The Tarrant Rose

by Veronica Heley

“Ah, you travel to Bath, to inspect Miss Paget, no doubt. I hope she will be suitably impressed by the honor you do her.”

  “She is very prettily behaved, I believe, and an accomplished needlewoman.”

  “She sounds dull.”

  “Perhaps, but one does not marry for such considerations, although I own it would be pleasant to have a quiet, well-ordered home, and to be welcomed to the supper table by a woman who could be trusted not to make a scene whenever she saw you.”

  That hurt her, as it was intended to do. She bit her lip. Could she never defeat him? He was taking out a pocketbook, and asking for the address of her aunt in York. He said he had business in the north, and could easily detour to pay Miss Nan a visit. She hesitated to ask what his business might be; she did not like to risk another snub.

  He chose, however, to enlighten her. He said he had long been concerned about the harm which Free Traders were doing to the economy, and that he had been asked to prepare a detailed memorandum on the subject, with a view to presenting a bill to increase the penalties for smuggling. His journey to the north was for the purpose of investigating the strength of the Free Traders there.

  Sophia was astounded. “I don’t believe it.”

  His eyes flickered. “Why not? Everyone else does.”

  “Because … I don’t know why, exactly. If you had said you were interested in prison reform, or education for the lower classes, I would have been able to believe you; but not in this.”

  “Every man should have a hobby, don’t you think? Mr. Dalby thinks and talks of nothing but seed drills, and I think about smugglers.”

  They were near the Midmain’s box once more. Sophia saw that Mr. Dalby was already there, waiting for her, and that her aunt had turned her shoulder on him.

  “Well,” he said, “we have made two complete circuits of the rotunda without scratching each other’s eyes out. Your aunt should be pleased with you. I shall tell Miss Nan of your success, and if I hear any news of Jasper while I am in the north—through my smuggler contacts—I will let you have it when we meet at Lady Rochester’s ball next week.” He indicated a lady sitting next Lady Midmain. “Trust me; it is all arranged that you will receive an invitation.”

  He was going. She clung to his arm. “Please; don’t go like that. I ought to thank you. My aunt will be sure to ask me if I have shown my gratitude to you, and … What was that about Jasper? Do you really think you could learn something about …? Oh, Sir Gregory is coming! How vexing! Could you … do you think you could pretend to be very gallant, and kiss my hand, or something? To convince them that I have been very, very good?”

  It was a moment of triumph for her. He laughed as he bent over her hand. “Sophia, you are a baggage! I think I should press your hand, and gaze lovingly into your eyes as well, don’t you? Do you think you can keep your temper and remain well-behaved until I return? Otherwise my lovelock will be lost to me for ever.” He kissed her hand, pressed it to his heart, and only released it with a well-timed sigh as Sir Gregory came up, beaming.

  “Bravo, my dear,” whispered Lady Midmain, as she welcomed Sophia back to the box. “May I introduce my niece to you, Lady Rochester?”

  Lord Carteret had been annoyed but not deflected by Philip’s initial refusal to aid him. He had gone from Philip direct to Mr. Stone and demanded that worthy’s assistance in bringing the Tarrant boy to heel.

  Mr. Stone’s first reaction—as he told Philip later—was to have Lord Carteret confined in a straitjacket because he had clearly tipped over the edge of sanity into megalomania. But Mr. Stone soon saw that such action would serve no good purpose; the Pretender now had financial backing and would be arriving on these shores, whether Lord Carteret was at large or in Bethelhem Hospital. Besides, the King would object most violently if his favorite were to be forcibly removed from his side especially if the removal were accomplished by a member of the hated Newcastle’s staff.

  Mr. Stone was in a quandary. The Pretender’s invasion would not evaporate if ignored, but to combat it meant that Government forces must be engaged in support of a scheme of Lord Carteret’s. Newcastle was a nervous man, prone to tears and lacking in self-confidence at the best of times. Mr. Stone’s power lay in his ability to handle the Duke, but on this occasion it took all his time to prevent Newcastle either from resigning, or denouncing Carteret as a traitor.

  Philip’s volte-face could not have been more timely. The plan which he and his friend Mr. Carramine had unfolded to Mr. Stone was at once daring, simple, and comparatively easy to execute. Newcastle authorized its adoption, and told Mr. Stone to offer Rame his own terms, if he would but join the ministry. Somewhat to Mr. Stone’s surprise, Philip agreed to take an active part in his counter-invasion plan, and named as his price that he should be appointed Ambassador to Stockholm, when the present man relinquished office. Newcastle accepted these terms with glee, only to find that Lord Carteret had taken all the credit to himself for Philip’s interest in politics. Mr. Stone admired Philip’s adroit handling of the situation, which had left Newcastle and Carteret equally convinced of the Earl’s allegiance. Mr. Stone had often pondered how to interest the Earl in politics, but had despaired of breaking the ties which bound him to his uncle. Newcastle’s secretary now set himself to gain Philip’s confidence.

  The Town house of the Earls of Rame had been little used since the death of the Countess. Most of the rooms had been shut up and the furniture put under holland covers. Thomas lived in Norfolk, although this summer he was to spend at Bath. Mr. Stone had an office in Whitehall, but this was too public a place for discussions and meetings connected with Philip’s plan. Since the Earl was to be in Hanover that summer, he offered Mr. Stone the use of the great library in his Town house, and suggested that Mr. Carramine should be his guest, and thus be in a perfect position to act as link-man for the very private and important correspondence which was to pass between the Earl and Whitehall that summer. Mr. Stone accepted with alacrity.

  So it was that the Earl’s library gradually became transformed with maps and records. Two clerks—officially termed “secretaries” to Mr. Carramine—worked there during the day, and two runners—of whom Mr. Dodge was usually one—killed time in the hall behind the Earl’s sedan chair. Servants were excluded from the library, and care taken to screen the tall windows from the eyes of passersby. It was the duty of one of the clerks to burn every scrap of wastepaper in the fire, and only Philip, Mr. Carramine and Mr. Stone had keys to the room.

  Here, then, were the maps of the English Channel over which Mr. Stone and Mr. Carramine had pored so anxiously at the end of June. On the 21st of that month the Pretender, accompanied by two of his banker friends, two elderly noblemen who had more imagination than common sense, and three adventurers who made large and unjustifiable claims to being experienced soldiers, slipped out of France in disguise.

  The worthy but naive Lord President of Scotland sent Mr. Stone assurances that never before had Scotland been so satisfied with Hanoverian rule. Within a week he had changed his tune. The Pretender had landed on Eriskay and sought help of the Macdonald clan. The British General Cope was sitting roughly in the middle of Scotland, waiting for news, but what news he received was unhelpful. The country was wild, the natives reluctant to tell what they knew, and his troops were subject to acts of sabotage which damaged their morale. Mr. Stone wrote to Philip, urging that the King be advised to return to Britain at once. Philip did his best, but His Majesty was enjoying himself and, on the advice of Lord Carteret, treated the Pretender’s arrival in his domains as a joke. As head of the ministry, Newcastle ought to have been at the King’s elbow when he went to Hanover, but the Duke suffered from seasickness, and almost invariably sent a substitute. The void created by his absence was more than filled by Lord Carteret, busily feeding the King’s dislike of Newcastle and furthering his own plans.

  The Pretender marched towards Fort Augustus in order to give battle to Cope. Being short of trained men, Cope withdrew a little way up
the road, to be nearer his base. The Pretender hesitated. He could pursue Cope northwards, or bypass him and descend on Perth, which was now unprotected. He chose Perth. In military terms, it was the wrong decision to take, because it left an unbeaten force behind him, but it looked to many people as if the rebels had cleverly given Cope the slip. It was another psychological victory for the Pretender, and for the first time alarm was felt in England. Newcastle’s brother summed up the situation, when he said that he did not fear the strength of the enemy so much as the apathy of his friends. “Nothing can go right,” said Pelham, “until the Government has a head once more.”

  At long last the King sailed home, to be greeted with the news that the Pretender had entered Perth in a tartan outfit trimmed with gold. The rebels had met with no resistance and had been joined by Lord George Murray, the Duke of Perth and several other noblemen. This last piece of news was another blow to the Government, for Lord George Murray was not only an experienced soldier but a man of conscience. His example must influence others to declare for the Pretender.

  His Majesty took up residence at Kensington and proceeded to show his ministry how little he trusted them by being rude to the members of his cabinet, and consulting Carteret on matters of policy every day. Philip moved back into his Town house, but pressed Mr. Stone to continue using the library. Mr. Denbigh brought Thomas up from Bath to install him in the newly-decorated nurseries at the top of the house, but Mr. Carramine moved out into lodgings near St. James’, while continuing to work for Mr. Stone. It was not long before Mr. Denbigh, too, was drawn into the library, for there was much to be done, and few people who could be trusted to do it. At Mr. Stone’s suggestion, Philip resigned his post as Gentleman of the Bedchamber, and gave out that he was preparing a memorandum on smuggling with the help of Mr. Carramine. This enabled them to make contact without remark with men of varied backgrounds, and served as an excuse for their frequent and sudden journeys into the country. The fashionable world was amused that the Earl of Rame should devote himself to stamping out what after all was a socially acceptable crime, and thought no more of it.

  Philip and Mr. Carramine did actually prepare a bill to increase the penalties for smuggling, but this was only a cover for their real work, which was to set up and correlate the activities of a network of agents spying on the Jacobites. Provision was made at posting-houses for horses to be kept ready at all times so that their agents could speed information on its way to London. Mr. Stone’s existing force—men such as Mr. Dodge—were insufficient for this purpose, so Philip and Mr. Carramine recruited new agents from the network of smugglers with whom the latter had contacts. While Philip had been in Hanover, it had been Mr. Carramine’s task to sound out his smuggler friends by letter, pointing out the advantages to them of abandoning their illegal activities and being paid for information. Mr. Carramine now had a confidential file on men who might be prepared to cooperate with the Government, if the terms were right and they could be granted indemnity for past misdeeds. Mr. Stone was perfectly prepared to grant such letters of indemnity, for everything except the crimes of murder and forgery, and now it was up to Philip and Mr. Carramine to consolidate these contacts with visits to the areas most at risk from the Pretender’s invasion.

  The day after Philip’s return, Mr. Carramine left Town for Sussex. He was to meet there with several of his smuggler friends, but this was not the whole reason for his journey. He had not been back home since March, and since it did not seem likely he would be able to leave London again while the Pretender stalked the north, he felt he must put his domestic affairs in order. His eldest son must take control of the estate, and his second son be settled with a farm of his own. Then, too, he had promised Philip to oversee the improvements under way at Tarrant Hall.

  The Earl himself was to travel with Mr. Dodge but without his valet, and dressed in his shabbiest clothes, to Scotland. There, under the name of Mr. Rich, he was to confer with existing agents and recruit new ones. At Ranelagh he had told Sophia that he had an engagement for later on that evening; it was not with Lady Millicent, as she had supposed.

  Mr. Stone was seated in the Earl’s favorite chair in his library when the clock on the mantelpiece chimed twelve. He put down the newspaper he had been reading—it was the Opposition newspaper, The Craftsman—and took out his watch to check the time.

  “The Earl is never late,” rebuked Mr. Denbigh, who was bending over a map at a table nearby.

  As he spoke, the double doors were opened, and the Earl entered, still in the clothes he had worn to Ranelagh. He closed and locked the doors behind him before greeting his guests.

  “Is there any news?”

  “None. The ladies speculate about the Pretender’s great height, the men as to whether General Wade is not too old to carry out the job which Cope has failed to do. I did hear the Pretender has vowed not to change his linen until he reaches London; perhaps he is careless in his personal habits? Also someone said the French had ten thousand men ready to embark at Dunkirk; he was laughed at. No one believes it.”

  “No, there is nothing in it yet. My agents in Paris and Normandy will let me know the moment there is any movement of troops in the area. By the by, we miss that protegé of yours, David Vere, in France. He was most helpful there this summer. Has he turned up again anywhere?”

  “I expect to see him when I get to Edinburgh. He always wants to be in the thick of things. I told you ex-smugglers would make good recruits. I wish you would take on the Tarrant boy; he would be excellent material.”

  “Out of the question, with his background. I’m sorry to disoblige you, but the answer is still … no.”

  Philip sighed. Mr. Denbigh offered him a glass of hot toddy. Mr. Stone also accepted a glass. The three fell into the relaxed attitudes of men who are used to being in each other’s company, and had long dispensed with ceremony. Philip threw his wig onto the nearest table and dropped his coat on the floor in order to don a worn and comfortable morning gown. Mr. Denbigh picked up his master’s coat, laid it on a chair and lit a pipe without asking permission. Mr. Stone rubbed his nose. He was a spare man in his late forties with a keen eye, but otherwise undistinguished features. His manner was self-effacing. He was not a man whose face would be easy to remember.

  “We are in for several months of anxiety.”

  “I will do what I can. I did hear a rumor that the Duke of Cumberland is being brought back to Britain to act as Commander in Chief. I remember him in Flanders. An uninspired commander, but thorough.”

  “The King wants him back. He’s over-young—twenty-five, isn’t he?—but the knowledge that it’s his father’s throne at stake should provide him with enough impetus to sweep his Stuart cousin into the sea.”

  “I believe my uncle suggested it,” said Philip.

  Mr. Stone gave the impression of pointing to attention, without actually having moved.

  Philip nodded. “You are right to be worried. I dined with him today. He takes all the credit to himself for this treaty we are about to conclude with ‘Antimac.’ His international reputation did help; but not of course to the extent that he believes it did. However, taken together with the success of his plan to get the Pretender over without foreign troops at his back, this treaty plays into my uncle’s hands. It has added greatly to his credit with the King. I fear that His Majesty may attempt to dismiss Newcastle and reinstate my uncle.”

  “You are his favorite nephew. He has asked that you should receive the post of Ambassador to Stockholm when it becomes vacant. Why should you fear your uncle’s return to power?”

  “A change of ministers now would divide the country politically, and this could only be of advantage to the Pretender.”

  “You remind me of a man walking a tightrope,” observed Mr. Stone. “Which way will you jump off? Toward Newcastle, or toward your uncle?”

  Chapter Seven

  A week later, tired, hungry and thirsty, the Earl reined in his horse outside an unpretentious half-timbered ho
use on the outskirts of York. A dirty, half-grown lad offered to walk the beast up and down while the gentleman was visiting.

  “Is this Mr. John Tarrant’s house?”

  The lad affirmed that it was, and added that the gentleman needn’t look for no proper grooms at Mr. Tarrant’s.

  “Very well,” said Philip. He dismounted, gave his horse into the lad’s care, and rapped on the front door. A pretty young maidservant told him that Miss Tarrant was at home, but didn’t receive visitors. Philip might be dusty and tired, but his manner still carried authority. The maid went to fetch Mr. Tarrant. Without being asked to do so, Philip stepped over the threshold and entered the hall of the house. There was evidence of neglect everywhere; the ashes of a fire left in the grate, dust, a careless clutter of riding crops and guns on the floor. What was Miss Nan doing in a place like this?

  A stout, fussy gentleman arrived, adjusting clothing which had most probably been disarranged by the hands of his maid, who hovered, primping, in the doorway behind him.

  “You want Miss Tarrant? She’s not here as family, you know. She’s here to nurse my wife.”

  Philip bowed. “May I introduce myself? Philip Rich, in the service of the Earl of Rame. I have letters from my master to Miss Tarrant. The Earl feels he is under considerable obligation to Miss Tarrant. I trust she will be willing to leave her patient long enough for me to speak with her.”

  “I suppose I could get someone else to sit with my wife for a while. The Earl of Rame, you say? Nan never spoke of him.”

  “She is too modest. She is a very dear friend of his. You have met the Earl, of course?”

  Philip guessed that Mr. Tarrant would be flattered by this, and he was.

  “I … well, we haven’t, actually. Oh, come into the parlor. No sense standing in this drafty place. Have some wine … some cold meat? I think there was something left of a side of ham.” The bell in the parlor did not work, so the master of the house lifted his voice in a stentorian bellow for someone called Bess.