A Loyal Companion

by Barbara Metzger

  “She’s gone, too, regretfully, and I don’t have a wife, ma’am, bachelor quarters, you see, so it wouldn’t be at all the thing for you to call. And not necessary, I assure you.”

  Truly the man was exasperating! “But there must be some way I can thank you.”

  “Just seeing your joy was reward enough.” He smiled, and Sonia realized he was not as old as she’d first supposed, not even thirty, in fact, young to have attained such a high rank. And he was quite attractive, in a rugged way, with the same dark hair and eyes as the little girls.

  “Now come, children, make your curtsies,” he continued.

  Benice made a wobbly bow, her lower lip quivering. When she realized they were leaving, without the dog, Bettina in the major’s arms started clutching his uniform collar so tightly that Conover’s face turned red. She started screaming, “Blackie! Mimi!” at the top of her lungs. And Genessa jerked at his cane so the major’s bad leg nearly went out from under him.

  “I won’t!” she shouted. “He’s our dog, Uncle Darius, you said! She lost him and we found him. Make her give him back, Uncle Darius, now.”

  Some of the guests in the drawing room decided to make their departures, timely enough to satisfy their curiosity as to the commotion in the hall.

  “Look, Lord Berke,” Sonia addressed the baron, “Fitz has come home! These kind young ladies and their wonderful uncle just brought him.” She laughed. “And I was so excited to see Fitz, I never even got their names, to make introductions.”

  “Just as well, Miss Randolph.” Lord Berke had drawn himself up to his full height, not quite that of the officer. He raised his quizzing glass and surveyed the untidy, fractious group. One side of his lip lifted in a sneer. “He’s no one anyone with taste wants to acknowledge.”

  Sonia gasped. She had never seen such rudeness from the baron.

  “It’s true, my dear, everyone knows his reputation. I am just surprised swine like that has the nerve to cross your doorway.”

  The major grabbed the back of Gen’s dress before she could go kick Ansel Berke. What could Darius say in front of a young lady, especially one whose eyes, so recently shining with innocent tears, were now filled with shock and horror? What could he say with Baby’s hands closing his windpipe? He made his bow, such as it was, to Lady Atterbury where she stood in the hall, her lips gathered in a tight O of disapproval. Then he bowed again to the young woman. “Your servant, Miss Randolph.” He hauled Gen and Baby awkwardly down the stairs, Benice carrying his cane and sobbing behind them.

  They didn’t move fast enough to miss hearing Lady Atterbury’s instructions to her butler before the door was closed: “Marston, we are not at home to Major Conover. Or Lord Warebourne. Whatever the scoundrel chooses to call himself.”

  *

  A dog with a bad reputation is given a wide berth. Or shot.

  Chapter Eight

  Some things are better left unknown. Like the meaning behind the expression “It’s a dog-eat-dog world.” We know such things exist, but we do not have to speak of them, no more than we would explain the origin of “hangdog look,” at least not in polite company. Shame, either personal or collective, does not need to be aired in public. For once, I agreed with Lady Atterbury when she commanded Miss Sonia to have nothing more to do with Major Conover-Lord Warebourne, and then refused to say why. “The details are too sordid for your ears,” she said.

  Human youngsters are forever asking why. Why can’t they fly like birds, why can’t they breathe underwater like fish? How in a badger’s backside can anyone answer that? Why must they stay away from silver-tongued strangers with shady backgrounds?

  The answer is usually “Because I say so.”

  This answer seldom satisfies anyone.

  Every fox cub ever born has been told not to look under a hedgehog’s skirts, and every fox cub ever born has had a swollen snoutful of prickles. Forbid a lass to step out with a rake and a rogue, she’ll elope. It’s been that way since men started falling off the edges of the earth, looking for the unknown. Danger, forbidden fruit. Think of Eve. Everyone blames the snake—they aren’t my favorites either, right down there with tapeworms—but Eve was just young. Curious and contrary and a bad dresser.

  Anyway, Miss Sonia always did have a soft spot for the underdog.

  *

  “Suffice it to say, Sonia, I would not be doing right by you or the Harkness name if I permitted you near a blackguard like Darius Conover. Or Warebourne, though he shames the title.”

  “But, Grandmama, I am sure I have read his name in the dispatches. He is one of our own brave soldiers. Surely he deserves better than this Turkish treatment. And he took care of Fitz and brought him home. I am in his debt, Your Grace, and cannot dismiss him so cavalierly.”

  “Write him a letter,” the dowager snapped, rapping Sonia’s fingers with a teaspoon. “Then have nothing more to do with the knave, do you hear me, missy? That is all I am going to say on the subject. Drink your tea.”

  So Sonia asked Blanche.

  *

  “The new Lord Warebourne?” Blanche asked, her eyes wide. They were pretty hazel eyes, when she took them out of a book. The two girls were best of friends now, and Blanche had lost most of the gruff cover to her shyness. They were on their way back from Hatchard’s when Sonia startled her companion with the question. “However did you get to meet him? He’s not accepted anywhere.”

  “I know he’s scorned by society; what I want to know is why. As for meeting him, he brought Fitz home. He seemed sad and tired and overburdened with cares. I’d like to help him.”

  Blanche shook her head. “But, Sonia, he’s not a pigeon with a broken wing or a kitchen maid needing your encouragement to see the tooth drawer. I don’t think there’s anything you can do, except make mice-feet of your own reputation.”

  Sonia’s chin rose. “If you don’t tell me, I’ll ask the servants.”

  Blanche shrugged. “The original scandal happened years ago, at least five or six. Everything would have blown over by now, except that the girl he ruined was well placed, and he came back from the wars.” Blanche could feel Sonia’s impatience, so she got more specific. “The girl was Ansel Berke’s sister Hermione. Lady Rosellen’s sister, too, of course, although I think she was not long married to Conare at the time. Anyway, Hermione was found to be breeding, and she claimed Darius Conover was the father. Darius denied responsibility and refused to marry the chit.”

  “Perhaps he wasn’t the father?”

  “Who’s to say? But the whole coil could have been kept quiet if he had married the girl anyway. Or if Berke had just sent her off to Ireland to have the babe. Instead Berke challenged Conover to a duel, so naturally Hermione’s name became a byword. Again, things might have been settled if Darius took the usual path, but he didn’t. He would not accept Berke’s challenge, saying the chit wasn’t worth dying for, or fleeing the country for if he killed Berke, or losing his commission over. Conover had just signed up, I think, and Sir Arthur was very strict about his officers not dueling.”

  “That sounds very intelligent. Dueling is barbaric.”

  “Yes, but Berke didn’t see it that way. He’d thought to force Darius to marry Hermione one way or t’other. So he called Conover a coward, and still Darius would not fight. Ansel Berke convinced everyone that Conover acted without honor. You have to know the store men set on honor, so Darius was cut. At first his brother Milo kept the worst of it away. He was the Earl of Warebourne, after all, but then his wife was breeding and he stayed in the country. And then Hermione killed herself.”

  “Oh my. The poor young woman.”

  “And Conover’s hopes of being received in London were destroyed with her. They say he threw himself into the Peninsular Campaign to try to regain his honor, volunteering for hazardous assignments, making daredevil rescues.”

  “Surely that must have proved he was no coward, at least.”

  “I daresay it did. That would have turned the tide, too, especial
ly after Milo Warebourne and his wife, Suzannah, were both lost in a carriage accident without leaving an heir. An eligible, wealthy earl can be excused many a youthful indiscretion.”

  “Except?”

  “Except Berke would not let the matter rest. Nor would his other sister, Rosellen, whose husband, Preston Conover, Lord Conare, is incidentally next in line to the earldom. I think Lord Conare would not be upset if Warebourne is convinced to return to the perils of war. Conare has Prinny’s ear, and Rosellen the Almack’s hostesses’, so your major’s case is next to hopeless. Forget him.”

  “But what about the children? I should think Lady Rosellen would want Lord Warebourne received if only for their sakes. What will happen to them if they can never take their places in society?”

  “What has that to do with Rosellen? Haven’t you seen she cares for nobody but herself?”

  Sonia nodded, dreading the time she would be consigned to the arctic lady’s chaperonage.

  “There’s another thing,” Blanche recalled, “and it’s about the children. When Darius came home on injury leave, he stopped at Conare’s place in Sussex to visit with his nieces. Neither Preston nor Rosellen were there, naturally, since they are always in London or Bath or at some house party. Darius scooped the little girls right out from under their care, saying they weren’t taking proper charge of the children.”

  “Good for him!” Sonia exclaimed. “And much better for the children. Just think, leaving those dear little girls for the servants to raise!”

  Blanche frowned. That’s how she was raised. “Anyway, Lady Conare took it as an insult. I heard her saying so to your grandmother. They are thinking of petitioning the Crown to have themselves named as guardian instead of Warebourne, on grounds that he is not morally fit.”

  “That’s outrageous. Why, anyone could see he loves those children.” Actually, Sonia had seen right away that he knew as much about little girls as she knew about steam engines, but she, at least, was willing to give him credit for trying. “And as you say, Rosellen cannot claim affection for the children.”

  “No, but the Warebournes left a vast, unentailed inheritance to their children. Whoever gets them as wards gets to control that money for a long time. So you see, there is every reason to keep Darius Conover discredited.”

  “I see that the so-called polite world is an evil place of manipulation, greed, and ambition. Why, one man’s life is being ruined for a crime he might never have committed, and three little girls will be ostracized for no wrongdoing of their own at all!” Sonia stamped her foot. “Well, I don’t care. They were good to Fitz, and now I have to repay the kindness. That’s how I was raised. I shall stand their friend.”

  Blanche almost dropped her books. “Don’t be a ninnyhammer, Sonia. You’ll be ruined. And you can’t have thought; you’re so good, you think there’s good in everyone. What if he really is a cad?”

  “What if he isn’t? You cannot expect me to take the word of Rosellen. I’ll have to know Lord Warebourne better to decide for myself. I certainly owe him that much.”

  Blanche sighed with relief. “That’s fine then. He’ll never be invited to ton affairs, so you’ll never see him again. And not even you would think of calling on him at home. Would you, Sonia?”

  “Of course not, goose.” But there was nothing to stop her from walking her dog in the park.

  *

  Fancy that, Sonia thought after one simple inquiry, Ware House was just across the square from Lady Atterbury’s. She might have seen the Warebourne children in the park any number of times, if she’d been looking. Now that she was, she decided to leave nothing to chance. She sent her footman, Ian, over to find out when the girls were usually taken for a walk. She met them and their nursemaid at the gate closest to Ware House.

  The nursemaid had no fault to find with Sonia’s taking the children off. The brats finally stopped whining and moping when they saw the dog; Miss Randolph was obviously a lady; and that handsome red-haired footman had a fine line of Irish blarney that fair turned a girl’s head. Besides, her employer would never know. The major had not come out of his library since bringing the children home yesterday without the dog. A fine job that’d been, too, trying to stop all the crying and screaming so she could get some rest before her evening engagement with the head groom. Some fine lady wanted to play with Meg Bint’s charges, she had Meg’s blessings.

  At first the girls were uncertain of Sonia, considering the scene at her house yesterday. Fitz’s exuberant greeting quickly had them laughing and babbling like old friends, especially when Sonia fetched some gingerbread from the tapestry bag at her feet and suggested they sit on the bench awhile to catch their breaths.

  “There,” Sonia told them, “now we can be comfortable. I was so sorry that I didn’t get to thank you properly for taking care of Fitz yesterday. I didn’t even catch your names. I am Miss Sonia Randolph, and this, of course, is Fitz.”

  Ever conscious of the proprieties, Benice stood and made a curtsy, her dignity somewhat marred by the crumbs that fell off her lap. Sonia took no notice. “We are pleased to make your acquaintance, Miss Randolph,” Benice solemnly recited as if from memory. “And we are the Conover sisters of Ware House. I am the oldest, so I am Miss Conover, but you may call me Benice.”

  “Very prettily done,” Sonia congratulated, causing the pale child to blush with pleasure.

  “My middle sister is Genessa, but we call her Gen. Gen, make your curtsy!” The minx in the middle crammed the last of the gingerbread in her mouth and bobbled up and down, grinning. Sonia grinned back and handed over a napkin.

  “And that’s Baby. She doesn’t curtsy yet. She doesn’t talk much, either. She used to talk more, before…” The child’s voice faded and her smile disappeared altogether. “Her name is Bettina. Uncle Darius says she’s too old to be called Baby, so he calls her Tina. That’s what our father called her.” Benice’s lip trembled.

  “I’m sure you must miss your father ever so much. I miss mine, and he’s only in Berkshire. He always called me Sunny. Do you think you might do that, so I don’t feel so lonely?”

  Three heads nodded somberly, then Gen asked, “What about your mother? Ours is gone to heaven with Papa.”

  “Mine is there, too. Maybe they’ll meet and be friends, just like us. What do you think? Meantime,” she said, changing the subject, “I brought you some gifts, just to say thank you from Fitz. I didn’t quite know what you would like, so I hope I chose correctly.” She reached into the carpetbag. “This is for you, Benice,” she said, pulling out a tiny gold locket on a chain. “See, it opens. I put a snip of Fitz’s hair inside—from his tail, where he won’t miss it—so you won’t forget him. Of course, if you have a beau, you might put his miniature there,” she teased. Genessa hooted, but Benice was smiling through her blushes, and asked if Sonia would please put it on for her. “I’ll wear it always, Miss Sunny. It’s beautiful.”

  “And, Gen, this is for you.” It was a bilbo-catch toy, a wooden ball meant to be caught in the wooden cup tied to it with string. “Topping!” Gen shouted, running off to try it.

  The littlest Conover was jumping up and down on the bench, yelling, “Me. Me.”

  Sonia laughed. “I wouldn’t forget you, Tiny! Here.” She pulled out a little stuffed pillow in the shape of a dog, with buttons sewn on for eyes and nose, and a ribbon around its neck for a collar. “Mimi!” the baby cooed, hugging the pillow to her.

  Then Sonia had Fitz do some of his tricks, to show what a smart dog he really was, even if he did get lost and run over. Fitz sat and lay down and rolled over, he shook hands and barked and fetched. He went right at a hand signal, left at another, and concluded with his bow, head lowered between his legs. The children, and a few passersby, applauded happily.

  “Can we play hide and seek?” Gen asked. “Blackie was the best finder.”

  So the little girls ran squealing behind trees and under benches, and Fitz and Sonia made believe they couldn’t find them. Then they
played blind-man’s buff, with one of the napkins as blindfold, and, finally, a lively game of tag before it was time to go.

  “Do you think you might come tomorrow?” Sonia asked, and three dark heads nodded vigorously. “At the same time?” More nodding. “Maybe your uncle will join us.” Three little girls shook their heads no.

  “He says he doesn’t want to go anywhere, only back to the army,” Genessa confided.

  “And he stays in the library, throwing books,” Benice fretted.

  “Oh dear. Perhaps he would come if you tell him that I need to consult with him about Fitz’s leg. What do you think?”

  They all grinned. They thought it just might work.

  *

  Tag, hide-and-go-seek…cat and mouse?

  Chapter Nine

  Sometimes I envy Tippy the turnspit. Granted, her life is narrow, lived entirely between the kitchen and Cook’s bedchamber, but she is too small to face the world on her own anyway. Her responsibilities are no bigger than her short little legs. Her kind has it easy now that there are enclosed stoves, so she has two jobs. By day she has a few hours on a wheel. The scenery is boring, but she says she uses the time to compose verse. By night she is a foot warmer. How hard could that be? She has none of these anguished decisions I now face. No one’s future hangs on her actions. Nowhere does she feel the Great Dane’s torment, unless it’s to baste or not to baste.

  I am torn. I have been wrong in the past about Major Conover. He does have a title, he is well to pass, and he did not accept a reward for bringing me home when we both know I found my own way. But he is still an outcast and he still smokes. Furthermore, he throws books. A desecration!

  Worse, there is an alarm going off in my head. It’s clanging Cinderella, Cinderella, Cinderella. Aristocratic humans have wet nurses, so ladies don’t even have to see their babies, much less care for them. Stepmothers have no bonds whatsoever, neither blood nor milk; they don’t have to love their adopted children at all.

  I do not think Miss Sonia could ever be an evil stepmother, but how much love is there to go around? I know I grew fond of my “Blackie’s” family, but I only truly love Miss Sonia. Of course, I am a good dog; I do not expect such devotion from mere humans.