“If Simon wanted you to know, he would have told you, Very,” Christy said, not unkindly. “It was something that profoundly affected him and he has harbored the pain of it all these years. He would not take it kindly we were to share it without his permission. You will have to ask him when he returns, and you will have to respect his wishes if he refuses to tell you.”
Very mulled that over with a mulish expression on her face for a minute or two. “Very well,” she finally conceded. “You are right. I shall ask him.” Daniel looked surprised at her surrender.
“He is in Bury St. Edmunds, in Suffolk,” he told them. “But he was going by way of Ashton on the Green. He said he needed to stop and see Stephen, Reverend Matthews.”
“Was Hastings going with him?” Robert asked, still puzzled about that.
“The younger chap? Yes, I believe so, although he didn’t tell me why.”
Dr. McCain had finished the stitches and had rewrapped the bandage.
“Thank you, doctor.” Robert slipped his shirt back on and went to Daniel’s mirror to tie his cravat.
Christy went to the door and motioned for the rest of their party to come in. “Daniel, this is the new nanny, Mary Peppers”—the girl curtsied—“and her lady friend, Essie. We shall be leaving them here with you along with Christian while we go and fetch Simon.”
“What?” Daniel asked in horror. “What, I mean, who is that?” He pointed at Essie.
“’Ere now,” Essie said belligerently. “Who and what are you?”
“Essie, this is the Saint of St. Giles,” Robert made the introductions. “Daniel Steinberg.”
“I thought that was the other one, wit’ you two,” she said. “The other one I’m to work with.”
“Work with?” Harry had put down his newspaper for this.
“We are going to train Essie to work for Sir Barnabas,” Robert said, trying not to sound too grim. “She is a semi-trained assassin.”
“Semi?” Essie said, clearly outraged. “I can kill you.”
“Yes, but just with a knife,” Robert said.
“Es,” Mary Peppers said, taking her hand. “Don’t mess this up for me, please, love.”
“They are coming home with me,” Very said, standing up. “I’ve been gone too long already.”
“You’ve been gone two days,” Daniel argued.
“And it’s been deadly dull around here. Just wait until Agatha meets you,” Very said to Essie, her eyes shining. She turned to Christy. “A bachelor’s establishment is no place for a baby. Mary Peppers,” she barked, “have you any experience as a nanny?”
“No, ma’am,” Mary Peppers answered right away.
“Well, Mrs. Sunshine and Mrs. Goose will have you trained in no time.” Very gathered her things and whisked Christian from Christy’s arms and deposited him in Mary Peppers’ before Christy knew what was happening. “Don’t worry, my dear, he’ll be safe with us. You can come fetch him after you find Simon. Come along, Mary Peppers. Miss Essie, do you perhaps have a surname?”
“I ain’t got no man’s name,” Essie said belligerently. “Just Essie. I ain’t a man, I’m a woman. I just like men’s clothes. So don’t expect me in no dress.” Their voices faded as they walked down the hall.
“And I need a new cook,” Christy called down the hall after Very. “And that’s taken care of nicely,” she said with satisfaction.
“You knew Very was going to take them all along,” Daniel accused her.
“Of course I did,” Christy said.
“When did Cook leave?” Robert asked in dismay.
“Yesterday, after you came home shot,” Christy told him. “Nell gave me her note this morning.” She turned to Harry. “I’ve left Nell in charge of the house, but send someone around to check on her every day, won’t you?” She walked over and kissed her ex-husband on the cheek.
“Of course.” He shook Robert’s hand. “Good luck,” he told him.
“Thank you,” Robert said. The whole situation seemed very odd. Here he was about to go chasing after another man for love, and all these people were wishing him well. There seemed to be a whole secret society in London that most people knew nothing about, and in the last year Robert had become a member without even realizing it.
“When you do find Simon,” Daniel said as they left, “be gentle. He’s very fragile, you know, though he pretends not to be. I know I’ve failed him in the last couple of years—we all have. Be the ones who don’t.”
“That is exactly what we had planned,” Robert told him. “And you didn’t fail him. You almost died saving his life because you love him, and he knows that. I just hope chasing him down to Bury St. Edmunds is enough to convince him we do, too.”
Chapter 39
“Simon? Oh, yes, he was here,” Stephen, Reverend Matthews, said, shading his eyes as he looked at them from under the brim of his wide hat, his arms draped over the fence. He was in his beloved garden. The silly straw hat only enhanced his boyish charm, as did his freckled face and ruddy cheeks. “As a matter fact, he left something behind and I’m not sure what to do with it.” He motioned them over to the gate.
“We’ve missed him, then?” Christy asked, dejected. It was probably her fault, mostly. She didn’t ride very well and so they had taken the stage. Robert didn’t care for horses, either, but he could ride if he had to.
“I’m afraid so,” Stephen said. “Just, actually. He left not two hours ago.” He opened the gate and they entered. “Why are you looking for Simon?” he asked curiously. “Is something wrong?”
“Yes,” Christy said. “We love him very much and he’s run away again, so this time we are chasing him down so he realizes how much we love him.” She looked over at Robert to see how he reacted to her matter of fact pronouncement, and her inclusion of him in it. He looked surprising unconcerned.
“Oh, really? That’s splendid. I daresay it’s about time someone did. Poor chap’s been wandering about in limbo for years, eaten up by guilt with no direction and nothing to live for. I was quite worried, I don’t mind telling you.”
“How was he when you saw him yesterday?” Robert asked, his brow furrowed in concern. Christy took his hand.
“Drunk,” Stephen said. “With him.”
They’d been walking toward a little lean-to sort of garden shed and Stephen pointed underneath it. Lying there wearing nothing but his boots, a burlap sack tossed over him all that was left of his privacy, was Hastings. He was sound asleep and snoring loudly. Christy covered her mouth with her hands to hide her laughter. Robert just sighed.
“Have you any idea who he is?” Stephen asked. “All I was told was that he was Hasten, the Killer of Men and Ladies’ Virtue.”
“That would be Hastings, not Hasten,” Robert said. “He’s one of Sir Barnabas James’s men at the Home Office. Simon and I recently worked an important mission with him. What did Simon say when he left?”
“Not much.” Stephen fanned himself with his hat. “He just asked me to take care of his friend here, who needed to learn there was more than killing. I assumed he was being facetious about ladies’ virtues and whatnot, but now I think he meant it literally.”
“He meant it literally,” Robert told him. “Where are Hastings’s clothes?”
“I do believe Simon took them,” Stephen said. “To force him to stay, or ask for help. Who knows what was in Simon’s head? I think he was still half drunk. I asked him where he was going and he said home. I thought he meant London, but he didn’t go in that direction.”
“No, he meant Suffolk,” Robert told him. “Have we missed the last stage?”
“Not to worry,” Stephen said. “Stay for nuncheon and I’ll send a note to Ashton Park. I’m sure Freddy has a carriage he can spare.”
“I still don’t understand why he’s naked,” Anne, Duchess of Ashley, said as she sat with the others in the shade of a nearby tree having lemonade and cucumber sandwiches. “That burlap must itch rather fiercely.”
“I dare
say you are correct, my dear,” her husband Freddy, the Duke of Ashley, said, sipping his lemonade and peering at Hastings. “He certainly is well-formed.”
“If you like that sort of thing,” their lover, Brett Haversham, said from where he leaned against the tree.
“We like that sort of thing,” the duke said, grinning at Mr. Haversham, who was quite well-formed himself, even though he was older than the duke.
“I think Simon is trying to teach Hastings a lesson,” Christy said. “He has a hard time trusting people, you see.”
“Ah,” Freddy said. “Then leaving him naked and at Stephen’s mercy makes complete sense.”
“It did to Simon, apparently,” Stephen said, reaching for another sandwich. “My clothes won’t fit him. I’m not tall enough. You’ll have to send something over, Freddy.”
“I’m too thin,” Freddy said.
“I shall find something,” Anne said. “But there’s no rush, is there?” She smiled and took a sip of her lemonade.
“So you’re going after Simon are you?” Freddy asked.
“Yes,” Robert said. Freddy waited for more, but Robert just ate his sandwich.
“You were always parsimonious with your words, if I remember correctly,” Freddy said drily. “Christy, my dear? Have you anything to add?”
“No,” she said. “We are going after Simon. And we are ever so grateful for the loan of your carriage, Your Grace. We would have to wait a whole day for the next stage otherwise, and Simon is travelling quickly.”
“Why is he running?” Brett asked with a frown.
“Why do men always run?” Robert asked. “Because he fears the future, he runs to the past to escape the present.”
“Oh, well said,” Freddy complimented him. “Well said.” He looked pointedly at Brett.
Hastings suddenly sat up and looked around. He jumped to his feet and then froze. The duchess covered her eyes with her hand, but Christy could clearly see that she had her fingers splayed and could easily see Hastings in all his glory.
“Where am I?” he asked. He was out of breath and obviously upset. “Manderley?” he said when he saw Robert, his face furrowed with confusion.
“Cover yourself,” Robert told him. He pointed. “The burlap sack.” Hastings reached down and grabbed the sack, and tried to wrap it around his waist. “Apparently you got drunk with Simon yesterday and ended up here, where you passed out in Stephen’s garden.”
“Your servant, sir.” Stephen waved. “Stephen, Reverend Matthews. I’m an old friend of Simon’s.”
“What the bloody hell?” Hastings asked. He ran one hand through his hair and over his face. “Why am I naked in a field?”
“Garden,” Christy corrected. Hastings glared at her.
“We have no idea,” Freddy said. “I am Freddy Thorne.” He left off his title. He liked to do that when he met people for the first time. “This is my wife, Anne.” He twisted in his seat and pointed to Brett. “And that’s Brett Haversham. You’re in Ashton on the Green.”
“Surrey?” Hastings asked in disgust. “I’m in bloody Surrey? Christ. I’m going to kill that bastard.”
“Language, Hastings,” Christy chided him.
“I’m in my altogether, ma’am,” he said tightly. “I think I’ve got provocation.”
Robert stood and held his hand out to Christy. “We are going to be on our way, if you don’t mind,” he said. Christy silently agreed and took his hand. The duchess nodded and smiled and sipped her lemonade, and Christy knew she’d make sure Hastings was taken care of.
“Wait, what?” Hastings came hurrying over, trying to hold the burlap in place to cover as much as possible. “Take me with you.”
“You have no clothes, Hastings,” Christy told him. “And I’m sure you’re a bit under the weather. I think you should stay here with Stephen for a while.”
“A while? How long is a while?” Hastings asked, trying to follow them to the gate.
“Just a bit,” Christy promised as Robert helped her up into the carriage. “We’ll stop and get you on our way back. Do what Stephen says.”
Chapter 40
Simon sat with his back against a tree, his legs crossed, not too far from Giselle’s grave. He’d been working his way closer all morning. He’d started by walking through the town center, making his way to the churchyard, sitting by the gate on the bench he’d paid for with the money he sent the rectory every month to care for the graves here.
His parents were here, and his younger brother Gavin, too. A fever had swept through the village during the war and taken all three of them. Simon had failed them, too, in a way, not being here for that. But for some reason their deaths—though they had saddened him—had not burdened him with guilt. He knew realistically there was little he could have done to save them from that fever. He had neither caused it, nor could he have cured it. More likely had he been here he, too, would have died from it.
The irony was that he’d gone to war to die and he’d have had a better chance had he stayed at home.
He looked around. He was the only one in the cemetery. It was a beautiful day. Hot as usual this summer, sunny. The birds were singing, there were bees buzzing about, the odd butterfly. Many of the graves in the small cemetery had flowers planted around the headstones. His family’s did not. They were clear of debris and in good repair, and Simon supposed that was all his yearly donations were worth. He would have sent more if they’d told him about the flowers. But then, he hadn’t asked.
Still, it wasn’t a bad resting place for all eternity, he supposed. It was quite tranquil and pretty, shaded with large trees. He could hear the steady stream of traffic at the rectory, so it wasn’t boring for them, either, if they were still hanging about the place waiting for him to show up.
Well, here he was.
He slowly got to his feet, hat in hand, and walked over to his mother’s grave. Marissa Gantry, Wife and Mother it read above her dates. His father was next to her, Stanley Gantry, Husband and Father.
Was that it? Was that the sum of their lives? He thought about Christy and Robert, how much they loved one another and little Christian, and he supposed that those epitaphs were not perhaps as simple nor as empty as they seemed. They encompassed a whole lifetime of experiences—joys and sorrows and shared adventures. He remembered the happiest moments from his childhood and recalled his parents’ fondness for each other and for him and Gavin, and supposed that yes, that was the sum of their lives, and it told a full and rich story.
He walked over to Gavin’s grave and squatted down in front of it to read it. Taken From Us Too Young. Gavin had only been seventeen and he’d died first. His mum had doted on Gav. When Simon left, he’d been only thirteen. According to the last letter he’d received Gav had been itching to buy a commission of his own and go to war, but both Simon and his parents had wanted him to go to university.
Simon wiped tears from his cheeks. They’d been gone so long. And when they died, he was at war. There had been so much death all around him, and theirs had just been three more. He realized he had never grieved for them. What an injustice to them. They had loved Giselle, too, and right on the heels of losing her he’d run off to war, hoping to die, and they’d never seen him again. It was a wonder they had written to him at all, that they hadn’t disowned him and cut him off, but that hadn’t been their way.
He stood up and walked over to Giselle’s grave. He shivered and crossed his arms, remembering the last time he was here, the day of her funeral.
He made himself read her epitaph aloud. “‘Giselle Marie Gantry, Beloved Wife and Daughter.’”
He laughed softly at how hollow and inadequate those words were. Her loss had set him on a course of self-destruction that had lasted almost twenty years. Her mother had collapsed and had taken to her bed until the day she died, according to his own mother’s letters.
“It’s very nice here.”
Simon’s head came up at the sound of Christy’s voice behind him. He didn�
�t know why, but he wasn’t surprised to hear it.
“The last time I was here was the day I buried her,” Simon said, still not turning around. “It was so cold that day. The wind was blowing out of the east right off the North Sea, and it was raining. Nothing like today.”
He knelt down and brushed some dirt off the headstone. “You know, I expected to be overcome with emotion when I got here. But…nothing. Not really.” He sat down, one knee up, his elbow resting on it, staring at her name. “I guess I’ve spent so many years mourning her I haven’t got anything left.”
Christy knelt down beside him, and Robert walked over to stand in front of him. “You have memories. Good memories,” she said. “Maybe now you can focus on those. You’ve tortured yourself with the bad ones for too long already. I think Giselle would agree.”
“She wouldn’t even recognize me now,” Simon said. “I used to be a wild, reckless boy. I never had a care for anyone else except for my own pleasures, and the world let me act that way. My world, anyway. But my pleasures in those days were hunting and fishing and riding fast horses, and Giselle. The prettiest girl in the county, and I’d fight anyone who said differently.”
Christy reached out and wiped another tear from his cheek.
“Am I crying? I didn’t realize,” he said, capturing her hand and kissing it. Robert handed him a handkerchief. “Thank you.” He wiped his face.
“I like fishing,” Robert said. Simon laughed.
“You told me that you have a sixth sense about danger,” Robert said.
Simon looked up at him in surprise. “Yes. Although this seems an odd time to bring it up.”
“Did you always have it? Even as a child?”
“I suppose so,” Simon said. “Although it failed me with Giselle.”
“Did it? When did you first notice you had it?”
“Robert, stop interrogating him,” Christy said sharply.
“Now that you mention it, I don’t recall any incidents before the war,” Simon said, frowning. “But then, I was never in a life or death situation before then.”
Mission to Love (Brothers in Arms Book 14) Page 28