Chapter 9

The fabric walls of the tent rippled gently in the cool morning air, barely filtering a mumble of conversation from her itinerant neighbors. Theresia tried to ignore the uneasy feeling in her middle while she tidied the small space around her, but her circumstances made it difficult to do so. The stories of the old country and the company of her childhood friends had been comforting these past days, but the Roma camp was unpredictable, with the leering eyes of men, impoverished families, and strange customs. Not to mention the eerie tales of murdering dukes and ghosts haunting the area. Needless to say, she was anxious to return to Ashbury Court to finish her quest. Time was not on her side either. She had to find her vase before Johan and his family returned to London.

At least she had a few more days until the inevitable. Johan had secured another job for his traveling troupe, and they had plans to perform for a dinner party. Mrs. Bedrich would not allow Theresia to join, reminding her that she was not a Roma or a traveling performer but a refined lady. The lines between the two seemed terribly blurred these days. Her eye caught on her violin case. If her determination failed her and her reputation with it, would she be forced to live by her instrument for good?

The thought made her shiver. She had to accept the captain's help.

Even if he was hard to read, with his serious demeanor and stern disposition, she sensed she could trust him. He had not turned her in when he'd had the chance. While she had no doubt of his fierceness in battle since she had felt the brunt of his strength, his actions spoke of an honorable gentleman. It was also true that her experience was limited. He was not at all what she had imagined a member of the ton to be like. He was no dandy or arrogant lord.

She pictured the stoic rigidness of his shoulders to his somber brown eyes—the only real glimpse of any emotion he'd shown—and the image teased a smile from her. Was he always so serious or just when she was near? Even his words were delivered without much inflection, except when he was upset—a mood she seemed to draw from him continuously. In truth, part of her wanted to say something just to elicit a reaction. It was a terrible thing to admit to herself when she should be worried about far more important things.

Reaching for the captain's handkerchief from the top of her trunk, she folded the now-clean linen and tucked it into her sleeve. She would return it and the letter she had written to him in person. He would hate it, but that only made her want to do it all the more. Her newfound freedom was the only part of this experience she was enjoying.

"You did not have to clean up in here." One of Mrs. Bedrich's hands parted the tent open and the other held a steaming plate of kolá?e. The smell of yeast brought back a wave of memories from Theresia's childhood.

"I wanted to help," Theresia said. Serving people had always been her way to show appreciation. "It's the least I can do. You have been so kind to me."

"Frantisek Dvorak and your dear mother would haunt me from their graves if you had even one callous. You must remember who you are."

She had been trying to do just that for years, but to what avail?

"Are you going out again, my zlato?" Mrs. Bedrich motioned to the maid uniform Theresia had donned again.

"I must keep searching for my vase." Theresia forced a determined smile, though she was certain Mrs. Bedrich's keen eye saw the raw nerves hiding beneath it.

"Perhaps the vase is more important to you than it should be." Mrs. Bedrich held out a kolá?e roll, and Theresia accepted the sweet pastry.

"Nothing else is as important to me." She bit into the round bread and sighed with pleasure, the cheese and plum preserves filling her mouth. It was the taste of home.

"The camp has a cow, and the owner made a trade with me. It's good, no?"

Theresia nodded.

Mrs. Bedrich straightened the colorful scarf around her neck. "Good. Food helps a woman think straight. Do you not see the problem with what you are saying? People should matter more than things. You have been blessed greatly, my zlato. You had schooling, speak many languages, and have much to recommend yourself. Your papa would not want you risking everything you have been given."

They had talked this subject into circles already in their short time together. "Too many things have fallen into place for me to think I should not be here. I have been reunited with you, haven't I?"

"Ano, that is the only part of this that brings me peace. My own family has suffered much since my husband died. I count myself blessed I learned to cook as a girl, and I have a hardworking son—even if his wild dreams brought me to this tent." She lifted her gaze and hand heavenward either in prayer or complaint. "We don't starve, but we don't thrive either. But you—you have a chance for more."

Theresia wiped the crumbs from her mouth. "Once I have the vase again, my future will hold greater promise. You shall see."

Mrs. Bedrich took a few things from her apron pocket and stuffed them into Theresia's apron. "For your captain."

"Thank you." Theresia kissed Mrs. Bedrich on the cheek and took another roll off the plate. She left the tent and greeted a stray orangish-yellow dog that had attached herself to their camp. After rubbing his surprisingly healthy fur coat, Theresia glanced behind her and sneaked the roll to the dog.

"We can't have you starving, you sweet thing." Poor dog was every bit as lost as she was, and Theresia couldn't bear to watch her suffer. It took a minute to get the dog to stay behind at the tent, but she finally made it to the road alone.

Their camp sat on the edge of the moors, and it took a good half hour to walk to Ashbury Court. On the way, she passed a tidy cottage lined with rosebushes, the heavy blooms bathing under the noon sun. Johan had heard the occupants were traveling, so Theresia stopped for a moment to admire it. Someday she would have a home again. A real one.

Once she reached Ashbury Court, she bypassed the front door and strode to the back of the large house, darting between the trees and shrubbery. Two footmen stepped into view, and she ducked behind a topiary shrub with a triangular shape. It barely came up to her shoulder—hardly the ideal hiding spot. What would she do if they saw her?

She waited with bated breath. When they rounded the corner of the house, she peeked around the shrub. She could see no one. Her pulse racing, she launched herself back toward her destination. A single door on the other end of an oversize patio led to the drawing room. She had used it yesterday when she had sneaked inside. Another footman came into view, pacing the tree line.

Why were they patrolling the grounds?

Did this have anything to do with the rumors of murders and ghosts circling the Roma camp? The footman wasn't looking her way, but he could glance over at any moment. Entering the house at all was a risk, plain and simple, but if only fear was stopping her, Theresia could overcome it.

Darting to the door, she opened it without checking behind her. She scanned the room. Empty. She slipped inside and turned to peer back through it. The guard at the tree line was still there, facing away from her. Sighing, she shut the door and turned around. She had made it only a few feet when several well-dressed women entered. Her heart stopped. Dread momentarily overtook all her senses.

Why had she risked coming back in daylight? At the head of the group was a beautiful woman about her age with white-blonde hair and an air of ease about her. Would she be kind to an intruder? Theresia floundered. What to do? The captain's words echoed in her mind. "Keep your head down, and don't make eye contact with anyone."

She responded accordingly and pretended to straighten a pile of books on a side table. She'd had enough practice at the seminary while teaching to be able to act the part of a maid since she'd been given far more duties than any of the other teachers. But there was a quiet, invisible posture she'd never acquired. Lingering was too great a risk, so she moved around the back of the sofas to the door. Why was no one stopping her? Whether she truly looked the part of a maid or not, she wasn't going to wait to find out.

She exited the room and hastened toward the front of the house and the main staircase. Her heart pounded like the reckless tapping of a child's pencil on a desk, which thankfully faded with every step farther from the ladies behind her. Pulling the handkerchief from her sleeve, she put it on the banister in case someone came upon her.

Luck was on her side, for she made it back to the corridor on the second floor by the captain's room again without being caught. She would deliver the letter first to the captain's room and then continue her search for her vase. It was after noon now, so it was probable that his bedchamber would be empty. The captain did not strike her as a man who overslept. Even so, she pushed the door open slowly. If she ran into another underdressed version of the man, she feared her sensibilities would not withstand the occurrence twice without her swooning, especially when the memory of the first time kept her awake at night.

Peering into his room, she saw no one. She slipped inside and shut the door behind her. Her nose filled with the faint smell of... him: soap, resin, and fresh, clean air. A smile crossed her lips, and she pushed farther into the room. Not wanting to be caught unawares again, she opened the closet to make sure Granger was not hiding there, napping or polishing boots.

Instead of Granger, clothes neatly filled the space. The captain's uniform caught her eye, and without thinking, she ran her fingers over what was surely his dress coat, with a gold epaulet on the right shoulder and a medal hanging from a ribbon pinned to the chest. She dared think seeing him in uniform would be a sight to behold.

Out of her apron pocket she pulled the wrap of linen strips and a piece of parchment folded around healing herbs; after a bit of begging, Mrs. Bedrich had come through for her. Theresia had not forgotten the glimpse she'd caught of the captain's wound. He would need more bandages until he was fully healed. She set the linens on a shelf in the closet, hoping he would not connect them to her. She wanted to help, but giving a gift to a man was not something Mrs. Stone would have approved of.

Shutting the closet door, she moved to the single bedside table on the far end of the room by the window. She perched on the edge of the bed and reached into her sleeve, pulling out the note. She set it on her lap and folded the handkerchief. In the process, her hand accidentally brushed against the folded letter, sending it to the floor.

"Clumsy girl." She pushed off the bed and bent to retrieve the missive. Her fingertips pinched the folded parchment right when the bedchamber door swung open, carrying with it an unfamiliar voice.

Dropping to her stomach, she did what anyone of sense would do in such an awkward circumstance and swiftly pushed herself beneath the bed. She squeezed her eyes shut and gritted her teeth, crumpling the letter and handkerchief in her tight fist. If she could just find the vase, things like this would stop happening. She mouthed a prayer as not one but multiple pairs of boots clipped into the room.