A Reformed Rake

by Jeanne Savery

  Five

  When Harriet disappeared, Frederick turned back to the rail. They had approached near enough he could discern individual figures along the torchlit dock. One, a tall man wrapped in a many-caped driving coat, caught his eye and held it. He waited and, assuring himself it was who he’d thought, he grinned widely. Bless friends everywhere!

  But, he thought, a small anxiety entering his soul, was Robert Merton, Lord Halford, alone—or had he brought the minx who had been, briefly, between them. Frederick hoped he need not yet face Elizabeth. Not until he had the three women safe. Not until he had nothing on his mind and could put the whole of it to controlling whatever riot Elizabeth might still raise in his heart and soul! He didn’t think there’d be a problem—not if what he felt for Harriet were real—but if there were feelings for the chit, he wanted any such emotion to do no damage to the long friendship between himself and Robert.

  Frederick waited impatiently as the sailors warped the packet closer to the dock. He waved to Robert, who waved back, his hand going quickly to the hat nearly blown from his head. The two men grinned at each other. When the gangplank was in place, Frederick hurried down it and went straight to his friend.

  “I’d not expected this,” said Frederick. “I only asked that you choose me a team and carriage and have them delivered here.”

  “You’ve been gone very nearly a year. Someone should welcome you home. I’ve been here for the last three packets.” The two men clasped hands. “Is all well with you?” asked his lordship.

  The question was not, Frederick knew, as innocent as it sounded. He smiled. A hint of nostalgia, perhaps the slightest touch of pain could be read in the quick grimace passing across his features. “All, believe me, is well. Or, actually, it isn’t.” Frederick grinned, his brows rising in arcs. “You don’t know how opportune your arrival is,” he said on a wry note. “We’ve a problem, Robert.”

  “We’ve a problem? When you’ve a problem, a woman’s mixed up in it somewhere.” One brow rose, a grin spreading across the handsome face. “Remember, Fred, I’m a married man now and a reformed character. You mustn’t mix me up in anything I’ll regret.”

  “You won’t regret it. Besides, I make an exceedingly odd knight-errant. You’ll do far better.”

  “Ah ha! A story.”

  “Yes. I’ll tell it later. It is important to get Madame la Comtesse, her granddaughter, and Miss Cole out of sight. Have you a hack waiting?”

  “How about my carriage? It’s there.”

  “Excellent. In fact, it couldn’t be better for lots of reasons. Wait here, my friend.”

  With Yves’ help on one side and Frederick’s on the other, Madame walked down the plank. She stood straight, if not terribly firm, before Lord Halford, nodding at Frederick’s introduction. “We’ll go no farther than the Ship Inn tonight, Madame,” he finished gently, “but believe me, Lord Halford will help you and yours as I have done.”

  Harriet helped Françoise down to the dock. Brief introductions were made but Frani obviously felt too unwell to care. She joined her grandmother in the Halford carriage and Harriet, after one last look at Frederick, a look he couldn’t interpret, joined her mistress and her charge.

  Too few hours later, after a brief night’s sleep, Yves, Frederick, and Robert met in the private parlor the latter had reserved. Another half-hour, breakfast, and good English ale under their vests, Yves inserted a word here and there as Frederick explained their association with the French party.

  “We’ll be happy to have them as guests, Fred,” said Robert. “The young one will be company for Elizabeth, which will give your Miss Cole some freedom from worry.”

  “Will it? Save her worry, I mean? Or perhaps you are suggesting that marriage has sobered Elizabeth, turning her into a sedate and settled matron?” Frederick was surprised at how easily the teasing words fell from his lips. He was also pleased; surely it meant he need not fear his first meeting with Elizabeth. “Hmm? Has it?”

  Robert choked on the last of his brew. He laughed at the dry question. “No. I fear it has done no such thing.”

  Frederick felt a fleeting sense of jealousy at the satisfaction he heard in his friend’s voice and decided he’d congratulated himself too soon. “Then Miss Cole will be more occupied than ever,” he said. “She’ll feel responsible for twice the trouble, if I know our Miss Cole. Poor Miss Cole,” he added.

  Robert looked from Frederick to Yves. “The young one seemed very quiet, almost too quiet. Not the sort to cause anyone concern.”

  Frederick and Yves turned to look at each other. They grinned. “Mademoiselle Françoise suffered, some, on the crossing. By now she will be returned to normal—”

  As if to prove his words, the door burst open and Frani, with Miss Cole following more sedately, entered.

  “—As you see,” he finished and turned toward the women. “I told you you’d recover once dry land was under your feet, child.”

  “Mais oui, it was true, what you said, and now, me, I am hungry. Grand-mere had tea and toast, but I wish food, yes?” Frani strolled to the table and reached under the napkin for a leftover muffin. “Hmmm.”

  “And you, Miss Cole?”

  “I too would feel better for breakfast,” she agreed in her usual calm way. Yves rang for a waiter, and the two women were soon served.

  “Now,” Sir Frederick suggested, “perhaps I should introduce you again to a connection of yours, Mademoiselle de Beaupre.” He did, giving Robert his full title and explaining the relationship.

  Françoise answered prettily when Lord Halford offered his home, inviting the party to be his guests. “My wife will be glad of company, Mademoiselle,” he responded with a smile.

  After again saying what was proper, Frani sent a speculative look toward Yves. “Now that I have eaten, I wish exercise. Monsieur de Bartigues? You too would like a stroll, oui? Me, I wish to look around now that I feel more up to things.”

  “I think not, minx,” Frederick interrupted. Robert glanced from his friend to Yves but said nothing. “Any moment it will rain—storm, actually. You’ll do well to stay inside the inn.”

  Françoise pouted. She wandered to the window and peered through the thick bluish panes. Harriet joined her there, pointing up at the heavy clouds. The girl’s shoulders drooped but, shortly, she recovered her spirits and returned to where the men were gathered around the fire. “You were making plans when we arrived, were you not? For me? My safety?” she asked.

  “We were just coming to the point of making plans. We have two carriages and a party of—” Robert turned to Frederick, “—how many, old friend?”

  “The women have two maids. I and Yves have valets. That’s nine. There is yourself and those you have with you?”

  “Just my man, the coachy and a groom.”

  “We have your carriage, and the one you’ve purchased for me. We must hire a post chaise for the servants and luggage,” Frederick decided.

  Words passed back and forth quickly among the men until Miss Cole cleared her throat. “I fear this is premature, my lord,” she interrupted. “We cannot remove from here until Madame has recovered.”

  Frederick sent a sharp look her way. “No. Of course not. Is she in a bad case?”

  “No worse than one might expect. But rest, not another long journey in a swaying carriage, is essential. She is very tired. As you know, she never totally recovered from her, er, illness in Paris.”

  “Grand-mere will wish to continue, Harriet. You know she will.”

  “Yes. She will wish to. She will not rest entirely easy until she has settled your future with your grandfather.” Harriet’s lips firmed. “But, Frani, she must not attempt it today.” Miss Cole stood, nodded to the party. “I must return to her now. Come Françoise.”

  Françoise shared a pleading glance amongst the men. “Must I?”

  Harriet answered before one or another male could give in to that wistful look. “Yes, my dear, you must. England is a new country with diffe
rent rules of conduct. You will have lost your reputation before ever reaching London if you stay here alone with the men.”

  “She means, Mademoiselle Françoise, with me.”

  “Quiet, Fred,” scolded Robert. “Do not listen to him, my child. Miss Cole meant exactly what she said. If I were a nearer relative than a mere great uncle-in-law—” Françoise giggled at the relationship. “—or if you were affianced to, say, Monsieur de Bartigues—” Her eyes flicked toward the young man indicated and the faintest rosy hue gave her complexion color. “—then, perhaps, you might stay. As it is, I fear you must not.” Robert bowed.

  No one but Frederick noted the well-covered embarrassment Yves experienced when hypothetically tied to Françoise, and he wondered at it. Had his young friend fallen in love with the minx? An odd emotion, part hope that it was so and part concern filled him. Yves was a younger son, true, but of a fine old family. It would be a good match. The chit, however, was something of a flirt. She’d had no one but Yves on whom she might practice her wiles during their journey from Switzerland. Now, once she was settled in London and there was more game afoot, would she ignore Yves, hurt him?

  Once the women had gone, Frederick told Robert about the man on the packet he feared was the comte’s spy, if not worse. He’d sent Cob to locate and keep an eye on him. “Something,” said Frederick, “must be done about that one. It would be best, I think, if he did not follow us to London.”

  Robert nodded, and they fell silent, staring into the flames of the neat fire in the grate. Presently, and seemingly at random, Robert mentioned there was a third-rate acting company in town.

  “Oh?” Frederick sat up, a slow smile spreading across his face.

  “What think you?”

  Old friends, their minds working in tandem, eyed each other.

  “Oh, Wales, perhaps?” suggested Frederick. “Or, better, west to Wells and down into Cornwall?”

  Robert entered a caveat. “Do you think they could get so far?”

  Yves cleared his throat, his confusion obvious. “I seem to have lost my place in this discussion.”

  Robert smiled. “The small acting companies are ever in need of funds.”

  “And they are well-supplied with actresses and with men who occasionally take petticoat parts,” said Frederick. “Fine, tall, raw-boned maids those men would make, I’m sure.”

  “And,” Robert added to Frederick’s comment, “because they need money, they are amenable to ... persuasion.” He rubbed his fingers together in a suggestive way.

  The sentences flew at Yves from either side, and he turned his head back and forth at each additional bit of information. His eyes widened. A chuckle burst from him. “A ploy to trick the comte’s spy!” Another laugh, more robust, filled the room. “Have you,” he asked when he could speak again, “always read one another’s minds?”

  “We had years of experience. It’s been essential at times that we follow one another’s thoughts.”

  Yves sobered. “This is the friend you mentioned, Frederick?”

  “Yes. We worked together throughout much of the war.”

  “And now we will work together once more. I think a stroll to the theater and then, if they are not there at this hour, on to whatever boardinghouse the troupe has given its patronage? Some fresh air suits you?”

  Thunder rolled and suddenly the windows streamed with water.

  “Fresh air?” asked Yves.

  “Wellington weather,” murmured Frederick, his eyes meeting Robert’s.

  “Hmm. Then we are fated to successfully trick the comte’s man, are we not? At least long enough we may get the women safely to London.”

  “I don’t understand,” complained Yves, once again.

  “It always rained before or during Wellington’s greatest victories. It became something of a superstition amongst the foot soldiers. The rain might make the fighting more miserable, but it did great things for their morale nevertheless. That’s all.”

  Nearly an hour later, wet and, he was certain, as miserable as any foot soldier had ever felt himself to be, Yves followed Frederick and Robert into the small parlor of a large ramshackle house situated not far from one of Dover’s less well known and, very likely, unlicensed theaters. Water streaming from their cloaks and the brims of their hats, they waited before the hastily built fire on the small hearth. It smoked. Frederick swore fluently in three languages between bouts of coughing.

  Breaking off abruptly in mid-oath as the door opened, he bowed slightly to the tall greying man who entered. Another hour passed in negotiations but, in the end, all were pleased with the results. The money offered was generous, but on top of that, the troupe’s leader bargained for an introduction to the owner of one of London’s lesser known but well-run theaters. In the long run, that introduction would do the troupe far more good than any amount of money.

  That evening the players announced their last performance in Dover.

  “Me, I do not see why I must give over a perfectly good gown to a salope.” Françoise pouted.

  “A more proper French word would be souillon,” Harriet scolded when her charge used the extremely vulgar word for trollop. “You’ve been promised a new wardrobe in London. Why worry about an old cloak and hat? Or the dress which I remember you once swore became you not?”

  “But they are—”

  “They may, with luck, trick the comte into running quite the wrong direction once he arrives on English soil,” said Harriet, still lightly scolding.

  Françoise pulled her robe more tightly around her and shivered. “I believed he would not follow us here,” she said in a small voice.

  “The men believe he will.”

  “Why will he not give it up? He makes my flesh crawl. I will not marry him. I will not!”

  “No, of course you won’t. No one wishes you to do so. Especially your grandmother. Would she have put herself to such exertion, such strain, if she didn’t care what happened to you? Remember, she hasn’t given in, although she nearly lost her life to the comte’s wickedness.”

  Françoise had the grace to look embarrassed. “I am sorry, Harriet. Mon Dieu! I am a terrible hoyden and thoughtless as well, am I not?”

  “Yes you are,” agreed Harriet in a reasonable tone.

  Françoise giggled and threw her arms around Harriet. “I do love you. You keep me sensible.”

  “You are reasonably sensible, but you are very young.” Harriet watched the girl, thought she knew what Françoise plotted. Her voice was sharper than she intended when she warned, “You will not meet the troupe, you know. It is impossible.”

  Frani’s eyes widened, her face suddenly blank of all expression. Harriet eyed her doubtfully. Immediately a suspect innocence filled her charge’s features, worrying Harriet excessively. Harriet bit her lip. It would be improper for Françoise to converse with actresses. Very improper, but knowing Françoise as she did...

  “They are to come here tonight, are they not?” Frani played with her hair. “The actresses? So that they may set off tomorrow as if they were us?”

  Harriet nodded, eyeing Frani closely. “After the performance, they come here dressed as if they had been patrons of the play. It should answer, I believe.”

  “And they’ll be booked into a room here?” persisted Frani.

  “Yes,” Harriet again eyed her charge. Françoise smiled, a smug smile which disappeared when she noted Harriet watching her reflection. “Frani, what are you planning?” “Me? Nothing. What would I plan?”

  The girl searched her mind for a change of subject, asked a question about styles and what was proper for a young woman entering the social whirl in London. Harriet answered as best she could though she did not feel she was qualified to deal with the subject. After a while, Harriet believed she’d been wrong to suspect Françoise’s intentions. It seemed the girl had felt only a moment’s temptation to meet the actresses but then had perceived how wrong it was and relinquished the notion.

  The day, passing slow
ly, was spent almost entirely in their rooms. The rooms were nice enough in their way, but Françoise grew more and more bored. Harriet, watching Madame carefully, felt the day’s rest had done much for the brave invalid. If nothing set her back, they could leave the next morning, early, for London. It was, Harriet remembered, a six to eight hour journey for heavily loaded coaches. If Madame had the strength for the hours of travel, then, once in London, she would have time to recoup and, hopefully, regain the good health she’d lost in the process of saving her granddaughter from a horrid future.

  Dinner was a quiet meal. Françoise demanded and got a description of the theatrical company. Yves described the house in which the actors had been found, the badly ventilated parlor and the poor furnishings. Frani was shocked.

  “What is the matter, child,” asked Frederick, noting her expression.

  “They are so very poor, then? Me, I have always envied actresses. All the excitement and the crowds and—” She made an expressive movement with her hands. “—and everything.”

  “A very few thespians make their fortunes,” explained Lord Halford. “The very best are occasionally adopted as pets of society. But the majority? They are, indeed, poor.”

  Poverty was not something with which Françoise had experience. Horrified, she secretly decided to add another dress to the portmanteau for the girl who would pretend to be herself. That and the gift of jewelry which she was determined to make the women for their part in her rescue, would, she hoped, express her grateful feelings to them. Frani knew the men had arranged payment, so thanking them personally was the only excuse for meeting the women she’d conjured up. Harriet might think it improper for her to introduce herself to the actresses, but where was the adventure in that? None. She’d take the jewelry along herself and thank the women for what they did for her.

  Madame la Comtesse was consulted and announced herself quite ready to proceed to London. It was decided they would leave in the morning. The party, except for Madame, had adjourned to the parlor for dinner. The meal ended when a waiter came to clear away the broken meats and put a decanter of good brandy on the table. Harriet drew a reluctant Françoise away. Encouraged by the men to have an early night, they went to their rooms.