Patricia Wynn

by Lord Tom

  The dress, although a few years out of date, was a lovely white muslin with a pale blue, three-quarter-length tunic laid over in silk. Pale pink embroidery in a classical design adorned the square neckline of the tightly fitted tunic. The sleeves were puffed, and blue fringe completed the hem.

  The next day, wearing her dress and a cape borrowed from Lady Mewhinny and feeling absurdly frivolous, Susan stepped up into the ancient carriage which was to take her and her ladyship to the fair. Mr. Petworthy had decided to accompany them, but perhaps feeling their equipage to be something beneath his dignity, suggested following them in his own. Vigor was seated atop the box, but even though Susan looked about her, she could see no sign of Tom.

  Sighing, she took her place beside Lady Mewhinny and tried not to be sorry that Lord Harleston had not seen her in her finery.

  “Do you always attend ze opening of ze fair, Kitty?” she asked.

  To her surprise, Lady Mewhinny smiled rather self-consciously and shook her head. “Not always, my dear,” she said. “In fact, this is rather a special occasion, which makes me doubly glad you are to accompany me. You see, it is a local tradition that the first cuckoo of spring shall be released at Heffel Fair. The people are quite superstitious about it and insist that it must be done by an old woman. Up until now, the innkeeper’s mother was the eldest woman in the village, but she died just last autumn. So after much discussion, the mayor of Heathfield approached me to perform the service at this year’s fair.”

  Susan smiled inwardly at the idea of the mayor’s approaching her on a matter of such delicacy and importance. “I am certain zey will all be honoured at your condescending to do it, Kitty. Is Heffel Fair a large one, zen? I do not s’ink I ’ave ever ’eard it mentioned.” Susan forgot that as a Frenchwoman she could hardly have been expected to know it.

  The notion did not trouble Lady Mewhinny, however, for she shook her head sadly and replied. “No, it is not very large, I’m afraid, although it once was many years ago. How dearly I remember the fairs in those days, when the Weald was the site of all the forges in England. You would not believe it now, Susan, but the sound of the great hammers could be heard in every village, and the hammer ponds were great scenes of activity. That was before they used coal. There is only one forge left now, not near here, and nothing left of the forest. It was all burned to feed the forges. And I’m afraid Heffel Fair will not be with us much longer. The gentry have other ways of entertaining themselves in these days and do not look so kindly upon the amusements of the lower classes.”

  She smiled rather wistfully, and Susan was saddened to think that the world of Lady Mewhinny’s girlhood had faded so far into the past.

  They were greeted at the fair by an assortment of village dignitaries, and Susan observed with interest that Mr. Petworthy did not stay with them. Instead, he took himself off with his friend, the doctor, and seemed to give them no further thought.

  Lady Mewhinny, supported on the arm of Vigor, was led up to a sort of stage in the middle of the festivities. Susan stayed nearby long enough to watch her ladyship release the caged bird. Then, as the proclamation was read, officially declaring the opening of the fair, she decided to take a look round.

  In spite of its reduced size since the time of its heyday, Heffel Fair still offered many sights to amaze. There was no longer a special day for the gentry, or specific days for trade. Instead, Susan saw a mixture of persons from the local Jacks and Mollys to the tradesmen and farmers there on the important business of the fair. In the distance, she could see the sheep pens and a few workhorses for sale; beside her were all the booths and tents set up for amusement.

  A bold sign advertised the horrifying sight of a male child born with a bear growing on his back, alive. Music, a rather discordant blend from trumpets, fiddles and beaten calfskins, emerged from the Musick Booth where, it was promised, would later be given a dramatization of the French Revolution. Puppets would be guillotined. The Market House was occupied by the butchers’ shops and other culinary shops, while around it were booths for prizefighting, juggling and wild beasts offered for sale.

  “Here is your nice gingerbread, your spice gingerbread,” called a voice behind her. As she turned the vendor held out a star-shaped packet of the hot, spicy bread, wrapped in Dutch gold. “It will melt in your mouth like a red-hot brickbat and rumble in your inside like Punch in his wheelbarrow. Want some, miss?”

  Susan’s mouth watered at the smells coming from his basket of different-shaped delicacies. She would have given almost anything at that moment to purchase the sweet molasses-filled treat, but prudence asserted itself. She must not use what little remained of her father’s fifty pounds on luxuries, however small. She sighed and shook her head regretfully and the vendor moved on.

  She was passing between two tents on her way to look at the horses, when a hand suddenly reached out and drew her back behind them. She would have cried out, had she not immediately seen who her assailant was.

  “Lord Harleston!” she exclaimed, smiling happily upon seeing him. “What are you doing here?”

  The sun was shining down upon his fair hair and seemed reflected in his eyes as he responded to her greeting, “Vigor told me you would be coming to the fair with Lady Mewhinny this morning and I hoped I might have a chance to see you. It seemed as good a place as any to chance a meeting.”

  Susan flushed with pleasure. “Yes, it is.” She was conscious of his eyes upon her. They took in her festive dress with one glance, and she could not be doubtful of his admiration. She hastily explained, “Lady Mewhinny encouraged me to put off my mourning for the fair. She thinks Mr. Faringdon is more than a year deceased, you see.” She could not help a flirtatious note from creeping into her speech.

  “Is he, now?” said Tom. “Well, I cannot pretend to be sorry for it.”

  His words made her heart beat rapidly. It is the fair, she thought. It was infecting them both.

  She changed the subject hastily. “Have you seen Mr. Petworthy? He is here this morning and I must be careful. He is acting as if his suspicions are aroused. Have you found out anything about him?”

  “Not yet,” said his lordship unconcernedly. “But it is early yet. Perhaps I will be able to learn something from his manservant, a particularly nasty fellow, but not overly fond of his master, I gather. In the meantime, however, I have been busy.”

  His look prompted her to enquire as to his meaning, and he answered with a curiously sheepish pride. “If you must know,” he said jokingly, “I, like the cleverest of the three pigs, got up early this morning and preceded the wolf to the fair. Since you were nowhere in evidence, I decided to try my hand at a boxing match. And I won a prize.”

  And here he produced from the pocket of his breeches a set of hair ribbons in royal blue. Susan laughed at the proud expression on his face. “I did not know they awarded hair ribbons for such valour,” she asserted pertly.

  For once, Tom seemed to abandon his impudence. “They don’t...or not precisely. I was given my choice of prizes: a pint or a choice of trinkets. I could not think any of the objects I saw would serve you in the least except perhaps these ribbons. They could go with that lovely gown you’re wearing, I suppose.” He held them out to her and Susan took them in silence.

  She stared at the silken strands for a moment before, unwilling to meet his eye, she ventured a shy, “Thank you.” But she was thinking at the same time that she had never received a more precious gift. “I shall have to put them in my reticule for now,” she apologized, “for I do not have a glass to see myself with. But I shall look forward to wearing them on the next occasion of my wearing this dress.” The thought occurred to her that the next time she wore it, she would no longer be in his company.

  Lord Harleston cleared his throat and smiled at some private thought of his own. His spirits seemed quite high, as if his adventures of the morning had been unusually promising. Music came from the Musick Booth again with a voice announcing the performance of “a young woman who
dances with fourteen glasses on the backs and palms of her hands while turning as fast as a windmill.” The music resembled that of a country dance.

  “If I really were Tom, the groom,” said Susan’s companion, “and you were a lady’s maid, we might have come here together unbeknownst to our mistress to dance in the music tent.” Susan lifted her chin and gazed at him invitingly. His eyes gleamed as he bowed and held out one hand. She took it, for once not worrying if they might be seen. In truth, the shelter of the tents was rather like a private ballroom where they might indulge their sudden whim in perfect seclusion.

  Tom led her to the end of their imaginary set and Susan immediately forgot the rudeness of their surroundings. To be dancing this way with Lord Harleston could not have been more magical if they had been at the ballroom at Almack’s, or if they had really been two truants from service. The music stopped, but resumed quickly with a waltz. Tom did not hesitate, but swooped her up with his right arm and guided her into the dance.

  But Susan did not know how to waltz, and the abrupt change in pattern quickly woke her to their setting. She did not have his experience of the fashionable world, and a few brief episodes at country assemblies when she was younger had not prepared her for the breathtaking experience of being guided by a man’s arm. Almost too shaken then to speak, she gently but firmly disengaged herself from his embrace and, staring at him wide-eyed, said, “Thank you very much, my lord. But I had best be getting back to Lady Mewhinny. She will be wondering what has become of me.”

  He returned her stare, but it seemed to her his eyes were full of regret. “Very well,” he said. “It is time for my lady’s maid to resume her identity as Mrs. Faringdon. Next time we are forced into such a masquerade, however, I trust I will have the sense to place us in more equal roles. The ups and downs of this business are rather unsettling.”

  Susan flushed and pretended to ignore the true meaning of his words. “There will be no more masquerades, my lord,” she insisted. “Do you not realize that I could hang for what I did? And what would become of your reputation if you were known to have helped me? You might be prosecuted yourself!”

  He took her hand and gazed at her earnestly. “Nothing of the sort is going to happen. I have been thinking of what to do for some time, and I am almost certain a pardon can be obtained for you. It may take time, but I shall start working on it as soon as I get back to London.”

  Susan’s heart leapt with hope and then sank again. “Lord Harleston, you must not say such things. For one moment—but I know it will be impossible.”

  “But the Regent...”

  “No!” insisted Susan. “You must not. Please! You must not speak of me to anyone. Only think of the consequences if you are mistaken. I’m afraid your imagination has got the better of you, but you must be careful. I have too great a—” her voice faltered “— too great a regard for you to allow you to disgrace yourself because of me.” Her gaze fell as she noticed the sudden spark of hope in his eyes.

  She spoke hurriedly, “I must get back to Lady Mewhinny.” She turned and started to step back between the tents, Lord Harleston following behind her. But before she emerged, she spied Mr. Petworthy and stopped hastily, almost stepping back into his lordship’s arms.

  “It is Lady Mewhinny’s nephew,” she explained in a whisper. “I must not let him see me coming out from here.”

  They watched him silently. Mr. Petworthy was making his way towards the sheep pens, glancing occasionally over his shoulder as if to make certain that no one was following him. His manner was decidedly suspicious. His friend, Mr. Sodporth, was nowhere in evidence.

  “I think I should follow him,” Lord Harleston said in a low voice. “Who knows, but what he might be meeting someone here and I could pick up a bit of knowledge.”

  Susan responded eagerly, “Then I will come, too.”

  Tom smiled down at her. “I do not think that a very good idea,” he said. “He is not likely to notice me, a groom, but you are already under suspicion. I will let you know as soon as possible if I discover anything.”

  But Susan would not let him leave her out of the adventure. “I must come with you,” she said earnestly. “I promise to conceal myself, but I must learn what he has in mind to do to poor Kitty.”

  “All right,” he agreed after a pause, “but we will have to find shelter if we want to get close enough to hear.”

  They waited for Mr. Petworthy to pass out of sight before emerging from their place between the tents, but as soon as they had walked a few yards, they caught up with him. He had stopped before the sheep pens and was looking around, consulting his watch occasionally as if expecting someone.

  “I must get to the other side of those pens,” said Lord Harleston, drawing Susan back with a hand on her elbow. “Will you go back to Lady Mewhinny?”

  Susan shook her head. “No. I am coming with you.”

  He glanced down at her dress regretfully. “I am afraid you may spoil your gown,” he warned.

  But Susan was not to be deterred. “Nonsense. I shall be quite careful. And I shall not persist if my being along prevents you from getting close enough to hear him.”

  He nodded. “Good girl. Let’s see if we can get around here.” And leading her back along the way they had come, he took a narrow path which seemed to skirt the animal pens.

  Before long they were passing along the outside of the village where it opened into a meadow. Lord Harleston followed closely along the fences which confined the animals until they caught sight of Mr. Petworthy’s soberly clad figure. Someone whom neither of them knew, had joined him. The two men were in close conversation.

  Lord Harleston squatted behind a fence post and pulled Susan down with him. “I see nothing for it but for me to enter the pen. This one appears to be empty and it should be close enough at the front for me to hear them if I can get quite into the corner. You must stay here.”

  “If it is empty, I see no reason why I might not come, too,” Susan said reasonably—or so she thought. Her companion started to protest, but she indicated with an impatient wave of her hand that they had no time to argue the point.

  Lord Harleston made no further objection other than to look at her as if to say he hoped she would not regret it. Then, bent over double, he led the way through the gate and along the fence separating their pen from the one in front of which Mr. Petworthy was standing. Susan found it was more difficult to walk doubled over than she had imagined, although she was happy she had not bothered to wear stays.

  Fortunately, there had been no rain for the past few days, so the floor of the pen was relatively dry. Susan was obliged, however, to hold up her skirts in an awkward manner to avoid brushing them against the filthy straw which covered it. That her slippers would be ruined by the ordeal, she was well aware.

  They had just got within a few paces of the corner of the pen, when Mr. Petworthy and his confederate concluded their business and started off on their separate ways. Lord Harleston stopped his near crawl with a sigh and, still stooping, turned round to face her. It was at that moment that one of the farmers chose to empty a pail into the pen.

  He was in the next pen, cleaning out a trough of the water left by the sheep. The water was murky and slimy with the filth from the animals and filled with pieces of straw. With the help of a large wooden bucket, he had scooped out the remaining water prior to refilling the trough, and it was this that he tossed into the pen.

  The majority of the water struck Tom in the head and back, while Susan’s lap received the rest of it. Only a quick hand to the mouth sufficed to stifle her scream.

  “Ohhh!” she exclaimed, revolted by the muck, but aware at the same time she must be careful to keep her voice down. “Ohhh, Tom!”

  But his lordship, after one furious second, decided to laugh. He chuckled, and his amusement was so strong that it threatened to topple him. Instead he rose to his feet, drawing Susan up with him.

  “We had best make our way out of this pen or we shall risk
being doused again,” he said. They hurried out the way they had come, Susan in a constant fright of being seen in such disgrace.

  When they were safely out and away from the threat of viewers, Susan let loose with an anguished wail. “Just look at my dress! Oh, Lord Harleston. What shall I do?” She turned to him in distress, but his look of amusement was enough to make her laugh in spite of herself.

  “Odious man!” she concluded. “I suppose you will next be saying that this was all my own doing and that my punishment is well deserved.”

  “I shall do no such thing,” he told her. “It would be most ungentlemanly. But at the same time, you cannot expect me not to laugh. Between us, we present quite a spectacle.”

  Susan could not deny it. Tom’s hair was plastered to his head and the back of his shirt and breeches was soaked with muck. The front of her dress was in a similar state, and was clinging indecently to her body. She hoped the unpleasant nature of the water was keeping him from noticing the latter fact.

  “Perfectly odious!” retorted Susan. “But what shall I do? I cannot think Lady Mewhinny so completely nearsighted that she will not perceive my state of disarray! And I must be getting back to the carriage! I have been missing far too long.”

  He nodded in agreement. But looking round, he spied what appeared to be a brook in the near distance. Pointing it out to her he said, “Let’s see if we cannot repair some of the damage, at least.” Then, giving her his arm, he made his way over to the water’s edge.

  “But I have no cloth with which to dab at my clothes,” Susan protested. At first Tom seemed not to have heard her, but the next thing she knew he had removed his smock and dipped it in the clear water. It took a moment before the dirty water was rinsed from his own garment, but as soon as it began to take on a whiter colour, he wrung it with his hands and presented it to her.

  “You will still be quite wet,” he said, “but at least the filth can be got out.” He smiled up at her in a reassuring way which somehow set her heart to fluttering.