The Dancing Master

by Julie Klassen

  “But remember, we had been told otherwise.”

  Julia said, “You mentioned two scenarios. What was the second?”

  Her mother nodded. “That he would open a public house there in Plymouth, if I would provide the start-up funds.”

  “So you sent him the money?”

  “Yes, I directed Barlow to deliver a significant sum. Though in the end Mr. Valcourt delivered it.”

  “Mr. Valcourt?” Julia blinked. “He never told me that.”

  “Then that is to his credit. For he was asked not to speak of it.”

  Julia scowled. “You sent the money to keep Lieutenant Tremelling from coming here and meeting me, didn’t you.”

  She sighed. “Yes, but keep in mind this was before you found Anne’s letter and began asking questions.”

  “Then, is it any wonder he hesitates to come here now?”

  “I did write to him again, remember, and asked him to come. You saw the letter.”

  Julia looked directly into her mother’s eyes, daring her to lie. “You didn’t only pretend to send the letter, did you?”

  “No. You may ask Barlow if you don’t believe me.”

  “He sent the messenger?”

  “He personally made sure it was delivered, yes.”

  Julia threw up her hands. “Then why has he not come?”

  “I don’t know,” her mother quietly replied. “But I intend to find out.”

  Coup de grâce. A finishing stroke; a stroke of mercy.

  —Noah Webster

  Chapter 26

  At Walter’s urging—he insisted it wasn’t good for man nor beast to stay indoors so long—Alec took the afternoon off and joined him and James for a ride.

  The three men had not ridden far, when they were joined by Patience Allen and Julia Midwinter, apparently out for a ride of their own.

  Apollo trotted ahead, matching his gait to that of Julia’s brown mare. Alec took pleasure in riding with Miss Midwinter, though he knew he was an inferior horseman. Walter hung back with his siblings, apparently giving him and Julia time to talk alone.

  Alec glanced at her but noticed she kept her face averted. There was something about her raised chin and compressed mouth that made Alec wary.

  He asked tentatively, “How are you, Miss Midwinter?”

  “I’m well,” she replied. “Except that Lieutenant Tremelling refuses to meet me.”

  He thought back to his meeting with the man. Alec was under the impression that Lady Amelia had communicated in the letter—and by way of a bank note—that she’d wanted him to stay away.

  “Does he know you wish to meet him?” Alec asked. “Has Lady Amelia agreed?”

  “She wrote to him on my behalf,” Julia said. “I saw the letter. And Barlow assures me it was delivered.”

  Apparently Lady Amelia had changed her mind, Alec realized, now that Julia knew about her past. Yet perhaps Tremelling was skeptical. Again Alec was tempted to tell Julia he’d met the man, but Barlow had asked him to keep that to himself.

  He tread cautiously. “May I ask what outcome you hope for from such a meeting?”

  She nodded, jaw pulsing. “I want to see him with my own eyes—see the resemblance Lady Amelia mentioned. Ask him why he stood silently by while Lady Anne blamed John Desmond.” Her voice tightened. “Ask why he gave me away. And why he did not want to see me . . .”

  She turned to him, eyes glinting. “Do you know why? Mother tells me you delivered money to him when you were our clerk.”

  “Did she?”

  Julia nodded.

  Alec was surprised but relieved to be able to tell her. “Yes, when Barlow broke his arm and was unable to ride, he sent me to Plymouth to deliver a letter to Lieutenant Tremelling in his stead.”

  “I can’t believe you didn’t tell me.”

  “I promised not to speak of it. Besides, I didn’t want to drive a wedge between you and your mother.”

  “Too late, I’m afraid. I can’t believe it. Lieutenant Tremelling has even met our former clerk but cannot be bothered to see me.” Her voice rose. “Did he tell you why? Does he still deny he is my father?”

  “We didn’t talk long. At the time, I didn’t even know what his connection was to your family.”

  Apparently Julia wasn’t even listening. She shook her head, small nostrils flaring. “If he won’t come here, I shall go to him. I’ll ride to Plymouth myself, if I have to, and demand answers.”

  Foreboding flooded Alec. “Julia, don’t do anything rash. . . .”

  But Julia lifted her crop, urged Liberty to speed, and galloped away.

  Abruptly Apollo lurched wildly forward and raced after Liberty. Alec reared back and nearly lost his seat. He made a mad grab for saddle leather and held on, pulling on the reins.

  “Whoa, Apollo. Whoa!” he called desperately over the pounding of hooves.

  To no avail. Apollo galloped full out, as though a hound after a fox.

  God in heaven. His horse was determined to follow Julia’s—straight toward the high stone wall ahead. The stubborn gelding gave no heed to Alec’s yanks on the reins or his commands to stop, which floated away, futile, on the wind.

  The stone wall loomed nearer and nearer. High. Too high.

  Ahead of him, Julia’s horse leapt, lifting its muscular forelegs over the stone wall, its rear hooves skating over the stone with a spray of rubble. Horse and rider landed, hooves thundering, on the other side of the wall.

  Alec breathed a prayer for her safety and for his.

  A few seconds behind, Apollo tossed his head against Alec’s pull and jumped. Apollo’s forelegs hit the wall with a sickening snap, the sheer momentum pushing the horse over the wall. One moment Alec was atop the careening horse, the next he flew over Apollo’s head. He landed beyond the wall with a bone-jarring thud, and felt the wind slammed from his lungs. His mind blacked out, then came to, dazed.

  As though from far away, he heard a woman scream. Julia? Patience?

  He opened his eyes a slit and glimpsed Julia cantering back, then half pushing, half jumping from her sidesaddle. Her legs became twisted in her long skirts, and she stumbled but quickly regained her feet. Eyes wide, Julia ran to where Alec lay, one cheek pressed to the turf, legs sprawled. He angled his head a few painful inches and saw Apollo on his side, legs bent unnaturally, whining and snorting in a futile attempt to rise.

  Julia dropped to her knees by Alec’s side and gently laid a hand on his shoulder. “Mr. Valcourt? Alec? Can you hear me?”

  “Yes,” he managed in a reedy voice. “Apollo?”

  Julia looked over her shoulder and her eyes filled with tears. “He’s injured, I’m afraid.”

  Alec winced. “How bad is he?”

  Tears spilled down Julia’s cheeks. She managed a breathy whisper, “Bad.”

  Walter came riding around through the gate, followed by James and Patience. Walt leapt from his horse and ran toward his fallen friend. “Alec! Are you all right?”

  “I don’t know.”

  “We shouldn’t move him,” Patience called, still atop her horse. “James, go and fetch Papa—quickly. He will know what to do.”

  Julia glanced again toward the fallen horse, then looked up at her friend with tear-filled eyes. Her voice hoarse, she pleaded, “Patience, please go find Barlow.”

  Ten minutes later, Sir Herbert came riding through the gate on the back of James’s horse. He dismounted with his old army bag and hurried over, grim-faced but calm. He knelt and began examining Alec’s spine and limbs, asking questions in low tones about his level of pain and sensation in each appendage.

  Barlow jogged onto the scene a moment later. He sent Julia a worried look before kneeling beside Apollo, talking in soothing tones and running his hands along the forelegs, which to Alec suddenly seemed as fragile as tinder sticks compared to the girth of the horse.

  A litter for Alec was sent for, and while they waited for it, all the men consulted together in somber tones about the injured horse. />
  “Can you help him?” Julia asked in a frightened little voice Alec had never heard before.

  Barlow looked at her, sadness mingled with anger. “I am afraid not, miss. The breaks are too bad.” He shook his head, frustrated and upset. “What were you thinking, Valcourt? To try a jump like that?”

  Julia’s chin trembled. “It wasn’t his fault. His horse must have decided to follow mine.”

  “You jumped that wall?” Barlow’s face darkened. “That was a very stupid thing to do.”

  Julia blinked against a new flood of tears, and Alec’s heart twisted. He doubted her beloved Barlow had ever spoken to her so harshly.

  She walked solemnly over, knelt by Apollo’s head, and stroked his forelock. “I am sorry, Apollo. I never meant for you to get hurt.” She attempted a chuckle, but it died in a sob. “You cheeky thing. Who would have guessed you would even try? Not I. And not Mr. Valcourt, no doubt. What a brave boy you are. Shh . . . I’m sorry you’re in pain. So sorry . . .”

  Lady Amelia strode onto the scene, looked about her grimly, and demanded to know what had happened.

  Julia explained, not attempting to divert blame from herself.

  “You jumped that wall?” Lady Amelia echoed. “Knowing full well an inexperienced rider was behind you?”

  Alec grimaced to hear the words. Insult added to injury.

  “It didn’t cross my mind his horse would follow.”

  “Do you not see how you lead people astray? How your recklessness endangers others? What if Mr. Valcourt had died? What then? Will you never learn?”

  Barlow and the other men rose in accord. Barlow walked over to where Alec lay and dropped to one knee. “It’s your horse, lad. I can’t tell you what to do, but . . .”

  Alec understood, though deeply saddened. “Do what you think best.”

  Barlow nodded, rose, and extracted a pistol from his pocket.

  Eyes wide, Julia asked in alarm, “Is there nothing else you can do?”

  “I am afraid not, miss. Best head on home.”

  “No.” Lady Amelia spoke up, her voice carrying across the distance. “Miss Midwinter will stay and witness the consequences of her actions.”

  “But . . . my lady!” Barlow objected.

  Lady Amelia held up her hand. “She needs to face this. It might have been a man lying dead on the ground, instead of his horse.”

  Julia lowered her head, blinking fiercely. Then she rose and backed away a safe distance, keeping her eyes averted as Barlow took aim.

  Hand on the trigger, Barlow faltered. “Are you sure you ladies want to be here?”

  “Of course we don’t want to be here,” Lady Amelia snapped. “But don’t let that animal suffer any longer. Do what must be done, and quickly.”

  Alec could not turn away, not while two ladies stood there so stoically. He lowered his eyes to the ground and waited, dreading the shot as he had dreaded each piteous whinny moments before. He would miss the troublesome horse, as one missed any creature one had taken the time to tame.

  The shot rang out, an echoing crack, and the horse whinnied no more.

  Alec could not see Julia’s face, but he risked a glance at Lady Amelia, standing nearby. Tears glittered in her eyes, and her expression convulsed as she looked from him to her daughter.

  “She might have died,” Lady Amelia whispered. “You both might have died.”

  In the meadow behind the churchyard, Julia bent and laid a clutch of forget-me-nots on Apollo’s grave. She had insisted the horse get a proper burial, like other beloved Buckleigh horses and hounds before him. Mr. Ramsay made no objection, but nor did he or Mr. Valcourt accept Lady Amelia’s offer of financial recompense for the horse. It was not Miss Midwinter’s fault, both insisted, but Julia knew better.

  Again her eyes filled with hot tears as she looked down at the mound of dirt.

  “I’m so sorry.” Her throat burned and tightened, and she said no more.

  Thankfully, Mr. Valcourt had escaped the ordeal without serious injury. Yet somehow she felt very sure she had lost his friendship and any possible future between them with the loss of his horse. The fall, the death, felt heavy with significance. With finality.

  God might love and might even forgive, she realized, but that did not mean He erased the natural consequences of her actions.

  She became aware of a figure quietly approaching. She looked up and saw John Desmond. Her heart ached at the thought of how disappointed he must have been when he’d learned what she’d done.

  He stood near her and reverently removed his hat. “I heard what happened,” he said.

  She hung her head. “Then why are you here?—unless you’ve come to chastise me. I deserve it, I know. I shan’t mind.”

  “No, that’s not why I’ve come. I imagine you’ve been chastised enough.”

  Julia nodded, chin trembling. “Mother is so angry with me. She’s threatening to sell my horse. . . .”

  “I’m not surprised. Jumping that wall was dangerous—you must have scared the life out of her. You know losing a child is a mother’s worst fear.”

  Julia shook her head. “No, her worst fear is that I leave Buckleigh Manor.”

  He looked at her earnestly. “Julia, don’t forget—Amelia has lost her parents, her brother, her sister, and her husband. She is alone except for you. Daughter or niece—you are the only family she has. Can you not understand why she might hold on a little tightly, try her utmost to protect you, and worry about losing you?”

  Julia considered. “I had not really thought of it that way.”

  “Please do.” He added, “For both your sakes.”

  Julia nodded thoughtfully, then she said, “You still haven’t told me why you’ve come.”

  With a sad smile, he stood beside her, put his arm around her shoulder, and squeezed. “For this.”

  It was as if he’d squeezed her heart. The words unmerited favor whispered in her memory, and tears filled her eyes once more.

  Unfamiliar with such displays of affection, she stood stiffly in his one-armed embrace, not daring to breathe. Gradually, bit by bit, something deep within her unfurled and began to expand, drawing in comfort like a dry sponge. Slowly, tentatively, Julia leaned her head against his shoulder and breathed deep.

  To be fond of dancing was a certain step towards falling in Love. . . .

  —Jane Austen, Pride and Prejudice

  Chapter 27

  At his doting mother’s insistence, Alec sat propped with pillows on the sitting room settee. His head ached and his previously injured ribs throbbed once more, but he was thankful it was nothing more serious. Nothing like Apollo had suffered.

  Mrs. Tickle had visited that morning and brought pies. The Desmonds stopped by to check on him, and the Thornes stopped by to pray.

  Later in the afternoon, Miss Midwinter and Miss Allen came bearing chamomile tea and plain biscuits as though he were an invalid. Also a new edition of the Gentleman’s Magazine and Historical Chronicle he could read while he rested.

  He was pleased to see both ladies, though ill at ease to be found reclining in the middle of the day as though he were on his deathbed—or a man of leisure. His mother excused herself to take the gifts to the kitchen and help Mrs. Dobb prepare a tea tray. Patience sat with Aurora on the other side of the room, and the two began a game of draughts.

  Miss Midwinter sat on a chair near him and clasped her hands on her lap. “Are you certain you are all right?” she asked. “We will happily pay Mr. Mounce’s bill, you know, if you wish to consult him.”

  “I am quite well, Miss Midwinter. I promise you.”

  She bit her lip. “Again, I am sorry about Apollo. Deeply sorry. I—”

  “Miss Midwinter,” he interrupted, reaching over to press her hand. “There is no need to keep apologizing. I am sorry as well, and I know you are. All is forgiven.”

  She nodded, blinking away tears. “Thank you.”

  Alec glanced at the magazine and grinned. “If you mean to tre
at me like a proper invalid, perhaps you might read to me? I should enjoy hearing your voice.”

  Her eyes brightened. “If you’d like. In fact, I’ve marked a section here in the editor’s preface I thought might encourage you.”

  “Go on.”

  She opened the journal and found the place. Alec enjoyed gazing at her lovely profile and listening to her clear, unaffected voice as she read.

  “I call to mind here the pleasing account Mr. Sterne has left us in his Sentimental Journey of the grace-dance after supper. I agree with that amiable writer in thinking that religion may mix herself in the dance. . . . It is a silent but eloquent mode of praising Him. . . .”

  She paused and looked up at him earnestly. “I hope you won’t give up, Mr. Valcourt. Your academy will succeed. I know it.”

  Though he struggled to believe her, he could not deny her visit was a balm to him, body and soul.

  His headache receded two days later, and Alec returned to the academy. As he prepared for his first lesson of the day, he thought back to Miss Midwinter’s visit, her earnest face and encouragement when she’d said, “Your academy will succeed. I know it.” He certainly hoped she was right.

  With that in mind, he once again pondered his father’s letter, and what it would mean for them all if he came to Beaworthy. Would he waltz back into their lives, and take over the academy as though it were his? Would he understand that Alec didn’t have enough pupils to keep himself busy, let alone two dancing masters?

  At that moment Desmond stepped inside the academy.

  Or three masters, Alec thought wryly.

  Desmond removed his hat. “Hello, Valcourt. Busy?”

  “I have a pupil coming soon, but I have a few minutes. How are you?”

  “I came to ask the same of you. Feeling all right?”

  “A little sore. That’s all. A little heartsore too.”

  Desmond nodded. “I imagine you are. Miss Midwinter is quite tormented over it.”

  “Yes, I know she is. But she came to see me, and I assured her all was forgiven.”