 page)

Here
Nithercott hesitated.

“Go on,”
Celine encouraged him.

He looked
at her gratefully and continued, “I offered him a copper, and Mr Bindle,
smelling strongly of gin, snatched it out of my hand and took off running.
Alas, Mr Bindle knew the alley well, while I did not. He disappeared like a
professional crook while all I could do was chew my hat in distress.”

Here
Nithercott finished his narration and showed George his chewed hat as proof of
the aforementioned events.

It was bad
news, but worse news was to follow. Lord Elmer’s second eye sprang open when he
noticed a thin bony hand holding a blunderbuss brushing Nithercott’s sweat
soaked back. Nithercott had left one crook only to arrive with another shorter,
thinner drier one.

“One Legged
Tim,” Lord Elmer informed her, nodding towards the man with the gun.
“Persistent fellow.”

“We ran
into each other on the boat,” Nithercott said nervously. “He wants you to
follow him. And if you want to see me alive again, then he says that you had
better follow him. I truly hope, my lord, that my service all these years has
been satisfactory, and if it has, then kindly save my bacon.”

Celine
gasped.

One Legged
Tim smiled. The left side of his lip curled upwards to show off his solid gold
tooth.

“Now look
here,” Lord Elmer coaxed, “you and Nithercott are old friends. Why don’t you
take the coach driver instead? You have never met him. A fine specimen Jim is.
Broad shoulders, good teeth and sharp ears. Best coach driver I have ever had
….”

A church
bell pealed in the distance and Celine gasped again. They had exactly one hour
to reach the Blackthorne Mansion to be in time for dinner. She had to get home.
Her hands twisted together, her eyes beseeching everyone to hurry up.

Lord Elmer
was busy selling the coach driver, Nithercott was sweating profusely, and One
Legged Tim was fast losing patience.

She had to
act now if she wanted to get back home in time. Every minute was precious. Mrs
Beatle’s book advised women to be prepared for everything. Never, she had
written, depend on a man. Men, she wrote, were ornaments that one pulled out on
special occasions or while spring cleaning. The rest of the time they should be
safely stored away in either the library or the study depending on where they
looked best.

Celine
tried to follow Mrs Beatle’s advice as much as possible in her day to day life.
Hence she dug into her reticule, pulled out a knitting needle, poked her head
out of the carriage window and stabbed One Legged Tim in the eye with the
pointy end.

One Legged
Tim screeched in agony and stumbled backwards.

While he
moaned about being blinded, Celine opened the carriage door, yanked Nithercott
inside and rapped the carriage walls.

By the time
One Legged Tim recovered they were well on their way home.

Lord Elmer
held a knitting needle in one hand and all through the drive he periodically
tested the pointed end for sharpness. Nithercott spent the entire ride pledging
his life to an embarrassed Celine.

The fat
poet Philbert was momentarily forgotten.

“I saw her
with my own eyes,” the housekeeper insisted.

“The duke
let her in?” Celine asked in amazement.

“Her grace
wouldn’t have it otherwise.”

“In other
words she started crying.”

“No, she
threatened to sit on the duke.”

Celine
dismissed the housekeeper and made her way towards the dining room. What, she
wondered, could Penelope want with a soothsayer?

The dining
room had been transformed. The heavy curtains had been closed blocking most of
the natural light. The long dining table had been covered with a red velvet
cloth, and the flickering candles illuminated the altar, which consisted of an
ordinary looking rock stuffed inside an ochre hued silk stocking.

This
blessed stone was surrounded by odder looking things; namely a bowl of water, a
dish of salt, a bell, colourful threads, virulent incense sticks, a comb, shiny
buttons and a freshly decapitated bleeding chicken head.

The room
tickled her olfactory senses with upper notes of deep sandalwood, soft jasmine,
mysterious myrrh, and with the base note of last evening’s dinner of boiled
pork. It made her feel exotic, spiritual and hungry.

Celine
coughed her way towards the table where through the haze of smoke she spotted
an unhappy duke, a pleased Lord Elmer, an eager duchess and a beautiful
stranger.

“You have
candles burning and incense sticks smouldering,” Celine informed Penelope.

“At ten in
the morning,” the duke added with a yawn.

“The dusty
spirits and late gods need all these things to coax them into the right mood to
answer questions,” Penelope replied spiritually.

“Lusty
spirits and great gods,” Miss Swan’s low timbered voice corrected.

The duke
chuckled.

“Miss Swan
is trying to concentrate,” Penelope hissed at him. She eyed Miss Swan
apologetically and requested her to begin.

Miss Swan
closed her eyes, threw her hands up in the air and started chanting,

Come,
come, come, oh great elements,

Arsey
varsey and sort of malcontent.

Come,
come water, wind and fire,

We are willing
to throw up our children and all that you desire.

“I object,”
the duke objected, “I am not throwing my children anywhere.”

Miss Swan
opened her dark, mysterious eyes and sent him a sour look.

“Perhaps another
chant?” Penelope hastily requested, her hands clutched her belly protectively.

Miss Swan
nodded agreeably and opened her mouth and started again,

Pooh,
pah, pish and Pshaw,

Let us
chant equality before law.

Celine sat
down next to Lord Elmer. Once her skirts were arranged just so, she looked
across at the energetically chanting Miss Swan.

Miss Swan
had a head full of shiny black curls on which perched a yellow turban. Her
almond shaped dark eyes were lined with black pigment, and her sun kissed skin
and full red lips appeared to be rouged. She wore a long green dress, wooden
beads, and a pink rose in bloom was tucked behind her left ear. She had a bowl
of water in front of her, and over it she held a pendulum.

Celine
reluctantly conceded that Miss Swan surrounded by twinkling candles was a
pleasant sight to behold, and by the looks of George, she further concluded,
Miss Swan appeared to unattached males as conducive to lovemaking.

“What is
going on?” Celine whispered in George’s ear.

“Miss Elizabeth
Swan is trying to find out if the duchess will have a boy or a girl,” George
whispered back.

His breath
tickled her ear making it itch.

“How?”
Celine asked, delicately scratching her ear.

“Magic,”
George replied.

“Did you
tell Penelope about her?”

“How did
you guess?”

“You said
her name with a lot of—” She closed her mouth.

“Affection,”
George finished for her.

“Danger,”
Miss Swan’s throaty voice suddenly rang out halting their whispered
conversation. “Danger is near. I can feel it.”

Celine
froze. A trickle of fear raced down her spine. It escaped just before hitting
the top of her buttocks.

“I can
see,” Miss Swan continued, “water, blood, guns, an old gnarled woman, skulls
and bones.” The pendulum in her hand started swinging to and fro.

Penelope
gulped, “I only asked if I was having a boy or a girl,” she said staring at
Lord Elmer.

“She is in
trance,” Lord Elmer replied softly. “Listen to her and heed her advice. The
trance comes on suddenly and only the chosen are privy to it.”

“I don’t
want to be chosen,” Penelope said in a small voice.

“Quiet,”
roared Miss Swan, “the vision swims, the vision swims … and I see …”

Everyone in
the room became deathly quiet waiting for Miss Swan’s next words.

Celine
leaned forward in her chair when a sudden soft rumbling sound followed by a
snort made her jump.

The duke
had fallen asleep and was now peacefully snoring.

Miss Swan
opened her eyes and glared at the duke.

Penelope
stabbed the duke’s hand with a fork.

He woke up
with a start.

She eyed him
meaningfully and he eyed her back fearfully. A swift silent communication
passed between them.

The duke’s
lashes jerked upwards, and his eyeballs whizzed in their sockets. He suddenly
looked as awake as Sir Henry did after drinking half a cup of coffee. And good
god did Sir Henry awaken if he drank a bit of the strong, fragrant Turkish
brew.

Sir Henry
drinking coffee was an event in itself. The entire family gathered together to
witness this spectacle. Even the upper servants stuck their ears to the door.
First, Sir Henry would wait until the coffee cooled down to the right
temperature. Thereafter, he would gingerly take a sip. The warm liquid would
slide down his gullet and reach his stomach, and that was when the tremors
started.

The family
would hold their breath, the servants strain their ears, and the duke would
ready his flute. By the time Sir Henry finished the entire cup, the tremors
turned into vigorous vibrations. His old bones rattled and clicked and
squeaked, which the duke took as a cue to put the flute to his lips and begin a
tune.

The sounds
of shaking old bones and achingly sweet flute would fill the room creating
beautiful music. Sometimes the dowager would be moved to add her voice making
it a rare musical treat.

Satisfied
that her silent threat had had the appropriate effect on the duke, Penelope
turned back to Miss Swan, “What did you mean about the danger and how can it be
averted?”

Miss Swan’s
delicate nostrils flared. “What it means only time shall reveal. Meanwhile, you
can take some precautions. One way to accomplish this is by ensuring that your
husband sings you to sleep every evening.”

The duke
smirked.

“He must
stay with you at all times until the child is born, and he must eat the same
food as you do and drink your tonics as well.” This time Miss Swan smirked.

“Even the
bitter ones?” Penelope asked.

“Only the
bitter ones,” came the reply.

“This is
nonsense,” the duke began.

“He must
also do a lively spring dance for you every morning,” Miss Swan continued loudly.
“It shall please mother earth.”

“I shall
not,” the duke spluttered.

“He will
have to wear your petticoats and go hunting for a black wolf on a full moon
night. It shall please mother nature,” Miss Swan chanted.

“I wouldn’t
object if I were you,” Lord Elmer whispered to the duke, “or it will get
worse.”

The duke
closed his mouth.

Miss Swan
watched him for a minute, and when no further objections were raised, she said,
“Keep this amulet with you at all times. No harm shall befall you while you
wear it, and make sure your husband does all that I have said.”

Penelope
pocketed the amulet which strongly resembled the corpse of a lavender scented
rat. “Thank you. Is there anything else I can do?”

“Yes, cross
my palm with coin.”

Penelope
put a coin in her hand.

“Cross my
palm with lots of coins.

Penelope
handed her a small jingling bag.

“Thank
you.” Miss Swan said, gathering up her supplies. She shoved the bleeding
chicken head into a cloth bag along with the blessed rock and the rest of the
paraphernalia.

“Wait,”
Penelope said. “Am I having a boy or a girl?”

“The powers
that be shall reveal in time.”

“What does
that mean?” Celine asked.

Miss Swan
gazed at her mysteriously. “Lord Elmer will see me out.”

George nodded
and whispered something in Miss Swan’s ear making her giggle.

Celine
froze, her breath stuck in her throat. All at once time seemed to slow down and
Lord Elmer’s fingers moved as if wading through viscous air.

Her eyes
widened and her refined senses watched in horror as the scene unfolded before
her.

It seemed
an age before his adventurous fingers reached Miss Swan’s round, firm bottom …
and then he flicked it.

Celine was
certain that a bottom had been flicked today. And that she had seen it. Her heart
sank. “Laced mutton,” she whispered, piqued.

Miss Swan
in turn sent George a long, heated look before exiting the room. He scampered
after her.