by Wilma Counts
Harriet stared out the coach window fuming inwardly. So: It was an abomination to have the dowager’s granddaughters exposed to hard-working people like the Reeds, but the grandsons being exposed to an obscenity like wife-selling was a matter not even worthy of one’s notice?
Chapter 12
In the next two days Quint had hoped to get a moment alone with Harriet. He knew how shocked she had been at the eight-year-old twins having witnessed that wife-selling incident and he wanted her to know that, indeed, he himself would never have willingly subjected innocent children to such a scene, but the whole business had been over and done with by time he was scarcely aware of what was happening. Quint had allowed the younger boys to accompany the Sedwick farmer, Benson, and his young sons into the auction barn as Quint, Chet, and Phillip inspected a couple of mares another neighbor was considering selling; they would then meet Benson and the boys in the barn. Quint had had no qualms about entrusting the twins to Benson’s care—Benson, and his father before him, had run the home farm of Sedwick for as long as Quint could remember. But by the time they had finished inspecting the mares and made their way to the auction arena, the scene there was nothing short of chaotic. Quint had breathed a sigh of relief and extended a hand in gratitude to Benson when he was able to retrieve his nephews.
Since Saturday’s market, Quint had found little opportunity to explain to Harriet and he feared she still thought the worst of the whole affair. She had joined the men and Phillip for the usual morning rides, but so had Maria, and soon enough Harriet and her niece, along with a groom, were off on jaunts of their own. On Sunday afternoon Phillip had sought a private word with his uncle. Quint cringed inwardly, for he thought he knew what was coming.
“I want to discuss my going to school,” Phillip blurted even as he came through the library door.
Quint turned from where he had been standing staring out the window, wondering if those clouds heralded rain. He sighed and reached deeply for at least a shred of patience. “There is simply nothing to discuss. I will not shirk my responsibility in this matter, nor will I allow you to shirk yours.” He gestured for the boy to take a tan leather-covered wing chair on one side of the fireplace, and he took the matching chair on the other side.
“Uncle Quint—sir.” Phillip was apparently striving for a “man-to-man” tone. He sat forward on the edge of the chair, his hands clasped between his knees. “Please understand that I have no wish to shirk my responsibilities. Indeed, I feel I need to know them far more thoroughly than I do in order to prepare myself adequately.”
“You will get that preparation at Eton, just as your father did. And your grandfather before him. And then university. You will be prepared. Believe me. You will be.”
“Yes. I understand that. I do not reject the idea of school.”
“Well, then—”
“Just not yet.” Phillip held his uncle’s gaze for a moment, but did not hold the eye contact. Apparently seeing no encouragement there, he looked at the floor and went on. “It-it seems to me that I could have a tutor for this next year and then go away the following year. Meanwhile, I could go about estate matters with you as I have done these last few days. I have learned a great deal doing that!”
Quint grunted noncommittally.
“Cousin Jeremy had a tutor all last year. Aunt Harriet said he—that tutor—might still be available.”
“Oh, she did, did she?”
“And a tutor could work with the twins too.”
“Was that also your Aunt Harriet’s idea?”
Phillip looked up. “I—I am not sure, sir. She may have mentioned that. Or perhaps Maria did.”
Quint decided to change direction slightly. “Phillip, how old are you?”
“Sir?”
“How old are you?”
“Th-thirteen. My birthday was in July.”
“Thirteen. You should have been in school already—for at least a year. Actually, two, or even three.” He paused and softened his tone. “You do make some good points, Phillip, but I am sorry—we simply cannot put this off any longer.”
“I-I am not ready, Uncle Quint. Truly, I-I am not ready.” Phillip stood, a stricken look on his face.
Quint leaned back in his chair to look up at him. “Not ready? To be a schoolboy? Seems to me you are beyond ready, my lad.”
“I am not ready to be Sedwick.” This came as an outburst and Quint thought there might have been something like a sob at the end of it, but Phillip hurried from the room before Quint could reply.
As the door closed behind the boy, Quint who had risen too, sat back down and ran a hand through his hair. Good God. What now? I swear, Win, you dealt me a hand I cannot play. God knew what He was doing when He made you the father, not me. But you had to go and second guess God Himself. I suppose this is giving the two of you quite a laugh.…
He shook his head and returned to his desk and those infernal books he had dragged back from the mill visit, trying to correlate those with the books kept by his father and brother.
Sometime later, Chet came in. Seeing Quint immersed in the two sets of books, he quipped, “Ah, I see you at your favorite pastime, oh, noble lord of the manor.”
“Keep that up, Chet, and I shall be inclined to invite you to join me in grass for breakfast.”
Chet shook an admonishing finger at him. “Ah. Ah. Ah. You know dueling has been illegal in England for lo! these many years.” Chet came around to look over Quint’s shoulder. “Problems?”
“Not Really. That is, not in the books themselves. Both sets of books show the same sad state of affairs. There is a tremendous load of debt here—two, maybe three generations of it. And it has changed hands more than once! Sedwick is, as you and I thought earlier, in troubled water. But it is hard to determine the level of the flood when it is not clear—at this point—how much or to whom all the debt is owed. Make that debts. Plural.”
“No help from Stevens’s books?”
“None that I can see. Boskins, the Sedwick solicitor in London, has not responded to my letter.” Quint ran a hand through his hair again and heaved a sigh. “I suppose I shall have to make a trip to London. How do you feel about going to London, Chet?”
Chet threw up his hands in mock defense. “Not me, my lord. Please. Not me.”
“Maybe we could just run away to sea together. Get away from all this. Is that not what happens in story books?”
“Alas, alack.” Chet’s sympathy was not entirely lacking in sincerity.
Quint grimaced. “Exactly.” He motioned Chet to draw up a chair beside the desk and shoved a set of the books at him. “Now. Let us see where and how we might squeeze a few more shekels out of these farms and mills.”
* * * *
“He would not listen to me—not really. Just said I should already be in school,” Phillip moaned to Harriet and Maria in the evening of the following day when the children initiated yet another of their bedtime conferences in Harriet’s sitting room.
“Well, that is that,” Maria said. “There is nothing more to do, is there, Aunt Harriet?”
“Not that I can think of. But truly, Phillip—Maria—try not to be so glum about this turn of events. I thoroughly enjoyed my years at school. I met my best friends there. And, Phillip, your father always spoke well of his school days. I think you will get on well there.”
“No doubt I will,” Phillip agreed. “It is just that things seem so uncertain here at the moment. Frankly, I do not think Uncle Quint is as confident about the state of matters at Sedwick as he would have us believe he is. Aunt Harriet, did you listen to the questions he was asking the overseers and Mr. Stevens?”
“Yes, I did, and you may be right, but those are matters your uncle must work out. He is in charge, you know.”
“I do know. I just wish he would include me more fully. There is so much I must learn.”
; “And you will surely do so—all in good time, Phillip.” She stood to hurry them on their way. “For now, it seems we must take things as they come. At the moment, that means off to bed with both of you.”
“No. Wait.” Maria put a hand on her brother’s arm. “Did Uncle Quint say anything about me—about my going to school?”
Phillip shook his head. “Not a word. But neither did I ask.”
“Men!” Maria muttered and Harriet had to agree with that sentiment.
“Sorry, Maria,” Phillip apologized.
“We shall know soon enough,” Harriet assured her as she walked them to the door and kissed each of them good night.
She returned to her desk and the article she had been writing. Having put aside the plight of England’s poor—that of mill workers in particular for the moment—the Lady Senator was taking up the issue of wife-selling, pointing out the injustice of such a practice to half the population of a nation that had outlawed buying and selling black slaves several years before. She went on to attack the sordid circumstances of such events, insisting that they were demeaning for all parties concerned. Harriet had spent much of her time since that Saturday sale talking with others about the subject; she spoke at length with her friends the vicar and his wife, and she had called on the local magistrate, a man in his sixties who had come across a few such cases in his tenure as a jurist. He pointed out that the law frowned on it, but was rather ineffectual and, after all, it was rather rare. Still, she wrote, it happened, and it was wrong!
The children had not mentioned the incident again, though she supposed the subject might come up with the Prince Regent’s recurring attempts to shed himself of his troublesome wife. Harriet diplomatically avoided touching on that at all in her article. Nor did she broach the topic with either the children’s uncle or their grandmother. In fact, she had not talked much with either of them in the last two days. They had all been polite enough, exchanging idle chitchat at breakfast, but nothing of substance. She knew Quint had spent much of this time sequestered in the library with Chet and she had a strong suspicion as to the subject of their discussions, but did not feel she should barge in with her probably unwelcome views.
As for the dowager, that exchange at the market still weighed heavily with Harriet. Lady Margaret’s snobbery had been tempered in the past by the fact that she did not actually live in the Hall, and by the innate grace and generosity of spirit of a daughter-in-law she had been unable to bend to her will—also by her son’s support of his wife. Harriet had hoped the younger son would show the same temperament his brother had, but she was still unsure of him.
However, she was sure of one thing: the Dowager Countess of Sedwick would like nothing better than to see the last of one Harriet Mayfield at Sedwick Hall. And were it not for Anne’s seven adorable children, Harriet would like nothing better than to oblige her.
The next morning at breakfast, to the delight of Phillip and Maria, Quint announced that, weather permitting, tomorrow would be a great day for their picnic unless their grandmother or their Aunt Harriet saw reason to object. Neither lady did, and the youngsters were eager to share the news with the nursery set.
Quint rose and said, “When you have finished your breakfast, Miss Mayfield, might I have a word with you in the library?”
“Of course, Colonel.” Now what? she wondered, but deliberately took her time with her second cup of tea.
“You wished to see me?” She closed the library door softly behind her as Quint came from behind the desk to stand directly in front of her.
“Let us sit, if you will.” He directed her to a long couch. She took one end of it; he, the other. “I have a couple of questions regarding this business of school for Phillip, and for Maria.”
“I should have thought you had quite all your answers on such matters by now.”
“I would have thought so too,” he said, giving her a direct look. “Allow me to cut to the heart of the matter. Are you deliberately trying to undermine my authority with my wards?”
“Am I what?” she demanded indignantly.
“You heard me. Twice Phillip has come to me suggesting he should have a tutor instead of going to Eton. I gather the idea came from you.”
“No. It did not. That is, not precisely.”
“Not precisely. What does that mean?”
“My Uncle Charles—Charles Montieth, that is—had a tutor for his son Jeremy until this summer. Jeremy is Phillip’s cousin, you know, and the two boys spent time together when we were in London. They got on quite well.”
“And the thought that a tutor would conveniently be on hand to work with the twins as well—where did that come from?”
“Now that may have come from me. I am not sure. It is not unreasonable.”
“I agree,” he said, surprising her. “A tutor for the younger boys is not unreasonable at all. Nor is a governess for the girls. I have discussed this at length with my mother, who tells me we have imposed on you far too long.”
“Imposed on me? Imposed—?” She tried to digest where this was coming from, but decided she would consider it later and face the other issue first. “To set the record straight,” she said in an emphatic tone, “No, Colonel Burnes, sir, I most assuredly have not, in any way whatsoever, sought to undermine your authority with any of the nieces and nephews we share. If anything, I hope I have tried to reinforce your position in their lives. They need you as a stabilizing force, now more than anything. All of them. But especially Phillip, I think. He was very close to his father and still feels the loss profoundly.”
Quint sat very still for a moment, but his tone was sincere when he said, “Thank you for that.” He paused, then added, “My other question concerns Maria. Apparently Win and Anne intended sending her to a certain Miss Pringle’s school. I think you have some familiarity with it?”
Harriet smiled. “Some. I spent several of the happiest years of my life there.”
“Then you would recommend it?”
“Emphatically. It has maintained its reputation for the very highest standards.”
“From the few notes they left, Win and Anne seem to have had their minds made up regarding Miss Pringle’s school,” Quint said.
Harriet nodded. “I tried to remain neutral, but I think they were leaning that way.” She paused, and then plunged ahead. “However, I do think Maria’s going away to school this year would have been dependent on Phillip’s doing so, and, frankly, I am not at all certain Win had made up his mind on that issue yet when the accident occurred.”
“Their grandmother feels both children should be in school.”
“Oh, I am sure she does.”
“What does that mean?” He gave her a quizzical look.
“Nothing. Nothing at all.” Harriet bit her tongue, but she shrugged and stumbled on as he continued to hold her gaze. “Merely that members of Lady Margaret’s generation do not always welcome the presence of children at various activities.”
“That is rather a harsh view.”
“I do not mean to suggest that Lady Margaret does not love her grandchildren. I am quite sure she wants the best for them.” And only she knows what is best, Harriet added to herself.
“I am sure you are right,” Quint said.
“Was there anything else, Colonel Burnes?”
“No.” He stood and extended a hand, which she took to rise and stand next to him. There was a long moment in which his dark hazel eyes held her gaze in what seemed a mesmerized eternity. She felt the heat of his body and smelled the spiciness of his cologne. For an instant, she thought he might be about to kiss her. For an instant, she wanted him to. Then he stepped back and she hurried out.
She stood outside the closed door for a full minute or more, her hands clenched at her side. You weak, stupid, fickle female! she railed at herself. You would have allowed that man to kiss you. Worse: you would have kis
sed him back!
She continued up the stairs, doing her best to ignore that full-length portrait of him on the landing, but continuing to chastise herself. The colonel had all but outright accused her of colluding with a child against what might be in the child’s best interest! And she had considered kissing him? And, God help her, she still wondered what that would have been like!
* * * *
The weather the next day, Quint was thankful to see, was most cooperative. It was one of those glorious days of September that remind one that summer still has a hand on the reins of power. Late in the morning, two open carriages set out to convey much of the Sedwick household—and a sufficient contingent of servants—up the river from the Hall to the ruins of an ancient abbey.
“The abbey was established by one of the followers of William the Conqueror,” Quint explained to Chet, “but thoroughly destroyed during Henry VIII’s rampages against the Church. Then—as so often happened all over England—church buildings became quarries for new structures.”
Quint and Chet had chosen to ride and did so at a slow walk beside the carriage transporting the dowager and her companion, along with Maria and the twins. Phillip sat beside the coachman, who had mostly turned the reins over to the young earl for the short journey. Sarah sat like a princess in front of Quint.
“Faster, Uncle Quint. I want to go faster.” Sarah began kicking her feet, but the horse chose to respond to the man in the saddle.
Quint put a hand on her foot. “This is fast enough. Now behave.”
“She can ride in the carriage with us,” her grandmother said.
“No-o-o.” Sarah snuggled against Quint, but quickly turned her attention to Tippy, one of the two stable dogs trotting along with the entourage.
Quint glanced back at the other carriage, which held Harriet Mayfield and the two youngest children, as well as one of the children’s nurses and two other servants as well as numerous baskets and bundles, plus the cat Muffin and the dog Sir Gawain. He knew she had chosen to ride in the second carriage, and for a brief moment, he had wondered why. Maria could have easily ridden with her little sisters for such a short distance. It was only seven miles!
