by Lord Tom
“Did she, by God!” Lord Harleston was still stunned. He was having trouble reconciling such a desperate deed with the graceful, almost fragile creature he had seen in the parlour. He looked back at the door, almost expecting to see her there in a different disguise.
Captain Johnstone seemed to divine his thoughts. “Aye, she’s a beauty like her mother. But I guess there’s a bit of the old man in her, too.” He eyed his visitor with satisfaction as a hint of colour tinged Lord Harleston’s face. “You see the problem now, don’t you?” he continued. “She’s in trouble with the authorities, and there’s no hope of her going back to England when I’m dead.”
“But surely she knew that would be the case?” said Lord Harleston, speaking as much to himself as to the captain. He was wondering what had possessed her to do such a rash thing when her father’s sentence would have passed in only three months.
“Yes,” Captain Johnstone admitted, raising his eyebrows expressively, “but you don’t know Susan. I wrote to her, you see, when they caught up with me, just so she would know why I wasn’t sending her any more money. I’ve tried to send her some whenever I had it. She’s been living with an old governess of hers.” An intimation of guilt crossed his face. “Anyway, I hadn’t expected her to post straight down to see me. And the deuce of it was I had just taken ill.” He stopped his narrative with an air of having concluded.
Lord Harleston waited expectantly for a moment before asking, “But why did she plan your escape?”
Captain Johnstone looked at him in surprise and then, remembering, suddenly grinned. “I forget you do not know her yet,” he said. Then he explained. “Susan is not what you’d call bold—she doesn’t put herself forward. But show her some poor unfortunate beggar and she’ll raise the Lord Mayor if it’ll do him any good. One look at me in that place was enough. She had plans to get me out of there by nightfall, and by the end of the week it was done.” He eyed his visitor hopefully as a look of admiration came over Lord Harleston’s face.
The young man was lost in thought. An occasional smile wavered about his lips. In a while, though, he seemed to recall his present circumstances and faced the captain with eager determination.
“What is it you wish me to do?” he asked.
“Get her back into England” came the quick reply. Captain Johnstone was not discouraged by the answering spark in the baron’s brown eyes. “She can go back to her old governess and be perfectly safe there. If the authorities don’t know she’s back, they won’t try to look for her. And I’m certain the whole thing will blow over eventually.”
He waited. With any other man he would have expected questions and protests, demands as to how the thing was to be done. But not with Harleston. Captain Johnstone could see the wheels turning inside the young man’s head as he thought out his plan of action, and he was heartened by the enthusiasm in his expression. Harleston always did like a tight spot.
In a minute, the baron turned to him and held out his hand again. “Done,” he said.
The old man grasped at it gratefully. Words of thanks did not come easily. “I should have been better to her, you see,” he said instead. “A pretty girl like Susan—she should have had parties, balls, more fine dresses. And now,” he ended weakly, “with no dowry...” Lord Harleston pressed the hand in his but did not speak. There was nothing to be said, for what the captain said was true.
The old man’s clasp grew weaker. “I always hoped the next hand would be a winner,” he explained almost petulantly now. “Some of them were such near things.” His mind drifted as he replayed those old hands in his mind. Lord Harleston gave him a gentle pat on the shoulder.
“You needn’t worry about your daughter,” he said to ease the captain’s thoughts. It was too late for guilt. “I shall see she gets back to England safely, and I’ll be happy to do what I can to secure her future.”
The captain returned to the present with a start. “One more thing,” he said in an urgent tone. “You mustn’t breathe a word of this to Susan. If she catches on to it, she’ll be gone before you can get back. Just tell Rénard to send you word when I’m gone. He’ll manage to keep her here for a while—knows all about it.” His speech was cut off by the sound of the door opening.
Lord Harleston turned to see Susan enter the room and rose to his feet. She smiled hesitantly at him and moved gracefully towards the bed. He watched her with barely concealed admiration.
“I know you have enjoyed your visit, Papa, but I think it has been long enough for now.” Captain Johnstone looked once more at the baron for reassurance.
Lord Harleston turned to address him, glancing now and then back at his daughter as though drawn in some invisible way. “I will leave you to your rest now, sir,” he said. “Urgent business takes me back to Paris,” he added with a wink for the captain’s benefit. “But I shall give myself the pleasure of returning soon.” The old man seemed too tired to answer, but as he lifted a hand in farewell, his smile was peaceful. The two young people went out and closed the door.
Shuttering his eyes to welcome sleep, the captain recalled Lord Harleston’s expression as he had gazed at Susan’s face. He chuckled softly to himself. No, he had not been wrong when he had written to Harleston. The young devil would have her back in England in a trice and settled comfortably as before.
A twinge of guilt disturbed him momentarily but was banished. He had done what he could to deliver her into good hands.
Chapter Two
Three weeks later, Susan was sitting in the parlour putting the final stitches in her mourning. She was already dressed in black. Her father had lived slightly longer than expected, and she reflected gladly that he had seemed calmer the last few weeks. Ever since Lord Harleston’s visit, she recalled. She wondered what the purpose of that visit had been, but all her father had said on the subject was that he had a yearning to see his old favourite before he died. Somehow Susan did not quite believe it. She still did not understand why Monsieur Rénard had written the letter, and she remembered her surprise upon answering the baron’s knock and finding such a handsome gentleman at the door.
Her needle paused for a moment. Surely Lord Harleston’s hair was the fairest she had ever seen except on a small child. But where one might have expected to find blue eyes, his were a golden brown, and she suspected the sun would turn his smooth skin to a becoming bronze. Susan shook herself and took up her needle once again. Whatever could have turned her thoughts so strangely? she wondered.
She tried to interest herself in her work, but put it down in another few minutes with a sigh. She really must confront Monsieur Rénard today. The captain’s funeral had been four days ago and it was time for her to be leaving. She could not impose on her father’s old friend any longer. Monsieur Rénard spoke often of an old debt, but that debt was to her father and had been amply repaid.
Susan had had many talks with the bookseller about her future plans and he had promised to help her find a situation as a governess or an English mistress in a school, but so far he had not done so. When she had last spoken of it to him he had told her that he was almost certain of a position not far from Calais if she would only wait a few more days. But his delay caused her to worry that something had happened to cancel that prospect. She would have to talk to him about going to an agency tomorrow.
A knock at the door took her by surprise, but she hoped that Monsieur Rénard had come at last with news of employment. Opening it, however, she was amazed to see her father’s friend Lord Harleston again.
His large frame loomed in the narrow hallway as it had on the night of his first visit. The thought struck her that he was not so much big as tall and powerful with broad shoulders over narrow hips. He had swept off his beaver and the light of day gleamed on his fair hair.
“Miss Johnstone?” he began. He smiled at her in such a way that she knew he had received word of her father’s death.
“Lord Harleston—please come in,” she said, backing into the room. But as she moved
she recalled his entry on the previous visit and quickly put up a warning hand. Smiling his thanks, but with a sheepish look, Lord Harleston ducked and missed hitting his head a third time.
“I’m afraid you are come too late to call on my father,” she said without emotion.
He noted it with approval. The black of her dress did nothing to diminish the dark gleam in her hair and eyes and, despite its sad purpose, became her well.
“I know,” he answered, “I had heard. May I offer my condolences?” She nodded and he continued. “My business, however, is with you, Miss Johnstone. If I might have a word...” Susan gave a curious smile and indicated a chair, which he took before speaking again.
“I have come,” Lord Harleston began, watching carefully for her reaction and treading cautiously as he went on, “in answer to your father’s dying request.” Susan’s eyes opened in surprise, but she listened as he explained his reason for calling. In a very short while, those eyes were flashing their refusal.
“No,” she said simply, rising to her feet and facing the baron. He could see that she was not angry, but rather distressed to think herself a burden. “That is absolutely absurd! I see no reason why you should be involved in my ridiculous predicament.”
Lord Harleston suppressed a smile. This was much the reaction he had anticipated and for which he was prepared.
He allowed a wounded look to cross his features. “But Miss Johnstone, you must understand. This puts me in a very awkward position. To be denying your father’s last request of me... A man who once saved my life... Why, it’s unthinkable!”
Clearly struck by the awkwardness of his situation, Susan became more distressed than ever. “I am so sorry, Lord Harleston, but surely you must see. I cannot let you become involved. It would be quite wrong of me!”
His hurt look stiffened slightly. “I see. I should be interfering in your plans. You have other friends, perhaps—others who are more trusted, with whom you are more intimate... ?”
“Oh, no!” she said quickly, hoping to soothe his wounded feelings. “There is no one else. That is, Monsieur Rénard is doing what he can to find me a position in a school or a household, but there is no one else I had rather turn to.” She blushed confusedly. “Surely you can understand.”
“That you had rather stay in France amongst strangers than return to your home?” he asked gently.
Susan’s eyes met his and then fell, overcome by the sudden sympathy. “No,” she answered quietly. His kindness demanded honesty. “If I could have what I truly wish, it would be to return to my old governess, Miss Irons. She runs a school now and I could help her with her pupils. And we are good companions. But there is no way for me to go back, Lord Harleston,” she said calmly, raising her eyes again in a determined fashion.
Feeling, nevertheless, that he was beginning to break down her resistance, the baron allowed his enthusiasm to creep into his voice. “No way? Surely not, Miss Johnstone. Why, how can you say that—you— when you acted with such courage on your father’s behalf?”
Susan flushed uncomfortably. “Did he tell you that? But that was different,” she protested. “It was necessary. I could not leave Papa in the Fleet Prison to die in discomfort.”
“Of course you couldn’t,” Lord Harleston agreed. “He was your father.”
Susan looked even more ill at ease. “It was not that precisely,” she said. Then, in answer to his puzzled expression, she explained, “My father and I were never close, you see. In the past many years, I had scarcely seen him. It was just that he looked so old, and sick, and pitiful... in that dreary place....” She allowed her voice to trail off, looking to him for understanding.
“Naturally,” he said, hoping that his fascination with her unreasoning heart was not evident in his expression. If fleeing the country with a fugitive was a reasonable action to her, then getting her back into England by a slightly unorthodox method should not be so unacceptable. “But you must have disguised yourself somehow to have dealt with the smugglers? How was it done? A mask? Or veils?”
To his surprise, Susan’s skin turned a rosy pink and her voice dropped to a near whisper. “Not exactly,” she said, and then reluctantly admitted, “I wore men’s clothes.”
Harleston’s mouth fell open, but then tactfully snapped shut. “Admirable!” he said, struggling to keep a straight face. “Much the best plan! You were much safer that way amongst such a desperate gang. Well, then, you see, what could be simpler than to do it again? I should accompany you this time, however,” he said as he saw her bristle.
“I’m afraid not, Lord Harleston,” she answered crisply. “Despite my clearly outrageous behaviour on that occasion, I take no particular pleasure from such masquerades. And I absolutely refuse to participate in another.”
“Oh, naturally,” he said again. “I mean, of course, it would be distasteful to you.” He felt slightly disappointed, but then brightening, said, “But fortunately, I have my own plan which is much simpler and much more conventional. Please let me explain it.”
Susan was still looking ruffled, but she did not refuse to listen, so he went on.
“Do you speak French?”
She frowned anxiously. “Yes, but not particularly well.”
“But enough to get around about town?”
“Yes.”
“Good. That will be sufficient.” He threw her a measuring look before continuing. “What I propose is for you to assume the identity of a Frenchwoman, a widow. But of an Englishman, you see. You will be returning to your husband’s estates in England. Your widow’s status will allow you to arrange things more to your satisfaction and will give you reason to wear a veil.”
“But...”
“I can arrange for all the papers you will need to enter England. It will be just a matter of days.”
Susan hesitated before posing more arguments. “But won’t it appear strange, even so, for me to be travelling alone?”
“Oh, you will not be alone,” he assured her. “I have plans for your retinue. And there will be no trouble,” he added, watching her anxiously as a look of suspicion crossed her face.
Something about his innocent expression seemed to tickle her, for she finally laughed. “Very well, my lord. And of whom shall this retinue consist?”
“Well,” he said, “first of all—and this is quite a bit of luck, really—there will be your personal maid. You see, I have had my man ask about and he has found a young person, an English girl, who was discharged recently by her employers. She has been stranded here ever since and cannot return to England unless someone engages her for the return.”
“Oh, the poor girl!” cried Susan. Her own problems were forgotten at the thought of the wretch’s difficulty. “By all means, we must assist her!” Her brow furrowed in absorbed concern.
Lord Harleston suppressed a gleeful chuckle. Captain Johnstone had given him the perfect key to winning his daughter’s agreement. “Yes,” he agreed earnestly. “I feel it to be imperative, too. And, of course, you will need a groom, as well.”
“A groom?” she asked vaguely, still deep in thought about the poor serving maid.
“Yes, for your carriage. I have made arrangements for one to be there when we get to Dover. We must get the girl—Peg, I believe her name is—to London before we discharge her again.” This he added as she looked at him anxiously.
“Of course,” Susan agreed. “It would be cruel to discharge her before she gets as far as London to speak to an agency. But who is this groom? And did you say we?”
Lord Harleston took a deep breath. “Yes, I did,” he admitted. “You see, I shall be the groom.”
Susan’s eyes widened in horror, but before she could protest, he added in firm tones, “I’m afraid I must insist upon it, Miss Johnstone. You see, it was your father’s last request, and I could not reconcile it with my conscience to create a hazardous situation for you and then not be there to guard you from any consequences of my errors. I must insist, I repeat, on being there with
you, and obviously I cannot travel as myself under the circumstances.”
“But as a groom...!”
“There will be no difficulty. In fact, I think I shall enjoy it. Unlike you, I rather like this sort of masquerade. And remember, travelling as myself I would be likely to call undesirable attention to you. What possible reason could a peer have for travelling with an unattached lady that would not excite curiosity? But your groom—what could be more normal?”
Susan opened her mouth to protest, but shut it again. The plan was outrageous, but Lord Harleston appeared to be quite eager to place himself in jeopardy. And then there was the maid. The girl must be got home to England, and she herself had no money to give her. Looking up at Lord Harleston, she noted his firm expression and reflected that he would probably refuse to help the girl without her compliance. But suddenly something else occurred to her which loomed larger than all her other objections.
Susan folded her hands serenely before her and spoke in a calm but final voice.
“I am very much obliged to you, Lord Harleston, for offering to take these risks on my behalf, and I confess, the thought of returning to England was so tempting as to make me consider your rash proposal. But I have no money, and I will not accept further charity.”
She looked at him. In spite of the delicacy of her features, there was a firmness about her which took him aback. An impartial observer watching these two at that moment might have said there was no way to tell which would come out the winner. But Lord Harleston had not come to this campaign with the intention of losing and he reentered the battle with barely a moment’s hesitation.
“If that is your only objection, Miss Johnstone,” he said with an assumption of grave sincerity, “then I must consider the point resolved. Your father entrusted me with a small sum to accomplish your safe return. I should have mentioned it earlier, but I did not regard it as a material consideration.” Awaiting her response, he did not allow his glance to waver.