The Tarrant Rose

by Veronica Heley

  Philip came in, dressed in a new coat of gray satin. His wig and ruffles gleamed white. He was all gray and white, Philip the Cold. Her heart sank. Where was the man she had found lying in the field, the man whose ardor had caused her to turn from marriage to Sir John Bladen? Where, even, was the man whose kindness and consideration had upheld her through the difficult time of her debut in Society?

  “You desire a truce?” He gave no indication as to whether he liked the idea or not.

  “I desire merely to fulfill my duty as a wife.”

  He took out his watch, and compared it with the clock on the mantel behind her. She put her hands behind her back, hoping he would not notice how dirty they were. Only now did she notice that she had an inkstain on her skirt. Of course he would notice, and despise her.

  “I have an appointment this evening. Perhaps we can discuss the matter tomorrow.”

  “You go to see Mrs. O’Dell? If you came to my bed instead of hers, you would save yourself the cost of maintaining two houses.”

  “You are mistaken.”

  “I think not. My sources of information are good.”

  “Lady Millicent Fairweather? Sir John Bladen? They are biased, you know. The lady in question keeps a gaming house, not a brothel.”

  She allowed her incredulity to show. “I am told you are allowed to visit the lady’s sanctum every time you go there; a privilege accorded to no one else.”

  “It is true that Mrs. O’Dell and I are old friends, and that once upon a time we were somewhat closer than … This discussion could easily degenerate into an undignified squabble. Please take my word for it that our present relationship is purely business.”

  She did not believe him, but as he had pointed out, shouting at him would get her nowhere. “What about Marjorie?”

  “I fail to understand why you object to my befriending the girl your brother wishes to marry.”

  “Sir John will never agree to the match. Even if Jasper comes through this campaign, he will be a proscribed rebel with no Tarrant Hall behind him, and no prospects but that of a traitor’s death on Tower Hill.”

  “I have told you before that Jasper is not with the rebels. I believe he will make a good soldier, and that he and Marjorie are well suited.”

  “You are being unrealistic. Sir John is arranging another match for her, with my erstwhile suitor, Mr. Dalby.”

  “Poor girl, she will need a friend now, more than ever. Sophia, if you will be Marjorie’s friend, I will gladly promise to abjure her company. Will that satisfy you?”

  “Yes, I suppose so.”

  “Very well. Now, I …” He stopped and looked behind him, at the door, as if he had heard something. He resumed his speech, at the same time striding back to the door, and jerking it open. “… I have an appointment this evening, as I said … Ah! So I’ve caught you at last, have I?” Sophia’s maid had evidently had her ear to the keyhole, for she tumbled into the room, on her knees.

  “Was she listening?” asked Sophia, doubtfully. “How very odd! Aunt Nan said she thought someone was listening at her door the other day, but I couldn’t understand why anyone should bother to …”

  “To report on your actions to Sir John Bladen.” Philip grasped the maid’s arm, and drew her upright. “You are in his pay, are you not? Answer me. You have been seen in the street, talking with Greenwood, a rogue whom I dismissed months ago, and who is now in Sir John’s employ. What were your instructions? To foster discord between your mistress and myself?”

  The woman stared back at him, open contempt showing on her face. “I was set to watch a traitor at work,” she said.

  Philip caught his breath. “What?” he asked, quietly.

  “You know!” she said meaningly. Her gaze traveled to Sophia. “There is more going on in this household than meets the eye, my lady. You should ask him why he needs to lock his library door every day, and where he goes each night. It is not for the usual purposes that he visits this Mrs. O’Dell, but …”

  “Out!” said Philip. He opened the door, and gestured the woman to leave. “You are dismissed. Your wages will be paid up to date, but I never want to see your face in this house again. Is that clearly understood?” The woman hesitated. Philip rang the bell, and Chivers appeared. The maid reared her head, shot Philip a poisonous glance, and left.

  “Chivers, that woman’s belongings are to be searched before she leaves this house—which she must do within the hour. She is not to have converse with any of the other servants before she goes. Perhaps Mr. Dodge will assist you.”

  Chivers’ bow contrived to indicate that he approved of the maid’s dismissal. He closed the door behind him.

  Philip said, “I am sorry that you should have been exposed to such a situation. I have had my suspicions of the woman for some time, and so has your aunt. I fear Sir John’s mind has become unbalanced through jealousy, or drink, or both. Perhaps this woman is more a victim than a villain, for by corrupting her into his service, Sir John has caused her to lose her place.”

  “But why did she talk so mysteriously—and call you … what she did call you?”

  “A traitor.” Philip sighed. “I really don’t know what is the best way to deal with Sir John’s slanders. It is farcical. He wants to believe something to my discredit, and therefore he fantasizes until he comes to believe—yes, I really think he believes that I am engaged in something mysterious. He cannot imagine any fate worse for me than to be a traitor, and therefore I must become a traitor. His reasoning is that of a madman. It would be laughable, if it were not serious. His friends should have him confined to Bedlam, but then, he appears to have no friends, and no relations apart from this elderly cousin with whom he is lodging. I do not wish to fight him, because he is a sick man and not responsible for what he says; also because I might easily kill him, and I do not want that on my conscience.”

  “Why did you order the woman’s belongings to be searched? Why did you not leave it to me to question the woman and dismiss her if need be?”

  “It was a precaution against her taking something which did not belong to her. A woman who takes bribes may also take property. Have you missed anything recently?”

  “No, I don’t think so. It had not occurred to me to look. You are right, of course. The woman must go. I shall be somewhat relieved, in fact, for I cannot help feeling that she disapproves of what she calls my ‘country habits’ of doing things for myself.”

  “I will find you someone more discreet. You do not want every word that passes between us to be relayed to Sir John, do you?”

  “No.”

  He extended his hand. “Come, then; let us be friends.”

  She hesitated to give him her hand, remembering that it was dirty. She saw him stiffen. No doubt he thought she was repulsing him, and she could not allow that.

  “My hand is dirty,” she said, showing him. “I put some coal on the fire myself, instead of calling a servant. I am sorry.”

  His lips twitched, but he managed to restrain himself. He took a handkerchief from his pocket, wiped her hand more or less clean, and then kissed it. Her fingers tightened on his. They looked at each other, speculation in their eyes.

  “You were on the point of going out?” she asked.

  “I will send someone else,” he said, “if you …”

  “Yes. I mean, no. I mean, I had ordered some of your favorite dishes to be served in my room. You have not eaten. I thought … perhaps … you might stay with me this evening, and then … perhaps … if you felt able to …”

  “Very much so,” he said, and kissed her hand again.

  Sophia’s new maid scratched on the door of her ladyship’s bedchamber, and entered with the morning pot of hot chocolate. Two forms lay sprawled in the bed, the remains of supper were on a table by the now dead fire, clothes laid a trail from table to bed, and his lordship’s wig had come to rest, rakishly, atop one of the bedposts. Sophia’s maid regarded this evidence of depravity with an indulgent eye. A widow, and a conne
ction by marriage of Mr. Dodge, she was country-bred, and had been brought up in the tradition that happiness in marriage was brought about by four legs in a four-poster bed. In this, as in much else, she was very much in agreement with Chivers, who followed her with his master’s dressing gown. Two footmen came in, bearing great cans of hot water, and a maid cleared the grate and laid a fire while Chivers drew back the window curtains, and Sophia’s maid picked up discarded clothes.

  The Earl opened one eye, and demanded to know what time it was. On being told, he groaned, and raised himself carefully to a sitting position. His lady was barely visible under the bedclothes at his side.

  Sophia’s maid, whose name was Polly, caught Chivers’ eye. She did not smile, for she was well-trained, but Chivers’ lips quivered as he set a table at the bedside, and poured out the hot chocolate. Undoubtedly the Earl and his Countess had spent an active night.

  Sophia sat up, yawned, and sniffed. “Hot chocolate!” she said, turning a peculiar shade of green. “Take it away, do!”

  The Earl was about to insert himself into the dressing gown which Chivers was holding out for him. He paused, and looked at his wife. Everyone else also stopped what they were doing. A silence as thick and satisfied as cream spread round the room.

  The Earl snapped his fingers. “Leave us,” he told the servants. “Tell the chef that my lady would prefer tea, or barley water in the mornings in future.”

  Chivers bowed, and shepherded the other servants out of the room.

  Sophia sat up and tossed back her hair. She looked both defiant and guilty. “It must have been something I ate last night. Do we go to the Lincolns tonight?”

  “It is over a month since you invited me to share your bed. You may or may not have been pregnant then, but you are certainly pregnant now.”

  “Is it really a whole month?”

  “At this point,” said Philip, pressing her hand to secure her attention, “my late wife always advised me that my services were no longer required.”

  “Oh, well. There’s no accounting for tastes.”

  The Earl smoothed out a smile. “I wouldn’t wish to impose myself on someone who found me repugnant.”

  “Did I say that? How I’ve changed.”

  “That’s the trouble. First you smile at me, and then you laugh at me. I can never be quite sure of you. If only I could trust you to be the same every day. …”

  “No woman can be the same, day after day.”

  He withdrew from her, not only physically, but also mentally. She saw the ardor die out of his eyes, and cursed her flippancy. She had not meant it. Little by little he had lost his reserve and begun to be at ease with her. He had even begun to speak to her of his political ambitions again, and to explain to her why it was taking so long to confirm his appointment abroad. Now … tears sprang up to her cheeks, but he did not see them, for he had gone to take his bath in the dressing room next door.

  Sophia sat up and reached for her hairbrush. Most ladies’ maids would be annoyed if their mistress brushed out their own hair, but Sophia knew that Polly would be amused and not sullen when she found out. Sir John had denied that he had ever set Sophia’s first maid to spy on her, but his manner had not carried conviction. He had been laid up with the gout recently, and she had hardly seen anything of him. She was inclined to think this a good thing, for there was no denying that he was jealous of Philip, and that going about in Society was less wearing in his absence.

  Philip returned from his bath, freshly shaved, and dressed—except for his coat, shoes and wig. “Have you seen Marjorie of late?” he asked. “I am concerned for her, and so is Jasper. He hasn’t heard from her for nearly a month. You promised you would let me have any notes she might give you for him, and he wonders whether you have forgotten to do so.”

  “There haven’t been any notes. I’ve called at their lodgings twice since Sir John was taken ill, and both times they told me that she was confined to her room with a heavy cold. Sir John was walking in the Park yesterday, and I spoke to him about Maijorie and Jasper, but he was adamant; he will not hear of the match. He says Mr. Dalby has proposed to make a handsome settlement on Marjorie, and that they will be wed before Christmas. I am sorry for Jasper, but what can he expect if he goes off and leaves the girl like that?”

  He looked vexed. “Jasper is the sort of young fool who gets careless when he is emotionally involved. I’ve asked him to leave the Jacobites and come to London on two occasions, but he says he can’t leave until their cause is dead. He says he trusts me to look after his interests where Marjorie is concerned. When the marriage with Mr. Dalby was first proposed, Marjorie told me categorically that she had no intention of agreeing to it, but I could see that she was troubled by fear of what her father might say or do. He is a violent, unpredictable man. Do you think he has confined Marjorie to her room because she has refused to marry Mr. Dalby? Do you think she is suffering not from a cold, but from a series of beatings? For my sake—and for Jasper’s sake—will you call on her once more, and this time insist on seeing her? You could choose a time when you knew that Sir John would be out.”

  It was the first time he had asked her to do anything for him, and it had to be for that whey-faced Marjorie! If she refused, he might show his displeasure; perhaps he might even refuse to go on sleeping with her.

  “If I visit her, will you continue to visit me?”

  He sighed. “Do you always have to make bargains? Can you never find it in you to grant a favor without asking for one in return?” She dropped her eyes from his. She was ashamed, but persistent.

  “But will you come?”

  He laughed, without mirth. “You know perfectly well that I will.”

  Jasper glanced at the calendar in his pocket book and added the date to his report before he signed it and stowed it for safety in his boot. December 5th, 1745, and a night to remember in the history of the city of Derby. There were bonfires in the streets, lit for the benefit of the rebel army, who wandered around the town at will. It was not yet seven o’clock, and Jasper was restless. He felt he could not stay in his lodgings, although he knew it was unwise to move about among the Jacobites. He was not due to meet Mr. Dodge until eleven that night, and he thought that in the dark and confusion that reigned in the town he might learn something to add to his report. Sometimes the Pretender walked out at night, alone. Jasper toyed with the idea of assassinating the Pretender, which would undoubtedly end the rebellion. Then he could go back to London, and see what was the matter with Marjorie. It was over a month since he had heard from her. Philip’s excuses rang hollow, as Jasper had told him in his report. Who was this Mr. Dalby, anyway?

  He primed a pistol and put it in his pocket. His orders had been very clear, to observe and not to interfere with the course of events.

  He shrugged. Well, he would not tempt Providence, but he would go armed, just in case.

  The Pretender had his headquarters in Exeter House, a handsome building with a large garden behind it. A couple of respectable-looking milliners stood in the street on the opposite side of the road, looking at the house, and Jasper joined them. Like him, they wished to catch a glimpse of the Pretender, and were happy to have his company, which protected them from the attentions of the soldiery. After some time Charles Stuart came out. His color was high, and his gestures expansive; perhaps he had been drinking again. The two milliners exclaimed at the Pretender’s height and good looks. Jasper teasingly suggested that they should make themselves Jacobite cockades, and the women laughed. The reaction of the civilian populace to the invasion seemed to be the same everywhere; they treated it as a sideshow at a fair, something to be watched with varying degrees of wonder and incredulity, but not to be taken seriously.

  There was a bustle in the street. Lord George Murray strode up, all grim purpose, and accosted the Pretender. There was an argument; the Pretender wanted to walk around the city, and Lord George wanted to call a council meeting. Lord George won, and the two men went into Exeter House
and closed the door. Other Highland officers began to arrive, which seemed to indicate that Lord George had commanded their presence before he had spoken to the Pretender about the meeting. If only Jasper could eavesdrop on their councils!

  The two milliners decided to go home, so Jasper went down the street, looking for a wall or gate which might give access to the garden of Exeter House. Presently he found an alleyway which might serve his purpose, but it was guarded by a rebel soldier. Jasper fitted himself into the shadow of a doorway nearby, and waited. Presently a crowd of young people came along the alley. They surrounded the guard, teasing him to tell how they might catch a glimpse of the Pretender. The sentry’s back was turned to Jasper, and he took a running jump at the wall, felt the glass shards on the top bite through his gloves, hauled himself up, stood, and jumped down into the garden. He crouched, listening. There was no alarm. He could not have been seen.

  Gradually his eyes grew accustomed to the patches of light and shade in the garden. The first floor was brilliantly lit. Some of the windows were closely shuttered, but others had been left ajar. The windows on the first floor were brightly illuminated. These windows were high, surmounted by elegant mouldings, indicating the presence of a reception room of some importance. It was likely that this was the room in which the council was being held.