Love & Folly (33 page)

That was the only mishap. Jean reached the newly metalled road to Lincoln, remembered the toll
in time to hand Polly her purse, and trotted the bay gently onward. She supposed she would have to
conserve the bay's strength as long as she might. All her funds would be needed for the journey.

* * * *

Maggie slept until half-past nine. She had mourned for Jean, and more for herself, because Jean
had spurned her sympathy, until nearly one. Even so, she slept later than she might have. Polly had not
brought her hot water at the usual hour. That puzzled Maggie. She stuck her tousled head out the door and
asked a passing footman to bring water.

Briefly she considered slipping Jean's bedchamber, but if her sister had contrived to sleep late,
too, she ought to be left in peace. Maggie brushed her hair, thanked the footman sleepily when he brought a
cannikin, and asked him where Polly had got to. He seemed as puzzled as she.

When she had dressed in an old blue muslin, Maggie drifted down to the breakfast room.
Elizabeth was still there, though she was bound for the nursery.

"Is Jean awake?"

"I think she's still abed." Maggie dropped two lumps in her tea and stirred, suppressing a yawn. "I
decided not to disturb her."

Elizabeth frowned, abstracted. "I'm troubled for her, Maggie. She was too quiet
yesterday."

"She's sad."

Elizabeth sighed. "Of course she is. I hope... Well, do what you may to comfort her, my dear. I'll
come to her when I've seen the babies." She left, and Maggie munched cold toast and drank sweet tea, and
stared vaguely at nothing.

She returned to her own room, set out several items for Lisette to mend, considered seeking
Johnny out in the book room for a stroll in the garden, wondered if she ought to look in on the schoolroom,
and heard the clock strike the half hour. Half-past ten. Jean had still not come out, or she had done so
without the usual good morning greeting.

Maggie rose. She was about to go to Jean's room when Lisette knocked and entered the dressing
room, looking as disturbed as her smooth facade permitted.

"What is it, Lisette?"

"Lady Jean is not in her chamber, my lady, and your habit is missing from the press."

Maggie's heartbeat quickened. "Are you sure?"

Lisette almost wrung her hands. "It's very strange. Please come, my lady. Something must be
amiss."

Maggie needed no urging.

Jean's bedchamber presented the picture of hasty ablutions. Her nightcap lay on the floor and the
bed was unmade.

"That Polly," Lisette grumbled, but she looked worried.

Polly. Maggie ran back into the dressing room. Again signs of haste and, carelessly tossed on the
cold and garnished hearth, snippets of red hair. Maggie knew herself to be slower-witted than her twin but
she was no dunce. Jean had run off. It did not take genius to guess where.

Maggie cleared her throat, and forced herself to speak calmly. "Desire Lady Clanross to meet me
in the book room at once, Lisette, if you will be so kind." Johnny would be at work in the bookroom. She
needed Johnny.

Lisette dipped a quick but correct curtsey and hurried off. Maggie abandoned her false serenity
and dashed to the library.

Johnny was there and Mrs. Falk. At her entry, Johnny leapt to his feet. "What's wrong,
Maggie?"

"Jean has eloped." Maggie clung to the doorknob. "There's no other explanation. I think she must
have persuaded Polly to help her. Ma'am, did Polly bring your water this morning?"

Mrs. Falk laid the slim volume she had been holding aside. "No, and she didn't come to help me
dress, either." She rose. "Are you sure, Lady Margaret?"

Maggie was sure as death. "Jean cut her hair off, you see." Her voice broke and she took a deep
breath to compose herself. Not the time to be falling into the vapours. "When we were younger we
sometimes tried to fool people into thinking one of us was the other." She gulped. "It was a game. Miss
Bluestone cured us of it. I think Jean must have passed herself off as me in the stables."

Elizabeth came in, out of breath. "Lisette says Jean has run off!"

"She's gone and she didn't tell me." Maggie flung herself into her sister's arms and burst into
tears.

* * * *

Elizabeth hugged Maggie fiercely and tried to think, but fear and anger made her head
whirl.

Johnny and Emily Falk exchanged glances. "Find Richard," Emily suggested. Johnny yanked the
bell- pull, and Fisher himself appeared with suspicious alacrity.

Servants, Elizabeth reflected with some bitterness, always know everything.

Maggie shuddered with sobs. How could Jean have been so unkind to her twin? Elizabeth patted
the girl's shoulder. And for what? A tweedling poetaster with the spine of a boiled leek.

Emily Falk was saying, "The colonel was out on the lake with Matthew, Fisher. If he's come in,
he's with Tommy in the schoolroom."

Fisher bowed and retired.

Maggie's sobs had begun to ease. When Elizabeth thought the girl might reply coherently, she
said, "Tell us what you know, Maggie, and for the love of heaven hold nothing back. Did she have
help?"

Maggie's sad tale tumbled out.

Emily was frowning. "I cannot believe Polly... such an obliging girl...but she didn't come to help
me dress this morning."

"She was supposed to wait on you," Elizabeth blurted, almost as shocked to know that her guest
had been neglected as that Polly was corruptible.

Emily made a moue. "I usually send her off once she's laid out my gown, and I surmised she'd
given up on me this morning. I didn't think twice about it, Elizabeth, but I see now that I should have. I beg
your pardon."

Johnny had been working things out in his head. "If Jean passed herself off as Maggie in the
stables, then she'll be riding Joybell. I can overtake her."

Colonel Falk entered still wearing buckskins and boots, and everyone burst into speech at once.
Elizabeth overrode the babble and gave him a terse summary.

He looked thoughtful. "As we came from seeing Tom off, I caught a glimpse of a gig driving away
at a smart clip. Does Lady Jean drive?"

"Jem taught both of us," Maggie said, hiccupping. "J-Jean's a capital whip."

"Then she probably took the gig so the maid could ride with her."

There was some slight comfort in thinking that Jean was not galloping about the countryside
alone, though in the circumstances Polly could scarcely be considered a respectable escort.

"And she's making for Bristol." Colonel Falk turned to Johnny. "Set for action?"

Johnny drew a long breath. "Certainly, sir."

"If you will trace the gig's progress, I'll try to overtake Tom. He means to stop the night in
Huntingdon."

Maggie straightened and drew away from Elizabeth. "I'm going with Johnny!"

"My dear, you can't." Elizabeth tried to keep her voice calm but the effort showed. "A young
lady--"

Maggie turned on her. "Pho! We can take Lisette with us in the barouche. Johnny and I can lend
Jean countenance, and she's more likely to...to cooperate if I persuade her."

"The barouche," said Elizabeth, "is probably the only vehicle left on the estate."

That provoked constrained smiles from everyone but Maggie.

"On mature thought," Elizabeth continued, "you may be right. She will need the comfort of a
female of her own blood. I would go myself, but I clearly don't have Jean's confidence."

Maggie's mouth trembled. "Nor do I."

Although Elizabeth felt another pang for Maggie, there was no point in wallowing in sympathy.
"But she
will
listen to you, and someone must stay here to prevent chaos. What of the Runner?"
She looked at Colonel Falk.

"He's bound to follow the girls." Falk frowned. "If Lady Jean drove through the village he
probably caught the scent and has gone after her."

"Lord, what a mull. Tom-"

"Perhaps he can forestall the Runner, send an emissary to the magistrate's court, or some such
thing. I'm no lawyer," he added apologetically. "Tom should be informed, however. I'll catch him up at
Huntingdon tonight, and go directly to Bristol if he thinks I ought."

"Then there's a chance you may reach Owen before Jean does. She won't know the route,"
Elizabeth mused. "Once she leaves the Great North Road, she'll be asking her way."

"Grantham," Johnny said decisively. "She'll turn west at Grantham. I'll go out to the stables, sir,
and see what Fosse has to say for himself. Maggie--"

Maggie gave him a look of such obvious reliance that he blushed. "I'll have a footman pack your
things," she offered.

Johnny looked alarmed. "Er, a cloak bag merely. And for yourself and Lisette, Maggie, only such
items as may be necessary. We shall be four in the barouche coming back."

That was the most reassuring thing he could have said. Maggie beamed at him. Elizabeth thought
him overconfident but she was not about to cast doubts.

Maggie and Johnny went their separate ways, and Elizabeth regarded the Falks rather
helplessly.

"I'm obliged to you again, Colonel. Jean is--"

"Hot in hand?" He smiled.

Elizabeth sighed. "Just so. Pray don't judge her too harshly."

Red tingled his cheekbones. "I'm the result of such an elopement, so I'm the last man likely to
hold her up to censure, ma'am."

Elizabeth bit her lip. "I--"

"However," he added thoughtfully, "we had probably better try for a rescue. Young Davies
appears to be even less reliable than my father, if that's possible. I shall leave at once." He executed a crisp
bow, kissed his wife on the cheek, and went off, leaving the two women to stare at each other.

Elizabeth ran her hands over her face. "I beg your pardon, Emily, since it's too late to beg the
colonel's. That's the second time I've spoken to him with gross want of tact. I don't watch my words with
him."

"He's oversensitive on the subject," Emily said calmly, "because he avoided thinking about his
mother for years. Her death forced him to brood a bit. It's probably good for him. In fact, I find his
admiration for Lady Jean most encouraging."

"Admiration?"

"He speaks highly of her spirit."

Elizabeth gave a hollow laugh.

"I find the Lady Margaret more agreeable myself." Emily tidied her skirt. "But Richard, you see,
needs to forgive his mother."

"And helping to rescue Jean would be an act of approval?" Elizabeth heaved, a sigh. "I wish I had
your understanding of people's motives. Clearly I don't even understand my own sister, and Jean, of all my
sisters, is most like me in temperament."

"I daresay that's why her conduct annoys you."

Elizabeth stared. It was all too true.

"But now is not the time for philosophizing. Tell me what I may do to help."

Elizabeth blinked back tears. "Keep me company, Emily, I hate waiting."

"So do I," Emily said, giving her arm a gentle pat, "and I've had a great deal of practice. Let us go
oversee Lady Margaret's preparations."

"What the devil brings you 'ere, me lady?"

"Sims!" Jean pulled at the job-horse's stubborn mouth. Conflicting feelings brought her to a
halt.

On the one hand she hadn't expected to find Sims still in Bristol. He was Clanross's valet and
ought to have followed his master to London once Owen was delivered to his fate. Sims's continued
presence at the port was a blow to her plan.

On the other hand, it was past nine o'clock at night, the horse and Polly were nearly dead with
fatigue, and Jean had not yet found Owen's inn. She was beginning to wonder if she would find a room at
any hostelry. Landlords, she had discovered in Warwick the previous night, did not want the patronage of
young women travelling without male escort.

The night before, she had wheedled and bribed a room at a shabby inn after being turned away
twice from more respectable establishments. The place had been dirty and noisy, and only the sight of a
gold guinea produced a private parlour. Although she had pawned the pearls in the morning, she had had to
hire the nag. She wasn't sure she could pay for a room and parlour in Bristol, and for her passage, too. Sims
looked like rescue, and Sims, like Jem Fosse, had been her ally in the past.

Indecision--and weariness--held Jean still.

Sims's heavy body tilted the gig sidewise as he climbed up beside her. "Move over, me lady." He
took the reins from her nerveless grasp.

"What are you going to do? You can't stop me, Sims. I mean to join Owen aboard the North
Star."

"If I can't stop you," Sims growled, "the master can. She don't sail till the evening tide."

"Tomorrow?"

"Aye. 'Is nibs and me 'as rooms at the Crown and Anchor."

"I know. Someone, Elizabeth I think, mentioned the inn, but I can't find it."

Sims's mouth compressed. "It's in the Welsh Back, of all the 'eathen names. I'll take the pair of
you there."

The Crown and Anchor was bound to be costly. Jean sighed. At least she would see Owen. "I
have some money."

"'Ave you now? That's a wonder, me lady. D'ye 'ave common sense too, by any chance? 'Ere's a
fine kettle of fish." And he went on scolding as he turned the gig and headed the shambling job-horse down
a wide waterfront street toward the inn. She could make its sign out by the light of torches. She'd been
looking in the wrong street.

The moon was up and nearly full, but the flaring torches dimmed her night vision. Her eyes hurt,
and her back and wrists and arms. She wanted to fall onto a feather bed and die. She'd even stopped wanting
to eat.

Beside her, Polly moaned. "I'm hungry, me lady."

"A bit less free with the 'me ladies,' girl," Sims said with magnificent inconsistency. "We don't
want that Redbreast to find 'er la'ship, now do we?"

Polly straightened. "I want to eat."

Sims drew up at the inn and handed the reins to the ostler. "Stable 'im, lad."

"On your reck'ning, zur?"

People in the west had strange accents, Jean thought sleepily. Was the Runner in Bristol,
too?