Wicked and Wonderful by Valerie King Page B

out the pattern on the fabric was always a point of real gamesmanship—to make the most of the fabric, not waste one inch if she could possibly help it. The setting of her stitches she looked forward to as much as she did the beauty of the day outside.
    So why it was then, that she was presently sitting on her bed, creasing the fabric and patterns, was a complete mystery to her.
    Margaret appeared in the doorway. “Did ye send a missive to the castle?” she asked sharply, a hard frown between her brows.
    Judith sat up a little straighter. She did not have the smallest notion of what Margaret was speaking. “No. Was I to have done so?”
    “O’course not,” she snapped. Folding her arms over her chest, she huffed a sigh. “Well, then, did ye see him in recent days when no one was about? Did ye say something to him?”
    Judith was all at sea. “To whom?”
    Margaret’s eyes bulged. “To his lordship. To Kelthorne. Wat have ye done, Judy, that sent him away like this?”
    Judith was quite shocked by Margaret’s demeanor and accusing tone. She could only presume that the loss of the meat every day had become a great concern to her but she could not understand why. The troupe rarely received such beneficence. Surely Mrs. Marnhull had not come to depend upon Kelthorne. “I have not spoken to or seen him since he dined with us the day he brought the pheasants. Why? Whatever is the matter?”
    “Oh, very well, then,” she returned grumpily. “I suppose ‘tis not yer fault.”
    Before Judith could inquire what was troubling her, Margaret stalked away.
    Judith was utterly mystified by her behavior. Why was she so overset that Kelthorne had ceased calling? What was it to her unless she truly was dismayed that he was no longer hunting and providing meat—but that seemed quite unlikely. No, she could not account for Margaret’s conduct in the least.
    She rose from the bed and turned to look at the fabric. She had crumpled it wretchedly. She could only wonder how she had come to be so daft. She could not even remember precisely how it had come about she had sat down.
    Outside, the camp rattled about noisily. She could hear John and Charles arguing as they often did when they were in the midst of adding something new to the repertoire. Both were highly creative individuals with great dramatic abilities. More than once she had been completely mesmerized by one or the other during a dramatic portrayal on stage. This was part of troupe life. She would always feel desperately sad that her life had taken such a difficult turn, but at the same time she believed she would be forever grateful for the richness of the experiences she had had in the eight years since she first joined the troupe.
    From her doorway, she could see Freddy, Henry and Bobby practicing their juggling routine. They were all remarkably expert even doing a little tumbling in the midst of tossing every item imaginable back and forth to one another. Yes, she loved the troupe so why was it she had suddenly come to feel so blue-devilled she could not say.
    At least there would be a performance in the evening. She could swell her song, a circumstance that always served to ease her heart. Perhaps Kelthorne would attend this evening.
    Not that it mattered.
    Of course it did not matter.
    Not one whit.
    *** *** ***
    The evening proved very fine, indeed. Kelthorne walked beside Miss Currivard, a very peaceful sensation having taken strong hold of him from the time of her arrival. She had done this to him, he thought, smiling warmly down upon her. “The walk is quite steep,” he said. “Will you take my arm?”
    “Gratefully,” she responded. “For I have the worst fear that I shall trip in these lovely but quite impractical shoes I am wearing. Then I shall tumble down the hill and completely disgrace myself.”
    He chuckled. “I must say, though I have known you only three days, I would find myself utterly shocked were such a circumstance to happen. You seem so