herself here and now, since she had a gibbet right to hand. So she had a big mouth. But dear life, only a cork-brained, addlepated wet goose would go and make a spectacle out of herself by entering a grinning contest.
She had never felt less like smiling.
The hurdy-gurdy ground out its tinny song as around and around they went—the wooden horses with their legs flying high, tails and manes streaming in the wind. Jessalyn had never seen such a wonder before, and she laughed out loud.
The horses had been painted all the bright colors of a peacock's tail and were anchored to a wooden platform by poles through their middles. The platform turned by means of an intricate mesh of chains and gears that were powered by a pair of live donkeys turning a treadmill. A barker dressed in a black checkered coat called out to the passersby to come and ride the merry-go-round.
"It seems we meet again, Miss Letty."
He came toward her out of the falling darkness, limping slightly. He stopped to stand before her, one thumb hooked on his fob pocket, his hip cocked forward. That Trelawny man. She wondered why he kept seeking her out. She wanted him to leave her alone.
"Why are you doing this? What do you want with me?"
He almost smiled. "What do you suppose I want with you?" He paused, and his words hung in the air, full of threat. Or a promise. "I want, as it happens, to chide you for costing me a guinea," he said.
"I cannot imagine what you are talking about."
"The good reverend so bragged of your prowess in flashing your ivories that I laid a guinea on you. He assured me I could not lose."
"That should teach you then, sir—never to bet on a sure thing."
He laughed, and the deep, throaty sound seemed to resonate in her blood. He took a step closer to her. She felt his nearness like the heat of a candle's flame.
She averted her head, sure that he would be able to read her feelings in her face. She couldn't understand this strange effect he seemed to have on her. She disliked him, in a way he frightened her. Yet her whole body leaped and came alive at the mere sight of him. It was like being given one of those electric charges that she'd read about in the newspaper, which had caused dead frogs to jump across the room. She smiled at the silly thought.
"I never trust people who smile suddenly for no reason," he said.
She looked up at him. He was staring at her with lazy-lidded eyes. "Oh, they always have a reason," she said. "You are only angry because you don't know what the reason is, and you suspect that they are secretly laughing at you."
"All the more reason then not to trust them."
Mesmerized, she watched the creases alongside his mouth deepen as he spoke. There was a bitter conviction in his voice and a tautness to his lips, as if he had learned about trust the hard way.
A silence fell between them. She knew she ought to say something; otherwise he would think her sadly dull. He would make his excuses, bow in that mocking way of his, and depart. A moment ago she had wanted him to leave her alone. Now, perversely, she didn't. She searched for a topic of conversation, but her head was suddenly as empty as the Reverend Troutbeck's collection plate.
The hurdy-gurdy was being cranked to a resounding crescendo, and the spinning horses whirled faster and faster, until they became blurs of color, like streams of spilled paint. Chinese lanterns flickered in the dusk, giving the illusion that the horses were alive.
Jessalyn's breath came out in an unconscious sigh. "That looks like such fun."
"Shall we find out?"
Before she knew what he was about, he had seized her hand, dragging her along after him. "It's for children!" she cried, but he didn't seem to hear. He dipped two fingers into his fob pocket and fished out a couple coins, which he tossed at the startled man in the checkered coat.
He lifted her onto the spinning platform and leaped up after her. He must have put all his weight onto his wounded leg, for he stumbled
She had never felt less like smiling.
The hurdy-gurdy ground out its tinny song as around and around they went—the wooden horses with their legs flying high, tails and manes streaming in the wind. Jessalyn had never seen such a wonder before, and she laughed out loud.
The horses had been painted all the bright colors of a peacock's tail and were anchored to a wooden platform by poles through their middles. The platform turned by means of an intricate mesh of chains and gears that were powered by a pair of live donkeys turning a treadmill. A barker dressed in a black checkered coat called out to the passersby to come and ride the merry-go-round.
"It seems we meet again, Miss Letty."
He came toward her out of the falling darkness, limping slightly. He stopped to stand before her, one thumb hooked on his fob pocket, his hip cocked forward. That Trelawny man. She wondered why he kept seeking her out. She wanted him to leave her alone.
"Why are you doing this? What do you want with me?"
He almost smiled. "What do you suppose I want with you?" He paused, and his words hung in the air, full of threat. Or a promise. "I want, as it happens, to chide you for costing me a guinea," he said.
"I cannot imagine what you are talking about."
"The good reverend so bragged of your prowess in flashing your ivories that I laid a guinea on you. He assured me I could not lose."
"That should teach you then, sir—never to bet on a sure thing."
He laughed, and the deep, throaty sound seemed to resonate in her blood. He took a step closer to her. She felt his nearness like the heat of a candle's flame.
She averted her head, sure that he would be able to read her feelings in her face. She couldn't understand this strange effect he seemed to have on her. She disliked him, in a way he frightened her. Yet her whole body leaped and came alive at the mere sight of him. It was like being given one of those electric charges that she'd read about in the newspaper, which had caused dead frogs to jump across the room. She smiled at the silly thought.
"I never trust people who smile suddenly for no reason," he said.
She looked up at him. He was staring at her with lazy-lidded eyes. "Oh, they always have a reason," she said. "You are only angry because you don't know what the reason is, and you suspect that they are secretly laughing at you."
"All the more reason then not to trust them."
Mesmerized, she watched the creases alongside his mouth deepen as he spoke. There was a bitter conviction in his voice and a tautness to his lips, as if he had learned about trust the hard way.
A silence fell between them. She knew she ought to say something; otherwise he would think her sadly dull. He would make his excuses, bow in that mocking way of his, and depart. A moment ago she had wanted him to leave her alone. Now, perversely, she didn't. She searched for a topic of conversation, but her head was suddenly as empty as the Reverend Troutbeck's collection plate.
The hurdy-gurdy was being cranked to a resounding crescendo, and the spinning horses whirled faster and faster, until they became blurs of color, like streams of spilled paint. Chinese lanterns flickered in the dusk, giving the illusion that the horses were alive.
Jessalyn's breath came out in an unconscious sigh. "That looks like such fun."
"Shall we find out?"
Before she knew what he was about, he had seized her hand, dragging her along after him. "It's for children!" she cried, but he didn't seem to hear. He dipped two fingers into his fob pocket and fished out a couple coins, which he tossed at the startled man in the checkered coat.
He lifted her onto the spinning platform and leaped up after her. He must have put all his weight onto his wounded leg, for he stumbled
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