Love & Folly

by Sheila Simonson

  Polly burped.

  * * * *

  Jem Fosse had insisted on driving the barouche himself. Johnny had not objected. He was no whipster. They followed the scent as far as Coventry, then lost it in the confusing splay of streets. It was late. Maggie drooped beside Johnny and even the iron Lisette showed signs of fatigue. He found an inn, took bedchambers and a private parlour, and attended to his lady. There had been no sight of the Runner, though necessity had forced Fosse to drive through Earl's Brecon to the Lincoln road.

  Next morning things looked brighter. Johnny gambled that Jean would have headed for Warwick and Gloucester, and found clear evidence of her presence in Warwick. She had pawned a string of pearls.

  "They were a gift!" Maggie's hands twisted. "How could she?"

  "She had to change horses." Johnny was glad Jean had funds. He was well-inlaid with cash himself, thanks to Lady Clanross. He would have redeemed the necklace but he didn't have the ticket. He paid the ostler a small sum to keep the horse Jean had left until a groom from Brecon could be sent for it, then directed Fosse to set the barouche on the road once more.

  With Lisette riding guard, it was a little hard to carry on an unconstrained dialogue with Maggie, but Johnny was pleased to see that she did not indulge in endless repining. She was anxious for her sister, true, but she kept the "if onlys" and "what ifs" to a minimum.

  Warwick was a pretty town, but there would be another time to show Maggie the castle. They pushed south, through Stratford and the vale of Evesham. Gloucester, famous in story, gave no hint of Jean's passage, but Johnny had gained enough confidence to press on to Bristol by moonlight. In the outskirts, he found a pleasant hostelry, saw to the ladies, let Fosse see to the horses, and retired for a short night's rest.

  He rose at the maidservant's knock as dawn silvered the eastern sky. He had hired a horse the night before. He meant to ride into Bristol to the inn where Sims had taken Owen and roust Sims out. Between them they should be able to find Jean. It sounded simple, but time pressed. Under strong protest, Maggie had agreed to wait at the suburban inn with Fosse and Lisette.

  Johnny found Owen's ship moored at the floating dock, quite near the cathedral. Owen had not yet boarded. Discretion prevented Johnny from asking whether a young red-haired lady had boarded. Surely the mate would have commented if Jean had created a dramatic scene of reunion. It seemed that Owen still awaited the boarding call at the Crown and Anchor in Welsh Back. Johnny decided he would find Owen, knock his teeth down his throat, throw Jean over his shoulder, and carry her to her sister. He was smiling as he read the inn's sign.

  * * * *

  Tom and Richard had spent a comfortable night at the White Hart in Bath. Richard had reached Huntingdon as Tom was retiring the first evening. When Tom climbed down from the rafters, he decided there was no point trying to drive all night. Next morning they cut southwest through Buckingham and Bedford to Oxford. From Newbury, it was a straight shot on the Bath road to Bristol. Tom thought they might as well have a snug dinner and an early night in a Bath inn. He wasn't sure when the ship would sail, but he was too disgusted with Jean to tie his back in knots jouncing into Bristol at midnight. He and Richard set off at daybreak and reached Sims at the Crown and Anchor as breakfast was brought into Sims's parlour. Jean was safe. Owen had not yet been arrested. The lovers had not yet seen one another, both being asleep in their separate rooms. Tom complimented Sims on his tactics and called for coffee.

  * * * *

  It was full morning before Jean woke. The slatternly maidservant knocked at the door with hot water for Miss Carter.

  Jean, muscles twinging, rose to let her in. She was about to tell the maid to go wake Miss Carter with her blasted water when it occurred to her that she was Miss Carter. "Er, thank you."

  "The gentlemen be waiting in parlour, miss."

  "Tell them I'll come to them directly."

  The maid bobbed a curtsey and left. Anticipation drove Jean's aches from her mind. She scrubbed in the deliciously hot water and even washed her mouse-eaten hair, though that left little water for Polly who stirred and groaned but did not waken Someone, surely not the slattern, had ironed Jean's sprigged muslin. It hung, crisp and pretty, from a peg in the wall.

  Jean dressed, approved the result in the tiny looking glass, and composed herself to meet her beloved. Her haphazard curls were still damp.

  Polly eyed her sleepily from the truckle. "What's the time?"

  "I don't know," Jean said blithely. "Time to see Owen. We've done it, Polly. He's here, and I'll get round Sims. Sims likes me. We sail for North America on the evening tide!"

  Polly made a noncommittal noise and dragged herself from the tangled quilt.

  "You'll take forever to dress, at that rate. I'm to the parlour to see Owen."

  "Will there be breakfast?"

  "I daresay. I shan't forget your help, Polly," Jean said generously, "and neither will Owen." Polly's usefulness had vanished once they left Earl's Brecon behind. She had never travelled farther than Lincoln in her life. Still, she had helped when Jean needed help.

  She left Polly staring into the soapy basin and danced down the uneven floor of the hallway to the parlour Sims had hired. The power of speech that had foresaken her the night before returned as she walked. Her mind spun off eloquent phrases. She rapped once and grasped the door handle.

  On the threshold she stopped short, "Owen" dying on her lips.

  Clanross rose. "Good morning, Jean." The remains of a plate of roast beef lay before him. "I hope you slept well."

  Colonel Falk, Johnny Dyott, and Sims had also risen at her entrance. Her eyes flew to Sims's.

  "Morning, me lady," said the traitor.

  Her first thought was flight, but where should she flee? There was no escape. "Where's Owen?" she asked, numb with defeat.

  "'E come in late," Sims said with no sign that he recognised his own perfidy. "Still abed. 'Ave a chair, Lady Jean. I'll serve you."

  Still numb, she sat in the chair Colonel Falk held for her.

  Clanross addressed the beef and mustard. Colonel Falk drank his coffee. Sims cut bread. Johnny glowered at her and seemed on the point of speech several times.

  At last the men's silence penetrated Jean's awareness. She clenched her fists. "I shall join Owen aboard the North Star this evening, Clanross. You cannot prevent me!"

  Clanross laid down his cutlery and took a sip of coffee. "I could, if I chose to. Persuade me to change my mind."

  Jean blinked. "I... Owen... We love each other."

  "I congratulate you, but that is not a conclusive reason for you to abandon your family and take to the woods."

  "We wish to wed!"

  "Has he proposed marriage?"

  Jean glowered. "He has not had the opportunity. Thanks to you and Elizabeth, we have been constantly spied upon, constrained--"

  "Tyrants that we are," Clanross murmured. "Then I daresay Owen ought to be given the opportunity to make his feelings clear."

  Jean gaped. So did Johnny, and Sims made a strangled noise he converted into a cough. Only Colonel Falk seemed unsurprised.

  Jean swallowed. "Shall you permit us to meet privately?"

  "I think a meeting can be arranged. Sims--"

  Sims rose, his broad face red but impassive. "Me lord."

  "Summon Mr. Davies. He was not informed of her ladyship's arrival, was he?"

  "Not unless one of the inn servants told 'im. 'E come in late. I was already on me couch of ease."

  "Lady Jean went to considerable pains to surprise Mr. Davies. It would be a shame to spoil the, er, happy conjunction."

  "'Appy? Look 'ere, me lord--"

  Clanross raised his eyebrows. He did not smile and his grey eyes were cold.

  Sims departed, grumbling.

  Clanross stood up. "Gentlemen, let us retire to the ordinary and leave her ladyship to her breakfast."

  Jean could scarcely believe her ears. "Oh, Clanross, thank you..."

  "Don't thank me y
et." He bowed, still unsmiling, and the three men filed out.

  Jean jumped to her feet and began pacing the polished boards. On the mantel a nautical clock ticked away the minutes. Noise from the street, the kitchen, the taproom filtered through the shut door. Her mouth was dry. She poured herself tea and swallowed the unsweetened liquid.

  There was a scratch at the door. Her hand shook and the teacup rattled in the saucer. "Come!"

  It was Polly, still blinking sleepily. Everyone had forgot the maid's existence. Jean sent her, protesting, down to the ordinary, and resumed pacing. Owen was taking a long time. He had been asleep. Probably he had lain awake, brooding over his exile, thinking of her, until dawn.

  Finally, when Jean's overstretched nerves had almost driven her to seek Sims, the valet opened the door and announced, "Mr. Davies," and Owen entered.

  He stopped in the doorway, staring.

  He was so beautiful with his fair flowing hair and his wild green eyes. Jean's hands reached out of their own volition. "Owen--"

  Sims gave him a shove from behind and shut the door.

  "Mag... L--Lady Jean! How the... I'm... That is, I am amazed. I had not hoped to see you here. How do you do, my lady?"

  Jean gave a tremulous smile. "Very well now I see you. I have come to you, Owen. They would have prevented me, but I escaped them and drove at once to your side."

  Emotion seemed to have deprived him of his wonted eloquence. He cleared his throat. "But I sail this evening!"

  "Oh, my dear Owen, only say the word and I shall sail with you!"

  "Impossible!"

  "What?"

  "I mean, surely your guardian--"

  "Clanross is here. He permitted us to meet alone."

  "He did?" His light tenor rose almost to a squeak "He's here?"

  "In the ordinary with Colonel Falk and Johnny," Jean said, suppressing impatience. "Owen, we must make haste--"

  "Were you followed, Lady Jean? That is, you say you escaped the confines of Brecon and drove to Bristol."

  "To be at your side."

  "Yes, yes, but the Runner"

  Jean had half forgotten the Runner "I saw no sign of him"

  Owen closed his eyes "I must think. It's too much for me to take in."

  Poor darling, Jean thought tenderly He's overwhelmed, and no wonder. Few women would show so much enterprise.

  When she thought he had had sufficient time to collect his thoughts, she went to his side.

  He took a step backward "Lady Jean, you do me great honour, but you must see it's impossible A gently bred young lady in a wilderness? No, you shall not come. It would be unfair."

  "But Owen, you don't understand. I'd be your bride!"

  He took another step backwards and bumped the closed door. "I shall worship you forever, my lady. Our souls are wed, certainly, but--"

  The tea Jean had drunk churned acidly. "But what?"

  "I am in no case to be married!" he exclaimed. "I've no means to support you. My parents--"

  "What have they to say to anything?"

  His eyes widened. "They would not approve my marriage to you, my lady."

  "On what grounds?" Jean cried, stung. Who was a country rector to be objecting to an earl's daughter for his son?

  "My mother dislikes the connexion," he muttered. "It won't do, my lady. You are too much above me, too young--"

  It was Jean's turn to back away. Confusion and hurt warred with pride. "But you said you loved me!"

  Owen ran a distracted hand through his fair hair. "I do. I adore you. I worship you as men worship Truth--"

  "But you don't want to marry me."

  "Marriage is for fettered souls, men like Dyott with no dream and no mission. I cannot marry. I must be free to serve my country's liberty!" His eyes took on the glow that meant he was off on a flight of lyricism.

  Before he could unloose his muse, Jean said in a hard voice, "If your words of devotion to me did not bespeak marriage, Owen, did you perhaps intend to give me a slip on the shoulder?" She chose the crudest phrase she could think of.

  His mouth gaped.

  "Never mind. I can see I misunderstood you. Forgive me for causing you embarrassment."

  Owen flushed a deep, unbecoming red. "Forgive you? My lady--"

  "I'd esteem it a favour if you left me alone."

  "But Lady Jean--"

  "Go!" she whispered. "In God's name."

  He fled, leaving the door wide behind him. Jean did not bother to close it. She sat slowly on the nearest chair. Her eyes felt as if someone had sprinkled sand in them, but she had no tears. Instead she felt a strong urge to cast up the tea. She shut her gritty eyes and clenched her teeth.

  Presently the nausea passed and she felt cold, though the day was warm and the morning sun shone merrily through a tall window. What a fool she had been. No wonder Clanross was willing to risk the meeting. He must have known Owen had no real desire to marry her. Fury--at Owen, at Clanross, mostly at herself--drove the cold away. What had she left? Pride and her name. Well, she would hold to both.

  25

  When Sims stuck his head in the door half an hour later, Jean was sitting at the table making a good pretence at eating breakfast and never mind that everything was cold.

  "Are you all right, my lady?"

  "Perfectly." She raised her chin. "You may tell Clanross it's safe to return."

  "Safe." Sims's shrewd eyes regarded her without expression. "As you say, me lady."

  Her brother-in-law came in almost at once.

  Jean set her teacup down because her hands were starting to shake again. "Mr. Davies and I have decided we shall not suit." She didn't look at him.

  "Very well," he said quietly. "I'm sorry, Jeanie." He was alone, and he looked underslept and far from happy.

  Jean shut her eyes. She would not cry in Clanross's presence.

  "What do you mean to do about Polly?"

  Jean's eyes opened. "Polly?"

  "Your servant. You must know that Mrs. Smollet will be unable to give Polly a good character after this episode."

  "Hang Polly," she said bitterly. Her heart was broken, and he was prosing on about servants.

  Clanross drew a chair. "One of the first things I learned when I took up my commission--I was about your age--is that an officer must take care of his men."

  Jean stared.

  His grey eyes met hers gravely. "The analogy may seem strained, but you should be able to see the parallel. You've involved Polly in an independent action against orders. Is it right that she should suffer for your misjudgement?"

  "She was willing to come."

  "She admires you, Jean."

  Jean swallowed. "What must I do?"

  Clanross smiled a little. "Ask Elizabeth's advice, and ask Polly what she wants to do. The consequences could be graver for her than they will be for you, and it's her life, after all. I'm satisfied so long as you understand your responsibility to her."

  "I'll see to it."

  "Has Davies gone out?"

  "I don't care where he's gone," Jean muttered. "I told him to leave me." That sounded too much like a confession. "I needed time to think," she amended.

  "I see." He looked down at his hands, which were clasped on the table. "I ought to leave you alone, Jean, but the blasted trial begins tomorrow and I must go off to Town in an hour or so." He glanced over at her and smiled slightly.

  She forced a smile.

  "If things had gone as I meant them to, Owen would have sailed and you would have writ him."

  She drew a breath.

  "I fancied you'd find a way to correspond, Jean. I trusted your ingenuity."

  "Much good it's done me."

  He touched her hand, but she wasn't ready for comfort and drew back. He sighed. "You'd have writ him and he'd have replied--it sometimes takes three months for a reply to come from America--and you'd have writ again. His next letter, or ode, or jeremiad, would have taken longer to reach you. After awhile you would have understood what you discover
ed so cruelly today. If I'd seen any other course, I'd not have exposed you to that."

  "He doesn't love me!" The words burst out.

  "Owen loves his idea of you. After you made your avowal that day in the Brecon library, I charged him with trifling with your feelings. He was honestly shocked. He believes his words, Jeanie. Some men have a gift of words so intoxicating they seduce themselves."

  Jean said nothing. It was easier to hate Owen than to try to understand him.

  After a moment Clanross pushed himself up. "I've no gift for words, unfortunately, or I'd find some comfort for you."

  "I've learnt a lesson." She knew she sounded sullen.

  He said wryly, "'Keep you in the rear of your affection, out of the shot of danger...'"

  "'And desire.'" She completed the quotation for him and made herself meet his eyes. They were kind and troubled. She forced another smile. "Don't worry so, Clanross. I know I've been a fool."

  "We're all fools for love, my dear."

  "Not I. Never again." She bit her lip.

  "You've always had courage, Jean. Judgement will come when you've seen a bit of the world, but don't harden your heart. That's the worst kind of cowardice, being afraid to feel."

  She digested that, or tried to. "Don't go yet."

  "All right."

  Slow tears began to leak from her eyes. "I love you, Clanross. Oh, I don't mean romantically, though I once imagined I did. I mean as I ought, as your sister."

  He said nothing, but came to her again and held her while she cried for her own folly.

  When the worst storm was over he handed her a large lawn handkerchief. "Blow."

  She gave a damp giggle and blew. "Tell me what I must do now."

  "You know what to do."

  "Maggie." She swallowed hard.

  "Maggie, certainly, and Elizabeth. She loves you, too, Jean, for yourself and because she loved your mother."

  "Lizzie will flay me "

  He laughed. "She'll ring a peal over you. She's concerned for your reputation--as I am. People tend to judge a pretty young woman--"

  "I beg your pardon, Tom," Colonel Falk said from the door, "but I think the second act of the drama is about to begin."

  Clanross took a step toward him. "The Runner?"