The Kent Heiress

by Roberta Gellis

  “Taste before you commit yourself,” Sabrina warned. “I was transmitting suggestions from Katy—who wasn’t sure what the cook had already done—in language totally unsuited to its purpose to someone who didn’t want to understand. A less propitious beginning would be far to seek.”

  That didn’t work, Perce thought bitterly. Talk about someone who doesn’t want to understand! Plainly Sabrina wasn’t taking any hints that referred to the intimacy that had existed between them. Perce uncovered a dish and began to spoon contents from it onto his plate.

  “Perce!” Sabrina exclaimed, “that’s sauce. Take some meat and rice.”

  He said something under his breath that Sabrina politely did not hear, but she suddenly felt frightened and nervous. She had thought that comment about ants and cheese was a teasing reminder of their lovemaking, a signal that Perce was happy, but it seemed she was wrong. Had he resented the hardships of those two days? Was he reminding her that her silliness had enforced those hardships on them? It was very unlike Perce to do such a thing or to be so abstracted and bad-tempered. Again the unwelcome idea came into her mind that he felt trapped in a situation he had not expected. Well, who could have expected William to be murdered?

  “I will leave for Lisbon sometime tomorrow,” Perce said abruptly, “as soon as the arrangements I made today are completed.”

  “Lisbon!” Sabrina cried. “Why? I mean, why are you going?”

  “Someone must go.” Perce kept his eyes on his food, afraid to look, up. Had there been a protest in Sabrina’s voice, or was she merely surprised and hearing what she wanted to hear? “Since you refuse to leave Katy, I must speak to Strangford and find out exactly how bad the situation is. We must be prepared to move her in an emergency. And someone must explain William’s death.”

  “Yes, yes, of course. I have finished the letter for that purpose,” she agreed, and plunged into a discussion of practical matters concerning the journey.

  Perce pulled himself together, ate as much as he could, and applied himself to attending civilly to talking about his own comfort while traveling, a subject in which he had less than no interest.

  “I’ll come back as soon as I can,” he said at last, “but it may be a week or more. If you don’t see me, don’t worry. It may take longer than I expect to get to Lisbon or to make the necessary arrangements to have the coffin shipped home. And if Strangford has any expectation of new intelligence, I might wait a day or two to learn what it is.”

  “You must do what you think best,” Sabrina said, her voice as colorless as her face.

  But Perce did not see her face. He got to his feet suddenly, feeling that if he stayed, he would do something violent. Characteristically, his voice was pleasant and without expression when he spoke. “I’ll ride into Lousa again and do what I can to discover the proper model for mourning. The translator, Mousinho, should be able to tell me.”

  “Wait,” Sabrina said, but he was gone.

  He had heard her before he shut the door, she was certain. Sabrina rose slowly, steadying herself with a hand on the table. He had never given her a chance to explain that proper mourning for William was not a hypocrisy designed to win praise for herself. It was one thing she was sure William would have wanted. He had always taken his diplomatic duties seriously. Perhaps his overconfidence had blinded him to the danger of what he was doing, but he would have been glad and grateful Sabrina was sure, if she could in some measure correct his mistake.

  Only, Sabrina feared that Perce’s controlled rage was not owing to disgust at her seeming hypocrisy. I won’t hold you, my love, she thought. If you don’t want me either, I won’t hold you. Leaving everything, she went up to her own sitting room and just waited. At the time she did not realize for what she was waiting. Her mind was blank, except for an occasional mild wonder about what was wrong with her. She was beautiful; she was intelligent; she was not a shrew; she enjoyed and responded to lovemaking; she had tried hard to be a good and obedient wife. Still, William had tired of her, and Perce, dear Perce, who had tried to help, was so frantic at the thought of being tied to her for life that he could hardly be civil in his eagerness to run away.

  The hours passed. Sabrina waited in vain. When she realized that her inability to see was not because her eyes were unfocused but because the room was dark, she tried to get up. It was not easy. She had sat still so long that it took her three attempts to succeed. Then she walked slowly to her bedroom and stiffly, like an old woman, took off her clothing, unpinned her hair, and went to bed.

  She slept at once, or fell at once into the same unthinking, unfeeling state in which she had passed the preceding hours. It was not until she was wakened, or drawn back to reality, by Perce’s and Sergei’s voices beneath her open window that she began to cry. At that moment she realized for what she had been waiting. She had been waiting for Perce to come to her and to make love—but he did not want even that from her.

  Chapter Twenty-Three

  The voices that roused Sabrina were the tail end of a discussion that had begun the night before when Perce informed Sergei that he was taking William’s body to Lisbon. Overnight Sergei had given the matter some thought, and as he accompanied Perce out of the house, he remarked that the corpse could wait; the dead were seldom impatient to be buried. Perce responded with a sharp order that Sergei mind his own business. But two years in Perce’s service, wide new experience, and a large dose of Katy had changed Sergei. Despite the fact that he knew his master was seriously out of temper, he pointed out the fact that he was minding his own business.

  “You are my business, and she is my business. Which shall I mind?”

  Perce could not help laughing in spite of his misery. It struck him suddenly that he had never heard Sergei call Katy by name—a touching mark of respect, for in general Sergei named only equals or inferiors. But nothing could lighten Perce’s mood for long. “Your business is to obey my orders,” he snapped, “not to give me an argument every time I tell you something. There are other reasons for me to go to Lisbon.”

  “Does the great lady understand these things?”

  “Yes, of course. Now you stay here and take care of the women. I doubt there will be any trouble, but if there is, just do what Lady Elvan tells you.”

  “Will it be safe for you alone on the road?” Sergei asked uneasily.

  “I’m not exactly a small, defenseless child,” Perce growled, “and I won’t be alone. There will be the driver of the cart and his boy. Also, I doubt any bandit will want what we are carrying.”

  “Foreigners,” Sergei remarked contemptuously. “And what of when you come back? Then you will be alone.”

  “I managed to survive for more than twenty-five years before I met you,” Perce said in an exasperated voice. “I don’t need a nursemaid. And even if I did, it would be impossible to leave Lady Elvan and Katy alone.”

  Sergei shrugged. “Well, be careful, and don’t trust any of these foreigners.”

  Too unhappy to be amused, Perce mounted and rode away without replying. There was no need for him to leave so early. He had doubts that the coffinmaker would have the special casket ready before noon, but he could not bear to stay in the house with Sabrina any longer. When he had returned from Lousa with the information she wanted and he had not found her sitting with Katy, his worst fears had been realized. He was convinced she was staying in her own apartment to avoid him.

  Perce had started up the stairs with every intention of walking in on Sabrina and telling her she had no right to behave as she was doing, but when he found his fists and teeth clenched, he detoured to his own room until he could control his temper. He was afraid he might have used force instead of arguments to convince her in his present state of mind. Once he calmed down, he thought, it would be best to confront Sabrina directly and ask what kind of game she was playing. It was, however, strangely difficult to calm himself. The rage would ebb, and he would begin to think what to say and find he was so angry aga
in that he was having visions of beating Brina black and blue.

  It was unfortunate that Katy and Sergei had been preoccupied with their own affairs. They assumed, with knowing winks on Sergei’s part and smiles on Katy’s part, that the reason their master and mistress did not appear was because they were happier alone together. Sergei got a nice supper for himself and Katy. Since he had not a word in common with cook or maid, he did not ask and they did not try to tell him that neither Perce nor Sabrina had had any evening meal.

  Neither of them was in the least aware of hunger. It was, in fact, about the time that Sergei and Katy were cozily consuming their tea that Perce had finally gave up the idea of trying to reason with Sabrina. If she was utterly determined not to see him, such behavior must be understood as a signal that his intentions were no longer desirable. It was clever, too. He had said he would be away for a week, so she signaled no trespass now, giving him a week to absorb the message, cool down, and come to terms with the facts before they met again.

  On the long, slow trek to Lisbon, Perce tried—or thought he was trying—to do what Sabrina wanted. He told himself over and over that she had a right to some freedom, that it was reasonable after the end of an unhappy marriage that she should be afraid to commit herself again. However, instead of growing resigned, he grew angrier. He might not be new and exciting, but he was the best husband Brina could have. He could give her everything she needed and wanted. He knew her and understood her as no other man ever could, and he would not step aside and let her make another mistake.

  The rage in him was stored away, totally undiminished, on his arrival in Lisbon. For two days he was too busy to reexamine his personal situation. There were reports to make orally and then to be written out, questions to be answered, forms to be filled in. At one point Perce asked Lord Strangford what would have happened if not he but the grieving widow had brought back Lord Elvan’s body.

  “Why, then,” the diplomat replied with twinkling eyes, “I would have had to write the reports myself. But my dear Lord Kevern, you know the old saw ‘Waste not, want not’. Having you here and doing all that work myself would surely be a waste. There is also the golden rule for all diplomats: ‘Let George do it’.”

  “My name,” Perce said, blank and fish-eyed, “is Percivale.”

  “Percivale George,” Strangford reminded him, with a comical, wide-eyed stare that mirrored his own. “And don’t try to come the fool over me, Kevern. I’ve been warned about that face of yours.” Then his expression sobered. “I am genuinely sorry that Lady Elvan is alone and needs your support. You left Lisbon so hurriedly day you arrived that I had not had time, really, to study everything in the dispatch bag. Naturally, I was most concerned with the material that referred directly to the situation here in Portugal. But you come highly recommended, very highly. Moreover, Mr. Canning says you are attached, in a way, to the Foreign Office, and that if I had some use for you, he was sure you would be willing to serve.”

  So Canning had intended to keep him out of England if he could. Perce didn’t mind that, and he was quite willing to be useful to Lord Strangford, but he had to make one responsibility clear. “My first duty must be to Lady Elvan. I am here, in a sense, in loco parentis. Her foster father, Mr. Roger St. Eyre, became very anxious about her when he discovered that…er…that Lord Elvan had insisted on her company when it was unlikely she could be useful and most diplomatic wives were being sent home.”

  “She is a very beautiful woman,” Lord Strangford remarked, beginning to smile at the implication that a man needed more reason than that to want his wife with him. Then he cleared his throat harshly when he remembered the circumstances of William’s death.

  “There may have been indications of…ah…dissatisfaction,” Perce said stiffly. “I would not have been told that. However since neither Mr. Roger St. Eyre nor Mr. Philip St. Eyre was at liberty to leave England, and as I was at liberty and have been a friend of long standing—I have known Lady Elvan since she was a child of eight—Mr. St. Eyre asked that I escort her home safely.”

  “Yes, indeed, naturally your first responsibility must be to Lady Elvan; however, there is no immediate danger. You did say she no longer intended to leave at once, did you not?”

  “Yes. Lady Elvan’s companion, her nurse actually, broke her leg when that madman Dom José pushed her down the stairs. Mrs. Petersen will not be fit to travel for some time, and Lady Elvan refuses to go without her.”

  “How long?” Strangford asked.

  “A month at least, I imagine. In an emergency she could be moved, but the doctor believes that might cripple her.”

  Lord Strangford pursed his lips. “Let me describe the situation as we know it. After that, you can decide what you think is best to do. After all, Lady Elvan is your responsibly, but you have a duty to your country, also.

  He then outlined the situation, which was still a stalemate as far as the Spanish court was concerned.

  Perce frowned thoughtfully. “Yes, but one cannot rely on Bonaparte’s patience or on either his word or normal military ideas of routes or times of march. Boney is quite unscrupulous, and absolutely indifferent to the loss of men and equipment so long as an objective is obtained. I would not be surprised if he marched an army from the border of France across Spain and Portugal in a week.”

  “I would,” Strangford said dryly. “You haven’t seen the terrain.”

  “You haven’t seen Boney in action. I have,” Perce replied even more dryly.

  The two men stared at each other. Then Lord Strangford nodded.

  “I have a use for you, Lord Kevern, and I believe it is important. In any case, no matter how fast Bonaparte moves, he cannot cross Portugal before we can get our people aboard ship. You may not have noticed, but we are amassing a fleet in the Tagus. Property is being loaded as is convenient, but we could get all British citizens in Lisbon aboard in a few hours, or a day at most.”

  “A day might be too long, depending on where the French army was when you were notified it was moving.”

  “Good God, you are a prophet of doom,” Strangford remarked. “Do you recommend we run without even trying—”

  “By no means!” Perce interrupted. “We must do everything humanly possible to assure us a chance to beat Bonaparte, no matter how far in the future. What I recommend is that you get your women and children out, then arm your men so that they can fight a rearguard action in the streets. I tell you, his troops move devilish fast.”

  “You are very convincing, Kevern.”

  Perce’s face didn’t change expression, but his eyes were bleak. “I fought at Austerlitz, at Pultusk, at Eylau, and at Friedland, my lord, and I cannot say how many minor actions. I have grown very aware of the abilities of Bonaparte’s army.”

  “I would like you to speak to the prince regent, Kevern.”

  “But sir, I don’t have a word of Portuguese.”

  “He knows enough French to understand what you will say. Our purpose, as you may know, is to persuade him to leave Portugal and take his fleet of ships with him. He isn’t a brave or determined man. Anything you can tell him that will increase his fear of the French will be of use.”

  Perce smiled grimly. “Provided I can get an opening, I can tell him enough horror stories to make his hair stand on end. I saw the way Boney treated King Frederick William—like a piece of dirt on the road, something you notice just enough to lift your foot and step over. However, I must go back to Lousa. Lady Elvan will be—”

  “She seemed to me to be a most capable woman,” Strangford remarked.

  Perce’s heart sank. He knew that what Strangford wanted him to do was important, and he was the best person to do it. “Very well, my lord,” he agreed.

  When he had accepted the duty laid upon him, Perce hoped that, together with the other pressures on the prince regent, it would take no longer than a week or two, to frighten him into leaving. However, João’s indecisiveness was stronger. The deadline o
f September first passed, and the French fulminated but did not move. All through the month threat and counterthreat blew the prince regent first one way and then another, but he still clung to the ridiculous hope that he could find a solution that would satisfy irreconcilable enemies. Perce continued to tell him horror stories—quite true—about the contempt with which the defeated enemies of Bonaparte were treated, while Strangford cited cases of those who had yielded without a struggle and, for their reward, had been deprived of their thrones.

  Meanwhile, Bonaparte was not wasting time. General Junot was ordered to form a new army corps for “the observation of the Gironde”. Strangford pointed out that army corps do not, ordinarily, observe. João grew more nervous, but still he could not be convinced to leave Portugal, and Perce was still, trapped in Lisbon.

  After the first week, he had written to Sabrina to explain why he would be delayed. He had wanted to write a love letter, but there was a dreadful pressure in him, capping and storing rage. If he had allowed any emotion to color that letter, it would have blasted Sabrina to bits as effectively as gunpowder. Thus, he clung to formal phrases and to cold facts.

  Before Sabrina received that letter, she had had moments of hope, moments when she convinced herself that she had misinterpreted what had happened. She was unintentionally assisted by her acquaintances in Lousa who came to pay calls of sympathy—and curiosity. There were times when, in spite of feeling totally lost and guilty, Sabrina could hardly keep from laughing. Some of the women were truly kind and concerned for her; others were merely seeking sensation. All were human, however, which made them more curious than monkeys, dying to know what Sabrina’s reaction was to the manner of her husband’s death and the public revelation of his unfaithfulness that came with it.

  After Sabrina received Perce’s letter, nothing could amuse her. She moved about in a frozen calm, attending to the household tasks she had taken over from Katy, packing and sending to the embassy for dispatch to William’s brother in England those personal items she thought he would like to have, such as William’s jewelry, razors, and hairbrushes. She had also to consider what to do with the part of William’s property in which she, as widow, had a life interest. During September there were other letters from Perce, all equally formal. He had closed the house in Lisbon, he wrote, and sent Sabrina’s personal possessions on board the fleet that was waiting in the harbor to remove all British subjects.