Dangerous Obsession Page 2

  He hauled me to my feet. For a little old man he was fairly strong. “Get up! Get up!” he wailed despairingly. “Do you want the master to beat me because of your laziness? Or worse, to sell me?”

  “What would be so bad about that?” I rubbed my eyes with my fists and yawned. “You’d probably get a master who was a human being instead of an anim—”

  “Hush! Come along, there is no time to waste!” He hustled me along. I mumbled something about at least giving me a chance to put on some clothes. But he said, “No time for that! Oh, lazy one, will you lift your feet? He said he wanted to see you at once! At once!”

  We stumbled down the narrow stairs to the second floor, where the family bedrooms were located, then down the broad main staircase. Vasilly led me to the drawing room. He tapped lightly on the double doors and pushed them open. He shoved me inside and closed the doors behind me again.

  The room was very bright. The candles in the chandelier were all burning, as well as the ones in the wall sconces and in the candelabra on the piano and on the tables. It took a few minutes for my eyes to become adjusted to the light, and I stood there yawning and shivering and rubbing my eyes with the heels of my hands.

  “Come here, girl!” my uncle barked. “Into the light, where Monsieur Garrett can see you.”

  He came up to me and put a ham-like hand on my shoulder. He reeked of whiskey and cigars. I shook him off and glared at him.

  “Well, here she is, Monsieur. Your virgin! And I wish you well of her! Ha! Ha! Ha!”

  His laughter echoed hollowly in the big room. He gave me a violent push that propelled me across the room, into the arms of its other occupant. He steadied me. When I regained my balance I pulled away from him and stepped back, glowering at him. This was the foreigner I had heard Vasilly talking about.

  I wondered where he had come from. He didn’t look Russian. He was no giant, although he was big enough and massive, with great broad shoulders that bulged inside his clothes. His face matched his build, square and pugnacious. He wasn’t at all handsome. His curly black hair was long and tinted with grey here and there, and more grey threads speckled his beard, though from the smooth skin on his cheeks and around his eyes I would have guessed that he was no more than twenty-five. His nose was large and it had been broken. A small scar gleamed on the bridge. Another purple scar ran down his left cheek into his beard. He looked like he had done some hard living. But his dress was elegant and immaculate. He wore a frock coat of a hard-finished dark brown wool, tight-fitting tan breeches, and gleaming riding boots. An abundance of ruffles spilled over his dove-colored waistcoat.

  He ran his eyes over me swiftly but keenly, appraising me as I had seen horse traders inspecting an undesirable animal, with a single glance. He yawned behind his fingers and turned away. I felt a prickle of anger at this dismissal, even though I knew that I looked singularly unattractive in my shapeless shift. I was quite tall and pathetically scrawny, with narrow hips and only the tiniest buds for breasts. My hair was half-braided and quite dishevelled, matted from sleep, and my face was thin and pinched with fury. I am sure that my black eyes glowed at him like hot coals under the absurd haystack of my hair.

  “Well, how do you like her?” my uncle demanded. “Isn’t she a beauty?”

  The stranger said in a cool voice, “She is a trifle young for my tastes.” His voice was very deep and rather beautiful, like the lowest notes on the piano. But I could tell from the set of his shoulders that this man was angry. I supposed my uncle had led him to expect a splendid Russian beauty.

  “Young?” Alexei shouted. “Of course she is young! Virgins have to be young. That way their integrity is assured.” He approached me. I stood fast and clenched my fists. “Isn’t that true, little poppet?” he purred drunkenly. He put his fingers under my chin and jerked my head up. He moved his face closer to mine, as if to kiss me.

  “What do you want from me?” I demanded angrily, slapping his hand away and moving back apace. “Why did you bring me here? What do you want?”

  “I made a little wager at the faro table tonight,” my uncle told me. “And I lost. Thank Heaven I did! Say hello to Monsieur Garrett. You belong to him tonight!”

  By God, the bastard had wagered me as if I were an insignificant hunk of property!

  “Black-hearted dog!” I cried, and I launched myself at him, claws bared, aiming for his eyes. I didn’t care that he was three times my size and had a hundred times my strength. I wanted to kill him.

  “Get away from me! Get off, you she-devil!” he squawked. He gave a mighty swing of his arm. It caught my shoulder and sent me spinning, but in a flash I was on my feet, coming from him again. This time he was ready for me. He trapped my wrists in his hands. But I ducked my head and sank my teeth into his thumb. He gave a bellow of fury and pain and flung me away from him again.

  I slapped against the wall with the force of a cannonball and slid to the floor. I was momentarily stunned and dazed. He pressed in on me, and I saw that he was completely insane with rage. His eyes seemed to shoot red sparks. He gave me a vicious kick in the ribs with his big booted foot. I sucked in my breath as pain flashed through my whole body, but I did not cry out, I did not beg for mercy. I would have died before I opened my mouth to plead with that monster. I would never show him fear.

  “Cursed little witch!” Alexei panted. Kick! “I’ll teach you a lesson tonight, by God!” Kick! Kick! “You’re going to learn to behave yourself!”

  “I curse you, Alexei Nicolayevitch Oulianov,” I gasped brokenly. I saw a glimmer of fear in his tiny eyes. Of course, he was ignorant and superstitious, as wary of a Gypsy’s curse as any peasant. I went on, “I curse you, and when your father looks down from above and sees how you have betrayed your promise to him, he will curse you, too. May you die a violent death! May your blood redden the earth and may dogs eat your flesh! May your wife and all your children perish horribly, and may rats chew their fingers and—”

  “Stop it !” he shrieked. He stood frozen with terror for a moment, then he picked me up and slammed me back against the wall. “Stop it before I kill you!”

  Then he released me abruptly and slid to the floor. My brains felt as if they had been pounded to jelly. I heard sounds of a scuffle and I pushed the hair out of my eyes so that I could see what was happening. The scene delighted my eyes: the stranger was standing over Alexei, who was flat on his back on the floor. The shining shaft of a rapier led from my uncle’s throat to the stranger’s hand.

  “You damn interfering scoundrel!” Alexei breathed. “You dare—”

  “She is my virgin, remember?” the stranger said smoothly. He reached down and jerked Alexei to his feet by his coat collar,” then propelled him towards the doors. The tip of the rapier was never more than half an inch from Alexei’s neck. “I would ask you to remember your manners as well, Count.”

  Alexei was helpless in his grasp, even though he was a full head taller and easily a hundred pounds heavier than the stranger. I watched with glee as the man Garrett lifted my uncle by the scruff of his neck and tossed him into the hallway. I heard a loud splintering crash as Alexei’s body fell against the delicate French inlaid table outside the door, smashing it into sticks.

  “I’ll see you both in Hell!” he roared.

  “Don’t make promises, dead man!” I shrilled after him. The stranger closed the doors and turned the key, then he tucked his weapon under his arm and dusted his hands off against each other. He turned to me.

  I got painfully to my feet and leaned heavily against the wall, clutching my side. “Don’t come near me, you dog!” I hissed at him through my teeth. “Stay away from me or I will put a curse on you, too!”

  He gave me a cool stare, with just a hint of a smirk, and said, “You’ll live, I guess.” His French was different from Alexei’s. It must have been his foreign accent.

  He turned his back on me and walked over to a table that held a decanter and some glasses. For the first time I saw that he favored his l
eft leg. And indeed, I saw him pick up a thin black cane and sheath his rapier in it! He poured himself a large measure of liquor, then limped over to the fireplace and eased himself into a chair. He propped the cane against the side of the chair, within easy reach of his right hand.

  “What are you going to do with me?” I asked loudly. He did not look around. Instead he sighed and closed his eyes. I moved away from the wall and stood about four feet from his chair, just out of reach of that lethal cane. “I tell you, if you lay one finger on me I will scratch your eyes out with my fingers!” I assured him. “I will rip off your ears! I will bite off your nose! And if you try to harm me I will curse you! Like this: may eagles pluck out your eyes and may rats gnaw your bones. May—”

  “May wolves pull out in my innards and dine on my brains,” he finished for me in a bored tone. I felt deflated. Usually gorgio dread a Gypsy’s curse. He opened his eyes and stared into the fire. “Go away,” he said.

  “You are letting me go!” I said in an amazed voice. “I know, this is some trick!”

  “No trick. As I told your master, you’re a little young. And you’re far too dirty.”

  I inched forward and stuck out my chin. “He is not my master! No man is my master! I am Rom! I am Gypsy! I am free!”

  The man kept silent. I studied him closely. His scars marked him as a warrior, and his easy disposal of my uncle had certainly proven his bravery. His eyes were fringed by dark lashes, deep under menacing brows. He looked up at me and I saw that they were a startling shade of light blue. I looked down at his hands. They were a fighter’s hand, huge and broad and long-fingered. But sensitive, too. He would be good with horses, I decided.

  He reminded me of a Russian bear: dark and hairy and treacherous, even when he was quiet. My instincts told me that he was short-tempered and unpredictable, and I had seen how dangerous he could be. In fact, he was just the sort of ally I needed.

  “Of course,” I said in a friendlier tone, “you did save me from that brute. Not,” I added quickly, “that I couldn’t have saved myself! But I owe you thanks. Someday I will repay you. Gypsies are not ungrateful for favors, even from gorgio.”

  Silence. He stretched out his left leg and winced slightly.

  “You need help with your boots tonight?” I asked eagerly. “You have no manservant?”

  When I knelt down in front of him and began to tug off his right boot, he made no objection. But when I lifted his left leg he stiffened.

  “Do not worry,” I said, “I know how to be gentle.” I removed his boot with utmost care and stood up. I saw that the level of brandy in his glass had dropped, and I brought the decanter over and filled his glass to the brim. Before I set the decanter down again I helped myself to a long pull. After what I had been through, I needed it.

  He continued to gaze unblinking into the flames. I might have been made of clear glass, for all he saw of me.

  ‘You are going away tomorrow,” I said. “Before dawn.”

  He took a cigar out of an inner pocket. Leaning forward, he picked up a red coal with the fire tongs and lit it. He exhaled a plume of smoke and studied the end of the filthy burning stick.

  I blinked the smoke out of my eyes and fanned the air with my hand. “Do not play games with me,” I snapped. “I am not a baby that you can tease. I know that you are going, and where. You are going to Paris!”

  He shifted in his seat and gave a bored sigh.

  “Listen to me, gorgio.” I knelt beside his chair and grabbed his arm. A wave of hostile tension surged through his body. He turned annoyed eyes on me. I released him but said urgently, “You must take me with you!”

  He fixed his steely gaze on me and said flatly, “No.”

  “Yes!” I insisted. “You must take me, you must, you must! You have seen how wicked he is. A wicked, wicked man! He wants to kill me. He hates me! Look, look here!” I pulled my shift off my shoulder to display the angry red welts on my skin.

  “He did this today,” I said grimly. “With his belt. His stupid son tried to kiss me in the hallway—just like his father, ugly brute—but I struck him with my fists and blackened both his eyes! Ugly little pig. Then the coward went snivelling to his mother—she hates me, too. Everyone hates the Gypsies. And Alexei Nicolayevitch came and beat me. Oh, how he hates me! And for no reason, only because I am different, because I am Gypsy. But I am his own sister’s child, and he should not treat me that way!”

  Now he favored me with an incredulous look.

  “You don’t believe me? You think I am a serf here? Ha!” I lifted my chin. “He is my uncle, that monster! And some day I will cut his heart out!” Using an invisible knife, I pantomimed a mortal plunge into the stranger’s chest. He didn’t flinch. “Some uncle, eh?” I sat back on my heels.

  “Remarkable,” he said dryly, tapping his cigar ash onto the floor.

  “Do not think I want to leave because I am afraid of him,” I said firmly. “No, you must not think that. I fear nothing! But I do not belong here. I am Gypsy. I must be free. Take me with you, Monsieur. As far as Bryansk, that is all I ask. It is on the way! The caravans will be waiting there for me, I know it! Take me!”

  I clutched at him again, digging my thin fingers into his forearm. Again he stiffened, but I did not let go. I lowered my voice and filled it with emotion.

  “I cannot stay here, living like somegorgio. I am Rom,” I said proudly, “like my father and his father and his father before that. The old man, the Grandfather, was kind to me. But when he died and thatgorgio pig brought me here—uh, can you not understand how it was?” I pleaded desperately with my eyes and even squeezed out a tear or two. “Here it is a prison. No stars at night. No forests. No birds. Only this evil man and his wife and evil children, and gorgio priests and gorgio churches and doors, so many, many doors! ‘Be like us,’ they say. But I do not want to be like them! I do not want to read and write and sew all day, and sit as still as a rabbit in front of a gun. Pfui! They say that I am like a little savage, but what do they know! They are savages. They are ignorant. And they are all so weak, all so full of fear. I hate them. When I die,” I said in a voice throbbing with sorrow, "it will not be from that man’s beatings. It will be because I have been in this prison too long. You will take me, I feel certain of it. You are a good man, brave and strong. You will take me.” I dropped my head, overcome by the weight of my plight.

  He said, “I won’t take you with me. But if you ever get to London, I suggest you go straight to Drury Lane and ask for a job.”

  I didn’t know what he was talking about, but I knew mockery when I heard it.

  “You joke with me!” I gasped, enraged. ‘‘You laugh when a little child is in danger! For shame, gorgio, for shame! I know, you think this is some kind of Gypsy trick, don’t you? Well, it is no trick. I want nothing from you, only to be taken away from here. I will pay you! You do not believe? I can beg. I am a really fine beggar, I swear it! And fortunes! Ah, I tell very, very good fortunes. Wait, I will show you. Give me your hand—.”

  I slid my grip down to his hand and tilted his palm towards the firelight. He tried to jerk away but I held him fast, as a drowning man holds a spar.

  “Ah!” I cried, as if I had made an important find. “You have come far, from across the sea.”

  He gave a derisive snort.

  "I see many journeys,” I said with utmost seriousness, ignoring his obvious scepticism. “Your life will be full of journeys. Ah! Wait!” I peered closer. “A man lurks. A friend! Beware, Monsieur. A very close friend will betray you.”

  “I have no close friends,” he said, yanking at his hand.

  “Do not pull away!” I cried. “I am seeing better now, clearer. Wait! It is much clearer—.”

  My voice grew fainter as I stared at his palm. And a strange thing happened. I couldn’t see his hand any more, only vaguely colored shadows that moved in front of my eyes like mist, forming pictures and breaking up again. I shook my head to clear my brains, thinking that the brandy I
had swilled had muddled them. Yes, the brandy and the beating had made me dizzy.

  I plunged on. “You will travel far to find love, only to find that love has travelled with you,” I said glibly. The mists formed a face. I saw dark eyes and dark hair. “A woman,” I whispered incredulously. “I see the woman you loved! She did not betray you. There is another! A man with fair hair. She loves him. Where there is love there can be no betrayal.” I heard him suck in his breath slightly. Could what I was seeing be true? “But she is weak, very weak. I think—I saw the little figure lying on a bed. She was dressed in white. “I think she is dying. You must go to her at once. She wants to forgive you. I see— another face! And I see waves, like ocean waves. Only they are red. Oh, no! It is blood! So close, so near at hand! It is—”

  I shrieked and covered my face with my hands. Fear, For the first time in my life I knew what it was to be really afraid. For a door had opened and I had seen—

  He stood up abruptly. “You were right about one thing,” he said. “You are good at this game. But save your Gypsy lies for gorgiowho believe in that sort of thing.” He fished in his waistcoat pocket and tossed a coin at me. Instinctively my hand flashed out like the tongue of a frog that has seen a fly and my fingers closed around the gold. I looked at it. It was a ten-ruble piece, more than I had ever earned in my life telling fortunes. But tonight I had really earned it. I had really seen—things.

  “Your fortune,” I said. My voice came out in a croak and I paused to clear my throat. "The first part I made up, because I couldn’t see.” I swallowed. “But then l told you the truth! May the Evil One come and live inside my body if I didn’t! And I saw—”

  “I don’t want to hear more,” he said. “Go back to bed, Gypsy. I will not take you with me. I travel alone, always.”

  “You will not take me,” I repeated softly. I looked up at him. “What is your name?”

  “Seth Garrett,” he said.

  “Se-the.” I tried to pronounce it but my tongue balked at the “th” sound. I could get it with practice, though. “Se-the,” I said slowly. “A nice enough name. My name is Rhawnie. That is nice, too, no?” I searched his face for signs of softening. I found none, only stoney hardness. Well, I could be hard, too. And clever. I scrambled to my feet. “Well, may God go with you, Monsieur Se-the,” I said politely. “I wish you a good journey.”