Free The Cavendon Women by Barbara Taylor Bradford

ter me,” Genevra explained, touching the white collar of the cotton dress. Her head on one side, she studied Cecily for a moment, before adding, “It’s me favorite.”
    â€œI’m glad you like it.” Cecily hesitated for a moment before asking, “How old are you now?”
    The girl grinned. “Twenty-seven. Same as Master Miles.” Genevra glanced up at the great house towering above them on top of the hill. “Big ’appenings going on up yonder, ain’t that so, Cecily?”
    â€œAll the girls are here to visit Lord Mowbray.”
    â€œDid yer keep that bit of bone I carved for yer?”
    Cecily nodded. “I did. But why are you asking me about it now?”
    â€œIt’s lucky. A charm.” She waved a finger at Cecily. “Don’t lose.”
    â€œOf course I won’t lose it, Genevra. I treasure it,” Cecily responded, meaning every word. Somewhat superstitious by nature, she believed that the Romany girl did have the gift of sight, as she had forever claimed over the years. Some people on the estate laughed at Genevra behind her back, and belittled her, but Cecily understood how clever she actually was, and was fond of her.
    â€œDid Miss Charlotte keep hers?” the gypsy asked.
    â€œI’m sure she put it away carefully.”
    Stepping closer to Cecily, Genevra opened her clenched hand, showed her a newly carved piece of bone. “Tek it, Miss Cecily. It’s a charm. I carved it for Master Miles. Give it ter Miles. Go on, tek it.”
    Cecily reached for the bone, stared down at it. There were six small crosses and two hearts carved on it, with tiny strips of scarlet and blue ribbon tied on one end.
    â€œIt’s like mine.”
    â€œNo, it’s not.”
    â€œI meant the ribbons.”
    â€œTrue. Tell Miles it’s lucky . Keep Miles safe, liddle Ceci. Keep him near yer.”
    â€œI will,” Cecily answered, knowing full well that she would indeed do that. She had no option. After all, when she was just a young girl, she had taken the Swann oath: to protect the Inghams.
    *   *   *
    As she walked on up the hill, Cecily paused at one moment and looked across toward the fields. In the distance, she could make out the figure of Genevra, and, on the far horizon, the Romany wagons. There were three now; the family had grown.
    It was Charlotte Swann who had told her why the sixth earl allowed them to live on his land. Many years earlier, during the period when the fifth earl was the head of the Ingham family, Genevra’s great-grandfather, Gervaise, had done him many services. One was discovering and catching the poachers who raided Ingham lands. The reward Gervaise and his brood were given was the right to inhabit the area near the bluebell woods for all time. The sixth earl was just following that rule.
    Romany wagons were a common sight in the lanes and woods of the English countryside, and had been for years. Cecily had always thought of them as picturesque. Some of the gypsies moved around, traveling from village to village, whilst others chose a particular area, and stayed if they were allowed. They kept to themselves, did not cause trouble.
    Cecily couldn’t help thinking about Genevra’s cautionary words to keep Miles safe. She wished now she had asked her what she had seen in the future, although questioning the Romany would not have made her confide. Genevra had always been wary of issuing predictions. Who would want to harm Miles? Clarissa, his estranged wife? Her powerful father, Lord Meldrew? Someone unknown? Cecily could not pinpoint anyone as she hurried on, heading for the long terrace at Cavendon, where Miles was waiting for her. She pushed worrying thoughts to the back of her mind.
    *   *   *
    Miles stood at the top of the steps, leaning against the balustrade, and she thought at once that he did not look good. He was wearing a navy blue linen suit that