Amanda Scott (14 page)

C
ONSTANTLY, EVEN AT TIMES
uncomfortably, aware of Miss MacDrumin, Rothwell realized that she had settled more quickly than he had expected into the routine of his household, and hoped she had given up her intention of stealing out in search of her Jacobite friends. But he was also aware that for the past few days Lydia had been behaving with uncharacteristic rectitude, and he had become increasingly suspicious of them both, so much so that he was presently having trouble attending to his conversation with Sir Dudley Ryder.

The two men sat in Rothwell’s library, enjoying a late-afternoon glass of wine, but Sir Dudley’s mind, as usual these days, was on business, specifically on the young Pretender’s activities. He said sharply, “Are you listening, Ned? The city is alive with rumors that he is here.”

Rothwell poured more wine from the decanter into Ryder’s glass, settled back comfortably in his chair, and dragged his attention back to their conversation. With a guilty awareness in the back of his mind that he had said nothing to Ryder about his unusual guest, he said, “Do any of your rumors suggest that Charles is actually raising an army?”

“What other reason can you suggest for his presence?”

“
If
he really is in London,” Rothwell said dampingly. “Calm yourself, my friend. We know for a fact that there is no army approaching the city, for you may be certain we should have heard by now if there were. At most, he is trying to arouse support amongst his precious Jacobites, and that may be entirely to our benefit. Let him learn how little support he actually has here.”

“Are you so certain of that? My people seem to believe that both the city and the surrounding countryside are infested with those damned Jacobites.”

Rothwell chuckled. “Your people justify their positions by keeping that particular pot boiling, my friend, and you ought to know better than to believe every single thing they tell you. Has anyone mentioned even the existence of an army?”

“No, but—”

“Has anyone suggested that the greater part of the English populace is so disenchanted with the
status quo
that they will leap to join the Stewart upstart if he beckons to them?”

“Well, no, not yet, but what of the damned Scots? They’ve never hesitated to attack us, given the least reason to do so, and they do not love King George.”

“Nor do I love him if it comes to that,” Rothwell said bluntly. “It is difficult for anyone save his own wife to love a man whose sympathies are entirely Hanoverian, and whose parsimony is carried to such lengths as to make George One look generous.” He sighed. “So far has the British monarchy fallen.”

Ryder smiled. “Is this treason I hear?”

“No, George Two is the lawful king, whatever the Jacobites would have us believe, and peace is better than war for all of us. We’ve had too much war for any sensible man to want more.”

“I won’t argue with that sentiment, but Charles Stewart means no good, Ned. You know that as well as I do.”

“But I don’t condemn the man for his stupid wishes, which is the primary difference between us, Ryder. Young Charles concocts ambition out of spun-sugar dreams, nothing more, and he has already shot his bolt, as he will soon discover for himself.”

“But you know as well as I do that many people hate having a German king, and yearn for a return of the Stewarts.”

Rothwell shrugged. “More spun-sugar, my friend. Only think of the ones you know personally who pretend to harbor such dreams. How many are capable of acting on them, and how many will simply disappear when action is demanded? I think most of your wicked Jacobites are like my silly sister, Lydia, who delights in toasting the king over her water glass, pretending that she supports the Stewart cause. Do you suppose for a minute that Lydia wants war, Ryder?”

“No, of course not, but most Jacobites are not like Lady Lydia,” Ryder said, taking up his wineglass as if in response to Rothwell’s mention of toasting, then pausing to add, “Why, she is a mere child and female at that.”

Again Rothwell chuckled, his thoughts returning instantly to his guest. “Is it her sex or her youth that makes you believe she is no danger to the Crown? Think carefully before you answer, and remember, I pray you, that Joan of Arc and Lucretia Borgia were both young females when they wreaked their worst havoc amongst their enemies.”

Ryder choked on his wine. “Of all the unnatural things to say about your own kith and kin, that is the worst! Good lack, Ned, next you will be suggesting that that sweet, innocent child is a traitor to the Crown!”

“No such thing,” Rothwell said, regarding his friend with amusement. “I merely point out to you that you see threats where most likely none exist and yet have a tendency to see serenity where there might well be mayhem a-brewing.”

“You’ve got maggots in your brain.”

“I devoutly trust not. I have spent many years creating a peaceful existence for myself. I should very much dislike having it turned upside down through mere want of foresight.” He was not thinking of his half-sister, though he could see that Ryder thought he was. Before his friend could retort, he added glibly, “Do you care to accompany me to Cupid’s Gardens this evening? I had thought to see how the rabble are disporting themselves these days. We might pick up a rumor or two, as well.”

“We might indeed, but since you give rumors no credence, I would prefer to have a pleasant dinner at the Cider Cellar, as I had planned to do. Indeed, I’d hoped you would dine with me and then take a look in at Drury Lane afterward, but—”

“Say no more. You had only to ask.” Rothwell got to his feet, adding, “I will just tell them to inform my bargeman that I shan’t require him this evening after all, and then I shall be entirely at your disposal.”

He stepped into the hall to find Lydia on the point of entering from the central hall. She hesitated, clearly surprised to see him, but she said quickly and in a perfectly friendly way, “Good afternoon, Ned. Do you mean to dine with us this evening?”

“No, my dear. Won’t you be dining with Lady Portland?”

“Oh, no, for it is not that sort of party, merely an evening of interminable poetry and music. I am persuaded that it will be unconscionably boring, and feel rather guilty at subjecting poor Maggie to it at all, particularly when Mama is so distressed at James’s refusing to escort us. I fear she is quite determined to match him with Lady Portland’s wealthy niece.”

Dryly, he said, “Shall I gratify her by offering to replace James tonight, puss?”

He thought she looked appalled but her recovery was so swift that he told himself he was mistaken, becoming certain of it when she smiled sunnily, saying, “I know you are jesting, Ned, but it is not at all funny. Mama would make us all most uncomfortable if you even suggested such a thing. Oh, hello, Sir Dudley,” she added, making him a curtsy. “I did not know you were here.”

“We are on the point of departing to dine at the Cider Cellar, my lady,” Ryder said. “That is, I thought we were. Did you not come out here to dismiss your bargeman, Ned?”

“I did,” Rothwell said, noting with amusement that his sister seemed delighted by Sir Dudley’s presence, and wondering if she were rather more interested in his friend than he had previously thought she was. By the time he had arranged for word to be sent to his bargeman, and for his cloak, gloves, stick, and hat to be fetched for him, Lydia had disappeared and he was able to dismiss even that brief notion as a foolish one.

Maggie was seated in the window embrasure in her bedchamber, idly watching a pair of gulls fight over some morsel or other in the courtyard below, when Lydia burst into the room, fairly crowing in triumphant delight.

“Our worries are over, Maggie! I did not even have to try to cozen Oliver into leaving Ned at Cupid’s Gardens long enough to row us to Essex Stairs. ’Tis a good thing, too, because I think that it might well have proved to be beyond even my powers of persuasion. Moreover, how could we know Oliver would be able to get away to fetch us, and how could he have known when to do so? Truly, the whole venture was fraught with peril, but now ’twill be as easy as winking.”

“What has happened?” Maggie, having little faith in her new friend’s powers of persuasion, had been ready to give up altogether once they had discovered that Rothwell intended to avail himself of his barge that evening. It was no more, she had told herself, than they ought to have expected, for Fate was notoriously perverse in such matters. But Lydia’s beaming face gave her hope again. “Has Oliver agreed to take us, then?”

“Of course, he has. I told you he would two days ago. I went down to the hall, looking for one of the maids to send out with a message, and most fortunately, before I found one, Ned came to say he means to dine with Sir Dudley, and since they go to St. James’s Square, they’ll take chairs or a coach, which leaves us Oliver all to ourselves. He can await our return at Essex Stairs, which will be much the best thing, I promise you.”

Maggie believed it. She thought they ought also to arrange for Oliver to accompany them from the river to Lady Primrose’s house, for she had no notion how far up Essex Street it was to be found, and as she had discovered during her short time in London, anything might happen. She was not so much concerned for herself as for Lydia. Just the thought now that she would be taking Rothwell’s sister to a Jacobite ball made her wince, for she had been imagining these three days past what the earl’s reaction would be if he should find out. There being no way to get out of taking Lydia, however, she pushed her fears aside and demanded to know precisely what the minx had done.

“Well, I had racked my brain for an answer to our problem, for I am not one to give up easily, you know, and I had pretty nearly decided that the best thing would be to send for Thomas to meet us in the Privy Gardens with a carriage, and then to sneak out across the Richmond House terrace, but that would have meant bribing one of her grace’s footmen to leave the gate unlocked, and not being certain which one would be on duty there today—”

“Lydia, stop,” Maggie begged, not even attempting to conceal her dismay. “Richmond House! How could you think of trespassing there? Even if we had done so abominable a thing, we could not have enlisted Lord Thomas’s aid in such a cause as this.”

“Oh, piffle, of course we could, only as it happens we need not do so, so I merely told him to meet us at the ball instead.”

“You what?” Feeling faint, Maggie sat straighter on her chair and stared at Lydia, dumbfounded. “You didn’t.”

“But I did. It is a perfectly splendid opportunity for us to meet, since there is not the least chance of Ned’s turning up. I have told you and told you how difficult he makes it for us to see each other, and even if one or another of his friends is present, which is most unlikely, no one will recognize us because it is to be a masquerade. Thomas will be masked, and so will everyone else, and of course we will leave before the unmasking. And do not say that he was not invited, for that would be the merest quibble, since I was not invited either!”

“No, you were not,” Maggie said tartly, “and, in faith, I ought not to let you go. There is no reason that I cannot entrust myself alone to Oliver. Surely, he would see me safely to Essex Stairs. There is no need for you to go at all.”

“Oliver would tell Ned,” Lydia said, glaring at her.

“I suppose you mean by that, that you would tell him to do so,” Maggie retorted. “What an abominable girl you are.”

“I’m not, and I wouldn’t! Well, perhaps I would, but it would be only because you would be mean not to take me. This may be the only opportunity I have in my whole life to take part in a great cause, and I simply must do so. But I would not have to make Oliver tell, Maggie. You are nothing to him, you know, and Ned is his employer. Oliver would feel obliged to tell him.”

“Then why—”

“Because Oliver never does tell on me, that’s why,” Lydia interjected with a decided note of triumph in her voice. When Maggie frowned, however, the younger girl abandoned her attitude for one of pure entreaty. “Oh, Maggie, pray don’t be angry with me. Please, please, take me with you!”

“Lydia, it simply is not right. Though it is terribly important that I get to that ball, I really ought not to take you, and in any case, it would be utterly wicked to allow poor Oliver to lose his position on my account or yours.”

“He won’t,” Lydia said stubbornly. “Ned won’t turn him off, I tell you. He never blames anyone else for my misdeeds. If he does find out, he will scold me and I daresay he will have a few harsh words for you as well, but it will be worth it. Well, won’t it?” she demanded. “Only think if one day they should succeed in placing Bonnie Prince Charlie on the throne. I vow, I long to see him there. Everyone says he is dreadfully handsome!”

“He is pretty enough, I suppose,” Maggie said with a sigh.

“You have seen him! Oh, tell me, what is he like?”

“He is very grand,” Maggie said. “He was sitting in his tent when I visited his encampment with some girls from my school. We had slipped away just to see him, and there were other ladies there from the town as well. Everyone made a circle around his tent, and after a time, he came out. He saluted us, then mounted his horse and rode off to view his men. Soon all the ladies of Edinburgh were wearing white cockades, whatever their political persuasion. They ordered tartan dresses, stitched Jacobite mottos on pincushions and garters, and many even sent him presents of plate, linen, and other such things.”

“Oh, I wish I had seen him,” Lydia said, sighing deeply. “I have only seen his likeness etched on a Jacobite wineglass.”

Maggie smiled. “It was exciting, to be sure, but life in Edinburgh was not so pleasant then, and even though the ladies thought him wonderful, their menfolk did not like him so well.”

“But so many followed him!”

“Highlanders followed him,” Maggie said quietly. “Too many lowlanders prefer peace to making war, even in a rightful cause; and indeed, Lydia, I do not know that he will be more succe—” She broke off, aghast at what she had nearly given away, then quickly covered her slight hesitation by saying, “We do not know that he can ever succeed.”