The Tarrant Rose

by Veronica Heley

  The Government reacted with unusual firmness and promptitude, offering a six-pound bonus to any man who would enlist, and making arrangements for them to join the militia on Finchley Common. Various noblemen were already under oath to form companies of their own, and this notion caught on, so that it seemed every other man either had or was about to offer his services. His Majesty remained calm, and showed himself as usual, in the company of his favorites, Lord Lincoln and the Earl of Rame. It was rumored that Lord Carteret had actually been seen conversing amicably with the Duke of Newcastle, but this was generally felt to have been a figment of someone’s imagination. What was true was that Baroness Granville, Lord Carteret’s mother, was dying, and that he would shortly acquire her title. How annoying for everyone to have to remember that Carteret must now be addressed as Granville.

  By the evening of Black Friday the panic had subsided, and the polite world attended the rout which the Earl and Countess of Rame were giving. Earlier in the day Philip had feared they might have to cancel the event, but the rooms were crowded with people all talking at once. They said that the Countess looked sweetly pretty in her white gown, and was that the one she had worn at Court when she was presented the other night? And didn’t they make a handsome couple, but what a pity that the son was said to be dying, although with Sophia being so young and well—buxom—perhaps it was just as well. That they didn’t know what the world was coming to, and yes, their brother was wild to join Lord M—’s regiment, and thank goodness that the Duke of Cumberland was still between London and those dreadful Highlanders; they eat babies, my dear!

  The Countess touched her husband on the arm during a pause in the reception line. “Have you heard from Jasper lately? I hadn’t thought of him for days, but last night I woke up with the most extraordinary feeling that he was in trouble.”

  “You, too?” said Philip, keeping his voice low. “Your aunt is in the same way. If anything has gone wrong, we will hear of it soon enough.”

  Sir John Bladen came, although he had not been invited, and stood around looking angry and speaking hardly at all. It was said that the attack of “gout” which had laid him up recently was really debility brought on by drink. People tended to move away when he looked at them.

  Marjorie did not accompany her father, and Sophia promised Philip that she would call on the girl the very next day.

  Sophia was shocked by Marjorie’s looks. The girl had no color in her face, and there were greenish-yellow bruises on her wrists. Miss Bladen, her aunt, sat nearby, grimly attentive to everything that was said.

  Sophia suggested that as Marjorie looked pale, the girl might be permitted to accompany her for a half hour drive in the Park. The request was refused, on the grounds that Sir John did not wish his daughter to leave the house at present. Sophia said yes, Marjorie did look ill, and what did the doctor prescribe? Miss Bladen said that there was nothing wrong with her niece which marriage wouldn’t cure. Marjorie looked down at her hands, neatly folded in her lap, and Sophia began to chatter about the rout party the previous night, and a new dress that she had ordered, and the progress of the portrait which was being painted of her.

  Presently a servant came in to speak with Miss Bladen, and Sophia took the opportunity to draw Marjorie out of earshot into a window embrasure.

  “What ails you, my dear?”

  “I am in great trouble. They are trying to marry me to Mr. Dalby against my will. For Jasper’s sake … for old time’s sake … will you not give me sanctuary?”

  “You would run away? What good would that do? He has the right, legally, to … come, child! Mr. Dalby is not such an ogre, and he will take you away from all this into the country where you can be happy again.”

  “I cannot be happy unless I marry Jasper.”

  “You know your father will not hear of the match. I have tried to soften him, but he is quite determined. You must make up your mind to it, and take Mr. Dalby. It is not so bad to be married to a man who has a good position in Society.”

  “Our cases are different. You were not really averse to marrying Philip, even though you pretended indifference.”

  “Believe me, I hated the very idea, but it has worked out well enough.”

  “I am not like you. I cannot change. If I cannot marry Jasper, I will marry no one but die an old maid. Will you not help me? I will watch my chance, and slip out of the house at dusk, perhaps. I can make my own way to you. I am not afraid of passing through the City at night, although I know there are many around prepared to offer insult to a lady unescorted. But I will do it, if I have to. You would only need to hide me for a night, and then …”

  “Yes, and what then? Your father would demand you, and we would be forced to give you up, and there would be a scandal.”

  “Philip will think of something. He will find somewhere for me to go, where I will be quite safe.”

  “It is out of the question!” said Sophia. Was she guided to refuse the girl because of the reference to Philip? “No, my dear. You must resign yourself. We women cannot always marry as we choose, but on the whole the system works well. Now, I really must go. If you have a note for Jasper, I will take it with me.”

  “I wrote one, but my father found it when he beat me, and he burned it. I have not been able to obtain any paper since then.”

  Sophia hesitated. Ought she to offer to help by lending Marjorie her own tablet, and … Miss Bladen dismissed the servant and swept down on them, her eyes suspiciously examining them for traces of wrongdoing. Indeed, she was a formidable lady. Sophia curtseyed, and excused herself, saying she had an appointment with her dressmaker.

  Marjorie stood in the window, watching until her friend emerged into the street and climbed into her carriage. Then, snatching at something on the floor, she exclaimed that the Countess had dropped her handkerchief, and ran out of the room and down the stairs, calling her name. Miss Bladen decided to reprove the girl for going on an errand more suitable for a servant, but it was too late. The girl was out in the street, bareheaded and without a cloak. The only servant who had seen her depart was too slow-witted to understand what it was that Maijorie intended to do. An hour later, Sir John returned to find the servant in tears, and Miss Bladen white-faced with anger. Marjorie had not returned.

  Miss Nan bathed the spittle from the dying boy’s lips. He smiled up at her, game to the last, and asked if his father had returned.

  “Not yet, dear. He went for a ride in the Park. Shall I send a footman after him?”

  “No. He will come as soon as he can, I know that. It must be lovely in the Park, with the leaves coming out. How I wish I were in the country again.” Thomas’s room was filled with the flowers that he loved so much, and now and then he thought spring had come.

  “Soon, dear. Soon.”

  “The Rose? Is she here?”

  “Downstairs, dearest, with her dressmaker. She wanted to sit with you for a while, but the doctor doesn’t think it wise.”

  “I wonder if they will call the new baby by my name.”

  “Would you like that?”

  The boy shook his head. “I’m me,” he said. “I don’t want them to use my name. They wouldn’t, if I were still here when the baby is born. I did want to see it, but I’m so tired. …”

  Hugh Denbigh slipped into the chair at the side of the bed, and smiled at Miss Nan. She pressed his hand, or perhaps it was he who pressed hers. Then, strengthened by this moment of contact, Miss Nan went out to wait for Philip’s return. She did not think the boy would last another twenty-four hours.

  Lord Lincoln had also been riding in the Park. Philip and he had a satisfying canter, and then walked their horses back, exchanging news. Lincoln would shortly finish his present term of waiting at Court, but in view of the national emergency had decided not to leave Town at present. Philip commended his decision.

  “Oh, it’s far too exciting a time for me to leave,” said Lincoln. “How goes it with Mr. Nelson?”

  “Cautiously. He is of a
suspicious nature, and if one hint of what we are doing were to reach the newspapers, I think he would disappear again. However, he is happier to have discussions on a friendly basis round the fire in my library than to be received in Whitehall officially. The news that the Jacobites are on the retreat from Derby made a considerable impression on him. He had given us to understand that the French had twelve thousand men under Richelieu waiting to embark, if we did not agree to such and such terms; I doubt if we will hear any more of invasion plans now, and his demands will be moderated. If only we could smash the Pretender … but Wade is a broken reed.”

  “Be of good cheer. My uncle tells me the Navy has captured a French ship which was taking money to the Jacobites, and that two more were wrecked. The rebels are isolated. I can’t understand why his forces haven’t disintegrated before now.”

  “They keep together because they are mostly Highlanders far from home. What will happen once they are over the Border again is anyone’s guess.” The Earl indicated the swirling, crowded streets beyond the Park with his riding crop. “I wonder how they would all behave if the Highland Army were to march into London at this moment. Come to that, how would we ourselves behave? Would we simply stand and stare like everyone has done in the north? Or would we fight?”

  “I hope we would fight. Nay, I am sure we would.”

  “That’s what the people of Carlisle and Derby said, but when the time came, they dispersed peacefully. They don’t like the Stuart cause enough to fight for it, but they don’t think it’s their business to fight it, either. This affair will be decided by hired troops from Flanders, which leaves a bad taste in my mouth. If the Pretender had had access to funds, or had been supplied with French troops, would he not have been in London by now, instead of fleeing north?”

  “I believe that bringing foreign troops over here would have united the country against the Pretender. Philip, this is not like you. Have you forgotten that there will be upwards often regiments raised by volunteers to fight the rebels? How do you fit their patriotism into your pessimistic view of the situation? And what of the demonstrations in favor of the King?”

  “Ought I to believe in my own propaganda?” Philip forced a smile. “Forgive me. I did not sleep last night. Thomas is not well, and I was sitting up with him until … Sophia came to call me away to bed, but I could not sleep, even then. He is dying, you know. The last of my children.”

  “Not the last,” said Lincoln, pressing his friend’s arm. “You must not give way to despair. The Countess is young and healthy. Put your trust in her.”

  “I wish I could,” murmured Philip.

  “What did you say?” Lincoln had not understood.

  “I mean, yes, I should.”

  Philip handed over his horse’s reins to a groom, and mounted the steps of his house at the same time as a sedan chair was borne to the door. Sir John Bladen erupted from the chair, his wig awry, hatless, and brandishing a cane.

  “My daughter!” he cried. “Where have you hidden her, traitor?”

  Philip half turned, paused in his ascent, and looked around. Was Sir John addressing him? Sir John left the issue in no doubt, but pounded up the steps to Philip’s side, and thrust his empurpled face into that of the Earl.

  “Where—have—you—hidden her?” he demanded.

  “I beg your pardon?”

  “My daughter—Marjorie—your whore! You have her somewhere.” He lunged forward, brushing past Philip and the astonished footmen into the hall. “Where is she?” He raised his voice, and hollered her name. “Marjorie! Come here, I say!”

  Philip followed into the hall, and shed his hat, gloves and riding crop into waiting hands. He looked amused, but a keen eye would have noticed that he was also very alert. “Your daughter, Sir John? Is she visiting us? I had no idea.” He summoned the butler to his side. “Is Miss Bladen within?”

  “There have been several visitors, my lord. Mr. Nelson is waiting in the library with Mr. Carramine. Mr. Dodge has just arrived and is wishful to speak with you urgently. Lady Midmain called some time ago, but I do not believe she was accompanied by anyone but Mrs. Dalby. They did not stay above half an hour.”

  Sir John stamped with rage. Doors were opening above and around them. Miss Nan’s anxious face appeared on the landing above, and behind her came Sophia.

  “Will you produce her, sirrah?” cried Sir John, “or do I have to lay information against you to the nearest magistrate?”

  “I am not in the habit of detaining ladies in my house against their will,” said the Earl, losing his smile. “What, man! Do you think I have abducted your daughter? For what purpose, pray?”

  “For the usual purpose, my lord. Your reputation is against you, as I am sure the magistrate will agree.”

  “Oh, have done!” said the Earl, with a flash of anger. “If Miss Marjorie is indeed here, it is without my knowledge. You have heard my butler give you a list of those who have called in my absence, and now if you please, I have some business to …”

  “Oh yes, your butler has given a list of those who have called, but not of those who have stayed. Where have you stowed her?” He began to mount the staircase.

  Miss Nan stepped forward. “I assure you, Sir John, that …”

  “Out of my way, Cripple! I intend to search every room of this house until I find my daughter, and when I have found her, I shall take her to the nearest magistrate and swear out a warrant against this libertine, this seducer, this traitor!”

  “Sir John!” Sophia stood before them, straight and tall. Sir John stopped, on the step below her. “I saw your daughter only this afternoon. We talked at some length, and …” She put her hand on his arm, and gestured that he precede her into the drawing-room. “Will you not come this way? You will not wish to discuss the matter in front of the servants. I will have some Madeira sent up.” She nodded over her shoulder to the butler, who had followed close on Philip’s heels, up the stairs; two other footmen hovered, their eyes watchful. She shook her head slightly at Philip, indicating that she felt able to deal with Sir John. Surprisingly, he succumbed to the pressure of her fingers on his arm, and walked heavily at her side towards the drawing-room. They were almost there. Someone was running up the stairs behind them. The butler exclaimed something, but the newcomer was not to be denied. It was Mr. Dodge, travel-stained and beaming. His smile was a harbinger of disaster.

  “My lord, a word with you!” he said, both hands clasped over his ample stomach.

  “Jasper!” gasped Miss Nan. “Not dead?”

  “No, no, ma’am.”

  “Captured,” said Philip, flatly, as if he had known it already.

  Sophia paused, her hand to her heart. She saw Mr. Dodge nod, and clutched at the bannister for support. So her rebel brother had been caught by the Hanoverians, and would doubtless die on Tower Hill. She had known it! She had known for several days that something terrible was about to happen.

  Sir John was slipping away from her controlling grasp, his anger reviving. She could not, for the moment … to be dizzy at a moment like this! She took one deep breath, and then another. Her sight cleared. She was not going to fall, although she still felt as if there were no bones in her legs. Where was Sir John? He was not at her side.

  The double doors leading to the library were flung open, and Mr. Carramine appeared from within, agitation in every line of his body.

  “Philip! Thank God you’ve returned. I’ve been waiting for you this hour. I must speak with you, urgently, but Mr. Nelson arrived just after I came, and I suppose he must be attended to first. … Christ in heaven! What is the matter with you all?”

  “Philip, you must come up to Thomas; he is asking for you.”

  “My lord, a word with you …”

  Sir John thrust through the group at the head of the stairs and made for the open doors of the library. “Just as I thought! You have hidden her in here, have you?”

  Philip had pressed his fingers to his forehead. Sophia wondered if he were ill. Sh
e forced herself to take two stumbling steps, and was at his side. Out of the corner of her eye she saw Mr. Carramine try to prevent Sir John rushing into the library, and fail. Then Philip was clinging to her arm, or she to his. For a moment, she had all his attention.

  “You are all right?” he asked. “Believe me, I will do everything I can to obtain Jasper’s release.”

  Jasper was her brother, and in peril; but Philip was her husband, and he also needed her help. “I shall be all right. I trust you to do what can be done. What would you like me to do?”

  “You are offering to help me?” Fatigue had dulled his reactions, which were usually quick. His clasp on her arm tightened. She read admiration in his eyes; for the first time he was proud of her. He looked around. The servants hovered, waiting for orders. Mr. Dodge was muttering in Miss Nan’s ear. She was wringing her hands, and there were tears on her face. Mr. Carramine was holding his ribs, where he had been winded by Sir John’s thrust. Mr. Denbigh was descending the stairs from the nursery, looking distressed, and at that very moment the door knocker sounded, and a footman announced the arrival of Lady Lincoln.

  “I hardly know where to begin!” said Philip. “Of all the preposterous …”

  A voice was raised from within the library, swearing fluently in French, Mr. Nelson protesting at Sir John’s invasion.

  “Oh, my God!” said Philip. “Mr. Nelson! Of all the …”

  Nodding to collect the butler and one of the footmen, Philip made for the library, only to be met by Sir John, retreating onto the landing, with his hands in the air. The furious face of a well-dressed, middle-aged man appeared over Sir John’s shoulder, and the point of a sword flickered this way and that around Sir John’s wig, keeping him at arms’ length.

  “But the man is mad! He insists I have his daughter! He must be locked up! This house is not safe! I leave, this instant! I do not stay, not for one moment!”