CHAPTER 10
Lunch at the Boar’s Head Tavern
Mist caressed the earth with dewy tears. Stones wept, oblivious to the stoic leaf and twig where humbled birds flitted, too miserable to fly through the noonday twilight.
Jenny stopped in the doorway. "Come, now; if you don't take the weight off your leg, it'll never heal."
Alix replied without moving from the window. "Jenny, do you ever wonder why we are where we are and who we are, instead of someone, somewhere, else entirely?"
The metronomic clock ticked, and a black umbrella wearing trousers moved down the empty sidewalk. A brown spaniel on a red leash trotted alongside to lend it color. Alix glanced around, suspecting from the continued silence that she was alone, but the maid remained, with a frown puckering her forehead. Heartened Jenny was listening, Alix continued, "Do you think the Fates are only gaming with our lives, rolling dice or tossing cards to fill odd moments of whimsy?"
Jenny pursed her lips pensively. "I don't understand what you just said."
"I wonder if, as Shakespeare wrote, the world's a stage and all the men and women merely players who have their exits and entrances. There can't be a more woeful pageant than the scene wherein we play, because as time slips by on sylvan wings, in a single blink of an eye, everything changes."
The maid came forward uncertainly. "You didn't tell me that you'd hit your head." She felt Alix's forehead suspiciously. "You don't have a fever-what's wrong? Why aren't you making sense?"
"How should I know? I'm merely a paltry player; I strut as directed, posing this way or moving that, spouting euphemisms with varying effect, but am at liberty to exit only when the time is ripe to clear the way for someone with a more meaningful presence."
"That's it-I think you've cracked."
Jenny's eyes were soft green pools of concern, smoothly lustrous, with a multifaceted resilience, reminding Alix of polished jade. She smudged their color on the palette in her mind, fascinated by their shading. "Has anyone told you that you have remarkable eyes, Jenny?"
The maid gaped, and her face flamed crimson. "Have you been at the sauce this morning?"
Realizing she had diverged too far from the role of Lily, Alix returned to her post at the window, where she waited for Quenton, for if he had tired of his role as Quincy the coachman, he must be planning to reenter as a new character. "If by 'at the sauce,' you mean have I been drinking, then no."
"Well, at least you finally said something I can understand. I've heard about women who go daft from time to time. You're not one of those, are you?"
"Not that I'm aware, but I'm certain you'll be kind enough to share it if I am."
Alix had planned to be home by now. She had trusted Quenton to release her, but then Jenny had shared the news abuzz that Quincy the coachman had quit and disappeared. She had thought Robbie would come for her, but he had not even attempted a meeting.
"Perhaps you need a nice hot bath. While you breakfast, I'll prepare a manicure. I think those fingernails could use a different color of lacquer, don't you?"
Alix looked at her crimson nails dispassionately. "If you think so."
Jenny bustled to the couch to plump the gaudy assortment of pillows. "Why don't you relax on the couch until your breakfast tray gets here?"
The clock settled the swelling silence while Alix watched pipits bounce beneath the dripping shrubberies. Finches scuttled after sparrows fluttering to the privet, and a mournful pigeon dropped onto the lawn to dance solemnly in search of food.
Quenton had not even looked at her the day before. He had opened the coach door with aloof imperiousness. All the way back to Westminster, she had perched on the edge of the seat, longing to speak through the tiny shuttered window separating them, but had dared not, with Lily's husband riding alongside on Midnight. She thought her uncle must be more than angry with her for having attempted to race Dark Star. His temper was quick to flare, not because he lacked patience, but from his inherent drive for perfection. His abandonment left her feeling lost. If Robbie's detachment at Oxley Commons was puzzling, then Quenton's subsequent desertion was devastating. Were they distancing themselves from the inevitable fallout when Nicholas Griffon finally summoned the police to arrest her?
A gentle knock on the door signaled the arrival of the breakfast tray, unless the butler was bringing the constable to question her. Realizing that Jenny had gone to prepare a bath, Alix ventured to the door, every step an agonizing reminder of why she should not have been walking.
A prodigious tray of silver domes filled the doorway. "Good morning, milady," Winston greeted her, with uncustomary effusiveness.
Only one pair of black-trousered legs supported his burden. Relieved there was not a second pair wearing the blue wool of the Metropolitan Police, Alix retreated to allow the butler to enter. "Oh, there you are, Winston," she replied, pretending to be Lily.
"I trust you're enjoying a splendid morning," he proposed cheerfully. He cast a bright glance at her in passing. "I don't know why Mrs. Winston had in mind to add bacon to your plate, but she thought you might find it a pleasant change," he explained while Alix followed listlessly. "Allow me to pour your tea, milady," he offered, busily setting her place.
"Thank you."
He glanced at her speculatively as he filled the teacup. "May I bring up a few books this afternoon?"
Alix hesitantly took her seat while he hovered expectantly. Perhaps the constable was lurking in the hallway, waiting to catch her stealing food.
"Of course. Thank you." She waited anxiously for him to leave and wondered if Jenny's disappearance signaled that the maid had already been arrested as an accomplice. But when the door closed without complication, Jenny bustled in belatedly.
"I don't know how everything got so behind suddenly, except Albert Frisk stopped by for the second time this morning. I still think he's up to something."
Alix sipped her tea glumly and picked over the food on her plate. What she knew about prison could fill a thimble, but she was somehow certain that bacon was not on the menu.
IT WAS NOT THE FIRST MORNING that Nicholas had felt the aftereffects of the night before, but he could not recall ever having been late for an appointment. Not only was the oppressive weather against him, but his head pounded like a devil inside was having a go with a hammer when he met John for a hack across country. Midnight Star was not a horse to ride blindly, and he finally halted the questionable pursuit when his horse nearly unseated him.
"How now, Griffon? I never thought I'd see you swoon at the sight of a fence."
"Nor I, Johnny, but apparently I had too good a time last night."
John laughed, moving his gray hunter alongside. "I say, what were you doing? Celebrating your winnings from Oxley?"
"One might guess."
His friend laughed incredulously. "What? You don't remember?"
His troubling delusion about his wife was why he had been drinking heavily at the club, but he would rather lie than defend his lack of reason. "I'll deny it if I ever hear you tell anyone."
They reached the road at the five-mile marker and aimed for the Boar's Head Tavern. He realized the surrounding fields bore a semblance to the illustrations Frisk had found in Lily's desk, but subtle differences frustrated his desire to spot the exact location he hoped to recognize.
"We didn't come across you in Mayfair last night, or we might've joined you."
"I went to the club."
"Did you have another go-round with Lily?"
"All I know is, I awoke in my bed."
"Cheer up. All you need is a little hair of the dog to set you straight."
"I'm in no shape to argue."
"All right, come on; see if you can keep up, old man. We're not too far from the Boar's Head."
The words were no sooner out of John's mouth than Midnight Star nearly left him behind. As John's gray horse lunged into a gallop, only Nicholas's natural agility kept him in his own saddle for a spurious race to the tavern. By the time he collected his wits sufficiently to step down, John caught him around the shoulders and pulled him inside. "Barkeep, this unlikely blighter needs some help,"