Amy drops her fork to her plate.

"Yes, and Clarissa will arrive here at Dovecote, the day before. You know Clarissa Howe, do you not, Jacky?" He smirks, obviously recalling the grand tea party at the school.

I own that I have had the pleasure of her acquaintance. I look over at Amy. She is not happy.

"You will excuse us, Brother," says Amy. She throws her napkin down and rises.

He takes out a long thin cigar and curls back his lips and places it between his teeth. "Perhaps we'll retire to the piano room?" He looks at me with his sly look.

"Perhaps not," says Amy, and brother and sister glare at each other as I get up, a bit more regretfully. Pity. I was having fun.

So. We will return in a month to see a fine horse race, where the Sheik will certainly conquer all who dare to challenge him...

...Or we will witness the fall of the House of Trevelyne.

That evening, after we're dressed for bed and I'm brushing out Amy's long, black, shiny hair, I ask, "What's a piano, and why does it have a room?" She has already brushed out my hair and I have put on my mobcap, which now has an anchor worked in blue thread on top of it-might as well use that embroidery, I figure. Although I still ain't near as good as the other girls, I got to admit it looks right smart. I think Faber Shipping, Worldwide shall use that as its flag. The Blue Anchor Line, from Cathay to Bengal, from the rocky sh.o.r.es of New England to the sandy beaches of Mexico, from the- "Come. I'll show you." She gets up and puts on her own cap and takes up the lamp and goes to the door.

We creep down the broad staircase and down a hall and into a darkened room. Amy goes forward and puts the lamp down on a big ... what? It's got four thick legs and is flat on top and is all rich and smooth and glossy and warm and...

"It's called a piano," she says, sitting down at a bench in front of the thing and lifting a wooden cover that slides back to reveal a row of gleaming black and white keys. "Or, actually, a pianoforte, which is Italian for 'soft-loud,' which is appropriate because, unlike my harpsichord, it can make a note loud or soft depending on how hard you hit the key. Like this." And she strikes a white key hard and lets the sound die out, and then does it again, only this time lightly and the note is much quieter.

"That's wonderful," I say, and can barely keep my fingers off the keyboard. "Can you play something?"

"Well, Father has only recently brought it here, but I have started a few things," she says, shyly. "Like this pretty little tune. It's by Ben Jonson, from back in Shakespeare's time, and is called 'Drink to Me Only with Thine Eyes.'" She arches her fingers above the keyboard and brings them down and plays and fills the room with rich and sweet sound. After she plays the melody, she sings a verse: "Drink to me only with thine eyes,

And I will pledge with mine.

Or leave a kiss but in the cup,

And III not look for wine."

I am sitting all wrapped up in the music and don't notice when the door opens and Randall comes quietly in, but Amy does and she stops playing.

"I was about to ride up to the tavern in Braintree," says Randall, "to find more convivial company than was available around here, when I heard the noise."

"Please leave, Randall. We are not dressed," orders Amy.

"No, wait," says I, rising and facing him. "It is just Randall, and if I am your sister, Amy, is he not then my brother, and all is right and proper? Isn't that right?"

A bow of agreement from Randall, a snort from Amy, but she don't press it.

"Shall we have a song, then? Have you a good voice, Randall?" I asks.

"I have a pa.s.sable baritone," says he. "What would you like to sing? 'The Riddle Song'? 'Captain Marshall's Courtship,' 'The Maid Who Lost Her Cow'...?"

"Ah no, Sir, none of those songs where the maid sets forth these riddles to try to protect her virtue from the advances of the man and the man is not supposed to be able answer them but he does, the rascal, and the girl always loses and we both know what she has to do then." I plant my finger in the center of Randall's chest and push him back. "No, Sir, we shall not sing those. Perhaps we will dance, instead.

"Amy," I say, "that pretty song you were playing, the one about 'drink to me only'...Could you play that again, please? For me?"

Amy turns back to the keyboard and, with a reluctant sniff, begins to play. I turn to Randall. "Shall I teach you a simple country dance, then, Lieutenant Trevelyne?" He seems willing.

"Very well, put your right hand here on my waist. No, here on the small of my back-a little higher, please ... that's it. And put your other hand in mine and then we move together, like this. Your feet make a pattern like this-watch me, I'll lead, and then when you get it, you'll lead. Good. Shuffle, shuffle, and turn. Smooth and light. See, by pushing and pulling me with your right hand, I know what direction you're gonna go in, and I can follow, and we glide about together like this. Isn't this nice?"

I think he finds it nice. I'm liking it, too. When we started the dance, there was some s.p.a.ce between us-there ain't no such s.p.a.ce now. When the music comes around to the beginning again, I start to sing the verse into his ear: "Drink to me only with thine eyes..."

He brings his face to mine and I pull back, but he comes on further and I lift my fingers and place them on his lips and lightly push him back. He retreats and we dance like that until Amy finishes.

She makes it plain that she is done by pulling down the keyboard cover. "Good night, Randall," she says firmly.

Randall bows and I curtsy.

"Good night, Jacky."

"Good night, Mr. Trevelyne. You be careful tonight."

"I shall. Thank you for your concern. I look forward to showing you about tomorrow." He bows and leaves.

I sit down on the bench next to Amy again and put my head back and smile in the darkness and let out a sigh and ... "What?" I say to Amy, who seems right steamed about something.

Chapter 41.

The next morning, after chapel, I say I'm gonna go give the Sheik a pet and Amy goes off to our room and when she's well off and gone, Randall appears. He had sat between us during the service. It seems he never pa.s.ses up a chance to make Amy angry.

"May I show you around Dovecote now, Jacky?"

"I think dear Amy has shown me most of it, Mr. Treve-lyne," I say, all demure in my lovely riding habit that Amy gave me, my soul newly scrubbed free of sin, but I have no intention of letting him get away. I had spent most of the service checking out the fit of his clothes from the corner of my eye. It's none of my business, but aside from the flaws in his character-arrogance, a tendency to swagger, false bravado and all-he is really a most beautiful boy, and, deep down, I think a very sweet one, too.

The young groom Edward brings out Randall's horse, a big bay gelding with a good head and fine white boots all around that Randall has named Comrade. Randall puts his foot in the stirrup and smoothly mounts.

"She cannot show you the place like I can. I know of places she does not know. Come"-and he extends his hand. There is no mention of rigging up a buggy, I notice, like I know he would for Clarissa. Well, we must know our place.

"Wait. I'll go get..."

"No need," says Randall. "Climb up here behind me. Comrade can carry us both."

I consider this for a moment and then I hand my hymnal to the groom and say, "You'll keep this for me, won't you, Edward?" He nods, but he don't look happy. He sends a glare in Randall's direction and I lean over and whisper, "Oh, don't worry, Eddie, I can take care of myself."

"All right, Mr. Trevelyne, go over by that feed box, if you would," I say, and he does.

I put my foot on the box and then leap up behind Randall onto Comrade. I get settled with a leg to each side and wrap my arms around Randall's middle and says, "So, show me."

Randall touches Comrade with his spurs and we are off.

It is a glorious spring day with all the world rejoicing in it. There is a steam rising from the ground and the birds rise with it and whirl and sing and we ride down along the river till it meets the ocean, and the sea is as blue as any sky I have ever seen. There is a long beach made flat and smooth by the tides and we gallop along it, tossing up sand, and Comrade even goes into the water and I squeal at the spray thrown up by his hooves and I pound on Randall's back and tell him to stop it, my clothes are going to be ruined, and we go back up along the riverbank and Randall points out a boathouse that he says has several small boats in it, and I say maybe I'll teach him to sail if I come back here in the summer and he says I must.

We go farther along the river, leaving the main houses of Dovecote to our right and then far behind.

"Where are we going now, Mr. Trevelyne?" I ask from behind him. I twist my head around. There don't seem to be any buildings or anything else around here.

"Please call me Randall, Jacky. I think we know each other well enough now to do that."

"Very well, Randall," I say. "Where are we going now?"

"I thought I might show you a spot that was quite dear to me in my youth. A place where I used to come to read and think and be by myself with my thoughts and dreams."

Aw, ain't that sweet, I thinks, the young lord off by himself dreaming like any silly boy or girl. I look up at the back of his head with its black curls looping over his collar. Without thinking, I hugs him a little tighter.

We come to a bend in the river, the bank of which is covered with bushes that are already putting out their leaves. Randall pulls up and, throwing his leg over his mount's head, he slides off and then reaches up for me. Before I can lift my own leg and slide off in my usual manner, he reaches up and grasps me by the waist and lifts me up and off and puts my feet on the ground.

I look about and there's an opening in the thick bushes, leading to a dark glen within.

Uh-oh...

"Randall, I don't know..." Suddenly I ain't quite so brave anymore.

"But Jacky, this is the place I want to share with you."

"Mr. Trevelyne, I've got to tell you that I am promised to another," says I, all prim. "And I think you've been promised to Clarissa Howe."

"Of course, my dear," he says, his hand still reaching for me. "This is only a little visit between friends-think of us as brother and sister sitting on the banks of the river to rest from the ride and to have a nice talk. You did say last night that if Amy was your sister, then I am your brother?"

"I guess," I say.

"We have to be friends, Jacky. You're not like other girls-prissy and afraid of their own shadows-no, you're different, you are, and I knew the minute I saw you the first time, dressed as a midshipman and so pleased with yourself that I thought you might just explode with joy ... and when you were onstage at that tavern, so confident, so unafraid..."

While he's sayin' this his mouth is getting closer and closer to mine and I'm pullin' back but he goes on. "That's why we're so much alike, Jacky, and why we have to become very good friends, Jacky, we have to become such very, very good friends, a friendship that goes beyond who we are promised to, Jacky, beyond who we will marry, beyond the very bonds of convention itself."

His breath is on my face, and I say, "But..."

"But nothing. You know it's true. Now I will kiss you, Jacky. Close your eyes, Jacky, just a brotherly kiss, now, Jacky ... Jacky..."

His words are making me dizzy, sleepy even...

...And then we hear hoofbeats and Amy storms up on her horse, furious.

"Just what the h.e.l.l do you think you are doing, you philandering cur!" Amy pulls up and takes a swing at Randall's head with her riding crop.

"Minding my own business, Sister!" he roars, ducking his head such that the crop swishes over it.

I figures it's time for Jacky to disappear and leave them to it, and I cuts and heads back to the house. And they do go at it for real.

Millie comes up and bounds by my side as I'm trudging along and then I hear hoofbeats. Oh no, Randall, you'll not again... But, no, it's Amy on Daisy and she comes up behind me, her face the very mask of doom and d.a.m.nation.

"Amy, I..."

"Just keep walking, you," she says, not looking at me. "Millie. Mind her."

Millie takes that as an order to keep me moving and on the path. She pokes at me with her nose and seems just out of her mind with joy.

"Nothing happened," I throw back over my shoulder.

"I know," she says. "I was in time. Just. Millie! Mind her!"

Millie comes after me as I try to veer off the path to escape Amy and her wrath. She brings me back.

"I thought you was my friend," I hisses to Millie, but she just shrugs a doggy shrug as if to say, "A job's a job," and keeps me to the straight and narrow. I look back, but Amy still won't look at me, so I keep walking.

"You'll not give me a ride, Sister?" I say, a little miffed. It's a long way to the house, in disgrace or not.

"Ladies ride. Tramps walk," is all she says, and with that, she wheels Daisy about and gallops back to the main compound, leaving me there in the dust.

Fine, I says to myself, my seabag is always packed.

Later, anyone standing outside our window, by Millie's whining side, would have heard us go at it.

"My seabag is packed. I always said you could put me out at any time, and I don't hold it against you."

"It is only because I love you and don't want to see you hurt, and I would never put you out no matter what stupid thing you have done."

"I know how to take care of myself, thank you, I've done it all me life and I means to keep on doin' it."

"You think you are so smart and cunning in the ways of the world, but all I've seen of your cunning is you getting beaten and ill-used..."

"I've made it this far from a pretty low start-"