Marry in Haste

by Jane Aiken Hodge

  Alone with Chloe, Lavenham turned to her in despair. She had had the main charge of Camilla; what did she think? Reluctantly, she found herself compelled to agree with the doctors. “But do not trouble yourself, Lee. I shall stay with her. We will do well enough. Dom Fernando will protect us, and you will be within easy call, will you not? If the worst comes to the worst, and, for any reason, Sir Sidney proposes to leave Lisbon, we will have to risk moving her, but until then, I think she and I had best remain here.”

  However reluctantly, Lavenham found himself compelled to admit the sense of what she said. Since the terrace of their house commanded a clear view of the harbour, he arranged a code of signals by which Chloe would be able to communicate with him on Sir Sidney’s flagship, and promised to seize every opportunity of visiting her. At last, reluctantly, he took his leave, all his earlier fury forgotten in the unwilling respect he found himself feeling for her. But when he tried to say something of this, she just laughed at him: “Never mind, Lee, you will have plenty of chances to be in a passion with me again before we are old and grey and gouty.”

  He returned to Queluz, to join Strangford in making arrangements for their move aboard ship, with an uncomfortable feeling that he was not, somehow, showing up very well in contrast to his flibbertigibbet younger sister. It was a new experience for him, and one, like his torturing doubts of Camilla, and Chloe’s own disconcerting attack on him as a husband, that kept him awake for many an uncomfortable night’s tossing on the uncertain water of Lisbon harbour.

  His only comfort, those wretched days, was that he had at last told the whole story of Chloe’s indiscretion to Lord Strangford. The confession, though painful enough, had at least been an easier one than if it had concerned his wife instead of his sister. Luckily for his peace of mind, Chloe had not thought it wise to tell him that her French lover was Camilla’s brother, and Camilla had been in no state to do so. He had been soundly rebuked by Strangford for not keeping his household in better order, had felt, with dislike, that he deserved the rebuke, but had at least had the consolation that Araujo’s blackmailing overtures had not been repeated. His career was safe, but as the gloomy November days passed, it seemed more and more likely that it had been saved at the expense of his wife’s reason. Night after night, the signal Chloe flashed from the shore indicated no change in the invalid’s condition, and night after night Lavenham paced the decks for hours, in turns blaming and excusing himself. If only he could remember. If Camilla was indeed carrying his child, how different the world would be to him ... And yet, how could he believe it? Never trust a woman, his father had said. What cause had he to do so now? And yet ... and yet ... Camilla had seemed so different, so calm, so good ... so lovable. Still, despite himself, he loved her, and his love, stronger than any reason, argued the truth of her story. If it was indeed his child ... and he had destroyed mother and child together—So he went on, suffering, doubting and arguing with himself, hour after hour, in a squirrel’s cage of wretchedness, until Strangford, increasingly anxious about him, was almost relieved when an urgent messenger summoned them to the Prince Regent at Queluz.

  The news was as bad as possible. A French army, under Junot, who had once been French Minister in Lisbon, had entered Portugal. And now, at last, the Prince Regent had been forced to open his eyes. By some freak of luck an old copy of the Paris Moniteur had reached him, and in it he had read Bonaparte’s announcement that his house of Braganza had ceased to reign in Europe. Even he realised that the time for compromise was past. He summoned his Council of State and announced his immediate departure for Brazil; a Provisional Government, of which Dom Fernando was a member, was named to rule Portugal in his absence.

  The news brought chaos to the city, and despair to Lavenham. It was to be his honourable task to accompany the Portuguese royal family on their arduous voyage to the New World. Out of the question that Camilla should accompany him, but equally imperative that, at whatever risk, she be placed on board one of the British ships that were to return to England. With Strangford’s permission, he made a detour on his way back from Queluz to visit Chloe and tell her the news. She received it with unconcealed anxiety. There had been no change in Camilla’s condition; the risk of moving her was as great as ever. She led her brother upstairs to Camilla’s bedroom, where she lay, white and still, her only movement a restless convulsive clutching and unclutching of her fingers.

  “What is she holding?” Lavenham asked.

  “Her wedding ring. She has been doing it for some days. It is the only change.”

  They stood together, silently, for a few minutes, then Lavenham spoke with a brisk cheerfulness he was far from feeling. “Perhaps it is a good sign. Should we have the doctors again? No?” As Chloe shook her head vigorously. “I am inclined to agree with you. Very well, then. We must simply arrange to move her, as gently as possible, and at the very last moment. It will take some days for the Court to embark ... many of their ships are still fitting for the voyage; the provisions of others need replenishing. We can count, I think, on four or five days’ grace ... and, besides”—he looked gloomily out the window and across the harbour—“if the wind does not change, it will be impossible to sail anyway.”

  “You mean Junot may catch us here?”

  “It is possible. By all reports, he is only a few days’ march from the city and no attempt has been made at stopping him. General Freire and his troops are still on the coast. So far as I know they have not even heard of Junot’s advance. They have certainly made no move to check it. Not,” he added with his usual fairness, “that they would have the slightest hope of doing so. Junot’s troops, I understand, are something of the rawest, but the Portuguese army can hardly be said to exist at all. The fact remains that Araujo has made no move to alert it. I am more and more convinced that it has been he, all the time, who has played the traitor. I owe Dom Fernando a hearty apology for my suspicions of him ... and hearty thanks, too, for his care of you and Camilla.”

  Chloe smiled wickedly at him. “I am not sure that it is not Camilla who should be thanked for that. If he is not head over heels in love with her, I miss my guess very sadly. But what are we going to do, Lee?”

  “Why, leave her here until the last possible moment. This movement of her hands is new, and I don’t like it. Who can tell what other change it may presage? Come out on the terrace every night at first dusk. If the fleet is ready to sail, and the wind favourable—if, in short, I feel that the time has come when, at whatever risk to her, you and Camilla must come aboard, I will burn a green and a red light, together, on the stern of the Hibernia. That is your signal to get the men to carry Camilla, as gently as possible, down to the cove below the house. I will meet you there, with one of the Hibernia's boats. We must just pray God that the movement does not hurt her.”

  “Yes,” Chloe said, “I do not see what else we can do.”

  Camilla’s dreams had been troubled and restless. Now, waking suddenly, she was relieved to see Chloe bending anxiously over her. Chloe had been in the dreams, surely? And Lavenham, too? She was sure of it, yet could remember no detail. She was tired, too tired for remembering, or even for thought. But she must think. She must consider Chloe, who looked thin and pale, and who was, unaccountably, crying. To confirm this, a large tear splashed on to Camilla’s right hand, which was clasped, she noticed, over her left, the fingers rubbing feebly over—oh, her wedding ring of course. Lavenham ... Chloe ... bad dreams. It was no use, she could not remember.

  Chloe’s voice distracted her “Camilla! Can you hear me?” What an effort it was to speak. “Of course. Why not?” The question left her exhausted and she lay with closed eyes, trying to take in Chloe’s answer. She had been very ill: that was why she was so tired. Of course, that was all ... She was beginning to remember now; a little, slowly. And at once there was another question. “Lavenham?” she asked.

  “Coming for us tonight,” Chloe said, and then, in a rush that sounded more like her usual self: “Oh, Camilla, I am g
lad that you are better. But no more questions now. Rest ... try to sleep. It will be tiring enough tonight.”

  It was good advice. Camilla was glad to close her eyes. Only, as she did so, another memory came to her and she opened them again. “And the baby,” she asked, “what does Lavenham say now?”

  Chloe’s look of puzzlement was answer enough. “The baby? Camilla, what do you mean? ... Are you? ...” and then, in a rush, “Oh, those doctors! ... Oh, Camilla!” Again her tears began to fall and then, unaccountably, she was laughing. “Oh, Camilla, I am so pleased—and Lavenham kept it to himself! ... Just wait till I see him.”

  “No, no ...” It was all too much. She was relieved when her protest was interrupted by the girl, Rosa, who brought Chloe a note. Chloe read it, coloured, and rose to leave the room, telling Rosa to watch by Camilla and urging Camilla, once more, to rest. Drifting off to sleep, Camilla found herself a prey to a vague anxiety. Chloe had had a note ...

  Why not? ... What was there frightening about that? ... It was no use; she gave up trying to think and drifted off again into a place of troubled dreams.

  When she next woke, Chloe was back by her bed watching her anxiously. The room was full of evening shadows and Camilla could hear, outside, the. steady rush of rain. She shivered. “It is cold,” she said, and then, “how long have I been ill?”

  Not long; though it seems an age. A little more than two weeks. Camilla, are you really strong enough to talk?”

  “Of course. But, tell me, where is Lavenham? You said he was coming for tonight. Why? Where are we going?”

  “Home, I hope. As for Lavenham, he is aboard the Hibernia with Strangford and Sir Sidney Smith, and mad, I can tell you, with anxiety for you. The doctors said you could not be moved, you see.”

  “So you stayed here with me? Thank you, Chloe. But I still do not understand ... “ Once more, her hands began their restless movement, and Chloe, noticing it, hurried to give her a brief explanation of the events that had taken place during her illness, of Junot’s approach and the Prince Regent’s belated recognition of danger. “You should just have seen the harbour two days ago, when the Court were going on board; I spent all day at the window here, watching: you never saw anything like it. The whole Court, the archives, the treasury—everything, out there in the pouring rain. The mad old Queen, they tell me, crying, ‘Ai Jesus,’ harder than ever, the Prince Regent with tears running down his cheeks, the proudest ladies of the Court wading into the water to beg for passage ... And many of them without a scrap of baggage to their name. It will be an unhappy enough voyage even for those who have managed to beg or bribe their way on board.”

  “But when do they sail?” asked Camilla.

  “Why, that’s the rub. They have been ready for two days now, but the wind is against them. They cannot stir. And all the time, Junot is getting nearer. That is why Lavenham is coming for us tonight. He thinks it possible Junot may be here tomorrow and dares not risk a further delay. We are to meet him down at the little harbour. What a happy man he will be when he sees you recovered. Tell me, are you strong enough to dress? The men will carry you down, but you would be better dressed.”

  Camilla laughed. “I should rather think I would. Well, let us make the effort.”

  She found it an exhausting enough business, but with Chloe’s loving assistance managed, at last, to put on a warm travelling dress of dark green sarsenet and its matching pelisse. After the effort, she was glad enough to lie back on her bed while Chloe hurried away to make her own preparations. Lavenham had told her that they must bring as little as possible, but her jewels and Camilla’s must be packed into the smallest compass, together with a minimum wardrobe for the voyage back to England. “We shall be nothing but a pair of waifs and strays when we get home,” she told Camilla, “but luckily Grandmamma will be so delighted with your news I am sure nothing will be too good for you.”

  “My news?”

  “Why, the baby. Or were you funning? Oh, Camilla, surely not?”

  It seemed an odd enough kind of a joke to Camilla, although she was tempted, for a moment, to pretend that it had been a misunderstanding. But what was the use? The truth would have to come out sooner or later. If only she knew whether she had succeeded in convincing Lavenham in that last dreadful scene, of which she had only fragmentary memories. But the fact that he had not spoken of her condition, even to Chloe, was anything but hopeful. Her hands resumed their nervous movement as she begged Chloe to say nothing about the baby to anyone. “Do not, I beg of you, tease Lavenham about it ... there will be time enough, on the voyage home.”

  Chloe looked appalled. “Oh, Camilla, how could I be such a muttonhead! Did I not explain? Lavenham does not come with us. He has been appointed to escort the Prince Regent to the Brazils. It is a great honour, of course ...” Chloe was dwindling to an unhappy silence when she was interrupted by an agitated servant who announced that there were men below who insisted on speaking with the ladies.

  “Men? What men?” Chloe was beginning, when she saw another figure enter the darkening room behind the servant. “You?” she said.

  “Myself. And entirely at both your service.” Charles Boutet removed his hat with a flourish, dismissed the man in fluent Portuguese, and advanced towards the window where Camilla sat transfixed. “My dear Sister, I am delighted to see you better. When our beloved Chloe told me the good news I was transported with joy—for many reasons.”

  “What do you mean?” It was no comfort, in her cold terror, to see that Chloe shared it.

  “Just what I say. That I am glad to see you better. Whatever risks milord your husband might have been prepared to take with you, I should have been most reluctant to move you against the advice of the doctors. But now, everything is altered,, and just in time. I am come to offer you asylum, my dearest Sister, and to you, my ever beloved Chloe, my heart and hand.”

  “What can you mean?” For all her illness, it was Camilla who spoke.

  “Why, that I am come to take you home. You did not, surely, think that I would stand by and let you return to England with that tyrannical husband of yours? No, no, I am a better brother than that, and a better lover, too, as my dearest Chloe will admit, I am sure, before many days are past. For the moment, there is no time to be lost in talk. You, I am sure, have no more desire than I have for an encounter with your braggadocio husband, in which he must inevitably be defeated. So come, you are packed and ready, I see. We have not far to go: I am much too considerate a brother and,” once again there was a proprietorial smile for Chloe, “lover for that. We will just take you to a safer shelter far enough sway so that milord the husband cannot find you, and there, for tonight, you may rest. Tomorrow, Junot will be here, and all Lisbon yours. You will find it somewhat different from playing the beggarly British suppliants, I can tell you.”

  Chloe spoke at last. “Traitor,” she said. “I should have known. And all your talk of love was time-serving and treachery. Camilla, will you ever forgive me? It was I—I am the traitor. I told him all our plans. I wanted—God help me—I wanted to say goodbye to him. Because, you see, I loved him. Or,” she was standing beside Camilla now, one hand protectively—or for protection—in Camilla’s, “I thought I did.”

  Charles Boutet smiled mockingly. “A pity to change your mind now, when everything is in train to make me the happiest of men. But come, we are wasting time. Tell me, ladies, do you propose to accompany me willingly? It will be very much your wiser plan. I should be sorry to have to mar our relationship with any show of force, but, believe me, I shall not hesitate to do so, if you make it necessary. Dom Fernando’s officer has been dealt with; your servants have taken our hint and fled; there is no other house within earshot; my carriage is outside. And I am sure you, my love,” he turned to Chloe, “will agree with me that any scene of violence will be the worst possible thing for our dear sister’s precarious health.”

  Chloe and Camilla exchanged despairing glances. It was all too evidently true. The house was s
ilent, and Chloe, white with rage, could see that Camilla was near fainting. Charles Boutet settled it. “Of course,” he went on, “if your pride compels you to make some show of resistance, I shall feel myself constrained, however regretfully, to separate you from our sister, who would, I am sure, sadly miss your nursing.” Once more the girls exchanged glances. Then Camilla spoke, “Very well,” she said. “We will go with you, but do not imagine that we will ever forget or forgive this outrage.”

  “No?” He raised mocking eyebrows. “Speak for yourself, my dearest Sister. Perhaps you may be so foolish as to continue resenting my freeing you from an unloving husband, but I am sure my beloved Chloe will forgive me soon enough when once we are man and wife.”

  “Never,” Chloe began, but he had turned to summon his men. Speechless with indignation, she nevertheless found herself helping in the business of carrying Camilla down through the deserted house to the closed carriage that waited outside. To the last moment, both girls had expected a miracle, had refused to believe that this could really be happening to them, but no miracle took place. With a careful solicitude that was, somehow, the last straw, Charles Boutet’s followers laid Camilla down on the back seat of the carriage, where Chloe supported her as best she might. Charles Boutet stepped in beside them, gave an order to his men, pulled down the shades, and settled himself on the front seat with a little sigh of satisfaction. “Bon.” He lapsed comfortably into French. “Now no one will disturb us. Besides, the world has other things to think of, today. Come, my dearest Sister, do not fret,” for tears were slowly following each other down Camilla’s cheeks. “I have left a note for that bullying husband of yours telling him not to derange himself on your account since you have followed your heart, to France.”