by Vanessa Gray
Suddenly Nell noticed that both her near relations were staring at her in some surprise. She knew she was protesting too much, was too eloquent on a question which was — which had to be — purely fanciful. Indeed, she did not know quite where her protests had come from. She had no intention whatever of marrying a blacksmith. But she was certainly not going to give up Foxhall.
Phrynie took a hand in the discussion. “We have three days, so you informed me, before Reeves can travel. I am sure we may have a much more fruitful discussion of this subject at a more appropriate hour. Tom will give his approval, I am sure.”
She cast a speaking glance at her nephew.
“All I want, Nell, is for you to be happy,” he mumbled.
“I know, Tom,” said Nell, subdued and truthful. But she was much distressed in her mind on more than one head.
“Nell, you are exhausted, and it is hours since you ate,” Phrynie continued. “Tom, I do not know your circumstances, but I should like to think you have traveled hard to overtake us and would be glad of a rest. Not another word until at least we have had dinner. I am heartily weary of the subject of Foxhall.”
She sent Nell up to dress for dinner. Receiving a significant glance from his aunt, Tom lingered. “Do you really disapprove of Foxhall?”
“He’s all right, I suppose, if you want a statue of a Greek god to stand in the-foyer. I cannot see him making Nell happy.”
“In truth,” said Phrynie, reluctantly, “nor can I. But she may well be happy as most women.”
“I want more than that for her,” said Tom simply.
“Then what will you do?”
For perhaps the first time in his life, Tom stunned his aunt with his capacity for shrewd perception. “Nothing,” he said. “If I disapproved, she’d be all the more determined to carry him off to the Austrian counterpart of Gretna Green. She has to be handled very carefully, anchored down to keep her from haring off with unknown parcels, to say nothing of some very strange incidents she mentioned and which I don’t want to credit. And quite simply, I don’t believe Foxhall has the wit to manage her.”
“And I suppose you know someone who can?”
He looked levelly at her. “Yes,” he told her, “I do.”
Her thoughts flew as fast as his. But she refused to believe her own perceptions. He could not mean — and even if he did, she would fight such a result with all her formidable wits.
She smoothed out the wrinkles on her forehead, lest they become permanent. How very tumultuous she was finding life with the younger generation!
*
Relations between Nell and her brother were far from cordial for the rest of the day. But Nell’s affection for him was strongly engaged, and it was not long before she regarded him again with fondness.
So rapt had she been by the need to obtain Tom’s permission to marry dear Rowland that she had all but forgotten the parcel in the heat of argument. She must give it to Tom at once.
Unfortunately, to place the parcel in the hands it was originally destined for had disadvantages. She was beginning to realize that her brother was possessed of an inconvenient curiosity, in addition to an uncomfortable clarity of vision when it came to her. She had no choice. She must turn the parcel over to Tom and sustain his close questioning.
Ever the practical planner, she decided to make a virtue of what she could not avoid. If there were to be condemnations, then it was better to have them done with in a hostelry somewhere in the uncharted wilderness called Germany.
For a moment she envied Lady Hester Stanhope, last heard from in early October heading an expedition to Baalbec, far away from family censure.
Alone with him in their private sitting room, she unburdened herself. Tom listened with gratifyingly rapt interest.
“I wondered, you know,” he said at last. “You were most open about your journey as far as Paris. I expected a romp, of course, for you cannot behave well for more than a fortnight.”
“Tom! That’s not true! And even if it is, you must agree that I could do nothing else. And I have not enjoyed this — this expedition in the least.”
“Now there, dear Nell, you are bamming me. You have enjoyed every moment.”
She chuckled. “I will admit it was not something I had a great deal of experience in, you know.” It occurred to her that Tom was not as surprised at her narration as she expected. “He told you!”
“He?”
“Reeves, of course. Tom, I shall be really provoked if you turn him in. It was my fault, you know. Reeves only helped me.” In a burst of honesty, she added, “But I did wonder how he had learned such deftness in criminal matters.”
Tom was amused. “Tell me, Nell,” he said eventually, “why did you take the parcel in the first place? It couldn’t have been — no, pray don’t tell me that you had in mind a journey to Vienna for the sole purpose of joining that —” Remindful of his promise, he substituted, “that impressive diplomatist?”
Nell had endured enough. She had held up admirably throughout this entire anxious time. She had stooped to criminality, had sustained frights, alarms, and a good deal of physical hardship. And nothing was turning out as she expected!
She put her hands to her face, and began to weep. Tom was deeply moved. “Come on, Nell, don’t turn into a watering pot,” he said crossly. “I’m not going to ring a peal over you. What’s done is done. I merely asked why.”
Muffled words reached him. “You know wh-why.”
“You have told me about Foxhall, I admit that. But still the why of it escapes me. Lord knows I can’t see the fellow, but if he can make you happy, he’ll have my blessing.” If he had mental reservations, like those he had indeed expressed to Lady Sanford, no one could have discerned the fact. “But if he is entirely devoted to you, can you not trust him?”
“Trust him!” Nell turned watery eyes to her brother. “Of course I trust him.” She sniffed. “But Aunt Phrynie said that Miss Freeland will be in Vienna, and you know she has expected him to offer for her this long time, and I just — thought —”
Tom took pity on her, and finished her sentence. “You thought the parcel would be an excuse to get to Vienna. I am persuaded that Aunt Phrynie would not take you to Vienna simply to be at Foxhall’s side.”
“Oh, no, Tom, she wouldn’t. Nor did I really expect her to do so. But I do love him.” She considered for a moment. Deciding that perhaps the tone of her voice was a bit flat to convey her emotional message, she added, “Overwhelmingly.”
Clearly Tom still had misgivings. “Do you?” he said skeptically. “And what do you think he will say when you arrive in Vienna?”
She looked at him in surprise. “Why, he’ll say —”
“Will he be pleased that you cannot live without him?’
“I am sure he will not,” she said sadly. “He must be so very proper, you know, for Lord Castlereagh is excessively strict.” She sighed. “Tom, I have made such a coil of it all!”
He agreed entirely. He regarded his sister, though, with a tenderness that surprised him. He had taken her far too much for granted, he realized, and while he had not been watching, she had grown into a very appealing young woman. Suddenly, with great fierceness, he was determined that no harm should come to her. If her happiness lay with Foxhall, even though he had doubts on more than one front, he would do his best to help her achieve it.
But, having made that resolve, he immediately took exception to it. After all, the primary word was if — as in if her happiness lay with Foxhall.
“So you have the parcel to give him the reason for your arrival in Vienna. Just how will you explain the existence of this parcel which is to be delivered in the greatest secrecy?”
Her expression informed him fully. She had not in the slightest degree thought of such a barrier. Of course she could not arrive in Vienna, parading the parcel through the streets. Unwittingly she had come to the same conclusion as the Duke of Whern some time back: “Might as well send it across Europe announced by
silver trumpets and a detachment of Household Guards.”
“Oh — !”
“You see, Nell,” he said gently, “there is still something to be considered. If I arrive with you and Aunt Phrynie in Vienna, no matter how proper our little entourage is, it could be viewed in an unfavorable light.”
“How can it be? My brother and my aunt — surely we have the privilege of traveling where we will?”
He waited. Nell’s wits were sharp enough to show her the interpretation that could be placed on her action. It took very little time, before she exclaimed, as a thought hitherto absent thrust itself on her, “Will he think I have brought you to him simply to receive his offer for me?”
Tom appeared to give the suggestion some consideration. “I do not know him quite well enough. But, Nell, will he not believe you if you tell him that our meeting was more or less by chance? Tell him the truth?”
Her silence told him more than he wished to know. If Foxhall dared to disbelieve his sister, he himself would ram the truth down that gentleman’s handsome throat.
She turned suddenly practical. “He might believe me, and in truth I think he will. But we may trust Miss Freeland to suggest the unthinkable!”
“Unthinkable?” Tom laughed.
“Well,” she said, reluctantly smiling, “at least one hopes it is unthinkable to dear Rowland that I would hare after him.”
They talked a little longer. Nell worried that the parcel might not arrive in time. “For we have been delayed a bit, in Calais and Paris, and now here. And of course, I think Reeves is not convinced that all danger is past. You know when that — that attack on the road happened, he insisted I take the parcel to safety. But,” she finished blithely, “with you and Aston to add to our protection, we will be safe enough.”
“Don’t worry,” he told her gently. “Trust me.”
She thanked him, and rose on tiptoe to kiss his cheek. Tom would indeed take care of it, as he always had — except for the occasions when he was not to be found.
He knew of her love for Rowland, and he had assured her that her happiness was paramount with him. Trust him, he had urged her. She did not know exactly how he would manage, but in the morning, she was enlightened, and not with pleasure.
Tom was gone.
Chapter Twenty-Two
Tom gone! And Aston with him!
It was outside of enough. Nell had enjoyed just hours ago that intimate conversation with him, curious because it was perhaps the first time in their lives that the brother and sister had talked like adults — even like reasoning adults — without acrimony and without squabbling.
But even as gratifying as their closeness had been, he had not confided in her his intention to leave the little group behind. In fact, she had plainly indicated her expectation that he and his man Aston would join their party, thus decreasing its vulnerability to attack. And the wretch had said nothing about abandoning them to their fate!
What of the parcel?
He must have informed his aunt of his intentions. Nell swept into her aunt’s sitting room, her indignation apparent even in the swirl of her skirt. “Aunt, why did Tom leave? And without telling me?”
The room was small. In fact, Phrynie thought as she looked up from her book — Waverly, or ’Tis Sixty Years Since, by an unknown author — the room was too circumscribed to contain the vigorous young lady who glared at her and demanded information.
“Did he not tell you?” said Phrynie. “No need to fly up into the boughs, my dear. He told me nothing. I wonder…” She pondered a moment. “He did come upstairs to see me last evening, before you came up. He was excessively restless, even for a man like him who has no fixed purpose in life. I should not have been surprised had he called for his horse on the instant. Like young Lochinvar, you know, riding out of the west.”
“What has Marmion to do with anything?” cried Nell, exasperated.
“I really don’t know,” mused Phrynie. “Only this new book by that mystery man — Waverly — and I was able to find a copy just before we left, for it is in great demand, and for some reason my mind runs along Scott’s long ballads. All right, I know that Tom is worrying you.”
“Doesn’t his unconscionable departure distress you in the least?”
“I think not,” mused Phrynie. “For you must know, I expected nothing from him in the first instance.”
“I did. I expected him to travel with us, as he intended from the beginning.” Phrynie laughed, and Nell, calmer now, had to smile. “I know — it was I who intended, not Tom.”
“From the beginning, Tom’s company was the vital part of your plan, you know, and I went along with the notion, even though of all persons I have ever been acquainted with, Tom is perhaps the least to be relied up. Unless, of course, one considers his father, but I admit I am prone to bias on that account.”
Nell, seized with fresh insight, could have told Phrynie why she had allowed herself to throw common sense out of the window and be persuaded to embark on this journey. Phrynie went along for the simple reason that she too found London dull and the prospect of the holidays in Essex quite without appeal. She longed for bright lights and music and dancing, and at this time only Vienna could provide such pleasures. She refrained from saying so.
“Well” — Phrynie sighed — “it’s not to be helped, I suppose. If Tom has gone, that is one more instance of his complete disregard for his family. I shall be relieved, Nell, when you are safely wed — and creditably too — and away from your brother’s authority. Although, to tell the truth, I never thought he had much.”
“You did not see him dealing with the innkeeper, arranging for Reeves’s care. I would, not have believed his competence myself, had I not seen it. He was quite a different person.”
“Unfortunately,” said her aunt, “his alteration did not survive long.”
Nell was desolate. “I did not think my own brother would abandon me.”
“One might think anyone out of their wits to stay in this inn,” Phrynie pointed out, “and I cannot fault Tom for departing. But I do feel he is much to be blamed for leaving us behind. When do you think we may ourselves leave?”
“I could drive the coach myself, if it were needed.”
“No, thank you, my dear,” said Phrynie firmly. “I do not choose to place my life and limbs at the mercy of a driving pupil of your father’s.”
“Our old coachman taught me!”
“Ah, yes, I recall you informed me so. And you did well in the emergency, I give you that. But nonetheless, child, I have the liveliest sense of what our friends in Vienna might say, were you to arrive in sole charge of a four-in-hand. It would take more than even my cachet to deliver us from such a contretemps.”
Nell relented. “He says he will be quite restored by tomorrow.”
Phrynie raised an eyebrow. She was troubled and did not quite understand the cause. Nell had subsided on the subject of Foxhall, and, equally, gave evidence of more time spent with their equivocal coachman than was seemly.
But soon they would arrive in Vienna, she thought with relief, and “dear Rowland” would bring Nell to her senses. She understood Nell better than the child thought. Phrynie recalled with some nostalgia, even from this distance in years, a certain groom who had been told to accompany her when she rode out in the moorings, even before her first Season in London. She could even yet bring to mind his chestnut hair, his tufty eyebrows, and those speaking brown eyes — much like, she mused, a crafty fox. Enough of memories!
“I shall visit Reeves myself,” said Phrynie. “There are a few questions I should like to ask him.”
Lady Sanford, with only a token rap on the door, swept into Reeves’s room. “Reeves, I hope I see you better?”
He was dressed and sitting in a chair. His pallor was pronounced, but his eyes were steady and without fever glaze. His glance slid past Lady Sanford, to find, with obvious satisfaction, the figure of Nell behind her.
He made a movement to rise, but Phrynie fores
talled him with a gesture. “I am tolerably improved,” he said carefully. It occurred to Nell again that he walked a narrow line between broad country and butler, so to speak. His dilemma served him right — he gained much amusement from Nell, she knew, but her aunt was a different matter entirely, formidable and shrewd. Let him wriggle on that hook!
“Enough to take again to the road tomorrow?” He nodded. “Very well. Now, Reeves, I shall wish to know the full extent of your knowledge of the road ahead to Vienna.”
Reeves frowned. “Your ladyship is not pleased with our progress?”
“I have had the strongest suspicion, Reeves, that you do not know at any moment precisely where we are. We have fallen into low, despicable posting houses and eaten such dreadful meals. I am persuaded that you have for the most part been wandering at random, taking any track that appealed to you. Am I correct?”
Suddenly Reeves seemed transformed. It was clear that he recognized his employer’s right to be informed. His attitude now was that of one expert discussing a slightly knotty problem with another.
“Very good, my lady,” he said, pulling himself erect in the chair. “I believe — in fact I know — we have now joined a main road from the north. This village is at the crossroads. The route will cross the Danube River downstream into Austria. However, I believe the crossing is at least two days’ journey from here.”
Where was the “thankee kindly” of yore? wondered Nell.
“Then,” said Phrynie, “our journey should be much more comfortable henceforth.”
“Comfortable?”
“Now that we are on a main road.”
“Begging your pardon, my lady, but we shall not travel on the main road. I merely answered your inquiry as to where we are at the moment.”
A dangerous light flared in Lady Sanford’s eyes. Stuston would have driven the coach over the tops of the Alps had Lady Sanford instructed him to do so. Here was a mere temporary coachman, of whose virtues she was not convinced, telling her how she was to go on. It was not to be borne!