The Sergeant Major's Daughter

by Sheila Walsh

  “I think nothing of the kind,” said Felicity gently. “Your sentiments are everything I would expect in you. Jamie must naturally come first in your thoughts, but a little relaxation—a little taking out of yourself, would perhaps be beneficial.”

  “No, no! I can think of nothing else ... why, he hardly knew me just now ... when I remember how I used to complain of his constant chatter! If only he will get well—Oh, why is Dr. Belvedere not here?”

  Her words were punctuated by sobs and Felicity’s heart ached for her.

  “You must not worry so. The doctor will come, but he is very busy at present and there is little more he can do. The fever must run its course.”

  But the fever continued to mount and with it his mother’s panic.

  “I’m so afraid,” she sobbed. “I know you all wish to spare my feelings, but I feel sure he is going to...” she pressed a hand convulsively to her mouth.

  “Oh, good gracious! Nothing of the kind!” cried Felicity. “By tomorrow or the next day you will be laughing at your fears!”

  She did not add that Mary Perkins down in the village had died that very morning—and she hoped that no one would be so thoughtless as to mention the tragedy in her cousin’s hearing. The Perkinses were a sickly family, after all, particularly little Mary, who at eight had been under-sized and dogged by a persistent racking cough. If this had not taken her, doubtless something else would have.

  Felicity persuaded Amaryllis to go and rest, “... you look quite worn out. And Jamie will need you fresh and cheerful when he is over this little setback.”

  Amaryllis went, with a backward glance into the darkened room where her son turned his head restlessly away from Rose Hibberd’s cooling sponge. The curtains were drawn against the light, which hurt his eyes.

  “You will let me know if ... Oh, Felicity, why does Max not come? It is two days since I sent word!”

  Her original insistence on sending for Lord Stayne had surprised Felicity, but this heartfelt cry now found an echo in her own thoughts, for somehow the Earl’s very air of omniscience was guaranteed to exercise a calming influence.

  It was well past midnight when he did come. The first she knew was when he stood in the doorway, his body tense, his face in shadow. A screen shielded the bed from the single lamp where Felicity sat mending one of Jamie’s shirts.

  She put it down and came softly across the room.

  “Miss Vale.” His voice lacked its usual incisiveness. “May I come in?”

  She stood aside to let him pass. He stood, frowning at her as though he hardly recognized her in the simple cream wrapper, with her hair brushed free. She met his look and found her heart beating a little faster.

  “Why are you here?” he asked. “Is there not a hired nurse?”

  “No, sir. We are managing very well without. But I am glad you are come.”

  “My sister-in-law’s note was somewhat incoherent?” His eyes lifted to the screened bed. “Jamie...?”

  Felicity’s matter-of-fact voice was reassuring. “He has been quite ill, but he has come through the crisis splendidly. Dr. Belvedere says he will soon be feeling more the thing.”

  They crossed together to the bed where the small boy lay fast asleep.

  “He looks... thinner,” said his uncle abruptly.

  “Perhaps ... a little, but that is soon put right.” They moved softly away again into the pool of lamplight. “It is Amaryllis who needs you.”

  The Earl looked skeptical. “You need not tell me. My sister-in-law has spent most of her time prostrate with the vapors!”

  Felicity shook her head. “This time you wrong her, my lord. Oh, I’m not saying she has been much use in the sickroom; her nerves, as you know, are not of the strongest.”

  Stayne snorted.

  “But she has tried! You would be astonished, I think, to know how much she has tried!”

  “I am delighted to hear it,” said the Earl. “But I know to whom we owe our gratitude for Jamie’s safe deliverance—and much else besides—these days past. Your resourcefulness has made a great impression upon Cavanah—a veritable tower of strength were, I believe, the words he used!”

  Tiredness made Felicity oversensitive to the ever present sarcasm. “I am sorry if you think I have exceeded my position...”

  “Good God!” Stayne grasped her arm and swung her around. “Miss Vale—in my somewhat clumsy fashion I am trying to thank you!”

  “Oh!” She blinked up at him. There were tears glinting on her lashes, as there had been on the first day they had met, and the soft lamplight was making a nimbus of her hair. He found himself wanting very much to touch it.

  Felicity wondered why he did not let her go. He was looking at her so strangely that she caught her breath. How long they stood—or what might have been the outcome—she was never to know; there was a sound from the doorway and they turned to find Amaryllis, in a trailing peignoir, clutching at the post.

  “Max!”

  He moved and caught her as she fell against him. Only when she had been fully reassured and had seen for herself that Jamie was sleeping, would she allow herself to be led back to her own room. The Earl’s gentleness and patience were so at odds with his customary brusqueness that Felicity, tired as she was, found all her preconceived notions in a turmoil.

  “I am taking Amaryllis to her bed now, Miss Vale,” he said. “And then I intend to find someone to sit with Jamie for the remainder of the night so that you, too, may take a much-needed rest.”

  “There is no need...”

  “I disagree, my dear young lady. There is every need. You are quite clearly worn out.”

  “I am nothing of the kind! I beg you will leave matters alone, my lord. All has been most carefully arranged so that we each take our turn. Besides, I would prefer to be here if Jamie should wake.”

  “Miss Vale,” returned the Earl with equal determination, “you have had things very much your own way these days past, but I am here now and I believe I am still master in my own house!”

  Amaryllis looked from one to the other, tearful and bewildered.

  “Oh, but Max ... you cannot know ... Felicity has been so good ... so truly good! You can have no idea ... I do not know how I should have gone on without her.”

  “On the contrary, I trust Miss Vale is in no doubt of my gratitude?”

  Faced with so arbitrary an appeal, Felicity capitulated—and was rewarded by an unexpectedly warm smile.

  “There—you see? There is no difficulty.”

  Within three days Jamie was displaying an unbelievable amount of energy and was being indulged by almost everyone until he stood in danger of being thoroughly spoiled. Even his uncle, who called him a noisome, pampered brat, gave the lie to his words by spending many a long hour at his bedside fashioning small boats out of paper.

  It was the Earl who carried him down to the drawing room at last with the doctor’s permission—and having performed his duty, showed little inclination to leave. When, an hour or so later, Mrs. and Miss Lipscombe were announced, they walked in upon a most affecting family scene.

  Jamie and his mother, together with Felicity and Lord Stayne, were sitting on the floor before a blazing log fire arguing over a game of spillikins which seemed to involve a great deal of noise and general hilarity.

  From the set of Mrs. Lipscombe’s mouth, the scene afforded her little pleasure, but she mellowed slightly as the Earl came quickly to his feet. He greeted them with punctilious good manners, bade them to be seated, and suggested that Cavanah might bring a tea tray.

  Amaryllis, flushed from the fire and not particularly pleased by the intrusion, stood up more slowly.

  “I had not expected to see you, ma’am,” she said with a touch of waspishness. “Or you, Lucinda. Especially you! Are you not afraid to be in the same room with my Jamie? He is not yet fully recovered, you know.”

  Lucinda flushed and watched with some trepidation as Jamie showed every sign of wishing to be intimate and had to be restrai
ned by Felicity.

  A flurry of hail splattered the windows, icily enhancing the look Mrs. Lipscombe directed at Felicity, for so obviously carrying tales to her cousin. She covered her daughter’s discomfiture with a light laugh.

  “My dear Amaryllis,” she confided archly, “you must not blame Lucinda for being a dutiful daughter, it was I who held her back—impelled by a strong maternal urge to protect, which I am sure you must allow to be understandable? Do you not allow it to be so, Lord Stayne?”

  “Oh, quite,” said the Earl politely. “A very natural instinct, ma’am.”

  “Quite so. I knew you must understand. But Mr. Lipscombe is made of sterner stuff than I. He has a strong sense of duty. ‘Only consider, madam,’ he said to me, ‘Only consider what a comfort your daughter’s presence must afford Mrs. Delamere at this difficult time. Such charitable considerations must outweigh all risks!’ And so I have suffered my scruples to be overset.”

  It was unfortunate that she chanced to glance at Felicity just as the latter was quite wickedly hazarding a guess as to when the news of Lord Stayne’s return had reached the Lipscombe household. She could not accurately divine the girl’s thoughts, but knew open insolence when she saw it. Her nostrils flared, making her resemblance to a horse more marked.

  “I understand the disease emanated from your school, Miss Vale.”

  Before Felicity could take issue, the Earl interposed smoothly: “Who can tell where such epidemics have their origins, ma’am. They are common enough in all conscience. My brother and I seldom mixed with other children, yet I remember we took every childish ailment without exception.”

  Jamie listened with absorbed interest, and not wishing to be excluded from a topic upon which he was so obviously an expert, now entered the conversation with enthusiasm.

  “I had the measles much worse than my friend, Lanny Price, Cousin F’licity said so! I had a rash all over, but it has quite gone now. Would you like to see?”

  He advanced in the friendliest way upon the visitors, already tugging at the neck of his nightgown beneath the bright red dressing gown.

  Mrs. Lipscombe uttered a little shriek and Lucinda turned pale. Felicity swooped on the miscreant and lifted him off his feet.

  “Thank you, Jamie—but no. I think you have been downstairs quite long enough for your first day. Say good afternoon now and we will go.”

  “But I’m not in the least bit tired, Cousin F’licity, truly! I thought we were to play another game.”

  Lord Stayne took Jamie from Felicity’s arms and strode swiftly to the door.

  “Tomorrow,” he said firmly.

  Outside, his eyes met Felicity’s. He swung the boy high onto his shoulder.

  “Abominable wretch! Putting us all to the blush in that way.”

  “I didn’t do anything!” Jamie objected. “I don’t want to go back to bed.”

  “You’ll do as you’re told, young man,” ordered his uncle, setting him down in the nursery doorway. “Be good for Miss Vale and perhaps I will come up later and teach you to play chess.”

  “Will you?” Jamie demanded eagerly. “Promise?”

  “We shall see.”

  The small boy eyed them both consideringly. “Uncle Max—why do you call cousin F’licity ‘Miss Vale’ all the time? Don’t you like her?”

  The Earl’s brows came together and Felicity felt ready to sink.

  “Jamie!”

  “Well—Mamma calls you F’licity, and so does Uncle Perry.”

  “That is quite different,” she argued, wishing desperately that Jamie might suddenly be struck dumb.

  “I don’t see why!” the small voice continued with unwavering tenacity. “Uncle Max has known you much longer than Uncle Perry, and besides...”

  “Jamie—that will do!” Her face now scarlet, Felicity grasped his shoulders and propelled him into his room without further ado.

  To her dismay, the Earl followed; catching his eye she was thrown into further confusion by the derisive enjoyment lurking therein.

  “What Miss Vale is no doubt shy of pointing out, my revolting nephew,” he said smoothly, “is that the nature of our ... er, relationship, being more professional than social, precludes any such intimacy—indeed, it would sit ill with the local schoolmistress to be thus familiarly addressed by her employer and patron. There,” he turned to Felicity, “have I explained the matter to your satisfaction, ma’am?”

  “No, you have not, my lord!” she cried, torn between laughter and outrage. “What a nonsense! As though I would ever entertain such pretentious and ... idiotish notions!” He was so obviously gratified by her reaction that she was moved to add loftily, “I am sure your lordship is quite at liberty to address me howsoever you choose!”

  The Earl, seeing Jamie’s air of puzzlement, put out a hand to ruffle the dark curls.

  “There’s a handsome offer, my lad,” he said with a grin. Turning to Felicity his manner became gently mocking. “Thank you, Miss Vale—I may just take you up on it sometime!”

  9

  March seemed bent on proving itself both turbulent and destructive. As the gales gathered momentum, Felicity was not sorry that the school was closed, though she expected the doctor’s permission to reopen any day. Most of the children were fully recovered and there had been no new cases for two weeks.

  She found herself owning to a twinge of guilt that she had so much enjoyed her time at home—for she now thought of Cheynings as home. The weather had kept everyone in a great deal more than usual and had served to draw them all closer together as a family. Even Lord Stayne had maintained an unusually sanguine disposition, prompting Amaryllis to remark that she could not remember his ever being so consistently good-humored for so long. Jamie was once more fighting fit and consigned to the care of his tutor.

  With so much time at their disposal, the sewing had gone forward steadily. Amaryllis sat up in bed one morning, drinking chocolate and admiring the colorful and diaphanous accumulation of finery. The door opened to admit Felicity, dressed for riding.

  “Goodness! You are never going out?”

  Felicity grinned. “Oh pooh! It would take more than a bit of wind to frighten me off ... and the worst does seem to be over. I don’t believe I’ve ever been so long confined indoors in my life! I cannot bear it a moment longer!”

  “Yes, but only consider the blessings of such weather. The Lipscombes have not called for two whole weeks!” Felicity laid her riding hat and whip on the end of the bed and perched beside them, glancing curiously at her cousin.

  “You really don’t mind, do you? I thought you and Lucinda such good friends?”

  “And now you think me very fickle.” Amaryllis pouted. “Well, I am fickle, dear Fliss. I daresay you would like to think I have changed, but I haven’t. I never liked Lucinda that much, only there was very little choice of company when I first came here, and we were thrown together by cause of Mrs. Lipscombe’s determination that Lucinda should marry Maxim.”

  Felicity knew a curious pang. “And will she, do you suppose?”

  “Oh yes, I should think so,” was the careless reply. “Max doesn’t really care for women, you know, so Lucinda will do as well as the next; she looks well enough and is very biddable when it suits her. She will make Max an adequate wife.”

  Amaryllis smiled a little maliciously. “Only Mamma is having more trouble than she imagined bringing him up to scratch! She expected her connection with the Wellesleys would weigh with him more than it has.”

  Felicity longed to protest that Lucinda would bore Stayne silly within a month, but the words choked her. Instead she jumped up, set her hat very firmly on her head, snatched up her whip, and almost ran from the room, leaving Amaryllis to wonder what had brought the snapping lights into her cousin’s eyes.

  Outside, the worst of the wind had indeed died down, but the trees and bushes were still alive with it and the devastated gardens bore witness to its passing. Several gardeners were hard at work clearing up.


  In the stable yard there was an atmosphere. The Earl’s curricle stood waiting; the famous grays, perhaps affected by the wildness in the air, rolled their eyes and strained restively against the combined attentions of two grooms.

  Benson was almost absent-minded in his greeting, and young Percy, resplendent in his blue and gold livery, sidled constantly to the archway to stare up the drive—and hardly heard when Felicity spoke.

  “Is something wrong, Benson?”

  He jumped. “Oh, Miss Vale—’tis you!” He blew his nose noisily. “I don’t rightly know, miss. It’s his lordship—rode out over an hour ago, he did—down to Long Meadow to inspect one of them old elm trees Mr. Becket reckoned ought to come down. He said he’d be back within the hour, and I was to ’ave the horses put to.” He buttoned and unbuttoned his coat nervously. “Well, you’ll allow it ain’t like his lordship to keep such prime goers a-standing?”

  “No ... o,” conceded Felicity, “but any number of things might have detained him, you know. Perhaps you should ... no, wait a minute ... I believe this is him now.”

  She had hardly finished speaking when the Earl’s stallion came thundering under the arch, riderless and trailing his rein.

  Percy, his eyes ablaze, his nose red with cold, charged after him.

  “What did I tell you, Benson? Trouble! I could smell it! We got to get out there right away!”

  Felicity’s heart gave a lurch, but she said calmly enough, “Lord Stayne won’t thank you for being over-hasty, you know. Vulcan might have panicked.”

  Percy threw her a pitying look. “That’s gammon, miss—and you know it, beggin’ your pardon. That horse wouldn’t never run out on the guv’nor, no matter what ... leastways, not without cause.”

  “The lad’s right, miss,” said Benson heavily. “Something must have happened ... there’s blood here on Vulcan’s ear. Saddle me a horse, Dan—on the double, lad, and we’d best have a wagon along, too—just in case!”