Prelude to Love by Joan Smith Read Free Book Online Page B

Cambridge. We'll say London was our goal."
    "But we would not have gone to London via Tilbury, my dear. They are foolish, but not at all stupid. They know their map as well as anyone."
    This reminded Vanessa that Landon had certainly followed them by sight, for had he been told London was their destination, he would not have been on the right road. It was odd he had made such an obvious blunder, when she considered it a moment longer.
    They took up their cases, slipped silently along the corridor to the stairs and made it to the clerk's desk without seeing their spy. While Vanessa looked out for the carriage, Elleri went to the desk to settle their reckoning and try her hand at getting a lower rate owing to their early departure. She thought it grossly unfair to pay a whole night's lodging when they had not even mussed the bed, but was too anxious to spend long arguing.
    "Would you happen to know how to get to John Rafferty's place?" she asked, as an afterthought. "It is called Oakdene—an old stone place three or so miles away."
    The clerk was familiar with it, and gave her exact instructions to reach it. She was able to tell Gretch how to get there, which surprised Vanessa, pleasantly so. She did not question it, however. It did not so much as cross her mind her aunt had left word behind where they were headed.
    "I think Papa would be proud of how well we are managing matters," she said with satisfaction, "I had not realized I had a flare for deception, till I tried it."
    "Women are born with a knack for deception," she was told. "How else should they ever get husbands to marry them? There is a deal of deception in nabbing a parti. Take Miss Fischer, now, letting on her hair is naturally curly, and her sly mama, inviting Forrester to dinner."
    Vanessa hardly listened to this topic that would normally engage her full attention. She felt through her skirt to see the letter was still resting in the top of her stocking, then sat back to devise excuses for landing in on the Raffertys so late at night.
     

Chapter Six
     
    It was not at all a long drive to Raffertys. Though the road was dark and lonesome, causing much concern for highwaymen or spies who acted as such, they arrived in safety at the front door of a moldering stone mansion that looked large enough to house them without inconvenience. They were greeted by a disapproving butler, much put out to have to announce callers at nine-thirty in the evening. The lady of the house was equally displeased to have to make them welcome.
    It was hard to credit this lean-cheeked woman with thin gray hair pulled severely back from her forehead was of an equal age with Aunt Elleri. Her gaunt frame was covered in a very plain gray gown, unadorned by so much as a collar, or inch of lace. Her spouse was equally austere. They had been sitting in state, the two of them, in a pair of wing chairs before a cold grate, with no cards, no books or magazines and no conversation.
    The feeble excuse for stopping was put forth, causing some confusion when Elleri mentioned Cambridge as their destination and Vanessa simultaneously said Colchester. A sort of tepid welcome was preferred, soon followed by equally tepid tea. After one small cup, Miss Simons sighed and explained her head would split wide open if she did not place it on a pillow at once. Vanessa was left alone with two aging strangers, who were not adept at small talk.
    There was really only one subject of conversation in any house at this time. The name of Napoleon soon arose, allowing a brief respite from the silence while Miss Bradford related what facts she remembered having heard her father mention. "Who is in charge there, anyway?" Mr. Rafferty demanded.
    "Colonel Forrester," she answered, with a wrench to consider that now the ball would be getting into full swing. The orange trees would be giving off their perfume, the silk sheets making an intimate roof over the heads of Miss Fischer and Miss Condie and all the fortunate ladies who