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With such contempt
(Richard III IV.ii.20)
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EDWARD STAGGERED AWAY, heading for the line of trees at the far end of the field. The distance seemed impossibly huge, the trees seeming to retreat before him, even as he closed the gap. At last, after what felt like hours, he was there, stumbling through the rough trunks of the conifers, inhaling the cool pine-scented air, feeling the uneven ground beneath his feet. He heard the trickle of a small stream and moved towards it to wash his face and rinse his fouled mouth.
After long minutes spent kneeling by the trickle of water, he felt steady enough to emerge from his wooden cage and face the others. He needed to talk to Sherrington, if not now then soon, and he would, of necessity, ride back to the town with at least some of the party. Thankful that Amanda Cole, at least, was spared the sight of his indignity, he splashed cold clear water one more time on his reddened face and straightened to standing.
Through the trees now, at the edge of the woods, he could see his companions peering into the forest for him. Lynnie... no, Miss Grant was there, dressed in her trousers and coat, but with hair longer and more feminine than she had worn it in her guise as Matthew. She must have let it grow on the long sea voyage. She stood as if itching to move into the wood to find her friend, but a hand—Sherrington’s?—was on her shoulder, keeping her back.
“He will come when he is ready,” Edward heard from the open field. “He has had a shock.”
Behind them, less visible through the branches, stood Benjamin Cole, looking decidedly ill at ease, and uncertain as to his course of action: whether to rush through the trees to find and help his friend, or return to the house to give the poor man space to breathe. He shuffled his feet this way and then that, hands deep within his pockets, head looking uncertainly in all directions.
His breath more steady now, Edward watched in silence as the play was acted out. Eventually, Sherrington whispered something into Miss Grant’s ear, and she drifted towards the house with stooped shoulders, followed by Benjamin. Sherrington alone stood at the edge of the trees. “Edward,” he beckoned, “come out so we may talk.”
“I cannot face her,” Edward replied, almost too quietly for his own ears to hear, but the sound must have carried, for Sherrington answered him.
“You will have to do so eventually, but not yet. Let us find a place to sit and discuss our next plans.”
Edward slid from the shelter of the trees, schooling his expression into something neutral, although he could not hide the pain in his eyes. “I am here,” he said at last, looking into Sherrington’s compassionate face.
“Oh, son,” was all Sherrington could say, as he placed a fatherly arm across Edward’s shoulders. He walked them, not towards the house, but towards a fallen log he had spied along another edge of the field. Once there, he guided Edward downward, and finally seated, he began to talk.
“That was a shock to all of us. Had you any notion that Matthew was not who he claimed to be?”
“Absolutely. He never offered us a family name, nor a full accounting of himself. I had every supposition that he had some history he needed to obscure. But... Lynnie, all this time? I cannot account for it. I am wounded to the quick. In every guise she betrayed my trust.” He blinked, refusing to let tears fall.
Sherrington sighed. “Aye. That’s a right mess, it is. Can you spare a thought for Harrison? We need to deal with his situation.”
Edward straightened his back as he took a deep breath of the cool pine-scented air. “Yes. Where do we begin?”
Sherrington began to recount what little he had discussed with the young man in the cellar. Harrison Grant had begun to form some suspicion that all was not well when he had no communications at all from his family, but had not the first inkling that his father had been murdered, or that his uncle was trying to take control of the estate.
It was only when he had been surprised beyond measure by the appearance of his sister—in boy’s garb, nonetheless—that he had the first news from home. She had come directly from the ship to find him, hoping to outpace the delivery of any missives from England which might impact upon her brother’s fate. "How fortunate her speed," Sherrington raised his eyes to the heavens, "for an hour or two of delay and all might have been lost."
And thus it was that his friend Alastair McFarland had found Harry and his younger look-a-like sitting on the stairs outside their place of work and had come to the rescue with his offer the old munitions hiding place. He had secured Harry and Lynnie in his small rooms in town, and that evening had hired a coach to drive them to the barn. There they had hidden, with the supplies he had purchased, whilst he sat with his mother and listened to the tales of his sister and brother-in-law as they moved to Montreal.
Until this morning, Harrison Grant had no idea of the exact nature of the threat under which he had been living, or even if a threat existed at all. It was his faith in his sister’s concerns alone that had caused him to abandon his position and implore his friend for such dire assistance. Now, with the details revealed to him, he was more than grateful for his actions.
“Come, Edward, let us talk to him. He seems a sensible young man and is not responsible for his sister’s devices.”
The two men returned to the barn where Harrison now sat on a sack of fodder above ground, as a man awaiting his execution. Edward walked towards him on unsteady legs and offered his hand in greeting. “Edward Gardiner. I am very pleased to make your acquaintance. Please forgive my earlier behaviour.”
The other man rose and returned the greeting. He was of middling height and a slender build, with long limbs. “Harry Grant,” he offered as he shook Edward’s hand. “But you know that. I believe I have you to thank for my rescue. My life, indeed. If Maddy is correct, I should be dead.”
Edward cocked his head, his brow furrowed in curiosity. “Matty? Is Matthew not just a name she assumed to convince me she was a boy?”
Harry's lips twitched into a faint smile. “Maddy. Madelyn. Her name is Madelyn. I have called her Maddy, but many of her friends call her Lyn.”
Edward nodded. “Yes. It was Miss Lancaster who first called her Lynnie, and she accepted that name.” He recalled that first interaction and her clever ruse at not revealing her proper and full name. Even then, she had been intent on misleading him. He shook his head in sombre regret.
Harry Grant was still talking. “She convinced me to hide, it is true, but without your earlier help, she would not be in any position to have come to save me. She told me of how you saved her when she was sick and injured, and how you brought her to London, where you gave her sufficient wages to purchase her fare for the ship. She is alive because of you, and so am I. I could live a thousand years and not be able to express my gratitude sufficiently.”
“Then let this do,” Edward replied with a grace he did not quite feel. “Your health is thanks enough.”
The men then sat to discuss what to do next. Whilst Sir John had issued his exoneration of the young man, it was as yet uncertain as to whether the news had been received by all concerned, and thus Harry’s return to Halifax was not necessarily safe. To complicate matters, the men agreed that they would not impose upon Mrs. McFarland’s unwitting hospitality for one moment longer than necessary, for Harry’s presence at her farm could jeopardize her own safety. They sat talking through the situation and mulling over options, though Edward found his thoughts distracted by memories of his rescue of Harry’s sister all those months past.
He looked up suddenly. “I have an idea, but,” looking at Harry, “I don’t believe you will like it.”
“What idea would that be?” Sherrington asked.
“Listen and I will tell you,” came the reply.
Several hours later, three gentlemen, two ladies and a boy climbed into Benjamin Cole’s carriage, bidding a fond farewell to Mrs. McFarland. That lady had enjoyed herself immensely that day as she listened to the story and the solution to the problem and watched with unabashed glee as the younger people carried out their plan. She waved goodbye to them with stories for her friends to keep them amused for weeks, and a small bag of sovereigns for her troubles.
Amanda Cole failed to keep the smile from her face as she contemplated her new friend, Miss Harriet Grant, visiting from London with her younger brother Matthew in tow. Miss Harriet Grant was, fortunately, of a similar size with Mrs. Cole’s former playmate, Fiona McFarland, if somewhat taller, and now sported an old skirt and blouse of indeterminate colour and style, as well as a heavy shawl and large bonnet to protect Miss Grant’s delicate skin (freshly shaven, of course) from the harsh Nova Scotia sun.
The disguise would not stand up to any sort of scrutiny, everyone knew, but it should prove sufficient to see the Grants through the streets of the town and up the stairs into one of the rooms presently occupied by Edward and Sherrington.
“Bloody brilliant idea, son,” Sherrington had commended Edward when he first suggested the ruse.
“I should be honoured that you think so, sir,” Edward had replied, “but frankly, disguise and subterfuge are all that I have going through my head right now. I should only be thankful that some good has come out of my distress.”
Edward was pleased at some level to have been of some use to Grant, whom he thought he might rather like under other circumstances; nevertheless he was yet quite disconcerted by the morning’s events and had not begun to regain his usual good humour. He sat as far as possible from Madelyn, now resuming her role as Matthew, and refused to look at her or speak to her more than absolutely necessary. He was aware that he was acting like a child, and he felt Sherrington’s disapproving glare on the back of his head, but could not, at that moment, find it within himself to be civil. The pain was too recent and too deep and it oppressed his soul.
The ride back to town seemed unusually long, and upon reaching the inn, he stood off to the side whilst Sherrington ushered Harriet and Matthew up the stairs to the rooms. It had been decided -or rather, Sherrington had decided and Edward had nodded a silent and unhappy agreement - that brother and sister would take Sherrington’s own room for the interim, and the gentleman himself would move in with Edward. This seemed the only workable solution, at least until other rooms could be procured, since Madelyn could not share with any man other than her brother.
It was no problem for her to share my chambers before, Edward thought bitterly, because she had me convinced she was a lad. She had drawn me into committing a serious indiscretion, although I knew it not. He wondered what, if any, his obligations might be for a social sin he had committed so unknowingly. Never mind that now, he decided. He must play the cad and release Miss Grant from any engagement she might feel they had entered into. He felt he could never trust her again, no matter how the separation might break his heart. He leaned heavily against the side of the inn, waiting for Sherrington’s return, his body sagging under its own weight.
Benjamin stood by, concern on his face, whilst Amanda walked up to him and put a hand on his arm. He thanked his friends quietly for all they had done to assist, and promised to call upon them in several days, when he was feeling less out of sorts. His friends cooed their understanding and drove off in the carriage.
Only when he was certain that the others had achieved their rooms did he venture into the inn and up the staircase. He opened his door cautiously, worried who might be inside, and satisfied as to his privacy, crept inside. Sherrington was sitting in a chair in the corner behind the door, and his voice caused Edward to startle when he spoke.
“You have to talk to her at some point, son.”
“What is there to say? She has what she desires, namely her brother’s safety and, soon enough, the return of her family’s estate to his keeping. I was merely a tool, a means to an end for her. If she cared—truly cared—she would not have acted as she did.” He stared out of the window away from Sherrington’s penetrating gaze.
“You misunderstand her. Let her explain her actions to you. Give her a chance, for both of your sakes.”
Edward spun around to face his tormentor. “No! Do not ask this of me. Not now. You cannot understand what she has done.” He all but collapsed onto the bed, letting his head fall into his hands. “What can she possibly say to me that can atone for all this deception? How can any words heal this breach that she has created? She entranced me, she lured me, tempted me with her tales of woe and tender words. She teased my imagination with her wit and her arts, and then she used me. Words cannot mend what she has done. I cannot even know if she truly ever felt anything for me. What good would it do to listen to explanations? How can I believe anything she might say to me? She has lied to me with every breath. Why should I believe her now?”
He sighed deeply with a shudder that rent his soul. “It would have been better had I never met her.”
Sherrington’s voice was soft now as he sought to comfort his young friend. “Edward, son, I will honour your request for time, but recall: we all travel home together when The Arabella returns. Can you endure five or six weeks in her enforced company without some peace between you? Think on this. We have been remarkably successful in our mission and have some two or three weeks before we travel again. Take your time and think on it, but do not forget that it is not only your heart that has been wounded.” He placed a hand on Edward’s shoulder. “I will go now and inquire as to how our guests are faring. Can we expect you to join us for dinner? No? Then I will request a tray to be sent up later. Be well, son.”
He left the room, closing the door quietly behind him, leaving Edward alone on the bed with his head in his hands.