by May Burnett
“Thank you, my lady.”
“I suppose I shall have to get used to being called that. Our children, too. I doubt that can be beneficial for their characters.”
“We shall ensure it does not swell their heads. Our first son will bear the courtesy title I had until my father’s death, Viscount Berleyford, and our other children will all be called Lady this, or Lord that. There is nothing I can do about it short of renouncing the title, which would be a pity.” From his tone, Emily guessed that he rather liked his position, and the influence it brought.
“You are in the House of Lords, of course – were you very active in politics before you left England?” Though he would have been very young, surely, for a politician?
He nodded. “And I will be again. The administration of my various estates is also a heavy responsibility. I inherited young, and did not think I could ever take enough time for travelling far, though I had dreamed of doing so since my childhood. Eventually it occurred to me that I was not quite as indispensable as all that, and that I should fulfil my dream as long as I was still fit and unmarried.”
“Is your travel lust quenched for good?” Emily wondered if it was one of those life-long passions that would recur at regular intervals.
“For the time being. If fate should grant it, I would like to travel with you, maybe once our children are older? And not quite as far as China … but who knows. Roads and ships become better and faster all the time. Travelling round the world may be less of a challenge within our lifetimes.”
She pondered the question. “I would like to see the Holy Land, and perhaps Persia, but it can wait. First I have to conquer England.”
“You will do so triumphantly, of that I have not the slightest doubt.”
Chapter 22
To find that you are less trusted than you believed, is a grievous thing.
Maxims for Young Gentlewomen, Vol. 2, by a Lady (1824)
“At last we are in sight of England.” Margaret stared over the surging waves towards the white cliffs of Dover, barely visible under the low-hanging clouds.
“I can still hardly believe it.” Emily hugged her muff to her body, for there was a cold wind blowing from the shore.
How much more distinguished her sister looked, compared to that impoverished refugee of two years ago! It had been a good notion to stop in Lyons for over a week. Giving Emily and her husband welcome privacy, Margaret and Signora Tarcassi had scoured the city for the most elegant fabrics, and commissioned a new wardrobe for both ladies, not forgetting hats and footwear of the softest Italian leather. Invisible under the modish woollen pelisse and carriage dress, even her sister’s undergarments – like Emily’s own - were sinfully decadent and modern, of the finest silk.
Margaret had soon overcome her pique that Sir Conrad had elected to make his own way home, ahead of their party. “It is natural, after all,” she admitted to Emily during one of their dinners in Lyons, “now that Anthony is married, there is less reason for the two men to seek each other’s company.” From the way Margaret had thrown herself into the transformation, she intended to dazzle Conrad with her newfound elegance and poise once she saw him again in London.
Margaret knew how to carry off the most extravagant costume or hat, far more naturally than Emily. Fortunately Signora Tarcassi’s sense of fashion was unerring, and through her shrewd advice, both sisters were well on their way of developing their own highly becoming styles.
The latest fashions were expensive, and only possible through Anthony’s generosity and deep pockets. Margaret had once or twice wondered whether they were going to ruin him with so many extravagant purchases, but she had accepted Emily’s assurances that he had given them carte blanche to outfit themselves however they saw fit, and that prices in France were more reasonable than in London. Emily still had not told her about the title, but it could not wait much longer.
Anthony had been walking around the harbour, inspecting the various types of ship. He was coming back towards them now, a swing in his step. Emily could not help smiling at him – she became like putty when he was near, but he never took advantage of that weakness, and was as attentive and considerate as ever. Truly she was blessed by fortune.
“The tide seems favourable at last - time to board, ladies.”
Their ship was considerably larger than the modern mail boats introduced five years ago, which would not have allowed enough room for their luggage. Besides, Anthony had insisted that she and Margaret needed a cabin rather than huddle in the cold wind on deck. For the short distance it hardly seemed worth the expense, but apparently there were frequent delays outside Dover, not an easy harbour to navigate. Emily ruefully thought back to their departure from England two years earlier. They had been outdoors throughout, in a humbler vessel, surrounded by smelly tar vats and ropes. At least it had been summer, and far warmer than today.
“All is ready,” Tsien reported when they had gingerly crossed the swaying plank to the deck, “your trunks are stowed, though it took some doing. The captain said we must have bought half of France’s output for the season.”
Margaret grimaced at the implied criticism. “And yet we sent at least half of the total ahead separately. These ships really ought to have larger holds.” She already spoke as though born to wealth and accustomed to travelling with mountains of luggage.
“There is something I need to tell you.” Emily pulled her sister after her towards her cabin. It was convenient after all to have privacy for this revelation.
“I’ll stay up on the deck for a while,” Anthony said, with his characteristic tact. His eyes rested on the white cliffs, with an inscrutable expression. How did he feel about this return after so much time? They could discuss it later.
Once the sisters were alone Margaret slipped off her pelisse and muff, but left the hat on.
“What is it, Emily?” Her stare grew intent. “Can it be that you are already with child?”
“Not that I am aware,” Emily said, biting her lips. Not for lack of trying, she thought but did not say. She took a deep breath. “Now that he is returning to his own country, Anthony will resume his title – he is a Marquess, Margaret, Lord Pell.”
Her sister’s mouth stood open inelegantly for a full two seconds before she closed it. Her eyes flashed. “What!”
“You will see this is a good thing, once you consider it calmly,” Emily endeavoured to soothe her. “You know that I never harboured social ambitions, but now fortune has elevated me to such high rank, I shall do my best to help you make a good match also. You will meet men of fashion, of higher birth and even richer than Sir Conrad. And if you still want him, he should call himself honoured to be allied to one of the oldest and highest titles in the country.”
Margaret’s colour was still rising. “Conrad does not know? Not that I care. He can go to the devil as far as I am concerned. But how is this possible? Why did you not tell me earlier?”
“I had not quite come to terms with the notion myself,” Emily tried to explain. “I have very mixed feelings about being a Marchioness. It will be a relief to outrank my sister-in-law, the Countess, but we have not been educated for such a position, and it may take me a while to learn how to go on.”
“Fiddle-faddle. As though we could not hold our own in any society.” Margaret pursed her lips. “Is that why you told me to spend however much I liked? Why we bought all those clothes and accessories?”
“It will give the gossips one less thing to decry, but you know how they are. They will warm up the scandal of our father’s history and bankruptcy, and father’s creditors are likely to start importuning Anthony the moment the marriage becomes known. I have warned him, but he only shrugs, and plans to send a notice to the Morning Post the moment we arrive in London.”
“Is he really so rich, that it does not matter to him? There must be debts of at least four thousand pounds yet outstanding. Or did the bankruptcy wipe them out?”
“A few thousand pounds make no difference at a
ll to Anthony, Margaret.”
“I see.” As the news sank in, Margaret’s expression turned more and more angry. Emily felt a spurt of impatience. It would do no good to tell Margaret to rejoice in Emily’s good fortune in her present mood. When her sister’s temper was roused, it took a while to settle down.
“How could Wetherby deceive us so? Had I known in Verona that he was a Marquis -,” Margaret was almost growling. “Is Wetherby even his name?”
“Yes, it is, and he still would have preferred me,” Emily said with what dignity she could. “It was destiny. Just accept it and wait for your own lord to carry you off. You are more beautiful than I, why should it not happen?”
“You saw in Verona that beauty alone is worthless.” Margaret began to pace, insofar as the small cabin allowed for it – only three steps in each direction. “This is insupportable! Since when have you known about his title?”
“Since Geneva, after the wedding,” Emily admitted, aware that this detail would only exacerbate her sister’s anger.
“And kept me in the dark all those weeks? I see how it is – you no longer trust me; you are completely under the thumb of your husband. I shall have a word with him myself, to tell him what I think of his underhandedness!”
“Wait, Margaret-!”
It was no good; her sister was gone in a rush of petticoats, without her muff and pelisse. The cold breeze would drive her back to the cabin soon enough.
Why did Emily feel almost guilty? She had not wanted anything but affection and security. That she got wealth and rank into the bargain was blind luck. Surely Margaret would understand as soon as she calmed down enough to see matters more clearly.
Emily was not much worried about Margaret quarrelling with Anthony. He was too assured, too confident to care about Margaret’s tantrums. Some of that bone-deep self-assurance might come from his birth and title, but Emily suspected he would not be all that different had he been born a commoner.
Or would he? Did she even know Lord Pell, and would she like him as much as she liked Anthony Wetherby? Now that he was returning home, her husband would reassume attitudes, behaviours, responsibilities that predated her arrival in his life. How much would he change, possibly without being himself fully aware of it?
***
Anthony stood with his back to the railing, not altogether surprised when Margaret came stalking towards him like a beautiful tigress in her striped Gros de Naples carriage dress. He turned towards her, bracing on the swaying deck; the swells had increased over the last half hour.
“You lied to us!”
He sighed. At least he had married the sensible sister; Emily was no fonder of histrionic scenes than Anthony himself.
“Not at all,” he demurred, as she came to a stop in front of him, breathing hard. “Or only by omission.”
“Emily and you must have been laughing behind my back, leaving me in ignorance all this time,” she charged.
“Come, is your behaviour now that of a mature adult to be trusted with confidential information?” He really had no patience with her petty anger, which would be gone in an hour.
“Oh, you make me so furious!” Her right fist shot out and pushed against his chest. At that exact moment the ship was lurching into the trough of a wave, driving the low railing against Anthony’s calves. He saw Margaret’s anger change to horror even as he toppled backwards, headfirst into the salt water some ten feet below.
By the time his head popped above the waves, he saw the boat receding into the distance.
The water was icy, as was to be expected in November. Anthony was a good swimmer, but that was of little use once the cold exhausted his muscles’ strength. In these conditions, he had less than an hour remaining – possibly much less. Drowning was supposed to be a relatively painless death – though how could anyone know for sure?
He would not give up a moment earlier than he had to. Anthony struggled out of the heavy coat that threatened to pull him under then and there, and let it float downwards without regret.
Had it been possible, he would also have taken off his boots, but they were too tight. He could float well enough despite them, but already he felt the cold seeping into his hands and feet – he could barely feel his toes.
Whenever the bobbing waves allowed it he peered after the ship. Had anyone but Margaret witnessed the accident? Would she immediately raise the alarm, and if so, would they find him in time among the choppy waves?
If there had been any witness to that push, Margaret might hang, not for espionage but for murder this time. Anthony was not overly fond of his sister-in-law, but she did not deserve that. Worse, Emily would be devastated, and all alone.
Emily … he might never see her again, not be at her side when she reached England’s shores. Would his friends and family even believe in their marriage, with him drowned just before his homecoming? Yes, he had written to Marianne… but in the worst case, Emily might even be suspected of complicity with her sister.
That thought gave him the energy to swim after the boat, though he knew he could not last much longer.
He had never told Emily how much she meant to him. His wife would never know … his wife? His widow, any time now.
No! He wanted to see their children, to make love to her again, to travel with her, enjoy that long and happy life that had seemed so close and attainable just an hour ago.
Was that a shout? Probably just wishful thinking. He called out, but only a rough croak emerged from his throat, sore from the seawater he had swallowed after the initial plunge.
But in case they were searching, he would not give up just yet. Doggedly he moved his tired limbs through the hostile waters.
Emily…
Chapter 23
In an emergency do not waste time on recriminations; save what you can.
Maxims for Young Gentlewomen, Vol. 2, by a Lady (1824)
Emily could not believe her ears. “Anthony fell overboard?! How long ago?”
“Five minutes, maybe – I was stunned and did not know what to do,” Margaret said miserably, looking inexplicably guilty.
“The boat must be stopped and a search begun right away,” Emily shouted. “Why are you down here below decks, and did not run to the captain right away? Let’s go now!” She rushed outside without waiting for her sister.
When she found the skipper, at first he was not inclined to take the story seriously. It required endless minutes to convince the captain, a stubborn and inflexible man, that the Marquess of Pell had fallen overboard and needed immediate rescue. Emily had to draw on a haughtiness and imperious manner she had never known she possessed.
“It will almost certainly be too late,” the captain warned her, after finally issuing the orders she demanded. “Even if your husband is a strong swimmer, in this temperature he will not last long. A boat cannot turn as simply as a carriage, in this strong wind. It takes time to retrace our course, and it is next to impossible to find a human head among waves as choppy as this.”
“Nonetheless we must search for him,” she insisted. “He is one of the richest men in England, and will generously reward whoever finds him.”
That promise had some effect in speeding up the proceedings. Sailors stood watching in all directions, and waited at the winches, ready to lower the lifeboat at a moment’s notice.
“What is the matter? Where is Anthony?” Tsien joined Emily on the deck, watching the bustle with languid curiosity. “Has someone gone overboard?”
“Yes - Anthony!” She wanted to shake him.
That news jolted Tsien. “He is in the water? In this cold?”
“So Margaret tells me. She is the only one who saw him fall. Though how that is possible with so many people on board defies my understanding.”
Tsien did not answer. He squinted at the waves.
“There – I saw sommat –,” one of the sailors cried, pointing in a direction away from them. Emily and Tsien rushed across the deck.
“Lower the boat,” the capta
in ordered. As the sailors began to unwind the chains, he told Emily gruffly, “Don’t get your hopes up, my lady. It will take several more minutes to get to him. It is a miracle he’s still got his head above water.” He noticed Tsien stripping off his coat and boots on the deck. “Here, what are you about?”
“I shall get to him faster.” The young man dove overboard headfirst and began to swim in the direction of the bobbing spot on the waves, before the boat was even halfway down.
“That fellow is an amazing swimmer,” the Captain said admiringly. “Maybe your husband has a chance if he finds him in the water, but two to one he will still die of the cold and pneumonia.”
“Please keep these dire predictions to yourself,” Emily ordered coldly. She turned to Margaret, who stood behind, pale and wringing her hands. “Prepare all the blankets you can find in our cabin, and hot water if possible.”
Margaret hurried off without another word.
“Maybe you should wait below decks,” the Captain suggested. Emily did not deign to answer the fool.
The boat finally settled on the surface of the unquiet sea, and began to pull off in the direction where Tsien was only intermittently visible, bobbing up and down. Four men were rowing as hard as they could.
Emily’s hands, unprotected by gloves, were white-knuckled where she held on to the rails. Despairingly she scanned the turbulent waters. One would think that two heads would be easily distinguished from the dark green sea, but the white caps and the reflection of the clouds overhead rendered the surface changeable and deceptive.
The men in the boat were rowing with a will, they must see more than she did … why were they stopping?
She exhaled in overwhelming relief as they pulled first one body inside, then another – but it was too early to relax. As the captain had warned, Anthony was still in mortal danger.
The minutes stretched with unbearable tension. Slowly, far too slowly, the rowboat approached the ship and then there was the difficulty of boarding with an unconscious man – was he dead? Surely not, or Tsien would not have found him at all. Tsien climbed the rope ladder under his own force, though his teeth were chattering and there was a bluish tinge to his lips. Someone handed Tsien towels and the dry garments he had left behind.
