The Sergeant Major's Daughter (14 page)

Lanny Price lay face down, his head turned to one side, his features twisted in a silent mask of agony and his eyes wide with fear. The back of his threadbare smock was peppered with blood-smeared pellet holes. Near his out-flung hand lay a dead pigeon.

“How about that, now!” said Perkins, peering over the
Earl’s shoulder. “It appears we’ve caught ourselves something more’n rabbits, m’lord. That’s what I call a good morning’s work!”

Stayne made no answer. He was totally confounded by the helpless anger coursing through him. Why? Oh why the devil must it be the Price boy!

“You very nearly got yourself killed this time,” he said roughly.

“Well, he’ll take no more from this patch—or any other, for that matter.” The keeper stooped to hoist Lanny to his feet. “Just you leave him to me, m’lord. I’ll keep him safe under lock and key until you’re ready to deal with him.”

“No!” The Earl’s voice grated. He knew Perkins was looking at him oddly—probably thought he had taken leave of his senses! Could be he was right, at that. He heard himself saying: “No. I’ll carry the boy. You cut along and get Dr. Belvedere. Take him to the Price cottage.”

The keeper opened his mouth—and thought better of it. You didn’t cross the Earl when he wore that look!

Stayne lifted the slight, unyielding body and was appalled by its lack of flesh. The boy was no more than a weightless bag of bones.

The children had been in perverse moods all morning. Both Felicity and Ester had been obliged to rebuke them on more than one occasion. When Felicity saw several of them peering through the window and whispering, her voice grew uncommonly sharp.

“Sit down this instant and get on with your work! The next child to incur a rebuke will be punished.”

Reluctantly the heads were drawn back, but Lanny’s younger sister, Meg, put up a tentative hand, her face paler than usual.

“Please, miss, it’s our Lanny. ’Is lordship’s just gone past carrying
‘im ...
’e looks bad, miss!”

Felicity arrived at the Price cottage in time to hear Stayne’s voice banked with suppressed fury.

“...
in God’s name, woman! Is one fool in the family not enough? Get it into that boy’s head, will you, that poaching is a deadly business! And I
do
mean deadly. He would be dead at this moment had I been using ball instead of shot. He will not be so lucky a second time!” Felicity saw him take out a coin. “Get some food into these children. Mind me, now—if your man robs you of that money, he will answer to me!”

Stayne came sweeping through the doorway, almost knocking Felicity down. There was a curious blindness in his face. When she spoke, he grasped her arm most cruelly.

“So much for your
protégé
, madam! I warned you, did I not
?
If you cannot make him mind you better, the only future he will enjoy is a free passage to Botany Bay!”

He was gone and she was left staring into the pitifully bare room where two toddlers played in the straw, unaware of the drama being enacted. Lanny lay on a rough palliasse in one
corner
, white-faced but stoically silent.

When Felicity went across to speak to him, he turned his face to the wall. His mother stood, still clutching the precious coin, her youngest child in her arms and an expression of bitter hopelessness in her eyes which moved Felicity almost to tears.

Perkins arrived with the doctor, and left again at once, stiff with disapproval Felicity ran after him to find out what had happened. His account, though reluctantly given, was picturesque.

“Oh, poor Lanny! He might have been killed!”

“Not that one, Miss Vale, though it ’ud have been no more’n he deserved. It’ll take a while to dig the shot out of him, and he’ll not sit down for a spell, but he’ll live to hang, and so I would have told his lordship, but he took it uncommon strange when I ventured to suggest that he should make an example of the boy.”

Perkins rubbed his rather bulbous nose, perplexed and none too pleased at having to let a known poacher, caught in the act, slip through his fingers.

The accident distressed Felicity; it obsessed her mind for the remainder of the day. By evening she had little appetite, nor did she relish the prospect of meeting Lord Stayne in his present frame of mind. This much at least she was spared; Lord Stayne did not come to dinner.

An attempt to quiz Cavanah elicited only that his lordship was a trifle indisposed, yet she had the distinct impression that he was being evasive.

Crossing the Long Gallery later, she met John. His lordship’s valet carried a bottle of brandy. He bade her good evening as he paused by the door of a small salon. When she asked after Lord Stayne, the man hesitated.

“His lordship is
...
not quite himself this evening, Miss Vale,” he said, and his kindly face wore the same blank look Cavanah’s had done.

Felicity looked from him to the bottle and her eyes widened in sudden comprehension. “You cannot mean ... is he foxed, John?”

“Jug-bitten, miss,” admitted the unhappy valet.

“Goodness! But
does he ...
is he in the habit
of...?
”

“Oh, no! Hardly ever, miss. I disremember the last time he was castaway
...
no, I tell a lie ... it was the time we heard that Master Antony had been killed.”

“Then why now? Not because of what happened this morning, surely?” She had no doubt but that everyone knew of the events of the morning.

“It’s not for me to say, Miss Vale, but he’s been acting uncommonly strange ever since. It isn’t like him.”

“No.” Felicity was puzzled. “John, let me take the tray in.”

“I wouldn’t recommend it, miss. Got an uncertain turn of temper has his lordship when he’s foxed.”

She laughed. “That’s all right. I have dealt with soldiers in all stages of drunkenness. I doubt his lordship will have the power to shock me.”

John’s mouth pursed in lines of disapproval, but he surrendered the tray and opened the door for her.

She had never been in the room before. It was quite charming; small by Cheynings standards and much given over to crimson velvet and rosewood furniture, with a pair of comfortable looking plush armchairs set beside a blazing fire.

In one of these sprawled Lord Stayne, coatless, his long legs stretched into the hearth. The candlelight fell on a riot of silver hair, more disheveled than fashion could ever demand. His cravat had been tugged loose and an empty brandy glass dangled from limp fingers.

He was staring fixedly into the fire and did not immediately perceive her.

“You’ve been an interminable time over that bottle, curse you,” he growled, and then, as though sensing a change in the atmosphere, his glittering, unblinking stare shifted to Felicity; its intensity sent little ripples of shock through her.

In contrast, his voice, though harsh, was uncaring. “Who gave you leave to come in here?”

“No one, my lord,” she said as calmly as she was able.

“I see,” he sneered. “This is more of your damned officiousness, is it? Well, I am in no mood for your homilies tonight, so you may hand over my bottle and get out!” Felicity put the bottle on the table beside him, distressed to see him less than himself.

“Lanny isn’t badly hurt,” she ventured. “He is in some pain and his pride will smart, but he should not have been where he was, so you must not blame yourself.”

The Earl laughed a little wildly and poured a generous measure of brandy with an unsteady hand, jarring the bottle against the rim of the glass.

“Thank you. But I don’t blame myself, my dear Miss Vale.” He saluted her mockingly and drank. “I blame you.”

“Me?” Felicity stood rooted to the spot.

“Yes. You.” He nodded. “Because of you, I have been sitting here with my life set out before me. It might surprise you to know that I have always considered myself a just man—giving praise where it is due, and rigorously punishing the wrongdoer, but always fair, mind you—a magistrate should always strive to be fair.”

“My lord,
please...”

“And then you came along, Felicity Vale, with your uncompromising ways and outspokenness and your
...
shining honesty! And what has happened? I’ll tell you what has happened!” He leveled his glass at her and a little of the brandy slopped over the rim. “You’ve given me a cursed social conscience, madam—and it don’t sit well!”

There was a tight lump in Felicity’s throat. “Sir—you are not yourself
...!”

“Ha! Don’t boggle at plain speaking now, my girl! I am as drunk as a wheelbarrow! I strongly recommend it for inducing clarity of mind!” He leaned forward confidentially. “I know that had I shot that boy twelve months back—killed him, even—I wouldn’t have turned a hair. Child or no, he is a known poacher—a wrongdoer if ever there was one!

“Yet today, when I picked him up, he was just a boy like Jamie—a boy, appallingly undersized with the bones sticking out of him; a boy with none of Jamie’s advantages ... yet game as a pebble for all that!”

The bottle clinked against the glass again. “The realization had a profound effect on me. As a consequence, my
head keeper thinks I’ve gone soft in the upper works—and who’s to say he’s not right—because I won’t prosecute!” He rested his head against the chair as though exhausted by the long and rather rambling disclosure.

“Now for God’s sake, leave me!”

Felicity was suddenly very angry. “That I will not!” she cried. “How dare you so belittle yourself! All because of some silly accident. Why, I had by far rather you turned violent and took to throwing things! It would become you better than this maudlin self-indulgence!”

“Would it?” Stayne came to his feet with surprising agility for a man three parts disguised. He seized her wrist and jerked her forward until she lay helpless against his chest His other hand forced her chin upward and she found his eyes heart-stoppingly close, blazing into her own. “Is this violent enough for you?”

She saw quite clearly the faint mark on his temple from the injury she had treated—and the fast-beating pulse close beside it. And then, in a haze of brandy fumes, his mouth came down on hers, hard and demanding, blotting everything out and setting the room spinning...

As abruptly as he had possessed her, he let her go, almost pushing her from him.

Felicity grabbed a nearby chair for support, the blood pounding through her veins, while the Earl stood hunched over the fire, one arm resting along the mantelshelf.

“So much for violence!” The harsh voice shook slightly. “Forgive me. I must disgust you!”

“No, sir.”

He uttered a short, derisive laugh. “Then you are more generous than I deserve. I disgust myself! You had better go.”

Felicity hesitated. “I cannot go, leaving you like this.”

He looked up, disbelieving at first—then he put back his
head and laughed. She eyed him anxiously; the wildness had gone, though his eyes were still overbright.

“What an indomitable girl you are!” he gasped.
“
To what lengths would you go, I wonder, if you deemed it your duty to save me from myself?”

She smiled uncertainly.

“Oh, go along, girl. I am no longer out of my senses, I promise you! And accept my humble apologies, I usually hold my liquor rather better!”

Felicity slept not a wink that night. Her own senses were in a turmoil, hovering between wild elation and depression; in the first pale light of dawn she finally gave a name to the pangs that assailed her—it was love, total and irrevocable!

She wondered if Stayne would be at breakfast, and if so, could she face him with composure? In the event, all her heart-searching availed her little.

“His lordship left for London at first light, Miss Vale,” said Cavanah. “He will be joining Mrs. Delamere there, no doubt.”

1
1

“It’s Mamma! It’s Mamma! And there are gentlemen with her!” Jamie scrambled down from the
window seat
in the nursery and rushed toward the door. Mr. Burnett’s quiet voice halted him and desired him to come back and tidy his toys away first.

The instant, if reluctant, obedience to this command brought a smile to Felicity’s lips; in the few short months that Aloysius Burnett had been with them, Jamie was already much steadier.

While she waited for Jamie, she wandered across to the window. The nursery was high up in the West Wing, and through the rain-drenched panes the view was blurred.

There were two post chaises drawn up and several hacks were being led away. Nearby, a group of gentlemen stood in a huddle, swathed in long, enveloping cloaks, with rain dripping from the brims of their beaver hats. Even with the distorted view, however, she was certain that none stood tall enough to be Lord Stayne. She reproved herself for the stab of disappointment.

The house had suddenly come to life. The hall was full of people; they stood around the two fires, shedding wet clothes, all laughing and talking at once.

Amaryllis was radiant; she wore a dress in her favorite deep blue, and an extremely modish poke bonnet of Gros de Naples, with matching ribbons. This she threw carelessly onto a chair and, with a pale, lacy wrap slipping from her shoulders, held out her arms to Jamie, smothering him in kisses until he wriggled free, scarlet with embarrassment. She made a little moue and declared that he had grown beyond everything and that her baby was gone forever!

Then Amaryllis turned her brilliant blue eyes on Felic
ity.

“Fliss! You are looking a trifle worn. Who can wonder at it, buried here all alone
...
and with this incessant rain! Everyone complains of
it ...
no one can remember a worse summer! The Colchesters, who have recently returned from the Continent, found the weather even worse there, with snow and hailstones and the crops all destroyed!”

Jamie had been watching the procession of baggage and tugged at his mother’s arm. “Did you bring me a present?”

Felicity reproved him, but Amaryllis only laughed. “Yes, darling—lots. Oh, Fliss, just wait until you see all I have brought from Town! Silks and brocades, cambrics and Indian muslins from Layton and Shears in Henrietta
Street ...
Oh, and a pale yellow crepe that I am determined was just made for you! Now that I am back, I mean to take you in hand, my dear ... I have silk stockings and French gloves and ... oh, so many things.”

“Lord Stayne did not travel back with you?” Felicity despised herself for asking and was well served when Amaryllis laughed casually.

“Good gracious, no! We have scarce seen him! He came once to Almacks, but he stayed only long enough to stand up with me and once with Lucinda, which puffed her mother up no end!”

“But I have brought Uncle Perry,” she continued. “The Barsetts have come, too, and Francis and Lydia Spencer and the Honeysetts
...
and there is someone else, too.”

Amaryllis beckoned and a fair, slightly built young man detached himself from one of the groups near the fire. There was something vaguely familiar about his easy stride and splendid military side-whiskers.

“Well now, young Felicity Vale!” he said with a grin.

She grasped the outstretched hand with a cry of pleasure. “Major Tremaine! How very nice!”

“Haven’t I been clever?” said Amaryllis.

“I’ve known this young lady since she was so high.”

“I used to sew on all your buttons,” laughed Felicity. Her eyes had gone instinctively to the empty sleeve pinned to his chest and her heart gave a lurch of dismay. Johnny Tremaine of all people! The regiment’s undisputed Romeo and daredevil.

When Amaryllis left them alone, she touched the sleeve with tentative fingers. “I’m so sorry,” she said impulsively. “I didn’t know.”

“Don’t you fret, my dear girl,” he said cheerfully. “Why, I am already scarcely missing it. Alastair reckons I am becoming insufferably cocksure!”

“How
is
Colonel Patterson—and Mrs. Patterson?”

“Well enough. They are back in England now. Alastair has secured himself a very comfortable staff appointment
...
at Horse Guards, no less! What it is to have influence!” The jibe was devoid of malice, the two men having been firm friends for many years.

“You must give me their direction,” said Felicity.

“With pleasure, though Mollie will be writing to you herself, no doubt, as soon as they are settled. They have taken a house near Islington Spa. She will, no doubt, insist upon your visiting them.”

“Oh, it will be nice to see them ... and the children. How they will have grown!”

Felicity could not fail to notice as they talked, how his eye followed Amaryllis. It would have been astonishing, she supposed, if Amaryllis had not taken his eye.

“And what will you do now?” she asked gently.

He shrugged, and the laughing gray eyes looked momentarily bleak.

“I’m still with the regiment, but I shall most likely sell out. I doubt there being any great future for a one-armed man. Besides
...
”
He left the sentence unfinished, but his eyes were again on Amaryllis, who was coming toward them with Sir Peregrine and Jamie. “Bye the bye,” he said, bringing his attention back with an effort, “I haven
’
t said how sorry I am ... about your parents. You had left by the time I had the news. It was a wretched business! So many good lives lost.”

“Yes,” she said simply. “Sometimes I cannot believe it is
a whole twelvemonth since...”

The others joined them and no more was said. Sir Peregrine kissed Felicity soundly and asked how she did; then the guests dispersed to their hastily prepared rooms and Felicity was called to the kitchen, at Cavanah’s urgent behest, to reassure Mrs. Hudson that she was more than equal to the task of conjuring a meal for upward of a dozen people with no more than three hours’ notice.

Later in the evening, when Lord and Lady Spencer and the Honeysetts were engaged in a rubber of whist and the rest of the party had gathered around the pianoforte, Sir Peregrine drew Felicity a little to one side.

“I’ve been observing you, child—sitting there in your pretty green dress. You’re looking peaky. Not been having trouble with that oaf, Hardman, again, eh?”

“No,” she said quickly—too quickly. She added a bright smile of reassurance. “No, really—I promise you.”

“Captain Hardman has been away for a large part of the summer,” she told Uncle Perry. “He has been having a lot of trouble at his Shropshire foundries, I believe ... a meeting organized by Bamford and Hunt which got out of hand. The Militia were called in and it all got rather nasty.”

The worry showed in her voice. “But now he is back and in a towering rage to find his ba
rn
s have been burned.”

“What! It hasn’t spread this far, surely? We heard rumors of uprisings in Essex and Suffolk...”

Sir Peregrine’s voice carried above the conversation. The whist players paused in their play and the pianoforte trailed off on a discord.

“There hasn’t been trouble here—on Stayne’s land?” cried Amaryllis.

“No, no. Only Manor Court farm has suffered so far.”

“Oh—that man!” Amaryllis shrugged and instantly lost interest.

Felicity kept
t
o herself the fear that the burning of the
Captain’s ba
rn
s was not part of the general unrest, but the work of a few local troublemakers taking advantage of an already tense situation. Her fear was heightened by a disquieting suspicion that some of her older boys might have become involved.

“It is a wonder that anything will bu
rn
in all this rain,” observed Lizzie Barsett with an out-of-place levity which earned her a quelling frown from her brother.

Tom Barsett, unlike his pretty, dizzy sister, was a stolid, earnest young man. He took his stance rather pompously near the fireplace.

“We have a friend in Cambridgeshire whose farm was attacked not two weeks since—his ricks all but destroyed!”

Lady Spencer dropped her cards with a little cry.