A Sister's Secret (12 page)

‘So you have said before, young lady,’ said Captain Burnside.

‘It surely is a sweet blessing to have your sympathy and support,’ said Annabelle, ‘and to confide my weakness to you.’

‘Ah,’ said the captain, receiving plates from her, ‘we all suffer far more from our weaknesses than our strengths. Young ladies can suffer excessively. However, miserable consequences can be avoided when a young lady is as determined as you are not to yield. And, of course, as a young lady adorably American, you’d never yield unconditionally to a son of King George, who made himself so unpopular with all of you.’

‘Oh, not to
all
of us,’ said Annabelle, liking the fact that Captain Burnside was a pleasure to talk to. ‘My
parents will tell you that many colonists did not want the war, but were forced into supporting it, on pain of being brutalized. My family and many relatives are proud of our kinship with you, and I vow I am acquiring much affection for England.’

‘Well, I’m sure Cumberland ain’t the only one acquiring much affection for
you
,’ smiled the captain, and Annabelle, on her knees beside the picnic cloth, raised delighted blue eyes to him.

‘I do declare you the sweetest man,’ she said.

‘Oh, there’s a deal of water to flow under the bridge yet,’ he said, and returned to the punt to fetch the cushions.

Annabelle finished setting out the picnic. Caroline came back at a graceful, leisurely saunter, looking not unlike a Georgian Diana in her lightly gowned magnificence. Captain Burnside set the cushions down, and with a murmur of thanks Caroline closed her parasol and sank billowingly on to one.

Beneath the shade of a tree, Annabelle regarded her sister with a smile. ‘Caroline is very queenly, don’t you think so, Charles?’ she said, her round eyes a perfectly innocent blue.

‘An acquired queenliness,’ said the captain, accepting a chicken leg from Annabelle, ‘for I recollect that when she was younger—’

‘You recollect nothing of the kind,’ said Caroline, examining lamb’s tongue in aspic.

‘Nothing of what kind?’ asked Annabelle, glancing from one to the other of them.

‘Of whatever kind Captain Burnside was going to say,’ murmured Caroline, deciding the tongue was irresistible.

‘And what were you going to say, Charles?’ asked Annabelle.

‘The subject is closed,’ said Caroline.

‘But, sister dear,’ said Annabelle, ‘it has hardly begun.’

‘I was going to say,’ murmured Captain Burnside, ‘that when Caroline first came to my eyes as the young fancy of Lord Percival—’

‘Fiddle-faddle,’ said Caroline.

‘Caroline, do let him speak,’ said Annabelle, spooning creamed mussels from a jar. ‘I’m all agog to hear what were his first impressions of you.’

‘It’s so long ago, of course,’ said the captain, ‘that those first impressions are hazy.’

‘Wretched man,’ said Caroline, green eyes glinting and her fixed smile false, ‘it’s only a few years.’

‘I can, however, recollect a shy smile, a faint blush and a gown of pink organdie,’ said Captain Burnside, and began to enjoy his chicken leg.

Annabelle shrieked with laughter.

Caroline’s smile became even more fixed. ‘Your recollection is more imaginative than true,’ she said.

‘Well, perhaps the organdie may have been blue,’ observed the captain, credibly reminiscent.

‘But, Charles, a shy smile and a faint blush?’ laughed Annabelle. ‘Had you caught her tying a garter, then?’

‘Alas, no,’ said the captain, ‘Lady Caroline was ever the most modest of ladies. Ah, shall I pour the wine?’ He took the bottle from its chilled container, removed the cork and filled the crystal glasses. Caroline received hers with a glitter in her eyes, and a look that told him to expect the more cutting edge of her tongue before the day was out.

They picnicked on a variety of good things, and the dry white wine was a perfect accompaniment. Captain Burnside favoured Annabelle as far as his pleasantries were concerned, but his attentiveness was by no means
too unctuous or too obvious. That Annabelle enjoyed his conversation was plain to see.

The warm air caressed the sisters and the sunlight that came shafting through the branches of the tree dappled their summer gowns. Caroline looked strikingly beautiful, Annabelle young and fresh and pretty. Captain Burnside, his hat and coat cast off, seemed informally at ease.

The picnic over, they tidied up, and Caroline remarked how refreshing it was not to have servants fussing around.

‘Oh, we have Charles,’ said Annabelle, ‘and he is very refreshing.’

When the hamper had been repacked, Captain Burnside placed it back in the moored punt, then sat on the edge of the bank, legs dangling, eyes musing on the water. Annabelle joined him.

After a moment’s hesitation, Caroline walked over to them, and she too lowered herself to sit on the bank. ‘How peaceful,’ she said.

‘Hello, hello, what’s all this ’ere, then? Trespassers, is it?’

They turned their heads at the sound of the rasping voice. Behind them stood three men. They were all dressed in brown coats, brown breeches and hard brown hats. The middle man was tall and burly, a stick of thick ash in his hand. The other two were thin and wiry. They all looked aggressive, and each had the slightly bloodshot eyes of men slightly the worse for their midday drink.

‘Who are you?’ asked Captain Burnside mildly.

‘Never you mind.’ The burly man was patently offended by their presence. ‘Who are you, that’s more like, and who’s yer wenches?’ He poked his stick first at Annabelle, then at Caroline. ‘There’s a notice, plumb out there for
reading, h’observing and digesting. No landing nor fishing, no loitering nor sitting.’

‘Unfortunately,’ said Captain Burnside, ‘we passed it by.’

‘Oh, yer did, did yer?’ said the burly one. ‘Well, up yer get and off yer go, and lively, or yer’ll get pitched into that there river and yer wenches’ll come tumbling after.’

‘Upon my soul,’ said Captain Burnside, ‘have you no manners?’

‘Eh, what’s that?’ demanded the offended gentleman.

‘Stow yer gab, mister,’ said one of the other men, his voice thick, ‘or Jonas’ll top yer with his nob-smasher.’

‘That he will,’ said the third man. ‘Did yer hear him, Jonas, did yer hear him ask about yer manners?’

‘I heard him,’ said Jonas, the burly one, ‘which don’t h’improve his prospects nohow. So, me fancy cove, up yer get, like I said afore but ain’t a-saying again, and off yer go.’

‘Kindly remove yourself,’ said Caroline icily, ‘and take your drunken friends with you.’

‘Well,’ gasped the second man, ‘if that don’t beat all the king’s ’orses and all his other capers too. What impertinence. Did yer hear her, Jonas?’

‘I heard,’ growled Jonas. ‘You take her, Willum, and you take t’other ’un, Jake, while I sees to ’is lordship ’ere. Yes, you.’ He prodded Captain Burnside with his stick. ‘Up yer get, and smart. I’m going to chuck yer in, then pull yer out, then take yer, with yer wenches, to Mr Meredith, what’s a gent who’ll clap yer in his stocks for yer trespass. Now then, me cove.’ He rapped Captain Burnside heavily on the shoulder. The other men, darting, seized the sisters. One took Caroline by her left wrist and pulled her to her feet. Caroline flashed her right hand and smacked his face, hard. Annabelle, hauled bruisingly to her feet by the other man, gave a little outraged shriek and kicked him.

Captain Burnside, on his feet, took the man by the shoulder and wrenched him round. The burly Jonas intervened and smote with his stick. It caught Captain Burnside a glancing blow on the side of his head. He fell. Caroline’s assailant, incensed by her slapping of his face, threw her unceremoniously to the ground. Annabelle, treated no less brutally, staggered and fell over her sister. She screamed. Captain Burnside, hurt by the blow from the stick, but by no means incapacitated, rolled aside as Jonas struck again. The stick bruised the turf. Again it was raised to strike. Again it descended. Too late. Arms like steel wrapped themselves around the burly man’s legs and heaved. Upended, he crashed like a falling caber, big and heavy. His bellow of rage was cut short as the fall took his breath from him.

Captain Burnside, upright, saw Annabelle and Caroline on the ground, struggling and kicking, the louts trying to pin them. Gowns and underskirts were billowing, lacy pantaloons gossamer-like in the sun, bonnets off and hair dishevelled. Annabelle was yelling, but Caroline was in a silent fury, her teeth clenched and her nails scratching.

The captain wrenched the stick from the dazed Jonas. He used it mercilessly, striking off the hard hats of the bruising louts and then smiting their unprotected heads. The blows brought gasps and shudders. The two men rolled over. The metal-capped end of the stick thrust hard into one man’s stomach. He emitted a gasping yell. A hand seized his collar, jerked him to his feet and sent him whirling. He fell, sprawling over the still winded Jonas. Captain Burnside dealt with the other oaf as the man came to his feet. His left fist shot straight out and took the man in his eye. He plummeted backwards. Annabelle and Caroline watched, eyes wide open, bosoms heaving.

Captain Burnside used his foot to shift aside the man who had fallen on Jonas. And Jonas gazed up into a face fierce and cold. His colleague rolled over, came up on his knees and shot to his feet, expression livid. He threw himself at Captain Burnside. The captain sidestepped, thrust out a foot, tripped the man and accelerated his further fall with a blow to the back of his neck.

Jonas scrambled, came up, flexed his muscles and advanced. ‘Yer’ll get yer liver cut out for this, yer’ll get transportation,’ he wheezed, ‘but first yer’ll get this.’

He swung his fist at the captain’s jaw in a tremendous round-arm blow. Annabelle gasped, the captain ducked, the fist travelled over his head, and he delivered a blow on his own account, an uppercut that took Jonas clean under his chin. His head snapped back and the turf shuddered as he hit it.

He looked at the blue sky, and the blue sky seemed red. A face appeared, a cold face. The stick prodded his chest.

‘Get up,’ said Captain Burnside, ‘and get your ruffians on their feet.’

‘Oh, yer’ve got a bad time coming,’ wheezed Jonas, ‘you and yer wenches, that you ’ave.’

Captain Burnside applied the toe of his boot to the man’s ribs. ‘Get up,’ he said again, and Caroline could not believe that her smooth-tongued hireling could look so icy and menacing. He was rigid with controlled fury.

Jonas shook his dizzy head and climbed ponderously to his feet. His colleagues came totteringly upright, one man with a hand clasped over his damaged eye and emitting groans.

‘You, and you.’ Captain Burnside gestured with the stick. ‘Line up, all of you.’

They lined up, Jonas drawing in air and watching the stick.

‘Blinded me, that’s what he’s done, blinded me,’ said the damaged man.

Captain Burnside cast a glance at the sisters. They were dishevelled, but on their feet.

Jonas made a rush, and his arms lunged. The stick struck his left arm. He roared with pain.

‘Oh, yer son of Satan, yer’ve nigh on broke it,’ he bellowed.

‘Turn round, all of you,’ said Captain Burnside.

They turned, presenting their backs to him. He used the stick again. He struck the buttocks of each man. The man called Jake whipped round in fury, and aimed a savage kick at the captain’s middle. It struck only empty air. A hand took him by the collar, and he was literally run over the grass and pitched into the water. He hit it with a frightened scream and disappeared. He came up choking and panic-stricken.

‘Oh, yer lordship – for God’s sake – I can’t swim …’

Captain Burnside, from the bank, watched the miserable fellow kicking, struggling and splashing. Jonas and his companion stared numbly. The frightened man sank again amid a frenzy of thrashing limbs.

‘Captain Burnside!’ Caroline, gown hitched, came running. ‘Captain Burnside, you can’t! I implore you, bring him out!’

The man’s head reappeared, and he spat out choking water. Captain Burnside leapt on to the landing stage, leaned and held out the stick. The drowning man took desperate hold of it, and the captain drew him to safety. He scrambled up, his soaked garments plastering his body.

‘Go,’ said Captain Burnside. ‘Go. All of you.’

They went, all of them, mouthing in fury. Caroline and Annabelle watched their figures stumping angrily over the meadow. Annabelle, white and shaken, flung her
arms around the captain. Caroline stared at her sister, and bit her lip.

‘Captain Burnside,’ gasped Annabelle, ‘oh, mercy me, those dreadful men!’

He patted her shoulder. ‘Not the friendliest people one expects to meet in so idyllic a spot,’ he said.

‘Oh, I surely thought that together they would batter you senseless.’

‘Ah, well, we divided them and so they fell, and I fancy they’re more bruised than we are.’ He patted her shoulder again. Annabelle, distressed, clung tighter, liking the feel of his body, reassuringly firm and strong, his warm chest a comfort to her bosom.

Caroline regarded the embrace uncertainly. She supposed nothing could have impressed Annabelle more than Captain Burnside’s rout of the tipsy oafs. But she was not sure she liked the way her sister was clinging to him. And she certainly did not like the way he was caressingly comforting Annabelle.

‘Captain Burnside,’ she said, ‘is my sister in a swoon?’

‘Faith, I hope not,’ he said, ‘for I don’t precisely shine when it comes to doctoring swooning ladies.’

Annabelle detached herself. Reluctantly, thought Caroline. And, heavens, her bodice. The visibility of her bosom. Catching her sister’s eye, Annabelle pinked, turned aside and made the necessary adjustment. The accident of exposure had, of course, been facilitated by the lowness of the bodice. For months now, Caroline had recognized in her sister all the symptoms of a girl dangerously infatuated, buying gowns far too revealing in her desire to bring her figure to the attention of Cumberland. Caroline knew herself to have been similarly disposed during those days when her own infatuation made her crave Clarence’s attention.

She sighed. Captain Burnside, retrieving fallen bonnets, expressed the hope that she had escaped serious hurt.