Love & Folly

by Sheila Simonson

  "Shrewd tactics." Richard sounded amused. Tom had not doubted his cooperation, but Emily was another story. Tom regarded her with some anxiety.

  "I have never had the opportunity to abet an outlaw's escape." Her eyes glinted. "Of course Matilda Mayne-Wilkins assisted Charles II, but I daresay our adventure will be tamer."

  "A pity." Tom suppressed a relieved smile.

  "We shall be accessories," Johnny said thoughtfully.

  "Does that give you pause?" Tom put the dean of Lincoln cathedral guiltily from his mind.

  "No, for the warrant must not be served." Johnny and Maggie exchanged meaningful looks.

  Ah well, Tom thought, plenty of time to deal with that.

  * * * *

  As they rode slowly back from their visit to Hazeldell, Emily decided that a life of crime suited her. Though she felt some sympathy for Lady Jean, Emily had seldom enjoyed an afternoon more. A life in the shadow of Brecon, however, still gave her some pause. Did Richard really mean to purchase the Hazeldell estate? She was not sure.

  "What think you of the house?" he asked, reading her thoughts with husbandly ease. They had fallen behind the company. Johnny Dyott and Maggie flanked a stiff-backed Jean. Tom and Elizabeth had taken a long lead.

  "I like it very well. Who would not?"

  "But?"

  "The land is not in good heart. Charles Wharton does not understand agricultural improvement."

  Richard grasped the reins more firmly in his left hand. He was a good horseman, but his disability made it wiser for him to ride a biddable horse. The bay gelding was rather frisky. "I thought that might suit you."

  Emily blinked. "Good arable land fallen to seed, tumbledown outbuildings, decayed cottages--"

  "I thought you liked a challenge."

  Emily patted the neck of her mare and brooded.

  "But you're homesick," he added in tones of resignation. "You prefer Hampshire."

  "I'm used to Hampshire. You're right, though. I do like a challenge. It gave me great satisfaction to make Wellfield pay. Edward didn't try. He was a lawyer through and through." Her first husband had continued his practice of the law even after he inherited Wellfield. It was she who had made the land productive, after his death. The effort had taken nearly ten years. Ten good years. If Richard would allow her to manage the land...

  "You're your father's daughter."

  Emily swallowed.

  Richard cocked his head. "Don't look so downcast. It's a very good thing to be, my love."

  Emily forced a smile. "But you don't go on comfortably with Papa..."

  "I didn't say you were Sir Henry, merely that you had inherited his talents."

  That judgement was more to her liking. "Shall you buy Hazeldell?"

  "Not unless I'm sure of your feelings."

  "I wish I could be sure of them myself. But should you not be consulting your own feelings?"

  He reined in. She did too and sat looking at him inquiringly.

  "I thought I was."

  "But you're not agricultural!"

  Richard smiled. "No, but I am Emily Mayne's husband and I like to keep her happy."

  Emily melted. "Richard, you must not put my odd quirks before your own wishes."

  "Before my odd quirks? It doesn't matter where I live. I like Hazeldell because I enjoy Tom's company, but I'll see him London, after all. You've been driving me mad, Emily, with your little deferential phrases." He pursed his mouth and quoted in a genteel falsetto, "'I shall live where Richard takes me. I'm content in Winchester and would be content in Bath or London.'"

  Emily felt herself blush.

  He said gently, "That's cant, Emily. Where you live matters to you--a great deal. You hated living in a town. You were homesick for Wellfield. I appreciated your restraint, but I'd appreciate the truth even more. What do you want?"

  "A place to raise the children comfortably. I don't wish to be a fashionable lady or a town matron." She took a gulp of air. "And I'd hate London. The air crawls in one's lungs."

  "So it does."

  "I thought you liked London!"

  Their mounts ambled along, stopping to chew a tasty clump of tasty greenery as the spirit moved them. The rest of the party had disappeared from sight.

  "London's no place to raise children. I'll probably take rooms or join a club, so I can go to Town when Murray beckons or my man of business requires my signature, but I've no intention of living there."

  Richard paused. "I never allowed myself to become attached to a place, Emily. It wouldn't have been wise. I'll admit that I'm sometimes restless when the after-dinner talk turns too often to cows, but that's not a serious consideration." He urged his mount to a stricter walk and she followed suit.

  "So the decision is mine?"

  "You sound appalled."

  "I am!" Emily wailed. "What if I make the wrong choice?"

  He clucked his tongue. "Where is that spirit of daring and defiance I married you for? A little risk--"

  "You married me to be a mother to your children," Emily mumbled.

  "What!" He stared, then began to laugh. In fact he laughed so hard he startled his horse into gyrations that took several minutes to control.

  When they were once more moving along the deserted lane at a steady pace, he said, laughter still close to the surface. "But Emily, you were a mother to my children well before I married you. Or so I tell my friends."

  Emily raised her crop. "Devil!" She had taken on the care of his two older children after his first wife died.

  "And only today you abetted the escape of a felonious poet. Admit it, my dear, you're a pirate at heart."

  "Only under your influence," she said darkly.

  "You were the one who proposed marriage."

  That was true--one of her great triumphs. Emily savoured the moment in her mind.

  "Do you regret your choice?"

  Her eyes flew to his. He was in earnest.

  "Not for a minute."

  "Nor do I. Ever."

  A vast happiness stilled Emily's tongue. They rode side by side in silence.

  Finally Richard said, "So, you see, I'm inclined to trust your choices."

  Emily smiled at him. "And I yours. Shall I be frank?"

  "Please do!"

  "I'd like some time to think--about Hazeldell and Hampshire."

  "The will cannot be proved in less than a sixmonth. You've plenty of time."

  "But where shall we live meanwhile?"

  He started to say something, but bit off the words. "I've an idea about that but I must take advice before I mention it."

  Tom, she thought. Of course. Perhaps there's a house in Chacton we could let on a short lease.

  "Shall we try to catch up with our accomplices?"

  "Lord, yes. Poor Lady Jean." As they set their horses to a canter, Emily reflected guiltily that the unhappy child had behaved very well throughout the entire trying episode.

  Emily greatly preferred Maggie, who was cheerful and helped with the children, to her melancholy twin, but she couldn't help sympathising with the young lovers. However, they were very young lovers and a few years' waiting would prove their attachment. She had waited three years for Richard, after all.

  23

  By the time she reached the Brecon stables, Jean had begun to think again. The speed with which Clanross effected Owen's escape had left her numb.

  She watched Johnny dismount and help Maggie from Joybell's saddle, then climbed down herself with Jem Fosse's help. Jem had been her ally in the past, but he was Clanross's servant. Everyone was against her. Except Polly.

  An idea surfaced. Polly's cooperation could be purchased, not with money but with intrigue. Life in service bored Polly. She wanted romance, adventure. She had served as Owen's messenger eagerly and taken very little by way of payment.

  Well, Owen was gone. There were no messages to be sent. Watching her sister feed Joybell an apple, Jean felt a sudden rush of inspiration. Good, biddable Maggie, Maggie whom everyone trusted.
Maggie could leave the house, and even, perhaps, the grounds without arousing suspicion. Maggie and Polly.

  Before she reached her solitary bedchamber Jean's plan had come into full flower. Determination buoyed her steps. Life surged in her veins. She felt so transformed she was sure Elizabeth would smell a rat when she announced she did not mean to come down to dinner, but Elizabeth merely nodded understandingly. Everyone was terribly understanding.

  Polly entered the room with hot water as Jean was sending Lisette away to help Maggie dress for dinner. When Lisette left, she closed the door with neat precision.

  Jean saw that Polly's eyes were red with weeping, and felt a stab of fear. Had Elizabeth uncovered Polly's role in the exchange of clandestine messages? "What is it?"

  "Mr. Davies is gone, so they say," Polly mourned.

  "No one is supposed to know!"

  "That man from London won't find out." The sky had clouded over again and it was quite dark. Sniffing sadly, Polly lit a branch of candles. "Nobody would betray a Brecon man to one of them Runners."

  "Are you sure?" The Brecon servants, now Jean came to think of it, usually knew everything.

  "Certainly. Mr. Sims made off this afternoon in the gig, clever as paint, and no one peached. I dessay Mr. Davies is safe aboard ship by now."

  That was unduly optimistic. However, Jean's heart lightened. "Did you see Mr. Davies before he left?"

  "Only at church, me lady." She gave a gentle sob that would have been appropriate if Owen had died. "Such a handsome man as he was and so kind."

  "I must go to him," Jean interrupted. "I must follow him to Bristol, Polly. They cannot separate us."

  Polly's eyes widened.

  "And you shall help me."

  Polly's face paled but her eyes lit as they did when she was carrying secrets. "I couldn't, me lady. I'd be found out. Smollet would sack me for sure, and me dad'd beat me purple." Her father was a gamekeeper for the estate, rather an idle one since Clanross did not hunt. Her mother was dead.

  "You won't be found out. You shall come with me--to Upper Canada."

  "Lord a mercy!" Polly's eyes glittered.

  The promise was rather grandiose. Jean had the remains of her quarterly allowance--generous as pin money but perhaps inadequate to buying passage for two on a ship bound for Quebec. However, Clanross had supplied Owen with moneys for the journey. The trick was to reach Bristol before the packet sailed on Wednesday.

  Jean drew a breath. "Do you want to come? It will be hard, I daresay, and dangerous."

  "Oh, yes," Polly breathed.

  "Splendid. When my sister has gone down to dinner, the first thing you must do is bring me Maggie's habit and a pair of scissors. And tomorrow morning, at first light, we shall make our escape."

  "That Lisette'll take Lady Margaret's habit away to brush it."

  Jean's heart sank. "Do you know where?"

  "A course."

  "Then when Lisette has finished and gone down to the servants' hall, you must bring me the habit. I can wear my own hat and boots, and you shall cut my hair."

  Polly's eyes narrowed. "So's you'll look like your sister?"

  Jean nodded.

  "What if Lady Margaret or Lady Clanross come after dinner to see how you go on?"

  Jean hadn't thought of that. Two heads were definitely better than one. "Then I'll cut it myself when they've all gone to sleep."

  Polly pursed her lips. "And when I bring up the water in the morning--"

  "That will be too late. You must come to me at first light. Bring your cloak and bonnet, and we'll slip out to the stables before the. others rise."

  "I dunno, me lady. His lordship's off for Lunnon in the morning." The queen's trial would commence on Thursday.

  "Blast, then we'll have to wait a day. Owen's ship sails with the tide Wednesday... Stay! How far is it to Bristol?"

  "I dunno, me lady. Two days' ride?" The clock on the mantle chimed. "Lord a mercy, I mun' see to Mrs. Falk!"

  "Then come back to me when they've gone down to dinner," Jean said imperiously. "I shall work this out yet."

  In the interests of verisimilitude, Jean washed and donned her night rail and robe. Then she sat at her dressing table and brooded.

  A footman brought in a tray of choice delicacies. He looked as if he might offer his sympathy, given the chance, but Jean decided one ally was enough. Trying to look melancholy, she waved him away and tucked into the meal.

  Maggie was not an early riser most days. Clanross would leave early. Why should not Jean, in disguise, see him off, then go for a quiet ride? Breakfast with Clanross would be a test. Then, in Maggie's character, she could ride off, escorted by Polly, to do what? Aha, Mrs. Pollard. Maggie had always had a kindness for old Mrs. Pollard. Really, it was a good plan and would work very well, unless Maggie should be so perverse as to rise early. Surely she would not.

  An hour later Polly scratched at the door and entered with the scissors and Maggie's habit.

  Jean waved at the wardrobe. "Hang it there, Polly. We go tomorrow!"

  "Lord a mercy," said Polly.

  * * * *

  Jean was visited that evening by Elizabeth and Maggie. Elizabeth spoke gravely about Jean's secret correspondence with Owen and sympathetically about one's feelings on being separated from one's friends. Friends!

  Before Jean burst into an ill-considered defence of her devotion to Owen, Maggie entered. Presently Elizabeth left. She had not made a serious effort to find out which of the servants had carried Owen's letters. That was fortunate. Jean had never been able to withstand Lizzie when her elder sister was really determined.

  Jean and Maggie talked, or rather Maggie talked. She even wept a little, and she offered to spend the night with Jean if that would be of comfort.

  Jean felt the tears sting her own eyes. It might be years before she saw her twin again. She wanted to pour out her feelings, take Maggie into her confidence, but she knew she must not. At last her silence drove Maggie off, but not before Maggie kissed her. Jean clung to Maggie and wept, but she did not give way to betraying speech.

  Alone at last, Jean took her bedside candle back to the' dressing room and found the scissors. Two snips persuaded her that the cutting of hair was a rare and difficult art.

  She packed a cloak bag with such items as she thought might be useful, and tucked a string of pearls and Clanross's brooch into her purse. When she had laid out the purse, boots, and riding hat, Jean hopped into bed and composed herself to sleep. Sleep did not come.

  She thought of Owen, alone and dreaming of her. She thought of Upper Canada, turning over in her mind such facts as had come her way. Very cold winters, very large mosquitoes. She had no desire to see an Iroquois warrior but she thought she might like to see the Great Falls of the Niagara.

  Maggie appeared in her mind's eye, and Elizabeth. She wept a little. Still, the time came when a woman had to leave her family and cleave to a man. It said so in the prayer book. She was ready to cleave. Owen had taught her to despise the trivialities of rank, to value ideas of real worth. She would go with him to the wilderness and he would write an epic so powerful it would set London on its ear. The king would beg him to return.

  Birds chirruped in the bushes before she drowsed off.

  "Me lady!"

  Jean started awake. Polly was shaking her shoulder. "What time is it?"

  "Gone seven, me lady. You did say first light."

  Jean scrambled from the bed. "I overslept myself. How could I?"

  "They're up."

  "Who?"

  "His lordship," Polly said tersely, "the colonel and his lady, and Mr. Dyott. Her ladyship's up but she won't come down until nine."

  "Maggie?"

  "Not yet."

  Jean gulped. Her hair was cut, her bridges burnt. She splashed cold water on her face, gave her teeth a hasty scrub, and scrambled into her undergarments. Maggie's habit fit perfectly, of course. Jean did not like the frogging. She sat to pull on her boots.

  "Let me he
lp you..."

  "Did you say Johnny was up?"

  "Yes, me lady. They're at breakfast now. Cook's grumbling." Cook thought persons of quality should not take solid nourishment before ten o'clock.

  Jean groaned. "If Johnny's up I daren't go into the breakfast room. He'd know me in an instant."

  Polly brought her hat and gloves. "We could go out to the stables and hide in that nook behind the tack room till it's safe."

  Polly was a superior accomplice, no doubt of it. Jean eyed her gratefully from under the brim of her riding hat. "Yes, the stables will be safe enough. Clanross means to take the curricle, and Jem will drive it to the front entrance for him."

  "Peter," Polly blushed, "that's the new undergroom, he'd saddle Lady Margaret's horse for you."

  Jean was conscience-stricken. Polly and Peter had been walking out together. "You won't want to leave Peter!"

  "Ah, he's a good enough lad, but I don't mean to wed him. Shall I ask him?"

  Jean contemplated Maggie's Joybell. A worse slug did not inhabit the stables. "Would he pole up the old gig for us, do you think? You can't want to ride pillion on Joybell."

  Polly nodded and poked her head out the door. "Do be quick, me lady!"

  Jean grabbed her purse and the cloak bag.

  Polly led her through passages Jean did not know existed. From time to time they halted as voices neared and passed, but no one saw them. At last they emerged from a dark corridor that smelt of cheese. The stables, unfamiliar in the early light, lay beyond a stiff hedge and a brick courtyard.

  Polly found Peter as soon as Jem had left with the curricle. When Jean, trying to sound like Maggie, asked him to pole up the old gig, he looked doubtful.

  "I dunno, me lady. Mr. Fosse didn't give no orders. " Jem was Mr. Fosse now, a dignity her old ally had achieved when Clanross made him head groom.

  Jean gritted her teeth. "Mr. Fosse couldn't know. Mrs. Pollard is ill. Polly and I mean to take her..."

  Her mind groped feverishly. "Uh, take her these fresh linens and a potion Miss Bluestone recommends." She indicated the cloak bag. "Do hurry, Peter. She's in pain."