by Wilma Counts
They were all silent for a moment.
“The efflemunt,” Elly said.
“The what?” he asked.
“She means the elephant at the Tower,” one of the twins said. Quint did not exactly know which twin was which and he was sure they would try to trick him sooner or later, but he would be ready for that event.
“When Robby pushed Elly into the Serpentine,” the other twin said, thus informing Quint that this speaker was Richard, whom he looked at more closely now. Ah, yes. Exactly as the proud father of twins had once written: Richard had darker flecks in his eye color than Robert had. But Lord, they did, indeed, look alike.
“What?” Lady Margaret all but screeched, aghast. “He did what?” She turned accusingly toward Harriet. “And just where were you when this was going on? The Serpentine! In Hyde Park yet! I knew we’d end up the laughingstock of the ton.”
Harriet sighed. “It was an accident, Lady Margaret. Robby did not mean for her to fall into the pond. She was not hurt. She merely got wet.”
“But she could have been injured. And with proper care, such an incident need never have occurred.”
Maria said, “I enjoyed visiting Hatchard’s bookshop the most.” Quint was sure she intended her comment to divert the discussion from her grandmother’s criticism.
“The exotic animals aside, I thought the Tower quite interesting,” Phillip said, “but I think most intriguing was the reenactment of the Battle of Vitoria we saw at Vauxhall Gardens. I should like to discuss that some time with you, Uncle Quint.”
“Of course, Phillip.”
“Vauxhall Gardens!” The dowager was not even pretending to curb her disapproval as she glared at Harriet. “You took my grandchildren to Vauxhall Gardens?”
“I’m sorry, Aunt Harriet,” Phillip said.
“Phillip and Maria were allowed to go, along with the eldest of Charles and Elizabeth’s children—and their parents. Others in the party included Lord and Lady Hawthorne and Lord Beaconfield. We were well chaperoned and well protected. I would challenge even the highest stickler to find fault.”
“This is not the first instance in which we have seen that you have a very different set of standards than those of the family of the Earl of Sedwick, is it, my dear?” the dowager said sweetly.
Quint could see that even the younger children were disturbed by the tenor this conversation was taking. “I think we can postpone this discussion for another time, Mother. Did you not tell me you and Mrs. Hartley were engaged to go shopping today?”
The dowager made a point of looking at the clock. “Oh, my goodness. Yes. She will think I have forgot her.” She picked up the boxed gift she had laid aside earlier. “Thank you, children, for the lovely gift.”
Quint was sure he imagined it, but it did seem that there was a collective sigh of relief as she left the room.
Chapter 6
Harriet’s preconceptions of Colonel Burnes had been rather mixed. Older servants at the Hall—the housekeeper, cook, butler, and head groom—had all known him as a child or youth and quite liked him. Win had loved him dearly and Anne had admired him greatly. His mother doted on him. Especially after losing her elder son, she had turned her attentions to the second son and discovered a wealth of memories of him that she felt compelled to share—all of which showed him to be a paragon of English manhood. But Harriet knew very well, even before Lady Margaret announced it so blatantly, that her own standards were likely be very different from the dowager’s.
Harriet had also read many of the letters that “Quint”—Lieutenant, then Captain, then Major, and finally Colonel Burnes had written to his brother, for Win had frequently shared those missives with his wife and sister-in-law. Thus Harriet was convinced that she had a somewhat different view of the man than the one his mother presented to the world. However, to say she felt she had a firm understanding of his character would be a gross misstatement. And certainly her own intensely physical reaction to the man the night before had come as a surprise. She watched him carefully now in his initial interaction with his nieces and nephews—her nieces and nephews.
As soon as her grandmother left the room, six-year-old Sarah slipped from the footstool to which she had been relegated and marched over to the couch where Quint and Phillip sat.
“May I sit with you?” she asked politely.
“Why, of course,” Quint said, scooting over slightly and patting the cushion next to him. “Phillip and I would be delighted to have a lady join us.”
Phillip, too, moved slightly as she plopped herself between them. She made a show of sedately smoothing her skirt and looked up at her uncle.
“We saw the Prince Regent in London,” she confided.
“Did you now?”
“On a white horse. He was dressed in a fancy red uniform. With lots of gold.”
“Lots of gold, eh?” Quint encouraged.
“Yes.” Sarah leaned close and lowered her voice. “He is quite fat, you know.”
“He is?”
She nodded very seriously, and Harriet saw that Quint’s eyes were fairly dancing.
“It was a parade,” Richard explained.
“I had gathered as much,” Quint said, apparently willingly diverting his attention to that twin. “I understand Prince George likes military parades.”
Two-year-old Matilda had apparently had enough of being a good little girl, and Maria had apparently reached her limits in coping with both of the youngest ones.
“I want dooowwwn!” Tilly demanded in a loud voice and wriggled to the floor, her dress hiked around her chubby little legs in the process.
“Come here, Tilly.” Harriet leaned forward and extended her arms as the child stood up and toddled toward her, casting her eyes at the man who held everyone’s interest. Then she seemed to decide she could observe the rest of the proceedings very well from the throne of her aunt’s lap.
“She is such a babe,” Elly announced in her most grown-up voice—such wisdom coming, of course, from her two years advantage in age over the clan’s youngest.
“Did you kill any frogs while you was in the war, Uncle Quint?” Robby asked.
Ricky hit him on the shoulder. “Aunt Harriet told us not to ask ’im that—an’ not to call ’em ‘frogs.’”
Quint exchanged a look of understanding and pain with Harriet, but said, “It is all right, Robert, though that is not a good word to be using. Yes, I suppose I did. I fought many French soldiers. However, killing is not something one likes to talk about.”
“Oh.” The boy dipped his head self-consciously.
“I have been trying to think of something we might all do together,” Quint said, clearly diverting the subject from killing. “Something fun. What if we were all to go on a picnic—say, at the old Abbey Ruins, as long as the weather holds?”
This brought bursts of delight all around, with even Tilly clapping her hands and giggling happily, though Harriet doubted she understood what she was approving.
“Auntie Harry too?” Elly insisted, slightly worried.
“Of course,” Quint assured her. “Grandmother too. It might be one of our last chances for a family party before the older ones go off to school.”
“School?” The single word was repeated in different tones, none distinctly positive. Harriet observed dread in Maria’s expression and downright panic in Phillip’s.
“A picnic sounds like a marvelous idea,” Harriet said quickly. “Perhaps we can discuss school and other future matters later. Right now, it is such a beautiful day, and even if a bit chilly, it is a shame to waste it indoors. Why do we not all take a turn in the gardens before it is time for the midday meal?”
“That sounds like a splendid idea.” Quint stood, thus signaling all to rise. “I shall wear my new hat for the first time.”
As they were leaving the morning room in pursuit of sw
eaters or shawls, Quint touched Harriet’s elbow to hold her back for a moment. “What was that about?”
“We need to discuss the subject of school.”
“There is nothing to discuss.”
* * * *
The gardens at Sedwick Hall had been laid out in the previous century by a very capable horticulturalist of the day, and successive earls had been wise enough to employ others who respected the knowledge and expertise of that original expert. The gardens themselves occupied several acres of land that lay next to a vast acreage of forest, eventually giving way to farmland. Besides many well-planned walking paths, they offered a variety of vistas to please the eye, ranging from carefully pruned topiary and strategically placed stone fountains and benches to an area that was allowed to grow naturally—or at least appear to do so—and included a large pond. There was also a maze that provided endless fun, especially for the twins.
Harriet was glad to see that she had not been wrong about the weather. It was a lovely day. English summers were likely to be uncertain, even in late July, but this day was turning out to be perfect. She had gathered up Nurse Tavenner to accompany them, largely to be prepared to return Matilda or Elinor to the nursery if necessary, so Harriet was free to lag behind and merely observe as the colonel furthered his acquaintance with his young relatives. She was not surprised to see that the entourage had somehow grown to include Muffin and Sir Gawain. The “kitten” was now nearly full grown, though Elly insisted on holding it as much as the feline would allow. The twins never tired of sending the collie chasing after a ball or stick and the dog never tired of the game. When the cat wriggled free to join the melee, children and adults alike laughed hysterically.
Harriet could not have said why she was surprised, but she was, to see the ease with which the colonel seemed to get on with the children. He answered questions patiently, even when he had just answered the same question only a moment before. At one point he had even stooped to hoist a giggling Tilly onto his shoulder. They arrived at an area near the “wilderness” section where a gazebo had been built and swings fashioned on the limbs of two huge oak trees.
“Ah. I’d forgot these were here,” Quint said a bit wistfully. “Your father and I used to spend hours out here.”
Sarah dashed ahead. “Come on, Pip. Push me,” she demanded of Phillip, who readily complied.
“No. Me,” Elly said.
“There are two swings, Elinor. You may have your turn,” her uncle told her.
“Will you push me?”
“If you ask nicely.”
“Please?”
“That is the magic word. Of course.” As he turned Matilda over to Nurse Tavenner, he caught Harriet staring at him and grinned a bit impishly.
She had to grin back, for it did seem rather ridiculous for a man to wear a top hat to push a child on a swing. The twins soon lost interest in tossing the ball and stick for the dog to chase and joined the group at the swing. Harriet turned around to see where Maria had gone. She spotted the girl sitting on a bench under the branches of a willow overhanging the bank of the pond.
“Aha!” she said in mock challenge as she approached. “Just as I suspected. You managed to sneak a book along on our outing.”
“And I thought I hid it so well. But you know I rarely go anywhere without a book.”
“I know.” Harriet sat on the end of the bench and said in pretended shock. “People are beginning to talk about a certain Lady Maria Burnes. They say she is nearly as bad that aunt of hers! Poor young lady. She is in danger of becoming a proper bluestocking!”
Maria closed her book, pursed her lips, and shook her head in a gesture of despair. She heaved a sigh. “Well, I do suppose there are worse fates to befall one. Though perhaps not, to hear Grandmother tell the tale.”
“Oh, dear. Has she been haranguing you?”
“She happened to see all those books I bought at Hatchard’s.”
“Did you not show her your new dresses?”
“Yes. That diverted her attention, but only a bit.” Maria grinned, then her expression sobered. “Aunt Harriet—”
“Yes, dear?”
Maria heaved a heavy sigh. “Aunt Harriet, neither Phillip nor I want to go away to school this autumn. We just do not want to leave—not yet. Phillip, especially. Even before we went to London, Grandmother talked about our going and we did not like the idea. Just the thought of not being at home—of not seeing the others—” Her voice trailed off on something like a sob. “Y-you know Papa and Mama were going to examine a school for me when—”
“Maria, you must be properly educated,” Harriet said gently, pulling the girl close.
“I know. We both know. It’s just that losing Papa and Mama, now the idea of losing everything else—don’t you see?”
“Yes, I do understand. Truly I do.”
“Going away to school is not the only way to be educated, is it?” Maria asked. “I mean, we are not exactly uneducated for our ages, are we? I felt quite comfortable with Rebecca and Jeremy.”
“No, you are not,” Harriet said emphatically. “You are both quite advanced for your ages. I am very proud of you. Your parents would be too.”
“Thank you.” Maria was quiet for a moment, her head on Harriet’s shoulder, then she sat up straight and said, “I’m a year older than Phillip, I think I could bear up if Uncle Quint makes us go away, but, Aunt Harriet, you know how Phillip is, how he worries about every little thing—especially now that he is Sedwick and everyone keeps telling him how responsible he has to be for all of us and everything now he is the earl. He—he’s just not ready!”
“I think your uncle has his mind made up about the issue of school, but the term does not begin for a few weeks yet. I will talk with him, but do not get your hopes up.” She repeated: “Do. Not. Get. Your. Hopes. Up.”
A short while later, observing that both Matilda and Elinor had probably had enough of this outing, Harriet suggested that she and Nurse Tavenner would take the females of the party back to the Hall and leave the gentlemen to their pursuits, whereupon Colonel Burnes agreed that, indeed, it had been a splendid outing and as soon as he could get the twins down from the tree they had climbed, the males of the party would follow suit.
* * * *
Although breakfast this morning—the first after their return from London—had been an exception, Phillip and Maria often took their meals with the adults of the household, unless guests were being entertained in the Hall. Harriet remembered with fondness how Win and Anne had made a big ceremony of inviting their two eldest to join them that first time, on the occasion of Phillip’s tenth birthday.
“Primitive tribes have their rites of passage. This will suffice for the family Burnes,” Win had said with a laugh.
As Anne explained it to Harriet, “Phillip and Maria must be able to comport themselves acceptably—and comfortably—at table. You do remember how Nana introduced us to that strangely formal world of adults?”
Phillip had declared at the time that henceforth he would refer to his parents as “Father” and “Mother,” but Harriet had often heard him slip into the comfort of the more familiar “Papa” and “Mama.”
Harriet had readily fallen in with the change in dining custom, though the dowager had had reservations. At least Lady Margaret has not seen fit to consign Phillip and Maria back to the nursery table—yet, she thought as she prepared to go down for the midday meal. When she arrived in the dining room, she was glad to see that apparently the colonel had no objections to dining with the eldest of his charges. The dowager and her companion being still out, four places had been set at one end of the long table. The colonel and both youngsters had already arrived when Harriet entered the dining room, and the uncle now directed the seating.
“We shall begin as we mean to continue,” he said rather formally. “Phillip, as you are Sedwick now, you shall sit at the
head of the table. Miss Mayfield, will you sit at his right in the place of an honored guest? Maria will sit on his left, and I shall sit next to her. Since there are only the four of us, we shall dispense with that nonsense about not talking across or down the table, but I assume we all do know the usual rules.”
“Phillip and Maria surely do. I may need a gentle reminder now and then,” she said with a smile.
She was pleased when, with no prodding and without glancing to see his uncle perform the same service for Maria, Phillip held her chair and waited for her and Maria to be seated before sitting himself. Harriet gave him a secret quick wink and a smile. She thought both children somewhat subdued during the meal, the main course of which was a white fish sautéed in butter and served with a lemon sauce, plus side dishes of new potatoes and fresh peas. Though restrained, the children were more than willing and able to uphold their share of proper table conversation ranging from the weather—of course—to more of their adventures in London, and a series of highway robberies plaguing the area recently, which the Sedwick travelers had happily not encountered.
“The weather undoubtedly discouraged them,” Harriet said.
“We were well guarded,” Maria said.
“Still, ’tis lucky you avoided them,” Quint noted. “These are said to be ex-soldiers, so might be more dangerous than ordinary highwaymen.”
Phillip’s eyes lit up when a footman set his dessert dish in front of him. “Trifle! Hodgie remembered it’s my favorite!”
“Mine, too,” his uncle said. “Whose favor do you think she is trying to curry? Yours? Or mine?”
“Maybe she just likes to please?” Harriet suggested on seeing Phillip’s expression become more speculative than sparkling.
“Perhaps,” the colonel said with a nod of acquiescence. He turned to Phillip, but included Maria in his next comment, “There is a new foal in the stable. You might like to look in on it when you have finished here.”
