“Well!” As the door closed behind the three men, Mrs. Warrender looked thoughtfully down at Susan, who had thrown herself sobbing into her arms. “I suppose we are safe enough now,” she summed it up. “But perhaps you would be so good as to go the rounds, Mr. Winterton? To make sure. And send someone over to the Dower House? For fear of stragglers.”
“Yes, ma’am. Would you be wishful to go with him, Miss Warrender?”
“To make myself presentable?” she asked bitterly. “Not yet, I think.” She still had Harriet by the hand. “First I must put these brats back to bed.”
“Oh, Miss Warrender, must we?” asked Giles. “It’s been such an adventure.” He laughed. “You called us hellborn brats that first time we met you. That was you, wasn’t it? Brought us home through the tunnel! Miss. Warrender, what a tramp you are! I’ll never forget the way you stood up to papa that night.”
“Nor shall I,” said Kate. And nor would he, she thought, leading the younger children firmly off to the nursery wing, while her mother withdrew with Susan to the morning room.
Giles and Harriet Were surprisingly obedient, a powerful argument, Kate thought for “Kit Warrender.” But Kit was dead and gone, she told herself, leaving the quiet nursery, and Kate must face his consequences. She let herself quietly out by a side door that gave on to the path to the Dower House. It was time to end the masquerade. When the men came back, from the bay, the discredited governess must be ready, meek in muslin for her dismissal.
Indoors, candles had still burned, prolonging darkness, but out here dawn mist was rising, translucent, from the park. A glow in the east heralded the sun. It would be a fine day. Fine for what, Kate asked herself bitterly, then reached quick for the little gun that still nestled in her greatcoat pocket. A horse was coming through the shrubbery, ridden fast. Idiot to have come out alone.
But the figure that rounded the bend in the drive was George Warren’s. He pulled his horse to a skidding stop at sight of her standing there, pistol in hand. “More trouble?” he asked.
“No.” She coloured and was about to replace the pistol in her pocket when he reached down to take it from her.
“Best uncock it,” he said. “Better still, let me keep it for you. Miss Warrender. Our troubles are over now, I think. All’s quiet at last, down on the shore. But you should not be out alone.” He dismounted and looped the reins over his arm.
“I’d rather be alone.” Enraged at her unwonted stupidity over the pistol, she felt herself blush harder than ever as he took it from her and dropped it safely in his own capacious pocket. In a moment, God help her, she would be crying. “Please!” She tried to pull away from the hand held out to her.
“Nonsense.” A firm hand under her elbow turned her round to face the way she had come. “You’re coming back with me, Miss Warrender, to drink a glass of burgundy and get ready for the last act of our melodrama. Hawth’s in a black rage, I warn you I’ve never seen him so bad. You can’t leave your poor mother to face it alone. That brother of yours! Enjoying every moment of it Was he always like this?”
“Ah, poor Chris! Our fault, I think. We loved him so, mamma and I. And he could always talk one round. I was much older, of course.”
“An old lady,” he agreed gravely.
“I feel like one now. I suppose we spoiled him between us. Father was so hard on him, you see. Wouldn’t pay for a commission … left him to run wild here in Glinde. No wonder if he fell into bad company. To tell you the truth, when he told me his story, I was glad it was no worse.”
“I can see that. But I’m afraid it’s a shabby enough game he’s been playing, just the same. Both sides at once. And that poor little Susan. I knew there was something wrong there. More shame to me. I should have done something.”
She looked up at him, her eyes clouded with tears. “How do you think I feel, who didn’t see? Her governess-responsible for her, I don’t see how I can face Lord Hawth.”
“But you will.” He spoke with warming confidence. “And so will your splendid mother. Only—I think we should get back and warn her just how angry Hawth is. Prepare her.”
“Yes. She’ll be grateful.” Kate made an effort to free her arm from his, but it was held tight.
“I doubt it,” he said. “People seldom are. Interfering’s the devil! Oh, forgive my language. It’s the fault of that fetching rig of yours.”
“Fetching!” She turned on him, glad to let tears burn into rage. “Don’t mock me, Mr. Warrender! You told me long since what you thought of women who masqueraded like this. No sister of yours, you said, jauntering about the countryside in… in…”
“Breeches,” he said helpfully. “So that’s what you meant, earlier on, when you made that fulminating remark about my sister. To tell the truth, it baffled me at the time. My dear Kit, if I may call you that this once, let me confess to you that I had quite forgotten those unlucky comments of mine. I do remember now. I was a young prig then. I’ve grown up since. You came out strong in defence of Lady Caroline Lamb, did you not? May I say that I do not think you resemble her in the least.” They were nearing the hall now, and his arm, firm through coat and greatcoat, drew her to a halt. “This is goodbye, Kit,” he said. “Kate. Odd to think I loved you first as Kit, and never knew it. Even let myself think for a crazy while it was your mother. And now, too late. I’ll be a laughing-stock tomorrow, Kate. Your brother has made that richly clear. And off to America the next day. Alone. Tell me, if I had spoken, if I had only spoken when I was still Warren of Warren House, might I have had a chance?”
“A chance!” Anger was the easiest way. “Thank you for the compliment, Mr. Warren! So you think me mercenary, as well as a vulgar masquerader. Well, it’s over. The masquerade. If only it had never started. I wish you joy of America! As for me, I am going to take my tarnished reputation and my mother to Tunbridge Wells, whether she likes it or not. We shall have an extremely genteel establishment and play cards every night.”
“Your tarnished reputation! You’re not serious?” And then: “Damnation!” Lord Hawth and Christopher had rounded the bend of the drive, riding hard.
“All’s well.” Hawth flung it at Kate as they all moved indoors together. “Not a Frenchman survived the wreck. The military have things in hand now. Give Mr. Warren’ some breakfast, if you would, Miss Warrender, while I have a word with this brother of yours.” He was holding his temper on a tight rein, aware as they all were of servants back in their usual functions. Servants, perhaps, who knew just how close they had come to changing sides, and consequent disaster, the night before.
Mrs. Warrender was alone in the breakfast room, where a steaming urn and covered dishes on the sideboard spoke of normal living recaptured. “Mr. Warren!” She jumped to her feet “I’m so glad you are come. I don’t know what to say to you, how to apologise. For what we have done to you … what my son has done.”
“Not you.” He took her hands in his. “And no need, please, to apologise. Nor to look so sorry for me. I wouldn’t have missed it for the world. I’ve enjoyed being an English landowner, every moment of it, but the play’s over now. I shall go back to Philadelphia, back to business,”
“Will you like that?”
He gave her a long, steady look. “No,” he said at last. “Mrs. Warrender—”
“Yes?”
“Will …” He stopped. “Will he be good to you? Your son. To you and your daughter? Miss Kate speaks of going to Tunbridge Wells. As if … as if …”
“As if she did not trust her brother.” Mrs. Warrender was white with fatigue. “As well she may not. Oh, Kate!” She held out a pleading hand. “Oh, Kate!”
“It’s bad?” Kate flashed an appealing glance at Warren and put her arms round her mother.
“As bad as possible. Tunbridge Wells! It’s not far enough, Kate. No.” She turned as George Warren made as if to leave the room. “Don’t go, Cousin George. You’re family, after all.”
“Thank you. Then pour me a cup of tea, ma’am, and drink your own. It’s been a long night. Things will look better in the morning.”
“It is morning. Where is Christopher?”
“With Hawth in the study.”
If possible, she went whiter still, but she poured his tea with a shaking hand, then made herself drink some of her own and urged Kate to do likewise. “We must be ready to face Lord Hawth,” she said. “I’m so ashamed. Of Christopher. All he’s done. To us all. To you, George. To poor little Sue. To Kate. No, dear—” as Kate began a protest—“let’s face the truth about Christopher, for once. Don’t pretend he didn’t start you on that mad masquerade of yours, because I won’t believe it. He needed you, did he not, for cover?”
“I’m afraid so.”
“Without a thought of what it would do to you—to your reputation.”
“Never mind that, mamma.” Kate managed a cheerful note. “You know I enjoyed it! Just as Cousin George enjoyed being an English landowner. And when I think that Christopher will get the advantage of all your improvements, cousin, it’s almost more than I can bear.”
“That’s the least of my worries,” said Goerge Warren. He turned to Mrs. Warrender. “Are you serious, ma’am? About Miss Kate’s reputation?”
“Good God, yes. The servants know tonight. The whole county will tomorrow. Well—just look at her!”
“I have been,” said George Warren. “With pleasure.” And then, as Kate blushed fiery red: “I have told her already how much I have missed the young cousin who saved my life last winter. Kit Warrender. Kit will o’-the-wisp. Kate!” He smiled at Mrs. Warrender. “You have given me hope, ma’am. If her reputation’s really gone, if Tunbridge Wells is too near, perhaps there is hope yet for a landless man. What would you say to America? Mrs. Warrender, may I have your permission to pay my addresses to your daughter?”
“Oh, George, of course you may.” She turned to him warmly, teacup in hand. “I was beginning to be afraid you would never realise …”
“That I loved her?”
“That she loved you,” said Mrs. Warrender.
“Mother!” Kate had jumped to her feet when she saw how shamelessly her mother was guiding the conversation, but her attempt at flight was too late. George Warren had risen, too, and somehow got between her and the door.
“Another chance.” His hands, very gentle, very firm on her shoulders, held her where she was. “It’s not often one gets another chance. Kate! A hand under her chin made her raise her head to meet his eyes. “Tell me it’s true!” And then, reading her answer in her eyes, he smiled across her at her mother. “How did you know, ma’am?”
“Dear George, it was plain to see in both your faces.”
“You see, Kate.” Now his smile was all for her. “it’s no use. Your mother’s betrayed you. I always did want a mother.”
“And are proposing for me to get one?”
“Of course. Kit Warrender. Besides, I might need my life saved again.”
“By a boy in breeches?”
“By the woman I love. My wife, Kate?” And then, once more across her to her mother: “Excuse me, ma’am?”
“Dear George.” Watching the long, slow ecstacy of that first kiss, Mrs. Warrender raised a secret hand to brush away a tear, but neither of them noticed.
In the study, things were not going so smoothly. Hawth had taken Chris Warrender straight there without a word spoken until they were alone behind closed doors. Then: “We’ve a great deal to discuss, you and I.”
“Yes,” Warrender sat down in Hawth’s own big chair and swung a casual leg over the arm. “May I have some of your excellent brandy? It’s been a long night. Thanks.” He accepted the glass Hawth had angrily poured. “Here’s to you,” he drank. “And the Countess of Hawth.”
“The Countess?”
“Why, yes. My sister Kate. You’re surely going to do the honourable thing, my lord? The poor girl’s compromised beyond redemption. You know that as well as I do. And who’s responsible?
“You,” said Lord Hawth.
“On the contrary, my dear man. I never asked her to come and live in my house and mind my children.”
“She has lived in the Dower House. With her mother,” said Hawth between clenched teeth. “We are not discussing Miss Warrender, sir, but your pretensions to my daughter’s hand.”
“Pretensions?” Chris Warrender had a laugh for it. “I think you will change your tune, my lord, after you have talked the matter over with young Sue. If I am not very much mistaken, she is in a fair way to making you a grandfather.”
“What?” For a moment it seemed that Hawth would strike the smiling young face. Then, slowly: “I see,” he said.
“I’m glad. And, no need to be anxious. I mean to marry her. It’s not a bad match, if you dower her properly. And I’m fond of the chit.”
“Dear God,” said Lord Hawth.
“Only, as part of the bargain, you must make an honest woman of my sister Kate.”
“Honest! You’re not fit to touch her little finger.”
“A very proper sentiment. I knew you’d come round to it, with time.”
“On the contrary. If you must know, I proposed to Miss Warrender some time ago, and was firmly refused.”
“Damnation! Fool of a girl! I might have known she’d spoil sport if she could. But I’ll speak to her, my lord. Trust me to make her see sense.”
“She’s seen it. My offer does not stand, Mr. Warrender, and no interference of yours will revive it.”
“You seriously think Sue and I are going to start married life with a houseful of female relatives? A sister with no reputation, a mother who’s been acting housekeeper to a single man, and one with your name in the county? You’d better be careful, my lord, or I shall consider withdrawing my offer, and then where will your Susan be?”
“Better off, I shouldn’t wonder. But do you actually delude yourself, Mr. Warrender, that you are going to be able to settle down and live in Warren House as if nothing had happened?”
“With a little backing from you—from my father-in-law—I see no reason why not, Warrender of Warren House. The people always looked forward to the day when I would succeed. You and Warren are mere strangers, interlopers. I’m Warrender.”
“I wonder,” said Lord. Hawth. And then: “Yes, Parsons?”
“It’s the lieutenant from the barracks, my lord. Prisoners for committal.”
“Many?”
“Only three. What with the wreck, and those poor drowned Frenchies and all the fighting on the beach, it seems most of the rioters got away. It’s Jewkes, badly wounded, and his son Pete and one other man. And there’s something else, my lord. I Just heard the other Jewkes escaped from Glinde gaol in the commotion last night. He and Sam Chilver. I reckon someone let them out”
“I’m sure they did. How badly’s Jewkes hurt?”
“He looks dreadful.”
“I’ll see them at once. No, in five minutes. Here.” As Parsons left, he turned to Chris Warrender. “The less you are seen the better. I suggest you hide in the tunnel you have used so disgracefully and listen to what they have to say about you. Then perhaps you will understand your position a trifle better.”
Jewkes had been shot in the shoulder and then trampled over by his own supporters. White with loss of blood and clutching a makeshift bandage to his shoulder, he sank into a chair on Hawth’s orders, and accepted a glass of wine gratefully. His son Pete stood anxiously beside him, but the third man kept to the shadows at the back of the room, hat pulled down and cloak muffled up around his face.
“He won’t tell us his name, my lord,” said the constable in charge. “He’s gentry, or near to, by the sound of it.”
“Is he so? We’ve never been so lucky as to catch General Ludd himself!”
“Not likely.” Jewkes spoke up from his chair. “You don’t catch our Generals so easy!” He was on the borderline of delirium, Hawth saw, and the wine was sapping his last restraint.
The chance was too, good to be missed. “The General’s in London, I suppose?” He made the question casual.
“Course he is! Seeing to it that the mail coaches don’t run.” And then: “Did they run? What with the wreck and all, I clean forgot.”
“Hush your blabbermouth.” The man in the corner took a furious stride forward and would have struck Jewkes if one of the constables had not intervened, and, in doing so, pulled away the collar of his coat.
“I know you,” said Hawth. “I have it! You’re Coombe; used to be George Warren’s man of business.”
“And Chris Warrender’s before him,” said Coombe defiantly. “He’ll see me right. Tell you I only joined this riff-raff on his instigation, to help betray them.”
“You did, did you?” Jewkes lifted blood-shot eyes to stare at Coombe. “I’ll see you rot for that, if it’s the last thing I do.”
“You’re going to die,” said Coombe.
“That’s as may be, but young Pete ain’t. My lord—” He turned back to Hawth. “You’ll be easy on my Pete? He could a’ run with the others, I swear it, but stayed to help me, like the good boy he is … You’ll not … you’ll not…”
“Tell me about the mail coaches,” said Lord Hawth, “and we’ll see.”
“It’s when they didn’t run, see. That’s the signal. For the rising. All over the country. Only we wanted to beat Glinde to the hall. So, we had shepherd up the point with a beacon ready to light when the coach didn’t pass. He lit it last night. Didn’t he? Didn’t he? Tell me, my lord, did the coaches run?”
“Course they did,” said the constable. “Pack of nonsense and moonshine. What’ll I do with them, my lord?”
“Oh, committed for trial,” said Hawth wearily. “Let Jewkes’s wound be cared for. And his son stay with him. You’d best keep the other man, Coombe, well away from them. You’re answerable for his life, and it’s not worth a moment’s purchase if any of the revolutionaries get near him.”
“That it ain’t,” said Jewkes with satisfaction. “And I warrant we’ll catch him, soon or late, and Mr. Turncoat Warrender with him. You’ll not forget, Pete? You’ll not…”
“I’ll not forget.” Pete caught him as he fell from his chair.
“Well?” Alone again, Hawth opened the panel. “What do you think of your position now?”
“God blast that Coombe, playing it both ways. Forged my hand to that note to Kate of course. I should have thought of that. He knows it well enough.” Warrender poured wine with a shaking hand. “He’ll not get a penny—” He stopped.
“I wonder just what you promised him. And for what? It was he, I remember, who advised George Warren so badly when he first came over. Your plan, I take it? It didn’t work, you know. He’s loved about the place. He’s made work, built cottages, cared.”
“Oh, God, your pattern landowner. I know! I’ve seen! So what do we do, your daughter and I?”
“I’m glad you ask it at last. I only wish I knew the answer. If I could persuade Susan to whistle you down the wind. I’d do so. Were it not for the child.”
“Ah, yes, the child. That invaluable child. Had you thought that if it should be so obliging as to be a boy, we can break the entail on Warren House, George Warren, he and I?”
“I think you entirely shameless,” said Lord Hawth.
“And starving,” said Chris Warrender. “If you’ll excuse me, my lord, I’ll make an end of this improving conversation and find myself something to eat.”
“You’ll not leave the hall!”
“I most certainly shall not. I value my life, and am glad to see that you do, too.”
But Hawth thought his bravado was wearing thin. Glad to be alone, he sat down to write a quick despatch for London. An urgent relay of riders must get it to the Home Office in time for guards to be set on the night’s mail coaches. Incredible that after, so much activity, it should still be early morning.
In the dining room, Chris Warrender found his mother, Kate, still in coat and breeches, and George Warren, all very comfortably consuming ham and eggs. They had been talking, even laughing. Now they were silent, looking at him.
“Well!” He had one of his challenging glances for Kate. “I should have thought by now, sister dear, you would have contrived to make yourself at least seem respectable. But how should I expect anything but idiocy from you! To have refused Lord Hawth! Are you about in the head, girl! I am doing my best to bring him round again, and then, as head of the family, I shall expect a more rational answer. In the meantime, pray go to your room and try and make yourself look a lady, if you cannot behave like one.”
“That’s enough.” George Warren was on his feet, eyes flashing, fists clenched. “You are speaking to the lady who has agreed to be my wife. Otherwise, sister or no, I would think it my duty to call you out.”
“Your wife? Your wife?” Warrender dissolved into laughter. “Well, I’ll be damned. Not quite the fool I thought you, eh, Kate? Pity about the title, mind you, but judging by what he’s done to my house, Warren’s a warm man. I hope you’ll stop her jaunting about the countryside like that!” He had a scornful comprehensive look for Kate’s trousered legs. “You’ll be living under the cat’s foot else. Probably will anyway. Which reminds me. I’m head of the family. Time you asked my permission?”
“I have Mrs. Warrender’s.”
“Thanks! But I’d like a word with you alone just the same.”
“Very well. In the book-room.”
“George?” Kate put a hand on his arm. “You won’t fight him?”
“No need.” He looked down at her, smiling. “He doesn’t mean to fight me.”
“Of course not. I’ve got some sense. Really, women …” Alone in the book-room, Chris turned to Warren with an assumption of good fellowship. “They’ve got no more idea …”
“We will not discuss the ladies.”
“Oh, very well, but I trust you intend to give that old mother of mine a home, for it’s more than I do.”
“I’d not let her live with you—” He stopped. “Never tell me Hawth has consented to your marriage to Susan?”
“Quick, ain’t you? Yes, he has, and for reason good. That’s what we have to discuss, you and I, as men of the world. My Sue’s in the straw. Course her father consents. Quick marriage, early birth, no trouble. And a million to one it’s a boy. We Warrenders breed true. So—you and I and he together can break the entail. I never did fancy being tied down to the grind of a country gentleman. Seems you like it. Well then? With Sue’s dowry and what you give me for Warren House we’ll take ourselves off far as you please. No problem to anyone. Pity Boney’s got such a stranglehold on Europe, but it won’t last for ever. In the meantime, we’ll find ourselves a corner somewhere. Sicily, maybe? Lisbon? And you and Kate can settle snug as you like at the Warren.” He laughed. “You and Kate! Of all the things. What a dance shell lead you, my sister Kate.”
“We are not discussing the ladies! As to your proposition, I like it. Futherby shall look into it, with the utmost discretion, as a future hypothesis. In the meantime, we will settle, among us, on a fair rent for the Warren, which shall be paid to you through any foreign banker of your choice.”
“Foreign, eh?”
“I think you’d be wise to leave the country, for your own sake as well as for Susan’s. And the less said about that, the better.”
“Mustn’t sully the ladies’ ears? Nonsense! My mother spotted it at once, I could’ see. Always did have a sharp eye for a maidservant’s condition.”
“Hold your tongue,” said George Warren.
Returning to the dining room, he found Kate and her mother still sitting over empty teacups. “All’s well, love.” He pushed back the ruffled shirt cuff and kissed Kate’s hand, “It’s not to be America after all. Will you be disappointed? You and I are to rent Warren House from your brother. Which I take it means he has given permission for our marriage.”
“That’s lucky,” said Kate.
Warren laughed. “He said I’d live under the cat’s foot.” He turned to Mrs. Warrender. “Ma’am, I hope I don’t have to ask it, but you will come and live with us and protect me, will you not?”
Mrs. Warrender blushed, and smiled, and sighed. “Thank you, George, I will gladly.”
“Good.” He smiled at them both, “How pleased Chilver will be to have you home. I have only just realised why he has been looking so wretched. He must have recognised your son and been anxious for him.”
“Or for you,” said Mrs. Warrender.
Hawth spent most of the day in his study, dealing with the flood of messengers who reported the state of the wreck, the number of drowned Frenchmen and the injuries to the two parties of wreckers. These had been surprisingly slight, since everyone’s first thought had been for booty, and even Jewkes was reported to have some chance of recovery. As for his brother Seth and Sam Chilver, they had vanished without trace.
“And I’m just as glad,” Hawth told Warren, who had found him still busy writing. “I think this is a time for mercy to temper justice. Sam Chilver saved Kate’s life; Seth Jewkes was his brother’s tool.”
“But what of the wreckers?”
“I’ve been discussing that with the commander up at the barracks. He says that there were genuine efforts made to rescue those of the Frenchmen who had any chance of survival. What with that and the fact that they prevented an invasion, he and I are inclined to let sleeping dogs lie.”
“You mean, no prosecutions?”
“Just so.” Hawth smiled his saturnine smile. “It’s all to be hushed up. The rising, the French attempt at landing, everything. He took a bit of persuading, but he’s gravely under strength; he doesn’t want trouble any more than I do. You know how that kind of thing spreads.”
Warren nodded. “Specially with this unknown threat still hanging over us from London.”
“Precisely. If only we knew! what it was that was to bring out the mob and stop the coaches. But General Ludd keeps his counsel well.”
“Yes.” Warren shivered, remembering that refrain of Blood, blood, bread or blood. “You think it will happen soon?”
“I’m sure of it. Don’t you see, the French attempt at landing proves it. The rising in London, whatever is planned, should have happened first, so that we were already in trouble here when the French came. They must have got their signals crossed somehow, but they would hardly have been more than a day or so out. And Jewkes and his friends would only have kept watches as they did if they expected the signal at any moment. I hope to God my couriers reach London in time to alert the authorities. Though mind you Mr. Ryder is pretty much on the qui vive already.” He looked up as the clock struck. “Time to change for dinner. You’ll stay the night, of course. I’m not letting Mrs. Warrender and her daughter return to the Dower House.”
“No.” George Warren had been waiting for his opportunity. “Hawth, I’ve something to tell you. I hope you’ll like it, though I’m afraid it means you will lose your housekeeper. I’m engaged to be married.”
“What?” The pen broke in Hawth’s hands as he jumped to his feet. “Engaged …”
“Miss Warrender has done me the honour of accepting me.”
“My dear man! I’m delighted. Congratulations. I hope she makes you very happy.” It came out in jerks. And then: “You’ve talked to that brother of hers?”
“I’ve promised to pay him rent for Warren House at any foreign bank of his choice.”
“Foreign? Thank you, George.” They exchanged a long look.
“But that poor child. Susan. Should you let her?”
“I’m afraid so. She wants it. And in the circumstances…”
“Yes. Strange little creature. God knows what will come of it. But she wants it. And there it is. As soon as possible. And—we’ll say no more about it.” He rose to his feet. “Come, we must change.”
Kate was putting on the green dress that Susan had admired, it seemed a million years ago. “Miss Kate?” Betty Parsons was fastening the back and Kate could see her anxious face in the glass.
“Yes?”
“I’ve a message for you. James said to give it.”
“James?”
“Yes, miss. My intended. He and Sam Chilver are better nor brothers. You heard Sam got away, miss? With Seth Jewkes of the shop?”
“Yes. I’m glad about Sam. I’d meant to speak to his lordship about him. Still will, of course. And to Mr. Warren.”
“I’m so happy for you, miss. That’s a good man. And he’ll listen to you, that’s for sure. We knew you’d speak up for Sam. And of course everyone knows by now what was done for Johnny Penfold. But, miss, the message. Sam told James I was to ask you to get that brother of yours well away, and then not to fret. All that should know about you and him, does. Now Jewkes of the pub’s as good as dead, things is going to be different down at Tidemills. They’ve had a fright, James says. And they don’t like the French anymore than you and I do. That General Ludd had best keep away from these parts, surely. And, as for you, why, I reckon they kind of like you, miss. For what you’ve done, whatever that is.”
“Thank you, Betty.” However enigmatic, it was curiously reassuring, and she went downstairs, in glowing looks, to find George Warren waiting for her in the morning room.
“I hoped you’d be first.” He had something in his hand. “This was my mother’s.” It was a ring of the palest, plainest gold, with one single, perfect pearl, and it fitted. “And these—” his lips just brushed her cheeks as he produced the two leather jewel boxes—“are yours. Yours and your mother’s. I thought it a night for decorations, and sent posthaste for Futherby. I forgot to ask him which was which!”
“Dear Futherby. And dear George.” She picked up the smaller of the two jewel boxes. “I’ve missed them.” Opening the box, she took out a small string of seed pearls. “Perfect,” she said. “Fasten them for me, George?”
Miss Lintott, arriving upon this scandalous scene, let out a loud and awful sniff. “Men’s clothes all day,” she said, “and—”
“My wife to be,” said George Warren;
“Congratulations.” Miss Lintott addressed the one word to Kate.
It should have been a festive evening, with the two engaged couples to be toasted, but over it all hung the shadow of what might be happening in London. “I’ve sent James and another of the men in to Glinde,” Hawth told Warren as the men sat over their wine. “He’s to report at once when the mail coach arrives.”
“If it arrives,” said Warren. “Half past six in the morning, isn’t it?”
Hawth laughed grimly. “Not the ideal time of day to start a revolution. Anyway, after last night’s activities, there’s not much spirit left at Tidemills. They know there are to be no prosecutions. They’ll lie low, I think.”
“No prosecutions? Not even Jewkes?”
“Jewkes died. This afternoon. Coombe will be sent to London for trial, and, presumably, spirited away by the Home Office if he can convince them that he was really playing their game.”
“And young Pete?”
“I’ve had him released.”
“High-handed.” Chris Warrender had been very silent, drinking heavily.
“I think I am in a position to be. You’d best be grateful for it. Frankly, your position is not much better than Coombe’s.”
“Ah,” Warrender smiled at him, “but he has not the advantage of being about to become your son-in-law.”
“Let us join the ladies,” said Lord Hawth.
By general consent, they all retired early, all determined to be up and ready for whatever news the morning might bring. Kate and her mother, sharing the room they had used when they first came to the hall, undressed in silence. Kissing her daughter goodnight at last: “I’m so happy for you, dear,” said Mrs. Warrender.
“Oh, mother, if only …”
“It’s no good, Kate, and we both know it. Impossible anyway, even before Chris …”
“I could kill him,” said Kate. “And poor little Susan. I wish he’d not allow it.” They both knew to whom the “he” referred. But Mrs. Warrender was pretending to be asleep, and Kate, did likewise, and, equally, pretended not to hear the tears gallantly stifled in her mother’s pillow. Neither of them slept much, and they were down, heavy-eyed, to meet the rest of the party over an anxious, early breakfast. Only Miss Lintott and Chris Warrender were absent, Miss Lintott seeing no reason to break her lifelong habit of breakfast in bed, and Chris perhaps feeling that the less he saw of his future father-in-law the better.
Pouring Lord Hawth’s tea just as he liked it, Mrs. Warrender stopped, listening. “Someone’s coming!”
“Fast,” said Hawth. “Parsons, bring him straight here.”
“Yes, my lord. At once.” He returned a few minutes later with James, still in mudstained riding boots.
“They came, my lord, the coaches.” James looked badly shaken. “But there’s news. Word of mouth. No time for a Gazette. Mr. Perceval’s dead. Killed in the House.”
“The Prime Minister? Killed? How?”
“Shot, my lord. They don’t know much. A man called Bellingham, that they did know. And the mob cheered him. Bellingham. They had to wait for the Life Guards before they sent him, double-ironed, to Newgate. Touch and go, it was, by the sound of it.”
“But the mail coaches ran,” said George Warren.
“Thank God they were prepared for it,” said Hawth. “Is all quiet at Glinde?”
“Hardly a soul stirring. Sleeping it off, I reckon.”
“Good. Thank you, James. Get some sleep. I wonder,” he went on, after the man had gone, “Bellingham? Never heard of him. Could he be General Ludd?”
“We may never know,” said George Warren. “But it does sound as if the worst of the danger is past.” He stood up. “I think I’d best thank you for your hospitality, get home to Warren House and start setting things in order there. I want it fit to receive its mistress. Kate—” he smiled down at her—“you’ll let me name an early day?”
“I don’t know.” She looked from him to her mother. “It’s all so strange. Poor Mr. Perceval. And Mrs. Perceval all those children. It doesn’t seem right to be happy.”
“It’s good to be alive,” said George Warren, “and not fighting off the mob. Come, love, see me to my horse and let me persuade you? Mrs. Warrender will stand my friend, won’t you, ma’am? I was thinking.” Diffidently. “You know the old west wing? We could make a kind of … kind of Dower House there for you, ma’am. If you’d just tell me what you’d like?”
“Too kind.” She looked up at him, hollow-eyed. “You are everything that is kind, George.”
“Damnation!” Left alone with her, Hawth, who had risen as Kate left the room, took two long strides to loom over Mrs. Warrender’s chair. “A Dower House indeed! What’s wrong with mine, pray?”
“I’ve been very happy there.” She looked up at him pleadingly. “But you must see, my lord, without Kate … You’ve had more than your share of gossip and scandal as it is. And …” She stopped, horror-struck at what she had been about to say.
“Am like to have more. Goddamn that son of yours, ma’am.”
“Poor little Susan,” she said. “I’m ashamed, my lord. I …” She sniffed and smiled up at him. “I know you hate to see a woman crying. But I must just tell you once how ashamed I am. Of Chris. Of my son.”
“Not your fault,” he said. “That husband of yours. Ma’am, shall I tell you just once what I thought of him?”
“No. Please don’t.” She managed a watery smile. “I’d much rather not hear it.”
“Gallant.” He bent over her and she could smell wine, and the cigars he smoked. “And like you. So you propose to dwindle into a mother-in-law, Mrs.—damnation, what’s your name?”
“You didn’t know? Susan,” she said.
“Susan, by God! Well, Susan, are you really going to leave me and my remaining children to the tender mercies of my Cousin Lintott?”
“What else can I do, my lord?”
“You know as well as I do. For God’s sake, stop calling me ‘my lord’ and say you’ll marry me. Make an honest man of me at last. Take me over, Susan. Make me over? I’m not much of a bargain, I know, and I know you do. I’m a bad tempered brute. I drink. I smoke. I swear. I doubt I can change, but, by God, I can try. I’m tired of myself, Susan. Please—”
“Because you need a housekeeper?”
“No, damn you. Because I need a wife. Because I love you! And didn’t even know it till last night. When George Warren told me he was engaged, he said I was going to lose my housekeeper. You. I thought it was you. That I’d lost you. God, what a fool. You’ve every right to laugh at me. I’ve made a proper idiot of myself, have I not, proposing for your daughter. I just didn’t understand …”
“I’m not laughing at you,” she said.
“No, by God, you’re not.” He put a gentle hand under her chin and tilted it up. “You’re trying not to cry. My darling love, cry if you want to, but, before you start, just say you’ll marry me.”
“Oh, Mark.” She met his gaze steadily. “I ought not to.”
“You call me Mark as if you always had.”
“Well, I did once.”
“What?”
She smiled up at him a little wryly. “You’ve quite forgotten. I thought you had. I … couldn’t. Do you remember a party your grandmother gave? Bastille year. At the Dower House. We danced. We laughed. We walked out into the garden. It was moonlight. You kissed me. And then the next thing I heard you had gone on the grand tour. I married Mr. Warrender next year.”
“Dear God! That was you? My nameless girl. ‘Call me Susan,’ you said. Susan with the golden hair. But you disappeared; vanished like a night shadow. What happened?”
She laughed ruefully. “My hostess had the headache. We had to leave early. I couldn’t see you anywhere. To say goodbye … to explain. What could I do?”
“And so I lost you! A hostess’s headache! I waited, Susan. For you … for the supper dance you promised me. It seemed like hours, standing there, feeling the fool I looked. In the end, I joined the other young bucks; drank myself stupid. I was to start on my grand tour next day, When I woke; head like a sawmill; the carriage was at the door. And—idiot—I got in and drove away. Infatuation, I told myself, as my head cleared. An unknown jilt; absurd; I’d forget you. I never did.”
“You didn’t recognise me when we met.” Her smile took the sting from the words.
“Drowned in your widow’s weeds! Besides, when I lost you, I banished you—did my best to. A haunt from the past. Lost … best forgotten. I tried very hard. But”—he leaned down towards her—“I called my daughter Susan.”
“Poor child.”
“We are not.” Very gently, very firmly, he lifted her out of her chair. “We are not going to discuss our children.”
“No, do let’s not.” She smiled up at him mistily. “Oh, Mark!”
Miss Lintott’s tea had been cold and her toast burned. Dressing angrily and early, she hurried downstairs to give a piece of her mind to the housekeeper. Opening the dining room door: “Good God,” she said. “Have you taken leave of your senses, cousin?”
His arms still firmly round her, the Earl of Hawth stopped kissing his housekeeper and smiled over her head at the intruder. “No, just come to them,” he told her.