by Robin Helm
Those words evidently meant something to the others, because both of the Brandons ceased their importuning and turned their attentions to one another and their upcoming ride. Mrs. Brandon argued for their sons to ride along, but the Colonel declined until Miss Dashwood put forth the suggestion that seeing their father’s careful attention to the estate’s responsibilities would prove a more important lesson than the source of the Nile.
A small smile played about the Colonel’s lips. “I’ve heard that can cause confusion in even the most learned men.”
They speak in indecipherable riddles.
“Mr. Thayer has expressed an interest in exploring the grounds, my love.” Mrs. Brandon buttered toast for her husband and passed him a plate. “I would suggest Margaret be his guide, but she’s planned a morning in the yew arbor with that wretched book you gave her.” A benevolent smile belied the scathing opinion given of the tome. “How you converted my romantic little sister into a veritable bluestocking, I’ll never know. And I’ll never forgive you,” she added.
“You would have my heart palpitating from Shakespeare’s sonnets, would you?” Miss Dashwood rose from her place and gave her sister an enigmatic smile. “Please do read my favorite for me, dearest. That would be number one hundred fifty-four.”
With that, she quit the room.
Of course, Conrad didn’t know which sonnet number one hundred fifty-four was, but if the smile exchanged between the Colonel and his wife meant what he supposed it did, then Miss Dashwood wasn’t completely immune to romance. Perhaps she is reading Evelina when she thinks no one will notice. And is it really such a shocking book? The conversation about the church altered his thoughts. Or, is she merely conscientious of the sensibilities of members of her family who belong to the clergy? That would show some fineness of spirit.
“I’m afraid Margaret is a bit out of sorts this morning. She was up at daybreak—her insomnia may have returned.”
“Is she often plagued by it?”
The concern on Brandon’s face proved enough, but Mrs. Brandon elaborated. “Since she was but a girl. Chamomile helps but little. Peppermint sometimes…”
From there, the conversation meandered through topic after topic until Conrad felt free to leave. “After my walk through the gardens, I might rest in my room for a while. I too found it difficult to sleep last night.”
His concern that the Colonel would follow him proved unfounded. Conrad walked the opposite direction from the yew arbor, examined every inch of the near gardens, and finally found her exactly where he’d expected her to be. Mrs. Brandon’s praise for the yew arbor had not been exaggerated.
Tall and stately, well-shaped and trimmed to perfection, the yew arbor was comprised of two walls of yew hedges—six to eight feet tall—and then trained into a canopy over the space. It was perfect for morning tea, or, as Miss Dashwood had chosen, a lovely reading nook. He found her there, lounging on a bench with a cushion behind her back and one beneath her. The picture was of a young girl, lolling about the furniture, but as she raised her gaze to him, Conrad adjusted his perspective.
She is no silly little girl.
“You found me, I see.” She swung her legs around and sat upright before pulling the cushion from beneath her. “I’d begun to wonder if I’d have to rescue you from the clutches of the mulberry.”
“I saw the Brandons ride off a short while ago and turned this way after that.”
“And what did you learn from the Colonel? What is happening? Did he request militia to protect his secret documents?”
You think the dispatch is Brandon’s. Good. Conrad spoke with complete frankness. “I wouldn’t think so.”
Miss Dashwood rose and eyed him. “Who are these people? Why did they invade his home? Why would it not be best to capture them at once?”
“Spies, Miss Dashwood—of a sort. Rather, we think they are hired by spies.”
It wasn’t the first time he’d seen it. Margaret Dashwood was reasonably pretty for a young lady, but when her mind engaged, it enlivened her features and added much more to them. She was then, he allowed, quite pretty.
“What are we to do then?”
Ignoring the “we,” Conrad offered her what he thought she wished for most. “We’ve decided to keep watch at night—by turns.”
“And what time am I to take?”
“You—time?” It took a moment to realize what she meant. “I—that is…” Careful words were required, or he’d discover if she had decided to take advantage of their unfortunate meeting the night before. I’d rather live in ignorant bliss for as long as possible in that eventuality. Thomas Gray certainly put that well.
“I may sleep for a while before dinner, so perhaps first watch would be best? I would be completely refreshed—at least for a while.”
“I’ve no thought of you keeping watch, Miss Dashwood.” He shook his head at her impending indignant retort. “And I doubt that our host would approve.” To divert her, Conrad offered the consolation prize he felt certain she’d accept. “But, of course, I’ll be resting much during the day, so you’ll have the library all to yourself.”
“And I’ve no care for where I might read when intruders threaten. Does the Colonel know what they want?”
If he answered truthfully, she would importune him until he gave her whatever she requested in the pursuit of silence. Lying, however, was out of the question. That left only one option. “I believe he does.”
She eyed him, searching. If he’d not spent the last eight years in the Royal Navy, he might have squirmed. To his relief, however, he did not.
“I see.” She turned, but not before he caught a dimple forming almost at the corner of her mouth—not before he saw a smile there. “I suppose, one cannot expect an exemplary officer such as Colonel Brandon to share military secrets with a Navy man. There are likely rules or regulations about such things.”
“On the contrary. I have the dispatch in question in my possession, and the Colonel has no idea of its contents.” Honesty forced him to add, “I confess I only have a vague notion of what it might contain. Indeed, I hope I am wrong.”
“Thank you, Mr. Thayer. I had wondered if you would be forthcoming.”
Taken aback, he offered her a slight nod. “You are much more clever than I think anyone gives you credit for, Miss Dashwood.”
This time, the smile didn’t play about the edges of her lips. It filled her face and lit her eyes. “Most ladies are, Mr. Thayer.”
“I wouldn’t know. I’ve not spent much time in the company of ladies.”
“Your mother? A sister? Wife? Sweetheart? Surely, you lived a life before your service in the Navy.”
Conrad didn’t care to discuss the misfortunes of his youth, but Miss Dashwood had proven herself as determined as he was reticent, so he told of his parents’ early deaths, the few years he’d spent with a cousin’s family, and his volunteering to the Navy at twelve. “I did well for myself—midshipman at fourteen, lieutenant at twenty.”
“You must have had a good patron.”
“Between my cousin and Admiral Croft, I was well cared for, yes. Alas, neither of them,” Conrad allowed himself a smile before finishing, “is a lady.”
“Quite so.” Miss Dashwood snapped her book shut, and Conrad noted it was the same book she’d brought the night before. “What time is your watch over, Mr. Thayer?” At his questioning look she added, “I’ll be prepared to assume your watch when you’ve done.”
This time, Conrad decided to attempt logic as his objection. “As confident as I am in your ability to remain awake and alert, if these men return and find you there, they could kill you… or worse.”
“And they could kill you as well. Again, I ask. What time?”
“I know how to defend myself. If you would—”
“As do I. The Colonel has taught me.”
Perhaps it would only encourage her ridiculous ideas, but Conrad couldn’t help but ask, “Brandon taught you… what, precisely?”
/> “Swordplay.”
Is the man mad? Only one response made any sense at all. “And how will that help you against a pistol?”
“He taught me to shoot, too.” She gave him a deceptively sweet smile. “And your next objection will be?”
Firmness—the time had come for firmness. “As gracious as your willingness to help in our watch is, it is unnecessary. I’ll watch from midnight until three, and the Colonel will watch until daybreak. As you can see, there is simply no other time needed.”
With that, he turned on his heels and strode toward the house, toward the library, and toward solitude… he hoped.
CHAPTER FOUR
As the clock struck midnight, Conrad left his bedroom and made his way down the hall to the stairs. This time, his feet moved even more quietly than before, and instead of a candlestick, he carried a coverlet to keep his legs warm during his watch. The sunny day must have allowed for just enough moisture to leave the air, because the door didn’t stick as much as it had the previous night—just a hint of it. Or perhaps, rather, the daytime fire dries the air just enough to work its magic.
With pistol in hand, he closed the door behind him with a soft click of the latch and waited for his eyes to adjust to the darkness. A shadow moved. He raised his pistol.
“Identify yourself.”
The shadow stepped closer, and Conrad pulled the steel closed. “My weapon is loaded and ready to fire. I will shoot.”
“And you’ll explain to my brother-in-law why you’ve killed his favorite Dashwood.”
His hand shook as he turned away and pushed the steel open. “I could have killed you,” he hissed.
The same soft voice reached him. “I trusted that you would not be eager to rouse the house unnecessarily.” Miss Dashwood now stood in a weak pool of light.
“What are you doing here?”
“I came to help. Should someone come, you would hold them at bay while I sought assistance.”
The world has gone mad and taken you with it. Conrad tried for caution over railing. “Your reputation—”
“Is already in jeopardy if either of us makes an imprudent, careless remark.” He could almost see her jaw jutting forward—even in the shadows. “What is a reputation when a life or military secrets are in peril?”
What indeed? You are more naïve than I’d imagined. She would object to such a thought, of course. “Have you no sense at all? You can’t do this. As the so-called ‘favorite Dashwood,’ whom I would have assumed to be his wife—”
“She is no longer a Dashwood, is she? I chose my words carefully and well. The only other Dashwoods of the Colonel’s acquaintance are odious, self-important people.”
The silvery wisps of light gave Miss Dashwood an ethereal glow as she moved through it and seated herself in the chair he’d intended to take for himself. It looked out over where the drive came up and wound around to the front of the house. Anyone coming would likely be seen there first, according to Brandon.
Then again, that presumes they would repeat their previous approach.
Rude or not, Conrad needed to address it. He tried for a slow approach to evicting her from the library. “May I ask that you sit opposite? I’ll need…” he amended his words before they could antagonize her into non-compliance. “—the clearest view possible if I’m to be able to see a target before I fire.”
At “view,” Miss Dashwood rose with grace he could admire even in the shadows of the dark room. She settled herself in the opposite chair without a word. He suspected he heard a stifled yawn. Perhaps if she falls asleep, in this darkness, someone might assume I had not seen her there.
Then again, after a sleepless night, she might not rouse quickly should someone come after all. He’d often heard that women were troublesome creatures. If this young lady was any example, Conrad Thayer concurred.
“Where’ve you been, Lieutenant Thayer? Have you fought against Napoleon?”
“I’ve been in the East Indies—securing the Empire’s position against the French and the Dutch.” And that is why I am here, but that is no concern of yours.
“And is the air truly filled with spices?”
The temptation to add unwashed bodies, rotting fish, and other filth died on his lips. He found he couldn’t do it to her. Honesty, however, demanded he not embellish too much. “If you know where to go, it is.”
“I’ve long wished to see it, but of course—” she broke off, listening.
Conrad strained to hear as well. For hoofbeats? Footfalls? Indoors or out?
“’Tis nothing, I suppose. What were we discuss—? Oh, yes. The Indies. I’ll not have cause to go myself. I must live vicariously through books and the stories of those who care to share them.”
With his voice low, Conrad described the Javanese women with their black, silky hair and wrapped dresses. When she showed little interest in what they wore, he went on to tell of their lives, how early they married, the dark-eyed children. When those failed to impress her, he spoke of the fruit, the strange foods he’d seen for sale in the marketplace, and the exotic cloth for sale.
From there, she asked about the ship, sailing times, had he ever been becalmed? And when he confessed that yes, indeed he had been becalmed a few times, she plied him with more questions. “Was it much like ‘The Rime of the Anceynt Marinere?’ Did it feel as though you were surrounded by desolation?” He could almost hear the smile as she added, “Although, not arctic desolation. Warm seas, perhaps?”
“We were too well-provided for to fear lack of water, although one does see the irony of being surrounded by water that one cannot drink. But it is strange that you should mention that poem. It’s a favorite of mine. The lines,
“‘He prayeth best, who loveth best
All things both great and small;
For the dear God who loveth us,
He made and loveth all.’
“Make me think of when the Lord Jesus prayed in Gethsemane. Did He not love best after praying thus?”
“My step-papa does not agree with the spiritual allusions I find in the poem, but like you, I see them and they have driven me to search the Scriptures and learn more, so for that I have both Mr. Berridge and Coleridge to thank regardless.”
Miss Dashwood asked about his opinion on the albatross—was it the cross Jesus bore? Is it the personal cross that people carry until they yield it to the Savior? Was there a cautionary tale in the spirits aboard ship?
Conrad spoke at length about the arguments he and some of the other officers had enjoyed regarding the meaning of the poem’s elements. When he stopped speaking to ask a question, and she didn’t respond, he realized he’d put her to sleep. I cannot imagine that it was my sonorous voice….
His previous idea of the assumption of her being unnoticed by him would work. He’d have to stare hard at the chair to see her form in it. Who would expect him to do such a thing? Regardless, he’d waken her at a quarter before three o’clock and advise her to withdraw to her room. And I’ll find some way to convince Brandon to keep her away from here out.
The little French mantle clock chimed the three-quarter hour, and as if waiting for it, Miss Dashwood rose and turned to go. “I’ll leave now and preserve your reputation, Mr. Thayer. Goodnight.”
He hardly knew how to respond.
At the door, she turned back. “You should also know that Marianne knows I intended to come tonight.”
That brought Conrad to his feet. He bolted to the door and hissed, “Why would you tell her that?”
“If we hide nothing, then there is no concern for our reputations. We both enjoy the library. We both came at the same time. The Colonel knows you are here. His wife knows I am. Nothing untoward should then be presumed.”
With that remarkable statement, she vanished. He listened for the creaky step, but either she knew of it, or the Colonel’s men had repaired it already. Are you both so naïve? Rumors regarding Mrs. Brandon’s history decided for him. While Miss Dashwood might be, Mrs. Brandon is m
erely a hopeless romantic and without sense. What does the Colonel see in her?
***
Margaret found her sister at the pianoforte the following afternoon. The golden yellow tones of the walls offered warmth to a room bereft of good sunlight. Indeed, with stormy skies and rain pelting against the windows, the lighting was particularly bad. This, however, did not deter Marianne from her music. She played with eyes closed and her back erect but relaxed in that way that Margaret had never been able to imitate.
She had been on her way to her favorite place in the library—beneath the table with cushions to keep her comfortable. A candle would be necessary, and that stole a little of her joy, but finding Mr. Thayer in the same chair where she’d left him hours earlier sent her straight to her sister.
There, she set her book on the piano forte, leaned against it, and cocked her head until Marianne took notice of her and asked, “You are vexed?”
“I require a blue dress. Forthwith.”
“Then a trip to Haselbury Brian is in order. Recall the lovely blue linen we found the last time you found yourself in want of that particular color?” After a glance toward the doorway, Marianne leaned close. “Did you have the library to yourself last night?”
Margaret retrieved her book and turned to go. “The better question, dearest, would be if Mr. Thayer did.” She smiled to herself before crossing the room. “He did not.”
CHAPTER FIVE
Mrs. Chalmers, the local seamstress, had been trained under Mrs. Eddington, who had trained under someone else who had worked for a London modiste! This tree of qualifications never ceased to amuse Margaret. Furthermore, the woman’s training had either been thorough or unnecessary due to natural talent. Her needlework was as fine and delicate as anything Margaret had seen anywhere, and her speed was unparalleled.
She arrived a week after Margaret had chosen a lovely blue and white striped muslin, ready to transform yards of flat cloth into a fine morning dress. Of course, by that time, Margaret’s pique had passed, and the woman’s presence kept Margaret out in the garden with her nephews and far away from the sewing room.
