a mare by a stallion can sometimes be complicated—”
He gave an audible gasp and actually drew away from her as if her crudeness might be infectious. “Miss,” he began, and then seemed to have run out of words.
She exhaled an exasperated breath. “You’re shocked. I told you I shock people.”
“Oh no, no,” he said, but he sounded as if he would choke on the words.
If she hadn’t been afraid she would startle the mare, she would have stamped her foot. “Why should it shock you that I understand how foals are created? If the horses do not join together—their bodies, I mean, so that…” She could see she had lost him.
He cleared his throat, probably to stop her speaking. He looked away from her, out to the road beyond the park, as if he were searching for something. “I—I must be on my way, I’m afraid. An engagement. Please excuse me.”
“Of course. It’s getting late.” She stepped back to give him room to mount. When he was in the saddle, resettling his hat on his head, she couldn’t help asking, “Do let me see Breeze again, though, when the light is better. Is she stabled nearby?”
He hesitated, just long enough that she knew he was choosing how to refuse. “I’m sorry,” he said. “We’re due to start back to our country house tomorrow.” He lifted the reins and touched the brim of his hat.
“Wait, sir—could we—perhaps I could—”
“Sorry, miss,” he said again. “Must dash. Very nice to have met you.”
It was clear he couldn’t wait to escape the American girl’s blunt talk.
Annis could see she was not going to like Englishmen. This one hadn’t even told her his name, and all she wanted was a closer look at his horse, perhaps a chance to bargain for her.
The horse and her tall rider were already gone. Annis stepped out into the path to watch as the mare moved from the trot into a smooth canter, her pretty tail rippling in the breeze. Annis’s breast throbbed, first with desire to possess that wonderful horse, then with a surge of irritation over yet another man refusing to acknowledge her competence.
“Piffle,” she muttered at the man’s retreating back. “Who cares what some English stuffed shirt thinks, anyway?”
Frustrated, she stamped out of the park and back toward the Swan.
Velma met Annis at the door to the suite, and the relief on her face at seeing her mistress whole and safe filled Annis with compunction.
“Oh, Velma! You mustn’t worry so. I just went out into the park. It’s beautiful. When you have a moment you should go.”
“Yes, Miss Annis,” Velma said, in a voice that threatened incipient tears. “I didn’t know where you was.”
“I know, and I’m sorry. Where’s Frances?”
Velma pointed at the door to the dressing room Frances had claimed for herself. “She’s bin in that little room for ages. Don’t know what she’s doing, but Antoinette and me was getting awful hungry. Antoinette went to the kitchens to see if they will give us something.”
“Frances is in there alone?” Suddenly brimming with curiosity, Annis started toward the dressing-room door.
Velma hissed a warning. “She said no one goes in there, only her! Don’t, Miss Annis. She said!”
Annis stopped where she was, wondering what Frances was about. There was a smell in the suite, something like incense burning. And was that candle wax? It must be. But why should there be candles here? The hotel was fully electrified, though the lamps were so heavily shaded they cast hardly any light.
She took another step, hoping to hear something from the little room, but Velma’s fresh gasp of horror stopped her. It wasn’t worth upsetting the poor thing, so she turned away to her own bedroom. “All right, Velma. Come along. I need to dress for dinner.” Still, as she and Velma went into her room to sort out an ensemble, she looked back, burning with curiosity about what Frances could be doing.
12
Frances
The little room was too small to be of much use. Its walls were too close, and the dressing table nearly filled the space. Though it was meant to be a dressing room, it was impossible for Antoinette and Frances to occupy it at the same time. It was perfect.
Frances locked the door before extracting her things from the string bag. She lifted out a pottery saucer and an unburned beeswax candle. There was the little vial of her blood, which would need refreshing. The tarnished compact with its trove of nail clippings came next, then