Carola Dunn Page 9

  “A cravat. Yes.”

  “And tight trousers? And no turban?”

  “I’m afraid so. And if you could reduce your size a little more, it would help.”

  The Jinnee heaved a long, gusty sigh. As he exhaled, he shrank, until his eyes were exactly on a level with Alan’s, though he remained considerably bulkier. At the same time, his robe and voluminous trousers metamorphosed until he was properly garbed for an upper servant—except for the turban.

  “No turban?” he asked wistfully.

  “Let him keep it, Alan,” urged his mother. “People will just assume he is an Indian. I am sure India nabobs sometime bring back native servants to England.”

  “Very well, at least for the present.” Alan found he was too tired after an emotionally exhausting day to consider the extraordinary situation from every angle. All he wanted was to be alone to hug to himself the knowledge that Bea loved him.

  “Thank you, sir.”

  “We shall see tomorrow what Bea thinks about the turban. Jinnee, I must return to college tonight, but you had best remain here, or you are free to go home—if that is the appropriate word—if you wish. Mother, I’m off. I’ll be back in the morning after chapel.”

  He kissed her cheek and turned towards the door. Before he reached it, he found himself flying through the night sky. Bright stars twinkled above, and as he swooped down Headington Hill the twinkling lights of Oxford came into sight below. He swept over the gleaming ribbon of the Cherwell. An instant later he was standing in his study-bedroom in Wadham College.

  Catching his breath, which he had held for the entire journey, so short a time had it taken, Alan dropped into a chair. He had not ordered the Jinnee to bring him here. If his new servant, with his shaky understanding of modern English life, had decided to lend a helpful hand without awaiting instructions, only trouble could ensue!

  Chapter III

  Bea lay awake half the night. Part of the time she luxuriated in loving and knowing she was loved. Part of the time she wondered whether Alan Dinsmuir could possibly be as wonderful as she remembered him. And part of the time she wondered whether a gentleman so clever as to make a serious study of the law could possibly truly love anyone so frivolous as her unworthy self.

  Being young, she rose in the morning showing no sign of her restless vigil. On the contrary, she was full of confidence, determination, and energy.

  The energy demanded an immediate outlet. After a large breakfast with her father—she responded with sunny smiles to Papa’s ominous mutterings about girls who turned down the heirs to dukedoms coming to regret their folly and ending up as old maids—Bea set off across the park to climb Hinksey Hill.

  It was another beautiful day, the air crystal-clear. Though no great prominence, the hill afforded an excellent view of the city of Oxford. Bea had brought a map of the city and her father’s spy-glass. Seated on the dry turf, she amused herself with trying to pick out the buildings of Wadham College.

  Alan must finish his degree, she thought. He only had a few weeks to go. Who could tell when it might be useful?

  Papa might prove obdurate. Lowering the glass, Bea surveyed the vast Palladian mansion below, and sighed. She supposed it was natural that the owner of Hinksey Hall would refuse to let his only child wed a threadbare scholar whose home was a tiny cottage. With the Jinnee’s continued help, which was by no means certain, Alan would cease to be a threadbare scholar, but he would still lack a noble family.

  And what if something went wrong, as it did with Aladdin, whose wife and palace had vanished overnight? He had recovered them with the aid of a magic ring, but Alan had no such alternative Jinnee to call upon.

  Bea had some money of her own, fifteen thousand pounds she would come into on her twenty-first birthday. It sounded like a lot of money, if one did not spend hundreds of guineas on ball-dresses and such extravagances. However she had not the least notion whether it would suffice for three people to live on in modest comfort. Better to consider it a supplement to Alan’s earnings.

  “Gracious, how practical I am growing!” she said aloud with a little laugh.

  “I beg your pardon, my lady?” said a familiar voice behind her.

  “Oh!” Bea swung round, hand to thudding heart. “How you startled me, Jinnee.” Taking in his changed appearance, she went on doubtfully, “You are Mr. Dinsmuir’s Jinnee, are you not?”

  “After a fashion, my lady,” he said, bowing. “I apologize for startling your ladyship. Mr. Dinsmuir and I have come to an agreement over the terms of my service, but it was Mrs. Dinsmuir who sent me to speak to your ladyship. Madam is most concerned lest the master has misled himself in attributing your ladyship’s kindness to—ahem—warmer feelings.”

  Bea blushed. “No. You may tell Mrs. Dinsmuir that I am quite determined to marry her son. That is, if he...”

  “Your ladyship may rest assured that the master is...’heels over head’ was the expression madam used, I believe. Madam affirms that a mother cannot be wrong in such cases. I must say, the lad looked to me pretty far gone,” the Jinnee added confidentially.

  Throwing her arms around him, Bea stood on tiptoe to kiss his swarthy cheek, which promptly turned a dusky pink.

  “We’ll bring your father round, never fear,” he said in a gruff voice.

  At that moment, the church bells in the village began to ring for the morning service. “Bother, I shall be late for church,” Bea said. “See, the carriage is already at the door. Mama will be in high fidgets.”

  “I’ll take you down,” offered the Jinnee.

  Before Bea had time to accept or refuse, she was whisked through the air, and before she had time to gasp in shock, she was set down gently behind a pillar on the front steps.

  “Not far enough to get up a good speed,” the Jinnee’s voice grumbled in her ear. She spun around, but he was invisible. “I’m off back to madam,” he said. “Until later.”

  In a thoughtful mood, Bea went down the steps to the carriage. By luck or good management, no one seemed to have observed her whirlwind arrival. Nonetheless, the notion that the Jinnee had not awaited an order, or even a request, alarmed her. What might he take it into his head to do next?

  * * * *

  After church, Bea persuaded Miss Dirdle that she really ought to call on the mother of the young gentleman who had saved her from drowning.

  Bea did not want to take Molly with her. The maid had convinced herself that yesterday’s horrid apparition was the result of eating something which disagreed with her. Best to leave her with that belief.

  Miss Dirdle, on the other hand, had introduced Bea to the Arabian Nights tales in childhood. A confirmed romantic at heart, the governess had sighed longingly over the exotic settings and magical happenings, and especially over the happily-ever-after love stories. What was more, she sympathized with Bea’s refusal to marry a man she did not love, however exalted his station.

  Hoping her dear Miss Dirdle would sympathize equally with her desire to marry a man she did love, however humble his station, Bea set out with her companion in the barouche.

  They drove through the city and across Magdalen Bridge. Miss Dirdle shuddered at the sight of the peaceable stream which had so nearly claimed her life.

  “Indeed, I owe Mr. Dinsmuir my hearty gratitude,” she affirmed. “You are right, my dear, though naturally one cannot call upon a gentleman, one may hope to encounter him at his esteemed parent’s abode, and there to express one’s thanks.”

  As they started up Headington Hill, Bea caught sight of a figure ahead of them, striding along the high, embanked footpath beside the road. Though last time she saw Alan walking away from her he had been shabby and soaking wet, she would have recognized him anywhere. Her heart gave an odd little jump, and she ordered the coachman to stop beside him.

  “Mr. Dinsmuir,” she said breathlessly, gazing up at his beloved face, high above her, “may we offer you a lift?”

  “My dear Lady Beatrice,” he said, his obvious elation
on seeing her giving way to a grin, “the very sight of you lifts my heart so high, I am afraid of knocking my head against the sky. But if you will have your coachman move along to the next steps, I shall be delighted to come down and— Good Lord, what on earth?”

  He turned and stared up the hill.

  Bea became aware of an approaching clamour, dogs barking, boys cheering. She stood up and peered past the coachman.

  “Looks like the circus is coming to town, my lady,” he observed, pointing with his whip.

  He had to put it down suddenly as the racket made the horses sidle nervously. Bea knelt on the forward seat and steadied herself with a hand on its back.

  Down the hill came an extraordinary procession. In the lead, at a stately pace, came a beautiful girl in a robe embroidered with gold and studded with jewels. On her head she balanced a golden bowl covered with gold brocade, also gem-studded, glittering in the sunshine. At her side walked a plump African in voluminous white trousers, a brief jacket open down the front, and a turban. Behind them came another couple, just the same, and another, and another....

  “Jinnee!” swore Alan.

  Scrambling, he lowered himself from the embankment onto the barouche seat beside Bea, stepped to the floor, and thence sprang to the ground. While Bea collapsed in helpless giggles and Miss Dirdle sat open-mouthed, he ran to the first eunuch slave.

  “Stop!” he shouted.

  Without pausing in his pace, the African answered with a stream of liquid, incomprehensible syllables. The Jinnee’s magic translation effect apparently only worked for him in person.

  Alan stepped in front of the front pair, arms spread wide. The column simply parted to flow around him. The parade continued down the hill towards the city.

  Hurrying back to the barouche, Alan jumped in. “Go on, Coachman,” he cried, “and make haste!”

  “Yes, do,” Bea seconded him, as the coachman turned to her for orders. She no longer felt like laughing. In a lower voice she said to Alan, “I dread to think what Papa will do if they reach Hinksey Hall.”

  “I’ll have that Jinnee’s blood!” Alan vowed vengefully.

  “If he has anything as mundane as blood in his veins. But, darling, he is just trying to help us. That is exactly what he did for Aladdin to win the Sultan’s consent, is it not, Miss Dirdle?”

  “Aladdin?” said Miss Dirdle in confusion. “Really, Lady Beatrice, I cannot conceive—”

  “My apologies, ma’am,” Alan said. “You must think us fit for Bedlam. Indeed, you may be right. My brain is in a whirl.” He clutched at his head. “Bea, you had better explain.”

  “First let me introduce you properly. Miss Dirdle, this is Alan Dinsmuir, the gentleman who fished you out of the Cherwell yesterday.”

  Miss Dirdle’s effusive thanks took them the rest of the way up the hill. The barouche turned off the main road, and Bea had time for only a brief explanation, which left Miss Dirdle more confused than enlightened, before they reached Mrs. Dinsmuir’s cottage.

  With a grim “Excuse me, ladies,” Alan sped through the gate in the hedge, shouting, “Where’s that Jinnee?”

  The footman who jumped down from the step at the back to hand down the ladies was not the disapproving Ephraim, Bea had made sure of that. Reuben used to smuggle her sugar-plums when she was in disgrace as a child. She swore him and Coachman to secrecy, sent them off to the inn for a pint of ale, then preceded an apprehensive Miss Dirdle up the garden path.

  The cottage looked bigger. Not conspicuously, with an extra wing, or storey, or even more windows—just as if it had been stretched in all directions. The impression was confirmed when Bea stepped in through the open door. The ceiling was higher. The kitchen area had vanished behind a partition. The remaining space easily accommodated the table and rush-bottom chairs she recalled, as well as a set of low, comfortably cushioned divans, where before three cushions on the floor had scarcely fitted.

  No sign of Alan, nor of the Jinnee. No raised voices. Bea clasped Mrs. Dinsmuir’s hands, held out to her as she entered.

  “What has he done, ma’am? What have they done?” Bea asked anxiously.

  “What happened? What has Alan in such a miff?” his mother asked at the same moment. “He dashed in here, raging, and commanded Mr. Jinnee to take him into town at once.”

  “Oh dear, was the Jinnee offended? I do hope Alan will remember how powerful he is and be tactful. He did not harm him, or threaten him?”

  “Certainly not!” said Mrs. Dinsmuir, quite sharply. “Mr. Jinnee is a charming and most obliging gentleman. I do not know what he did to make Alan angry, but I am perfectly certain his aim was to help.”

  “He does seem to wish to be helpful,” Bea admitted.

  “He told me he knew exactly the thing to make your papa look kindly upon...Oh!” She suddenly noticed Miss Dirdle, dithering on the threshold, and moved forward to greet her. “My dear ma’am, I am so sorry. Pray pay no heed to our nonsense. Do come in.”

  Bea hastily introduced them. Mrs. Dinsmuir seated her bewildered guest on one of her new divans. “You will feel the better for a cup of tea,” she said soothingly. “The kettle is on the hob, it will not take a moment.”

  “The very thing,” said Bea. “We came out straight after church, without any refreshment.”

  “Then you will like something to eat as well. I have some pastries, rather unusual but quite delicious.”

  “I shall come and help you carry everything.”

  “My dear Lady Beatrice!” Miss Dirdle exclaimed, shocked.

  Sitting down beside the old lady, Bea took her hands. “Miss Dirdle, Mrs. Dinsmuir is going to be my mama-in-law.”

  “Oh, my dear!”

  “I am quite determined to marry Mr. Alan Dinsmuir, with or without Papa’s permission.”

  “My dear child!”

  “But naturally I should prefer to have his blessing, and Mama’s, so we must strive to come up with a plan to win it, with or without the Jinnee’s help.”

  “The Jinnee?” said Miss Dirdle in a faint voice.

  “Large as life, and twice as natural—or rather, natural as life and twice as large. You will help, too, will you not?” Bea pleaded.

  “Of course,” Miss Dirdle vowed staunchly.

  “I knew I could count on you.” Bea kissed her, and followed Mrs. Dinsmuir to the kitchen to fetch the tea-tray.

  The pastries were indeed delicious, flaky and filled with nuts and honey. Munching and sipping, the ladies discussed the situation.

  First Bea described the parade. Mrs. Dinsmuir had to agree that forty black slaves and forty beautiful girls, even with gold bowls of priceless jewels on their heads, were unlikely to win the marquis’s favour.

  “Oh dear, I fear Lord Hinksey—like your coachman—would imagine someone had sent the circus to call.”

  “And were his lordship to be persuaded to believe the gems were genuine,” put in Miss Dirdle, “he would consider it mere vulgar display. I do hope Mr. Dinsmuir has succeeded in diverting the procession.”

  “Mr. Jinnee will see to it,” Mrs. Dinsmuir said with confidence, “once he understands the impropriety of such an offering to an English nobleman.”

  In spite of the widow’s assurances, Bea was by no means convinced that the Jinnee would not turn on Alan for scorning his enterprise. On tenterhooks, she wondered why they had not yet returned. After all, the Jinnee could make the entire procession disappear with a wave of his hand.

  “Am I to understand, ma’am,” Miss Dirdle was saying tentatively, “that the...the Jinnee is not a figment from Lady Beatrice’s dreams? He truly exists?”

  Mrs. Dinsmuir and Bea united to satisfy her doubts.

  Thrilled, eyes sparkling, the ex-governess clasped her hands. “I cannot wait to meet him!”

  She had quite a wait. The ladies had finished their second cups of tea and were all growing worried when at last Alan and the Jinnee materialized before them.

  “Oh!” squeaked Miss Dirdle.

&nbs
p; The Jinnee looked disgruntled. Alan dropped onto the nearest divan and mopped his brow.

  “Whew,” he sighed, “what a business!”

  “Alan, you did catch them before they reached Papa, did you not?” Bea moved over to sit beside him.

  “We caught up with them just as they crossed Magdalen Bridge, but there were far too many people watching to make them vanish.”

  “I had not thought. What a commotion that would have caused!”

  Alan grinned. “It might have been funny, but there was quite a commotion already, and I did not dare risk a riot. All down the High they marched, with the crowds growing, until by the time we came to Carfax the proctors and beadles had to be sent for to clear a way. Actually, a magistrate turned up and wanted them arrested for parading without a licence and causing disorderly conduct, but he could not make them understand so he gave up.”

  “Good gracious,” said Mrs. Dinsmuir, “how very fortunate they were not locked up in the city gaol. If they had disappeared from there, I hate to think of the consequences. But whatever did you do, Alan?”

  Miss Dirdle leaned forward. “Waited until they were out in the country, I expect,” she suggested.

  “Precisely, ma’am.” Alan bowed to her and she gave him a look of approval. “No one followed very far beyond the city streets, and if the odd yokel saw them dematerialize, he would hardly believe his own eyes, far less be believed.”

  “Oh darling, how clever,” Bea cried, gazing up at him admiringly. He looked down, and they lost themselves in each other’s eyes. His mother’s voice seemed to come from far away.

  “Neatly done, dearest.”

  “Am I to understand, madam,” said the Jinnee gloomily, “that you, too, disdain my efforts?”

  “Disdain? Never! Your desire to assist is altogether praiseworthy, Mr. Jinnee, and I respect you for it.”

  “However, my dear sir,” said Miss Dirdle, “undeniably, the method chosen was sadly inappropriate.”

  “It worked for Aladdin,” he pointed out.

  The two ladies did their best to soothe him, attempting to explain why a vast fortune in jewels was an unsuitable gift for a marquis. “Especially if it arrives on the heads of a column of maidens, however lovely, escorted by eunuch slaves,” Mrs. Dinsmuir added.