Wiles of a Stranger (9 page)

Chapter Seven

One can never expect to sleep well in a strange bed for the first few nights. Add to that the number of problems I had to consider, and you will have some idea how long I lay wide awake, staring about the room until the light spots of pictures on the wall became visible. I listened for sounds of traffic in the hallway, and heard none.

My last trip to the window to read my watch by the light of the moon told me it was three. I thought about Stella, and found it odd she had waited until she was nearly thirty before marrying. Such a pretty woman must have had many offers. It was odd too the major had said no single word all evening to indicate he was a married man. It had come as a shock, his saying he had had a son. Yet his affection for Lucien was the least contrived part of his behavior.

On my three-o’clock trip to the window, I made the error of leaving the curtain open, so that I was roused by the sun streaming full in my face at six-thirty in the morning. I wondered if Papa could see the sun, in his cell in jail. I was making remarkably little progress in getting him out.

At seven, I abandoned all thought of sleep. I arose, washed and dressed myself to face the day. Lucien was still sleeping, so I left him and went to get a shawl for a morning stroll. There were no servants about, but the front door had been unbolted, and the tantalizing aroma of coffee wafted on the air. The air was brisk as I set out across the park, choosing the pavilion for my destination.

As I approached it, only the upper half was visible, for an ilex hedge ran down the side nearest the house, protecting some flower beds from the wind. It was open, with pretty ogee arches, gilt-trimmed, but the silhouette in one of the arches soon distracted my attention from architecture. There, framed like a picture, stood Major Morrison, flirting to the top of his bent with Mrs. Beaudel. I gasped in astonishment, for while I was not close enough to hear any words, I could see the bantering, bold smiles they wore, could see her head cocked at a coquettish angle.

Soon the nature of their rendezvous was confirmed. While I peered through the bushes, he pulled her into his arms for a long embrace. And she, the brazen trollop, put both her arms around his neck, running her fingers up and down through his hair. I was never more shocked and disgusted in my life. Two married people, out carrying on like the lowest mortals on earth.

I fought a strong impulse to make my presence known, but a sober second thought deterred me. Their passion showed no signs of abating, and as I took no pleasure in observing it, I turned and scampered back to the house, to wait for Lucien to stir. From my window, I saw, about fifteen minutes later, Mrs. Beaudel return alone through the park. There was no way of knowing where the major had slunk off to. Down to the dairy barns perhaps, for a quick seduction of one of the dairymaids.

Or was there more than lovemaking going on at the gazebo? Had those two known each other before? It was difficult to believe they had reached such an intimate footing in one evening, under the very eyes of the lady’s husband. Surely their meeting that morning had been arranged in advance.

Whatever the major’s habits, I could not believe Stella Beaudel normally hauled herself out of bed at the crack of dawn.

Soon Lucien was up, ready for his breakfast. At some point in the interval, Morrison had returned to the house and eaten. He loomed at the schoolroom door just as I was opening the reader to begin lessons.

“Beginning your favorite subject so soon, Teacher?” he asked, stepping in, and smiling at us. “Hallo, Lucien. Have you had any luck in gaining freedom from classes for our little trek into Chelmsford?”

Lucien made an unintelligible sound of delight, while Morrison began his persuasions. “Such a lovely day. You will welcome the respite yourself, Miss Stacey.”

With such an uncertain character as the major wore, I had no intention of letting Lucien accompany him. “I’m afraid we work, sir, rain or shine,” I answered, not looking up from the reader. I can’t let him go for any reason.”

“What better reason is there than an ice treat? I personally would walk a mile for an ice. We had no such delicacies in the Peninsula.”

“They are by no means rare here. We have a great deal of work to do.”

“At six years, Lucien also has a great deal of time in which to do his lessons. A couple of hours can be spared to me.”

“What of your associate who comes today to look at the jewelry? Should you not be here to meet him?”

“Certainly I should, and shall. He arrives at two. We will be back long before that.”

Lucien yanked at my arm, urging me on to accept the offer, but I shook him off. A youngster didn’t know what was good for him. I trusted Beaudel would put a stop to the idea, and resorted at last to using his name to squelch Morrison.

“You will have to have permission from his guardian. I cannot think he will let Lucien go off with a stranger.”

“I am no stranger to Beaudel. My letter of introduction from Lord Sacheverel has convinced him I am not a scoundrel who abducts youngsters. Perhaps you would care to see it for yourself, ma’am?” he asked, with an ironic smile, as he reached into his inner pocket.

My lack of interest in seeing it was apparently evident on my face, as he never did extract the letter. “Naturally I have got Beaudel’s permission, before suggesting the scheme to you,” he continued. “Come along, Lucien.”

Lucien leapt up, knocking over his chair in the process. The two walked out the door, the major forgetting to throw his shoulders back like a soldier, and Lucien forgetting to pick up his chair. I stood helpless, watching them go.

Minding Lucien was only my secondary reason for being here, but I still felt culpable to see him go off with a suspicious character. Miss Little had already vanished. Who was to say we would ever see Lucien again? It even flashed into my head the major could he the mysterious “beau” who had carried off the governess.

I flung down the reader and want to Beaudel’s study as fast as my legs could carry me. “Major Morrison is taking Lucien off to the village!” I exclaimed, when I was admitted.

Beaudel smiled at my urgent tone. “I know he is, Miss Stacey. I should have told you I gave him my permission.”

“But we don’t know a thing about him! How can you trust him?”

“I know all about him. He has a letter from Sacheverel. He is a highly respected gentleman. You must not bother your head about it. Indeed he is quite a hero.”

“I don’t think he was ever in the Peninsula at all,” I blurted out.

He laughed merrily. “With that tanned complexion! I should say he was. He was honored for his part in the Battle of Vitoria. And he will soon be better known in England as well. You’ll never guess where he goes when he leaves us, Miss Stacey. To Brighton. He is invited to pass a few weeks with the Prince Regent at his Brighton Pavilion. Sacheverel mentions it.”

Beaudel must have read some doubts still on my face, for he said next, “There is no possibility the letter was forged. It had Sacheverel’s seal on it. As far as that goes, I have known of the Morrisons for years. Ever since my brother married Sacheverel’s daughter, I have been hearing the name mentioned, always with some good word of them.”

I could think of no more protests. “I see,” was all I said.

 My heart was still unconvinced, and the most damning thing about the man, I could not say. I saw him making love to your wife. How could I tell this poor infatuated old fool that? I couldn’t. A womanizer would be unlikely to harm a boy in any case.

Just as I was about to leave, defeated, Beaudel suggested, “Why don’t you go with them, if you are uneasy? I appreciate your concern for the boy. It speaks well for your interest in your duties. I know Lucien is in good hands when he is with you.”

“That’s a good idea. Thank you,” I said, and dashed above for my bonnet, before the carriage should get away without me.

I felt every bit as welcome as a swarm of midges when I hailed them up, just at the front door, as the yellow curricle clipped towards the driveway.

“What is it? What’s the matter now?” Morrison asked impatiently, drawing his nags in.

“Nothing is the matter. I’m going with you.”

“You can’t, Miss Stacey. This is a two-seater,” Lucien pointed out smugly, and with some cause too.

“Why?” Morrison asked bluntly.

“Mr. Beaudel wishes me to go,” I replied, giving a little more strength to Beaudel’s wishes than was quite truthful.

“This is nonsense!” For about thirty seconds, I thought he was going to whip the horses into motion and leave me standing in the drive, but after a hasty battle with himself, Morrison invited me, very unenthusiastically, to crowd myself in if I could. It was a close squeeze, but I meant to go if I had to put Lucien on my knee. It would have been more comfortable than the way I went, hanging half off the seat’s edge, clutching the side of the carriage for dear life. I know Lucien could have moved over more if he wanted to, but he was offended with me. He scowled and glared the first mile of the trip. None of us said a word. The “pleasure” trip was off to  a flying start.

When the two of them tired of being angry, they relaxed and began to discuss the outing. “We have got two cannons from Waterloo mounted in the square in town,” Lucien told the major. “I’ll show them to you.”

“English or French?”

“Oh, English. We would not want French cannons. You can sit on them to have your ice. I often used to sit on them when Miss Little took me into town. We’ll each sit on one,” he added, with a “so there” glare at me, depriving me of the thrill. “I liked Miss Little. She never used to come into town with me and Algernon when we didn’t want her to.”

I gazed off across an apple orchard, refusing to take umbrage at the boy’s childish taunts. “Who lives there, Lucien?” I asked, as though he were not furious with me.

“Nobody,” he answered mutinously. “Nobody lives in an orchard but birds. And worms.”

I turned to rebuke him, but as Morrison’s lips were twitching, I rephrased my reprimand. “I have not usually found you so dull,” I remarked blandly. “Being in a suit has robbed you of your wits.”

“If you mean who lives in the house, why didn’t you say so?”

“I thought even a six-year-old child would be clever enough to understand my meaning.”

“I am not a child.”

“Excuse me. A six-year-old man is what I meant, of course.”

“Why don’t you two chil—you two stop squabbling?” Morrison suggested. “There is nothing else for it. We are stuck with her, Lucien. Let us just pretend she is welcome.” The rudeness of his speech was mitigated by a smile to me over Lucien’s head.

“If we pretend that, she will want to come again,” my charge pointed out.

“A good point, but if she is like most ladies of my acquaintance, she will be into the shops the minute the carriage stops, and we men can go and sit on the cannons in peace.”

“There wasn’t much point in Miss Stacey’s coming then, was there?” the child asked.

“She came to protect you. Miss Stacey mistrusts me for some reason,” he answered, lifting a brow in tacit request for an explanation.

“Mr. Beaudel suggested it,” I said.

“He did not suggest it when I asked his permission. I wonder where he got the idea. Never mind, Miss Stacey, you are welcome as the snow—er, flowers, in May.”

“I begin to wonder what you two had in mind, that you take so much exception to my company.”

Lucien looked at me with his sly eyes, but said not a word.

“Man talk,” Morrison answered,

“Please remember the man’s age.”

The trip was not a great success, but at least Lucien was protected. From what, I am not at all sure. I do know that various attempts were made to be rid of me. Ribbons, perfume and bonbons were suggested as awaiting my pleasure in the shops. There chanced to be benches as well as cannons in the town square. I occupied one of the former, within view of the cannons, on which Morrison and Lucien sat, eating their ices. Morrison ordered three very large ones, and in revenge for the insults endured, I let him get the three in his hands before telling him I did not care for one.

“Lucky me. I get two,” he said, with no ill-nature. He contrived to keep the pair of them from melting and destroying his waistcoat.

Their talk was not audible to me, a few yards away on the bench, but it appeared harmless. They laughed, seeming easy with each other. Lucien was given something, which made me open up my eyes, but in a moment he gave it back, and Morrison slid it onto his finger. He was only showing the boy his ring. No harm in that. When they were finished eating, there was some talk as to what we should do next.

“Let us take a walk down that way,” I suggested, pointing in the direction of the jail. My goal, of course, was to try for a look at Papa as we passed.

At the Shipwalk, Morrison left us for a moment, to see if his associate had arrived from London. Thorpe was the man’s name. My father had a wide acquaintance with the gem community, but I was relieved to hear the man coming was unknown to us, and so would not reveal my identity. Mr. Thorpe had not arrived yet, and I did not see my father looking out of any window at the jail. After our walk, we returned to the curricle for the drive home.

Mrs. Beaudel was strolling in the park when we got there. Morrison let me down at the front of the house, while he and Lucien took the horses around to the stables. Mrs. Beaudel accosted me at once to inquire where we had been, which I of course told her. She questioned me closely as to the reason for the trip.

“Just a treat for Lucien, I believe. He likes children.”

“Bah, why should he?” she asked, with a suspicious glance from those muddy-green eyes.

“I expect Lucien reminds him of his son.”

“His son!” she exclaimed.

“Why yes, he is married, like you, Mrs. Beaudel. Did you not know it?” I had the pleasure of asking. She glared in open hostility.

“Of course I knew it,” she answered. “I did not know he had a son, however.”

“His son is dead,” I told her, then turned and went into the house.

I had either learned something, or added another problem to my growing store. I did not think Mrs. Beaudel had a notion in the world Morrison was married. Her shock was easy to see, and therefore I did not think they had been acquainted before this trip. On the other hand, Morrison had no great affinity with the truth. He might have invented a son, and perforce a wife, to give him an excuse to seek Lucien’s company.