Love & Folly (36 page)

Tom said gently, "It won't be necessary. Trust me."

The boy flushed and looked down at his shoes. He burned to do
something.

"I have a high regard for you," Tom continued, a trifle oppressed by his marathon of tact, "and I
shall certainly permit you to speak to Maggie. But you must wait to marry until you've sold an article to a
respectable journal and she's turned nineteen."

Johnny's solemnity split in a wide grin. "Truly, sir?"

"Truly. But it's as Maggie wishes."

"Do you object to a formal engagement?"

Tom threw up his hands. "Ask Elizabeth. If she says yes, I can't say no."

Johnny's gratitude, though profuse, was premature. Maggie was still sobbing happily in Jean's
arms, oblivious of Johnny and everyone else. Tom had no doubt she would eventually hear a formal
proposal of marriage.

With a reluctant but happy sigh, Richard got to business. "You think Davies will avoid the
embrace of the law?"

Tom said, "Sims can do anything."

Sims and Richard did not love one another but Richard nodded. "
Capable de tout.
And
you mean to carry the Runner in the curricle, posthaste as it were, to London? I thought you'd pay the
blasted fine and stop here tonight."

Tom grimaced. "I don't look forward to the drive or the company, but I can think of no other
way to convince Pickens of my patriotic devotion."

"And no other way to save his face," Richard said shrewdly.

"I shall abase myself before the Bow Street magistrate, confess all, and trust that no one, not even
the present government, could want to conduct two trials in the House of Lords in one short year."

"II I start laughing," Richard mused, "I shan't be able to stop. Has it occurred to you that
someone will have to drive the gig back to Brecon? I can't do it."

That was true. Driving a gig one-handed would be foolhardy. "Jem Fosse drove the barouche."
Fosse and Lisette, who had brought Maggie into the town, were below in the ordinary, instructing Polly in
the error of her ways.

"I rather think the ladies would be safer with Fosse driving the barouche again."

"Are you accompanying?"

"I engage to tell them the adventures of Don Alfonso." Richard placed his left hand on his lung,
being unable to place the right on his heart. "That should keep them out of mischief as far as Coventry.
Johnny may drive the gig ahead of us."

"You don't object to intruding yourself into love's young dream?"

Richard eyed Johnny, who was approaching the ladies. "I shall relish every moment."

"You'll have to change the names when you write it up." Richard smiled. "Lady Rosalind and
Lady Viola."

"And the heroes?"

"Romeo and Hotspur."

"Doesn't ring right."

"I'll come up with something."

Tom expelled a long breath. "I wonder how Sims is faring with the Runner?"

"Splendidly. Should you object to my calling for a bumper of ale?"

Maggie beamed from Jean to Johnny. "Clanross!" she called, "may we go for a walk on the
quay?"

"With my blessing." Tom turned back to his friend. "A bumper of ale? I may dive into it."

Four days after Colonel Falk and Johnny returned the fugitive twins to Elizabeth's custody, Sims,
too, came home to Brecon. He rattled up in triumph, driving the matched chestnuts, and delivered a letter
Clanross would not trust to the mail. From the expression on Sims's broad beaming face it was clear he had
contrived Owen's escape. Colonel Falk and Johnny bore him off for brandy and interrogation in the
bookroom, and Elizabeth took her letter to. the withdrawing room. Maggie waited with barely concealed
impatience for her to finish reading. Jean sat quietly. She was still penitent. Emily Falk knitted.

...so I slept through the prosecutor's opening remarks in the trial of Queen Caroline,"
Tom wrote. "In fact, I slept through the entire session and relied on
The Times
to
tell me what to think.

As I had promised the Runner, I spoke with the Bow Street magistrate the next
morning. He dismissed the charges against Owen, trembling at the thought of two
innocent (
n.b.
I embroidered the truth) damsels of high birth held up like torches
by the Whig press. As a martyr to the cause of liberty, Owen couldn't hold a candle to the
twins. I assured the gentleman that questions would be asked in the Lords if the twins were
arrested, interrupting the queen's trial if need be, and that Sir Francis Burdett would
himself speak in their behalf before a giant Radical rally in the Haymarket that would make
Manchester look like a picnic. (Sir Francis had agreed to the use of his name. He was a
trifle disappointed when I assured him no such rally would ever occur.)

I also pointed out that my attempt to help a fugitive from justice evade arrest made me
an accessory and that I would welcome a trial in the Lords. The magistrate blenched and
sent for a clerk at that point. The queen's trial keeps the town in such a stir that the thought
of another
cause célèbre
shook him to his already shaky
foundations.

I'd never have used my name and influence in such a cynical way had it not been for
the peril the girls stood in, but once I swallowed my scruples I rather enjoyed what
amounted to political blackmail. The Runner was not a bad chap. I bought him a glass of
gin afterwards. He appeared to think his career would not suffer for my
interference.

As it turned out, Sims did not have to diddle the Runner, who had misconstrued
Owen's character so thoroughly he visited every grog shop, tavern, and gin parlour in the
port without result. Pickens gave Sims a bad moment when he insisted on directing the
local magistrate to continue the search, but Pickens's information was so vague it was clear
he had not discovered which vessel Owen was booked to sail on. Sims had taken the
precaution of enrolling Owen on the passenger list under the name of Wilkes, not Evans,
the name he had used at the Crown and Anchor. That being so, Sims decided it would be
unnecessary to have Owen rowed to Avonmouth to board there.

The Runner and I left Bristol. Johnny and Richard had removed the girls earlier.
There remained the task of finding the wandering poet. Unlike the Runner, Sims did know
Owen's character. Even so, he searched five bookshops and a circulating library before he
remembered that Owen had been writing an "Ode to Freedom Penn'd in the Shadow of St.
Mary Redcliffe" the previous evening. Sims dashed to the church, found Owen deep in
composition among the tombs, hired a boat at the foot of the bridge across the floating
harbour, and spirited Owen aboard the
North Star
without interference from the
Bristol constabulary. It was half past six. When the tide reversed, and it reverses at Bristol
with a vengeance, the vessel swept down the Avon to the Severn and, we devoutly trust,
out to sea.

My efforts at Bow Street rendered Owen's exile unnecessary. I have sent a letter by
the slowest possible means to tell him he may come home. My hope is he will be deep in
the interior by the time the letter reaches Quebec City. Even if he is not, he will probably
have to winter in Quebec. As I recall, the cold in those parts comes early. Pray inform his
worthy parents he is no longer in danger of a trial and incarceration (unless he has
committed another sedition en route.).

Well, my dear, I have done my best for your sisters. I wish I might act as effectively in
behalf of reform of Parliament. (I am scribbling this in pencil at Westminster whilst the
evidence against her licentious majesty mounts. The peers of England believe I am taking
notes.)

The queen has twice been seen sleeping during witnesses' testimony. The weather is
hot and the procedure dull so one cannot blame her, but her drowsiness has resulted in a
joke of the sort Willoughby Conway-Gore enjoys: "She sleeps
not
with
servants--She sleeps with the Lords." By the same token, I may be said to have slept with the queen.
She was present in the hail whilst I was snoring away on Thursday.

Elizabeth, my dear, pray suppress your natural inclination to sororicide and deal
moderately with Jean. She has suffered a blow to her self-esteem, if not to her heart.
Maggie is quite the heroine. Boldness becomes her. I thought the Runner would swallow
his back teeth when she leapt onto the stage in defence of her sister.

You may tell Richard I shall sue him for traducing the family honour if that dramatic
moment appears in the next satire. Sims is the hero of the hour, but Richard did yeoman
work, and so did Johnny, who finally overcame his diffidence and asked me for Maggie's
hand. I told him yes but not yet. I hope that was the correct answer.

The prosecution have just called an Austrian housemaid. The testimony in this trial is
giving a new, literal meaning to the idea of airing one's dirty linen in publick. If that's the
nature of politicks, I may come home and cultivate my cabbages.

I
shall
come home for the eclipse of the sun even if I have to pay the fine.
Shall we observe it privately or do you wish to give an eclipse-watching fete? I could hire
the Pandaean Pipes.

My love to all the right people and my chief love to you.

Your still somnolent spouse, Tom.

This missive Elizabeth handed to Emily Falk, who read it with starting eyes. Elizabeth felt it was
too spicy to read to Jean and Maggie, so she summarized, assuring them Owen was safe. Owen's fate left
them unmoved.

When Emily asked about the eclipse, Maggie burst into spontaneous plans. Elizabeth had rather
fancied celebrating the event in Tom's sole company, but she decided not to be selfish and told the girls they
might hold an alfresco party by the lake. Jean made a timid suggestion for refreshment. Elizabeth
complimented her sister on the idea. Jean gave a tentative smile. Within days, Jean was her wonted
self.

Jean had decided, with Elizabeth's permission, to send Polly to Anne's chef to be trained as a
cook-housekeeper. The idea of the apprenticeship appealed to Polly, and London appealed even more, so
Polly rode off to town with Sims. Mrs. Smollet sniffed, but everyone else approved.

Johnny remained at Brecon. Elizabeth wondered if he had yet proposed marriage. Surely not.
Surely, if he had, Maggie would have come to her in high excitement. Perhaps he had decided not to ally
himself with a nest of Radicals after all.

* * * *

August passed faster than Elizabeth would have thought possible with Tom in London. The Falk
children and the Little Sisters romped about the grounds, rode their ponies, and played battledore and
shuttlecock on the fresh-rolled lawn. Matt broke a window demonstrating his prowess with the cricket bat
to an admiring female audience.

Richard Falk finished the book room catalogue, a makeshift, he said. Elizabeth was sure it was
excellent and said so, but he was not an easy man to compliment. He lost himself in the letters of one
Hercules Conway, a captain in Marlborough's army, bringing in some of the less shocking anecdotes to
amuse the twins and Johnny. Emily and Elizabeth enjoyed their babies. In short, in a fair approximation to
paradise, nothing of significance occurred during the rest of the month.

Tom arrived late on the eve of the eclipse looking wilted. He revived like a thirsty plant in a rain
shower when Elizabeth bore him off to their suite for a private celebration.

* * * *

"We shall observe the moon's shadow as it passes between us and the sun, the penumbra first,
then the umbra. Umbra means--"

"Shadow!" a chorus of piping voices answered Miss Bluestone. The children were ranged on one
of the cloths the servants had spread in a half circle facing the lake. Each child held a painfully constructed
box of stiff paper--a camera obscura for observing the sun's reversed image without damage to the eyes. The
notion came from Lady Clanross, though Johnny, Maggie, and the still subdued Jean had helped in the
construction of the boxes.

Miss Bluestone beamed at her charges. "And if umbra means shadow, then penumbra is--"

"Come with me, Maggie," Johnny whispered. He felt he had done his possible for the
advancement of science. He had other, long-delayed intentions for the climactic moment.

Maggie glanced up at him, wide-eyed. "But the children--"

"I'll stay with the children and Miss Bluestone," Jean said absently. She was helping Fanny
position the pinpoint in the top of the box so as to catch the sun's image.

Maggie looked from Jean to Johnny. Johnny held out his hand.

Maggie smiled. "All right. Has someone let the dogs out, Jean?"

"Yes, yes, go on."

Johnny led Maggie along the grass until they came to the beech avenue.

"Where are we going? We'll miss the eclipse!"

"No, we won't." Anticipation was making him. giddy. "It's not for half an hour. We can reach the
pavilion."

"Oh." Maggie gave him a sly look as if to say, "What have you in mind, sir?" but she walked along
with him in peaceful silence. They held hands.

The sky darkened so gradually they did not notice the change until the foolish birds began
tweeting and chirruping in the beeches above them. "It's coming!" Maggie began to run. They reached the
pavilion in twilight and sat on the steps.

Or rather Maggie sat. Johnny stood before her, hat in hand. "Will you marry me, Lady
Margaret?"

"Good heavens, yes." The grey eyes twinkled. "What an age you've been. Were you waiting for
the eclipse?"

"No." Johnny drew her to her feet. "I was waiting for this," and he kissed her full and lingeringly
on the mouth. It was quite dark. No one saw them.

* * * *

The children and the birds twittered as the sunlight dimmed. Jean's setter gave a confused yowl
and ran in search of his mistress.

Some yards from the schoolroom party, Emily was seated on another of the picnicking cloths. She
patted the place beside her. "Join me?"