Falk glanced round the room, nodded to Jean. "Sims and Johnny are trying to forestall him, but I'm afraid--"
Sims's massive form filled the doorway. "Begging your pardon, sir, Miss Carter, there's a person 'ere won't take no for an answer." He stepped aside.
The stranger everyone had noticed in church ducked under Sims's arm. "I'll 'ave you for obstructing an officer of the court, my man. See if I don't."
"Wotcher," said Sims.
The Runner advanced into the room, bristling with truculence. "Me lord, I 'ave reason to believe you're 'arbouring a wanted man."
"I?"
The man flushed.
Clanross said icily, "I don't believe I've had the honour."
The man gave a stiff bow. "Samuel T. Pickens, of the central criminal court, Bow Street, at your service." He handed Clanross a card.
Jean had risen at his entrance. She began to edge away from the table.
"Well, Sergeant?" Clanross sounded lordly, for once.
Jean hadn't believed he could.
"I 'ave with me a warrant for the arrest of one Owen Talbot Davies for seditious correspondence and inciting to riot."
"Do you see your man?"
"No, sir, but I've reason to think your servant," he jerked his head at Sims, "has been 'arbouring the fugitive under an assumed name."
"Owen Davies is my employee," Clanross, said coldly. "So is Sims. It's natural for Sims and Davies to associate. There can be no question of 'harbouring a fugitive' until it's known that a crime has been committed. The charge is absurd."
"That's not for me to say, me lord. A warrant was sworn out against the said Davies on information received, and it's me duty to serve it. Anyone 'indering me in the exercise or me duty is liable to charges, as your lordship well knows."
"Then serve your warrant."
"Where is the miscreant?"
"I've no idea."
"E was 'ere last night. I followed him into the taproom. When 'e went upstairs the waiter said 'e was stopping at the inn."
"Then find him and serve your warrant. You're intruding on a private conversation between me and my ward."
Jean had edged as far as the sideboard. The man's shrewd eyes fell on her. She gave a smile that felt like a grimace.
The man laughed, a barking sound like a seal. "Madam led me a fine chase."
"I thought you'd a warrant for Davies's arrest," Colonel Falk murmured. He was leaning on the doorjamb. "What has his lordship's ward to do with anything?"
"Ward?" the man snorted. "She's 'is sister-in-law, and it's my belief she's 'and-in-glove with the aforesaid Davies. If you don't produce the fugitive, my lord, I mean to take 'er ladyship in for questioning. As a material witness."
"I think that would be unwise," Clanross said mildly.
"Where's Davies?" Pickens looked from one impassive face to the other. No one spoke. Johnny Dyott bit his lip.
"Very well," the Runner said heavily. "Lady Margaret Conway, it is my duty to--"
"Stay, you shall not!" cried a voice from the hall. "I am Lady Margaret Conway!"
* * * *
Three hours later Tom and Richard had almost sorted things out.
The Runner, unable to say absolutely which twin was Lady Margaret Conway, at first threatened to take both girls into custody. A very young "widow" had delivered the seditious poem to a house in Greek Street. He would lay odds the widow was one of the girls.
"But you don't know which," Richard observed, "and your witness can't swear--"
The man growled like a baited bear.
Keeping his face as blank as he could, Tom turned to Sims. "Sims, you can identify Davies. Go with Sergeant Pickens. He will be wanting to find Owen and serve his warrant."
Sims's eyes, nearly invisible in their rolls of fat, didn't blink. "I understand you, me lord."
Tom was in dire peril of falling into the whoops. That would have been a fatal error, offending both the Runner and the twins beyond apology. He avoided Richard's eyes and turned back to the Runner. "I daresay you're aware that the queen's trial begins tomorrow."
"Aye, me lord."
"If I do not attend, for whatever reason, I shall be fined a hundred pounds. You'll understand why I must start for London within the next few hours. Even driving all night, flat out, I'll be cutting it close."
"Yes, sir."
"Go with Sims and find Davies. Serve your warrant, if you can. If not, come with me in my curricle and we shall both go to your superiors and seek their advice."
A flicker of relief in the small eyes told Tom the man was looking for a way out of what had to be a discomfortable duty. He felt sorry for Pickens. The law was an ass, but its officers were sworn to uphold it, however foolish and impossible to enforce it might be.
He added what he hoped was the clincher. "I'll guarantee, on my word as a peer of the realm, to produce Lady Margaret Conway at any time the court wish to hear her testimony."
"I dunno, me lord."
"Your warrant is for Davies, is it not?"
"Yes, but I'm allowed to take material witnesses."
"I shan't deter you from interviewing Lady Margaret once you've arrested Davies. Perhaps you ought to go about it." He hoped Owen had lost himself thoroughly in the back streets of Bristol, or stowed aboard the North Star, preferably in the scuppers. Well, that part of the operation was in Sims's hands, and Tom knew his man's ingenuity.
The longer the Runner stood arguing, the greater Owen's chances of eluding him. Pickens knew it. It took a bit more persuasion, but the man left at last, in Sims's safekeeping, to inspect Owen's room. Tom hoped the poet's fear of matrimony had driven him far afield.
When the Runner had gone, the twins flew into one another's arms and engaged in an affecting reunion. Tom knew from Richard's rapt attention to the scene that his friend was busy composing the next satire.
Tom sat and poured himself a cup of cold coffee. What he wanted was a tumbler of brandy.
"Sir!"
He looked up. Johnny Dyott, eyes blazing, had finally broken his heroick silence.
"My lord, may I have your permission to ask your sister-in-law to marry me?"
Which sister-in-law? Tom left the frivolous response unspoken. "Now is not the time, Johnny."
"If she is to be hailed away to prison, I want her to know she shall have my protection."
Tom said gently, "It won't be necessary. Trust me."
The boy flushed and looked down at his shoes. He burned to do something.
"I have a high regard for you," Tom continued, a trifle oppressed by his marathon of tact, "and I shall certainly permit you to speak to Maggie. But you must wait to marry until you've sold an article to a respectable journal and she's turned nineteen."
Johnny's solemnity split in a wide grin. "Truly, sir?"
"Truly. But it's as Maggie wishes."
"Do you object to a formal engagement?"
Tom threw up his hands. "Ask Elizabeth. If she says yes, I can't say no."
Johnny's gratitude, though profuse, was premature. Maggie was still sobbing happily in Jean's arms, oblivious of Johnny and everyone else. Tom had no doubt she would eventually hear a formal proposal of marriage.
With a reluctant but happy sigh, Richard got to business. "You think Davies will avoid the embrace of the law?"
Tom said, "Sims can do anything."
Sims and Richard did not love one another but Richard nodded. "Capable de tout. And you mean to carry the Runner in the curricle, posthaste as it were, to London? I thought you'd pay the blasted fine and stop here tonight."
Tom grimaced. "I don't look forward to the drive or the company, but I can think of no other way to convince Pickens of my patriotic devotion."
"And no other way to save his face," Richard said shrewdly.
"I shall abase myself before the Bow Street magistrate, confess all, and trust that no one, not even the present government, could want to conduct two trials in the House of Lords in one short year."
"II I start laughing," Richard mused, "I shan't be able to stop. Has it occurred to you that someone will have to drive the gig back to Brecon? I can't do it."
That was true. Driving a gig one-handed would be foolhardy. "Jem Fosse drove the barouche." Fosse and Lisette, who had brought Maggie into the town, were below in the ordinary, instructing Polly in the error of her ways.
"I rather think the ladies would be safer with Fosse driving the barouche again."
"Are you accompanying?"
"I engage to tell them the adventures of Don Alfonso." Richard placed his left hand on his lung, being unable to place the right on his heart. "That should keep them out of mischief as far as Coventry. Johnny may drive the gig ahead of us."
"You don't object to intruding yourself into love's young dream?"
Richard eyed Johnny, who was approaching the ladies. "I shall relish every moment."
"You'll have to change the names when you write it up." Richard smiled. "Lady Rosalind and Lady Viola."
"And the heroes?"
"Romeo and Hotspur."
"Doesn't ring right."
"I'll come up with something."
Tom expelled a long breath. "I wonder how Sims is faring with the Runner?"
"Splendidly. Should you object to my calling for a bumper of ale?"
Maggie beamed from Jean to Johnny. "Clanross!" she called, "may we go for a walk on the quay?"
"With my blessing." Tom turned back to his friend. "A bumper of ale? I may dive into it."
26
Four days after Colonel Falk and Johnny returned the fugitive twins to Elizabeth's custody, Sims, too, came home to Brecon. He rattled up in triumph, driving the matched chestnuts, and delivered a letter Clanross would not trust to the mail. From the expression on Sims's broad beaming face it was clear he had contrived Owen's escape. Colonel Falk and Johnny bore him off for brandy and interrogation in the bookroom, and Elizabeth took her letter to. the withdrawing room. Maggie waited with barely concealed impatience for her to finish reading. Jean sat quietly. She was still penitent. Emily Falk knitted.
...so I slept through the prosecutor's opening remarks in the trial of Queen Caroline," Tom wrote. "In fact, I slept through the entire session and relied on The Times to tell me what to think.
As I had promised the Runner, I spoke with the Bow Street magistrate the next morning. He dismissed the charges against Owen, trembling at the thought of two innocent (n.b. I embroidered the truth) damsels of high birth held up like torches by the Whig press. As a martyr to the cause of liberty, Owen couldn't hold a candle to the twins. I assured the gentleman that questions would be asked in the Lords if the twins were arrested, interrupting the queen's trial if need be, and that Sir Francis Burdett would himself speak in their behalf before a giant Radical rally in the Haymarket that would make Manchester look like a picnic. (Sir Francis had agreed to the use of his name. He was a trifle disappointed when I assured him no such rally would ever occur.)
I also pointed out that my attempt to help a fugitive from justice evade arrest made me an accessory and that I would welcome a trial in the Lords. The magistrate blenched and sent for a clerk at that point. The queen's trial keeps the town in such a stir that the thought of another cause célèbre shook him to his already shaky foundations.
I'd never have used my name and influence in such a cynical way had it not been for the peril the girls stood in, but once I swallowed my scruples I rather enjoyed what amounted to political blackmail. The Runner was not a bad chap. I bought him a glass of gin afterwards. He appeared to think his career would not suffer for my interference.
As it turned out, Sims did not have to diddle the Runner, who had misconstrued Owen's character so thoroughly he visited every grog shop, tavern, and gin parlour in the port without result. Pickens gave Sims a bad moment when he insisted on directing the local magistrate to continue the search, but Pickens's information was so vague it was clear he had not discovered which vessel Owen was booked to sail on. Sims had taken the precaution of enrolling Owen on the passenger list under the name of Wilkes, not Evans, the name he had used at the Crown and Anchor. That being so, Sims decided it would be unnecessary to have Owen rowed to Avonmouth to board there.
The Runner and I left Bristol. Johnny and Richard had removed the girls earlier. There remained the task of finding the wandering poet. Unlike the Runner, Sims did know Owen's character. Even so, he searched five bookshops and a circulating library before he remembered that Owen had been writing an "Ode to Freedom Penn'd in the Shadow of St. Mary Redcliffe" the previous evening. Sims dashed to the church, found Owen deep in composition among the tombs, hired a boat at the foot of the bridge across the floating harbour, and spirited Owen aboard the North Star without interference from the Bristol constabulary. It was half past six. When the tide reversed, and it reverses at Bristol with a vengeance, the vessel swept down the Avon to the Severn and, we devoutly trust, out to sea.
My efforts at Bow Street rendered Owen's exile unnecessary. I have sent a letter by the slowest possible means to tell him he may come home. My hope is he will be deep in the interior by the time the letter reaches Quebec City. Even if he is not, he will probably have to winter in Quebec. As I recall, the cold in those parts comes early. Pray inform his worthy parents he is no longer in danger of a trial and incarceration (unless he has committed another sedition en route.).
Well, my dear, I have done my best for your sisters. I wish I might act as effectively in behalf of reform of Parliament. (I am scribbling this in pencil at Westminster whilst the evidence against her licentious majesty mounts. The peers of England believe I am taking notes.)
The queen has twice been seen sleeping during witnesses' testimony. The weather is hot and the procedure dull so one cannot blame her, but her drowsiness has resulted in a joke of the sort Willoughby Conway-Gore enjoys: "She sleeps not with servants--She sleeps with the Lords." By the same token, I may be said to have slept with the queen. She was present in the hail whilst I was snoring away on Thursday.
Elizabeth, my dear, pray suppress your natural inclination to sororicide and deal moderately with Jean. She has suffered a blow to her self-esteem, if not to her heart. Maggie is quite the heroine. Boldness becomes her. I thought the Runner would swallow his back teeth when she leapt onto the stage in defence of her sister.
You may tell Richard I shall sue him for traducing the family honour if that dramatic moment appears in the next satire. Sims is the hero of the hour, but Richard did yeoman work, and so did Johnny, who finally overcame his diffidence and asked me for Maggie's hand. I told him yes but not yet. I hope that was the correct answer.
The prosecution have just called an Austrian housemaid. The testimony in this trial is giving a new, literal meaning to the idea of airing one's dirty linen in publick. If that's the nature of politicks, I may come home and cultivate my cabbages.
I shall come home for the eclipse of the sun even if I have to pay the fine. Shall we observe it privately or do you wish to give an eclipse-watching fete? I could hire the Pandaean Pipes.
My love to all the right people and my chief love to you.
Your still somnolent spouse, Tom.
This missive Elizabeth handed to Emily Falk, who read it with starting eyes. Elizabeth felt it was too spicy to read to Jean and Maggie, so she summarized, assuring them Owen was safe. Owen's fate left them unmoved.
When Emily asked about the eclipse, Maggie burst into spontaneous plans. Elizabeth had rather fancied celebrating the event in Tom's sole company, but she decided not to be selfish and told the girls they might hold an alfresco party by the lake. Jean made a timid suggestion for refreshment. Elizabeth complimented her sister on the idea. Jean gave a tentative smile. Within days, Jean was her wonted self.
Jean had decided, with Elizabeth's permission, to send Polly to Anne's chef to be trained as a cook-housekeeper. The idea of the apprenticeship appealed to Polly, and London appealed even more, so Polly rode off to town with Sims. Mrs. Smollet sn
iffed, but everyone else approved.
Johnny remained at Brecon. Elizabeth wondered if he had yet proposed marriage. Surely not. Surely, if he had, Maggie would have come to her in high excitement. Perhaps he had decided not to ally himself with a nest of Radicals after all.
* * * *
August passed faster than Elizabeth would have thought possible with Tom in London. The Falk children and the Little Sisters romped about the grounds, rode their ponies, and played battledore and shuttlecock on the fresh-rolled lawn. Matt broke a window demonstrating his prowess with the cricket bat to an admiring female audience.
Richard Falk finished the book room catalogue, a makeshift, he said. Elizabeth was sure it was excellent and said so, but he was not an easy man to compliment. He lost himself in the letters of one Hercules Conway, a captain in Marlborough's army, bringing in some of the less shocking anecdotes to amuse the twins and Johnny. Emily and Elizabeth enjoyed their babies. In short, in a fair approximation to paradise, nothing of significance occurred during the rest of the month.
Tom arrived late on the eve of the eclipse looking wilted. He revived like a thirsty plant in a rain shower when Elizabeth bore him off to their suite for a private celebration.
* * * *
"We shall observe the moon's shadow as it passes between us and the sun, the penumbra first, then the umbra. Umbra means--"
"Shadow!" a chorus of piping voices answered Miss Bluestone. The children were ranged on one of the cloths the servants had spread in a half circle facing the lake. Each child held a painfully constructed box of stiff paper--a camera obscura for observing the sun's reversed image without damage to the eyes. The notion came from Lady Clanross, though Johnny, Maggie, and the still subdued Jean had helped in the construction of the boxes.
Miss Bluestone beamed at her charges. "And if umbra means shadow, then penumbra is--"
"Come with me, Maggie," Johnny whispered. He felt he had done his possible for the advancement of science. He had other, long-delayed intentions for the climactic moment.
Maggie glanced up at him, wide-eyed. "But the children--"
"I'll stay with the children and Miss Bluestone," Jean said absently. She was helping Fanny position the pinpoint in the top of the box so as to catch the sun's image.
Love & Folly Page 27
