Married Past Redemption

by Patricia Veryan

  “I am sorry to have wandered off,” she said contritely, “but it is so lovely here.”

  A branch snapped behind her. His expression unwontedly grim, Bolster stepped towards the tree. Horrified, Lisette took his arm and all but babbled, “You must explain this strange business of restoration to me, for I would—” She stopped, her great eyes becoming wider as she saw that Strand was coming briskly towards them.

  Bolster’s suspicions were by now so thoroughly aroused that he would not have been in the least surprised had James Garvey leapt from concealment brandishing a pistol. But because he was both fond of Lisette and sincerely sorry for Strand, he essayed the travesty of a laugh, and stammered, “I f-found your b-br-br lovely w-w-wife, J-Justin.”

  Strand looked at him thoughtfully. “So I see.”

  * * *

  Justin Strand had contrived to exist for close to thirty years without experiencing the adoration of the waters that inspired so many of his fellow Britons. He had read Thomas Traherne’s immortal observation, “You never enjoy the world aright, till the sea itself floweth in your veins…” and had been unmoved by it. He had been obliged to spend a good deal of time on shipboard and, although not plagued by seasickness, had considered the interminable journey to India (which had taken the better part of four months) a dead bore. It would, in fact, never have occurred to him to go to the trouble and expense of rebuilding Silvering Sails had he not become fond of Norman. He had soon realized that the youth he’d at first been inclined to write off as a lazy do-nothing had all the makings of a fine young man, whose greatest vice was boredom. Suspecting that the boy’s initial hostility towards him had been inspired by a deep devotion to Lisette, Strand judged this not only understandable, but commendable, while the pranks were more the products of youthful spirit and a sense of humour than an intent to harm. He should have been sent away to school. It was a great pity that Humphrey Van Lindsay had been unable to provide the needed funds to permit this. Strand, however, did have the funds, and with typical zest he set about arranging for Norman’s future. It would require time for his schemes to materialize, and meanwhile the refurbishing of the yacht might not only keep the boy happily occupied for the balance of the summer but also provide them with a boat once again, if only for use on the river.

  By the end of the week it became very apparent that Strand’s earlier misgivings had been justified. The task would take a deal more time than he appreciated. In an effort to expedite matters, he drove himself and his small crew hard. Bolster and Norman were thoroughly enjoying themselves, but by the end of the day they were all so tired and dirty that they took to remaining at Silverings, just as Judith had foretold.

  * * *

  Strand Hall seemed quiet and subdued with no gentlemen about, and Lisette commenced to feel a grass widow, for once again her husband had vanished from her life. She was grateful for Judith’s company and warmed by the knowledge that her brother was undoubtedly having the time of his life.

  On Friday of that week, Bolster succeeded in severely wrenching his elbow while carrying a heavy board. Strand accompanied the casualty back to the Hall. He was mildly surprised not to be met by Brutus, whom Lisette had insisted on retaining “for protection.” The dog usually staged a welcoming ritual that might have led the uninitiated to suppose he was suffering severe convulsions. Today, however, although there was not the slightest breeze, Brutus was noticeable by his absence. The entire house, in fact, looked deserted and, assisting Bolster from the saddle, Strand was relieved to find Best and a stableboy running to greet them and take charge of the horses.

  “I’m glad to see there’s someone about,” he said. “What’s to do, Best?”

  “The mistress and Miss Judith has gone to a fête at Park Parapine,” said the groom, looking worried. “They was expected back afore this.”

  “Then they will undoubtedly arrive at any moment. Mrs. Strand is very punctilious in such matters. I’ve left Green at Silverings with Mr. Norman. Is Fisher here? Or Mrs. Hayward?”

  “Mr. Fisher and Lang do have goed to Dorking for supplies, sir. And Mrs. Hayward be all on end.”

  “The devil! Well, then, you must come. Let the boy take the horses. Lord Bolster’s knocked himself up a trifle and will need our help.”

  With the stableboy obediently leading the horses stableward, Best accompanied his master and Lord Bolster to the front door, at which point Strand said curiously, “Dorking? Why Dorking?”

  “Fer supplies, sir. Mrs. Hayward said Horsham would not do.”

  “Why ever not? Have we company?”

  They stepped into the deserted hall. Strand thought to hear voices upraised in dispute, and Best nodded toward the back of the house and muttered, “I’ll help his lordship upstairs, sir. Belike you’ll wish to greet your people.”

  Bolster grinned, but his eyes were strained; the ride he had insisted would be child’s play had not only taxed him, but had served as warning that the foolish little accident had done more than wrench his elbow. The old wound in his shoulder was making itself felt in such a way he would be obliged to take himself to Town and let Lord Belmont prod and poke about again. “Go-go on, Justin,” he urged. “Cannot neglect your—ah, people.”

  Exasperated, Strand fumed, “Of all times for the house to be empty as a confounded drum! Who the deuce do we entertain?”

  “Your lady’s family, sir,” Best offered glumly.

  “Oh, good God!” groaned Strand. “My apologies, Jeremy, but I must welcome them. Should you wish that I send for the midwife?”

  “Midwife?” Bolster echoed in a near-scream. “What the d-devil—?”

  “’Fraid it’s the best we can do, my dear fellow. There’s no doctor close by. Old Bellows always visits his mother in Wales at this time of year.”

  “Oh. Well, I’ll have n-no midwife laying her hands on my p-poor elbow! Matter of fact—” Bolster paused on the stairs and resting one hand on the railing, said reluctantly, “M-may have to go back to T-town. Dreadful of m-me, but … there ’tis.”

  Strand’s heart sank. He had hoped, selfishly, that Bolster would, in his good-natured fashion, bear Norman company for a week or two, so that he himself could come back here occasionally during the process of rebuilding the boat. Norman was working well, but he should not be left down at Silverings alone. It was utterly reprehensible, of course, that he’d even entertained such inhospitable notions, but dear old Jeremy had seemed to enjoy the work, and it might have taken his mind off his own troubles. Scanning his friend’s face, he saw the strain in the hazel eyes and, his scheming forgotten, said sharply, “Damn it! You twisted that shoulder! I should have driven you straight to Town! Lord! What a gudgeon I am! I’d clean forgot! I should never—”

  “Confound you, Justin!” Bolster interrupted angrily. “Will you b-be still? I shall d-do nicely if I rest a little.” He lifted one hand to quiet Strand’s impassioned attempt to intervene, and went on, “You forget I was in a b-blasted great brawl with St. Clair last year, without no trouble. Except I lost a tooth. I’d have d-done well enough had I not t-tripped over my own f-feet. Now get on about your business.” He winked, took another step, then threw over his shoulder, “And do not dare let that m-midwife near me!”

  Best aided his lordship up the stairs, listening with amusement to the young nobleman’s indictment of friends who threatened their guests with such fiendish ploys as to visit midwives upon them.

  Strand stood for a moment, listening to this profane monologue and watching his friend anxiously. What Bolster said was true; the war wound had not bothered him for a long time. He should have remembered, though, and would have given a good deal not to have been responsible for Bolster being plagued by a resumption of the trouble. A muffled shout recalled him to his present obligations and, accepting the inevitable, he ran a quick hand through his rumpled locks and hurried along the hall.

  Turning the corner, he halted, astonished. The under-footman knelt with one eye pressed to the keyhole of the book-
room door, while the lackey hovered mirthfully beside him.

  “There he goes!” whispered the footman, waving his arm excitedly. “Oh, what a sight! I wish—”

  “You had best wish I do not send you packing!” Strand’s thunderous growl brought the footman springing up so hurriedly that his head slammed against the lackey’s nose. Two horrified faces whipped toward their employer. The lackey gave a gasp and fled. Scarlet, the footman opened the door, but was too unnerved to utter a single word of announcement. Fixing him with a smouldering glare, Strand walked in, only to again check, his eyes widening.

  The Van Lindsays had arrived some time earlier, and Humphrey had decided not to waste his time. Holding several sheets of paper in one hand and gesturing dramatically with the other, he paced the room, blasting forth his rhetoric while his wife trotted around and about him, alternately cajoling, raging, and scolding, all to no purpose. Brutus pranced along beside her, thoroughly enjoying his new indoor sport. Even as Strand, his lips curving to a grin at this scene, entered the room, Philippa halted, and cried in a voice of martyrdom, “Humphrey, desist! You’ll not tramp holes in my daughter’s house!” Snatching up a straight-backed chair, she set it behind her retreating husband’s back, trotted over to claim another, and placed it beside the first, then stood grimly awaiting the result.

  Brutus deduced there could be only one reason for her efforts. He sprang onto the nearest of the deterrents and sat panting.

  In full cry, Mr. Van Lindsay swung around and advanced at fair speed. Strand’s jaw dropped. Behind him, the footman peered in joyous anticipation. Brutus was a large dog. Crashing into something, Van Lindsay lowered his page, roaring an irate “What in thunder?” and came nose to nose with a grinning canine countenance and a large pink tongue that flapped around his face. With a startled yelp, the orator leapt away, collided with the second chair, and fell into it. Brutus jumped companionably into his lap. Philippa shrieked with laughter. Humphrey howled his indignation. Nothing loath, Brutus joined in the chorus.

  It was too much for Strand. Clapping a hand over his mouth, he tottered backward. Weeping but faithful, the footman pulled the door to. Master and man leaned against the wall and succumbed together, their mirth the more delicious since it must be smothered.

  * * *

  “Had I dreamt you were here, Mama, I would never have allowed Judith to remain at Park Parapine!” Already dressed for dinner and seated on the sofa in her mother’s room, Lisette said remorsefully, “I feel dreadful, and Judith will be disappointed beyond anything.”

  “With no cause, my love.” Mrs. Van Lindsay smiled fondly, adjusting her pearls as she sat at the dressing table. “Papa and I will drive down and collect her, for we’ve a standing invitation to visit the Drummonds.”

  Watching Sanders arrange a fine lace cap over her mother’s luxuriant hair, Lisette asked, “Do you mean to take Judith back to Town with you, then?”

  “I most certainly do! Both she and Norman have been from their studies for too long. Besides, the Season will be commencing, and I am thinking it time for Judith to attend a few parties. Nothing more daring than country dances and such, but she will be fifteen next month, you know, and I have never held with taking a girl straight from the schoolroom and throwing her into Society. I do hope she has not been allowed to enlarge herself during my absence.”

  “You will scarce know her,” smiled Lisette. “How very fetching you look. A new gown, Mama?”

  Marriage, Mrs. Van Lindsay decided, suited her beautiful daughter. There was a subtle difference in the girl’s manner. Not so much a lessening of poise as a relaxing of formality; a new assurance and warmth that made her seem infinitely more approachable. And yet, also, there was something at the back of those great eyes that might almost be sadness. Disturbed, Philippa nodded, “Thank you, Sandy. That will do nicely. Lud, but I missed you when we was in Scotland!” She waited until the door had closed upon her gratified minion, then turned to her daughter and added, “And should have taken her had I known Judith would not need her! What on earth was Beatrice about to have brought the children to stay with a bridal couple? I dare swear I was never so vexed as when we reached Town and Sandy told me of it! And what your grandmama will have to say to me I dread to contemplate. I have had a dozen letters if I’ve had one, warning that Beatrice was up to no good, and that wretched old hag Monica Hughes-Dering had the gall to say flat out she had heard Bea has taken a lover, and that fool Dwyer properly into the hips over it!”

  “I assure you, Mama, we did not object to hosting my brother and sister,” Lisette evaded. “Indeed they have been a great delight, and Strand has been so good with them.”

  “Has he, indeed?” said Mrs. Van Lindsay, a grim set to her mouth. “And as good with you, child?”

  Her face hot, Lisette faltered, “That—would depend, ma’am, upon—upon what you have heard.”

  “What I have heard is a proper Cheltenham tragedy, and likely holding less truth than would fill a flea’s thimble! I am assured you would never be so gauche as to spread such vulgar scandal!”

  With a wan smile Lisette said, “Thank you for that, Mama. I am grateful that you believe me innocent.”

  “More to the point, your husband does.” Lisette’s heightened colour alerting her, Philippa probed sharply, “He does, does he not? You did assure him you are guiltless?”

  Never had Lisette lied to her parents. She found it horrendous to do so now and hung her head, stammering, “Well I—er, of course—”

  She was rescued by a scratch at the door, presaging the entrance of Norman, his dark young face none too clean, his clothes rumpled, but a son such as Philippa had longed to see.

  “Mama!” he cried joyously, coming to sweep her into a hug with a new assurance that further bewildered her. “Oh, but this is famous!” He dropped a buss onto her astonished face. “Wait till you see the boat Strand and I are renovating. How long do you stay with us? Did my poor Great-Uncle go to his reward?”

  “No,” she gasped faintly. “Norman, my heaven, but you have changed! Lisette said—but I never thought—good heavens!”

  Pleased, he laughed, and bowed with theatrical grace. “Did you not tell my mother, Lisette? I collect you were too busy chattering of—er, other matters! Egad, what a family. You two up here, and my father downstairs, probably giving poor Strand beans over the duel!”

  “Duel?” echoed Mrs. Van Lindsay, aghast. “What duel?”

  * * *

  “You may count yourself fortunate there was no duel!” Humphrey advised, holding up his glass so that Strand might refill it for him. “Garvey’s a fine shot and, I’ll be honest, I’d not care to be in his black books. Were I you, my boy, I’d watch my back. If Sanguinet won’t allow him to call you out, he’s not above resorting to other means to even the score.”

  Much restored after a few hours’ rest, Bolster agreed. “Pre-pre- just as I said, sir.”

  “I thank you both for the concern.” Strand smiled, returning to stand by the drawing room fire. “But surely you judge him too harshly. Garvey is a womanizing lecher and runs with a set I’d want none of, but save for his extraordinary behaviour when I challenged him, I know of nothing to cause me to question his honour.”

  Humphrey sipped his cognac appreciatively and, frowning into the flames muttered, “I’d thought more along the lines of his pride. The fellow was wild for Lisette before you won her, and regrettably, we encouraged his suit until—but you—ah, probably know all about that. From what I heard you emptied a wine bottle over his head.”

  “A glass, merely, sir.”

  “Even so, I’d never have believed Garvey would swallow that!”

  “A very little of it, I should think.”

  “It ain’t no laughing m-matter,” warned Bolster sternly. “Don’t like Garvey. Never did. Nasty temper.”

  “Then how fortunate I am to be surrounded by such devoted champions,” Strand laughed. “You do mean to return, I trust, Jeremy? And Norman—”

/>   “Must return to Town,” decreed Humphrey, “for he—”

  Coming into the room at that unpropitious moment, Norman said in a voice of stark tragedy, “Town? Me? Oh, sir! Never say so!”

  Humphrey frowned. “I do not care to be interrupted. I vow I don’t know what you young people today are coming to. Of course you will return to Town. I’ve a new tutor hired for you, since poor Worth tells me he had sooner be nibbled to death by newts than suffer another month with you!”

  “But, sir,” Norman pleaded desperately, “our boat is—”

  “Be damned to your boat!” snapped his father huffily. “I shall discuss your future with you when these two gentlemen are not obliged to have to endure so depressing a subject. I’ll own myself pleased by your improved appearance, at least. How old are you now? Older than Judith, I know. Fifteen, is it?”

  The old sullen look creeping back into his eyes, Norman muttered, “Sixteen, sir.”

  “Very well, you may take a glass of ratafia with us. With your approval, Strand.”

  “By all means.” Strand dropped a hand on Norman’s drooping shoulder as he walked to the sideboard where stood the decanters. “Matter of fact, we’ve had a busy time here. Norman and I got into a fine brawl, and—”

  “The young puppy!” exclaimed Mr. Van Lindsay, spluttering over his brandy. “He dared raise his hand against you? Why, I’ll—”

  “No, no. With me, sir. We took on a few of the town bullies who thought to—er—have some sport with us, eh, Norman?” He gave the boy a glass of ratafia and his most friendly smile.

  Norman took the glass, but said in quiet denial, “No, sir. They came after me, Papa. In regard to—”

  “In regard to his having—er, ‘bought’ their sister,” Strand grinned.

  Mr. Van Lindsay’s eyes all but started from his head. Bolster gave a shout of laughter.

  “You—you young dog!” chortled Humphrey.

  “Tell us, for Lord’s sake!” urged Bolster.