The Tarrant Rose

by Veronica Heley

  He came in. She was startled, and cried out.

  He smiled, and took her hand in his. “Are you well? You did bravely, calming Sir John. I was proud of you.”

  She snatched her hand away. “I know what has been going on. I have been in the library, you see.”

  “I know. Your maid came to tell me, as soon as I returned. I am sorry I could not tell you before. I wanted to do so, many times.”

  “Why did you do it? You, of all people!”

  “Why did I suborn Jasper? Yes, I wish I had not, now. Yet it seemed the only thing to do, at the time. Do you blame me very much for it? Yes, I see that you do. If it is any consolation, I blame myself for it, too. Listen to me. Don’t turn away. I must go out.”

  “To see Marjorie?”

  “Why, yes. She does not know, yet, about Jasper.”

  “Is it only for Jasper’s sake that you go? Not for your own?”

  “You are angry. Why? You know why I used to see her.”

  “That tale won’t do, when you have coaxed her to run away from home.”

  “I had no idea that she was going to do so.”

  “I beg of you not to go!”

  “Why? Sophia, why? But I must! The girl is half distracted. I promise I will not stay with her more than half an hour. Thomas needs me, and your aunt, not to mention …”

  “I understand. You put everyone before me. Marjorie, Jasper, my aunt, Thomas, Mr. Carramine—even this mysterious Frenchman, Mr. Nelson. Go, then—and on your own head be it.”

  Would he argue? No, he was tired, and would not quarrel. She watched him shrug, and move away from her. He was at the door. She had only to lift a finger to bring him back. No, she would not. Pride forbade. She must warn him to go armed. He had opened the door. He was passing through it.

  “Philip!”

  The door shut, and he was on the other side of it.

  She hesitated. Should she run after him? She would have to warn him in front of the servants, and how would that sound? It would sound very odd. He would not believe her. She could give him the note. Where was it? She had put it down somewhere, when the footman had given it to her. Where?

  It was in the hearth. She picked it up, and sped after him. She reached the foot of the stairs only to see the butler closing the front door. He had gone.

  The servants were staring at her. She knew she was behaving oddly. She turned round and went upstairs to her bedroom, and rang the bell for her maid. She would occupy the time until his return with packing her things.

  It was only then she realized that Sir John meant to kill Philip.

  The address to which the Earl directed his coach was near the Fleet Prison in the City. Crooked Court was one of a warren of alleys and passages in that part of London, chosen by Mr. Dodge as a suitable area in which to dwell, partly because a man could easily elude pursuit if he knew the area, and partly because it was cheap. No coach could pass through those alleys, so the Earl alighted nearby, and directed one of the footmen to take a lantern and lead the way. There were supposed to be street lanterns at prescribed intervals along these alleys, but some were broken, and some unlit. The Earl picked his way between piles of refuse and wished himself elsewhere. A grimy hand—probably a child’s—clutched at his cloak. A baby cried unceasingly. White faces peered from the entrances to alleys as he passed, and he was conscious of being watched from every side. He had changed his riding dress for a suit of sober hue, and thrown a light cloak overall, but he was aware that his clothes, hat and shoes were objects of envy to the ragged creatures who lived hereabouts. His eyes alert to the slightest movement, he swung his cane, and wished he had thought to bring his pistol from the coach. It was lucky that Chivers had pressed his sword-stick into his hand as he left the house. …

  A strangled cry, and his footman dropped his lantern. There was a sound as of a foot slipping on refuse behind him. Philip whirled, to see the point of a sword snaking for his throat. He ducked, his right hand twisting at the top of his sword-stick. A cudgel whistled through the air, and he jumped back, withdrawing his sword from the cane-sheath … wondering how many assailants there might be; one to deal with the footman, and two behind him?

  He set his back to the wall of a house nearby and sent out a cry for the Watch. The alley was dark. Darker than when he had entered it? Had there not been a light on a house some fifteen yards behind him? It was darkened now. The only light which entered the alley came from the mouth of the street, some fifty yards away. He could hear someone breathing hard, and thrust at the sound. His swordpoint met something soft, and someone yelled. Again the cudgel whistled, and this time caught his bad shoulder. He leaped to one side, but this took him away from the wall, and into the open. Refuse was under his feet. He must be careful not to slip. He began to move further from the wall, crouching low. If he could see them against the light, then he must take care not to be seen in the same way. What cursed luck to be attacked on such an errand! He knew footpads and Mohocks abounded in this part of the City. It was his own fault; he ought to have brought several men with him.

  There was a rush of feet, the thud of a descending weapon, and a man swore. The Earl smiled. The enemy had engaged with itself. Enchanting! Then his smile faded, for he thought he had recognized the voice of the man who had sworn. Not footpads, not Mohocks out for a spree. …

  Cat-like, Philip retreated step by step down the alley, his swordpoint at the ready. He tried to breathe lightly, so as not to betray his presence. His breathing was far too loud. No, it was not his own breathing that he heard, but someone else’s.

  A sword sprang out of the darkness, catching the light, making for his heart. He had been seen. He engaged his assailant. His own sword was far too light for this kind of work, and he was not and never had been expert with the foils. His opponent was no expert, either, but he was a heavier man in every way. The swords slithered, dipped, disengaged and met again. Philip was younger and in better condition than his adversary, but he had had little sleep and much anxiety of late. Also, his shoulder ached. His feet caught on something yielding, and he slipped. The large man gave a shout of glee and shortened his arm to drive his sword home. Philip rolled to one side, towards the wall. Again he called for help, even though he knew it was unlikely anyone would come to his rescue. Prudent citizens left the victims of such attacks to their fate.

  The big man had lost sight of him. He circled, facing this way and that. Philip recognized him, now that his eyes were growing accustomed to the gloom. Sir John Bladen. How had he come by, so opportunely? There was only one answer possible. Sophia had been in the library, had seen Mr. Carramine’s note, and had betrayed him.

  Philip was still holding the cane of his swordstick. He thrust it between Sir John’s legs, and brought him down. Sir John fell heavily. He appeared dazed. Philip got to his feet slowly, looking around for his other assailants. The alley was silent, watchfully so. Philip bent over Sir John, and as he did so, someone leaped onto his back. A cloud of bad breath announced that his assailant had rotten teeth. Fingers crawled around Philip’s throat and began to squeeze … he was done … he staggered back against the wall, throwing himself against the brickwork … the man would not be dislodged … Sir John was getting to his feet, looking around him, finding his sword, and shortening it to strike home … Philip threw out his arms … he had lost his sword. … There was a drumming noise in his head … no, feet running … a muffling roar and he dropped to the ground.

  There was a buzzing in his ears. Light, flashing, unbearably bright. One last heave, and the fingers around his throat slackened. The weight was off his back, but someone else was coming at him, iron bar raised, teeth grinning in a death’s head of enjoyment. How ever many of them were there? He staggered to his feet. He had no weapon with which to defend himself. He avoided the first onslaught with feet which seemed weighted with lead. He tore off his cloak, and as the man came at him again Philip threw it over his head … and suddenly there was more light. …

 
A door in a house along the alley had opened, and a gigantic man came out, arms outstretched to catch the man with the cudgel around his waist and swing him once … twice … thrice … against the nearby wall. The man went limp, but the large man continued to swing … a fourth … fifth … sixth time. The man with the cudgel ceased to cry out after the third blow.

  The Earl turned into the shadows and leaned against the wall.

  “Are you all right, my lord?”

  It was Chivers, smoking pistol in hand, and two footmen at his back. He spoke in a hushed voice, and looked scared. “My lady sent me after you. She insisted I take your pistols, but lordy me, I didn’t know if I could hit a haystack, never mind a man! Only see what I’ve done, my lord! Will this mean the nubbing cheat for me?”

  “That’s my bully boy!” cried Mr. Dodge, throwing, his victim against the wall and dusting off his hands. “A notch for you, and a notch for me, and his lordship that moithered he doesn’t know whether to say ‘Good Lord,’ or ‘Thank God!’ Come into my house and have a drop of something while I get this place cleaned up. It won’t do to have the bodies found here, will it?”

  The Earl looked around him. The footman who had lighted his way down the alley was getting to his feet, looking dazed. The man Greenwood, who had wielded the bar, lay sprawled against the wall, his head flattened by repeated contact with the bricks. He was undoubtedly dead.

  There was a huddled form at the Earl’s feet; Farrow, his fingers still clutching, but this time at empty air. There was a hole in the back of his coat, and he was also very dead.

  “This means the nubbing cheat for me,” said Chivers. The pistol in his hand shook. “I saw him trying to throttle his lordship, and I aimed high, as I thought, to frighten him.”

  “You leave the pistols to his lordship and me in future,” said Mr. Dodge, in fatherly fashion. “Now don’t take on so, man! No one’s going to the nubbing cheat for this affair, are they, my lord?”

  “Not unless I join you on the gallows,” said Philip, pointing to a gross body, which was trying to heave itself to a sitting position a couple of yards away. Philip’s sword was lodged fast in Sir John’s body, although the fat man was trying to withdraw it with hands that slipped on his own blood. “I can’t remember it,” said Philip. “I must have impaled him without realizing it, when Farrow got me round the throat.”

  “He’s done for, anyway,” said Mr. Dodge, with a detached, even kindly interest. “Sir John, Farrow and Greenwood. As pretty a trio as were ever brought to justice.”

  Something bubbled at Sir John’s mouth. He had his eyes fixed on Philip. He was pawing at his coat sleeve—there was something white protruding. Philip bent down and extracted it.

  “She betrayed you,” whispered Sir John. A look of malevolent glee contorted his face. He began to laugh, and died.

  Philip did not need to read the note to know what it contained. “I know,” he said. “She betrayed us both.”

  Chapter Fifteen

  It was nearly ten in the evening before the Earl returned home. Sophia sat on the edge of a chair in the drawing-room, and watched the clock. Twice her aunt had been down to ask if Philip had returned; Thomas was worse and asking for his father.

  She heard the stir in the house when he arrived, but she did not go out to greet him. She was afraid of what he would say. Presently he came to her. He had changed his clothes, and there were scratches on his hands, but otherwise he looked unharmed, if weary.

  He did not greet her, but threw Mr. Carramine’s letter about Marjorie onto the carpet at her feet.

  He said, “You betrayed me, and then you betrayed him. I hope you are satisfied. He is dead, together with his two companions, Farrow and Greenwood. Their bodies will be found in that den of thieves, Seven Dials, tomorrow, or perhaps later than that, if the Watch is negligent. I doubt if there will be any query about their death … a quarrel between master and servants … everyone knows Sir John was unbalanced.”

  “I sent Chivers after you, as soon as I realized what Sir John intended. I could not find Mr. Dodge or Mr. Carramine. I am glad you are safely returned, even if you have been false to me and to your King. Sir John wanted me to give him evidence of your treasonable activities, but I refused to do so. I hope that you will have sense enough to cease corresponding with the Pretender now, but … it is no affair of mine. I leave for Tarrant Hall tomorrow, and I do not intend to return.”

  “So that is what you think. It had crossed my mind as a possibility, but I had rejected it out of hand. Go, then. I have finished with you.” He was not even angry with her.

  Could she have been mistaken? No … it was unthinkable. She raised her voice. “I see you dare not explain your activities to me. What else can I believe?”

  He hesitated, looked at the clock, and then spoke rapidly, as if his mind were elsewhere.

  “My uncle Carteret devised a scheme to trap the Pretender into an ill-timed and ill-prepared invasion. He asked me to help him. At first I refused to do so, but a letter fell into my hands which, though it forwarded my uncle’s plans, might incriminate its recipient. That letter was addressed to someone at the sign of the Ram and the Rose. It was meant for your father, who had been an active Jacobite. My uncle wanted me to persuade Jasper to take his father’s place in the chain which linked the Pretender to these shores. Jasper was refused a commission and was ready to do anything to see active service, and so I recruited him to act for the Government as a spy—a double agent, if you like. He did not go under his own name, of course, but under that of David Vere, and under that name he has earned the gratitude of the Government.

  “Mr. Carramine joined me in setting up a system to obtain information on the Pretender’s doings, and conveying it to London quickly. Mr. Dodge and his men are all in the pay of the Government, but have been seconded by Mr. Stone to work with me on this assignment. My presenting a bill in Parliament was but a cover for the work I have been doing in private, both here and at Court. During the course of this last month I have been offered ministerial posts both by my uncle and by the Duke of Newcastle, but I stand by my original ambition, to be appointed Ambassador abroad. It is also rumored that I am to receive the Order of the Garter, but I will believe that when it happens.”

  “And Jasper? He is in the hands of the Jacobites, and not of the Government troops?”

  “It appears they are making for Carlisle. I doubt if the rebels will be able to hold Carlisle, but even if they do, it is no matter, for this morning I agreed on the terms of a peace treaty with the French agent, whom you may know as Mr. Nelson.”

  “I thought he was a spy.”

  “I assure you his credentials are impeccable. As to the lady in Mayfair, of whom you have been so jealous, she really is a spy of a sort. She is an old acquaintance of mine, but devoted to her permanent and very wealthy protector. She runs a select gaming establishment. Gamblers are expansive both when they have lost or when they have won. She is adept at extracting information. Her speciality is acquiring information as to the movements of prominent Jacobites in London. I went there for information and also, to be fair, for food. She keeps an excellent table.”

  “And Marjorie?”

  “She knew what Jasper was doing and was prepared to wait for him. She regards me in the same light as Mr. Carramine, as an aged but still mobile uncle. Sir John pressed her to marry Mr. Dalby; she refused. Sir John beat her; she applied to you for help. You refused. She could not think of anything else to do but run to Mr. Carramine and solicit his help. He lives in lodgings, and he could not think what to do with her, so he took her to Mrs. Dodge. The girl is now returned to her aunt, who has been warned to say nothing of the girl’s absence today. Marjorie should inherit Sir John’s estate, but Mr. Carramine will deal with it for her until Jasper returns. I would have brought her back here with me, but that it might have caused gossip, which is the last thing we want. I believe Lady Lincoln will hold her tongue about what she heard and saw this morning, but the servants may not.
Marjorie wants to return home, but at the moment there is no one who can be spared to take her.” He paused. Evidently he meant Sophia to offer her services, but she was still too confused to understand.

  She said, “My aunt and Mr. Denbigh—do they know all this?”

  “Of course. I would trust them both with my life.”

  “But you would not trust me.”

  “Time has proved me right, has it not? It does not matter what you know, now. The manner of Sir John’s death you will undoubtedly keep to yourself, for fear of exciting contempt at your part in it. The rest is, or soon will be, common knowledge. I hope you will be happy at Tarrant Hall. I shall not, of course, request you to accompany me when I am sent abroad. It is not likely that we shall meet again for some years, if at all. Indeed, I hope we do not. The lawyers will see to it that you have sufficient money, and if you wish for an official separation, I will agree, provided that I can have the child.”

  He was going. She could not bear it. She would fling herself at his feet and beg for forgiveness. Someone had come into the room; it was her aunt, with tears on her cheeks.

  “Thomas,” she said. “Oh, come quickly.”

  Philip put his arm round Miss Nan, and led her from the room.

  “No!” shrieked Sophia. But there was no one to hear her.

  Shortly after ten next morning, Thomas had another hemorrhage and died. Only then did his father lay the boy down. Sophia was waiting outside the room; he passed her by without speaking, and went to rest for an hour before departing for Whitehall and another meeting with Mr. Stone. Sophia paced the drawing-room for hours, and then gave the order for her bags to be unpacked. She would stay.

  Miss Nan and Hugh Denbigh were both tired, but they did not seem to want Sophia. They sat together in Miss Nan’s room, now and then smiling at each other, now and then reaching for a handkerchief, and although Sophia could hear them talking when she was outside the room, they always stopped when she went in.