The Sergeant Major's Daughter (16 page)

Mrs. Lipscombe watched the laughing group, disapproval in every rigid line of her ample form. Her stiff purple brocade crackled as she turned to her husband.

“I cannot think such free and easy manners becoming in a young woman. Miss Vale does herself no credit by putting herself forward in such a way! As for her dress— I hope I may never see
our
daughter in such a dress!”

“Not a chance of it, I should say,” offered the mouse-quiet Mr. Lipscombe, with an unaccustomed gleam in his eyes as they rested on Felicity. “Lucinda ain’t got the figure for it!”

“Horace!” Mrs. Lipscombe’s mouth dropped open, but the violent stream of rebuke about to be unleashed against the poor unfortunate man was stayed temporarily by a further burst of laughter. The incensed woman rounded instead upon her daughter who stood at her side, charmingly attired in silver net over white satin.

“Lucinda!” she snapped. “Why do you stand here, allowing yourself to be totally eclipsed? Lord Stayne and
Amar
yllis
must be wishing you to join their little party. I am sure his lordship will think it very strange if you hang back!”

Much later still, when Felicity was leaving the floor, breathless and laughing after an energetic spell of waltzing with Johnny, the Earl came up and determinedly took her arm. Johnny surrendered her with a grin and sauntered away. Stayne led her to a quiet
corner
of the room when he sat her down and put a glass of cordial in her hand.

Felicity sipped it gratefully. “Thank you, my lord. You can have no idea how much I was needing this.”

“You are very popular this evening,” he said dryly. ‘I had almost resigned myself to watching you from afar.

Her eyes twinkled at him over the rim of the glass. “Now that
is
flummery, my lord—and well you know it!”

“Perhaps. But I came back with so many things I wanted to say to you. I hadn’t expected all this. He waved an impatient hand at the ballroom floor where the couples were forming up for a quadrille.

Felicity saw Amaryllis with Johnny, her floating blue silk melting intimately into the darker blue of Johnny’s coat as his fair head bent to something she was saying— and her own heart was beating fast.

So many things I wanted to say to you.
Stayne’s words filled her with hope, for surely he had never looked at her in quite that way before!

“That is a very personable young man.”

Felicity’s eyes were still following the couple on the ballroom floor, still misty with dreams. She saw that the Earl’s glance had taken the same direction.

“Johnny?”

“You know him well, I infer?”

“Oh, yes,” she agreed blissfully. “I have known Johnny forever! He was one of Colonel Patterson’s most promising young officers, always about the place.” Felicity laughed. “I believe I thought him quite the most splendidly handsome man in the whole regiment—aside from my father, that is!”

“H’m.” It was an enigmatic sort of grunt, followed by silence.

Felicity waited expectantly. She stole a look at him; he was frowning. There were times when she wished he was less
...
complex! Surely he could say something—just a hint, even.

“Now, now, you two!” Sir Peregrine’s voice brought them both back to a realization of where they were. “Max, you slow-top! What are you thinking about, prosing on at that poor girl when you should be whirling her around the floor. Look at young Tremaine there—only one arm and putting us all to shame!”

They all stood for a moment watching the quadrille in which Johnny was executing his entrechats with all the ease and skill demanded of one of the Duke of Wellington’s officers, his gracefulness not one whit diminished by his lack of an arm. He looked up at that moment and seeing Felicity, grinned and made her an exaggerated salute.

“There, d’ye see, my boy?” said Sir Peregrine, preparing to depart for the games room. “Now, next time around, you show young Felicity here what you can do.”

“Acquit me, uncle,” said the Earl stiffly. “Felicity would find me a sad let-down, I believe. Dancing is not my forte. Your pardon.” He strode away.

“Well now!” said Sir Peregrine, looking after him. “What do you make of that, young Felicity?”

Felicity knew exactly what to make of it. She had allowed a few empty compliments to go to her head. As common sense painfully reasserted itself she was astounded at her own
naiveté
—to assume that one kiss, taken in a state of advanced inebriation, could ever constitute a basis for a deeper attachment! Why, it would be astonishing if he even remembered
that
incident, except perhaps with disgust. And the sooner she forgot it, the better!

She became aware of the little group of rout chairs close by, where Mr. and Mrs. Lipscombe sat—and of the darting glance of triumph which
the
latter shot at her.

She blinked back the stinging tears and said lightly, “Why, it is as I thought, sir. Lord Stayne has better things to do than be dancing with me.”

“Then he is a fool!” said his uncle.

No more so than I, she concluded miserably. It was manifestly obvious that being in love, like Jamie’s measles, was a wretched experience from which only time would deliver her. She did not doubt her eventual recovery—people did not really die of broken hearts, after all. Only she had the oddest sensation that, unlike Jamie, she would never be quite whole again.

13

The small boy loomed up in the path of Felicity’s gig so that she was obliged to rein in. He was one of the Manor Court children. She tried to call his name to mind; it was one of those unlikely, biblical names. He stood immobile-irresolute, heedless of the mist which lay like a pall over the whole village.

“Joshua?” The name came to her as she spoke. “Is there something you want?” In truth, she was wishing him far away. She had been late leaving school and wanted only to get home. Yet something about the boy impelled her to persist. “Don’t be afraid, child.”

“Please, miss. I heard you was looking for Lanny Price?”

Felicity’s heart leaped. “You know where he is?”

The boy scuffed his feet. “Wouldn’t want to get ’im into trouble...”

“Of course Lanny won’t get into trouble. I just want to find him.”

“The drover’s hut,” muttered Joshua.

“On the common? Oh, but we searched there days ago!” The horse shied and she was obliged to calm him down before she could give the matter her full attention. “Are you sure, child?”

But the boy had gone, melting into the fine curtain of mist. Felicity sat on, uncertain what to do for the best. On a day that was more fitted to November
than
July,
the prospect of venturing onto the bleak common was less than inviting; the more so when home meant the comfort of a blazing fire and a waiting tea tray. Lord Stayne wouldn’t like it. He had been furious with her for visiting Manor Court alone; crass stupidity, he had called it. Not one word of concern about Dick Price’s brutal murder—or for the missing Lanny. And she had been endowing him, in his absence, with such qualities of sympathy and understanding!

Well, if he didn’t care, that was no reason for her to abdicate her responsibilities.

She knew that she could never settle while there was a chance of finding Lanny, so reluctantly she turned the gig and presently took the track near Ester’s cottage, which led up onto the common.

It was unnaturally still, as though the mizzle was blanketing all sound. Patches of scrub and queer stunted trees reared up with eerie suddenness; a place for witches and hobgoblins! The fanciful turn of thought made her smile; she had been in many worse places, after all—and at least here no murdering, marauding bands of Gitanos would descend upon her! Any gypsies she had seen in England bore little resemblance to their black-avised Spanish brethren.

The drover’s hut looked squat, deserted—and uninviting.

“Lanny?” she called softly, straining her ears for the least sound. Nothing.

Felicity climbed down and tethered the gelding to a tree stump. The mizzle was wetting. She drew her shawl around her shoulders. The door of the hut was stiff; a strong push and it swung inward with a spine-chilling groan.

“Lanny,” she called again. The interior was dim, the only source of light a small, indescribably dirty window. The strip of gloomy daylight thrown inward by the open door illumined only a choice array of cobwebs showing little signs of having been disturbed in weeks, and a low, rickety-looking table thick with dust. There was little visible sign that Lanny had ever been here.

With a sigh she turned to leave. A slight sound made her pause; it was most probably a mouse or a rat, but it would be stupid to go without
makin
g sure.

Felicity pushed the door wider and stepped inside.

Her arms were instantly seized and before she could do more than turn to catch a glimpse of huge, dark shapes, her cries were stifled by a thick, foul-smelling sack which was thrown over her head and secured with terrifying thoroughness.

She was bundled at a run across the uneven floor, and spread
-
eagled face down across the spindly table which creaked ominously under the sudden shuddering impact.

Shock deprived her of immediate coherent thought, but with the return of her senses came a stark, primeval fear. Iron-hard fingers clamped her wrists to the rough board so that she was unable to move a muscle. The sack stifled sound and combined with her ignominious position made breathing difficult, yet she knew with frightening certainly that this was the least of her troubles.

After an eternity of inaction, a voice rasped close to her ear. It was the man, Rayner.

“You’ve had warnings enough, schoolteacher ... but you thought yourself too grand to heed them! That weren’t clever
... not clever at all!”

A second voice joined in, deep, with a strong sing-song cadence. “Seems like we got to show you just how unhealthy dis place is fow de likes of you
!”

Felicity knew what must happen next just as surely as she knew there was a third man in the room, though there was nothing but a flesh-creeping instinct to support her certainty.

There was a sudden draft as the wrap was plucked from her shoulders and quite distinctly, she heard a sharp intake of breath.

It
seemed to act as a signal.

Her own breath was forced through clenched teeth in a series of small explosions as the lash bit with expert precision ... six ... seven ... eight times. She wondered dully how long she could bite back the scream that rose in her throat with each stinging, humiliating stroke
...
she remembered the soldiers she had seen flogged—and tried to recall how long it had taken them to reach that state of gibbering insensibility which had so appalled her...

And then it was over. Silence enveloped her; a thick, woolly silence where pain, wild and throbbing, was the only reality.

A voice penetrated the woolliness, distorted but unmistakably Hardman’s.

“That was just a small lesson, schoolmarm! Learn it well! You won’t be offered any second chances. Close your school, pack your belongings—and go.”

Felicity lay inert, listening to them leave. It took a monumental effort to drag herself upright, to steady herself against the table before lifting numbed fingers to untie the sack. The rank air in the hut was like heady wine; she drank it in greedily while her eyes adjusted to the light—and the sounds of drumming hoofbeats died away. She stooped stiffly to pick up her shawl and walked to the door, lifting her face with relief to the blessed, refreshing rain.

She managed to reach the privacy of her room without meeting anyone, locked the door, and sat on the bed—and found that she was shaking. She leaned her arms along the brass rail at the foot of the bed, put down her head—and wept.

Later, her tears spent, she was calm again. A preliminary and somewhat painful exploration of her condition decided her that she would need help. The back of her dress was ripped in several places and would need to be eased away.

Felicity found a maid and sent her in search of Rose Hibberd. When Rose came, Felicity locked the door behind her. “I need your help, Rose. But I want your promise that what passes in this room will go no further.” Rose looked bewildered
... and hesitated.

“It is nothing dishonest, that much I swear to you. But it touches no one other than myself, and I would keep it that way. Do I have your word, Rose?”

Rose didn’t like Miss Vale’s white face, the desperate entreaty in her eyes. She was in trouble—that was for sure!

“Yes, miss,” she said quietly. “If that’s the way you want it
.
”

When she saw Felicity’s back, however, she blenched. “Oh, God love you, miss!” she gasped. “Whoever would do such a thing to you?”

“That isn’t important now, Rose. If you could just help me off with my dress?”

Even with care, this proved to be an uncomfortable experience for both young women; by the time they were done, Felicity was whiter than ever; her jaw bunched into rigidity.

“How bad is it, Rose?”

Rose’s voice was shaky. “Well, miss—the skin’s only broken in a couple of places, but the rest is swollen something awful. You ought to see the doctor, really you ought!”

“No!” Felicity walked across to the chest of drawers and withdrew a small leather case which traveled everywhere with her. “I have a liniment
...
excellent stuff
...
better than anything Dr. Belvedere could prescribe. If you would be so kind as to apply it for me? And again in the morning?”

“Yes, of course I will, miss.”

As she was leaving, Rose hesitated, her nice, homely face very earnest. “But you
will
tell his lordship, miss?”

“No!” Again Felicity was very positive.

“Well, if you ask me,” Rose persisted, “whoever did that—and I’ve got my suspicions—they need calling to account. Oh, I’ll hold my peace, miss—I’ve given my word and I’ll not go back on it, but I don’t have to approve!”

Lord Stayne was out of temper. He had been to see Sir Geoffrey Blunt to discover at
firsthand
what had been going on in his absence. It had been an unsatisfactory visit. Sir Geoffrey was not a man he cared for overmuch, either personally or as a magistrate. On the few occasions they had shared the bench, he had found him to be boorish, intractable, and full of prejudice.

His attitude toward Price’s death had been depressingly predictable. The stand he was taking over the attempted ba
rn
-bu
rn
ings was more worrying. He was friendly with Hardman, which had not endeared him to the locals; but more damaging was his official opinion, that it was the work of radical dissidents, enemies of His Majesty’s established Government, and part of a much wider plot to overthrow the Government. As such, it would not be tolerated. The culprits would be rooted out and a lasting example made of them!

Since the Earl could find no grounds for believing they were dealing with anything more dangerous than a few local people with a grievance, he was understandably furious. Not only were such assumptions unjust, they had wilfully damaged the goodwill which he had always sought to maintain in the district. Now, for the first time, he encountered sullen looks, and that boded ill for the future, for once a sense of injustice was allowed to fester, men ceased to discriminate and all authority could be threatened.

Angry preoccupation made him careless, so that he negotiated the entrance to Cheynings at a pace which almost resulted in a coat of paint being shaved from the curricle’s bright yellow wheels and caused Percy to draw in a soundless whistle.

Whew! That was close! Not the guvnor’s usual style when trying out a brand-new team!

It was usually a pleasure to sit up behind him ... but not today. ’Course, he could always tell by the set of his lordship’s head and the way his ears went pink! In a proper miff ’e was today and no mistake! He’d not been best pleased when they’d left Sir Geoffrey’s house, and a visit to Manor Court hadn’t improved matters. Downright surly that Rayner’d been ... in fact, Percy was willing to swear as he’d been scared silly on seeing the guv’nor
...
He’d been pretty quick to insist that the Captain wasn’t home. Just as well, too, p’raps...

Stayne gave the horses their heads down the carriageway, but took no more than a perfunctory interest in the excellence of their performance. He was still badly rattled by that appalling error of judgment. How Felicity would have roasted him! Or would she? He was no longer sure and the thought gave him pain. Since the morning following the ball, when they had clashed with more than usual violence, she had studiously avoided him. He was astonished to discover just how much her behavior affected him, the more so as he had come upon her on more than one occasion riding with Tremaine in the early morning, their ready laughter floating on the air.

And then there was her indisposition; Felicity was not the type to suffer “slight indispositions.” Much more of such behavior and he would tax her with it—he had done so before, had he not? But that had been a long time ago ... many things had changed...

He dragged his attention back to the horses. For once the weather was kind—a rare enough occurrence in this
torrentially rainy summer. The sun slanted in mocking brilliance through the trees, dappling the road ahead with ever-changing patterns, highlighting their rippling bodies.

Along the shaded verge, as though contemptuous of the sun’s flirtatious overtures, trudged a small figure, weary, yet with an air of determination.

The Earl reined in just ahead of him—and waited.

“Well, Lanny?” he demanded coldly as the lad came abreast and trailed to a halt.

Lanny stared back. His smock was crumpled and filthy, his red hair stood up in defiant spikes, and the translucent white skin with its splattering of freckles, so typical of his coloring, was stretched paper-thin across the bones of his face, making his eyes very blue—and apprehensive.

He swallowed and looked down at his feet.
“.
.. want to see Miss Vale,” he muttered.

“
Do you, indeed? Well,
I
want to see you!”

The boy’s head jerked up convulsively. “I ain’t done nothin’ to you. You can’t...”

“Oh yes I can, lad. You’ve caused a lot of people a lot of trouble. Now I want some answers. No—don’t try to run away again. There’s been enough of that. Why
have
you been hiding all this time?”

“Reasons.”

“You talk civil to ’is lordship,” Percy said sharply. Stayne frowned and gestured him to silence. His own voice softened a little. “Was it because of your father?” he continued, and saw the boy flinch. “Yes, I know about your father. Were you with him that night?”

Lanny was still poised like a taut spring. “I’ll do a deal with you,” he offered, while desperation grew in his eyes.

The Earl’s lips twitched. “You aren’t exactly in a strong bargaining position, lad.”

“Oh, but this is something you’ll want to know, something only I can tell you,” Lanny wheedled. “It’s why I wanted to see Miss Vale
...
only p’raps you’d be better.”

His ingenuous attempt at negotiation diverted Stayne. “Right,” he said. “Come on, then.”

Lanny’s eyes opened wide as saucers. “You mean
...
up there? Ride with you?”

“Well, I’ve certainly no intention of letting you out of my sight again.” The Earl’s voice was dry.

To Percy’s disgust, Lord Stayne reached down a hand and Lanny grasped it with eager, clawlike fingers and was hoisted up.