Love & Folly

by Sheila Simonson

  Elizabeth leaned toward her. "And a delightful woman. I wish she might stay here forever..." She had meant to produce a schoolroom of misses for Miss Bluestone.

  "She's a first-rate botanist," Tom offered. The men had been talking politicks. "Keeps the gardeners on their toes."

  Maggie said boldly, "And she never fusses one about one's failures. Jean and I think she's splendid, don't we, Jean?"

  Jean deigned to agree.

  "She's the only one of our governesses to make real use of the book room," Elizabeth added. "I wonder why."

  That led to a discussion of governesses who looked upon learning as an unnecessary encumbrance to young ladies and thence to the general state of education--deplorable--and what could be done about it--very little so long as the Church and the dissenters disagreed.

  "Is the book room catalogue finished?" Colonel Falk asked in a lull.

  "My word, I've not met the poet!" Mrs. Falk exclaimed. "I should like to. I thought he was living here."

  Her remark, which was grossly tactless or wholly innocent, had the effect of a brick crashing through a window.

  A silence fell.

  Jean leapt to her feet and ran from the room.

  Elizabeth jerked her head at Maggie who excused herself and followed her twin. "I beg your pardon, ma'am. Jean is not usually so rag-mannered. The thing is she feels she had formed an attachment for Owen Davies and now that he must leave the country..."

  Mrs. Falk's wide blue stare persuaded Elizabeth that the colonel's wife had not been told of recent developments. Richard Falk, it would seem, had strict notions of honour. She glanced at him and he rolled his eyes heavenward. His ears were red. Elizabeth did not envy him. If she had been his wife she would have dissected him before dinner.

  "It's rather late for discretion, Colonel," she said dryly, "though I thank you for it. Ma'am, a double apology. For Jean's manners and for leaving you in the dark. I ought to have writ you of our political adventures but I couldn't trust the mails." And she launched into an account of the smuggled poem.

  She made no attempt to conceal her sisters' infamous conduct, though a mild protest from Colonel Falk caused her to soften her language. It was clear that Mrs. Falk was appalled by the danger the girls stood in of being called as witnesses, perhaps even as accessories, but she did not seem disposed to make harsh judgements.

  If she had been, Jean and Maggie had able defenders. Johnny and Colonel Falk praised their spirit and excused their naiveté until Elizabeth wanted to shake the two men. Tom said little. In the long run, he would probably be the chief sufferer. When she considered that Owen's poem might undercut Tom's political efforts, Elizabeth's blood was still inclined to boil. However, Maggie returned before she could express herself forthrightly.

  It was clear from Maggie's blushes that she knew her conduct had been under discussion. Everyone rushed into speech with alternate topics of conversation and Maggie's blushes faded. Nevertheless Elizabeth was glad when the tea was cold and the cakes a few scattered crumbs.

  As she rose to leave, Elizabeth turned once more to her bemused guest. "I go up to the nursery every day at this time. Do you care to join me?"

  Mrs. Falk agreed. She was nursing the infant Sally herself, and had been afraid she would wander for hours vainly seeking her child.

  Elizabeth was a little surprised to hear that her guest did not employ a wet nurse, though she knew quite respectable ladies sometimes preferred to nurse their own babies. That led to a discussion of the nursing of infants, tooth-cutting, and the colick, which continued up the stairs and down the long corridor to the wing that housed both the nursery and the schoolroom. By the time the babies had been bathed and fed, Elizabeth felt almost at ease with Colonel Falk's wife. She even offered. to show her guest the new telescope.

  * * * *

  "Time to dress for dinner."

  "I can't, Maggie!" Jean lay facedown, so her wail was muffled.

  Maggie sat on the bed. "I know it's hard, but you ought to. The sooner the better."

  "But that dreadful woman..."

  "Mrs. Falk is not dreadful," Maggie said firmly. "She's a pleasant lady and you embarrassed her horribly. She knew nothing of Owen's exile."

  Jean sat up. She looked crumpled but her eyes were only little red and not swollen at all. "Truly? Then Colonel Falk--"

  "He didn't tell his wife. I think he's on our side."

  Jean cocked her head, considering.

  Maggie wondered if she ought to explain that she hadn't meant Colonel Falk would connive at private meetings between the lovers.

  Jean slid from the bed. "I daresay I ought to get it over with. Lisette--"

  "I'll help you dress. Like old times."

  Jean gave a wavering smile. "All right."

  As they were leaving to descend for dinner, Polly, the chambermaid Elizabeth had delegated to wait on Mrs. Falk, burst into the room. "Oh, my lady..." She broke off when she saw Maggie.

  Maggie raised her eyebrows as she had seen Elizabeth do any number of times. The maid blushed.

  Jean said casually, "I shan't need you, until after dinner, Polly. Thank you."

  Polly stared, then bobbed a curtsey and vanished. Maggie said, "Lisette will be glad to wait on you, Jeanie. It's her duty."

  Jean bit her lip. "II you must know, Polly carries messages for us."

  "For you and Owen?"

  Jean nodded, defiant.

  "I wish you wouldn't," Maggie said unhappily.

  22

  "It's my turn to sit by Amy!" Georgy had tied the bow of her bonnet unevenly. A great loop hung on one side.

  Fanny's lip trembled. She was a weepy child. "No, it's mine."

  "She wants to sit by me," Caro sniffed. She was the eldest of what everyone thought of as the Three Little Sisters. The Three Bears, Maggie reflected, listening to the girls bicker. Maggie's sisters had taken to Amy Falk. After two weeks' constant companionship, the girls were inseparable.

  "Amy and Matt will sit between Mr. Dyott and me," Maggie said. "You may sit with Jean, facing us so you can talk to Amy."

  Grumbling, the girls permitted themselves to be handed up into the first of the two carriages that were bound for the church in Earl's Brecon. Amy gave Maggie a saucy grin. Her elder brother was inspecting the horses.

  "Can you deal with them?" Elizabeth smoothed her gloves.

  Maggie nodded. "I think so. Johnny will sit on anyone who misbehaves." Giggles from the coach told her the girls had heard. Elizabeth smiled.

  Jean was handed up, then Maggie. When she had tidied her skirts, Maggie patted the place beside her and Amy settled in. She was a bright-eyed child, much prettier than the Conway sisters, but she seemed unconscious of the fact.

  Johnny persuaded young Matthew to leave off admiring the near leader's gleaming coat and they, too, climbed in. A footman closed the door. Gravel crunched as the heavy equipage began to move. Clanross's carriage would pull up before the main entrance to load the rest of the party.

  "Where's Tommy?" Amy piped.

  "He decided to ride with your papa."

  The little girl nodded, satisfied. She was protective of her small brother, but in other ways a compleat minx, full of mischief. She made a comic face at Fanny. Fanny giggled, and that set the others off.

  Jean looked resigned.

  Johnny was describing for the enthusiastic Matthew a pair of matched chestnuts Clanross had lately acquired. Johnny was wholly at ease with children, a quality Maggie thought suitable in husbands. Smiling to herself, she settled back for the ride.

  As it had the previous two Sundays, the size of the Brecon party would cause a stir at church. The little girls and Miss Bluestone usually walked to church from the Dower House, no very great distance, and Elizabeth ordered the carriage for such of the party at the great house as were churchgoers. She and the twins attended regularly. Clanross did not. His presence for the first time in months would cause a real stir. A number of the neighbouring gentry were convinced he was an
atheist. They didn't like his Levelling tendencies, either.

  The weather threatened rain, but it had been lowering for a week. Maggie hoped the expedition to Hazeldell Clanross had planned for the afternoon might not be rained out. He wanted to show Mrs. Falk the house and lands once more, before he had to go down to London to attend the queen's trial. Charles Wharton meant to break the entail and move his family to London where he had the promise of a lucrative surgical practice. Colonel Falk apparently wanted to purchase an estate. He and Mrs. Falk had already inspected Hazeldell twice. Maggie thought they would prove good neighbours, though she would miss the Whartons.

  "I don't think I'll come to Hazeldell this time," Jean said over the hubbub. Sometimes their minds ran on the same subject at the same time.

  "Why not? There's Cecy's baby to admire, and we haven't seen Mary Wharton in an age. She's back, you know."

  Jean made a face. "I don't feel up to it."

  Maggie sighed and decided not to try wheedling in a carriage full of giggling brats. Later.

  Although Mrs. Davies glowered at Clanross throughout the opening hymn, and Jean and Owen gazed at each other and sighed during the collect, the service went smoothly enough. Mr. Davies's catarrh made itself heard in the homily.

  Maggie was conscious of being watched. At first the sensation was satisfying. She knew she looked handsome in her chip-straw bonnet and ivory muslin, and Johnny's presence beside her gave her confidence these days. She no longer shrank from publick view. During the latter part of the service, however, as the handful of communicants approached the altar, she sensed rather than saw that someone was staring at her particularly, and that was discomforting. So discomforting the hair prickled on the back of her neck.

  The concluding hymn came to a full-throated close and everyone began groping for prayer books, reticules, hats, and gloves. As they started to file out, Clanross and Elizabeth first as became their rank, Maggie turned to view the congregation.

  She spotted the stranger immediately. He was a small man, soberly dressed like a clerk or a shopkeeper, but he had overgrown side-whiskers and sported a flashy stickpin, and his face was a map of London. He was staring directly at Maggie. His small, shrewd eyes did not blink.

  She lowered her gaze and poked Johnny in the ribs. "Who's that?"

  Johnny sometimes took a glass of ale at the inn when he had been out riding in the countryside, and he had been at Brecon long enough to recognise the locals. He drew a breath. "I don't know but I'll find out."

  She nodded, smiling at old Mrs. Pollard and the Higginses, and took young Amy's hand.

  Outside, the air pressed down and the sky darkened. Everyone had to shake hands with everyone else and hear about the haying and the coming crop of corn. Clanross drew the rector apart and spoke at length, whilst Elizabeth and the Falks made conversation around the unresponsive Mrs. Davies. Owen and Jean gazed at each other. The little girls twittered like birds among the gravestones, and Matthew tried to climb the monkey-puzzle tree some Conway, home from a voyage, had planted in the last century. Johnny plunged into a group of farmers by the lych-gate.

  The churchgoers had begun to disperse and the Brecon carriages had drawn up when a sharp clap of thunder and a simultaneous flash of lightning hastened the pace of farewells. Fat drops of warm rain pelted Maggie's chip-straw bonnet as she and Amy scrambled into the carriage. The girls and Jean followed. Matt, his fair hair stuck with needles, jumped in. Finally, Johnny climbed in and slammed the door behind him. He was out of breath and rather wet. The carriage swayed into motion. Lightning flashed and another clap of thunder pealed overhead.

  "I didn't hear you," Maggie half shouted.

  "I said no one knows the man. His name is Pickens and he's stopping at the Ross Arms. I think he's a Runner."

  Maggie gasped.

  Johnny, notwithstanding the proprieties, reached across the two Falk children and took her hand. "Don't worry. It's Sunday. He won't act today, and in any case I may be wrong."

  Jean sat up straight. "Do you mean a Bow Street Runner?"

  One of the girls gave a nervous giggle. The rain was coming down in sheets.

  * * * *

  Tom had also spotted the stranger. "Runner" was the first thought that popped into his head. An occasional chandler or pedlar drifted through Earl's Brecon, but this man was no bumpkin.

  It rained hard for perhaps ten minutes, and the Falks and Elizabeth began to consider the pros and cons of abandoning the Hazeldell expedition. The roads would be heavy for carriages.

  After some discussion Elizabeth suggested that the adults ride over on horseback for a briefer visit. The entire party had meant to take dinner with the Whartons, but trundling two carriages through the mud seemed tempting fate. The children would be disappointed, but they had the picnic at the Weeping Cave on Tuesday to console them.

  By the time they reached the lake, the rain had stopped and Elizabeth had settled everything. She determined to send a messenger to warn Cecelia Wharton of their decision. Tom listened to her plans with half an ear and brooded about the stranger in church. When the carriage reached the house at last, Tom sent a footman to fetch his man Sims.

  Johnny drew him aside in the foyer as everyone else headed upstairs to change into riding gear.

  "What is it, Johnny?" Tom hoped Sims was not off courting the Falks' housemaid. Though it seemed unlikely, Elizabeth had reported that Mrs. Smollet thought Sims was smitten with Phillida.

  "There's a Redbreast in the village."

  Johnny came into focus. "Are you sure?"

  "No, sir. I asked several of the farmers, though. The fellow's a Londoner, says he's looking for horses. He's stopping at the inn. He keeps standing the locals to drinks and trying to pry information from them. He's interested in Owen."

  "And the girls?"

  Johnny said slowly, "I'm not sure. One of the ploughmen said the man was curious about the Brecon household. That may mean the girls."

  Tom nodded. "Owen had better leave at once. I've sent for... Ah, Sims. I'm glad you're here. We're in a fix!" He explained rapidly and Sim's eyes, in their rolls of fat, brightened. He liked a bit of action.

  "To Bristol, eh?"

  Tom grasped the newell. "Yes, I've money for you, and I'll write a note to Davies and a letter to the captain of that ship Barney said was bound for Quebec. You may take the gig."

  "And the new chestnuts?" Sims fairly licked his lips.

  Tom grimaced. "If you lame them I'll have your ears. Wait for the letters--it may take awhile. I must think this through."

  "Wot about Lunnon'?" They had meant to leave for London the next morning.

  Tom looked at him. "You'd rather go to Bristol, I think."

  Sims grinned villainously, sketched an impudent salute, and vanished into the domestic offices. Not for the first time, it occurred to Tom that his man was equal to anything.

  Tom took the stairs two at a time, Johnny at his heels. In the hallway, Tom turned. "We've decided to abandon the carriage ride to Hazeldell. The Falks, Elizabeth, and I will ride over for a brief look at the house after we take some refreshment. I think you and the twins ought to come, too."

  "I'd be glad to escort Owen to Bristol, sir."

  Tom had to smile. "Eager to see the last of the poet, or just eager?"

  Johnny flushed.

  "Never mind. Sims will do the job handily and I need you and Maggie to keep Jean under surveillance."

  "Shall you tell her Owen's leaving?"

  "I must. I hope she'll take the news sensibly." Tom rubbed his forehead. "In fact, a council of war is called for. Richard and Emily ought to know what's happening, too. Will you ask them to come to my study? I'll send Elizabeth for the girls. I need hardly mention that the servants shouldn't hear of this."

  "But Sims--."

  "Sims is my right hand," Tom said impatiently. "I mean the Brecon servants. The less they know, the better for them."

  Johnny nodded. "I'll tell the colonel."

  The a
dults assembled in Tom's study as he was finishing the letter of instruction to the master of the Quebec-bound packet. He rose and seated the ladies. There were too few chairs for the men. Richard was watching him with a familiar wariness, alert for any action. Maggie looked pale, Jean agitated. Elizabeth and Emily exchanged puzzled glances.

  Tom addressed Richard and Emily first. "You're in for a flurry of melodrama. I hope you won't object."

  Richard's eyebrows rose and Emily's blue eyes brightened.

  Tom turned to Jean. "There's no way to make this easier for you, Jean. Owen Davies must leave for Bristol at once. There's a Runner on his heels."

  Jean's hands flew to her mouth.

  "I'm sorry, my dear."

  She bit her lip. At least she did not burst into tears. "I must tell him good-bye!"

  "That won't be possible, Jeanie."

  "Oh, you are cruel--"

  "Jean," Elizabeth snapped. "Be still."

  Tom drew a breath. "I shall send Sims in the gig. He'll pull in behind the rectory and make the situation clear to Owen. If we time our arrival, we may create a diversion that will permit Owen to escape undetected. That's my aim, Jean, and it requires your cooperation."

  Jean's lip trembled. "He does not wish to go. He wants to stand his trial."

  "I think you'll find he has changed his opinion. When I last discussed the matter with him, he was eager to leave."

  "He is not eager! His letters--"

  Tom stared.

  Her chin went up. "We have corresponded. His feelings--all his feelings--are unchanged."

  Torn wondered which of his servants Davies had bribed to carry messages. A maid or footman, no doubt. "I won't contradict you, Jean, but he has agreed to go. If you value his liberty and reputation, yours and Maggie's, you will cooperate."

  "I want to make my farewells."

  Elizabeth said in gentler tones, "Pray hear Tom out, sister. If I understand what he's suggesting, the Runner will be drawn after our party."

  Tom nodded. "He won't expect Owen to travel on Sunday, and any movement the girls make will interest him. We'll ride through the village at a leisurely pace. I may even stop in the taproom for a word with the landlord. When we've stirred this fellow up, we can continue to Hazeldell, and I trust he'll follow us. By the time he returns to the inn, Sims will have spirited Owen away. With luck Owen's absence won't be discovered until he's safely in Bristol."