The Tarrant Rose

by Veronica Heley

  “It may be so. The Earl has said that it is possible, and he should know. All the more reason for you not to be seen in his company—at least until after Sunday. As the Earl says, it would not do for you to contract some ineligible alliance before you are presented to the King.”

  “And how are you to prevent my seeing Mr. Dalby, or Sir John Bladen, for that matter?”

  “Very easily,” said her ladyship. “If you choose to act like a disobedient child, then you shall be treated like one. Up to your room!” She advanced on Sophia and grasped her arm.

  “What?” Sophia did not know whether to laugh or be angry.

  “Up to your room, miss! And if you do not go of your own accord, I shall ring for the footmen to carry you up. That would not please your High-and-Mightiness, would it? To be carried struggling up the stairs, with all the servants looking on! Ah, I thought you would see it my way. Up, up, girl!”

  Sophia marched up the stairs and into her room, her cheeks blazing. Perkins, Lady Midmain’s maid, came tripping up to enquire if miss were ill, that she should retire to her room so early in the day.

  “She is about to be extremely ill,” said Lady Midmain. “Draw the curtains closely, Perkins, and assist Miss Tarrant out of her clothes. She has a low fever and must stay in bed for a few days. We will see what three days on a diet of bread and water will do for her. Meanwhile, you will tell the servants, Perkins, that Miss Tarrant is suffering from nerves and must be kept quiet. Positively no visitors, Perkins. You understand?”

  “Perfectly, my lady. Three days on bread and water may refine her figure. We are still too thickset, in my opinion.”

  Sophia put her head under the pillow. She was in a trap. There was no way out. The Earl had played the piper, and she must dance to his tune.

  The Town seethed with rumors. The Jacobites ate babies … Captain Sweetenham had been set free on his word of honor not to bear arms against the rebels again … the King was at Kensington; no, he was at St. James’ … Lord Carteret had declared he would not marry again, but remain a widower like the King … his nephew’s bill to increase penalties against smuggling was to be heard at the next session of Parliament … a new style of wig had been introduced from Paris; smuggled, of course. …

  Sophia heard none of this, locked away in her room with little to drink and less to eat. On Sunday she was laced into her ballgown, her hair was dressed, and her face painted. As Perkins said, miss had lost all her country color but gained a fashionable figure. Sophia did not reply. Lady Midmain asked her whether she were well enough to go to the Drawing Room, and she replied listlessly that she supposed she was.

  Sir Gregory accompanied them, in the family carriage, talking all the way about what the Duke of Newcastle had said to him, and what he planned to say to the Duke next time they met. Sophia turned her eyes on the busy streets and saw nothing. She had not been to St. James’ Palace before, but she felt no curiosity as she followed her aunt and uncle across the courtyard and through low-ceilinged passages into the reception room, which was a long, low gallery. The room was uncomfortably crowded, hot and stuffy. All the world and his wife seemed to be there. Sophia managed to find a place against a wall and leaned there. Lady Midmain was all vivacity, talking, talking … everyone talking, except herself. The women were wearing their widest skirts, the men their brightest suits. The gentlemen all wore long, curled periwigs, which were de rigeur at Court; these wigs were powdered, some in gray, some in pastel shades, but most in white. All the men, and most of the women were painted, scented and patched.

  Suddenly he was at her elbow. He bowed over her aunt’s hand, but his yes were on her face.

  “Miss Tarrant is unwell?”

  Trust him to notice. She had a strong desire to sink to her knees and implore him to be merciful to her.

  “The silly child overstrained her nerves, and I have had to keep her confined to her room these last few days. Of course, we could not restrain her from coming tonight.” Lady Midmain unfurled her fan, and used it with vigor.

  The Earl bent over Sophia. “What is it? You wish to retire? The heat is too much for you, I can see that.”

  “It is not the heat.” Her lips barely moved, because she could see that her aunt was trying to overhear their conversation. “If I am pale, it is because I have paint on my face for the first time in my life. If I am not in spirits, it is because I have been imprisoned in my room for the last few days. If I should faint, it will be because I have been deprived of food and drink. But you should know all this, having authorized it.”

  He took snuff in leisurely fashion. His fingernails were painted pink. He looked around the room, his height making it easy for him to see over the heads of those nearest them.

  “Lady Midmain, I see my old friend Lincoln beckoning me to bring Miss Tarrant to him. You will excuse us?” He put his hand under Sophia’s arm, and steered her through the throng. Heads turned at their passing, mouths stretched into smiles, tongues worked. She could feel her head going round, but his arm was strong under hers, and she knew he would not allow her to fall. He was saying something about not buying a horse broken in by Lady Midmain, for her methods would ruin any filly’s mouth.

  “You did not tell her to lock me up?”

  “Of course not. I merely suggested that she might be wise not to allow you a series of private meetings with Mr. Dalby, before you were presented to His Majesty.”

  “Why? To make sure of your lovelock? I told you that I would let you have it.”

  “I prefer to carry my part of the contract through, first.”

  “So be it. But tomorrow morning, you will make it clear to Lady Midmain that you have no further interest in me.”

  “If I do that, you will be returned to the sewing-room.”

  “I do have other matrimonial prospects. Mr. Dalby …”

  “… is not man enough to master you. You would go mad from boredom six months after you had married him, plunge into excess after excess, and finally ruin your health and reputation.”

  “I disagree. There is also Sir John Bladen, who is coming to Town.”

  “Ah, yes. My favorite magistrate. Mr. Carramine has told me something of his reputation. He beat his first wife to death, did he not? At least I will not beat you.”

  “But you do not wish to marry me!”

  “Do I not?” he said, more to himself than to her. “I am not sure. I have never been sure. I rather think I do wish it, and it is the logical way out of your difficulty.”

  She could not help herself. Tears began to tumble down her cheeks.

  “Be generous,” she said. “I admit you have me in your power. I will admit I was wrong to laugh at you. Now for pity’s sake, let me go! You have pursued me only out of hurt pride, and a desire for revenge.”

  He did not reply, but guided her through the throng more rapidly than before. She turned her face to his shoulder in an effort to disguise the fact that she was crying.

  “My dear!” It was Lady Lincoln, all concern.

  “Miss Tarrant is feeling faint. She has been unwell and unable to eat anything today. Would you find her something to eat and drink, and let her rest in your room for a few minutes?”

  Once more his lordship had pulled the strings, and the puppets danced to his tune. Sophia was borne off through a huddle of rooms into the apartment occupied by Lord Lincoln, in his capacity as Gentleman in Waiting to the King. She was given food and wine, and clucked over. She continued to cry until Lady Lincoln told her she was making her nose swell, and then she laughed, and washed her face, and admitted to feeling better.

  “I know how these things are,” said Lady Lincoln. “I was scared to death the first time I came to Court, and couldn’t eat for two whole days beforehand for excitement.”

  “It was not that,” said Sophia. The wine had acted fast on her empty stomach, making her reckless. “It is the Earl’s attentions which distress me. My aunt has kept me locked up and starved me, on the off chance that he may offer for
me, and to prevent my seeing other suitors. I have no friends, and no money. What can I do? I wish I were dead.”

  “But don’t you wish to marry Philip? I thought it was all arranged. I am sure I would have been delighted if my father and uncle had decided that such a match … although he was still married, then. And in short, although my dear Henry is the most delightful … but once you are married, you know, such fancies commonly disappear, and you can have no idea how pleasant it is to have your own household.”

  “That’s just the trouble. I did have my own household, and a loving family. He has ruined all that for me. He is so cruel, and hard, and unforgiving.”

  “Who? Philip?” Lady Lincoln tried not to laugh, because she realized that Sophia was deeply distressed. “My dear, you have a very strange idea of him.”

  “Did he not neglect his first wife? Is he not proud and cold? Are his children strong and healthy? No, they are sickly, or dead. I doubt he is capable of siring healthy children.”

  “Barbara was a foolish, frippery creature. I daresay they did not spend much time together, but that is not surprising since they had no interests in common. She only cared for dress and cards, and to be flattered. They say that her last child was not his, though I think that a lie myself. As for the children being weakly, I am sure it is no wonder, for she would insist on tight lacing when she was breeding, even though he implored her not to do so. Three of the babes were born with dislocated limbs and the births were all so protracted that … in short, she brought about her own death and the death of her children through vanity. I am now in the same position,” here Lady Lincoln blushed, “And I assure you that I have already obeyed my lord’s wish not to lace myself tightly. I do not care if my waist is large, so long as my baby is healthy.”

  “I have heard that your marriage was arranged, and yet you seem happy.”

  Lady Lincoln smiled. “We are cousins, and have always known that our parents wished us to marry. My lord has no money of his own, and I have plenty. If he had not been good and kind, my parents would not have pressed me to marry him, but I consider I have been very lucky. Of course I knew that he had a fancy to marry another lady, who was much more beautiful than I, and learned, and musical and a better dancer.” Here Lady Lincoln sighed a little. “But it could not be, for she had no fortune and was happy to accept Lord Carteret when he offered for her. Poor lady; you know she died in childbirth? My dear lord was much cast down. I confess I was a little jealous of her once, as you will be of …” She stopped herself, glanced at the clock, and rose. “My dear, you must hurry! His Majesty hates anyone to be ill, because he is of such a robust constitution himself, and as for unpunctuality!” She raised hands and eyebrows. “It will condemn you utterly if you are late, and he must be in the Gallery by now.”

  She seized Sophia by the hand and rushed her back through the palace. The noise and heat were as great as ever in the Gallery, but Sophia, fortified by food and wine, could now separate the medley into its component parts. There was Mr. Dalby, looking around … for her? His mother, talking to Lady Rochester. Sir Gregory, bending close to overhear something a stout gentleman was saying to another man. And was that … surely it was Mr. Carramine? Yes, he had seen her, and raised his hand in greeting. Lady Lincoln pulled her through the crowd. A smile here … a word there … a group of Lady Midmain’s cronies, whispering together as they looked her way … Lady Millicent Fairweather, biting on her fan … Lord Lincoln, cleaving a way through …

  “Only just in time,” he said. “Philip has been asked for you. ‘Someone’—they call His Majesty ‘Someone’—has evidently remembered that you are to be here, and being of an impatient disposition … you know how to curtsey to him? And what to say?”

  “Yes … no … what am I to say?”

  “Let him do the talking. He likes to talk to pretty girls, but he doesn’t expect them to be capable of rational conversation.”

  The Earl joined them, looking slightly less calm than usual. “Devilish nuisance. Mr. Stone wants me at once.”

  “Does he, now!” said Lord Lincoln. “Do you think that means there is news from the north?”

  “Probably. But if Cope had trounced the rebels, you’d have thought we’d all have heard about it. I’ve been looking around. My uncle’s not here, and neither is yours.”

  “You think it’s bad news? You’d better go then, hadn’t you?”

  “No. Bad news or good, it will wait five minutes; Miss Tarrant’s presentation cannot wait.”

  “I will undertake it for you, if you wish,” said Lord Lincoln.

  “This is something I must do for myself.”

  There was a commotion in the group of people standing nearby. The women curtseyed to the ground, the men bowed. Sophia caught a glimpse of a stout man with a red face surmounted by a large white wig, and then the women rose, and her view was obstructed. The Earl bent over her.

  “I will go to Mr. Stone as soon as you have been presented, but I may not be able to return. I will call on you tomorrow morning, to claim my lovelock.”

  “I will cut it off tonight, and wrap it in a screw of paper for you. You need not ask to see me, then.”

  “No, I must see you cut it off, or better still, do it myself. You might cheat me otherwise, by passing off some of your maid’s hair as your own, or even by buying a tress from some poor girl.”

  “How dare you!” gasped Sophia. “As if I would!”

  “Ah, you look better now. You were altogether too pale before.”

  Before Sophia could favor him with her opinion of his morals, the ranks of people in front of them parted, a red coat advanced into view, and she sank to the floor in a profound curtsey. Lady Midmain was there, beside her—she could see the purple of her skirts. The Earl was murmuring an introduction, and the King was telling her to rise. She did so, but kept her eyes down.

  “So this is the Tarrant Rose?” A heavily accented voice. “Delightful, my dear Rame. Not an Amazon at all. Who was it slandered the girl so? I remember … the fair girl who smiles too much … not enough of her to satisfy a man’s requirements … not like this one, eh? What, what? Hey, miss … What’s her name? Sophia? Good name, Sophia. Like that sort of name. Caroline, Sophia. Good sort of names. Well, Miss Sophia, and how do you like my capital, eh? I hear you speak German. That’s good. Very good.”

  She raised her eyes. He was not alarming at all, she thought. He was a genial man, old enough to be her father and very ready to be pleased. “An it please you, sire, I like London very much indeed.”

  “It does please me. We shall see more of you in future. Sit a while together and talk in German. Very pretty, Rame. Pretty eyes … hair … teeth … and what have you. Yes. How old are you, girl? Twenty-four? Why, what are our gallants thinking of! You ought to have been married and presented some happy man with a family long before now.”

  “Do not be too hard on us, sire,” said Philip. “I only met the lady in February, and then what must you do but sweep me off to Hanover for the summer?”

  There was laughter around them, and the King moved on, leaving Sophia to blush, and Lady Midmain to congratulate her. “Tantamount to a declaration, and in public! Oh, I am so happy, I swear I could cry if it did not disturb my face! My dear, you are made! His Majesty approves! You will be Countess of Rame before the year is out.”

  Chapter Nine

  Sophia sat by the fire in her aunt’s drawing-room, listlessly opening and shutting her fan. Once more she wore the blue saque, and once more she was waiting on the Earl of Rame’s pleasure. Her aunt stood by the door, listening for an indication that he was coming, for he had been closeted with Sir Gregory in the study for nearly half an hour.

  On the table at Sophia’s side lay a posy of pink roses, and a note from the Earl. “There has been a sharp encounter between Government troops and the rebels, near Edinburgh. It appears the rebels won the day, but your brother was not in arms, and was seen shortly afterwards riding back to Edinburgh, unharmed.”

>   She thought: Could I have prevented this happening to me? If I had not laughed at him that night … but indeed, if I had not laughed at him, he would have taken me as his mistress, and what would have become of me, then? Well, if I must marry him, I shall make him pay for it. I may be trapped, but even trapped animals can bite.

  Her aunt shot away from the door, flapping her hands. “They are coming! Oh, my dear, how happy I am! What a splendid match! Sit up, Sophia! No, stand! A smile! Let me pinch some color into your cheeks. Is there time for us to rouge your cheeks? You look so pale.”

  “I am well enough.” She sank into a curtsey as the Earl entered, with Sir Gregory beaming and bobbing at his side.

  “Miss Tarrant. Sophia.” He bent and kissed her hand, raising her from her curtsey. “Your uncle has given me permission to pay my addresses to you. May I hope you look with favor on my suit?”

  What a farce this was! She said something about being very happy. He released her hand. Lady Midmain produced a few tears and invited the Earl to kiss her on the cheek, since they would soon be related. Sir Gregory hopped from one foot to the other, making faces at his wife, and saying something about drafting a notice of the engagement to be sent to the papers.

  “Of course!” said Lady Midmain, understanding that Sir Gregory wished the newly-engaged pair to be left alone. “I will come and help you do it.”

  The Midmains left, and Sophia sank back onto her chair. She felt numb.

  “So you have gained your point,” she said. “You know that I dislike, even despise you. You know that I could have married someone else if you had not interfered. You know that I would never have come to you willingly. If you are happy to marry me, knowing these things …” She shrugged.

  “You protest too much. If you had really disliked the marriage, you would have run away rather than marry me. You could have climbed out of the window, even if the door had been locked.”

  “And where would I have gone, friendless and without a penny in the world?”

  “To Mr. Carramine.”