It Only Takes a Kiss

by Wilma Counts

  However, that notion had to be postponed.

  He found the Whitbys at breakfast, along with Captain Howell and Colonel Phillips. They invited him to join them and informed him that the patients who had been enforcing the law had, if they were mobile, been taken home or to their temporary quarters in town. The others, along with those under arrest, were in the rather overcrowded clinic under the watchful eyes of militia guards. Quickly accepting their invitation, Alex realized he had not yet eaten. He filled a plate at the sideboard and turned to sit, but to his disappointment, Hero sat farther up the table, near her father, and the others sat between him and her on either side of the table. She poured him a cup of coffee and passed it down to him, offering him a tentative smile as she did so. Well, it was a start, he told himself. In answer to their questions, he reported that he had left Mr. McIintosh sleeping rather soundly under the influence of the laudanum they had sent with him. Phillips had been giving them an update on the night’s events and now filled Alex in on what had happened after he left the mine with the wounded.

  “So what is to happen now?” Michael asked.

  With a glance at Alex, Phillips responded, “The jail here is inadequate for such a number of prisoners—twelve today and those two from before. We cannot leave them in that shed at the mine. We are transferring them to our headquarters in Appledore this afternoon. We shall hold them there until the court of assize meets here in Weyburn.”

  “Which is when?” Hero asked.

  Again Phillips glanced at Alex before answering. “They meet only once a year in most English counties. Local magistrates handle lesser issues, as I am sure you know.”

  “Yes, of course,” she said. “But waiting for the assize court could take months.”

  “That would ordinarily be true,” Phillips said. “But in this instance, I think not. Lord Sterne arranged for it to meet here in a special session this year. A judge will be sent out from London as soon as I notify the proper authority. I shall send the letter today—so it should not be more than two, maybe three weeks.”

  “Ah,” the elder Dr. Whitby said, “that should give you time to get those that escaped, then.”

  Phillips looked uncomfortable. “I do not hold much hope of that, sir. If they are smart, they will already be long gone from Weyburn—from Cornwall.” His voice became more confident. “The good news is that this gang of smugglers has been dealt with. That is, disbanded. I doubt Weyburn will see much of that kind of activity in the future.”

  The increasingly closer sound of a team and carriage being driven at a furious pace reached the ears of those around the table. Then it halted. A few minutes later Diana burst into the room.

  “Papa! Michael! I need your help! It’s Milton. He did not come home and there was that awful fracas at the mine last night and—and—he may be dead!”

  Seeing the two uniformed militia officers at the table, she stopped abruptly, her hand at her mouth, tears running down her cheeks. Her shoulders slumped and she dissolved into sobs. Those sitting at the table jumped to their feet and Hero dashed over to put her arms around her sister.

  “Shh. Stop, Diana. Milton is not dead.” Hero shook Diana gently when she continued to sob hysterically. “He is not among the dead.”

  “Then where is he? Why did he not come home last night? Mr. Teague came to the house. He had those awful men with him and—and Milton went with them, and—and now—” She drew a deep, steadying breath and stared at Hero. She seemed to read something in Hero’s eyes, for she moaned, “No-o-o. No.”

  Hero nodded. “He was arrested—along with several others.”

  “Arrested?” Diana was outraged. “M-Milton is no criminal. Teague—”

  On her other side, her father put an arm around her and kissed her temple. “Milton did what he had to. But he knew the risks. Now do stop crying. Let us figure what we can do for him, for you, for the children.”

  Hero said, “Have you had breakfast, Diana?” When she received a negative shake of the head in response, she led her sister to the head of the table. “Here. You sit by Papa and I shall get you a plate. Just sit. I’ll get it for you.” Hero picked up her own place setting and carried it down the table to an empty spot next to Alex. Then she reached for the bellpull and busied herself filling a plate with sausage and eggs and a muffin for Diana. When a footman answered the bell, she instructed him to bring more coffee and to see that someone dealt with Diana’s horses and carriage. Finally, she sat in the chair Alex was holding for her.

  She gave him a long, questioning look as she sat down, but he could not read her expression very well. Still, he relished having her so near—and that she had voluntarily chosen to sit next to him. He caught a whiff of the lilac scent he always associated with her. An image of burying his face in her hair spread on a pillow flashed into his mind, but he managed to put it aside. Hero seemed determined to pick up the conversation from before Diana’s entrance.

  “So—there is to be a special session of the assize court.” She turned slightly toward Alex. “How on earth did you manage that?”

  He shrugged. “When one’s father is a duke, many things are possible. And if that duke happens to have the ear of the prime minister on a regular basis, things are even more possible. Colonel Phillips and I thought—and my father agreed with us—that the sooner this matter is resolved, the better.”

  She gave him a look of disgust and he groaned inwardly when she said, “Resolved means putting our people in jail and perhaps having them transported? Is that it?”

  Diana choked and cried out, “No. Please, no.”

  Hero quickly said, “I’m sorry, Diana. I misspoke.”

  “Yes, you did,” her brother said accusingly and reached to pat Diana’s hand. “You need to stop and listen to others once in a while, Hero.”

  Alex saw that her brother’s rebuke had hit home with Hero, and for a moment he felt sorry for her even though he had been the intended target of her outburst.

  “All right, then. I’m listening.”

  “The truth is,” Colonel Phillips said, “we cannot be certain of the final outcome until there is a trial. Ultimately, sentences will be up to the judge.”

  “So we just sit on our hands and twiddle our thumbs for two or three weeks?” Hero asked.

  “Well, that would be a neat trick, would it not?” Michael asked. Everyone laughed at that impossible image; the whole mood lightened for a bit at least.

  Hero smiled weakly. “You know what I mean.”

  Alex looked down the table at the colonel. “Colonel Phillips, may I speak with you privately for a moment?”

  “Of course.”

  The colonel rose and followed Alex into the hall. Alex waved a hovering footman away and led Phillips into the Whitby library. He closed the door and, with both of them still standing, said, “You and I both know how Teague was terrorizing local people.”

  “Some of them were in it for profit.”

  “True—but not all of them.”

  “I should think that is for the court to sort out,” Phillips said. “I’m just a glorified policeman here.”

  “This is a busy time of the year for farmers,” Alex said. “Trying to get in a final crop of hay, harvesting other crops, taking animals to market, and so on.”

  “What is your point, Sterne?”

  “I need Tamblin and those other two farmers to be tending to business on my land. If I stand surety of their reporting for trial, would you consider releasing them to me until the court convenes?”

  “This wouldn’t have anything to do with the other sister, now, would it?” Phillips wore a knowing grin. “I’ve watched you tiptoeing around each other.”

  Alex gave a weak smile and knew he must look a bit sheepish. “Well, yes, I suppose it does—some. But those farms—those families—will suffer if those crops and animals are not cared for properly.”<
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  “I see your point. But I feel I must warn you: If they cut and run, it’s on you, not me. I am not risking what’s left of my career for a few Cornishmen.”

  “Understood.”

  “Well, let’s go tell that poor woman she can have her husband back. At least for a while. What happens at the trial may be a very different story.”

  * * * *

  Talk at the breakfast table continued in a desultory fashion as the family and Captain Howell awaited the return of Lord Sterne and Colonel Phillips. Hero thought the family were reluctant to be too frank in their conversation in front of the remaining militiaman; thus they did not openly conjecture about what might be taking place in that private meeting, but all were anxious about it. What could they possibly be talking about? Powerful men in London made the rules; people in the country as a whole—even people like his lordship and the colonel—had to abide by them.

  Diana sipped her coffee and moved her fork around on her plate, but she did not eat much. “Where is Milton now?” she asked.

  The others looked at Howell for the answer. “A number of prisoners are still at the mine. We will be moving them to our headquarters as soon as Colonel Phillips can arrange the transportation.”

  “Do you think I will be able to speak with my husband before that happens?”

  “That is something you will have to ask the colonel.”

  “I do hope Mr. Teague is not being kept in the same room as my Milton,” Diana said. “Abbey farmers are not very fond of that man.”

  “Teague and two of his special cohorts seem to have escaped,” the captain said glumly.

  “Escaped?” Diana dropped her fork onto her plate with a clatter. “You mean that man is not to pay for forcing good men to go along with his bad acts? That is so unfair!”

  Howell nodded. “True. And, believe me, we would like to track them down and see them properly punished, but we simply haven’t the manpower to conduct a hunt all over Cornwall and Devon—and God knows if they are even still in this part of the country. They could be anywhere.”

  They heard footsteps in the hall signifying the return of Phillips and Sterne. Hero moved to stand behind her sister and gripped her shoulder. When the two men entered the room, the others sat staring at them as though in a tableau.

  Phillips quickly explained the plan for temporary release of the three farmers into the custody of Lord Sterne.

  “Oh, thank God,” Diana cried even before he had supplied the details. Scarcely paying attention to the conditions of her husband’s release, she glanced up at Hero and mouthed, “I told you so.” Hero took this to be an affirmation of her faith in his lordship. The tension in the room all but disappeared.

  All that remained was to settle the details. Lord Sterne, riding his horse and leading Mac’s, both of which had been left in the Whitby stable all this time, would ride beside Diana in her carriage and see to getting the three farmers home where they were to remain until time to go to court.

  Realizing now that she had half formed a plan to talk privately with Alex this morning, Hero felt frustrated in knowing that was not going to happen—and in not knowing whether he would welcome such. He cocked his head to the side and gave her a rueful glance.

  Chapter 22

  For the next three days, Hero tried to keep up a good front as she went about what were mostly routine aspects of her life. She was still adjusting to sharing medical duties with Monique. Monique readily bowed to Hero’s expertise in the field, and Hero readily admitted that her sister-in-law was a most competent assistant. Nevertheless, just sharing that aspect of her life—even with Michael—was proving more difficult than she had anticipated.

  For years she had schooled herself to the fact that Michael would eventually return and take their father’s place. She had accepted that. After all, Michael was the one who had been to the best medical school in the kingdom. And there was the small matter that, as a male, he commanded an immediate position in this male-dominated world. But she also knew that her own knowledge and skills were nothing to look down upon. True, she was self-taught as far as book knowledge was concerned, but she had also been more or less apprenticed to one of England’s most respected doctors—Charles Whitby—for nearly ten years. Visiting medical dignitaries had often praised her work, surprised though they might be initially to find that Dr. Whitby allowed her so much authority in his very fine clinic.

  She was finding anew that there was a huge difference between having accepted something intellectually and actually living the reality. But I can do this. I know I can, she assured herself. I just need to get beyond here and now.

  Getting beyond here and now, though, meant facing up to her feelings for Alex. Yes, he was Alex in her thoughts now. And Alex truly was the man Adam, with whom she had fallen in love.

  Another hurdle conquered: She now admitted, if only to herself, that she truly loved this man she had disliked from afar for so many years. “From afar”—ah, there was the telling point! Up close was another matter.

  She had hoped he would return to Whitby Manor after he had delivered Diana and the three prisoners to their farms, but he had not done so. Nor had he come the next day. Or the next. She tried to put the matter out of her mind.

  What will be, will be.

  Putting it out of her mind was not so easy. By late that afternoon, the whole town was talking of what a marvelous thing his lordship had done. Young people praised him for standing up for his own; older folks nodded and said they had expected nothing less of Sir Benjamin’s heir. Nor was it only neighbors who sang his praises. Her father made no secret of his admiration for the man, and Michael added that what “the major” had done today was completely in line with his reputation as a soldier. And then there was Annabelle.

  “Is it true?” Annabelle demanded the instant Hero entered the nursery. The little girl stood in the middle of the room with her hands on her hips and gave Hero a challenging stare.

  “Is what true?”

  “Was Mr. Ainrye here?”

  “Yes, he was.” Hero was not about to start lying to Annabelle now.

  “Why didn’t he come to see me? Did you make him go away?”

  Hearing the hurt in Annabelle’s tone, Hero nudged her toward a chair and pulled the child onto her lap. How she treasured this little person! “No, I did not make him go away.” She smoothed Annabelle’s skirt and kissed her cheek, trying to think where to begin.

  “Freddie told me Mr. Ainrye is not Mr. Ainrye, but I told Freddie he most certainly is! And I’m right, ain’t I? Freddie’s always telling me big fibs.” Hero knew that the children had spent time together on more than one occasion since the big revelation. She kicked herself for not talking about it with Annabelle before now.

  “This time Freddie is not fibbing.”

  Annabelle looked up in disbelief. “Wha—No! That can’t be.”

  “Mr. Wainwright’s real name is Lord Alexander Sterne, but he is the same man, Annabelle. The same person.” Even as these words left her mouth, she thought, Listen to yourself!

  “If he’s the same, why didn’t he come to see me? Don’t he like me anymore?” Again, Hero heard Annabelle’s hurt, her latent insecurity.

  “Of course he still likes you! How could he not like such a nice little girl as you?” She hugged Annabelle closer. “But he is a very busy man at the Abbey. He has to take care of much land and many people.”

  “Is that what a lord does?”

  “Many of them do.”

  Annabelle’s shoulders slumped. “Does that mean he can’t be my friend anymore?”

  “It’s just that he might not have time for us now.”

  “Time.” Annabelle sat up straighter, and said in a very authoritative voice, “One makes time for what is important.”

  Hero had to smile at hearing one of her own familiar maxims being repeated to her. She wound
a strand of Annabelle’s blond hair around her fingers. “That is true, but sometimes people just get very busy, you see.”

  “Maybe he just forgotted.” Annabelle mused for a few seconds, then said brightly, “I know, we should invite him to come and visit us!”

  She jumped down and dashed over to a cupboard where pencils and papers were stored. She carried several papers and some pencils to the table in the center of the room. “Come on, Auntie H’ro,” she called, as she climbed onto a chair and pointed to one next to her. “You sit here and just write what I tell you. All right?”

  Hero laughed. “All right. I shall be your secretary.”

  “Sec-uh-tary? What’s that?”

  “Someone who writes letters for other people.”

  “Oh. I gots a sec-uh-tary then.” She giggled, and pushed herself up to sit on her knees and rest her arms on the table.

  Hero picked up the sharpest pencil and said, “All right. What do you wish me to write, my lady?”

  “Dear Mr. Ainrye,” she intoned, then looked at Hero. “That’s not right, though. How should I talk to him now?”

  “Dear Lord Sterne.”

  Annabelle wrinkled her nose. “That’s his name now?”

  Hero nodded. “Or, you could say ‘Dear Lord Alexander.’”

  “I like that better.” She began dictating again. “Dear Lord Alexander. I miss my friend Mr. Ainrye, and I hope he will come and visit me. Bitsy wants him to come too.” She paused and then added, “So does Tootie.”

  “Is that it?” Hero asked.

  “Yes. Read it to me.” Hero did so and Annabelle said, “Yes. It’s a good letter. Are you sure you spelled everything right?”

  Hero laughed and gently tweaked the child’s nose. “Yes, I am sure, Miss Know-All.”

  “Good. Then I can write my name.”