Horatio fumbled in his pockets and drew forth a number of grubby objects which he told over with great earnestness. "This and this...and this. No, we both...oh!" His face lit, and he pulled a deadly-looking sling from the recesses of his chocolate-besmeared jacket. "Isn't it famous, sir?"
"Worth at least a dozen licorice whips," Meriden agreed gravely.
Horatio looked wistful. "I daresay Arty will give me a chew. I say, sir, there are terrific cliffs with swallows and seagull nests." Arthur came out with a fistful of plunder and added his raptures to his twin's.
"Yes, I know," Meriden replied. "Just now, however, we are bound for the Anchor. Thorpe is waiting there for us with the carriage and a small hamper..."
No further words were needed. The twins dashed off shouting, "Thorpe! Thorpe!" and left their elders to follow at a more sedate pace.
Drusilla and Maria being discovered at the circulating library, nothing remained but to find a pleasant spot for the nuncheon. A green knob of field near the famous cliffs and overlooking the strand was pronounced suitable. The cloth was no sooner spread for Cook's basket than the twins fell on the roast chicken and boiled eggs and pasties and cakes and apples as if they had never seen a sweet shop.
"Can they truly be starved at their school?" Jane surveyed the broken remains ruefully.
Meriden laughed. "I'll warrant they think they are. All schoolboys do. Felix, the lemonade is perched by your left elbow. Don't move."
He rescued the sticky vessel and set it up at a safe distance. "Here, you two!" he called to the twins, who were pelting each other with fistsful of pebbles. "Take something to Thorpe. He can't follow you up the cliff if he's faint with hunger."
The guilt-stricken twins gathered up a cloth full of sustaining viands and darted off to their idol, who was standing by the equipage smoking a pipe.
Thereafter peace reigned. The girls drifted off to look for pretty stones. Felix and Meriden talked, or rather Felix, his face alert to every breeze, asked countless questions, and Meriden answered equably as he helped Jane tidy the food away. Some half an hour later, however, the twins roared back with Thorpe following at a leisured pace that suggested they were more eager to climb the cliffs than he was.
"Sir. He says we may not scramble down for eggs."
"May we, sir?"
"By no means. You are to obey Thorpe in all things. The edges of the cliffs sometimes crumble."
Their faces fell. "Thorpe says we may see as far Portland, but I daresay it is all a hum." This from Arty.
Horatio punched him. "Stupid. Probably we shall see as far as France."
"With a glass you may see the ships in the Channel," Meriden interposed, "and the Chesil Bank and possibly Portland Bill. Here." He pulled a small spyglass from his pocket.
"Famous!" The boys rushed to the edge of the strand and began testing out the device's capabilities.
"You've left a boy with the horses?" Meriden cocked an eyebrow at his resigned groom.
Thorpe grunted. "T'lad'll walk un." He belched. "Beggin' your pardon, miss."
Jane smiled. "Cook surpassed herself, did she not? It is kind in you, Thorpe, to be chasing after my cousins."
"No trouble." He looked rather dour. Meriden grinned heartlessly.
"I'm sure they'll obey you sooner than anyone," Jane said warmly, indignant at his lordship's callousness.
Thorpe's scarred eyelid twitched. "Knacky lads, ain't they? Never tha mind, miss. Us'll see they hellions down safe as houses."
Arthur and Horatio dashed back.
"It's splendid, sir. I saw old Davorel chasing his dog on the Cobb."
"Did you, Arty? I take it Davorel is a schoolmate. See that you keep that glass clean."
Arthur began rubbing the lens vigorously with his shirtfrill.
"Thank you for the glass," said Horatio, remembering his manners belatedly. "I wish you will come, too, sir."
"Oh, yes! Famous!" Arthur piped. "I daresay you could shew us everything. Do come, sir."
Meriden laughed. "No. Run along. I believe Thorpe is sufficiently recovered to join you."
"Please, sir."
"No. Thorpe knows far more than I do about ships of all kinds, including runners. And besides I've promised Felix a game of chess."
The twins groaned but were finally persuaded that their elder brother was set on this tame pursuit. They scampered off, and Thorpe followed stolidly.
"If you'd liefer climb the cliff, sir, I can wait for my game," Felix said, rather white-faced.
Jane stared at Felix. It was probably the first unselfish remark of his life.
"No." Meriden was looking at his brother, a slight frown between his brows. "Thank you. I prefer chess. Shall I set up the board now?"
"Really, Ju...Julian, it must be a splendid view."
Meriden took a breath. He did not look at Jane. "Felix, " he said gently, "I could not climb the cliff, even if I wished to, which I don't."
"What do you mean?"
"Do you recall the battle that was fought in Belgium last summer?"
"Waterloo? Of course."
"I was wounded. In both legs. I walk and ride tolerably, but I don't caper up mountains like a goat. In fact, I found the streets of Lyme Regis rather steep going. If I tried to scramble up that precipice, I'd be brought down on a hurdle."
"0h." Felix digested that. "Does my mother know?"
"No, and I'll thank you not to go blabbing to her," Meriden snapped, incautious.
"Why not? She don't like you above half, but I daresay if she knew it'd bring her round in a trice."
Meriden was silent.
Jane wondered how he would extricate himself. Felix had been using his mama's easy pity to advantage for years. Jane would not have intervened for the world, for Felix had forgot her presence entirely. That Meriden had not she knew very well. She gazed hard at the cliff. The twins were mere specks.
Meriden said slowly, "Your mother is a good sort of woman, and I should like to be on easy terms with her. However, she is a little inclined to make a fuss. I believe you understand me."
Felix pondered.
"I don't know how it is," Meriden added, "but I find excesses of sympathy more tiresome than honest dislike."
"Oh."
Deft, my lord, very deft, Jane thought. She began to be a little amused. Felix was not by any means stupid, and he took Meriden's judgements very much to heart. She wondered if, in the next days, they would be edified by the spectacle of a new, stoical Felix.
His lordship did not pursue the matter. "Shall I fetch the board?"
"What? Oh, yes. I say, I'm sorry you was hurt, Julian," Felix said shyly.
Meriden let out his breath in a whoosh. "So am I, but it can't be helped. I'll be back directly." He got up, indeed rather stiffly, and went to fetch the chess set from the carriage.
When the twins finally pelted down the cliff, full of thrilling descriptions of the perilous ascent and the nesting seagulls which had screeched at them and the hundreds of swallows they had bagged with Horatio's sling and the hundreds of smugglers and ships of war they had seen, Felix listened with fair humour to their chatter. Tiring of it at last, he announced in world-weary tones that Julian had trounced him again and that he meant to go for a walk on the Cobb with his brother.
"Tame," Arthur snorted.
"Oh, who cares about a lot of dashed seagulls?" Unfortunately a gull at that moment flapped by quite close to Felix's head. He started wildly. "What was that?"
The twins convulsed in mirth. Jane gave them a repelling stare. "Where have you put the glass?"
"Thorpe has it," Horatio said carelessly. "Come on, Arty. Let's go hunt shells." They raced off again.
"Shall we go, Felix?" Meriden pulled the boy to his feet. "There's a tolerably smooth path here, and if you'll just lend me your arm..." He threw Jane an apologetic grin. She smiled back and shook her head. She would not have intruded for any consideration.
Felix went off, flushed with pleasure and importance, to
examine the historical seawall.
When Thorpe draggled down and sat on a nearby tuft, Jane regarded him with deep sympathy. He looked as she felt--exhausted.
"Should you care for this bottle of hock, Thorpe? It's quite untouched, and I daresay you are worn to bits."
"Thank you, miss. I'm that thirsty."
Jane began to laugh softly, and Thorpe's eyelid twitched. "Reet wearing, that lot."
A look of complete understanding passed between them.
Chapter XI
Was it too much to hope that the good spirits generated in Lyme Regis would last through the entire Easter holidays? At first everyone was merry as a grig. Even Lady Meriden acknowledged the season by putting off her blacks and donning a stunning series of purple and grey creations. Jane could not imagine when her ladyship had caused them to be made up.
Almost Jane wrote her father that all was now well, for the thought of missing yet another holiday at home pricked her conscience. Fortunately the crisis that blew up as the twins were being readied for their return to school was so spectacular that Jane could write instead--in guarded terms, of course--of fresh catastrophe. Vincent had been imprisoned for debt.
By the time a friend was kind enough to write Aunt Louisa these news, Meriden had already posted off to London. He had warned Jane, but she was left--with only Miss Goodnight and the girls to sustain her--to cope with her aunt's imaginings, in which scandal and gaol fever loomed equally large.
How it was she did not know, but Jane found Lady Meriden's histrionics far less endurable than they had seemed last autumn and winter. Although Miss Goodnight bore her ladyship's inevitable accusations against Meriden with her usual sympathy, neither of the girls was of the least use to Jane. Softhearted Maria could be brought to weep over Vincent's plight, but she would not allow it to be laid at her elder brother's door. Drusilla shewed no tact at all. She listened to her mother's recriminations for ten minutes or so, then said bluntly, "It is Vincent who got himself thrown into a sponging-house, Mama, not Julian. Serves him right."
Drusilla was immediately exiled from her mother's presence. In some confusion. Jane thought, however, that the disaster hit hardest at Felix. He cared not a whit for Vincent's trials, but he endured Meriden's absence fretfully, every morning listening for his brother's step, and every morning cast down.
Jane carried him to Lyme Regis with her when she took the twins to their school, but Felix merely bore the journey; he did not enjoy it. When she returned from that brief excursion, Jane must, for the fiftieth time, hear her aunt's doleful reflexions. She bridled her temper, but later that evening in the privacy of her room she poured out her feelings to Miss Goodnight.
"Goody, what are we to do?" she asked at last. "There is some justice in her strictures."
Miss Goodnight said gently, "She is unhappy. Lord Meriden will do as he ought. There is little reason for her apprehension, but she must fix the blame--and on someone other than her late husband. Do not refine too much upon justice and injustice. His lordship will not regard it."
"He is inclined to blame himself."
Miss Goodnight frowned. "Jane, has it occurred to you that your aunt and Lord Meriden should not continue long under the same roof?"
Jane bridled. "He shews her a deal of patience."
"Oh, yes, but she is also hard for him to bear, you know, and he has a great many other things to try his temper."
Jane swallowed. "You think she should remove to the Dower House?"
"No. Farther. To Bath," Miss Goodnight said with gentle inexorability. "She must take Thomas and the girls with her. It will not be best for Drusilla and Maria, but if one considers the good of the whole family...In her own house your aunt may order things as she likes."
Jane shuddered.
Miss Goodnight had apparently given the notion some thought, however, for she went on to describe the advantages that must obtain from Lady Meriden's move to Bath in such careful detail that Jane was forced to accede to her logic.
How to persuade Aunt Louisa to make the change exercised both ladies for some time. Finally they decided on indirection and subterfuge. Miss Goodnight was to plant the seed, Jane to cultivate it, but Lady Meriden must never suspect the idea was not her own.
Jane thought the plot might bear fruit by autumn. Surely her papa could spare her until autumn.
* * * *
All the way to London Julian berated himself. The truth was, he had half forgot Vincent after their quarrel, had wanted to forget him. Now there would be more scandal and, of course, more debts. He could only hope he had not lost Vincent irretrievably.
The imperturbable Horrocks had seen to it that Vincent was released. Julian half expected his brother to have run off somewhere--the Continent, perhaps. It was not unheard of. The solicitor was able to reassure him on that head.
"I have established Mr. Stretton in a decent inn and discharged his immediate debts." The man pursed his lips. "He is rather restive, however. May I say I am relieved to see you, sir?"
"You may say it," Julian replied grimly, "but I hope you've not set his back up."
Horrocks looked startled. "I merely instructed him to await your arrival. I was sure you yourself would wish to explain to him the grave nature of his offence."
Julian swore.
"But my lord, the scandal..."
"Hang the scandal. He's probably mad as fire."
"So you should be, Lord Meriden."
"No, I should not, sir. I've played hob with Vincent's feelings from the first. When he came to me I jawed at him, and the upshot was he wouldn't confide in me in time to prevent this fix!" He saw that Horrocks looked stunned and broke off. Wounded him in all his principles at once, Julian thought ruefully. He hoped he would deal better with Vincent. He made himself stand up.
"I'm obliged to you. Will you give me my brother's direction? I must call on him at once."
Horrocks mumbled something indistinct about whippersnappers but complied.
"Thank you."
"My lord, there's a deal of business--"
"Yes, I know. You decide where the next mortgage falls and allow me to come to terms with my brother. First things first."
"My lord--"
"I know. I'm damned unreasonable. I'll wait on you tomorrow."
By the time he found his brother, Julian was wishing Vincent in hell and himself in Yorkshire. His bad leg ached abominably, the other throbbed from the punishing ride, and he was not sure he could stand. The inn, when he found it, was constructed entirely in staircases. The only humour Julian could console himself with as he stumbled after a disapproving maid lay in the inn's obvious unsuitability to a man of Vincent's parts. It was actually in the City.
"Dash it, what if one of m'friends should see me!" Vincent moaned.
Julian forbore to point out that Vincent's friends might be taken aback to see him in prison also and that it was highly unlikely that anyone--let alone one of those dashing tulips--should find him at all at the White Rose, for the inn was called.
Content to let his brother air all his grievances at once, Julian sipped at the brandy Vincent had called for and tried to think of what he ought to say himself. He was concentrating so deeply that when Vincent did leave off, Julian did not at once notice the strained silence.
He looked up.
"Shall you ship me off to India?"
"Good God, why should I?" He was startled not so much by the silliness of the proposition as by the real fear he saw in Vincent's eyes.
"I daresay you want me out of the way."
"If Horrocks has been ringing a peal over you for the scandal--"
"You can't like it."
"No." Julian began to feel some amusement. "I don't, but I shan't be going about in Society, so it doesn't matter to me a great deal. You will feel it, no doubt."
"My sisters..."
"Blooming, thank you. "
Vincent essayed a small smile.
"These things blow over, Vincent. If you rusticate f
or a time..."
"Where?"
"Meriden, I thought, if you can bear the company."
Vincent was silent.
"I know," Julian said. "It's dashed dull."
Vincent looked up, and Julian saw with some astonishment that there were tears in his brother's eyes.
"I'd like it of all things."
"Then go home tomorrow, unless you've grown so attached to the White Rose that you can't bear to leave it."
To Julian's relief, Vincent gave a shaky laugh. "They stare so. And the dinners, only two removes..."
"Then by all means go home," Julian said cordially. "Perhaps you can work your way through Cook's plain little dinners. I can't."
Another glass of brandy and a pinch of his own blend of snuff--for Horrocks had caused his traps to be rescued as well as his person--soon restored Vincent's spirits.
Julian's spirits were less volatile. He felt the consequences of his own ignorance. Vincent, after all, was a stranger still. It was easy enough to read the surface, easy to assume that nothing much lay beneath. He thought there might be more to Vincent than high shirtpoints and an exquisite neckcloth, but he wasn't sure.
He decided on bluntness. "I must know the full extent of your debts, Vincent."
His brother flushed. "If you're going to start--"
"I've no wish to comb your hair with a joint stool. Sneck up." I sound exactly like Will Tarrant, he thought wryly. "When I settle for you, I'd liefer settle everything at once. Billets-doux from Harry's creditors still come in from time to time."
"Did...was my brother in deep?" Vincent asked shyly.
Julian hesitated. Harry might have been a shocking loose screw and up to his neck in the River Tick, but he was a hero still to Vincent.
Vincent took the lead from him. "I'm sorry. Its not my affair," he muttered in hurt tones.
Julian said quietly, "Would you like to know how things are left? I was surprized when I found that Horrocks had not laid the circumstances before you on my father's death."
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