by Wendy Bayne
Father was not at all pleased about the escape of Burley and his companion who from the description from the staff was Charles Brathwaite Burley’s son-in-law and the son of a prominent London banker. But no one had ever heard the older man with Brathwaite referred to as Lord Burley. It was only our assumption that the he was his Lordship. This whole assignment of quashing the smuggling ring just kept getting more complex the closer we got to the leaders.
Chapter 40
Return to London
Later that day the gypsy caravan arraigned itself across the property and suddenly an impromptu fair popped up to the delight of the village people as well as the gypsies after they had received Aunt Mary’s approval. Jibben had sent some of his men back with Robert, Dalton and with our coachmen to retrieve our carriages then they would collect the baggage which we had so precipitously left at a coaching Inn one night…it all seemed a lifetime ago. Gabriel spent the rest of the day questioning the servants and village folk about Ramsey, but no one had seen him. Once again it looked as if he had gotten away much to Gabriel’s annoyance.
Two days later we all attended the funeral for Mrs Rook and after the service, my aunt presented Mr Rook with the deed to his land. Father contributed further by providing money for the daughter’s dowry and at comparable amount for the son’s future. The wake was provided for by my Aunt Mary and Uncle Arthur and to everyone’s delight it eventually turned into a rather merry affair, a celebration of Mrs Rook’s life which Mr Rook assured us his Sadie would have approved of.
During the time that we waited for our carriages to return, Miles was either off hunting with Jibben and his father or closeted with all the men reviewing what had been learned during his time with Dr Grimes, so I had very little time alone with him. It was on our last evening there that I found him in the garden looking over a stone hedge at the windswept cliffs. I walked up to stand beside him taking his hand. He did not turn or acknowledge me in any fashion other than by squeezing my hand. I stood there in silence with him for a time until he said as he continued to gaze out to sea, “It was a blow to the head.”
I wasn’t sure what he was referring to. “What?”
He then turned his head and smiled as he looked at me, “It was another blow to the head that restored my sight. Dr Grimes now believes that my brain may have been scrambling the signals from my eyes and the blow set things to rights.”
Miles was scrunching up his eyes against the light from the setting sun. “You don’t sound convinced.”
He sighed. “I think it was a convenient explanation for something for which he had no other plausible excuse.”
I shifted so that I could see his face more clearly. There were lines around his eyes and his brow that I had never noticed before, they were lines of pain and endurance. “And what do you think happened?”
He didn’t answer right away but he turned away from the view to lean against the wall pulling me to him and turning me around so that the back of my head laid back against his chest and he whispered, “It was you. Or rather it was you not being there to guide me through my day, so I had time to think. Grimes is a nice chap, but he amuses himself with his own conversation, the result being he required very little from me. When we went out, he let me find my own way, he didn’t ridicule me, nor did he aid me. I stumbled about a great deal making a damn fool of myself in the bargain. Then one day I fell off a cliff.” He chuckled as I gasped. “It wasn’t a very high cliff, but I was laid up for a couple of days. I’d hit my head rather sharply that day and I had some very graphic dreams about my time in Paris. I can remember every detail of those dreams, but I had the feeling that you were there listening to everything. I remember hearing Grimes’ voice every now and then asking me questions, pushing me to relive my whole time in that hell but you were always there somewhere just out of reach. When he finally left me alone, I fell into a deep sleep and I dreamed of a life with you, first as if I was blind and then as if I had my sight and between them you never treated me differently, you never loved me differently. When I woke up I could see again, and I knew the truth. While I was an invalid in Paris my blindness was an excuse to keep you near me, I wouldn’t allow myself to believe that you could love me regardless if I was whole. I realise now that it doesn’t matter. You were right, I can’t let what happened to me define who I am.” I reached up and pulled his head down to mine and kissed him. Then we stood there just looking out at the scenery, the sea to our backs, no words were required, his arms were wrapped around me as I leaned against him watching the light fade and listening to the ocean pound on the shore below.
The next day our carriages arrived with our trunks and portmanteaus, along with messages from Emilie, Murphy and Sir Thomas. The prisoners had arrived, and we were being entreated to return at once to London. It was a relief in some ways to change into our own clothes again. I felt more like myself; but I missed the freedom of movement in the gypsy clothes.
We parted ways with our nomadic friends…they had decided with my father’s blessing to spend some time in Cornwall, seeking out whatever profit and information that could be gleaned from the inhabitants. The Earl, Lady Jane and their children would travel with us only as far as their country estate where they planned to take a much-needed rest from London and all that had recently transpired. The Earl would be in London as soon as he was summoned by the King regarding his petition to legitimize Miles. Edward and Miles spent the first day on the road riding with the Earl to resolve family issues as Miles put it. At one point, they pulled over rather abruptly with Miles and Edward falling out the carriage door, yelling and screaming obscenities at each other. They removed their coats and stomped into an adjacent meadow.
I reached out to my father in a panic. “They aren’t going to duel, are they?”
Father looked at them with an amused expression on his face. “No, I think they intend to beat each other senseless.”
“WHAT!” I moved to open the door and jump from the carriage, but my father pulled me back.
He pushed me back into my seat and admonished, “You wait here. I think this has probably been a long time coming and it may help to clear the air.”
I looked at my mother for an explanation, she simply shrugged “It’s what men do.” Father got down and looked like he was debating about taking James with him but when he reached for him, my mother refused to let him go. “Oh, no, Colin, he is much too young for that sort of thing yet.” He nodded and joined the other men who had by now formed a loose circle around the two combatants that were earnestly trying to beat each other to death."
The Earl came to our window laughing so I ventured to ask, “What happened?”
He smiled at me then turned back to watch his sons. “Years of unrelieved sibling rivalry.”
I couldn’t believe that everyone was taking this so lightly. I couldn’t watch the fight, but I was constantly shifting in my seat. Mother passed me James and got out, she came back shortly and pointed to a small rise covered with trees. “We’ll picnic under those trees over there, it’s far too warm to sit in this carriage. Besides the men will need some time to cool off and relax. It’s near a brook and they can wash off their grime.” The door was opened for me by Dalton, Mother took James and we walked towards the trees. Aunt Mary followed with Meg, Beth and Adele in tow who carried blankets to sit on. Dalton and Robert brought the hampers along and dropped them in front of the three maids then hurried back to join the other men. Finally, when neither Miles nor Edward could raise a fist, the fight was declared over and a draw by the Earl. He went up to each of his sons, patted them on the back and handed them each a bottle of ale. He then insisted that they shake hands which they did at first with reluctance and then with what appeared to be genuine appreciation if not exactly affection. Then they stomped off through the trees to avail themselves of the brook’s cool running water.
When they returned they sat down beside me, splashing me with droplets from their wet hair, laughing and exchanging stories about how
they had hated each other while growing up but truly wishing that they could change places with each other or at least be friends. They both had lonely childhoods and I could only watch them in amazement. James by this point had toddled over and sat down between them, offering them each a half of his soggy biscuit which they both took and popped into their mouths much to my disgust and James’s delight.
Edward swallowed his portion of biscuit then picked up James, talking to him. “Tell me, old chap, how did my lout of a brother ever captured the heart of your sister. Was it magic, do you think? Did he cast a dark spell on her?”
James reached up and with one hand on either side of his face pushed his cheeks in to make his lips pucker and essentially stopped him from talking. Then he let go of his cheeks crowing. “NO! Mills not bad…I like Mills.” Then he cocked his little head from side to side and laughed letting go of Edward’s face. “I like you. You work like Mills, he yur brudder! I’m going to have a brudder too then you and Mills can play wiff us.” Everyone burst out laughing including James. Any tension that had been in the air was gone now, even Gabriel was laughing with us.
My father argued Gabriel into staying with us rather than try to find Ramsey on his own after he convinced him that Ramsey wouldn’t stay in Cornwall since we seemed to be his target. Besides he missed his family after having only just been reunited with them and the draw to be with them as strong, so he agreed to accompany us to London and would continue to accept our hospitality.
Aunt Mary and Uncle Arthur would stay with us a for a short while then continue onto Northumberland to Alford Manor. It seemed that Dyson had got himself into a spot of trouble over his attentions to one of Lord Fitzwilliam’s daughters and he needed his mother to extricate him. Uncle Arthur’s solution was to let him stew in his own juices. But Aunt Mary was a loving mother and Dyson was her only surviving child. She still held out hope that he would turn out to be more like her than his father in the long run. However, I think her faith on that count was misplaced.
Once we reached London, our party had shrunk considerably but we were met in the foyer by Lettie and Murphy. Lettie took charge of James to his squeals of delight at seeing his nanny. Father, Miles, and Edward adjourned to the study, Uncle Samuel and Gabriel set off to find their wives. Mother and I begged Mr Allan to ask the housemaids for a hot bath before he settled back into his routine. He agreed but as he went towards the green braise door he was already running his hand across the hall tables looking for any tell-tale dust.
Our maids and valets preceded us up the stairs. Dalton and Robert remarking that they’d be looking after Mr Johnson and Mr de Bearne now. Robert claimed Mr Johnson as his responsibility because of his connection with him in Dorset. Dalton just sighed, “So you leave me with the Spanish pirate, might I remind you that I have had a connection with Mr Johnson longer than you.”
Robert just smiled. “It’ll give you a chance to brush up on your Spanish, old man.”
Dalton stopped. “What Spanish…look here, what has Beth been telling Meg? How do you know that I speak some Spanish?”
They continued in this good-natured fashion as they went ahead of us while Mother and I retired to our rooms to await our baths.
Dinner was an informal affair and we served ourselves from the buffet. Talk in general was about how exhausted we all were. Miles and Edward were both chewing gingerly and emitted several groans while they ate. They had both declined having Dr Jefferson attend to them and once they were done eating they excused themselves to retire for the night, each with a decanter of brandy and a book. Gabriel left with Charity to spend time with their boys. Samuel and Emilie retired to their rooms to just spend time alone. While we sat at the table I noticed Mother and Father touching each other as often as possible so I told them that I was going to visit James in the nursery and tell him a bed time story and that they should go and get some rest.
When I reached the nursery, Murphy and Lettie were playing with James and his toy soldiers. I suggested that they both take a stroll around the garden and get some air and that I would see James to bed. I swear that they had left before I had even finished making my suggestion.
I looked down at my brother who sat there with his mouth open, surprised to see Lettie and Murphy leave so quickly, I smiled and sat down beside him. “Well, little man, it looks like it’s just you and me. Shall I get you ready for bed and tell you a story about King Arthur and his knights?”
James appeared to consider this, crinkling his baby brow. “No! I don’t wanna go to bed. I’s not sleepy, Issa.”
I reared back in pretend shock. “What, no bed? How do you ever expect to grow up and be big and strong like Papa if you don’t sleep?”
He considered my remark. “Papa seeps?” I nodded my head yes. It had never occurred to me that James had never seen our father asleep. Even when he was stretched out with my father on a settee or in carriage, my father was ever alert and would wake before James. “Ohhhhhh…big people seep too.” He jumped up and ran for his cot throwing himself on it and squealing when I tickled him to get him into his nightshirt then under the covers. He asked for his stuffed bunny and rolled over watching me as I banked the fire and blew out all but two candles, then I came to sit by him to tell him a story. My brother had a vivid imagination, but he liked true stories, not ones based on fables, so I was at loss as to what I should tell him. I finally decided to share some of Miles’ stories with him without using his name. James fell asleep quickly leaving me at loose ends once again.
I called for one of the nursery maids and retired to my room dismissing Meg. I could care for myself for one night at least and besides I wasn’t a bit tired now, so I sat down at my writing desk and pulled out my journal, opening it to a blank page. I hadn’t written in a journal since leaving the Abbey, so I decided to write down our adventures to this point.
As I wrote late into the night I could only wonder what the dawn would bring us. There were still Sir Thomas’s concerns regarding the smuggling ring to attend to, Lord Burley had escaped along with Mr Braithwaite and Ramsey was still at large, possibly even watching us from the garden of the empty house next door.
Chapter 41
November 1830
Time was moving on and nothing happened after our return, so life settled into a routine. Emilie was in a rush to establish her own household and design a nursery, but Samuel was dragging his feet. He finally had a conversation with my mother as to why he seemed reluctant and he gave her permission to share with us. Samuel had never lived on his own, he grew up with my mother and he had always shared loggings with my father since they had both been at Harrow and then Cambridge together. It was always my father who had made sure that everything was looked after and accounted for rents, servants and the normal household tasks. It’s not that my father was so very good at these things himself, but he had a knack for finding accommodating landladies, shop keepers and for hiring servants.
Emilie on the other hand had never run a large household, hired servants, furnished a home or kept accounts. The Abbey’s expenses for economy’s sake had to be reduced so the money saved there could be invested into improving the property and make it a profitable estate. But that left Samuel and Emilie with two estates to run and now he was being pressured to purchase a London town house. Some of the younger Abbey staff Mother was sure would agree to relocate to London for the adventure while others would choose to retire. The Burns would remain in charge of the Abbey with a skeleton staff while the outside staff and their duties would be increased under the direction of Mr Seamus O’Toole, an old friend of Murphy’s who was well versed in estate management. He had a keen interest in bringing the Abbey back to its past glory and once the outside was a paying venture then the inside would be refurbished. In the meantime one of the wings in need of the most repair would be closed off.
The chateau in France was under excellent management by Monsieur Andre Dupont and Mademoiselle Bridgette Dionne and probably not too far off in the future she w
ould be Madame Dupont if what Mrs Baxter had to say was true. They were doing a thriving business with the Embassy using it for additional quest quarters. And Mr Dupont was looking to establish a small winery first to serve the estate, the Embassy guests and then expand it later as a business venture that Samuel and the Marquis had been in discussions about.
Things eventually started to fall into place, with the machinations of my mother and Aunt Mary it was decided to the delight of all concerned that Samuel would purchase the house that the Clarkes had hitherto occupied. Their cook, Mrs Lamont, was very amenable to the kitchen there and loved being back in England. She had already formed a fast friendship with our cook. But without a housekeeper or a butler taking care of the staff it would fall to Mrs Lamont to manage the other staff, not an ideal arrangement. It wouldn’t be long before it began taking its toll on her. Mother warned Emilie that until a staff came together cohesively it was like a fight in a hen house to establish a pecking order and she had better take charge soon or lose the staff she currently had, including Mrs Lamont. She had literally interviewed dozens of applicants, but the same issue applied to my uncle’s household that applied to ours, the nature of my uncle’s work required a flexible staff that knew how to be discreet.
It was while the garden gate was being removed leaving a beautiful archway in its place that led to Emilie finding her butler. We were in the garden one afternoon and the foreman was arguing with our gardener about how the demolition of the gate could not proceed without cutting back the espalier on our side of the garden wall. It was rather comical in that the volume of their argument continued to increase while it was obvious that neither of them was listening to the other. All the workman had shuffled off to lay back on the grass and watch the show. That is all but one middle-aged man who was rather well put together for a common labourer. He finally stepped forward and in a very quiet, educated voice that commanded attention explained how some of the branches could be tied back out of the way and those that could not could be pruned without ruining the espalier. Both protagonists in this argument had stopped yelling long enough to listen to him then looked at the wall and back at him. Just when I thought they were ready to embrace the idea, one of the itinerant day labours called out to the foreman, “Hey, Jock, you goin’ let fancy breeches there tell you how to do yer job!” And that was it, both the foreman and the gardener started yelling at each other again.