Prelude to Love (3 page)

Chapter Three

Vanessa awoke that morning with a heady feeling of excitement.
At last
the long-awaited day had come! Papa was not at all biddable in allowing her to attend social functions at the military base, but a ball in the assembly rooms had miraculously been permitted. Her eyes flew to the gown hanging on the back of her door, the filmy white confection with the large spangles now all in place on the underskirt.

She had gone to bed with the cucumber lotion on not only her face, but her hands as well, which were covered by old white cotton gloves to save the sheets from stains. She hopped up, removing the gloves to see what miracle they had wrought. The only miracle was that the cotton had absorbed the lotion. She lifted the hem of her skirt, admiring the dainty apple-green velvet ribbon used for trim. A length of the same ribbon would be wound through her curls, to match her eyes. A pair of green kid slippers sat on the floor, looking ready to start dancing by themselves.

She glanced to the window, where the sun, a relative stranger here on the coast, beamed through the leaded panes, promising a gorgeous day. She would risk her complexion in a brisk ride in the morning—go to Miss Condie's home and confirm that the Fischers were having Forrester and two majors to dinner. Mrs. Fischer had withheld the news from Aunt Elleri, but the whole village was buzzing with it. In the afternoon she would lie down for two hours to ensure that her eyes sparkled as hard as everyone else's at the dance, then she would have her hair done up in papers, have a bath and begin the final stage of preparations.

It was not often she had a day of such unparalleled pleasure to consider, here in the quiet countryside. She hoped Papa would do nothing to spoil it. She was not so well acquainted with her father as most daughters are, owing to his absence during her growing up. He was always away at some war or other. She knew him mainly from letters, till two years ago, when he had come home, a cranky invalid.

A further blow had been added by her mother's death soon afterwards—a sad irony that his wife should have died so soon after his return. It almost seemed he blamed
her
for it. He had not been so ill-humored before becoming a widower. Mama could always laugh and tease him into humor, but lately he did nothing but jaw at her for being a vain, frivolous, silly girl, and at Aunt Elleri for adding to her vanity.

There was a tap at her door. Without waiting, for an answer, Elleri Simons came tripping in, elegant in a pale mauve morning gown, her coiffure already in exquisite place. As her chief interest in life was elegance, her first thought was to examine the gown for flaws. She knew, of course, that an invasion was often spoken of, but any thought she spent on it was to wonder how one addressed a French general, and whether he should be asked to tea.

"Good morning, dear," she said gaily over her shoulder. “I have had the most
ravishing
idea. The new issue of the
Belle Assemblée
is here. I want to get at your hair at once. I shall do it in the
chérubin
for the ball. I must nip off the bits over the ears, and do it up in papers."

"Oh, Auntie, you cut it last week. Please don't take any more off, or I shall look like a boy."

"That is exactly the point, pet. Only an inch, I promise you. After you see the model in the magazine you will
know
I am right. It will be divine. As soon as you have seen your papa I shall do it. Come to me as soon as you have eaten breakfast. But of course you must see your papa first. He is asking for you. If he means to cancel the ball, I shall be ill.
Don't
let him do it. Promise him anything—that you won't speak to Colonel Forrester, or stand up with him, or do a thing but run him down." Her eyes turned back to the gown. "I wonder if we were right to stay with the large spangles. I have the smaller ones in my room, but to remove these and put the others on will take the newness out of the material. It
does
soften it, so much handling. But we'll decide later. You had better see your papa and be sure we
are
to attend the ball."

"He couldn't be so mean!"

"I'm sure he would not, but he has had the horses put to, and whatever can he have done
that
for?
He
is not well enough to go anywhere, and it is the old traveling carriage that is being washed down."

With an expression of the utmost fright, Vanessa threw on her dressing gown and hurried out the door. She burst into his room, wearing a worried frown.

"Don't worry, my dear, I am not dying," her father said, in a comforting way. "I expect the servants have frightened you half to death."

She noticed then that he was paler than usual, his face bearing traces of his suffering, in the deep lines that gouged ruts from nose to chin. She felt sorry for him, and some remorse for her selfishness. It must be horrid to be an old man, sick and unable to enjoy any of life's pleasures. It was enough to put anyone out of humor. "You look pale, Papa. Can I do something for you?"

"It happens you can," he said, and went on to outline what was demanded of her. All her sympathy and remorse evaporated. He was doing it on purpose to make her miss the ball.

"But I
can't
go today, Papa!" she exclaimed.

"You can and must," he told her, not stridently, but very firmly.

"What can be so important it cannot wait till tomorrow?"

"The letter you are to deliver to Sir Giles for me. Don't ask what it contains. I am not at liberty to divulge it to just anyone. You must take my word for it the matter is of great importance and great urgency. You will drive as hard as you can, stopping only when necessary. Don't speak to anyone—that is, I would not like you to act in any
suspicious
manner. Behave as though you were going for a social visit, but do it with all speed. Stay overnight at good inns, but be up and leave early in the morning. I cannot foresee any danger in it for you, if you leave promptly and set a hot pace. No one will know you are gone till you have driven safely beyond catching up. Speed and discretion—I cannot impress their necessity on you too strongly."

"Just one more day, Papa," she said, disheartened. "Tomorrow ..."

"Don't make me ashamed for you, Vanessa," he said. "You are singularly fortunate in being chosen to perform one worthwhile act in your worthless life. Do it with pride and pleasure. Much depends on it. I say with regret that I would not entrust this mission to you if I had anyone else I might send."

"Parkins could ..."

"My decision has been made," he said. "Leave, as quickly as you can throw your linens into a valise."

She returned to her room, her bottom lip quivering, a tear forming in her eyes. She cast a loathsome glance at the letter to Sir Giles Harkman. It was all a hoax, an excuse to keep her from Colonel Forrester. Oh, it was
cruel!

Miss Simons awaited her, still examining the gown. "We have put on too many velvet bows," she decreed, mentally selecting those for removal. "The spangles we shall leave as they are."

"By all means leave the gown as it is, for I shan't be wearing it. We are not going to the ball," Vanessa said, her voice grim.

"My pet! You cannot mean it!"

"I have an errand to perform for Papa. A most urgent errand, you understand. A letter for Sir Giles. You are to come with me, Auntie, so you had better pack a nightgown into a valise. We are to leave within the half hour, sooner if possible."

"Half an hour! I couldn't be ready for a week. For London one requires ..."

"Sir Giles is at home in Ipswich."

"Ipswich? You are mad, or your papa is. No one goes to Ipswich. I should not mind going to London tomorrow, after the ball. The Season is spent, but with autumn coming on, it would be amusing."

"We are not going for amusement; it is only to be a
social
call if anyone happens to enquire."

"What is in this marvelous letter?" Elleri asked, her eyes narrowing.

"Business. Military business, I suppose. A matter of the utmost importance. We are to guard it with our lives."

There was a good deal of excited chatter, taking up ten minutes of the allowed thirty before they were to leave. The colonel came along to his daughter's room to hasten her departure, and to give more instructions for the disposal of the letter.

"Tuck it into the front of your gown," he suggested. "And don't let it out of your hands, even when you are sleeping."

"Can't you tell me what is in it?"

He considered doing so, but as Miss Simons chose that moment to stick her head in at the door, he hastily reconsidered. "Be sure to take an extra pair of kid gloves, Nessie. Gloves always become smudged on a journey," Miss Simons said.

Nessie would in all likelihood tell that rattlepate of a woman what the message was. He could not trust Elleri Simons as far as he could throw a house. "I can't, but you may be sure of its importance, Nessie. I have to speak to Parkins now. Don't waste a moment."

Her father turned to leave, then spotted her new ball gown, hanging on the door. "Sorry about your missing the dance. I see you have had a new gown made up. You shall wear it when you return—at your own ball. I'll give you a fine ball here at Levenhurst, Nessie, as a reward. Ask who you like to it." This was oblique permission to include the detested young colonel.

Her old remorse returned to plague her. Papa was
not
depriving her of the dance on purpose. That the letter contained any message vital to the safety of the country, she could not believe for a moment, but that her father thought so, she reluctantly accepted. She went to the door and placed a kiss on his cheek. "Thank you, Papa. That will be lovely."

He patted her hand, feeling a twinge of conscience that he did the proper thing, to send his helpless daughter on so dangerous a mission. "Be very careful."

"I will, Papa."

"Of course you will. You are your father's daughter, after all," he consoled himself.

After he left, Vanessa tried to stick a thick letter into the bosom of a lightweight sprigged muslin gown. Its four corners stuck out, calling more attention to it than Papa would care for, or than was quite comfortable for herself. She held it in her hands a moment, looking around for a better place to hide it. She had a small valise on her bed, the only case she intended taking. Elleri came into the room again. "The letter would be safer in the large trunk, would it not?" she asked.

"We are not taking a large trunk. There isn't time to pack one."

"It is half packed, goose. Go to Ipswich without a trunk? You are mad. Give me the letter."

"No, I'll keep it," she said, putting it into her small valise and folding a spare petticoat on top of it. “We had better go now."

"I shall be ready in two minutes," Elleri said casually, then went back to her room to sort in a leisurely fashion through her gowns, selecting one, and pushing another aside. She trotted back and forth, down the hall, reminding her charge to pack extra stockings, for a stocking was bound to poke out a toe on a trip; to bring her own soap—there was nothing but lye soap to be had at an inn, and a dozen other non-necessities, till the trunk was filled to the brim. When the servants took the trunk down, her aunt even picked up a glass-faced traveling clock, framed in brass, with a ring on top to aid carrying.

"We would not want to be without a clock in the carriage," she said. "Handsome, is it not? My father gave it to me when he died—in his will. I never travel without it."

Its handsome hands showed the half hour allowed by Colonel Bradford for their departure had doubled to an hour, and
still
they had not left.

Their exit down the front stairs was silent, to prevent his hearing at what time they were finally going. When they got in the carriage, Vanessa noticed that in all the confusion, she had worn her oldest slippers, blue ones that were so very comfortable but not at all stylish.

Abovestairs, Bradford sat worrying that he should have sent some outriders with the ladies, but he did not wish to call any extraordinary attention to the vehicle, and hoped the groom and footman between them would follow his instructions. They had been told to go at top speed, changing teams as often as necessary, and hang the expense. Parkins had packed a brace of pistols under the box seat, after giving the groom a hasty lesson in how to use them.

Bradford ordered his batman to bring him a large pot of what he called Irish tea, which conveyed that milk was to be left out, and whiskey used instead. It was his favorite restorative in India, where milk had seemed to come curdled from the cows.

While he sipped and worried and made more plans to counteract the invasion, the carriage pounded its way northward, causing much consternation in the hearts of the occupants. They were strongly inclined to have it stopped and jump out when they saw the number of scarlet jackets milling around town, in the vicinity of the assembly rooms. Major Rooney and Captain Schroeder, cantering past them, lifted their right hands in the quasi-military salute used to honor ladies.

"I wonder where Forrester is," Miss Simons said, giving voice to her companion's very thought.

"He is probably inside the rooms. They say the hall has been done up like a Persian tent for the night."

"I heard at Fischers yesterday he sent all the way to London for a dozen orange trees. The hall will be half full of greenery if they are right. But the Fischers exaggerate everything. How I should love to see it."

"Papa said to hurry," Nessa answered, but in her heart she was strongly inclined to add to her sorrow by seeing just a little of what she would be missing that night.

"Bother!" Miss Simons exclaimed suddenly. "I have forgotten to bring along my vinaigrette. I could not dream of undertaking a trip without one. I must have the carriage stopped," she said, already jerking on the check string. "As the assembly hall is only a step away, we might as well take a look in."

"With a glance at the traveling clock on the seat beside her, Vanessa knew they were behind schedule. She also suspected that had the assembly hall been located next the drapery shop, it would be stockings that were required, but she was not so convinced of her trip's urgency that she undertook to argue with her companion. The carriage was stopped. To satisfy the groom, she did indeed pick up a vinaigrette, but the ladies also went to have a look at the yards of pink and purple silk suspended from the ceiling of the assembly hall, tethered close to the floor with satin rope swags. The orange trees had just arrived. There was some confusion and good-natured bantering going forth amongst the officers who were in charge of distributing them along the wall. At the end of the hall stood a trestle table to be used for refreshments that night. It seemed hardly worth the stop—Forrester had not yet arrived. The scarlet jackets were gratifyingly eager to stop and chat, each wearer asking for a dance that night.