The Tarrant Rose

by Veronica Heley

  “It was a bad cold,” said the Earl, touching his nose with a monogrammed handkerchief.

  “It was a bad fall,” rejoined Mr. Carramine.

  The Earl laughed. He was amused rather than annoyed at having his masquerade known to his guest. “When did you guess?” he asked.

  “Jasper rode over—on your horse?—to see me yesterday. He wanted to tell me of his good fortune in making the acquaintance of the Earl’s secretary. I had heard of ‘Mr. Rich’s’ accident before, of course, and I had wondered … but it seemed no business of mine to speculate on such a subject. Jasper’s artless confidences merely confirmed my suspicion that the man I had met here, and the man who took a tumble at Miss Sophia’s feet, were one and the same.”

  “I am glad you did not enlighten him. It would be very embarrassing for the Tarrants if their mistake were made known.”

  “It was a very natural mistake.” Mr. Carramine considered his host, and thought that the man he had met the other day bore little outward resemblance to the black-browed aristocrat who sat opposite him, glittering with diamonds. Mr. Carramine, considering the Earl’s firm jaw, wondered how Sophia had had the nerve to treat this man so discourteously, and he wondered even more why the Earl had allowed her to do so. Why, even Jasper, who usually discounted everything his sister did, had expressed surprise to Mr. Carramine at her bad manners.

  “It was Sir John Bladen’s description of me which misled them,” said the Earl, carefully trimming a candle which had begun to gutter. “He must have been more impressed with my person than I was with his, for he reported that I was uncommonly tall, elegant, and black of brow. It was a superficial description. The loss of my hat and wig and the heel off my boot reduced me to normal size, and of course I was wearing old clothes.” He refilled their glasses. “Victory for Cumberland, and Confusion to the French.”

  The Duke of Cumberland was not only the King’s favorite son, but also Commander in Chief of the British Army in Flanders.

  Mr. Carramine drank, and said, “I suppose that means ‘Death to Smuggling,’ too?”

  “I must turn you from that pernicious business before I leave for Bath.”

  The two men had liked each other from the start, and found on further acquaintance that they had much in common. Although Mr. Carramine lacked the high rank of his host, he did not lack means, and in his youth had made the Grand Tour and had taken his place for a while in the fashionable world of London. Both men took an active interest in the running of their estates, both preferred riding to any other form of exercise, and both had well-stocked and -read libraries. While neither man had ever been involved in politics, both were interested in the subject, and held much the same points of view.

  “So you go to Hanover with the King this summer,” observed Mr. Carramine. “A pity. I had hoped we might see more of one another. I wonder the King thinks it wise to go this summer.”

  “It is his birthplace, and he feels at home there. The King finds it difficult to understand why he cannot rule Britain as he rules Hanover, through ministers of his own choosing.”

  “Like Lord Carteret?”

  “My uncle still has access to the King at any time, day or night.”

  “Which cannot please Newcastle. …”

  The Earl hooded his eyes and did not reply. Mr. Carramine understood that the Earl considered they had discussed politics long enough, and sought for another subject of conversation. He lifted his glass to propose another toast.

  “To the ladies who mended your broken bone—The Misses Tarrant.”

  The Earl also raised his glass. “To the Roses of Tarrant Hall.”

  Mr. Carramine’s glass remained suspended in mid-air for a moment. Then he drank, and set his glass down. “You know, then?”

  “I know that the sign of the Ram and the Rose is not a hostelry but the Tarrant family crest. I believe that the Tarrant women are often referred to as the Roses of Tarrant Hall. I know that treasonable correspondence has been carried on between the Young Pretender and the sign of the Ram and the Rose.”

  “I told you, the traitor—if he was one—is dead.”

  “It may be so.” The Earl leaned back in his chair. “Tell me what you know of the family.”

  Mr. Carramine understood that this was why he had been invited to dine, but he was willing enough to talk. He had been brought up with Sir Richard Tarrant, the father of Sophia and Jasper. Both Richard and Mr. Carramine had loved the same woman, but she had chosen to marry Sir Richard, and lived to regret it. Mr. Carramine had married a cousin of his, and acted as godfather to Richard’s firstborn, John. Sophia had been born the year after John, and Richard had then disappeared abroad for some years. Later, it was said that he had been fighting for French Louis, but even after his return Richard would neither confirm nor deny this. Jasper was born after Richard’s return from the wars, and his mother had died giving him birth. He had been a sickly child, and they had not thought to rear him at first, but Sophia and Nan between them had dragged and coaxed the boy through childhood. Richard had never been interested in farming, and neither was his eldest son, John. The family had always had Jacobite leanings, and had been heavily fined after the ’15 uprising, so that they were always short of money. As soon as John was old enough, he had followed in his father’s footsteps and gone abroad, never to return. In the meantime, matters had gone from bad to worse at Tarrant Hall. Richard left the running of the farms to Nan and Sophia, only demanding money periodically for his gambling debts. He lost most of his friends, but Mr. Carramine, who was very fond of Sophia and Jasper, stuck by him. In fact, Mr. Carramine was the family’s chief creditor. After his eldest son’s death, Richard had spent most of his days in a drunken stupor, only rousing himself to demand more and more money from the estate, or to beat his children. It was impossible to remonstrate with him, for he would merely make grandiose promises to repay his debts next month, or next year, if he were sober; and if he were drunk, he would fall into a rage, and lay about him.

  “He would not give Sophia a dowry, so that she could marry, because she was too useful to him at home. She had several offers, but …” Mr. Carramine sighed. “I considered it myself, after my wife died, but Richard would not listen, even when I offered to take her without a dowry. She thanked me so sweetly … even though she said I would have been a fool to marry her … she said she liked me too much to marry me and make my life a misery. As for Jasper, I did what I could for the lad, taking him out with the guns, and mounting him … after Richard sold the lad’s horse.” Mr. Carramine’s hand became a fist, and he breathed hard. “Richard was … very strange in the last year of his life. He could not seem to bear Jasper near him—I think because he’d preferred his elder son, and John was dead, and Jasper still alive. However it was, he used to lash out at the boy whenever he saw him. Jasper would have run away many a time if it hadn’t been for leaving Sophia and Nan at his father’s mercy … so I used to put the boy up here, and do what I could for him.”

  “Such as encouraging him to join the Free Traders? That explains where he got the money from, for his clothes and his cockfights.”

  Mr. Carramine winced, but did not deny the charge. The Earl took out his snuffbox, and offered it to his guest. Mr. Carramine accepted the peace offering.

  “My business is not with smugglers,” said the Earl. “A treasonable letter came into my hands, to be delivered to the sign of the Ram and Rose. Miss Nan has admitted that Sir Richard had had some treasonable correspondence with the Pretender, but she says that she destroyed all his letters when he died. She says that Jasper has no sympathy with the Jacobites.”

  “No, he is not a traitor. He thinks his father and brothers were fools for fighting under the French flag. You can trust him, I am sure. As for his being out with the Free Traders, you may rest assured that it will not happen again … if it ever did happen. I’m admitting nothing, you understand?”

  “I understand your position, but what I don’t understand is how the boy inte
nded to get himself a commission, before I came along so providentially.”

  “When he is eighteen he will sell the Hall to Sir John Bladen, in order to pay his debts. Sophia marries Sir John to give him an heir, and so that she may continue to live in her old home. Miss Nan will stay with them.”

  “I repeat, how did the boy expect to obtain a commission?”

  “Through his uncle, Sir Gregory Midmain, who married his aunt Helen. He wrote to Sir Gregory as soon as his father died, and expects to hear from him any day now.”

  “Then why did he solicit my aid? Can it be that he doubts Sir Gregory’s power to assist him? I believe I have met Sir Gregory … a man of limited understanding and income. He is a time-server, hanging on Newcastle’s coattails in the hope that some sinecure will fall his way. I doubt if he will put himself out to help the son of a known Jacobite.”

  Mr. Carramine looked blank.

  “Come now; you know that it is so.”

  “I greatly fear it. Nothing has gone right for the lad. He loves Marjorie Bladen, Sir John’s only daughter, and I think she reciprocates his affection, but she is something of an heiress in her own right, and her father wishes to see her married into some noble family. He sees himself founding a dynasty at Tarrant Hall; Sophia is willing to marry him, to fulfill her part of the bargain, in order to help Jasper pay the debts Richard left. She won’t marry me, because I am their chief creditor, and for the same reason Jasper won’t accept any further loans from me. I am proud of them both, and grieve for them both. I wish I could help them, but they won’t let me. It all depends on you, now. If you can get Jasper a commission …”

  The Earl’s chin was sunk into the lace at his throat, and he appeared deep in thought. At length he roused himself to pour them out some more wine.

  “I, too, would like to do something for Jasper, yet the King will never grant him a commission if he were to learn what I know about the family. What should I do? Conceal the boy’s background? Then again, I was entrusted with the task of finding out what I could about Jacobites in this area; I have done so. What I know about the Tarrants, if reported, would land them in the Tower, with their estates sequestered. They do not deserve such a fate. Yet is it not my duty to tell?”

  “Uncle!” The Earl rose to greet Lord Carteret. “Are you very tired from your journey? We have had a bedchamber ready for you these three days.”

  “I came as soon as I could. No, no. I’m not tired. A trifle to eat and drink, and I shall be myself again. I can only stay the one night, so let us get to business.”

  Philip sent Mr. Denbigh to sit in the outer room, while he gave his uncle an account of everything that had happened since his arrival, only omitting to mention his clashes with Sophia Tarrant. His uncle listened in silence. Lord Carteret was a man of fifty-five, upright and soldierly. He suffered from gout, and his enemies said he was frequently the worse for drink of an evening, even though he had recently taken to himself a young and beautiful girl as his second wife. His manner was sharp, and his quick intelligence made him intolerant of fools. He had long been at the center of international diplomacy, and had won the confidence of the King; because of this, he found it difficult to accept his fall from power. He was fond of his nephew, but did not show it.

  “Fate has taken a hand in my affairs,” he observed, when Philip had finished. “You have stumbled across information which those fools at the Postmaster General’s have been after for months, and moreover, gained a foothold in the Tarrant household which we can turn to advantage.”

  “As far as I am concerned,” said Philip, a chill in his voice, “the matter is now at an end. The traitor is dead and his papers burned. I leave for Bath very shortly, and do not intend to return. In fact, I may sell this place—it does not please me.”

  “You will do nothing of the kind.” Philip raised his eyebrows, and Lord Carteret softened his tone. “My dear boy; you do not appreciate the gravity of the situation. For years France has nurtured the Pretender and his sons, not because Louis believes the time is ripe for the return of the Stuarts to his country, but because they are useful pawns in the game of European politics. The French do not have enough money or men to equip an invasion force, but they encourage the Young Pretender with promises for next year, or the year after. Next time we may not be so lucky, and we may find ourselves fighting not in Flanders, but in our own streets.”

  “Very true; but what has that to do with me?”

  Lord Carteret limped to the fireplace, and took up a commanding attitude. “Philip, I have no son of my own, although Heaven may shortly bless my union with Lady Carteret. You have been my heir for some years now. I have even gone so far as to praise you to His Majesty, and to further your suit with my ward, Lady Millicent. It is not every man who deserves to wed an heiress who is also a reigning beauty. I have done more. The post of Ambassador to the Court of Sweden falls vacant at the end of this year, and I have suggested to His Majesty that you would fill it to admiration.”

  Philip tried and failed to conceal his surprise and gratification. “Why, uncle … this is something I had never thought … but I lack diplomatic experience.”

  “There would of course be a Resident in Stockholm to guide you in the petty day-to-day affairs. Now I do not say that you would get Stockholm; His Majesty is inclined to think it best to transfer a seasoned diplomat to Sweden, but this would create an opening elsewhere, and I think I may say that he is always open to suggestion from me. Of course, if you had been obviously unsuited for the post, I do not say that I could have arranged it, but you have the ability, the birth and the background for a position of this type; and, moreover, you are not tied to Newcastle’s tail.”

  Philip bowed. “It seems that I am as corruptible as any other man in pursuit of office.”

  “‘An incorruptible man is a dangerous man,’” quoted Lord Carteret. “No one can predict which way he will jump. Now I think I can say that I have studied human nature more closely than most. I knew you would want to be Ambassador, and I know what the Stuart boy wants, too. He is a rash, stupid youth, with all the Stuart failings—their belief in the Divine Right of kings, and their obstinacy—and very few of their virtues. He is nothing but a puppet, and I am the master puppeteer. I will pull the strings to bring him to ruin, and return myself to power.”

  Such a boast from a lesser man might have raised smiles, but Philip did not smile.

  “You have a scheme?” Philip asked.

  Lord Carteret put his chair close to that of his nephew. “I am going to provoke the Young Pretender into invading Britain at a time when France cannot back him with men or money. Then we shall have him.” He clapped his hands and rubbed imaginary dirt from his palms as if to rid himself of a squashed fly. “And that will be the end of the Stuart menace.”

  “An imaginative scheme,” said Philip, blinking. “But dangerous.”

  “Danger?” Carteret snapped his fingers. “You talk like a child. How many men did we lose at Dettingen? How much money do we lose every year by maintaining a standing Army, just to keep France out of Hanover? You cannot make an omelette …”

  “Granted, but how do you propose to do this?”

  “I have already begun. Do not look so surprised! Have I not been in politics all my life? Have I not spent hours in meditation on the subject? Do I not have the confidence of the British agent in Paris? The first steps were simple. Some months ago our man in Paris arranged for the Young Pretender to meet, as if by accident, with some Franco-Irish bankers. These men have long lived and worked in France, they are all wealthy, and most of them are descended from the Jacobites who aided the Old Pretender in the 1715 rebellion. They are not politicians, you understand. They are of the new middle-class, traders, unversed in diplomacy. They are flattered to be introduced to the Stuart boy, and he is flattered to have their attention, for he has made little impression on the Jacobites his father knows and trusts. This Charles Edward has some charm, but no stability. The older Jacobites mistrust him a
nd refuse to help him in his wild schemes, but these new men, these moneyed men, offer him their all. They have chartered two ships from the French Navy for the Young Pretender, and promised to fill them with a company of volunteers, arms, and appropriate supplies for a landing in Britain.”

  “I don’t believe it. No private person would be allowed to charter a ship for such a purpose.”

  “Of course not. The French Minister for War has allowed the charters for the purpose of privateering—ostensibly. Of course he knows what they are really intended for; how could he not, when it is his business to know such things? But he also knows that the French will not be able to make any official attempt on these shores this year, and he thinks that the Stuart boy may draw some men from Flanders back to England if he lands.”

  “A landing here would certainly have the effect of weakening our forces in Flanders. Is that desirable?”

  “Do not interrupt. Of course it is not desirable, but neither is it necessary. All that is required is a level head, a sense of timing, and poof! There is an end of Charles Edward. Of course, if the Young Pretender were to succeed in raising the country, the French would back him up, but that will not happen. Do you know of any responsible, well-to-do nobleman who would be mad enough to espouse the Stuart cause?”

  “Surely he must be as aware of this as we are? How could he be fool enough to attempt an invasion, knowing that he will not be supported when he arrives?”

  “You have put your finger on the point at issue. First I arrange for him to be put in touch with men who have funds to place at his disposal, then he charters ships—only two of them, but it should be enough—and finally, I induce him to set sail by sending him letters promising support from all over the British Isles.”

  Philip took snuff, as was his habit when he wanted a moment to think. His uncle appeared to be contradicting himself, but Philip knew that it was not wise to jump to conclusions where Lord Carteret was concerned. Lord Carteret had agreed that there were few men of note prepared to put their heads on the block for the Stuarts, and yet he talked of enticing the Young Pretender to invade with letters of invitation. He had talked, also, of suspected Jacobites being watched. Knowing something of the subtlety of his uncle’s mind, Philip began to wonder whether these suspected Jacobites were not only being watched, but actively encouraged to invite the Stuart boy over. If so, it was no wonder that Lord Carteret had been so anxious to learn the identity of the Jacobite agent in Sussex.