| |
Opportunities In Fencing
Si no pierdes la cabeza, no estás de fiesta.
[ If you don’t lose your mind, you’re not partying ]
—A Spanish Truism
(“Ask any Spaniard” —Jack Tremaine)
––––––––
As the afternoon wore on, Jack’s thoughts continually returned to Lady Mimolette, Letty, and their morning ride. She remained a contained mystery, prickly, but teasing fun even when she denied it, while revealing a little of herself. Her physical grace was a pleasure to watch, even when she became irritated with his repartee. He enjoyed her company, in ‘shelling the almond,’ as the Spanish would say, uncovering the layers of Lady Mimolette. He wondered what he would learn of her tonight.
His troop of cavalrymen had escorted the King of Prussia and his entourage from the Pultney Hotel to the Guildhall. There the major of the City of London and other officials met them, the Russian Emperor, and the Regent, granting them permission to enter the city. The troop had then waited with the Blues, doing crowd control, keeping the gawkers from entering the Guildhall square. Troopers on horseback stood facing the onlookers, one every ten feet, ready to turn sideways, blocking egress when necessary. Tiring, boring work. He wished the Cossacks would help. Their savage visage would certainly drive the citizenry away. But no. They sat on their ponies, looking fierce, scimitars drawn, resting on their shoulders, doing nothing but staring straight ahead, guarding the Guildhall doors far across the plaza. Ah well.
A couple of men attempted to charge past Jack and Charles. Jack grabbed one man’s collar and Charles slapped the flat of his sword against the other’s chest. They herded them back over the wooden barriers. Thinking, Jack stood in his saddle and yelled at the men. “We’re just protecting you gofers.”
Shoved in with the surging crowds again, one of interlopers turned around and jeeringly yelled, “You’re a lyin’ prat.”
Charles raised an eyebrow at Jack with a grin. Jack shook his head. “No, you dolt, we’re here to protect you all from the Cossacks over there. Get near them and they’ll carve you into chutney.”
Several people in the crowd called out, “They can’t do that. This is England.”
Jack nodded, exclaiming. “So it is, but do they care? They’re savage Cossacks, fiercely protective of their Emperor. They don’t speak English and couldn’t care less about our laws—or you. ”
There was a low and universal “Ooh” sound from the crowds, who all voluntarily backed away from the wooden barriers. The whispers and pointing began down the length of gawkers surrounding the Guild grounds, many putting some distance between the barriers and themselves.
Jack leaned over to Charles. “Gads, but what I wouldn’t have given for a troop of Cossacks while doing crowd control in Paris.”
A few moments later, Jack heard his name called. “Major Tremaine.”
Jack had to look around for who hailed him, scanning the crowds for the source. A man pushed up to the wooden barriers. Jack recognized him and signaled him to come over.
“Lieutenant Pound. How the devil are you?”
The man, in barely adequate civilian dress, hat in hand, ducked under the barrier. “Well enough, Major. And you?”
Jack waved his hand down the line of mounted hussars. “As you can see. Pretending to be a fence.” He leaned over to talk, gesturing Lt. Pound forward. “You appear to have regained your health. Heal well?”
The lieutenant gestured to the empty left sleeve. “As well as expected. It was a clean cut.”
They reminisced about the 15th Hussars and battle of the Nive where he lost his arm. Finally, Jack asked, “So, what’s your situation now?”
“Like many of the army, in the air. I am supposed to be pensioned off, with 400 pounds a year for my arm. I have no notion when that will begin. With so many units being disbanded, my only option was half-pay until I can sell my commission. But there is a back log. I haven’t even received my pay or prize money since Vitoria. In total, I have no money and don’t know when the government will come through.”
“Where are you staying?”
“With Will Gant and his cousin, but that is wearing thin. Will is in the same hole I am.”
“Really. Gant too?” Pound nodded. Jack shook his head at the unfair situation, thinking. “Well, give me your address. I am staying at the Stevens with McTodd and Whitebread. If you and Gant are shut out, we can make room for you.” He gestured to Pound to shake his hand, leaning over. When Pound put out his hand, Jack covertly placed his coin purse in his open palm. Speaking softly, he said, “Use what you need. You can return the rest to me later.” Surprised, Pound nodded his thanks. “And keep an eye out for pickpockets in this crowd.” Jack straightened up and spoke normally. “Are you looking for work?”
Pound gave a lop-sided smile. “Of course. Not that there is any to be had for a one-armed man in a city full of unemployed ex-soldiers.” The monarchs and followers were exiting the Guildhall, the ceremony and lunch concluded. The hundreds of spectators cheered and began milling about to get closer to the royal carriages. “I have to be moving, Terrance, but I will be in touch.” With that, Terrance Pound waved and disappeared into the crowds. Jack’s troopers wheeled and single file followed him to form up behind the royal carriages.
It was a shame about Terrance and Will. Both had been good cavalrymen, smart officers, and brave, with promising careers ahead of them. Then Pound lost his arm and Gant an eye. Stout soldiers, ones he’d trust with his life. War was such a monumental waste of good men, sweat and blood, regardless of how exciting he found it to be.
~ ~ ~
The lights in the Cosingwell Mansion windows shone in welcome as Letty carefully navigated the steps and knocked on the door. When admitted, she gave her coat and hat to the butler Sims, then followed the happy sounds coming from the sprawling front parlor next to the dining room. Emily greeted her with an enthusiastic hug, blonde curls bouncing, glowing as she always did. Until yesterday, they hadn’t seen each other in months.
Arm-in-arm, Emily led Letty around the room, greeting the Earl and Countess Cosingwell, her Cosingwell brothers William and Chester, and her husband, Baron James Conyers. A handsome blonde titan of a man. Not especially tall, he still filled any space he inhabited. Aware of his broad-shouldered frame, he always looked uncomfortable when closely surrounded by people. He nodded as Letty curtsied. “How are you Lady Mimolette? I can see you are well. Enjoying the Town with all its festivities?”
“I am, Baron—“
“James, please. I thought we had settled that last we met.”
Letty gave a nod with a soft smile. “As you say, James. So, the ‘Lady Mimolette’ was just careless form, James?” Letty gave him a perky look of reproof.
He laughed and said, “Letty it is.”
Letty curtsied. “I am enjoying the parties and such. Nothing to compare with the Cosingwell’s Gala, but one must persevere with lesser events. We endure as best we can.” Both laughed, and then Emily related what had happened with their family since yesterday’s call , James going off to find champagne for them both. Once the drinks arrived, both the Earl and Countess came over to join the conversation. They asked Letty to tell them all that had transpired in the ballroom at the Gala, again drawing laughs as she described how the Gillyflowers had scattered the coxcombs and dandies.
“Everyone did their part. There was the unexpected help of Lord Tremaine and his friends.” Letty heard a squeal, definitely a child’s sound of excitement. The adults chuckled. Letty was going to ask if Lord Tremaine had arrived, but she suspected the children’s laughter answered her question.. “Is William’s boy here too?”
Lord Cosingwell shook his head. “No, no. Ann is heavy with their second and so little Andrew and his mother stayed home.” The adults led Letty into the adjoining study and stood watching Emily’s children. Jane, the eight-year-old, stood in a pretty floral dress, hands clasped behind her. Letitia, six, sat with Lord Tremaine on the hearth of the enormous fireplace, leaning on his thigh as though ready to crawl into his lap. Little Jack, nearly four, danced back and forth, one foot to the other, hardly able to contain himself. Letty thought Jack looked splendid in his corded Dolman and lace-covered trousers. He also appeared very much at home with the children.
Letitia looked up at him and patted his thigh. “Tell us more about Span and Potigull.”
The adults laughed at Letitia’s pronunciation of Portugal. Jack gave everyone a smile, saving Letty for last. “Portugal is a wild and beautiful place, full of odd customs and,” he hesitated, and whispered, “Magic.”
“What is an odd custom? Doesn’t Britain have magic?” asked Jane, very serious.
“Of course, our country has magic, but not like Portugal. And odd customs abound there. Why, proper young ladies in the city of Lisbon, sit on their balconies above the streets in the afternoons, watching passers-by below them. They will inspect each person, sometimes calling them to get their attention or make comments on their dress. If they see a person they really want to talk to, they will, altogether, spit on them. These Jovens senhoras as they are called in Portuguese, think it is great fun.
There were chuckles from the adults, and Little Jack laughed gaily, but the girls chorused, “Yee-uw” with puckered faces. “Luckily, most of these spitting ladies have horrible aim.” Young John asked the obvious question. “Were you spit on, Cousin Jack?”
“Yes, more that once. But Lisbon is where I gained some Portuguese magic. Would you like to see?”
All three children echoed ‘Yes!’ “Then gather round.” He reached into a pocket of his coat and retrieved a shilling-sized silver coin and laid it in his palm. “This is a Portuguese cruzado. We just called it a dollar.” He closed his hand and with the other pointed to it. “Now, we will make the coin disappear. You all touch my hand holding the coin with have your forefinger, and with me count to three.” All three children laid their index fingers on his hand along with Jack. “Now, count. One-two-three.”
He held out his hand and opened it. The coin wasn’t there. The children gaped at his hand. “Where did it go? Where did it go?”
Jack frowned as though it was a difficult question. “I don’t know. It reappears near, perhaps in this very room, but I can’t control that part of the magic. Sometimes, just sometimes, when it reappears, several more coins magically appear too.” He stood and looked around the room. “I think the coin or maybe coins are in this room somewhere. Jack crouched and said, “You were the ones that helped me make the coin disappear, so I think you three would be the best ones to look for the coin or even more coins, remember?”
The children started peering under chairs and molesting chair cushions in their search. Letitia squealed and pulled up her dress further than proper. “It’s in my shoe.” And sure enough, it was peeking out of the side of her slipper. The other two children made disappointed sounds.
Jack planted his hands on his hips, pirate fashion. “Oh, as there were three of you helping with the magic, so I bet there are two more coins. You need to keep looking. And sure enough, Jane found another coin in the wood bucket by the fire. Little John kept looking and finally pouted. close to a cry, saying, “I can’t find it. I don’t have a magic coin.”
Jack called him over and sat on the hearth with him. “John Conyers, you have a coin. The one place you haven’t looked is your pockets.”
He thrust his hand in his trouser pocket and pulled out a Portuguese dollar, staring at it in rapt amazement.
The three came together, holding up their silver coins, comparing them. This went on for some time, the adults shaking their heads, grinning.
The nanny appeared and Emily went to the children and told them it was time for bed. Emily cocked her head at Jane, giving her a significant squint. Still holding the coin, looking sadly serious this time, went to Jack and held out the coin. “Here is your coin, Cousin Jack.”
He laughed, seeing the other two children unhappy with what they thought was going to be a required surrender of their prizes, too. He knelt down and faced her. “No, no. Jane. That is your magic coin.” He looked at her ear. “You see, I have my own magic Portuguese coin, and I think I have found it.” He seemed to pull it from behind her ear.” He glanced at the other two, saying, “Next time I see you, I might show you three how to do the Portuguese magic –that is if you still have your coins.” To Jane, he opened his arms and said, “Now, give me a hug good night.” Unexpectedly, not just Jane, but the other two plowed into him with a group hug, creating a laughing pile in the middle of the room.
Jack untangled himself from the wiggling mass and Emily herded them to the goodnight hugs and kisses from their father, uncles, and grandparents.
As Emily disappeared with the children, Bea excused herself to go see about supper. The Cosingwell men gathered around Jack to find out how the trick was done, which he duly showed with his Portuguese dollar. Letty sat alone watching the men talk huddled on the far side of the study.
She had hoped to have some time with Emily’s children as she had during past visits. But it was Jack Tremaine who inserted himself in her plans—again.
She slipped out of the room and entered the garden from the Parlor’s French windows. With the expansive gardens before her, she delighted in the warm evening. The sun cast a golden hue upon the horizon, while a gentle breeze from the west cooled the air. She walked to her favorite spot, the fountain among the flower gardens. With her foot, she was careful on the uneven tiles of the path. The air was sweet with the scent of June roses as she sat on the bench before the fountain. She closed her eyes and let the rhythmic sounds of splashing water fill her, carrying away her worries for the future, past disappointments, and current frustrations.
~ ~ ~
Minutes later, that is where Jack found her. He paused on the pathway to study her. Her simple white dress only made her appear more elegant, more arresting. Again, he marveled at her unique beauty, how her appearance captured his imagination, just as she drew men to her simply by being still, a remarkable wallflower trap. Her eyes were closed, serenity on her brow, her lovely lips communicating a serious intent within that peace. Jack glanced at the darkening sky, mentally laughing at himself and his poetic thoughts. Before speaking, he lingered for a minute, just enjoying the sight of her.
“Lady Mimolette.”
She didn’t start as he expected, rather she pursed her mouth as though an expected interruption had come too soon. Opening her eyes, she faced him. “Lord Tremaine.”
He came and sat next to her, taking in the surrounding gardens. “A peaceful June evening. And a beautiful spot.”
“Yes, it is. Is it time for supper?”
“So I am told. As both Aunt Bea and Emily were preoccupied with the meal, I offered to find you. Emily thought you’d be here.”
“Yes, she and I spend many a pleasant hour here when I visit.”
“Have you visited the Baron Conyer’s Berkshire estate?”
“Once. I haven’t had the opportunity to since then. Emily’s home is beautiful.”
“As beautiful as here?” Jack spread his arms wide to take in the gardens and Cosingwell mansion. He gave her a sardonic raised eyebrow, suggesting that nothing could compare to the Cosingwell’s property.
She chuckled, shaking her head. “No, you have the right of it. Nothing can compare.” She frowned and stood, surprising Jack. He hoped she’d settled in for a comfortable coze.
He rose and held out his arm for her to take. She eyed it for a moment before linking her arm with his. He found her carefully stepping among the path’s irregular stones, curious why the ponderously slow progress. She leaned on him, seemingly embarrassed by her progress and his help. She finally removed her arm from his. “I don’t remember the stones being so catawampus before.”
He wanted to ease her mind. “They really should have these stones reset.” She only nodded, her full attention on walking across the uneven surface.
“What do you particularly enjoy about this garden?’
Her eyebrows rose at the change of subject. “The peace and quiet.” He cocked his head. She was suggesting she disliked his intrusion, or she needed to provide more specifics. He wanted to reveal her thinking. She caught his expression and looked away. “I, I particularly enjoy the sound of that fountain. It is very melodic, soothing.”
“Yes it is. My Aunt Cathy has a very fine fountain in the middle of her carriage circle, much the size as the Cosingwell’s, that I always enjoyed . . .playing in.”
Lady Mimolette smiled, saying, “Yes, I can imagine you did.” She stopped as they reached the French windows. “Did you really do all those pranks and games Emily says you did?”
“I don’t know. What does she say I did?”
“She says you tortured several ducks from your aunt’s lake.”
“Tortured?” A dark emotion knotted his brow. Another exaggerated story painted him as a wild dasher. He saw the dismayed look on Lady Mimolette’s face and backed up, playing outraged at the false accusation. “Moi? I did no such thing.” He hunched his shoulders and stomped around, saying, “I will have to have a long talk with Lady Conyers, perhaps suggest the baron give her a good spanking.”
Chuckling at his antics, Lady Mimolette planted her hands on her hips. “Would you be serious.” Jack stopped in the middle of a stomp and came to stand before her with a salute. She shook her head at his playacting. “So, what did you do to those poor ducks?”
“I fed them.”
She continued to hold a stern continence, one harboring little patience.
He gave her his pirate grin. “I fed them ham. One summer day, I had taken my lunch of cheese and some cold ham outside. I dropped a piece and a duck we called Henry gobbled it up. He waited around for more as I sat on said fountain having lunch. About ten minutes later Henry, uh, passed the same ham, undigested. I found this curious, particularly when another duck swooped in and ate the same ham. Don’t you know, that duck too passed the ham just as quickly.” Hand on the French window handle, ready to enter, he met Lady Mimolette’s eyes and sighed, resigned to the judgement to follow.
“Well, I got an idea, like I often did with such curiosities. I hunted up some string and tied it around the piece of ham. In about an hour I had eight ducks all connected bill to bum quacking along single file.”
“That’s awful.” She gave him a censorious but not horrified frown.
“Aunt Cathy and Emily thought so too. However, it was easily corrected. I just took one end of the string and pulled—gently, of course. Thus released, all of them happily went off for a swim, none the worse for the threading. Henry and the other ducks did give me wide berth for several weeks, but we made up over a bowl of beer.”
“What?”
“Yes, who knew? Those pintails and mallards loved a good ale.” Her crooked smile and bemused frown led him to shrug dramatically. “Just some dubious incidents during my misspent youth.” He opened the French Window. “Shall we join the others for supper?” Lady Mimolette passed him, giving him a playful look of reproach.