by May Burnett
“We can never go back to these parts, do you realize that?” Margaret stared out of the new coach’s window at the spectacular Alpine scenery. A medieval castle squatted on a hilltop at the other side of the valley, and glaciers glinted atop the higher peaks. “As beautiful as these lakes and mountains are, almost I regret it. But the thought of living in England again makes up for everything.”
“Mother will be frantic with worry by now,” Emily said. “We must write to her first thing, once we are across the border.”
“I am planning to send a courier to escort her, once that leg is sufficiently healed,” Anthony said. “Some energetic woman who will get her to rouse herself, if it can be done.”
“She is only forty-two,” Emily said, “surely that is young enough to recover her spirits, if she really wants to.”
“But does she want to? I hope the prospect of a return to England will revive her,” Margaret said. “It is already doing wonders for my own spirits.”
“Soldiers coming up beneath us,” Tsien reported. He had been peering out of the side window, towards the foot of the mountain they were climbing in many laborious turns, through pine trees that became markedly sparser now that they were almost at the pass.
“How close?” Anthony’s voice was terse.
“They are on horseback, and not holding back. I fear they will catch us before we cross the border – about two more miles, would you say?”
“Remember that I have never passed this way before. I only have the descriptions of that last innkeeper to go on.”
“I shall distract them,” Tsien announced. He opened the door and jumped out. The horses were straining on this steep mountain road. Their speed – lamentably – was slow enough to permit this manoeuvre to a man as nimble as the young Chinese. He held something like a bundle in his arms as he darted into the pine forest downslope.
“What can he do, all alone, against a troop of several men?” Margaret sounded sceptical.
“I have always found Tsien highly ingenious. My worry is that he may kill one or more of the soldiers. In his part of the world lethal measures are par for the course. These soldiers are only doing their duty.”
“He may kill them all, as far as I am concerned,” Margaret said fiercely. ”Why don’t you help him?”
“That would only hamper Tsien. We can wait for him on the other side of the border. If he is not there in two hours, I shall go back and look for him, but I shall be surprised if it should be necessary.”
Emily was reassured by his calm. Her new maid smiled at her encouragingly, cool and unruffled.
While their coach lumbered on, she tried to distract herself by imagining the second wedding ceremony in Geneva, and the third and last one in her home village, Bankington. The grey old Church, the Vicar who had always been kind to them, even in the worst times … the churchyard outside, where most of her Bellairs ancestors were buried, except for one or two inside. Their sepulchres were splendid, testimony of the family’s former eminence. At least they had been secure from her father’s wastrel irresponsibility.
Had Margaret and she inherited his vices and weaknesses? Surely not. But she would be vigilant to eradicate any trace of them in her children.
Shouts and imprecations in German became faintly audible from further down the road, though to Emily’s frustration the fir trees prevented them from seeing the cause.
“Verdammt! Haltet ihn fest!”
“Somebody is to catch hold of someone else,” Signora Tarcassi helpfully explained. So she knew German too?
The coach lurched around yet another turn, and incrementally sped up as the road finally levelled. There were guards at the border, two Austrians and a Swiss. These waved them on desultorily, more interested in the shouts of dismay faintly echoing from downslope than in their coach.
Emily held her breath until the coach had passed into Switzerland, then let it out in a sigh of overwhelming relief.
Safe, except for Tsien.
“Thank God,” she said fervently. “And thank you too, Anthony, for getting us away. I shall never forget this.”
“Yes,” Margaret echoed, “I owe you a great debt.”
“Let’s wait for Tsien at the other end of the village,” Anthony suggested. “We can have lunch here; the horses and coachman also deserve a rest after that long climb.”
“I cannot face food until I know that Tsien is safe,” Emily declared. She had become fond of the quiet young man. “What do you suppose he did to hold up the pursuit? What would you have done? He was unarmed, and had no time for any preparations.”
“We shall know soon enough. He may turn up by the time our food is cooked and served.”
To Emily’s relief, his confidence proved justified. Tsien sauntered into the restaurant just in time to partake of the meal they had optimistically ordered on his behalf.
“No offense, Anthony, but this Swiss food is not very good,” he said after trying two of the local dishes. “What are these lumps of congealed flour? In Italy it was better, but still in no way comparable to my home country.”
“Impossible,” Margaret said indignantly, and Madame Tarcassi’s brows furrowed.
“Taste is subjective, and depends on what we were brought up to like,” Anthony said, “but indeed, Miss Bellairs, I can attest that the food in Southern China is far more sophisticated than here in Europe, excepting only a few of our best French dishes. I found it delicious, though there were a few ingredients that gave me pause. Not the snakes – after all, the French eat snails and frogs – but that they eat dog meat.”
“Only in winter,” Tsien said mildly, “it is a warming dish. My father forbade it in his house – he shares your European sensibilities.”
“Ugh.” Margaret pulled a face, and Emily had trouble keeping a serene expression. “Did you eat that, Anthony?”
“Not knowingly, but Chinese food is prepared in such a way that you don’t always know what exactly it contains.”
“Disgusting. I hope you will not tell your acquaintances in England about possibly eating dog meat,” Margaret said loftily.
“We all have our secrets,” he returned. “Mine is comparatively harmless.”
“Let’s not waste time arguing about food and cooking,” Emily said, “I want to know how you held up the soldiers, Tsien.”
“The terrain was ideal for an ambush, especially as they were riding too fast for the steep road. I merely tied a rope across, held up by trees on either side of the path, right after a turn in the road. It was the work of a minute.”
“But if they had caught you! And it must have been dangerous for the riders and horses.”
“The first in line stumbled and fell downslope but was caught fast by trees and bushes. I do not suppose he suffered more than scratches and a sore head. The next two stumbled over his horse. They had to stop to untie the rope, check on the fallen horse, and pull the man up. While the soldiers were busy with that, something spooked one of the other horses, and it fled downhill. By the time they were ready to resume their ride the soldiers’ enthusiasm was greatly diminished. They took the subsequent turns slowly and cautiously, arriving at the border some three minutes too late. On learning of your escape, they cursed a great deal. I could tell, even though I don’t have much German yet.”
Emily could well imagine it. “I am not surprised at their frustration. I wonder if they were after us?”
“Yes, because one of them said something about a Spionin – that is a female spy, isn’t it?”
“It is not a word we want to know,” Emily declared. “I would greatly prefer to forget that it was ever uttered in connection with a member of our family.”
“Nobody will hear it from me,” her maid assured her. “I have my own reasons to dislike this word.”
Emily blinked. Was her maid also a spy? Had she been suspected, or accused of espionage? Was that why she had joined their party? There was some mystery to the woman, but if she continued in her service, there would be time e
nough to find out.
“We have travelled so very slowly that Sir Conrad may be in Geneva already,” Margaret said hopefully. “How much longer will it take us to arrive there?”
“It is still a considerable distance,” Anthony said, “but the worst is behind us, from here it is mostly downhill. Or so I am told.” He turned back to Tsien. “Did any of the soldiers see you?”
“Of course not, Anthony. Do you take me for an amateur? I was invisible like the smoke. It was easy, with all those trees.”
“I am glad you did not kill any of them,” Anthony said. “From now on we can travel as ordinary, respectable travellers again. In fact, we have to, as there is a large expatriate colony of English in Geneva, and one or the other is sure to know me.”
“Sir Conrad among them,” Tsien reminded him. “But if you have not been to this country before, it seems unlikely that anyone else would recognize you, Anthony. The world is big and there are many people in it.”
Emily had been thinking the same, but Anthony shook his head. “That is true enough in general, but you would be surprised how many times you run across acquaintances in the most unlikely places. Even if you do not remember meeting someone, they may remember you. In Verona I met a fellow who had seen me in England and knew who I was, though I didn’t know him from Adam. Hauptmann Ehrenblatt, the one with the big moustache. He claimed to have an infallible memory for faces.”
“Yet he is easier to remember than you,” Margaret said. “Apart from those green eyes you are not memorable.”
Emily wanted to kick her. “That is not at all true. I will thank you not to make disparaging remarks about my husband, Margaret.”
“I suggest you make sure that he really is your husband, before jumping to defend him like that,” Margaret said pettishly. “Now we are safe, will he even want to go through another wedding?”
Emily felt a blush creep over her face. She had never been less fond of her sister than at that moment, when she thoughtlessly spoke those humiliating words in front of Anthony, Tsien and the maid who was still a stranger.
“Margaret, I strongly advise you to take care. After what your recklessness just put us through, I am not minded to listen to your bad humour.”
The look Anthony directed at Margaret as he drank from the dry local wine was not cordial. “You will be able to witness our wedding yourself. In the meantime, please remember that your sister is a married lady, and your social superior, Miss Bellairs. Strive not to forget that you depend on her goodwill now.”
“Your goodwill, you mean.” Margaret’s cheeks were red. “I am all too conscious of the fact. Be sure I shall do my best to relieve you of my unwelcome company at the first suitable opportunity.”
“Come, we should be celebrating, not quarrelling,” Anthony said. “And we still need to help your mother, who is in a very unfortunate situation, if you had forgotten.
Emily felt mortified at her sister’s bad behaviour, only minutes after she had thanked Anthony for saving them. She had always been moody, but this was really the outside of enough. What could be the reason for Margaret’s hostility?
Chapter 17
You are likely to run into acquaintances whenever you least expect it. Do not let them catch you at a disadvantage.
Maxims for Young Gentlewomen, Vol. 2, by a Lady (1824)
It was late afternoon, only four hours since they had reached Geneva. The sun was setting, and the vibrant colours of Lake Geneva were dimming before Anthony’s eyes.
He had just visited his bankers’ office in Geneva, to replenish his travel funds. The banker had also handed him two bulky letters from England that he stuffed into his pockets, to peruse later alone.
“Where can I most expeditiously hire a house for a couple of weeks? I am tired of living in hotels and inns,” he mentioned as the transaction was drawing to an end.
“Are you sure you want to stay here at this season, my lord?” The young banker was astonished. “Geneva is very popular in the spring and summer, but October is almost over, and November is cold and wet. For every day you linger, the journey homewards to England will become more uncomfortable and chilly.”
“Nonetheless, circumstances may compel me to remain here for a week or two.”
“In that case, at this season it will be easy to rent a fully staffed house at a good price. I shall send my assistant to your hotel tomorrow morning, to conduct you on a tour of possible abodes.”
“I am much obliged to you.”
“Do let me know if there is anything else you require. You know our discretion is assured.”
“Well, if you should know of a Protestant pastor, I find myself in urgent need of spiritual services.”
“Hm. I am Catholic myself, but that information should be easy enough to ascertain. My assistant will bring you a list of such divines, and their addresses, when he comes to you tomorrow morning – is nine too early?”
“No, that will do very well. He will find me in the breakfast room.”
Anthony had not mentioned that he travelled with ladies, and indeed, for the moment he did not; they had prudently checked into different hotels, the girls using their maiden names. That Italian maid had been invaluable, arranging for more suitable clothing well before they reached Geneva, and generally maintaining an appearance of respectability.
It was not far from the bankers’ office to his hotel. The ancient cobblestones were slick from the tread of innumerable feet.
“Monsieur le Marquis!”
Anthony turned. A small, thin man beamed at him as he bowed. “What a coincidence, to run across you here in Geneva! I always say, it’s a small world.”
“Sir Samson Soames,” Anthony said. Surprising how one remembered the most insignificant information even after years abroad. Sir Samson was a neighbour at one of his minor estates in Warwickshire. “What brings you to Switzerland at this season?”
“My wife’s health,” the man’s face turned sombre for a moment. “Her lungs required a change of air, and indeed she has been doing better since we came to Switzerland in August. I have taken a house in the French part of the city, and would be delighted if you could come to dinner, if you are staying here more than a day or two?”
“Thank you,” Anthony said. “I have some private business to conclude before I can accept any invitations, however.”
The smaller man’s eyes gleamed with curiosity. “Private business here in Geneva? Ah. My lips are sealed, my lord.”
Since Sir Samson did not know anything that would hardly be a difficult feat. The baronet did not leave before he had pressed a visiting card with his address on Anthony, urging him to call once he was at liberty.
Although he judged Geneva to be safe enough, Anthony returned to the hotel and locked up his new funds, except for the part he entrusted to Tsien for safekeeping, as was their custom since an attempted robbery near Kandy.
He had been wondering if he should dine with the ladies before the marriage ceremony, but the encounter with Sir Samson decided him that it would be imprudent. He would miss Emily, but was not sorry to spend some time away from her sister. For all her beauty and intelligence, Margaret Bellairs was a difficult woman. Talented, though … she had sketched travel scenes during their flight with considerable skill. According to Emily, Margaret had also been an accomplished piano player before that move to Italy. Her beloved instrument had been sold for debts, like everything else.
When he considered all the misfortunes Margaret had suffered, Anthony was more inclined to make allowances for her behaviour. On the other hand, Emily had suffered the same deprivations and was still sweet and unspoiled. And very soon she would be his wife without any more doubt or uncertainty.
By tomorrow night, he might be able to consummate his marriage.
Or was he being overly optimistic? A marriage could be arranged quickly enough with plentiful funds, he presumed, but what then? Would the house be ready? If not, should Emily simply move into his hotel, leaving Margaret alone?
That was hardly feasible. Not for the first time, he found himself wishing his sister-in-law to the devil.
Strange how men’s tastes could be so different. Sir Conrad had been strongly drawn to Margaret from the first moment they met, while Anthony had been untouched by her beauty. His eyes had strayed to Emily, despite her shabby black dress. There was a sweetness about her that called to his sense of chivalry – Anthony had wanted to protect her, even before he had become fond of her over the course of the last weeks.
Not dining with her tonight was protecting her too, however much it went against the grain.
He really had to tell her about the title. At least three times he had begun to do so during their journey, and each time some interruption had prevented him. But had he really wanted to, he would have found the right moment.
All those girls in his past, the debutantes of the ton, had not truly seen him, Anthony, because his title and fortune had blinded them to the man. He could tell when they immediately deserted him to fawn over Rook, whose looks and prospective dukedom had eclipsed even Anthony. It had been a useful lesson, demonstrating exactly what they were after.
To marry a girl without telling her she would become a Marchioness was absurd, even quixotic, but now that he was so close, maybe he should just go ahead. She would not be foolish enough to balk at the marriage because she disliked the circles he moved in – not his pragmatic, common-sense Emily – but the prospect might give her pause. No need to complicate the next twenty-four hours with discussions about his title and lifestyle. There would be plenty of time to go into all that after the wedding night.
The prospect of introducing Emily to the delights of the wedding bed was a powerful distraction. Come to think of it, she would also be introducing him to the same –whatever experience he had acquired in the erotic arts, had never been in a wedding bed. Ladies were delicate and many considered the acts men found so delightful a hated duty, to be suffered for the sake of pleasing their husbands or merely as a duty, for the sake of having children. Yet if Emily should not enjoy his ministrations he would feel he had failed her. Her open pleasure in the kissing and caresses they had so far enjoyed boded well, but Anthony would be on his mettle not to botch that vital first time.