The Tarrant Rose

by Veronica Heley

  “The man is mad, I agree,” said Philip, stepping between Sir John and the Frenchman. “He shall be removed, at once.” A flick of his wrist, and the butler and footman closed in on either side of Sir John. “He believes I have hidden his daughter somewhere in my house, and I cannot convince him otherwise.”

  “Do you deny that you encouraged her to run away?” demanded Sir John. “You sent her notes, singled her out in public!”

  “Of course I deny it,” said Philip. He held the library door open for Mr. Carramine, and turned his back on Sir John. “Mr. Nelson, I very much regret that I was absent when you arrived. I trust that Mr. Carramine has looked after you properly.” His eye flicked to the butler. “I am not at home to anyone else this morning.” And went on to Sophia. “I am sure we wish to give Sir John every assistance in our power to enable him to find his daughter. Perhaps you will obtain the full story from him before he leaves? I much regret that I have a business matter to attend to.” His eye went on to Mr. Dodge. “Mr. Dodge, you will kindly wait below. I will ring for you when I am at leisure.” And to Miss Nan, “I will come to Thomas as soon as I may. Will you tell him that?”

  “But …!” said Sir John. He said it to a closed door.

  He turned on Sophia. “This will not do,” he said.

  “No, indeed it will not,” she said. She put as much sympathy in her voice as she could, and took his arm again. “We must look into it for you. Here is Lady Lincoln come to pay me a call. My dear … you have caught us in the middle of a domestic crisis, as you can see. Dear Aunt, I will come to you presently, but for the moment …?” Mr. Denbigh took Miss Nan’s elbow and retired with her up the stairs. The butler darted angry glances at the staff, who melted away in this direction and that.

  The doorknocker fell again, and the butler looked at Sophia for instructions.

  “I am not at home, and neither is the Earl. Some light refreshments please, in the drawing-room.” She held her hands out to Lady Lincoln and Sir John. “Come; let us sit near the fire. I am half perished, standing in this draft.”

  “Do you wish me to stay?” Lady Lincoln asked.

  “Two heads are better than one,” said Sophia. “It seems that Miss Marjorie has disappeared; I only saw her this afternoon, and Sir John quite naturally thought that she had returned here with me, but unfortunately it was not so. I thought the child looked very pale, and I did offer to take her up in my carriage for a while, but Miss Bladen said Sir John did not wish Marjorie to leave the house until she was in better health, so … Yes, take that chair, Sir John. Come nearer the fire, Catherine.”

  The butler brought in wine and biscuits, but Sir John would not relax. Neither Sophia nor Catherine Lincoln could get a word out of him. He drank, and looked at the fire, and grunted when addressed by either of the ladies. Presently Catherine gave her friend a look of comical despair, and took her leave. As soon as she had gone, Sir John caught her arm, and put his mouth to her ear.

  “Traitor!” he whispered. “He is a traitor!”

  “I wish you would not say such things,” said Sophia. “No wonder that the Frenchman thought you mad.”

  “Ah yes, the Frenchman. And what is a Frenchman doing in his library at this present time? Business, he said. Treasonable business. ‘Mr. Nelson,’ he called him, but that wouldn’t be his real name, would it?”

  “I really have no idea.” It was odd, of course, but Philip would have an explanation for it.

  “So he hasn’t told you what he’s up to? I’ve wondered, now and then, if you knew. I didn’t think you’d knowingly marry a traitor, even if your brother was out with the rebels and your father and elder brother had been rebels. I thought better of you than that, Sophia.”

  “Philip is no traitor. He is devoted to the King.”

  “He is a Judas. He smiles and pretends devotion, and all the time he is betraying his country to the French. Oh, you may laugh, but when I tell you what I have seen and heard, with my own eyes … and what other people have seen and heard …”

  “I do not wish to hear.”

  “I insist that you hear me out. I have made a serious allegation against your husband, and you have said that you think I am mad, but you have not heard the grounds on which I base my claim. For instance, did your husband ever tell you how he disturbed some highwaymen in the act of robbing a French courier, when he was on his way down to Sussex? Did he never tell you that the Frenchman gave him a letter to deliver, and that he subsequently concealed that letter from me, the magistrate dealing with the matter? Did he not tell you of the secret meetings he had with your rebel brother Jasper, down at the mill at Hamberley, and in other places? I can bring witnesses to the letter, and to the meetings. Did not this treacherous man worm his way into Tarrant Hall under a false name, and while he was under your roof, being nursed by you, betray your hospitality by persuading Jasper to join the rebels? You knew that he did this, and yet you were so blinded by his money and his high and mighty air that you refused to admit it. Did he not subsequently steal Tarrant Hall from Jasper, in the guise of buying it at a low price? At a price which anyone with a particle of business sense would have known was fraudulent. He stole, and cheated, and lied his way into your affections, and then left you to go off to Hanover and his mistress for the summer. You knew that Mrs. O’Dell was in Hanover this summer, didn’t you? He went straight from Tarrant Hall to her arms, and when he returned to London, she came back with him. He married you not because he loved you, but because you are from a Jacobite family.”

  “No, that is not true!”

  “What other explanation fits the facts? Has he ever been open with you about his affairs?”

  “Why, yes; he has spoken of his political ambitions once or twice. He told me about …”

  “That ploy of his, when he pretended he wanted to raise a regiment for the King? Is that not typical of him? The man is not what he seems. Let us take one more example; the man Dodge. Now I happen to know that this is the very man who took part in the ambush of the French courier. How can you explain his presence in this house, and the trust which the Earl reposes in him, unless you postulate the presence of a guilty secret between the two of them? Mr. Dodge is a blackmailer, my dear; the Earl is paying him to hold his tongue. Perhaps the man Dodge has become a willing tool of the Jacobite spies, since he has brought the news of your brother’s capture by the Hanoverians. What other construction can you put on what you have just seen with your own eyes?”

  “I do not know.” Sophia pressed her hands over her mouth. She felt ill. She could not believe this of Philip … and yet …

  “It is not as if he had any sincere regard for you,” continued Sir John. “His continued visits to Mrs. O’Dell prove that, as does his pursuit of my poor daughter Marjorie. He has convinced me that she is not in this house. Very well. I see now that it would have been stupid of him to bring her here, where you would see her. No, he has taken her elsewhere, or arranged for her to be taken elsewhere, and later on today, or tomorrow, he will go to her. She is lost, disgraced. She is no longer my daughter. I renounce her. My chief regret is that in making a whore of my daughter, he is insulting you.”

  Sophia cried out, and put her hands protectively over her body. She was carrying Philip’s child, and he was unfaithful to her.

  “He ruins everybody with whom he comes into contact,” said Sir John. “Jasper, Marjorie, you … and even Mr. Carramine; my old friend Mr. Carramine is working with him to bring down the King.”

  Sophia stood up. Inaction was unbearable, but the pain did not ease with movement. “I cannot believe it!” she cried. “You are mistaken. There must be some explanation …”

  “What explanation?” asked Sir John. He stood up, too. “My dear, there is only one explanation. The man is a traitor, out of ambition, out of spite, perhaps. He loves no one but himself. He will bring us all down, unless he is stopped.”

  “Proof! You have no proof!”

  “I have given you proof. What more do you nee
d? Shall I tell you what I saw in that library of his? Maps, my dear; marked with the route taken by the Pretender and his forces, and also marked with the route taken by Government troops. How comes he by such things honestly? And there are documents piled high on tables, which I did not have time to examine, for that thrice-damned Frenchman came at me. Give me one paper, or one map from those tables, and I will set your husband on the road to Tower Hill. …”

  “No!”

  “… and execution. Do you not want to free yourself from this mockery of a marriage? Do you not want to free the country from treason? Is it not your plain duty to do so? I will tell you what to do. There is a man in your employ; a carpenter, who will open the doors of the library if given ten minutes alone with them. You will see that he has all the time he needs, and take what evidence we need, and then you will leave this house of lies for ever. Go down to Tarrant Hall. Your aunt Midmain says that the Earl has given it to you, as part of your marriage settlement. It is only natural that you should wish to visit it. You may safely leave the rest to me.”

  He bowed. He was gone. He trusted her to help him. Philip trusted her to help him. She sank onto a chair and wept.

  Chapter Fourteen

  Sophia shivered, and rang the bell for a footman to make up the fire. She had been sitting in the corner of the settee, or pacing the drawing-room for nearly three hours, and was no nearer a decision than when Sir John had left her. The afternoon sky was growing darker by the minute as the smoke from the coal fires rose to the low clouds overhead. Perhaps it would rain. She went to the window and looked out over the square. Down below was a hired sedan chair, with its bearers standing idle. Inside the chair she saw a man; he leaned forward to speak to someone standing beside him, and she saw that the man in the chair was Sir John Bladen, and the man standing beside him was Mr. Farrow, once bailiff to Philip. They were waiting, presumably for her to act.

  She shivered again, and asked the footman if the Earl were still in the house. The footman replied that the Earl had left the house some time ago, with his guest, Mr. Nelson. Miss Tarrant was upstairs with Mr. Denbigh in the sickroom, and Mr. Carramine had just stepped out for a breath of air.

  “I wish to speak with Mr. Dodge. Will you send him to me, please.”

  She could not believe that Philip was a traitor, and yet … Philip in Mrs. O’Dell’s arms, Philip hiding Marjorie from her father. …

  He had denied it. It must be false. And yet …

  She would not spy on him. She would not enter his library for proof of his iniquity, but she could and would ask Mr. Dodge certain questions. He came, full of apologies for having blurted out his news in such an indiscreet fashion and thus upset the ladies.

  “Never mind that, now. I want the truth about my brother. How was he captured? Was he a spy?”

  Mr. Dodge was silent. He beamed her an apology, but made it clear that he did not feel able to speak.

  “Don’t be afraid,” said Sophia. “I know what my husband has been doing. I know you ambushed the French courier, and that the courier gave Philip a compromising letter. I know Philip involved Jasper in his ploys. I know everything, except what has happened to my poor brother.”

  “Begging your pardon, my lady, but better be safe than sorry, as the saying goes. Well, I don’t know precisely how the young cock was caught, but I’d say he was asking for it in some way. Reckless, he was. I don’t hold with reckless men, because they lead others into danger, too, most often. The truth is, I didn’t see his capture, because I wasn’t there. All I knew was that I was supposed to meet with him just outside Derby, and he didn’t turn up. So I hung about for a while, and then did the rounds of the taverns, and sure enough I heard after a while that a spy had been picked up. I thought they’d hang him outright, but no one said anything about hanging. I watched next morning, and he walked past me, under escort, as calm as you please. His hands were bound, and he’d lost his hat and boots, but otherwise he looked fit enough.”

  She sank onto a chair, her hand to her heart. “What will they do with him?”

  Mr. Dodge weighed his words. “No point mincing words, my lady. They’ll hang him, most like, but they may not get round to it for some time. They’ll want to question him, and they can’t do that so easily while they’re on the march. Before I started back, I set my mate Peter to watching the column. If they leave him hanging on a tree, then Peter’ll cut him down as soon as he can, and stow the body safely so’s you can bury it properly later on. Maybe—just maybe—they’ll be so pressed for time they’ll forget about him; they won’t let him go, but they’ll keep him safe and sound till they have breathing space. Now if that happens, we’ve got a chance of getting him back, by exchange. We have one of their spies, they have one of ours, and we exchange them. The Earl had a quick word with me before he went out, ma’am, and he told me to send the word along that we value your brother. Oh yes, while there’s life, there’s hope, as the saying goes.”

  Sophia inclined her head in token of dismissal, and Mr. Dodge left her.

  So it was all true, and Philip was a traitor, and so was her brother and her aunt, and everyone she valued. Where would it end? On Tower Hill for Philip, and on the branches of a leafless tree for Jasper? And what of Aunt Nan, and of the child in her body? Sir John had been right; she must leave this house and return to Tarrant Hall … it was like Philip to have given her back her home … he was so unfailingly kind, always courteous and considerate … and a traitor not only to his King, but also to her.

  Her wanderings had taken her back to the window. Sir John was still there, waiting for her to send him some piece of incriminating evidence to convict Philip. Well, she would not do so. She would not help to bring him to the block, however much he had deserved it. She would leave the house next morning, and never see him again; she would write him a letter telling him exactly why she was leaving him, and then she would go.

  Aunt Nan must go with her. But what of the boy Thomas? Aunt Nan would never leave the boy. But he was dying. Oh, it hurt to think how Philip had tricked her into bearing him a child. …

  She went out onto the landing and looked about her. It was as if she had never seen the house before; the gracefully proportioned pillars, the cream and gold of the walls, the heavily-framed portraits, and the softly shining wood of the double doors of the library. Her aunt’s door was closed. Should she go in? Might she be able to think more clearly there?

  There was an altercation on the landing behind her; her maid was scolding someone. It was the little carpenter, who had no doubt come to open the library doors for her. The maid was objecting to his presence.

  Sophia said; “Let the man be. I ordered him to attend to the lock on the library door. It is stiff.”

  The maid hesitated. Sophia outfaced her and swept to the library door. The carpenter followed, grimacing. He was a nervous little man, but he did not take long to open the door. All the time, Sophia’s maid stood in the background, clasping and unclasping her hands. At last the door was open. Sophia slipped inside the room, and shut the door behind her.

  The shutters were open, but the room was dusky. Heavy curtains hung at the windows, and the fire had burned low. There were candles set in candelabra here and there, but they had not yet been lit. She saw what Sir John had seen, and closed her eyes, leaning against the door for support. Maps, and yet more maps; marked as Sir John had described. She lit a branch of candles, using a taper from a box on the mantelpiece. There was a crumpled piece of paper on the hearth, one side of which was singed. Someone had thrown it at the fire, it had rebounded and fallen onto the hearth. She picked it up, and smoothed it out, recognizing Mr. Carramine’s neat handwriting.

  “In haste,” she read. “The girl came to me an hour ago after having wandered halfway round the Town. She refuses to return to her father. I took her to the address in Crooked Court that you know of. She is in great distress. I promised you would visit her as soon as you could. C.”

  So it was all true. She could d
oubt no longer. Philip was Maijorie’s lover, and Sophia’s life was finished.

  She would not weep. The time for tears lay in the future, in the long years to come without a husband or friends. She had a duty to perform. She would not give Sir John the evidence he needed, because Philip was her husband, and because of that she would not betray him to death on Tower Hill. She would warn him, as soon as she could, that his activities were suspect, but she would not betray him.

  Maijorie, however, was a different matter. She must be restored to her father, who would know how to deal with her. If she were married to Mr. Dalby before the scandal broke, then perhaps the girl’s reputation might be saved.

  She left the room with the note in her hand. Her maid was still standing outside on the landing.

  “If you please, my lady, but his lordship does not wish anyone to go into the library.”

  “I know,” said Sophia. “I will see him when he comes back.”

  She went into the drawing-room and rang the bell. When a footman came, she gave him Mr. Carramine’s note, and told him to deliver it to Sir John Bladen, whom he would find waiting outside in a sedan chair. She watched from her window as the note was delivered. The footman was being detained. Why? Ah, he was being given a note. Yes, he was returning. She went to the fire, and tried to warm herself. She was shivering once more. The footman scratched on the door, and delivered the note. She read it, and dismissed him.

  “Make sure he forgets to take his pistols with him. J.B.”

  She shivered again. “Make sure …” Did that mean that Sir John meant to challenge Philip to a duel? Of course, if Philip did not go to see Marjorie, he would be in no danger. But if he did go, then he would be bringing his fate upon himself.

  She began to pace the room once more. She had not meant to betray him into Sir John’s hands, even though he were guilty a hundred times over. If he were to keep his marriage vows … yes, and his pledge to her not to visit Marjorie … then he should be quite safe.