What Would Jane Austen Do?

by Laurie Brown

  “Mina! You didn’t!” Deirdre said. “No wonder you didn’t buy those beautiful pink ribbons we saw last week.”

  “I promise I won’t play cards with them,” Eleanor said. Especially since I have no idea how to play whist. She excused herself and left Deirdre scolding Mina, while the younger girl defended her right to spend her allowance as she chose.

  As Eleanor passed the group of men, Major Alanbrooke caught her eye. He raised an eyebrow as if questioning whether she wanted to join the conversation. She shook her head and continued walking toward the tables.

  “Ah, here’s our fourth,” Patience called as Eleanor approached. “Won’t you join us for a few hands of whist?”

  “Thank you, but no. I don’t know how to play.”

  “Then now’s the time to learn. We would be glad to teach you how to play,” Patience said with a smile intended to be sweet, but it failed to hide the avaricious gleam in her eyes.

  Mrs. Maxwell stifled a giggle with her hand, and Mrs. Holcum took a quick sip of lemonade.

  Eleanor declined the invitation and approached Huxley. “May I join you?”

  He jumped up and reached to tip his hat, which wasn’t on his head. He looked around as if wondering where it could have gotten to and then chuckled. “The boy has not returned with my hat.”

  With his bald head, green coat, plaid vest, and well-worn brown leather breeches, he reminded her of an overgrown leprechaun. She liked his unpretentious air.

  “Please, have a seat,” he said. “I’m honored.” He folded the paper and took his seat next to her. “May I take this opportunity to thank you for the good luck charm?”

  “I’m sure your horse didn’t need it. I heard you won by several lengths.”

  Huxley laughed. “Indeed I did. Still, I should have sought you out earlier to thank you.” He looked at his clasped hands. “I regret we weren’t closer before you moved so far away, but you always preferred the company of your younger cousins.”

  His statement seemed to question why she was there. “I saw you reading the paper and wondered what interesting events were happening in London. I’ve been away so long I feel like a stranger in a foreign land.”

  He nodded as if he understood. “Just the typical news. A new statue was dedicated in Hyde Park. As if we need another statue there. The usual war news from Spain and Portugal. Some good. Some not so good.” He tapped the paper with his finger. “Oh, a clerk high up in the Ministry has been arrested as a French agent. Tut, tut. What is the world coming to?” He turned the paper over. “Ah, this should interest you. The Zoological Society has acquired a new animal—an American buffalo.”

  “Oh.” Eleanor tried to hide her disappointment. She doubted those items would entice Shermont back to London. She would need another plan.

  “I have been planning a trip to America myself. It’s one of the places I must see before I die. I am a lepidopterist, you know,” Huxley added in a conspiratorial tone.

  Eleanor had no idea what he was talking about, but it sounded suspiciously like a contagious disease. She scooted her chair further away. She put her left elbow on the arm of the chair and slanted her body in that direction. She rested her cheek against her fingers, trying to assume a casual pose. “Really?”

  He leaned closer. She retreated until she was afraid she would tip the chair on its side and land sprawled in the grass.

  “I have over five hundred specimens.” He waggled his eyebrows.

  “Oh?” she squeaked.

  “Yessiree. I’ve been a butterfly collector since I was just a boy,” he said with a grin. “Insects and moths, too, but butterflies are my favorite.”

  Eleanor realized he’d been teasing her. She sat up straight and slapped at his arm. “You’re a wicked old man. Making fun of my ignorance like that.”

  “And enjoying every minute. One of the few advantages of getting old is that one is allowed, nay, expected to be eccentric.”

  Eleanor shook her head but smiled.

  “I’m serious about the trip to America. It’s to be the first leg of my world collection tour. Been planning it ever since I acquired an emerald swallowtail, Papillio palinurus. Not personally acquired, mind you. I bought it from a man who had been to Borneo. Fabulous specimen. Green and blue with a unique wing shape. Did you know there are more than ten thousand species of butterfly, and new ones are found every day?”

  “No, I didn’t know that.”

  “I can’t wait to collect my own specimens.” He leaned back in his chair and stared into the distance. “To witness the migration of the monarchs, Danaus plexippus, with my own eyes. I’ve heard so many butterflies head south to winter in Mexico that they block the sun. And to see a sixteen-centimeter tiger swallowtail, Papillio glaucus.” He held up his hands six inches apart.

  “Wow. That’s one big butterfly.”

  “The Attacus atlas from India has been observed up to thirty centimeters.” He widened the space between his hands to twelve inches. “Actually a moth and therefore active at night rather than during the day like a butterfly, it is beautifully shaped and multi-colored.”

  Eleanor was glad she would never see one of those moths hanging around the porch light on the balcony of her apartment.

  “I’m looking forward to observing the brilliant Priamis caelestis in its natural habitat in New Guinea. And Morpho peleides in the West Indies. Can you tell I’m partial to blue ones?”

  “Who isn’t?” she said as if she knew a Priamis whatever from a Morpho whatsis. “Maybe you’ll discover a new species.”

  “Wouldn’t that be the achievement of a lifetime, eh?” He sighed. “One can only wish for such luck.”

  “When do you leave?”

  “Hopefully soon. I have my own ship, you know. The Swallowtail. Outfitted with the latest in everything I might need. It will only take a few weeks to provision her, and then I’m off. I intend to travel the world until I die, and then I’ve made arrangements to have a glorious Viking funeral at sea. I’m just waiting for my nieces to marry. Got to keep an eye on them, you know, but I’m not getting any younger.”

  “Isn’t Teddy their guardian?”

  “Ah, there’s the rub.”

  “What do you mean by that?”

  “Nothing. Forget I said anything. You should never pay attention to an eccentric old man’s rambling.” Huxley picked up the paper from his knee and stood. He cocked his head to one side and gave her a strange look.

  “Is something wrong?”

  “No. It’s just that you’ve changed since you were a child. You used to be such a … a morose little girl. Always predicting dire consequences if Deirdre ate too much custard or Mina climbed on the terrace railing.”

  Eleanor didn’t know what to say.

  “Of course, you were usually right. That time Deirdre did get sick, and Mina did break her arm. But you’re much more pleasant company now.”

  “People grow up. Change is inevitable.”

  He shook his head as if to clear his thoughts. “Of course, you’re right. I’m going to fetch a glass of lemonade. May I bring you one?”

  She declined. After he left, she looked around. The lieutenants had succumbed to Fiona and Hazel’s lures and joined them on the ruins. Deirdre and Mina were nowhere in sight. Eleanor jumped up and went to search for them. She quietly asked Patience, but she answered without even glancing up from her hand of cards that she’d last seen them picking flowers on the far side of the clearing. She assured Eleanor they were fine as long as they were together.

  Eleanor pulled Teddy away from his conversation, but he didn’t know where they were either. He seemed unconcerned about their welfare. “How far can they get on foot? They’ll return momentarily,” he assured her before going back to his conversation with Rockingham.

  Eleanor stood in the middle of the picnic area and turned slowly in a full circle. Shermont was also missing. Not that she was keeping track of him or anything, but suddenly she was worried. She’d assumed the seduction
happened the night of the ball, but since the ghosts refused to give her details, it could have happened earlier. Had she already failed to protect them? Would the ghosts keep their end of the bargain if she didn’t prevent the seduction and the duel that would inevitably follow?

  Refusing to acknowledge the stab of jealousy she felt, Eleanor set off, determined to find Deirdre and Mina. She made a circuit of the clearing, peering into the woods for a clue to which way they went. She cautioned herself not to run or appear frantic. If she alarmed the other guests and a full-scale search were mounted, someone might find one—or both—sisters with Shermont. The two were rarely separated. Eleanor worried that’s why neither would say who was actually seduced.

  Something on the ground caught her eye.

  * * *

  “Shermont?”

  Before responding he finished his business, buttoned his trousers, and rounded the screen the servants had set up near the tethered horses for the gentlemen to use as a privy. “Alanbrooke.”

  “Forgive me for seeking you out, but this is the first chance I’ve had to speak to you in private,” he said as he fell in beside Shermont on the walk back to the picnic area.

  “You have my ear.”

  Alanbrooke removed his hat and scratched his head. “It’s all rather mysterious. Day before yesterday, a stranger approached me at my tailor’s of all places and told me to give you a message in private. Somehow he knew I’d accepted the invitation to be here, although in truth it’s nothing I concealed. The weird part is that he said you would also attend. Since you despise provincial parties, I dismissed his claim and counted him one of the loonies society tries to ignore, like the crazy men who accost you on the street and spout their ‘end of the world’ nonsense. But then I arrive, and here you are.”

  “Is there a point to this story? If you’re asking my advice, find a new tailor. One who doesn’t let in riff-raff off the street.”

  “Bear with me. The stranger—not my tailor—said his name was Scovell. He said I should not mention meeting him to anyone other than you and then only in private. Rather havey-cavey, don’t you think?”

  Shermont kept his face impassive with effort. General George Scovell was the chief code breaker and intelligence gatherer for Wellington. He’d played an important role in the victories at Salamanca and Vittoria. Shermont had done a bit of cipher work himself and had consulted with Scovell on occasion. “What was the message?” he asked in a nonchalant tone.

  “He made me repeat it, so I would remember his exact words. ‘Another in the Ministry. Watch your back. If you need help, I’m your man.’ Rather cryptic, eh? I asked him about that last bit. I mean, shouldn’t he have said, ‘He’s your man.’ But he insisted I say it exactly that way. What do you suppose it all means?”

  “Nothing,” Shermont lied with a straight face. Another in the Ministry meant a second French agent had been discovered selling secrets to Napoleon, like the one they’d been watching for the last seven months. Properly identified and carefully handled, such a man could serve as a useful conduit for misleading information.

  Since they’d sacrificed the previously known agent by announcing his capture in the Times, he guessed the new one would be used to take his place. Since Scovell hadn’t indicated how long the new agent had been in place, Shermont concluded the warning meant any number of his prior messages to the Ministry might have been read or intercepted. “Just another loony crying out for attention,” he said. “I hope you gave your tailor a stern set-down?”

  “How could I do that and not reveal the meeting with Scovell?”

  Shermont nodded. Apparently, the general’s evaluation of Alanbrooke was correct. Good to know he had a dependable, closemouthed backup if it became necessary. “My advice is to forget meeting him.”

  “Interesting you should say that. Scovell said after I delivered the message, I should forget the entire incident.”

  “What incident?” Shermont asked with a blank stare. He slapped a flummoxed Alanbrooke on the back and headed for the picnic area.

  Chapter Eight

  Eleanor stooped, pretending an interest in the wildflowers, and verified that she’d spotted footprints. She was no Indian tracker, but two sets of smaller footprints and the longer stride of a larger set were easy to read in the soft earth.

  “Deirdre? Mina?” she said as loud as she dared.

  She followed the trail into the shade. Unfortunately, once she was into the woods proper, the footprints disappeared. Hearing voices and laughter, she forged ahead. She concentrated on the ground looking for a clue, any clue, to tell her she was on the right track. Suddenly she noticed the deep silence and realized she’d lost all sense of direction. She looked around. One tree appeared pretty much like another to a city girl. Damn. She should have left a trail of breadcrumbs.

  She knew she should stay in one place and let the others find her. Fighting off panic, she located a fallen tree, spread out her handkerchief, and sat down. She folded her hands in her lap and waited. And waited. Without a watch she had no idea how long she’d been in the woods or how long she’d been sitting there, although it seemed like a long while.

  “This is silly.” She jumped up and paced the length of the log. It might be hours before anyone found her or even missed her and started searching. What sort of animals lived in the woods? Were there bears in England? Wolves?

  She shook her head and pushed those thoughts away. She wasn’t in Yellowstone National Park. Or lost in the middle of Africa. She was in Hampshire, for crying out loud. If she walked in a straight line, she was bound to come across a cottage, a farmer tending his fields, or a road.

  Picking a direction at random, she started off with firm, determined strides. Making her way through the woods wasn’t like strolling along a sidewalk, and it was impossible to stay on a straight line. She wound up following barely discernible trails and wandered among the bushes, rocks, and trees. She slapped away branches that caught her hair and stumbled when sharp stones bruised her feet. With each step, she hesitated. She called out, hoping someone, anyone, would hear. Hopefully someone who knew the way back.

  “Hello? Deirdre? Mina? Hell-ooo?”

  She tripped over a fallen branch and lurched forward, suddenly entering a flower-filled clearing. Tiny yellow blossoms carpeted a meadow not much larger than a ballroom. She took several steps forward, removed her bonnet, and tipped her face to the sun’s warmth. A breeze rustled musically through the trees, and thousands of yellow butterflies lifted from their delicate perch to swirl and dance to nature’s tune. Not flowers, butterflies! What a magical place! She expected a unicorn or fairies to appear.

  She hadn’t realized she’d spoken aloud until a deep voice answered. She didn’t turn around immediately because the low whisper seemed a part of the magic, rather than an intrusion—words sensed as well as heard. Was Oberon, the fairy king, behind her? Or maybe the speaker was a tree elf, protector of the enchanted forest and meadow?

  * * *

  On their way back to the picnic area, Lord Shermont and Major Alanbrooke had chatted casually as if their previous conversation had not taken place.

  “That big-boned filly of Huxley’s might not look like much, but she’s a real sweet goer,” Alanbrooke said.

  “If he’s serious about taking her on the circuit, bet heavy on that first race. You’ll clean up. After that, you won’t get any odds because she’ll be the favorite.”

  “Could Dabir have taken her if he hadn’t spooked?”

  Shermont shrugged. “At two miles, probably. At the shorter distance, it would be a toss-up.”

  “Have you ever thought of racing him?”

  “Not really. The chiseled-in-stone calendar would play hell with my social schedule.”

  “I can understand that. Rather like military life does,” Alanbrooke said with a chuckle as they joined Digby and Rockingham.

  “Military life,” Rockingham echoed with a snort. “That’s an oxymoron. You have no life when you’re
in the military.”

  “Come on, mate. It can’t be that bad,” Digby said.

  “Bloody hell if it ain’t.” Rockingham pulled a flask from underneath his uniform jacket and offered it around, but got no takers.

  “Bit early in the day for me,” Alanbrooke said.

  “You wouldn’t say that if you hadn’t slept all night.” Rockingham pulled a long swig before tucking it away. “My rotten luck the general’s aide got the trots.”

  “What? You had to nurse him?” Digby asked with a grin.

  “Worse. I had to take his place while the general and that damn colonel from the Dragoons discussed that pouch he brought. I was standing at attention all night except when I was acting as his damn personal servant. Fetch drinks, bring food, build the fire, fetch maps, serve coffee, douse the fire.”

  Alanbrooke laughed. “That’s well within the range of duties a general’s aide is expected to perform.”

  “Not the brigadier. Him I wouldn’t mind serving. It was that snot-nosed colonel. He kept using phrases like ‘based on my experience’ and ‘from my personal observation.’ Bah! His regimentals were so new he probably bought his commission last month. I’d bet my new gaiters Wellington made him a courier to get rid of him.”

  “Then he came all the way from Spain?” Teddy asked incredulously. “That’s a long way to travel to deliver a message. Hasn’t the military heard of the mail?”

  “Joke all you want,” Rockingham said. “Dispatches from the War Office are serious business.”

  “I hope this doesn’t mean you and the others won’t be able to stay for the ball. The ladies would be so disappointed.”

  “I wouldn’t want to miss that. We won’t be pulling out before maneuvers are over.” He lowered his voice. “But the colonel said—”

  “Captain Rockingham,” Alanbrooke interrupted his subordinate. “I’m sure Lord Digby and Lord Shermont find such tedious military matters quite boring. Shall we talk about—”