Lessons in French

'Pssst!'

She paused, uncertain if she had heard the whisper, which seemed to emanate from somewhere behind the bales of silk and shawls and cloaks piled high in what passed for the fashion showroom of Miss Poole's mantua-shop. There was no one else in the back room; nothing but fabrics and a faint sour-sweet scent that Callie could not quite place. She had wandered there on the excuse that she was looking over the fabrics, but in truth to escape the frequent congratulations from Miss Poole, which seemed to be unremitting. Callie herself felt rather numb and lacked an appetite, but she could not quite tell if it was from being engaged or expecting momentarily to hear that Monsieur Malempre had been sent to his trial in Bristol.

The hissing sound came again. Callie frowned and looked about the dim corners. Her sister and Dolly drank tea in the front room, poring over the fashion book while Dolly made acidic comments on the poor selection in a country town. It was only an emergency that had brought them to the length of consulting Miss Poole. Having got wind that Callie had used up her sister's rejected coquelicot wool for a costume to be worn at the masquerade ball two days hence, Dolly had positively shrieked with disgust. The impossibility of allowing this cloth to be viewed in public by the guests at Shelford Hall, particularly on Callie, had precipitated a sudden crisis. It was to be a royal blue, or she could appear in her petticoat, Dolly declared. Callie would have preferred to simply remain in her room, but Hermey protested that this would make her appear as if she wished to hog all the attention, when everyone knew that Callie was engaged now too. They would appear together-in suitably harmonious colors-or Hermey would break off her betrothal and enter a convent, or become a milkmaid, or something on that order, but worse. So Callie was at Miss Poole's, to be judged against the silks.

'My lady!' A plump white hand appeared from behind the mantled shape of a dress form. It held a note, the folded paper waving in the faint light. Callie peered around the form. Mrs. Easley crouched down behind it against the back door, holding her bottle in her lap. Callie recognized the sweet scent of gin now.

The woman pushed herself to her feet and leaned against the door frame. 'The madame,' she said, pushing a loose lock of hair from her forehead.

At that, Callie snapped the note from her hand. She opened it hurriedly. It said only, My good dear Lady Callista-I beg of you to come to me at once. The handwriting was shaky, and the duchesse's signature trailed off at the end to a fine thread.

Callie did not hesitate. She edged behind the dress form and followed Mrs. Easley out the back door of the shop.

'An' so you're to be married, m'lady!' Mrs. Easley mumbled as she made weaving but gallant attempts to keep up with Callie's stride. A fine sprinkle and lowering clouds threatened rain, but as yet it was only a misting. 'Dare s'y you'll be wantin' a cook for the new establishmuum?'

Callie ignored this, drawing her shawl up over her head against the light dust of raindrops. Her heart was too far in her throat to compose any sort of reply that would not come back to trouble her in the future, so she merely kept walking and hoped Mrs. Easley would fall behind. That hope took on substance when the former cook halted abruptly, barely keeping her balance, as they came upon Dove Lane and saw a man in the distance ahead of them. Callie would have hurried ahead, but Mrs. Easley grabbed her elbow.

'Hssst! M'lady! That's a one of 'em!' Her slurred voice took on sharp urgency, and her fingers dug into Callie's arm. 'Stop!'

Callie had little choice, as Mrs. Easley seemed bent on dragging her bodily back. 'One of who?' she asked, trying to disengage herself from the drunken cook's grip.

''Em runner fellows, up from London. Thief takers, m'lady!'

Callie looked back. She could see the man loitering far up the lane, moving from side to side in a strange manner, as if he were inspecting something in the dirt. She gave an exasperated sigh. A genuine thief taker was a rare article in Shelford. The occasional disappearance of a farm implement, which was usually discovered next spring where it had been left under a rick during the last haying season, was what passed for a wave of criminal activity in Shelford. In fact Callie could not remember ever hearing of one of the profes sional policemen in the vicinity before. But doubtless if they were looking about for thieves, Mrs. Easley had her reasons to avoid them. 'You may go back, then,' she said. 'The duchesse needs me.'

Mrs. Easley seemed readily willing to take this advice, but she retained her hold, muttering, 'Have a care, m'lady! Don't 'er go near 'em!'

'I'll say nothing of your activities, I can promise you,' Callie assured her. She pulled away and took a determined stride toward Dove House. Mrs. Easley tried to cling, uttering some further slurred objection, but Callie shook her off and turned down the lane. She doubted any thief-taker would dare to accost a lady. She was walking quite quickly by the time she reached him, and didn't hesitate or give him notice. She merely hastened past, aware that he stopped and stared at her as she turned in at the gate of Dove House.

The garden gate swung closed behind her with a bang. She didn't pause to ring, but to her surprise the cottage door was locked. She rattled at the latch, then rang the bell with a clamor. After a few interminable moments, Lilly's muff led voice came through the door, demanding in a rather quavering tone who was calling.

'Lady Callista!' Callie responded impatiently. Her fear of the duchesse's condition was rising with every obstacle that delayed her. 'Do let me in!'

The door cracked. Lily peeked out, grabbed her arm, and pulled Callie inside, slamming the door and turning the key in the lock. 'Upstairs, my lady!' she said urgently. 'Oh, hurry!'

Callie ran up the stairs, almost colliding with the nurse at the top. 'I'm sending Lilly for the doctor, my lady,' Nurse exclaimed. 'She won't let me in the door, Madame won't!'

Callie looked at Nurse in dismay. She could hear the duchesse coughing violently. 'Won't let you in?'

'Locked me out!' Nurse said. 'I fear the worst, my lady.' She looked grim. 'She's gone out of her head.'

'Go for the doctor yourself,' Callie ordered. 'And send Lilly to the Antlers to fetch Mr. Rankin. He'll be able to unlock the door. I'll see if I can coax Madame to let me in. Hurry.'

As the nurse pounded down the stairs, Callie faced the duchesse's closed door. The coughing beyond had ceased, which frightened her even more. She put her hand on the latch and pushed, expecting it to resist her.

It gave way easily. She opened the door. A strong hand grabbed her arm. For the second time in a few moments, she was yanked inside as a door shut behind her with a sharp thump.

She caught herself and turned, looking from the duchesse, who was sitting up in bed, to Trevelyan, who was engaged in locking the door. She had expected to find the duchesse alone and dreaded to discover her in the midst of fatal spasms. Instead she was looking quite animated and gesturing at the door with her handkerchief. For an instant Callie was unable to perfectly comprehend the scene.

She glared at Trev.

'You!' Her whole body seemed to lose any sense of up or down; her hands went slack and then began to tremble. 'What are you-' She blinked back a peculiar stinging in her eyes and nose. It was difficult to find any air for a moment, and then all her feeling came rushing back upon her at once. 'You!'

He gave her a look, a little shamefaced, a wry half smile, and a shrug, so much like him that she put her hands to her mouth, closed her eyes, and took a deep breath into her lungs. When she opened them again, he was still standing there. He was not a figment of her strained nerves or imagination.

'What are you doing here?' she cried. 'And that man… that man outside…' She paused as the rami fications all came clear to her. 'Oh my God-he's a thief-taker!'

Nineteen

'MY DEAR-WE MUST BEG FOR YOUR AID-IF YOU WILL assist us one more time. I am so sorry to trouble you again! But there is a thief-taker, yes. I fear so.'

The duchesse gave a little wry smile, and Callie saw where her son had inherited that particular expression of self-deprecating appeal. But Callie hadn't gone through coaxing Hubert out of a kitchen, masquer ading as a Belgian lady, suffering an animal rout at the cattle fair, and then discovering that Trev was married to some person who forged bank notes, without learning anything. She resisted forcefully the danger of succumbing to any Gallic charm.

'I'm very sorry,' she said, holding herself stiff. 'I had thought you were unwell, ma'am, and so I came as quickly as I received your note. I'm happy to see that you aren't in danger. Regarding thief-takers, I don't see what I can do in such matters. If you'll excuse me, I'll go and prevent Nurse from fetching the doctor.'

She turned toward the door, half expecting that Trev would endeavor to stop her. He didn't. The duchesse said nothing. Callie reached for the latch with silence in the room behind her. She paused with her hand on the knob.

His mother made a very small cough, a faint, muff led sound, as if she tried to stif le it.

Callie dropped her hand. She turned about. 'Oh, very well!' she exclaimed. 'What is it?'

'It's nothing,' Trev said. He stood across the room from her, making no attempt to move closer. 'I didn't know that my mother had contacted you-I asked her not to do so.' He gave the duchesse a brief glance. 'I'll inquire into how you managed that under my very nose, Maman, but later. Please, Lady Callista, if you'll just contrive to forget that you've seen me here, you needn't concern yourself further in the situation.'

'Excellent.' She threw up her hands. 'The last I was told, you were arrested on the Bristol quay and put to trial, and now I'm to forget I've seen you here while a thief-taker out of Bow Street lurks in the garden.'

'Hired by your new fiance, as I understand,' he replied acidly. 'I could wish you'd suggested to him that he call off the hounds. I've had his pursuers on my heels since I left Hereford.'

For herself, she could have wished that he had mentioned he was married. But she was determined to say nothing of that. She had spent a number of nights weeping into her pillow over the disclosure, but she would die rather than allow him to know it. It was quite certain to her now that she had made the veriest fool of herself. She could not remember with any clarity their brief discussion of marriage in Hereford, though she had spent long hours trying to recall what precisely he had said about it. All she could seem to draw from her memory, with considerable blushing, were the parts that had little to do with conversation. He had not wished to marry her in the morning, however-that much she remembered perfectly.

'I beg your pardon,' she said. 'If you mean Major Sturgeon, the topic of you has not arisen between us in conversation.'

She felt that she adhered to the spirit of the truth, if not the letter. After the incident of spilling hot bran mash all over his boots, which he had taken very well, considering, the topic had not arisen again. She lifted her chin a little. Let Trev suppose she had forgot him the moment he had disappeared by vanishing into an alley.

'It makes no matter. My apologies for disturbing you.' Trev leaned a shoulder against the wall. 'Please go on about your day, my lady.' He seemed to find some spot