Matlin climbed into the carriage and took his seat across from her; he composed himself quickly to nap in the far corner. Tired herself, Thea closed her eyes and nestled into a blanket. Then, as an afterthought came to her: “Matlin?” she murmured.
“Ummm?” He did not open his eyes.
“ Thank you...for taking care of me, I mean. It must have been horrible, having to tend to me on that boat, and....”
“Returning my debt to you, my dear child.... Go to sleep, if you can.” He shouldered himself deeper into the corner, away from her.
Repaying a debt, Thea thought dully. For a moment it had seemed to her, as it had seemed before at other times, as though he must care for her a little. No, it was all a debt to him, one to be repaid like money. Staring across the carriage at him, she thought: my husband. The words sounded ridiculous. She closed her eyes, pulled up the blanket a little farther. Married. What good had that marriage done for her after all? she wondered sadly.
It was dark when they drew up in Hill Street; flambeaux burned before most of the townhouses. The postboy jumped down from the box to ring the bell of Ocott House, then stood dubiously back as if he did not expect his passengers to have legitimate business there. Matlin busied himself with helping Thea to the curb; he encouraged her as he might a baby, with a smile and a “Brace up, child, we’ve come home at last!” When he offered her his arm Thea took it, and they went up the stairs together.
A liveried manservant had opened the door and stood, mouth frankly open, in the light from the hallway. “Sir?” he faltered. “Godamighty, Sir Douglas, it’s never you, sir, is it?”
With a spark of enjoyment Matlin asked if his uncle was at home.
“But Sir Douglas, we was like to go into black gloves for you, just about. Six month back someone brought word out of Spain that you was taken a prisoner, sir, and....”
“I’m sure it was all very dire, Platt. But must we stand on the doorstep to discuss my untimely demise?”
Flustered, the footman backed into the house to admit Matlin and Thea.
“There are a few parcels in the chaise which should be fetched in, and I’d appreciate it, Platt, if you would give the postboy his vail; I’m afraid I’m a trifle purse-bit just now. Is my uncle at home?”
Over his shoulder Platt called back that Lord Ocott was dining at White’s that evening, as his lady was at a musical evening at Melbourne House. “I’ll send for him at once, sir. Shall I have my lady brung home too?”
“Lord, I can’t imagine Aunt Susan would appreciate that. No, just my uncle. I trust there is a fire in the library, Platt?” Matlin did not wait for a reply. He pushed Thea gently ahead of him through the hall and into a large, book-lined room where a fire was, in fact, burning cheerily. Platt, having given the postboy a few coins and taken up the scant armful of their belongings, followed them in to the library expectantly.
“The message for my uncle, Platt?” Matlin urged politely. “And you might ask Mrs. Keynes to have some supper brought to us here. We’ve had nothing to eat since breakfast.”
“Yes sir.” Important with news and vital errands, Platt bowed his way out of the room. Thea, watching him, giggled weakly. Matlin was enjoying it, she thought, playing the prodigal as if it were the most natural part in the world. She drew near the fire and gazed about her.
“Sit down, for heaven’s sake.” Matlin pulled a plush upholstered wing chair toward the fire and settled Thea in it, still playing the role of solicitous, bullying nurse to her. Too aware of the kindness to resent his condescension, Thea sat mutely, waiting for miracles: food, water, a bed.
Beyond the fireplace a small writing table stood and on it a calendar in a polished brass frame. May 10, 1808, it read. Thea realized with a mild shock that her birthday had passed while they were at sea. She was nineteen years old now. She turned to tell Matlin, but he was pouring himself a glass of brandy, his back to her, and somehow it did not seem important.
A bare half an hour later Lord Ocott was admitted to the house. Thea had lapsed into a light doze by the fire; that at least, had stilled the grumbling of her empty stomach and given some respite from the worry which had plagued her all day: How would Lord Ocott and his wife take to Matlin’s ready-made bride? The voice that boomed in the hallway with a demand to know what the devil anyone meant by sending insane messages to him at White’s woke her. She sat up hastily, trying to straighten the hopelessly rumpled folds of her skirt and jacket.
“Perhaps I should meet him first.” Matlin smiled briefly at her and left the room.
In the hall Platt was taking his master’s greatcoat and being as slow in the process as possible in hopes of witnessing the reunion between Lord Ocott and the lord’s nephew.
“I was in the midst of a fine hand of whist, best hand I’ve had this twelvemonth, and with Bevan, too, who bets like a fool. Emergency? Pfaugh.”
“Here I flattered myself you would be pleased to see me, Uncle,” Matlin broke in with deliberate mildness.
Nevil Ocott spun round to face his nephew; his expression was unbelieving. He wore an old-fashioned wig, slightly askew, and the sober coat and immaculate trousers of a young dandy. At the sight of Matlin the choleric color in his face receded and he went white; his lips quivered as he spoke. “Douglas?” He stretched a hand to the younger man. “My dear, dear boy, we thought you were dead.”
“So Platt informed me,” Matlin returned the clasp of his uncle’s hand, “but I’ve taken you by surprise, sir. Should you sit for a moment?”
“What kind of damned old woman d’ye think me? Platt!” He swung around to the footman. “Stop your gawping and fetch wine to the library at once. Have you eaten, boy?”
“Mrs. Keynes was to send us up some supper. We....”
“My God, boy, where the Hell have you been for the last year? I had all I could do to keep your cousin Jack from having you declared dead and taking the baronetcy and your property straight off. If Jack were a little less the toad he is, I doubt I could have done so.”
“I can well imagine Jack praying daily for my death at Bonaparte’s hands.”
“Pfaugh, a mingy little fellow who wears pink-striped waistcoats, your cousin Jack.... Speaking of waistcoats....” He cast a meaning glance at Matlin’s clothing.
“I know, I know, sir. My first chore tomorrow will be to find a tailor.”
“I’ve a new man in Jermyn Street. Remind me, I’ll give you his name. But dammit, boy, you still haven’t told me....” Lord Ocott turned to push the library door open and proceeded Matlin into the room. He found himself staring at a slight girl—no, at second glance, a young woman—dressed in clothes as shabby as Matlin’s own, with dirty fair hair in mashed clusters about her face and large eyes, darkened by fatigue. She stood in the center of the room expectantly. Ocott bowed at once. “Excuse me, my dear, I had no idea.”
Thea looked at Matlin, waiting for an introduction.
“Uncle.” He cleared his throat. “May I present Dorothea to you? She is....” He cleared his throat a second time. “She is my wife.”
The mixture of expressions that crossed Lord Ocott’s face was blessedly indecipherable. After a pause too brief to be considered a pause, he advanced and took Thea’s hand in his own. “My dear, I am charmed.”
Thea smiled mistily. “I’m happy to meet you, my lord, you must forgive me, forgive us, for appearing to you this way, but I am sure Matlin will explain it all to you. He brought us out of Spain, you see.”
Ocott heard the admiration in her tone and saw the shy deference in her sideways look at Matlin. It pleased him. “I suspect you wish me at the Devil, appearing before you’ve had the chance to redd up a bit. But we’re family now, my dear, and won’t stand on ceremony. Will you permit me to take some wine with you?”
At his urging Thea was seated again, and the wine was poured. Healths were drunk and Platt appeared, followed by the kitchen boy bearing trays of cold chicken, bread, fruit, and a piece of apricot tart. The two travellers sta
red at the food as if it were riches, and Thea thought suddenly of the apricots on which she had supped on Matlin’s first night at the convent.
Matlin served Thea chicken and fruit before heaping his own plate high. “We haven’t seen a meal like that in a month,” he told his uncle. “This poor child has barely eaten anything in a week.”
“Nothing in a week? Good God, boy, what way is that to treat a new bride?”
“I was ill,” Thea said defensively. “He—my husband took very good care of me, sir. I’m not a very good sailor, and....”
“You need say no more. I can think of nothing more miserable than to be ill at sea.” Ocott smiled, satisfied. Plainly, the girl adored Douglas. “You shall finish your dinner, then Mrs. Keynes will show you to your room. A hot bath would be welcome, I fancy?” He rang for a footman and desired that rooms be made ready for his nephew and new niece. “And tell Mrs. Keynes to find something for Thea to wear. I trust that is agreeable, my dear?”
“You see my trousseau before you, sir,” Thea admitted, liking Lord Ocott better every moment.
Satisfied with these domestic details. Lord Ocott turned to his nephew. “Now will you tell me where the deuce you: have been the past two years?”
Dorothea had finished her food and another cup of tea and had been instructed to drink a stiff brandy, “Strictly medicinal, my dear,” by Lord Ocott, and still Matlin had barely reached the middle of his story, his capture as a supposed spy by the Spanish officials in Malaga. Thea rose stiffly from her chair.
“My lord, if you will forgive me? Matlin needs no help with his story, and as you said, a bath would be very welcome. “
Both men were on their feet, and Ocott sent for the housekeeper. “This is Mrs. Keynes. Ask her for anything you wish. Don’t fear, I shan’t keep your husband up too late. In the morning you shall meet your Aunt Susan, hey?”
He took her hand and bowed low over it. Thea turned to face Matlin, who looked somewhat discomfited and who bid her goodnight with a dry, distant kindness.
She followed Mrs. Keynes from the room, and the door closed behind them.
“I must say, Douglas, I’m pleased to see you showed such good sense. My God, a pretty girl, well-mannered. What’s her family? Where did you meet her?”
“Her father’s people are Welsh, from Somerset, I think. Cannowen. Her mother was a Spanish woman, but there’s no love between Thea and her mother’s people. I know how singular this all appears, sir; the girl’s only a child....”
Lord Ocott enthused, unhearing. “A wife, by God! A Spanish bride! What happened to you in Spain? When you left London I had thought that Adele Frain had turned you against women, and you were for becoming one of those testy old bachelors who make their own and everyone else’s lives miserable with their plaints. Good for you! A romance, I gather it was? Won’t this be a nine-day’s-wonder amongst the ton. You and your new Lady Matlin.” The older man leaned back in his chair, as pleased as if he had arranged the marriage himself.
“Lady Matlin,” Matlin repeated quizzically. “I never thought of her that way. We’ve been—that is, it is not the romance you think it, sir. Dorothea had been stopping at a convent with her duenna....” Quickly he sketched in Thea’s history and the story of how they had met. “To give the girl her due, she’s a good companion, braver than most grown women I know, and clever with it. Twice she saved my life.”
“And you say there’s no romance? I knew I liked the look of that girl. I say it will serve very well. When your Aunt Susan has rigged the girl out and she acquires a little Town Bronze, she’ll be a Belle herself, damn me if she won’t. High time you set up your nursery.... What’s the girl’s name again?”
“Dorothea. Thea. But sir....” Stricken by the mention of a nursery, Matlin was suddenly at a loss for words.
His uncle looked at him shrewdly. “You don’t still nurse a tendre for the Frain chit, do you?”
Matlin flushed angrily. “I’ve barely spared Adele Frain a thought in a year.”
“Just as well.... She married Charlie Towles, you know, and has been queening it up in her own circle. Thank God Charlie’s too stupid to realize the May-game she’s been leading him, although I can’t say whether he actually wears his cuckold’s horns or no. You had a lucky escape. Now, what can you tell me of Spain and my vineyards?”
Matlin did not try to address the subject of his marriage again that evening. There would be time in the morning for the awkward admission he must make. He spoke instead of Spain.
“Frankly, Uncle, I think you’d best write off your property there as a dead loss, until Bonaparte is beaten back into France, at least.”
“Into France? Just how deep into Spain is he?”
“The French are ubiquitous, sir. When we last had news, both the old king, Carlos, and the new, Fernando, were under a protective arrest at Bayonne; one might as well say Bonaparte has the country in fact, if not in title.”
“And how do the people feel?”
“The people? Fernando is their idol, a rather tarnished one, I suspect, but their King. They’re sickening of the French, sir. All it will take will be one spark to set the country aflame. God knows what that spark will be.”
Ocott eyed his nephew speculatively. “By God, boy, you’re a treasure. I’d not even considered it. Tomorrow morning—no, afternoon, when you’ve had a chance to find some makeshift clothes, you’ll come with me to the ministry. Strangford and his lot are all very well, reporting on what happened in Portugal, but we’ve precious little information these days about Spain. It might,” he added thoughtfully, “make the beginning of a career for you.”
o0o
Upstairs, in a room that seemed as huge and luxurious as anything she had ever seen, Thea revelled in the feeling of clean hair, clean skin, the soft touch of one of Lady Ocott’s silk negligées. Under clean sheets, soothed by warm food and the draught of brandy Lord Ocott had prescribed for her, she was genuinely hopeful for the first time in days, with the faith of a girl of nineteen years. If Lady Ocott could help her to dress nicely, if she could show Matlin a wife in something other than those black rags, perhaps she would have a chance with him. He had been kind to her and patient on the boat. It was a sweet thought.
She was asleep long before Matlin climbed the stairs, and thus did not hear his footsteps stop outside her door for a moment. He continued to his dressing room and slept there that night.
Thea was awakened by a soft hand on her shoulder. Light streamed into the room through filmy curtains; it was obviously late in the morning. Standing by the bed was a plump, smiling woman in a lavishly laced morning robe and equally beribboned cap; her face was middle-aged, her hair a trifle brassily colored, but her smile was so genuinely young and charming that Thea could not consider her old.
“I didn’t like to wake you, my lamb, but I thought perhaps you should not sleep too long past noon,” the woman said. “No, that makes me out a saint, which I am not. I was bursting to talk with you. I’m Douglas’s Aunt Susan. We are going to have such a lovely time together, you and I, to make up for all the unpleasantness you’ve been through. Thin as a rail, you poor child.... I made Douglas tell me all about it while I drank my chocolate, and quite uncomfortable he looked, too, like a bull in a lady’s boudoir. He’s grown quite rustic in Spain, but I daresay a few weeks in Town and he’ll be as polished as ever he was. Of course, you never knew Douglas in those old days. Do you like London, my lamb?”
Overwhelmed, Thea giggled. “Lady Ocott....”
“My dear life, don’t start that, or I vow I shall have to call you Lady Matlin, and we’ll be so proper and serious, like a pair of old maids in caps! I am not the least bit serious, most of the time, in any case. I daresay you could use a little frivolity. Can’t you?” With her head cocked to one side in her ridiculous, frothy cap, Lady Ocott resembled a worried sparrow. “But of course you can,” she answered herself after a moment. “Douglas would not marry a stiff, mifty sort of girl. Now, what would you like t
o do today?”
“Lady, that is, Aunt Susan? I don’t know where to begin. Two days ago we were on a smuggling boat; two weeks ago I was riding a mule down a road somewhere in Spain. Today I’m here.” She made a little gesture that included the filmy drapes, the fire in the grate, the negligee she wore. “It’s a little much to take in all at once. I suppose what I need is something presentable to wear.”
Lady Matlin applauded. “My exact thought.... You are going to be a satisfactory guest. I thought perhaps a few things at first, and then we’ll go to work in earnest and get you a wardrobe fit for Douglas’s wife. Between the two of us, I believe Nevil wants to set him up in politics.”
Thea looked blank.
“Nevil, my husband.... Never tell me that Douglas had you calling him my lord or something so fustian?”
“I honestly can’t recall calling him anything, ma’am. I was very tired last night.”
“I’ll warrant you were, my lamb, and convalescent as well, I hear. Well, we shall take your trousseau slowly then, but fit for a political hostess, just in case.... Young, but sophisticated. How old are you, dear?”
Thea smiled slightly. “Nineteen. My birthday passed on the ship to England.” Lady Ocott sighed wistfully.
“Such a lovely age.... From your face you could be an infant, but from your figure,” she leaned back and appraised Thea critically. “Yes, young but sophisticated. This is going to be such fun. Shall we have a birthday dinner for you tonight, my dear? Or a party?”
“No!” Thea cried, panicked. “Dear, kind Aunt Susan this is very new to me. The last thing I need is a party in my honor, until I’m up to all the rigs in Town.”
“Very wise.... Are you going to be a clever girl, too? That will make a help to dear Douglas.”
Spanish Marriage Page 9
