Bar Sinister (14 page)

Emily must have betrayed surprise, for her visitor went on, defensive, "When my father
died, my mother told me what had become of Richard. I writ him directly. That was just after Sir
Arthur--the Duke of Wellington--first landed in Portugal. I did not know what to write in my
letter and I daresay I put my foot wrong. Richard's reply made it clear that he wanted nothing to do
with any of us." She rose and her tan gloves slipped to the carpet. She knelt to retrieve them, voice
muffled. "It was so shaming. I greatly fear your instinct is correct, Mrs. Foster. Richard would not
wish me to know his children." Emily saw that her guest's eyes were bright with unshed tears. "I
had best take my leave of you."

Emily weakened. "Perhaps he would not wish the children to know of the connexion, but
he couldn't reasonably object to your meeting them. Tommy will be napping by now, but Amy and
Matt are in the schoolroom awaiting their writing lesson. Matt is my son. They will be delighted to
have their lesson postponed."

"Oh, if I could see them!" Lady Sarah closed her hands on the errant gloves. "You are
very kind."

Emily, knowing she did not merit the praise, flushed. "In the ordinary course of things I
am not quite so rude."

"I ought to have writ you first, but I couldn't think what to say," Lady Sarah said humbly.
"You could call me Lady Wilson. It is my style now after all. Robert, my husband, is a baronet.
You--you could tell them I am merely a new neighbour."

Emily smiled at that. "They won't require an explanation, ma'am. My callers are
frequently dragged up to inspect the schoolroom."

When they reached the schoolroom door, however, Emily had second thoughts. For
some reason she always supposed the big shabby chamber would seem as delightful a place to
visitors as it was to her. Looking with aristocratic eyes at the faded chintzes, the serviceable but
ancient carpet, strewn now with Matt's soldiers, and the dishes still uncleared from the children's
nuncheon, her heart sank.

Amy let out a whoop. She was deep in the persona of Doña Inez. The rocking
horse crashed forward and back. Matt, asprawl on the carpet, deigned to look up at the visitor.
"Must we do our lesson now?" He was a child who always came straight to the point.

"In a few minutes." Emily did not betray her chagrin aloud. "Amy, dismount, if you
please. We have a guest."

Amy shot a mischievous grin over her shoulder and crashed back and forth several more
times, curls flying.

"Emilia!"

The crashing stopped and the little girl slid down from her mount. She put on her best
penitent expression and bobbed a creditable curtsey.
Minx.

Matt stood up with an air of resignation and brushed the knees of his nankeens. His
soldiers had clearly sustained heavy losses. They lay on. their backs staring at the ceiling in scarlet
and green ranks. There were probably cobwebs on the ceiling.

Emily cleared her throat. "Children, this is Lady Sarah Ffouke-Wilson. Lady Sarah, my
son, Matthew Foster, and Amy Falk." Matt ducked a bow. Amy, hazel eyes bright with curiosity,
curtseyed again. Emily's courage failed her. "Lady Sarah is a new neighbour," she mumbled.

Lady Sarah was made of sterner stuff. She extended her hand. "How do you do,
Matthew."

Matt gave the hand a pump. His tow-coloured hair flopped.

"Do you mean to be a soldier?"

Matt regarded her with scorn. "I'm the squire. Squires tend to their land. That's just a
game I play when it's too wet to ride Eustachio."

"Er, very logical," Lady Sarah responded. "I take it Eustachio is a pony."

Matt's eyes brightened and he launched into a poetic appreciation of Eustachio's points.
"Of course, Amy and I have to share him," he added, aggrieved.

"My papa gave Eustachio to
me."
Amy glowered at him.

"You're just a girl."

"Ha!"

Emily considered sinking into the carpet. "That will do. If you can't deal comfortably
neither of you shall ride."

"Oh well, it's raining anyway," Matt said philosophically. "Amy has rotten
manners."

"Both of you are complete savages. Pick up your soldiers, Matt. Amy, I wish you will
show Lady Sarah your dolls."

Amy led the way to her window seat dollhouse. The seat overflowed with her booty.
Amy pulled Doña Inez and Doña Barbara from their repose among the pillows, the
coverlets and doll dresses, and the lesser doll personages she had been given by Sir Henry. "Are you
a real lady?" she asked. "A
lady
lady? I shall be a lady if I mend my manners and don't
shout at Matt. Nobody calls Mama Em 'Lady Emily.'
She's
a lady."

Lady Sarah looked ruffled, but she said a swift recover. "I'm a duke's daughter. It's the
custom. However, I had to learn not to shout at people, too. What beautiful dolls."

Amy straightened their mantillas and viewed her ladies dispassionately. "They're Spanish
like my mother. I had them forever. Doña Barbara is a grown-up."

"Yes, I can see that. Do they speak to each other?"

"Sometimes." Amy regarded her enigmatically. "They were used to speak Spanish but I
taught them the English. Doña Barbara is the duenna. Papa sent them to me."

Lady Sarah cleared her throat. "Do you miss your papa?"

Amy stared. "You know Papa?
Ai,
I mean,
do
you know Papa?"

Emily gave Lady Sarah a warning glance.

Lady Sarah said cautiously, "I used to. A long time ago."

Amy's face fell. "I thought you saw him sooner. He doesn't write for a long time. Then,
ha, five letters at once, with proper stories. He's over the ocean." She made a wide gesture in the
general direction of the Atlantic. "You wish--do you wish to see Tommy? He's only two and a
half."

"Yes."

"He's stupid. He won't ride Eustachio."

Emily wished Amy had not soaked up Matt's vocabulary with such spongelike
thoroughness.

"Even so, I'd like to see Tommy," Lady Sarah said.

Amy gave a wonderful Spanish shrug. "Through here," she hissed in a whisper loud
enough to wake the dead. "Don't wake him."

"I'll be quiet."

Emily followed them to Tommy's room. Peering over Lady Sarah's shoulder she saw with
relief that Tommy had indeed fallen asleep. He sprawled on his cot with the abandon of infant
slumber, one plump hand flung over the edge of the covers and his petticoats about his neck. His
straight black hair clung damply to his forehead. One cheek showed the imprint of a button. Emily
tiptoed to his side and straightened his garments. He sighed and turned over.

Out,
Emily pantomimed. They returned to the schoolroom. "He's an amiable
child," she murmured, "but a small bear if he misses his
siesta.
What is it, Lady
Sarah?"

"He looks...he doesn't look like my--like Major Falk."

"
I
look like Papa," Amy said complaisantly. "Tommy looks like our mama.
Verdad.
Peggy says so. Doña Isabel was Spanish, you know."

"Yes," said Lady Sarah in a less suffocated voice, "so I was told. Well, Amy, I am very
glad to meet you, but I must say good-bye, now. Thank you for showing me your brother and your
dolls. Should you like another doll?"

"No, thank you. I need a riding crop. Good-bye." Amy curtseyed again.
"Lady
Sarah." That was impudent and an impudent grin crossed Amy's features. Emily frowned at
her, not very severely.

"Good-bye, Matthew." Lady Sarah was being thorough.

"Bye." Matt had taken up his favourite picture book and looked up impatiently. At
Emily's maternal glower he rose and executed a reluctant bow. "Good-bye, ma'am. When you
come again you may see Eustachio. If it's not raining."

"Thank you," Lady Sarah said gravely. "You're very kind."

Downstairs Emily saw that the encounter had shaken Lady Sarah. Her eyes were very
bright and her colour high.

"Shall I send for more tea?"

"No, oh no, thank you. And thank you for letting me meet them. They are quite
beautiful."

"And occasionally rag-mannered," Emily said drily.

"I like children with spirit. Your son is also a charming boy, Mrs. Foster. I have three
sons. I had a daughter, too, but she died." Lady Sarah's hands fluttered.

Emily swallowed. "I'm sorry. I lost a daughter, too. That's why I was so glad to have the
charge of Amy. Does it disturb you to find Tommy foreign-looking? I assure you he is wholly
English in his ways, if a baby may be said to have nationality. Of the three he is the easiest and most
amiable of temper."

"You speak as if all three were your children."

"Do I? I ought not to, but I feel as if they are."

"Please. It seems to me most admirable."

"They see their father very seldom."

Lady Sarah twisted her gloves again. "Is he...is Richard a good father? I beg your pardon,
Mrs. Foster. You are bound to tell me he is, I know, but young Amy spoke of him with such
detachment that I had to ask."

"Perhaps I have encouraged Amy's detachment. Major Falk's profession is so very chancy.
Indeed, I think he wishes it, for he does not create emotional scenes when he does see them." For
reasons obscure to herself Emily did not tell her guest anything more of Major Falk's relationship
with his children. It seemed an unwarranted invasion of his privacy. "Pray come into the
withdrawing room and sit down, Lady Sarah."

"Oh no, I must go." She pulled on the maltreated gloves. "Shall you allow me to see
them again, Mrs. Foster?"

"No."

Lady Sarah's eyes flew to Emily's.

"Not immediately." Emily frowned, thinking. "I shall write Major Conway and ask his
advice."

"That is Bevis's friend, is it not?"

"Your brother's friend. They have known one another for a long time, I believe. Major
Conway will be able to guide me. I shall write Major Falk, too, of course."

Lady Sarah departed soon thereafter, polite but unsettled. She borrowed Don Alfonso
and gave Emily her direction. Knowlton. Wilson of Knowlton.

Emily had heard of Knowlton. Everyone in Hampshire knew of Knowlton. She shook
hands and showed her unexpected guest out in a thoughtful mood. Although she felt some
exasperation that she had been exposed to this surprise attack, she acknowledged that it could be no
very pleasant thing to confess oneself the product of a notorious scandal. There was something odd
about the twenty-year silence. Had the Duke of Newsham really been mad? His daughter had
announced the fact baldly, as if she did not expect contradiction. It was all baffling and
worrying.

That evening Emily sat down at her desk and writ Major Conway a full account of Lady
Sarah's visit. His answer, which came by return post, did not contribute to her peace of
mind.

"My dear Emily," he began--in the months since the theatre party they had reached
first-name friendship:

I am sorry to say I cannot advise you to permit Lady Sarah's
visits under any circumstances. I daresay she is an amiable woman and that her
motives are pure as the driven snow, but Richard would not wish the Ffouke
connexion to be encouraged. He will probably call Bevis out for betraying the
children's whereabouts to his sister.

Lady Sarah will have explained to you Richard's unhappy parentage. She
has probably not told you what be suffered at the late duke's bands, nor do I mean
to, but the duke behaved with great cruelty. Legal complications arising from the
will now make it a matter of some concern that none of the Ffouke family have any
dealing with Amy and Tommy. I do not wish to frighten you, but I must ask you to
keep a close watch on the children when strangers are about. I wish you will hire
an extra groom so that someone may keep an eye on them at all times. I am
enclosing a draught on my bank.

This precaution is chiefly a means of averting Richard's wrath from Bevis's
and my own head. I shall write Richard directly and ask for his instructions. In the
meantime I prefer excessive caution to overconfidence. Pray humour me and
believe that you need not expect the situation to continue very long.

If I had not just undergone another tiresome bit of surgery, I should come
to you myself. As it is I can only fire off letters in all directions. I have writ Lady
Sarah. She will be shocked to receive a bear garden jaw from a complete stranger, I
daresay. However, my letter should relieve you of the embarrassing task of
showing her the door. I have also rung a peal over Bevis. Richard was not eager to
name Bevis as guardian. It seems his mistrust was well-founded, though it goes
without saying that Bevis blundered from the best of motives. Richard's connexion
with the Duchess of Newsham was not widely known in the army. I had forgot
Bevis is her grace's cousin. I should have warned him to keep mum.

Forgive me for alarming you. I can only act as Richard's friend. He has
borne enough grief at the hands of the Ffouke family to make association
unthinkable, even if Lady Sarah and her brothers are filled with
benevolence.

Yours, in haste and some perturbation of spirit,
Tom Conway.

To say that these news caused Emily agitation would be an understatement. She hired a
man at once and would have carried the problem to her father and Aunt Fan but that it seemed so
private a matter she could not feel easy taking her father into Major Falk's confidence. For days she
jumped at shadows. She even found an excuse to avoid going to church on Sunday. Fortunately the
rains continued, so the children did not think their confinement to the house odd. Nothing
happened, and Emily began to feel easier.

A week later, just as the news of Bonaparte's escape from Elba reached Mellings, Major
Conway writ her another note:

Dear Emily,

You may pull back your outposts. I have bad a reassuring, and very stiff
letter from Lady Wilson. As Richard has never questioned her motives I think you
may take it that there is nothing to fear. To be on the safe side, however, pray
keep the groom until Richard's return. I have Lady Sarah's promise that she will
trouble you no further.

Your relieved and obedient servant,
Tom C.

P.S. Bevis is penitent but puzzled. I have had no word from Richard.
That is to be expected.

P.P.S. Damn Boney.