LESSON 12
PROMISES

FROM THE TRAVEL JOURNALS OF MRS ASHLEE DEVERE

I had no idea what my plan was. Travelling as I was, a noble lady, made me too damned easy to track, although I had enough money to pay the coach to take us all the way to the Mediterranean.

‘Our guise is betraying us.’ I finally voiced my concerns to Nanny, who’d been silent beside me whilst I thought through our best route to the Sinai.

What did I tell you in the beginning? Albray appeared on the seat opposite me; I had not dismissed him, nor would I unless he specifically requested it.

‘What does your spirit friend say about our situation?’ Nanny asked, without so much as glancing up from her knitting.

Albray and myself were stunned. ‘Do you see him, Nanny?’

Nanny shook her head. ‘I’ve heard you speaking with someone from time to time.’ She glanced around the carriage. ‘I didn’t realise it was a he, however,’ she said in a tone of disapproval. ‘Still, I don’t suppose he can do you too much harm, such as he is.’

I laughed, as did Albray. ‘Dear Nanny.’ I kissed her cheek and then sat back to answer her question. ‘Albray thinks we should travel a bit more incognito.’

‘If he is talking about becoming peasants that would be easier said than done,’ Nanny scoffed. ‘Poor people travel by cheap and dangerous means, and I’ll not have you placed in harm’s way.’

Miss Granville, you are already in harm’s way, Albray explained, and I’m afraid you are going to have little choice in your change of circumstance as Chiara would like to claim her favour now.

‘Now?’ I was surprised. ‘But we are nowhere near Italy.’

The gypsy witch appeared beside Albray, concern written across her face. Something terrible has happened to my people, she said, using a mix of Italian and what I suspected was Romany—which I hadn’t studied, but as the gypsies moved around a lot, their tongue borrowed words from many other European languages. Clearly, Chiara was very upset.

‘Be calm,’ I said. ‘I need you to tell me your troubles slowly, and in Italian preferably.’

Chiara nodded. My people seldom venture this far west. Gypsy traders are not so appreciated in the midlands of France. Not a mile down the road, you will come to a caravan of women, and you must help them! Our men have been taken. I don’t know the circumstances, she sobbed. You must help them. I did not expect to ask so big a favour in return for my services, but if you do this for Chiara, she pleaded, placing a hand over her heart, I shall vow to you a lifetime of service.

That’s a very generous offer indeed, Albray granted.

‘But this will surely delay our quest,’ I said, speaking aloud.

Delays can prove beneficial in my experience. Albray didn’t seem too worried. If you fall into the company of gypsies, it will provide you with the perfect cover and you could have no better guides if travelling on the cheap.

‘Fear not, Chiara, I will do what I can for your family,’ I assured her, noting Nanny’s surprise at my words. Chiara began blessing me in several dialects. ‘No need to thank me, as it is clearly the best solution for all of us.’

‘So what have we decided?’ Nanny was quick to ask, sounding a little wary.

‘I think I might surprise you with this one, Nanny.’ I patted her hand. ‘But not to fear, all shall be made clear within the hour.’ I smiled broadly at Albray, rather excited by the prospect of sampling gypsy life.

I could see Nanny was very curious, as I moved from the left to right window looking out for the caravan, but often gypsies had the reputation of being thieves, witches and devil worshippers, so I thought it best to just let the scenario unfold. Nanny was a good judge of character and could make up her own mind about Chiara’s kin.

When I had the coach pull up beside the caravan, I laughed at Nanny’s doubtful expression. ‘I made a promise to someone that helped us escape the Chateau De Vere. I am bound to return this favour,’ I explained and, although Nanny was worried, she trusted me and did not question my course of action.

As I climbed out of my carriage, I was struck by two things: firstly, by how surprised these people were that I had stopped to speak with them, and secondly by how colourful and cheerful their attire was—their bleak expressions were in distinct contrast.

Unlike Chiara’s drab attire, her descendants had obviously travelled and traded more broadly, for these women displayed a kind of Oriental splendour, with gold coins woven into their dark masses of hair and around their necks and breasts. Their skirts were striped and spotted in vibrant clashes of colour. Bright colours and patterns featured in their shirts, shawls and the scarves that were bound about their heads. Chiara had a very handsome clan indeed.

‘Are voi nella difficoltà, signore?’ I asked them if they were in trouble, hoping they still employed Italian as well as their native Romany. I also wondered where all the men of the band were. ‘Where sono i vostri uomini?’

They all stared at me and I wondered if I should try French. Then the eldest woman rose from her chair and replied in Italian: ‘What concern is that of yours, my lady?’

‘Well,’ I took a deep breath, and as I was beholden to no one any more, I thought I’d try something novel and tell the truth, ‘I owe Chiara a favour and she requested I stop and help you in return for her service to me.’

There were many gasps from those present, and the women muttered quietly among themselves.

‘A mystic.’ The old woman was pleasantly surprised and quite confident about her claim. ‘If Chiara has sent you, you must be more than you appear to be, for we have very great troubles indeed.’

‘Hmmm.’ I looked at our coach driver who was fidgeting impatiently. ‘If I may impose on your hospitality, ladies, I shall be glad to hear your woes and do what I can.’

‘Any soul sent to me by Chiara is welcome in my wagon,’ the old gypsy confirmed. ‘My name is Chavi Choron. Chiara was my grandmother.’

‘Pleased to meet you Chavi. I am Ashlee—’ I paused before announcing my second name, ‘Winston.’ I decided to take Nanny’s second name as that was safest. ‘Miss,’ I added, so that no one would wonder where my other half was. ‘Unload our luggage, thank you, driver,’ I instructed. ‘We shall not require your services further.’ I paid the coachman double to forget he’d ever seen us and he seemed satisfied with the arrangement. He turned his coach around and headed back to Paris.

As I entered the circle that the horse-drawn caravans formed, the women and children of the clan were smiling shyly at me in greeting. Chavi introduced us to every person there—so many incredibly exotic names whizzed past my ears that, if I didn’t have the ability to read minds, I would have been hard pressed to remember them all. From what I could assess, there were about four extended families in the band.

I introduced my ‘mama’, Beatrice Winston, and they all repeated the foreign name in awe. Nanny was won over from this point on. When she learned that a number of the children present were orphans and in need of tending, Nanny Beat realised she’d just walked into paradise.

I left Nanny with the children and followed Chavi to some chairs that were by her wagon. The old woman’s seat had many cushions and a table was between her seat and mine. As I sat Chavi asked, ‘And who is the knight that comes with you?’

Albray laughed. It seems we have another mystic in our midst.

I looked to Chavi and she wore a cheeky grin, as did I. ‘He is Albray…he is the one who put me in touch with your grandmother.’

‘Chiara wove a spell for you,’ Chavi stated more than asked. Then she went into trance and for a moment she wore a grave expression. ‘You are running from love…but it will catch up with you.’ The old gypsy sounded happy about the latter.

‘We are here to speak about your problems, Chavi,’ I reminded her kindly, so as not to insult her obvious talent. ‘Tell me, where are your men? Chiara said that you don’t usually travel so far west into France.’

I was told that it was true, they usually confined their trading within southern France and Lorraine.

Chavi had a grandson, Cingar, who was widely known to play the violin so passionately he could bewitch any woman’s heart. The Duchess of Orleans heard the rumour, so her husband, Gasgon de Guise, summoned Cingar to his court for the duke to examine the truth of this claim. As the duke had never taken kindly to gypsies, Cingar knew it was a trap and yet could not resist such a challenge, for such occasions became the heart of legend and folklore. Cingar was also the captain of this band of gypsies, and where one member of the clan went, they all went.

‘So Cingar did bewitch the duchess,’ I presumed.

‘Completely,’ Chavi said, both proudly and ruefully. ‘In a fit of jealousy the duke had Cingar arrested.’

‘On what charge?’ I frowned, drawing a blank. Yet the answer was so obvious.

‘Heresy, of course.’ Chavi was surprised I hadn’t guessed. ‘The duke said that Cingar’s playing was beyond pure mortal talent and that he must have made a pact with the devil.’

I rolled my eyes as the charge was so typical of a jealous aristocrat. ‘Have we not come out of the Dark Ages yet?’

‘That is not the worst of it,’ Chavi continued. ‘The same night as my grandson was arrested, the duke’s son fell ill and de Guise accused us of cursing his boy. Our men were all seized by the duke’s soldiers and he has threatened to kill them all if his boy dies.’

‘So, why are your caravans on the road to Paris?’ I wondered.

Chavi smiled broadly, as if I should know why. ‘I was told by an anonymous spirit that I would find our saviour on the road from Paris to Sens.’

‘How long have you been waiting for me?’ I was hoping that the duke’s son had not died already.

‘We’ve just arrived after two days of travel.’ Chavi also appeared worried for the boy.

‘Then there is no time to waste.’ I stood and looked about at all the idle horses. ‘Give me a horse and a guide to Orleans and I shall bring your men back within the week.’ I looked at Albray to see what he thought, but all he did was wink in approval.

Chavi went into a trance, and then told me: ‘I believe it is the truth. Rumer.’ Chavi called for her grand-daughter, Cingar’s sister. ‘Prepare two horses and provisions. You shall ride with Miss Winston.’ Chavi winked at me and I wasn’t too sure if that was to set me at my ease, or to imply that she knew Winston was not my true name.

When I stopped to consider in more detail what I proposed to do, fear grew in my gut, and I looked at Albray who stood shaking his head at me.

Between your talents and my own, what is there that we cannot achieve?

I smiled, considering it a fair question. I hope we are not about to find out.

FROM THE HONEYMOON JOURNAL OF LADY SUSAN DEVERE

Today was one of the most exciting days of my life.

It was like something straight out of one of Ashlee’s stories. I am so pleased to have thought to keep an account of our pursuit. My hope is that one day, when this whole mess is unravelled, Ashlee will be able to laugh at the merry chase that she led us on.

And I must comment at this point for your benefit, dear Ash, that every day I pass in the company of the Devere brothers, the more fond I become of them both. I fear you have too harshly judged your husband’s motives, for I have never seen a man so single-minded in his purpose. I see clearly how his mind is absorbed at every waking moment with thoughts of you; he will have no peace until we find you safe and well.

My husband, on the other hand, was just this morning in the foulest of moods and completely exasperated with the pursuit of you, dear sister.

There we were in a carriage, bowling along the road out of town, and we hadn’t seen any of Paris yet—you can just imagine what my lord thought of that!

‘I want to know why your wife is running from you, Earnest,’ James demanded. ‘I know there is something I’m not being told.’

Mr Devere and I looked at each other, at a loss as to where to start and wondering how much James needed to know, when another carriage passed us on its way back to Paris. It captured my brother’s interest immediately.

‘What is the matter, Mr Devere?’ I asked, as he was so preoccupied.

‘That was her coach,’ he claimed. In a rush for information, Mr Devere stuck his head out the window and ordered our coachman to turn us around with all speed and catch the coach that had just passed us by.

‘That’s a bit of a long shot, don’t you think?’ James was quite put out that we were doubling back for no good reason. ‘How could you know for sure that was our sister’s conveyance?’

‘Your brother’s instincts have proven excellent so far,’ I reasoned, as the carriage turned around. I served Mr Devere a look to let him know he had better be right about this.

‘I am absolutely certain,’ he stated.

Mr Devere later told me how it was that he could be so sure—the explanation started with yesterday.

We had traced Ashlee to her accommodation in Paris. Molier had cunningly asked his assistant to inform Mrs Devere—on the first day she was at the library—that, as a safety precaution for the holy archive, she was required to sign the guest book and give a contact address in Paris. The woman who had let the rooms to Ashlee had seen her leave in a carriage, but her tenant had left no clue as to where she was bound. Mr Devere kissed the lady’s hand in parting, and had extracted from the brief contact a precise image of the carriage in which Ashlee had left Paris.

It seems Devere’s talents had grown stronger since Ashlee’s departure, for rather than being weakened by her absence, each day he achieved some new marvel. So perhaps the true source of his power was not just the act of making love to Ashlee, but also the love she evoked in him.

Which brings me back to the excitement and drama of how we came to be in hot pursuit of another carriage.

‘Earnest, I demand that you stop goading our coachman. You’re endangering all our lives!’ Lord Devere put his foot down.

Our brother reluctantly stuck his upper body out the coach window, and as he conversed with the driver a coach wheel collided with a rock. Earnest disappeared out the window, and the driver was catapulted out of his seat and onto the side of the road.

Fortunately, Mr Devere had kept hold of the luggage rack on the roof, from which he now dangled and as the coach was speeding along he was unable to find a foothold.

‘Nobody ever listens to me.’ My lord sprang into action. He opened the coach door and reached out to haul his brother inside the carriage. Before Mr Devere had even drawn breath, my Lord Devere was out the window, on the roof and into the driver’s seat. He had a bit of a time getting hold of the reins, and even when he had them in hand, the horses were at a charge and not easy to steady.

Just as we felt the horses finally submitting to my husband’s will and we had breathed a sigh of relief, the pace of our passage picked up again.

Mr Devere called out the window to his brother to find out what was happening, when he spotted the coach up ahead. ‘James is a good man,’ he told me grinning from ear to ear, and sat back in his seat, relieved to have achieved his goal.

‘That he is,’ I agreed, ‘good enough to deserve the truth from us.’ I felt guilty keeping him in the dark about so many things.

Lord Devere called the other coach to a stop and when the coachman did as he asked, my husband finally brought our transport to a halt alongside. Mr Devere was out the door like a flash and off to question the coachman.

My lord jumped from the driver’s seat to assist me out of the carriage. He was windblown from his ordeal and there was colour in his cheeks and a large smile on his face. ‘That was rather more fun than I expected,’ he confessed. ‘Though I hope our coachman hasn’t been too badly injured.’

‘For such a reserved gentleman, it seems you have a hidden audacious streak, Lord Devere…that was frightfully gallant.’ I kissed my husband, for I was very proud of his heroics.

Although my lord was enjoying my admiration, we became aware that Mr Devere was getting rather agitated with the driver of the other coach.

‘Look, I know that you transported my wife out of Paris,’ Mr Devere was saying.

‘I told you my fare was not a Mrs Devere, just a mademoiselle and her mother,’ the coachman barked, getting ready to move on.

‘Miss Granville.’ Mr Devere attempted to guess the identity of the mademoiselle.

‘No! Now if you don’t mind I—’

‘Miss Winston,’ I called, and the coachman calmed a little when he saw me. That was the thing with Frenchmen—they had far more patience with foreign women than with foreign men, especially if that woman also spoke the language.

‘That’s a bit more like it,’ he admitted, somewhat vaguely.

‘A bit more like it, or exactly it?’ Mr Devere demanded to know, at his wit’s end.

‘I don’t remember!’ the coachman insisted, until my lord held up a bag full of gold francs.

‘Does this jog your memory?’ Lord Devere jangled the pouch to make it clear it contained many coins.

The coach driver’s eyes opened wide and his memory was miraculously restored. ‘I left the mademoiselle late yesterday at the gypsy camp further down the road.’

‘Gypsies!’ My Lord Devere’s worried expression returned, as he tossed the bag of coin to our informant in payment.

‘Then we need to move quickly,’ resolved Mr Devere, moving to take up the coachman’s position on our carriage.

‘If it’s all the same to you, little brother, I’ll drive until we recover our coachman,’ Lord Devere suggested. ‘I assume we’d all prefer to remain able-bodied and in good health?’

I took advantage of the novelty of the situation and rode up front with Lord Devere as we returned to our original direction and searched for our coachman.

‘There is something I have to tell you about our dear sister.’ I tested the waters. I had never seen my husband in such light spirits, so I guessed now was the best opportunity to bring everything out in the open.

‘I am listening,’ he prompted, still smiling.

‘Ashlee is different to most people,’ I began awkwardly.

‘Well, I can honestly say I have never met the like of her.’ He did not sound entirely pleased about that.

‘You know that my aunt, Lady Charlotte, is famed for certain talents she possesses.’ I thought suggestive hints might work better than a straight confession.

He looked at me, his good cheer waning. ‘I don’t believe in psychics.’

‘Well, I dare say you don’t believe in Buddha either, but that does not mean he never existed.’ The comment was a little shocking to him, but it did get my point across nicely. ‘There are many unexplained mysteries in this world, Lord Devere, but denying their existence will never further our understanding or make them disappear.’

Lord Devere did not look happy, but he nodded to concede my point. ‘Are you going to tell me that our sister is a psychic?’ He glanced at me, awaiting my answer.

‘It is a little more complicated than that. You see…’ I had to take a deep breath for this one. ‘Um, it seems our sister has awakened these talents in Mr Devere as well.’

‘What!’ My lord was astonished by the claim.

‘And that’s not all,’ I warned, but was saved from continuing the confession alone when I spotted our coachman sitting on the side of the road. He was nursing his head, but was obviously not seriously injured.

Lord Devere pulled the carriage to a stop, so the driver could once again take the reins. ‘How long have you known about this?’

‘Our brother only told me after Ashlee disappeared.’ I saw my beloved’s jaw tense in anger. ‘Please, my lord, your brother is very scared and saddened by all that is unfolding around him. I fear that he is in greater trouble than he will even disclose to me.’

My husband took a deep breath, and patted my hand to reassure me that he was not angry, and that he would be diplomatic.

I felt lightened of a great load by the time we arrived at the gypsy camp. The air had been cleared between the Devere brothers, and even though they were still at odds in their beliefs, my lord had resolved to continue helping his brother if only to see where this little adventure led. Still, Mr Devere would not discuss the brotherhood to which he and their father belonged. And, rather than feeling overlooked, my husband was extremely glad he’d been left out of the club that was now causing his younger brother so much grief. My lord didn’t ask Mr Devere to prove his claim of psychic talent. I felt that perhaps my husband didn’t want his scepticism overturned, at least not today.

It took a while to establish what language to converse with the gypsies in, but after a couple of attempts we all settled on Italian. My Italian was a little better than that of my male companions and the women seemed more disposed to conversing with me, so I urged Mr Devere to allow me to do the questioning.

It was the elder of the band who spoke with me; she led me to a caravan and sat me down on one of the seats by the table there. Mr Devere followed us, and as there was no seat for him, he stood behind me and placed his hands on the back of my chair to listen in and try to follow the conversation. The old gypsy insisted that she hadn’t seen any mademoiselle, but invited us to join them for the evening meal as it was growing late.

Mr Devere shook his head; he wanted to keep moving and was already halfway to the carriage.

I thanked the old woman and as I rose she gripped my hands and closed her eyes for a moment. ‘You are a good friend to this woman you seek,’ she told me with a reassuring smile. ‘All will be well for her, and you.’ She let go of my hands.

I hadn’t had my fortune told in a long while and I was pleased to have good news. ‘Shall I find her, do you think?’

The gypsy woman shook her head and smiled warmly. ‘How can you find what is not lost?’

I felt I caught her meaning and was amused. ‘It is true, Ashlee is never lost. Perhaps I should have asked, would she find us?’

The old woman nodded to concede that was a more apt question. ‘All in divine order,’ she replied as I wandered toward the carriage from which both my companions now beckoned.

‘You gave up very easily, Mr Devere.’ I seated myself beside my husband in the carriage, feeling a little frustrated. ‘Could we not have taken up the offer of dinner? We might have learned something. Now we have run out of leads.’

Mr Devere ignored me and motioned the coachman closer to have a quiet word with him. ‘Take us to Orleans.’

The coachman looked as if he had had enough for one day, but he confirmed the order and acted on it.

‘My wife was sitting in that chair,’ Mr Devere motioned toward where I’d been sitting with the

old gypsy, ‘when she made the decision to go to Orleans.’

‘Why Orleans?’ I wondered. ‘That seems a strange route to Italy.’ Privately, I thought that Ashlee would head for the exotic Eastern lands, as Hereford had been so fond of them.

‘She’s on a rescue mission,’ he confessed, very concerned, and a little sad. ‘I sense there is a male travelling with her whom she trusts implicitly.’ He looked to me for confirmation.

At first I was stumped by the suggestion. ‘Ashlee does not have a lover, if that is what you are suggesting.’ I dismissed his foul implication. ‘If she did, I would know of it, I assure you.’

Mr Devere appeared thankful and ashamed. ‘There is somebody, I know it!’ He begged me to think harder. ‘A friend, perhaps?’

I strained to think, but outside of my family there was no one. ‘No,’ I assured him, ‘men do not interest Ashlee—’ And there was the answer! I clicked my fingers, having solved the puzzle. ‘It’s a spirit.’

Mr Devere knew I was right and smiled, relieved to have an alternative to the more obvious lover scenario that he’d envisaged. My Lord Devere, however, was distressed.

‘Have you both gone mad?’ he growled. ‘Just listen to yourselves. I think you are making this all up as we go along, and Mrs Devere is really back in Paris.’

‘I would not play games with her life,’ Mr Devere assured his brother. ‘I am happy to go on alone. I’d move faster on horseback.’

I feared that this was the excuse Lord Devere had been waiting for in order to pull out of the chase and return to Paris.

‘I am hardly going to pull out now. All this mystique is so intriguing.’ He grinned his sceptic’s grin. ‘We should soon, however, find lodgings for the night and something to eat.’

Clearly, Mr Devere would have kept going if given the choice. He looked out the window and nodded.

‘She’ll have to rest too, Earnest.’ Lord Devere knew what his brother was thinking.

‘My husband is right,’ I said, fearing that Mr Devere would take off on his own and then we’d never find him or Ashlee! ‘Ashlee may have superhuman talent, but she does not have superhuman stamina.’

I do.

I could have sworn I heard the thought resonate from Mr Devere’s mind, but he looked at me and forced a smile.

‘We could all use the rest,’ he said, most unconvincingly.

FROM THE TRAVEL JOURNALS OF MRS ASHLEE DEVERE

I had never experienced anything quite so exhausting as the ride to Orleans on horseback. Rumer and I only stopped to eat and answer nature’s call. We slept a little when we lost the moonlight and could no longer see the road. For two women travelling alone at night it was safer to keep moving at good speed, but as I lay down in a field under the stars that night, I did not fear for my person for I knew my knight was keeping watch.

Fearful for her brother and kinsmen, Rumer kept me moving and encouraged me on when I thought I would drop. I felt a little ashamed that one day in the saddle could deplete my energy so badly, or perhaps being on the run was starting to take its toll. I really longed for a big hot tub and somewhere to relax—read a good book perhaps!

As we approached Orleans, I felt Albray join with me, and his strength and vigour aided to uphold my weary form. He spoke to me in my thoughts as we rode, suggesting how we might handle the forthcoming audience, if indeed the duke would agree to see me.

Upon approach to the duke’s estate in Orleans I stopped to tidy myself and gain the right frame of mind. I was a nineteen-year-old girl who held no diplomatic power whatsoever. What had I been thinking when I’d agreed to do this?

Our plan will work, Albray assured me as I mounted my horse to ride the final leg to my quest.

I’m betting my life on it. I hadn’t come all this way to lose faith in my own ability and Albray’s—I was going to do this come hell or high water. ‘Shall we go fetch your brother?’ I asked Rumer, who smiled broadly and took off ahead of me.

She was feisty and fun to travel with. Full of energy and sound logic, Rumer was a year younger than I was and far more worldly. Her hair hung in long masses of dark curls and her large dark brown eyes added to the animation of her confident character. If Cingar was anywhere near as alluring in appearance as his sister, women probably fell in love with more than just his violin playing.

With her big flared skirts, Rumer rode her horse in the male fashion, which I could not hope to do in my frock without baring more than was wise. What I wouldn’t have done for a pair of men’s trousers!

When Gasgon de Guise was informed that an English woman had come to plead for the lives of the imprisoned Italian gypsies, he must have been intrigued to say the least.

I was led into the duke’s room of court and after thanking the duke for his time and consideration I was asked to explain myself.

‘Your grace,’ I began, ‘I have been commissioned by the relatives of your prisoners to ascertain what evidence your lordship has to verify the claim that witchcraft was responsible for your son’s ailments.’

The duke was astonished. ‘Are you a lawyer, Miss Winston?’ he said in a very condescending tone, as if to imply that it was impossible.

‘My area of expertise is not law, your grace, it is witchcraft,’ I informed. ‘It is an academic study. My governess was the Dowager Countess, Lady Charlotte Cavandish. Perhaps you’ve heard of her?’

‘Of course I have heard of her! That name is legendary in France.’ He seemed insulted and yet heartened at one and the same time. ‘The Countess Cavandish would have been able to tell me what was ailing my boy, whereas my surgeons have proven useless. Every day he grows sicker and sicker…damn those gypsies!’

‘Please, your grace, the most unbelievable circumstances have led me to your door during this grave time. Perhaps it was fated that I see your child? I am very knowledgeable in both the black arts and the sciences.’

The duke seemed ready to try anything, and I ascertained from his light-body that he was not an evil man by nature—or at least he did not think of himself as such. ‘If you restore my boy’s health I will release the gypsies. But if he dies,’ he fixed me with steely blue eyes ablaze with fear and hatred just waiting to vent itself on someone, ‘I shall have them all shot and you shall give the order.’

Albray? In my mind I began to panic.

You’re doing fine, there’s nothing to worry about.

That’s easy for you to say, you’re dead already!

De Guise dismissed me and instructed me to follow his steward. ‘The gypsy witch must wait under guard for you. I shall not have her near my son.’

I didn’t feel comfortable about that, considering the duke’s low regard for Rumer’s race. ‘This girl is in my care. Do I have your assurance that she will not be harmed?’ I had no clue whether the word of Gasgon de Guise was worth anything anyway.

‘No harm will come to her,’ the duke assured me, ‘provided you cure my son.’

This deal just gets worse and worse. I decided to retreat quickly before the stakes became any higher.

The chief steward led me to the head maidservant, who we met at the main staircase. The middle-aged woman looked pale and drawn, as did the steward—as had the duke for that matter. I assumed it was just the stress of the little master’s illness that was causing the muddy patches in the head centres of all these people’s light-bodies, for their dis-ease was plain to me.

I asked the maidservant to outline the boy’s symptoms.

‘At first it was just a headache,’ she explained, nursing her own head which was obviously ailing her. ‘His condition degenerated rapidly into spasms of nausea and extreme general prostration. He complains of a burning throat…his hands and feet are icy cold. I fear we shall lose him to dehydration before long.’

In the young master’s withdrawing room we found the manservant of Master de Guise keeled over and vomiting into a woodbin. He too had muddy patches superimposing the higher centres of his light-body, but his disease had extended down through his stomach as well.

The true cause of the illness was soon clear to me. I smelt it as soon as I entered the young master’s chambers. ‘Fresh paint,’ I eyed the deadly walls, ‘of lethal green.’

‘The curse is spreading!’ The maidservant panicked.

‘This is not the work of a curse.’ I gripped both her shoulders to calm her. ‘The illness stems from the paint on these walls. Find me some liquid ammonia and I shall verify that,’ I instructed. ‘Tie a scarf over your nose and mouth, so that you do not breathe in any more of the paint fumes.’ I found my handkerchief and used it for that purpose. ‘Have that man taken to another room. He needs to be in darkness and silence…that will slow the poison.’

‘Poison!’ The maid was shocked.

‘Do as I tell you, quickly, for I suspect arsenic poisoning. Ammonia will turn this paint blue if it contains copper arsenate.’

‘But the master’s chambers…’ The maid began to weep and I made haste to the bedroom door. ‘Get some help up here to move these people!’ I ordered, shocking the maidservant into action. ‘No one comes into these rooms.’

There wasn’t much left of the six-year-old boy. The duke’s physicians had obviously used all their remedies on him, as the room reeked of the smell of medicine regurgitated.

‘Dear gods, what am I going to do?’ I knew what had caused the illness but I had no idea how to heal it, or if in fact it could be healed.

The answer is between your breasts.

I was startled by Albray’s brazen claim only as long as it took me to fathom his meaning. ‘The Star!’ I’d been carrying it for so long I’d forgotten it was even there. ‘The powder will cure him?’ I asked.

Completely, Albray assured. So, if you don’t want this to look like some sort of miracle, you’d better come up with some feasible explanation for his speedy recovery.

‘Chiara might know an antidote for arsenic poisoning,’ I suggested.

I shall return. Albray vanished.

I discarded the bedclothes, as everything in these rooms was likely to be permeated with the poison. ‘Hold on, little one.’ I bundled the child into my arms and went in search of another room, in any colour but green.

Albray returned with a list of ingredients to make an infusion, and I relayed the potion’s preparation to the head maidservant. It was only after much scientific study, later in life, that I realised the ingredients of Chiara’s brew were very high in iron, and that, by modern standards, was a perfect arsenic antidote.

It seemed to take an age for the servants to return with the broth, but in the interim the head steward reported he’d confirmed my suspicions—the ammonia had reacted on the paint as I had described and the findings were being reported to the duke.

‘Good old Nanny.’ I sat alone in the darkened room with the young master. It was only due to her suspicion of green that I’d known about the ammonia reaction to copper arsenate, for Nanny always carried a small vial of ammonia when shopping for fabric.

The young Master de Guise was fading fast. ‘Albray, perhaps we should not wait for the alibi?’

If you expose your talents, or that you carry the Star vial on your person, this situation is going to become much more complicated.

The boy’s breathing stopped altogether.

‘Please, not yet…’ I reached down into the neck of my gown to retrieve the Star vial.

Someone approaches, Albray warned me to refrain.

‘He’s dead, Albray!’ I was panicking. I needed time to form a strategy. How could I save any of us now? ‘We hesitated too long.’

Our plan is still sound, Albray assured me. Just make sure the maid does not learn of the boy’s passing.

To buy us time, I assumed, but when the door to the room opened and the maidservant entered I was forced to quickly address the situation. ‘Put it down over there. Thank you, and leave quietly,’ I instructed in a whisper, trying not to sound too desperate.

‘My duke requested that I look over the master and report on his condition.’ The weighty maid strode toward the bed.

‘Your report to the duke shall be far more positive if you give the infusion a half hour to do its work,’ I said.

The maid turned back to me. ‘I must say I feel much better for having had a cup of your brew, Miss Winston.’

‘It is an old gypsy remedy,’ I confessed.

The maid stared at me, horrified, but then shrugged and smiled. ‘Today has been a most enlightening day, miss.’ She curtseyed to me, which she was certainly not required to do. ‘I shall speak with you in half an hour.’ She waddled to the door. ‘Can I fetch you some tea and something to eat?’

‘I’d greatly appreciate that.’ Despite my panic, I was starving.

‘A Last Supper perhaps?’ I said to Albray once we were alone. He stood out in the darkness, his spirit glistening like an angel. ‘Now what do you suggest we do?’

Give the child the powder, he prompted, as if that went without saying.

‘Surely it can do no good now…’ but I fished out the vial, eager to try anything at this point.

Just a small amount will do the trick, washed down with some of Chiara’s brew.

‘All right.’ I was doubtful, but I fetched a cup of broth.

I sprinkled about a tenth of the vial’s contents on the boy’s tongue and closed his mouth. I replaced my vial for safekeeping, and then raised the head of the deceased lad to trickle Chiara’s brew into his mouth. The next thing I knew the child was coughing and spluttering all over me.

‘Mademoiselle?’ The blue-eyed boy with dark angelic curls looked at me, wide-eyed and energetic, like he’d just woken from a sleep, rather than a fatal illness. The child looked over my shoulder. ‘Monsieur?’ Albray was the only other being present. ‘Is the sickness gone?’ He was amazed to feel so well after days of torture.

‘Oui, the sickness is gone.’ I placed the broth in his hands. ‘But I think you had best choose another colour for your chambers, or better still, choose new chambers altogether.’

‘Oui,’ the lad agreed, ‘the new paint smelt rather bad.’

Albray and I got a chuckle out of that observation.

Even having achieved a miracle, my problems in Orleans were far from over.

Gasgon de Guise was, of course, extremely grateful for his son’s return to health. He proclaimed, with his duchess in attendance, that I had undone the curse of the gypsies and he would set them free.

At this stage I wanted to point out that I had also proved that the illness was not the work of a gypsy curse. I refrained, however. The duke had been informed of my findings and if I made him out to be the fool, I would lose what favour I had gained by my service to his house. Instead, I decided it wiser to focus on and clarify our arrangement. I felt there was some sort of catch to what was being said by the duke. ‘So all the gypsies, including Cingar and Rumer Choron, are now free to leave with me.’

The duke’s gaze of approval turned chilly.

‘The girl may go, but the fiddle player stays,’ he informed me. ‘I have plans for him on my plantation in Louisiana.’

‘No, my lord, please. There is nothing to punish this man for,’ his duchess appealed. ‘His music invoked my passion,’ she admitted willingly, ‘my passion for you, my love…why won’t you believe me?’

The duke would not look at his wife; clearly he felt her words stemmed from love and not justice.

‘The only curse on this house is your jealousy!’ said the duchess bitterly.

‘Perhaps I shall hang the gypsy instead,’ the duke replied coldly, whereby his wife reached her wit’s end and stood. ‘I love you, Gasgon de Guise, but I shall never forgive you if you condemn this man’s genius simply because you envy his talent.’ The duchess stormed toward me on her way out of the room. ‘I would grant you anything for the service you have done this house today, Mademoiselle Winston, but I fear my husband is a stubborn fool.’

‘You shall not speak ill of me in front of a guest.’ The duke attempted to reprimand his feisty lady.

‘You have no honour,’ she spat back at him as she left the room.

Any angles on this negotiation would be very welcome right now, I said to my knight on the quiet.

Just say exactly what I tell you to say and we ought to fare well, Albray told me and I opened myself to his suggestion.

‘If I release Cingar, what compensation have I for the upheaval he has caused in this house?’ The duke was sounding a little emotionally unstable. He could easily snap and decide to have me beheaded for defending his purported heretic.

‘If I might suggest a different perspective, your grace,’ I ventured humbly and he gave me his attention. ‘If you had never invited Cingar to play in your house, he would never have offended you, that is true. However…he would not have been arrested and I would have had no reason to come to Orleans. Your son would have fallen sick to the poison on his walls in any case, and the entire household, including your grace, may have perished before the true cause of the illness was ascertained.’

The duke was grave as he mulled over my words, but to my great relief he eventually smiled. ‘You are a very clever young woman, Mademoiselle Winston. And as you are so clever, I shall allow you to give me one good reason why I should release this gypsy. Are you in love with him?’ The duke was clearly intrigued as to why I would risk my neck for such a man as Cingar.

‘I am sorry to disappoint, your grace,’ I blushed at his implication, for it was very romantic, ‘but in truth I have never met the man.’

Tell the duke that you have a very good reason to release Cingar, but that it is for his ears alone. His guards must leave.

I’m not too sure that I want to be alone with his man, Albray, I inwardly protested as I repeated Albray’s instruction to de Guise.

The duke appeared wary of my request, but curiosity got the better of him and he dismissed his guards.

Excellent, Albray confirmed. Now undo your gown at the back.

Forget it! I wasn’t going to seduce a duke to get Cingar out of prison.

Show the duke your birthmark. Albray insisted I stop protesting and trust him. The House of Guise is allied to the Grail kings. Do it, please.

‘Your grace, I must beg your leave one moment. This is not what it seems.’

The duke appeared pleasantly surprised as he watched me unbutton my heavy velvet frock. ‘Perfect timing, mademoiselle,’ he commented, well disposed toward such a bargaining strategy. ‘My wife is lost to me for the present, so I…’

When I approached him and turned, the sight of my birthmark brought his banter to a stop. I began refastening my dress as I turned back to face the duke.

He was too awed to speak for a moment. ‘The mark of the House of du Lac,’ he uttered aghast. ‘Who are you really, Mademoiselle Winston?’

There was a knock at the door and the house steward entered. Thankfully I had rebuttoned my gown by the time he did. ‘There is a Monsieur Devere requesting an audience with your grace.’

My gasp just slipped out; that man had to be part bloodhound.

The duke clearly saw my distress. ‘Tell him to come back tomorrow.’

‘Beg your pardon, your grace, but Monsieur Devere is somewhat distressed. It seems he has lost a very pretty wife…an English woman,’ the steward looked at me, ‘of about twenty years, fair complexion, long auburn ringlets and green eyes.’ He looked back at the duke. ‘Have we seen anyone that fits that description, your grace?’

The duke raised his eyebrows in question at me.

‘No.’ I stated my preference. ‘I can explain everything,’ I added at Albray’s prompting.

‘No,’ the duke advised the steward, who seemed unimpressed by the lie he had to tell.

‘Very good.’ The steward took his leave.

‘Well, Mademoiselle Winston, or is it Madame Devere? It seems you suddenly have a whole lot more explaining to do.’

I could hardly believe the tale Albray had me spinning, and yet there was enough truth in it for me to sound convincing—all those years of telling stories to Susan suddenly came in very handy.

Because of my birthmark and my aforementioned occult connections, de Guise didn’t have too much trouble believing that I was on a secret mission to the Holy Land for the Order de Sion. Or, rather, Albray had me telling the duke I had been sent by the Scottish chapter of the order—the Sangreal knighthood. I had no idea what I was talking about, but it seemed I knew the name of the secret brotherhood to which Mr Devere belonged, and Albray managed to work this little fact into our story. We said that I had been posing as Devere’s wife for the mission, but that I suspected treachery—which was not entirely untrue. I told the duke I fled Devere’s company upon reaching France to pursue my mission on my own.

‘And what is your purpose in the Holy Land?’ The duke was clearly dying to be made privy to my secret mission, for he was most intrigued by my yarn spinning.

Tell him you’ll die before you disclose your mission.

I think that would be tempting fate, I argued.

He’ll expect nothing less from one of the blood.

‘I could tell you, your grace,’ my determination hardened, ‘but then I’d have to kill you…as I am sure you are well aware.’

Very nicely delivered, Albray commended me. I’ll make a knight of you yet.

When the duke grinned broadly, I didn’t show how unnerving it was for me. Was he going to commend or kill me?

‘If you are on a secret mission for the said Brotherhood—’ he stressed the word ‘—and suspect you have been betrayed by your protector, Mr Devere, I can hardly allow you to leave my house without assigning you some protection of my own.’

That would not be desirable, Albray stated the obvious. Tell him you’ve been trained to protect yourself.

‘Your grace is very generous,’ I moved to courteously decline, ‘but I have been well trained to protect myself, and if the gypsies are freed—’

‘Really!’ the duke interrupted, intrigued by my claim and eager to avoid the subject of his prisoners. ‘You are a trained killer, Lady du Lac?’ The very idea brought a smile to his face, or perhaps it was his new name for me that tickled his fancy.

Christ, I do believe he is going to call our bluff! I panicked, and felt the heat of fear rising in my cheeks.

Not to worry, we can sustain our fabrication.

‘I am a swordsman myself,’ de Guise announced. ‘As are all the brothers.’

Yes! Albray cheered.

‘And a very good one, I am sure, your grace.’ I turned to my own tactics before this got out of hand. ‘However, I could not fight one of royal blood, especially one I have worked so hard this day to protect.’

‘Come, come, my dear…just a little fun, nothing too serious.’ De Guise stood, stubbornly resolved to a challenge. ‘You can fight my best swordsman if it makes you feel more comfortable. After all, how am I to be sure that you are not spinning me tall tales, and it is, in fact, Mr Devere who is telling me the truth?’

Fine with us. Albray was keen.

How on earth do I get myself into these things? As life was just one big entertainment to the aristocracy, I thought I’d better make sure I was going to achieve my objective if I was to meet this challenge. I certainly didn’t want it evolving into an extended game of cat and mouse. ‘If I prove I am competent enough to accomplish my own quest, your grace, will you then release Cingar?’

The duke frowned, perturbed at the mention of him, but not displeased with me. ‘Why is the gypsy so important to you?’

‘He is my guide to the Mediterranean,’ I explained. ‘He is vital to me achieving my objective.’

‘But I can supply an army to accompany you. I have boats—’

‘Your grace…’ I interrupted politely, ‘this is a secret mission. The gypsy band is the perfect cover. I must free their captain. I must have Cingar.’

The duke drew a deep breath, reluctant to acquiesce. ‘Such persuasion as you have must stem from otherworldly means.’

Although he said this in a complimentary fashion, I thought it best to refute his suggestion. ‘I am a woman of science, your grace. My skills in negotiation stem purely from training and education, I assure you.’ I wasn’t going to end up on a heresy charge. Albray had been right to insist that I avoid working any miracles here. De Guise may have been allied to the bloodline, but I knew his family was careful to preserve ties to the church as well.

‘Convince me with your skill and, by my vows to the bloodline, I could not deny you anything,’ he assured me.

I told you there was nothing to worry about. Albray moved with us, as the duke led me to a suitable arena.

‘I must leave Orleans today,’ I added, to be perfectly clear on this point.

‘On my finest horse,’ the duke promised generously and I was satisfied. If Albray was as fine a swordsman as he claimed to be—and my knight had not failed me to date—there was no reason to believe that we would not make a fine showing for the duke.