Seasons of War 2-Book Bundle (72 page)

“If not … I could always introduce Somerton to my cousin Charlotte, although I understand that, at the moment, she’s being courted by the Orange and interested in a Slice.”

Fleda’s smooth forehead wrinkled like a freshly ploughed field. Seeing that she had successfully baffled the girl, Emily hurried on toward the formidable walls of stone that marked the entrance to the Hartwood estate. “Let us ask the keeper to unlock the gates, so that we may take a stroll to London.”

“A stroll? It’s almost two hours to London by coach.”

“What an adventure we could have!”

Fleda looked uncertain. “Our gatekeeper won’t open them for you.”

“Why ever not?”

“I’m not allowed to go beyond this point.”

Emily was undaunted. “Then I’ll simply climb over them, and take that walk by myself.”

Emily could see Fleda’s mind working. “If you did so, they’d surely come after you.”

“Who would?”

Fleda shrugged.

“Highwaymen on horseback, brandishing pistols perhaps?” said Emily, studying the dark grey stones in the wall, searching for one with a sufficient protrusion that could provide her with a leg-up.

“Let’s go back,” Fleda said sullenly. “It’s going to pour rain soon.”

The last thing Emily wanted to do was return to the house. In casting about for something to warrant a delay, she was cheered to see a large black-and-white bird perched atop the wall, its little glossy head set on an angle, its black eyes on her, looking as if it desired to be included in the ladies’ conversation.

“Oh!” Emily gasped, advancing toward it slowly, pleased that it was not frightened away. “It’s a magpie!”

“I
hate
magpies,” said Fleda. “They’re such noisy birds, and they steal things.”

“They are intelligent.”

“You’d better speak kindly to him, or you’ll have bad luck.”

“There’s no need to,” said Emily smiling, “for he’s looking directly into my eyes. I think we are already friends.”

“Glenna says if you see one sitting on its own, it means someone is going to die.”

“Scottish lore!” scoffed Emily. “Actually, if I remember correctly, you only have to worry if you see a lone magpie near the window of your house.”

“But my brother Octavius died,” said Fleda quietly.

Emily could offer the girl little beyond a compassionate glance. “That happened some time ago.”

The magpie skittered along the stones and then flew off, Emily watching the bird’s journey into a maze of mountain ash branches until she could no longer see it.

“Did you know my brother?”

Emily set off reluctantly toward the house, wondering as she had from the first moment she set eyes on Octavius’s portrait hanging in the music room how long it would be before the Lindsay family learned the true nature of her
acquaintance
with their lost son. “No, I did not
know
your brother.”

“But Mother said you were on the
Isabelle
.”

Aware of Fleda’s eyes on her, Emily kept hers lowered on the gravel driveway. “There were four hundred men on the
Isabelle
. I was only acquainted with a handful of them.”

Fleda stopped walking. Emily stopped too, and turned to give the girl a quizzical stare.

“I don’t understand how you couldn’t have known my brother.”

Emily spoke gently. “I just told you. There were so many men, sailors, and landmen, and —”

“But he was an officer, a first lieutenant.”

“I was confined to the ship’s hospital, Fleda, and therefore had no opportunity to meet many of —”

“Did you know Captain Moreland?”

“I did.”

“Captain Moreland was a family friend.”

Emily remained silent when she noticed the slight quiver in Fleda’s chin.

“I cannot believe he didn’t introduce you to my brother. He should’ve been proud to have you make the acquaintance of Octavius.”

“I am sorry I cannot tell you what you want to hear,” Emily said helplessly.

Fleda’s eyes narrowed in suspicion — Emily certain they could see directly into her soul — and then curtly the young girl spun about and stomped off. Breathing heavily from his forays into the woods, Fleda’s dog hesitated, as if he were undecided whether to stay or go, but he soon bounded off to catch up to his mistress.

Emily stood there watching them go, past caring when the clouds could no longer contain the rain, and she was soon soaked to the skin. Again she pondered taking that road to London, and was certain she would have had it not been for the gatekeeper who scuttled from the sanctuary of his cottage in order to open the wrought iron gates to admit the Duke of Belmont’s carriage.

2:30 p.m.

Hartwood Hall

Glenna helped Emily
out of her sodden dress. “What a mess ya are! There’s to be no more traipsin’ ’round Hartwood in the rain. I’ll not have it.”

Emily had no will to retaliate. With apathy, she eyed the mess of boxes and bags heaped upon her bed and the three splendid new gowns hanging from its posts.

“What’s all this?”

“Ya lucky lass! Ya’ll find jewels there from Rundell and Bridge, and perfume and sweet-smellin’ soap from Price and Gosnell. Oh, and there’s shoes and hats from the shops on Bruton and Conduit Streets.”

“Has Her Grace spent every pound the Regent kindly gave her for my custody on all of this?”

“Heavens no!” said Glenna. “He’s been most generous fer sure, but Her Grace will guard every farthin’ with her life, and purchase only what’s necessary.”

“I thought I might, at the very least, be allowed to go to London myself to shop.”

“Why put yerself to inconvenience,” asked Glenna, drying Emily with a towel, “when ev’ry shopkeeper is only too happy to ship their wares to ya here?”

Emily exhaled a lengthy sigh.

“Are ya not happy with the lot?”

“Of course I am, but there’s no need for Her Grace to have gone to all this trouble for me.”

“She didna do it all herself, ya know,” winked Glenna. “I helped a wee bit with all the orderin’. But if ya don’t find what ya need here, I’ll take ya next door and show ya all o’ the gifts left fer ya yesterday.”

“Gifts? Oh, heavens, Glenna. Pray, what gifts?”

“The chamber next to yours is filled to the ceilin’ with bonnets and parasols, fans and reticules and gloves and the like. Why a body can hardly squeeze between the lot!”

“But I’ve no need for such luxuries. Please ask Her Grace to distribute them amongst the servants of the house.”

Glenna shoved her horrified face into Emily’s. “I’ll not insult the givers. Why they’ll be wantin’ to see ya wearin’ their gift at the next ball.”

“Not another ball!”

“The duke and duchess were so pleased with Saturday, they’re plannin’ another one, much to the neighbourhood’s delight.”

For the longest while, Emily said nothing and quietly submitted to Glenna’s towel drying, which now seemed more of a drubbing. “Our men fighting on the sea, and — I suspect — our soldiers, have nothing at all. They’re lucky if they own a decent pair of shoes or boots.”

“It’s none o’ yer concern, Pet,” said Glenna firmly. “Yer life’s here in England as Princess Emeline, and it’s only right ya dress proper.”

“I shall not require a castle of clothes while I languish here at Hartwood.”

“What’s all this nonsense about languishin’?

“I have nothing to do here … no occupation.”

Emily’s old nurse grumbled as she tossed the damp towel onto a chair, and went to fetch one of the new chemises and silk corsets from the bed. “Nothin’ to do, ya say? With all o’ the parties and dances ya’ll be goin’ to? Why ya’ll soon be receivin’ an invitation every night o’ the week.”

“One cannot spend one’s life doing nothing but seeking to be entertained.”

Glenna shrugged off her comment as she helped Emily into her underclothes. “The Regent might even have ya down to Brighton fer Christmas.”

Emily wheeled about. “Christmas! In Brighton? I’ve no interest in being a guest at his pavilion.”

“Why it’s an honour to be invited there.”

“But his dining room’s always so overheated, and his suppers go on forever, and his bands play so loudly, I’m always left with a headache.”

“Ya’ll do what yer told while yer stayin’ here, Pet,” scolded Glenna. “And if the Regent invites ya to Brighton, that’s where ya’ll be goin’.”

Emily felt Glenna tighten the lacings on her short corset. “Do you not think I’ll be long gone from Hartwood by Christmas?”

“If the trial is done at the Old Bailey, I suppose.”

“But Uncle Clarence said that could be months away.”

“’Twould be tomorrow if it weren’t fer all o’ the thieves and murderers and ravishers of women livin’ amongst us.”

“I feel — I feel I am no better off than I was while locked away on Trevelyan’s ship.”

Glenna made a clucking noise and straightened her old frame to frown. “I don’t remember ya bein’ a grumbler. With all this,” she waved her arms at the fortress of bags and boxes upon the bed, “and ya still find somethin’ to complain about.”

“You really don’t understand, do you?” said Emily sadly.

“I don’t suppose there’s anythin’ to understand. Ya’ve grown ungrateful of late. Now quit yer grumblin’ and put on one o’ them new gowns.” Glenna collected the towel and Emily’s wet clothes, and wobbled toward the door. “I need ya down in the parlour, and to make haste.”

“Why?”

“Yer uncle’s returnin’ to town soon and desires a quick word with ya first.” She wavered in the doorway as if contemplating another reprimand. “Ya could do what Her Grace does ev’ry day o’ the week.”

“And what’s that?”

“Write letters.”

Emily faced Glenna. “Yes! Perhaps I should write to my grandmother, Queen Charlotte, begging her and my old aunts to come visit me?”

“Her Grace would be happy to be receivin’ the royal highnesses here.”

“And do you believe Her Grace would be overjoyed to join us as we spend the day playing backgammon and pressing flowers?”

The sarcastic note in Emily’s voice did not escape Glenna; her hands found her hips and her lace cap shook formidably. “Nay! I was thinkin’ ya could write to the one ya was callin’ out to … the one ya never said nothin’ to me about even when I asked ya. To yer Leander, the one — I’m suspectin’ — what’s caused all this unladylike change in ya.”

The two levelled glances at one another, but it was Emily, mindful of the unsettling tick of the mantelshelf clock, who was the first to falter and look away.

2:45 p.m.

Hartwood Hall

Making haste per
Glenna’s stern instructions, Emily pinned up her hair, slipped into the simplest of her new gowns — a scoop-necked muslin frock with mauve satin ribbons hugging the bodice and hem — and set off for the ground-floor parlour: a compact, cosy chamber sandwiched between the south-facing breakfast room and the magnificent book-lined library. She was hopeful of finding Uncle Clarence in a benevolent disposition, so that, if an opportunity arose, she could appeal to him — beg him if she had to — for a respite in town. Surely there could be no harm in such a simple request?

Rather than finding him alone while he awaited her presence, she found him nestled in a plush chair, swirling a glass of wine and deep in conversation with both the duke and duchess. As their voices were all suspiciously low, and not one of them had heard her approach, Emily ducked into the library to watch and listen.

“I’ve been told that the trial’s to be set for early October to allow Mr. Austen time to return to England,” said Uncle Clarence. “If he’s received his summons and started back home, there’s no telling of his exact whereabouts, and, naturally, one never knows how long these ocean crossings may take. If the winds are in his favour, we might expect him back in early September.”

“Who is this Mr. Austen?” asked Adolphus, trying to sit forward in his chair.

“He was Captain Moreland’s commander. A fine gentleman, I understand … so very capable. I should’ve carried him back to England with me on the
Impregnable
; however, I had no authority to do so, and his leadership was sorely needed on the American coast, as the Royal Navy continues to be destitute of good men.”

“Would his sister, by chance, be the novelist Jane Austen?” asked Helena.

Uncle Clarence beamed. “She is indeed! In fact, I must tell you, on our journey home, Emeline was reading Miss Austen’s latest offering,
Pride and Prejudice
, given to her as a parting gift by Mr. Austen. The Prince Regent is quite an admirer of the lady, you know.”

From her library corner, her back resting against a shelf of old leather-bound volumes, Emily could not resist a smile. Hearing the name of Fly Austen pulled around her all the excitement of the sea.

“What I don’t understand is all this delay,” whined Helena. “I figured Trevelyan would’ve been hanged the moment he set foot on English soil.”

“My dear, we’re a civilized country, and the man must have a fair trial.”

Helena gasped. “What? A traitor must have a fair trial?”

“One never knows what astonishing information may be revealed at a trial,” said Adolphus. “Perhaps this man’s not as insidious as we all believe.”

“Dolly, how can you say such a thing, with all we’ve heard, all we have been told thus far?”

“That’s just it,” rejoined Adolphus. “Aside from the facts with which our dear Clarence has been able to supply us, outside accounts of Trevelyan’s atrocities may well have been overblown.”

“Really, Dolly, you do surprise me!” scolded Helena. “Let’s not forget this man was directly responsible for the death of so many, including your eighth son.”

“Quite right, quite right,” muttered Adolphus, giving his throat a nervous clearing.

“Still, Helena,” said Uncle Clarence, “every effort will be made to give the man a fair trial.”

There was a brief silence, then Adolphus spoke again. “As you instructed, Clarence, we’ve been careful not to question your niece on her ordeal, although I fear many of the ball guests were clamouring for delicious details, and may have gone too far in their inquiries. But I do wonder … has she said anything to you about our Octavius?”