Carola Dunn (18 page)

The Richmonds had helped before. He went to the Rue de la Blanchisserie and found Lady Georgiana and her sisters rolling bandages under the supervision of the duchess. Lord March was there, too, and Slender Billy, his shoulder heavily bandaged, his spirits no whit depressed. The prince insisted on repeating for Felix’s benefit the story of how March had carried him off the battlefield. Felix suspected that it grew more dramatic with each retelling.

When Felix mentioned his errand to the duchess, Slender Billy eagerly interrupted. “Captain Ingram of the Horse Artillery? His battery was the first to reinforce us at Quatre Bras, remember, March?”

“How could I forget, sir, when he instantly doubled the number of our guns.”

“Lord Roworth, you shall have my carriage to take you to Ostend. No, I insist! Keep it as long as you like, the longer the better. Can you imagine a better reason not to visit my royal parents?” He burst into laughter, and even the duchess smiled though she tried to frown on the prince’s combination of filial impiety and
lèse majesté
.

Drawing Lord March aside, Felix said dryly, “I’ve no desire to cause dissension in a royal family.”

The young man shrugged. “No fear of that. If King William insists, we can always find a way to get to the court. Believe me, I have worse to contend with than the lending of a carriage, and Ingram really did turn up in the nick of time. When do you want it?”

“Tomorrow morning, if possible.” He did not want to give the proud twins time to come up with further objections.

“Give me your direction and I’ll see to it. I’m sorry to hear Captain Ingram was badly hurt. Convey my best wishes, will you?”

Felix stayed a little longer for politeness’ sake, then hurried home, impatient to impart his news. To his disappointment, Hoskins told him that Fanny, taking Anita with her, had gone to inform Major Prynne of their intention to return to England.

“She don’t expect no trouble,” he added.

“Trouble?”

“The cap’n’s still in the army an’ under orders, m’lord, same as what I am.”

Another complication he hadn’t considered. Still, a word with the major, or Colonel Frazer, or even Wellington, would solve any problem. The advantages of being heir to a peer were legion.

He went up to see Frank, who was gazing bleakly at the ceiling. Felix’s conscience pricked him for having hit a man when he was down. “I’ve just been to the Richmonds’,” he said. “Lord March sends his best wishes for your recovery. He and Slender Billy were telling me how you rushed your guns to the rescue at Quatre Bras.”

“Orders.”

“Orders or no, the prince remembers you with gratitude. He insists on lending us his carriage to drive to Ostend.”

Frank turned his head and stared. “The Prince of Orange’s carriage?” he asked incredulously. “You’re gammoning me. You must be.”

“Not I. Wellington may never have a good word for the artillery, but others are more appreciative. So will you please stop worrying your head about what you owe me, you nodcock, and...”

“...And start worrying about what I owe the heir to the throne of the Netherlands?” The note of laughter in his voice came as a vast relief to Felix. “I don’t pretend to guess how you did it, Roworth, but I’d give a mint to see Fanny’s expression when you tell her.”

“You can tell her yourself. I think I hear her now.” He went to the top of the stairs and called, “Miss Ingram, will you come up here for a moment?”

She stopped in the act of taking off her daisy-garlanded hat and turned an anxious face up to him. “Is Frank worse?”

“No, no! I am a wretch to alarm you. No, I have something to tell you.”

Anita scrambling ahead of her, she came slowly to join him, every step a small but distinct effort. He picked up Anita and went into Frank’s chamber.

“What is it?” Fanny asked, following.

Felix gestured to her brother, who announced, “Roworth has talked no less than Slender Billy into lending us his travelling carriage.”

Her eyes widened and her mouth dropped open in the most satisfactory manner, but Felix demurred, “It was none of my doing. He offered it entirely of his own accord.”

“The
Prince of Orange
offered us his carriage? With the royal coat of arms on the door panels? And footmen in royal livery?”

“I didn’t like to demand the footmen. It don’t do to look a gift horse in the mouth, you know.”

Fanny laughed, her tiredness momentarily banished. Her brother unwisely followed suit, and gasped with pain.

“We shall take the journey very slowly,” Felix promised. He’d take the reins himself if the prince’s coachman possessed the neck-or-nothing proclivities of his master.

Doubtless at March’s command, the coachman drove at a pace so staid that they were a full two days on the road to Ostend. Despite the lack of footmen, at every stop they were received and treated like royalty. Nonetheless Frank was exhausted by the time he was carried on board the Rothschilds’ ketch. Fanny went below with him while Felix stayed on deck with Anita, eyeing the water uneasily and praying that it would be calm enough for him to devote his attention to the child.

She watched, fascinated, as a carriage almost as splendid as the prince’s was winched aboard the packet at the next berth. A crowd waited to embark, among them a number of soldiers with bandaged heads or arms in slings, and a few prone on hurdles. Others besides Felix had rushed to Brussels to bring their wounded back to England.

As the first of them started up the gangway, a vaguely familiar figure caught Felix’s attention. A small man in a battered hat stood with his back to the ship, scanning the faces of the people boarding, even stooping to examine those borne on stretchers. Felix frowned. Where on earth had he seen him before?

The ketch’s crew began to cast off and he had to keep Anita from lending a hand. When he glanced back at the packet, all but a few passengers had embarked. The little man was talking to a sailor, who shook his head and pointed at the ketch.

As the breeze caught the ketch’s sail, the man ran along the quay towards them, too late. The gap between ship and quay widened. Hands on hips, he stared after them with an expression of wrathful frustration.

Felix recognized the frieze coat, catskin waistcoat, and disreputable hat. It was the man who had been asking questions about the Ingrams in Brussels. What the devil did the fellow want? If he made any attempt to persecute Fanny, he soon find out that she had an able defender!

Chapter 13

The Cohens’ footmen bore Frank into the house on a hurdle. He lay very still, semiconscious, his breathing painful. Fanny was horribly afraid she had been wrong to subject her brother to the fatigue of the journey, though they had travelled in the greatest possible comfort.

She was tired enough herself. Drooping, she plodded beside Felix. Anita, in his arms, had been half woken from a nap by their arrival at Nettledene.

As they stepped through the front door into the entrance hall, Fanny saw a tall, red-haired woman bending over Frank. She held his limp wrist for a moment, then nodded to the footmen. They started up the stairs with their burden and Fanny moved forward to follow, but Mrs Cohen came to greet them.

“Miss Ingram, I am happy to welcome you to Nettledene.” Her gaze swiftly took in the crumpled travelling gown, pale face, and shadowed eyes. “The journey must have tired you half to death. Felix shall take you into the drawing room and Samuels shall bring you tea in a trice. I beg your pardon for deserting you, but of course I must see to your brother’s comfort first. Cheer up, my dear, we shall pull him through. And you will feel much better for a cup of tea.” With a swirl of blue cambric skirts, she hurried after the footmen.

Overwhelmed, Fanny said uncertainly, “I ought to go to Frank.”

“Miriam will do all that is necessary. Come and sit down.”

He turned away from the stairs. By an open door stood a small man in black with a rosy, benevolent face and a fringe of white fluff around a shiny pate topped with a Jewish skullcap. Fanny was wondering in surprise if this could possibly be Isaac Cohen, husband of the gracious, beautiful Miriam, when Felix addressed him.

“Good day, Samuels. I hope I see you well?”

Samuels beamed. “Very well, thank you, my lord, and all the better for seeing your lordship.”

He must be a servant, Fanny decided; probably a butler.

“And Mrs Samuels?” Felix enquired.

“Flourishing like a cedar in Lebanon, my lord. The tea tray will be here in a moment, but perhaps your lordship would care for something a little stronger?”

“I’ll take a glass of Madeira.” He glanced at Fanny. “And a glass for Miss Ingram would not come amiss,” he added.

Anita fixed Samuels with a pleading gaze. “Do you got some bixits, please?”

“I’ll see what Mrs Samuels can do, miss,” he said gravely. He turned to Fanny and bowed. “Is there anything in particular I can bring for you, madam?”

“For me?” She was flustered at having her wishes consulted. “Oh no. No, thank you, tea will be very welcome.”

The butler bowed again and departed. Felix led the way through the open door into a parlour--no, Mrs Cohen had called it the drawing room. Fanny glanced around.

Its walls painted white, the room seemed light and airy despite its low ceiling with age-blackened beams; the brick fireplace, with a simply carved wood mantelpiece, was surmounted by a large landscape painting, handsomely framed; the furniture was not only well-stuffed and cushioned but graceful, upholstered in blue and grey figured damask, gleaming with polished wood; a luxurious carpet covered most of the floor. Fanny had never seen a room so elegant.

“It’s very grand, isn’t it?” she whispered apprehensively. “I didn’t realize your friends had a butler.”

Felix looked taken aback. “To tell the truth, I’ve always regarded Samuels as a sort of elderly cherub,” he said, “and I’d describe the room as cosy. No wall hangings, no gilt, not a fashionable inch of spindly faux bamboo, and the picture’s by some modern fellow--Beadle or Constable or something of the sort--not an Old Master.”

Fanny wasn’t sure what an Old Master was. She felt lost, out of her element.

Anita wriggled out of Felix’s arms and darted over to inspect a long-case clock with a zodiacal face. Gazing up at it in wide-eyed awe, she announced, “I like this house. Specially if there’s bixits.”

Fanny smiled. “Don’t touch,” she warned.

Taking her arm, Felix led her to a group of chairs at the far end of the room, arranged in a semicircle facing French doors that stood open to a stone terrace and the garden beyond. The vista of roses, pink, white, and crimson, distracted her from her uneasiness. She went to the open doors and breathed in the fragrance.

“Mrs Cohen must love roses.”

He laughed. “I daresay she enjoys their beauty, but she is equally interested in their medicinal qualities. She uses the petals to scent lotions, and rosehips to make syrups and jellies.”

“Oh. She must be very clever.” Dismayed again, Fanny sank into one of the chairs as Samuels brought in a hissing silver tea urn. A maid in grey with a frilly, starched white apron and cap came after him with a tray.

Anita abandoned the clock and sped to investigate. Half way across the room she stopped and stared towards the hall door. Fanny saw a small, carrotty head poking around the door.

“What are you doing here, Master Amos?” Samuels scolded.

“I runned away from Hannah.”

Amos ventured into the room, his gaze fixed on Anita. They stood regarding each other solemnly. Fanny crossed her fingers--and saw Felix doing likewise. If the children took a dislike to each other, she was in for a difficult time.

“Do you want a bixit?” Anita offered hopefully.

“Is there bixits? Sam’els, is there bixits?” Turning his head, he saw Felix and ran to stand at his knee. “Uncle Felix, can I have a bixit?”

Anita scurried to Fanny and squeezed into the chair beside her. Each provided with a gingerbread man, the children nibbled with a stolid lack of interest in each other belied by occasional furtive peeks.

Samuels raised bushy white eyebrows enquiringly at Felix, who said, “Leave him.” The butler bowed in acquiescence and withdrew with the maid.

Leaning against Felix’s leg, Amos ate every last crumb and then said in a stage whisper, “Uncle Felix, will she play catch wiv me?”

“Ask her,” Felix suggested.

He stumped across to Fanny’s chair, eyed Anita warily, and said, “Will you play catch wiv me?”

“I got so’jers. Wood so’jers. Calvary an’ infantly an’ artirelly.”

“We can play so’jers, too.”

Anita slipped down from the chair. “Awright.”

“Uncle Felix, can I show her to Hannah?”

Fanny answered his questioning look with a tentative nod. Hannah must be his nurse, she supposed. A household with a butler must surely possess a nurse. Perhaps she ought to go and make the woman’s acquaintance but the effort of rising from her chair was beyond her.

Felix told the little boy, “Yes, take Anita up to the nursery.”

Amos took Anita’s hand and tugged her towards the door. Anita suddenly panicked and ran back to Fanny.

“Tía, you won’t go ‘way?”

“No, love, I shall come and see you in the nursery by and by.”

Reassured, Anita gave her a kiss and rejoined Amos. “I got a sister,” he told her. “But she’s on’y a baby.”

“Tío Frank’s artirelly,” she said grandly as they left the room hand in hand. “My daddy was, too.”

Fanny leaned her head against the back of the chair and closed her eyes. Relieved for the moment of responsibility for Frank and Anita, she surrendered to weariness. Felix was blessedly silent and she fell into a half-doze.

A few minutes later she sat up with a start as Mrs Cohen came in.

“How is Frank, ma’am?” she asked anxiously, guilty at having forgotten him for a moment.

“Sleeping, which is quite the best thing for him at present. I daresay a nap would not do you any harm either, Miss Ingram. Let me take you to your chamber.”

“Thank you, but I have promised Anita to go up to the nursery.”

“I’ll go,” Felix volunteered. “If she’s not happy I shall bring her to you, but I’d wager by now she’s instructing Amos in Wellington’s strategy.”