Chapter Sixteen

Lawrence struggled to hide his annoyance. Why couldn’t he have chosen a different tent in which to shelter? Any tent would be better than this one.

He recognized the circular table with its heavily embroidered cover and the red velvet curtain appliquéd with alchemical symbols and signs of the Zodiac. He could smell the soporific scent he always associated with this place.

With this woman.

There before them sat Daisy Bunyan, the painted fingernails of her left hand stroking the Tarot cards laid out before her. In her right hand she held a steaming cup of coffee. Daisy Bunyan, known to the world as Madame Grimoire, put her bone china cup on the table with a clink and stared at them, her kohl-etched eyes popping in surprise.

Lawrence grinned sheepishly. Then he noticed a second coffee cup on the table. This could get awkward.

Daisy stood, her brassy earrings twinkling in the light of her oil lamp, her dark eyes glinting. She was still a good-looking woman, despite the excessive cosmetics on her face and the long black wig she insisted on wearing over her brown curls. The fortune teller looked from him to Flora and back again, and he hoped she could read the plea in his eyes.

“Have you come to hear your fortunes?” Daisy asked in a deep voice, using an accent entirely her own invention.

Thank the stars! She hadn’t given him away. And Flora mustn’t be given away, either.

“We have, indeed,” he said, bowing.

Spectacle and atmosphere were everything to Madame Grimoire, and he smiled with wry amusement as she thrust the mundane-looking coffee cups out of sight. “I’m Dr. Campaign, and this is my new assistant, Madame Julietta from Paris.”

“Indeed?” Daisy’s dark eyebrows almost disappeared into her hairline.

Hah! This felt good. She deserved to be made to feel jealous. He hadn’t forgotten how she’d strung him along when he was young and vulnerable, and came close to breaking his heart. Well, now he had a proper lady at his side, and he was going to make the most of it. He slid an arm around Flora’s waist.

Fortunately, she didn’t object. Instead, she nodded her head regally at Madame Grimoire and said in a passable French accent, “Enchanté, Madame.”

Oh, but he was enjoying this! What a marvelous game of dissembling. Which woman would be most successful in hoodwinking the other?

Daisy indicated the table. “Be seated, good sir and madam. Each reading will cost a silver sixpence.”

As Flora reached into her reticule again, he put his hand over hers. “I’ll pay,” he said, giving Daisy a hard look. She had no right to charge either of them, after the pleasures she’d taken with him.

“But that will confuse the Fates,” Daisy said. “Let the lady pay for herself. And if the Fates decree it, I’ll tell your future for no charge.”

Perhaps it would be wiser not to pursue this charade any further, but he could sense Flora’s excitement. The poor woman had probably never even seen a fortune teller before, let alone had a reading. He sighed. “Whatever you say.”

Daisy took Flora’s coin, bit it, then tucked it away beneath the table. His mind flipped back to the two coffee cups she’d secreted there. She clearly wasn’t alone. Who was concealed behind the red velvet drape?

Daisy gazed intently at Flora, then commanded, “Give me your hand.”

Flora held out her hand, palm upwards, and Daisy pretended to examine it minutely, after which she rolled up her eyes and made a strange humming noise. The expression of astonishment on Flora’s face almost made him laugh aloud. Then he heard a rustle behind the curtain, and his amusement faded. Thankfully, he still had a knife in each boot.

“You have a secret known only to the dead,” Daisy said.

Flora nodded, looking spellbound.

“Your heart has been broken, but not on purpose. It is now healed and ready to be offered again.”

Again, Flora nodded, her lips parting on a gasp. He had to admit, Daisy was good at guessing.

Was that another sound from behind the curtain? It was hard to tell with the rain clattering like shrapnel against the tent.

“You feel all the time like a fish out of water,” Daisy continued, “a mote of chaff in the wind. Your world slowly crumbles like the quaking earth, and the spar you cling to becomes a snake in your grip, and you’re drowning. Oh!” Daisy shook herself and patted the speechless Flora’s hand.

The fortune teller really did lose herself in her imagined drama.

“Forgive me,” she said. “The spirits have departed. What I passed on to you just now may not be as bad as it sounded, trust me. If you’re sensible, madam, no harm shall come to you. You’ll eventually find your port and drop your anchor. All will be well. But only if—”

Why was Daisy using all these nautical terms? Had she taken up with a sailor? Lawrence was tempted to fling back the curtain and see. No. What was the point? His days of being hurt by Daisy’s inconstancy were done. If there was a man behind the curtain, it was of no importance to him.

“Only if what?” Flora was making a remarkably good job of maintaining a French accent. His admiration for her grew.

Daisy gave a smug smile. “Only if you choose your company very carefully from now on.”

He rolled his eyes. She meant, of course, him. He should have expected that. Were all women vengeful and jealous like Sally and Daisy? No, they weren’t. The exception was sitting right next to him.

Possibly.

Well, Flora would only be in his company a week or so, and he’d see to it no harm befell her, from himself or anyone else. He meant only to do her good and help her realize her dream. They had no deep feelings for one another, and had made no promises, so Daisy’s blow fell wide of its mark.

“And you, sir,” the fortune teller said, taking his hand and turning it palm upward. “Now the Fates will speak of you.”

Flora leaned forward, apparently eager to hear what Madame Grimoire could scry of his future.

Daisy let her eyes roll up in her head. It always impressed him how she did that, showing almost nothing but the whites. She had first done so during their lovemaking—so long ago now—causing him to miss his stroke, and almost fail in the manly duty she required of him. When Lawrence related this to Tom Caxton, leader of the players he’d joined, the man had almost choked to death with laughing.

“You, sir,” Daisy pronounced so suddenly both he and Flora jumped. “You, sir, have a short lifeline, I’m sorry to say, and the spirits see no escape from the fate of an early death.”

Flora sucked in a horrified breath as Daisy went on mercilessly, “You’ll meet with evil company, and they’ll guide you along a path that leads only to the gallows. Or you may plow one furrow too many, and the cuckolded husband will slay you. Or perhaps, you might race a dark horse into an even darker night, pursued by the hounds of hell and—”

“How long does a man have to wait for his coffee, you poxy hag?”

The intemperate sound of the sleepy male voice, so incongruous in the circumstances, made Lawrence’s heart speed in his chest. Judas! What a spell the woman wove with her words! And now she’d gone and frightened Flora.

Poxy hag, eh? He seconded that opinion.

“My apologies, Madame,” he said, his voice dripping with sarcasm. “We hadn’t meant to disturb your morning. We thought you must be alone—save for the spirits and the Fates, of course.”

He enjoyed the sight of Daisy’s face twisting in irritation as the velvet drape parted and a tousled head poked through. The man sported a wispy beard and his face was all too familiar.

“Lawrence! Good day to you. Who’s your latest ladybird? I’m not yet dressed, wench, if you need your fancy tickled.”

Flora recoiled, and Lawrence felt a powerful urge to pull that wispy beard until its owner yelped. He might have no tender feelings for Flora, but he’d be damned if any fly-by-night peddler would get his hands on her.

“Ignore him, Julietta,” he told her. “This is Barnabas Todd, the seller of trinkets and ribbons I told you about, who kept an eye on my wagon yesterday.”

“If I had a hat on, I’d salute you, my pretty,” Barnabas said, leering at Flora. If he weren’t careful, Daisy would soon be emptying his coffee over his head.

“We must go,” Lawrence said. “I think the rain’s easing off.”

“Don’t think you are winning our little competition,” said Todd with a sneer.

Flora finally found her voice. “Pleased to meet you, Mr. Todd,” she said, the French accent abandoned.

Daisy crossed her arms over her chest. “I knew she was no Frenchwoman.”

“And you are no fortune teller,” Flora retorted. “You must think me still in leading strings if you imagine I couldn’t tell you and Lawrence are already acquainted. You’re not the only actress under this particular piece of canvas.”

Lawrence grinned and squeezed Flora’s hand. She turned to him, gave him a level look, and asked, “What little competition is he talking about? No dissembling, now. I’m tired of people pretending to be what they’re not.”

“My scrying’s quite accurate,” Daisy retorted, offended. “I have Irish blood. Mixed with Chaldean.”

Chaldean? Lawrence suppressed a snort.

“I’m no fake, no charlatan,” Daisy was saying. “I may have taken liberties with Lawrence’s reading, but he deserved it.”

“Only fair, as Lawrence has taken liberties with you, too, Daisy,” said Barnabas with a smirk. “He told me you were the first notch on his wagon wheel, as soon as he was able to buy his own rig.”

Lawrence scowled at the peddler. That was ancient history. He’d only done it because it made him feel better, as if he’d been the one to take advantage of Daisy, and not the other way around.

His spine tingled under the inimical stares of both Daisy and Flora.

“Notches?” asked Daisy darkly.

“Notches,” confirmed Barnabas. “He’s put all his conquests there, and I put mine on the left side of my peddler’s tray. Me and Lawrence, we have a friendly competition going, don’t we? How many tallies do you have now, friend? For this year, I mean?”

Lawrence felt his fury rise. “Barnabas Todd, you’re a lying oaf,” he growled. “And if you don’t stop ogling my assistant like that, I’ll flay you alive with my horsewhip.

“Well!” Daisy muttered.

Taking Flora’s arm, he said, “We’ll leave you now, to enjoy your…coffee. Good morning.”

Without a backward glance, he whisked her out of the tent and back into the damp grayness of the day. As she hurried along trying to keep pace with him, she said, “That really wasn’t necessary. I don’t expect you to threaten anyone to protect my reputation. And if you once had an affair with Daisy, I understand why she reacted as she did. Though it was hugely hypocritical, considering she had a lover just the other side of the curtain.”

He stopped and turned her toward him. “Madame Julietta,” he said sincerely, “you are too generous and too honest. But these people are not like you. They don’t care about fairness or good manners.”

“Surely, you exaggerate,” Flora said.

If anything, the opposite. Barnabas and Daisy were bad enough, but Lawrence was also the fence for a ring of wreckers. Those men were dangerous and ruthless and would do anything to protect their profits.

“You can’t trust anyone in this shadow world,” he warned Flora. “Especially when it comes to matters of money or the pleasures of the flesh. If you saw a dropped coin purse, you’d try to return it to its owner. We travelers would just thank whichever netherworld god we favor and pocket the thing. While you’re with me, please accept that I know best how to deal with my kind.”

Her shoulders stiffened beneath his hands. He tried to turn her back toward the wagon, but she stood her ground, ignoring the rain, glaring at him.

Her blue eyes were dark with anger as she said, “I haven’t risked my good name to be dominated by you. I’ve hazarded it on a week or two of freedom. I can make up my own mind about people, Lawrence. I’m not stupid. Now, show me these marks Barnabas was talking about, so I know what kind of man I’ve agreed to assist.”

Groaning inwardly, he took her arm and angled them back toward their pitch. “The marks are not conquests, believe me. I may be of low birth, but I’m not shallow, nor so callous. They are just scratches on one of the wheels where Charley exercises his teeth and claws. You can see for yourself they’re not tallies. Don’t listen to Barnabas, and I want you to keep away from him.”

“Is that an order?” she asked with an edge of irritation.

“Yes. He’s not a man you should associate with. If you want to play in my world, Flora, you’ll need to play by my rules.” He took a deep breath and squared his shoulders. He couldn’t afford to dispute with her. Soon the fairgoers would be milling about, and he needed to be ready to entertain them and convince them to part with their money. His mind was already on which bottles to push today. On such a murky morning, warming remedies would sell well, as would tonics and boosters of mood, electuaries for coughs and sore throats, and poultices for aching joints.

Flora walked beside him in simmering silence. Sorry, but she’d needed to be told. What was a mere game to her was his whole world. He couldn’t afford his livelihood becoming the plaything of a gentlewoman, however sweet and delectable.

As they approached the wagon, he saw a customer was already waiting. They’d returned just in time. But as the man turned to greet them, Lawrence’s flesh went cold.

Speak of the devil…

This was the last person he wanted to see, especially when he was in Flora’s company.

Nathaniel Pryce, go-between for the wreckers.