A Loyal Companion

by Barbara Metzger

  Thinking of Milo, Darius touched the letters left on his desk, one for each of his brother’s daughters. He drew the family signet ring off his finger and placed it on the letter for Benice, the eldest. Then he tenderly took Milo’s watch out of his own pocket and centered it atop Gen’s letter. On little Tina’s he put one of his own treasures, which he carried with him on all the marches and transports: a silver-framed miniature of his own mother, with two dark-haired little boys gazing up at her.

  There was an envelope with Miss Randolph inscribed on it, but the envelope was empty. He sharpened a quill to try again, and took her little yellow rose out of his pocket for inspiration. Words just did not come. He had no right to say what was in his heart. Finally he picked up the carved sandalwood box filled with medals Robb had removed from his uniform, to make Darius less a target. He put that on top of the empty envelope. Then he stared at the fire until it was time to wake Robb and Hugh.

  *

  “What are we doing up so early?” Hugh asked as he staggered into the morning room, wiping his eyes. “We don’t have to be at the Oaks for hours.”

  “Breakfast, my boy, breakfast.”

  Hugh’s face took on a greenish cast when he saw the mounds of food on Conover’s plate. The night’s revelries hadn’t set well with him, nor did the idea of facing his sister if things did not go the way she wished. “How can you eat at a time like this?”

  “Easiest thing in the world,” the major answered around a nearly raw beefsteak. “You better get used to it. A soldier has to eat when there’s food. You never know when the next opportunity will come. Right, Robb?”

  “Yes, sir. Many’s the time we had naught but what were in our pockets, and no way of knowing how long it had to last. ’Sides, no sense in dying on an empty stomach.” Having served the major, Robb was standing by the sideboard, picking out his own breakfast of kippers and cutlets.

  Hugh’s coloring turned even more bilious.

  “At least have some coffee, Lieutenant. Settle your nerves.”

  When Hugh was seated, trying to avoid the sight of all that food, he noticed the dog. “What’s old Fitz doing here? I thought he always went home when the company left.”

  Darius shrugged. “He wouldn’t leave. And let me tell you, if the condemned man got one last wish for company, it wouldn’t be Fitz. He snores.”

  Reminded of the duel, Hugh swallowed hard and said, “Don’t joke.”

  Robb just shook his head. Young cawker’s tender sensibilities wouldn’t last long at the front. He poured out an ale for Major Conover.

  “Uh, Major,” Hugh asked, “you going out in your uniform? I mean, shouldn’t you be wearing black or something?”

  “Black is for funerals, Randolph. If the French didn’t manage to kill me all these years despite my being as easy to spot as a peacock in the snow, then I’ll just take my chances with Berke. I can’t think he’ll have trouble seeing me at twenty paces, no matter what I wear. Robb did remove the medals over my heart, if that makes you feel better.”

  Hugh noted how the uniform jacket was a tight fit over Conover’s broad chest, now that he’d regained his weight and perhaps a little extra. Hugh eyed the major’s plate again. “Maybe you’d do better to remove the coat anyway, free your arm up better.”

  Darius continued cutting his steak and chewing. “Mm. I’ll think about it, if it’s warm enough.”

  Hugh nodded, but was still troubled. “Some of the, uh, gentlemen last night were a bit above par.”

  Robb snorted. “Castaway, more like.”

  “I saw no reason not to open my brother’s cellars, Hugh. If I’m around, I’ll replace the bottles. If not, Cousin Preston doesn’t deserve that fine old brandy half as much as my fellow officers. At least they stood by me.”

  “Zeus, didn’t mean to find fault with your hospitality, sir! No, it’s just that some of the men’s tongues were loosened a bit—in their cups, don’t you know—and, well, m’sister’s name was mentioned more than once in connection with the duel.”

  Darius put his fork down, forcibly. “Your sister is not involved in the duel. Her name is blameless, and don’t you let anyone convince you otherwise. Next thing we know, you’ll be issuing challenges like Berke, and making Sonia’s name a byword for real. The talk will die down after today, you’ll see, so don’t do anything harebrained. Do you understand, Lieutenant?”

  When the major used that tone of voice, Hugh did. “Then the whole thing really is about a game of cards?”

  “Don’t be a nodcock. I wouldn’t give the time of day to Berke or Preston. Do you think I’d sit down to a hand with them? I walked into the room, saw the two of them, and left. The whole thing was a farrago of nonsense.”

  Hugh was skeptical. “Then why? Mean to say, a fellow hates you, so he avoids you. No need to start a brouhaha. That’s why everyone’s looking for deeper reasons. Couldn’t still be that old rapper about Berke’s sister. As you say, he’s got nothing to gain by shaking the skeletons out of his own closet.”

  Darius swirled the liquid around in his glass. “I don’t know about that. I might be wrong, and there’s no way to prove I’m right, but I think Berke has a lot to gain. You do know he’s nearly always below hatches from gaming?”

  “Everyone knows that. He’s at the clubs every night.”

  “As long as you realize he’s a basket-scrambler and don’t let him near your sister.”

  “Sunny? She’s too downy a bird for that! She tolerates him for Lady Atterbury’s sake, but just barely.”

  “Good. Anyway, I had my man do some checking to see where Berke gets his income. It’s not from his lands; he bled them dry years ago. They are mortgaged to the hilt. And he’s not even a particularly successful gambler. Yet he always seems to come about, at least enough to maintain his standing on the town. My cousin Preston, on the other hand, has more money from his mother’s family than he knows what to do with, and keeps winning more.”

  Hugh digested that. “You mean Preston is backing Berke?”

  “Something like that, and Preston could be calling in his markers. As I say, I could be wrong and Preston could be supporting his wife’s brother out of the goodness of his heart. Then again, pigs could fly. I cannot think of anyone else who will benefit by my demise.”

  “Lud, why didn’t you ever say so?”

  “What for? It’s just conjecture. Milo always stood between me and the title, and I thought I’d die a hero anyway. Much better than taking one of Berke’s bullets over some lightskirt. He always was a crack shot, you know. That’s why it was so easy for him to make the challenge. He never believed he could lose. I thought at the time that if I met him and lost, that would be half confessing I knew the girl.”

  “Uh, are you any good with a gun?” Hugh thought to ask, a trifle late.

  Darius smiled. “Passable.” He reached for another rasher of ham.

  Hugh was still mulling over the information. He was not a quick thinker at the best of times, but before dawn was especially taxing. “Still don’t figure about the girl, Berke’s sister.”

  “According to Berke, who I’d trust as far as I could throw, she named me. But what if she said Conover? I know I never laid with her. She was a bran-faced chit with rabbity teeth. Fellow’d remember a thing like that. Preston’s a Conover, too; Conare’s just a jumped-up title he bought from Prinny. Maybe that’s why he’s been settling Berke’s accounts for all these years.”

  “And Berke couldn’t force him to marry the chit because Preston was already married. Gads, his own sister-in-law!”

  “Maybe Berke didn’t know or didn’t have proof. Or else he was trying to protect his other sister, Rosellen. Maybe he even thought to blackmail Preston. It’s possible we’ll never know. Once he challenged me and slandered my name, he couldn’t back down without looking the fool.” He shrugged. “It’s all idle speculation now at any rate. At least it will be over soon.” He tucked a scrap of yellow silk back into his pocket from where it had lain
next to his plate. Then he got up and began filling another dish.

  Hugh had to hold a napkin to his mouth. “Lud, you’re not going to eat all that, too, are you?”

  Darius answered, “No, it’s time to leave,” as he selected lamb chops and a sirloin with the bone left in, potatoes and gravy, a muffin or two.

  Halfway out the door, Hugh complained, “Well, if you ain’t going to have another meal, what in the blazes is that?”

  Darius put the plate down on the floor, under Fitz’s nose, and smiled as the dog started gobbling. “Insurance.”

  *

  I wasn’t ready.

  Chapter Nineteen

  That’s it! That’s how man, truly just one of us higher species, manages to maintain his domination. No, not by his fancy fingers or use of tools, nor by his convoluted thinking, by Tray! Canis Major, it’s pockets!

  He can store things. Oh, squirrels bury nuts, and dogs hide their bones, and foxes take food back to their dens all the time, but I mean really store things. Man doesn’t have to be worrying about his next meal, so he can keep larger issues in mind. He can even keep two things in mind at once.

  While some of us are only recently come to the security of steady meals, human persons have long since gone beyond the drama of mere day-to-day survival (except the very poor, of course, but no one seems to count them). Men have transcended immediacy.

  I saw food. I ate it, like my fathers the wolves, like my cousins the jackals. An atavism, that’s what I am. I am as stupid as the squirrel who can be tempted into the open with a handful of corn. Squirrel stew. That’s me, squirrel stew.

  The only times man allows his appetites to overrule his reason are when he’s in his cups, or in the act of love. Cat dirt, I should have got him foxed! I could have found him a woman. One waits at the corner every night. No, those would only have been temporary solutions. The major was not likely to forget his purpose, not like me, I am ashamed to admit.

  My dreams of being inscribed in the annals of canine glory have been written on the wind. I was going to be a hero, like Aubrey’s dog, Dragon, who not only identified the Frenchman who slew his master, but took the varlet on in single combat before the king—and won. I was going to equal Dragon in valor. They would have named a star after me.

  Dragon, hah! My full belly is dragging, that’s all. My tail between my legs, I go home. Miss Sonia will need me. My place is by her side.

  *

  “Well, you picked a fine time to stay out all night,” Sonia complained to the dog who drooped next to her chair. “I’m awake all night worrying, and you’re out tomcatting! A nice how-do-you-do.” The dog looked up at her from under shaggy gold eyebrows, whimpered once, and went back to sleep. Sonia went back to polishing silverware. Technically this was Marston’s job, cleaning the fragile heirloom epergnes and candelabra. The butler had grown lax and fumble-fingered; Grandmother should see about pensioning the old fellow off. Sonia didn’t mind the chore anyway. It gave her something to do, and the polishing table in the butler’s pantry was right beside the front door.

  Here it was after ten and she’d received no word. She gave a tiny swan-shaped salt cellar a hard buffing. Her brother had sworn to come to her as soon as there was word. She wanted to throttle him. She nearly rubbed the wings off the poor swan instead. Next she attacked a monstrosity of a centerpiece, with elephants marching around the base, trunk to tail, howdahs on their backs, palm trees overhead, monkeys in the trees, and large, parroty-type birds on top whose open mouths were candle holders. Even Lady Atterbury hated it. The thing was a wedding gift from Great Aunt Sophrina, so it stayed. Today it was getting the polishing of its life. The palm trees were almost swaying.

  Where was that chaw-bacon brother of hers anyway? she fumed, rubbing an elephant until it squeaked. Everyone knew duels were at dawn. If he’d stopped off at the barracks, she’d—What if he was busy with surgeons and things? Darius had said trust him. She did, of course. But she didn’t trust Ansel Berke, or the accuracy of dueling pistols, or the skill of some unknown physician. She didn’t even trust her heart to keep beating through all this waiting. What would she do if— No, she was not going to think about that. Just let him live, she prayed, even if he flees to America or back to the army. That’s all she was asking, for now.

  By eleven the monkeys on the centerpiece were screaming for mercy, and Sonia was starting on the parrots. Ian had taken Fitz out and was dragging the reluctant dog up and down the street in front of Atterbury House, watching for the first glimpse of Lieutenant Randolph. The dowager was out of her bedchamber for the first time in days, running Bigelow and Sonia’s maid ragged with her demands for possets and potions. Marston stood erect by the front door, magnificent in livery and powdered wig. Only the glazed look in his eye revealed that the dignified butler was as drunk as a lord. Sonia polished.

  “He’s coming!” Ian finally shouted from the corner, to be echoed a moment later by Marston’s stately “Lieutenant Randolph approaches,” as he marched across the marbled hall to report to the dowager in the drawing room. Sonia jumped up, sending polishing cloths and powders every which way.

  “He’s alone!” Ian called.

  “The lieutenant appears to be unaccompanied,” Marston intoned, crossing the hall again. Sonia clutched the centerpiece to her chest, sending a monkey or two hurtling through the palm trees.

  “He’s whistling!”

  Marston silently slid down the wall to land prostrate on the marble. The centerpiece soon joined him on the floor. Sonia jumped over both to run down the outside stairs and throw herself into Hugh’s arms, dirty hands and soiled apron and all, right there on the street.

  “Tell me, tell me!” she cried, tugging him back up to the door. “Who won?”

  Hugh jingled some coins in his pocket and whistled again. “Why, I did, don’t you know. Laid m’last month’s pay on the major. Got good odds for Conover’s bum leg and Berke’s reputation.”

  “Dash it, Hugh, you know I don’t care about your addlepated wagers! What happened?”

  Hugh got a glimpse of his grandmother fanning herself in the drawing room, so he pulled back. “Uh, what say we go to the dining room, have a bite to eat, what? Didn’t get much of a breakfast, by George.”

  “You’ll get in here this instant, young man, and stop your confounded shilly-shallying,” Lady Atterbury demanded. “Warebourne survives, I assume?”

  Hugh bowed and nodded.

  “And Berke?”

  “Him, too,” Hugh replied, looking pleadingly at his sister.

  Now that she was not on tenterhooks, Sonia could take pity on Hugh. If she couldn’t save him from their grandmother’s rancor, at least she could feed him. She sent Bigelow and Maisie off to see about a substantial tea for her brother, since ringing for Marston was going to be useless for some time to come.

  Hugh didn’t speak while the servants scurried back and forth with trays and platters. He did mention, though, around a thick slab of fresh bread with a chunk of cheese on it, that he hadn’t stayed for the postcontest festivities at the Golden Hare. “That’s why I’m so sharp-set. Knew you’d be anxious, so I rode back straightaway.”

  “And Darius, Major Conover, is at the Golden Hare? Celebrating?” Sonia asked. He was off enjoying himself while she was in such agony?

  “Devil a bit,” Hugh answered, making himself another sandwich with some cold meat. “He’s on his way to pick up the Warebourne chits in Lyme. Said the coaches were all packed and ready, and he missed the brats. Wanted them near him, he said. Can’t imagine why, m’self.” He kept eating.

  Sonia tossed a napkin at him. “But what happened? You still haven’t told us about the duel!”

  “Oh, that. Neatest bit of shooting I’ve ever seen. Quickest golden boys I ever made.” Lady Atterbury angrily drummed her fingers on the armrest of her chair. “Uh, better to start at the beginning.”

  “Finally,” the dowager muttered.

  Hugh ignored her, preferring his sister’s
eager smile. “’Twas foggy. Usually is for this type of thing, early morning, don’t you know. Trees look spooky.” Lady Atterbury cleared her throat; Hugh rushed on. “Anyway, we were there first. Darius wanted to be early so his men could scour the woods to make sure no sharpshooters were hidden in the trees.”

  “He never thought Ansel Berke would be so dastardly!” the dowager insisted. “The man’s a baron and a prime marksman, from all I hear.”

  Hugh shrugged. “Darius is a soldier. Said it pays to be careful. His man Robb says the major hasn’t led his men into an ambush since he was a green ’un on his first foray out. Besides, that Warebourne title might be worth something to someone else other than Berke.”

  “Conare,” Sonia breathed, her hand to her mouth.

  The dowager merely went, “Harumph. Jackanapes doesn’t know what he’s talking about. Gentlemen like Berke and Conare do not behave like savages. Proceed, sirrah.”

  “Well, Conare didn’t show his face anyway. Berke came along in good time with a parcel of mincing fops, all their high-heeled slippers getting stuck in the grass. At least Berke wore Hessians. He was laughing and carrying on with the coxcombs as if he didn’t have a care in the world, comparing snuffboxes of all things! Let me tell you, such confidence drove his odds down.”

  Hugh sat up straighter with self-importance. “I conferred with his man. He conferred with Berke. I conferred with Conover. Neither man would apologize.”

  The dowager snorted. “If they were going to apologize, you looby, they needn’t have waited six years!”

  Affronted, Hugh told her, “My job, don’t you know, trying to negotiate a compromise.”

  “Hush, Grandmama, let Hugh tell the story his own way.”