Emily gave Lady Sarah a warning glance.
Lady Sarah said cautiously, "I used to. A long time ago."
Amy's face fell. "I thought you saw him sooner. He doesn't write for a long time. Then, ha, five letters at once, with proper stories. He's over the ocean." She made a wide gesture in the general direction of the Atlantic. "You wish--do you wish to see Tommy? He's only two and a half."
"Yes."
"He's stupid. He won't ride Eustachio."
Emily wished Amy had not soaked up Matt's vocabulary with such spongelike thoroughness.
"Even so, I'd like to see Tommy," Lady Sarah said.
Amy gave a wonderful Spanish shrug. "Through here," she hissed in a whisper loud enough to wake the dead. "Don't wake him."
"I'll be quiet."
Emily followed them to Tommy's room. Peering over Lady Sarah's shoulder she saw with relief that Tommy had indeed fallen asleep. He sprawled on his cot with the abandon of infant slumber, one plump hand flung over the edge of the covers and his petticoats about his neck. His straight black hair clung damply to his forehead. One cheek showed the imprint of a button. Emily tiptoed to his side and straightened his garments. He sighed and turned over.
Out, Emily pantomimed. They returned to the schoolroom. "He's an amiable child," she murmured, "but a small bear if he misses his siesta. What is it, Lady Sarah?"
"He looks...he doesn't look like my--like Major Falk."
"I look like Papa," Amy said complaisantly. "Tommy looks like our mama. Verdad. Peggy says so. Doña Isabel was Spanish, you know."
"Yes," said Lady Sarah in a less suffocated voice, "so I was told. Well, Amy, I am very glad to meet you, but I must say good-bye, now. Thank you for showing me your brother and your dolls. Should you like another doll?"
"No, thank you. I need a riding crop. Good-bye." Amy curtseyed again. "Lady Sarah." That was impudent and an impudent grin crossed Amy's features. Emily frowned at her, not very severely.
"Good-bye, Matthew." Lady Sarah was being thorough.
"Bye." Matt had taken up his favourite picture book and looked up impatiently. At Emily's maternal glower he rose and executed a reluctant bow. "Good-bye, ma'am. When you come again you may see Eustachio. If it's not raining."
"Thank you," Lady Sarah said gravely. "You're very kind."
Downstairs Emily saw that the encounter had shaken Lady Sarah. Her eyes were very bright and her colour high.
"Shall I send for more tea?"
"No, oh no, thank you. And thank you for letting me meet them. They are quite beautiful."
"And occasionally rag-mannered," Emily said drily.
"I like children with spirit. Your son is also a charming boy, Mrs. Foster. I have three sons. I had a daughter, too, but she died." Lady Sarah's hands fluttered.
Emily swallowed. "I'm sorry. I lost a daughter, too. That's why I was so glad to have the charge of Amy. Does it disturb you to find Tommy foreign-looking? I assure you he is wholly English in his ways, if a baby may be said to have nationality. Of the three he is the easiest and most amiable of temper."
"You speak as if all three were your children."
"Do I? I ought not to, but I feel as if they are."
"Please. It seems to me most admirable."
"They see their father very seldom."
Lady Sarah twisted her gloves again. "Is he...is Richard a good father? I beg your pardon, Mrs. Foster. You are bound to tell me he is, I know, but young Amy spoke of him with such detachment that I had to ask."
"Perhaps I have encouraged Amy's detachment. Major Falk's profession is so very chancy. Indeed, I think he wishes it, for he does not create emotional scenes when he does see them." For reasons obscure to herself Emily did not tell her guest anything more of Major Falk's relationship with his children. It seemed an unwarranted invasion of his privacy. "Pray come into the withdrawing room and sit down, Lady Sarah."
"Oh no, I must go." She pulled on the maltreated gloves. "Shall you allow me to see them again, Mrs. Foster?"
"No."
Lady Sarah's eyes flew to Emily's.
"Not immediately." Emily frowned, thinking. "I shall write Major Conway and ask his advice."
"That is Bevis's friend, is it not?"
"Your brother's friend. They have known one another for a long time, I believe. Major Conway will be able to guide me. I shall write Major Falk, too, of course."
Lady Sarah departed soon thereafter, polite but unsettled. She borrowed Don Alfonso and gave Emily her direction. Knowlton. Wilson of Knowlton.
Emily had heard of Knowlton. Everyone in Hampshire knew of Knowlton. She shook hands and showed her unexpected guest out in a thoughtful mood. Although she felt some exasperation that she had been exposed to this surprise attack, she acknowledged that it could be no very pleasant thing to confess oneself the product of a notorious scandal. There was something odd about the twenty-year silence. Had the Duke of Newsham really been mad? His daughter had announced the fact baldly, as if she did not expect contradiction. It was all baffling and worrying.
That evening Emily sat down at her desk and writ Major Conway a full account of Lady Sarah's visit. His answer, which came by return post, did not contribute to her peace of mind.
"My dear Emily," he began--in the months since the theatre party they had reached first-name friendship:
I am sorry to say I cannot advise you to permit Lady Sarah's visits under any circumstances. I daresay she is an amiable woman and that her motives are pure as the driven snow, but Richard would not wish the Ffouke connexion to be encouraged. He will probably call Bevis out for betraying the children's whereabouts to his sister.
Lady Sarah will have explained to you Richard's unhappy parentage. She has probably not told you what be suffered at the late duke's bands, nor do I mean to, but the duke behaved with great cruelty. Legal complications arising from the will now make it a matter of some concern that none of the Ffouke family have any dealing with Amy and Tommy. I do not wish to frighten you, but I must ask you to keep a close watch on the children when strangers are about. I wish you will hire an extra groom so that someone may keep an eye on them at all times. I am enclosing a draught on my bank.
This precaution is chiefly a means of averting Richard's wrath from Bevis's and my own head. I shall write Richard directly and ask for his instructions. In the meantime I prefer excessive caution to overconfidence. Pray humour me and believe that you need not expect the situation to continue very long.
If I had not just undergone another tiresome bit of surgery, I should come to you myself. As it is I can only fire off letters in all directions. I have writ Lady Sarah. She will be shocked to receive a bear garden jaw from a complete stranger, I daresay. However, my letter should relieve you of the embarrassing task of showing her the door. I have also rung a peal over Bevis. Richard was not eager to name Bevis as guardian. It seems his mistrust was well-founded, though it goes without saying that Bevis blundered from the best of motives. Richard's connexion with the Duchess of Newsham was not widely known in the army. I had forgot Bevis is her grace's cousin. I should have warned him to keep mum.
Forgive me for alarming you. I can only act as Richard's friend. He has borne enough grief at the hands of the Ffouke family to make association unthinkable, even if Lady Sarah and her brothers are filled with benevolence.
Yours, in haste and some perturbation of spirit,
Tom Conway.
To say that these news caused Emily agitation would be an understatement. She hired a man at once and would have carried the problem to her father and Aunt Fan but that it seemed so private a matter she could not feel easy taking her father into Major Falk's confidence. For days she jumped at shadows. She even found an excuse to avoid going to church on Sunday. Fortunately the rains continued, so the children did not think their confinement to the house odd. Nothing happened, and Emily began to feel easier.
A week later, just as the news of Bonaparte's escape from Elba reached Mellings, Major Conway wr
it her another note:
Dear Emily,
You may pull back your outposts. I have bad a reassuring, and very stiff letter from Lady Wilson. As Richard has never questioned her motives I think you may take it that there is nothing to fear. To be on the safe side, however, pray keep the groom until Richard's return. I have Lady Sarah's promise that she will trouble you no further.
Your relieved and obedient servant,
Tom C.
P.S. Bevis is penitent but puzzled. I have had no word from Richard. That is to be expected.
P.P.S. Damn Boney.
On the heels of Major Conway's letter came a brief note of apology from Lady Sarah by a curious young footman who also bore the three volumes of Don Alfonso.
Emily took the note and the novel and tipped the footman, whom she directed the new groom to see off the premises. She sent no reply. If Lady Sarah were honest, as Emily was inclined to think, the whole affair could only have been profoundly humiliating. If she were not, Emily did not mean to reassure her.
17
March wore into April. The emperor of the French was reestablished in the Tuileries making constitutions, and, one presumed, armies. The Duke of Wellington continued in Vienna. In Brussels the Prince of Orange emitted nervous military noises in his temporary role as allied commander. Richard Falk was still on the high seas.
The clash of nations interested Emily not at all. She was too absorbed in Falk melodrama. For some reason the easing of her immediate vigilance made her jumpier than the original state of siege. She slept badly. More than once she woke in the middle of the night sure that Amy and Tommy had been smothered in their beds.
Feeling the fool, she nevertheless rose and assured herself that they were alive and safe in the nursery. The third time it happened she had to explain something of her apprehension to Peggy McGrath, who promised with almost all the holy vows of heaven to say nothing to the children. Peggy's eyes gleamed with excitement, however, and she looked like a war-horse that has heard the bugle. It crossed Emily's mind that the nurse relished a bit of action.
Presently Emily became hardened to apprehension herself and learned to sleep again. Indeed, she slept so soundly that when Phillida woke her one wet spring night, the maid had to shake her several times before her eyes blinked open.
"Oh madam, please wake up. He's here."
"What? Who?" Emily focussed her mind. "He?"
"Captain Falk."
"Major," Emily corrected, cross and half awake. Then the news sank in. She sat up and tore off her nightcap. "Hand me my robe." She gazed blearily at the hands of the clock, which showed half past twelve. "Where have you put him?"
"In the foyer. There's no fire in the withdrawing room. Oh madam, such a turn he give me, knocking like that. I thought we was invaded for sure."
Emily struggled into her slippers and robe and ran a brush over her tumbled hair. "Mmm...Very well. Make up the fire in the kitchen and put a kettle on. Leave me a light, witling."
Phillida lit a candle with her own taper and scuttled out, muttering under her breath.
Shielding her flame from the draughts, Emily walked as quickly as she dared down the stairway. It had never seemed so vertical. She had time to rehearse one or two soothing, explanatory, and reproachful speeches. Her heart thumped in her throat. Below in the unlit foyer she could just make out Major Falk's dark presence. He seemed to be leaning on the hall table. When he saw her light he straightened with a jerk. In the dim glow of the candle Emily could see that his cloak was mud-splattered and his jaw unshaven.
When she reached the lowest steps and saw his eyes she abandoned her rehearsed speeches. "They're all right. Truly. Sound asleep upstairs in their beds. Come, I'll show you."
He followed her in silence. The subdued clank of his spurs assured her that he was just behind her.
At Tommy's chamber he stood, stiff as a board, hands clenched, while she tucked the little boy's covers about him. Tommy flung off the tickling edge of the quilt with an irritable grunt and settled into his form like a hare. At Amy's door Major Falk did not wait for Emily. He knelt in one swift motion by the edge of his daughter's cot, and very carefully, because his hand shook, touched her brown curls.
That was too much for Emily. She set the candle by Amy's bed, went out into the dark schoolroom, and had a good, albeit silent, cry. She had reached the stage of wiping her streaming eyes on the sleeve of her robe, having somewhere misplaced her handkerchief, when Peggy stirred in her nook by the fire and made an interrogatory noise.
"Hush," Emily whispered, sniffing. "Go back to sleep."
That only spurred the nurse awake. She climbed from her truckle and stumped over to Emily, plaits flopping. "What is it, missus?"
"Major Falk."
"Himself!" Peggy did not shriek aloud, but she had no delicate scruples about intruding on her employer's reunion with his child. She swarmed over him. It was a wonder Amy didn't waken.
Presently he came out of Amy's room with the candle in one hand and his other arm about Peggy's shoulders. "Yes. Be still, Pegeen." At least he kept his voice low. "McGrath is very well, but I left him aboard the troopship. I came ashore at Falmouth."
Emily stared at the two of them illuminated in the puddle of light from the single candle. Major Falk looked composed if exhausted, Peggy bright-eyed. Emily herself might have vanished. Her employer was wholly absorbed in reassuring the servant, a kindness Emily must have approved had she been less distraught herself. As it was she sniffed again, rather loudly.
Apparently he took in her indignation, for he gave Peggy a last tired hug and handed Emily the candle. "Thank you." It was said with such simplicity that Emily's self-pity died in her throat.
Major Falk had returned his attention to the nurse. "Go back to bed, Peg. I'll tell you everything in the morning." To Emily's surprise, Peggy obeyed without protest.
When Emily and Major Falk reached the kitchen, he said abruptly, "I must see to my horse. I left him tethered in front of the house. Is there a way out?"
Emily pointed. "Turn left. I'll cut some meat and bread for you. Wake the groom if you need help." He disappeared and Emily sent the fascinated and protesting Phillida to bed.
Waiting for him, Emily had plenty of time to regret her tumbled hair, to wish that someday they could meet in ordinary, civilised circumstances. Her thoughts were turbulent and her acts domestic. She had cut and arranged quite a creditable midnight supper and brewed a very strong pot of tea by the time he stumbled back into the kitchen with his saddlebags over one arm.
He looked at the food and then at his hands. "Scullery?"
Emily pointed again. "I'll take your cloak and the bags." He handed them to her and disappeared into the scullery.
Emily set the bags on a chair and hung the cloak by the fire. Phillida could brush the mud off in the morning. It was the same cloak he had worn the year before. It had been threadbare then. It now boasted what looked like a scorch mark and a three-cornered tear. McGrath could not be a very efficient servant. The cloak was damp, but not soaked. Major Falk must have escaped the rainstorm of the afternoon. Or, more likely, ridden through it and been dried off by the wind in its wake.
He had removed most of the mud from his person. Emily watched him cross the flags. His hair was wet and he was wearing faded regimentals. It was the first time she had seen him in uniform. She did not like it.
"Falmouth," she murmured. "Three days' hard riding."
"Two and a night." He added, defensive, "There was a moon."
"Splendid. I daresay you remembered to eat now and then."
He took a long breath. "I got your letter and Tom's ten days ago. The ship came up to us off Ushant with orders and mail."
"For heaven's sake, sir, sit and eat. I can wait for explanations."
"Then you are a rare woman."
"A pearl beyond price," Emily snapped. "Sit. Eat." He obeyed. He ate two slices of beef and a piece of bread with a restrained ferocity that told Emily all she wanted to kn
ow about his journey. However, he stopped at that and shoved the plate away. "Has Lady Sarah come back?"
"No, and I don't think she will. Major Conway writ her a very strong letter."
"Where's Knowlton?"
"About seven miles beyond Mellings Magna on the London road."
"Very well," he said heavily. "I'll have it out with her tomorrow. God, today. What time is it?"
"Past one o'clock, I rather think."
"Today then. I hope I've not left it too late." He looked at the fire, shivering a little. "I'm posted to Brussels."
Emily repressed an automatic protest and poured two cups of tea.
His hands curved on the cup and he stared into the amber liquid. "I wish you will keep the groom."
"I mean to." Questions hovered on her tongue but she bit them back. Not the hour for lengthy explanations. She sipped at her tea. He did not, but sat warming his hands, head bent.
Presently he looked up at her. "I'm sorry to bring this down on you. If I hadn't been fool enough to trust Bevis's discretion they would never have heard of Amy and Tommy."
"They?" Emily said gently.
"The Ffoukes." He explained the legal problem tersely.
"Good God." For the first time Emily perceived his apprehension as having a basis in fact, and the hair stood up on the back of her neck. "But that's--"
"Gothick," he finished, grim. "I know. I have to find out if Sarah has blabbed to the duke."
"She assured Tom Conway she would tell no one."
He was silent.
"Will you know if that's true when you've spoken with her?"
He shrugged.
"I thought her candid," Emily ventured.
"Perhaps she is." He sounded so blue-devilled and withal so tired Emily rose and stalked to the hearth.
"What are you doing?"
"Placing coals in a warming pan. Phillida has turned down your bed but the sheets want warming."
He began to laugh, head in hands.
"I collect," Emily said with severity, "that you spent last night under a hedge."
"Only after the moon set," he said meekly.
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