13

The first letter came within the month by a packet Major Falk's ship met off the Lizard. It contained a spirited account of Doña Inez and Eustachio on the high seas, and Doña Barbara seasick in the scuppers. Emily responded immediately and warmly. Amy and Matt added careful sentences about the pony. The second letter followed the first within a week. Doña Barbara was back to brewing chocolate, and Eustachio had had a narrow escape from sharks. After that the letters stopped.

By September Emily was reading the American news with grim attention. The army had burnt the city of Washington. There was no mention of Major Falk. She told herself not to play the hysterical female. Contrary winds.

Finally, when Amy's birthday passed without a parcel, Emily wrote Major Conway. Because she was unsure of how she ought to address a dying man she kept her language stiff and formal. The reply was delayed. When it came it was marked from a village in Lancashire, not Rye, whence she had directed her letter.

Major Conway, it appeared, had taken on the position of estate agent on one of Lord Dunarvon's manors which was just now being opened to coal mining. "Fascinating new engines," the major wrote with obvious enthusiasm. "Dunarvon talked of installing one of Stephenson's circular rail roads--steam-powered, of course--if the vein proved rich, and by the way, don't worry. Richard always lands on his feet." Major Conway's clear unconcern set Emily's mind temporarily at rest but another silent, letterless fortnight unnerved her and she wrote again.

"I'm sure there is no cause for alarm yet," the major replied by return post, "but as you may have questions for me in my role as guardian-of-record, perhaps you might consider meeting me in London in ten days' time. I must travel there on a matter of business in any case." He added further soothing comments, which meant he knew no more of his friend's whereabouts than Emily did.

It took Emily five minutes to decide to go.

For several days after their early arrival in Town, Emily and Aunt Fan amused themselves with raids upon cloth warehouses, arcades, and book emporia. Emily bought toys. She had a sinking feeling there would be no toys from America for Christmas, so she was perhaps overlavish. They are all three such good children, she reflected from the safe distance of sixty-odd miles.

She found a handsome cloisonné snuffbox for her father. She also indulged herself in a sinfully expensive bonnet. It was blue with a deep poke and an enormous feather dyed to match that curled over her left eye. She liked it so well she wore it back to the hotel and told the garrulous modiste to burn the old mourning-grey. She was glad she had done so over Aunt Fan's protests, for when she and her aunt entered the solemn foyer in a flurry of bandboxes and parcels she bumped into Major Conway.

"My dear Mrs. Foster." The proprietor, a man of wonderful dignity, allowed her a tight smile. "This gentleman has just been enquiring for you. Shall you receive him?" He retreated five discreet paces.

"Oh, dear. Major Conway, you're early!" Distracted, Emily pulled off her glove and held out her hand. "How do you, sir?"

"Very well, ma'am."

Emily peered around the feather into a pair of tired grey eyes.

"I like your bonnet," the major said in a pleasant baritone. He was a tall man. "Matches your eyes."

Emily smiled. "I knew how it would be when I read your letters, sir. You know precisely what to say. I shall probably fall in love."

The grey eyes lit and he smiled delightfully. "I can't see any objection to that, ma'am, but I think we should conduct our courtship in a less publick arena."

Emily and Aunt Fan had had time to dispose themselves on the small sopha before their caller arrived at their first-floor suite. When Phillida, with a coy giggle and a flounce, announced the major, Emily rose. Welcoming pleasantries died on her lips. "My dear sir, you look quite white. Shall you take a glass of...oh dear, we have nothing stronger than ratafia."

He gave a faint, twisted grin. "I am afraid--under circumstances--I can accept nothing less than cognac."

"Brandy." Emily nodded. "The very thing. Unfortunately we haven't any."

"Yes, we have." Aunt Fan whisked from the room.

Emily stared after her. "Dear Aunt Fan, always prepared for emergencies."

"It is scarcely that," Major Conway rejoined in a rather steadier voice. "Why I should be suddenly afflicted with this nuisance, when I trotted up three flights yesterday, I don't know."

"Well, that's probably the cause," Emily said reasonably. "If you'll sit in that chair by the fire, sir, you'll feel more comfortable directly."

The major sat by careful degrees. By the time he was settled and looking less green, Aunt had returned with a stoppered bottle plainly labelled Tonic in raised letters. Aunt Fan poured a healthy dollop into what Emily took to be her tooth glass. Aunt did not precisely say now be a good boy and drink it all down but that was the gist. Major Conway obeyed. Presently he regarded them both from half closed grey eyes.

"And to think I asked them to send up a mere tea," he murmured.

"Did you, sir?"

"Yes. I thought you might require soothing."

Emily laughed, relieved. "I should like tea of all things. Can it be had in one's rooms? Aunt and I have been taking ours downstairs with the common herd."

"Common? In Grillon's?"

Emily pulled out a gilt armchair and sat. "It is rather an exalted place."

"I could have installed you in Dunarvon's town house, but you'd find it oppressive. It's in holland covers." His returning smile faded. "My conduct just now relieves me of the tedium of explanation. When Richard left we had agreed that I would be needing a replacement. I asked you to come, because I wished to make you known to my successor. Don't look so distressed, Mrs. Foster," he added, wry. "Grillon's staircase won't kill me. Bevis had leave. I thought you might as well meet him."

Emily frowned. "Mr. Bevis? That sounds unlikely."

"Lord Dunarvon's heir," Major Conway said. "Viscount Bevis. We are friends. He is just now on leave from Brussels, where he is on the Prince of Orange's staff, but I daresay he will be selling out. In any case I think he'll do. Richard is acquainted with him."

"Acquainted," Emily echoed, rather faintly.

He grimaced. "You are too acute, ma'am. Richard objected to Bevis on the grounds that he does not know him well, but neither Richard nor I could fix on anyone nearer. And I do know Bevis. He is the best of good fellows. I think you'll find him agreeable."

"Will he kiss my hand in the French style?"

The major's grey eyes lit. "I think it extremely likely. Bevis has excellent taste."

Caught in her own mild joke, Emily blushed. "You flatter."

"I never offer Spanish coin," he said gently. "I thought it time to commence our courtship."

That drew a smile. "I shall be glad to meet Lord Bevis, Major, though I trust there will be no occasion to prolong the acquaintance. Have you had word of Major Falk?"

He frowned. "He was used to write you regularly?"

"I writ him an account of the children at least once a month. He responded as soon as he received my letters. There have been delays before, but six weeks was the longest I ever had to wait. I know the American winds are even less cooperative than those in the Bay of Biscay. A sixmonth, however..." She fell silent.

He did not comment at once. When he spoke, he seemed to choose his words with care. "I sent an enquiry through Richard's regimental adjutant. You must understand that Richard is rather inclined to stumble into adventures."

Emily waited. Adventures.

"Other people lead orderly, regular lives. Richard is constantly falling into scrapes." He grimaced, as if the word were not to his taste. "He does not seek disasters. They find him out. However, I daresay he'll turn up like a bad penny as soon as the peace is signed."

"Scowling and flinging off sarcasms like squibs." Emily sighed. "No doubt you're right."

Major Conway said drily, "I perceive you have seen Richard at his best. What a fool he is."

Emily raised troubled eyes. "I have only met your friend twice. He was worried, I collect. And quite desperately tired."

"You're a perceptive woman."

"It did not take a great deal of perception to see that," Emily rejoined. "Will you tell me how things are left?"

Major Conway frowned. "Richard did not?"

"He told me not to trouble my tiny head, and that you would know what to do."

Major Conway raised his brows.

"Oh, not in so many words." Emily's pent-up exasperation burst through, surprising her. "I wonder why it is that men suppose women incapable of rational judgement. I am not a widgeon, sir. I have run my son's estate since my husband's death." She raised her chin. "And improved the receipts. I should be far more at ease if I could make plans for Amy and Tommy. As it is I am wondering whether to prepare Amy to earn her bread or to marry a duke. I had inclined to the former," she added darkly, "but if her affairs are to be dealt with by belted earls I perceive I erred in my assumption."

Major Conway went off into the whoops.

Presently his mirth tickled a grin from Emily. "It is not funny."

"No. Merely absurd." Major Conway shifted his long legs and gave way to a final suppressed chuckle. "There would be a small pension, of course. I--or Bevis--would see to that, and I daresay we could find young Thomas a place in a school for officers' sons."

"As I thought," Emily said, resigned.

"There's rather more than five hundred pounds."

Emily whistled and caught herself up guiltily. "I beg your pardon, sir."

The major regarded her with a bemused air. "Pray don't apologise, Mrs. Foster. I've never met a lady who could whistle. I beg you will marry me at once."

"I had to teach my son, Matt," Emily said absently. "To whistle, that is. Five hundred pounds." She tapped her forefinger on the chair arm. "The legacy, I daresay. What a blessing Major Falk's godmother chose to die at such an opportune moment." She looked up to find the major staring at her in blank incomprehension.

"The legacy. He made it over to the children when he brought them to me."

"There was no legacy."

It was Emily's turn to stare.

"I do not know why Richard should spin such a tale," Major Conway said slowly. "No doubt he had reasons. If his children have anything at all it is because he sweat for it."

Emily regarded him for a long moment without blinking, then shook her head. "I do not understand."

"I do." The major closed his eyes and rubbed his brow as if his head ached. "Richard has never had anything but his pay, Mrs. Foster. And a certain gift for improbable prose fictions."

"Explain."

He lowered his hand. "Richard is an author. In the past three years, since Doña Isabel's death, he has sold four novels."

"Novels?"

"Yes."

"He produced the money by scribbling books!" Emily digested the idea. "Are they good novels?"

"You are a remarkable woman."

She met his admiring grey gaze. "Don't rush your courtship. I collect the literary merit of Major Falk's works is immaterial. What is material is that he lied to me, from first to last. What other deceits has he practised on me, I wonder?"

There was a pause. Major Conway frowned. "Is it so important? You cannot have been under any illusion that Richard is prosperous. He seemed to think there would be enough to educate the children and provide Amy's dowry."

"Ample." Emily's mouth set.

"What do you mean to do?"

Emily exploded. "Do? I shall give him a piece of my mind. That arrogant, satirical, deceitful--why do you smile?"

"Relief, ma'am, believe me. I thought I should find myself with two children on my hands."

Emily was shocked. She contrived to assure him that, far from abandoning the children, she meant to keep them by her as long as she might. She grew emotional on the subject. It was a good thing that the tea cart arrived in the midst of her high flight, or she might have betrayed her feelings. All her feelings.