A Bond of Honour

by Joan Vincent

  "Best ye see to yer lord. His man should be finished. Call if ye be needin’ anything. I'll take care for the babe—have no worry on that."

  Going slowly up the stairs, Juliane worried about Leora's health. It was not until the second series of shrieks for “ma mere” that she began to move in their direction. Racing up the last few steps, she flew through the doorway to her right. Swooping to the bed, she scooped up André like a gull plucking fish from the sea.

  He held on like a leech, his cries slowly subsiding.

  "Hush. Hush now. You were having a bad dream. Everything is all right now,” Juliane crooned to him, rocking him gently in her arms. Soon he lay still against her, loosening his hold.

  She carried him across the hall and tucked him into bed, opposite Lord Tretain's form, which drew a curious glance from Mallatt as well as from André.

  "Truly, my lady, do you deem that wise?” he queried as he continued to put his shaving instruments away.

  "In my lord's state, it is nothing,” she replied carelessly.

  "Yes, but we do not know how long this state will last. Have you considered what will happen when he returns to his senses?"

  "I imagine he will fly into the boughs, make a dreadful scene of it, and ruin my reputation forever,” she answered matter-of-factly. “What else is there? He can like the situation little more than I."

  Mallatt snapped the valise shut and eyed Lady Juliane carefully. “There is a way, a chance of coming out of this, with a little daring on our part.” He scarcely could credit himself with the words. Must be I've been in my lord's service too long—his ways are rubbing off on me, was his startled thought.

  "In truth, that would be possible, but only on the chance that Lord Tretain would remain senseless, and it is highly unlikely that he will be so condescending for the two days Meg tells me it will be before they make an effort to fetch the phaeton. When they see it, questions can't help but arise. They will see that it was not made for family travel. I have decided to take what comes—what else is there for me to do?"

  Mallatt pondered. This hardly seemed like the same girl; what had happened to her spirit? Perhaps he had misjudged her after all.

  Juliane turned from the fire to face him. There was a hint of an idea in her eye. Beginning tentatively, she studied him. “There is a way out—out of Bedlam, but certainly the end, if it fails, can be no worse than what I now face. Would Lord Adrian hold it against you if you helped in a ‘slight’ deception?"

  Mallatt knew he should resist—that Lord Adrian, indeed, would object—but then Lady Juliane was not at fault in this, and if they could come up to the top, his lordship might eventually agree and even come to see the humour in it. Lord Adrian could not, after all, be the first to throw a stone at a “slight” deception. He smiled broadly.

  Lady Juliane flashed a smile in return. “Let us keep the pretence of marriage then. I think we are far enough from civilization here for that to do us little harm, are we not?"

  "I believe so, my lady,” Mallatt agreed tentatively. “Then, all we need do is manage these next few days!"

  Mallatt raised an eyebrow at this oversimplification, but felt it useless and probably alarming to Lady Juliane to suggest the many difficulties that could occur. Further attention to the matter was deterred as his lordship stirred.

  Lady Juliane went to his side, laying a cool hand on his forehead as he twisted beneath the covers. This action caused him to stiffen and remain still, drawing a frown from Juliane.

  "Was Lord Tretain in good health before the accident?” she asked Mallatt.

  "Yes, my lady. A bit done in perhaps..."

  She looked to him for further information. He stood, shifting his weight, undecided as to what to tell.

  "How does his lordship spend his time?"

  "Travelling,” answered Mallatt truthfully. “He ... we, just returned from the continent."

  This answer caused Lady Juliane to blanch slightly, but before Mallatt could pursue the cause behind this, the earl's stirrings snared their attention once more.

  "What is wrong with him, Mama?” inquired André, who had been watching and listening spellbound to the scene before him. It was enough that he was sharing the bed with the gentleman. Life had certainly become more interesting since Tante—Mama—had taken them.

  "A fever. André—from being in the snow too long, I suppose. You must lie there quietly.” Turning to Mallatt she ordered, “Dampen this cloth and return it to me."

  Taking the wet cloth, she laid it firmly across Lord Tretain's brow, holding it in place as he tossed his head. “Did you discern any change in the head wound?” she threw at Mallatt.

  "No, my lady. You had it bound well."

  "I care not for his look—we may be in for a bout with a fever. It will be best for us to spell one another. I will attend him first. André, how are you feeling? Are you well enough to be up and about?"

  The bright curls bobbed eagerly in answer. “Can I remain with you, Mama?"

  "No, go with Mallatt—he will see to you—certainly you must be famished. Let us have no Banbury behaviour and ... we must play out a little scheme.” She came and sat down beside André on the bed. So much had happened to him, how many more games would he play willingly?

  Taking his hands, she continued. “The kind people here have made a mistake about all of us and as we were too frozen to speak much, we could not correct them. It will be easier now for us to continue to let them believe what they first thought—do you understand that?"

  André did not understand what Mama was talking about but readily agreed.

  "Good. Now, they think that all of us are a family—travelling en famille."

  André let out a giggle. “They think Monsieur Mallatt is mon père?"

  "No, no,” corrected Juliane with a dull blush as Mallatt maintained a stolid silence. “They believe Lord Tretain is your papa—my husband."

  She blushed even more at the bout of giggling this induced.

  "But, Mama, Papa would never allow me in his private rooms, and never on his bed."

  "Yes, I know that,” answered Juliane, puzzled why André would be so adamant on that point. Surely he was allowed to see his father other than in the nursery and upon a horse? No time for those considerations now. “You must remember that this is a game—if any of the people here speak of Lord Tretain, you must answer them as if he were your father. Can you pretend this for me?"

  André beamed. Another game! Life was much more interesting with Tante than it had been at home, where he was banned from all life but what was found in the nursery and an occasional outing in the saddle. Who would think he would have a new mama and papa in so short a time. Perhaps Mama wouldn't have to worry over a home for them after all. He had overheard the anxious questioning of Cora one night on that subject—not that he had meant to.

  "Be a good lad for Mallatt and stay out of Meg's and the others’ way. You must be very grown up for me.” She tousled his curls and handed him to Mallatt. “His clothing is in the room across the hall."

  The orders fell awkwardly on Mallatt's ears. He was, after all, a gentleman's gentleman, and although he had performed numerous nefarious duties in his service with Lord Tretain, acting as nursemaid was not one of them. He looked dubiously from André to Lady Juliane and back to a beaming André, who was all ready for this marvellous adventure. With a slight tremor he went to the door in obedience. Sure as the snow outside was white, he was headed for Bedlam. Glancing back at Lady Juliane, his eyes caught hers. She saw the concern as they moved to the prone figure of Lord Tretain.

  "Do not fear,” she said. “He seems strong enough and I have nursed many men through worse—relieve me in a few hours."

  "Yes, my lady.” With a slight bow, he and the lad were gone.

  Juliane pulled the lone chair in the room to the bedside. After freshening the cloth on his lordship's brow and stoking the fire, she sat down facing him.

  He has a strong jaw, she thought as she watched h
im. What a large man he would be if he were not so lean. She had noticed earlier that an extra coverlet had been pulled down the lower half of the bed and tucked under his feet, which hung over the foot of the bed. Ah, yes, tall but much too thin. Muscle to him, but not enough weight—certainly not the look of a man who wastes his life travelling, more of the look of the soldier to him. Reflecting on his age, she puzzled more. The grey of his hair belied the youth she saw in his face, especially in that smile of early morn.

  Rising to tuck in a hand that had strayed from beneath the covers, she was surprised. It was manicured in proper fashion but tanned and calloused as few hands of the Quality could ever be. Strange, very strange.

  Mallatt had said they had just returned from the continent. Could it have been France? She had had the vaguest sense of being followed and observed ever since leaving Rouen; this is what had prompted her to take the children-out of the country on her own. Also Cora had had the greatest fear of the baron returning—almost as if he would be very disappointed to find any of his family alive. Juliane considered herself intelligent, not short of common sense, and was at first dismayed at her fears. She had decided before leaving France, however, that she would travel as a family until she reached her uncle's estate and could get some sound advice. But the vaguest of fears had hounded her. When Mallatt had said they had just returned from the continent, her first thought was that he and Lord Adrian had been following them.

  This she dismissed out of hand, but she would rely on her intuition and keep her own counsel until she found the lay of Thedford lands.

  As the minutes passed, she had less and less time for reflection, as his lordship became increasingly restless and the fever increased steadily.

  It took both she and Mallatt to spoon down a small amount of the broth that Meg insisted was the way to health. Deciding they had managed to get as much into him as was possible, she left Lord Tretain in Mallatt's care and went downstairs to see how Leora fared.

  Meg was tending to the babe as Lady Juliane entered, carrying the remainder of the broth.

  "He would take only a little,” answered Juliane to Meg's unspoken question. “I will try again in a short while. How is Leora?"

  "Worse, I fear, m'lady. Her breathin’ be harder. We can only do our best and leave the rest in God's hands,” she offered as consolation.

  "Where is André?” asked Juliane, her eyes sweeping the kitchen.

  "No need to worry for him. My boys bundled him up good'n proper ‘n took him out with them.” Juliane started.

  "No need to worry,” admonished Meg severely. “He be not made of fine china and nothin’ a boy enjoys more'n a romp in the snow. Ye've plenty on yer mind with the babe and yer lord. Alva, give Lady Juliane some broth and bread—no need to let yer strength go.

  Over the next three days Lady Juliane was to hear those words often, and many more motherly admonishments as well. But as the days became one and she alternated between Lord Adrian's bedside and Leora's cradle, she became cloaked with exhaustion. The hours blended together and all her actions, other than the actual handling of the sick ones, became mechanical.

  At last Leora was out of danger and a partial weight lifted from her, but still Lord Adrian lay in the grip of the fever.

  Her actions toward him had taken a subtle change. In the hours she tended him, she learned much more about him than most people knew, who had been acquainted with him all his life. In his delirium, his babblings ranged from despair at the death of a pup when he was a boy to wild ravings in a French dialect she could not understand. Many of his mutterings were in French and it became apparent to her that he had dwelt on all levels of life in France. If she had been a simpering miss, much of it would have alarmed her greatly, or caused her to blush deeply. As it was, life in India and nursing soldiers had steeled her to most of it. Lord Tretain's ravings were intricately connected with the political foment in France, of this she was certain. He was certainly more than a casual traveller—but what was he?

  CHAPTER 6

  The sun slowly sagged into the mud-dappled, slush-covered horizon. Taking a deep breath, Lady Juliane stepped back inside the cottage, the wafting odours of freshly baked bread and a meaty stew greeting her.

  "Is the broth ready?” she asked Meg.

  "Aye, m'lady. But ye be eatin’ a plate o’ m'stew a'fore ye be goin’ back up. I'll na take no for an answer—yer gown be hangin’ loose enough already."

  Juliane blushed as Jove and his sons grunted in agreement. What the family had seen of this lady of Quality put to the wall all they had ever heard, and they had taken her in as one of their own.

  "Just a little then. Truly, I am fine and not a bit hungry."

  Meg laughed. “A few hours sleep and she's actin’ like this be a spell at Bath or some sech place.” She shook her head as she pressed Juliane to a seat. “No room for wool pullin’ around here. Ye're more'n due for a rest but reckon ye won't be pried from that man o’ yern until ye be satisfied he's better. This night should be the test o’ that."

  "You think so?” asked Juliane anxiously, having had the same thought earlier.

  "Aye, it'll be a bad night, I be think'n, but then the worst should be behind him."

  "Yes,” mused Juliane. Glancing up, she caught sight of Alva playing with Leora before the fireplace. She smiled. “We have so much to be thankful for.” The smile wavered and a tear came to the fore. She thought of all that Meg had done, tending Leora through those first two nights. Feeling a comforting hand on her shoulder, she looked around to the motherly face.

  "Let's be hearin’ none o’ that. Eat up—Mallatt will be a waitin'."

  Mallatt was straightening the coverlets as Juliane came into the room.

  "How is he?” she asked.

  "His lordship is more restless. The crisis will be upon us soon."

  "He does look more flushed.” She handed the bowl of broth to Mallatt and sat on the bedside. Taking Lord Adrian's chin firmly in hand, she began spooning broth between his lips. Succeeding in coaxing him to swallow only a portion of a few spoonsfuls, she laid the spoon in the bowl, sighing.

  "I suppose we must be satisfied with that. Have Alva bring up some of Meg's honeyed water. He seems to take that better, and we must get some liquid into him."

  "Yes, my lady.” Mallatt paused at the doorway, running his eyes over her worn figure. She cares for him as if he were her own—better than most wives I've seen, in truth, he thought as he watched her replace the snow-filled cloth on Lord Adrian's forehead and tenderly smooth back the tousled hair. His lordship could hardly do better and if he was to get to know her, he could hardly fail to like her, what with the spirit she shows. It would remove him from the marriage mart, which would certainly make life easier and please his mother. Why she'd even have grandchildren to occupy her time.

  Yes, smiled Mallatt to himself, if he could contrive it so that they had to spend more time together, they could come to know one another, and then there would be a chance for the match.

  Juliane glanced at Mallatt and was struck by the strange look playing on his features.

  "Aren't you feeling quite well?” she asked, anxious lest he be taken ill also. He had been her mainstay through the past few days and it was as if he were a retainer of years with her instead of a chance acquaintance. Indeed, it was remarkable how much like a family they were becoming.

  "I am fine, my lady. I will return as soon as I've had a bit of rest."

  Nodding in reply, she returned to trying to keep the earl covered. “He is much worse; we will both have to stay the night with him-an hour only can you rest."

  Mallatt had no sooner left than the earl became very restless. Deducing that she could not control him standing beside the bed, Juliane rushed to the other side and, lifting her skirts, sprang upon it. Taking both his shoulders in hand, she attempted to press him down, urging him to calm himself as she did so.

  "Térès, Térès, is it you? Is it you?” With violent force he flung her hands from his
shoulders and grabbed hers instead. Fire-lit eyes stared into hers.

  "I must ... you know I must...” he espoused wildly.

  "Yes, yes, just lie back for a moment. You are not strong enough to go now. Rest. I will call you,” she assured him.

  He responded momentarily to her voice and, releasing her, lay back. In an instant he grabbed her shoulders again, seemingly in a rage. “You scum, you traitor. I should wrench your neck for you,” he spat at her.

  "My lord, you mistake me for another,” Juliane countered boldly. “You are ill. Lie back now.” Lord Tretain was sweating profusely, labouring for breath, but still he kept his brutal grip.

  "Release me, my lord. You must lie back,” Juliane told him firmly as he continued to stare at her.

  Slowly the rage, the wildness, died from his eyes, leaving only the searing heat of the fever and confusion.

  Gently she reached up and took his hands from her shoulders. Picking up the snow-filled cloth that had been flung to one side, she smoothed it over his burning face. “Lay back, my lord,” she urged gently. “It will be better soon."

  He lay back, watching her face intensely as if trying to comprehend who she was.

  "You were in a carriage accident, my lord. Close your eyes, rest,” she urged him soothingly. With a grateful sigh, she watched him relax and close his eyes. Taking a deep breath she was surprised to find herself trembling. He was a strong man; the feel of his hands was still on her shoulders.

  After waiting a time to see if he would remain calm, she decided it was safe enough for her to go back to the bedside. As she began to move away, his eyes opened and his hand grabbed hers.

  "What, my lord?"

  "You will stay?"

  "Of course, my lord."

  He closed his eyes but would not release her hand. She was still sitting thus, atop the bed beside Lord Adrian, hand in hand, when Mallatt returned.

  "My lady?” he stated incredulously.

  "It is the only manner in which he will be quiet,” answered Juliane calmly. “I feel the fever is worsening."