Seasons of War 2-Book Bundle

by CHERYL COOPER

  Helena sidled across the carpet toward her, as if she had come on a covert mission, and primly installed herself far from Emily, in a scarlet-silk elbow chair next to one of the great windows. She gazed out upon the verdant lawns where the gardeners were at work amongst the flowers and shrubbery. Something in her stiffened manner hinted at unpleasant business. Guessing this was neither a social visit nor an invitation to drink tea with her, Emily slipped her feet into her shoes and raised herself up on the sofa cushions.

  “Mademoiselle has come back, pleading to be reinstated as Fleda’s governess,” Helena said, still looking out the windows.

  “Oh! I did not expect her to return at all,” said Emily, curious to know why the duchess felt inclined to close the door behind her in order to deliver such tedious news.

  “As I made certain she could find no other employment with a good family, I’m not surprised in the least.” Helena smiled as if she were quite pleased with herself.

  “And will you reinstate her?”

  “I will. But I shall be very harsh in my treatment of her from here on.”

  Poor Mademoiselle, thought Emily. “And how’s Fleda accepting the news?”

  “She made a terrible fuss, and just now had a tantrum in the schoolroom.”

  Emily smiled. “And have you come to inform me that you’ve hired a second governess for me?”

  “Don’t tempt me,” Helena responded with a caustic roll of her eyes. “The Lord knows you require one, Emeline.”

  “Pray, what, precisely, do you mean by that remark?”

  Helena lifted one of her dark eyebrows, as if to imply the obvious.

  Setting aside Robinson Crusoe, Emily contemplated the duchess’s severe profile. Last evening they had all dined together, the memory of which Emily found distasteful, for Wetherell and Adolphus were crapulous from their night of debauchery — their heads in their hands throughout most of the meal. Fleda had pushed her food around her plate, refusing to eat, and declaring she would never again play the pianoforte for anyone; and Helena had been a burgeoning storm cloud, about to unleash her rain and thunder at any moment. Only Somerton had been capable of decorum, bestowing upon Emily, every now and again, a few apologetic smiles, leaving her questioning whether he was trying to atone for past wrongs. When all six courses had been served and ingested, she was most relieved to see everyone going their separate ways — most of them to bed — for she had no desire to repeat the dramatics of the previous night.

  “As the men are out, I felt this was a good time for us to have a little talk,” said Helena. “I wasn’t at all pleased to hear you stayed up with the men until all hours on Tuesday.”

  “Why is that?”

  “You were unchaperoned.”

  “You left me with them quite willingly earlier in the evening.”

  “I didn’t expect you to stay up with them until dawn.”

  “It was 2:00 when I returned to my room.”

  “Yes, and you proceeded to awaken the household with your hysterical laughter.”

  “Most of the household was still up with me.”

  “I awoke with such a fright. I was convinced a fiend had entered our midst on the first floor.”

  “I know for a fact there was at least one drunken fiend about at that late hour.”

  Helena admonished her remark with a withering stare before continuing. “Is this the sort of behaviour with which you conducted yourself while at sea?”

  “I made a point of playing the fiend every night, and always during the Middle Watch.”

  “Most amusing!”

  “Were you unable to sleep, worried that I was joining your husband and sons in draining your stores of Madeira? And being the light, loose woman I am, did you fancy I was flirting with your Wetherell?”

  Helena’s mouth had dropped open in horror, but Emily pressed on. “It is plainly evident you don’t like me, Your Grace. From the moment I arrived at Hartwood your behaviour toward me has been icy at best, so much so that I’ve often wondered why you agreed to provide me with accommodation in the first place. I confess I’m not happy here, but I’ve tried to be pleasant to your family; I’ve tried to show my gratitude. I do not understand how I offend you so.”

  Helena slowly formed and enunciated her answer. “And if I can help it, you shall never know.”

  Emily’s eyes flickered, so confounded she was by such a disturbing declaration. With nonchalance, Helena adjusted the collar on her gown, clasped her hands neatly upon her lap, and compressed her thin lips. “I want you to return the emerald.”

  Still reeling from the force of Helena’s former words, Emily hesitated. “Perhaps it would be best if you take up the matter with Wetherell.”

  “It was a gift, you see.”

  “I didn’t steal it from Wetherell; he gambled it away.”

  “I was the one who gave it to him.”

  “Then he shouldn’t have been so heartless as to offer it up as a wager.”

  “What do you need with an emerald ring? You must have an abundance of them at Windsor.”

  “It was won fairly.”

  “I cannot bear the thought of you having it.”

  “Is there a particular sentiment attached to this ring?”

  “It was given from a mother to her son on his eighteenth birthday.”

  “Is Wetherell your favourite son?”

  Her reply was shockingly swift. “No! Somerton is.”

  “I’m curious; did you give your eighth son a ring on his eighteenth birthday? Or had he been sent to sea at that time, and was therefore out of sight and mind?”

  The duchess recoiled in her chair, her posture reminiscent of the sudden change in winds, which often flattened the square sails of the Isabelle against her masts. “Why should you care about my eighth son? It was my understanding that you were not acquainted with him.”

  Emily was beyond caring for discretion. “I believe Octavius could’ve benefitted greatly from some of the attention you amply lavish upon your two eldest sons.”

  Helena grasped the arms of her chair. “Whatever does that mean?”

  “If I can help it, you shall never know.”

  Helena leapt to her feet, her face as white as her summer gown. “You have kept secrets from us.”

  “I am no more secretive than you are.”

  “How dare you.”

  “You are welcome to banish me from your house; I’m quite ready to leave. Say the word and I’ll have my things gathered in less than an hour. Perhaps Somerton would be so kind as to take me to town.”

  Helena looked down at her. “Somerton will not be taking you anywhere.”

  “Are you worried I’d knock him about the head, stuff him into a sack, and impress him into the Royal Navy?”

  “I wouldn’t put it past you.”

  “Perhaps Wetherell should be impressed as well. Your sons might enjoy the experience; it would give them something useful to do.” Emily was certain she could see steam rising from Helena’s elaborate crown of curls.

  “You’re a selfish, outspoken, ill-bred young woman.”

  Emily’s gaze flicked upward. “Your own description, I think, though I wouldn’t use the word young.”

  Helena looked like one of the boiling pots in the Hartwood kitchen, but Emily turned away from her, sickened by the stifling humidity of the room, which had enveloped her like a fur-lined pelisse. Into her consciousness crept the carefree conversation of the gardeners, and the happy songs of the chestnut trees’ winged residents, awakening memories of a more tranquil world beyond the library walls. Oh, to be outside with them, seeking out her magpie, or climbing up the spreading trunk of one of those old chestnuts and hiding out upon its shady arms. She was plotting her escape when a sudden pounding upon the library door gave her a start.

  “Oh, what is it now?” snapped Helena.

  Glenna poked her round, glistening face into the room. “Lud! I’ve been knockin’ for ten minutes.”

  “Do remember your s
tation, Miss McCubbin!”

  Glenna squeezed through the door, curtsied quickly, and then shot a quizzical look at Emily, mouthing the words, “Such a rumpus!”

  “Well?” Helena asked, her eyes shut, one hand pressed to her forehead.

  The old housekeeper glanced anxiously at her employer. “We have visitors, Your Grace.”

  “Don’t tell me the Duke of Clarence is here already?”

  “Nay, Your Grace. He’s not expected ’til dinnertime.”

  “Well then, who is it?”

  “An older gentleman and a lame boy.”

  Helena growled. “How did they get past the gatekeeper? Are they beggars? Gypsies? Send them away at once. I’ll not have riffraff at my door.”

  “I wouldna say they’re beggars,” said Glenna with an uneasy peek at Emily, whose suspicion was immediately aroused.

  “Have they professed their business?” asked Helena, standing there in all her state, a pillar of indignity.

  Glenna looked flustered. “Might I’ve a word with ya alone, Your Grace?”

  “By all means!” Helena gloated before drifting from the room with the housekeeper. “You may continue your reading, Emeline. I shall not disturb you again.”

  2:30 p.m.

  Emily had no intention of returning to her reading; how could anyone concentrate on Robinson Crusoe after such a tumult? She lingered for a few respectable minutes before leaving her books and the library to follow the women. Who was it that had come? And why had Glenna appeared so uneasy? Blazing with curiosity, she hurried after them, hoping to hear their voices whispering in collusion, or to find that Glenna had left the visitors awaiting their audience in one of the ground floor rooms. Her hopes, however, were soon dashed; her curiosity rewarded with nothing more than a series of empty rooms and secured doors.

  At last, as she approached the front hall, Emily found Fleda standing in the doorway, her hair afire in a beam of afternoon sunshine that had found its way into the darkened house, her skinny arms folded and locked upon her chest, as if she were trying to intimidate someone or something. Beyond the child, out on the gravel courtyard, Helena’s vocals rose up in crackling irritation. Tiptoeing toward the shelter of the nearest marble column, Emily flattened herself against it to listen in.

  “I am most displeased that you were let onto the grounds. You’ve no business here.”

  A male voice, as warm as the August breeze wafting through the open door, answered her. “We shall not stay but a moment, Your Grace. If you would just allow us to extend our regards to Her Royal Highness, we would be much obliged. We’ve come such a long way.”

  “I do not permit Her Royal Highness to receive visitors with whom I am not acquainted, and, as my husband and sons are not presently at home, I ask that you leave at once.”

  “Of course, Your Grace.” There was a lull in the conversation, and the sound of shoes shuffling upon the gravel could be heard. “Would you be so kind as to inform Her Royal Highness that we came by, and that we’re lodging at the coaching inn down the road?”

  “Perhaps, but as I determine who she sees, and who she does not, I can assure you she’ll not be visiting you in the taproom of a vulgar posting-house.”

  At that moment a young boy spoke up, his voice panicked, as if he were terrified of being turned away. “With respect, Your — Your Grace, we don’t want to give you any trouble. Would you feel more at ease if I told you I’m an officer of the Royal Navy?”

  Helena’s laughter was trenchant. “Really! An officer? Not a street urchin?”

  Not to be deterred, the boy kept on. “I recently served under Captain James Moreland on HMS Isabelle.”

  Emily’s hand flew to her mouth; the shock of joy embraced her. It was Gus Walby, and, more than likely, his elderly doctor, the man she had seen in Winchester, the man whom she had fancied was …

  In the doorway, Fleda relaxed her stance. “Did you know my brother?”

  “I’d be happy to tell you, Miss,” chirped Gus, “but I’m afraid I don’t know the name of your brother.”

  Helena put an end to their exchange with a rumble. “Fleda! Return to Mademoiselle at once.” She waited until her daughter had unhappily drawn back into the shadows of the hallway. “Now then, you two, I don’t care if you’re the Prince Regent and his servant, no one invited you here. Leave quietly now, or I shall have to —”

  Emily had heard quite enough. Startling Fleda, she jumped out from behind the column, and pushing past the girl, hurried through the door with a happy cry. “Dear Mr. Walby! How good of you to have come!”

  Gus’s mouth fell open, as if he hadn’t quite believed in the first place that she was actually housed within the uninviting walls of Hartwood, but once he had gathered his wits his young face was wreathed in smiles, and he hobbled toward her, shouting, “Em! Oh, Em!” His outburst of familiarity sent a shiver through Helena and the gentleman at his side to leap after him in order to place a steadying hand on his shoulder.

  Unable to acknowledge the elderly gentleman — so certain she was that he could hear the riotous pounding of her heart — Emily smiled her warmest for Gus, and kept her eyes on the boy as she addressed the glowering Helena. “They are my visitors, Your Grace. If you’ll not permit them to stay, then I shall leave with them.”

  Helena eyed the men with disdain, her cheeks suffused with red, her lips tightly pressed together. Finally, she levelled a stare at Emily. “They may walk the grounds with you,” she said, her voice no longer vociferous, “but they shall not receive an invitation indoors to drink tea with me.” With her head held high she slipped into the house, slamming the door behind her, and, with Fleda at her side, took up residence at one of the hall windows to observe them. Refusing to be put off by the duchess, Emily flew to Gus and seized his hand, the two of them talking at once in their pleasure of being reunited.

  “If our coming has caused distress, Em —”

  “Do not worry about the duchess! She is surly by nature.” Emily stepped back to inspect Gus, unhappy to see dark circles under his eyes and that he had grown so thin. “But look at you! I swear you’ve gained a foot in height since I left you in Winchester. We must see to you getting fitted out with a new uniform before you return to sea. You’ve quite outgrown this one.” Knowing the gentleman’s eyes were watching her, Emily could not contain the quiver in her voice.

  “Did you get my letter, Em?” Gus asked in a fit of coughing. “I sent it to you yesterday.”

  “Not yet! But why only yesterday, why did you wait so long to write to me? I sent you a note the minute I’d slept off the exhaustion of our long voyage.”

  “I never received it. If it hadn’t been for the kindness of the Duke of Clarence, I never would’ve known where you were.”

  “Let us sort that out later, shall we?” said Emily, too elated to be discussing letters which had not arrived. She straightened before the gentleman and extended her hand, aware of having blushed as scarlet as the silk sofas in the library. “Kind sir, thank you so very much for bringing Mr. Walby to me.”

  Gus stood between the two of them on his crutch, beaming at one and then the other.

  “Your Royal Highness,” the man said, clasping her hand. “Arthur Braden is my name, and I believe … I’ve been told that you are acquainted with my son.”

  Emily finally found the courage to meet the older man’s eyes, and just as she had suspected they were kind and intelligent, and the colour of the sea.

  6:00 p.m.

  “God Almighty, Emeline!” declared Uncle Clarence upon seeing Emily stepping lightly into the music room with a flushed-faced Fleda in tow. “Have I not taught you to be prompt for meals, especially when you’re so blessed to be taking your dinner in the esteemed company of such illustrious gentlemen?”

  Emily and Fleda had hastily washed and spruced up, having passed the afternoon strolling the worn paths of the estate with old Dr. Braden and Mr. Walby with no desire to part their company sooner than necessary. Arriving downsta
irs in their evening dress, they had discovered Somerton, Wetherell, and the latest arrival, the Duke of Clarence, assembled in the music room around the chimneypiece, enjoying a drink as they awaited both the call to dinner and the young ladies’ return. Wetherell was standing apart from the others, seemingly humming a tune in his head, but it did not escape Emily’s notice that Somerton had positioned himself with a clear view to the door, and had looked up the very second they appeared.

  Emily bowed to the brothers, and gave her uncle a quick buss on the cheek. “I am so sorry. I quite forgot the time.”

  “You didn’t forget I was coming.”

  “Not at all; however, I do understand you shall be staying with us for a few days.”

  “I shall be, for the duchess requires my brilliant and bluff repartee and some assistance in planning her next ball.”

  “I keep hearing mutterings of another ball, and yet no one has said when the great event is to be held,” said Emily, looking to the brothers for an answer. Wetherell averted his head to carry on with his humming, and Somerton, although she had perceived his eyes moving over the detailing of her gown, decided it was time to consult his pocket watch. It was, therefore, left to her uncle to indulge her.

  “Soon, my dear, soon,” he said with a wink.

  Emily grimaced. “I do hope you won’t be inviting Mr. Gribble again, Uncle.”

  “His name ranks among the first on our guest list. If I were to exclude him from our little party he’d be insulted, and return to his country seat for good.”

  What a pleasing repercussion, thought Emily, deciding against sharing her sentiment with the others. She teased her uncle instead. “You shan’t run off on us?”

  “Only if my eldest brother calls me urgently to town on business. I must be ready at all times to heed his summons and do my duty.”

  “You’re looking well, Emeline. Your exercise must’ve agreed with you,” said Somerton, his rigid demeanour so similar to that of his mother.

  Emily smiled to herself, thinking of old Dr. Braden and the precious hours they had shared together. It was not only the colour and contours of his eyes, which his son, Leander, had inherited from him. “Indeed! It was most restorative,” she said, with an emphatic vivaciousness.