"And the theatre afterwards?" The offer was cautious.
"I'd like it of all things!" Emily beamed. "How very kind in you, sir. It has been ages since I have seen the inside of a theatre. Pray, Aunt, approve."
"Very well, Emma. Do you good," Aunt Fan said gruffly. "Do us both good. Now, Major, off with you. Recruit your strength."
"Against the rigours of dinner and the theatre?" Major Conway grinned. Emily decided she was in love with his eyes. "Very well. Thank you, ladies. It has been a most agreeable afternoon."
"And enlightening," Emily said in her driest tones. That provoked a chuckle. "Shall I help you up, sir?" But Major Conway declined her offer and rose under his own power with only a grimace or two.
When he had gone Aunt Fan said gruffly, "Good man. Waste."
Emily understood her. After a moment she said, "I wonder how we shall occupy ourselves until dinnertime tomorrow."
"Buy the books."
Emily stared.
"Major Falk's novels," Aunt Fan snapped. "You've no head, Emma. All sentiment."
Emily choked on a laugh. "How if they are improper?"
"Bound to be." Aunt's eyes gleamed.
With some searching of secondhand bookstalls they found three of the novels. The most recent was not yet in print.
Dinner and the theatre were splendid and Lord Bevis the pattern card of viscounts. He was so charming as to defy belief. Dazzling the country cousins, Emily thought as they rode home from the theatre in a wonderfully appointed town carriage with the arms of a belted earl emblazoned on the doors.
She stifled the thought. After all, Lord Bevis was an amiable man, and it was no punishment to look at him. Not only was he classically handsome by nature, but art, in the person of a superb and obviously English tailor, had enhanced his healthy masculine beauty. He wore conventional evening clothes. It was a pity to have missed seeing him in dress regimentals. Ah well, Emily mused, one cannot have everything. When it came to dealing with guardians, though, she hoped Major Conway would confound his physicians and live forever, and she wished Major Falk would write.
15
It was March before Emily finally received letters from Major Falk--five at once. For some reason her relief expressed itself in an orgy of housecleaning. The impulse was almost exhausted, and she was dusting the top of an armoire in one of the vacant guest chambers and considering bundling the children into the gig for a visit to her papa, when Phillida interrupted her.
"Lady Who?" Emily asked, arrested in a mid swipe of the feather duster.
Phillida fairly writhed with impatience and curiosity. "Please, ma'am, she says she's Miss Amy's aunt."
The chair Emily stood on wobbled dangerously. She dropped the duster. "Er, show her ladyship into the withdrawing room," she contrived to say through her astonishment. "Inform her that I'll be down directly I've made myself presentable." Lady Sarah Fumble Mumble. Phillida occasionally had difficulty conveying the simplest messages. Whom could she mean? Emily had no intention of dealing with any ladyship when she herself wore a gown covered with cobwebs. She dashed to her own room, splashed the grime from her hands and face, and scrambled into her best tea gown. Ladyship? Aunt? Surely not.
A woman--lady, at least in the vulgar sense--rose as Emily entered the drawing room. The caller was in her thirties, pretty in an equine way, with dark brown hair and direct hazel eyes.
"Mrs. Foster?"
Emily kept a wary distance. "I am Emily Foster. I don't believe I've had the pleasure."
"I'm Sarah Ffouke-Wilson. I was Sarah Ffouke."
"Indeed." Emily had no need to counterfeit blankness. Foke? Folk? Ffouke.
"The late duke of Newsham's daughter," Lady Sarah supplied as Emily finally made the connexion.
Emily said slowly, "If that is so, ma'am, I do not at all understand your condescension in calling upon me. There can be no...There must be some mistake. My servant told me you claim kinship with the children in my care."
"They are my brother Richard's children. Half brother."
Emily was dumbfounded. When she could command her voice she ventured, "Major Falk a natural son of the Duke of Newsham? You will pardon me, Lady, er, Sarah, if I find that hard to believe."
Lady Sarah looked surprised in her turn. "You knew Richard was baseborn?"
"He made no secret of the fact. He also led me to believe he had no family living. Now I come to think of it," she added, wrath kindling, "he never said so directly."
"I daresay he felt it." A faint flush touched Lady Sarah's cheekbones. She ran her tongue across her lips. "There was a--a break. I have not seen Richard in twenty years. None of us has."
"Why?"
"It is all very complicated." Lady Sarah twisted the tan gloves in her hand. "My brother is not the duke's son, Mrs. Foster, but the duchess's. By Lord Powys."
"Good God." Emily gestured Lady Sarah to a chair and sat down herself.
Lady Sarah made a business of arranging her skirts with nice precision on the stiffest chair in the chamber. She smoothed her green velvet travelling dress. "I see that you have heard the story. Quite a famous scandal in its day."
Emily said faintly, "Yes. Lord Powys was killed, was he not?"
Lady Sarah nodded. "In a duel. Very Gothick. My father challenged him. My father was rather Gothick, if it comes to that." She did not look at Emily.
Emily made a push to collect her wits. "There was a break, you say, twenty years ago?"
Lady Sarah inclined her head.
"Major Falk cannot have been more than twenty at that time, and you, I should judge, somewhat younger--twelve or thirteen."
At that Lady Sarah looked up. A spark of wry amusement in her eyes abruptly convinced Emily that the woman was indeed kin to Major Falk. "You flatter me, ma'am, and malign Richard. He was twelve. I am two years his senior."
Emily assimilated that.
Lady Sarah's brief amusement faded. "Until that time Richard lived at Abbeymont in the duke's household. It was...My mother had made it a condition of her return, that Richard should be raised with her other children, and my father had apparently agreed. When Richard was twelve, however, there was an incident which made it clear to my mother that Richard would be safer elsewhere."
"Safer?"
"Safer," Lady Sarah repeated. "Maman had Richard removed from Abbeymont. She told no one where she had sent him. As far as I knew he had just disappeared. We were not encouraged to ask where. When he turned fifteen Maman used her influence with the Duke of York to procure a commission for Richard in a regiment that were to be sent abroad. It was all very difficult to contrive, for she had to plan her strategems with the utmost secrecy."
"Why?" Emily was more bewildered than ever.
"She feared for Richard's life. My father, you see, was intermittently mad. Violently mad."
Emily digested that. After a long moment she rose and yanked the bellpull.
Lady Sarah looked puzzled.
"I am going to send for a nice, dull pot of tea," Emily explained.
Sarah flushed. "Believe me, Mrs. Foster, I am not mad. I am trying to tell you why--"
"Yes, yes," Emily soothed, faintly hysterical. "I can see that. I should explain that my family are ordinary country people who live ordinary dull lives. Ever since Richard Falk swam into my ken I have been subject to unexpected jolts of melodrama. I find that tea is the only composer. Ah, Phillida, tea, if you please. Are the children having theirs?"
"Yes, ma'am. Mrs. Harry thought you would wish it."
"Thank you."
Phillida remained, gawking.
"Thank you, Phillida. Tea." The maid left, casting curious glances over her shoulder as she fled out the door.
"No wonder he concocts phantastical plots," Emily murmured to herself. "They must come naturally."
"I beg your pardon?"
"Your brother," Emily said kindly. "He is a novelist. Did you not know of his sub-rosa career as Peter Picaro?"
Lady Sarah shook her head, ha
zel eyes wide.
Emily rose and went to the secretary. She picked up the rather battered cloth-bound book that was lying on the blotter and handed it to her visitor without comment.
The tea arrived directly. Phillida contrived not to spill great quantities. When she had been induced to leave, Emily poured. Neither of the women spoke. Emily's mind was racing to no very clear purpose. She had rarely been so confused in her life.
Lady Sarah turned the pages of the book with apparent fascination. "Richard writ it?"
"Yes. That is volume one of the first Don Alfonso novel. Major Falk writ several other novels, I believe, when he was very young, and he has done three since that one. The last is not yet in print. They are not at all suitable reading for ladies."
That startled a smile from Lady Sarah. "Oh dear, forgive me. It is so...so unexpected."
Emily said with a certain grim fervour, "Everything about your brother is unexpected."
"Do you dislike Richard?" Lady Sarah's voice was hesitant.
With an heroick effort Emily kept her own voice colourless. "He is my employer."
Lady Sarah sighed. "I don't know Richard at all."
"If it has been twenty years since you saw him that is not to be wondered at." Emily took a calming breath. "Forgive me, but I still do not understand your purpose in coming to me. Major Falk is in America. His children are too young to be of interest to anyone not deeply concerned for their well-being. I know nothing of their father's private affairs." She uttered the last with irony, mild, she thought, in the circumstances.
"You know more than I," Lady Sarah shot back. "I wish to see my niece and nephew, Mrs. Foster. I was attached to Richard when we were children. I meant to assure myself that his children were well cared for." She gave Emily a swift glance. "I've done that, but I'd like to see them all the same."
Emily thought the request over, taking her time. "I am not at all sure Major Falk would wish it."
Lady Sarah bristled. "Upon my word, Mrs. Foster, you can't believe I would corrupt them."
"No. I shan't give you the opportunity."
Lady Sarah stared. She gave an uncertain laugh.
"I have met Major Falk twice only." Strange but true. "We've corresponded, but it would be impertinent in me to claim to know his feelings. I do know that he is protective of Amy and Tommy."
Lady Sarah stiffened.
"Do you not think," Emily continued, grave, "that he would have told me of the connexion if he wished to acknowledge it?"
"If he wished..." Lady Sarah's voice trailed off in purest astonishment.
Her surprise clarified Emily's feelings. "Yes, if he wished to acknowledge it. If I follow you correctly, he has lived his adult life without reference to your family. It is probable that, as far as he is concerned, there is no family. He has provided for his children. They are healthy and happy with a good home and the assurance of their father's concern. They do not need to be patronised by a duke's daughter. They are Major Falk's children, and that is no bad thing."
Lady Sarah turned pale. "You speak plain, Mrs. Foster."
"I could speak plainer," Emily rejoined. "You say you were attached to your brother, but twenty years of silence argue at least indifference."
"I did not know the children existed until a fortnight ago. Bevis told me--"
"I thought Lord Bevis an agreeable man," Emily interrupted. "I did not think him a common gossip."
The fire went out of Lady Sarah. "We are old friends," she muttered. "I had not met Bevis since he went out to the Peninsula. I asked him if he had seen anything of Richard, and he told me he had the guardianship of Richard's children."
"That is not true, strictly speaking."
"Oh, he explained the complications." Lady Sarah set her teacup on the table. "He said that Richard had gone off to America and that nothing had been heard of him in a sixmonth."
"I received letters last week."
"He's alive then?" Lady Sarah sat up very straight.
Emily nodded.
Lady Sarah looked so relieved Emily could not but be moved. "Major Falk fell ill shortly after he arrived in America," she volunteered. "Hence the lack of letters from King's Town. He says he has resumed his duties. With the war over I daresay he will be returning in the next month or so."
"Was he...did he take part in that terrible affair in New Orleans?"
"I do not know, Lady Sarah."
Lady Sarah bit her lip. "Then you can't say that he is well."
"No. He was not listed among the casualties, however." Emily set her own cup down. "I read the casualty lists very carefully. Indeed it sometimes seems to me that I have done little but read casualty lists in these past months."
"You have had an anxious time, Mrs. Foster."
"One becomes hardened to uncertainty. I did not realise quite how anxious I had been until the letters came last day week."
"Will it console you to know that I have been reading those same lists for five years?" Lady Sarah's voice was so low as to be almost inaudible.
Emily must have betrayed surprise, for her visitor went on, defensive, "When my father died, my mother told me what had become of Richard. I writ him directly. That was just after Sir Arthur--the Duke of Wellington--first landed in Portugal. I did not know what to write in my letter and I daresay I put my foot wrong. Richard's reply made it clear that he wanted nothing to do with any of us." She rose and her tan gloves slipped to the carpet. She knelt to retrieve them, voice muffled. "It was so shaming. I greatly fear your instinct is correct, Mrs. Foster. Richard would not wish me to know his children." Emily saw that her guest's eyes were bright with unshed tears. "I had best take my leave of you."
Emily weakened. "Perhaps he would not wish the children to know of the connexion, but he couldn't reasonably object to your meeting them. Tommy will be napping by now, but Amy and Matt are in the schoolroom awaiting their writing lesson. Matt is my son. They will be delighted to have their lesson postponed."
"Oh, if I could see them!" Lady Sarah closed her hands on the errant gloves. "You are very kind."
Emily, knowing she did not merit the praise, flushed. "In the ordinary course of things I am not quite so rude."
"I ought to have writ you first, but I couldn't think what to say," Lady Sarah said humbly. "You could call me Lady Wilson. It is my style now after all. Robert, my husband, is a baronet. You--you could tell them I am merely a new neighbour."
Emily smiled at that. "They won't require an explanation, ma'am. My callers are frequently dragged up to inspect the schoolroom."
16
When they reached the schoolroom door, however, Emily had second thoughts. For some reason she always supposed the big shabby chamber would seem as delightful a place to visitors as it was to her. Looking with aristocratic eyes at the faded chintzes, the serviceable but ancient carpet, strewn now with Matt's soldiers, and the dishes still uncleared from the children's nuncheon, her heart sank.
Amy let out a whoop. She was deep in the persona of Doña Inez. The rocking horse crashed forward and back. Matt, asprawl on the carpet, deigned to look up at the visitor. "Must we do our lesson now?" He was a child who always came straight to the point.
"In a few minutes." Emily did not betray her chagrin aloud. "Amy, dismount, if you please. We have a guest."
Amy shot a mischievous grin over her shoulder and crashed back and forth several more times, curls flying.
"Emilia!"
The crashing stopped and the little girl slid down from her mount. She put on her best penitent expression and bobbed a creditable curtsey. Minx.
Matt stood up with an air of resignation and brushed the knees of his nankeens. His soldiers had clearly sustained heavy losses. They lay on. their backs staring at the ceiling in scarlet and green ranks. There were probably cobwebs on the ceiling.
Emily cleared her throat. "Children, this is Lady Sarah Ffouke-Wilson. Lady Sarah, my son, Matthew Foster, and Amy Falk." Matt ducked a bow. Amy, hazel eyes bright with curiosity
, curtseyed again. Emily's courage failed her. "Lady Sarah is a new neighbour," she mumbled.
Lady Sarah was made of sterner stuff. She extended her hand. "How do you do, Matthew."
Matt gave the hand a pump. His tow-coloured hair flopped.
"Do you mean to be a soldier?"
Matt regarded her with scorn. "I'm the squire. Squires tend to their land. That's just a game I play when it's too wet to ride Eustachio."
"Er, very logical," Lady Sarah responded. "I take it Eustachio is a pony."
Matt's eyes brightened and he launched into a poetic appreciation of Eustachio's points. "Of course, Amy and I have to share him," he added, aggrieved.
"My papa gave Eustachio to me." Amy glowered at him.
"You're just a girl."
"Ha!"
Emily considered sinking into the carpet. "That will do. If you can't deal comfortably neither of you shall ride."
"Oh well, it's raining anyway," Matt said philosophically. "Amy has rotten manners."
"Both of you are complete savages. Pick up your soldiers, Matt. Amy, I wish you will show Lady Sarah your dolls."
Amy led the way to her window seat dollhouse. The seat overflowed with her booty. Amy pulled Doña Inez and Doña Barbara from their repose among the pillows, the coverlets and doll dresses, and the lesser doll personages she had been given by Sir Henry. "Are you a real lady?" she asked. "A lady lady? I shall be a lady if I mend my manners and don't shout at Matt. Nobody calls Mama Em 'Lady Emily.' She's a lady."
Lady Sarah looked ruffled, but she said a swift recover. "I'm a duke's daughter. It's the custom. However, I had to learn not to shout at people, too. What beautiful dolls."
Amy straightened their mantillas and viewed her ladies dispassionately. "They're Spanish like my mother. I had them forever. Doña Barbara is a grown-up."
"Yes, I can see that. Do they speak to each other?"
"Sometimes." Amy regarded her enigmatically. "They were used to speak Spanish but I taught them the English. Doña Barbara is the duenna. Papa sent them to me."
Lady Sarah cleared her throat. "Do you miss your papa?"
Amy stared. "You know Papa? Ai, I mean, do you know Papa?"
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