Feral Park (61 page)

Neither Nancy nor her sister moved from her spot upon the room’s settee.

“Did you not hear me? Your aunt will be cross to learn that you have taken up the odious habit of disobedience in a public setting.”

“We will not go,” said Sophia boldly. “My sister and I have discussed it, and we have decided that we should not be returning with you to Moseley Manor. Nor will we permit our mother to spend another night there. Our sister is gone and each of us worries that something terrible has befallen her, but you care not a straw. You have snatched us up and ordered us to do your revolting bidding for the very last time! Not another day. Not another hour. Even if we must sleep within the hay loft of some trespassed-upon parish barn, we refuse from this night forward ever to be humiliated and ill-treated by you and your mother again.”

Gemma wept to hear her cousin take such a defiant stand.

Quarrels shook his head in mock pity. “Then you content yourselves to lose every last chance to visit the place where you grew up, the house in which each of you was born.”

“If that be the price we must pay, cousin, then we shall pay it,” rejoined Sophia in a low voice, without meeting the eyes of her tormentor.

But this did not conclude the exchange. “This is how you choose to thank your aunt and me,” persisted the cousin with a growl (for never before had he been so brazenly challenged by a woman), “for providing you with food and shelter and all other creature comforts, for keeping you out of the elements. Peregrinate in the rain like a wandering gipsy, for all I care, court a lightning strike, befoul and begrime yourselves, dine from rubbish heaps. I have done with the lot of you!”

Now it was Mr. Peppercorn who stepped forward to speak. His manner was composed, his tone calm and authoritative. “Go if you wish, Quarrels, but it may behoove you to stay at least long enough to hear the following: we know that it was your older brother who was given up to the Stornaway Asylum within days of his birth—within days of
your
birth, for we know as well that the two of you were twins. He was the older by how many minutes?”

“My mother has never told me the difference in minutes. But what of it? Why bring it up now?”

“Only to say that in your arrogance, you forget that it was
his
removal that ultimately placed Moseley Manor into your hands.”

“Yes, yes, I am a lucky man. Are you preparing to accuse
me
of having some auspicious chunk of Westminster Bridge tucked away somewhere?”

“I am preparing, sir, to bring some facts to your attention which you would best hear.”

Anna took her father aside and asked him in a whisper what possible use could intelligence with regard to Charles’ older brother be to those who were fighting the cause of the Henshawes and Johanna Dray and Felicity Godby, and even Tripp and Trapp, who still remained in danger of pursuit and arrest, one to be put back into the gaol and the other to be locked away for the very first time, each to await a deadly fate.

“Daughter, you must trust your father to win this day. Now sit back and observe the skills of one who has mastered the art of improving the lot of those most in need of succour. Prepare yourself to be astonished and amazed.”

Anna did not understand what in the world her father was about, but she sat down and allowed him the floor to say whatever he wished.

Addressing Charles Quarrels, but also everyone else in the room, Mr. Peppercorn continued: “And now that it appears that there is no male heir within the Dray and Quarrels lines to inherit Cowpens Acres, that estate on the father’s side must go to you as well. You are, at least for the present, to be the beneficiary of entails on two different estates!”

“What mean you, Peppercorn, by ‘at least for the present’? Moseley Manor and Cowpens Acres are mine until my death, and then they will devolve to my son—once I marry and sire.”

“I would not be so certain of that, Charlie,” said Mr. Peppercorn with a gleam. “Here is the crux, and do pay close attention: whilst we were all waiting for your arrival, I was called back to the lumber room by Mr. Maxwell, who said that there was someone waiting there with Mr. Nevers who wished to meet me. I entered the room to find our vicar admiring the painting of the Sermon on the Mount, which had hung hitherto up stairs in my picture gallery. Another man was there, as well: the painter himself. In all the hubbub and commotion he had rolled in upon his special wheeled chair and been taken to the back by Mr. Nevers to conduct business with regard to a commission for the vicarage. The painter—his name is Roland, or, more familiarly,
Rolly
, by-the-bye—had been effusively complimented by Mr. Nevers on this particular painting, which I had purchased last year in a London gallery, and so it was brought down for the two to revisit together. As much as I had always wished to meet him, it turns out that Rolly greatly wished to meet me as well. He enjoys acquainting himself with all of those who purchase his work.”

“Have you a point to this story,” cried Quarrels, “beyond merely squandering my valuable time?”

“I have indeed. Open the door, please, to admit Mr. Nevers and his guest.”

The door was promptly opened and in walked Mr. Nevers pushing the wheeled chair occupied by the painter named Rolly. Rolly had neither arms nor legs but was so handsome of face that Colin Alford had been compelled to follow him all the way to the drawing-room to get a closer look (but, alas, was thwarted when the door was shut upon him).

Each person in the room shewed proper respect for the man without limbs, and nodded politely and greeted him in a subdued fashion, except for Gemma, who all but shot up from her chair and rushed to him, and having no arm to shake, took hold of a stub and shook
that
. “I have seen your work,” said she, “and enjoy it immensely.”

“Thank you,” said he, looking about the room in seeming astonishment that so many should be sequestered into such a small room and wondering, no doubt, why he had been summoned there himself.

Now Mr. Peppercorn turned to address Mrs. Epping. “Mrs. Epping, have you the papers that I sent my man James with you to Grantley Court to procure?”

“I have, Mr. Peppercorn.”

“Shew the first three to Rolly, if you will.”

Mrs. Epping took papers from her reticule and unfolded them and held them for the young man in the wheeled chair to look over. After inspecting each one, he looked up and said to Mr. Peppercorn: “But how are we to be certain that
I
am this child?”

“What child?” interrupted Quarrels. “If you mean the one my parents gave away, it is an impossibility! My brother Michael died at Stornaway. He was frail and sick and he died when he was but a small boy.”

“On the contrary, young man, your brother was not frail in the least,” said Henry Peppercorn.“He was merely without limbs, but otherwise hale and strong.”

“You cannot prove that this deformed and freakish person sitting in this chair is my brother. Moreover, the dissimilarity to our features proves that we cannot even be cousins, let alone brothers, let alone
twin
brothers!”

“Because you are not
identical
twins,” interjected Mrs. Epping, “but you are twins nonetheless!”

“Where is your proof, you crazy, funny-hat woman? These papers substantiate nothing!”

“But
this
paper
does
.” Mrs. Epping produced a fourth sheet of paper, and gave it first to Anna to look over. “I discovered it the very same day that we went looking through the box. After you and your mother and sisters left, I returned to it to see what else I could find out. And lo and behold! There it was!”

Anna was about to read that to which she had been directed when there came from outside the drawing-room the sound of noisy celebration and applause. This was followed by an urgent knock upon the door. The room was crowded and stuffy and hot, but it was of the utmost importance to admit another three to the gathering—and inadvertently, a fourth: Miss Pints, who wanted to see for herself the man who painted the Jesus picture with only his mouth, and who had hardly taken a look at him when she became so frightened by the sight of her abuser Sir Thomas that she scrambled immediately behind the sofa. The other three members of the newly-arrived group were Lieutenant Alford, Mr. Waitwaithe, and
miracle of miracles
! Miss Eliza Henshawe, safe and sound! Nancy and Sophia squealed with delight and relief, and rushed to hug and kiss upon their returned sister. Anna went to the lost lamb as well. Gemma blew a kiss but did not go, for she was busy detaching her leg to shew the handsome painter who might be her first cousin a proud commonality in her own missing limb!

“Where did you find her?” enquired Anna eagerly of Lieutenant Alford.

“In the woods.”

“But deep, deep therein,” subjoined Mr. Waitwaithe. “Where we had not ventured to look before.” Mr. Waitwaithe’s gaze was fixed on the youngest Miss Henshawe. There was discernable attachment there. Lieutenant Alford, now seeing his stepbrother Rolly, greeted the young man warmly and in the rowdy, manful manner of pulling the painter fully from his chair and hugging him tightly and affectionately round the chest.

“Rolly, what a joy it is to see you! It has been too many years!”

“To be sure,” said Rolly with what breath was left in his temporarily constricted lungs.

“But exactly
where
have you been all this time, Eliza?” asked Sophia of her sister. “Surely not hanging from the forest trees like a—” Sophia checked herself and did not complete her question.

Eliza answered nevertheless: “I was with the gipsies for two nights but then I departed their most welcoming society. I walked about in a daze; I had not slept and could not think clearly. I came upon a very small cottage in the wood—a little dwarf house. I call it this because of those who lived there: the same dwarves who once occupied Mrs. Taptoe’s house in Turnington Lodge. Good evening, Sir Thomas.” With a deferential nod: “Is it not true that before you evicted Mrs. Taptoe, you evicted the Tiddlys and all their tiny cousins and friends? For shame they did not tell a soul the truth of why they left, but I will tell it for them, because they have told
me
. Sir Thomas was wont to come over several times a week and force them all to stand like bowling pins upon the lawn, and he would then roll balls at them to knock them all down. He delighted in degrading and humiliating them. They knew, as well, that he used to steal their mail, for they found it once buried in a hole with his comments scribbled in the margins.”

“That is a lie!” protested Sir Thomas. “I would keep some of the mail, yes, for I was the landlord and I felt that I had a right to see what my tenants were up to, but it was also because I was curious as to what sort of mail a dwarf gets. Is it the same size as a normal post? Is the writing in a wee hand? And what do dwarves say to one another in their communications? These things fascinated me, and so I would pick up the mail at the post office and deliver only those missives that did not interest me. Perhaps I made a passing inked comment on one or two, such as, ‘That is not a thing one
dwarf
should say to another!’ or ‘Tee hee hee—this baby man is clever!’ but nothing more than that, and I do not think a single letter which was important was ever withheld from them.”

“On the contrary, they missed a good many important letters which you stole from them, Sir Thomas,” said Eliza, “and they did not enjoy at all being turned into bowling pins, and when they finally decided that they would no longer indulge and entertain you in this manner, you most cruelly cast them loose. At all events, they took me into their new cottage in the woods, and I was fed a hearty mushroom soup and instantly fell fast asleep. I did not wake until Mr. Waitwaithe kissed me.”

Mr. Waitwaithe coloured and could hardly look at Anna. He had found his Sleeping Beauty, his Snow White of the fairy story! (Although ten dwarves lived in the house, there were only seven in attendance during Miss Henshawe’s residency, for three were away trapping and fishing.)

“I will listen to no more of this drivel and nonsense,” said Sir Thomas. He rose to leave, but Constable Whitaker put him back into his chair with a pointed finger and a hard and authoritative look (which was born of his powers as acting justice of the peace for the parish).

“Have you not heard, Sir Thomas, that stealing mail is a capital offence? Am I correct in this, Dr. Bosworthy?”

“It is indeed,” said the doctor. “I have the entire Code up in my room if you wish to consult it.”

“That will not be necessary,” said Henry Peppercorn. “Sir Thomas: as it appears that your neck bears no scars or chafings, I surmise that you have yet to twist for this crime. Do you agree?”

“This is patent insanity! The Bloody Code was put into effect to protect the lives and property of
men
of property: baronets like myself and landed gentry most especially. The nobility and the gentry must be spared the criminal, wild-eyed rampages of the lower classes who rob and pillage and plunder and fornicate…”

Anna continued where Sir Thomas had suspended, “…but generally do not spank and bowl at dwarves and steal their mail, which is, incidentally, just as much a capital offence as taking stones from Westminster Bridge! For these behaviours are generally reserved for the
upper
classes, are they not?”

Sir Thomas mumbled and bumbled but contributed nothing more of discernable worth to the discussion.