“I need help, and you were not only bored to tears but in danger of doing damage to your neck to keep from staring at poor Alexandra,” Lucy explained simply.
“But where are we going?”
“We’re going to set up the games in the family sitting room.”
“What games?” He was immediately suspicious of what she was up to.
“Charades, Hoodman’s blind, and perhaps a bit of Snapdragon. We’ll put out all the candles in the room and set the brandy on fire…”
“Wait. Who decided you should be in charge of anything remotely connected to fire?”
“Calm yourself. What I have in mind is perfectly safe…and besides, that’s why I need you.”
“For what exactly?”
“You’ll be the one to keep a large container of water handy to put out any, erm, unfortunate fires.”
“What do you have in mind that would require an assistant to put out a fire? Snapdragon is clearly already a highly dangerous game…plucking blazing raisins and almonds out of a flaming bowl of brandy. What could you possibly add to an evil concoction like that designed to maim anyone mutton-headed enough to try to play?”
“You have absolutely no imagination, Hugh. You could sprinkle in some—.”
He cut her off. “Youwon’t be sprinkling anything into a flaming bowl of brandy.”
“But just think of how wonderful all the sparkling colors would be…”
“No, Lucy. And that is final.”
“Very well.”
“That was too easy. What are you really plotting, Lucy Phippen?”
She lowered her voice, but her tone was still excited. “I have an idea to add a twist to Hoodman’s blind to make the game more interesting.”
Her sudden shift of intention made him immediately suspicious. “Hoodman’s blind is one of the simplest games in English history. What could you possibly do to make that more interesting?”
“Here’s my idea. Once we blindfold one of the guests, I’ll have everyone leave the room, except for me of course.”
“That’s the most wooden-headed idea you’ve come up with yet. The purpose of the game is for the Hoodman to be blindfolded whilst hitting the other players with a small bat.”
“But don’t you see? They’ll be slicing through the air without finding anyone. They’ll be unnerved.”
“And probably breaking Abbey crockery. What will you be doing all that time?”
“I’ll be making strange noises to confuse them.”
Hugh gave an exasperated sigh. “Of course you will.”
9
December 28, 1843
Montcliffe Abbey
Essex, England
Duncan flew down the ice with Grace’s son Johnny keeping close by, the blades of their skates making hissing noises while slashing into the ice in time with their rhythmic strides. In the distance a giant bonfire blazed high in the sky, beckoning them back after they’d raced a good mile down the River Rom.
Only the diamond-like stars winking daggers through the deep midnight sky witnessed the two of them streaking across the ice, both alone in their thoughts. Days of tense exchanges between Grace and Johnny had left Duncan drained emotionally. But in the previous hour flying free along the river ice, he’d felt as though he’d regained his sense of peaceful contentment. He’d been surprised when he’d jokingly challenged Johnny to a race and the boy had immediately taken him up on the offer. Without a word, they’d seemed to begin to bond in the midst of their silent streaking through the night.
