by M. C. Beaton
If only she were a man then she could simply walk around to his home and see him. But, of course, if she were a man, she would not be so terribly in love.
Jane walked to the window and looked out into Clarges Street. People were emerging from the house opposite, the house where the great Charles James Fox had lived and died. Who were they? wondered Jane idly. What a strange place London was, where one could live cheek by jowl with so many people and yet not know them. Mrs. Hart had invited Lady Charteris next door to tea, but Lady Charteris seemed determined not to know Mrs. Hart whether that lady were in fashion or out of it.
Then Jane saw Rainbird walk past, clutching a large parcel. She ran to the front door and opened it. “Mr. Rainbird,” she called. “Oh, Mr. Rainbird, I am so glad to see you. No one is here and I don’t know where mama is, and Lord Tregarthan has not even called.”
Rainbird stepped past her and placed the wrapped box on a chair. “I am to take you to Lord Tregarthan’s home in Brook Street at three o’clock,” he said in a low voice. “It is as well Mrs. Hart is not here. Lord Tregarthan wishes you to leave without anyone but myself knowing about it. I am to leave you there and then I, myself, am making a short journey.”
“What is it all about?” asked Jane.
“I do not know, miss. Those were my instructions—to escort you there.”
Jane twisted about and looked at the clock in the hall. “It is half past two,” she cried, “and I must change my gown, and … and … I have not eaten. Never mind, I shall do as he says.”
“Meet me here, Miss Jane, in fifteen minutes,” said Rainbird.
Jane nodded and flew up the stairs to her room to look out her best gown and bonnet. She no longer cared why he wanted to see her, only that he did want to see her.
Rainbird went downstairs to the kitchens. He deposited the parcel on the table. “Hide this,” he said to Mrs. Middleton, “and if I do not return, give it to Mrs. Hart and say it is a present from the captain. Should I return, then I will give it to her myself.”
Mrs. Middleton’s eyes filled with tears. “I never thought the day would come, Mr. Rainbird,” she sobbed, “when you would leave us all for some French hussy.”
“Hush,” said Rainbird gently. “I told you all this morning that after I marry Felice and get established, I will try to find a way of bringing us all together again.”
“I wouldnae leave,” said the cook. “You know that. How can you do this?”
“I am very much in love,” said Rainbird simply, and only Lizzie saw the pain in Mrs. Middleton’s eyes.
“Don’t worry,” said Joseph, strutting up and down. “I shall take care of you all.”
“That’s what worries me,” said the cook gloomily.
“I am leaving now,” said Rainbird, “and I am taking Miss Jane somewhere before I catch the Brighton coach. But you are to know nothing of that. Simply say you do not know when Miss Jane left.”
They lined up by the kitchen door as he picked up his portmanteau. He looked at them all, his eyes filling with tears. He shook hands with Joseph, then Angus and then Dave, the pot boy. He embraced Mrs. Middleton, Jenny, and Alice. He turned to Lizzie, who was looking up at him with large reproachful eyes. “Forgive me, Lizzie,” said Rainbird. “You alone should know why I must go.”
Lizzie began to cry, and he held her closely against him and then kissed her cheek. All of them were now in tears, MacGregor howling like a banshee, Dave scrubbing his eyes with his fists, and Joseph sobbing into the lace handkerchief Felice had made for him.
Rainbird strode up the stairs, his heart heavy. Even the thought of seeing Felice again could not seem to lighten the pain. Jane was too happy and excited to notice the strain on Rainbird’s face. Rainbird called a hack, and they travelled in silence to Brook Street.
Jane’s heart sank a little as she stood on the doorstep of Lord Tregarthan’s home. Rainbird sounded a brisk tattoo on the knocker.
Outside on the road stood a travelling carriage with a bewigged coachman up on the box. Two postillions in green jackets and jockey caps waited alongside. “Is that Lord Tregarthan’s carriage?” asked Jane nervously.
“I believe it is,” said Rainbird.
He is going back to the army, thought Jane miserably. He is going to say goodbye to me and that will be that.
The door opened.
“Goodbye, Miss Jane,” said Rainbird. He hesitated. “If you are ever in a position of consequence as a married lady, please do not forget the staff at Number 67. They would be glad of references.”
Lord Tregarthan’s butler gave Rainbird a steely glare and ushered Jane inside.
“Of course I shall,” called Jane. “Tell them I shall not forget them. In fact I shall tell them so myself this very evening.”
Rainbird lifted his hand in farewell as the Tregarthan butler shut the door. Lord Tregarthan came out of the library to meet her and raised both his hands to her lips. His butler, Welks, stood to attention in a corner of the hall, awaiting orders.
“Are you ready?” asked Lord Tregarthan.
“For what?” asked Jane. “What is happening?”
“We are eloping, my little love. Come, I can tell you all about it on our journey to Gretna.”
“Elope!” shrieked Jane. “I am not prepared. I have no clothes …”
He silenced her with a kiss. Welks looked at the ceiling and wondered what the world was coming to. Imagine behaving in such a scandalous way before your very own butler.
“Don’t you want to come with me?” asked Lord Tregarthan.
“Oh, my lord,” cried Jane, stretching up on tiptoe to throw her arms around his neck. “I would go to the ends of the earth with you.”
“No, only to Gretna Green for a Scotch marriage.”
He put his arm around her and led her out of the house while Welks followed them in a bemused way.
When they were settled in the carriage, Lord Tregarthan gathered Jane into his arms. “Now, my love, your mother forbids the marriage. No! Don’t speak yet. Your father does not, but I cannot wait to get his written permission. I have bought you some clothes and I shall buy you more as we journey north. Mrs. Hart will not pursue us. She will remain behind to make the best of it. Now, what have you to say?”
“Nothing!” laughed Jane. “Except, yes, my lord.”
“Rupert. My name is Rupert.”
“Yes, Rupert.”
“Then remove that silly bonnet so that I can kiss you properly. Oh, Jane. Beautiful Jane!”
• • •
Welks, as Lord Tregarthan had known he was bound to do, confided in the first footman. The first footman told Abraham, and Abraham found an excuse to escape to Clarges Street at the first possible opportunity. The staff with the exception of Joseph were too sad over Rainbird’s departure to care very much, but Joseph went to The Running Footman with the gossip and soon London society knew that Jane Hart had eloped with Lord Tregarthan and had the enjoyable task of telling Mrs. Hart all about it.
Mrs. Hart had strong hysterics and took to her bed. Lord Tregarthan was well aware that she would be in social disgrace when it was found that her daughter had deemed it necessary to elope with one of London’s most marriageable men. He had felt she deserved to suffer for her treatment of Jane.
Euphemia pretended she did not care, but she began to care very much when Mrs. Hart finally roused from her sickbed to declare her intention of leaving town, then rounded on Euphemia and blamed the girl for being a waste of time and money. If Euphemia wanted to find a husband, she would need to be content with hunting one down at the Brighton assemblies. There was nothing to stop their return to Upper Patchett. Mrs. Blewett had already left, claiming that the house was too damp, and saying that Lady Doyle, after extracting a large sum of money, which she said she was going to present to the church so that they might build a hall named after Mrs. Blewett, had disappeared altogether and was rumoured to be in Ireland.
In vain did Euphemia weep and beg. Mrs. Hart had had
enough. People were beginning to cut her again, and she was sure Jane would return ruined and unmarried. Number 67 Clarges Street was unlucky, she said to all who would listen. Only look what had happened to her? Her husband gone to sea, her daughter run off, a murderer found dead in the hall, and Euphemia, for all her great beauty, still unwed.
• • •
Rainbird walked along Lanceton Street in Brighton. There were small villas on either side with pocket-sized gardens. He stopped outside Number 11 and studied the house. It belonged, Lord Tregarthan had told him, to a Mrs. Peters, a widow who was a friend of Felice and who had known her parents.
He straightened his cravat with nervous fingers, picked up his portmanteau, and opened the gate.
A seagull wheeled and screamed overhead and he could smell the sea.
He knocked at the door and waited.
Felice’s second name was Laurent. He had practised saying it many times with a French accent, but when a stout middle-aged woman opened the door, he stammered out that he would like to see “Miss Lawrahnt.”
The woman smiled, asked his name, and then left, shutting the door in his face.
He waited impatiently. What a long time she seemed to be taking!
At last she opened the door again and invited him inside to a tiny, dark hall. She held open a door.
Rainbird walked into a small, cluttered parlour.
Felice was sitting in front of the fire. She looked exactly as she had before, wearing the same brown silk dress she had worn in Clarges Street and with the same smooth wings of hair framing her face. Rainbird stood helplessly, choked by a wave of emotion.
“Sit down, John,” said Felice placidly. “It is good to see you. I am sorry I ran away without saying goodbye but I felt sure I would be amply rewarded for my services—and I was.”
“So you have a dowry,” said Rainbird heavily, for it struck him that Felice might think he only wanted to marry her to get his hands on it.
“Yes, I have a dowry,” she said, bending her head over her stitching. “I hope to make an advantageous marriage.”
Rainbird winced. “You must have had many adventures,” he said, “with Captain Hart and Lord Tregarthan.”
“Yes, it was all most uncomfortable. The good captain was kind, but that man Tregarthan! Bah. He had no thought for my safety or comfort. He ordered me about like a trooper.”
“He is to marry Miss Jane,” said Rainbird. “They are going to elope, I think. He asked me to leave miss with him, and his travelling carriage was outside. Oh, we have had such dramas.” He told her about Mr. Gillespie and the murder of Clara.
“Tiens!” said Felice, much amused. “That Tregarthan! His beloved is nearly murdered on the one day and he drags her off on an elopement the next. He is lucky Miss Jane is not missish.”
“I gather his lordship has been very generous to you,” said Rainbird, wishing she would put down her sewing and look at him.
“I earned it,” said Felice dryly. “What brings you here, John?”
“You,” said Rainbird.
Felice’s busy hands stilled and she smoothed the piece of sewing on her lap. She looked up, her gaze calm and steady. “It would not answer, John,” she said. “You and I. Marriage is not for us. I am tired of servitude and insecurity. I shall marry a comfortable middle-aged burgher and bear him children. Love is a luxury I cannot afford.”
“Please, Felice,” said Rainbird, sinking to one knee in front of her.
“No, my butler friend. No. You English are so romantic. In France we are used to marriages of convenience at every level of society. Besides, you have too many responsibilities. All those children!”
“I do not have children, Felice. I have never been married.”
“I mean MacGregor, Joseph, Dave, Mrs. Middleton, Alice, Jenny, and Lizzie—those children. You will never really desert them.”
“For you—only for you—would I desert them.”
“Menteur!” laughed Felice. “How you lie, and yet you think you are telling the truth.” She put her sewing aside. “But you may say goodbye to me properly.” She took his hands and rose, drawing him up to his feet. “Come,” she said softly.
Bemused, Rainbird followed her out of the parlour and up a dark wooden staircase to her bedroom above. “You can’t mean,” he said, “you can’t …”
“I can,” smiled Felice, unfastening the tapes of her gown. “This is a farewell present, John. Come and take it … now.”
The next evening Rainbird alighted from the Brighton coach at Blossom’s Inn, Lawrence Lane in the City. The sun had set and a purplish smoky sky stretched above the rooftops.
Rainbird bought a bottle of brandy with some of his savings, all of which he had taken with him in the hope of starting a new life with Felice. He decided to walk. His heart felt heavy and the very thought of returning to Clarges Street made him miserable. A smell of sassafras, sugar, and hot milk rose from the saloop stalls at the corners of the winding City streets.
Number 67 was unlucky, decided Rainbird bitterly. Murder had been done there, suicide, financial ruin—and even Fiona Sinclair, she who had married the Earl of Harrington and had seemed all set to have a happy life, had disappeared.
Rainbird decided to call at Hanover Square on the road home and ask if there was any news of the Earl and Countess of Harrington. The familiar, unpleasant, fat white face of the Harringtons’ butler peered round the door. “What d’ye want?” demanded Lord Harrington’s butler nastily.
“Is there any news of the earl and countess?” asked Rainbird.
“They was found in Turkey by Mr. Sinclair,” said the butler.
“Well?” asked Rainbird breathlessly.
“’Er ladyship was sick o’ something furren and they was staying with this pasha and the letters never got ’ome. But we ’as one now, and they’re all right, so push off.”
Rainbird walked lightly with his springy acrobat’s step across Hanover Square. Surely the bad luck of the house was over. Fiona was safe. Perhaps, just perhaps, if he returned to Brighton, say, in a month’s time, Felice might have changed her mind. He could write to her. At least he could do that!
As he approached Number 67, he heard the twanging of Joseph’s mandolin soaring up in the night air.
Rainbird ran quickly down the area steps. “I’m back,” he called cheerfully. “Everybody … I’m home.”
Lord Tregarthan removed his bride’s white satin wedding gown, held it out at arm’s length, and looked at it with a critical eye. “Definitely got the stamp of the village dressmaker,” he said. “Well, my sweet, we shall be married again in church in London when we eventually return and then you may have a proper wedding gown.”
Jane stood in her shift, shivering with a mixture of apprehension, desire, and nerves. “Do you mean to stand there all night examining my wardrobe?” she asked sharply.
He tossed the gown into the corner and took her in his arms. “No, my love,” he said, his eyes glinting with laughter. “I have other plans … like this … and this … and this …”
A stormy hour ensued. Jane, lying at last with her head against his naked chest, murmured, “Poor mama. How very upset she must be.”
“She will forgive us … unfortunately. At this moment, I confess I find that the idea of never having to see your mama again would please me very much.”
“I would like to see papa,” said Jane. “I know he will be happy for me.”
“As soon as we hear of his return, we will travel to meet his ship. In the meantime, we have all the time in the world to ourselves.”
“I feel so safe,” yawned Jane. “I must have been mad to try to catch Mr. Gillespie by myself. I … I thought you would be so proud of me, but you have never stopped complaining about it.”
“And never shall,” he said lazily. “When I think of the peril you were in with only those odd servants to help you.”
“They are most unusual,” said Jane. “And so very brave and loyal. When I first met them,
I thought they must be related in some way. Rainbird, the butler, asked me to give the staff references should I ever find myself a lady of consequence.”
“And so you are, and so you shall. But you will never need to ask them for help again. I shall make very sure if anyone dies a mysterious death that you are not allowed to become curious.
“So forget the horrors of poor Clara’s death, and kiss me again … beautiful Jane.”
