When the man made no effort to take the coins, she put them on the edge of the tomb. “Thanks for offering them to me, but no thanks. I’ll make do some other way.” She turned to leave the church.
“Pause, madam!” he said loudly.
Dougless clenched her fists at her sides. This man’s pseudo-Elizabethan grammar was getting on her nerves. She turned to face him. “Look, I know you have problems. I mean, maybe you cracked your head and can’t remember who you are, but that’s not my problem. I have problems of my own. I don’t have a penny to my name, I’m hungry, I don’t know anyone in this country, and I don’t even know how I’m going to get a bed tonight, even if I could afford one.”
“Nor do I,” the man said softly, looking at her with sad, hopeful eyes.
Dougless sighed. Needy men, she thought, the bane of my life. But this time, she told herself, she wasn’t going to fall for it. This time she wasn’t going to help an insane man who, when angry, pulled a sword on her. “Go outside the church, take a right—be sure and watch out for cars—walk two blocks, then take a left. Three blocks past the train station is a coin dealer. He’ll give you lots of modern money for your old coins. Then take the money, buy yourself some proper clothes, and check into a good hotel. Miss Marple says there are few problems in life that can’t be solved by a week in a good hotel. If you take a long, hot bath, I’ll bet your memory will return in no time.”
Nicholas could only stare at her. Did this woman speak English? What was a “block”? Who was “Miss Marple”?
At his blank look, Dougless sighed again. She could no more leave him alone than she could leave an injured puppy in the middle of the highway. “All right,” she said at last. “Come with me to the telephone and I’ll point you on your way. But that’s it. That’s all I’m doing! You’re on your own after that.”
Quietly, Nicholas followed her out of the church, but he stopped in his tracks when they stepped outside the gate. What he was seeing was too horrifying to believe.
After only a few steps, Dougless realized the man wasn’t behind her. Turning, she saw him gaping at a young girl on the opposite side of the road. She was dressed in the current English idea of chic: all in black. She wore tall black high heels, black hose, a tiny black leather skirt, and a huge black sweater that reached to the top of her thighs. Her short hair was sprayed purple and red, and stuck up like a porcupine’s quills.
Dougless smiled. The punk rocker-influenced fashions were a shock to anyone, much less to a crazy man under the illusion that he was from the sixteenth century. “Come on,” she said good-naturedly. “She’s ordinary. You should see the people attending a rock concert.”
They walked to the phone booth, and Dougless again gave him directions but, to her annoyance, he didn’t leave, but stood outside the booth. “Please go away,” she said, but he didn’t move. I’ll ignore him, she thought as she picked up the telephone, but she put it down quickly and turned to him. “I think we need to get some things straight between us. If this is an English pickup, I’m not interested. I already have a guy. Or did have one.” Dougless took a breath. “I do have a man in my life. In fact I’m going to call him right now, and I’m sure he’ll come and get me.”
The man didn’t reply to her little speech, but just stood there looking at her. With a sigh, Dougless called the operator to place a collect call to Robert at their hotel. After a moment’s hesitation, the hotel clerk informed her that Robert and his daughter had checked out an hour ago.
Dougless hung up, then slumped against the telephone cubicle. Now what do I do? she thought.
“What is this?” the man asked, looking at the telephone with great interest. “You talked to this?”
“Give me a break, will you?” she half-yelled, taking her anger out on him. Turning back, she jerked the phone up, called the operator, and got information for the number of the hotel that was next on the itinerary she’d made for Robert and her. The clerk at the second hotel informed her that Robert Whitley had canceled his reservation only moments before.
Dougless leaned against the phone cubicle and, in spite of herself, tears came to her eyes. “So where’s my Knight in Shining Armor?” she whispered. As she said the words, she looked at the man standing before her. A fading ray of sunlight struck his armor, a shadow fell across his blue-black hair, and a jewel in his sword hilt twinkled. This man had appeared the last time she’d cried and begged for a Knight in Shining Armor.
“You have had bad news?” he asked.
She straightened. “It looks as though I’ve been abandoned,” she said softly, looking at him. No, it couldn’t be, and she wasn’t going to even consider it. It was a one in a million chance that this actor, who was so involved in his role that he believed it, should appear exactly at the moment she’d asked for a Knight in Shining Armor. The truth was that Dougless was a magnet for strange men. Men who had problems seemed to have radar for finding her.
“I, too, seem to have lost all,” he said so softly she hardly heard him.
Oh, no! she thought. She was not going to fall for that line. “Someone around here must know who you are. Maybe if you ask at the post office, someone can tell you how to get home.”
“Post office?”
He looked so genuinely lost that she could feel herself softening toward him. No, Dougless, no, she told herself, but the next moment she heard herself say, “Come on. I’ll take you to the coin dealer so you can exchange your coins.”
They walked together, and his erect, perfect carriage made Dougless straighten her shoulders. None of the English people they passed stared at them—as far as Dougless could tell, the English stared only at people wearing sunglasses—but then she and Nicholas passed a couple of American tourists with their two adolescent children. The man had two cameras about his neck.
“Lookit that, Myrt,” the man said, the adults rudely gaping at Nicholas in his armor, and the children laughing and pointing.
“Ill-mannered louts,” Nicholas said under his breath. “Someone should teach them how to behave in the presence of their betters.”
Things happened very quickly after that. A bus stopped just a few feet from them, and out stepped fifty Japanese tourists, their cameras clicking as they photographed every inch of the quaint little English village. When they saw Nicholas, they advanced on him, cameras covering their faces.
At the sight of the approaching tourists, Nicholas drew his sword and stepped forward. Watching from the sidelines, the American woman tourist yelled in fear, but the Japanese kept moving closer, their cameras clicking like cicadas on a hot summer night.
To prevent the coming clash, Dougless did the only thing she knew worked: she flung herself against the armor-clad man and yelled, “No!” Unfortunately, when she hit him, the edge of his sword slashed the upper sleeve of her blouse and cut her arm. Startled by the pain, Dougless tripped and nearly fell, but the knight caught her, lifted her into his arms for the second time, and carried her back to the sidewalk. Behind them, the Japanese cameras were still clicking and the Americans applauded.
“Gee, Daddy, this is better than Warwick Castle,” an American kid said.
“It’s not in the guidebook, George,” the woman said. “I think they should put things like this in the guidebook, or otherwise a body could think it was real.”
Nicholas set the woman down. Somehow, he did not know how, but he had made a fool of himself. Did this century allow a nobleman to be defamed? And what manner of weapon were the small black machines these people held before their faces? For that matter, what manner of little people were they who held the machines?
He did not ask his questions, as questions seemed to annoy the witch-woman. “Madam, you are injured,” he said, and Dougless could tell by the way he stiffened that he was mortified that he’d injured her.
Her arm was bleeding and the wound hurt, but she decided to let him off the hook. “It’s only a flesh wound,” she said, parodying the TV westerns. But the man didn’t smile at her joke. Instead, he continued to look embarrassed. “It’s not anything,” she said, looking at the bloody place on her arm. She took a tissue from her skirt pocket and pressed it over the cut. “The coin shop is down there. Let’s go.”
When Dougless entered the little shop, the dealer smiled at her in welcome. “I hoped to see you again. I—” He broke off when he saw Nicholas. Slowly, without a word, the man came forward and began to walk around Nicholas, examining his clothing. After one circuit, he dropped the jeweler’s loupe down over his eye and looked at the armor, murmuring, “Mmm hmm,” over and over. While Nicholas stood stiffly erect, looking at the man in distaste, but also looking as though he didn’t want to commit another faux pas, the coin dealer examined the jewels on Nicholas’s sword hilt, the jewels of the ring on the hand that rested on the sword, and the jewels on the dagger in his belt—a weapon Dougless hadn’t noticed before. Flipping up his loupe, the man went to his knees and examined the embroidery on the garter about Nicholas’s knee, then looked at the knitting of his hose, and, last of all, at his soft slippers.
Finally, the coin dealer straightened and peered at Nicholas’s face, examining his beard and hair.
Throughout this, Nicholas had been enduring the tradesman’s scrutiny with ill-concealed distaste.
At last the coin dealer stepped back. “Remarkable,” he said. “I have never seen anything like it. I must get the jeweler from next door to see this.”
“You will do no such thing!” Nicholas snapped. “Do you think I wait all day here to be inspected like a hog at a fair? Will you do business, or do I go elsewhere?”
“Yes, sir,” the coin dealer muttered, scurrying back behind his counter.
Nicholas dropped a sackful of coins onto the counter. “What do you trade me for these, and remember, man, I take care of those who cheat me.”
At Nicholas’s tone of voice, Dougless found herself cowering to one side. This armored man had a way of giving orders that could frighten one into doing his bidding. After he’d dropped the coins, Nicholas went to stand before the window while the dealer, with trembling hands, opened the bag.
Dougless moved to the counter. “Well?” she whispered. “What did you see when you examined him?”
The dealer glanced nervously at Nicholas’s back, then leaned toward Dougless to whisper, “His armor is silver—remarkably pure—and it’s etched with gold. Those emeralds on his sword are worth a fortune, as are the rubies and diamonds on his fingers.” He glanced at her. “Whoever made his costume spent a great deal. Oh, my,” he said, holding up a coin. “Here it is.”
“A queen in a ship?”
“Just so,” he said, holding the coin in a caressing way. “I can find a buyer, but it will take a few days.” His voice was like that of a lover.
Dougless took the coin out of his hand, and slipped it and all but one of the others back into the bag. Before these were sold, she wanted to do a little research and compare prices. “You said you’d give me five hundred pounds for that one.”
“And the others?” the dealer asked, his voice almost begging.
“I’ll . . . I mean, we will think about it.”
Sighing, the man went to the back of the store, then returned a few moments later and counted out five hundred pounds’ worth of the large, pretty English money.
“I’ll be here if you should change your mind,” the dealer called as Nicholas and Dougless left the shop.
On the street, Dougless handed Nicholas the bag of coins plus the modern bills. “I sold one coin for five hundred pounds, but the rest of them are worth a fortune. In fact, it seems that everything you’re wearing is worth a king’s ransom.”
“I am an earl, not a king,” Nicholas said, puzzled as he looked at the paper money with interest.
She peered closely at his armor. “Is that really silver, and is the yellow metal actually gold?”
“I am not a pauper, madam.”
“It wouldn’t seem so.” She stepped back from him. “I guess I better go now.” Suddenly, she realized that she had wasted most of the day with this man, yet she still had no money nor any place to go. And there was no one in England she could call to get the immediate help she needed. Robert and his daughter had checked out of one hotel and had canceled the next one. Dougless grimaced. No doubt dear little Gloria had balked at staying at another historic hotel and spending the day looking at castles and other educational sights.
“You will help me choose?” the man said at the end of what she realized had been a rather long speech.
“I’m sorry, I didn’t hear you.”
The man seemed to be trying to say something that was very difficult for him. He swallowed as though his own words were poison. “You will help me choose clothes and find lodging for the night? I will pay you for your services.”
It took Dougless a moment to understand what he meant. “Are you offering me a job?”
“Employment, yes.”
“I don’t need a job; I just need . . .” Trailing off, she turned away and blinked back tears. Her tear ducts seemed to be attached to Niagara Falls.
“Money?” he offered.
She sniffed. “No. Yes. I guess I do need money, but I also need to find Robert and explain.” He thinks I hit his daughter, she thought. No wonder he’s furious. But how does someone say, “Your daughter is a liar,” in a nice way?
“I will pay you money if you will help me,” the man said.
Dougless turned to look at him. There was something in his eyes, something lost and lonely that made her sway a little toward him. No! she told herself. You cannot hook up with a man who you are dead certain is crazy. There is absolutely no doubt with this one. He’s undoubtedly rich, but he is insane. He’s probably a rich eccentric who had his costume made by some medieval historian and he now wears it as he goes from village to village hitting on lone females.
But then there were his eyes. What if he had lost his memory?
And, besides, what were her alternatives? She could almost hear her sister Elizabeth’s derisive laughter if Dougless called and asked for money. Elizabeth would certainly never consider taking a job from a man wearing armor. No doubt Elizabeth would know exactly what to do, and how to do it, in this situation, because Elizabeth was perfect. As were her other two sisters, Catherine and Anne. In fact, all the Montgomerys seemed to be perfect—except for Dougless. She’d often wondered if she’d been put in the wrong crib in the hospital.