by Mary Nichols
Harry told him about the highway robbery and the fact that he had recruited the robbers. ‘They are going back to King’s Lynn to keep watch for suspicious cargo. I have my eye on one vessel in particular. It looks hopeful.’
‘Glad to hear that. What is happening about your cover story? Has anyone taken the bait?’
‘Not yet. I need to spread the word that I am bitterly disappointed by the government’s failure to recognise the potential of what I am offering.’
‘I will do what I can, but it will mean the disapproval of the ton.’
‘It can hardly be worse than it is.’
‘Then I wish you luck, my friend.’ He finished his wine and stood up. ‘I am going to play a hand of whist. Would you like to make a four?’
He ought to go home and go to bed. He was dog-tired and not at his best, but what was there to go home to? An empty house, not even Anne to welcome him. He might as well try his luck. He drained his glass. ‘Very well, but I am not playing deep. I have seen too many ruined by that.’ At the back of his mind was a tiny voice of caution that sounded unbelievably like Jane’s, telling him that gambling was evil and he could not afford another scandal should he ruin himself. Jane, dear, lovable Jane, who always tried to do the right thing, who was so concerned about doing what was proper, she forgot that sometimes you needed to compromise.
In the early hours, two hundred pounds richer, he sent out for a link boy and a chair to take him home; it was unsafe to walk the streets alone at night, especially with money in one’s pockets. But it might help to fuel the rumour that he was low in the stirrups and needed cash.
Once in his bed, he fell asleep almost instantly and slept until noon, when he set off for Duke Street, smiling to himself. The tattlers might very well say he was never off the doorstep, but Anne had furnished him with an excuse. Was she as ill as she pretended? He shook the thought from him; she had certainly been very unwell travelling back to London and he had been very worried. Yesterday she had said she was better, so perhaps in a few days she would return home. He did not know if he would be glad or sorry—not about her sickness, of course he was sorry about that, but about her leaving Duke Street.
Jane had avoided meeting the Countess the day before by going to her own room to write to Mr Allworthy. It had been difficult to strike just the right balance between relating the story of the banquet in detail and glossing over it as if it were of little note. She did not want it to sound as if she were making excuses for going, when as far as she could see she did not need excuses. She did not have to account to him where she went. On the other hand, she did not want him to think she had behaved improperly.
And there was the attempted robbery on the way home from Coprise. How much of that should she tell him? Should she mention the fact that she had recognised one of the robbers as the man he had been talking to on the docks at King’s Lynn? In the end she decided to make little of the attempted robbery, assuring him it had come to nothing because of Captain Hemingford’s exemplary courage, and then went on to tell him about the banquet, making it as amusing as possible. Once the letter had been sent to the post, she relaxed. Let the Countess do her worst. It was not until the next day that she realised just what the lady had in mind.
‘The Countess is very worried for you,’ Aunt Lane told her. ‘She is afraid you will be led astray by your cousins and become the subject of gossip.’
‘And no doubt she will make sure of it,’ Jane said. She had spent the morning copying for her father and now he had gone to the public library to consult a reference and she had a little spare time. Most of it she had spent with Anne, but now that Anne was asleep she had come down to join her aunt for tea. ‘Aunt, I hope you set her to rights.’
‘How could I? I know she is right to be worried. I am myself. I should never have allowed you to go to that banquet last night. It was foolish of me.’
‘Why?’ She forbore to point out that her aunt could not have stopped her. Only her father could do that and he had shown little interest, believing that at twenty she was old enough to know right from wrong.
‘I knew the Countess would be there.’
‘Aunt, I do believe you are afraid of her.’
‘Afraid of her? Why should I be? I listen to her because she has the ear of Society and people take note of what she says. She can make or break a reputation, you know.’
‘Fustian! What I cannot understand is why she is taking such an interest in me? I am nothing to her.’
‘Jane, how can you say so? You are kin and she has always believed in the importance of blood ties; she knows them all going back hundreds of years.’
‘And is she afraid I am about to taint her precious bloodlines?’
‘Jane, please do not climb on your high ropes; it is a terrible failing you have, though where you learned it, I do not know.’ She sighed heavily. ‘When I told her I was concerned that you seem to be mouldering away at your father’s musty books, when you should be married and having children, naturally she took an interest. She is rich as Golden Ball and generous to a fault.’
Jane was not sure where the conversation was leading, but it was definitely leading somewhere. Her aunt was behaving oddly, agitated to the point of not being able to sit still, and yet her small eyes were bright with excitement. What had being rich and generous to do with tattling to Mr Allworthy? She waited.
‘Her ladyship has offered to give a ball for you,’ her aunt said breathlessly. ‘There! What do you think of that?’
Jane was so taken aback she could not speak for a moment and then all she said was, ‘A ball?’
‘Yes, a dance, with an orchestra and supper and everyone dressed in their finery.’
‘You must have misunderstood.’
‘No, dear, she was quite explicit. You are to have a ball and everyone will be there. Your engagement to Mr Allworthy will be announced and silence the tattlers.’
‘Never. If she thinks she can ride roughshod over me like that…’ Jane could not find the words to express her anger and dismay, but neither could she remain silent, which would indicate acquiescence. ‘I will not be the object of her condescension. And Mr Allworthy will not have it either. He will not allow me to be browbeaten by that dried-up old goat.’
‘Jane!’ Aunt Lane was horrified. ‘How can you say so? The Countess has offered you nothing but kindness. But she is right when she says you have been allowed too much of your own way. And such language too! No doubt you learned it from that scapegrace cousin Harry.’
‘He is not a scapegrace. He is—’ She stopped suddenly, asking herself just what Harry was. Her friend, her childhood playmate, her confidant, her cousin. ‘He is my friend’s brother and therefore my friend too.’ She paused and gave a hollow laugh. ‘I’ll wager he will not be on the guest list.’
‘Oh, Jane, please do not be difficult. The Countess can be very waspish if she is crossed. She has already called me weak and indecisive.’
Jane moved over and kissed her aunt’s cheek. ‘I love you just as you are, Aunt. And she is a dragon to terrorise you so. Take no notice of her.’
‘Then accept this ball and thank her ladyship prettily when she comes.’
‘What does Papa say?’
‘He is in favour. He is as anxious to see you settled as I am. And I believe Mr Allworthy has given him certain undertakings and waived a dowry.’
‘Why?’
‘Because the young man admires you, Jane. Has he not said so?’
‘Yes, he has, but I cannot believe that is all there is to it. What is he hoping for?’
‘Jane, why are you so obdurate? It is very generous of the Countess to give a ball for you and it would be the ideal opportunity to make an announcement.’
‘But I want to make up my own mind, can you not understand that? There can surely be nothing worse than being locked in an unhappy marriage.’
‘What reason have you for supposing that it might be unhappy?’
Jane looked at her aunt
and burst into tears. They had been building up for weeks, ever since Mr Allworthy had proposed, building up while she was at Coprise and on the journey home, building up to a crescendo when she found herself at the Regent’s banquet and had come face to face with the Countess. She was being torn in two, pushed one way by Anne and another by her aunt, while her father, who might have offered wise counsel, sat on the fence and disappeared to the library when her whole future was being mapped out for her by a stranger. And she could not banish the idea that it was not love which guided her suitor.
Aunt Lane looked startled and then sought to comfort her, putting her arms round her and stroking her hair, but nothing she said could stem the flow. ‘Jane, Jane, do not take on so. But you know, this proves you are not happy now. Do you not think that once you have made the decision to accept Mr Allworthy, you will be all smiles again?’
‘I do not know.’
‘You were not so undecided before Captain Hemingford came back.’
‘He has nothing to do with it, nothing at all.’ She was very adamant about that.
Mrs Lane breathed a sigh of relief. ‘Then shall we wait and see what Mr Allworthy thinks of the plan? The Countess is writing to him today.’
It was too much for Jane. She scrambled to her feet and fled upstairs, to lay sobbing on her bed until there were no more tears to be shed. Then she splashed her face with cold water, tidied her hair and went along the corridor to see Anne.
‘You are never going to agree?’ Anne said, after Jane had poured out the whole story.
‘I don’t know. Everyone tells me I should accept Mr Allworthy. Aunt Lane seems to think it is because I have not given him a proper answer that I am all at sixes and sevens and once I have made up my mind—’
‘Then make it up. Say you will not have him.’
‘If I do that, I shall never marry.’
‘There are worse things than being single,’ Anne said flatly. ‘We will be old maids together. We will dabble in politics and campaign for women’s rights and terrorise those men who have the effrontery to disagree with us. We will keep animals and ride to hounds, let our hair grow wild and wear breeches.’
Jane was laughing in spite of the tears which threatened to break out afresh. ‘That would set the cat among the pigeons.’
‘Be strong, Jane,’ Anne said softly. ‘It’s your life, no one can live it but you, and giving in to everyone will not make you happy.’
‘It is all very well for you, Anne, but you do not have to face the Countess. She is a dragon. And I am not at all sure that Aunt Lane is not right and I ought to agree to the marriage.’
‘If you do, I shall never speak to you again.’ She paused. ‘What you need is a breathing space, to get right away.’
‘I have only just returned from Coprise.’
‘That only made matters worse. I meant right away, where you can have a little peace.’
‘Where?’
‘I need to regain my strength in the country. Come with me.’
‘To Sutton Park?’
‘No, to my aunt. She lives on the banks of Lake Windermere and is always asking me to visit her. We could spend our days doing nothing but take long walks and go boating on the lakes.’
The prospect was appealing. ‘But how can we bring it about? How can I persuade Papa and Aunt Lane to allow it?’
‘I think I need the doctor again, Jane. Will you have him sent for?’
‘Oh, I am so sorry, Anne, I have made you ill again, piling all my woes onto you. Why did you not say?’
Anne smiled. ‘I am not ill. In fact, I am fully recovered. But I think you are about to catch my cold.’
‘Am I?’
‘Oh, yes. Just look at you, all red eyed and stuffed up. Take to your bed, Jane dear. I am going to get dressed and give your aunt the sad news.’
Whether it was because Anne had put the idea into her head or that she was truly already sickening, but Jane did develop the cold and this was confirmed by Doctor Harrison, who afterwards spent some time with his previous patient. When the Countess arrived to go over details of the ball, she was met by a very worried Harriet Lane who told her that Anne’s illness had been more serious than was at first thought and that Jane had also fallen victim to it. It was apparently very contagious. The news was enough to send the Countess scuttling to safety, all thought of a ball put to one side until the danger was passed.
‘When Jane is sufficiently recovered, I am going to persuade the doctor that she needs country air,’ Anne told her brother. He had called to see his sister and was surprised to find her up and about and full of energy and it was Jane who was ill. He was all concern for her and would have gone to her sickbed if such a thing had been allowed, but as it was not, he had to make do with Anne’s report delivered in the hall. ‘We will go to Aunt Bartrum. Once she is away from London, Lady Carringdale will forget about her and, with luck, she will forget all about Donald Allworthy.’
‘Anne,’ he admonished. ‘Ought you to interfere?’
‘Why not? Everyone else is. And she needs a true friend. I am not going to try and persuade her to anything except to consider her own happiness. The calm air of Windermere will do the work for me.’
‘How will you travel?’
‘Post-chaise, of course. I never spend all my pin money and I can afford it. And to keep us safe from highwaymen, you will be our escort.’
He laughed. ‘And Allworthy?’
‘I shall write to him as a friend and tell him how the Countess has been pushing Jane so hard she has become ill through it and is in a terrible mull, not knowing which way to turn. I shall suggest that, left in peace for a few weeks, she will undoubtedly come to the right decision. I shall ask him to give her that time. All in his best interests, of course.’
He laughed. ‘May you be forgiven.’
‘Oh, I am sure I will be,’ she said complacently. ‘And I have sent Amelia home for a little holiday. She hates Westmorland anyway. There will just be the three of us.’
Nothing was happening in the capital, so perhaps he was best out of it, but he would have to make arrangements for Jerry Thoms to contact him at his aunt’s address if he turned anything up. He had also written to one or two armaments manufacturers, asking if he might look over their operations, but their replies would be forwarded to him as a matter of course.
Anne accompanied him to the drawing room where he spent a few minutes with Mrs Lane, thanking her for the good care taken of his sister and hoping Jane would soon be well again, and then he took his leave. An hour later he returned and left a bouquet of flowers for Jane, but he did not stop. He had letters to write, one to Colonel Garfitt to keep him abreast of developments; another to Jerry Thoms at a secret address they had arranged, and a third to his grandfather, requesting the loan of the family travelling coach to take them to Westmorland. He would not allow Anne to use her pin money to pay for post horses and was thankful for the two hundred pounds he had won.
Jane was so worn out she was almost glad to lie in bed and let others do the worrying. ‘I am staying to nurse you,’ Anne said. ‘After all, I have had the fever and am safe from the contagion.’
‘I thought it was just a catch-cold. I do not feel as ill as all that.’
Anne grinned. ‘A contagious fever sounds better and keeps the Countess away. Even your aunt has been persuaded not to come too close and stands outside your door to ask how you are.’
‘Anne, it is not fair to deceive her. She is an old lady.’
‘I know and I am sorry, but we cannot have her running to the Countess every five minutes. By the time you are well again, Harry will have made all the arrangements for our journey to Westmorland.’
‘Sometimes, Anne, I think you are as bad as the Countess.’
Anne came and sat on the side of her bed and took her hand. ‘No, I am not, for I shall not bullock you into marrying against your will. I shall not mention marriage at all, that is a promise. But if you do not want to come with me to
Windermere, say so now.’
‘Oh, you know I would like to go, but Papa—’
‘Oh, he will take the advice of Doctor Harrison, that’s what he pays him for.’
‘And how did you persuade the doctor to comply?’
‘Oh, it was easy,’ Anne said loftily, but there was a slight rosiness to her cheeks that made Jane look hard at her, but she decided not to comment. ‘He is a great believer in the efficacy of country air and you have no country retreat, have you?’
‘No.’
‘Harry has sent for the Bostock travelling coach, it is comfortable and roomy and as soon as you are well again we will go. Of course, Grandfather will not let us take it without an escort.’
‘Harry?’ Jane’s heart began to thump. Was she simply jumping out of the frying pan into the fire and taking her problems with her?
‘Who else is there? I think he needs a rest too; he is not completely over that wound and it will do him good.’
Who else was there? Jane asked herself. And if being a friend to Harry was the price of Anne’s friendship, then it was a price worth paying. They had already proved they could be friends. But would her aunt agree? And her father? Ever since her mother had died, Papa had been afraid of illness of any kind and, like her aunt, had not come into the sickroom. She did not blame him; if he were ill he could not carry on with his important work. And who would do his copying while she was away?
What Anne said to Mr Hemingford she did not divulge, but she was with him at least half an hour, and, in the face of his agreement, Aunt Lane could not object and she was wise enough to realise that mentioning the Countess again would not serve. But she did demur on behalf of Mr Allworthy. ‘What will he think of you going off like that?’ she asked Jane, as soon as she was allowed in to see the recovering invalid.
‘He knows Jane has been very ill,’ Anne put in before Jane herself could answer. ‘I wrote and told him so. He wanted to come to London, but it is the middle of harvest and he could not get away. I said the doctor had advised country air, and as I was going to the Lakes anyway I proposed to take Jane with me.’