The Sergeant Major's Daughter

by Sheila Walsh

  “Nothing of the kind, my lord.” She met his bright dark gaze with equanimity. “I wanted to ask you about Ester Graham.”

  “What about Ester Graham?”

  “Would you consider employing her as my assistant at the school? She is well educated and if we are to have greater numbers I should find her help invaluable.”

  The bright gaze never wavered and his continuing silence made her jumpy. Her words tumbled out in a rush. “Well, you did make a point of telling me that you would help her more if you could!”

  The Earl sat on a corner of his desk and folded his arms. “So I did, Miss Vale. You have an excellent memory. I do trust you are not going to store up all my little bon mots and trot them out when occasion demands. I should not know a moment’s ease!” He scowled. “How much is it to be this time?”

  “I beg your pardon, sir?”

  “How much am I to pay Mrs. Graham? Come now—do you not wish to negotiate her salary? You drove a hard enough bargain with regard to your own. Surely she is worthy of equal resolution?”

  Felicity turned bright crimson and was almost provoked into indiscretion; but she must not jeopardize Ester’s chances, so she strove to compose a calm reply.

  The Earl continued to observe her. “You are slow to answer, Miss Vale. Shall I tell you how you appear, sitting there in your neat black gown with your eyes cast down and your hands clasped demurely in your lap? You are the very picture of a submissive young woman.”

  He brought his hand down on the desk with a suddenness that made her jump, and came to his feet. “But you are a sham, madam!” He stood before her and took her chin between finger and thumb. “There is no trace of submissiveness in you—not in this chin, which can set itself so stubbornly against me—nor yet in your eyes. Ah! There—you see? It is your eyes that are your undoing every time! They fizz and smolder with yellow flames the moment your temper is tested—as now!”

  “Then why must you provoke it?” she protested, her chin still firmly imprisoned in his clasp.

  “I have no idea, Miss Vale. Mayhap I see your persistent refusal to be cowed as an irresistible challenge.” His fierce glance, now frowning, swept over her. “Why do you wear your hair in that ugly knot?”

  Felicity found this sudden shift disconcerting. She said breathlessly, “It seemed ... appropriate to my circumstances, sir.”

  “It may well be the accepted mode for aspiring governesses and schoolmarms, but I cannot think it necessary in your case—and it don’t become you.”

  The Earl released her abruptly and walked to the window, leaving Felicity to wonder if she would ever wholly understand him. Yet she found herself smiling as she stood up.

  “I confess I should be very glad to change it, my lord,” she said—and hesitated. “About Ester Graham, sir?”

  “Ah yes—Ester Graham.” He swung around. “Well, my tenacious young friend—what am I to pay your proposed assistant?”

  “I believe thirty pounds per annum would be fair,” Felicity said firmly.

  “Do you now? And you are doubtless of the opinion that I can well afford such a sum!” She thought she detected a gleam in his eye. “So be it. You have your assistant.”

  “Thank you, sir. Ester will be overjoyed.”

  As she turned to leave he added dryly, “You are not likely to increase your staff still further, I trust? Should you find any more lame ducks, I feel bound to warn you that I am by no means the soft touch you seem to think me.”

  Ester refused to take the news of her appointment seriously and needed to be convinced that it was not charity. Once satisfied, however, her face lost much of its haggard look; there was a new lightness in her step and she began to look much nearer to her twenty-seven years. She had security within her grasp—something she had not thought possible.

  And so have I, thought Felicity, as she brushed out the despised knot for the last time. Lord Stayne might be exasperating, infuriating even, and at times downright overbearing, but that she could cope with. It was infinitely preferable to the dreaded prospect of some Mrs. Lipscombe-like dragon to whom one would have to be pleasant for fear of losing one’s place.

  She gazed pensively at her reflection and wondered whether his lordship ever saw Lucinda Lipscombe in the guise of a challenge. Surely not, for she would have been schooled to show only the most biddable and pleasing side of her nature in the presence of so eligible a prospect. I bet she sulks like the very devil when she is crossed, Felicity decided uncharitably.

  The school was going to be a resounding success. Felicity was sure by the end of the first week. She had nineteen boys and fifteen girls ranging from seven to twelve—a variation in both age and capabilities which challenged her resources to the utmost. In spite of their initial reluctance, all but a few were quickly won over by Felicity’s cheerful, matter-of-fact approach.

  She was well aware that the Earl was watching her progress with an uncomfortable degree of interest—he had several times dropped in on them quite without warning, thus putting her on her mettle.

  It was particularly galling when he arrived a few weeks before Christmas accompanied by Miss Lipscombe, in a riding dress of ruby velvet, to find Felicity sitting on the top of her desk amid a circle of upturned faces, with her guitar on her knee, singing a Spanish carol to which the children had learned a simple chorus.

  Felicity was not aware of their presence until Ester touched her arm. She slid to her feet in confusion; the well-drilled children bobbed their greeting and were sent back to their laborious copying.

  She intercepted a glance of disapproval tinged with incredulity directed by Miss Lipscombe at Lord Stayne which roused her to meet the Earl’s high-nosed stare with a measure of defiance.

  “The children have worked so hard this morning, I decided they were in need of a little relaxation. We are practicing very hard for a Christmas concert.”

  His expression remained unfathomable.

  Lucinda Lipscombe, however, was more forthcoming. “Surely, Miss Vale,” she said with an air of sweet reasonableness, “if the children are to be taught singing at all, which I am sure my mamma would not hold to be necessary, a simple English song would be preferable—and more instructive. To be teaching them a foreign language before they have mastered their own hardly makes good sense.”

  “I cannot agree, ma’am,” Felicity’s voice was cool, though anger raged within her. “They pick up the Spanish with surprising ease, and I hold that anything which inspires their confidence and encourages them to express themselves at this stage is invaluable.”

  “Then we must hope that your ... experiments ... succeed, Miss Vale. It would not do for you to be abusing the trust Lord Stayne has placed in you.”

  The arch look which accompanied this honeyed reproof was wasted on his lordship, who had been casually perusing the children’s work. He looked up with a derisive smile.

  “Your methods, if unorthodox, appear to achieve results, Miss Vale. There is a distinct improvement since my last visit.”

  “Thank you, my lord.” The victory was a small one, but sweet—and Lucinda’s discomposure sufficient reward. It was as well to bask in his approval while she may; it was inevitable that sooner or later she would fall foul of it.

  Rose Hibberd had been confined to her bed with a cold and Jamie, with only old Nurse to watch him, was making the most of his chances. Several times Felicity had discovered him tucked away at the back of her classroom, ineffectively concealed by the rest of the children. She entirely sympathized with his yearning for young company—and thought it no bad thing for him to be mixing with those less fortunate than himself—yet she could not suppose that either his mother or the Earl would share her views.

  Even less would they have appreciated his ripening friendship with Lanny Price; of all the soulmates to have chosen, Lanny was the most potentially disastrous to a boy of Jamie’s questing spirit. Red-haired and incredibly slight for all his nine years, Lanny was the son of the most slippery poacher in the ar
ea, and was already set to rival his father’s reputation.

  Felicity did all in her power to discourage the unholy alliance; beyond this, she could only pray that it would die of natural causes. Her prayers were destined to go unheeded.

  One morning the schoolroom door crashed back to admit Lord Stayne—his greatcoat flapping, his face like thunder. With a sinking heart Felicity saw that he was not alone; two small, grimacing boys, each held inexorably by the ear, were frog-marched up to her desk.

  “Miss Vale,” he snapped without preamble, “I would be obliged if you will make clear to your brats that my woods are out of bounds.”

  Felicity flushed, but said calmly, “They have already been so instructed, my lord.”

  “Have they!” He thrust the wriggling Lanny forward. “Then how is it, do you suppose, that I find this young whelp wreaking havoc in my covers, making my birds as crazed as be-damned?”

  “I have no idea, sir.”

  “And I suppose you have no idea how my nephew comes to be in his company, either—or do you perhaps consider it necessary to Jamie’s education that he should be initiated into the art of poaching my pheasants?”

  Felicity, stung by the cutting sarcasm and plagued by guilt, flung the two boys a look of burning reproach. Jamie had the grace to hang his head, but Lanny stood four square, red hair on end, bristling with defiance and injured pride.

  “We wasn’t poachin’. Fat chance I’d have to lift so much as a dozy old hen with him threshin’ about!” His head jerked toward Jamie; the accompanying sniff was loaded with contempt.

  There was a smothered giggle from the classroom. Felicity’s own lips twitched, but the Earl showed no such weakness, so she said with unaccustomed sharpness, “Be silent, children. Get on with your work. Lanny, I am ashamed of you, of both of you—during school hours, too! You will apologize at once to his lordship for the trouble you have caused. At once, Lanny.”

  The apologies were grudgingly offered and grimly received.

  “Well, I suppose that must suffice,” she said dryly. “As for punishment...” She looked hopefully at the Earl, who was not in the least disposed to be lenient.

  “I shall deal with Jamie,” he said tersely. “This young pup I leave to you. I trust you will make a sufficient impression upon him to discourage any further forays into my covers.”

  Felicity didn’t enjoy administering corporal punishment; a lifetime with the regiment had not convinced her that the barbaric floggings, so much a part of army discipline, achieved anything but pain and misery and, in the end, brutalization.

  Until now she had managed to keep order without recourse to the strap, so it was hard to say who suffered most in what followed. Lanny Price took his chastisement with a kind of fierce stoicism and apparently bore her no grudge—but Felicity’s hands were shaking as she laid the strap back on the cupboard shelf and locked the door.

  Ester, who had offered to relieve her of the unpleasant task, gave her a searching look, but encountered an over-bright eye which dared her to comment.

  For the first time, Felicity was glad to close the school door behind her. It was not yet dark, but the November sky was dreary, in keeping with her mood. The gig was already pointing homeward when she heard the cry; it was piercing, scarcely human. She reined in and even as she waited, uncertain, it came again, setting her teeth on edge and her back hairs pricking.

  She almost fled in a panic, but such an action seemed both cowardly and churlish. Something—or someone was in the most dreadful agony; perhaps an animal caught in a trap. It was coming from Captain Hardman’s land. That did give her pause. A notice on the chained-up gate stated the penalties for trespass and from all she had heard, they would be exacted without compunction.

  Unable any longer to shut her ears to the cry for help, she jumped from the gig and tied the rein securely to an overhanging branch. She was obliged to hitch up her skirt in order to climb the gate, and found what she was seeking in a clearing not far into the trees.

  A small brindled dog had been tied to a tree and a boy was thrashing it unmercifully. Felicity wrenched the whip from his hand before he was aware of her presence.

  “How dare you! Give me back my property this instant!” The boy was not above ten years—a stiff-legged embodiment of rage and pomposity. “You are trespassing on my father’s land. You will be very sorry when he finds out!”

  “And you will be very sorry if I turn this ... weapon upon you as you deserve,” returned Felicity angrily. “Does your father know that you use it to ill-treat helpless creatures?”

  “Of course he does. My father says it is the only way to exact obedience from one’s inferiors—whether they be men or animals.”

  Felicity was silenced. She wondered what kind of a monster would foster such an appalling philosophy in his own son. She was not long finding out.

  “Geoffrey! What goes on here?”

  Felicity swung around—and stared. If there had been time to form some picture in her mind of the boy’s father, she would have been sadly out. Captain Hardman was short in stature; his stirrup leathers had been taken up to a point that made his feet stick out ludicrously from the horse’s belly and he had the kind of figure which defied all the attempts of his tailor to pass him off as a gentleman. Felicity had the illusion that it must be the tightness of his cravat which accounted for his unhealthy pallor—and caused the pale blue eyes to bulge.

  But it was the voice which surprised her most—an overlight voice for a man—stilted, expressionless, and unaccountably chilling.

  “You are trespassing, madam.”

  The boy shot a look of smug malevolence. “Yes, Father—she is—she is! And she has taken away my whip. Make her give it back!”

  The pale eyes unhurriedly assessed the scene and came finally to rest on Felicity. She repressed an involuntary desire to shiver.

  “Well, madam?”

  “I had little choice, sir. Your son was beating this poor wretched animal until its screams could be heard from the road. I came to investigate.”

  “You are new here, I think. Your name?”

  “Vale, sir. Miss Felicity Vale.”

  Something flickered for a moment in his eyes and was gone. The boy gazed at her with renewed interest.

  “She’s the schoolmarm, Father! The one you said...”

  “Be silent, Geoffrey.” There was no raising of the voice—no noticeable change of emphasis—yet the boy shrank a little. “Go back to the house and take that ... creature with you. Give it to Masterson to treat or we shall have the flies feeding off its sores.”

  His callous indifference infuriated Felicity.

  “I was only doing what you said,” the boy muttered. “Titus refused to come to heel—and I punished him.”

  “I will hear your explanations later. Do as you are bid or Titus will not be alone in his punishment.”

  The boy untied the dog and slunk away, dragging it, whimpering, at his heels.

  The Captain waited until all sound had died away.

  “Come here!”

  Felicity bristled. “Certainly not. I have nothing to say to you, save that I deplore your callousness and its inevitable consequences upon your son. I bid you good day.”

  She swept around on her heel, but the thin voice came again.

  “You are on my land, madam—and will remain until I give you leave to go. Furthermore, I want none of your highty-tighty schoolroom airs. Now, come here.”

  It was hard to explain why she complied. She told herself it would be politic to humor him, but that reasoning took no account of the trembling in her legs.

  Captain Hardman still held his son’s whip. He leaned forward, allowing the lash to brush Felicity’s cheek. She set her teeth and glared up at him, meeting a contemptuous, flicking appraisal which was reflected in his next words.

  “I should not have thought you a stupid woman, Miss Vale—yet you seem bent upon behaving foolishly in all manner of directions. That Graham woman, for instance. Y
our friendship with her can do you nothing but harm. Pray—do not interrupt!” he snapped with sudden venom as she opened her mouth to protest.

  “And then we come to this school of yours. It does not please me, madam; had I not been away on business it would not have gone thus far unchallenged. If you are wise, you will abandon the project and return whence you came.”

  Indignation was coursing through Felicity’s blood, sweeping caution aside. “You are not only insolent, Captain, you are also ill-informed! The school ‘project,’ as you term it, is not mine to abandon. You must address yourself to Lord Stayne.”

  The whip jerked just sufficiently to flick her cheek. “Oh, I shall do so, madam—I mean to make it plain that there will be no foolish notions fostered amongst my workers here. The more ignorant they remain, the better it will suit me, for let me tell you there is nothing like a little learning for breeding sedition—and sedition breeds riots, as I know from my foundries.”

  “Then I am sorry for you,” said Felicity quietly. “But I am even sorrier for the children concerned, since you obviously mean to withdraw them from the school.”

  “And do you think that will suffice, Miss Vale? Do you imagine that my people will not envy those in the village with greater advantages and seek some means of redressing the balance?”

  “The matter is between you and Lord Stayne. There is nothing I can do.”

  “I do not agree. What does Stayne pay you?”

  “I beg your pardon?”

  He moved impatiently. “Everything has a price, madam. What is the price of a schoolmarm? No matter. Whatever it is, I will pay more. You can come to Manor Court to try and see if you can instill some knowledge into my Geoffrey. His present tutor is no damned use.”

  Felicity could not disguise her instant revulsion. “Thank you, Captain Hardman,” she said tersely. “But I have no wish to teach your son. I am well satisfied with my present position.”

  His eyes narrowed to pin points. “Then we must pray you do not regret your decision, madam.”

  The whip flicked for a third time, and this time the sting of it made her smart. Her anger rose. She seized the trailing lash and held it at arm’s length.