“Leave that to me,” said Caroline, smiling. “The ground is hard and dry. If we make good time we will arrive at about eleven, maybe earlier. Aunt Harriet won’t mind. She is a little eccentric.”
* * *
A little eccentric was putting it mildly to say the least, thought Sarah as they were announced by a footman wearing an orange livery so bright it made your eyes water. Not only did Aunt Harriet seem completely unconcerned by three women, two of them total strangers, descending on her at the ungodly hour of eleven-thirty, she passed over Sarah’s ravaged face with hardly a glance, and paused only for a second to cast the sleeping baby a look of profound distaste, before turning back to her niece.
“Well,” she said, her voice brisk, almost masculine in its deepness. “Suppose you’re staying over, eh?”
“No, Harriet, I can only stay an hour or so, then I have to get home to Freddie and Edwin. But my friends would like to stay for a day or two, if that’s all right.”
Harriet beckoned to a footman.
“Blue room, and gold,” she barked. “Fires, hot bricks in the beds. Supper.”
He shot off, and Harriet cast another dubious look at the cherubic sleeping infant in Anne’s arms.
“He’s well-behaved, Aunt,” Caroline said, amused.
“Hmm, well, you know more about babies than I do. Can’t abide the things myself. Useless till they’re five or so. Can do something then, pot up seedlings, that sort of thing. Name?” she asked, staring at Anne, who was shocked to the core, having never seen a woman dressed in breeches and waistcoat before.
“Ah, er, George,” she stammered. “George William.”
Harriet looked at her as though she was simple.
“Not him, woman, you!” she said impatiently. “Baby won’t answer if I talk to it, no point in knowing its name yet, is there?”
Caroline took pity on Anne, who she doubted would survive another shock that evening.
“This is Anne, Aunt,” she said. “She’s a very good friend of mine, and the child is truly no bother. But she’s had some very bad news and needs a place to stay for a couple of days where she can be quiet. And safe,” she added.
“Ah,” said Harriet. “Why didn’t you say so? Very safe here. Don’t know about quiet, though. Philippa’s here, with that thing she married. Useless lout, no backbone whatsoever. Call him the jellyfish, what?” she giggled girlishly, although she must have been seventy if she was a day, a tiny shrunken woman no taller than Beth was, who nevertheless appeared much taller because of her imposing manner. “No harm in him, though,” she added, instinctively grasping some idea of their reason for seeking sanctuary. For the first time she looked properly at Sarah, scrutinising her with eyes that were the same colour as Caroline’s, though surrounded by deep wrinkles. “What happened to you, then?” she asked.
“My husband raped her and tried to kill her,” Anne said to everyone’s surprise, including hers.
Harriet was speechless for a moment, during which Anne burst into tears. The old woman gripped her arm firmly and led her to a chair.
“Here,” she said. “Sit down. Supper’ll be here soon. Feel better when you’ve eaten, eh?” She looked back at Sarah, who was staring at Anne, stupefied by her words.
“This is Sarah, Harriet,” said Caroline. “Don’t you remember her?”
“Remember her?” said Harriet. “Why should I remember her?”
“She was your scullery maid for ten years,” explained Caroline. “I thought you might remember her.”
Sarah transferred her stupefied look to Caroline.
“Can’t be expected to remember every bloody servant,” barked Harriet. “Come and go. Her own mother wouldn’t recognise her now, anyway, state of her. Scullery maid, eh? Enjoy working for me, did you?”
“Yes,” said Sarah vaguely, at a loss to know what was going on.
“Why did you leave, then?” she asked.
Sarah glanced helplessly at Caroline.
“It hurts her to speak, Harriet,” Caroline said. “Her nose is broken. She got a job as a lady’s maid in London. A promotion, that’s why she left.”
“London!” spat Harriet. “All the young ones go to London in the end. Think it’s paved with gold, don’t you? Hah!”
“Not any more,” said Caroline. She looked at Anne. “Anne’s husband took a fancy to her. She’s really very pretty. When she resisted him, he beat her then threw her out. He’s violent to Anne, too, and she needs to stay away for a day or so. She won’t bother you for long. He’s a soldier. He rides north to join his regiment tomorrow.”
Harriet looked at Anne with new admiration.
“Good show!” she said, actually clapping her hands together. “Stay as long as you like. Come and live here if you want. Plenty of space. Bloody men, no good, any of them. Brutes or dishrags, nothing in between. Never saw the point of one myself. Got my own money, not giving it all away for a quick tumble in bed, eh? Can get that any time without marrying the bugger.”
Caroline and Sarah laughed, although Sarah immediately regretted it, as her lip started to bleed again. Anne blushed scarlet.
“Richard was very kind to me at first,” she said defensively.
“Course he was. Don’t reveal their true colours till they’ve got you, eh? Never mind, know what he is now. Ah, supper,” she said, as a troop of servants entered, bearing enough trays to feed a party of twenty. “Like bananas, do you?” she asked her guests.
Sarah was getting the hang of Harriet now.
“I’ve heard of them, but never tasted one,” she said.
“Lived in my house for ten years and never had a banana? What was cook thinking of? I’ll go now, and get some.”
She turned briskly, and Caroline grabbed her arm.
“Harriet,” she said. “Sarah needs a reference. Anne will give her a character from November ’42, but her husband has the reference you gave her and she needs that if she’s to get a good position.”
“Of course. Supper first, and then you tell me what I said in your last reference. Damned if I can remember. Bananas.” She strode from the room, and Caroline sat down at the groaning table.
“I hope you’re hungry,” she said.
“Eccentric, you said,” Sarah commented.
“All right, barking mad, then. But she’s harmless, and she’s got a good heart. Be enthusiastic about her fruit and vegetables. It’s her passion. She’s got a hothouse the size of Hampton Court and grows all sorts of things you’ll never have heard of. Eat anything she gives you and tell her it’s delicious. Most of it is, to be honest. She’ll love you. Make sure you get the reference off her, Sarah, because I have to get home and explain things to Edwin. I’ll come back tomorrow or maybe the day after, once I know Richard’s gone.”
Sarah leaned across and gripped her hand.
“Thank you,” she said. “You saved my life tonight. And you’re trying to save my future, I can see that.”
Caroline, who was rarely embarrassed, blushed.
“You were a scullery maid here, Sarah, from the age of eight until you joined Beth at eighteen. You have proof of it, or will have when Harriet’s written your reference. She may not remember you, but let some jumped up captain of dragoons call her a liar and she’ll drag him through the highest court in the land, and win, because she’s related to half the judges in the country, and the rest of them are terrified of her. I’m giving you the chance to reinvent your past, Sarah, that’s all. What you do with your future is up to you.”
She stood.
“I have to go,” she said. “I’ll see you soon. Anne, I’m sorry, truly I am. I know you love Richard. But I couldn’t sit back and let him hurt you.”
Anne looked up at her, tears in her eyes.
“I do try to love him,” she said. “He…he has not been kind to me, since I married him. But he is my husband. I owe him my duty, and my loyalty.” She cast a guilty look at Sarah. “I know he can be violent,” she added. “But I still can’t bel
ieve he would hurt a tiny baby. I don’t know what to think.”
“You have two days to think about it, Anne,” said Caroline kindly. “And after that you have friends who will be there for you, whatever you decide to do. You’re not the first woman to be taken in by protestations of undying love and a dashing uniform. And you were still vulnerable after Stanley. I hold Edward to blame too, for taking you away from those who would have encouraged you to wait until you knew your own mind.”
“I cannot blame anyone else, Caroline,” Anne said sadly. “I was not forced into marriage with Richard. That was my own decision.”
If it was, then it’s the first independent decision you’ve made, Caroline thought, unkindly but not inaccurately.
“We all make mistakes, Anne,” she said instead. “Recognising you have is half the battle. Finding a way out is another.”
“I don’t know if there is a way out,” Anne said. “Maybe if I give him a son of his own, he’ll…”
“There is always a way out if you have money, and power,” Caroline interrupted before Anne could talk herself into riding up to Northampton to beg Richard to impregnate her.
“I don’t have any money of my own any more,” replied Anne. “What is not entailed for George is Richard’s. And I have never had power.”
“No, but I do. Have money, at any rate. My power is limited by consideration for Edwin, and the low opinion most of my family hold of me. Although that is changing. But Harriet has no such restrictions. She loves a challenge, and she hates men. You couldn’t wish for a better friend if you want to free yourself from Richard.”
The seed was sown. Hopefully Harriet would water it, and make Anne realise that a woman might have few rights in law, but that did not mean she had to submit herself to years of hell. There were other ways. Caroline went to the door and opened it.
“Remember,” she said over her shoulder. “Exotic fruits. Be very interested. That’s the way to her heart.”
* * *
Caroline arrived home at 3a.m., and was surprised to see a light burning in the library. She had expected Edwin to have given up and gone to bed hours before. He had been gazing broodily into the fire, but on hearing the door open he looked up and then leapt to his feet.
“Caro!” he cried. “Are you all right?”
“Yes, I’m fine,” she said. “You shouldn’t have waited up for me.”
“Are you serious?” he replied. “I come home, expecting my wife to be waiting for me, and instead I find a garbled note telling me you’ve gone to Harriet’s and not to tell Richard, and you expect me to toddle happily off to bed?”
“I did write that I was fine, and there was nothing to worry about,” she pointed out, taking off her shoes and sitting down. She held her frozen feet towards the fire and sighed blissfully.
“Yes, you did,” Edwin said. “And it was when I read that that I really started to worry.”
Caroline looked up at him, puzzled.
“Imagine if I was going to my club,” Edwin explained, “and instead of saying ‘see you later,’ like I normally do, I said, ‘I’m off to the club, don’t worry about me, I’m fine, really.’ What would you think?”
“Ah. I see your point,” Caroline said. “I’m sorry. But I am all right. How did your day go?”
“Wonderful,” her husband replied sarcastically. “Pelham’s now realised he’s jumped the gun by insisting Cumberland come back from Preston to deal with the French invasion at Hastings. Seems it may now just be an expeditionary force, rather than twelve thousand French. They’re sending another messenger hell-for-leather now, telling Cumberland not to come back, but to wait where he is. The duke will be livid. He’d almost caught up with the rebels, and this delay will mean they’ll be well ahead by now.” Edwin stopped. “To hell with that,” he said. “What have you been up to? Richard did come, by the way.”
“Did he? What did he want?” Caroline asked.
“A fight, I think,” he said. “The man’s a lunatic. He called round at midnight as though he was out for an afternoon visit, demanded to see his wife and son, called me a liar, and then ordered me to wake you up, presumably so he could call you one too!”
“What did you say to him?”
“I told him that I had no idea why he should think his wife and child were here, and that I had no intention of waking you up at midnight to listen to the ravings of a drunken madman. And then I shut the door in his face. Very satisfying, that was,” he said, smiling. “I can’t stand the man.”
“Did he go away?” Caroline asked.
“Eventually, yes. He shouted a few things at the door first. I think he was hoping I’d open it again so he could call me out. Uncivilised brute!”
“You can say that again,” murmured Caroline under her breath.
Edwin sat down.
“What’s happened, Caro?” he said, his voice serious now.
“Have you read Beth’s letter?” she asked.
“Yes, of course. I assumed it was something to do with that. Did you take it to Colonel Hutchinson?”
“No,” said Caroline. “Do you think I should have?”
“No. You should have taken it straight to the Duke of Newcastle, but you didn’t do that either, did you?”
She looked up at him, saw the sparkle in his eye, and relaxed.
“Let’s get some wine,” she suggested. “It’s quite a long story.”
By the time she’d finished they were into the second bottle of wine and Edwin had sneaked down to the kitchen with a candle to raid the larder, feeling a ridiculous schoolboy pleasure in doing so, even though it was his own larder full of food paid for by him. In fact the whole evening had taken on an unreal cast. He mentioned as much to his wife as he tucked into an almond pastry.
“You won’t think that when you see Sarah’s face,” Caroline said. “It’s sickening. She’ll be scarred for life.”
“Didn’t it occur to you that you might have been killed?” Edwin asked. “The man’s a professional soldier. What were you thinking of, threatening him with a pistol?”
“What else could I do?” she said. “He wouldn’t give up and go away, and I couldn’t just walk off and leave him with Sarah, could I?”
“Most women would have run off down the street, screaming for help,” Edwin pointed out.
“Would they? I never thought of that.”
“What would you have done if he’d called your bluff?” Edwin asked. He looked across, saw the expression on her face. “You wouldn’t have actually shot him, would you?”
“Yes, of course I would,” she said. “In fact, part of me wishes I had. At least I’d have solved Anne’s problems.”
He stared at her, shocked.
“I’m not like you, Edwin,” she said. “You were brought up to take over your father’s law firm. You’re gentle and caring, and you fight with words, not fists, if you can’t avoid conflict altogether, that is. It’s one of the things I love about you. You’ve never seen a hanging or been to view the inmates in Bedlam, and can’t understand why anyone could find such things a cause for entertainment.”
“You don’t find suffering entertaining, either,” he said.
“No. But when I was a child I accepted all those things. I’ve laughed at hangings and the antics of the insane. I was blooded when I was six, and hunted every week until I married you. You made me see things in a different way, which is another reason why I love you. But I’m more inured to suffering than you, I think. And you believe there’s good in everyone. I don’t. Animals like Richard deserve to be shot. Yes, I would have killed him, and he knew it. If I’d been bluffing he’d have known, Edwin. His instincts for that sort of thing are sound. I wouldn’t have put it past him to kill Sarah, me, and Peter.”
“So you believe that what Beth wrote is true?”
“I don’t think Beth would have taken the risk of writing to us unless she was desperately worried for Anne. But I wasn’t sure until I saw him with Sarah. I don’t know if
he did kill Beth’s servant and wound the child, but he’s certainly capable of it.”
“What happens now, then?” Edwin asked.
“I don’t know. Anne is still talking about her duty to her husband. But at least he won’t be able to touch her for a few weeks. It’s really up to her. Sarah won’t be able to work for a while. I’m trying to work out how to persuade her to let me pay the shop’s overheads until her face heals. I want to ask you about the letter, though.”
“What we should do with it, you mean?” Edwin asked.
“No. I already know that. We must burn it.”
“You don’t think we should give it to Newcastle, then?” Edwin asked.
“No I don’t, not for a minute. Do you?”
He looked at the fire, thinking.
“We should, yes. But I don’t see how we can. Beth’s risked a lot to warn Anne. The general view held now is that Anthony and Beth have escaped to France, or Rome. If we give this to Newcastle he’ll know they’re still in the country, and probably with Charles. Her servants will be dragged in for more questioning, and it won’t be polite this time…no. Let’s burn it.”
“What?” said Caroline, in mock outrage. “Even though Anthony was laughing at you for four years and you hate him?”
Edwin sighed.
“You know full well I don’t hate him, or Beth. I should, but I don’t. I don’t like him very much, but it feels somehow petty and vindictive to turn a letter like this over to Newcastle. Beth expects us to, and yet she’s still tried to protect us, affirming that I was as innocent as Cumberland and George. She didn’t have to do that. Beth doesn’t mention Anthony anyway, and he’s the one they’re really after. Maybe they’re not together any more.”
Caroline gave him one of her looks.
“She only writes of him in the past tense. Maybe he’s dead,” Edwin suggested. “Some of the rebels have been killed.”
“No, he’s not. She wrote that she was happy. She wouldn’t be happy if he was dead. I think it was her decision to write, not his, and she’s protecting him, hoping that if we do show it to the authorities they’ll assume he’s dead or they’ve separated. What do you think of the postscript for Sarah? There’s something odd about it, but I can’t work out what it is.”
The Storm Breaks (The Jacobite Chronicles Book 4) Page 24