In for a Penny (27 page)

He had thought she did. Last night she had been so warm and sweet and she’d wanted him—hadn’t she? She didn’t seem to want him now.

He looked at his wife, leaning back against the seats with her eyes closed and her mouth set in lines of nausea and pain. She looked so pale and tired and unhappy.
I’ve compromised all my life
, she had said. All he had ever wanted from her—besides her money, he reminded himself bitterly—was for her to be herself. To do and say what she wanted, what she needed. Now she was, and if that meant leaving him, could he really ask her to stay?

They pulled up at Greygloss. Nev put his thoughts aside and ran up the steps. He banged on the door, but it was several minutes before the butler opened it. “I’m sorry to intrude so early, but I have urgent business with Lord Thirkell,” Nev said, grabbing Penelope’s hand and pushing past the startled butler. “If I might just take my family to the breakfast room first—”

“Nev,” Penelope said. “Please—”

He dragged her into the breakfast room and flung her down in a chair. He poured tea and filled a plate with eggs and bacon and toast and set them in front of her. “Eat. It will make you feel better. I’ll be back soon.” He turned back to the butler. “Take me to Lord Thirkell’s room.”

He followed the man to Thirkell’s door and banged on it, hard. There was no answer. Thirkell always slept like a log. Nev pounded harder. “Thirkell!”

“My lord,” the butler said in pained accents, “people are sleeping.”

“And I want them to bloody well stop, that’s the point.
Thirkell!
”

His fist was raised to pound again when Thirkell opened the door, and Nev nearly hit him in the nose. Thirkell blinked bleary eyes at him. “Nev?”

“Thirkell, I need your help. I need to borrow your racing curricle.”

Thirkell yawned. “You can’t. Percy’s got it.” Then his eyes widened and he clapped a hand over his mouth.

Nev realized abruptly how very, very stupid he had been. He could not understand why he had not tumbled to it immediately—perhaps because he had been so distracted by Penelope’s announcement. Of course Thirkell was in on it. The spiked punch, when Lady Bedlow was so susceptible; Thirkell’s guilty face;
Nev, I need to tell you something.

Nev had no one left now—no one to help him. He wanted Penelope so badly it hurt, physically hurt. He clenched his teeth.

“I almost told you, Nev.” Thirkell’s words tumbled over each other and meant absolutely nothing, because Thirkell had helped Louisa and Percy. “I wanted to tell you, but you know how Percy is, and you had been awfully rough on him, and I had promised silence faithfully—there’s no help for it now, you know. Percy and my curricle, and such a head start—”

“It is very early in the morning to be talking of curricle racing,” Sir Jasper said, appearing at Nev’s elbow. Oh, God, Sir Jasper. Lord knew what he would do if he found out how matters lay. He might take his disappointment out on anybody—on
Nev’s people, on the poachers, on little Josie Cusher. It had to be hushed up as long as possible.

“Oh, we weren’t—” Thirkell broke off with such obvious guilt that Nev very nearly laughed at the whole absurd situation.

“We weren’t talking of curricle racing,” he said. “Mr. Garrett’s mother has been taken ill, and he borrowed Lord Thirkell’s curricle to go see her. But he has left his luggage behind him, and we were wondering if it might catch up with him.”

“I see,” Sir Jasper said. “Is that what brings you here so early?”

“My mother lost an earring,” Nev said. “She was so distressed that I offered to drive over directly.”

Sir Jasper was too well-bred to inquire further into what Nev was all too aware was a paltry lie, and one he did not even trust his mother to corroborate. But he could think of no other way to explain the dowager countess’s presence.

Though they had been the only people in the breakfast room when they arrived, by the time Nev, Thirkell, and Sir Jasper entered it again, it was full of guests and the bustle of conversation and silverware and morning papers. Nev’s gaze instinctively turned to Penelope. She was eating, methodically, her color somewhat restored. But her drained, unhappy look was as pronounced as ever.

Sir Jasper greeted Penelope and Lady Bedlow graciously. “I will instruct the servants to search the ballroom and hallway for your earring at once. I know it is irreplaceable.”

Lady Bedlow’s startled gaze flew to Nev. He gave her the smallest nod he could manage, and to her credit she said, “Yes. It has my dear husband’s hair in it, you know.”

“But where is Miss Ambrey?” Sir Jasper asked. “Still abed, no doubt?”

Lady Bedlow’s small store of subterfuge was used up. She
flushed crimson and stammered something in which, “Louisa,” “a school friend,” and “taken ill” were discernible, but not much more.

Nev looked at Sir Jasper to see how he took this. The man was no fool. Nev was prepared for skepticism, perhaps even anger. But he was shocked by the pure violence of the baronet’s emotion. His face was chalk white, his eyes dark furious slits.

Nev’s heart sank. Louisa and Percy had made him and his people a powerful enemy in the neighborhood.

Penelope stood abruptly. “Nev, I’m going to be sick.”

“You, fetch a basin,” Nev snapped at a footman.

“No time,” Penelope said in a tiny voice.

This, at least, was a crisis Nev felt equipped to deal with. Hurrying to the side table, he unceremoniously dumped the bacon in with the sausage and brought her the pan, cursing as it burned his fingers. The poor girl was promptly, violently sick; the breakfast hadn’t had time to do her any good.

“I’m so sorry,” she said miserably as he wiped her mouth with his handkerchief. “I’m so sorry about everything.”

“It’s all right. It’s not your fault.” He wanted to be angry with her, but she looked so very mortified. Sighing, he gathered her up in one arm and let her bury her face in his jacket. He signaled to the footman to take the soiled pan away and looked round at the assembled guests over Penelope’s head, daring them to look even the smallest bit amused.

Several
were
hiding smiles, but Thirkell’s aunt said comfortably, “It
is
embarrassing, isn’t it? I remember when I was expecting my third, I cast up my accounts on my husband’s new Persian rug. Oh, he was furious!” Soon all the married ladies were swapping stories about their morning sickness.

Penelope, however, had gone rigid.

It would never have occurred to Nev, otherwise; she had been drunk the night before. There was nothing out of the way in her feeling sick. But he glanced down and met her
eyes, her mouth a stunned O, and the word
expecting
echoed in his ears very loud.

He tried to remember when she had last had her monthlies, and could not recall. “Are you—?” he asked under his breath.

“I don’t know.”

He could not tell what she felt. He could not even tell what
he
felt. It would be a great difficulty, if Penelope really meant to be gone. And then, she might stay for the sake of the child, and the thought made him furious. But despite all these rational considerations, there was something very much like joy being born in his heart: a hopeful, infant joy.

He turned his head so that Penelope would not see him smiling, and spied Sir Jasper going out the door. He ignored his irrational flash of unease. “Here, sit down. I’ll get you a cup of tea.”

Penelope sat, a look of shock still on her face. Nev crossed to the tea service and was just adding the obscene amounts of honey he knew Penelope liked when Mr. Snively raced in, sweaty and gasping for breath.

For once in his life, the vicar didn’t bother with polite greetings. “Where is Sir Jasper? He must come directly!”

“He just stepped out,” Nev said. “What is the trouble?”

“He’s needed to read the Riot Act. The folk are forming up here and at Loweston, and they mean to free the prisoners!”

Sir Jasper rode down the drive, the shade of the Montagu oaks heavy on his face like a corpse’s shadow in the hot Paris summer. In the fields, his men’s faces twisted with hatred as he passed. Fear grew within him, hot and thick.

It was all slipping away, everything he had worked so hard for. He had spent his life keeping the wretches in his district from revolting. He had spent countless hours on the bench and spent a fortune to discourage poaching and sedition, he had enclosed the commons, he had spent years painstakingly guiding the late Lord Bedlow in everything, he had built up contacts and relationships, he had
spent his life
. Other people were happy, but not he. He had worked so hard, always, to make sure that everyone was safe. To make sure his sons never had to hide in the attic and watch an old man hanged on their doorstep.

He laughed, a strangled, high sound he didn’t recognize. What sons? His wife had been barren and was dead, and Louisa was gone, eloped with the steward because of Bedlow’s mismanagement and that bitch Lady Bedlow, who had somehow tricked him into thinking it was her the steward had his eye on, and not beautiful Louisa, the pride of the neighborhood.

And now the Cit countess was breeding. Breeding!
She
would have a son, and all that money would be assured, and together that wretched family would lead the district straight to Hell. Loweston would be ruined and Greygloss with it, and then the whole country would go, slipping and sliding into bloody revolt like at St. Peter’s Field.

As sudden and fierce and unstoppable as a revolution, something inside Sir Jasper rose up and said
No more
. It was all that bitch Lady Bedlow’s fault. Bedlow would have seen things Sir Jasper’s way easy enough if she hadn’t always been there with her idiotic town notions. The district was up in arms, and she’d made Bedlow think he could stop it with a few hocks of ham.

Without her degenerate influence, Louisa would never have dreamed of running away.

Sir Jasper was going to stop this. He had tried to do it kindly, to see that no one was hurt. They had been too willful. It was too late for that now.

Amy felt herself waking up and fought against it. It was no use, but she didn’t open her eyes. As long as she kept her eyes closed, she might still be in her charming, sumptuous bedroom in London and not a wretched, dirty hovel. Of course, even with her eyes closed, she could tell she was lying on a hard cot, not her huge featherbed. She had worked so hard not to live like this. She could not wait to be better and go back to London, away from sweet, handsome Nev and his likable wife who made her green with envy.

It took her a moment or two to realize she was hearing voices, and that they had woken her up. Agnes and—Sir Jasper, she realized. She tried to be pleased. The baronet had been visiting her regularly ever since she was well enough; she rather thought that was one reason the Baileys had wanted to get rid of her. She had quickly learned that Sir Jasper was not popular among the local people.

She didn’t like him either, though she could not put her finger on why. He simply made her hackles rise.
Stop being fanciful
, she told herself.
Open your eyes and charm him.
The thought exhausted her.
In a moment
, she promised, and snuggled deeper into her blankets.

Sir Jasper broke off. “Is she awake?” Amy heard him coming
closer and stooping down to look at her. “Amy,” he said softly, his breath hot on her face.

She did not know what in his tone made her do it, but she shifted and sighed, as if still asleep, throwing an arm over her face. Feigning sleep was one of Amy’s many professional skills.

Sir Jasper stood and walked back to Agnes, speaking to her in a low voice. Amy strained to hear. She caught “my house,” “Lady Bedlow,” something she thought was “get her alone” and “woods” but might not have been, and her own name. Everything else was a murmur whose sense she could not fully grasp but which somehow made her intensely uneasy. “Wait for me there,” he finished.

“But sir—” Agnes said, audible and agitated.

Amy heard his next words very clearly. “Oh, come now, it’s not as if you have any affection for the woman.”

“No, sir, but—”

“If you care for your daughter at all, you will do it. I can see her saved, or I can send her to the Assizes.”

There was a pause. “Yes, sir. I’ll go at once.”

Sir Jasper strode out.

Amy heard a rustling thud that might have been Agnes kneeling. “Kit,” she said softly. “Mama has to go out now. Stay here, sweetie.”

“Mama go where?”

“Mama is going to help Josie.” Agnes’s voice shook. “Stay here and watch the pretty lady. Don’t go outside. There are angry people outside.”

“Angry?”

“Because people like Sir Jasper think they own us,” Agnes told him, sounding stronger for a moment. “But they don’t, do they, Kit?”

“No,” Kit said doubtfully.

“They don’t own you on the inside, Kit. Always remember that.” Agnes went out and shut the door behind her.

Something was very wrong. Amy did not know what; she only knew, deep in her bones, that something was wrong, and that Sir Jasper wanted to hurt Nev’s wife.

Amy opened her eyes and considered, staring at the ancient thatch. Yesterday she had managed to walk from her bed to the door and back again without stumbling. Of course, she had leaned on the door frame for a minute or two in between. She did not know if she could make it to the Grange to warn the Bedlows. She did not even know where the Grange was. And Agnes had said there were angry people outside. Whatever that meant, it couldn’t be good.

She could lie here and pretend she had heard nothing. Even if Penelope were hurt, what did it harm Amy? Nev might even take her back if his wife was out of the way.

Amy sighed and threw back the blankets. She sat up, slowly, and her head spun. Standing, she balanced herself with a hand laid flat against the wall.

“Kit? We need to go for a walk.” The child would slow her down, but Amy could hardly leave him behind.

“No outside. Mama said.”

“Mama told you to stay with me. And I’m going for a walk. Do you know where the big house is?”

“Grange,” Kit said. “Sloship gave me sixpence.”

That took her a moment. “His lordship gave you sixpence?”

Kit nodded.

“If we go there now, he’ll give you a shilling,” Amy promised. “Do you know how to get there from here?”

“Another riot?” Lady Bedlow was white and trembling, but Nev had no attention to spare.

“Is this true?” he asked. “How many are involved?”

“It’s true,” Mr. Snively said. “I saw them with my own eyes. Thirty at least and half of them drunk. They want an audience with Sir Jasper. They’re on their way here now.” There
were gasps from a number of the guests. Nev distinctly heard his mother’s sharp intake of breath; when he glanced down at Penelope, however, she looked merely intent, her brown eyes fixed on the vicar’s face.

“Where in Heaven’s name is the baronet?” Snively asked.

“He walked out just a minute ago.” Remembering his earlier unease, Nev gestured to a footman. “Go find your master. Tell him it’s urgent.”

Ten excruciating minutes later, made worse by Snively’s unbroken moralizing on the rebellious nature of the English peasant, the butler entered the room. “Sir Jasper is not in the house, my lord. Nor in the stables or any of the outbuildings. Shall I send to the home farm?”

“Send everywhere. Do it quickly.” Nev did not know that he trusted Sir Jasper to deal with the crisis, but they must have a magistrate to read the Riot Act. Or the sheriff, but he was miles away, nearly to Bury St. Edmonds. Perhaps the people would simply disperse.
Or perhaps they will hang Sir Jasper to the nearest tree.

“Very good, my lord.” The butler bowed his way out.

Nev looked down and met Penelope’s fearful, resigned eyes. She knew what he was about to say. “I’ve got to go talk to them.”

She opened her mouth as if she were going to protest, then shut it tightly and nodded, once.

“Stay by Thirkell. He’ll protect you if things get ugly.”

She gave a little sobbing laugh. “Who’ll protect
you
?”

Nev felt a rush of anger. He took his arm from around her. “What do you care? You’d be a deal freer as a widow than a separated wife.”

Now
she drew in a sharp, shocked breath.

He looked at her white face, and out of all the ruin of his life today, this was the only thing that mattered. He took a quick step away from her before he could do something stupid
and selfish, like beg her to stay. “I’m going to see if I can reason with them,” he said loudly. “All of you stay here. I doubt they will try to hurt you, but you will be safer together.”

“I will go with you,” Mr. Snively said. “Perhaps I can bring them to a sense of their insolence, their hubris if I may say so—”

“You may say nothing of the kind. I consider your hypocritical moralizing partly responsible for this disaster. You will stay here or by God, I will see you broken.”

The vicar fell back, muttering to himself in a shocked undertone.

Several of the other men offered to come with him, but he didn’t know any of them. He didn’t know what they would do. “In a direct contest of strength, five of us will have no better chance than one,” he said. “If it comes to that, we’re already lost. Stay here and protect the women.”

“Let me come with you at least,” Thirkell said. “I know I’m useless, but I’d have your back.”

“I had rather have you than anyone,” Nev told him. Anyone but Percy. And Percy was gone. “But I need you here. Don’t let anything happen to Penelope or my mother.”

Thirkell drew himself up. “Never.” He was going to say more, but Lady Bedlow threw herself on Nev, sobbing.

“Don’t go. Barricade the doors, and when those wretched folk get here we’ll shoot them all. Don’t go, Nate! What will I do if something happens to you? I can’t lose two of my children at once!”

He put her away from him gently. “You haven’t lost Louisa. She’ll be back in a few days. And I’ll be back in a few hours.”

“Come, Lady Bedlow.” Penelope’s face was still bloodless, but her voice was steady. “Come and sit by me. You heard Nev. He’ll be back soon.”

To Nev’s surprise, Lady Bedlow allowed Penelope to put
her arm around her and lead her to a chair. Penelope looked back at him, once. “You had better be,” she said. “I care.”

Nev had not ridden as far as he would have liked—a mile, give or take—when he saw them ahead of him on the path, a crowd of laborers and their wives. He thought there were more than Mr. Snively had estimated, perhaps forty in all. As the vicar had said, some were drunk. Some held pitchforks and other potentially deadly farming tools, some held—Nev’s heart sank—guns. More poachers, he supposed. When he drew closer, he recognized many of the faces: the Baileys, Aaron Smith, the families of some other of the poachers, more of his laborers. Helen Spratt was there, holding an old fowling piece. He thought for a moment of staying in the saddle, but he did not know how a display of aristocratic authority might strike them at the moment. He dismounted and walked toward them, leading Sir Jasper’s horse.

The group stopped, clustering together. Whispers and murmurs blended together so that he could not hear what they were saying, except for his name. When Nev was ten feet away, Aaron came forward to meet him. “My lord,” he said derisively. “Get out of our way.”

“Where are you going?”

“We’re going to talk to that buggering son-of-a-bitch Sir Jasper and tell him to free our folk.”

“Sir Jasper isn’t at the house. No one can find him. You’d better talk to me.”

Aaron’s brows drew together. “You aren’t a magistrate. You can’t release Josie.”

“You should be glad Sir Jasper isn’t at home. You know that once he reads the Riot Act, you have twenty minutes to disperse before he can take you all by force.”

Aaron sneered. “No doubt he’d try to run us down and kill us like they did those poor folk at Manchester,” he said, loud
enough that the assembled mob could hear him. “Let him try. We’re not going to stand like sods and take it the way they did.” There were cheers, and a couple of men raised their guns.

The horse stamped and snorted nervously behind him. Nev quashed a tremor of fear and raised his voice. “This is madness. You cannot do this. For the love of God, go home.”

“We can’t do this?” Aaron asked. “Why? Because we’re the dirt under your feet and we must be good little children? Because Mr. Snively says God says we can’t? Because you’re used to us taking orders and now you’re scared?”

“No,” Nev said, though he
was
scared. He heard the Oxbridge cadences of his voice project over the crowd and wondered how he sounded to them. “You can’t do this because it
will not work
. What do you think will happen to you if you kill a baronet and justice of the peace? Do you think the Crown will simply let you walk away? They’ll make you an example to all the countryside, and the poachers too. They’ll hang you and send your children to the workhouse.” He lowered his voice. “Help me stop this, Aaron. Do you think Agnes will be pleased to see you hang by her daughter’s side? I see she had better sense than to come out here.”

Aaron flushed. “I don’t know where Aggie is. And I don’t think she gives a damn whether I’m hanged. But I’m not about to let her little girl die without a fight.”

“Even if Sir Jasper did release Josie and the men,” Nev told the crowd, “he would only retake them all next day, when he could get troops to back him.”

“We know,” Aaron said. “We know you gentry’s word can’t be trusted. It happened to Downham in ’16. We’d be gone before he could come after us.”

Nev looked at them. Some had been here since before he was born. “Really? You’re all going to pick up and leave your homes, every one of you? No, most of you will stay, and then
you’ll be arrested and you’ll turn on one another. Don’t you remember why your men are in jail to begin with?”

There was suddenly a ring of empty space around the Baileys. Mr. Bailey’s face flushed. An uncertain mutter rose up among the men.