The Peculiar Folly of Long Legged Meg

by Jayne Fresina

  This beautiful man was in love with her and had been, all this time.

  He'd even stopped her from committing that reckless murder. Joss Radcliffe was the most unlikely of guardian angels.

  "And yes," he whispered, "I do like cherries."

  Finally she could feel her breath again and hear it too. Every sense was more alert, sharper, brighter than ever before.

  She could be Meg of the Long Legs again without shame, without that black mark upon her.

  "I'm very glad you like cherries," she whispered in reply. "For I have many, as I said."

  "More than you put in that pie?"

  She nodded. "I do not know what to do with so many."

  He smiled. "I can think of a few things."

  More prickles were picked away from her shoulders when he smiled at her. She began to feel soothing air on her sore skin, sunlight even at night.

  "Come home with me," she said.

  There were no more words between them for quite some time that evening. They needed none.

  And he said that she hadn't seen his best work yet. There was better to come. She truly was the luckiest scullery maid in the world.

  * * * *

  The next day Ruth and Nell, while making Lady Holbrooke's bed, were confused by a number of cherry pips they found under the pillows and between the sheets.

  Their mistress, they concluded, must have awoken hungry and enjoyed a midnight feast in bed.

  She was certainly looking cheerful these days, and humming a great deal around the house and in her herb garden.

  * * * *

  Every spare moment he had, when he was not at work on the official design for Holbrooke, Joss slipped away to the little forest clearing. There he stacked those stones to create a secret folly for the woman he loved. He put his blood, sweat and tears into that tower, the structure that would stand long after they were both gone from the world.

  Rather than build it with straight sides, he let it tilt and wend its way upward around the trunk of a tree, reaching for the sky beyond the canopy. He put no plans on paper, of course, but kept the picture in his head. It had to be different to any other tower ever built, because the woman who inspired him was unique.

  Nobody else knew about the folly. It was for them alone.

  * * * *

  Master Radcliffe no longer spent his nights outdoors under the oak tree. His men could not say where he went, but they often remarked that he looked tired, as if he did not get much sleep.

  He thought he was being discreet and slipping in and out of her bed unnoticed.

  Until one evening when Shawcross caught him scaling the wall to her open bedchamber window.

  "Sir, while I have noted before your preference for leaping walls and gates, and I have heard something of your predilection for exiting through windows, I feel it would be remiss of me not to mention that we do have a front door."

  "Ah...yes, Master Shawcross. I simply did not want to...disturb anybody so late in the evening."

  "It would disturb me far less to open a door for you, sir— even in my nightgown and bed cap— than it does to see the rose trellis so dreadfully ravaged and to hear the clatter of your knees falling to the floorboards when you over estimate your lift and speed, in relation to your body weight, while surmounting her ladyship's window ledge."

  Thus he was chastened into using the front door.

  "Shawcross is utterly dependable, darling," Persey assured him, laughing when he told the story. "You needn't worry about him giving us away."

  "Why didn't you tell me that before?"

  She blinked innocently. "Why, I thought you liked the daring adventure. I didn't want to interfere while you seemed so happy showing off your physical prowess."

  "Woman! You'll be the death of me." But he picked her up and carried her to the bed, intent on showing off again.

  "I shall need a new bed," she moaned as he tossed her blankets aside. "You're wearing this one out."

  "I've time to make up for, haven't I?"

  They both had.

  * * * *

  One night, unable to sleep, she lay on her side and examined the man in her bed while he snored contentedly, both his arms flung out, his body diagonal, taking up all the room. Occasionally, when it was just the two of them alone, the house was quiet and he slept, she had to pinch herself that it was real, that this was no dream.

  She touched his hair and the bristles on his cheek.

  Yes, he was there in the flesh.

  Carefully she ran a fingertip across his eyebrow and down his aquiline nose. He caught his breath, grunted, and then snored on. Deeply. Did he dream up new garden designs?

  "I love you," she whispered, the words catching in her throat. "I love you so much, I daren't think it too often. I certainly daren't say it out loud. I still can't quite believe..." It seemed too much happiness for Meg of the Long Legs, and that was the truth of it. Even she, with her imagination, had never had the bold-faced nerve to wish for this.

  Suddenly his eyes opened and stared directly into hers, glistening with amusement. "I wondered if you'd ever confess to it, wench."

  Up on her knees, she grabbed her pillow and smacked him with it. "You were asleep, you villain!"

  "I was resting. I have to get some rest when I can, since you're so demanding."

  "Nobody asked you to come here every night. I'm sure I can manage without you."

  Laughing, he wrapped his arms around her and wrestled her to the bed. "Oh, I know you can survive without me, Meg. But I can't live without you."

  He had a habit of making announcements to which she could give no reply.

  "You'll have to marry me," he said. "There's naught else for it."

  "Such a charming proposal."

  "I'm a novice at this."

  "And where would we live? I've led the wayfarer's life before and outgrew it, but that's the way you like to be and—"

  Joss took the pillow from her and tossed it aside. "Why don't you let me manage all that?" He kissed her shoulder and then shifted downward to lick the inside of her elbow. "Let me take care of you."

  "But—"

  He nuzzled her waist, tickling with his tongue and his breath, before moving across to her navel and then sinking lower. "Let me do everything for you."

  The diligent and energetic young man tended her garden so thoroughly that night, Persey could never again settle for her own efforts.

  Chapter Twenty-Three

  She had stayed away from the great house since Hugo Weston's wife arrived. It seemed doubtful that Minty would want another guest when she had her hands full, and she seldom wanted to introduce the dowager marchioness to anybody. But suddenly one morning Persey received an invitation to luncheon.

  "Minty's desperate," said Honoria.

  "She must be— to invite me to the house."

  "No, I mean she's desperate because Hugo and his wife seem to have taken up residence and there's no mention of when they might leave. Albert's furious. And, as you know, it's not like Albert to be furious with Minty, but now he can't help himself. She says if anybody could scare a person into leaving the house, it would be you, mama. She says you can surely use witchcraft or something."

  So Persey went up to the house later that day, partially curious but mostly amused.

  Crossing the lawn, she already heard somebody beating out a too-rapid tune on the luckless pianoforte, and when she walked into the drawing room from the French doors on the terrace, she immediately saw Hugo leaning by the mantle, slipping something from a silver flask into his tea cup. Minty was revealed to be thumping at the pianoforte keys and Mistress Katherine Weston was seated on the chaise lounge, devouring a cream cake with considerable relish. Honoria leapt up to greet her, and the "music" came to an abrupt halt, the notes falling over each other as if a mouse ran along the keys.

  "Mama! There you are. Finally you can meet cousin Hugo's wife."

  Minty remained at the instrument, her face clouded with anger and frustrat
ion, her eyes darting from side to side like razor blades gleaming in the sun.

  "Mistress Weston, this is the dowager marchioness." Honoria quickly led Persey across the room.

  And now Hugo's wife looked up from her cake, a blob of cream still stuck to the corner of her lips. Her husband must have knocked the chaise with his foot, for the lady sat up and, with some awkwardness, got to her feet.

  "Delighted to meet you, I'm sure," she said, tilting in a shaky curtsey.

  Persey picked up the napkin that had fallen and handed it back to the lady. "Madam, I trust you are enjoying the delights of Holbrooke."

  "Oh, yes, it's pleasant enough. Although I must say it's rather more drafty than one would expect from such a grand house. Even with all the windows closed."

  "Parts of the building are three hundred years old, of course." Persey looked as the woman dabbed that blob of cream from her lips, taking off some rouge too in the process. "And I hope you've had a chance to enjoy the grounds, Mistress Weston."

  "I'm not much of a walker, and there never seems to be a carriage available for our use."

  Minty now rose up from her stool. "Do have some tea, Persephone. And cake."

  But Persey could not think of cake at that moment; she was absorbed in watching the very full lips of Hugo's wife as they continued a litany of complaints about the discomforts she'd suffered during her short stay.

  She ought to have recognized her at once, but the lady had gained several inches in all directions except vertical since they last saw each other, and her hair was now a brassier shade of yellow, with some silver grey apparent at the roots.

  Lady Kitty Waddenhoe's bosom remained as full and well-upholstered as it had been seventeen years ago, complete with beauty spot.

  "Well, as I said to my dear Hugo, we really ought to visit his cousin Araminta since we were in the county. I thought she would surely be pleased to see us." While Minty gave instructions to the footman for more hot water, Kitty lowered her voice to a stage whisper, "But I begin to think my dear Hugo exaggerated his cousin's fondness. Or perhaps we did not come at a good time. It has been rather strained."

  "Nonsense, Mistress Weston," Honoria piped up gleefully. "Your visit has been a great entertainment, and I know the marchioness will be sorry to see you go."

  Kitty fussed with her ringlets over one shoulder. "Of course, we don't have to go for a while yet. I daresay her ladyship has time to warm up to me."

  Hugo, still held up by the mantle, gave a low, rumbling burp and seemed preoccupied by the wallpaper pattern.

  "Where is Albert?" Persey asked Honoria.

  "He's gone out to see what Master Radcliffe is up to. Albert is out a lot lately. Often we don't see him until dinner and then he sometimes has a headache and goes to bed early."

  "I see."

  Minty now joined the conversation with a terse, "Mistress Weston, do have another cake. You have not yet eaten them all. We still have some in the house."

  "You'll have me bursting out of my stays." Kitty giggled, shaking a finger in Minty's flinching face.

  Honoria laughed gaily, clearly enjoying herself. Persey threw her a quick scowl. "Perhaps you would play for us, Lady Honoria?"

  "Oh, must I?"

  "I have not heard you lately, and I suspect you've neglected your practice."

  That straightened her laughing lips. "Indeed I have not, mama."

  "Then play something, my dear. Anything."

  As soon as the girl had begun, she turned to Kitty and said, "Would you join me on the terrace, Mistress Weston?"

  The woman seemed surprised by the attention, but also pleased. They went out through the French doors while Honoria played a minuet behind them. She knew Minty would not follow them out and Hugo needed the mantle to hold him upright. For a moment at least, they were safe.

  Persey leaned down and whispered in the lady's ear. "There are some things a lady should never tell. Her true age, what she will spend for a fine pair of shoes, what she is truly thinking, and where the bodies are buried."

  Kitty stumbled, one hand to her bosom. The sun was bright on her face, showing every unkind wrinkle, made worse by the powder sunk into it, and suddenly she looked much older. "Good God!" she gasped. "It can't— it can't be! My little Meg?"

  "No. You gave me the name Persephone, remember?"

  The woman put both hands to her cheeks, eyes welling with tears. "I never thought to see you again, my girl. Look at you! How you have grown! And now a fine lady indeed."

  Glancing quickly over her shoulder to be sure they were still alone on the terrace, Persey motioned with a hasty finger to her lips. "I owe much of this to you, Kitty. Without your friendship I do not know what would have become of me."

  Kitty sniffed proudly. "Yes, I daresay you have much to thank me for." And then her shoulders relaxed again and she laughed, her bosom quivering. "Imagine! To find you again after all these blessed years. I often wondered what happened to you after you married that fellow."

  So she hastily explained about Pye and then the Marquess of Holbrooke. She was no longer afraid of her past, but thought with pride of how far she had come. It would, perhaps, do no good to let the Foyles know everything, and a woman had to keep some secrets for they were her stock in trade, but she felt no more shame about her beginnings or how she had got to where she was now.

  Kitty, however, may not want her past exposed. She did like her secrets.

  "What happened to Sir Buckley Appleyard?" Persey asked.

  "He married me and then left me a rich widow. Pity, for he was a good man and never tempted me to crack him over the head with anything. Sadly the good ones die too young."

  Well, she certainly hoped hers wouldn't. "So you are rich now?"

  Kitty screwed up her small nose and sighed. "I was. That great fool in there has spent it all behind my back. Wagered it away. Now there's a man I could dearly dispatch with a chamber pot. I thought if we came here he could get some money from her high-and-mightiness to pay me back. But he had neglected to tell her about our marriage. Naturally the reception has not been quite what a lady expects. Especially when she is a famous delight of the Parisian and London theatre."

  Swallowing a chuckle, Persey shook her head and tried to look concerned.

  "Of course, I did love him for a few days, but he's a frightful drag on a woman's spirits. I say, Persephone, since you're here, you wouldn't mind...helping me put him out, would you? You were always so good at that."

  "It's awfully tempting, Kitty, but I'm afraid I must decline."

  With another sigh, the lady gave a resigned look. "Yes, you're too fine and fancy now, I suppose, to help an old friend."

  Persey thought for a minute and then said, "Actually, I might be able to help you, Kitty. I think there is a way you can get a rather large purse from Araminta, just to see you on your way. And then what you do with Hugo is entirely up to you. But you'll have to find somebody else to carry him outside for you."

  * * * *

  She followed Minty upstairs that afternoon when they all retired to dress for dinner. A light tap on her door was answered by the worried looking maid.

  "Might I have a word with the marchioness? I won't keep her long, but I have an idea I think she might find agreeable."

  Minty's sharp shout interrupted the maid's nervous reply. "Let her in for goodness sake and then hurry up and mend that torn sleeve. I don't know why I keep you!"

  Memories of Mistress Cosgrove tore through her and she looked with sympathy at the maid as they passed each other. She entered the dressing room and closed the door.

  "Araminta, I wish to —"

  "Albert told you, didn't he?"

  Startled, she paused. Minty was at her dressing table in a silk wrap, her face pale, eyes very dark. Without all her finery she looked considerably smaller and younger. Sometimes it was easy to forget she was only twenty-two. A girl really. Insecure about her place and her marriage to a man who seldom showed any emotion. It could not be easy bei
ng Albert's wife, yet Persey had only ever thought about how trying it would be to have Araminta as a wife. She was biased, of course, because she saw little touches of Jebediah in his son and knew how her husband had loved Albert. It had not helped their relationship when Araminta spurned her first efforts to be friendly.

  "Albert told me what?"

  "About the baby."

  Persey nodded slowly. "He did. I have not had the opportunity to congratulate you. It's wonderful news, Araminta."

  "I told him it was too soon to share the news, but I suppose he had to tell somebody. And he came to you. He would, of course."

  "I am happy for you." She walked across the room and stopped to kiss Minty's brow. "You must take care of yourself, and I see that Hugo has made things rather fraught."

  "Fraught? Albert is not speaking to anybody and takes himself off in a petulant fit every day, because he cannot abide their company. How could Hugo do this to me? He knows I had such high hopes for his marriage!" She burst into tears.

  There did not appear to be any handkerchief nearby, so Persey searched quickly through the drawers and found one. "Here. Don't upset yourself about Albert. Men are...odd. They react to problems in the strangest ways, and frequently we women are left to be the sensible ones."

  Araminta took the handkerchief in a limp hand but sobbed onward, making no attempt to stem the flow.

  Ah yes, must be something to do with the pregnancy, thought Persey, who had never seen Minty shed a tear before. She took the silk handkerchief and held it to the other woman's nose. "Blow! There. That's better."

  "He's in love with you, of course."

  "What? Who?"

  Minty replied with a tight, "Albert."

  Persey could do nothing but laugh uneasily. "Of course he isn't. That's your melancholy humor talking, Min— Araminta. Your body is undergoing a myriad of changes at present and your blood is...flooding with...all sorts of—"

  "He pays far more attention to you than he ever did to me."

  She dropped the bundled handkerchief into Minty's lap and then took out the powder to repair the shiny, glowing end of her nose. "Albert adores you or he would not be so worried about your health that he asked me to make peace with you."