The Sergeant Major's Daughter

by Sheila Walsh

  “What you are loath to tell me about Dick Price is hardly a secret, Miss Vale. I am well aware that he works for me by day and robs me at night.”

  “Oh, you know!” she exclaimed, relieved.

  “I believe he lives rather better off my game than I do myself,” he said dryly. “Though I suspect his family derive little benefit.”

  “No, indeed. They say he drinks it all. Well, it seems he has been ... frequenting Manor Court estates recently, and he says Hardman has several men strangers—wandering the grounds.”

  “That hardly surprises me, Miss Vale. With the shooting season at its peak, it is not unnatural that Captain Hardman should take steps to protect his birds.”

  “No, sir—except that Price seems ready to swear the men are not gamekeepers—not country men at all, in fact. But they are big and rough looking, with one huge Negro among their number. Price reckons they have been brought in from one of Hardman’s foundries.”

  “And to your ever-fertile imagination this suggests an incipient policy of harassment?”

  Felicity was indignant. “I did not imagine those smashed desks! And if Ester should be exposed to similar tactics...”

  “What would you have me do about it?” The question was impatient to the point of curtness. “We may suspect all we will, Miss Vale, but I can hardly question the Captain’s right to keep whatever labor force he pleases within the confines of his estate. Unless they can be apprehended in the act of violence, my hands are tied!”

  “Yes, I do see that, my lord. Does that mean there is no way of protecting Ester?”

  The Earl’s tone was crisp. “On the contrary, my dear girl, there are several if only she can be brought to lay aside that confounded pride of hers for long enough to consider them.”

  “Well, I am a touch independent myself, you know,” Felicity confided, with sublime understatement. “So I can appreciate her reluctance to accept help. But I am sure you will discover a way to overcome her reticence. You are seldom at a loss.”

  “You are too generous, ma’am!” The Earl swept the curricle around a tight bend in the drive, displaying an ability to drive to an inch which drew from his companion a swift gasp of admiration.

  “Ha! Your opinions are fickle, Miss Vale! There was a time not long since when you took a more jaundiced view of my mastery of the ribbons! You were quite scathingly dogmatic on the subject, as I remember.”

  Felicity’s eyes spilled over into appreciative laughter. “How ungallant in you, my lord, to drag up so mortifying an incident—and with such inaccuracy! Your skill, as I remember, was never in question—only your want of consideration!”

  He laughed aloud.

  “Beautifully done, Miss Vale! Rolled up, horse, foot, and guns! So. What would you have me do about Ester Graham?”

  ‘Tm not sure. I suppose ... you couldn’t offer to buy the cottage yourself?”

  This drew a mildly incredulous look. “My dear girl, your brain must be addled if you think she would ever agree!”

  “No ... o,” Felicity admitted reluctantly. “She might, of course, if she could be persuaded that it was a temporary measure—part of a scheme to rid the village of Captain Hardman and his henchmen.”

  “You credit me with too much license, Miss Vale!” said the Earl scathingly. “I am in no position to rid the village of Hardman—would I contemplate such tactics.”

  “Well, I’m sure I can’t see why not. You must agree that everyone would be a great deal more comfortable without him.”

  There was a note of awe in his voice. “Have you always shown this alarming propensity for organizing people?”

  “Only when they will not make a push to help themselves.” She grinned and then added on an unintentionally pleading note, “If I can persuade Ester, will you at least see her?”

  Stayne sighed. “What can I say, without appearing a monster? Yes—I will see her, Miss Vale. The whole proposition smacks of connivance, but I daresay something may be worked out.”

  “Thank you, my lord,” she said meekly, and gave herself up to the pleasures of the drive. The park was looking particularly fine; the winter sunshine slanted through the bare branches of the elms, giving them an austere, sculptured beauty.

  When at last they came in sight of Cheynings they found a post chaise drawn up, its doors thrown open. A portly figure was descending with elaborate, almost mincing care.

  He was a truly splendid sight, this aging exquisite; his riding coat, a voluminous affair of many capes and much frogging, was fastened across the chest with a double row of enormous mother-of-pearl buttons. It fell open to reveal a rich silk lining, pale fawn breeches which hugged a still shapely thigh, and gleaming top-boots sporting white turn-down cuffs. All this proclaimed a true Gentleman of the Ton; as though further confirmation were necessary, a fashionable beaver hat was set rakishly atop black locks—suspiciously black for his years, Felicity judged humorously—liberally anointed with Russian oil.

  The effect of this apparition upon the Earl was unexpected.

  “Of, good God!” he groaned, “Uncle Peregrine!”

  He flung the reins into the hands of a groom and was already several strides away before he recalled Felicity still sitting in the curricle. Impatience darkening his face, he returned and swung her unceremoniously to the ground as though she were featherlight, and left her standing, uncertain whether to go or stay. In the end she stayed to witness the affecting reunion of uncle and nephew.

  “Ah, Max, m’boy! There you are then,” boomed a jovial voice. “You’ll be surprised to see me, no doubt. Fancied a spot of rustication ... decided to spend a day or two in the bosom of m’family. Knew you’d be glad to see your old uncle, what!”

  “Gammon!” returned his lordship with brutal candor. “A repairing lease, more like, if I know you. Creditors breathing down that monstrosity of a neckcloth, are they?”

  Felicity thought this a most unfeeling greeting, but it was taken in surprisingly good part, the older gentleman being somewhat preoccupied in supervising the safe bestowal of a great number of boxes and portmanteaus being unloaded under the gimlet eye of a thin, pale man with the neat, dark dress and air of consequence of a gentleman’s gentleman.

  Their efforts were hampered when a squeal of “Uncle Perry! Uncle Perry!” brought Jamie hurtling down the steps with two yapping spaniels, to fling himself upon the startled exquisite; he was followed only slightly less impetuously by his mother.

  Felicity had never seen such a change in anyone; Amaryllis clutched the folds of the magnificent coat with open joy and affection.

  “Uncle Perry!” she gasped, laughing. ‘Why did you not let us know? Oh, I am so glad you are come!”

  “Yes, well, have a care do, m’dear!” he pleaded. “And ’ware those buttons, I implore you! Weston assures me they are unique. What a pair you are, to be sure! I shall think myself in Bedlam presently.”

  But a roguish twinkle belied the rough words and he kissed Amaryllis soundly.

  “Egad! This lad of yours has shot up ... and you prettier than ever, you baggage! But too pale by half.” He pinched her cheek. “Tell you what, m’dear ... comes of being buried down here in this plaguey mausoleum ... send anyone into a decline!”

  He encountered a particularly derisive stare from his nephew—and was fortuitously distracted on the instant. “Fotherby, you blithering idiot! Attend, man! Can you not see how that dolt of a lackey is mangling my bandboxes? That one has my cravats ... dammit, the fool has it upside down!”

  The Earl watched the seemingly unending procession of baggage.

  “A few days only I believe you said, Uncle?” he queried with heavy sarcasm.

  There was an answering gleam of appreciation in the other’s eye. “Why, so I intend. But one must dress, dear boy!”

  “Quite,” said the Earl. “Well—I must look to my horses. We shall meet at dinner.”

  Amaryllis tucked her arm under the capacious coat sleeve, and with Jamie hanging on his other sid
e, they drew their much loved relative toward the house.

  “Do come along in quickly,” she cried. “I am positively dying to hear all the latest on dits. I’ll warrant there isn’t a breath of scandal has escaped your notice. Oh, how I miss it all!”

  For the first time they noticed Felicity, still standing, having enjoyed the whole spectacle hugely. The exquisite paused, his quizzing glass lifted in interested scrutiny.

  Jamie ran to drag her forward. “This is Cousin F’licity,” he explained with pride.

  Felicity was much intrigued by Sir Peregrine Trent. He was brother to the Earl’s late mother and as different from his nephew as could be. She met his appreciative glance with amusement.

  “Vale? Now where have I ...? Ah, I have it! Sally ... Sally Merton... He turned to Amaryllis. “Your mamma’s sister, puss ... married some soldier laddie against all advice. Quite a kick-up there was! She was all but promised to Hatherford at the time ... had a bit of an eye to her m self, come to that! Well, well! So you’re Sally Merton’s gel? How is your mother, child? Is she here? Egad—I should be delighted to renew our acquaintance!”

  “Both my parents are dead.” Felicity explained briefly and at once the mask of the dandy dropped; the genuineness of Sir Peregrine’s distress was apparent.

  “And so you have sought refuge with your little cousin,” he said gruffly. “Very proper, m’dear ... it’s what families are for.”

  “Oh, Felicity is much too independent to be living off her relations!” cried Amaryllis. “She was all set to find some horrid post until Stayne prevailed upon her to open a school in the village.”

  “That don’t sound like Max,” Sir Peregrine stated unequivocally. “Always treated his tenants fair and square ... not saying otherwise, but a school? Sounds like a hum!”

  “Why, so I thought, but sure enough he set it all in motion and now the school is thriving, is it not, Felicity?”

  The question brought the angry frustration flooding back, making her account of the day’s setback the more vivid.

  Amaryllis shuddered. “I knew that man was up to no good. I met him at the Honeysett’s some weeks back and thought him a nasty, toad-eating little creature. Why should he want Ester Graham’s cottage?”

  “Sheer cussedness, I imagine,” said Felicity. “Though, from what Lord Stayne has said, he seems to be acquiring land at a disturbing rate.”

  Well, Ester’s cottage hasn’t much land. Perhaps he has an inamorata and wishes to establish her nearby.”

  “Don’t like the sound of the fellow at all,” said Sir Peregrine bluntly. “Regular havey-cavey character, I shouldn’t wonder.”

  He said as much to his nephew later on. The Earl appeared to have recovered from his earlier irritation and after a pleasant family dinner, sat back sipping his port and listening to his uncle rattling on with apparent affability.

  “If you’d care for my advice, Max, that one’ll bear watching. Might even be prudent to abandon this school nonsense for the present.”

  A faint quizzical smile touched the Earl’s mouth. “Did you suggest as much to Miss Vale?”

  His uncle grinned. “Gave me the length of her tongue! Lass of spirit, that one. Tragic—losing both parents at a stroke.”

  “Yes.”

  “D’ye know, I might have married her mother ... well, that may be stretching it a bit, but still ... what a beauty! You’ll remember, no doubt, what a handsome woman Amaryllis’s ma was ... as girls they took the Town by storm. It was the Gunnings all over again. This child must take after the father.”

  Sir Peregrine took out an intricately worked snuffbox. He flicked it open. “Don’t know if you’ll care for this. It’s a new sort Petersham put up for me.”

  His lordship declined the honor and said amiably, “Just how deep in dun territory are you this time, Uncle Perry?”

  His uncle pocketed the box and dusted his fingers delicately with a large lace handkerchief, pausing to remove an imaginary speck from the glory of his brocade waistcoat.

  “You mustn’t be troubling yourself about me, Max. I may have been plunging a bit steep, but I shall come about.”

  “What was it? Pharaoh?”

  “Deep basset. It was my weakness. And talking of weaknesses,” continued Sir Peregrine with a deft turn of subject, “ain’t it time you was thinking of dropping the handkerchief? Not a pleasant thought, I’ll grant you, but you owe it to the family, dear boy.”

  “I’m in no hurry,” returned the Earl with surprising mildness. “The succession is secure with Jamie.”

  “Aye—but is it enough? I mean—God forbid that anything should happen to the lad, but if it did, then everything goes to that damned half-wit, Frampton!” Sir Peregrine shuddered. “Don’t bear thinking of ... the fellow’s as wet as a plaguey fish! Heard you was in a fair way to offering for Lipscombe’s daughter ... good connections there, m’boy ... fine breeding stock, too, and not a bad-looking little filly! Could do worse, if you can stomach the mother.”

  His nephew’s face gave nothing away. “If and when I contemplate matrimony, Uncle—you will be among the first to know. And now, if you please, may we return to your debts?”

  “Fiend take it, I haven’t come to pick your pockets, lad! I just thought it prudent to leave Town for a while.”

  “Bad as that, was it?”

  “The duns at my door,” confessed Sir Peregrine with a wry smile. “Beats me how they get wind. A fine thing it would be an’ I started pandering to their paltry demands! You won’t believe this, dear boy—I tried this new-fangled tailor ... Ormskirk reckoned he was all the crack, so I let him make me a coat or two ... fellow had the impudence to send in his bill! Coats weren’t at all the thing either! Couldn’t show my face at Boodle’s in one of ’em! It’s Weston for me from now on.”

  The Earl heard him out in patience, then repeated inexorably, “How much all told, Uncle?”

  Sir Peregrine quoted a sum which his nephew accepted without blenching.

  “You had best furnish my secretary with a list of the whole,” he said briefly.

  “Oh, come now, Max! That’s taking generosity too far! No objection to your settling my gaming debts—cursed embarrassing owing friends...”

  “Quite so.”

  “... but you don’t want to be troubling your head over the rest! I don’t, I assure you.”

  The Earl pushed back his chair and stood up. “I pay all—or none, Uncle. The choice is yours. Now, shall we join the ladies?”

  “As you will, dear boy,” said his uncle philosophically. “And what will you do about this Hardman business?”

  “For the moment,” said the Earl, “nothing.”

  7

  In spite of the setback, Felicity was determined that the children should not be denied their Christmas concert. An appeal to Mr. Becket brought a hasty coat of paint to the walls and temporary seating.

  The concert was a triumph. Lord Stayne put in a last-minute appearance, also Sir Peregrine, Amaryllis, and Jamie. Their presence put everyone on their mettle and the children behaved beautifully. She was proud of them and though she kept a wary eye on Jamie and Lanny Price, they both seemed overawed by the occasion.

  Between Felicity and Ester, however, there was a distinct coolness. Ester had taken strong exception to having her affairs divulged to the Earl without her permission and no amount of persuasion would move her to seek his help.

  Sir Peregrine stayed on for Christmas. There was quite a large house party, and with the prospect of some good shooting and congenial company, he was not hard to persuade. When the guests departed, he still showed little inclination to return to Town.

  He liked to drive with Felicity in the gig. It was on one of these outings that they heard raised voices and came upon a knot of people milling around the boundary wall of Manor Court. The gate, with its grim warnings to trespassers, swung open. One or two women, hearing the gig, turned.

  “’Tis Miss Vale!”

  ‘ Oh, miss—it don’t s
eem right! The lad don’t know no better nor to do as ’e should...”

  Felicity said sharply, “What lad?” She thought at once of Lanny. “Who is it?” she urged. “Who are you talking about?”

  The woman who answered was big-eyed with her news. “It’s young Willie Graham! The Captain has ’im fast in there ... stealin’, he says.”

  Thrusting the reins into Uncle Perry’s hands, Felicity sprang down and ran toward the gate, pushing her way through the onlookers.

  Beyond the gate she stopped. There had been a light fall of snow, enough to cover the ground and powder the trees; it made an incongruously beautiful backdrop for a tableau assembled with the theatrical precision of high drama.

  Captain Hardman, on his brute of a stallion, loomed above two small boys—Willie, passive and incurious under the hands of the head keeper, clutching to his chest a shining red ball; and, nearby, Geoffrey Hardman, stiff with outrage, yet with a suppressed air of gloating. Near the gate Ester was being restrained by a massive Negro and two other men watched the crowd for trouble.

  Captain Hardman was addressing Ester in that light, expressionless voice and Felicity could tell that he was enjoying every minute.

  “... you cannot deny the evidence of your own eyes, madam. The ball belongs to my son—your boy has it in his possession—indeed he is loath to surrender it.”

  Felicity’s heart sank. She saw at once what must have happened. She had been working very hard with Willie for the past few weeks, endeavoring to find some way through that wall of silent apathy; she sensed that he had taken to her and had used that faint thread of interest, painstakingly going over and over one simple theme—circles—all kinds of circles, including a red ball! Until this moment she was unsure whether she had made any progress, yet here surely was the proof; even in the midst of her dismay she could not restrain a thrill of elation. She pressed forward until her way was barred.

  “Let that child go this instant, Captain Hardman!”

  He turned hard, pitiless eyes on her. “Ah, the school-marm! A propitious arrival. You are in time to witness the punishment of one of your charges. You should govern them better, ma’am!”