“Miss! Miss Christina!” Betty’s voice dredged Christina up out of a great depth of sleep.
“Yes?” She turned over reluctantly in bed, then sat up suddenly as the girl drew back the curtains and let in a great flood of daylight. “Goodness, what time is it?”
“Late, miss. I didn’t have the heart to wake you before. You was dead to the world. But there’s the deuce to pay downstairs and Mr. Parkes said I’d best call you.”
“Why? What’s the matter?” She was out of bed already, afraid she knew.
But Betty’s next words were reassuring. “Matter enough! There’s a whole troop of soldiers outside wanting to search the house. Proper dragoons they are, miss, you just wait till you see them. They make Mr. Ross and his Volunteers look like a parcel of liverymen. Not but what I wish Mr. Ross was here to deal with them. Old Master’s in a proper tearer, Parkes says, and don’t want to have them in the house. Which it stands to reason we’ll have to, sooner or later.”
“Of course. But”—her heart sank—“where is Mr. Ross?”
“Rode off to London at first light. Said he had to have his hair cut, of all things. If you ask me, the lieutenant’s not best pleased at finding him gone. Did you hear them last night, miss?”
“Last night? What do you mean?” She let Betty give her the servants’ version of last night’s events while she helped her dress and was at once shocked and relieved to see how patently Betty was on the smugglers’ side. If there had been any suspicious traces in the kitchen this morning, the dragoons were not likely to hear about them.
“But where are the soldiers now?”
“Out front, miss, drawn up ever so regular on the drive, waiting for Old Master to dress and receive ’em. And taking his time something shocking he is, according to his man.”
“I’d best go to him. They’ve not left the lieutenant outside, have they?”
“Oh no, miss, a handsome young man like him. He’s in the breakfast room, taking coffee with Mr. Richard.”
“Oh, that’s all right. Thank you, Betty. Tell Parkes I’ll be down as soon as I have seen my grandfather.” She crossed the hall and knocked softly on the door of her grandfather’s rooms, wishing, as she did so, more than ever that she had been able to see Ross this morning before he left.
“Good morning, miss.” She suspected Greg, her grandfather’s man, of disliking her, but he concealed it well. “Mr. Tretteign was just asking for you.”
“Good. Is he up then?”
“Yes, indeed, miss, with such an upheaval belowstairs.” He ushered her through the little antechamber into the luxurious sitting room. Her grandfather was sitting fully dressed in his big chair by the fire, drinking ginger tea.
“There you are at last, girl. Now, tell me what’s all this to-do belowstairs.” And then, on an even more irritable note, “You may go, Greg, no need to stand there with your great ears agape.”
“I only know what Betty’s told me.” She watched the door close behind the man. “Some affray last night with a gang of smugglers, I understand, and the lieutenant thinks a wounded man might be hiding here. God knows why.”
“No need to sound so prissy, girl. You know as well as I do where our brandy comes from—and our tea, for the matter of that. But that’s not the question. What I want to know is, do we let them search?”
“Of course we must, Grandfather. They’ll find nothing.” She hoped she was right. “The sooner we let them search, the sooner we’ll be rid of them.”
“That’s sense.” He pulled himself creakily to his feet. “I’ll have to see them. Richard’s no more use than a tailor’s dummy. Trust Ross to be away when he’s needed. Gone to London to get his hair cut, of all the mad starts!” But he did not sound displeased. “Making a lady’s man of himself, hey? And about time, too. Hasn’t got eyes to see the length of his nose, that boy. Well, no wonder. Give me your arm, girl. They’ll find nothing, you say?”
“Of course not, Grandfather. Parkes and I will see to them. You need not trouble yourself, beyond speaking to the lieutenant.”
“Parkes and you, what?” Now he gave her a very sharp look indeed. “Where’s that man of mine? I can’t get down stairs with only a chit like you to support me!”
Lieutenant Trevis, growing impatient with the delay and Richard’s small talk, emerged into the main hall in time to see old Mr. Tretteign make his laborious way downstairs, supported on one side by his tall granddaughter, on the other by the assiduous Greg. His old-fashioned tie wig, his brown suit made in the old style, with knee breeches and salmon-colored silk stockings, all contributed to a formidable effect. “Well, young man,” he paused on the second to bottom step, thus maintaining a slight advantage of height. Christina, standing beside him, also seemed formidable, a tall brown-skinned goddess in gray worsted. “You’ve got me up five hours early,” continued Mr. Tretteign. “What now?”
Lieutenant Trevis had had no intention of apologizing, but found himself doing so just the same as he explained about the man they had chased the night before, their quick search of the outbuildings and subsequent failure to find any trace of the wounded man elsewhere. “He must have had help,” he concluded. “With your permission, sir, we’d like to search the house now.”
“Or without it, what? I don’t know what you expect to find. We lock up tight down here on the marsh. Doors and windows. Ask the butler—it’s his job.” He raised his voice. “Parkes! Where are you, man?”
“I already have, sir,” said the lieutenant as Parkes emerged from the door to the servants’ quarters. “He tells me all was locked as usual last night. But, suppose an accomplice inside—”
“One of the servants? Bah—they know better. But search if you must, Lieutenant, quickly … and get it over with. Parkes, let them in through the stable yard.”
“Thank you, sir.” The lieutenant went to the front door to give his orders to the men outside. Christina let out a little, silent breath. All this time she had been holding Richard’s eyes with her own, defying him, silently, to mention finding the side door unlocked the night before.
He was looking extremely put out, she noticed, and his first words were reassuring. “I never heard of such an ill-managed business,” he said. “Smugglers indeed! If it were to get about town that the house I stayed in had been under suspicion—why, it might cost me my promotion. I suppose you must let them search, Grandfather?”
“Of course I must. It is to all our interests to prove we are not harboring their wounded man.”
“Wounded man! If you ask me, it’s all a pack of lies. They never even came to grips with the smugglers—if they were smugglers and not some innocent night fishermen—and made up the story of wounding one of them to impress their superiors. As for suggesting he might be sheltering here, at Tretteign Grange—why it’s unthinkable. And I can tell you I have given that young lieutenant a round warning that if word of this gets about I shall lodge a complaint where it will hurt him most.”
“With the Duke of York?” The old man’s voice was sardonic. “I did not know he was a friend of yours, Richard. Christina, while this imposition continues, I will drink a cup of bohea in the breakfast room.”
“Yes, Grandfather.”
The dragoons were quick, courteous and formidably efficient. Christina, who had hurried upstairs to warn her aunt of the impending search, watched with uneasy respect as two of them took the measurements of the upper hall in order to make sure there were no secret rooms or passages.
The lieutenant was directing operations, but turned to Christina as she emerged from her aunt’s room. “You’re the American young lady, are you not?”
“Yes.”
“Would you know if there were any priests’ holes or such?”
“I’ve certainly never heard of any, but of course I’ve only been here a few weeks.”
“Precisely. And you heard nothing last night? This is your room, is it not? You will forgive us, I know, for searching it?” One of his men had just emerged with a shake of his head.
“Yes.” She could not help being sorry for the young lieutenant, whose chain of reasoning was obvious: she was a stranger, recently arrived from America; she could not possibly be involved with the gang of smugglers. He thought he could trust her. For a moment, she was angry with herself. He ought to be able to trust her. But, it was no use: she was committed. “Of course you must search everywhere,” she went on. “But I am sure you’ll find nothing. I was awake for some time last night. I’m sure I should have heard anyone coming across the shingle. You know how noisy it is. And what difficult going. Could a wounded man …” She remembered Richard’s suggestion. “Are you quite sure someone was wounded?”
For the moment they were alone in the hall, while his men moved systematically from one bedroom to the next. His eyes met her with a frank appeal she found hard to bear. “That’s precisely my difficulty,” he said. “I was not near enough to see. But my men are positive—”
“Only of course they might be—as a kind of—what do you British call it—point of honor?”
“That’s about it. But, of course, we must search. You see, we had had a warning, from a Mrs. Emeret, who used to be housekeeper here. Before your time, I expect.”
“On the contrary.” Once again she could not help feeling sorry for him as he played into her hand. “I am afraid I was responsible for Mrs. Emeret’s dismissal. When I arrived, I found her taking the grossest advantage of my grandfather, who is not, as you will have seen, so young as he was. I am afraid I acted rather high-handedly toward her. It is no wonder she bears us all a grudge.”
“You think it merely that?”
“I’m sure of it. She left … very angry. And I have taken over her duties. There is not much goes on in this house that I am not aware of.” She hoped she would not have to lie to him more directly.
“That is just what I thought. So you would know—”
“Of course I would.” To her relief, his sergeant appeared at this point to report that they had found nothing upstairs.
“Have you seen the attics?” asked Christina helpfully.
“No, miss.” He sounded at once surprised and taken aback.
“No wonder if you missed the entrance,” she said kindly. “It is well concealed. I cannot imagine why.” And she led them down the hall to the huge oak press where she kept the clean linen. “I’m afraid you have to move this away,” she said. “It seems unlikely that it could have been done in the night, but I am sure you would rather …” She let the sentence hang, satisfied with having established herself so conclusively as on their side.
It took three men, and a good deal of sotto voce swearing, to get the huge cupboard moved aside to reveal the narrow door behind it. “Shall I ring for candles?” asked Christina. “I am afraid you are going to get terribly dirty. So far as I know, the attics have never been cleaned. They run the entire length of the house,” she added, “and have been used, I believe, to store everything that was no longer needed downstairs. They should make a quite fascinating historical study. I have kept meaning to go up and take an inventory, only … they are so dirty.”
It took the entire search party two hours to go through the attics, and when they finally emerged their once white trousers bore ample witness to the state of the attics. Downstairs they found Christina waiting for them. “That must have been thirsty work,” she said. “There is some of our home brewed in the kitchen for your men, Lieutenant, and I hope you will take a glass of something with me.” And then, as a complete afterthought, “You found nothing, of course?”
“Nothing but dust and spiders. Yes, we would be most grateful for some refreshment, Miss Tretteign. I had no idea it would take so long.”
“Not Tretteign”—she led him into the morning room—“Tretton. I belong to the American branch of the family. Madeira, Lieutenant, or would you like to try some of our own mead?” She was glad to see that there was no smuggled brandy in evidence. One could rely on Parkes.
“May I try the mead? I’ve heard of the Romney brew, but never tasted it. I’m a stranger in these parts,” he explained, “like you, Miss Tretton.” He had changed the pronunciation of her name. Once again, she had got her point across.
“And where are you from, Lieutenant … Trevis, is it?” She poured him a brimming glass of mead. “It’s strong, I warn you.”
“It can’t be too strong for me—not after those attics. But I’m obliged to you for telling me of them, just the same. It’s good to know there’s one member of the household I can trust. I was warned about the marshmen when I was posted here. They’ll all hang together—till they all hang together, if you understand me. I’m from the west country, Miss Tretton, from Cornwall. Now, there’s a county for you—all friends, all honest, all loyal …”
“You make it sound like an earthly paradise.”
“Compared with Sussex, it is. You can’t trust anyone here, Miss Tretton, not anyone. They’re all in league—gentry as well, half the time—drinking run brandy, writing to their friends in France, giving information, I’ve no doubt, about our state of defense, whether intentionally or otherwise. Why, it’s common knowledge there’s a traffic with France from Hastings. Smugglers know no law, Miss Tretton, and no loyalty.”
She was very much afraid he was right, and it was with considerable relief to her nagging conscience that she saw him rise to his feet. “It’s done me good to talk to you, Miss Tretton, thank you. Sometimes I wish …” He broke off. “We must be on our way back to headquarters. You’ll let me know if you see or hear of anything suspicious?”
“Of course.” Hateful to have to lie to this friendly young man.
“Oh—one other thing.” He turned back at the door. “Your cousin, Mr. Ross Tretteign. He rode off very suddenly this morning, from what I hear.”
She had expected this and managed a laugh. “Yes. He said he was going to get his hair cut.”
“You don’t believe it?”
“Of course not, since he has gone on my business.”
“Yours?”
“Yes. You’ll not speak of it, I’m sure, since I have reasons for not wanting it discussed in the family, but I have a small estate—left me by my father—and there was some legal business. Ross kindly consented to act for me.”
“Oh, I see. Miss Tretton, I am more grateful to you for your frankness than I can say. You’ll laugh at me, I know, but his sudden departure—and on such an obvious pretext—you know, it had put the wildest ideas into my head.”
She felt very far from laughter, but managed at least a smile. “Oh, poor Ross, did it seem so suspicious?”
They rode away at last. The next thing was to contrive a word alone with Parkes, but she had had time, while the search continued, to plan for this. “Aunt Tretteign?” She joined her aunt and cousin in the morning room.
“Yes?” Fretfully. “Are they gone at last? I was never so shocked in my life as to have to turn out first thing in the morning for a parcel of filthy dragoons. A most ill-managed business on someone’s part.”
Christina laughed. “You’d be right to call them filthy after they made the tour of the attics, poor things. I really think we should spring-clean up there next year. Who knows what priceless heirlooms we might find?”
“Heirlooms perhaps,” put in Richard, “but not, I am sure, priceless. If they had been, our esteemed grandfather would no doubt have sold them long since to satisfy his passion for gambling on ‘change.”
“Poor Grandfather,” said Christina. “How he must have hated having to admit it.”
“‘Poor Grandfather’ indeed.” Mrs. Tretteign had been coming slowly to the boil. “How can you say that, Christina, after his behavior last night! But I suppose it’s all of a piece.”
“With my being a Yankee, you mean, and devoid of finer feelings?” Christina had grown tired of this favorite phrase of her aunt’s. “Frankly I think it’s just as well for me that I am.”
“But anyone with the slightest perception can see you are not, Cousin Christina.” This, with a languishing glance from Richard, made his intentions all too clear. Well, if she could prevent him, she would.
“You know me so well, after twenty-four hours acquaintance? Less, really. Your perceptions must be fine indeed, Cousin.” And then, turning back to Mrs. Tretteign, “But I came to consult you, Aunt. Can you see any objection to my taking rubbings of some of the brasses in the old chapel?”
“Rub brasses, child? Today of all days? What in the world will you think of next?”
“But the brasses are beautiful. If I were to succeed in taking their likenesses they would make admirable decorations for this room—and, if well mounted, might even help to keep out some of the worst draughts.”
“Well,” her aunt cast a dubious look around the room, “if you can make the place look a trifle less Gothic, and maybe hide some of the marks in the plaster, so much the better. But surely you will freeze to death out there in the chapel at this time of year.”
“Oh no,” said Christina cheerfully, “I’ll wrap up warmly.” She rang the bell and when, as she had hoped, Parkes appeared, she explained what she wanted.
He looked very old this morning, she thought, and shaky, but took her point at once with a quick, scarcely perceptible flash of red-rimmed eyes. “Brass rubbings in the chapel? Of course, Miss Christina. I’ll make the arrangements directly.”
“And I will come and show you what I need.” She ran upstairs to put on the warm fur jacket her father had had made for her, and joined Parkes in the chapel. Standing in the doorway so she could make sure no one was near enough to overhear them, she asked, “How is he today, Parkes?”
“Poorly, miss. I’ll be right glad to have you take a look at him. Mr. Ross says you’re a first-rate nurse and will know what to do.”
“I wish I were, but I’ll certainly have a look at him, if you will keep watch here.”
“Gladly, miss.” He handed her the key that unlocked both doors. “You’ll be as quick as you can?”
“I will indeed. If anyone comes you’ll just have to say I took a fancy to walk in the cloisters—while Ross is not here to prevent it—and stop them coming after me.”
“I’ll do my best.”
“I know you will.”
Alone, she found the quiet of the cloisters oddly disconcerting. But there was no time to waste on imaginary ghosts. She hurried down the near side and opened the door to the windowless room where the Frenchman lay. He was unconscious still, but his pulse was steadier and there was little trace of fever. With luck, she thought, he should come about. At least, for today—she was busy removing the dressings from the wound—the question of meals would not arise to trouble them. She was convinced that he would be best without food. Parkes, she saw, had put a fresh jug of water and a solid pewter mug within his reach, and by the look of things he had drunk a little from it. Perhaps, after all, they would be able to pull him through without benefit of a doctor.
The wound was healing nicely. She dusted it with basilicum powder and put on a clean dressing, remembering, as she did so, her Indian nurse. “Keep ’um plenty clean and dry,” old Nelema had said, “and they mend themselves.” This time at least, it looked as if she might be right.
For a fleeting instant, as she drew the new dressing tight, Christina had the odd feeling that he was conscious and watching her from veiled eyes. But why should he? If he remembered anything, he must know her for his friend. Anyway, she had no time to linger. She poured more water into the mug, settled the blanket around him and hurried back to the chapel.
And only just in time. She had the chapel door shut behind her and was turning the key silently in the oiled lock when she heard Richard’s impatient voice from the stable yard. “What do you think you are doing, blockhead?”
“I’m sure I beg your pardon, Mr. Richard.” Now she could see Parkes standing squarely across the far doorway. “It’s been such a morning, with soldiers all over the house, and the old master frailer than I’ve seen him for years.… I really don’t know whether I’m on my head or my heels.”
“You think old Mr. Tretteign ill?” Richard rose to the bait.
“I’m anxious about him, sir, I truly am. He’s too old for such carryings-on. Stands to reason it’s taken it out of him. I’m just glad you were here, sir, to take charge.”
“One does one’s best, of course.” Richard sounded mollified. “But where’s Miss Christina? I came to see how she is getting on with this mad plan of hers.”
“Oh, she’s here right enough, Mr. Richard, working away.” And now, at last, he moved aside and let Richard enter the room to find Christina very busy measuring a sheet of paper against the largest of the brasses.
“I’d be truly grateful, sir,” Parkes went on, “if you were to give her a hand instead of me. I’ve got a thousand and one things to see to after the morning we’ve had.”
“Of course. You may go, Parkes.” And then, to Christina, “That old dodderer gets more intolerable every day. I wish my grandfather could be persuaded to pension him off. He might just as well have ordered me to come and help you. Not that I’m not delighted to do so, of course.” A comic change of tone here. “But surely you should not be out here in the cold, a delicate young lady like you.”
“What’s delicate about me?” When she stood up from the paper she had been measuring, she towered half a head above him. “But you will be cold, I am afraid, without your greatcoat.”
“No matter. It would be worth influenza—or even worse—to snatch a word alone with you, and in the house, you know, it’s impossible, what with Greg listening at keyholes, and my aunt as inquisitive as she can hold together. How do you bear her, by the way?”
“You should rather ask how does she bear me. She has been wonderfully patient, I think, considering the way I seem to have come in and taken over.”
“And about time, too. I tell you, I positively shuddered when last I was here, to think of the waste that went on in the servants’ hall.”
“Did you really? How very observant of you.”
He missed the irony in her tone. “I think you will find, Cousin, that I am a man who can see what’s before him as well as the next one. And that brings me to what I have been wishing to say to you. First, let me condole with you about this monstrous proposition of our grandfather’s. I had not thought even he could do anything so out of the way. Could he be proved mad, do you think?” He threw it out as an idea that had just occurred to him.
“Of course not. He’s as sane as you or I, and you know it.”
“All the less excuse for him. To put you—a delicately nurtured young lady—in so invidious a position—”
“I wish you would stop calling me delicate,” she interrupted him impatiently. “You must see how far from the mark it is.”
“I see that you are magnificent, Cousin Christina. An Amazon … a Penthesilea—”
“I am afraid my classical education has been neglected,” she said dryly. “If you wish to pay me compliments, you had best do it in English, Cousin, so I may understand you.”
“Compliments! Nothing was further from my thoughts! It is sympathy I am offering, Cousin, in the predicament in which you find yourself. To be given no option but to engage yourself to me—it is an intolerable thing, and what no young lady of spirit, which, compliments apart, I know you to be, could possibly be expected to put up with.”
“No option? What, precisely, do you mean by that? Can you be suggesting that our cousin Ross is already married?”
“‘Cousin Ross’ indeed!” A dramatic pause. “Has no one told you …”
“Told me what?”
“I suppose I should have known. But … how can I tell you? It’s far from being a proper subject for a …”
“Delicately nurtured female?” she put in. “Well, let me reassure you again, Cousin, I’m a woman from the American west. Anything you can bring yourself to say, I shall hear without blushing. But what is this monstrous thing? Tell me quickly.”
“I must, I suppose. But believe me, with the greatest possible reluctance.”
“Of course. We will assume your reluctance.”
“Well, then—but how can I? My grandfather should have told you. It’s monstrous—”
“I’m sure it is, but … what?”
“Have you not noticed that Ross never calls him grandfather?”
“Yes, I had, as a matter of fact.”
“And for reason good.” He was fairly into it now, and hurried on. “Because he’s no kin of his. Ross was born, Cousin, when my uncle, who should have been his father, had been out of the country twelve months on a diplomatic mission.” And then, anxiously, “Do you understand me?”
Try as she would, she could not help a spurt of laughter. “Just, Cousin.” And then, sorry for his scandalized expression, “Forgive me. I should be shocked, should I not? Swoon perhaps?”
“It’s no laughing matter, Cousin. You have not heard what came of it.”
“No. What?”
“A duel, of course. What else? Had you never wondered how my father, and Ross’s, both came to such untimely ends?”
Now there was no need to pretend shock. “You cannot mean …”
“Ross and I are half brothers. Mr. Tretteign—Aunt Verity’s husband—was away for a year in Berlin. My father was”—he colored—”here, with my mother. When my Uncle Tretteign returned from Berlin, Ross was a few days old. Aunt Verity confessed everything …” Here a touch of scorn. “Of course a duel was inevitable. They fought in the cloisters, by moonlight …”
“And?”
“Ross’s supposed father killed his real one—mine. Ours, I should say.”
“You’re half brothers.” It was hard to grasp.
“Precisely. And not proud of it.”
“But what happened to Mr. Tretteign?”
“He had to flee the country. Even here on the marsh it was impossible.… They fought without seconds … madness. He died, not long after, in the West Indies.”
“Good God! And your mother?”
“Died soon after, when I was born. So Aunt Tretteign remained, the only female of the family, and brought us both up, Ross and me. It was all hushed up, you see. Grandfather wanted an heir. Ross could bear the name. I could not. But … he made his terms. Now you must see how the entail came to be broken. It was a promise made by Aunt Tretteign,’ on Ross’s account.”
“Which Ross chose to honor?”
“Well, yes, I suppose you could say that. But for Grandfather to turn round now and give him a chance at it all, and without even telling you that you’d be marrying a—forgive me, Cousin—a bastard! Do you wonder I suspect the old man of being out of his senses?”
“I’m sure my grandfather knew he could rely on you to tell me.” Her thoughts were racing. This explained so much that had puzzled her. And something else that she would hardly let herself think. Her father had always been against her coming back, for fear, he had said, that she might marry one of her cousins. “I know it’s not forbidden”—she thought she could hear him now—“but marriage between cousins is a mistake, Chris my love. Don’t do it.” Well, Ross was no kin of hers. The electric shock that had run through her when they first met, when his firm hands held her captive, had had nothing to do with blood relationship.
Richard had gone on talking all this time and she had not heard a word of it. “I … I beg your pardon, Cousin. What did you say?”
“No wonder if it disturbs you. I can only ask your pardon, once again, for being the reluctant teller of so sordid a story. But now you will understand that you have no choice in the matter. It was hushed up, of course. Grandfather did his best. But, equally of course, everyone who counts for anything knows all about it.”
“I am sure they do.”
“So there you are. Even his mother, I am sure, has more niceness of mind than to think it possible for you to marry Ross. And, believe me, Cousin, it is all for the best. He will doubtless propose for you as soon as he comes back from this mad excursion to London, but you must know as well as I do that it is only the Abbey he wants. Absurd that he, who has no claim to it, should pretend to care so much. Working as Grandfather’s agent, forsooth! Did you know he sold out of the Thirty-third to do so?”
“No, I had no idea. He talks so little about himself.”
“Why do you think he’s such a bigwig with the Volunteers? Oh yes, that was part of the price of his waiving the entail. Grandfather bought him his commission in—I don’t remember—’94, was it? And of course he’s just the kind of daredevil—excuse me, Cousin—the kind of character to do well in the army.”
“He did well, did he?”
“Well enough, I believe.” Grudgingly. “He served in that unlucky business in the Netherlands. You’ve never heard of it.”
“In ’94? You mean
‘The grand old Duke of York
With twice ten thousand men—
He marched them up to the top of the hill
And he marched them down again’?
I can remember laughing about that when I was in the nursery.”
“The Duke of York is our king’s son.” Stiffly. “And, I can tell you, it was no laughing matter to Ross. He didn’t care a rush for his life, they said. I suppose that’s how he came to be mentioned in dispatches. An odd business, though. He served right through till 1802 and sold out at the peace of Amiens. Apparently he’s been content to lead a slug’s life here on the marsh ever since. I thought he was sure to rejoin when war broke out again last year, but not a bit of it. Tired of being a hero, I suppose. At least he seems content enough leading his bumpkin’s life of sheep and turnips down here. And I warn you, that’s what you’d find yourself in for if you should be so foolish as to let him talk you round. And—not that he cares a straw for them—he has a way with the girls, I know. I’ll not tell tales out of school, but—”
“No, I am sure you will not.”
“Quite so. Of course not. I am just trying to show you, Cousin, how fully I sympathize with you in the predicament in which you find yourself. That it is intolerable, we can only admit, and then set about contriving expedients to mend it.”
“Expedients?” She might as well get this conversation over with.
“Yes. Of course, I can quite see, that to a young lady of your spirit, the first impulse must be to wash your hands of the whole pack of us. But, what could you do? Where could you go?”
“Where indeed?”
“Of course, the old curmudgeon may change his will, but, frankly, I doubt it. He was always an obstinate old brute.”
“You are referring to our grandfather?”
“Who else? He signed that crazy will this morning, you know. Foxton has taken it back to London with him. I rather thought he meant to suggest it would not be safe here. But no use quarreling with him. After all, he may be serving our interest yet.”
“Ours?”
“Yes, ours. Yours and mine. Cousin!” Here he caught her reluctant hand. “I know you must have had a young lady’s dreams—moonlight, music, the man of your choice.… It is our grandfather’s fault that we must do it thus in hugger-mugger. But never mind. These days marriage is no bar to romance.… That may come later. It’s quite the thing, you know. The Duchess of Devonshire has had I don’t know how many lovers … her husband’s just the same. And as for the Oxfords! Well, their children aren’t called the Harleian Miscellany for nothing! And you and I will not even have the problem of heirs for an estate, since my plan—and I am sure you will agree with me—will be to sell off the whole place the minute the old tartar is safe in his grave. With what it fetches we should be able to take a house in one of the squares. You shall have your own carriage, your own life—a little entertaining on my account, perhaps, I have no doubt that once I can show a proper face to the world, promotion at the Admiralty will follow. I only get a beggarly two hundred pounds now as a junior clerk. It all goes by favor, of course, and where’s my influence? My grandfather never raised a finger to help me. But you—a handsome creature like you—driving your own matched bays in the park, cutting a dash in society. I can just see it. What will they call you, I wonder, if you take? La Belle Sauvage, perhaps? It cannot help but do me good. Melville’s an old stick, of course … you can hardly hope to catch his fancy, but why look so low? With me to show you the ropes—society’s a tricky business—but, who knows, we might even catch one of the royal dukes.”
She was so angry she could hardly speak. And yet, would it be wise to quarrel with him? “Why not the prince himself?” she asked.
“Prinney? Why not? He’s at outs with both his wife and the Fitzgerald, they say. And he’s always liked a fine figure of a woman.”
“You really mean it!”
“When you blush, Cousin, you are magnificent. Prinney it shall be.”
“I am not blushing.” Her control gave with a snap. “I am so angry, I could …” She saw him flinch. “Don’t worry, Cousin, I would never hit someone smaller than myself. As for your proposition, the kindest thing I can do for you is forget that you ever made it.”
His dismay was ludicrous. “But the Abbey? You cannot mean to let it go to the Patriotic Fund? Your family pride must revolt at the idea!”
“Must it? Yours finds no difficulty, it seems, in planning to sell it. Besides, with a little conversion, think what an admirable fortress it should make. Who knows? They might decide to pull it down and use the materials for one of the Martello Towers you keep talking about.”
“I wish you would be serious, Cousin.”
“Do you? I think you should be grateful I am not. If I were to take you seriously, I believe I should see no alternative but to call you out.”
“Fight me? You? A woman? Now I know you are teasing. I should just like to see you handle a gun.”
“Would you? What did you call me? La Belle Sauvage? Well, you’re right: I’ve been brought up like one. I can hit a pigeon on the wing, Cousin. I could draw and have you covered before you had so much as closed your snuffbox. Perhaps you will be so good as to remember that before you come to me with any more of your ‘propositions.’ And now, I should be glad to be left alone. We will forget what has passed, though I confess I should find it easier to do so if urgent business were to call you back to London.”
“But what shall I tell the old man?”
“Mr. Tretteign? Oh, if you wish to justify yourself with him by telling him you have tried, and failed, I will be happy to confirm your story. It cannot but do me good in his eyes.”
“You’re playing for the whole! Infamous.”
She had been half leaning, as they talked, against the tomb whose brass top she intended to rub. Now she rose to her full height and towered over him like a fury. But her words, when they came, were mild enough. “Cousin, I do beg you will leave me before I say something I shall regret.”