Some Brief Folly

by Patricia Veryan

  The anguish on that small face roused Hawkhurst to a rage he could scarcely contain. Watching him, Mount chuckled, but his mirth was short-lived. Kent brought his heel crunching down onto his tormentor’s slippered toe. Mount let out a yowl and sent the boy hurtling across the room. It was all Hawkhurst needed. He rocketed forward and seized the pistol. Mount swore and hung on like grim death. From the corner of his eye Hawkhurst saw the woman run forward, an upraised dagger glittering. Dismay seized him. Perhaps, he thought desperately, even if she stabbed him he might be able to put an end to Mount. The knife whipped down, and his back muscles tightened in anticipation of the thrust. A shout died into a choking cry; he caught a glimpse of Colley staggering back and falling to his knees as the woman fled from the room. Abandoning his hold on the pistol, Hawkhurst chopped savagely for the throat. Mount squawked, and his grip loosened; the pistol clattered down, and he crumpled, dragging Hawkhurst with him as he caromed into a chair. They went down in a tangle, the wrenching fall leaving Hawkhurst sickened with pain. Mount’s hands fastened in a choking hold around his throat. Instinctively, he swung up his arms, somehow succeeded in breaking that grip, and with all his failing strength drove a short jab at the classic jaw. Mount grunted, sagged, and lay unmoving.

  Sobbing for breath, Hawkhurst rolled over and dragged himself to his feet. “Get … up, you poor … lunatic.”

  Mount was perfectly still. Hawkhurst limped towards the fallen pistol. He flashed an anxious look at Colley, who was crouched on his knees, head down, with blood trickling from the hand that clutched his arm.

  Watching from under his lashes, Mount timed it nicely, and kicked out hard.

  White hot agony seared through Hawkhurst’s leg, and a strangled cry was torn from him. He had no recollection of falling, but found himself sprawled on the carpet, waves of nausea blinding him and reducing Mount’s cackling glee to unintelligible echoes. As from a great distance, he saw the pistol and groped towards it, but another hand snatched it up.

  “Watch, dear friend,” Mount jeered, all his hatred in that sibilant gloating. “Watch, while I pay you in full!” And the pistol swung slowly until it pointed not at the man, but at the terrified child huddled in the far corner.

  “No…!” groaned Hawkhurst. “Not the boy! Mount, for the love of God…” He fought frenziedly to stand, but could only crawl, his agonized gaze on that deadly pistol.

  “Look, Hawk,” Mount giggled and aimed carefully.

  Hawkhurst managed to get his left foot under him, but his attempt to stand reduced the room to a shimmering grey blur, and he was down again, Mount’s cackling laughter echoing in his ears. He raised his head and saw Avery pressed against the wall, his terrified little face so very white. Tearing at the rug, fighting madly to drag his failing body up, his fingers encountered something solidly heavy. The clock Mount had smashed at him. He grabbed it.

  “Mount!”

  In immediate response to that changed tone, Mount spun. Hawkhurst threw the clock with all his might. It struck the pistol barrel in the same instant Mount pulled the trigger. The weapon was slammed upward, and the explosion, sharp and shattering, was followed by the bloom of smoke. Through that screen, Hawkhurst saw Mount topple. It was very apparent that he would never get up.

  Panting, Hawkhurst sagged forward, bracing himself on his hands, eyes closed and head hanging in exhaustion.

  “Well, if that don’t beat the Dutch! Do stop playing about, Hawk!”

  Dazedly, he peered upward. Lord Gains, one eye blackened, a swelling contusion across his cheek, scanned him indignantly. “Food’s terrible here,” he imparted, hauling him to his feet. “Be damned if I’ll stay!”

  Sobbing silently, Avery flew across the room, and Hawkhurst snatched him close and hugged him, eyes blurring with tears of thankfulness. But, trying to walk, he would have fallen save for Gains’ ready arm, and his lordship said very gently, “It would help Mr. Hawkhurst if you could walk, young fella.” Avery clambered down instantly and grabbed Hawkhurst’s right arm supportively with his bound hands.

  Draper came in, surprisingly holding up a battered and sagging Chilton, and Coleridge was struggling to his knees.

  Gains scanned his brother tautly. “Damned fool! Can you navigate?”

  “I’ve got him, sir,” said Draper, eyes widening as he saw Mount’s sprawled body. “You help Mr. Hawkhurst. No, over here! Hell’s loose down below. We’ll never get out that way! Quick! Quick now! There’s a side stair somewhere about—likely that flash cove’s private entrance.” He led them to a rear door, opened it hopefully, and sure enough it gave onto a rickety balcony.

  The sudden transition into the freezing cold cleared Hawkhurst’s muddled brain. He was being guided to stairs and, as he stumbled wrackingly downward, called, “Colley? Are you all right?”

  “Perfectly fine … Hawk,” gasped his cousin staunchly. “But … but Chil ain’t very good.”

  “Best … damned fight I was … ever in,” Chilton groaned, barely able to set one foot before the other.

  Somehow, they were down and clear of the insanity that was The White Rose. Even as the little party reeled and staggered away, a window exploded outward and a man’s body hurtled through. Dark figures were thumping down the stairs. A hoarse voice shouted, “Murder! Stop ’em!” And two ruffians raced after them. Sampson, inexplicably delayed, gladly joined the game now, pranced down the steps and between the legs of the man in the lead. With a surprised yell, he went down; his cohort tumbled over him, and the chase ended abruptly.

  Draper ran ahead and brought up the curricle, the horses tied on behind. The casualties were boosted inside; Gains climbed into the saddle of one horse, and Draper mounted the other.

  “Hawk,” said his lordship, putting the reins into his hand, “your leg’s leaking, I know, but it will have to wait until we’re away. Then we shall stop and tend to the three of you poor cripples. Can you drive, old fellow?”

  The words came as from a great distance to Hawkhurst. His back ached viciously, his head pounded, and his leg was pure torment. And he could have sung for joy because, huddled on his lap, the small body pressing against him was his son! “’Course can … drive!” he said, faint but indignant. “Lead on!”

  The fog swirled around them as they started off. The cold was bitter and the night very dark. For quite some time, as they went, they could hear from the old tavern, the crashes, shouts, and screams of battle.

  Ears up and tail wagging, Sampson led the victors towards home.

  * * *

  DOMINER was ablaze all through that foggy evening and far into the night. Flares were set at intervals of ten feet all along the drivepath and for some distance up the estate road, and grooms patrolled with lanterns as far as the London–Bath Road, hoping to encounter the curricle. Inside, the drawing room was bright with candles, the glow as cheery as the faces of those gathered there were glum.

  Euphemia, hands folded in her lap, was very pale, but she waited quietly, fears held in check. None of them had enjoyed very much sleep, and, although they had rested in the afternoon, they were all tired, but no one thought of bed. Surprisingly, Lady Bryce had shed her die-away airs and was a pillar of strength, comforting Dora, keeping the Admiral well plied with the cigarillos she loathed, and doing whatever she might to ease the tensions of this interminable vigil.

  At two o’clock, Ponsonby carried the tea tray in for a second time, followed by Mrs. Henderson, bearing platters piled with little cakes, hot scones, and biscuits. Her eyes on the slow creep of the clock’s hands, Euphemia scarcely noted their arrival. Hawk had been gone more than twelve hours …

  The Admiral stirred the tea Carlotta handed him and, leaning back without tasting it, said suddenly, “Do you know what I was thinking? How the little fellow used to like me to tell him of Trafalgar.” His voice cracked, and he puffed on his cigarillo, so that he all but disappeared in the resultant cloud of smoke.

  “I have been thinking the same, sir,” said Euphemia. “And
of how many people would be enchanted by your reminiscences. You should set it all down, you know. Not only from the historical sense, for I am sure that will be done for years to come, but for the little human incidents you have told me of. I feel sure it must be a great success.”

  “Do you now?” He stubbed out the cigarillo and took up his cup again. “By George, it’s an idea! Would give me something to do.”

  “Do you know what I have been thinking?” Dora murmured. “I have been thinking of how dreadful it would be—at such a time as this—to be alone. Not to have loved ones near. Thank heaven we have each other, for fear is such a terrible thing.” She sighed mistily. “‘Fear has many eyes and can see things underground.’”

  “Well, we have got each other, dear,” soothed Carlotta, nobly overlooking the fact that Dora’s tea was spilling into her lap.

  “’Course we do!” said the Admiral hearteningly. “Though,” he scowled, “I wish my little Stephie was—” He glanced at Euphemia, coughed, and was silent while they all drank their tea and thought their thoughts, and the moments ticked slowly away.

  Hawk, thought Euphemia, come back! Oh, my love, come back to me.

  “What things?” growled Wetherby, fixing Dora with an irritated frown.

  “Th-things … Papa?” she stammered nervously, dropping her spoon.

  “What the deuce d’ye mean, ‘see things underground’? What kind of nonsense is that? I’ve been scared in my time—am just now, I don’t mind admitting—but I never went snooping about under cabbages and turnips! See things underground, indeed! What kind of slowtop would make such a blasted idiotic remark?”

  “I … I believe it was Cervantes,” she gulped.

  “Might’ve known it would be some hare-brained foreigner! Well, I’ll tell you what, Dora, anyone goes peeping about under roots and such is liable to be put away, and so—” He checked, eyes flashing to the door. “Did you hear—?”

  Euphemia was already on her feet, her heart pounding madly as a distant barking came nearer. The teacup she held began to jiggle on the saucer.

  A commotion in the hall erupted into a chorus of shouts, then a cheer, and the door burst open. Sampson galloped into the room, leapt across the table, sending the teapot flying, and jumped onto the Admiral’s lap, licking his face ecstatically. Wetherby’s rageful howl following her, Euphemia ran to the hall.

  A battered, bloody, exhausted little cavalcade was staggering into the house. Chilton Gains, hanging weakly on the arms of his brother and a small man she had never before seen. Colley, Ponsonby supporting him as he tottered along, his face very pale, but his eyes alight with triumph. And behind them, the man for whom she sought so frantically, borne along by Manners and a footman, the right leg of his breeches crimson from knee to ankle, his eyes glazed, but beside him, a bruised and very dirty small boy who left his side to rush and hug her, then fly into the outstretched arms of the Admiral.

  Weeping at last, Euphemia said a choked, “Hawk! Oh … my dear!”

  He reached out and, as she ran forward, took her hand, while Manners beamed upon them both. “We got … him back, Mia!” Hawkhurst whispered radiantly. “Praise God! We got him … back!”

  * * *

  EUPHEMIA settled herself against the squabs of the luxurious carriage, and Manners tucked the fur rug solicitously about her, put up the steps, and closed the door. Lord Wetherby, having assured himself she was comfortable, pulled a rug over his own knees, for it was freezing, and traces of fog again hung in the air on this Christmas morning. Euphemia waved happily to the many loved ones gathered at the windows of Meadow Abbey to bid her farewell. The carriage lurched and then began to move up the drive. She tucked her hands back into her ermine muff and turned to the Admiral. “Oh, sir! How very kind in you to come and fetch me. It was lovely to be with my family, of course, but I have been so very anxious! How is … everyone? And little Kent, I mean Avery? And, oh, forgive me, but I’ve been away so long, and—”

  “A week!” he laughed. “Only a week since your dragon of an aunt came breathing her fire and fury and kidnapped you away from us! She seemed more cordial today, I must say. Though I’d no notion as to what kind of reception I’d meet, calling for you on Christmas morning! Poor taste, I’ll own.”

  “Oh, no, but they have all forgiven me,” she said happily. “When I told them the full story of Garret and—everything, my dear sister was moved to tears, and even Aunt Lucasta was…” She blushed prettily and lowered her eyes. “Was willing to let me visit Dominer, in case someone should chance to invite me. Oh, dear sir! Do tell me! Hawk was so very ill when I left!”

  “But we sent messages every day,” he said, his eyes twinkling into her anxious ones. “Did you not—”

  “Yes, yes. But all you said was that everyone was recovering nicely, and I was afraid— He was so terribly weak, and if he did not stay abed…”

  “Now, now, never worry so. I’ll confess when first I saw that leg I was sure he must lose it, but thanks to That Qua— er, Hal Archer, he’s doing famously. He’s up and about again, though on a very restricted basis, and complains that we all watch him like so many wardens, Avery in particular.”

  “How is the dear little fellow? I have missed him so. Has Garret told him yet?”

  “The boy is happy as a lark, and a joy to everyone. Hawk was so kind as to allow us all to be present when he told Avery the truth of his birth. He stood there like a little soldier, but with tears streaming down his cheeks, then fairly jumped into his father’s arms. Er … I’ll confess…” he cleared his throat, “we were all rather overcome. Bless him, he is the dearest, most warm-hearted little fellow.” He blinked, took up her gloved hand and, patting it, said gruffly, “How I can ever thank you is quite beyond my imagination. You have restored the sunlight to some very shadowed lives, Mia. I—”

  Euphemia leaned suddenly to plant a kiss on his cheek. The old gentleman became red as fire and, to cover his confusion, launched into an account of the recent events at Dominer. The Gains brothers were still their honoured guests, he said, since Archer had requested that Chilton remain under Mrs. Henderson’s care until he was improved. “Poor lad, he should have stayed with the horses, as Max instructed him. But he’s a high-couraged boy, and I collect there was no holding him once he heard the uproar. However, he goes along well enough, and I believe has enjoyed all the festivities. Oh, there have been some changes, my dear. The truth has leaked out about Hawk and Blanche. Lord knows how, unless the servants got hold of the details in some way. At all events, we’ve been fairly inundated with callers. Folks who had conveniently forgotten that Dominer ever existed are suddenly beating a path to the door and falling over themselves with affability. Disgusting! But Carlotta is in seventh heaven, of course.”

  Delighted by this news, Euphemia said that very likely they would soon have newspaper people posting out from London. “Then you shall be in all the papers, and Hawk will be furious, but will be truly forgiven so that … he…” Her words trailed off. “Good gracious, sir! Have I offended you? Or have the newspapers already printed something?”

  He nodded, eyebrows jutting. “They have. Blasted long-noses! But not about Hawk … exactly.”

  She stared, then said a small, “Oh, dear. Simon?”

  “Yes. They don’t mention names, but— Egad, how that scurrilous crew loves a bit of gossip to chew over! The ton, they said, was agog to hear of the elopement of a certain wounded officer, newly returned from the Peninsula to join his wife and family, and a young lady of gentle birth, whose brother, Mr. G— H— was himself a few years back involved in a shocking scandal. Faugh!”

  “And—and did they mention the duel, sir?”

  “Hinted at it. Hawk wasn’t pleased, as you may guess, and vows to go into Town and twist the writer’s nose for him, so soon as he’s able.”

  Euphemia sighed, hoping that this would not cost Simon his commission, but drawing solace from the thought that the wise Colonel John Colborne knew his General and would
await the most opportune moment before approaching Wellington in the matter.

  They chattered on as the miles were eaten up by the steady plodding of the horses. The air was frigid, and a scattering of snowflakes began to fall from the dark skies, but the Admiral wore a warm scarf tied over his head beneath his beaver, and Euphemia’s knitted cap, edged with ermine, flattered her bright colouring and rosy cheeks, so that he thought her truly the loveliest girl he had ever known. Save one … perhaps.

  At last they were clear of the Home Wood, and there below them lay the great house, so beautiful, and yet so warm and welcoming that Euphemia’s heart constricted at the sight of it. Smoke curled from the chimneys, candlelight brightened the windows, and on the terrace a bundled-up small boy and a very large hound clad in a blanket-coat, waited. Down the hill they went, and, starting up the rise, the groom blew up a blast on the yard of tin. The dog sprang up, and boy and hound advanced towards the carriage so exuberantly that it would have been difficult to determine which of them did the most jumping. Euphemia desired his lordship to instruct Manners to halt. Wetherby pulled on the check string, and the carriage slowed and stopped. The footman let down the steps, and she was outside, embracing the ecstatic child, while the dog gave every indication of total insanity.

  They walked towards the house together, and a familiar figure came onto the terrace to meet them. A man who limped and leaned upon a cane, but whose dark head was held very erect. Euphemia’s heart turned over. Vaguely, she heard Wetherby call Avery, and then Hawkhurst stood before her. Pulse racing, she waited to be seized and kissed and worshipped. Instead, scanning her face intently, he took her hand, then bent and pressed it to his lips and, straightening, merely whispered, “Mia…”

  “Hawk…” she said tenderly.

  Watching from the carriage windows, the Admiral was less restrained. “Stupid young gapeseed!” he snorted.