Reckless Angel

by Jane Feather

  “What may I serve you, elf?” Daniel reached for the carving knife. “Sirloin, or do you prefer bacon?”

  “Bacon,” she responded promptly, thinking she rather liked his name for her. She certainly preferred it to “child.” “Are those coddled eggs?”

  Will passed her the dish and this time looked at her directly. It was a questioning, appraising look, which she returned in her usual candid fashion.

  “Ale, Henrietta? Or do you prefer chocolate?” Daniel’s voice broke into the moment of silent communion.

  “Chocolate, if you please.” She passed her platter for the bacon he had been slicing and took the chocolate pot, pouring the dark, fragrant stream into her beaker. “Do you ride back to Wheatley today, Will?”

  “Aye,” he said. “But I’ve a mind to see the lions first. It seems a waste to be in London and not see ’em. There’s no saying when I’ll be here again.”

  Henrietta glanced wistfully at Daniel but said nothing. He was anxious to be gone from the city and her childish wish for the treat he had promised yesterday, before other things had intervened, must not hinder him.

  Daniel heard the plea for all that it was not spoken. “Accompany Will if you wish. I must go to the office at Alder’s Gate and see about passes, anyway.”

  “Will they be difficult to obtain?”

  Daniel shook his head. “A man is entitled to return to his home without hindrance. I can explain a sojourn in London on business without difficulty. There is no need for anyone to suspect that we are come from Preston.”

  “Then I would go with Will, if y’are sure ’tis convenient.”

  “Lord, Harry!” Will said in tones of mock awe. “How docile y’are become.”

  Her eyes flashed, her mouth opened on rude protest, then she remembered that she was a married lady and closed her lips firmly.

  Experience having taught him to expect an explosion in such instances, Daniel regarded her in as much surprise as did Will, but she continued with her breakfast as coolly as if Will had not spoken, although they could both guess at the effort it was costing her.

  Daniel suppressed a smile. Such effort deserved a reward. “You may have until mid-morning to explore with Will. If we are obliged to spend a night on the road, it will not be a major tragedy.”

  “I have no desire to explore with Will,” she said loftily. “We will leave for Kent as soon as you wish.”

  “Oh, Harry!” Daniel said with a soft laugh. “Now you have spoiled it, and you were doing so beautifully.” He pushed back his stool and stood up. “I will leave you two to make peace. I must come to a reckoning with the landlord.”

  “If you please, Sir Daniel,” Will began resolutely, his freckled face pink and earnest, “I would be glad if you would draw up an account of what I owe you. My father will repay you without delay.”

  Daniel nodded easily. “Furnish me with your address, and I will write to your father.”

  “Do you think he will do so?” asked Will, their squabble forgotten, when he and Henrietta were alone.

  Henrietta frowned, playing with a crumb of wheaten bread on the table. “No,” she said finally, “I do not think so, but he would not hurt your pride by telling you not to be foolish.”

  “But ’tis not foolish to wish to pay my way,” Will protested.

  Henrietta shrugged. “Ask Esquire Osbert to approach him. Daniel will perhaps feel more comfortable dealing directly with your father.”

  Will heard the natural use of their companion’s name, unembellished with the courtesy title they had both always used. It was reasonable that a wife should call her husband by his given name, but somehow it seemed to put a distance between himself and Henrietta, as if she had entered some higher order of being, crossed some threshold that he had yet to pass over.

  Her excitement at the sights and sounds of the city matched his, however, and the lions surpassed all expectation. Will found a shilling in a dark corner of his coat pocket, which bought them steaming hot gingerbread from a pastry cook and a blackcurrant cordial from a street vendor. They returned to the Red Lion, chattering like starlings, in perfect accord. But then they had to make their farewells, since the road to Oxfordshire went in the opposite direction to the road to Kent.

  “Come and visit us, Will.” Daniel put an arm around the young man’s shoulders. “Not just to see Henrietta.” He smiled. “But I shall miss you too. You have an open invitation to Glebe Park any time ye care to take it up.”

  He was rewarded by the miraculous drying of the tears crowding his bride’s big brown eyes. “Oh, yes, that would be wonderful. You must come for a very long visit. Mustn’t he, Daniel?”

  “A very long visit,” Daniel agreed. “But now we must leave if we are to be out of the city before nightfall.” He waited for one last tearful embrace, then picked her up by the narrow waist and lifted her onto her horse.

  Will raised a hand in farewell before trotting down the street. Henrietta sniffed, her face forlorn as she watched him go. Then she wiped her eyes, blew her nose, and straightened her shoulders. She had a new life to live now and moping over the past wasn’t going to make it any easier. It would have been nice if her plan had worked and Will had married her, because he really was her best friend and she felt so comfortable with him…and he didn’t have two daughters already. It wasn’t that she didn’t feel comfortable with Sir Daniel, but she had known Will forever…and Daniel did have two daughters.

  “D’ye think your children will like me?” she asked, unable to keep the question in any longer.

  “Of course they will,” he reassured her, turning his horse in the narrow lane. “Y’are a very likable girl.”

  Somehow the compliment wasn’t sufficient to banish her unease, and as they rode through the long day, coming into the soft green lushness of the county of Kent, she became unnaturally silent. Daniel did not notice, so preoccupied was he himself, looking about him, taking in the evidence of Parliament’s devastating vengeance on some of the large manorial estates, remarking the inevitable aftermath of war—the crops unharvested because there had been no men to work the fields; the unpicked fruit, spoiled by wasps, falling from the orchard trees to rot upon the ground.

  What would he find on his own estate?—an estate that had been in the Drummond family since the time of Henry Tudor. Daniel had been accustomed to considering himself a more than ordinarily rich man, but he could now be reduced to penury at the whim of Parliament. Sequestration of his estates would leave him with nothing. He would have no choice but to take his family across the Channel to shift as best they could with the other ruined noble families crowding the courts of Europe, begging and borrowing. A crippling fine would at least leave him with his house and land, and the opportunity to recover. There was land he could sell to pay the fine, depending on how heavy it was.

  They were gloomy speculations and did not encourage conversation. Henrietta was left to her own reflections and the growing unease of hunger and fatigue. Tom had gone ahead the day before to alert the household to the safe and imminent return of the family’s head. He had left early in the morning, so he bore no message that Sir Daniel was bringing home a wife. It would be easier, Henrietta thought, if she were expected. Or would it? If she were not, no one would have been able to build up fears or expectations.

  Her stomach growled in embarrassingly loud protest. It had been a long time since the gingerbread, and an eternity since breakfast. The sun was already low in the sky. Surely they would not ride through the night? They had no escort and the roads were dangerous.

  “We will stay this night at my sister’s house,” Daniel said. “’Tis but another twenty minutes.” He offered her a distracted smile, realizing guiltily that he had been barely conscious of her presence until her body had declared its famished condition. “Frances keeps a good table and will welcome us warmly.”

  “She will welcome your wife so unexpectedly?” Henrietta asked, her heart sinking. He had never mentioned a sister.

  �
�Of course.” Daniel thought it best not to tell his bride of his original plan for her future—a plan in which Frances was to have played a larger part than her brother. “She is married to Sir James Ellicot of Ellicot Park.”

  “Is she older than you?”

  “Aye, by some thirteen months,” he replied. “And childless, to her sorrow.”

  “She cannot bear children?” Henrietta asked matter-of-factly. While the minute details of the process by which children were conceived had been unknown to her, the dangers of pregnancy, the process of birth, and the all-too-frequent deaths of children were part of the fabric of life, familiar to all from the moment they opened their minds to the world.

  “She has never carried a child to term,” he replied, equally matter-of-fact. “There…” He pointed with his whip toward a hill crowned by a large house of graceful proportions. “We will take the next lane and arrive in time for supper.”

  “For one who has had no dinner,” Henrietta said, “supper will be more than welcome.”

  “Yes, I had gathered you were in some need.” He found his preoccupation receding under the knowledge that within a short time he would hear all he needed to know from Frances and James. They would have been watching over his household and his concerns during his absence and would be able to confirm his fears or put them to rest. He touched spur to his mount, drawing away from Henrietta as they began to climb the hill.

  Henrietta encouraged her more laggardly nag to keep nose to tail so that they clattered onto the driveway in front of the house looking as if they were journeying together. The door was flung open almost before Daniel had dismounted. There was a cry of joy, a flurry of skirts, and Daniel disappeared into a fervent embrace.

  “Oh, Daniel, I cannot believe ’tis really you.” Frances at last stood back, holding his hands, examining his face. “You escaped without hurt?”

  “Aye,” he said. “Is all well at home?” His voice was sharp with anxiety, but Frances nodded instantly.

  “All goes well. The girls are up to their usual mischief, driving Mistress Kierston to distraction, and your house and land have so far escaped Parliament’s attentions.”

  The tension left his face and his entire body seemed to relax. “Did Tom not pass this way yesterday? I gave instruction that he should prepare you.”

  “Oh, yes, he did,” Frances assured him. “James is from home at the moment. He had business with the commissioners in Maidstone.” Her joyful ebullience died. “He has gone to compound. You will do the same, I imagine?”

  “Aye,” he said heavily. “D’ye have any information…Oh, but there will be time and plenty later.” He became aware of his sister’s eyes looking over his shoulder, astonishment in their depths. With a wash of remorse, he remembered Henrietta, who was still sitting on her horse, and appeared uncertain.

  “Oh, Harry, I ask your pardon.” He came quickly to her, lifting her down. “Frances, may I introduce my wife…Henrietta, this is my sister, Frances, of whom I have spoken to you.”

  “I give you good even, madam,” Henrietta said, curtsying to a tall, kind-eyed woman whose suit of flowered, ash-colored silk, the waistcoat trimmed with silver lace, bespoke an elegance and affluence with which Henrietta was unfamiliar, but which she knew would not find favor in Puritan eyes.

  Frances recovered with admirable speed. Smiling, she embraced Henrietta, saying, “I take it most ill in my brother that he should have told you of me but have kept such a wonderful secret to himself. You are most welcome, my dear, to my house and into the Drummond family.”

  Daniel’s sister’s voice contained in its smooth depths the same note of humor as his, and Henrietta seemed to blossom under the warmth of this greeting. The anxious, preoccupied set of her face softened, her eyes glowed, her mouth curved into a broad smile. “You are most kind, madam.”

  “My name is Frances, my dear. Come you in and warm yourself. You must be exhausted after such a ride.”

  “More hungry than tired,” Henrietta confided as she was hustled into a candle-bright hall of rich oak paneling and warm red flagstones. “’Tis a very long time since breakfast.”

  “Really, Daniel, have you not given the child any dinner?” Frances scolded over her shoulder, before calling to a maid who appeared from the back of the house. “Janet, bring the rabbit pie to the dining room, and a jug of mulled sack…oh, and the cheesecakes. Make haste, now.”

  A bright fire sizzled in the dining room grate and Henrietta shed her cloak and the despised round hat with a sigh of relief, taking in her surroundings with an observant eye. The dull gleam of pewter and the brighter sparkle of heavy silver indicated a household of some affluence; the speed with which supper was brought and laid upon the table indicated a well-run household.

  “I accept the charge of neglect, sister,” Daniel said, smiling as he watched Henrietta fall upon her supper. “But I was anxious to reach here before nightfall.” He sipped his mulled sack appreciatively. “I shall be glad to be done ajourneying.”

  “And I also,” Henrietta said, her first hunger now satisfied, enabling her to concentrate on other matters “’Tis a powerful long journey from Preston.”

  Frances stared. “You were at Preston?”

  “Oh, yes,” Henrietta said cheerfully. “Daniel found me on the battlefield.” She helped herself to a cheesecake. “I was wounded by a pike.”

  Frances looked in disbelief at her brother, who raised his eyebrows and shrugged in rueful confirmation of his wife’s statement. “’Tis a long story, sister.”

  “I rather imagine it must be,” Frances declared. “Are ye from the north, Henrietta?”

  “No, from Oxfordshire,” she replied, failing to stifle a deep yawn. “I went to Preston to be with Will. We were to be wed, but Will decided he was not ready yet.”

  “Harry, I think the story must be told in its entirety and begun at the beginning if Frances is not to become completely confused,” Daniel expostulated, torn between amusement at Henrietta’s artless explanation, which had reduced Frances to stunned astonishment, and reluctance to explain the whole absurd business to his sister, whose approval he strongly suspected would be withheld.

  “I think it can wait,” Frances said briskly, deciding that this story she would hear from her brother alone. “Henrietta looks in need of her bed.”

  “I own I am a trifle weary.” Henrietta yawned again.

  “Come, I will take you to your chamber.” Frances stood up.

  Henrietta glanced at Daniel, who showed no signs of moving. “Get you to bed, child; I will be up later,” he said, refilling his goblet. “There are some matters I would discuss with Frances.”

  “Yes, of course.” Feeling as if she had been dismissed, Henrietta followed Frances upstairs to a corner bedchamber, where a fire had been newly kindled and the bed was hung with warm velvet.

  “Let me help you to bed.” Frances bustled around, turning down the quilted coverlet, trimming the lamp.

  “Nay, ’tis not necessary,” Henrietta said swiftly. “I know you have much to discuss with your brother.”

  Frances looked at her uncertainly. The girl was clearly very weary, her face pale, the brown eyes large and luminous, but a constraint had entered her voice, and she was holding herself stiffly erect, as if she had been hurt and pride would have her disguise it. “Are ye sure?”

  “Quite sure,” Henrietta answered, slipping out of her jacket, turning aside to place the garment over a chair, busying herself with the buttons of her shirt.

  Frances wanted to offer comfort for whatever it was that had hurt her, but something about the way Henrietta was holding herself warned her that such an offer might not be welcomed. “I’ll bid ye good-night then.”

  Henrietta turned around and produced a brittle smile. “Thank you again for your kindness.”

  “’Tis no kindness to welcome a sister-in-law,” Frances said gently. “’Tis the greatest pleasure.”

  Henrietta nibbled her lower lip. “Will…will Daniel’
s children think the same?”

  “Oh, mercy, yes!” Frances exclaimed. “They will be overjoyed, I promise you. They’re a graceless pair, much in need of mothering, as Daniel will tell you, but they’re very loving.”

  “I would love them if they will let me,” Henrietta said slowly.

  “They will let you.” Frances took Henrietta’s face between her hands and kissed her brow. “Sleep now, child. Such fears will seem less in the morning.”

  She left the chamber and Henrietta prepared herself for bed. That exchange had been reassuring, but she still could not banish the feeling of hurt at the manner of her exclusion from the conversation that would now take place in the dining room. She was supposed to be a married woman, and married women were not sent to bed like weary children while the adults had their adult discussions. Yet, at the same time she could acknowledge Daniel’s right to be alone with his sister. Had he said this to her, in the manner of equals, she would have absented herself with instant understanding. But instead he had treated her as he was used to before last night. It was all very confusing and did nothing to relieve her unease as she hovered on the brink of this new life.

  Downstairs, Frances reentered the dining room, sat down opposite her brother, and said, “Tell me the whole, Daniel.”

  He did so with scrupulous honesty. At story’s end she sat in silence for long minutes, then she said softly, “Y’are mad, you know that, don’t you? To take on such a debt when ’tis inevitable ye’ll face a horrendous fine for Malignancy.”

  Daniel grimaced. “I could do nothing else, Frances. I could not leave her to that brute, even if I had not promised she should come to no harm.”

  His sister cast him a shrewd look from her own pair of bright black eyes. “Ye’d not tell me this is a love match?”

  Daniel shook his head ruefully. “I cannot imagine loving another after Nan. But I’ve a deep fondness for her, Frances, and she’s no younger than you were when you married. I’ve hopes that Lizzie and Nan will find if not a mother in her then an older sister who could fill the same need.”