“Thank you, ma’am,” he said with a slow smile. “But it will not do. I leave tonight.”
“Gawd!” groaned the Corporal. “What’d I tell you, miss? Major, with the price that’s on your head, it’s like as not the whole countryside’s up. Tell me how you mean to get clear. Only tell—”
“Hold your tongue!” snapped Quentin, suddenly all haughty authority.
“You shan’t make me hold mine,” Penelope stormed. “If I’m to be dragged to my death, I mean to—”
“You!” he cried, patently horrified. “By God, but you’ll not be dragged by me! Why in the deuce would I remove the threat of my presence from Highview only to carry you into greater danger? Have some sense, do, Penny!”
The brotherly candour of those words acted on her overwrought nerves like a fan to flame. “Forgive me, sir.” She stood, chin high and her voice scornful. “I am too filled with disgust at this moment to be sensible, I doubt.”
Standing also, he said with a faint, fond smile, “I know what you’re about, Penelope Anne. It will not do. Surely you see why I cannot—”
‘Penelope Anne.’ He had been used to call her that years ago and had always said the name in a way she had come to think of as tender. That he should speak it now, having named her his sister, further infuriated her, and she turned on him, pale with anger. “I agreed to this—this risky business on one condition, Major Chandler. And your brother took an oath to abide by my terms. Now you seek to break his given word and foul his honour. For shame!”
His pale cheeks reddened and he turned away from her for an instant, but when he faced her again, his jaw was set. “Think what you will,” he said quietly. “But I’ll not drag you to the gallows. No more would my brother have done. If that causes you to despise me, or to repent of your bargain, why”—he smiled wryly—“the soldiers wait outside. You have only to call.”
He knew she would not. In that moment, almost she could have struck him. She met his steady gaze, her own eyes blazing wrath. Then, she flung around and walked out, her head held high, but unhappily aware that it was difficult to look regal while clad in a flannel nightgown and a much-patched and faded dressing gown.
* * *
“After all we have done,” raged Penelope. “After all we have risked! How can he be so stupid? So arrogantly determined to throw it all away?”
“Never weep, my lamb,” said Daffy, tucking Penelope back into bed and placing the neglected breakfast tray across her lap. “He is only a man after all. And there’s not a one of ’em as won’t drive a woman distracted sooner or later.”
The prosaic words shocked Penelope. She realized suddenly that she had not thought of Quentin as a human being, but rather as a godlike creature, perfect in face and form, with a serene sweetness of disposition and an unwavering gentleness, at least insofar as she was concerned. She had caught a glimpse of steel just now when he had flown out at the poor Corporal. She had been hurt when he had spoken to her so sharply.…
Watching her expressive face, Daffy wielded teapot and cup deftly, and murmured, “Changed, has he, miss?”
Had he changed? Or was it simply that she had never really known him? Had she imbued him with qualities he did not possess? That no man possessed? She thought in a detached way, ‘I am a silly, naïve girl who fell in love with a dream that does not exist.’ And at once, she began to enumerate his good points. His courage and warm-heartedness. The way he had of watching her when she spoke, as though what she had to say was the most important thing in the world to him at that moment. His ready sense of humor, the set of his lips that was so instant an indicator of his mood; the lurking smile in his green eyes. She smiled faintly, tenderly, thinking, ‘and the way that one lock of hair persists in tumbling down over his brow.…’ And she knew it didn’t matter if he was less than she had thought him, that the fault was hers for having visualized him as being so godlike—and in supposing she could live with perfection, even if she won it. She was learning about Quentin Chandler—good and bad—and she loved him just as much.…
“You’ll feel better after a nice hot cup of tea,” said Daffy kindly. “Oh, misery! It’s not very hot, miss.”
Scarcely hearing, Penelope accepted the cup and stirred sugar into her lukewarm tea. “He means to leave tonight, Daffy,” she said. “He will be caught, or killed.… Oh, whatever shall I do? He is so stubbornly set on it!”
“Always been the same, by what Corporal Robert Killiam says.” Daffy darted a glance to the closed dressing room door and perched on the edge of the bed. “Only say the word and me and Corporal Rob will knock the Major down and tie him ’fore he can wake up. Rob knowed as he meant to do this, and he don’t like it above half. He told me—”
Surprised out of her despair, Penelope said, “He did? When?”
“What? Oh—er, well it were last night, miss. The Major was asleep when I come up, and so was you. Corporal Robert Killiam heared me open the door, and he knocked very soft and asked—most polite like—if he could perhaps have a drop more water.” She blushed to see Penelope’s astonishment. “Well—well, it’s as you said, miss. They’m honourable gentlemen both. And I thought, so long as you was sure o’ that, then—”
“Why, you deceitful little baggage! I suppose by the time I woke up and saw you disrobing, you had sat in there half the night playing Patience with the man!”
“No, no, miss! Only for a very little, and—oh, whoops!”
“Oh, whoops, indeed! Rascal! Pretending all the time you disliked the poor Corporal, but having clandestine card games with him the moment my eyes are closed!”
“You knows as I’m a good girl,” pleaded Daffy. “And anyways, much use I’ve got for that great, clumsy creature.” Her small plump fingers began to twist the end of the snowy but much abused apron into a tight roll. She went on in a rather distant voice, “Though … he don’t seem to be such a bad chap, and … and…”
“And has a fine pair of shoulders, nice blue eyes, and a fine head of hair—eh, minx?” said Penelope, laughing tremulously.
Daffy’s eyes flashed to her face and began to twinkle. “Why, as to that,” she said in her prim way, “I’m sure I couldn’t say, Miss Penny. I’ll own I’ve not heared him use evil words—or not many. But I don’t see as how a girl could be interested in a man what’s always so gruff and gloomy-like. Even if he is loyal as he can stare and would give up his life for the Major.”
“Good gracious,” muttered Penelope, who had selected a piece of cold toast from the rack, and now detached a small, folded sheet of paper that had adhered to it. “What—in the world…?”
Butter had dripped on the page and, as she unfolded it curiously, she saw that some of the writing was so blurred as to be almost gone. With some difficulty, she was able, however, to read the message aloud.
Greetings, R, on this your special day. Looking back over the years I wonder if you remember the Flying Dutchman? What a fellow he was! I’ve always thought he imparted his own sad lack of semper paratus to you. I hope you’ve overcome it. Can’t recall how old you were, but just today I was chuckling over the time you bit Mars. May your troubles, like the years, roll away. Affectionately, S. K.
“How very odd,” she murmured, baffled.
“Well, it can’t be for you, miss. Your name don’t begin with R.”
“But how do you suppose it got onto my tray? It almost looks as though it was deliberately hidden.”
“What difference, Miss Penny? It don’t say anything what makes any sense. Whoever this R is— Oh, I ’spect it is for that Captain Horrid Otton. He’s the only R I can—” Daffy’s eyes became very round. “Oh—my!”
“Corporal Rob!” Penelope was out of bed in a trice and running across the room, forgetting her dressing gown until, with a little scream, Daffy flew to wrap it around her.
The Corporal answered the scratch at the door, and Quentin turned from the window, a frown in his eyes.
Penelope thrust the message at Killiam. “This was in
amongst my toast, Corporal. We think it is meant for you.”
The Corporal shook his head in mystification over the message, but Quentin, who came up to take and scan it, said with sudden intensity, “My brother writ this to me! R stands for Rabble.” He glanced at Penelope, his eyes ablaze with excitement. “You’ll have noted with what irreverence he addresses me.”
“Are you sure?” she asked dubiously. “It is signed S. K.”
“I couldn’t mistake his hand. And he’d not dare to put his own initials for fear it was intercepted and someone put two and two together.” His brows twitched together. “S.… K.… Ah! I have it! Sir Knight—of course! I was used to call him that when we were children, because he’s the eldest and will inherit the title.”
“But whatever do it all mean, sir?” asked Daffy. “Who is this Dutch gent what Mr. Gordon speaks of?”
The Corporal grunted, “If ’twas a cove as sprouted wings, I’d think the whole world would know his name.”
“Not wings,” Penelope said eagerly. “Sails, I think. Isn’t that the legend of the foul-mouthed ship’s captain who was doomed to sail on forever and never find harbour? A ghost ship—no?”
“Right,” said Quentin, continuing to frown thoughtfully at the blurred message. “My ‘special day’ baffles me, however. This is not my birthday.”
“Unless your brother means to imply it will become a special day,” suggested Penelope. “But—how is the Flying Dutchman involved?”
“He was our coachman. My father dubbed him thus because he was always losing his way.” Chandler sighed with faint nostalgia. “Such a very good fellow.… But—as for him having been semper paratus … Gad!”
“What’s it mean, Major?” asked Killiam. “Latin—is it?”
“Yes. And my Latin always so damnable.” Quentin turned ruefully to Penelope. “Dear lady, did you study Latin? Semper means ever—or forever—I think.…”
“Yes, I’m sure it does. But … paratus…” She clutched her temples in a desperate effort at concentration. “Oh, dear! I know it—but … I cannot recall…”
Frustrated, Quentin asked, “Dare we send Daffy down to your book room?”
“If I show me nose down there, sir,” said Daffy, “I mightn’t be allowed to come back up. They’re all of a state, getting ready for her la’ship’s dinner party, and—”
“Ready!” Jubilant, Penelope interpolated, “That’s it! Semper paratus means ‘always ready’!”
“Good girl!” He threw his good arm around her and gave her a strong hug, but released her rather abruptly, returning his attention to the letter, while Penelope prayed he had not noticed how her cheeks blazed around the edges of her applied pallor.
“What’s this about you biting someone, Major?” asked the Corporal.
Quentin read softly, “‘Can’t recall how old you were, but just today I was chuckling over the time you bit Mars.…’ How old I was…” He thought back, his brow furrowing. “Must’ve been about—eight, I suppose. No! I was nine, for I’d just come home for the holidays. Mars was our dog—a silly great gentle animal, always more paws than brains. I tripped, trying to avoid him because he’d gone berserk when he saw me come back. I fell over the old fool and smashed my mouth on a chair. There was blood from here to breakfast—all mine. But my papa would have it that I’d bit the dog!” He grinned at Penelope. “To take my mind off things, you know.”
“Yes, how kind of him. But to what does your brother point, do you fancy? The dog? Or…”
“Oh, no. I suspect he means my age at the time. Let’s try to put it together, shall we? Today … a coachman … the warning that I must be ready. And the number nine.” He looked gravely at their intent faces.
“Oh, my!” exclaimed Penelope. “Your brother is sending a coach here! At nine this evening!”
“Heaven bless us all!” Daffy said, marvelling. “Who’d have guessed that’s what it really means?”
“No one else—I trust,” said Quentin, winking at her.
Distressed, Penelope cried, “How shall we ever stop him? Poor man—he will drive right into a trap!”
“Aye.” Killiam nodded dolefully. “The troopers’ll get him and it’ll be off to the block before the coach can run!”
Quentin said musingly, “I wonder…” They all stared at him, and he went on, “I’m very sure the troopers seek to keep me out. They may search the coach when it arrives, but I’ll not be in it, don’t you see? All I’ll have to do is pop in once they’ve finished.”
“And—just how,” said Penelope, “do you think you can manage that without being seen?”
“It won’t matter if I am seen—by the troopers at all events.” He paced restlessly to the window. “I could stroll nonchalantly around the side of the house after the coachman has made whatever enquiries he’s been primed to make, and…” He swung around, his arm flinging out, his eyes bright as he started back to them. “My dear friends, never look so apprehensive. I’ll only have … have to…” He checked, looking bewildered, then swayed.
The Corporal leapt to steady him, guide him to the bed, and sit with his arm about the thin, sagging shoulders. “Been on your feet too long. Whatever did ye expect?” he growled ferociously, scanning Quentin’s white face for all the world like a concerned parent.
“Oh … no,” argued Quentin, faint but indomitable. “I’m just … a little tired, perhaps.”
Penelope filled a glass from the water pitcher they’d stood on the pile of books. “If you cannot stand for a few minutes, Major Chandler, I wish I may see you trip down two flights of stairs, walk around the back of the house, and”—she handed him the glass—“stroll nonchalantly to the coach.”
“Be flat on your face ’fore you’d come to the foot of the stairs,” said the Corporal, predictably.
Humbled by the concerned faces about him, Quentin drank the water and was silent.
“’Course,” murmured Daffy through the troubled pause, “if the Major’s a touch weak in the knees and cannot walk … he could always totter. With a walking cane.”
They stared at her.
“What d’ye mean, lass?” asked Killiam in a tone Penelope had never before heard him use.
Blushing, Daffy answered, “I mean—was he to be … a older gentleman.”
They looked at one another speechlessly, scarcely daring to entertain the scenario those words suggested.
In a breathless voice that trembled with renewed hope, Quentin asked, “Daffy—you never could…?”
She all but pounced at him, eyes sparkling. “Yes, sir! Oh, yes, I could indeed!”
“Ye could make my Major into a old gentleman?” asked the Corporal, awed. “So as people would believe?”
“You may believe as they’d not know the difference,” she boasted.
“God love you, girl!” said Quentin, enthusiastically accepting her claim. “But—faith! What about clothes? Friend Otton’s boots are adequate, but his flamboyant style would not befit an older man.”
Penelope said, “Never mind that. My papa’s garments will serve, with little if any alteration at your present weight.”
The Corporal, who had developed a healthy respect for this girl’s calm good sense, watched her curiously. “You’ve a thought or two in your head, I think, miss.”
She smiled at him. “Yes, I have. This is better and better. Quentin, my aunt gives a dinner party this evening.”
“Aha!”
“Just so. It is likely to begin at about five o’clock, though I doubt they will sit down to table until half-past seven, or eight o’clock. With luck we can get you downstairs by the time the coach arrives and an ‘elderly’ guest can leave my aunt’s party early.”
He asked intently, “How shall I get past your butler? Surely he will know who were the guests.”
“Yes. So we must manage to be at the side door before the coachman draws up, and we will walk out as though we had been strolling whilst awaiting him.” She clasped her hands and did a small, elate
d jig. “Oh, Quentin! How splendid if—together, we can bring it off!”
The adverb caused him a momentary unease, soon banished by his customary optimism. “By God, but we shall!”
Not until she and Daffy were back in the bedchamber did Penelope interrupt their busy plotting to say thoughtfully, “Whoever put that note in with my toast must know the Major is here.”
“Lawks!” shrieked Daffy, and vanished into her apron.
“It must be a friend,” Penelope went on, “else we’d have been arrested before this.”
“Why—that’s so,” faltered Daffy, her eyes reappearing. “But—who can it be?”
“I think we should not try to guess. We have a friend who does not dare risk being identified. We must respect that wish.” And she thought, ‘And pray this is not all a trap.…’
VII
Much of the responsibility for their desperate plan rested on Daffy’s shoulders. It was she who had to slip up to the attic where Lord Hector’s trunks were stored, and she who must select suitable raiment for Major Chandler’s proposed alter ego. His late lordship had been a conservative gentleman in many respects but, being possessed of an excellent physique, had enjoyed his clothes and had owned quite a nice wardrobe and several wigs that were still in good repair. Daffy filled a laundry basket with garments and accessories, threw a sheet around her spoils and delivered them to Penelope’s bedchamber before going downstairs to resume her less criminal pursuits.
Fortunately, an iron was kept in the dressing room. Penelope lit the fire and soon had the iron heated. She set to work and spent the next hour pressing several of her late father’s full-skirted coats, knee breeches, and half a dozen shirts. The pile of cravats and ruffles seemed endless but having completed this rather wrenching task, she left the dressing room so that Killiam could help Quentin try on his borrowed finery.
Penelope waited hopefully, but when at last the Corporal ushered in the prospective ‘old gentleman’ for her inspection, her heart sank. The wig was rather out of the present style, having thick curls loosely arranged about the head and worn long at the back, tied in with a wide black satin bow. The blue satin coat and knee breeches fit well enough, but despite his drawn countenance and the silky white curls, Chandler contrived to look elegant, dashing, and not a year older. “We shall have to place all our reliance on Daffy,” Penelope sighed.
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