Tarleton's Wife

by Blair Bancroft

  “Ye’d best read the letter. P’haps it ain’t as bad as you think.”

  Julia broke the seal, unfolded the heavy parchment. Oddly enough, Meg seemed to be right. It was not as bad as she expected. Or deserved.

  Julia—

  I will be out for most of the day. Daniel will see to the room. Go to Sophy’s cottage for the day or where else you will.

  Meet me in your room at four o’clock. Leave the outside door open.

  Nicholas

  Wordlessly, Julia handed the letter to Meg.

  Meg, whose reading had become quite proficient, made short work of the note. “Don’t sound so bad to me, missus. I’d say he’s just bein’ the major. Writin’ out ’is Orders of the Day.”

  The two women looked at each other. Their eyes lit up. Giggles erupted. “Oh, Meg, how can we laugh?” Julia choked out.

  “Don’t know, missus. But it sure beats bawlin’, now don’t it?”

  * * * * *

  Louis Tyler had been estate agent for The Willows for more than thirty years. So long as the fields were green and the profits steady, Laetitia Summerton had shown little interest in the day-to-day functioning of the estate. Louis Tyler and his longtime employer inhabited entirely different planes of existence. The arrival of Julia Tarleton shattered Louis Tyler’s complacent little world. He considered Mrs. Nicholas Tarleton the primary source of doubling his gray hairs over the past twenty months. There was no telling what fits and starts she might be up to next. Though little could be much worse than going into trade. Willow Herbals indeed! Kept her own books, the little witch. And insisted on examining his. Well, the days of females intruding in men’s affairs were over, praise God. The major had sent word he would examine the books today. Which was as it should be. Females should stick to embroidery, babies and the church. That’s all they were good for.

  A grim smile of satisfaction crossed Tyler’s face as he heard a horseman canter up the road and stop at his door. The major would put a stop to women going into trade. Aye and he’d do for Captain Hood too. High time there was to be something other than petticoat rule at The Willows.

  As Nicholas Tarleton stepped through the door of the estate office, Tyler had to bite back an exclamation of surprise. The major showed distinct signs of recent combat. But it was not his place to ask how his employer came to be sporting a black eye, a swollen jaw and a cut lip.

  Nicholas, after spending sufficient time to confirm that Louis Tyler was the competent manager he knew him to be, gently closed the books and complimented Mr. Tyler on his stewardship. “It would seem,” he added casually, “that the cultivation of herbs has not interfered with our crops.”

  Louis Tyler seemed to swell, puffing up into a red-faced ball of indignation. “That it has not, Major, I assure you! Never gave them an inch.” Responding to a sudden flash of steel in his employer’s eyes, the estate agent retrenched in mid-sentence. “I lent them a fallow field or two, Major. Seemed like the herbs might do the soil some good. But mostly the women’ve used the bits of land round their cottages. And Mrs. Tarleton—well, I couldn’t very well stop her expanding the kitchen garden, now could I?” Tyler ducked his gray head, studying the wide wooden floor boards with considerable interest.

  “Most of the lower terraces, I believe?” said the major. Still mildly.

  Louis Tyler gulped. “Aye, Sir, I believe that’s so.”

  “When this herbal business started—a year and more ago, was it not, Tyler?—somehow I’m surprised you did not object.”

  “Oh, I did, Sir, I did,” Louis Tyler assured his employer. “But…well…that is…”

  “Yes?” Nicholas purred.

  “I…um…I spoke with Ebadiah Woodworthy, Major, and he said as how he might be Mrs. Tarleton’s guardian but someday if—begging your pardon, Major—you were truly dead, she’d be in charge. Said we’d be right fools if we didn’t treat her with respect. Surprised me, he did, but all in all, I allowed he was right.”

  Nicholas let out his breath. This was perhaps something Julia herself didn’t know. And it had the ring of truth. “Tell me, Tyler,” he inquired, “was Woodworthy the only person you spoke to about my wife going into the herbal trade?”

  Louis Tyler ran a finger under his shirt collar and swallowed noisily. “You’ve perhaps heard of Captain Hood, Major?”

  Hood! Nicholas hid his surprise. “I’ve been told a bit. Go on, Tyler.”

  “A great hulk of a man, Major. Stirred up the workers something fierce. Raided the farms, they did. Masked, every cowardly one of them. Broke the looms and fences, burned hay ricks, even spooked the milch cows. Fair curdled they was. And now I hear Hood’s causing the same kind of trouble at the mills in Nottingham. And I’m not afraid to admit I don’t want him as an enemy.”

  “If you have a point to make, get on with it,” Nicholas snapped.

  “One night—dark of the moon, it was—” Tyler admitted, “the Captain came to me. Told me I had not yet begun to see trouble. Mrs. Tarleton was to have the land she wanted for her herbs, the help of the cottagers, use of the farm carts, anything she needed. All I had to do was stand aside and keep my mouth shut. If not… If not…well, Major, he spoke of broken dams, flooded fields, burned barns, poisoned sheep. Broken heads. So I did as he said, Major. I minded the farms as I always had and left Mrs. Tarleton and Miss Sophy to the herbs. I’m sorry if you can’t like it but I’m gettin’ too old to take on Captain Hood.”

  There was a long silence. “Of course you are, Tyler,” Nicholas agreed, rising slowly to his feet. “You were quite right. I would not care to have Captain Hood…or my wife as an enemy. Good day to you, Tyler.”

  The major rode off, leaving behind an estate agent who, though unsure just how it came about, was contemplating imminent retirement to a snug cottage on the coast.

  * * * * *

  “Out with it, Julia,” Sophy Upton commanded. “I do not care to be kept in the dark when I can plainly see everyone is simply bursting with news. And don’t tell me I’m imagining things, for I heard young Oliver ask Peters if he had heard any strange noises in the night. I can assure you I thought poor dear Peters was going to expire on the spot. He informed that puerile boy—with his most toplofty condescension, I might add—that there had been no unusual occurrences last night. But poor Peters turned white, then gray, before practically galloping for the green baize door. So out with it, child. If there’s been further disaster, I wish to know of it.”

  The two women had found a small uncluttered nook in the morning parlor of Sophy’s cottage. There they had settled down to review the state of Willow Herbal’s orders versus their inventory. Daniel, who functioned as salesman, had compiled an impressive stack of orders—supplies for apothecary shops, herbs for cooking, potpourri jars, sachets, bath herbs, soaps and exotically flavored honey for London’s finest shops. A broad spectrum of offerings for a business just completing its second growing season. But somehow neither woman could keep her mind on the task at hand.

  Julia’s face puckered. She sneezed. She might love the herbs but they didn’t return the favor. She blew her nose, then haltingly, with considerable embarrassment, the story came tumbling out. “If Oliver…if any of the Tarletons find out, I think I shall die of humiliation,” Julia confided when she finished the tale of the brawl in her bedroom. “If I had not seen the room this morning, I might have convinced myself it was simply one of my nightmares. The place was a shambles. A complete shambles.”

  Sophy Upton offered little consolation. “It is too bad,” she agreed absently. “I had hoped you and Nicholas… Forgive me, my dear, I am a silly old woman. Were you able to speak to Nicholas about the Guy?”

  Julia looked even more morose. “I tried but…the time wasn’t right. Nicholas said he’d be back at teatime. I hope he’ll be willing to discuss it then.”

  “You must put a stop to all this, my dear. Do whatever you must. Do you understand me, my dear? There are too many lives at stake.” The certainty of wisdom and
experience shone in Miss Upton’s eyes. “Fortunately,” she continued, “I am convinced what is best for the cottagers and best for the estate is also best for you. End it, child. Any way you can. Even if it means humbling your pride and taking your husband to your bed. No need to blush, my girl. I may be a spinster but I am not ignorant of the ways of the world. Swallow your hurt and do what must be done.”

  Slowly, Julia closed her eyes. A whisper of a sigh escaped her lips. Her nod of agreement was barely perceptible.

  * * * * *

  In the ancient tradition of rural neighborhoods, by noontime there was scarcely a person who did not know that Major Nicholas Tarleton and Ellington’s bastard Jack Harding were sporting remarkably similar black eyes, swollen jaws, cuts and bruises. Each was as prickly as a hedgehog, wearing a stiff mantle of belligerence crowned by natural-born arrogance. Men stepped out of their paths. Women paused to stare and speculate behind gloved hands. There was a certain grim satisfaction in knowing that outrageous little chit at The Willows was like to get her comeuppance at long last. Then again, being the bone of contention between the two most dashing men in Lincolnshire was not without a certain distinction. Odd. One did not expect a woman with so little feminine delicacy to entice devotion from two such admirers.

  Nicholas finished his business in Grantley and rode off toward Nottingham, leaving behind a solicitor as chastened as his estate agent. If he had not been so preoccupied with dire thoughts of his own, he might have caught the echoing chorus of whispers and conjectures. But speculation about his fight with Jack Harding was not what turned his countenance grim, almost sullen, as he rode at last toward home.

  He was furious with those who worked for him. Furious with himself. He should have known. He should have come home sooner. No one had forced him to join the guerillieros. And after Carlos’ death, he had lingered in Spain when he should have known—even without his persistent dreams of Julia—that he was needed at The Willows. He had betrayed his responsibilities. His people.

  The wife he didn’t know he had.

  Nicholas pulled up his tired horse before the stables, tossed the reins to a waiting groom. He stalked toward the small hedged garden at the back of the house which screened the outside entrance to the secret room. Making no effort to hide the tramp of his feet upon the stairs, he strode into Julia’s room, finding it clean and neat, though somewhat sparse of furniture. Nicholas tossed his cloak, hat and riding crop onto the dining table, then threw himself into one of the upholstered chairs before the fire. High tea had been set out on a low table drawn close to the fire. The cups on the silver tray rattled, then subsided into silence.

  Julia, sitting in a facing chair took one look at her husband’s set face—made all the more grim by bruises now turned a virulent shade of deep purple—and gave up all hope of amicable agreement. The possibility of compromise seemed as fragile as the porcelain teacups.

  “I hope you feel better than you look,” she ventured, reaching for the teapot with a hand which shook.

  “No,” Nicholas responded shortly. “Save the tea. Madeira will do for me.”

  Julia did as she was bid, then offered a well-filled plate of tarts, biscuits and tiny cakes. Nicholas sampled two tarts, grudgingly, as if disdaining to admit he was tired and hungry. As he washed down the pastry with a second glass of wine, Julia’s spoon rattled against her teacup. Not all the food, wine and tea in Lincolnshire was going to diminish the tension between them.

  No longer able to hide behind commonplace civilities, Julia forced herself to confront the trouble at hand, words tumbling from her lips in a burst of nervous energy. “I know you cannot believe me, Nicholas. There is no way you could think anything but the worst of what you saw last night but it wasn’t as it appeared. Jack came uninvited. Out of concern for my welfare. He is a friend, nothing more. A tease and a rogue, if you will. He must break the rules of conduct simply because they are there to be broken…”

  “In short, he is a man,” the major intoned.

  Julia clasped her hands tightly in her lap. “I do not deny that Jack is more of a rogue than most,” she admitted quietly.

  “But not your lover.”

  Her head came up. She faced him squarely. The pride of the daughter of the regiment was clearly visible from her crown of braids to the soles of her half boots. “Could I have been with you—as I was in our dreams…as I was in your bed—if he were my lover?”

  Nicholas appeared unimpressed. “I grant you I’ve never found you duplicitous, Julia…but the evidence of one’s own eyes is rather damning.”

  “Then you will go through with the annulment?”

  “No.”

  Julia blinked. “Nicholas, I do not understand…”

  “I went to the mills in Nottingham today.”

  “Nicholas…”

  “This is not irrelevant,” he barked, effectively silencing her protest. “After what I saw today, I can more readily understand the workers’ complaints. I’ve told Woodworthy he must remedy both the conditions and the wages or he will be unemployed. In the meantime the agitation must stop. Captain Hood has the workers stirred to the boiling point. An unconscionable act that can only lead to violence. I’ll call out the militia if I must. Do I make myself clear?

  Cautiously, Julia felt her way through her reply. “I am most pleased you are willing to improve conditions at the mills, Nicholas but I fail to see how this matter is relevant to our discussion.”

  The major’s sandy brows arched toward his hairline. “Really, my dear? You are not usually so obtuse.”

  Earlier, Julia had been nervous, consumed by guilt. Now she realized her error. The emotion she should have felt was fear. Whatever Nicholas was up to, more was at stake than the fate of their marriage.

  “Early this morning I paid a visit to Louis Tyler,” Nicholas enunciated, as if reciting a story for a child. “I asked him how it was he allowed my wife to go into trade. And, after a good deal of hemming and hawing, he told me a most interesting tale of a visit from Captain Hood. A menacing visit from an armed man in a black mask who convinced him he was to be feared more than God or the devil. Even talking of it caused the poor man to go quite green. A color which seems to be catching, I might add. You’re not looking too well yourself, my dear.”

  “Oh, God, Nicholas, you wouldn’t!”

  “Ah, I see you remember our conversation in London,” said the major, his lips curling into a grim quirk of satisfaction, which ended in a stab of pain from his split lip.

  She remembered every syllable. Jack Harding had a talk with him. And now Tyler had told Nicholas it was Captain Hood. A less than two second deduction for Nicholas to realize that Jack and Hood were one and the same.

  “What do you want of me?” she asked in the voice of one who has lost all hope.

  “Marriage. Home. Children.” The major’s voice was as devoid of life as her own.

  “Why…with me?”

  “Rather you should ask how could it be with anyone else. Whether in dreams or in reality, I am guilty of committing carnal lust with you. We are tied, you and I, with cords which cannot be broken. Not by Harding. Not by my family. Not by my pledge to Violante. It should be plain that neither of us has a choice. We do not have to like it, merely to accept it.”

  When he received no protest, the major continued inexorably on. “You will take your rightful place at my side and in my bed. I pledge that my family will not trouble you further. In return, you will leave the matter of trade to Sophy, Daniel and Meg. I intended to forbid it altogether but the enterprise has much merit. If I shut it down I should probably deserve to be burned in effigy.

  “As for Guy Fawkes…I doubt very much that Ellington and the other landowners will be pleased for a so-called hero of the Peninsular War to be burned in effigy. At the first sign of trouble the militia will be on the march and you may be sure the very first order they receive will be to burn Sophy’s cottage. “Trust me in this, Julia. I will do it.”

  “Yes,
I know,” his wife murmured, unable to feel half as disturbed by his pronouncements as she should have been. The matter was settled. Not with joy, love, or even the slightest modicum of tender emotion. But settled, nonetheless. “The women have told me the men are being difficult,” Julia demurred. “I’m not sure we can dissuade them.”

  “You will have to, won’t you?” Nicholas responded smoothly. “You will also mend your fences with the neighbors. It seems you have managed to offend nearly everyone. From Lady Ellington, who inevitably opposes anything Jack favors, to the Rector and his wife who strongly support the established church. And the church is opposed to anything—no matter how charitable—which might incite rebellion. While the remainder of our neighbors see guillotines springing up on village greens.

  “So it’s far too late to protest, my girl! You will swallow your pride and eat humble pie. Or see Jack Harding swing from the gibbet.”

  Nicholas, warmed by the fire, the wine, the enveloping comfort of the isolated room, was beginning to wonder if he had used a club to swat a fly. From the floor at his feet he retrieved a sack and held it out to his wife. “Give this to the women for their Guy. I suggest that it is considerably more appropriate.”

  Her curiosity piqued, Julia peered into the bag, withdrawing a black top hat, black jacket, gray pantaloons and a charcoal waistcoat embroidered with tiny black silk flowers. No one living in that part of Lincolnshire could fail to recognize the daily apparel affected by Ebadiah Woodworthy, Esquire.

  “I cannot argue with you,” Julia admitted dryly, her anxiety threatening to dissolve into a giggle. “I think this may very well be acceptable.” She opened her mouth as if to continue, then snapped it shut.

  “Well?” Nicholas demanded.

  “What about Violante?” she asked, suddenly uncomfortable with her vindication as wife, however backhanded it might have been. “I fear I have had few charitable thoughts about her but she is certainly not at fault in this matter. I find I am concerned for her. I do not wish to cause her any more hurt, for no one knows better than I how she will feel.”