by CE Murphy
Beneath that green fall of leaves, Hartnell found an eager student of magic: Leopoldina Dover thirsted for what he knew, and if she was not so swiftly susceptible to his charms as he might have hoped, it was inevitable that she should succumb. She spoke incessantly of Brighton and its delights, of her dreams of a life beyond Bodton, and her chafing at the boundaries placed upon her by being surrounded by those who had always known her; in all of this, Hartnell saw the lever he required to move the world. A murmur here, a sigh there, a wishful speech about how their time together must end, and soon, Dina settled on the idea of elopement as if it was her own.
They could not, Hartnell demurred; he could not care for her in the style to which she was accustomed. La! she proclaimed: nothing could be worse than being without him; poverty, which they should certainly not be subjected to, would be the greatest joy, so long as she was his. But, oh, he was wiser, and had been poor; but no, do not think of it: in Brighton, nothing will matter. So, to Brighton they went, Leopoldina joyously embracing the sea air and Hartnell alike, and, out of reach of Mr Dover’s strictures, making more freely with her magic than she had ever done before. She wanted nothing else; in time, she would of course become Mrs Hartnell, for it never crossed her mind that any man might willingly partake of a gentlewoman he did not intend to marry, and until then, she was free to live, and do magic, as she wished.
Hartnell’s magics were all practical or war-like, but she needed nothing more than her natural talent to make sea spray dance in the wind, or to wear droplets of water in her hair like glittering jewels. There were other soldiers and their women in Brighton; Dina’s bright spirit made her friends easily, and she could not see the class of those she befriended. Nor did she wish to, when amongst them proved a woman of rough words and gentle hands who taught Leopoldina the binding of a wound with no more than magic, and who supervised the near-painless arrival of another woman’s squalling baby girl into the world. It was bloody, messy work, but her talent was to be admired, Dina told her darling Hartnell, and took no notice that his interest seemed to be more for the gambling table than her tale. She leaned over him, blowing on the dice for luck, and saw nothing of Hartnell’s twisted mouth as her kisses did nothing to improve his roll.
It was there that Mr Fitzgerald Archer found them, to the dismay of one, the delight of the other, and the equal surprise of both. “Mr Archer!” Dina cried gladly. “I could not have imagined to see you in Brighton; how splendid it is to reacquaint myself with such a fine gentleman! Pray tell me, have you come to enjoy the last of the summer seas? I believe the water is now as warm as it can ever be, and I will tell you that I am very bold and have gone into it more than once.”
“You are bold, Miss Leopoldina,” Archer agreed gravely, and then, with a hope he did not truly feel, asked, “or is it Mrs Hartnell now?”
Merry laughter was all that met this question. “It shall be someday, Mr Archer; we are in no hurry to wed, though it will certainly come to pass. What a fine couple we are, would you not agree? My Hartnell so handsome and myself a pretty creature, if I do confess it myself!”
“Fine indeed,” Archer replied, and to Hartnell, whose sole ambition throughout the whole of this discussion appeared to be nothing more than a wish to escape, Archer said, “A word, David,” in such dark tones that no one save Leopoldina could miss their warning. Hartnell, having already been obliged to leave the gambling table, could only accept Archer’s invitation, and Dina was left to spend a happy hour or two with the other ladies of her station.
“I cannot long be gone from the table, Archer. I am up a little, and in some dire need of money, so I must not risk what I have taken today,” began Hartnell, but that light and easy air faded as Archer turned an expression incredulous with anger upon the Captain.
“I need not even ask why you are in need of money, only how much you have already lost.”
“Some one thousand pounds,” Hartnell replied in as best a careless tone as he could command. “I have been obliged to leave the regiment on those debts, and perhaps one or two of honour, so why should I not come to Brighton, and with such a charming companion as Dina? I should say she quite insisted, Archer; you cannot hold me responsible for that silly creature’s follies.”
“As I might not have held you responsible for Miss Archer’s? Let us pretend even for a moment that I did not, David. Even if I do not, you are wholly responsible for your own. Debts! Why did you not marry the girl and get her inheritance for your debts?”
“God,” Hartnell replied with feeling. “Condemn myself to a lifetime of that empty-headed nattering, all for the sake of a few hundred pounds? I could never.”
“And yet you shall.”
“Or what, Archer? Australia? That is an old threat and carries no weight. You cannot care enough for this foolish girl’s fate to buy me off a second time, and even if you should, why would I not come to you again and again, each time I was in need of money, if your sympathies for such a creature run so deep?”
Archer spoke slowly. “Australia is not so old a threat as that, David; I should find no sorrow in watching a ship sail with you reluctantly aboard in the morning. And it is true, perhaps, that Leopoldina Dover is not my especial concern or problem, save that I made no move to protect her or her family from you when I ought to have.”
“Did you not? Was Miss Elsabeth Dover not sufficiently informed as to your opinions of my character?”
“She was, but only under duress, and knowing what she does of her sister’s nature, she rightfully concluded that to speak ill of you would only send Miss Leopoldina into your arms. I ought to have spoken to Mr Dover; I might have done many things that I did not. That is in the past. I am quite comfortable with Australia being in your future, David, and my only hesitation is on behalf of Miss Leopoldina’s reputation. Therefore, I will pay your debts, purchase your commission to the next rank and stand over you to see that you will marry her, upon which time you shall live quietly, within your means, as her husband.”
“And if I do not? Will you marry her yourself to save her reputation?” Hartnell’s ready laughter proved what he thought of that idea.
“I will find another officer—her sister Matilda will know to whom I ought to speak—who will be willing to overlook Miss Leopoldina’s indiscretion and, for the amount I will stand him, declare his tolerant and undying passion for her. He will come to London, where Miss Leopoldina will be found to have been staying with her aunt and uncle, and plead for her hand in marriage, which she will accept while you, David, live the short and harsh life of a criminal in Australia. You are a thousand pounds in debt; I will not even have to trump up charges to see you away from England’s shores.”
“You would not,” Hartnell replied, but his conviction wavered. “She would not. She loves me.”
“She fancies excellent shoulders in a red coat. I do not imagine it is of great concern to her whose shoulders fill that coat.”
“You impugn the lady’s honour!”
“The lady,” Archer said steadily, “has done that quite well enough on her own.”
“I will write to the newspapers! I will destroy her life and her family’s!”
“You will be a convict on a long and dangerous journey, and I am sure there will be a hardened soul or two who will take a great dislike to you. It would be of no real worry to me if you were found missing from the ship’s roster some stormy morning.”
“You wouldn’t. A gentleman would never!”
“I doubt there will be many gentlemen on your ship. Pack your belongings, David, and choose your destination: wedded bliss or a watery grave. It is of very little concern to me which you prefer.”
“We are going to London,” Hartnell said to Dina some little while later. “Your aunt and uncle have expressed a desire to see us, and we shall be wed there, with proper family attendance.”
“Oh, London! How splendid, my dear Hartnell! I shall miss Brighton tremendously; we will have to return soon, and often! But it will be
lovely to see my dear Aunt Penney, and I cannot think but that she will be so pleased to be the first to offer us felicitations upon our marriage! And what fun it will be to return to Bodton a married woman! Oh, Matilda will be so envious! How lucky we are to have found each other, my sweet Hartnell; how sad for those who do not share such a bond as we do.”
Mr Archer, subjected to a full day of similar commentary on the journey to London—for he dared not allow them to make their own way there for fear of losing the groom—conceded himself to be astonished that Hartnell had chosen marriage over Australia, even with the possibility of not surviving the voyage made clear to him. He could not, however, find sympathy for the Captain; at best, he felt relief that some other poor soul would not have to be bribed into marrying Leopoldina Dover. Such a fate, Archer felt, was one that should be consigned only to the deserving, and David Hartnell had proven himself most deserving.
The wayward young couple were presented at the Penney house with as much decorum as possible. Archer placed Hartnell in the care of the most likely-looking of the footmen with the promise of a considerable bonus if Hartnell should not manage to leave the house, put Leopoldina in her aunt’s capable hands, and took himself to speak to Mr Penney on the topic of the upcoming wedding’s costs.
“I believe you are quite successful in trade, and I have no doubt that you are both willing and able—as well as feeling yourself morally obliged—to handle the necessary finances of this affair. Mr Penney, I must ask you to perform a charade, for I intend to be the recipient of all costs in this business, but wish you to be the face of it. No,” Archer said, “do not speak; only listen, and, when I am done, you may proceed with all your objections. I have been aware of Hartnell’s deficiencies for years and, more, once allowed him to slip through a net that would have saved all of you this trouble. I regret that now but cannot undo it; instead, I will rest easier knowing I have made what recompense I could in this unfortunate situation. You will protest, but I would be no gentleman at all if I did not act now where I ought to have many years ago.”
“I cannot allow this, Mr Archer. You have no obligation to us; neither Leopoldina nor Captain Hartnell are your charges, whilst Dina is my family. Moreover, even if I were willing to allow you to ease the financial strain—which I am not!—I could never sit easily with then taking the credit for it myself.”
“But you have the right of it,” Archer said instantly. “I have no visible obligation, only that which I already know rests upon my soul; to include myself as a visible party in this affair would be a dreadful public curiosity. We might rely on my old friendship with Hartnell to explain how and why I went to fetch them— that, and it is surely more subtle for a gentleman of Hartnell’s own age to approach them than a more obviously older relation—but no one must be allowed to imagine that I have any further business to do with it all.”
“For your own reputation,” Mr Penney hazarded, as a certain suspicion began to form.
Archer allowed himself the briefest of smiles. “I believe my reputation precedes me and I am unlikely to be considered as a party to this folly, but certainly, Mr Penney. The crudest of minds might conclude that it was I who spirited away Miss Leopoldina, and that Captain Hartnell has been acquired to extract me from a situation I no longer wish to pursue. Because I am wealthy, and a man, these follies would be forgiven if not forgotten, but I would indeed prefer not to allow even the suggestion to take root in any small minds. That is an excellent supposition and will do nicely as a reason for your acquiescence, if a reason is required.”
“I do not like it,” Mr Penney said after a short pause.
“I would not expect you to. But you will agree, and tell no one?”
“I believe there may be one or two who should know, Mr Archer. I believe there may be one or two who might look more fondly upon you if they were to know what you are doing here.”
“And that is why they must not know, Mr Penney,” Archer replied with an introspection unlike himself. “Fondness ought to be earned, not bought; I have once in my life imagined that being of wealth and stature was enough to earn affection, but I was wrong. Those qualities buy affection from those weak enough or eager to sell it; true fondness is earned through worthy action of one who expects no reward in return.”
“Then let it be known that I have grown fond of you, Mr Archer,” said Mr Penny after another moment’s pause. “It is perhaps bold of me to say so; I am not of your station, nor close enough to you in any way to be allowed a paternal pride, but it is true, and my admiration for you has deepened profoundly. I will participate in your charade, and we will put all of this sad business behind us.”
(56)
The wedding was, by necessity, only sparsely attended: indeed, only the Penneys and Mr Archer were expected to witness it, but a favourable wind brought a ship home early, and Mrs Rosamund Webber, arriving at her aunt’s home just after nine in the morning the day of the wedding, was informed of the goings-on and with all due haste took herself and Mr Webber to the chapel where the union was to take place at the ten o’clock hour.
It was thus that Leopoldina gave a glad scream and hearty embrace, and that Rosamund stood at her side as the vows were taken. It was thus, also, that the two married couples drove to Bodton together, with Rosamund considering Mr Archer’s silent, pained presence at the wedding all the while.
Mr Webber, capitally glad to have encountered his close friend, had sensed nothing untoward regarding the quiet wedding, but Rosamund, reluctant to think the worst of anyone, could not find any measure of satisfaction in it, as no one in the Dover family had written to inform her of Dina’s impending nuptials.
Nor were her concerns lessened as Dina exited the coach at Oakden before her: beyond the new Mrs Hartnell were the stoic faces of a distressed family; only Mrs Dover showed any sign of joy as she held first Leopoldina and then Hartnell in an embrace.
“But wait!” Dina cried. “I have brought you not only a husband for myself, but see who else has joined us! Mr Webber, Rosamund, do come forth; you are not meant to stay in the carriage forever!”
All the hope and happiness that might have been present for Dina’s arrival now shone on the faces of the remaining Dover family. Mr Dover shook Mr Webber’s hand, which he had not done with Captain Hartnell, and both Elsabeth and Matilda fell upon Rosamund with affection. “But how!” said Elsabeth. “You were meant to be gone half a year at least, and it is hardly three months since you left!”
“Mrs Webber has been easily fatigued,” replied Mr Webber with an unmistakable pride, and under the implication of this news, Leopoldina was all but forgotten. Rosamund, full of blushes and laughter, was escorted to the sitting room, where she was treated with such solicitude as to render her without words. Mr Webber could and did speak, though, expressing their enjoyment of the travels they had taken, until Dina’s growing agony at not being heard burst through his accounting in a flood not to be dammed. She was all tales of Brighton and London; she was all stories of dear Hartnell’s new station, and, under all of it, Rosamund asked Elsabeth, softly, why Mr Archer had been at Dina’s wedding, but none of the family had.
Elsabeth lost all colour, then found it again in a rush. “Mr Archer was in attendance?”
“Very much so; he stood at Captain Hartnell’s side like a man prepared for a battle. What has happened, Elsabeth? Tell me the truth.”
“You will not like the truth,” Elsa replied, but, in as few and gentle words as possible, illuminated Leopoldina’s folly. “Papa said he would not have them in the house,” she concluded, “but your arrival has softened him a little. Oh, Rosamund, I am so glad you are home.”
“If I were not already sitting, I would need to,” Rosamund whispered. “Oh, Elsa, how could she have been so foolish? And how can she not see it?” As one, they looked to their youngest sister, who spoke endlessly about her dear Hartnell. Hartnell himself sat to the side with a modest smile and a soldier-straight spine, the two postures conflicting with one an
other.
“It is only ten days until we must leave for my dear Hartnell’s post,” Leopoldina said.
“Ten days!” echoed Mrs Dover in a dismay felt only by herself. “But my daughter, I cannot be without you so quickly! It is too little time! And you will be so far away!”
“It will be years before we see each other again, I suppose,”
Dina replied with a grandiose degree of tragedy. “You will have to write to me so often, Elsabeth, although I will hardly ever have time to write to you; married ladies are so busy, and there will be so many friends to make among the regiment wives! We must have a dance between now and then; we must, for so few here know of my marriage, and I cannot wait to hear Mrs Enton call me Mrs Hartnell! There are so many I long to hear say that name! Even your own dear sister, Mr Webber! To think that I should be married before her! Why, we must have her to dinner, and I shall sit above her at the table, for I am a married woman now.”
“We will not have a dance,” said Mr Dover at the very moment Mr Webber proclaimed, “A dance shall be held at Newsbury forthwith.” They gazed at one another, Mr Webber stricken with a profound sense of distress that could only be alleviated by Mr Dover’s sighed “Very well, at Newsbury, but do not imagine I will attend.”
“However could you not, Papa?” exclaimed Dina in surprise that appeared wholly uncontrived. “Surely, you would not begrudge your married daughters a dance, or deny Mamma the pleasure!”
“Now, Mrs Hartnell,” murmured the Mr of that pair, “do not pressure your father to do what does not suit him.”
“I do not require your defence, Captain Hartnell,” rejoined Mr Dover sharply, and, catching Rosamund’s look of dismay, sighed a second time. “For your sake, Rosa, I will consider attending. Let it be a dance, though, and not the grand affair of a ball; we do not need such attention now.”
