It took all of Callie's courage to show herself in Broad Street. She was certain anyone could see that she had been walking abroad there the day before, dressed in a gentian blue hat and veil and speaking French. But when she appeared as herself, there were only welcoming grins and brusque farmers' greetings, the familiar faces of her drover and his boys-no one accosted her with accusations or stopped in the street and pointed with scandalized horror at the woman who had slept in Monsieur Malempre's bed last night.
In fact she found herself quickly drawn into her own life, regaled with all the small incidents of moving the livestock to town, leaning down to check the knees of a calf that had stumbled and to see that sufficient ointment had been applied. With her warmest cloak and hood wrapped close about her, she accepted a cup of hot cider from Farmer Lewis. Lilly distributed mincemeat pies from a basket-the traditional hospitality at the Shelford pens. Callie could almost have forgot that there was anything amiss about this cattle show, but that her father wasn't there and all the talk was of Hubert and the Malempre bull, and she could still feel the physical consequence of what she and Trev had done in faint tingles and strange sensations that made her blink and blush. But her cheeks were already as pink as they could be from the cold, and no one seemed to notice anything different about her at all.
'I don't believe it,' she said, dutifully giving her opinion of the challenge to Mr. Downie when he stopped to chat. She spoke softly, because she wasn't very good at prevarication, and somehow it seemed as if keeping her voice low might make her sound more believable. 'I can't credit that this Belgian animal would be larger than Hubert.'
'Certainly not,' Mr. Downie said indignantly. Then he cleared his throat. 'Have you seen the published measurements, my lady?'
'No, I haven't,' she lied, pulling her hood closer in the frigid air. The scent of smoke from street fires mingled with the odors of the show. 'I understand that they are said to be certified?'
'It's what the paper claims,' he admitted, his breath frosting in the cold. 'Has there been no progress in locating the Shelford bull?'
She shook her head. Everyone spoke of Hubert as belonging to Shelford, though it was common knowl edge that Colonel Davenport now owned him. Mr. Downie harrumphed. 'It's a bad business, my lady,' he said. 'A sorry day when your father passed away, God rest him. This wouldn't have happened if the earl had been alive.'
Callie could agree with that in all honesty. She listened to the rumors as more agricultural people gathered at the Shelford pens, pausing to greet her kindly and regale themselves on mince pies and steaming cider. The most common gossip suggested that Hubert had been taken swiftly from the vicinity and either moved by some old abandoned drovers' road to the north, or already baited and slaughtered, never to be seen again. She hated both notions and had to keep reminding herself that he was lying in a well-kept pen not fifteen yards away. The edge of a thick bed of straw overf lowed from under the Malempre tarps, and she could see a big hoof tip and the smooth black lock of his tail just under the canvas. A baker's sack, presumably full of Bath buns, sat on the Malempre herdsman's enameled green show box.
Colonel Davenport himself arrived, his cheeks f lushed with cold and bluster. He accosted Callie immediately, demanding to know if she had heard of this havey- cavey Belgian business. He was of the dark opinion that Hubert had been made off with, probably by this Malempre fellow himself. The whole thing had the strong smell of criminal activity. He did not mean to frighten her, but he was a magis trate. He had long experience of rogues and rascals, and they were not all of the lowest classes. He very much doubted that Monsieur Malempre was what he represented himself to be. Colonel Davenport didn't suppose for one moment that Malempre was an honest gentleman, and it was unconscionable for the Agricultural Society to give him any countenance when he had stolen Hubert.
'No, I believe it was your fence,' Callie said quietly, finally lifting her face at this. 'I saw the break myself. You don't keep secure fences, I'm sorry to have to say, Colonel Davenport. No one stole Hubert-he simply pushed through your fence and got out.'
A silence greeted her pronouncement. Every herdsman and farmer who had been standing about eating mince pies and listening to the colonel-and there were many-looked at Callie in something like awe. She had never said so much in public before.
As the representative of the late Earl of Shelford, who remained in everyone's mind the proper owner of the bull, her opinion of the matter carried considerable weight. When her drover chimed in, muttering that he'd seen the break too, and there weren't no way such a rupture in the wood had been made by the hand of man, the weight of judgment began to go against Colonel Davenport's theory. He was a little put out, defending his fence and trying to argue with her, but Callie found that she had more friends than she knew: Mr. Downie and Farmer Lewis, her drover and her herdsman and the cottager with the fat pig, several other cowmen and farmers, and the wife of the Shelford butcher-even Mr. Price stopped as he was passing and took up Callie's point with vigor. A great discussion erupted over the usual sounds of clucking and lowing, filling Broad Street with the echo of voices in loud dispute. Callie could imagine Trev's wicked enjoyment as he observed the scene from whatever place he had chosen to conceal himself. He had told her that he would be watching.
Monsieur Malempre's reputation gained consider ably in respect when some bystander said he'd spoke to the banker, and the five hundred guineas were deposited under seal, good as gold, and if no bull met the challenge, they were to be donated to the society itself to be used for improvement of the local breeds. The big fellow who imparted this stunning information was a stranger to Callie, but his size and diction-there was a strong f lavor of Charles's rough style to his speech-made her suspect he was no random passerby.
Mr. Price turned round at this, expressing astonish ment and gratification at the news. He demanded to know why the officials of the society had not been apprised of this aspect of the challenge.
'Dunno nothin' more of it.' The stranger shrugged. 'I'm just a stockyard man myself, from up Bristol. Guess he don't want some swindle,' he suggested innocently, pulling a straw out of his mouth. 'Like them society fellows might shuff le off the biggest bull here roundabouts if they knew they'd get them guineas themselves. Dunno what them aggi-culture coves might do, eh?'
'The
Colonel Davenport cut him off. 'Mr. Price! How long has the society been aware of the Malempre Challenge?' he demanded.
'Why, we just found it out yesterday!' Mr. Price cried. 'And precisely what are you implying, Colonel, by asking me such a question?'
The colonel seemed to realize he had crossed the line to insult, and held himself up stiff ly. 'I merely inquired,' he said. He gave a small bow. 'I beg your pardon, sir. I meant no offense.'
The secretary of the society relaxed a little but kept his brows raised. 'No offense taken. I comprehend your upset, Colonel. It's an unfortunate situation for you, no doubt, to have misplaced the Shelford animal at this juncture.'
Colonel Davenport drew in a sharp breath as if he might give an angry retort, but then he seemed to crumple under the weight of the secretary's words. 'I cannot comprehend it,' he said in despair. 'How that bull could have disappeared so suddenly, under my very nose! Gone without a trace! A week before the show-and now this… this… Belgian! Five hundred guineas, I say! What would you think?'
'Dark doings,' Mr. Price agreed. 'We've had seven animals measured since yesterday, but none approaches the dimensions of this imported animal.' He glanced toward Callie. 'My lady, I beg your pardon, did your father ever have Hubert's measure taken?'
'He was measured last year at the Bromyard show,' she said promptly. 'After he took the premium for Best Bull under Four Years,' she added, to remind them of Hubert's value. 'But he's grown since. I daresay he's larger now.'
Colonel Davenport gave a faint moan. 'Egad, what an animal,' he said miserably. 'And I've lost him!'
'You've no leads at all?' Mr. Price inquired.
'I'm having all the yards searched from here to London,' the colonel said. 'I've sent letters to the shorthorn breeders and the society secretaries in ten counties, in case someone attempts to sell him or show him. I've even alerted Bow Street, should he be taken to the Home Counties. Gave 'em a description of that shady fellow who tried to buy him of me. And that French rascal who attacked poor Sturgeon-he's still abroad! I dare swear he's mixed up in it too.'
'Perhaps he pulled down your fence,' Callie murmured.
'It was a perfectly sufficient fence!' the colonel declared, glaring at her.
'We always keep our largest stock behind stone walls,' she said modestly.
'There's a frost break in my stone,' he grumbled. 'That's why I had to put him in the wood paddock.'
Farmer Lewis cleared his throat meaningfully and took a bite of mince pie. Several of the herdsmen chuckled. Callie felt her point about the condition of the colonel's fences had been made. A new bystander, muff led up to his eyes against the cold, winked at her.
She glanced quickly away, blushing at this impor tunity from a stranger. Then she looked back at him, suddenly suspicious. He tossed the ragged woolen scarf over his shoulder and shoved his hands in his pockets, a nondescript working man in a shabby drover's jacket and fingerless mitts. He met her look with a directness that no common herdsman would ever dare. Callie felt her cheeks f lame, growing hot even in the chill.
'Good morning, my lady!' Major Sturgeon's voice came from just behind her, loud and cheerful. Caught gazing at the muff led drover, she startled and turned, her hood falling back from her hair. He bowed and gave her a warm smile. He wore his uniform again, with braids of gold on the collar points of his heavy cloak. 'How cold it is!' he remarked, clapping his hands together. 'Did your animals fare well on the journey? They've all arrived safe and sound, I pray.'
Callie gave him a nod and a slight curtsy. She was still f lustered from discovering that Trev was nearby; she wasn't prepared to deal civilly with Major Sturgeon at the same time. 'They've arrived in good order,' she managed to reply, hoping that he wouldn't recognize her voice. 'But… I didn't expect to see you here at a cattle show, Major.' She almost said, 'a dirty cattle show,' but stopped herself in time.
'I hope to enter into your interests with enthusiasm,' he replied, doffing his plumed hat. If he heard any similarity between her voice and Madame Malempre's, he gave no indication of it. 'Morning, Davenport!' He nodded to the colonel. 'I missed sharing that glass with you last night, but I was a little indisposed. We'll make it up this evening, eh? I'll join you at the Black Lion-I find the Gerard doesn't suit me.'
Callie gave him a sidelong glance, recalling that the proprietor of the Gerard had approached Monsieur Malempre as they were leaving the hotel, murmuring that the unfortunate matter had been taken care of and Madame would not be troubled further. She wondered if Trev had had the major turfed out of his room, or if the officer had merely grown tired of waiting for Madame to appear. Whichever it was, it did not appear to have dampened Major Sturgeon's opinion of himself. He seemed to be in an expansive mood, perfectly certain that Callie must be pleased to see him. But of course, he didn't know that she was Madame Malempre herself, or that in the time since he had made his proposal, she had made love to another man.
She ought to be ashamed, Callie supposed, but there was too much irony in it all. Clearly he would have done the same if Madame Malempre had given him the chance, and she didn't doubt that Miss Ladd had been his lover too while he was betrothed to Callie. So they were even now. She had sunk to his level. It was not a particularly consoling thought.
The little crowd of herdsmen and farmers had begun to drift away now that the mince pies had run out, though the muff led drover lingered, leaning against a wagon with his arms crossed. Callie avoided looking toward him. She sent Lilly back into the Green Dragon for more pies. Colonel Davenport excused himself, clapping his friend on the shoulder and advising him to take good care of Lady Callista, as if somehow the major had already taken possession of her, and left them standing
