The Devil's Mistress by David Barclay (summer reads txt) 📗

deeply into his face they might have been scars. He was round about the shoulders and had more recently grown round about the belly, a fact which was helped not at all by his strict adherence to the English fashion of yesteryear, which clad him most nights—as he was so presently clad—in a long, square coat which covered him bodily from neck to knees.

“Elly, where have you been?” He ran into the rain, flinging open the doors of the carriage before the servants could intervene.

“Here, Father.”

He opened his arms to embrace her, then saw the state of her attire. “What has happened?”

“We were caught in the storm. I had to help Jacob free the carriage.”

“Caught in the storm? Who let you out in the storm?” He cast his head about as if searching for a target. His eyes settled on the boy, who had come down from the coach box to unhitch the horses. “You, there. What is the meaning of this?”

“He had no say in this,” Isabella interjected. “He was only doing as I asked.”

“As you asked? You are not to leave without an escort. You don’t know the dangers of the wood after dark. What if you were set upon by a band of savages? Do you think this boy could defend you?”

“Please, Father. Let us get out of the rain, first.”

He pointed to his head of house, a long, wiry man in a stained linen shirt, with a leather whip at his side. “Tie him to the post, Mister Sands. I will have him flogged for this.”

“You will not,” Isabella shouted. “You cannot punish him for doing as I asked.”

“He should know—”

“He should know that we do not whip our servants for obeying a direct command.”

In all things physical, Isabella resembled her late mother more than the great John Ashford, but in matters of temperament, they were as two stones cut from the same mountain. Once she’d fastened upon a point, she would not be moved.

“Mm,” he grumbled. “Oh, very well. But no supper for him, and put him on the east roof repairs on the morrow. Since he has spent the evening bandying about the countryside, I am sure he will not mind a day of hard labor at altitude.”

Isabella met her father’s eye and saw he would not be moved. Jacob would not be physically punished, but he would have a hard time of it for a few days. It wouldn’t be the first time a servant was to take the brunt of her misdeeds, and yet, the boy had risked himself so gladly. What had she done to deserve such cruel adulation?

Her father took her by the arm. “Come with me. Let us get you cleaned up.”

“Hold a moment.”

“I will not wait.”

“Yes, you shall, Father! I will be in momentarily.”

Then, once more seeing her inexorability, he grumbled something about the cold and headed into the house alone.

She turned to Jacob and opened her mouth, but no words came out. He seemed not to notice, going about the task of unhitching the horses as if nothing had transpired. There was so much she wanted to say. Gratitude for all he had done. An apology for the harm it brought him. A promise not to put him in the same predicament again.

Still, no words came.

Jacob finished with the halters and began walking Lily and Beth across the grounds.

Isabella had to run to catch up. At last, she said, “Are you not cold?”

He stopped long enough to remove the driver’s cap from his head. Without it, he once more looked a boy of sixteen instead of the grizzled old man he had been upon the road. “You belong in there, my lady. As for me, I belong out here. ’Tis the way it has always been, and always will be. Happy to have been of service, I am.” He looked at her, then said, “Worry not about my time tomorrow. ’Twill be a clear day on the rooftop, and I’m sure my leg will not be a burden.” He led the horses into the stable and closed the doors behind him, confining her to the courtyard.

“Wait,” she said, but he would not. Well, perhaps the Lady of the Hill had been wrong after all.

She marched across the courtyard in a huff, not bothering to acknowledge several of her father’s men who waved her good evening as she opened the front door and then slammed it behind her.

Chapter 5

Miss Delia was waiting with a fresh change of clothes inside. Delia always seemed to know what Isabella needed before Isabella did. Truth be told, she seemed to know everything about everything. That wisdom, however, had come with an awful price.

Delia was a free woman, but like so many born to slavery, the bonds which held her to the estate were stronger than any physical chains. She had worked for decades in different families and secreted enough money to purchase her own freedom, in accordance with the law. That freedom, however, had come too late. By the time she had saved enough and John had softened enough to allow it, she had outlived the rest of her natural family. She was too old to travel north on her own. John Ashford paid her and housed her in exchange for her continued service, but it was a lonely existence. This oft troubled Isabella, though many nights, she was plainly glad of Delia’s company. Glad she had a confidant in whom she could trust.

Isabella peeled off her boots. “Why are the hearts of men so complicated?”

“Not so complicated,” Delia said, slipping a dress around Isabella’s shoulders. “Got their strong parts and their weak parts in the same place. You just got to know when to pinch, and when to pull.”

Isabella had no idea what that meant but nodded anyway.

Delia produced a familiar golden band and slipped it on the girl’s finger. “Don’t want to lose this. No, indeed.”

Isabella sighed. “As if I needed reminding.”

“Don’t get any foolhardy ideas.