Come Be My Love

by Diana Brown

  The day before she left for town, she walked across the park with me as I was going home.

  "And when will you come out, Alexandra?" she asked.

  I had given the matter no thought. Father had made it clear that he refused to spend money on the rest of his daugh­ters as he had on Eugenia's presentation, which, he said, had been money wasted. Cassy was to be presented in Salisbury, where Aunt Maud lived. She being willing to perform this office, it would make it an inexpensive endeavour for father. I presumed it would be the same for me.

  "But Salisbury—to be presented in the provinces is tanta­mount to not being presented at all!" Patience exclaimed. "How can you bear it! You can never meet anyone in the provinces—anyone at all worth knowing, that is."

  "I don't know. I expect there are as good people in Wiltshire as there are in London," I protested. "After all, we live in Wiltshire."

  "True," she said quickly. "It is quite proper to spend time in the provinces, essential, in fact, for England's landowners, but it is London that is the centre of society."

  "Then it should provide you with much enjoyment. For my part, I am quite happy here."

  When I paused to reflect, that was the truth. I was happy, or as happy as I could ever be without Darius. My mind was constantly employed, so that petty irritations that worried my mother and sisters had no chance to plant roots there. Some of my poetry was beginning to please me. To be sure, many might dismiss it as sentimental verse. I wrote of love—doomed love—but the writing, while cathartic, kept that love alive. It made me understand why poets throughout the ages had found the theme of love, particularly unrequited love, so con­suming. Often I wished I could share my writing with Lord Bladen but I did not dare. He was too perceptive; he would read and then guess the source of my inspiration. It was a secret I could never confide.

  News soon came of Patience's betrothal to the son of Lord Brace; his second son, as Mrs. Ramsey carefully pointed out. Nevertheless, it was a desirable match which pleased her par­ents, though Lady Bladen, on her return, wept at the thought that both her daughters would be gone from home. She hoped I, too, would not soon be leaving them. It was the first indica­tion I had of Lady Bladen's fondness for me, and I was uncon­scionably pleased by it.

  If I had avoided Darius by not going to London, I was soon to see him, for he and Philomena were at Charteris for Patience's wedding. I think their return was the cause of as much celebration in the neighbourhood as was the wedding. Everyone wanted to see what Philomena wore, how she dressed her hair, for she was the acknowledged style-setter in London. She had, if anything, grown more beautiful. Mar­riage must agree with her, I thought bitterly, but was it my imagination or had Darius changed. He seemed to me more serious, more thoughtful, not the carefree young man who had come back from Italy. Gone were his gay, teasing tones, his easy affection. Marriage seemed to have made him serious, somehow older, though he was as forebearing as ever of his wife's whims.

  I saw little of them, primarily because I could not bear to see Philomena at his side, but on the morning of the wedding I had promised to help Patience dress, and I met Darius as I arrived.

  "I've seen nothing of you, Alex, but both mother and father have talked of you. Father showed me an excellent essay you wrote on Talleyrand's role at the Congress of Vienna. He is only sorry you cannot go on to Oxford to read history or philosophy under a tutor."

  "There could never be a better teacher for me than your father, Darius. If I wish there were a university open to me, it is only because I wish that I could follow a career."

  "How unusual you are for a young girl, Alexandra, to wish for such things. Yet I don't doubt that the next wedding I shall attend in Linbury will be yours, for you are quite grown now."

  I shook my head. I did not tell him that I was resolved never to marry. Certainly if I were forced to marry, I could never do so under his eyes.

  He came in to his sister to wish her well as I was adjusting the train of Honiton lace Lady Bladen had worn at her wed­ding. As he hugged her, I thought his eyes glistened—had he grown sentimental, or was it simply the reflection of the bright sunlight streaming in through the upper windows?

  In church it was Philomena, in an exquisite gown of ap-pliqued lavender silk with a new dropped waistline, who stole the limelight from the bride. Her brilliant smile and social grace were remarked upon by all, and Darius was pronounced to be the most fortunate of men. Quite selfishly, I was glad when they returned to London immediately after the cer­emony.

  V

  In December of 1819 the Tory government of Lord Liverpool fell under the repressive measures of the Six Acts enforced after the Peterloo massacre, in which six people had been killed and many others injured. The government's fears of so­cial unrest caused by a combination of industrialization, un­employment and high wheat prices had manifested itself in the curtailment of public assemblies; that curtailment had been its undoing, and a general election was called for March. The Whigs, under the leadership of Lord Russell, banded to­gether to campaign for reform, and Darius wrote to his father that he intended to run for our county seat held by Mr. Har­rington, a prominent Tory and a friend of father's.

  He arrived soon after, ready and enthusiastic to begin his campaign. Philomena was not with him, and I found myself unduly pleased because he was alone, but the reason for her absence was soon made known to me—she was with child.

  "Why did you not tell us this as soon as you knew it?" Lord Bladen demanded. "It is the news your mother and I have been waiting for, and you young people keep it to your­selves. That's too sly by half. It is a time for celebration, not modesty. You should have spoken of this before you spoke of politics, by George! When is the baby due? How is Philo­mena? Who is your doctor? How long before the lying-in?"

  Darius answered all his questions in a quiet, controlled voice.

  "Well, my boy, you are taking it all very calmly, more so than I did when you were to come into the world, I can assure you. I must admit to a preference for a boy to secure the title for another generation at least."

  That Darius was reticent in discussing Philomena's con­dition was hardly surprising, for even with the best of care, childbirth was not without great risk—even Princess Charlotte had not survived it, despite every precaution. A first confine­ment was difficult at best, and Darius remained uncommuni­cative despite his parents' jubilance. He refused to discuss baptism or education; he even balked at choosing names.

  "Let the child be born first. There is plenty of time to decide," he repeated to the disappointment of excited, expec­tant grandparents.

  Lord Bladen's attention was at last drawn from news of the birth by a gathering of Whig politicians to discuss election strategy; it was concluded that Darius would have difficulty wresting a seat from the Tories that had so long been theirs, but difficult or not, Darius went after it with unflagging zeal. Long hours were spent researching the blunders—and there were many—of Lord Liverpool's government over the past de­cade. He reread Harrington's speeches, noting his mistakes, yet noting, too, acts that had won voter approval. I watched the methodical way he approached his task, observing how his keen mind grasped issues, stripping away all extraneous mate­rial to reach the core. Seeing my interest, he began talking to me, using me as a first audience; he told me he could find no better to point out inconsistencies or misconceptions, and I glowed with pleasure. I became his amanuensis, copying speeches, finding references, keeping a diary of his engage­ments. We worked well together. He accepted all I did will­ingly; I, in turn, felt very happy and very close to him. I knew he was grateful for the help, though I cannot say that he thought of me personally, for he seemed thoroughly preoccu­pied with the political fray.

  "You couldn't have a better aide than Alexandra," his father frequently reminded him.

  "No, indeed, though I hope her assistance to me does not upset her father."

  My father had been apoplectic when he had learned that Darius was to challenge Mr.
Harrington; if he had discovered that I had in any manner helped the Whig opponent of his close friend, Charteris would probably have been forbidden to me forever. Had he questioned me on the subject, I should have had to choose between lying or risking his wrath. As it was, I took a coward's course of avoiding him—his ill humour needed no further aggravation. In truth I suspect I need not have been concerned, for I doubt he would have conceived it possible that a woman could take any part in a man's political world.

  The long hours I spent copying out Darius's notes, which he confessed even he found difficult to read though I deci­phered his handwriting without difficulty, were hours that be­came as precious to me as life itself. As I wrote, I longed to hear him speak the words, just once, in the setting for which they were written—the political rally. Though it was unheard of for a woman to be seen at such an event, when the time came for him to address a meeting at the Red Lion in Lin­bury, I determined somehow to be there. I racked my brain devising schemes until I realized that though a woman might not be present, there was nothing to prevent a boy from at­tending. I was almost as tall as Paul, so I searched out some of his old clothes, a coat and some heavy breeches he wore when fishing. These I hid in a box in my room among my own things.

  Fate favoured me, for the evening Darius was to speak in Linbury, the Ramseys were to dine with us. The family would be occupied, and I could make my escape. I pleaded a head­ache, and Eugenia was only too pleased when I said I wanted to retire early, though mother was concerned. Her attention, however, was captured by cook, who brought the disturbing news that the joint of mutton for the second course was most certainly spoiled and would not do, and something must be substituted immediately; mother sent word to Alice to bring me a tray to my room and hurried down to the kitchen to see what could be done.

  I quickly disposed of the contents of the tray and gave it back to Alice, asking her to tell mother I would go to sleep immediately. As I closed the door of my room on her depart­ing figure, I could hear the uproar in the kitchen and doubted that mother would come searching for me before the guests arrived. I stuffed my pillows under the covers to make it ap­pear I was asleep should anyone glance in. Then I hastily dressed in the clothes I had hidden away and pushed my hair up to tuck it inside the cap. A glance in the mirror helped me decide that I would do as long as I was not under close scru­tiny; with that I doused the candle and softly opened the window.

  On my side of the house was a sturdy plane tree, and although it did not grow directly outside my window, one wide-spreading stout branch was within easy reach. Though I had not done any tree climbing since my fall at Charteris, dressed as I was in my brother's clothing, I felt free and lim­ber. As I clambered up from that last short drop to the grass below, I realized how lucky boys were not to be encumbered by long skirts, but I had little time to waste in reflection, for I had no wish to encounter the arriving Ramsey party.

  I ran most of the way into Linbury, a distance of some three miles. Even so, when I reached the large assembly room at the Red Lion, the rally had already started. The room was crowded, but I managed to squeeze into the back, taking care to choose an ill-lit corner but one from which I could observe the dais. I could clearly see Darius, who was being introduced by Mr. Sinclair, our local magistrate and an avid Whig. Sev­eral men surrounded him, not all of whom were known to me, but he stood out among them like the Persian king for whom he was named, despite the sombre hue of his dark brown coat and a cravat tied without a hint of dandyism..

  Had I not already loved Darius, I am quite sure that I should have been unable to prevent it after listening to him that evening. Almost immediately I realized that the hours of preparation he had so painstakingly undertaken were without a doubt justified. His spontaneous replies to the many ques­tions flung at him, at first by raucous hecklers, were of light­ning speed, sharp, witty and always on the mark. He soon had the crowd with him, so that the hecklers lost all power to disrupt. In fact they gave up in fear for their own safety. His words on Peterloo pointed out the grievous conduct of the government without indulging in the radical oratory of Henry Hunt, which had done so much harm. He did not hide, how­ever, that he favoured a greater voice in government by a larger majority of Englishmen, men who had fought for their country in the recent wars, men who were building her into a vast economic entity, men who were her life's blood.

  "I'm a Wiltshireman. I'm a moonraker, just as you are," he concluded. "We may have earned that name in derision, for it was given by excisemen to Wiltshiremen found raking a pond in which the reflection of the moon appeared. When asked what they were doing, they said they were trying to rake in the great yellow cheese from the midst of the lake. It was only after the excisemen left in high glee at their stupidity that the moonrakers brought in their true prize, kegs of brandy." There were chortles of appreciative delight from the crowd. "Moonrakers stuck as a name for us, and I, for one, am proud of it. If others use it derisively, I consider it befitting; I con­sider it a matter of pride to outwit others. Tonight, however, I'm not after a keg of brandy, though I don't mind having a glass of that with you later—or a glass of our good local ale— but what I am after is your vote for me in this coming election. I have lived here all my life; I know you, I know what you want, I know what is good for Wiltshire and also what is good for England. Your representative in Parliament should be a man who thinks as you do, feels as you do—a fellow moonraker."

  The applause as he finished was tumultuous. I was com­pletely carried away, even though I knew most of his words by heart, yet it was not only the words but the ease and grace of his delivery. I only wished he had spoken for a voice in govern­ment by women, but I was learning political wisdom from him. I knew an election must be won with as much honesty as possible, yet with topics that could win; votes for women was not among them.

  A brusque, burly man who had entered late (I recognized him as Ely Stuckney, who owned our village general shop though it was his wife who ran it), had complained through­out of being unable to reach his proper seat because of the crush, and at this pause in the proceedings, he began pushing his way through the crowd. In doing so he jostled against me, pushing me against a young farmer whom I had earlier heard say he was from nearby Netherton, who berated me soundly for encroaching upon him though it was none of my doing. He had, I was sure, imbibed already too much of the local ale Darius had mentioned, for though I made no reply—perhaps for that reason—he grew threatening and abusive.

  "You'll look out, you little squirt, if you know what's good for you. Watch where you put your feet and elbows. Rascally little bugger, don't doubt you're trying to pick pockets. Better watch this one—count your change, men, if you take my advice."

  I was suddenly the centre of attention. I could make no answer; my voice would give me away, I was sure. I stepped away from the bleary-eyed fellow only to brush into the man behind, who lifted his fist as though to strike me. I dodged quickly and, in doing so, knocked off the obviously new hat of our blacksmith. The men's anger was aroused, yet also I was sure they got sport from abusing me. They pushed me from one to the other, elbowing, pinching and punching me. I was terrified. The commotion in our corner was attracting atten­tion from the rest of the room. I saw Darius look in our direc­tion, and not wishing to be seen, I made a run for the door in an effort to leave, to get away from my tormentors.

  I heard the gavel pounding and an order for ale and refreshments to be brought in. It created a diversion, yet not enough of one for the Netherton farmer, whose perseverance in pursuing his quarry was only exceeded by his belligerence.

  "He's off, and I'll bet our coins are to be found in his pockets," he bellowed. "Get him!"

  I had reached the door, yet even as I did so, my arm was clutched in a vicelike grip and I was held to face my accuser.

  "Let's search him," someone yelled, and hands began wrenching at my clothing.

  "Let's get him outside, give him a thrashing while we're about it."

  "Hi
s arms are soft enough. What do you do for a living, young 'un?"

  "Let's take him out and see what he's made of."

  They were laughing as they pushed and prodded me, yet there was no humour in their faces. I was petrified with fear as they began shoving me from the assembly room into the darkened corridor beyond where I would be at their mercy. A boy, I was sure, could expect rough treatment at their hands, yet how much worse it would be when they discovered I was a woman. I was in pain, yet my pain was oddly deadened by my fear. My only recourse was to declare myself. Perhaps my fa­ther's name, Tory though it was, might give them cause to consider. I would have to bear the consequences, even if they did let me go, from father and from village gossip, but I had no choice. I opened my mouth to speak when, as if by magic, I felt their hands releasing me and I slumped back against the wall.

  "So it is you, Jack! I thought I caught sight of you in the back. Been up to some mischief, has he?"

  "Beg pardon, Mr. Wentworth. Didn't know you knew the lad. He's been causing quite a commotion." The farmer reeled slightly as he spoke.

  "I know," Darius said as he looked directly at the man. "I saw it all. He's the son of my manservant. I'd better see that he gets home or else his father will have something to say about it. Do go inside and get something to eat, all of you. I'll be back directly."

  My arms and legs were throbbing painfully, yet my fear was replaced by distress at being discovered by the very one whom I would at all cost have avoided.

  I could not look at Darius as he put his arm around my shoulders and led me down to his chaise. He helped me up without a word and took the reins from his groom. Without a word we started on the road to Seton Place.

  When we had passed the last cottage, he reached over and took the cap from my head, allowing my hair to fall down around my face.

  "What on earth possessed you to do such a thing, Alex­andra? It was a foolish, ridiculous act. Why did you do it?" he demanded again when I did not speak.