The Major and the Pickpocket

by Lucy Ashford

  ‘I heard you and Hal talking the other night,’ she said. ‘I heard you talking about a woman called Lady Sallis, who runs a gaming house in Mayfair where Sebastian often goes. Are you going to send me there when the time comes to play him?’

  ‘My God, no,’ he said with vehemence, thinking of Lady Sallis’s wily young female accomplices and the pleasures they offered. ‘Never in a thousand years, Tassie. We’ll find you a small and private establishment in which you can entice Sebastian to play on your own terms. A place where Hal and I are able to watch out for your safety. And, Tassie—you shouldn’t eavesdrop. I’ve told you that before.’

  ‘I just needed to make sure,’ she said, ‘that you weren’t putting me in a bawdy house. That’s all.’

  Her voice was light, but Marcus saw that she looked pale, and her huge emerald eyes were haunted with something very like fear. Putting his hand over hers, he said earnestly, ‘Do you think that I would put you in a place where you were at risk? God forgive me if you do, if I haven’t given you reason to trust me. I tell you this, Tassie. If my cousin Sebastian so much as lays a finger on you, I will throttle him with my bare hands.’

  Tassie was horrified, and delighted. ‘But what if he does not wish to play with me, Marcus? What if he has no taste for my kind of looks?’

  Marcus was silent a moment, considering. Then he said, ‘My dear girl. Have you seen yourself lately?’

  Tassie stammered, ‘Nay. I am not used to looking glasses, you see. Well, I glance in the little mirror in my bedroom briefly now and then, to check that my face is not dirty from the stables or the kitchen-range, but that is all.’

  ‘You did not look in your mirror as you put on that gown you are wearing?’

  ‘No. Why should I? Peg kindly helped me into it, for I could never manage all the stupid hooks and buttons on my own.’

  ‘Then come over here with me. Now.’ And he took her hand in his.

  Rows and rows of leather-clad books lined the walls of the old library. Cobwebs hung in the corners of the oriel windows, and the little mahogany tables were covered with dust. There was a long mirror set in a panel at the far end of the room giving the illusion of a further library adjoining this one; and it was to this that Marcus led her and said, ‘Look at yourself, Tassie.’

  She looked. She saw a stranger, an elegant and slender female in a blue-striped polonaise, with a tiny waist, and full looped skirts. The bodice of her gown was low and tight-fitting, and the rounded curve of her small but full breasts was clearly visible. Her fingers flew to her throat, as if to cover herself, but Marcus caught at her hand and said, ‘Tassie, you are exquisite. I’m telling you this, not to make you conceited, but to give you confidence in yourself, so you know that you can hold your head high in the company of any of society’s beauties.’

  She gazed at herself, at her wide green eyes and creamy skin that Marcus said had no need of cosmetics. She saw how her thick golden curls, neatened with such surprising skill by old Peg, clustered round her forehead, and tapered gently to the nape of her neck. And, in the mirror, she saw the way Marcus was looking at her.

  She forced herself into calmness. That look in his steel-grey eyes, that burning gaze that thrilled her soul, it meant nothing, she told herself shakily; he was simply flattering her to boost her confidence, so necessary to the success of his scheme. That was all…

  ‘Fie,’ she laughed, ‘are you trying to turn my head with your flattery, Marcus? It will not work, I tell you. Take away the finery and I’m just Tassie, companion to wandering players, varlets and tricksters. I am no lady of quality.’

  ‘No!’ said Marcus, almost fiercely. ‘No, there is more to you than that. I know there is. If only you would tell me about your past! Do you really trust me so little?’

  She turned slowly to face him. ‘There is little to tell, Marcus. Do not be making some fairytale mystery out of me. I was an orphan, brought up in some cold place out in the wilds by people who detested me. I was locked in my room, often, as punishment, and I was beaten.’

  Marcus closed his eyes briefly. ‘Why?’ he grated out. ‘Why were you punished so?’

  She smiled a little shakily. ‘Doubtless I was as obstinate then as I am now.’

  ‘You were only a child! Who did that to you?’

  ‘The man who owned the house. At the bidding of his sister, a miserable skinflint of a woman, who taught me my lessons. When I did not learn fast enough, or was rebellious, she told me I was wicked, and fetched him to beat me.’ She shivered. ‘In the end I ran, and Georgie Jay found me.’

  ‘How old were you then?’

  ‘I was nine. Old enough to know I wanted no more of it.’

  Marcus’s face was tense. ‘This man beat you. And yet his sister gave you lessons and kept you in a room of your own, as if you were of gentle birth…Why? Who were your parents? And—where was this place?’

  She shrugged, but he could see that the pain was still there. ‘I really don’t know; I never thought much about it.’

  He guessed that she was lying, that she did think about it, often. He wanted so much to reach out and comfort her, and persuade her to confide in him; but knew that there was danger in that as well, for both of them.

  ‘I won’t pry any more,’ he said at last, ‘since it’s so obviously distressing to you. But I say this to you again; I would not willingly cause you any further unhappiness. You may back out of our arrangement at any time you wish, and return to your friends.’

  ‘Fie, Marcus,’ she said lightly, ‘and say goodbye to all that money you promised me?’

  Their eyes met in the mirror. He said, quietly, ‘You want that money very badly, don’t you?’

  ‘But of course I do! Why else am I here?’

  ‘Tassie,’ said Marcus, ‘Tassie, I will give you the money anyway. For the time you have spent here. For the pleasure you have given my godfather. You can leave here—tomorrow if you wish.’

  She said rather wildly, ‘But, Marcus, I can’t, not now! Your godfather will be quite finished if he loses Lornings in the autumn to that rogue Sebastian! I’m your only hope—you need me—I’ve heard you and Hal talking…’

  Her voice trailed away as Marcus pulled her closer and cupped her face with one hand. ‘Dear God, Tassie. Don’t take all of this upon yourself. I will find some other way to settle the business of Roderick’s debts, I swear I will.’

  ‘No,’ she breathed, her heart thudding at his touch. ‘You’ve tried, haven’t you? Visiting those lawyers and everything! I will do it. I promised I would, and I will!’

  Her voice was brimful of defiance, but as Marcus instinctively put both hands on her shoulders he felt her trembling. And he acknowledged silently that he would have been devastated had she accepted his offer to leave.

  Ever since he’d arrived at Lornings, and seen her slide off the back of that farm lad’s pony and come running joyfully towards him in the rain, he’d been aware of the sharp ache of wanting her physically. Day and night he was obsessed by the need to possess her slender body, and to kiss her sweet face into an oblivion of pleasure. Day and night he held himself back grimly, restrained himself with all the strength he could muster, because he knew that if he touched her again he was lost. Hal had actually asked him one evening if he was ailing in some way, not to respond more warmly to such a lovely girl as Tassie. But devil take it, if he was kind to her, he knew he’d end up burning to hold her, just as he was doing now, burning to kiss her, and carry her in a frenzy of desire to the nearest bed. He longed to make her realise what love could be like.

  He was too close to her now. He wanted to taste those delicate, teasing lips, to breathe in the sweet perfume of her soft clean skin, her golden curls. She was driving him to madness. Summoning all his control, he said at last, ‘If you are sure you can go through with this, Tassie, then I will be there for you, all the time. I swear it.’

  She smiled up at him, rather faintly. ‘Are you sure that is such a good idea, Marcus, you being with me
all the time? Perhaps you had better let go of me now. You are hurting me.’

  He let his hands fall instantly. ‘Ah, little minx,’ he said softly. ‘You are wiser than you first appear.’

  ‘I am a fool,’ she said bitterly. ‘Let me go. Please.’

  He drew away almost brusquely. Another dangerous moment averted—no thanks to him. ‘We had better get back to the Dower House,’ he said. ‘It will be cold outside now that night has fallen. Philippa and her mother used to say that the wind from the Gloucestershire hills in March was the bitterest of the year.’

  Tassie watched him almost blindly as he set off towards the stairs. As well, to be reminded of Philippa. Wasn’t it because of Philippa that Marcus was going through with all this? No wonder he took such trouble to flatter Tassie. If she were to back out, his scheme to secure Lornings as his inheritance would be ruined. She brushed her hands agitatedly down her crumpled gown where he had pressed her briefly against him. Her body still burned where he had touched her.

  He was waiting for her at the foot of the stairs. She hurried down after him, pulling on her cloak, and he held open the door for her. Then he locked it, and strode off along the windswept drive, almost cheerfully.

  Tassie followed. You are a fool, she scolded herself in acute despair as she battled her way through the gusts of hostile wind a few paces behind Marcus’s distinctive figure. ‘Fie on you, Marcus,’ she called out at last as her little boots crunched on the uneven gravel. ‘How can I be expected to play the part of a lady, when you go striding off at such a pace that I need to go at the gallop in this stupid dress just to keep up with you?’

  He turned to her, laughing, his dark hair ruffled in the breeze, and held out his arm. ‘My sincere apologies, my lady,’ he said, bowing his head to her; and Tassie, as she laid her fingers on his sleeve and felt the warm strength of him seeping through her fingertips to her whole body, wished she’d held her silence and trailed along after him at a distance. Far, far safer.

  Soon, all this would be over. When she said goodbye to Marcus, she would use her purseful of guineas, and her fine clothes and her fancy manners, to find out the truth about her past. And if her search came to naught, why, she could be a governess, or a lady’s maid, as Caro had suggested…at which thought her heart quailed within her.

  Suddenly she remembered something old Matt had said to her once: Sometimes it takes courage to face your past. But it’s often in the past that your future lies.

  She drew a deep breath. In truth, facing the present also took courage; for she knew she could no longer pretend now that Marcus’s money was her sole reason for her continuing with this wild plan.

  He had offered to give her fifty guineas, this very night, but she had refused. And why? Because if she took his money, and agreed that their bargain was indeed concluded—she would never see Marcus again.

  They played whist with Hal and Sir Roderick when they got back to the Dower House; Tassie was subdued, though no one seemed to notice. She and Roderick won as usual, and when Roderick had gone up to bed, beaming with delight, Hal poured them each a small glass of brandy.

  ‘Let us drink a toast,’ ‘Hal said gravely. To the success of Marcus’s plan.’

  The men stood, and Marcus raised his glass. ‘To Sir Roderick, and Lornings.’

  ‘And to the lovely Tassie,’ added Hal gallantly.

  ‘To Tassie,’ agreed Marcus. ‘And to the downfall of my cousin Sebastian.’

  Tassie reached for her glass. ‘Fie, Marcus, you have high expectations of me. I only hope you’re not sorely disappointed.

  ‘I have every confidence in you,’ Marcus said lightly, lifting his glass to drink. ‘To our success. I think we are almost ready.’

  You might be, but I am not. Oh, I am not, thought Tassie rather wildly to herself as she took an over-large sip of brandy and felt it burning its way down her throat. To have him standing so near to her, so tall and imposing in his long black riding coat and cream shirt, with his dark, vividly handsome face that haunted her dreams smiling down at her, did not help her to sort out her stupidly seething brain at all.

  She lifted her glass defiantly, and gazed at her two companions.

  ‘To my fifty guineas—and to the luck of the cards,’ she proposed, and Marcus laughed.

  Over the next few days, the weather changed. The springlike sunshine that had just begun to warm the valley was swept away by big leaden clouds rolling in ominously on a stiff north-easterly breeze. The air was raw, and chill.

  ‘My sakes, looks like snow,’ said Peg dourly as she thumped at her bread dough in the warm kitchen of the Dower House. ‘Snow, this late in March—can you believe it? My brother Dick at the farm and his boy, Will, they’ll be worrying themselves silly about the lambing ewes up on the hillside!’

  Tassie, who was helping Peg to shape the yeasty dough into loaves and buns, was only half-listening. She had her eye on the partly open door that led into the breakfast parlour, and she was watching Marcus pacing up and down with growing trepidation.

  Less than half an hour ago, a messenger on horseback had arrived with a letter for Hal. Hal read it swiftly, then spoke in anxious tones to Marcus, who also looked worried. Then Hal had taken the letter up to his room. Now Tassie, unable to bear the suspense any longer, popped the last batch of bread into the oven, tore off the big white apron that covered her dove-grey morning dress, and hurried into the parlour.

  ‘Marcus,’ she said anxiously, ‘something’s wrong, isn’t it?’

  He turned swiftly to face her, and she realised that though he looked anxious and abstracted, he wasn’t angry, not with her. The relief flooded through her.

  ‘Well, minx,’ he said slowly, his face softening, ‘you’re still being a paragon of virtue in the kitchen are you? Yes, Hal has received some worrying news. Caro isn’t well.’

  ‘Oh, I’m so sorry. Is she back in London now?’

  ‘Yes, but she must have caught a chill on her journey home. She makes light of it in her letter, but she’s been in bed with an inflammation of the throat. Hal is reproaching himself, of course, for leaving her for so long. He’s returning to London immediately.’

  ‘I hope she recovers swiftly,’ said Tassie quietly. ‘And I shall miss Hal.’

  ‘So shall I,’ said Marcus. He smiled down at her. ‘You will have to put up with my bad-tempered company alone from now on, I am afraid.’

  Tassie’s heart did a strange lurch. ‘I do not mind,’ she said in a tight little voice. ‘I do not mind at all.’

  He touched her cheek in a gesture of affection. ‘We shall do well enough together, you and I,’ he said softly. ‘Get back to the kitchen now, before old Peg starts screaming at me that I am distracting you from your duties.’

  Tassie felt a smile tugging at her mouth. ‘Really? I cannot imagine anyone screaming at you and getting away with it, Marcus.’

  ‘She knows she’ll get away with anything when her fresh-baked bread’s on offer.’

  Hal had lunch with them: a cold roast of mutton left over from the previous night together with the warm loaves Tassie had helped make, spread thickly with butter from the farm. Sir Roderick had stayed in his chamber, and Tassie was worried about him as she took up his tray. She was sorry, too, that Hal was going. She knew she would feel even more vulnerable, all alone with Marcus.

  After lunch, Hal went to pack. Tassie helped Peg tidy the kitchen, feeling a strange sense of foreboding as dark as the clouds that gathered above the distant line of hills. Then Jacob arrived at the kitchen door, letting in a blast of icy air, stamping the half-frozen mud from his boots before entering.

  ‘Look at the man,’ exclaimed Peg, her face red and her arms covered with suds from washing the pots. ‘He’d leave that door wide open if we were all freezin’ to death, I swear! Shut it, do! And don’t you come in wearin’ those filthy boots!’

  Jacob slammed the heavy door shut before pulling off his boots. Then, taking no further notice of Peg, he clumped across the we
ll-scrubbed flags of the kitchen, muttering, ‘I always guessed this would happen! Always warnin’ Sir Roderick, I was, blast it!’ And he went into the parlour where Marcus was sitting, pulling off his old, battered hat as he did so.

  Tassie knew Jacob had been to make his weekly check of the Hall. Because the building was so vast, he inspected a part of it only, each time; he often grumbled that the place was too much for one old man to look after on his own.

  She realised Jacob had left the door to the parlour slightly open. She heard Marcus’s voice. ‘Is something wrong, Jacob?’

  Tassie’s spine tingled in warning. She edged closer to the door, the dish she was drying clutched tightly in her hand.

  ‘Indeed it is, sir! I’ve just bin checkin’ the banqueting hall where all those great big old paintings are…’

  Tassie’s heart suddenly began to thump very loudly. She felt slightly sick, and her fingers were almost nerveless around the plate she held. Peg had gone down the long passageway to the storeroom to put some pans away; Tassie hurriedly put down the dish and edged closer to the half-open door, every word driving like a spear into her stricken senses.

  ‘Of course I know the banqueting hall,’ Marcus was saying. ‘Go on, Jacob.’

  ‘Well, sir,’ said the old man heavily, ‘some of them paintings ‘ave gone! Must be real recent, I reckon, ‘cos I checked that part of the ‘ouse only a while ago, and they was all there then! You can see the places, ‘cos the hooks are still there, and the panellin’ looks all bare. ‘Tis terrible—some of them’s been there since the first master of Lornings had the place built, and I don’t know how on earth I’m goin’ to tell Sir Roderick…’

  Tassie leaned back faintly against the wall. With terrible, mind-numbing premonition, she knew exactly what was going to happen next.

  Frozen to the spot, she heard Marcus walking heavily towards the door behind which she lurked. He opened it abruptly, so that she almost fell into the breakfast parlour.