I meant to reply with something noncommittal, that would end the whole horrible conversation, but instead I blurted out, “I don’t want to marry at all.”
Jo looked at me, but said nothing.
“There is a—a book, in Uncle Stuart’s library. A history of pirates.” The words kept coming, why couldn’t I stop them from coming? “There’s a story in it, about two women, there was an etching of the one...” My face was burning, burning, as hot as if I was standing before an oven. “I wanted to be them. I wanted to be them so, so badly. I have never wanted to be a princess, or a wife. The very thought... I have met kind men, handsome men, and never once did I want so much as a kiss.” My eyes were welling, but still the words would not stop. “I tell myself when the time comes I will find it pleasant, as all women do, or at worst it will just be another chore. I tell myself so many things... and I think only of the next day, the next chore, the next meal. But I don’t want to marry, I don’t want to at all.”
I was weeping, I felt lightheaded, ill; yet the confession also felt good, as if some terrible, hidden wound was being drained at last. When Jo took my hand, I gripped it tightly, and she rubbed the back of my hand with her thumb.
“Was this Johnson’s History of the Pyrates?” she asked.
I could not speak for weeping; I could only nod.
“I think we have a copy as well. I know I’ve seen it, I know exactly which etching you mean.” Jo laughed. “Mary Read and Anne Bonny. There are worse guides for women.”
I swallowed. “Diana thinks—”
“A pox on Diana Fitzroy,” Jo burst out. She took a breath, then nudged me. “I would offer to marry you, you know, but I would probably get you hung.” At my startled look, she smiled wryly. “I am an accomplice, after all, and it was made clear to me that if things went poorly, the Crown would use me as a scapegoat.”
“After all this?” I cried, outraged. “They wouldn’t dare!”
“His brother is still free,” she said, “and we haven’t a lick of evidence against him, save the word of two women.” She nudged me again. “One of whom, it would be revealed, is the tribade daughter of a not-so-honorable London lawyer who was seen consorting with Thomas Masterson’s libertine brother—and in breeches, Heaven preserve us. I’ll be the face that launched a thousand broadsides.”
Despite my swirling emotions, I couldn’t help but smile. “Well, the rest could be forgiven, but the breeches—”
“I’m serious, Caroline.” She stopped me completely, turning me until I faced her. “When all this comes to light, the news will be ugly and the gossip will be uglier. Whatever your plans for the future? There’s no need for you to bring such ignominy down upon you and your father.” She put an emphasis on father. “Once we get to the Fitzroys, show me to their door and then go home. I can keep your name out of it.”
“I will decide my own fate, thank you very much,” I retorted. I was suddenly, blindingly furious. I felt almost betrayed. “All my life,” I burst out, “all my life people have decided for me. My father, my governess, the schools when they would no longer teach me, this age when it was decided I could not so much as cross a hillock alone, and now you...” I was weeping again. “Right now, I feel alive, truly alive, and you of all people would take that away from me?”
Jo hugged me. I started to beat at her but heard her hiss of pain and just gave myself over to sobbing instead. She said nothing; she simply held me, rubbing my back as I wept into her filthy coat. Only as my tears died away did I hear her soft voice hushing me. When at last I raised my face to hers, she was gazing at me, her expression unreadable. “You are certain?” she asked.
“Yes,” I said.
And there was no further debate, then. Carefully, she slid her hand through the crook of my arm and we began walking once more. For a moment, there was nothing save ourselves, strolling through the sun-dappled woods like any two people out for a walk, the soft breeze easing our stinging faces and the air tinged with the perfume of the bluebells that cushioned our stockinged feet. Beyond the trees was the start of the meadows that ran to the bay, their green grasses tinged yellow in the afternoon sun, and in the far distance I could see the stone wall that marked the edge of the Fitzroys’ land. The sight both gladdened and dismayed me. For the first time, it occurred to me just what a picture we made. All that I had confessed, that strange, wonderful kiss in the tunnel, it all seemed to be the acts of another Caroline, a more honest, daring version of myself. Now, with the prospect of the Fitzroys and my father before me, I felt that Caroline warring inside me with a smaller, more timid one who dreaded their censure.
But I had no time for such selfish worries. Jo’s face was drawn, her pace had slowed, and I was struggling to support her with my own throbbing pains. The blow near her scalp had settled into an ugly, scabbed weal, and there was a strange whistling note in her breath. The field that lay between us and the wall, rather than drawing us closer to safety, seemed as immense as a desert to cross. Too, the wind increased as our path veered towards the coastline once more, sometimes leaving us breathless.
“Go ahead,” Jo finally said, trying to prise her arm free of mine. “You’ll make better time alone. You can send someone back for me.”
“We are not separating,” I replied. Grimly, I pulled her arm around my shoulders, ignoring my own body’s aches.
“Caroline, be sensible.”
“Now you want me to be sensible?” I found myself smiling despite everything. “There was no sense in my going to Harkworth Hall, there was no sense in your hiding me, and there was certainly no sense in going into the kitchen, much less the cellar, when we could simply have run away. I’m afraid, Miss Chase, that we are lost causes when it comes to sensibility.”
She answered me with a soft laugh. “I knew you to be unusual from the moment I met you, Miss Daniels. Now I know you to be unusually foolish.”
“That’s the pot calling the kettle black,” I replied, only to find myself giggling when she stuck her tongue out at me.
As we drew near the wall, we saw a figure appear before it, following its line. Halfway along the wall it stopped and lit a lamp, which it raised high in the air and swung back and forth, as if a beacon for us to follow. Confused, I shouldered Jo and kept moving—perhaps it was a servant? Perhaps they had put out a search party for me?
The lamp swung once more, then wobbled as the figure clearly leaned forward, peering at us. I waved and it cautiously waved back, then started walking towards us. As it drew close, I cried out in relief, “Uncle Stuart!”
For it was indeed Diana’s father. He paused, clearly astonished at being hailed so. Never have I been so glad to see a person in my life. Here, at last, was aid and safety.
“Tell him nothing,” Jo suddenly whispered.
“What?” I stared at her, astonished. “For God’s sake, we must report what happened—”
“Tell him you were injured while walking, we brought you to the Hall, and we barely escaped the fire.” She rattled off the story. “Just until a third party is present. Please,” she added forcefully.
I could not debate the matter further, for we had reached Uncle Stuart. “Caroline!” he cried, raising the lantern to look at me. “And—Chase?” His tone changed to one of astonishment, and then, to my surprise, his expression became grim. “Well, this is a fine turn-up. Are you aware there has been a fire at the Hall and your good master might well be dead?” Without waiting for an answer, he turned back to me. “Your father has been mad with worry and here you are cavorting with this, this creature—how am I even to present you in such a state—”
“We were in that fire and we barely escaped with our lives,” I interrupted coldly. All that had happened and he was upset about my appearance? “We need food, we need a surgeon, and we need to send for a constable.”
Uncle Stuart gave me a long, considered look. “We certainly do,” he said more calmly, then extended his arm towards the house. “Well. Let us get you both inside. I suspec
t this will be a most intriguing story.”
Those last few yards to the Fitzroy home felt as long as all our walking beforehand. Jo was wheezing with pain now; I, in the meantime, was trying to give Uncle Stuart the half-truths she had asked of me. I had wanted to look for Emily, I explained, only I had tripped and fallen near the coast, where one of Sir Edward’s men had spotted me. They brought me to the Hall, where Miss Chase kindly lent me a change of clothing. We had meant to send to my father this morning, but the fire had driven us out into the night. In the smoke and chaos, we had become lost, and only now returned.
Jo gave my shoulder a squeeze, but I could tell that Uncle Stuart didn’t believe me. Still, he nodded and helped Jo over the threshold and into the quiet of the Fitzroy house. The familiar hallway with its candlelight, the smells of dinner cooking—it was impossible that he could be party to Sir Edward’s madness, impossible that we could be anything but safe here.
“My servants are still out searching the countryside,” he said, as he shut the doors behind us. “Your father is in the study. I’ll have a word with the cook and then check the stables. If there’s no lad to send for a surgeon, I will go myself.”
I nodded and thanked him. Together, Jo and I worked the study door open and hobbled inside, and then my heart swelled. My father stood by the window, in a stance I knew too well: he was worrying terribly and trying to hide it. How many times had I seen him thus during my mother’s confinement? When he turned at our entrance, the relief that overcame him was palpable, and I felt myself sagging in turn.
“Caroline!” he cried, rushing to us. “And Mister Chase! My God, what has happened? Are you hurt? My poor child!” He made to embrace us but I laughingly pushed him back.
“We’re both rather bruised, Father,” I said. “Let’s make, ah, Mister Chase comfortable first.”
Together we helped Jo lie down on the chesterfield. She lay back with a sigh of relief that told me she was in far more pain than she had been letting on. If she had a hidden injury, one that was so long untreated… I looked at my father only to see him staring at me in astonishment and more than a hint of disapproval.
“Caroline,” he began in a low voice, “you know I will support you whatever the circumstances, but we know nothing of this young man’s family—”
“Father!” I felt my face burning. That Jo hid a smile only made it worse. “We have come from Harkworth Hall. We must send for the police and a surgeon at once.”
“You were at the Hall? But there was a terrible fire, they thought everyone had been killed.” He took an eager step forward. “What of Sir Edward? Did he too escape?”
His stricken tone made me wince. To him, Sir Edward was still a friend, yet to hear such concern after everything that had happened—
“We do not know what became of him,” I snapped, and set myself to cushioning Jo’s head with my coat, though she tried to wave me away.
My father, perhaps sensing something in my tone, quickly went to a side table and poured us each a glass of sherry. The liquid made me lightheaded, reminding me just how long it had been since either of us had eaten. “Have you had dinner yet?” I asked.
“No, I told Fitzroy I could not think of eating. I went to the Hall at first light when I saw the smoke. The place is a ruin, an absolute ruin. They had their hands full trying to search even the grounds.” His face clouded over with pain and I laid a hand on his arm. “Where is Fitzroy? We need to send someone to the village and you must eat something, you look dreadfully pale.”
“I think he was going to see to that, and then to the stables. He may have gone to the village for a constable.”
“Oh, he won’t find any there,” my father said blithely. “They were all out at the Hall, and then I asked them to come here when they were done, in case you hadn’t turned up yet.”
Coming here! At once I was suffused with gratitude: for this parent of mine, for our escape from the Hall, for the knowledge that soon the whole terrible business would end. My eyes welled and I quickly turned away, lest I agitated my father further. “I will see if the cook can give us something,” I managed to get out, and hurried from the room.
I was crossing the hallway when a soft voice called my name. I looked at the stairs to see Diana on the landing. Though I was relieved to see her, I realized that the sight of her no longer filled me with longing. What I felt was affection for an old friend, and nothing more—
I would offer to marry you, you know, but I would probably get you hung...
—but then I saw the pistol in Diana’s hand.
“Diana?” My voice was a pathetic squeak. I took a step backwards, and another, as she descended the stairs. “Diana, what in God’s name—?”
“Back in the study, Caroline.” Her voice was shuddering, but the pistol was pointed unerringly at my chest. “I didn’t want to have to do this,” she added.
Slowly I backpedaled, my eyes never leaving her face. Behind me I heard my father and Jo conversing. They stopped abruptly when I entered. “Caroline,” my father said gravely, “I think you need to sit down. Your, ah, friend has just made a most shocking confession... oh.” I glanced over my shoulder to see him rise from the chesterfield, his face pale. “Diana,” he said, but further speech seemed to fail him.
“Over there,” Diana said, waving me towards the chesterfield. As soon as I was close enough, my father pushed me behind him.
“Diana,” he began again. “Child. What is the matter? Surely, you’re not afraid of us. Why, we’re your oldest friends!”
Her eyes were glistening. “I am sorry, Uncle Theophilus,” she said, her voice choked with emotion. “I am so very sorry.”
“Sorry? You have nothing to be sorry for.” My father gestured expansively. “Only tell us what is wrong. We’ll do everything we can to help you.”
I glanced helplessly at Jo only to find her looking at me through half-lidded eyes. The whole of her body spoke of feeling faint from pain, yet her lips moved silently.
Sword.
I followed her nod at my father’s sword, hanging from his belt. I would have to reach around him, but Jo was close, if she could move quickly enough—
“You can start, my friend, by signing these.”
We turned to see Uncle Stuart standing in the open garden doors. He, too, held a pistol loosely in one hand, and with the other he held out a sheath of papers. His own sword hung gleaming from his hip.
I glanced at Jo again, just catching her nod.
“What are those?” my father asked.
“Letters of transfer,” Uncle Stuart replied. “They sign your estate over to me.”
I gaped at him. My father flinched as if he had been bodily struck. “What? Fitzroy, what in God’s name are you talking about?”
“I need your land, Daniels.” He took a step into the room. “Things have gone too far, much too far, for us to turn back.” His eyes flickered briefly to Diana’s face. “You do not know what kind of men they are, Theophilus,” he said in a low voice. “You do not want to know. Just sign these papers and I will let you and Caroline go free.”
“And if we do not?” I asked.
“Then I will kill you all,” he said heavily, “and blame it on Chase here, and those ruffians at the Hall. When they read your father’s will, it will leave the land to his dear friend Stuart Fitzroy.”
His words left me stricken. I turned to Diana, pleading. “Diana, you cannot countenance this!”
“Papa promised them,” she said. A tear spilled over and wound its way down her powdered cheek. “He promised them the bay, Caroline. The money is already spent, we have no choice.”
“For God’s sake, Fitzroy,” my father burst out. “You’re a textile importer, not a murderer!”
“Not any more,” Jo said.
We all looked at her; she had sat up and was glaring at Uncle Stuart. “We’ve seen it, Fitzroy. We’ve seen it. Do you honestly think you can wield that thing like a cannon, that you can use it for mere profit? How
long before your daughter takes her turn, eh? Just a quick cut across the throat and into the sea. How much is her life really worth in this?”
“More than a scullery maid’s,” Diana retorted, while at the same time Uncle Stuart said, “I warned Masterson about you. The unnatural offspring of a pettifogger. He should have given you to the beast long ago.”
He raised his pistol and I rushed between them. “Wait!” I cried. “We’ll sign your papers. Won’t we, Father?”
But when I turned to him, he was very pale; he seemed not to have heard me. “If I ever needed to sell,” he said hoarsely to Uncle Stuart. “You’ve been telling me that for years now! If I ever needed to sell, and wouldn’t it be better for Caroline to be in town. How long have you been planning this for?”
“Far longer than you can imagine,” Jo said. Her arm was dangling over the side of the chesterfield—close to the hilt of my father’s sword. But there were still the pistols and Uncle Stuart’s sword to contend with, and my father to protect...
“Father, please sit down,” I said carefully. “Can he not sit, Uncle Stuart? Let me try and reason with him.”
“No, no!” My poor father clutched at his head. “This makes no sense. How can this be happening? It makes no sense!”
There came a faint rumbling sound, as of a vehicle approaching. Uncle Stuart glanced over his shoulder, his expression uneasy.
“The constables!” My father’s hands fell away and hope suffused his features. “Now we’ll get to the bottom of this.”
“You can dither all you like, Daniels,” Uncle Stuart thundered. “Will you sign or not?” He jabbed the pistol at Jo. “Or should I begin with Chase here, to prove my intent?”
Diana suddenly pointed at the window, her face draining of color. “Papa!” she cried.
Harkworth Hall Page 10
