Harkworth Hall

by L. S. Johnson

  Slowly I returned to the house, shutting the doors behind me. Already the men were talking boisterously in the drawing room. Sir Edward laughed, loud and braying, and it seemed as if the hall grew darker in response, as if he were smothering the sun itself with his bellowing. Beneath my apron, my hand still burned with cold where his lips had touched my skin. It was with relief that I saw Mrs. Simmons beckoning to me from the end of the hall, her face creased with worry. I hurried to her side. It would take all our cleverness to wring a proper dinner from our paltry larder. I could not say where Mr. Chase had gone to and I did not care to know.

  CHAPTER III

  The Dinner-Party

  DINNER WAS NOTHING short of a miracle. The soup was so thin as to be water and the wines mismatched from our dwindling cellar; yet somehow Mr. Simmons managed to produce a smoked ham, half a bushel of vegetables, two crisp loaves, and Emily, their niece who lived in the village and worked at the inn. How he did this while also settling Sir Edward and stabling the horses, I had no idea. I had gone upstairs to change my clothes, only to find myself overwhelmed by the intricacies of my wardrobe, for I had not dressed properly for dinner since we were last in town months ago. Completely at a loss, I went back to the kitchen to see if I could help further—only to find Emily bustling about, a pie in the oven, and the potatoes boiling. Mrs. Simmons shooed me back to my room with an offer to send Emily to lace me once the remaining vegetables were chopped.

  I was therefore left to the operation of dressing for dinner. My powder was caked from winter damp, my hoops smelled faintly of mildew, and I did not have a pair of stockings that could be called white with any honesty. Still I managed to come up with a not-embarrassing combination of dress and petticoats—though the former could have used a good pressing—but that was what candlelight was for: masking my numerous flaws.

  I was half-dressed and waiting on Emily when the door opened. I turned to reprimand her for her presumption and instead spread my arms wide as Diana Fitzroy came into the room. What a welcome sight she was! She smelled of lilacs and the fresh air from the ride, her pale face was radiant, perfectly framed by her upswept, powdered hair; her embrace as comforting as my mother’s had been. I suddenly found myself dangerously close to tears, and when we drew apart her keen eyes spotted the gleam in my own.

  “Darling! Whatever is the matter?” She sat me down upon my bed and dabbed at my eyes with her handkerchief. “Is he really that marvelous? Remember, dear Caroline, you have a good head on your shoulders—that’s quite the prize for a merchant.”

  I stared at her. “Whatever do you mean?”

  “Why, Sir Edward, of course!” She sat down beside me, laughing gaily. “It’s the talk of the village that he’s chosen to stay with you, you know.”

  “Oh.” In my worries over my clothes and the food, I had forgotten just who I was dressing for. The coldness, the way the house had seemed to darken...

  “You don’t seem very excited.” She angled her head, trying to catch my gaze. “Caroline, what is it? I’ve met the gentleman several times now, he’s perfectly splendid. They say—pure gossip, mind you—but they say he has close to two thousand a year. Two thousand! Think of it! He could probably buy Harkworth Hall if he liked, or anywhere that suited you.”

  At that I laughed. To find myself mistress of such an estate—it was absurd. “You speak as if we’re already engaged,” I said. “We have seen each other for all of a few minutes, and spoken half a dozen words.”

  Diana merely laid a finger on the side of her nose, then twirled it about. “Let me lace you,” she said.

  Obediently I rose and turned. She pulled the laces hard, harder than Mrs. Simmons, but when I asked her to loosen them she shook her head.

  “You are far too lax with your appearance,” she chided, knotting the laces firmly. “This is serious, Caroline. I think he is a very good match for you. You will be doing both yourself and your father a disservice to not present yourself in the best possible light.”

  At the mention of my father, I blushed. She was right, of course. Two thousand pounds would keep us both splendidly—I owed it to him to give Sir Edward every consideration.

  She helped me into my dress then set about pinning my stomacher, though I told her I could as easily do so. Her hands against my belly, sliding up and down as she smoothed the fabric into place—there was a gentleness, a tenderness, in her touch that I had not felt since I was a child. My breath was catching a little, in all likelihood from the tight corset, but she glanced up at me and I saw her cheeks were pink.

  “When we are both married,” she said in a low voice, “we will, of course, have to visit each other often. It would be almost like when we were younger, do you remember?”

  I could only nod. I dared not speak.

  “Sometimes I miss those days,” she said, turning her attention back to the pins.

  She had artfully swept up her hair and dotted it with little jewels. It left her nape wonderfully bare. I suddenly wanted to embrace her, to press my face to her neck and never, ever let her go.

  “There.” She stood abruptly, turning me one way and another. “Nearly presentable,” she said. Pointing at my mirror, she gave me a hug and a kiss on the cheek. “Though what we can do about that face I’m not quite sure. You look as if you’re about to be bled, not dine with a charming man.”

  I forced the corners of my mouth to curve upwards. It looked nothing like a smile to me, more the grimace of a death-mask, but Diana nodded in approval. “That’s my girl,” she declared. “That’s how we win.”

  I kept the smile on my face as we did my hair and makeup, and as she dropped to her knees to fit my shoes. As little girls, the story of Anne and Mary had captured my imagination, but Diana preferred to play royalty. It had involved being dressed in just this manner, though our games had neglected to include the sick feeling in my belly, or the cold sweat that was trickling beneath my arms. Diana tutted at the state of my powder but managed to coax out enough to smooth my sun-darkened cheeks. Only then was I permitted to leave my room.

  But oh! It was worth it to see my father’s face. It lit up as I had not seen it in some time. He could not have been prouder if it had indeed been my wedding day. He beamed as he escorted me into the dining room, followed by Diana on Sir Edward’s arm, and Uncle Stuart with Mr. Chase. The latter, I noticed, had changed into an evening suit. He easily responded to the address of Mister, and again I marveled that no one else seemed to question his presentation—no one, that is, save Diana. I caught her giving Mr. Chase a thorough examination and her sweet bow of a lip decidedly curled. I was not the only one who sensed something different in our guest.

  And yet. The ease with which he walked to his seat and claimed it, the way he conversed so freely with the men—it made something clench inside me. If my instinct was correct, how could any woman behave so, without fear of censure? When Uncle Stuart expounded upon the state of trade, he responded easily with financial reports from London. When the wine was poured, he remarked upon its provenance and his travels in Italy, and the men all made noises of agreement. Meanwhile Diana and I simply ate, and smiled. When I met Diana’s gaze she gave me little nods. In her eyes, it seemed, everything was going well. Yet, I felt a sudden, overwhelming longing to be able to speak as Mr. Chase did—and to have had the worldly experiences that lay behind such conversation. I had only been to London once, and much of England was as unknown to me as our sister countries on the Continent.

  My father and Uncle Stuart sat at either end of the table. I had been seated at my father’s right, and Sir Edward sat across from me. Mr. Chase was beside me, across from Diana. The proximity afforded me a closer inspection. I noted with increasing certainty the smoothness of his cheek, the height of his cravat which concealed his throat. That Diana avoided looking directly at Mr. Chase was obvious, and Mr. Chase turned slightly, so as to direct his remarks towards my father and Sir Edward.

  “I was wondering, Mr. Daniels,” he said, “if you hav
e any knowledge of the tunnels that run beneath the Hall. They were omitted from the property description, yet apparently they are common knowledge—as are the criminal activities that provoked their creation.”

  It was then that I saw it. Sir Edward, who, until now, had been subdued in his manner, seemed to almost swell in his seat, his brow darkening as he looked at Mr. Chase, though he said nothing.

  “I suspect the reason they were not mentioned is because they have either collapsed, or are in danger of doing so,” Uncle Stuart remarked. “The Harkworths made their fortune running goods in from the bay—and more than a few seditionists, if there’s any truth to rumor. But those tunnels are nearly a century old now. Last family that lived there sealed all the doors that led to them. Damn things could kill you.”

  “Father,” Diana said reprovingly.

  “Come, Fitzroy, that’s not completely true,” my father said. “The Archers used at least one to get to the stables when it rained, and you remember when Caroline ran off down another.”

  All gazes turned to me; I found myself blushing. “I was but a child,” I demurred. “And it only went to the gardens. Hardly useful for committing crimes.”

  “Though quite useful for an assignation,” Diana tittered.

  Her remark only deepened my blush. I could not look at Sir Edward.

  “The one that ran to the bay is still standing,” my father put in, seemingly oblivious to Diana’s meaning. “At least, you can still see the opening. It’s just a shadow in the cliffs, but it’s there, all right. You can even see part of the beam they used to winch up their contraband. I’ve heard that it followed what was once an underground stream. Maybe that’s why it held up longer than the others.”

  There was an awkward pause. I was trying to think of a new topic of conversation when Sir Edward suddenly spoke.

  “It is entirely possible that this coastline is laced with underground waterways,” he said in a low voice. “Many do not realize just how much water lies within England’s green lands. They are the bedrock of English power, the very veins through which her lifeblood runs. We would do well to treat them with the respect—nay, the reverence—they deserve.”

  His voice caused a hush to fall over the room. It seemed larger than the man himself; it seemed to come from both without and somehow within, as if he were echoed by a voice in my mind.

  “We first settled close to water because we knew its strength and power. Even now, our greatest cities are those clinging to the edges of rivers or seas, drawing sustenance from the water lapping at their borders. Our might in trade and conquest derives from this holiest of sources, and those who have devoted themselves to understanding its energies and its needs.”

  He rose and held his wine glass, half-full, over the center of the table. In the candlelight, it seemed to contain patterns on its surface. I could not stop gazing upon it. Indeed, I felt myself leaning forward to see more clearly, and sensed the others do the same.

  “From the mightiest ocean to the smallest tributary, all are ours by the grace of God,” Sir Edward continued, his voice low and melodic, almost as if he were singing. “Water is ours to master, ours to wield. But like any beast, we must treat it properly. We must care for it, and discipline it, or it will consume us.”

  Upon the blood-red surface rose the shimmering outline of England and the roiling waters around it. As he spoke, the crimson sea churned and foamed, the waves crashing high upon the cliffs—

  —and then the sea seemed to part, as if pressed apart by invisible hands, and there was something in its depths, something coiling and serpentine that rose up in a mass of undulating limbs and seized the whole of the island to itself—

  —and then England was gone, drawn down into the wine with an audible splash.

  At once the wine was merely wine again. The candles seemed to brighten, though I did not remember them dimming.

  “Well said,” said my father. “Well said, indeed.”

  I heard a tremor in his voice that matched my own trembling. I felt faint and sick; I felt distinctly unclean. To distract myself, I looked to our other guests. Diana and Uncle Stuart seemed excited, as if witnesses to a thrilling bit of theater, but Mr. Chase looked as ill as I felt. His hand was coiling and uncoiling on the table, making a white-knuckled fist and relaxing. When he caught my gaze, he quickly moved it to his lap.

  “That you think it merely a speech saddens me, my dear Daniels,” Sir Edward said calmly. “We have grown far from our true nature indeed, if we cannot comprehend the very thing that sustains us.”

  “I think we are well aware of our power,” Uncle Stuart declared. “Only the French dare challenge us now, and the last time they tried, they couldn’t even get across the Channel. Now I hear they are melting the silver in Versailles to pay their debts. They lack both the money and the discipline to ever truly threaten us.”

  “I would not be so quick to dismiss them,” Sir Edward said. “They seek to spread their influence as much as we do. Even now, in Paris they talk of war. Never before has England been so poised for conquest. It means we must act with even greater vigilance to maintain our advantage, lest we lose all.”

  “Preposterous. It is only a matter of time before we crush the French utterly. As you say, we have the power—”

  “Father!” Diana gave him a pointed look. “We are a mixed company. Surely we can choose a topic of conversation that includes us all?”

  “I would like to hear more about this power,” I blurted out.

  I cannot say what possessed me to speak so, and I was given no opportunity to reflect on it, for something struck me in the shin, so hard I nearly cried out. Beside me, Mr. Chase said smoothly, “I believe, Miss Daniels, that Sir Edward is speaking in loose metaphors.” When I turned to him, both astonished and outraged, I found him gazing at Sir Edward with a grim expression. “We, of course, are the true power of England. All this talk of water is a metaphor for her people, and their skills and courage. That is what he speaks of.”

  Sir Edward returned Mr. Chase’s grim expression; and then his own softened, and a pall that had covered the room lifted.

  “Mr. Chase’s explanation is crude, but correct in its essence,” he said. “I only speak so to stress to everyone the importance of our united front. We are beset as we never have been before, even as we build an empire the likes of which the world has never seen.”

  “To England,” my father cried, with a startling fervor.

  “To England,” Mr. Chase echoed. Now he looked at me, and his meaning was as clear as if he had spoken it aloud: do not press this.

  Unwillingly I raised my glass with the others. We toasted our country, my shin still throbbing, and then were saved from further conversation by the arrival of the second course, including a commendable pigeon pie. But I was certain now, absolutely certain, that Sir Edward was not here to woo me at all, nor to deepen his friendship with my father. Something else had brought him to this county, and our door.

  “He is marvelous,” Diana said as she dealt the cards between us. Her gaze had not left the half-open door to the dining room. “Such vision! Such passion! It is a far cry from the young men who think only of gambling and horses.”

  “You did not think it strange?” I asked, keeping my voice low. “How he spoke—it felt almost like a dream, like when you feel awake but are still sleeping...” I trailed off, trying to find the words.

  “That is not strange, Caroline,” Diana whispered, smiling. “That’s infatuation.” She glanced at the dining room again. “Though I do not like his companion.”

  I followed her gaze. Mr. Chase had stepped in front of the open doorway. He looked over his shoulder at us, and then turned completely.

  “It is indecent to keep someone so... effeminate, in such close capacity,” Diana whispered as Mr. Chase crossed the hall. “I have hinted as much these past days. You would do well to make it known that you will not tolerate such a presence in your household.”

  I could not reply t
o this as Mr. Chase was upon us. “I wanted to thank you, Miss Daniels, for your hospitality,” he said. “Sadly, I must depart. I need to make an early start in the morning, so it’s best if I leave from the village.”

  “An admirable plan,” Diana said curtly.

  Her tone startled me. Though she had never been above gossip, she had always behaved charmingly in public. That she was blatantly displaying her dislike for Mr. Chase was a first.

  “I do hope you will find the journey amenable,” I said. “The road to the village is not the best, and it is treacherous after dark if you are not familiar with its defects. Perhaps Mister Simmons can accompany you?”

  “He has, in fact, already offered that service,” Mr. Chase replied. “But I think it best if he stay here, to settle Sir Edward. Our coachman is a canny driver, he has guided us through worse.”

  “I see.” I tried not to blush. I caught well his delicacy regarding our staff, and the foolishness of my offer. Send Mr. Simmons out now and there would be no one to see to either my father or Sir Edward, and what would the latter think of us?

  Still, Mr. Chase lingered at the doorway, watching me with an expression I could not comprehend. Diana cleared her throat; when I looked at her she angled her head, then mouthed, The door. At once I blushed properly—of course! Mrs. Simmons was cleaning up, Mr. Simmons was waiting on the men.

  “I will show you out,” I said with as much dignity as I could muster. I rose from the chair, forgetting the volume of my skirts, and nearly knocked it over. Quickly, Mr. Chase hurried to my side and pulled away the inconvenient furniture. “Thank you,” I added, ignoring my burning face, and led the way to the hall.

  It was a few short steps to the doors and I crossed them as swiftly as decency permitted. I was suddenly overcome by a strange, nervous exhaustion, more wounded animal than tired hostess. First the strange display at dinner, then here I was stumbling about, having to be prompted to common courtesy. That my failing should be witnessed by the likes of Mr. Chase only made it more painful. I wanted him to know, somehow, how unsettled he made me. I wanted him to know that if he was, indeed, a woman, anyone would look at his relation to Sir Edward and assume the worst. I wanted him to know that none of us could simply behave as we pleased, no matter how we might long to.