The River of No Return Bee Ridgway (best free ebook reader .TXT) 📖

feather affixed with a golden brooch. She looked so magnificent as to appear slightly theatrical, which Julia knew to be the goal.

Next to emerge was a tall, older man with a full head of wild white hair. This had to be Count Lebedev. He stood beside Clare and looked at the house with a slight sneer, one hand on his hip, the other clasping his black beaver hat, which Julia could see had a garish red lining.

Finally, after what seemed like a year, Blackdown climbed out of the coach. He was a few inches shorter than the Russian but dressed identically, in a blue superfine coat with bright buttons, buff pantaloons, and tasseled Hessian boots. The men’s snowy cravats were even tied in the same stiff and intricate oriental style.

She reached out and put her hand against the glass, covering the party of visitors with her fingers for just a moment. She let her hand drop, and the three callers reappeared. As if he sensed her, Nick turned his head and looked straight up at her window. She held her chin high. He nodded to her curtly.

The trio paused together and gazed at the house, rather like three generals surveying a battlefield, Clare with unruffled certitude, the Russian with contempt, and the marquess with impassive determination. Without speaking to one another, they moved toward the door and out of Julia’s line of sight. She now simply had to wait, and hope that Eamon would receive his guests in the Yellow Saloon.

* * *

Pringle tried to turn them away at the door, as he had been instructed. But his obedience to his master was suitably overawed by the sight of Nicholas Falcott, returned so gloriously and miraculously from the war. The young marquess was sadly weathered by his years spent in the hot sun, but he was so finely dressed, and his elegant Russian friend was a true dandy, Pringle could tell. After some debate, he agreed that the earl might be persuaded into receiving his guests.

Five minutes later he returned. The earl would see them in the Blue Drawing Room. “Which is in and of itself a miracle, my lords and lady. But not Miss Julia. He orders that she must wait upstairs. She will not be permitted to join you.”

“Where is Miss Julia?” Clare put her hand on Pringle’s arm. “She is expecting us.”

“In the Yellow Saloon, my lady.”

“Does she yet know that she is not to come downstairs?” Clare asked.

The butler shook his head.

“Then I shall go up to her,” Clare said, all brisk efficiency. “You may explain to the earl that I insisted upon seeing my old friend and would not take no for an answer. I’ll then bring her down to the Blue Drawing Room. I shall simply tell his lordship that I couldn’t bear not to see her.” She turned to Nick and Arkady. “Good luck, gentlemen. I’ll be down with Julia in a trice.” She caught up her skirt in one hand and ran lightly up the stairs.

Pringle led the men across the entrance hall, but after only a few steps Arkady held up his hand. “Hush.” He cocked his head, as if listening. “Do you feel it?”

“Feel what?”

Arkady mouthed the word so that Pringle could not hear: “Time.”

Nick concentrated. Perhaps he did feel a little tremor, a tiny sensation. But nothing definite. He raised a quizzical eyebrow, and Arkady nodded.

“Give us a moment please, Pringle?” Nick looked to the butler, who stepped discreetly away.

“That is time play?” Nick whispered. “But it’s so faint. It doesn’t feel right.”

“Yes.” Arkady looked all around the room. “Someone is thinking of playing with time. They have not yet done it, but they are making the surface of the river ripple with the power of their feelings.” Arkady paused again, wrinkling his nose as if at a bad smell. “But as you say, it doesn’t feel right. Something is very strange here.”

“So what do we do?”

“Keep your eyes and ears open. Someone here is dangling their fingers in the river. Perhaps we will discover who it is. Perhaps this so-reclusive earl is of interest after all.”

Arkady strode toward Pringle, and with a flourish the butler pulled open the huge mahogany double doors that led to the formal rooms of Castle Dar. “The Marquess of Blackdown. Count Lebedev of St. Petersburg.” Pringle sang their names into the echoing, dark vastness of the Blue Drawing Room.

* * *

Where were they? Julia paced the Yellow Saloon, tamping down the desire to go in search of them. She had half a mind to freeze time and go downstairs to see what was going on, but then she heard a light step running up the stair. Julia opened the door just as Clare reached it. Julia cried out at the sight of the familiar face, and Clare hugged her.

“Oh, poor Julia!” Clare pulled away, gripping Julia’s shoulders. “Nick told me what you have been suffering. I did not realize the gossip was so cruel, but that is no excuse for my negligence. I hope you can forgive me.”

“Please, it is nothing. I am just so glad to see you, and to see that you believe in me.” Julia hugged Clare again. “Where are the others?”

“There is a fly in the ointment. They are downstairs with your cousin in the Blue Drawing Room.”

“But we never use that room. It is a silk-lined barn. The servants probably haven’t dusted it in a month.”

“Nevertheless, that is where the gentlemen are. Your cousin did not want you to be informed of our visit.”

Anger bit Julia, hard. “He is a toad,” she said, spitting the word out. “He makes me his prisoner, allows the gossip to grow—and only for his own perverse pleasure in seeing me suffer.”

Julia barely heard Clare’s words of condolence and continued apology. She wanted nothing more than to stop time. She could do it. She could feel the desire to do it building at the base of her skull. She could march downstairs and