She was in agony. Philip’s words had stripped away all her self-deceptions and conceits. She saw her folly, and bitterly regretted it. Desiring mastery, she had lost his regard. Her pain was all the greater because the breach between them was of her own making. She had declared that she would leave him, and he had agreed. He took his meals in the library, and when they met he was civil, but made it clear that he was surprised to find her still in Town. The mourning which made Sophia feel drab, suited his height and elegance. It was remarked at the funeral that the Countess looked poorly—poor dear, was she breeding? There were Christmas roses and holly on the coffin, exactly as Miss Nan had foretold.
The Jacobite Army began to march out of Carlisle on the morning of December 19th, leaving behind a small garrison of men under the joint command of Colonel John Hamilton and Colonel Townley. The Highland Army’s morale was no longer what it had been; the men were in despair at their failure to press on to London from Derby, and had begun to plunder the countryside as they passed through it. Cumberland’s cavalry harassed the retreating columns, the Pretender had more frequent recourse to his bottle of cherry brandy, and it was only through the superhuman exertions of Lord George Murray that the Army still held together.
Lord George had already mounted his horse when Jasper was brought out of the dungeon in which he had been stowed. Jasper’s wrists were in irons, he was filthy, unshaven and hollow-eyed. He had not been interrogated since he had been captured.
“Hang him,” ordered Lord George.
Jasper was marched to the nearest lampbracket, and told to stand on a wooden cask. A rope was dropped around his neck, and the free end secured.
He could not believe that he was to be hanged. He looked up at the rope, and then around him. The Jacobites were filing out of the Castle. The cask was kicked from beneath his feet, and the rope tightened around his neck. He was not killed outright, but began to jerk his legs, dancing in the air. He saw his aunt’s face as if in a dream, and Sophia’s, and the meadow above Tarrant Hall, and sweet Marjorie. …
As soon as Lord George Murray had passed out of sight, Colonel Hamilton signed to the nearest soldier to cut Jasper down. “He’s only been hanging ten minutes, and there are still signs of life in him.”
They cut Jasper down, and laid him on his back on the ground. He came to himself at length, and looked around him. Colonel Hamilton bent over him.
“You’re still alive, man, and likely to stay that way, if you behave. An acquaintance of mine in the town here tells me you’re worth more to the Usurper’s Government alive than dead. We need you as a hostage, for I doubt if the Prince will return with reinforcements before Cumberland gets here.”
Early in the New Year, with the rebels retreating further and further north towards the scene of their inevitable destruction, His Majesty appointed the Earl of Rame Ambassador to The Hague. There were those who wondered why Philip had attained this position at such an early age, but most set it down to Lord Carteret’s influence. To this statement they would hastily add, how difficult it is to remember that Carteret is now Earl Granville!
Philip, elegant in black and silver, received the congratulations of Society with becoming modesty. There were some—notably Lady Millicent Fairweather—who commented on the absence of the Countess of Rame, but most people were happy to accept that the doctors had advised her to have a period of rest in the country. “So she must be breeding, my dear!” Sophia had gone into the country in the New Year looking white and strained.
There was plenty to divert Society at this time. The antics of Lord Carteret—that is, Earl Granville—at Court had set up a tug-of-war between the diplomat and Newcastle, with the King as the prize. Society found this all the more amusing as there was not the slightest doubt that Newcastle would win.
Then there was the affair of little Marjorie Bladen—very pretty, of course, but positively no style, my dear! Her father’s death had been set down to a drunken quarrel and Society, which had never really adopted the girl into its ranks, now made something of a pet of her. This might possibly have had something to do with the fact that the girl was now a considerable heiress. It was known that Mr. Dalby had tried and failed in the attempt to storm the fortress of Miss Bladen’s heart. Society was not surprised at his lack of success, but they were somewhat piqued when a complete outsider appeared on the scene and bore off the prize. Who was this Sir Jasper Tarrant, anyway? Oh, a brother of the Radiant Rose? Well, that explained much … but had he not been out with the rebels? Not, of course, that one didn’t know one or two people who had expressed sympathy with the cause of the King across the Water, but actually to fight for them. … Oh, he had fought against them, and was now a Captain in the Army—you mean, the Hanoverian Army? How very patriotic of him. A very grim-looking young man, I must say; not at all comfortable to have around, but of course if he had known the Bladen girl since childhood, and what with him being penniless and wanting to buy back Tarrant Hall from the Earl … it made a sort of sense. And of course it was only natural that the Countess would make her home with the young married couple while her husband was abroad.
Another wedding also caused Society comment. On a dark day in January the Earl of Rame gave Miss Nan Tarrant in marriage to his old friend and erstwhile tutor, Mr. Denbigh. It had been an occasion for tears as much as for laughter, for it signalled the end of a long and happy relationship between the Earl and his former tutor. Philip could not keep Miss Nan at his side, for her place must be with her niece, and he could not retain Hugh Denbigh’s services when his old friend had lost his heart so completely to Miss Nan. Society might—and did—say that it was very odd of the Earl of Rame to allow his aunt by marriage to marry so much beneath her, but they presumed he knew his own business best, and of course if Mr. Denbigh did ever bring out the book of poems on which he was said to have been working for some years, that would be some kind of distinction to justify it. The Earl had settled a pension for life on both parties, and it had been arranged that the Denbighs would make their home with the Countess, either at Tarrant Hall, or on the great estate at Rame, during his absence.
There had been two other witnesses to the marriage of the Denbighs: one was Mr. Carramine, who was now a permanent employee at Mr. Stone’s office, and the other was Mr. Dodge, who had been made very happy by the Earl’s gift of the freehold of his house in Crooked Court.
“I never expected it,” said Mr. Dodge, “but I don’t deny that a bird in the hand is worth two in a bush, as the saying goes.”
A fortnight after the Denbighs’ wedding, Philip Rich, Earl of Rame, stepped into the pinnace which was to row him out to the packet Amanda, moored down river. The wind was favorable, and with luck he would be able to enter into his new duties at The Hague tomorrow, or the day after. The King had been most kind at their farewell interview … he was sorry to leave the old man, even though he would continue in his service. Chivers handed the Earl a heavier cloak, in exchange for the light one he had worn to Court. The black and silver of his suit was relieved by the light blue ribbon of the Garter. As Chivers had often remarked recently, The Earl was a man who repaid care in dressing.
Chivers was fidgeting in the boat. Philip supposed that his valet was nervous about the crossing, although he had done it many times before.
Philip himself sat still, with his eyes on the Amanda, and his thoughts far away. Perhaps he ought to have been thinking of his new duties, of the difficulties of working with our Dutch allies at The Hague, of all the problems there which had caused Lord Chesterfield to exclaim with relief when he was finally released from his post. Instead, he was thinking of his estranged wife, and of Jasper’s new maturity, and of Cumberland’s fury at being asked to negotiate for the captured “David Vere” who was nothing but a spy and deserved to be hanged, by God! And then again, Philip thought of the dignity which Sophia had shown in her last weeks in Town. The idea of Sophia Tarrant being dignified ought to have been risible, and yet … he had been so tired after Thomas’s
death … grief, remorse that he had neglected the child so much … Sophia’s indiscretion had seemed like a betrayal, and yet she had done her best to atone, had seemed to be maturing at last. … Had he been right to let her go to Hamberley? Could he have prevented her going there? Would she not have laughed at him again?
To tell a reserved man that he is cold ties his tongue. Philip lacked the Tarrant capacity for expressing emotion. He had seen their loving and giving way of life, had bought it, and had paid for his presumption by losing not only Sophia and Nan but also Hugh Denbigh.
The pinnace had reached the Amanda. Philip climbed the ropeladder, and congratulated himself because his shoulder had not complained. Chivers besought him to step below; the cabins were small, he said, but supper had been brought abroad for his master.
“I am not hungry,” said Philip. “I will stay on deck for a while.” The tide had turned, the anchor was up, and they were slipping down the river. He watched the lights recede. The sky was red and gray, from sinking sun and the smoke pall that hung over London. It would be a long time before he saw it again. He would not regret going if it were not that his new life were going to be so lonely. The Tarrants had brought warmth and gaiety into his life, and now they were gone, and Hugh was gone. … Perhaps he could write to Sophia from The Hague; a friendly note, merely … and if she were to reply … would she consider coming out to him? No, of course she would not. She must be feeling the weight of her pregnancy by now, and no one could expect her to travel under such circumstances.
If she had ever loved him, of course, it would have been different. It had been mostly his fault, he saw that now. He had expected too much of a country-bred girl, unused to Society. Indeed, she had learned so quickly that he had been amazed, and that short time when they had been as one person. …
The memory hurt him. Perhaps he should buy a dog?
Chivers interrupted him. The ladies and Mr. Denbigh awaited him below. Would he not come to supper?
The Amanda heeled in the wind. He must have misheard Chivers. He followed his valet down the companionway, along a passage and into a small cabin, lit only by the fast-sinking sun. The door closed behind him. He could see nothing but the sun through the porthole. The wainscotting was dark. Hands took his cloak and hat from him, and laid them aside. He could sense someone behind him, and smell her scent. He would have turned, anxious to see her face, but she set her hands on his shoulders and urged him towards a table, which was set for two. A tall woman; not Miss Nan. Not—? He sat. There was a branch of candles on the table, unlit. He reached for it, but a white hand put the candles beyond his reach. She sat at right-angles to him, her eyes down. She was dressed in some dark, rustling, loose robe, which was cut low at the neck. In the twilight she was all white and dark blue, her hair piled high but unpowdered.
She said, “It was my duty to come with you.”
Was she mocking him?
She removed the cover from the dish in front of him, and poured him some wine.
She said, “You can have no business to attend to for several hours. No one will come in; Chivers will see to that. He has arranged everything beautifully, has he not? We must be well out to sea by now, so you cannot send me away. It would be cruel to send me to join my aunt and Uncle Hugh, for their cabin is even smaller than this, and my poor aunt is totally occupied with Uncle Hugh, who says he has never felt seasick before, but is undoubtedly so now. Isn’t that strange? Neither my aunt nor I have so much as seen the sea before, yet neither of us feels the slightest qualm.”
“Sophia, I …”
“Let me speak first. I promise I will not rant and rave, but I want to say something to you before you decide what to do with me. If you decide that we must continue to live apart, then I will remain on board the packet and return to England.” She laid her hand on his. “Look … look at my hand on yours.” He looked, and saw nothing more significant than her white, elegant-fingered, capable hand laid over his.
“You have forgotten,” she said. “Yet I have not. You remember the day we met? I thought you were dead. I saw you, and I wanted you. I had not known what it was to want a man before. I was Miss Tarrant of Tarrant Hall, and men had talked of love to me, but their words had meant nothing, until I saw you. I put my hand on yours, and I noticed for the first time that mine was rough-skinned and red. Your hand was smooth and white and well cared for. The contrast frightened me, because it indicated that our lives were different. I did not know, then, how different. I was nothing but a stupid, ignorant girl, who thought herself a cut above her neighbors. I told myself that I was as good as you, and all the time I knew I was not, and that you would discover the truth about me sooner or later. I knew I was going to be hurt, even before you opened your eyes. I was angry with you, laughed at you, because I feared you. I could not believe that you loved me, that you could ever love me, because my hands went everywhere with me, telling me the truth …
“Then I came to Town, and everything I saw reinforced my fear. I learned to be fashionable, which ought to have lessened the gap between us, but you were changing, too. By the time I had learned to be like Lady Millicent, you had spurned her, and were as far from me as ever.”
“I did not ask that you change …”
“Consciously or not, you wanted me to change. You wanted me to be a political hostess by day, and a whore by night.”
His face burned. She was right.
Her voice was gentle. “My hand looks like yours, now. I am no longer ashamed of it. Are you still ashamed of me? I would not blame you if you were. The higher I climb, the farther you seem to be ahead of me. I foresee that you will end up as one of the greatest men in the kingdom, and I acknowledge that my temper is still not … not absolutely under control. I have changed, though. I didn’t know how much until I went back to Tarrant Hall. Marjorie is chatelaine there now, and Jasper upholds her in all things domestic. My neighbors talk of pigs and potatoes, and I read, and wonder what nonsense Henry Lincoln is up to, and what Lord Carteret—Earl Granville—will do next, and how your shoulder is, and oh, everything about our time together. I had not wanted to leave you, but my aunt said that I should show you I could be an obedient wife if I tried; but it was so dull without you, I could have wept! The knowledge that it was all my own fault made it worse, for if I had not been so jealous, and so stupid … I thought you would never forgive me, and then you sent my aunt and Uncle Hugh to live with me, and care for me, and I knew how much they meant to you, and I dared to hope …”
He pressed her hand to his lips.
She said. “I have been very stupid. I ought never to have left you.”
“No, you were right to go. I deserved punishment for my arrogance. If I had not behaved so coldly towards you … I wanted to write to you … to tell you … but I was not sure if you would listen. …”
“Philip the Cold,” she said. She laughed, but her laughter no longer hurt him. “Philip the Bold. Philip the very, very stupid.” The last rays of the sun caught the tears on her cheeks.
“That makes two of us, who are very, very stupid?” he said.
“Probably. It is expected that a gentleman should confess his foolishness first, is it not?”
“Probably,” he echoed. “But then, I am notoriously slow in such matters. My wife may have to teach me the words.”
He moved toward her, or perhaps it was she who moved toward him. Who knows? His arm was where it had long wanted to be; and yet she held him back, with her hand upon his breast.
“You must say it, first.”
He removed her hand, and kissed it. “In a minute, when it is dark.”
It would be easier to say it in the dark.
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The Tarrant Rose Page 29
