Bar Sinister

by Sheila Simonson

  18

  Sir Robert Wilson was a plump middle-aged gentleman some years older and some inches shorter than his noble wife. He had wed for love. She had not. In the seven years of their marriage, he thought she had learnt to love him. Certainly she trusted him, and knowing her history, he felt that to be a considerable achievement.

  Twenty-eight when they wed, handsome, wealthy, and sophisticated, Lady Sarah Ffouke had seemed an unlikely wife for a country gentleman. However, she had taken so contentedly to the management of his household, to the small neighbourhood, and to the mixed pleasures of maternity, that their annual London seasons grew shorter and shorter. She liked to keep in touch with her old friends. Once or twice a year she invited parties to Knowlton, but she seemed happily settled in the role of squire's wife. She had given him three sons. Sir Robert did not like to see her troubled.

  When the butler entered the breakfast room where they sat over a light nuncheon and announced that one Major Falk wished speech with Lady Sarah, Sir Robert watched his wife turn pale.

  "Falk? Is that--"

  "Richard." Sarah's hands fluttered to her throat.

  "Shall I go to him first?"

  "Oh, Robin, if you will..."

  "You needn't see him at all, you know."

  She stared at him, half shocked, half hopeful. "He's my brother."

  "My dear, he is your mother's by-blow. No one would think it odd if you were to refuse to see him."

  She closed her eyes for a moment, still very pale, but said nothing.

  "Well, Sarah, I'll go in to him and see what the fellow wants. If you don't come in a quarter hour I'll send him on his way."

  Her gaze seemed to follow him out of the room. Leaving the hall he encountered his butler. "Where have you put Major Falk?"

  "The red salon, sir. A stranger, is he not?"

  "Yes. Thank you, Bowles. Tell her ladyship where we are, however. She will make for the withdrawing room, I daresay."

  The butler looked puzzled for an instant before his features reassembled into a perfect blankness. He was a very correct servant. Wilson hesitated at the door to the red salon, which was ajar. Then he pushed it open and entered.

  Falk had not made himself at home. He was standing on the Turkey carpet and he looked up from contemplation of its pattern when Wilson spoke.

  "Major Falk? I am Robert Wilson. How d'ye do?" Wilson deliberately did not extend his hand. No need to be effusive.

  Apparently Lady Sarah's half brother agreed. "Servant, sir. Your man mistook me. I wished to speak with Lady Sarah."

  "But you will concede that a husband has the right to meet his wife's, er, acquaintances?" Wilson spoke with an effort at coolness which sounded supercilious in his own ears. He was startled and unsure why he should be so.

  He had expected--what? The fawning vulgarity of a shirttail relation? Perhaps a slightly shopworn copy of Lord George, or a blustering swaggerer like Lord John. What Wilson had not envisaged was a thin, weather-beaten man of middle height who frowned at him from eyes the exact shape and colour of his wife's.

  Lady Sarah took after the Ffoukes, but her eyes were her mother's. Falk's features, with allowance for a tropic tan and harsh lines of experience, hardship, and, Wilson thought, an uncertain temper, were a masculine version of the dowager duchess of Newsham's. At sixty-five, the dowager was still a handsome woman.

  Wilson's question, as it was meant to, threw his unwanted guest off balance, and Falk's frown deepened. However, the man said, noncommittal, "No doubt. I trust Lady Sarah is in good health."

  He does not know that I am privy to the relationship, and is willing to keep me in the dark in case Sarah has not told me of it, Wilson thought, again surprised. That argued a kind of loyalty--and experience of the reception bastards were apt to receive of the respectable. Wilson felt slightly ashamed of himself.

  He cleared his throat. "Let us not hide our teeth. You are Sarah's half brother, are you not, come to ring a peal over her? She received an impertinent letter from a gentleman who said he writ at your behest. It cut up her peace."

  "I cannot think my friend was impertinent." Major Falk brushed his hair from his forehead. It wanted trimming. "That's not Tom's style. I hope he was plain."

  "He was plainspoken. I find the situation obscure."

  Falk's eyes narrowed. "I daresay you do. Lady Sarah should have no difficulty understanding it, however. She assured my friend that she would not inform Keighley--the present duke, that is--of my children's whereabouts. I came to hear her repeat that promise. And to find out what further damage she has done."

  "Upon my word--"

  "I daresay Lady Sarah's action was not malicious."

  "Malicious!" Sarah stood in the doorway. "Richard, how can you?" Her eyes flashed. She looked, her indulgent husband thought, quite magnificent.

  Her brother regarded her without expression. "Eavesdropping? You weren't used to play the coward, Lady Sarah."

  "And you weren't used to wax slanderous, Lord Richard."

  He drew in a sharp breath. "Don't be insulting."

  "Why not, when you are?"

  They glowered at each other. Presently a flicker of wry humour touched Major Falk's eyes. "I had not meant this to be a social call, ma'am."

  The fire went out of Sarah. "And here we are quarrelling like cat and dog, or brother and sister." Her hazel eyes brimmed. "Oh, Richard, it is good to see you. How...how have you been?"

  Her brother was made of sterner stuff. "Very well," he said flatly. "How many of your obnoxious family have you told of my children?"

  Sarah flushed, but kept her dignity. "None, except Maman."

  "That was exceedingly stupid," Falk said through his teeth. "And she has no doubt spread the news broadcast to the duke, your other brothers and sisters, and half the Ton."

  "I did not tell her where I found your children. Merely that I had seen them and that they are healthy and happy."

  "So far," he said bitterly.

  "You cannot imagine Maman means them harm."

  "I have no idea what obscure motives move through her grace's brain, and pray do not enlighten me. It's the duke and your amiable brothers whose intentions I question."

  "Keighley wouldn't--"

  "Oh, wouldn't he? You writ me a letter some years ago, Lady Sarah. I wonder if you remember the tenor of it."

  "I writ you three letters."

  His brows drew together. "I received one."

  "I writ you that my father was dead. That was the first."

  He nodded. "That one reached me. Well?"

  "Well what?"

  "You told me," he said slowly, "that owing to the duke's carelessness I had some legal claim on the estate. I paid you the courtesy of assuming that you were warning me not to try the claim before the courts, and of course I replied that I would not. I also sent a statement to that effect to your eldest brother."

  Sarah sank into the nearest chair. "I wasn't warning you. I was inciting you. I thought you ought to have something."

  He stared at her. "My God, madam, nothing would induce me to claim kinship with the Duke of Newsham. If thought I were his son on whatever side of the blanket I'd slit my throat."

  Wilson, who remembered the late duke with revulsion, fought an impulse to applaud and said in his pleasantest voice, "I really think you should sit, Major. And that I should ring for sherry. Airing the family linen is such dry business, is it not?"

  "I prefer to stand, sir. I have very little time and I'm not in the mood for small talk. The late duke tried once to kill me."

  Wilson cocked an ear. He had heard Sarah's version of the incident and he was curious.

  Falk went on, however, without elaboration. "When he failed of his object, he had me pursued to India. He very nearly destroyed me. When you writ me of his death, Lady Sarah, I had several minutes of profound relief, until I realised that he had provided his sons with a motive for continuing the hunt. So I signed an oath before two unimpeachable witnesses that I'd not try
to pass myself off as a Ffouke heir. It wasn't a pleasant task, as you may imagine, but I hoped it would satisfy them. I sent the statement to the present duke. Should you care to see his response?"

  Sarah nodded, mute.

  He drew a paper from the breast of his tunic and handed it to her without further comment.

  Wilson was possessed of a keen desire to read over his wife's shoulder. He rang for the butler instead. "Sherry, Bowles," he murmured when the man appeared. Bowles nodded and vanished.

  Neither Sarah nor her brother noticed the byplay. Sarah had gone pale as she read. Now two spots of colour burnt on her cheekbones. "How utterly sickening of Keighley. Richard, I swear to you, I didn't know." She began to crumple the dog-eared letter.

  In a single swift movement he was at her side and had taken her wrist.

  "You're hurting me."

  Wilson started forward.

  Falk took the letter and released his grip. "I beg your pardon, but that is the only legal evidence I have of Keighley's intentions. If something should happen."

  "I see," she whispered. "Oh, I see. And your children--"

  "Represent precisely the same threat to the estate that I do," he interrupted, completing her thought. "Not a very large threat, considering Newsham's power, but I have no faith in his moderation. It would be easy for him to cause them harm, particularly if I were not alive to see to their protection. I am posted to Belgium," he added wearily. "I have just returned from an unpleasant year in America. Do you see why I have the wind up?" He smoothed the letter as if it were a sonnet from a lover.

  Sarah nodded without looking up. Her hands clenched in her lap. Wilson was deeply sorry for her, but unable to think of anything constructive to say.

  At that point, happily, Bowles entered with the sherry tray. He set it at Sarah's elbow and withdrew. Sarah was in no state to be playing the hostess, so Wilson poured the three glasses himself. Sarah took hers, still silent.

  Wilson met his brother-in-law's frown and said placidly, "I am of a persevering nature. If you'll take a glass, Major, we'll call it restorative rather than social." He had the satisfaction of seeing the grim lines about the other man's mouth ease. At least Falk had a sense of humour. Falk sat, docile enough, and took the proffered sherry.

  "Excellent." Wilson seated himself on a rather uncomfortable gilt chair between brother and sister, a not quite neutral body between contending armies. "Now, Sarah, you've told the dowager that the children exist, but not where. She is apt to surmise they live within a reasonable distance of Knowlton. Is your mother likely to have passed the information to his grace?"

  Sarah looked at him uncertainly. He gave her a reassuring smile and sipped his sherry.

  "Maman hasn't spoken to Keighley or Caroline in a sixmonth. Caroline is Newsham's duchess," she added, looking at her brother for the first time in some minutes. "They have three daughters. Maman is fond of the girls, but she and Keighley do not agree."

  Falk took a swallow of sherry. He did not comment.

  "I've said nothing to anyone else, Richard. Truly. Except Robin, of course."

  "Of course."

  Wilson ignored the sarcasm. He gave Sarah a brief smile and turned back to her brother. "Then I think our path is clear. In the morning I shall put the chaise to and leave for the dowager's residence in Yorkshire. Do you ride with me far as London, Major, as your time is limited. Lodge that incriminating letter with your solicitor." He finished his sherry in two judicious sips, reflecting.

  "Thank you, Wilson, but I can't impose on you so far."

  "I think you ought," Wilson said mildly. "If you will give me your trust."

  Falk finished his sherry and rose. "It won't wash. There are Lord John and Lord George. Not to mention your sisters, ma'am. I shall have to remove the children to a place of safety. If I can find one in the time left to me," he added, savage.

  "No!" Sarah jumped up and went to him, touching his arm. He jerked away as if he had been stung. Wilson, angered, made to interpose himself and thought better of it. His wife stood very still rubbing her rejected hand on the skirt of her gown.

  Sarah was not the sort to give up easily, however. She raised her chin. "What kind of parent can you be to speak so casually of taking Amy and Tommy from Mrs. Foster's care? She has given them her home. And her heart."

  "I did not speak casually." He turned from her and stared out the window, the set of his shoulders eloquent of stubbornness.

  "The dowager lives retired," Wilson observed. "Lord John never visits her and Lord George would not leave London in the Season for the wilds of Yorkshire. Nor would your sisters, my dear. There's a chance the dowager may have writ them, but it's only a chance. If I act with despatch I may be able to forestall her. Pray reconsider, Major. I'm at your service."

  Major Falk turned slowly. "Why?"

  "Not because of your conciliating manners, to be sure."

  Falk did not smile at this sally.

  Wilson sighed. "I have never dealt easily with the duke. He opposed Sarah's marriage to me on specious grounds, and we keep our distance when we are forced into company. Unlike you, sir, I do not believe him capable of sustaining a vendetta. He is far too indolent. However I, too, have children, and I have sufficient imagination not to dismiss your fears. He is a proud man and mean in money matters."

  Falk was rubbing his brow as if he had the headache.

  "I always pull Sarah's chestnuts out of the fire," Wilson murmured.

  The hand stilled.

  "The one you ought to look out for is Lord George."

  Falk dropped his hand and regarded Wilson, frowning.

  "Think it through. Newsham's duchess has so far produced daughters. True, she's a youngish woman and perfectly healthy, but, who knows? She might be thrown from a carriage or choke on a bone. Or the duke might, more to the point. Lord John will never marry. His tastes do not lie in that direction." Wilson watched the other two to see the effects of his little phantasy. "That leaves Lord George to succeed--and he is your junior, sir."

  Sarah's jaw dropped. She closed her mouth with a snap. Falk's thin face went blank. After a moment he said, drily, "And pigs may fly. If you've no objections I'll deal with one disaster at a time. Besides there is one irrefutable witness that I am not the duke's son. The dowager."

  "I wondered when you would arrive at that. It presents a simple solution to all your difficulties."

  To his surprise Falk looked neither indignant nor relieved, merely uncertain. He turned to his sister. "You know the dowager. Will she make a witnessed statement for Newsham's lawyers?"

  Sarah stared at him and then at Wilson. She was flushed. "You have both taken leave of your senses. Expose her folly to the world? Every feeling revolts! How could you think of asking Maman to humiliate herself, to--to rake up a dead scandal."

  "It is not as if she would be asked to perjure herself," Wilson murmured. "She has merely to confirm what the world already believes. Her 'folly' is notorious and has been for some thirty years."

  "Thirty-two years and four months at least." Incredibly Falk appeared to be suppressing laughter. "It is a little odd, to be sure, to be asking one's parent to swear to such a thing."

  Wilson snorted.

  Sarah was powerfully unamused. "You're both despicable. It is not a joke. Maman is five and sixty years old, and frail. You know how ill she was this winter, Robin. She has suffered enough." At that she broke off, looking confused.

  Falk said delicately, "Do you believe my children should be made to suffer, too? Very scriptural of you, Sarah."

  Sarah's eyes filled with tears. "I...Of course not, Richard. Oh, if I knew what was right..."

  Her brother, with some tact, turned back to Wilson. "It seems to me unlikely that the dowager would make the effort."

  "I am a persuasive and insinuating fellow."

  "You are, by God, but you'd be trying to overcome some thirty years of inertia. Rather like moving the world without a lever."

  "That is not tru
e!" Sarah burst out.

  "What isn't?"

  "Inertia. Maman rescued you."

  Falk scowled. "From the duke's clutches? Come, Sarah, she wasn't even there. That much I do remember."

  "No, but when Papa stormed off she arranged for you to be taken to the parson, what was his name?"

  "Freeman."

  "And she paid for your education. She sold her diamonds and had paste copies made. For three years she schemed and contrived to get you safely out of the country, and what is more she succeeded. If the duke knew of your whereabouts in India it was not her doing. She will be very surprised to hear that he found you. Indeed, I shan't tell her so. She is proud of her efforts."

  Falk regarded his sister in silence. Wilson thought he was skeptical. After a moment he said rather heavily, "That's water under the bridge. Will she consent to make a statement now?"

  "I--I don't know," Sarah faltered. On a firmer note she added, "I know she will wish to help in some way, if she can be brought to believe in the danger."

  Falk withdrew the letter from the breast of his tunic and handed it to Wilson without a word.

  "Then you will entrust me with the matter?"

  "I have no choice." Perhaps that seemed as ungracious to Falk as it sounded to Sir Robert, for Falk flushed. "I beg your pardon. I shall be in your debt, sir."

  Wilson rather thought he would. "A copy should suffice for the dowager, Major. I am persuaded you ought to place the original with your solicitor. Let us meet tomorrow at the coaching inn in Mellings Magna. Ten o'clock."

  The next half hour was spent in practical arrangements. Gradually Sarah began to look less agitated. Wilson was as conscious of his wife's feelings as if she had shouted them aloud. It was grossly unfair that Sarah should be rebuffed because of her father and the present duke. She had feared her father. That fear had left marks on her character which no amount of husbandly kindness and approval could wholly erase. It angered Wilson that it should be so, and he felt some resentment against Falk for calling up the bad old times, but there was no help for it, and the poor devil was not to be blamed for trying to protect his children.

  When he left, Sarah would have made some sisterly gesture but Falk's manner precluded it. Wilson saw him off and returned to find his wife crying in a tired way on the sopha.