The Tarrant Rose

by Veronica Heley

  “Very well, thank you,” said Philip, trying not to laugh.

  “That’s what I thought. Sophia said I wasn’t to bother you with business, because you wouldn’t be up to it for a day or two, but I thought …”

  “There is something I can do for you? I am greatly in your debt. If there is any way I can discharge my obligation, please tell me what it may be.”

  “The thing is, I wanted a word with the Earl, but he’s not to be seen. I’ve ridden over to the Manor twice to report how you were, and I thought I might have the luck to see him today, if not yesterday, but he was still in bed. They say he has caught a chill and has to be careful of his health. He sounds a poor thing. I don’t see how he could have shot a highwayman, if he’s such a weakling, but … Oh, I forgot, he’s some sort of cousin of yours, isn’t he, and you won’t want me calling him names. The thing is, no one except Sir John Bladen has seen the Earl as yet, although several of us have called on him. Mr. Denbigh told me that the Earl leaves the district again as soon as his cold is better, and I thought that when you got back, you might put in a word for me.”

  “I daresay I could. What is it you want with him?”

  The lad looked over his shoulder to make sure that the door was shut, and inched his chair nearer the bed. “Sophia would be furious if she knew I had approached you about it, but I’d be a fool not to take advantage of this opportunity, wouldn’t I? The thing is that I want to be a soldier. I’ve wanted to be a soldier ever since I was breeched. Sophia and Aunt Nan have tried to make me interested in the land, but I can’t get up any enthusiasm for the rotations of crops and pigs and the like.” He grinned. “It’s no good pretending to be what you’re not, is it? I’m like my father and brother—army-mad. The difficulty is that we’ve no money or influence at Court, and I want a commission. I could enlist as a common soldier, but I’d not make my fortune that way, and I daresay I wouldn’t enjoy the life.”

  “I daresay you wouldn’t,” said the Earl, torn between amusement and annoyance. “You want me to ask the Earl to obtain a commission for you? Well, it is only fair to tell you, straight away, that your chances of success are small. The King makes all such appointments himself.”

  “Yes, I know that, but since the Earl is a Gentleman of the Bedchamber …”

  “The Earl has never abused his position to solicit favors,” said Philip, beginning to frown. “If you are so short of money, the Earl might make you a gift of a good horse, or your uniform, but … don’t take it so hard, lad. Have you no relatives who can put in a word for you?”

  “There is an uncle who lives in London. I wrote to him for help, but he has not replied.”

  “But with a father and a brother already in the Army …”

  “They are both dead. Besides,” the boy glanced away, reddening, “they didn’t fight with the English Armies.”

  “Oh. Jacobites, were they?”

  “My brother did it for money, because he didn’t think he could get a commission in the English Army. The Tarrants have been poor ever since I can remember, and my brother John thought he could do well for himself abroad. He didn’t, though. He was killed in a drunken brawl in Paris a couple of years ago. Someone wrote to tell my father about his death, and later they brought back his ring and his pistols. Everything else they sold to pay his debts. I would have liked to have had my brother’s pistols, but my father said I was too young, and he sold them. He sold the other farm about that time, too, and Sophia said my father gave the money to the Frenchman to pay my brother’s debts, and that it should be an example to me, that no one makes their fortune by going into the Army.”

  Philip wondered if the Frenchman who had brought Jasper’s father news of his eldest son’s death had been a Jacobite agent. It seemed possible. And if so, perhaps the money from the sale of the farm had gone, not to pay the Tarrant boy’s debts, but into the coffers of Charles Edward Stuart, the Young Pretender.

  “Your father also fought for Louis?”

  “It was an open secret that he did. He would never talk about it, for fear that he would be fined for it. He was out in the ’15, you know, and had to be careful, afterwards. What a fool he was!” the boy cried. “Everyone knows the Stuart cause is dead!”

  “And your father is dead, too?”

  “He was never well after he heard of my brother’s death. He seemed to turn against me, after that, even more than … he never liked me. He didn’t like anyone much. He grew very strange, towards the end. I don’t think he knew what he was doing half the time. He’d have left his affairs in better order, if he had. Poor Sophia’s had the devil of a time, trying to sort out what we owe. Where the money’s gone to, I don’t know, but we only have the home farm left, and debts everywhere. We can’t stay on here. Sophia and Aunt Nan will be provided for and our debts paid if I sell the Hail, and that’s what I mean to do. I can sell as soon as I’m eighteen, next week.”

  “Won’t you mind leaving this place?”

  The boy drew himself up. Philip thought: he’s going to lie.

  “Of course not,” said Jasper. “I’ve always wanted to go into the Army, and this is my chance to do so. Only, I must have a commission.”

  Philip was getting tired, but the boy hadn’t noticed.

  The boy said, “I was at my wits’ end what to do, and then you fell off your horse in the lane, and I thought that this was Providence, taking a hand in my affairs.”

  “Maybe it is,” said Philip. His head had begun to ache again. He must think. Jacobites … commissions … letters from France … the Ram and the Rose …

  “Will you really help me?” Jasper leaped up, and his chair went over with a crash. Philip winced. The boy seized his hand and pumped it up and down. “I knew you’d see it my way. I told Sophia that anyone who could jump our hedge on that horse must be a right one.”

  “What did she say to that?”

  “Oh, you don’t want to take any notice of her. She’s not usually moody. I don’t know what’s come over her, lately. I say—would you let me exercise Prince for you while you’re laid up? He’s eating his head off in the stables, and not a sign of trouble in his legs. I’ve been to see him twice a day, and he knows me now.”

  Philip nodded. He could hardly keep his eyes open. At long last the boy went away, and then there was silence.

  It was Philip’s last day at Tarrant Hall. Mr. Denbigh had called early that morning to bring him some clothes and to be promised an increase in salary for the discreet way in which he had covered his master’s absence. Philip was now on Christian-name terms with Jasper, who hero-worshipped him, and never tired of hearing his tales of war in Flanders. He was also on excellent terms with Miss Nan, but Sophia was as sharp with him as ever. He could tell from the attitude of everyone else at Tarrant Hall that Sophia did not usually behave so shrewishly; one after another they expressed surprise at her present behavior. Philip himself had witnessed an incident which proved she was not naturally cross-tempered; a stable lad had put the tine of his pitchfork through his foot, and no one could have been more tender or softer-voiced than Sophia, as she gently cleansed the wound and reassured the boy. Philip could not help wondering how it would be if she were to act like that towards him, and how he would feel if she were to caress him as she had caressed that frightened boy. … Her refusal to flirt piqued him. Was he so deficient in graces that, without his title and fine clothes, he was unable to please a woman?

  He strolled down to the stables to see Jasper ride off on Prince, “to prove he’s fit again.” He felt languid, but otherwise restored to health. He leaned against the front door, watching the servants bustle about. The Hall was well run, and everyone who worked there seemed cheerful. He could not make up his mind whether this was due to Sophia’s energy or Miss Nan’s wisdom.

  He asked a passing maid where Miss Sophia might be.

  “She’s ridden out on the farm,” sang out Miss Nan, perched on a window seat. “Come and talk to me, instead.” She was mending linen with
spidery stitches.

  “Does she have to work so hard?” complained Philip. “She promised to rub my arm again.”

  “Someone has to do the work around here; Jasper won’t, and I can’t, and there’s no one else.”

  “She looks tired.”

  Miss Nan sent him a shrewd, bright glance. “You are a good boy. Not many men would have noticed. I must also thank you for taking so much trouble with Jasper. It was kind of you to let him ride your horse, and to tell him what to expect in the Army. I hope—oh, I do hope that he can get a commission.”

  “I like the lad, and will do what I can for him, but what I don’t like is that he has at least three suits of good clothes, whereas you and Miss Sophia wear the same dress, day after day.”

  “You are a kindly man, Mr. Rich, and thoughtful for those less fortunate than yourself.” Now what did she mean by that? thought Philip. Had she pierced his disguise? “Nevertheless,” she continued, “I shall be glad when you are gone, even though I shall miss you. Heigho! We shall be so dull again when you and the Earl have gone, and there is nothing to talk about but the weather.”

  “There is Jasper’s coming of age to look forward to.”

  “Which means the break-up of our family. He must sell, and we must prepare the Hall to receive its new master. But let us look on the bright side; perhaps Sir John will authorize the purchase of new linen to replace some of these torn sheets.”

  “Sir John? Sir John is to buy Tarrant Hall?”

  “Did you not know? Now I wonder why Sophia did not tell you. What contrary creatures we women are, to be sure. Such a dear girl, so even-tempered in adversity, so affectionate and courteous … but recently so short-tempered, so curt, so impolite. I say to her: Sophia, what is the meaning of your behavior, and she slams the door in my face. You have noticed how badly she’s been behaving, of course?”

  Philip said, “I don’t think so.”

  “That’s strange, when you can hardly take your eyes off her. She lied to me last night, too. She said she had no idea what color your hair was, yet she spent hours gazing at you while you were in bed.” Philip made an involuntary movement. “You were saying, sir?” Philip shook his head. “Dear me! Both of you dumb as oxen, yet both of you can use your tongues to good effect when you choose. You are not married, sir?”

  Philip started. “I … no, I was; but she died. However, there are plans for me to remarry this summer.”

  “Just so,” said Miss Nan. Her eyes appeared to be on her stitchery, but Philip had the impression that she was watching him carefully. “You are to marry soon, and so is Sophia. It will be a very suitable match for her, don’t you think? Sir John’s wife died two years ago, and he only has one daughter. He would dearly love to have a son, and Sophia is young and healthy enough to provide him with the heir he wants. Then Sir John’s title is but a lately acquired affair, of no weight, and he understands the importance of allying himself with the Tarrants, who have lived here since before the Conquest. He will buy Tarrant Hall from Jasper, and this will enable us to pay our debts. I am to live with them. It is kind of him to ask me, for who else would want to give a crippled woman a home? I should be afraid to live by myself. The villagers think of me as a witch, you see, because my body is crooked and I know how to cure warts. It is an excellent solution to our problem, isn’t it, Mr. Rich?”

  Philip tried to analyze his emotions. There was indignation at the thought of Sophia being handed over to that monster, Sir John, and a sense of loss … but what else? He met Miss Nan’s gaze and thought: she knows. What it was that she knew, he did not attempt to define, but he rose from his seat and began to pace the room.

  “Can you think of a better home for her?” asked Miss Nan.

  He thought of his great house at Rame, and what Society would have to say if he were to attempt to take a rough country wench like Sophia for his wife, and for a moment he was exhilarated by the prospect. Then reason edged out emotion. What would Sophia do at Court? Why, the King himself had promised to find a bride for his favorite Gentleman in Waiting. Philip laughed.

  “I am sure it will be a very suitable match,” he said. He had a sudden urge to leave the room, and Tarrant Hall … to get away from this witch of a woman who saw too much. … What was he doing here, anyway? He fed indignation until it turned to anger.

  “Miss Tarrant, I promised your nephew that I would speak to the Earl about a commission; the King reserves the right to make all such appointments himself, but the Earl has never asked a favor of His Majesty before, and I don’t doubt that under normal circumstances he would be successful. However, there is something known against the Tarrants, some talk of treasonable activity, of their being Jacobites.”

  “We are not Jacobites,” she said, but her color intensified. “I have brought up the children to honor King George and despise the Stuarts.”

  “Maybe so, but both your brother and your elder nephew were Jacobites, were they not?”

  “Mr. Rich, your manner …”

  “I have proof that someone in this house is or was a Jacobite. Letters have been intercepted which were intended for someone here. The King will not be inclined to grant Jasper a commission unless …”

  “Unless … what? My brother and my nephew are dead. Requiescat in pace.”

  “I need to know how far they were involved. I believe couriers came from France with letters for your brother, and went back with good English gold in their pockets. Isn’t that so? Didn’t the money from the sale of one of the farms go that way?”

  “I …” She had her hand to her throat. “He did not confide in me. Sometimes I thought … but then, I would say to myself that he couldn’t possibly be such a fool as to think the Stuarts … No, I never took him seriously. Mr. Rich, you did not know him. He was always thinking up schemes which came to nothing … saying that this year or next, we would be rich … borrowing money from his best friend and losing it when in his cups … he gambled, you know, and when I asked him where the money had gone to, he always said it was because he had bad luck with cards. It was all in his mind, that talk of plots and fortunes to be made. …”

  “Not quite all, I think. What about the letters which came from France? Did you see them? Did you read them? His Majesty will not give Jasper a commission unless I can convince him about those letters.”

  There was a long silence. Finally, she said, “I burned them. I found them in the secret drawer at the back of the cupboard in the parlor. You are right; the letters could have been described as treasonable, although I am sure my brother did not realize what he was doing when he … he was not well, Mr. Rich. I was afraid when I read them; afraid for my brother, and for all of us. So I burned them. There is no proof now that he ever was a Jacobite.”

  Later that night Philip met with another rebuff. He had spent an uncomfortable evening listening to Sophia attack the Earl’s reputation. She seemed to know exactly how to wound him best. He defended himself with as much firmness as was commensurate with courtesy; he said that in his estimation the Earl was neither a fop nor a coward, and that although he wore Court dress when required, he was not milliner-mad. He denied that the Earl was supposed to be coldhearted, or that he had neglected his wife when she’d been alive. Only when Sophia attacked the Earl for being a bad landlord did his anger begin to mount.

  Miss Nan intervened to say that she had first-hand information on the matter; Mr. Farrow had told her he had orders to wring as much as possible out of the Earl’s tenants. She had remonstrated with him on several occasions about the need for repairs in the village, and on each occasion he had told her he was unable to do anything about it. “He is an unpleasant man, to be sure,” said Miss Nan, “But he is only doing his job.” She looked at Philip as she said this, as if she knew he could right the wrong done the villagers.

  He said, conscious that his own color had risen, “I will ask the Earl to investigate Mr. Farrow’s conduct of affairs. I know he is already worried about the condition of houses in the v
illage, and I know that the Earl would never have given such orders as Mr. Farrow claims.”

  Jasper whooped with delight, and raised his tankard in a toast to his aunt.

  “Here’s damnation to Mr. Farrow!” he cried. “And victory to Aunt Nan! She told him she would bring him to book for his misdeeds, and sure enough, she has done so. You have no idea how much that creature Farrow hates and fears her, for wherever he goes, bullying and teasing, my aunt goes after him, with her wise words and her potions. He hates her because she organizes the villagers to protest against him. They love her … at least, they used to do. Only, lately they’ve begun to say. … stupid things! I believe he’s at the bottom of the gossip about Aunt Nan. Do you know, he has the impudence to call her a witch?”

  Sophia laughed, and threw her arms round her aunt’s neck. “And a witch you are, indeed. The dearest, sweetest witch in Creation!”

  But when Philip followed Sophia out into the corridor, she ceased to smile. He stood close to her, his hand on her arm to prevent her from departing. He wanted to put himself right with her, but did not know what words to use. He could see that her breath was coming short, and that her color had risen, and felt the same symptoms afflict him.

  He bent to kiss her, and she slapped him.

  “Oh, I wish you’d never come here!” she cried, and fled down the passage into the darkness.

  Chapter Three

  The cloth had been removed from the table, and the decanter set before the Earl and his guest, Mr. Carramine. Mr. Denbigh had already made an excuse to retire, and now the Earl signed to the servants to leave. It was the night after Philip’s return to the Manor, and he had invited Mr. Carramine to keep him company. He moved his bad arm with care, but it did not trouble him unduly. He had resumed his fashionable clothes, periwig and paint, and instructed his servants to say that the Earl was now convalescent, but that his secretary Mr. Rich had been despatched to London on business.

  It was the Earl who proposed the first toast, “His Majesty’s health,” and Mr. Carramine who proposed the second, “To your swift return to health.”