Seasons of War 2-Book Bundle (62 page)

The outskirts of Winchester

When the coach halted
Emily’s head collided with the window’s frame, instantly awakening her. Sleepily she gazed about, trying to recollect the day and her whereabouts. Uncle Clarence sat next to her on one of the coach’s two olive-green velvet seats, fussing with his cane and brushing dust from his cream pantaloons in anticipation of his disembarkation.

“Now, Mr. Walby, look sharp,” he said in an exasperatingly boisterous tone, shifting his bottom forward onto the edge of the seat. “We shan’t be dallying here at your aunt’s place for long. There’re many miles between Winchester and London.”

Across from them, Gus sat alone. To see his face, one would suspect he was about to be buried alive in the next cemetery they happened upon. Adding to his frail, deflated appearance was the tight midshipman’s uniform he wore. Having lost his own to the sinking of the
Isabelle
, he had inherited one that had once belonged to a young Impregnable who had been drowned at sea, but its white trousers and jacket sleeves rode well up above Gus’s respective ankles and wrists. Emily could see, in the nervous blinking of his eyes and the compressing of his lips, his struggle to stay strong for the sake of the Duke of Clarence, for it would not do to break down in front of
him
. Trying to ease some of his anxiety, she gave him an encouraging smile, which he tried so very hard to return.

The exuberant post-boys scrambled down from their rumble seat on the back of the coach, arguing about which one of them was going to offer a helping hand to the princess. Jostling one another, they finally succeeded in swinging open the door and pulling down the steps. Uncle Clarence was the first one out, and he exclaimed relief as he stretched his legs, took in the fresh air, and looked about. It had been his intention that they get underway early from Portsmouth, but the townsfolk would not have it. Their delay in departure was the result of an invitation to take breakfast with a local wealthy family who provided them with a feast that had surpassed — in both presentation and variety — their supper at the George, and who had invited a number of their neighbours to join them — many of them having gaped at Emily through their quizzing glasses during the meal, leaving her suspecting that overnight she had acquired a second set of eyes.

Following the sumptuous breakfast, a few of the village ladies had pleaded with them to take tea and pastries with them. Where good food and festivity abounded, Uncle Clarence could not say no, while Emily confessed to being pleased with the arrangement. It had been her wish to meet some of the village children, especially those who had hung about the George for hours in the hopes of seeing her, and to whom she had gently instructed the hotel’s servants to give the plentiful remains of her supper dishes. Moreover, the delay had served to postpone her inevitable separation from Gus. But she had not meant to sleep — could hardly believe she had been able to do so — during the bouncing, jolting coach ride to Winchester, and felt she owed Gus an apology for slumbering away their last moments together.

“I am sorry for my drowsiness. It’s been months since I was forced to speak to so many people, and eat so many pastries.”

“I slept most of the way too,” admitted Gus, though there was something in the jumpy expression in his eyes which caused Emily to doubt he was telling her the truth.

Peering out through the open coach door, Emily could see a timber-framed, thatched cottage, set in a copse of mature beech and elm trees and surrounded by a fence badly in need of a fresh coat of paint. In the distance, beyond the stirring trees, were acres of green, sheep-dotted fields. Though somewhat rundown, it was a beautiful place, and she would happily have ended her journey here, had it not been for the severe-looking woman — presumably Gus’s Aunt Sophia — who had emerged from the house with an unhappy baby in her arms, and who shrilly yelled at the three noisy children circling around her feet lest they
“trip her up
.
”
It did not seem to excite the woman in the least that a member of the royal house was standing in her front yard, for she neither smiled nor curtsied nor invited Uncle Clarence in to drink tea. Despite her chilly reception, Emily’s uncle chatted away merrily to the underwhelmed Aunt Sophia on the subject of her sturdy-looking children, and of his own
ten offspring
he had left at home.

Despite the fact that Emily had not sought their assistance, the young post-boys seized her hands and, with silly grins upon their faces, fairly lifted her out of the confining coach, setting her down somewhat roughly upon the narrow, hedged-in road that ran alongside the cottage fence. Then they dashed to help Gus, and in a flash had him safely delivered to her side, and propped up once more upon his crutch. Taking a deep breath, Emily fixed her eyes on the top of Gus’s blond head, and felt her heart breaking.

“Promise me you’ll take good care of yourself, Mr. Walby?”

“I will,” said Gus, casting an uncertain glance in his aunt’s direction.

“Once I know where I’m to be left I’ll forward you my address.”

He nodded wistfully.

“And will you write to me?”

“Every day, Em,” he said in a strangled whisper.

Emily wanted so badly to leave him smiling. If only she could reassure him that the very instant Trevelyan was pronounced dead in his hangman’s noose, she would hire a coach, leave London, come straightaway to Winchester to collect him, and together they could journey back to Portsmouth to stow away on the first Royal Navy ship leaving for the war on the American coast. The unspoken words weighed heavily upon her tongue, but how cruel it would be to instill so much hope in Gus, when Emily herself was no more certain about the future than he was. She leaned against the gatepost to steady her failing legs.

“You go on and greet your Aunt Sophia,” she said, giving his arm — the one gripping the crutch — a quick squeeze. She whispered a hurried goodbye, and then made for the coach, thankful that the post-boys were standing by to help her manage the steps.

“Oh, fine! And what kind o’ help will ya be ’round here, hobblin’ about on a stick?” Aunt Sophia’s harsh words of greeting to her nephew sailed clear across the yard to strike Emily’s ears. It was too much; she could not bear to hear more.

“Please … please close the door for me,” she called out to the post-boys, too anguished to do so herself. Away from all prying eyes, shut inside the hot, silk-lined, velvet-upholstered body of the coach, she allowed her tears to fall, and prayed her uncle would not linger long. The sooner they departed the better.

Regrettably, a peek beyond the coach window was not promising.

Gus, his Aunt Sophia, and the children had disappeared into the house; however, her Uncle Clarence was now exchanging pleasantries with a respectable-looking older gentleman who had come walking up the laneway from the direction of the village, holding onto a leather bag. Emily’s first impulse was to cry out and wish them away, but curiosity stopped her. Brushing away the tears from her cheeks, she sat up straighter to observe their exchange.

The gentleman looked to be perhaps sixty-five. He was tall and slender, his posture upright, his hair grey and thinning, but neatly cut, and there was something in his manner of conversing with her uncle that hinted of intelligence and good breeding. Emily doubted he was Aunt Sophia’s husband — if, in fact, the woman actually possessed one — so who was he? She noted with delight the way in which the gentleman planted his feet on the gravel laneway, and carried his head, tilting it forward to show keen interest in her uncle’s speech, and was surprised to feel a twinge of excitement rising in her breast which ignited her imagination.

Thirty long years had suddenly passed — half a lifetime — and there, no more than a few feet away, stood Leander Braden. He was older, but still handsome and wise, and had spent years trying to find her, going from village to village on foot, making inquiries as to her possible whereabouts. He had come round this place before, but had come again straightaway, having heard in town news that the Duke of Clarence and his niece were travelling this way en route to London and would be stopping here. He had to know. Was it true? Was the niece with whom the duke travelled his own Emily? Surely … any minute now … her Uncle Clarence would clap the man on the back, wish him joy, and invite him to look no further than the coach that stood on the laneway. Slowly the gentleman would turn his head around and see her there in the window. His dear face would then break into a broad smile and his blue eyes — for surely he had blue eyes — would brighten with elated incredulity, and he would come forward to greet her, one hand held out to …

Though she desired him to do so, the older gentleman did not glance her way; Emily was never given an opportunity to look upon the full contours of his features, nor confirm the hue of his eyes. Perhaps it was just as well. As the conversation ended abruptly with the gentleman bowing before Uncle Clarence, and moving on up the grass pathway to Aunt Sophia’s front door, she tried to laugh off her whimsical reverie. But she could not, for a cloud of longing clung to her, as if she had been awakened prematurely from a rare and wonderful dream.

The minute Uncle Clarence had reinstated himself in the coach, sitting opposite her this time, upon the seat still warm and reminiscent of Gus Walby’s recent occupation, Emily desired nothing more than to return to sleep. She waited for her uncle to reach for his cane and rap its carved ivory head against the wall of the coach to signal to the coachman, and as they lurched away from Aunt Sophia’s house and started down the road to London — Emily refusing a last glance toward the windows, lest she should find the lone figure of Gus Walby standing there — she made her hopeful inquiries.

“Who was that man, Uncle?”

“Why he’s the doctor I arranged to come and look in after Mr. Walby. Decent of him to come straightaway.”

“A doctor!” Emily drew in breath. “And his name —?”

“Why I haven’t the faintest notion,” he said, peeling off his brown leather gloves. “He didn’t say, and I didn’t think to ask.”

9:00 p.m.

Hartwood Hall

It was Uncle Clarence’s
intention to dump Emily off hastily and unceremoniously at the north-facing entrance of Hartwood Hall, claiming he had an evening engagement he desired to keep in the city, though his arrival there would be quite late. Throughout the last leg of their journey — from London to Hampstead — it had been raining heavily, and he was eager to be off again, as the roads were poor and muddy, and it would take him close to two hours to reach his destination.

Emily was incredulous. “This is rather untoward, Uncle. Have you no interest in giving me an introduction to the good people of the house? Do you mean to leave me off here like a child in a basket with the hope they will heap pity on me and take me in?”

Her uncle burst into a chuckle. “They’re not even at home, Emeline, and shan’t be returning for a day or two. The minute the servants open the doors — ah, there they are now! I can see them gathering with their umbrellas and candles — you will have the best surprise, and will understand why I chose to leave you
here
.”

“I am feeling ridiculous!”

“Oh, ho, no need for that, my dear. Now then you do have the addresses of your family members, as well as that of your friend Mr. Walby?”

“I do,” said Emily, trying, like the barrel of a musket, to lock her enlarged eyes on his.

“And when we next meet out in London society, I do not wish to see you draped in that gown again. I’ve grown frightfully tired of it in our travels together.”

Emily smoothed the folds of her blue-and-white-striped morning dress. “In that case you shall be disappointed, Uncle, for a very special person sewed this gown together for me, and I intend to wear it often.”

Her uncle snorted. “God damn, do not forget who you are! It’ll not do to have the Regent’s niece and the king’s granddaughter traipse around in an inferior, homespun gown, nor, for that matter, sailors’ trousers, for that is what I surmise you have packed away in that chest of yours.”

“That may well be true, but you forget, Uncle, I have little beyond what I’m presently wearing. The clothes with which I departed England four months ago have now settled upon the sea’s bottom within the wreck of the
Amelia
.”

He looked pleased with himself. “I’ve seen to all that! Clothes and little accessories you shall soon have, for the Regent has kindly seen to providing you with a gift of five hundred pounds.”

“That is more than generous of him, Uncle, but now that I’m not living under my grandfather’s roof, I don’t need the Regent’s charity. I should like to
earn
my keep. Perhaps the women who work here in the kitchen would happily employ me to wash the china and crystal.”

“God Almighty, Emeline! No need for that sort of nonsense.”

“As this little reticule I am now clutching, given to me by the good ladies of Portsmouth, hasn’t a shilling in it, perhaps you would keep the Regent’s money, and be so kind as to loan me just enough so that I may buy a loaf of bread while I await my first bit of pay.”

Uncle Clarence patted Emily’s hand. “Not to worry, set your mind at ease; it has all been taken care of for you, my dear.”

“Then would you be so kind as to explain it all to me, Uncle?

“No time for that. Rest assured!”

“You haven’t even informed me as to how long I might be here.”

“A few weeks … perhaps a few months.”

“Months!”

“These sorts of trials take time, Emeline,” he said, curtly. “Now … now here is the housekeeper waiting patiently for you at the coach door. Hurry, hurry, the unfortunate woman is getting wet. Give your old uncle a kiss and be off.”

Their goodbyes were exchanged in such an expeditious manner, her uncle almost pushing her out the door and into the rain, that Emily was left wondering if he was embarrassed about being seen in her
unmanageable
company. The post-boys fetched her small clothing chest from the roof of the coach, handed it off to one of the waiting servants, and in an equally hurried way bowed and wished her “Godspeed.” In no time at all the coach was off again. Emily watched it trundling away, the clip-clop of the retreating horses growing fainter and fainter, until the wet, shadowy world of gusty trees and endless acres of black parkland had swallowed it whole. Feeling quite lost and in a daze, Emily felt the heavy arm of the faceless housekeeper wrap tightly around her shoulders and quickly steer her toward the light and warmth of Hartwood Hall, which loomed before her like three ships-of-the-line with their lanterns ablaze, sailing abreast on the darkened sea.