The Sergeant Major's Daughter

by Sheila Walsh

  “You’re ... wasting time ... boy. You’ll not ... budge it.”

  Footsteps were crashing through the undergrowth and there was a lot of shouting.

  Dick Price roused himself from the welcoming blackness of oblivion. His voice rasped. “Get out. Can’t you see ... I’m done for...”

  “Over here!” came an exultant cry. “This way.”

  “For the love of God! Go, boy ... while you can ... tell your ma ... sorry. Now go.” He reared up agonizedly and gave Lanny a push. The boy went sprawling, scrambled up, and stared at his pa with a last, mute appeal. As if on cue, the moon vanished, and with a despairing cry Lanny plunged off into the trees, running like a wild animal—and above the sobbing that was his own breathing, he imagined a sound like the crack of a gunshot.

  12

  Dick Price’s body was found washed up on the riverbank where Lord Stayne’s land met the parish boundary. In the Earl’s absence the magistrate from the adjoining parish was notified. Sir Geoffrey Blunt received the news with undisguised satisfaction; the manner of the notorious poacher’s demise was of little interest to him.

  When Felicity protested to him that Dick Price had been most foully murdered, he had shrugged and expressed it as his opinion that someone had saved the hangman a job. Feelings were running very high in the district where poaching was concerned.

  Did Miss Vale not know, he said, that the law now only required two magistrates sitting together to pass sentence? Why only last week, Mr. Partridge, from Barns Hollow, and himself had dealt very summarily with some eight or nine of the varmints. The three who had been apprehended in a pitched battle with gamekeepers had been executed and the remainder, caught on private land with the tools of their trade, so to speak, were to be transported at His Majesty’s pleasure.

  No, indeed, Miss Vale need not trouble her head over the manner in which one such rogue may have met his end!

  Oh, how Felicity longed for Lord Stayne! Perhaps there was little, if anything, he could have done, but at least he would have acted with more humanity!

  And then there was the worry of Lanny; he hadn’t been seen since the night his father died. His mother had turned up on the school doorstep two days later, gaunt with worry.

  “I’m that sorry to trouble you, miss,” she began. “But I know as you’ve alus had a soft spot for our Lanny ... and I’m that afeared!”

  Felicity assured her that it was no trouble.

  “With my man it was different ... I reckon I alus knew it would end that way, but the boy...” Her mouth started to tremble and Felicity made her come in and sit down. The poor woman was near to breaking. “I know as he went with ’is pa, miss ... though he swore he wouldn’t ever again. Dick had a way of talkin’ him ’round... only why hasn’t he come home?”

  “Perhaps he is frightened... or even ashamed?”

  “No, Miss Vale. Our Lanny’s no coward, whatever else ’e may be,” asserted his mother stubbornly, and Felicity was bound to agree. “I wouldn’t worry so, only I know as it was Manor Court they went to, and that Captain Hardman’d stop at nothing!”

  “How can you be sure? Your husband was found a long way from there, you know.”

  “It was Manor Court, miss.”

  Her certainty, together with Lanny’s continuing absence, gnawed at Felicity, making her less appreciative than she should have been of her cousin’s generosity. True to her word, Amaryllis had come home laden with bolts of silks and muslins and crepes, with bonnets and fur tippets, ribbons and laces, and all manner of fripperies ... and she plied Felicity with gifts until she cried, “Enough!”

  “Nonsense!” cried Amaryllis. She spilled a cascade of enticing color onto Felicity’s bed and marched across to fling open the cupboard door.

  “I declare, I have never seen such a spartan closet!” she exclaimed with brutal candor. “Why, there cannot be above five or six dresses, aside from your blacks, which you cannot wish ever to don again!”

  “Six dresses are ample for my needs,” protested Felicity, half laughing.

  “Then you shall have six new ones—no, no—I insist! It shall be my way of repaying you for the marvelous time I had in London, which I should never have had without your intervention. Besides,” she added ingenuously, “I have brought back so much, I shall scarcely miss these few lengths!”

  “Oh! But I hardly think his lordship intended you to be spending his money on dresses for me.” Felicity frowned and began to gather up the tumbled material. “Indeed, I am persuaded that I should not accept.”

  “Fiddle! As if that signified! I am determined you shall have your dresses. And furthermore, Ester shall help you to make up the yellow crepe at once, for I intend to hold a ball.”

  Felicity gave up the argument without too many qualms. She looked curiously at her cousin.

  “Amaryllis? How well do you like Johnny Tremaine?”

  “Goodness! What a question!” Amaryllis feigned nonchalance, but she colored up very prettily, none the less. “He is well enough, I suppose, though I think him a shocking flirt!”

  “He used to be, certainly, but I have a feeling he may be ready to reform.” Felicity hesitated, well aware of her cousin’s aversion to illness in any form and unsure how far it extended. She would not have Johnny hurt any further. “His ... disability does not offend you?”

  “Of course not!” Amaryllis protested. “And anyway, I cannot see what that has to do with anything. You are asking too many questions.” She whisked from the room before she could be further interrogated.

  Felicity had never seen beyond the boundary wall of Manor Court. Now she drove her gig smartly up the front drive, her straight-backed confidence hiding an inner quaking. It had taken every ounce of courage she possessed to come, her fears for Lanny’s safety having finally grown beyond what was bearable.

  The wheels crunched on the wide semicircle of gravel in front of the house. Manor Court was modest in size when compared to Cheynings; a square arcadian manor house much as its name suggested, pleasantly grown over with creeper. As she halted the gig at the front steps, two men came as if from nowhere. One of them, the big Negro, reached out a huge black paw to grasp the gelding’s harness, while his companion slouched over to Felicity and leaned close, his hairy arms spread out along the side of the gig, barring her way.

  “I wish to see Captain Hardman,” she informed him crisply, clasping her hands very tight and praying that they would not disgrace her by shaking.

  “Do you now?” His eyes moved insolently over her. “But will the Capt’n want to see you, think you?”

  Felicity stiffened angrily. “Perhaps you would be good enough to ask him?”

  The man shrugged, spat reflectively into a nearby flower bed, and ambled off to inquire.

  She was presently ushered into a pleasant, chintzy parlor, not in the least suited to its owner.

  “Miss Vale?” The Captain sat at a desk with his back to the window. He made no effort to rise, nor did he ask her to be seated. “I am extremely busy. Be good enough to state the purpose of your visit.”

  The light voice had a nervy edge which hadn’t been there before, as though, Felicity thought, his problems were beginning to get on top of him.

  “It concerns the murdered poacher.”

  A tiny muscle at the corner of his mouth twitched at her choice of word. “What is that scoundrel to me? He was found on Stayne’s land.”

  Felicity could feel her palms growing damp as her eyes met his pale, empty ones. “But he did not die there, did he? Stayne does not use those abominable man traps; everyone knows it. No—he died here on your land, Captain Hardman—trapped and then shot by your men, with or without your connivance.”

  A small, dagger-like knife lay on the desk. He picked it up and began to tap it twitchily against the desk edge.

  “You are too loose-tongued by far, miss! I trust you are not spreading these vicious theories of yours about the village?”

  “I don’t need to, sir. People know
well enough how Dick Price met his end; they just don’t care very much. And though I care, my concern at present is for his son.”

  “The red-haired brat? Where does he come in? You are talking in riddles, ma’am.”

  “I believe Lanny was out with his father that night.”

  “And so?” The knife stilled. Reluctantly, Felicity was forced to admit that his perplexity seemed genuine.

  “Nobody has seen him since,” she said, less surely.

  A thin smile failed to reach his eyes. “And you imagine that I have him chained up in my cellar, perhaps? You are welcome to search where you please. I will call Rayner.”

  “No,” Felicity said quickly, convinced that he would not suggest it if there was the least hope of her finding Lanny. “No, that will not be necessary. I am sorry to have troubled you, sir.” She felt sick with despair as she turned to the door.

  Captain Hardman saw something of that despair mirrored in her face. He flung down the knife and stood up. “One moment, madam.”

  He strutted across to the fireplace and pulled on a silken bell rope, and then stood with his back to the fire, his legs aggressively straddling the hearth.

  “You have the accursed effrontery to invade the privacy of my home, accusing me of God knows what infamy! You spread scurrilous rumors which strike at my integrity ... encourage insubordination ... I would not even put it past you to have been actively concerned in the recent attacks upon my property.”

  “No. You have no grounds!”

  “Grounds enough, madam! As much as you have for your vile insinuations!”

  The door opened and the hairy man came in.

  “If you were a man, I could demand satisfaction,” the Captain continued inexorably. “I might even be considered justified in taking a horsewhip to you.” He paused significantly. “But how does one deal with an obstinate, trouble-making schoolmarm? It seems I must needs devise some appropriate means of alleviating my grievance and impressing upon you the ... impropriety of visiting a gentleman’s house unattended! You are unattended?”

  The inference and the menacing presence of the man at her back made Felicity’s flesh crawl, but she said steadily, “I am, sir. But you should know that I left a note with a maid. If I am not back within—” she glanced at an ornate French clock on the mantelshelf above his head “—fifteen minutes from now, she is to take it at once to Sir Peregrine Trent. You will remember Sir Peregrine, I think?” She watched the color creep up under his skin. There was an uncomfortable moment when she wasn’t sure what would happen. When he spoke, his voice was clipped with fury and overlaid with a curious emphasis.

  “Miss Vale is leaving, Rayner. It appears that, for the moment, we are unable to extend to her our intended hospitality. Perhaps we shall be afforded the opportunity at a later date.”

  “I doubt it,” Felicity said shortly.

  “Who knows, ma’am?” the high, light voice concluded. “You are an impetuous young woman! You might have spared yourself this interview had you stopped to think. Did it ever occur to you that, had I apprehended the poacher’s brat on my land, he would have been instantly handed over to Sir Geoffrey Blunt? Now, there is a magistrate who dispenses my kind of justice!”

  Felicity was never so glad to escape into the fresh air. She longed to spring the gelding, but pride prevailed and her retreat was as calm and ordered as her arrival had been. Only when she reached the road did she relax, to find that her back was drenched in perspiration.

  The preparations for the ball had gone ahead with enthusiasm; in the end, more than seventy people were certain to attend. Amaryllis had engaged musicians all the way from Bath, there being none nearer worthy of her attention. For days beforehand all was in a bustle; the ballroom, an extraordinary brainchild of the 8th Earl, so reminiscent of the Regent’s Pavilion at Brighton with its domed roof and exotic interior, had not been in use since the late Countess’s day, and though it had received routine attention, it was now found to require much refurbishing before it met with Amaryllis’s satisfaction.

  There was to be a buffet laid out in the dining room and one of the smaller salons had been designated as a card room.

  The final preparations were at their chaotic peak when, unexpected as ever, Lord Stayne walked in on them. He surveyed the scene in an ominous silence, demanded to know what the devil was going on, and without waiting for answer, added a rider to the effect that he had obviously returned to a madhouse!

  But by evening he appeared to have accepted the inescapable with at least tolerably good grace. He stood in the doorway of the drawing room prior to dinner; among the glittering array of guests already assembled Felicity thought him by far the most distinguished. His gray hair had been pomaded to a gleaming silver, making his eyebrows look very black in contrast. He was formally dressed in a black long-tailed coat, white satin waistcoat, and knee-breeches; in the folds of his cravat a diamond winked.

  His glance traveled slowly around the room, passed her by, and then slowly returned. His eyes widened a little and he inclined his head. Felicity’s heart, which had already risen into her throat to suffocate her, now gave a treacherous lurch; she took herself firmly in hand and smiled back, knowing that she looked her best.

  The pale yellow crepe had turned out well; she had resisted all persuasion by Amaryllis to deck it with frills and furbelows.

  “No, no, my dear,” she had protested, laughing. “You must see that I was not built for frills! Believe me, I should resemble nothing so much as one of Mrs. Hudson’s great lemon blancmanges, festooned in whipped cream!”

  Instead she had kept the lines simple and flowing, edging the dress down the front with a double row of cream lace; worn over a slip of cream satin, the result was more than she had hoped for. A fine gilt comb, another of her cousin’s gifts, set off her chestnut curls to advantage.

  “I scarcely recognized my severely practical schoolmistress,” murmured the Earl when he finally reached her side. “I had no idea you were looking to outshine my sister-in-law!”

  Although his humor was mocking, there was a slight restraint in his manner; remembering their last encounter, Felicity supposed he must also be remembering. She resolved to show him that he need not regard it.

  She said with her normal good-humored raillery, “Thank you, my lord. Such a compliment from you must indeed be accounted an accolade! And one that I shall treasure!”

  There was an immediate easing of tension.

  “You think I would offer you Spanish coin?” he challenged quizzically.

  “Gracious, no!” Felicity feigned shocked surprise. “Other people might empty the butter boat over one quite lavishly and think nothing of it, but that is not your way, my lord! I have too often been the recipient of your ... frankness, and am therefore persuaded that you must be sincere!”

  Stayne’s smile ripened into an appreciative chuckle and Felicity found the oddest things happening to her knees.

  Later, a small group formed in one corner of the ballroom.

  “Has this madcap laid siege to your horses yet, Lord Stayne?” asked Johnny Tremaine.

  “Don’t speak of it!” groaned Amaryllis.

  Felicity and the Earl exchanged glances.

  “It was Johnny who taught me to drive,” she explained demurely. “One hot, dusty summer in Lisbon when I was with the Pattersons.”

  “Ha! You, was it?” observed the Earl pithily. “You’ve a great deal to answer for, let me tell you, Major!”

  Johnny Tremaine laughed. “She was just fifteen at the time, mad about horses, and as persistent a skinny, long brown beanpole as I ever came across! Of course,” he grinned, “she’s filled out a bit since then, but I’ve no doubt she’s still as stubborn.”

  Again the glances locked. The Earl lifted a mocking brow. “Since it would be ungallant in me to agree, I shall refrain from comment.”

  Mrs. Lipscombe watched the laughing group, disapproval in every rigid line of her ample form. Her stiff purple brocade crackled a
s she turned to her husband.

  “I cannot think such free and easy manners becoming in a young woman. Miss Vale does herself no credit by putting herself forward in such a way! As for her dress— I hope I may never see our daughter in such a dress!”

  “Not a chance of it, I should say,” offered the mouse-quiet Mr. Lipscombe, with an unaccustomed gleam in his eyes as they rested on Felicity. “Lucinda ain’t got the figure for it!”

  “Horace!” Mrs. Lipscombe’s mouth dropped open, but the violent stream of rebuke about to be unleashed against the poor unfortunate man was stayed temporarily by a further burst of laughter. The incensed woman rounded instead upon her daughter who stood at her side, charmingly attired in silver net over white satin.

  “Lucinda!” she snapped. “Why do you stand here, allowing yourself to be totally eclipsed? Lord Stayne and Amaryllis must be wishing you to join their little party. I am sure his lordship will think it very strange if you hang back!”

  Much later still, when Felicity was leaving the floor, breathless and laughing after an energetic spell of waltzing with Johnny, the Earl came up and determinedly took her arm. Johnny surrendered her with a grin and sauntered away. Stayne led her to a quiet corner of the room when he sat her down and put a glass of cordial in her hand.

  Felicity sipped it gratefully. “Thank you, my lord. You can have no idea how much I was needing this.”

  “You are very popular this evening,” he said dryly. ‘I had almost resigned myself to watching you from afar.

  Her eyes twinkled at him over the rim of the glass. “Now that is flummery, my lord—and well you know it!”

  “Perhaps. But I came back with so many things I wanted to say to you. I hadn’t expected all this. He waved an impatient hand at the ballroom floor where the couples were forming up for a quadrille.

  Felicity saw Amaryllis with Johnny, her floating blue silk melting intimately into the darker blue of Johnny’s coat as his fair head bent to something she was saying— and her own heart was beating fast.