The Enchantress (Book 1 of The Enchantress Saga) Read Online Free PDF Page A

unremarkable deductions, ‘other happiness too besides, my lord, for I think you do like the company of ladies ...’
    Brent smiled.
    ‘Aye, I do that. Tell me ...’ he gave her a silver shilling and leaned forward. ‘Do you know a gypsy girl who works with horses? Very striking, a beautiful lass she is.’
    The woman looked startled.
    ‘You ask me for a gypsy girl who works with ‘orses? ‘Tis like looking for a starling in a field of birds when the hay is being cut. All gypsy girls have to do wi’‘orses one way and another ...’
    ‘But this is a very attractive girl, a clever rider. Unusual I would say ...’
    ‘Ah,’ a cunning look came over the fortune teller’s face, ‘you would not be from the magistrate would you, my lord?’
    ‘Oh no, nothing like that!’
    ‘But you is talking of stealing ‘orses, isn’t you my lord?’
    ‘No, no, leave it then. Here is another shilling for your trouble.’
    Brent smiled again and strode off. After all it had been most unlikely that the first gypsy he met would know his mysterious woman. On the other hand he’d heard they were a close community.
    ‘Wait my lord, wait!’
    The call came from behind him and as he glanced over his shoulder, the gypsy woman was waving to him. Brent hurried back, his spirits rising.
    ‘Yes?’
    The gypsy leaned confidentially towards him.
    ‘If my lord could part with a sovereign I think he would find what I have to say not unhelpful.’ Calmly she extended a grimy palm towards him. Brent took a gold sovereign from his waistcoat pocket and placed it in the middle of her hand watching her fingers curl greedily over it.
    ‘Well?’
    ‘They say,’ she leaned over closer, ‘that Brewster Driver had a girl working for him. No one knows where she came from or why, but she is very comely and good on horseback. I ain’t seen her myself; but those who have say she is southern and gives herself airs, though what she is doing with Brewster Driver, God knows.’
    ‘She is his woman ?’Brent cried with horror. The gypsy gave a lewd cackle.
    ‘Well, I’m not saying she is and I’m not saying she isn’t. Brewster Driver is a law to himself; but he does have a wife and goodness knows how many children and ...’
    ‘Where do I find Brewster Driver’?’ Brent said sharply.
    ‘By the ‘orses in the field up yonder my lord across the river. He is a big man – very strong, very short tempered. Be careful you do not pick a quarrel with him, my lord, if you value your pretty face. A very pretty face, my lord, it is. One the ladies love I’ll warrant.’
    Brent, bestowing his charming smile, briefly thanked the woman and went swiftly over the bridge and up towards the field where a few horses stood chafing and whinnying, some being led off the field, some on to it. Prospective buyers poked their flanks and looked into their mouths, or watched them being paraded in a ring. Brent gazed about him with dismay. There was such a clamour, combined with the smell of hay and dung, that he knew not which way to turn.
    ‘Looking for a ‘orse, sir? Fine gelding?’
    A small ferrety man holding a tired looking horse by a thin piece of rope was gazing hopefully up at Brent.
    ‘Do you know Brewster Driver?’
    The man looked crafty; Brent proffered a shilling. The man bit it and put it in his pocket.
    ‘I do know him, but he is not here.’
    Brent’s heart sank. ‘Then where can I find him?’
    ‘They say he’s gone.’
    ‘Gone where?’
    ‘The next place, sir, the next place. We gypsies move on. Maybe Newcastle, maybe Penrith; but you can see how few nags there are left sir. The fair is nearly over ...’
    Brent turned away biting his lips with disappointment. Of course Brewster would have disposed of his stolen horses as quickly as he could and got out.
    ‘You could try the camp sir. Maybe he is still there. Up yonder past the cattle pens.’ The man pointed to where Brent could see gypsy tents in a field. But there was an air of bustle,