Endure My Heart (24 page)

“Oh, Miss Anderson, I did not see you,” she exclaimed. As if I didn’t know it! It was my escort she had dashed across the road to meet, endangering life and limb in a near-collision with a cartload of pipes. “Congratulations on your fame.”

“I was very fortunate, was I not?” I asked.

“Why, it was Miss Lock who was fortunate.” I saw it was not to the lottery business she referred, but to the newspaper fight for Rose Marie’s reward.

“Very true, but good fortune to a friend is shared.”

“How much is she giving you?” the rude creature asked.

“I was not referring to money, Miss Simpson,” I answered, on my high ropes. “It is the satisfaction that is my reward. I thought you referred to my winning the lottery ticket when you congratulated me.”

“No, I had not intended mentioning
that
to you. I thought a minister’s sister would not care to have it discussed that she indulged in gambling.” There was a sly shot of her black eyes in my escort’s direction at this taunt. “I suppose you are here to spend up the prize. You would not want them to see in Salford how quickly you are bent on dispersing it.”

“They will see soon enough,” Stamford replied, his words hot in my defense. “Tomorrow her purchase will be on display. Miss Anderson has just bought a ship, which she is donating to the poor fishermen of the parish.”

“Is it you who bought
Seamew,
Miss Anderson?” she asked, privy to every shred of gossip about the town, you see. “I had heard it was Mr. Williams.”

“I am acting as Miss Anderson’s agent in the matter,” he replied quite stiffly.

“How clever of her to have chosen you for her agent,” was the pert answer to this civility.

“Who more appropriate than her fiancé?” he asked.

It was worth every penny of the thousand pounds to see her sharp little face curl up in chagrin. “You don’t mean it!” she exclaimed. I expected her to use some vulgar phrase such as my having “nabbed” him, but her commonness did not extend quite so low. “When is the wedding to be?”

“Very soon,” Stamford answered for me, and was treated to a dozen congratulations, while I received one long, silent, envious look that expressed most of her malice. She did come up with one parting piece of insolence. “You have known along then that Mr. Williams was working for the government. A baronet, we hear—is it true?”

“I’m afraid so!” I said, smiling as she turned tail and darted off to spread her news. “That was rather an abrupt and premature announcement,” I said when she was gone.

“What a hussy! Nothing better to do all day long than run the streets, looking for men and gossip. I used to be sorry to see you working so hard, Mab. I used to watch you set out for school in your little gig each day, and come home in the late afternoon, looking so tired. I wished I could take you out of such a hard life, but when I see what a strong character it has made of you, I begin to think it is wrong that ladies in the general way have so little to do with themselves. I don’t know anyone else of either sex, and I include myself there too, who would so selflessly have given up that thousand pounds. And it is you, the only working lady in the village outside of Mrs. Aldridge, who handles all of Andrew’s charity work for him. You lead the choir and still run Andrew’s home. I won’t be popular in Salford when it is learned I mean to steal you away from them. They’ll have to import half a dozen ladies to replace you.” This lengthy encomium was delivered in a strong tone of approval, and with a glowing eye. Then he took my elbow and we resumed our walk.

I was much gratified at such a powerful account of my life, and wondered what he would think if he knew the nights of this paragon were given over to leading a band of smugglers. But when I spoke, it was not of this. “The announcement was still premature.” I could not but wonder at his having gone to this ultimate length, when there was still a Lady Lucy in his background. “The news won’t be long in reaching Salford either.”

“I should have spoken to Andrew first. I suppose you are wondering that I have not taken you to meet my family either. The fact is, there is no one but an aunt who keeps house for me. My parents are dead, my mother several years ago, and my father just after I joined the Army. I was a long time hearing of his death, for I was sent first to Portugal, and I was no sooner home from there than Boney escaped from Elba, and I was off to Belgium, to pick up a bullet in my leg. But it comes on nicely. I shall be able to dance at our wedding.”

That’s all. Not a mention of any impediment to the match in the way of a previous attachment. Was it possible he had detached himself from Lady Lucy? It seemed wonderfully like it when he went on to suggest we look about the shops for things to add to our hope chest. My mind ran back over our courtship, if that is the proper word for such a bizarre relationship as we had.

It had been Christmas night when he first stepped up his flirtations—and how he had backed off at that time when I took him up on it. Frightened to death. Then when he returned from that visit to London, and I half thought he would be a married man, he had begun pursuing me harder than ever. It began to seem he had indeed managed to beg off from his entanglement with Lady Lucy.

But what of her letter? A lady did not keep correspondence with a man she had just jilted, or who had jilted her, however politely it had been accomplished. Maybe he
had
left a jacket behind. And maybe (here we were getting into murky maybe’s) Lord Hadley had remarried, to explain away Lady Hadley.

I was distracted from these ruminations by my fiancé’s pointing out to me a tea set, not nearly so pretty as ours, did I think? “Ours” had been delivered two days ago, and sat in state, still wrapped in paper in my bedroom, where I had the fortitude to do no more that undo the teapot, to see what the shape and pattern were. Certainly they were much prettier than the one being pointed to in the window. On that we agreed completely in the fond and foolish way of true lovers, who compliment themselves by complimenting each other on their taste and refinement.

A tour of the drapery shop was de rigueur, to ascertain the wares at Salford were superior and the prices lower, with quite as much earnestness as if we owned the shop. And I, as if I were any normal fiancée, entered into all the window shopping and price comparing, agreeing loudly that nine shillings was too much for the muslin.

“I want to buy something to commemorate this day,” Stamford said.

“Buy me some luncheon then. I am famished.”

We had a nice dinner of roast beef and raised pigeon pie at the inn, taking a private parlor for the occasion. A wicked extravagance, and done without even thinking about it by my escort, which led me to wonder what sort of poverty he was accustomed to, if this was considered normal. It was very cozy and intimate in our private saloon, with red brocade hangings at the windows, and a fire crackling in the grate, to warm us after having been blown to bits at the wharf. We dined in style, taking claret with our dinner. I could not tackle a dessert, and it looked very good too, a compote of preserved pears and spiced muffins. Stamford had three of them, while I warned him he would turn to fat, in the way of so many husbands, if he ate so much. Really it was very much like a meal shared by newlyweds that day, with no constraint between us. At one point he even put a piece of muffin into my mouth, which is surely the mark of commonness, but it didn’t seem like it. I only refrained from returning the compliment by remembering seeing Miss Simpson play that stunt at my Christmas party, while all the old quizzes clucked.

We spoke first of the
Seamew
and its operation, which men would be asked to fish it, etc. Stamford had given it some thought, and told me it would be for the men to maintain it and pay for its operation. When he could reel off those men who were in real poverty as well as I could myself, I realized what a sharp idea he had of which of the men in the village indulged in smuggling, but I managed to include a few of my own boys as well, for there was no saying that I would not have need of the
Seamew
from time to time. I had already decided she would be docked at Jed Oxton’s cottage. As well as having a dredged dock able to take it, he was employed when he could get the work on ship repairing, and his wife mended sails. This lent an appearance of legitimacy to my decision, though of course the fact that Jed was also a gentleman was the real reason.

I had noticed Stamford whispering something to the waiter early on, and when the dessert plates were cleared away, I saw the result of this private discussion being brought in. We were confronted with a bottle of champagne, then the waiter backed out of the room, bowing and smiling.

“You are extravagant!” I scolded, still playing the housewife.

“I don’t get engaged every day, and I hope you don’t either,” he replied, handing me a glass.

It was the first time I ever tasted champagne. I liked it at once. There was no getting used to it necessary. It went down as easily as water, but more enjoyably, of course. After a second glass, there were still several left to go in the bottle. When Stamford glanced over his shoulder a couple of times toward the closed door, I thought he was making sure we were not to be disturbed, and wondered if he had some other surprise in store for me. A public inn did not seem quite the place for what I thought he had in mind, namely a repeat of the interlude in the darkened vestry of the church. An engagement party seemed the proper time, however. I confess (as this is a confession) that I was not entirely averse. Just as these thoughts were flitting through my giddy head, there was a tap at the door.

I had never seen the man who stood there before. He looked like a merchant and so he turned out to be. He passed something to Stamford, which he looked at carefully and lifted up in his fingers; then he put it back and took up something else. This went on three or four times, then Stamford drew out his pen, signed something, and the man left.

“What was all that about? I asked, alive with curiosity.

“Of what use is an engagement without a ring?” he said, lifting my left hand. Then he slid onto my finger a little golden ring, with five stones, emeralds and diamonds alternating in a band across the top of the circle. “You see how well I have sized you up—a perfect fit!” he congratulated himself. “I hope you like it?”

It was impossible not to like such a beautiful thing. A deep green fire danced in the three emeralds—they were large enough for that, not just chips. Large enough, but not too large and gaudy. Recalling his frequent references to poverty, I feared he had spent more than he could afford, but disliked even to hint at it, for fear of embarrassing him.

“Yes, I can afford it, sweetheart,” he said, and laughed. “I have taken up mind reading, so you had better clear your mind of anything you don’t want me to know. I am not quite in the basket. Colonels receive a little more than a living wage, and this colonel banked every penny he didn’t require. You’d be surprised how little opportunity there was to spend money in Portugal. And we high-class revenuemen, you know, have only to crook a finger and the government pours gold into our pockets. Just ask Crites.”

Having reasoned away Lady Lucy, this financial report lifted another load from my mind, which left on it only the burden of my career of crime, which was not quite sufficient to ruin the day. I felt as happy as any lucky girl when she has nabbed (to borrow the word Miss Simpson was too high to use) the man she wants. I knew then how very much I wanted this one. He was all I had dreamed of, all those dull months, years, of tending house for my father, and those wretched months of trotting to the school, of lying in my bed worrying about my cargoes and my gentlemen. I wanted to pull free from all that, and become Lady Wicklow. I wouldn’t have minded a bit had it been plain Mrs. Wicklow either.

“Do you like it?” he asked eagerly
,
just a little worried.

I felt tears stinging my eyes, tears of regret, and joy. “It’s perfect,” I said, and was as surprised as my fiancé to hear a sob intrude itself into this tender scene.

“Mab—darling, what’s the matter?” he asked, taking my hands and drawing me up from my chair.

“Nothing. It’s just…” A handkerchief was lifted to my eyes, to wipe away the tear. “It’s perfect,” I repeated more firmly.

“Not yet,” he objected, drawing me into his arms. With this detail taken care of he said,
“Now
it is perfect.” He lowered his head and kissed me. Then it was perfect. Perfect swelling bliss for about two minutes. Or longer, or shorter. Such matters are not measured in minutes, but in satisfaction. It was a perfectly satisfying kiss.

It was followed by about the most unsatisfying words he could possibly have spoken. “I will catch Miss Sage, and I will do it very soon. Then we will get married,” he announced. You never heard such conviction.

Oh, he would catch me surely, but having caught Miss Sage, he would never in the world marry Miss Anderson.

Chapter Nineteen

Dumping a load and going to creep for it was not the preferred method of importing brandy, as you may well imagine. I disliked to have to use it again so soon, but as the time of arrival for the next load drew near, I was visited with no alternative inspiration. The Eyrie was watched, Aiken’s place was suspect, the school likewise. At the back of my mind the crypt kept beckoning, but I did not want the brandy to be there, incriminating Andrew and of course myself. I had the
Seamew
to help me, but wished to let it settle first into a routine, for it was much discussed and watched when it first made its bows at Salford. A nubile heiress could hardly have evoked more interest.

Miss Anderson, by the by, was considered next thing to a saint by the poor villagers. I felt like the greatest hypocrite who had ever drawn breath. Really I was extremely unhappy for a lady who was in charge of a highly successful enterprise, doing at last some real charity, and engaged to the man she loved.

About our engagement, no announcement whatever was made or even mentioned once we got home. In fact, Wicklow suggested I might prefer to wear the ring on a chain round my neck for the time being, “till things are settled,” as he vaguely put it. I had no real desire to announce it, when it was so uncertain whether a wedding would ever take place. If I was miserable, Wicklow was only slightly less so. I heard from Jemmie that he now ate his meals alone at the inn, whereas he used to be joined by the local men. He was also eyed askance when he walked out, though the girls still smirked at him. His chances of hearing anything about the smuggling were virtually nil.