Bar Sinister (30 page)

The thought presented her with an immediate vision of her father. She groaned. "You'd
better tell me what is to be done, short of emigration. You said you had no other solution. Did
Tom think of an alternative--" She interrupted herself. "What of Sir Robert and Lady Sarah? They
have stood your friends."

"I'm sorry for it, but I must ask that you say nothing to either of them."

Emily stared. "I like Lady Sarah."

He met her eyes steadily. "Strange as it may seem, so do I, and I trust no harm will come
to her. Indeed, she is far safer out of it entirely. You must see that."

Emily swallowed. She did see. "And the dowager?"

"She'll have to take her lumps. Tom does have a plan." Richard's eyes were grave.

Emily closed her own eyes briefly. "Then tell it me. It must be bizarre, or you'd have
come out with it at once."

He rose. "Very well. Mind you, it may not succeed. I have strong reservations on
principle. You'll have reason to resent the inconvenience, Emily, and I beg you will refuse entirely
if you think the difficulties outweigh the prospects of success. It would be better--for you, and for
Amy and Tommy--to make a clean break now than to drag out months of anxiety, only to fail in the
end."

"You've forewarned me," Emily snapped. "Get on with it, sir."

Pacing the bookroom carpet, he told her of Tom's scheme. Emily heard him with
growing incredulity.

"You've taken leave of your senses!"

"Very likely."

"I'd sooner cross the Channel in an oyster barrel than remove my son from his
home."

"I thought you might feel that way."

Emily jumped up. "Who would oversee the apple harvest? The sale of fleeces? The rents?
What of Matt's lessons? Oh no, indeed, Richard. You ask too much of me."

He said gently, "I have always done so."

Emily strode to the window. The orchard looked wonderfully tranquil in the noon
sunlight. "What of my reputation? I daresay you don't care for trifles like that, but it is of some
interest to
me.
My neighbours already regard me as an eccentric."

"I thought Miss Mayne might be persuaded to join you."

"Impossible." Panicked, Emily rounded on him. "The duke cannot be serving you such a
turn! I think you must be mad, sir, mad with suspicion. There is no danger. You have created a
dreadful phantasy and are acting it out."

He made a helpless gesture with his good hand. "Do you truly believe that?"

She licked her dry lips. "No--yes. I don't know!"

"I can show you Whatley's letter." He fumbled with the inside pocket of his coat,
awkward, left-handed. The white sling impeded him.

"It's not necessary." Emily fought with her panick. "Oh God, I'm sorry, Richard. You did
not smack yourself in the eye, twist your own arm, and buy up the plates of your novel. I believe
you. I cannot do otherwise, but I don't want to believe. The reality frightens me."

His hand fell. His eyes were dark. "It frightens me, too."

"Will a threat of publick exposure succeed with the duke?"

He took a breath. "I can't guarantee it. His father wouldn't have been deterred, but I
believe my half brother to be vulnerable to publick opinion. However, he is used to having his
way." Richard frowned painfully. "Tom's backing could prove decisive. The earls of Clanross wield
considerable political power. Tom's influence, by its very nature, poses a new threat. Keighley
might be willing to shrug off a campaign of gossip such as Sarah could conduct, but he could not
ignore questions in Parliament."

"Did Tom..."

Richard drifted to the desk and began to fiddle with the standish. "Tom has not yet come
to terms with his new position. Even if he were in the habit of thinking politically, I don't believe he
would consider using his power in so private a cause, but Keighley--Newsham, I mean--doesn't
know Tom."

"I see." Emily resumed her seat, thinking hard. "Then perhaps my flight to Treglyn and
your
roman à clef
are not even necessary. Couldn't Tom write Newsham a plain
letter?"

"There's no proof yet." Richard rubbed his forehead. "None that would stand in a law
court. Besides..."

"You want to try Tom's plan because it is Tom's plan."

"Yes."

Emily cocked her head. "Then let us make doubly sure it succeeds." She gave a single
sharp nod of acquiescence. "Yes, very well. When?"

He turned from the desk and stood for a startled moment looking at her. "You're a
remarkable woman, Emily."

Emily felt her cheeks burn. She did not wish to be called remarkable. Lovable, yes. "On
the contrary, I'm a woman with her back to a stone wall. When, sir, and how?"

He hesitated. "Within the week."

Emily groaned.

He frowned, worried.

"Never mind, I'm just kicking against the prods. Friday, then. How?"

"I'll hire a carriage as far as Reading. Your eldest brother lives there, doesn't he? It
wouldn't be thought odd if you were to seem to visit him."

"Only to anyone acquainted with Will and me. We fight like cat and dog."

"Oh."

Emily sat once more. Brooding, she tapped the arm of the chair with her forefinger.
"We'd best take my father's travelling carriage. A hired coach would cause comment. I'll tell Papa
we mean to visit my maternal Aunt Collingwood in Devon."

Richard sat too. "I ought to explain to Sir Henry."

Emily sighed. "We'll have to take Aunt Fan into our confidence. Papa, however. He must
be told."

"He'll kick up a dust."

"Yes."

Emily groaned again. "Well, let us persuade my father, then, and swear him to silence.
Now, granted Papa's travelling carriage, why only as far as Reading? Why not all the way?"

"Tom suggested that you change discreetly to his carriage at some point to confuse the
curious."

"Do you mean to say I'll be followed?"

"Not at once, but such an exchange, if it were made with care, would confuse
questioners later. After all, we don't want anyone to pursue us."

"Us!"

"I mean to escort you."

"Wonderful. The duke's minions have only to ask if a carriage has passed bearing a load of
females and squalling brats, escorted by a man with his arm in a sling. You are visible,
Richard."

A gleam of rueful appreciation lit his eyes. "True, and you're a first-rate
accomplice."

Emily said darkly, "Only since I met you. Before that I led a blameless, respectable life
entirely without incident." She meant to make a joke, but she saw at once that he had taken her
words at face value.

"I did you no favour bringing you my children, did I? I'm sorry, Emily."

He looked so beaten, suddenly, that Emily had to restrain herself from embracing him.
After a moment she contrived to say lightly, "To tell you the truth, my blameless, respectable
existence was also rather dull. Don't grudge me one small adventure. I've never seen Cornwall."
And never wanted to,
her prosaic self added.

After the first flurry of protests Aunt Fan proved persuadable, but Sir Henry Mayne was a
tougher nut to crack, as Emily had thought he might be. She would have preferred to deceive him,
she decided, as wave after wave of paternal fury crashed over her.

"Outrageous! I won't have it. You'll have to give the brats up." He prowled the carpet of
his bookroom like a caged beast.

"No," Emily said, mildly but firmly.

"I'll put a stop to this harebrained plot. I'll write the Duke of Newsham."

Emily went cold. "If you betray Richard, Papa, I'll never see or speak to you
again."

"Fustian!"

"Try me."

He stopped pacing and glowered. "'Richard,' is it? Upon my word, have you no shame?
You, a lady and respectably widowed, to be gallivanting all over England with a baseborn
adventurer."

"That will do." Emily glared back, temper blazing to life.

"By God, I've had enough." Sir Henry's hand smashed onto the surface of his desk. A
paper fluttered. "He is using you, madam."

"With my full consent. And Aunt Fan's."

"Your aunt is a dashed pander," Sir Henry said bitterly.

"If by that you mean to suggest there will be an irregular liaison, I assure you, you are fair
and far out. Colonel Falk does not come with us to Treglyn."

Sir Henry was not mollified. "It will
look
as if you've eloped with the man. To
Edward's mother, for an instance. To your neighbours, who are already, I may add, impertinently
curious about your relations with this...this..."

"Bastard?" Emily asked, her voice hard.

Sir Henry turned a deeper shade of purple. "Emma, you are my daughter. A
Mayne.
No scandal has ever attached to our name."

"Nonsense. I daresay there were any number of ramshackle Maynes. What of Matilda
Mayne-Wilkins? She slept with Charles the Second, didn't she?" When she was a child Emily had
heard the legend of Matilda's royal liaison from her father's lips. Embellished.

She almost made the mistake of pressing her point but she caught herself in time. Sir
Henry did not relish having his inconsistencies thrown in his face.

She drew a careful breath. "Now, Papa, consider. If only you'll cooperate it will seem as
if Aunt Fan and I have taken the children to visit Mama's sister. Nothing can be made of that. We'll
spend the time quietly at Treglyn. When it's safe we'll return. No one will know the truth unless
you peach."

"Mind your tongue." Sir Henry did not like Emily to use cant terms, but his protest was
mechanical. There followed a baffled silence. "Why, Emma?" he asked finally. "Why? You ain't a
fool in the general course of things."

"The children are in danger."

"So Falk says."

Emily leaned forward, earnest. "Richard was set upon in London by hired villains, Papa.
You've seen his eye. They also damaged his injured arm."

"Pah, that's London. Could've happened to anyone. The children haven't been harmed,
or even threatened."

Emily sighed. "Papa, Richard believes they are in danger. Perhaps he's wrong, but it's
clear the duke means to exile him. I think Richard has earned a right that other Englishmen, my
brothers, for example, consider as natural as breathing--the right to live and work and raise his
children unmolested in his own country. He may be a bastard, but no one denies he is native-born."
She blinked back unwelcome tears.

Sir Henry's eyes narrowed. "I'll tell you what, Emma, you're in love with the
scoundrel."

Emily sat very still.

"Well? Eh? Eh?"

She raised her chin. "I'd marry him in a trice if he asked me."

"If he's trifled with you--"

"Oh, Papa, you know better. No one trifles with me." Try as she might she couldn't
quite keep the regret from her voice.

Her father wasn't listening in any case. He sat heavily in his favourite armchair. "I only
wish you happy, Emily."

Emily swallowed. "I know, Papa. But if I cannot be happy then I mean to be
useful."

"He ain't worthy of you." Her father's voice was plaintive.

Emily smiled. "Dear Papa, so partial. Richard is a distinguished soldier, a writer of merit,
and related, however indirectly, to half the peerage. He is a dear if sometimes exasperating man,
and I love him very much."

"Nonsense. You love his brats."

"So do you." Emily had him at
point non plus
and they both knew it.

His shoulders slumped against the chair back. "But my God, to be leaving your home and
traipsing all over the country on a wild-goose chase!"

"At least I shan't be following the drum."

Aghast, Sir Henry sat upright. "You'd never have done that!"

"Yes," Emily said slowly, surprising herself at this turnabout. "With backward glances
and dragging feet, yes, I'd have followed the army if Richard had asked me to. Fortunately or
unfortunately, all I intend now is to pay a little visit to Lord Clanross's Cornwall manor, fully
countenanced by my aunt. Very respectable, Papa."

Sir Henry's eyebrows twitched wrathfully, but he was defeated and he knew it.

The house leaned drunkenly against its neighbour. Street vendors and urchins with shrill
voices converged upon Sir Robert Wilson as he stepped down from his carriage. He held a scented
handkerchief to his nose against the foul air.

In muffled tones Wilson directed his coachman to exercise the team, and picked his way
through refuse to the peeling front door. His knock and question elicited a surly reply from a half
clothed slattern. Third floor back.

He began to climb. The treads, upon which shreds of ancient carpet mouldered, creaked
under his weight. He hoped he might not fall through a rotten floorboard. When he found what he
assumed was the right door, he knocked again.

Richard, in shirt-sleeves, his arm in a sling, opened the door. "Ah, Wilson. Good of you
to call."

Wilson lacked breath for a suitably scathing rejoinder. He took the proffered chair, one of
two unmatched straight-backed chairs with which the room was furnished, and sat for a moment
panting. Fortunately the air smelled rather better at that height.

He looked round him. A deal table bore the remains of a meal of bread and cheese at one
end and writing implements and a neat stack of papers at the other. Against one
wall--incongruously, it was freshly limed--a sprung couch leaned. A portmanteau had been shoved into
one dark corner, and a washstand and shaving mirror by the lone window suggested that Richard
lived in the room as well as writing in it.

Wilson took a last, puffing breath. "Where the devil have you been this past month?
Where are the children? Sarah's frantic."

Richard watched him warily from the doorway. "The children are in a place of safety. I've
been here most of the time."

"Why?"

"I'm writing a scurrilous memoir." A brief grin flickered across Richard's drawn features.
"I like the neighbourhood."

Wilson was not amused. "Sarah has run half mad with worry."