A Loyal Companion

by Barbara Metzger

  Ignoring the major as if he did not exist, the baron stiffly asked if Miss Randolph was ready for their drive.

  “I’ll just go get my bonnet, my lord. Excuse me, Major.”

  Somehow, as Sonia turned to go up one side of the double arched stairwells, and Darius made to step around the other man, the baron’s foot got in the way of the major’s cane. Darius saved himself from falling by painfully clutching the hall table, overturning a salver of cards and invitations.

  “Clumsy oaf,” Berke jeered.

  The officer’s jaws were clenched, his hands made into fists. “Don’t play your games with me, Berke. I don’t like you, and you don’t like me. Leave it at that.”

  “Or else what? Or else you’ll run to Admiral Cathcart to wipe your nose? No, I won’t leave it, or leave you to ruin another innocent girl. You have no business around Miss Randolph,” he ranted.

  In a quiet, deadly voice, Major Conover replied, “As Miss Randolph is fond of saying, she picks her own friends.” The look on his face expressed what Darius thought of some of her selections.

  Marston, the butler, was holding out the major’s cane. He stood between the two men, pleading, “Gentlemen, gentlemen, remember where you are.”

  Berke took the officer’s cane and broke it across his knee.

  Marston bowed, turned, and with stately measure marched into the butler’s pantry beside the front door. Sonia could hear the lock turn as she started down the steps.

  “We’ll settle this another time, I think,” Darius said, nodding to Sonia.

  “We’ll settle it now! Name your seconds, you dastard!” Berke threw the pieces of cane across the hall.

  “I don’t need seconds to fight you, you little fop.” Darius waved his fist under Berke’s nose. “You name the time and place and I’ll make you sorry you ever started this.”

  “You can’t even fight like a gentleman!”

  Darius grabbed the smaller man around the neck and practically lifted him off his feet. “Why should I? I don’t see any gentlemen around.” He drew one fist back.

  Sonia screamed. The dog barked. The old ladies and Blanche came running.

  *

  I waited for the crash of antlers; the stags were in rut.

  Chapter Thirteen

  Now that was more like it! Man to man, mano a mano, tooth and nail. We were going to get this thing settled once and for all, the survival of the fittest, may the best man win, and all that. Of course, I knew who the best man was, bad leg notwithstanding. I’d been lifted by the major when my leg was broken, lifted as easily as I can pick up a big stick. I’d felt Ansel Berke’s languid pats, and smelled the sawdust padding in his calves, even through all the scent he drenched himself in. The baron worked out occasionally to stay fit; the officer stayed fit to stay alive.

  This is how it should be, combat between two males, just raw power, no weapons. The strongest wins, the loser slinks away.

  Weapons in the hands of man are great equalizers: weaklings can challenge the brawniest bruiser. They are also great distancers: a man who cringes at the sight of his own blood when shaving hesitates not at all to put a bullet in someone else. Weapons make killing easy. Why, someday even females might learn how simple it is to pull a trigger!

  If man had never invented swords and pistols, there would never be war, which has to be the oddest manner ever devised for thinning the population. I’ve heard of famine, disease, and increases of preying creatures, to weed out the old, the ill, the young, and the weak. I’ve never, ever heard of another system for culling out the strongest, healthiest males in their primes. Furthermore, if there were no killing weapons, human people would still be huddled by their fires, waiting for the saber-tooth tigers and cave bears to finish them off!

  Ah, civilization, which makes fistfighting ungentlemanly, and killing one another the proper way to settle differences. Now I was seeing primitive man with no social veneer, lips drawn back, muscles flexed. Let the games begin.

  *

  Sonia was screaming, “Don’t you dare, either one of you!” She was pulling the flowers out of the big vase in the hallway, getting ready to pour its water over the two men as if they were cats on the garden wall. The elderly ladies had run out of the drawing room and were huddled together across the hall.

  “My stars!” one cried.

  “My salts!” another called.

  “My spectacles!” the third complained. “I can’t see a bloody thing!”

  Lady Atterbury picked up half of the broken cane and shook it at the two men, one of whose feet were still not touching the ground. “This is conduct unbecoming a gentleman, sirrahs! Indulging in rowdyism, and in a lady’s hallway!” She didn’t say which was worse. “You should be ashamed of yourselves. Now, put him down!” she demanded of the major, who did, letting go of Berke so suddenly, the baron fell to the ground, skidding on the strewn invitations. He didn’t stay down, though, just kept coming at Darius on his knees. Lady Atterbury started swinging the half cane at Berke’s back, and Sonia tossed her vase of water, but Fitz got in the way, ruining her aim. More water landed on the dowager than on the cursing baron. Sonia shrugged and brought the vase down on Berke’s head.

  Berke was out cold in a pile of porcelain, Lady Atterbury was sputtering, the dog was scampering around in the spilled flowers. The dowagers were gathered together like Macbeth’s witches, cataloging every detail for future reference. Blanche was standing with her mouth open, exclaiming how no novel had ever had this much excitement—and Darius was laughing!

  “Why, you—” Sonia flew at him.

  Then Hugh came in.

  His uniform not quite buttoned up, his hair every which way, Lieutenant Randolph rushed into the hall without a second’s thought to the open door or the missing butler. He had eyes for no one but his sister, whom he immediately scooped up into his arms and spun around. “It’s a boy,” he shouted as loudly as he could. “A boy, Sunny! Do you know what that means?” He didn’t give her time to answer, just kept spinning. “It means I can put in for transfer to the front! Papa has to let me go now that George has an heir!”

  Sonia beat at his chest until he put her down. “What are you talking about, you rattlepate?” she demanded.

  “George! I intercepted the messenger from Deer Park on his way to you. Didn’t you hear me? Old George has a son! A month early, too, the sly devil!”

  “Were you both born in a barn?” Lady Atterbury shrieked.

  Hugh made a hurried bow. “Uh, good afternoon, Grandmother, Your Grace. Sorry, didn’t see you in my excitement. Uh, don’t suppose I should have said that, about George, I mean. My apologies, ma’am, but congratulations, Your Grace, great-grandson and all that.” Then he tried to make a hurried departure before Lady Almeria told him what she thought of the grandchildren she already had, something she was wont to do at every occasion. “I’ll just be toddling off now, visit the War Office, don’t you know.”

  Before Hugh could make good his escape, Sonia grabbed his sleeve. “Don’t you dare leave yet, Hugh! How is Jennifer?”

  Hugh stared nervously at his grandmother, who’d always made him tongue-tied. “The, uh, messenger just said everyone’s fine.”

  “What’s the baby’s name, you looby? Has Papa been sent for?”

  “Deuce, Sunny, it’s a boy. I didn’t stay to hear any more.” He looked over her shoulder and caught sight of three other grandes dames down the hall. He made strangling noises in his throat. Then he noticed the girl near them and brightened. “Hallo, Blanche, ladies. Uh, Lady Blanche. Meant to call on you, thank you for the dance and all, you know. Forgot, what with the news. I’m finally getting to go to fight Boney; what do you think of that? Uh, pretty dress. Call tomorrow, what?” His social obligations fulfilled to his satisfaction, Hugh turned to go, and finally began to notice a few oddities in the ancestral hall. Like a peer of the realm groaning on the floor amid potsherds and posies and the post. Hugh’s eyes popped open wide. “What have you done now, Sunny? I
told the governor you needed a keeper.”

  “Me? Why does everyone blame me?” Sonia yelled. Then she moderated her tones to a ladylike level. “I believe the two gentlemen had a difference of opinion.” She waved toward the shadows where the major was leaning against the wall, having laughed himself silly all over again at the Randolph siblings’ wrangling. “I daresay Major Conover can explain the details,” Sonia said coldly, although the dimples were starting to show as she realized how they must all look.

  Darius bowed in the recumbent nobleman’s direction. “The baron took exception to my cane.”

  “Your cane!” Lady Atterbury snorted. “I never heard the like in all my—”

  She got no further, because Hugh was striding up to Darius. “It is Major Conover!” He hurriedly rebuttoned his uniform coat and smoothed back his hair, then snapped a salute. “Sir, it is an honor.”

  “At ease, Lieutenant.” Conover saluted, then leaned back against the wall. His leg was paining him like the devil after the contretemps with Berke, who was sitting up now, with the aid of a footman. The servants had finally come forward after Sonia’s repeated pull on the cord. They’d been waiting for instructions from Marston; they’d have a long wait. Bigelow took charge in her usual efficient fashion: “Mop. Broom. Sticking plaster. Dry clothes. Gaol.”

  Hugh, meanwhile, was so in alt at meeting one of the heroes of the Peninsula that he was pacing back and forth in the hall, trampling rosebuds into the carpet. “I heard he was at the affair last night, Sunny. Couldn’t believe my ears. Here I was, at the same dull ball with Major Conover! And you never let on he was coming.”

  Sonia was used to Hugh’s passions. “If you’d been doing your duty in the ballroom, you wouldn’t have missed him. And my ball was not dull.”

  “That’s what I heard, today! Dash it, Sunny, you could have sent word to the card room!”

  “But, Hugh, how was I to know you cared to meet the major?”

  “How? I’m in uniform, ain’t I? Everyone in the army wants to meet the major. The fellows at the barracks will be knocked cock-a-hoop that I got to see him, right here at m’grandmother’s.” He looked around as if wondering what in the world a top-of-the-trees officer was, in fact, doing at stodgy Atterbury House. That farrago about a cane, the prone peer, all went by the board as a new thought struck Hugh. Generally he had room for only one at a time. “Deuce take it if you couldn’t put in a word with old Hokey for me, Major. They say if he don’t listen to you, he don’t listen to anyone.”

  Berke was on his feet now, looking around groggily. Sonia quickly turned to her brother. “Major Conover was on his way out, Hugh. Perhaps you can convince him what a fine fellow you are if you lend him your arm down the stairs. His cane seems a bit the worse for wear.”

  Like an eager puppy, Hugh offered his arm, his escort, his eternal devotion. Did the major want him to call a hackney, or should they borrow the prime rig out front, since Berke didn’t look to be going anywhere soon? Maybe the major would like to come meet some of the fellows at the barracks, share a toast to Hugh’s new nephew and new freedom. Was he free for dinner? Hugh knew a bang-up tavern.

  Sonia looked at the awakening baron and the shambles of her grandmother’s hall. Then she gazed beseechingly at the major. One look from those blue eyes and Darius allowed as how he’d like nothing better than to spend an hour or two in young Randolph’s company.

  *

  “I will not have my family’s dirty linen washed in public!” Lady Atterbury raged.

  Sonia looked up from where she was holding a damp cloth to the back of Lord Berke’s head, in the small withdrawing room. His eyes were closed, and she worried that he might be concussed. They were waiting for the doctor. The least Sonia could do, she felt, was make him comfortable, which included hushing her grandmother’s angry tirade. “I am sure your friends won’t say anything about George and the baby.”

  “George? What need have my friends got to say anything about George? Do you think the ton can’t count for themselves? Half of them were at the wedding, you nimwit. What’s that to the point? Half the infants born these days come early. At least George can be fairly certain he’s the brat’s father, which is more than I can say for a lot of treacle moon babies. No, I am talking about that disgraceful scene in my hallway, miss, the likes of which Atterbury House has never seen, I can assure you. When that gets out we’ll all be laughingstocks or worse.”

  The baron groaned. “No one will hear a thing of it,” Sonia reassured both the dowager and Lord Berke. “The servants have all been with you for years and won’t be disloyal now. They know better than to gossip about the family.”

  “You mean they know they won’t keep their jobs if they go prattling in the pubs.” Lady Almeria sipped some of the sherry Sonia poured out for her.

  “And I cannot believe your dearest friends would betray you by bandying the tale about.”

  “Oh, they’d talk, all right, if I didn’t know worse dirt about their own families. Why, I could just tell Sally Jersey about Empora’s daughter and the second footman. And the third footman. That would put paid to her visits to Town. I never did mention exactly why Philomena’s son got sent down from Oxford, either, but she knows I could. As for Sydelle, humph! The ton always did wonder about why her last son didn’t take after either side of the family.”

  “Grandmother!” Sonia jerked her head toward Lord Berke.

  “Oh, that’s all old news, and he’ll be the last one to talk. Not after making such a cake out of himself.” The baron held the cloth over his face and whimpered.

  “Blanche will never tell either, Grandmama, she swore.”

  “She better not, if she knows what’s good for her. After all, she just might have to take this chaw-bacon if you don’t.” Lady Atterbury ignored the baron’s muffled protests. “No, it’s that ninnyhammer of a grandson I’m worried about. His tongue runs on wheels. Loosen it a bit with Blue Ruin or whatever poison the young cockle-heads imbibe these days, and he’s liable to sing his song in every officers’ club and army barracks. Especially since he’s gone moonstruck with hero worship.”

  “You don’t think the, ah, major will spread the tale on his own?” Sonia asked.

  Lady Atterbury hesitated a moment, then uttered a decided “No. Don’t get me wrong, I don’t hold the boy blameless. Too hot at hand by half. But I saw him. He left here with dignity, at least. Somehow I don’t think he’ll lower himself.” That was as close as Lady Atterbury was going to get to approval of the disgraced earl.

  Sonia nodded. She trusted him implicitly. “See, Grandmother, you have nothing to worry about then. Major Conover will keep a lid on Hugh. I’m sure he took his measure right off, and must be used to young subalterns who hang on his every word. No one will ever hear there was a fistfight in the foyer.”

  “You haven’t thought, girl. What are we going to tell the sawbones who comes? And what about Berke’s tiger, who must have seen the whole thing? To say nothing of every passerby and delivery person in Grosvenor Square. The blessed door was wide open! I’ll strangle that Marston, if I ever find him.”

  The baron took to moaning again, so the dowager turned on him. “Stop your caterwauling, Berke. You have no one to blame but yourself. I heard enough to know who was at fault. You could have let him walk by.”

  Berke took the towel from his face. “You’re forgetting m’sister Hermione, your own goddaughter’s sister. I can’t let him get away with that.”

  “Forget Hermione! She was no better than she should be. Why keep blaming some cad for not doing the right thing, when you should have blamed Hermione for doing the wrong thing in the first place! Besides, he said he didn’t ruin her then. There is nothing to be gained now.”

  “Except keeping him away from other innocent young girls.”

  “You sapskull! He was a pariah and would have stayed that way if you hadn’t stirred things up, made him look persecuted. Now he’s an object of sympathy, dunderhead, and you did it yourself. If
he gets taken up by the ton despite all your scandalmongering, you’ll look even more the fool. You, sir, would have done better to let sleeping dogs lie.”

  *

  Dogs don’t lie.

  Chapter Fourteen

  What’s in a name? Oh, I know that cat dirt about a rose by any other name, but that was Romeo and Juliet, and look what happened to them. Tippy says to remember Othello, and “He who steals my purse steals trash, something, something, but he who filches from me my good name, something, something, makes me poor indeed.”

  Names, good or otherwise, have little to do with truth. Ask Othello. Better yet, ask poor Desdemona. Reputations can be made, or unmade, by malicious claptrap or even circumstantial evidence. For instance, a fox with feathers in his fur is considered just as guilty as a fox with a fowl flapping in his fangs. Maybe the first fox happened upon an old pillow. And maybe the major didn’t ruin Berke’s sister. Try to prove either one. So how do you restore a ruined reputation?

  Major Conover seems to be Miss Sonia’s choice of mate, and he is equally taken with her. Even a cow could tell. Why, all they have to do is brush against each other getting into a carriage or something, and their scents are almost embarrassing. The carriage horses perk up their ears, the birds start chirping louder. Smelling of April and May, indeed. That’s not what we call it.

  Of course, the humans can’t sniff the eau d’amour. (I once knew a poodle named Mon Cher. He could make sarcoptic mange sound elegant.) Men are nose-dumb. They can’t tell when a fire is starting, strangers are coming, or a baby needs changing. They can’t even smell rain when it’s minutes away. They need us.

  Anyway, since the major is so obviously Miss Sonia’s pick—and I must say, having now observed the other gentlemen in the park, he is the likeliest candidate—I see no reason to delay. I have reconciled myself to the children, especially once I realized the major will want a male heir. And his smoking could be worse. He could chew the stuff like Jem in the stables, then spit it out to get on someone’s feet. Lady Atterbury is not quite so antagonistic to the match, although she still suspects it to be no more than mere friendship, which will wane as Miss Sonia meets others. The only impediment beyond the major’s and Miss Sonia’s bound-to-be-temporary ignorance of the state of their affections, of course, is his reputation.