The Tarrant Rose

by Veronica Heley

  “You know she’s as deaf as a post,” said the serving wench, sulkily.

  “Fetch her yourself, and then sit with my wife for a while.” The girl pulled a face, but left.

  “Might I have a dish of tea?” asked Philip.

  “I have some capital Burgundy that never passed through the hands of the King’s men before it reached York.” Mr. Tarrant tapped the side of his nose meaningly. Oh no, thought Philip; not another smuggler! but this man would not have the intelligence to organize. He would merely be a receiver of smuggled goods.

  “No, thank you,” said Philip. Mr. Tarrant went to the door and bellowed out a demand for tea, while the Earl surveyed the parlor with distaste. It was very nearly as cheerless as the hall.

  A light, halting footstep, and Miss Nan appeared in the doorway. She appeared unsure of her welcome. Philip went to her, kissed both her hands, and smiled down into her troubled face.

  “Life is full of surprises,” she said. “I had been thinking of you a lot, lately, but I never expected to see you here. It’s not bad news?”

  “No, no. On the contrary.” He glared at Mr. Tarrant, trying to make the man understand that he wished to speak to Miss Tarrant in private.

  “Ah, well,” said Mr. Tarrant, nodding and winking. “I’ll leave you to your gossip. If I’m off before you leave, Mr. Rich, pray give my compliments to the Earl.”

  He was gone. The room felt damp and unused, in contrast to the bright tones of the summer’s day outside. A small fire burned in the hearth. Philip set Miss Nan in a chair by the fire and chafed her hands. “What is it?” he asked. “You are cold. You are not well. Have you seen a doctor?”

  “I had a fall which upset me for a while, and then I contracted a chill. It is nothing. A chapter of accidents … stupid … nothing to concern you. …” A tear sparkled on her cheek.

  “I know exactly what it is. They do not know your value here, and so you are unhappy, and when you are unhappy, you suffer in health.”

  “It is my own fault. Foolishly I criticized Bess, the housekeeper here, before I realized that she was mother to that girl. Words passed between my cousin and me, and I allowed myself to say things that were better left unsaid about his neglect of his poor, bedridden wife, and his taking that girl into. … But, indeed, I don’t think she meant to push me down the stairs … it was an accident.”

  “Gracious heavens! What is Jasper thinking of! When you told him, he should have taken you away at once!”

  “Hush! They will hear you. Nothing can be done. It was all my own fault. If I had only held my tongue … bided my time … besides, I do not know where Jasper may be. We have not heard from him since he went to France in March. And you must not worry Sophia by telling her that I am miserable here. I am well enough, and lucky to have a roof over my head, as my cousin says even though I have nothing to do here but keep his wife away. She is not really ill, you see, only fat and lazy.”

  “This is all my fault.”

  “Indeed it is not. It is no one’s fault; or, if it is anyone’s fault, it is my brother’s fault for getting into debt.”

  “It is my fault. I ought to have known better than to have trusted Jasper. I knew he was thoughtless. I ought to have made absolutely sure that there was enough money, after paying the debts, for provision to be made for you. I suspect Sir John Bladen cheated you out of a good deal of money, once I was gone.”

  “I don’t like to think ill of anyone—except Mr. Farrow and that girl out there—but I’m afraid I have to agree with you. I expect he regarded it as compensation for the double loss of Tarrant Hall and Sophia. Tell me: have you seen her? Her letters give no hint of what she is doing, or whom she meets. Has she some new dresses? Is she much admired?”

  Philip thought of Lady Midmain’s sewing-room, and of Jasper’s fury at being refused a commission once again, and of the miserable existence which Miss Nan was leading, and shivered.

  “You asked me to leave you all alone. I wish, now, that I had done so. Even if Jasper had gone to fight for Louis, at least you and Sophia would have been safe.”

  “I don’t think there was any likelihood that Sophia would go through with the match, once she had met you.”

  A slatternly servant, breathing heavily, clumped into the room and threw a tray of cold meats onto the table. There was no tea, but some ale had been provided. The woman retired without speaking, and Miss Nan busied herself setting a place for Philip at the table.

  “All is not well with Sophia, then?” she asked. “I was afraid of it. Every time I think of her, I feel waves of misery and anger beating at me. Come and sit down. Eat. You look tired, and I daresay you are up to no good, dressed like that, and going around without a servant. You needn’t deny it; I haven’t lived through forty-five summers without learning a thing or two about men, and one of the things I have learned is that you must feed them before they are capable of telling you what you want to know. So eat! You have been here ten minutes and I still do not know why you came, or how Sophia is, or …”

  “I will tell you. Sophia is well, and in a fair way to becoming the toast of the Town. I have seen Jasper, and he is well and enjoying himself mightily. He has given me a letter to deliver to you, which I will do when I have eaten. I also have letters for you from your old friend Mr. Carramine, and from my old friend Mr. Denbigh.”

  “Oh!” she cried, and her face broke into a child’s grin of delight.

  “Moreover, I did not come here just to pass the time of day, but to take you away from here. I have a far better job for you to do, in London, so that you may see Sophia often. I want you to come and look after my son Thomas, who is delicate and in need of a woman’s care.”

  “Oh!” she cried again. “How I wish that I could! But it is impossible.”

  “Nonsense. Your particular talent for homemaking is wasted here, and I am prepared to pay well for it. My house in Town is large, but comfortless since my wife died. My boy has nurses and doctors, but no one to love him as a motherless boy should be loved. There is Mr. Denbigh, too; ever since I have known him, he has been trying to complete a book on Latin poetry, and failing to do so because he is quite incapable of settling down to work at a certain time every day. He worries about this and that, and goes to see if Thomas is all right, and I am not missing a meal. He speaks of you often, and like me, he compares the cheerlessness of our house with the comfort of Tarrant Hall. Then there is Chivers, my valet. He believes it his duty to sleep in an airless cubbyhole because it is the room nearest mine, in case I should want him, early or late. I never do, but he believes that he ought to be there, in case I did. If only he could be found a better room … but I cannot discover one. I have no talent for arranging a household.”

  “I should think not, indeed! But indeed, my lord, you must not ask me …” Once more tears began to sparkle on her cheeks. “I wish … oh, I do wish that it were possible … to be wanted … to feel that I was not a burden to everyone.”

  “Mr. Carramine thinks you should come, too. I believe he says as much in his letter.”

  “No. My dear boy, no. It cannot be. You see … I told you I was not a witch. I perform no spells, I go to church and believe in God, but every now and then I see some scene in the fire, some picture of an event which is to happen in the future. If that is being a witch, then I am a witch, and I deserved to be ducked in the millpond. I watched Mrs. Barnes’s child sicken, and I saw this picture of the boy’s grave, and I warned her that if she did not feed him better, he would die. She thought I had ill-wished him, but I had not. I told you that I had been thinking of you lately. Last night I was looking into the fire and thinking of you, and I saw a coffin, covered with holly and Christmas roses. I felt that you were moving through dangerous places, and I feel it still, now that you are beside me. I think I saw your coffin, and because of that, I cannot—dare not—do what you ask of me.”

  Philip chewed steadily on a mouthful of ham that had suddenly become tasteless. Then he pushed his plate
away. He had lost his appetite.

  “Come now!” he said. “I don’t believe in such stuff. You are overwrought. You have been under a strain for a long time. I do not—will not—believe that you foresaw my death. It is merely that you are intuitive. You collect a hint here and a guess there, and your imagination does the rest. Anyone with an eye to the political situation at present might be forgiven for having thoughts of death, but my arm is too weak for me to rejoin the Army, and my future place in events is to be round the council table. I am in no physical danger, I assure you. I see you are going to point out that your prediction about the Swan replacing the Ram and Rose came true. Well, that is so; but it did not take much intelligence to see that I coveted the Hall, and as soon as I bought it, I remembered what you had said about the crest being replaced, and gave orders that it should be done. You brought about your own prediction, if you like.”

  “Yes, but …”

  “As for Sophia; of course she is angry. She is furious with me.”

  “What … still? Tell me … she would never speak freely of what happened the night of Jasper’s party. That you two quarreled is obvious, but …”

  “I did not behave well.”

  “And she boxed your ears for it?”

  The Earl attempted to laugh. “I wish she had. I insulted her, and she retaliated in kind. She was justified in what she said, but … I have no excuse. Then I lost my temper, and told Jasper I would buy the Hall, to hurt her. I had no idea that the consequences would be so disastrous for you and for Sophia, and I want to make amends. I am doing what I can to establish her in Society, but she cannot be happy while you are miserable; and neither can I. For both our sakes, you must come to me.”

  “But if you are to marry again …”

  “I understand you well enough,” said the Earl shortly, “But it will not do. I want a quiet life. I cannot face the prospect of war at home and abroad. There is a certain Miss Paget, young, well-mannered and quietly spoken … she would respect your privileged position in my household. But in any event, I intend to make legal provision for you by way of a pension, so that you may never again be forced to drudge for a living. I will give you an hour to pack whatever you need, and we will be off. There is a tolerably good inn here, I trust? We will stay the night, and I will engage the services of a respectable abigail, who will look after you on the journey south. And a courier, too, if you so wish. I shall have to travel fast, ahead of you, but I will leave you sufficient money to hire a chaise, or whatever you will. Take three or four days over the journey. More, if you prefer. Your rooms will be ready by the time you reach London.”

  “I cannot leave my cousin like that, without giving him notice.”

  “If he had treated you with consideration, I would agree. Luckily for me, he has not done so. Come to think of it, I will wait down here while you pack. He dare not shout at you if I am here. Hurry! Off with you!”

  “If I come with you, will you try to make allowances for Sophia?”

  “I have paid my debt to Sophia. I made a bargain with her, and when it is concluded, I shall see no more of her. I am asking you to come to me for your own sweet sake.”

  She hesitated, then turned to the door. “I feel as if I were eloping,” she said, and left him. Philip pulled the cold ham towards him, and began to carve.

  Rumor traveled fast in London Society. Although the Earl of Rame was out of Town, the news that he had taken up the Tarrant girl and dubbed her his “wild rose” was repeated everywhere. Enquiries were made; the girl’s breeding was acceptable, even though there was a Jacobite brother in the background and she had no dowry. Those mothers whose sons were on the lookout for a wife with money decided she was of no interest to them, but many others followed the lead supplied by Lady Lincoln and Lady Rochester. The mantelpiece of Lady Midmain’s boudoir became crowded with invitations, all of which included Sophia. The front door knocker was rarely still, as Society hostesses called on Lady Midmain to inspect Miss Tarrant. For the most part, they went away satisfied that the girl would pass muster, for Sophia had borne in mind the Earl of Rame’s admonition to use her eyes and not her tongue. For the first few days, excitement possessed her to the exclusion of all other feelings. She was being made welcome at houses which had only been names to her a week ago. Everything was wonderful; the spacious rooms, the polished manners, the dances, the music, the exotic flowers in rooms lit by hundreds of wax candles, the rare dishes in unfamiliar sauces. She might well have lost her head, but as the Earl had said, Lady Midmain knew exactly how a girl ought to be steered through Society.

  That night at Ranelagh … like a fairyland. The rout at Lady Lincoln’s … witty conversation and delicious food, all in good taste. A card party at Mrs. Faulcon’s. … Mr. Dalby helped Sophia with her cards and made an appointment to walk with her in the Park. Everyone who was anyone went to the service at St. James’ on Sunday morning, and walked in the Park afterwards.

  Lady Midmain ordered two new dresses for Sophia. The girl had lost weight, and if she dieted for a while, would soon acquire a trim figure—or so said Perkins, Lady Midmain’s personal maid.

  Lady Midmain herself gave a rout party to launch Sophia officially into Society, and it was a great success. There was hardly room for everyone to stand, the food ran out, and a lady fainted. Sophia’s admirer, Mr. Dalby, had an argument with a middle-aged gentleman on the merits of crop rotation and asked her to adjudicate.

  Lady Midmain was not amused. “Have some sense!” she said. “It will be all over Town that you can talk of nothing but farming, and then where will you be? Gentlemen do not expect ladies to express an opinion on such matters, and they do not care to be contradicted. Please confine yourself in future to talk of the weather, or the latest fashion in dress. What would the Earl of Rame have said, if he heard you?”

  “He knows that I managed my brother’s estate, and that I have a tongue in my head. I daresay he would not care what I said. Mr. Dalby doesn’t. Mr. Dalby likes me because I am able to talk to him about the things in which he is interested. Mr. Dalby doesn’t care what the Earl might think; in fact, Mr. Dalby didn’t even know that the Earl of Rame was interested in me.”

  “Mr. Dalby is a very good sort of man, but not the marrying kind. His poor mother has been trying to get him to offer for a suitable girl for years. I doubt if he even knows that you are a female. He cannot advance your prospects in any way; the Earl can. If Lady Millicent heard you, or has had your foolishness repeated to her—and depend on it, there were a number of women who did hear you and are jealous enough of you to tittle-tattle—then the King may hear, and you may whistle for the honor of being presented at Court.”

  “I don’t care,” said Sophia.

  Lady Midmain slapped her.

  Sophia began to think, which was a function she had abandoned for the last week. The Earl had bargained that she should go to a ball, to Ranelagh, to the opera, a card game, a rout, and be presented at Court in exchange for her lovelock. When she had made the bargain she had thought these things unobtainable, and when she saw that they might come within her reach, she had thought it would take months to work through that list. Yet Philip had been gone just over a week, and with the invitation to Lady Rochester’s ball on her aunt’s mantel, there was only the presentation at Court still to be arranged. How had she managed to pack so much into such a short space of time? Could she not have made some excuse to avoid going to the opera last night? But Lady Midmain would not have allowed it, and Mr. Dalby had sat beside her for the last act. …

  Was she to have only ten days of this new life, and then be banished to the sewing-room again? Ah, but the presentation at Court might not take place for some time. The King was at Kensington, it was true, but the news from Scotland might put festivities out of the question. She might have as much as a month, before he held another Drawing-Room.

  Sophia resolved to extract the utmost from her glittering new life, while it lasted. Each time she stepped into a sedan chair, or
into the Midmain’s carriage, or took her place on the dance floor, she reminded herself that it might be her last.

  An elderly gentleman composed a poem on her eyebrows. He was a foolish creature and normally Sophia would have despised his offering; but this might be the one and only poem she ever received, and she valued it accordingly. One of her new dresses was to be a ballgown, suitable to wear at Court later on. It was to be of white silk, worn over a pale pink petticoat, and trimmed with pink ribbons.

  “I prefer blue ribbons,” said Sophia.

  “You are known as the Tarrant Rose, and the Earl of Rame will undoubtedly send you a posy of pink roses to carry at the ball, so pink ribbons it must be.”

  “And what am I to do with Mr. Dalby’s roses?”

  “If he sends any—and I’m sure I shall be very surprised if he does anything so gallant—then you will give them to Perkins. A posy from a man with a small country estate cannot compare with flowers from the Earl of Rame.”

  “I think you assume too much,” said Sophia. “It is ten days since we heard from him. The ball is tonight. I daresay he has forgotten about it.”

  “Not at all,” said Sir Gregory, who had just come in. “He is back, and asking after you. I saw him at the Duke’s this morning. He engaged me in conversation in a most pointed manner … quite ten minutes. Sent you his apologies for not calling this morning, but only arrived back in Town last night. Enquired if you were to wear pink … said I thought so. Told me to tell you that your presentation is to take place on Sunday at the Princesses’ Drawing-Room at St. James’. Some trouble, apparently, about it … something about pigs … couldn’t understand it, myself. Agreed with him that we’d never heard you talk about pigs. Lord Lincoln said so, too. Wanted to know who’d spread the story, because the King was in two minds whether to have you presented … but all is well. Lincoln arranged it, or the Earl did … one or the other.”

  “I knew it!” screeched Lady Midmain. “The little fool has ruined herself with her talk of the farmyard!”