by Anne Gracie
"Yes, that's one point that I must confess quite eludes me. Do, pray, explain, dear boy. I know a little of Miss Farleigh's story. . ."
Kate leapt from her chair. She stole to the door and leaned against it, breathless with fear. The Colonel did know her. He would tell Jack everything. Kate chewed her lip worriedly. She would have to leave. She couldn't bear to see Jack's face when he knew.
"Knew her brothers and met her father on several occasions. In Spain, you understand. And I have met Miss Farleigh once before, though she looked a little different then. . . But your grandmother's ward? I never heard that you were related to Farleighs, Jack."
"We're not, of course. No blood relation at all as far as I know. She—my grandmother, I mean—was Miss Farleigh's mother's godmother."
"Ah," murmured Francis ironically. "A close family connection, I see."
Oh, for goodness' sake, get on with it! thought Kate. The tension was killing her.
Jack shrugged ruefully. "Well, you all know my grandmother—if she decides the connection is a close one then neither mortal man nor woman, can shift her."
"No, indeed," agreed Andrew. "Nor the immortals, I'd wager."
Sir Toby interrupted. "I don't understand what your grandmother's got to do with this, Jack. Terrifying old woman! Treats me like a scrubby schoolboy every time I have the misfortune to run into her. As far as I'm concerned, the further she stays out of everything the better." He paused a moment, then said with deepening suspicion, "I say! She's not here, is she? Lurkin' upstairs somewhere?"
Kate could have screamed with frustration.
"Oh, shut up, Tubby, you fool!" chuckled Andrew good-naturedly. "Let Jack finish his story. The oriental doctor, Jack," he prompted.
"Well, as I said," continued Jack, "Miss Farleigh's brother regained full use of his limb, and she told me about it, though, like the fool I was, I wouldn't listen to her. . . Damn near bit her head off for trying."
"I can well imagine," said Sir Toby frankly. "And, what's more, you can be devilish unpleasant to be around when you're like that, Jack; take my word for it. Wouldn't have come uninvited like this, except Francis made me. Expected to see you snarling round the place like a bad-tempered wolf. Had to stop for a few quick ones on the way. Wasn't going to tackle you sober! So what'd she do? Whisper sweet nothings, eh?''
Kate clenched her fists.
Jack chuckled. "On the contrary, she told me that if I wanted to spend the rest of my life being a cripple and falling off horses, to go right ahead doing what I was doing!"
"She didn't?" gasped Sir Toby.
"She did. Told me to my head I was wallowing in self-pity, too."
"Good God!" said Francis.
"You didn't hit her, did you, Jack?" said Sir Toby.
"Oh, don't be so stupid, Tubby," said Andrew.
“No, Tubby, but she certainly got blasted for her efforts, as I expect you can imagine. But the words stuck in my mind and finally bored their way into what was left of my sanity. So I eventually swallowed my pride, sought her assistance, and to cut a long story short I can ride. It's not a pretty sight, but nevertheless I stay on. I've not ridden to hounds yet, but it won't be long before I'm up to it. So, Tubby, old fellow, you were quite right after all; I am a lucky man—thanks to Miss Farleigh."
Kate relaxed briefly against the wall. Tears ghmmered in her eyes. She'd given him something good to remember her by, at least. When he knew the truth, perhaps his condemnation would be tempered by the memory of her help with his leg.
The men in the next room fell silent for a while, only the occasional clink of a glass or the crackling of the fire could be heard. Then Andrew Lennox spoke, and at his words tension raced through Kate once more.
"You said you'd met Miss Farleigh before, Francis?"
"Indeed, I have," he affirmed. "Though it took me a moment or two to place where I'd first seen her."
"Where was it?" enquired Andrew.
Kate closed her eyes and held her breath.
"At the final siege of Badajoz," the Colonel announced coolly.
Kate's eyes flew open. Badajoz?
"Badajoz? You cannot be serious! Explain yourself, Francis," demanded Andrew.
"Do you mean to say that that chit was at Badajoz?" spluttered Sir Toby in amazement. "Not possible, is it? I mean, no women at Badajoz. . .well. . .I mean women, yes. . . that was part of the prob. . .but not ladies. . .er. . .you know what I mean."
“Indeed there was, Toby, one undoubted lady at least, for which my aunt Charlotte will be eternally grateful," said Francis.
There was a short stunned silence.
"Your aunt Charlotte? Gammon!" snorted Sir Toby. "Can't tell me your aunt Charlotte was at Badajoz, for I won't believe it. Stuffiest woman in the world, your aunt! Never been out of the country. Hardly ever been out of London. I'd wager my best hunter on it."
Francis chuckled softly. “True, old chap, but whom, above all others, does my aunt value in this world?"
After a short pause Andrew said, "Er, your cousin Arnold?"
"Exactly—my cousin Arnold," agreed Francis.
"What the devil are you talking about?" demanded Sir Toby. "I don't understand why we're talking about everyone's dratted relatives. It was bad enough with Jack's grandmother, but now you must rabbit on about your aunt and your cousin Arnold. I was glad to see the back of him after Badajoz, and I damned well don't ever want to see or talk—"
"What happened to Arnold at Badajoz, Toby?" interrupted Francis sweetly.
“Got shot or wounded in some damned way or other and lost his wits and blethered on and on and on about an angel saving him, or some such nonsense."
Jack exclaimed aloud at this.
"Quite true, old chap," explained Sir Toby. "Drove us all batty with his tales of his angel. By the time he was sent home I for one was ready to finish the work that some damned-fool Frog had obviously botched."
"Tubby, old son," said Francis, "that was no angel—that was Jack's Miss Farleigh."
Kate's knees almost gave way.
“What?'' The exclamation came from three throats in unison.
"Quite true. Miss Farleigh was over there with her father and made it her practice to venture in, often quite close to the fighting, and tend the wounded. Came across Cousin Arnold with a ruddy great gash in his arm that wouldn't stop bleeding. Tied it up so tight that the blood couldn't get through. Surgeon who finally got to treat him said she'd saved his life. Would have bled to death for certain. Touch-and-go for a while there as it was."
Kate leaned against the door jamb, her eyes closed. That poor boy was Francis's cousin? In the other room there was a long silence, broken only by the quiet crackling of the logs burning in the hearth.
"She told me her father had confined her to a tent for a week after Badajoz," growled Jack furiously. "My God, when I think of the bloody atrocities. . ."
"I do believe he did," said Francis. "After he discovered her saving Arnold."
There was another long silence.
"Gal's a damned little heroine," said Toby at last.
"Too true," agreed Francis quietly. "And, from what I can make out, Arnold was only one of many she saved."
In the next room Kate sank silently on to the chair. She felt dizzy with relief. Francis did not know the rest of her story—she was safe for a time. She had been so frightened. . . but he thought her a heroine! She did not need to hear any more. A heroine—he wouldn't say that if he knew about Henri. The relief was overwhelming. She was exhausted. Silently she slipped from the room and went upstairs to bed.
"Arnold's angel, you say? Good Gad!" mumbled Sir Toby. "Not the sort of thing one expects a lady to. . .to. . ."
"No, indeed," agreed Andrew warmly. "Most ladies would faint dead away if we even told them one-tenth of the things that could happen in war, let alone. . ." His voice died away as all four men stared into the fire, recalling how the blood-crazed troops had gone mad after the long sie
ge and storming of Badajoz. The raping, the plundering, the pillaging. It was horrific to imagine Kate in the midst of it all.
After a few moments Andrew raised his voice in a rallying tone.
"And why are we sitting here brooding in such a melancholy fashion? We're all here, alive and well, drinking this excellent port, reunited at last. And Jack, back from the dead, with the best of all possible news."
"Yes, by Gad!" said Sir Toby. He raised his glass. "Here's to Mad Jack and the Hunt! Back together at last!"
"Yes, indeed," agreed Francis. "Jack and the Hunt, let's drink to it!"
"And to Miss Farleigh," said Jack quietly, raising his glass. With one accord the others rose to their feet and drank the toast.
"To Miss Farleigh."
"Arnold's angel."
Chapter Twelve
Kate yawned as she set the table in the breakfast parlour next morning. She had slept poorly, worrying about what to do. The very idea of leaving Sevenoakes, and Jack, pained her deeply, but she knew she ought to do it. The arrival of his friends had shown her what thin ice she was skating on. All Jack's friends were soldiers; there would be more visitors, more soldiers. They'd come for the hunting as well as Jack's company. And with more visitors there would be more chance of discovery, more chance of denouncement. It was just a matter of time.
But if she wasn't here there would be no reason for any of Jack's visitors to speak of a well-born English girl who'd lived in sin with a French officer. She wanted to stay near him for the rest of her life, but if the price of that was to have him look at her in disgust, then the price was too high. Better by far to leave him in ignorance, thinking well of her.
She stood back, regarding the table setting. As she did so, her hand went to her head, and she flipped at the irritating frill. She probably didn't need to wear her disguise any more, but better safe than sorry. Jack's introduction of her as a guest had given her another reason to wear it. The cap was the sort of thing a spinsterish housekeeper might wear and it, better than anything, would make her position clear.
Finally she heard male voices and footsteps and swiftly began the last-minute preparations needed to serve hot breakfasts. She had thick home-cured ham and fresh-laid eggs sizzling softly in a pan, slices of bread toasting gently, a jug of ale poured and the tantalising aroma of coffee filling the air when Jack entered the kitchen.
“What the devil are you doing in that thing again?''
"I have no idea what you are talking about, and if you wish to converse with me then I warn you that breakfast will be ruined. I am doing four things at once as it is, and if you expect me to bandy words with you at the same time, then you will be disappointed." Kate was pleased—she was doing a very good imitation of her previous behaviour; he would not suspect anything was wrong.
"Please wait in the breakfast parlour and I'll bring everything in to you and your friends directly." She glanced up at him. "I take it they are all downstairs?''
"What the devil are you doing in that abomination?"
Kate stamped her foot. "I know nothing of abominations; I haven't got time for them. What I want to know is how many to serve breakfast to. Are all your friends arisen?"
"Yes," he snapped. "Why are you doing all this yourself? Where are those girls and that good-for-nothing man of mine? Carlos!" he bellowed.
"Kindly do not deafen me with your shouting." She whisked a slice of toast off the grill just in time to stop it burning. "Carlos and the girls have gone to the village to purchase additional supplies needed for your friends' visit."
"Need they all have gone? Surely one would have been enough."
"Mr Carstairs!" Kate whirled around and glared at him, her resolutions forgotten. “If you must come in here and pick quarrels with me at this hour, it is your prerogative to do so—but do not expect to have an edible breakfast at the same time!"
The coffee smelt delicious. The ham and eggs superb. Some toast was beginning to smoke. It was a tactical retreat, Jack told himself.
The decision had nothing to do with his rumbling stomach. Besides, he had a responsibility to his guests. He would deal with her later.
Breakfast arrived with no further disturbance. Jack's friends instantly hailed Kate as Arnold's angel. Relief swamped her anew. They saw her as a heroine, not a traitor and a whore. A heroine! She couldn't help but laugh. They insisted that Kate join them for breakfast and set themselves to entertain her further.
After a time Kate became very aware of Jack glowering at her cap. She had noticed his friends blink at it each time she brushed the frill from her eyes, but they were all far too well-mannered to comment. Jack, she felt with a sinking heart, was not similarly inclined. She put her chin up stubbornly and continued to ignore his black looks.
Francis's eyes began to glimmer with humour. He'd noticed Jack's foul mood the instant he had returned from the kitchen. He now perceived there was a silent battle of wills taking place across the table. She was not at all the angel his cousin had named her, but a vibrant little minx who gave as good as she got. She was perfect for Jack.
At the conclusion of the meal, Kate rose and gathered up the dishes while the others made plans for the day. Jack murmured his excuses and followed her.
Francis observed Jack's hasty exit. Unless he missed his guess, there was about to be another confrontation between Miss Farleigh and his friend. He had no qualms about following them—it was certain to prove entertaining. Hearing the voices raised in conflict, he slid unobtrusively into the kitchen.
“And now, Miss Farleigh, I will have my answer at last. What the devil is that atrocity on your head?"
"What atrocity?"
"That white thing." Jack gestured disdainfully. "It is a cap."
“I know what it is! What the devil do you mean by wearing it?"
"Is it not obvious?"
“Not to me. That sort of thing is usually worn by dowdy old maids well past their prayers, and then only if they have something to hide. You are still a girl and your hair is too pretty to hide."
The compliment took Kate by surprise, but she rallied. “It is kind of you to say so, but I am not a young girl. I am a spinster, and as such I will wear this cap."
Jack snorted in disgust. "You are no spinster, so take it off at once and do not let me see the damned thing again."
“I am indeed a spinster and I have every intention of wearing this cap, whether you like it or not." Kate glared at Jack, hands on her hips.
"Oh, do you, indeed?"
Francis smiled, recognising the signs—Jack was in a fine temper, but doing his best to hold it back. Jack moved closer. Kate backed away warily, clutching the cap to her head protectively. Francis decided it was time to make his move.
"Pray forgive my interruption—no, no, continue, do. I would hate to spoil your conversation." He seated himself, clearly with every expectation of being entertained. ' T think you were about to make a dive for Miss Farleigh's cap, old man," he prompted helpfully.
Kate glanced from Francis's polite expression to Jack's black frown and began to giggle. Francis's smile broadened into a grin. Jack dashed his hand angrily through his hair.
"Damn you, Francis," he swore, then his sense of humour began to get the better of him. The twitching of his lips, so clearly at odds with his black frown, provoked his observers to further mirth, and finally he too joined in the laughter.
At last Kate stood up, and immediately Francis and Jack rose to their feet. "Please excuse me," she said, "but I have things to do."
"So do I," agreed Jack, and before she knew what he was about he had snatched the offending cap off her head and tossed it into the fire. "That's better." He grinned triumphantly.
"Oh! You wretch!" exclaimed Kate.
"It was an abomination and the only thing to do with abominations is to burn them. Don't you agree, Francis?"
Francis bowed towards Kate. "Forgive my perfidy, Miss Farleigh, but, much as I deplore his crude methods, that cap wa
s indeed an abomination and not, therefore, to be borne by any man with an eye for beauty. Your hair is quite, quite lovely and should never be hidden."
Kate blushed.
Jack looked at his friend through narrowed eyes. "Yes, well, I think you have said quite enough, Francis. It is time you took yourself off. Er. . .isn't that Toby calling you?"
Francis smiled. "Wonderful hearing you must have, dear boy," he murmured. "I didn't hear a thing."
Jack glowered and thrust him out the door. He turned to Kate, but encountered such a fiery look from the sparkling grey-green eyes that he decided his duty lay with his guests. He followed Francis out to the hall, where they found Mr Lennox.
"Fine morning for a ride, Jack, don't you think?"
"Excellent idea," Jack agreed, his good mood restored, and, after shouting for Sir Toby to join them, the foursome headed towards the stables.
It was a crisp, sunny morning, ideal for riding. Wisps of fog and remnants of snow lingered in the shadowy hollows, waiting to be burnt up when the bright sun finally discovered them. The horses were in fine fettle and snorted and pranced, eager to be out and moving, but Francis, Sir Toby and Mr Lennox kept their mounts well reined in, unsure of Jack's capabilities and not wanting him to strain his leg. After several minutes of the dreary pace they'd set, Jack became aware of his friends' strategy.
"Come on, you sluggards!" he shouted. "Race you to the top of that hill." Recklessly he urged his horse into a gallop. Shouting and laughing, the others followed. It was a mad race and by the end of it all four of them were flushed and breathing heavily.
"By Jove, Jack!" exclaimed Sir Toby excitedly. "I would never have thought it; stap me if you're not riding damn near as well as ever you did. S'a marvel, I tell you, a marvel!"
"Not quite as well as I used to, I fear," responded Jack, grinning from ear to ear nevertheless. He stretched his bad leg a little awkwardly and the others became aware of white lines around his mouth, a sign that he was in some pain.
"I say, Jack, you haven't overdone it, have you?" said Mr Lennox.
