by Wilma Counts
“How sad to lose your mother as you were coming into that most difficult period of growing up.”
“Losing a parent is difficult at any age,” Sydney said, thinking of her father.
They sat in thoughtful silence for several minutes, enjoying the pleasant day and sipping their drinks, but Sydney did not find the silence discomfiting. She spied Aunt Harriet and her sea captain some distance away and smiled.
Lady Leonora followed her gaze and smiled, too. “Do you think Mrs. Carstairs and the captain will make a match of it?”
“If he has his way, they will. However, I doubt Aunt Harriet will contemplate any major change in her life until Celia is settled.”
“That does not appear to be too far off,” Lady Leonora said. “Trevor seems quite smitten.”
“His family may object, though. A duke’s son and a sea captain’s daughter?”
“Family objections are not always insurmountable problems,” the older woman said dryly.
Remembering what she knew of Lady Leonora’s marriage, Sydney smiled and shrugged. After all, her own marriage to Henry had not been a union of social equals.
Again they sat in companionable silence for a few moments.
It was interrupted by the appearance of Adam Richardson, Viscount Kirkly, with his mother, the Marchioness of Rodham, on one arm and Lady Ryesdale on the other. “May we join you?” he asked.
Sydney thought half of London’s social elite had their attention focused on this section of the marquess’s elaborate garden. Seeing the hand of Zachary Quintin in this meeting, Sydney gave Captain Richardson a knowing look and mouthed a “thank you” to him. He grinned.
When the newcomers were seated, Lady Leonora addressed the marchioness. “You have surely outdone yourself this year, Margaret. Whatever will you do for an encore?”
The marchioness preened. “I feel sure we will come up with something. My granddaughter is making her debut in two years.”
“Already? But I remember her as a baby,” Lady Leonora said.
“They grow up so fast,” the marchioness said.
“That they do. But it is such a delight to watch them grab at whatever life has to offer them. I swear Zachary’s Lucas will be walking within the week,” Lady Leonora said. “He just learned to say Papa—at least we think that is what he is saying.”
“And, Lady Paxton, you now have two little ones in your nursery.” The marchioness thus introduced the topic that was on the minds of so many of her guests. Sydney noticed that several of these had moved casually to be within hearing distance.
Richardson stood. “If you ladies are going to talk babies, I think I will find someone to discuss horse racing or sailing.”
The women laughed at him and waved him on, then Sydney responded, speaking primarily to Louisa, but clearly enough for the onlookers.
“Yes. Our boys seem to be adjusting to each other quite nicely. My Jonathan is learning to share and his brother William is happier now. He cried a good deal that first night, but less each day since. You must visit again soon, Louisa.”
“Thank you, La—uh—Sydney. I shall.”
Sydney winked at her and Louisa smiled back. There, Sydney thought, the first hurdle taken. She knew her own frankness and the easy accord between her and Louisa would be the talk of every London drawing room the next day.
That night Sydney lay in bed reviewing the day and replaying certain images. Most of these, to one degree or another, involved Zachary. She knew very well he had prevented a recurrence of that encounter with Percival Laughton by ensuring that wherever she was, there would be at least one of the Rangers nearby. It had all been very discreet and very thorough. He had himself been at her side much of the day and she rejoiced in the easy rapport between them—and in the twinges of desire she felt whenever he looked directly into her eyes or their hands happened to touch.
She rolled over and stared blankly about her. Light from a nearly full moon slipped through gaps in the drapes to turn pieces of furniture into ghostly shapes.
As sleep continued to elude her, she recalled Lady Leonora’s question about her name. Was it possible Zachary really had not known whom Henry was marrying? That seemed unlikely, yet it would explain a good deal—like that insulting toast at the wedding breakfast. Zachary must have thought she knew he would be at the wedding, and he must have known then of Louisa, but to what extent? Certainly now Zachary and Louisa exhibited none of the characteristics of a long-standing friendship. In fact, just today, Louisa had said to Sydney and Lady Leonora, “Major Quintin’s visit came as such a surprise. Imagine having a stranger effect so much change in one’s life.”
She pounded her pillow into yet another position. Had her distrust and resentment been misplaced? If so, it may have served one positive purpose: it had prevented a silly schoolgirl’s dwelling on what might have been as she tried to build a life around her marriage. A marriage built on a lie. Still, it had not been so very different from dozens of others.
She wondered what Zachary’s marriage had been like. What kind of woman had his wife been? Lieutenant Harrelson had said she was a Spanish gentlewoman—and a partisan fighter. The two images did not fit somehow. What was it that had made him love her? Or had he loved her? She knew from her own experience that factors other than love often brought—and kept—people together.
In another London townhouse Zachary too was finding sleep elusive, though his had been a very long day. It started shortly after breakfast with a meeting with the Bow Street Runners who were keeping Percival Laughton under surveillance. He had met them in their office, a small drab windowless room that contained two scarred desks and an assortment of chairs as well as a small table with a teapot and several dirty cups. A large detailed map of London hung on the wall.
“You have something to report to me?” Zachary asked, taking a chair.
“We do.” John Ruskin, the older of the two, leaned back in the chair behind his desk, his hands hooked into the pockets of his vest. “As you know, your fellow Laughton has rooms in a lodging house. He’s real close to the woman who runs it. Real close, if you get my meaning.”
Zachary waved his hand impatiently. “I have no interest in whom the man takes to his bed.”
“His lady friend has a brother named Daniel Olson. It appears that Laughton is engaged in some sort of business with this Olson fellow. Olson has a sometime partner known only as Scrubb.”
“Have you any idea of the nature of Laughton’s affiliation with them?”
“Not yet,” Ruskin admitted, “but the association bears watching.”
Ruskin’s younger partner, a man named Lowell, swung his long legs and feet off his desk and stood. “These are some rough types.” He circled an area on the map with his hand. “Operate here mostly—in Seven Dials.” Lowell had just named one of London’s most notorious districts. Respectable men avoided the area even in daylight. “Usually press gangs, prostitutes, and so on, but they’ve been known to expand their activities to burglary in the more elegant parts of town.”
“And murder,” Ruskin said from his desk. “You want someone to disappear, they will see to it—for a price. Kidnapping would be within their services.”
Zachary nodded. “You are quite right: the association bears watching.”
Later, when he saw Laughton accost Sydney, Zachary wanted to wipe away the man’s smirk with a resounding facer, but, mindful of the time and place, he restrained himself. He did, however, enlist the aid of his Rangers in making sure it did not happen again. He also shared with them the information he had had from the Runners.
“I think we should just take him out of the picture,” Gordon said. “Treat him like the scum he is. Threatening a baby, yet.”
“This is London, Gordie. Have to wait ’til he does something,” McIntyre said.
Gordon was not persuaded. “Bah! An ounce of prevention seems in order.”
“For now, we just watch,” Zachary warned.
“I hear his creditors are
becoming impatient,” McIntyre said. “They won’t want him running off to the continent again.”
The day after the Rodham garden party, Paxton House was besieged with morning callers. Sydney had anticipated this onslaught, so dressed carefully in a day dress of mauve muslin trimmed with a wide black sash at the fashionable high waist. A large bow in the back had streamers hanging nearly to the hem. A black and white cameo hung from a silver chain around her neck.
She mentally dismissed many of the callers as eager gossips whose primary interest was in harvesting some seed of sensation they could then plant in the next drawing room. Sydney, Aunt Harriet, and Celia adroitly turned the conversations whenever someone asked a question or dropped an innuendo about how and why William had become attached to the Paxton household. He just had, and that was that.
One particularly aggressive dowager voiced a desire “to see those dear little children. Might she just peek into the nursery?”
Sydney skewered her with a look of utter wonder. “I am sorry, ma’am, but we do not display children like denizens of a freak show.”
The affronted woman, obviously used to getting her own way, huffed and departed.
“That was neatly done,” said Zachary, who had arrived a few minutes earlier with his mother and Lieutenant Harrelson.
“I’ve probably made an enemy for life,” she replied.
“Well, if it is true that one is judged by the friends he chooses, it must also be true of the enemies one makes. I think your reputation will survive.”
“Hmm. I think there may be a compliment in there somewhere, so I thank you.”
He grinned and gave her a mocking bow, then turned to join Nathan and Allyson Thornton as Sydney was called upon to greet arriving guests. Finally, the crowd of visitors thinned appreciably, leaving special friends who had been invited to stay longer: the Quintin party, the Thorntons, and Louisa, a late arrival who had slipped away to the nursery almost immediately.
Celia and Trevor had had their heads together for several minutes. Now Trevor said, “I assume everyone knows Vauxhall Gardens is presenting an extravaganza of the Battle of Vitoria.” Vauxhall Gardens was a popular amusement park offering balloon ascents, tightrope walkers, and concerts as well as other entertainments. The gardens themselves were quite spectacular with long walks and byways that were especially attractive to lovers. High sticklers frequently disapproved.
“Yes. So?” Zachary asked.
“So let us get up a party to attend—say on Saturday,” Trevor said.
Celia said, “Oh, Sydney, do say you will approve. You know you have wanted something special as a diversion for the girls and Geoffrey and his friend. It would be such fun.”
Geoffrey had returned to town, bringing his friend with him, precisely for the royal visit and such celebrations.
“What do you think, Aunt Harriet? Lady Leonora?”
“Certainly—if we have sufficient escort. I am sure Captain Thompson would happily join us,” Aunt Harriet said. “Geoffrey and his friend are old enough to serve in that role as well.”
Lady Leonora looked at her son, who nodded. “I haven’t been to Vauxhall in years,” she said. “In my day, young people enjoyed excursions there immensely.”
“It’s settled, then,” Sydney said. “Allyson, Nathan—you will join us, won’t you?”
When her husband also nodded his assent, Allyson said, “Of course. As Celia says, it will be great fun.”
CHAPTER 23
The Paxton-Quintin party for the excursion to Vauxhall was an eclectic group of varying ages. Aunt Harriet, Captain Thompson, and the elder Quintins represented one end of the age spectrum. Next came Sydney, her cousin, and their friends, including Lieutenant McIntyre. Sydney’s young family members, along with the street urchin Walter made up the youngest part of the group. After gaining the approval of Miss Fairfax and her sister, Sydney had invited Walter to join them as a reward for his helpfulness to the sisters and for his diligence at learning his letters.
“Wally will be so pleased,” Penelope Fairfax had said. “He works very hard, you know.”
“I am glad to hear it,” Sydney replied. “It is always nice when we win now and then.”
Penelope nodded. “I feel certain we have won over our Wally, but that wretched woman, Alice Barnet, still tries to lure him back to her lair—or steal him!”
“So far, he has been clever—and fast—in eluding her,” Priscilla said.
Ringside seating at three tables had been arranged at Vauxhall Gardens. Once again, Sydney happily found herself seated beside Zachary, conscious of his every small movement, the warmth of his body, an occasional hint of that spicy combination of scents that was just Zachary.
The program consisted of a preliminary concert during which everyone enjoyed a supper of such foods and drinks as the Gardens provided: cold chicken and thinly sliced ham, lemonade, ratafia, and wine. Then came the extravaganza featuring a reenactment of the Battle of Vitoria, the turning point of the war in the Peninsula. Using a megaphone, an announcer with a sonorous voice explained each scene. The orchestra musicians with loud horns and drums added to the explosive sounds of cannon and other weapons, shouting men, and neighing horses in the arena. The audience jeered figures wearing large caricature masks of Joseph Bonaparte and his entourage and cheered those depicting Wellington and his army. The smell of smoke hanging over the arena added to the battle atmosphere. There were exaggerated “deaths” and a generous amount of red paint to simulate blood. Sydney decided that the general public was getting its money’s worth in sensationalism and gore.
Seeing the pleasure the youngest members of the party took in the spectacle, Zachary, Harrelson, and McIntyre—who had all lived through the Battle of Vitoria—made few comments on the show’s authenticity during the performance, though Sydney did observe them exchanging skeptical looks now and then or rolling their eyes. A musical interlude followed the battle show. The three young girls, Marybeth, Amy, and Anne, begged to be allowed to walk along some of the paths.
“Only if Geoffrey and Mr. Atkins will escort you,” Sydney said, casting her brother a questioning glance. At almost fifteen, Geoffrey was already as tall as many men and his friend, Reginald Atkins, was of a similar size and build.
“Please, Geoffrey,” Marybeth said.
“Sure. Why not?” Geoffrey said with a show of nonchalance, though Sydney suspected the two boys were as eager to move about as were the girls.
Seeing disappointment on Walter’s face, Sydney added, “And you must allow Walter to accompany you.”
“All right,” the girls chorused.
Walter’s eyes lit with delight and he scrambled from his seat.
“Mind that you stay on the main paths that are well lit,” Sydney cautioned.
“We will.”
When the young folks had left, Horatio Quinton said, “So, tell me, you who lived through it, did this performance come even close to the reality of Vitoria?”
McIntyre responded. “The basic premise of the show conveys an overview and the underlying truth is accurate enough.”
“Hindsight provides perspective,” Zachary said. “We certainly did not know then that Vitoria was the turning point.”
Lord Nathan Thornton had also served in the Peninsula, but had been called home a year before the Battle of Vitoria to serve a purpose similar to that of the Rangers, but in England. He now chimed in with, “I doubt anyone in a given battle or other mission ever sees much beyond his own tiny piece of the giant jigsaw puzzle of a cataclysmic event.”
“True,” Captain Thompson said. “Have to let writers and historians sort it out later.”
“And they usually get it only half right,” McIntyre said.
“Perhaps half a loaf is better than none,” Lady Leonora said.
Anything she or anyone else might have added to this sage comment was cut off by the sudden appearance of the twins, Anne and Amy. The girls were running, holding their skirts hiked indecorously above
their ankles, and screaming, “Sydney! Come quickly! Help!”
Sydney jumped up, as did Zachary and the other men at the table. “What is it? What happened?” she asked.
The girls were out of breath.
“A woman,” Anne said.
“And a man,” Amy added.
“They grabbed—”
“Wally and Marybeth.”
The twins were used to finishing each other’s sentences.
“They were behind the rest of us,” Anne went on.
“Room for only two on the path,” Amy explained.
“Marybeth screamed.”
“So did Wally.”
“Geoffrey and Reggie chased—”
“Told us to get you—”
Instantly, Zachary took charge. “Come. Show us where. Harrelson, McIntyre, Thornton—see to the entrances. They must have a carriage.”
“Here, son. You may need this.” Horatio Quintin handed Zachary a small pistol from an inside pocket of his jacket.
Zachary looked surprised, but took it and said to the twins, “Let’s go.”
“I’m coming, too,” Sydney said.
“I’ll notify the Vauxhall people,” Captain Thompson said. “They must have guards all around this place.”
It was only a matter of a very few minutes, but it seemed much longer. Sydney felt she was seeing the scene from afar even as she lived each fearful second. She and Anne quickly followed Zachary and Amy.
Terror gripped her. Marybeth. Sweet Marybeth. She could not imagine life without her baby sister. And Walter was turning into such a nice lad. She heard Zachary’s questions as they hurried to the spot.
“A man and a woman. Did you see anyone else?”
“No, just those two,” Amy said.
“Did they say anything?”
Amy glanced back at Anne who said, “The man didn’t say much. Yelled when Marybeth bit his hand.”
Amy added, “The woman grabbled Wally’s arm and twisted it. She said something like ‘you won’t get away from me again, you miserable brat.’ He kept pulling to get away, but she held tight.”
