Diamonds and Dreams Read online

  “Lord, I hate that girl,” Big whispered, frowning. “She’s been mean to you ever since we got here, and I...”

  “G’ mornin’, Goldie,” Dora said, ignoring Big. “Wot are ya still doin’ in Hallensham? The whole village is talkin’ about how yer uncle said yer goin’ ter bring back Lord Tremayne. Why ain’t ya already left ter get him?”

  Goldie bristled at the gleam of animosity in Dora’s eyes and the patronizing tone of her voice. “Mornin’, Dora,” she said, and didn’t bother to comment on the rest of what the girl had said.

  Dora smiled. “Some’s sayin’ they’re sure ya can bring back the duke, and they’re already plannin’ a village festival fer when he arrives. Others only hope ye’ll bring him back. The rest o’ us are positive yer Uncle Asa be lyin’. Lord Tremayne’s been gone fer twenty years, an’ he ain’t never comin’ back here, I vow. Asa Mae ain’t nothin’ but a bleedin’ drunk, an’ the two o’ ya should go back ter where ya came from. An’ take him with ya,” she added, glaring at Big. “Midgets, drunks, an’ sluts ain’t welcome here in Hallensham, an’ I told Mr. Hutchins that this mornin’, I did. I told him all about how yer uncle says yer goin’ ter bring back His Lordship. Mr. Hutchins bein’ the estate manager an’ all, it’s his business ter know.”

  “Pay her no mind, Goldie,” Big said. “She wants you out of Hallensham because she’s jealous.”

  “Jealous!” Dora exploded. “I’m not—”

  “Yes, you are,” Big argued. “You’re jealous that Goldie knows the duke, and you don’t. It infuriates you that Goldie’s going to be Hallensham’s heroine. You can’t sleep at night for thinking about the statue the villagers will probably erect in her honor,” he gushed, too angry to stop himself from elaborating on all the lies. “You’ve had it in for her ever since that Hutchins fellow started watching her, and that’s why you call her a slut. You’re sweet on the man yourself, and when you saw him staring at Goldie, it almost killed you!”

  “Big,” Goldie said, “Mr. Hutchins is not sweet on me.”

  “He bloody well ain’t!” Dora shrieked.

  “Goldie, never you mind this shrew,” Big cooed, and patted Goldie’s hand. “When you bring Mr. Ravenhurst back, she’ll—”

  “Why, ya bloody little bugger!” Dora screamed. “I’ll have ya know that the duke is me friend from way back! I used ter play with him! Once he even gave me half his apple, he did!”

  Big laughed. “Then give up, Goldie. Dora here ate half the duke’s apple twenty years ago. She has more of a claim on him than you do so let her get him back!”

  “I almost choked when I heard it said Lord Tremayne’s got eyes fer ya!” Dora glared at Goldie. “Wot would His Grace see in ya? Ya don’t even come up ter me shoulder, an’ wot with yer chest bein’ as flat as it is...ya look like a child! There’s nothin’ about ya ter attract a man’s eye, there ain’t. An’ the only reason why Mr. Hutchins stares at ya is because he ain’t never seen an uglier girl!”

  Big watched Goldie flinch and bring her knees up to cover her breasts. “Goldie’s perfect in stature!” he roared, more for Goldie’s sake than Dora’s. “She—”

  “Well, o’ course ya’d say that,” Dora said. “Yer a midget! Ye’ll be gone soon, I vow, Goldie Mae. Yer uncle’s already bein’ watched real careful, he is at that. Aside from bein’ a drunk, the man’s a thief. He stole Miz Crawton’s pie from her window, an’—”

  “I made her another!” Goldie reminded her.

  “Ten times better than the one Mrs. Crawton made in the first place!” Big added vehemently.

  Dora smirked. “An’ nobody’s fergittin’ the way the friggin’ sop staggered inter that freshly plowed field the other day neither! Dancin’ an’ fallin’ all over... He made such a bleedin’ mess o’ things, the men had ter plow all over again! Lost a day’s wages, they did, an’ all because o’ yer stinkin’ uncle! When the duke don’t come, he’ll be tossed out o’ Hallensham on his bloomin’ arse!”

  With that, Dora turned and began to walk away.

  “Oh, yeah?” Big stood and shook his fist at Dora’s back. “Well, when Goldie brings back His Dukeship, we’ll just see who has the last laugh, you...you—”

  “Great day Miss Agnes, Big, calm down. Dora doesn’t bother me,” Goldie lied.

  Big looked at her, not missing the glint of hurt in her golden eyes. “I can’t help it, Goldie. It’s the same old story, over and over again. Asa finds trouble; you suffer for it. When is the man going to straighten himself out, for God’s sake? And the way he screams at you all the time! The things he says to you! It makes me furious. He—”

  “Big—”

  “Look, Goldie. I just told Dora you’d be Hallensham’s heroine. Now I want to know just how the hell that bit of outrageousness will come about. Tell me the whole story about this Duke Ravenhurst.”

  She took heart over his growing willingness to understand and gave him her most brilliant smile. “All right. Aunt Delia’s diaries say this duke is the landlord here. All that land out there? What you can see and even further than that? Well, he owns all of it. Owns all those farms too. But he hasn’t been back since his parents died when he was ten. His daddy was killed in a huntin’ accident, and his mama just sorta wasted away after that. So his two aunts came and took him to London. But before he left, he sobbed in Aunt Delia’s lap and told her he’d never come back here because the memories would make him too sad. He wanted her to go with him, but she said she just couldn’t leave her home. That was twenty years ago.”

  Big felt impatience rise again when she paused for a moment to rub her baby pig’s back. “Runt, go away!” he snapped.

  “About five years ago the duke got engaged to some girl named Angelica Sheridan.” Goldie continued to stroke Runt. “Aunt Delia wrote that this Angelica came here one day. Duke Ravenhurst didn’t come with her, but she had one of those lady companions that rich folks always have. Aunt Delia said the lady was old and slept all the time. Angelica told everyone here that she was gonna be the duke’s bride, and that he’d consented to make Ravenhurst their home. Aunt Delia wrote that he must have really loved Angelica to agree to that. Aunt Delia and the villagers were so excited about seein’ their duke again. Anyway, Angelica stayed on here for a while. Things were kinda run-down, just like they are now, so she decided to fix up some stuff. She started plantin’ a huge rose garden. Aunt Delia wrote that the garden was gonna be a surprise weddin’ present for the duke. Since he hadn’t seen this place for so long, Angelica wanted it to look real nice for him.”

  Big saw her eyes fill again. “What’s so sad about a surprise rose garden?”

  She gathered her piglet in her arms and held him as if he were a human infant. “Well, Big,” she sniffled, “on the very day Angelica finished plantin’ the roses, she fell down the big staircase inside that mansion and died. She broke her neck. That lady friend of hers took her body back to London. I reckon the duke buried her there. That was five years ago, and Aunt Delia wrote that all those roses Angelica planted up there have never bloomed. Not a damn one of ’em. Aunt Delia believed the roses won’t bloom until the duke falls in love again. Oh, Big, isn’t that the saddest story you’ve ever heard? The poor roses. Poor Angelica. The poor, poor duke.”

  Big watched her tears spill down her freckled cheeks and onto Runt’s belly. He thought her own plight was a lot sadder than the duke’s. “Goldie, the man’s obviously wallowing in money and most likely leads a glittering, carefree life in London. He probably has other estates and no need whatsoever to come back to Ravenhurst. And he’s probably already replaced Angelica Sheridan with another English beauty. A man like that certainly doesn’t need anyone’s pity.”

  “But he loved her, Big. Then he lost her.”

  Big tried to find some sympathy for the man, failed, and realized he would have to feign it to obtain more information out of Goldie. “The poor man. The poor, devastated man. Lord have mercy on the poor, poor, sad man and his poor, bloomless rose garden.”r />
  Goldie nodded, set Runt back on the ground, and dried the last of her tears on her apron. “From what I understand, Big, these villagers miss havin’ their duke. Aunt Delia wrote that there’s been a Ravenhurst duke livin’ up there in that duke mansion for some five hundred years. Now the only one up there is that Dane Hutchins. That estate manager fella. He’s not the duke, so—”

  “Well, judging by the way he struts around here, you’d think he was the damn Duke Ravenhurst himself,” Big commented. “You should have seen him yelling at some of the farmers the other day, Goldie. He had them scared to death of him, and he thought their terror was funny! And I have to tell you, Goldie, I don’t like the way he watches you.”

  She waved away his words. “Oh, Big, he stares at everybody. Maybe that’s what an estate manager is supposed to do. We’ve never seen one, so we really don’t know how they act. But the fact remains that there’s no duke up in that mansion. It kinda breaks up the tradition, I reckon, and Mildred Fickle said that traditions are sorta like the Ten Commandments to the English.”

  She stared at the huge, rambling manor house again, remembering snatches of what she’d read in Delia’s diaries. “Everybody doted on the duke when he was little. See that tree house in that tree over yonder? It was his. The village men built it for him. I’m gonna climb into it one of these days. Anyway, Big, I guess havin’ the duke back would mean the world to these folks.”

  “But Goldie, you don’t know the man! How can you—”

  “I told you I’m gonna find someone who looks like him, and make him into a duke.”

  Big tried to subdue his rising vexation and worry. “Goldie,” he said, his voice deceptively calm, “this is never going to work.”

  She lifted her face to the sky and closed her eyes for a moment. The sunshine heated her cheeks and her determination. “I gotta try though, Big. It’s like that expression, ‘I’m damned if I do, and I’m damned if I don’t.’ If I don’t try, Uncle Asa’s gonna get us run out of Hallensham. And if I do try and get caught, we’re still gonna get run out. So why not try? Y’know I’ve been movin’ around with Uncle Asa ever since Mama and Daddy died. Big, I’m just plain weary of it. I want to belong someplace. This is such a purty little village, and I am part English, so it’s right for me to be here. And Big, if I do get away with my plan and convince the villagers that the duke is our friend, we won’t ever get sent away. We’ll have found a place where we can fit in and be happy for the rest of our days.”

  Big almost choked on the compassion he felt for her. A place where we can fit in. He wondered if that would ever happen for her. “Goldie,” he whispered, “I—”

  He broke off at the sound of hoofbeats. Looking up, he saw Dane Hutchins cantering toward them upon a fine horse. “My, but we’re having some grand company this morning, aren’t we?” he asked sarcastically. “Here comes God.”

  “Miss Mae,” Dane greeted her as he reined in his horse.

  Big stared up at the overweight man. “What the hell do you want, Hutchins?”

  Dane kept his gaze on Goldie. “Inform your uncle I am here.”

  “You got an appointment?” she asked, shielding her eyes from the glare of the sun as she peered up at him. “I heard English folks always make appointments before comin’ to visit. Y’see, I had this friend named Mildred Fickle. Mildred knew everything about—”

  “Cease!” Dane thundered.

  “Now wait just a damn blasted minute!” Big responded. “Don’t you talk to Goldie that way! You—”

  “We don’t say cease in America,” Goldie decided to tell Dane. “Well, maybe some folks do, but most of us just say shut up. ‘Course, even if you told me to shut up, I wouldn’t. I’d shut up if I knew I was bein’ ugly to you, but I haven’t said anything to have to shut up over, so—”

  “Where is your uncle?” Dane asked, his tone suddenly much less strident. He reached up to his snowy neckcloth, touching the glittering stickpin there, then smiled at Goldie.

  Big scowled. The man was strange—angry one second, and sweetness itself the next. Very odd. “Asa is sleeping, if it’s any of your business. Now what do you want?”

  Dane ignored Big altogether. “Your uncle’s behavior in the pub last night has come to my attention, my sweet. There are people here who are not inclined to accept the three of you among them.”

  “You’re not real popular around here either,” Goldie dared to inform him. “And I’m not your sweet anything.”

  At the slight stir of the breeze, Dane hurried to smooth his hair. “Is my hair mussed?” he asked worriedly.

  Big and Goldie frowned at each other, neither of them answering, then looked back up at Dane.

  “Why are you staring at me like that?” he asked. “Is there something wrong with me?” He brushed at his coat sleeves and gave his hair another pat. “Do you have any idea who I am?”

  “Do you have any idea how little we care?” Big countered, his question making Goldie giggle.

  “I have the power to make you care very much,” Dane answered coolly, fondling his stickpin again.

  “Look, Mr. Hutchins, we know you’re the estate boss,” Goldie said. “You live in the duke house, dress in fancy clothes, ride that fine horse...but you’re not the duke, y’know, and we don’t have to treat you like you are.”

  “Do not ever say that to me again.”

  Goldie stared at the fat, middle-aged man. She decided he had mean eyes and a cruel mouth. His extreme calmness made her feel slightly nervous.

  “It has come to my attention,” Dane said, licking his bottom lip, “that you are going to attempt to bring back Lord Tremayne. Is there any truth to this, my sweet?”

  “She’s not your sweet!” Big exploded. “And you—”

  “Answer me,” Dane commanded Goldie.

  “Yeah, I’m bringin’ him back.”

  Another gust of wind swept through the yard, causing Dane to glower. “I must return to the house. I don’t like wind. I don’t like dust either.”

  “Why do you live in the duke’s house?” Big asked.

  Dane turned and looked at the mansion in the distance. “I wish the roses would bloom.”

  Goldie cocked her head to her shoulder. “You’ll have to get out of that house when I bring back the duke. He won’t let you stay in it.”

  Dane looked back down at her. “When do you leave for London?”

  Goldie stared at his smile again. It made her feel as though ants were crawling on her. “In about two weeks.”

  Dane smoothed his hair once more. “Indeed,” he drawled. “Then we shall wait and see what happens, shan’t we? Good day.” He pulled on the reins and sent his horse galloping down the dirt road.

  “Great day Miss Agnes,” Goldie murmured, fanning dust away from her face. “That’s the strangest man I believe I’ve ever met.”

  Big looked at her and smoothed an unruly flaxen curl back from her face. “Goldie, forget about His Highness Hutchins. Tell me the plan from beginning to end with no more interruptions.”

  She heard the quiet resignation in his voice, and decided to take full advantage of it. “I was up almost all night thinkin’ it over,” she assured him excitedly. “It’s purty obvious that this Lord Duke Tremayne Ravenhurst fella’s never gonna come back here. And I can understand his reasons. His daddy, mama, and sweetheart all died here, Big. The place would only remind him of those tragedies. That and the fact that he hasn’t been here in twenty years...why would he up and come back now? So what I’ll do is have my duke come for just a few hours or so. He’ll talk to the villagers, and then explain that he has to get back to London. It won’t be my fault that he can’t stay. I’ll have done exactly what folks want Uncle Asa and me to do by gettin’ him here.”

  With a sigh, Big sat back down, leaning against the stone wall of the cottage. “But Goldie, you don’t know what the man looks like. I realize these people haven’t seen this Ravenhurst duke in years, but they’ll expect to see some kind of resembla
nce between your duke and the real duke’s parents.”

  She tossed her bright hair off her shoulders, rose, and ambled around the small yard, kicking pebbles, picking leaves, and taking deep breaths of the fresh air. “Late last night, I sneaked into that big ole mansion up there,” she admitted, staring at the wonderful castle-like estate again. “I crawled right through the window, and—”

  “Good Lord, what if that Hutchins bastard had caught you?”

  She bent to examine a rotten log. “He wasn’t there. I saw him leave with my own eyes. Dora was gone, too. Did y’know she’s all the time up there? Maybe she’s his servant. Besides, Big, I didn’t go in to steal or anything like that. I just went to see if there were any family paintin’s linin’ the walls. Rich people do that, y’know. Mildred Fickle said so. Big, in one closed-up room there were dozens of paintin’s. Dane must’ve taken ’em down and stashed ’em in there. All the portraits had little brass plaques under ’em that told who the paintin’s were of. The duke’s mama and daddy were there, and so was he. His name is Marion Tremayne. His middle initials are W. S., but I don’t know what they stand for.”

  She strolled back to where Big sat. “You ever heard of a man bein’ named Marion, Big? Wonder what his mama was thinkin’ when she named him that? I reckon maybe she wanted a daughter so bad, she gave her son a girl name. Poor Duke Marion. Poor, poor Duke Marion.”

  “Goldie, Marion is a boy’s name too.”

  She stuck a leaf stem in her mouth and chewed on it, grimacing at its bitter flavor. “Sounds like a girl’s name to me. Anyhow, little Marion was only about three years old when his paintin’ was done, but after starin’ at his parents’ paintin’s along with his, I think I’ve figured out what he looks like now. He’s gotta be over six feet tall because both his mama and his daddy looked tall. His hair is black and wavy, he’s got a strong jaw, high cheekbones, and a long straight nose. I couldn’t tell too much about his mouth because it was sorta pinched up. Looked like he was antsy about havin’ to stand there and get painted. And I wasn’t sure about the color of his eyes either because he was wearin’ a hat that shaded ’em. His mama had blue eyes, his daddy brown ones, so I was gonna take my chances and do eenie meenie miney mo.”