“He wanted me to leave him. I would not.”
He stared at her for a moment, then sat down again. “I know that look! You crazy madcap, do you know what you risked? Oh, never mind. Tell me.”
So she did, and he sat there listening, lips compressed and eyes angry. “Holt!” he exclaimed. “I know him! He nigh had Johnny Boothe last month! Go on, old lady. How did you bring Lascelles here?”
“Slung across Carruthers’s saddle, poor man. And Carruthers vowing to spank me because I kept with him. We saw no one, thank God. When we came to the back of the Keep, he told me he would knock me down, as he had poor Lascelles, unless I swore to stay in the trees with the horses. And—do you know, I really believe he would! He carried Lascelles inside, then came back for the blanket roll, and ten minutes later came out, and we circled around and rid in together.”
“God!” exclaimed her brother, rising and striding up and down. “To think of him taking such a chance! He is all about in his head!”
Phoebe said quietly, “And—rather splendid…” He stared at her. She went on, “He fears this Colonel Fotheringay, and I believe his attachment to Lieutenant Lascelles is a very deep one, for all he grumbles so.”
He came closer to the bed and said slowly, “Yes. He is a man who acts rather than one who is all talk.”
“As are you, my dear. You did what you thought best in this dreadful war. You sought to help those who are hunted and hurt, and desperate.”
He smiled. “Thank you for that, old lady. ‘Dreadful war’ is the name for it. Brother against brother, families divided, Britons hacking off the heads of Britons! And all for an ideal that a hundred years from now will have been forgotten.”
“Well, at least Lascelles is safe, for the time.”
“Aye. Carruthers doing my work, and my dear sister at risk, while I was off…” He hung his head and was silent.
Phoebe sat up. “Sinclair Ramsay! You have been with that village girl again!”
He slanted a guilty glance at her. “Yes. And worse, I’m afraid.”
“Sin! You didn’t—I mean, she did not let you…”
“Lord, no!” he said, with humility forgotten. “She is not Haymarket ware!”
She thought with dismay of how awful it would be if he had formed a lasting attachment for Miss Smith. “Carruthers does not know you were with her?”
“Which one?”
“Oh, heavens! Jeffery saw you?”
“He caught us together, in a rather compromising pose. I’d my arm about her. I came along when some hulking lout of a villager was accosting her. The poor little soul was fairly terrified. I think I’d not have been so angry had he been some lovesick swain, but the man must be forty, at least. One of those revolutionary types with sly eyes and a sneering mouth and an unwashed smell. To think of him pawing that dainty little angel fairly made me see red, I don’t mind telling you. I told him to be off, and he took up a stout cudgel. For a minute I thought I’d a fight on my hands, but Rosalie said he’d best not harm one of Mr. Carruthers’s guests, and the horrid fellow went slouching off, fairly snarling his hatred.”
“He sounds a beast. Shall you tell Meredith?”
“No need. Jeffery came up and in the ensuing—ah, discussion, Rosalie told him what had happened. He was mad as fire, and when she’d gone into her cottage, he rid back here with me. Silly fellow started making veiled hints about Rosalie being an innocent, so I told him I’d already been taken to task for having interfered with her—which I had not done!—thanks to him running to his big brother with his tales.”
“Oh, Sin! You never did?”
“You may believe me. Lord, but he was red in the face. He said they had a perfect right to protect their people. And I asked who protects their people against them, and he all but called me out!”
He grinned broadly, but Phoebe cried an alarmed “Sin! You’ll not fight?”
“No, silly chit. I told him to go and stick his head under the pump, and gave his horse a cut with my whip, and he went flying off, shouting all kinds of ferocities.” He chuckled. “What a blockhead!”
“Oh, dear! Thank heaven I am not obliged to come downstairs for dinner! Sin, please, do not provoke him any more.”
“I’ll try.” He started for the door, then turned back. “What about you and Lambert? Do you think Carruthers will really help? It don’t seem likely to me.”
“Oh—I think he will. He said once that he could conceive of no worse fate than to be tied to a reluctant bride.”
He eyed her, wondering if she knew how very beautiful she was.
That long, speculative look made her nervous. She babbled, “Besides, he says I saved his life.”
“Does he, by Jove? How?”
“By being with him when Captain Holt and the dragoons found us in that horrid cave. Carruthers said that he’d never have been able to think of anything near as convincing as to make it seem we were—er, lovers.”
He said with a slow grin, “It seems to me his mind works very rapidly indeed. What was it like, being kissed by him, old lady?”
“Like nothing so much as being embraced by a polar bear,” she said, somehow achieving a creditably derogatory sniff. “I vow I pity the lady he weds. My ribs were already fairly crushed from the first time he—” She checked, biting her lip.
“From the first time?” Intrigued, Sinclair trod nearer. “Why, you little flirt! You let him kiss you before today!”
“Let him! I had as well try to stop a charging bull elephant!”
“Hum,” he said, his eyes dancing. “Must I call him out? No, I suppose I cannot very well do so since you are betrothed. Really, Phoebe, I do not quite see how you can forbid him. Under the circumstances. You had best tell Brooks, and see what he advises.”
“An excellent notion,” said Phoebe rather stiffly, and knew both that her face was very red, and that she certainly would not tell Lambert.
* * *
Phoebe had not expected to sleep at so early an hour, but the crowded events of the day had left her more worn out than she realized and she fell asleep soon after her dinner tray had been removed. As a result, she awoke with the dawn and, after staring at the canopy of her tester bed for what seemed hours, her various worries so wrought upon her that she got up. She was reluctant to disturb Ada at five o’clock in the morning, so washed in cold water and attired herself in the new dusty-green habit with the jade buttons that had been delivered only a week before her sudden betrothal.
It was a bright morning, with the promise of a beautiful day, and she found herself looking forward to the early ride. She went downstairs hoping to be offered a cup of coffee, but the house was still wrapped in a dense hush; the servants were not yet abroad. She was not altogether alone, however. A ripple of air stirred her curls as she passed a display cabinet in the Great Hall, and she looked up to discover Satan blinking at her, a front leg still outstretched. He made no response to her scold, but suddenly became a sphinx, hips wiggling and whiskers sticking out ferociously.
Phoebe glanced around as Justice came padding up, wagged his tail at her but went on past. Almost, she warned him, but it really seemed unsportsmanlike. Satan launched through the air, skidded across the bloodhound’s back, causing him to leap away with a shocked yelp, and, landing beside him, stood on his hind legs, waving both front paws at the startled dog and hissing like a nest of vipers. Enough was enough. Justice growled and charged. Satan was off, ears back, tail fluffed out and held sideways. In hot pursuit, Justice sent rugs flying, causing Phoebe to think repentantly of his hurt pad. She called softly but unavailingly and hurried in the wake of the rout.
There was no sign of them for the length of the corridor leading across the Lancastrian building, but she heard a muffled crash and hurried past the enormous silence of the ballroom until she arrived at the Armour Hall. She was just in time to see Justice standing peering about in a baffled way. Satan darted out from under the trappings of the horse on the dais, dealt Justice a sanguina
ry swipe, and shot into the family wing.
“Justice!” hissed Phoebe, but the hound ignored her, continuing in determined pursuit of his tormentor. Following, Phoebe heard stealthy footsteps and she halted, belatedly aware that it was not proper for her to venture into this wing unaccompanied.
Others were apparently less concerned with propriety.
A girl’s voice said low and urgently, “I know I should not have come, but I’ve been fairly distracted. Dearest—I am so grateful—”
Meredith’s deep tones interrupted, “Don’t be such a thimble-wit, Rosie.”
Phoebe stood very still, her eyes wide and unblinking. They were tiptoeing down the spiral staircase that wound from the upper floor. She saw the girl’s long cloak, and Meredith’s high riding boots.
At the foot of the stairs, he said, “Here.”
She waved his hand away. “No, no. You have been too generous. You spoil me, my dear, and it is not necessary.”
He smiled and tilted up her face. “You cannot live on love, little one.”
A beam of sunlight touched the girl’s head as her hood fell back and illumined high-piled golden curls and a dainty profile.
“Yes, I can,” she said intently and, cherishing his hand to her cheek, murmured, “How can I ever tell you what I feel? Merry—my dearest, you’ll find a way for us to be wed. I know it.”
He held her shoulders, looking searchingly down at her. “You’re willing to wait till I can find a way out of this? To trust me?”
“With my life. You are the bravest, the most gallant and honourable man I—”
“Huh!” snorted Phoebe, then drew farther into the shadows as Meredith turned swiftly.
“I think the servants must be getting up. You must go, love. You have the key?”
“Yes.”
“Go, then. And if you come again by daylight, be very, very careful.”
“I will. God bless you, my very dear.”
He stooped to kiss her, then opened the door that led to the courtyard.
Phoebe seized her opportunity and sped across the Armour Hall and the two adjacent wings until she came, breathless, to the stairs.
She reached her room undetected, and raging. The wretch! The miserable, conniving snake! How dare he bring his light-skirt here while his affianced bride was ’neath the same roof! And her family! ‘My heaven!’ she thought, pacing furiously to and fro, ‘I have heard of gauche behaviour, but this bears off the palm!’ He would ‘find a way’ for them, would he? This villain, who had first told Lambert he meant to remain a bachelor all his days, then promised that immoral little village creature he meant to wed her. Only yesterday that ‘most honourable man’ had declared his intention to honour Miss Phoebe Ramsay with his noble name—if only to ‘spare his dear mama’ any further grief! The beast! To so deceive the poor trusting country innocent—though, come to think on it, she was not very innocent! Nor had she spoken with a country accent, but more like a lady of quality. Phoebe’s lip curled. The well-bred lightskirt! And to think that she herself had come near to being taken in by the monster! His brutish cave-manstyle kisses should have told her. A depraved lecher was what he was! A faithless, heartless libertine, masquerading behind that air of cold indifference; unexpectedly flaunting the so-different smile, and allowing that clear blue light to come into his eyes that was so very … She thrust the memory away. She knew him now for what he was! Poor Brooks was quite taken in; and her mama, who obviously thought him a perfect gentleman. Well, he’d not have to give up his carefree bachelor life for her sake! Miss Phoebe Ramsay would remain a spinster all her days sooner than bear the revolting name of Carruthers!
IX
“See here.” Jeffery reached around Rosalie to turn the page of the book of woodcuts he had found in the library. “It distinctly says that the newborns hang on to the mother’s breast with their teeth—little varmints!”
Blushing furiously, Rosalie pulled clear of his encircling arm. “Mr. Carruthers!”
“Oh, the deuce!” he cried, dismayed. “But—but it does say it—only look. I didn’t mean no disrespect, save that it sounded so dashed uncomfortable, their little fangs having hooks on ’em, and—”
Rosalie could not restrain a giggle, and he gave a sigh of relief.
She had been astounded when, only an hour after she had arrived, late, he had bent his fair head to enter the fragrant little bakery, and, although she had much to do, she had succumbed to the temptation to look at the beautiful old volume he’d brought. “I must get on with my work now,” she said. “But I am very pleased that you find the bats so fascinating, sir.”
“Must admit they’re interesting articles,” he murmured, gazing at the flour on her rounded white arms. “It don’t tell you much, though. I shall see if my brother has any more books about ’em. Wouldn’t at all mind doing some reading in that line when I go back up to Cambridge.”
Rosalie had carried several more bowls to the table behind the counter, and he wandered around to investigate. “What’re you going to do now? Jupiter, but that smells delicious!”
She slapped his hand, but already he had snared a finger-full and sampled it. “Almond icing! For a cake?”
“A bride cake. No! Keep your hands out of my icing, sir!”
He grinned, watching as she beat briskly at the icing. She caught the bowl closer, her efforts causing her shapely figure to be jostled in a way he thought most delightful. She glanced up, blowing a wisp of hair from her heated forehead, and caught his eye. Reddening, he said hurriedly, “Here, let me have a crack at it.”
She pursed her lips, but stood back. “Be careful, then. If you drop it I will very likely chase you out of our shop with a hatchet!”
“Well, if ye doan’t, Rosie, Oi reckon as how Oi might!”
Jeffery gave a gasp as Joseph Smith staggered into the shop, the sunlight streaming through the open door to make a halo of his white hair. “I was just helping your granddaughter, Mr. Smith.”
“’Pears to me, Mr. Carruthers, more like as ye’s hindering her.” The old man wavered to the counter. “Bringing books to take up her time, when she be a’trying and a’trying to get her baking done ’fore it do get too hot fer the poor lass. ’Sides, Oi’ve read that’n and could tell it to Rosie, word fer word, Oi could.” His rheumy brown eyes met Jeffery’s hazel ones defiantly.
Rosalie’s hand, reaching for the bowl, was arrested. Her grandfather’s inability to read was a closely guarded secret and one that Carruthers could easily expose.
Jeffery said earnestly, “It’s about mammals, sir.”
“Ar. Big woolly things they be,” agreed Joseph.
Without the flicker of an eye, Jeffery said, “Quite so, but I don’t know much about them. It’s the bats I was interested in.”
Joseph peered at him. “Why ever would ye be interested in they, Master Jeff? Horrid ugly things they do be. Oi could tell’ee lots about ’em, that Oi could.”
Jeffery pulled up a chair for the old man and with a small sigh of relief Rosalie began to stir again. ‘Master Jeff’ was a vast improvement over ‘Mr. Carruthers,’ and thank heaven Jeffery was being so tactful. She glanced at his intent comely face, and felt a deepening affection for him.
“Lotsa bats Oi seen in me time,” expounded Joseph, settling comfortably onto the chair. “Why, when Oi were in His Majesty’s Navy, our ship would sometimes come on flocks of ’em so thick Cap’n couldn’t see the sun, and he’d steer us round in circles with they bats flocking all over us. Many’s the time we’ve come right back where we begun, an’ the sails full o’ nests from the dratted things.”
“Nests…?” gasped Jeffery. “In—in the sails, sir?”
“Ar,” confirmed Joseph fiercely. “Doan’t ye know nothing, Master Jeff? Ain’t ye never heared o’ sailors climbing up ter the bat’s nest?”
“But—I er, I thought it was called the ‘crow’s nest,’ Mr. Smith.”
Joseph blinked, but made a quick recover. “Aye, ’cause some foo
l tar didn’t know a crow from a bat! Did ye ever see the crow as could build a nest a man could stand in—comfortable-like?”
With really heroic gravity, Jeffery managed, “You mean—bats build such … nests, sir?”
“That they do, young man. Ye likely think they’re all little birds, and there’s yer mistake. Why, Oi seen bats so big as any pig! And with wings stretching so wide as my Rosie is tall!”
“Now, Granfer,” said Rosalie in mild scolding. “You’re exaggerating, and will—”
“No, Oi bean’t,” he snapped. “You jest pay heed to yer old granfer, Rosalie Smith! If more folks would listen to what Oi says we’d have a sight less trouble round Dewbury Prime! Take that there soldier chap, now. Willyum Lemmon and Sam Goodall and ugly Ben Hessell, they all said as he was gone fer good. But Oi telled and telled ’em he weren’t nobody’s fool, fer all he might look it, and as he’d be back soon or late.”
Jeffery said with a smile, “Oh, Captain Lambert comes to the Hall fairly often, sir. Nothing to be in the boughs about. He’s related to us, y’know.”
“Oi doan’t mean him—though a very fine officer he do be, Oi’ll own. Oi mean t’other un. That there Major Foggy something or t’other. Only they gone and made him a colonel now. Not a proper colonel, mind. Only a lieutenant colonel, which is about half-past major.”
The amusement chased from his eyes, Jeffery asked, “Do you mean Fotheringay, sir? Has he come back here?”
“Ar, that be the one. His sergeant telled me he’d been arter that there promotion fer years, an’ now he got it ’cause he went an’ caught some special sort o’ rebel what was made ter tell a lot ’fore they took his head orf and stuck it on Temple Bar.”
Jeffery frowned, but said loyally, “So end all the King’s enemies!”
* * *
“I rose early, especially to discover how you went on, dear Miss Ramsay,” said Lucille Carruthers, looking anxiously across the breakfast table at Phoebe.
“If every lady looked as well as does Miss Ramsay after being half drowned in a storm,” said Carruthers, walking in booted and spurred, with Sinclair beside him, “storms would bring crowds out by the hundreds.”
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