by Tess Quinn
Almost immediately, another person dropped down from a low branch of the tree where he had been secreted. From his awkward landing and grunt, it appeared he was not accustomed to such activity. He walked a bit unsteadily forward towards Sir John, tugging to put his clothes to rights as he did so; when he stood in front of Sir John, he bowed to him in a crisp fashion, and handed him another scrap. Sir John looked at it, and Caroline could only just note that it seemed to contain more numbers and the same bird image she had seen moments before.
On receipt of it, Sir John stepped forward to shake the man’s hand, inviting him to make his way to the carriage. Just before turning to lead the way to the vehicle, he drew a pouch from inside his coat and tossed it to the man by the tree. The chink as the ruffian caught it testified to a significant number of coins; after tossing it up and catching it a few times, he nodded slightly at Sir John, apparently finding his payment sufficient by its weight.
The three of them – Sir John, Caroline and their guest – walked back to their transport, Joss at the ready to open the door and usher them inside. At the last moment before ducking into the carriage, while Sir John recited the new set of numbers to Joss, Caroline looked back to the tree. The ruffians were no longer there; yet she could feel eyes all around her. She quickly entered the carriage with a shudder. After all were seated, Sir John rapped on the roof and Joss started the horses.
To accommodate the extra passenger, Sir John sat beside Caroline and gave their “guest” sole occupancy of the bench opposite to them. He ignored Caroline, and neither did their guest ask any questions or glance in her direction. She might not have existed for all their notice. Some part of her bristled at this neglect, but she sat quietly. As their carriage made progress across the heath, the jostling at times caused her leg to shift and make contact with Sir John’s in the close quarters. The solid feel of his thigh against her knees carried a reassurance with it even as it engendered tingling sensations down to her toes. The tension in the carriage’s cab was palpable. Caroline wondered if there would always be an element of fear in her interactions with Sir John; then chided herself for the thought, as she was determined after tonight there would be no additional interactions.
Sir John leaned toward the guest and spoke to him in muted tones. Though it was low, however, Caroline could hear enough to know that they conversed in French; yet it was too quick and too soft to catch their words. She occupied herself with looking out the window so as not to take too noticeable an interest in their speech together.
After riding for a while, Caroline could see that they had re-entered London. She sat as far back on her seat as possible and tried to study the man sitting opposite her as they occasionally passed lighted areas. He was small, she could see, and dark, with a hooked nose of some size when he turned in profile. Though difficult to see in the shadows, he appeared to have small eyes, closely set. What she was certain of was that his clothing was French and of quality; there was no mistaking it. And his bearing appeared that of a gentleman from the continent as well.
Over time, the gentleman seemed to relax and began to speak more casually in a normal tone. Caroline caught much of his discourse, as he spoke of the estate he had left behind. She remained quiet, but when the gentleman made a jesting remark about the quality of wine being his only regret on exchanging his land for residence in England, she smiled without thinking. Immediately, she realized her error as the Frenchman’s eyes turned to her in some alarm. He studied her a moment, then looked to Sir John with a challenge to explain Caroline.
Caroline, registering her voice as low as she was able to do, grunted in French that her mother was from Lyons and had taught ‘him’ to speak the language. Caroline continued to look at the Frenchman after this pronouncement, both as a dare to him to contradict and in order to avoid the censure she felt sure to find in Sir John’s expression. Sir John in his turn added, “All my men speak French, I insist upon it. They are useless to me else.” The tense moment seemed to last an eternity before the Frenchman finally nodded and sat back once again in his seat. For the remainder of their ride he was silent, though Caroline noted no discomfort or renewed tension.
Some time later, the horses stopped. With a nod to their French guest, Sir John rose to exit the carriage, exhaling a curt “Come, lad” to Caroline. She followed him out and several paces away from their transport, trying to walk in the manner of a man and, finding that difficult, in the end settling for a slight limp to disguise her otherwise feminine steps. Once they were sufficiently distanced from the conveyance, he took her arm and drew her some yards away to yet another tree. Caroline was beginning to hate trees! But instead of some clandestine meeting with yet other parties at this oak, Sir John manoeuvred Caroline so that her back was against the trunk, and then stood in front of her, using his body to effectively block her view.
“You were perfect,” he whispered to her. His words startled her, as she had been expecting a rebuke of sorts for her earlier blunder. She began to ask a question, determined to find out what she had witnessed tonight, but he stopped her with a finger on her lips. They stood thus for a moment. Finally, a bird chirped nearby – a long shrill call that was repeated a moment later. Sir John bent closer to Caroline, looked into her eyes, and whispered “Soon, my Caro – I will answer your questions soon.”
Caroline was held by Sir John’s gaze. She could not look away from those bronze eyes, so like a hawk’s. Their intensity burned into hers. Instinctively, her lips parted slightly and, with a smile, Sir John leaned down into them. His kiss was quick, however, followed by his familiar low chortle. “First time I ever kissed a lad,” he teased. Then, “Come, let us return.”
He took her hand and led her back to the carriage. On entering, Caroline noted that they were alone once again. Their Frenchman had disappeared. Sir John quickly said, “He was met by others” and that was the end of it. He would say little else. Caroline was surprised, not least of which at the pleasure the act gave her, when Sir John once again seated himself next to her on her bench, leaving the opposite seat empty. This time, as the horses began to move off, she was certain that the periodic contact of their legs and shoulders had little to do with bumps in the road.
One last time, the carriage took them on their way, and to Caroline’s slight disappointment, the destination was Hanover Square. When they reached it, she noted that her house was dark; Charles and Jane would have retired for the night long ago, no doubt, believing Caroline to be safely ensconced in her own chambers. She had no idea of the time, but the sky was just beginning to show pale on the horizon. Sir John led her quietly to the plane tree, followed by Joss who retrieved the rope ladder he had folded at its base when they had departed earlier. While Sir John climbed the tree to secure the ladder at the top, Joss returned to the carriage and, in a moment, came back bearing Caroline’s own rent clothing. She had forgotten about this and took it from him in some little embarrassment.
Sir John descended, took the dress and slippers to free Caroline’s hands, and with Joss again holding the ladder steady at the base of the tree, she began to climb. Sir John climbed the tree itself along with her, to offer a stabilizing hand to her when the ladder would sway. In this way, she made her way to the branch outside her chamber window.
When both were securely on the limb, Sir John held Caroline firmly at the waist in a way that recalled their near-kiss some few hours before. She half-hoped he would now do what had been interrupted at the time, but he showed no such inclination. He merely used his hold on her to gently propel her forward and assist her the length of the bough to her window. She climbed in, then whirled around before he could slip away only to find that he hovered near the edge of her window sill, the tree bough dipping precariously.
“Sir John! You cannot leave without explanation. You promised to answer my questions.” Putting his finger to his lips, Sir John nodded, and climbed in through the window to Caroline’s room. She suddenly felt inexplicably vulnerable, more so than she had
standing in the wilds of Hampstead Heath. He placed her clothes and slippers on the floor next to her vanity, and then turned to Caroline. “Tomorrow,” he said, “I will call for you at nine… and this time I will use the door and call properly if you like. We will go where we can talk, tomorrow.”
“But…” Caroline could say little else, for Sir John had once more stopped her speech with his lips. His kiss was gentle but insistent, and she yielded to it without thought of the impossible dangers of where they stood. As he moved his mouth against hers, he reached one hand around her in embrace as, with the other, he reached up and pulled off her cap, sending her red mane tumbling down around her shoulders. She shuddered as he cupped his hand behind her head, weaving his fingers into her locks while pulling her deeper into his kiss.
So caught up in the heady excitement their touch engendered, she did not realize that they slowly moved backwards, until she backed into the post of her bed. Its solid feel brought a flash of clarity as she recalled herself to muster her defences, and forced herself to open her eyes. When she did, Sir John was even then moving away from her and over to the window. Halfway across the sill, he turned, grinned in a boyish way, whispered “tomorrow at nine,” and was gone. In a daze she watched as he descended the tree in a matter of seconds, and but a moment later he, Joss and their carriage were gone.
Caroline shook her head to clear it. Once again, he had charmed her into an indiscretion, and left her wanting more even as she resented his easy manipulation of her senses. She had to solve the mystery of this man to rid herself of his hold on her. She was certain there would be no sleep for her tonight.
She crossed to retrieve her torn dress. She would have to be careful how she presented it for mending tomorrow. She bent as well to pick up her slippers. As she straightened with them, she saw a tip of a parchment sticking out from inside one of them. She pulled the scrap from its hiding place and turned it over to see its contents. In a bold hand, the word “tomorrow” appeared; and above it, in blackest ink, the very distinct image of a raven. .
Chapter Sixteen:
Will I... What?
C
aroline stirred at the soft knocking sound. After a moment, the door opened and Allen, her maid, cautiously peered around it.
“Begging your pardon, miss, but Mr and Mrs Bingley told me as to see if you will join them for breakfast today?”
Caroline groaned. Between her late-night tryst and the scant hours afterwards in which sleep had eluded her, she felt poorly equipped to face morning so soon. And facing it amid the chirpy crooning of the perennial lovebirds was more than Caroline could bear.
“Tell Mr Bingley I am somewhat indisposed this morning, Allen, and bring me something for my head, will you? It will not stop its pounding…”
“Yes, Miss.” A pause. “Um, … er, …”
“Well, what is it, Allen? I am in no mood for guessing games today!”
“Sorry, Miss, it is only… well, Mr Bingley and Mrs Jane are leaving after breakfast. Shall I give them any other message?”
Drat! thought Caroline. I had forgotten they leave today for Hertfordshire. “Oh, very well, Allen. Tell my brother that I will come down to speak with them before they depart for the country.”
Allen bobbed her head and started to withdraw from the doorway when Caroline added, “And bring me a cup of tea!”
“Yes, Miss.” As she closed the door and started down the hall, Allen heard Caroline call after her, “And do not forget that physic for my head!”
~~~~~~
Allen shook her own head. It was going to be one of those days again. Working for Miss Caroline wasn’t all that bad in the past. She was demanding, to be sure, and never remembered the servants’ names or had a personal word to say to any of them. Allen had been her maid now for going on five years, and Miss Caroline did not know any more about her than she had on her first day as substitute maid for the lady when Allen was but a frightened fifteen year old. Why, she did not even know that Allen’s given name was Sara, though even if she had, she would still have called her by Allen… or Alfred or Alden, both names that her mistress had used for her when she could not remember the proper one in the early days.
But as long as you learnt what was expected, and always gave the lady deference, she was all right. Sara loved all the new fashions she was able to put her hands on, for Miss Caroline dearly loved to be always in the latest style; and when they had gone out of style, more than one had found its way into Sara’s possession. And of course she was privy to much of the latest gossip as well, as Caroline tended to review everything she heard at her various social events while Sara helped her get ready for bed at night. There were much worse people to cater to.
But it had changed in recent months, ever since first her brother wed, and then Mr Darcy had married someone else. Miss Caroline’s spirits had, at first, taken a harsh blow, and she had been horrible to get along with. Sara could not seem to do anything properly – her lady complained that her gowns were too loose or too tight, that Sara stuck her with hair pins, that the tea was cold, the bath water too hot, she packed all the wrong clothes for travelling, all manner of things.
Sara supposed she could understand Miss Caroline’s decline. After all, Mr Darcy was ever so rich and handsome, with those clear blue eyes. Why, he had called Sara by name one day and thanked her for delivering a letter from Miss Caroline to him. She could not imagine where he had even learnt the name at all, it was not as if she had much to do with Mr Bingley and his friends; but Mr Darcy seemed good at remembering such things once he had heard them. He had looked directly at her with those startling eyes and when he spoke her name in that lovely deep society voice, she all but fainted, covering her weakened knees with a deep curtsey and then running from the room before giving in to a fit of giggles. So she could well imagine Miss Caroline’s disappointment when Mr Darcy found a different woman he preferred to marry.
A couple of months ago things seemed to relax a bit. Miss Caroline began going out once more, taking pride in her appearance, and gossiping again. Sara dearly loved to hear some of the remarks Miss Caroline would utter after a particularly tedious ball or dinner. Her mistress could put down people in ever so funny a way, and Sara had learnt much useful information from her cattish tongue.
At first, Sara thought that the change for the better must mean Miss Caroline had met someone who interested her. But she never heard her mention any names, and no one ever called at the house for her particularly, at least other than the same old town bits and bobs. There was, though, something in her mistress’ manner at times that spoke of an attraction; and there had been some odd occurrences a few months back that made Allen wonder just what was happening.
Then last night, she had come to see if Miss Caroline wished her assistance in getting ready for bed. Trying the door, she had found it locked. That was very odd. So odd, in fact, that when Sara couldn’t sleep much later, she had gone back to ensure her mistress was all right. She had received no answer either to her knocking or calling out to Caroline. Sara had paced the corridor a short while debating with herself what to do. If Miss Caroline was only being taciturn or stubborn, she would not thank her maid for raising a hue and cry. But what if she was sick or injured in her room and could not cry out for assistance?
A third time she had approached Caroline’s door, determined to risk her mistress’s ire if she had to do. She had placed her ear to the lady’s door before knocking, and distinctly heard Caroline speaking. Sara was quite relieved immediately, but then wondered who could have entered the room while she herself had been in the corridor. Then, she could have sworn she heard another voice talking, this one a man’s voice! Surely that was impossible.
To test her conclusion, Sara had removed to the end of the hallway and stationed herself there, to see if Mr Bingley might exit Miss Caroline’s room. But though she sat there for nearly an hour, no one came out. Slowly, she crept back to Miss Caroline’s door, and turned the handle yet again. The do
or was no longer locked and, when she pushed it open just a short way, she could see Miss Caroline’s form turning in her bed. Most curious it was.
Realizing that she’d been daydreaming, Sara decided she had better stop dawdling and get that tea and physic. For if Miss Caroline was really feeling out of sorts today, it would not do to keep her waiting.
~~~~~~
Caroline sank back into the pillows after Allen left, and closed her eyes once again. She was sorely tempted to just stay abed all day, so taxing had been her lack of sleep until little more than an hour ago. She was just drifting into a happy half-sleep once again, when a stray thought entered her awareness, and she sat upright in bed.
The clothes! Her own gown and the assortment of boy’s clothing that she had worn last night were in a heap on her floor. She could not let Allen see them! She rose from the bed hastily, went to the apparel, and picked up her torn gown to assess the damage. It looked to be repairable, but what excuse could she use to explain its tearing in the bodice? Looking around anxiously, she decided that it was possible – just possible – to have torn the dress on the window, if she had opened it to check the tree which scratched at her pane in the wind. Best to keep a small amount of truth in things, she had always found. Yes, that was what she would say.
She laid the dress across her vanity bench, and smoothed its skirts. She then picked up the bundle of boy's clothes that had served as her disguise in the night. Where could she hide these that Allen would not find them? She had determined in her sleepless hours last night that her forays gallivanting around the countryside were over, so she would not need this garb anymore; yet she would have to dispose of it carefully. As she was considering how to do this, she heard the light knock upon her door, then saw it begin to open. Clutching the bundle of clothing to her, she ran to her bed, thrust the clothes under her coverlet and quickly climbed into the bed, pushing the errant clothing down towards the bottom with her feet.
