A Loyal Companion

by Barbara Metzger

  “No, guv’nor. I ain’t gonna think at all, if you say so. Never liked this job anyways. ’E promised me back wages if I went along, is all.”

  Darius wasn’t listening. He was climbing back inside the carriage for Sonia. He used his sword to cut the bonds at her ankles and wrists, cursing the entire time. “Are you all right, Sonia? Did he hurt you? I’ll kill him, by George, if he so much as touched a hair on your head.”

  When her hands were free, Sonia reached up to feel the back of her skull. She winced.

  “He’s dead. I don’t care if I hang.” Darius started to get out of the chaise, murder in his eyes.

  “No, Darius. I am fine, truly. I do believe Ansel was coming to see the error of his ways anyway. He suffered much worse than I did, I assure you.”

  Darius took her in his arms then, right there in the closed carriage, telling Sonia that she was brave and clever, and Berke never stood a chance. His relieved outpourings were lovely, but Sonia began to fear her bones might break from his squeezing so hard. And the noise… She managed to loosen his grip enough to raise the curtain over the carriage window. A mob of people were standing around the coach, some angrily knocking on its side.

  “Darius, please.”

  He released his hold on her, but only long enough to slip his arms under her legs and behind her back. He swung her out of the carriage. Some of the spectators applauded when he set Sonia on her feet.

  “Coo, it’s just loike a fairy tale, ain’t it?” a young maid with a serving tray in her hand sighed. “Ain’t ’e the ’andsome ’ero an’ all.”

  Sonia winked at Darius and nodded her agreement to the girl.

  A burly individual in a leather apron pushed his way to the front. “’Ere, ’ere, wot’s this about some toff runnin’ off wit’ a gentry mort? Oi’ll give ’im a taste a home-brewed, oi will.”

  Another man in the circle guffawed, “An’ that be just like you, you great lummox, t’ come on like a bloody Crusader after the war be won. It’s the dog wot has the skirter. There be naught for you t’ do wit’ yer great bloomin’ muscles ’cept flex ’em for Polly ’ere.”

  Some of the other men laughed. The aproned fellow stepped forward angrily, but Darius held his hand up.

  “Thank you all, good people,” he said, “for coming to our aid. We still have need of your services to restore the lady.” He pulled out his purse. “Might someone take a hackney to Ware House in Grosvenor Square to inform my household?”

  Darius selected a messenger from the eager volunteers while the serving girl Polly blotted her eyes on a dingy apron. “A real nobleman, ’e be. I cain’t wait t’ tell me ma.”

  Darius passed a few more shillings around. “For your help in clearing the street and getting these wagons moving.” Angry draymen cheered and returned to their carts and loads. Darius handed a coin to the girl with the tray. “Perhaps I can impose on you to provide some tea for the lady, Miss, ah, Polly? And you”—with a handful of guineas to the aproned bruiser—“if I am not mistaken, own that tavern yonder. Serve a round on me to everyone who has been inconvenienced.” Another cheer went up.

  “But wot about ’im?” one of the men asked, jerking his head toward where Berke still lay in the gutter, the dog on his chest snarling if Berke made the least move.

  “Him?” Darius asked casually, snapping his fingers and whistling the dog away. “Why, he’s mine. All mine.”

  Berke cringed, but maintained enough self-esteem—or stupidity—to get to his feet. He looked down on the muddy pawprints on his fawn breeches, the pulled threads on his dragonfly-embroidered waistcoat, the dog drool on his limpened neckcloth. He sat back down on the cobbles, all confidence and bravery gone together.

  Darius was beyond caring whether he had a fair fight or not. Grabbing Berke by the frills of his shirtfront, he dragged the baron to his feet.

  “Why, you bastard? Why have you done everything you could to ruin my life? What did I ever do to you?” A fist to Berke’s middle punctuated the questions, but did not elicit any answers, so the major tried shaking the smaller man. “Tell me why, if you hope to live until tomorrow.”

  “L-l-love M-M-Miss R-Randolph,” issued forth.

  Darius did not like that answer. “You loved her enough to clobber her and kidnap her, and try to force her against her will? Whatever that is, it sure as Hades ain’t love. You wanted her money. But you’ve been snapping at my heels before you ever set eyes on Miss Randolph and her dowry.” He shook Berke again, harder. The sawdust calf pads sank to Berke’s ankles. “For the last time, why?”

  “M-m-my s-sister.”

  “Gammon. And still not good enough. You know I didn’t touch the girl, just like you know I never cheated at cards.” He gave another shake. Berke’s corset snapped with a loud crack. Then the nipped-in waist of his superfine coat wasn’t quite so nipped, buttons popping onto the street.

  Berke groaned. “My other sister. Rosellen.”

  “Ah, finally something of interest.” Darius allowed Berke’s feet to touch the ground, but he kept hold of the baron’s shirt. “Do go on.”

  “Rosellen wanted to be countess. She tried to bring Milo up to scratch, but he wouldn’t have her. He chose Suzannah instead, but Rosellen never forgot. You were just a second son, a soldier, so she wed Preston. Then she found out about him and Hermione.”

  “So you did know all along.”

  Berke closed his eyes. “Rosellen couldn’t expose her own husband without looking the fool. And she already hated the Warebournes.”

  “And you went along with her out of brotherly love?”

  “Rosellen paid me. My debts.”

  “And when I came home from the war, she saw her way clear to winning the title after all.” Darius was revolted, not shocked.

  “No, that was Preston’s idea. He controls the purse strings.”

  “I’m surprised you dance to his tune. Seems to me you could have played the piper, with your lack of ethics.”

  Berke mumbled something Darius couldn’t quite catch. Neither could the few spectators still standing around them on the side of the road. They moved closer. The tavern wench had fetched Sonia a chair, along with some lemonade, and stood next to it, mouth agape. “Coo, it’s better’n a play at Drury Lane. Maybe ’e was too nice to blackmail the other gent. ’E looks too pretty to be so mean.”

  Sonia rubbed her chafed wrists. “I do not think he’s too nice for anything!”

  “Nor do I,” Darius agreed. He took a firmer hold on Berke’s collar. “Preston wanted the title, and Rosellen—well, her motives are best left unsaid. But yours? You were on the lookout for an heiress. Everyone knew that. You could have lined your pockets without challenging me. In fact, you could have sold your information to Milo, then me. I think there’s more to this than you have mentioned.”

  “Preston…knew something about me.” Berke licked his lips. He looked at Sonia, then away. “A youthful indiscretion, nothing more. But he threatened to go to the authorities, or the scandal sheets.” He looked at Warebourne in desperation. “I’d have been thrown out of my clubs!”

  Darius shook him one last time for satisfaction, then shoved him away. “So you were content to save your reputation by ruining mine. What was it, the usual hanging offense?”

  Berke sank to the ground, staring blankly at his scuffed boots. He merely nodded, gulping back sobs.

  “One more question.” Darius spoke softly. “Milo and Suzannah’s carriage accident?”

  “I swear I know nothing about it,” Berke babbled. “If Preston did, he never let on. There was no inquiry. But I didn’t, I swear. I wouldn’t. Please.” He raised his hands in supplication.

  “Zeus, you disgust me. The world would be a better place without you in it.”

  The baron’s shoulders started shaking on their own. Darius turned his back on the sorry sight to greet Ian and Robb. The reinforcements had arrived, along with six servants in Ware House black and gold livery, on horseback, brandishing pistols.r />
  “Good grief, man,” Darius shouted at Robb. “You’ve armed the underfootmen! Can they shoot?”

  “Nary a bit. The guns ain’t loaded, except for mine, a course. You thinkin’ I should aim it at this muckworm here?”

  While Darius was still bemusedly observing his new recruits, Robb chuckled. “Right, sir. Gettin’ ’em on horseback was the harder part. But I had to send two of the stable lads out for the lieutenant, and leave another couple of riders behind for carryin’ messages. Someone responsible had to stay back with the young ’uns. This is what was left.”

  “Robb, you deserve a promotion. For now, though, I am afraid you and your troops will have to do escort duty. Baron Berke is leaving the country. You and your stalwarts will make sure he reaches his ship—any ship—safely. First, however, I believe yon innkeep will provide ink and paper. I am also certain Baron Berke will accommodate me by writing down his little tale. His passport, don’t you know.” He turned to the nobleman. “One-way passport. Is that understood?”

  Berke moved his head up and down a fraction.

  “But what about Preston and Rosellen?” Sonia wanted to know. “Those two blackhearts can’t get away with all they’ve done to you!” Sonia was so angry, she looked as if she’d take on the miscreants herself.

  “Oh, I think we can be forgiving of our cousins…from Jamaica. Preston has holdings there. He’ll go.” Darius waved an arm at the ring of watchers. “He’ll never dare show his face in London again.”

  “’Ere, ’ere,” echoed from the crowd. “Exile’s too good for the likes o’ him.”

  “Yer lettin’ this ’un off easy, guv.” The circle of spectators was growing larger again, and they did not want a peaceable ending at all. They wanted blood.

  Darius was pleased to oblige. He picked the baron up once more, drew back a steel-driven fist, and completed Berke’s disarrangement by repositioning the baron’s nose. Then he lifted him bodily and tossed him into the coach. The mob cheered as the carriage drove off with Robb and Ian and its resplendent if reluctant mounted escort. Most of the onlookers dispersed, thinking the show was over.

  Darius turned to Sonia, who had been applauding as loudly as the most eager street urchin. “Bloodthirsty wench, aren’t you?” he asked.

  “Oh no. If I were bloodthirsty, I’d have drawn his claret myself!”

  “I bet you would have, my endless delight.” Darius laughed out loud and opened his arms to her.

  Sonia walked into his embrace like coming home. “I knew you’d come,” she told him, ignoring Polly’s smiles and the currently unemployed sweep’s whistle.

  “I’d come through the gates of hell for you, Sonia,” Darius whispered in her ear, his hands caressing her back, sending thrills down her spine. “And I would not leave without you, for I’ll never let you go again. I cannot wait on your father. I’ve tried to be patient and do things properly, but I simply don’t have that kind of strength. Sonia, you are my sunshine and my heart’s song. Please say you’ll be mine, forever.”

  She looked up at him, straight into his soft brown eyes. “Darius, I have been yours, forever.” Which required a kiss. The tavern girl wiped her eyes.

  “Soon?” Sonia asked when the world stopped spinning.

  “The banns or a special license?”

  “Can we be remarried later, in Sheltonford chapel, with everyone there?”

  “We can be remarried anywhere you want. Once a week. In front of the prince, Parliament, or the Pied Piper. Just soon!”

  “Then we need, a special license. The banns take three weeks, my lord earl.”

  “Countess Sonia.” He tasted it on his lips, then on her lips. Polly was blubbering. Then Darius sprang back. “My God, Duchess Atterbury. She’ll have me boiled in oil!”

  Sonia laughed. “Don’t tell me the hero of the hour is afraid of one old lady?”

  He grinned back. “I’d rather face the Spanish Inquisition any day. But I’ll do it, for you!”

  This time the kiss lasted so long, the crossing sweep was making book with a knife sharpener, and the serving girl was sobbing.

  “Here now, sir. Enough of that. You’ll embarrass the lady.” The peg-legged man led the horses and curricle over to them.

  Darius stepped back. The sweep ran forward with the lord’s sword-cane, and Polly retrieved the lady’s bonnet. She wiped it tenderly with her tear-dampened apron before reverently handing it to Sonia.

  “Quite right, soldier,” Darius said while Sonia tied her bonnet’s strings. “Thank you for reminding me of my, ah, duty. And the cattle look calm enough, too. The bays won’t stand for just anybody. You must have a way with horses. Cavalry?”

  “McConnell’s Fifth, sir. Private Brown, sir.”

  “Brave lads, Brown. Talavera?” he asked, gesturing toward the veteran’s missing leg.

  “Right enough. And your own bum limb, sir?” the man queried back, recognizing a fellow military man.

  “Salamanca.” Darius looked around when he felt a tug on his sleeve. He couldn’t misread Sunny’s hopeful expression. “Seems to me—to us—that one of our finest shouldn’t be out on the street like this. And I seem to need a groom. You’re qualified, Private Brown, except one thing worries me.”

  Brown’s face fell. “That’s what they all say, sir. No one thinks I can do an honest day’s work with my wooden leg.” He turned to leave. Sonia was starting to sputter.

  “No, both of you!” Darius stated. “I just worried that Private Brown might be offended if his duties included pony lessons for three little girls.”

  “Bless you, sir, I nursed enough Johnny Raws through maneuvers. Little girls and ponies’d be sheer heaven.”

  “Then climb aboard, man; we’re off to find a special license. Here, darling, up you go.”

  Fitz jumped up between Sonia and Darius on the seat. They both gave him a pet before Darius gave the horses the office to start. “Good dog, Fitz.”

  *

  Good dog, Fitz?

  Chapter Twenty-Four

  That’s it? I win the day for them, save the children, sound the alarm, track the coach, subdue the villain. And “Good dog, Fitz” is my reward?

  I suppose it’s always been this way. Romulus did not name the city Lupa, though he and his twin Remus would be carrion without us. People are born under the sign of the ram, the bull, the crab, even the scorpion. No one is born under the sign of the spaniel, in the house of the harrier, on the cusp of the collie.

  It’s not just dogs, either, although of all the species, we give man the most love and loyalty. Does anyone remember the name of even one of Hannibal’s elephants? Daniel gets all the credit for pulling the thorn out of the lion’s paw. For barking out loud, Daniel was going to get eaten! No one congratulates the lion for his forbearance and sense of fair play. I could go on, but whining never brought dinner hour any closer.

  And a pat on the head is enough, I suppose, since I know my job was well done. So they won’t name a star after me. I was very, very good. Thanks to me, we now have a house of our own, with tenants to help, villagers to visit, farmers to advise. We have laughter all the time: little-girl giggles and deep-throated rumbles and, yes, even the first gummy, droolly grins of Master Miles Cecil Randolph Conover, Baronet Ware.

  Now I have more time to go visit the setter bitch at the game warden’s cottage that I met a few months ago. There’s one puppy in her new litter that I like to think resembles me. He’s black, with my gold eyebrows, and his tail is cocked at just the right angle for a dog, jaunty yet dignified. There’s something more about him. You’d recognize the right pup instantly. He’s the one who won’t stay in the whelping box, no matter that he falls on his nose climbing over the sides. He’s the one who has to taste the straw and the grass and the morning dew. He chases sunbeams and growls at shadows. That’s the one.

  *

  “Darling—”

  “My love—” Darius laughed and tucked Sonia’s hand back onto his arm. They continued walking on
a slow tour of the nearby grounds, admiring the summer flowers. “You go first,” he said.

  Sonia listened to a bird calling in the woods. “I just wanted to discuss an idea I had about a school in the village, but it can wait. What did you wish to say?”

  Darius groaned. “Only that you have to stop employing every waif and wanderer who passes by. The maids are already tripping over each other, and the horses won’t have any hair left from all the currying they are getting from the excess of grooms we seem to employ.”

  “You cannot complain about the stables, my lord, for you hired Brown yourself, and that half regiment he said needed positions. And you did agree that Polly was wasted at the tavern, especially since Maisie and Robb will be setting up their own household. And that poor girl whose family all died in the last influenza outbreak—”

  Darius held up a hand in surrender. “But the others, Sunny. And the ones the vicar will mention to you tomorrow. I finally got Lady Atterbury to forgive me for marrying you out of hand. You know she said she’d have my liver and lights if we sent her any more untrained servants with sad stories.”

  “Oh pooh, that’s just Grandmama. She was delighted with Portia Foggarty. Grandmama really did need a companion, and Portia’s husband left her in dun territory when he went off to fight in Spain.”

  “Yes, but—”

  Sonia patted his arm. “I know, darling. That’s why I think we need a new school.”

  “We already have a school, Sunny. With two teachers, a maid, and a man-of-all-work. You are going to bankrupt even the Warebourne treasury, my pet.”

  “Fustian. We are increasing the holdings magnificently, and your investments are profitable beyond even your expectations. Remember, we went over all the accounts together just last week, so don’t give me any Banbury tale of impending poverty.”

  He grinned and kissed her on the nose, where a sprinkle of freckles was starting to make a summer appearance. “You may hire as many unskilled workers as you wish, then, wife.” He began to trail kisses down her neck.