The Regency (69 page)

With a despairing cry Letty abandoned the struggle with
the door on her side, and it flew back, knocking over the
woman who had been pulling at it. Her place was taken by
another, a thin, unspeakably dirty man, whose face was in
human with a mob-inspired desire for rapine, glassy-eyed with
hatred and blood-lust. He set his hands to the door-frame to
pull himself into the carriage, and Fanny, almost with detach
ment, knew that the game was up and she was going to die.
When she let go of the door handle to fight him off, they
would drag her out from this side. Well, by God, she would go
down fighting! She would rip their faces, she would bite and
claw for her life!
His foot was up on the step, he was pulling himself in;
Fanny could smell him, and her teeth were bared in an involuntary snarl. And then there was a sharp report from outside
the carriage, and at the same instant the centre of the thin
man's face disintegrated. Letty shrieked in abandoned horror
as fragments of bone and blood spattered her. The grimy
hands flew upwards towards the shattered mess where his
nose and eyes had been, even as his lifeless body tumbled
backwards into the street. Fanny had a glimpse of him lying
on his back in a space which had miraculously appeared in
the crowd. There was a composite gasp from the crowd; the
pressure on her door eased; the people fell back on both sides
of the carriage, stunned by what had happened.

In the silence Fanny heard Hawker's voice shouting, 'Now
stand back, all of you! Make way, there!’

The carriage jerked forward. They were moving again!
Letty was pressed back against the squabs as though she had
been nailed there, so Fanny leaned across her and grabbed
the door, and dragged it closed, upon which Letty began
sobbing with fear and relief and horror. The carriage was
picking up speed. Fanny heard Hawker fire again, but
guessed from the sound of the report that he had fired into
the air, to frighten rather than wound. Now they were lurch
ing along at a great lick, and she could only hope they didn't
overturn, or crash into something in the narrow lane. And
then, oh thank God, the lane widened out, and with a final
sickening lurch they turned into Deansgate, and civilisation
was around them, shops and pavements and decent-looking
people.

Fanny leaned back against the squabs and felt that she was
trembling all over. Letty had
^p
assed into full-fledged hysterics,
but Fanny hardly heard her. Her mind was raw with the
images, the hatred in the faces, the girl crumpling, the thin man's face smashed to a bloody cave. But we survived, she
thought triumphantly, and felt a fierce excitement running
through her veins. I wish he had killed more of them! I wish
he had killed them all!
They didn't stop until they reached Hobsbawn House, and then Hawker himself jumped down from his horse and flung
open the carriage door.

‘Are you all right, Miss Morland?' he cried.

‘
Yes,' she said. She had wanted to make a dignified speech,
but she found that she was trembling all over, and had to
clench her jaw to stop it chattering.

‘
I'm so sorry you were not spared such a terrible experi
ence,' he said, holding out his hand to help her down. 'It must
have been shocking beyond anything for you.’

She took his hand and met his eyes. 'I'm glad you shot that
man,' she said fiercely. 'He deserved it. I'm not shocked —
well, only a bit. I wish you had shot more of them. I hate
them!’

He stared at her, a little taken aback, and then smiled a
grim sort of smile. 'It is probably best for you to see it that
way. But let me recommend you to take a glass of brandy
when you are indoors. As I remember, you do not dislike it,
and it will guard against any belated spasm of the nerves.’

Fanny looked up at him, her eyes bright. 'You saved my
life,' she said. 'I shan't forget it, Lieutenant Hawker.'

‘
I am only glad I was on hand. And now, ma'am, if you're
sure you are all right, I had better get back to my men. I will
try to persuade your grandfather to come home, if there is
still time.'

‘
Good God, yes!' Fanny said. 'I had forgotten Grandpapa!
Oh, please hurry back, and make sure he's safe! Pray, Mr
Hawker, pray look after him!’

The urgency in her voice was unmistakable, and Hawker
was surprised, not having expected her to have so much affec
tion for the old man. Her heart, he thought, was warmer than
anyone could have guessed; and it made her more intriguing
than ever, and infinitely more attractive.

*

Within the house, there was the story to tell, and her hysterical
maid to attend to, to keep Fanny from any immediate reaction
to her adventure. But when Letty had been put to bed with a dose of laudanum, Fanny found herself almost in a state
of collapse. Mrs Murray proved unexpectedly sympathetic,
led Fanny to a chair in the drawing-room, and administered
a glass of brandy.

‘
You drink it up, miss, and never mind the taste,' she said.
'It's medicine, and not meant to taste nice.’

Fanny gulped it back without a grimace and held out the
glass for more.

‘
Well,' said Mrs Murray under her breath, 'you're a cool
one, and no mistake.'

‘
I'm all right now,' Fanny said. 'I was more angry than afraid, although it was horrid when that man — when Mr
Hawker shot that man.' She shuddered involuntarily at the
memory of the shattered face.

‘
You've your grandfather's spirit, miss, and that's a fact,'
said Mrs Murray.

Fanny bit her lip. 'I hope Grandpapa will be all right. I
hope Mr Hawker gets back in time to make him come home.'

‘
Your grandad won't leave the mills until they're safe, miss,
and there's nothing anyone can do to make him,' Mrs Murray
said. Now, shall I bring you in a nuncheon? You must be
starved, for it's after two o'clock.'

‘
Mr Hawker was wonderful,' Fanny said, not hearing her.
‘He wasn't the least bit afraid of the mob. Grandpapa must be
grateful to him now.'

‘
I daresay we'll be seeing more of him, then, miss,' Mrs
Murray said drily, and went away to fetch her something to
eat.

It was a long, weary time before news came to reassure
Fanny that her grandfather was unharmed, and the mills had been saved, and the servants, seeing how much she worried,
liked her for it, thinking it shewed a very proper, feeling
heart in her, that she cared so much for her grandpapa. Only
Mrs Murray was unmoved, privately believing that if Miss
Fanny had been assured that her grandfather had made a
Will leaving everything to her, she wouldn't have worried
about the old gentleman's safety at all.

 
Morland Place was alive again; it was full; there was sound
and movement and company. Edward had endured two
months of loneliness relieved only by the presence of Father
Aislaby. Certainly his hours of work were long, and gave him
little leisure for brooding, but it was a sad thing to come home
to an empty house, to have no-one with whom to share his
glass of sherry before dinner, no-one to ask him how things
had gone, or to argue with him, tease him, approve him,
sympathise with him.

At first he took dinner, largely out of habit, at the vast
table in the dining-room, he in his usual place at one end, and
Father Aislaby seated cater-corner to him, with Ottershaw
and William in white gloves solemnly serving them. Barnard
was sulking because Héloïse had not taken him to Plaisir with
her, and there was never any knowing what they would be
served for their dinner. Sometimes it would be a meal of
savage elaboration, dainties vying with each other for atten
tion on a hopelessly overloaded board; at others it would be
cold cuts, gloomy vegetables and sad puddings. Sometimes
the meal would take on an hysterical air, and Edward would
be obliged for the sake of his own pride to send back a curdled
sauce or an uncooked fowl; knowing that as a result, the next
meal might well resemble the footings of a Roman villa,
burned down in the second century
AD
and recently but care
lessly excavated.

After braving dinner, Edward and Father Aislaby dutifully
retired to the drawing-room, and there evinced good will at
each other for an hour or two from either side of the fireplace. Aislaby was a man who could find complete satisfaction in his
own company, and he appeared in the evening only for
Edward's sake; Edward needed, longed for, company, but
could not initiate conversation unless encouraged. After ten
days of perilous meals and awkward silences, Aislaby decided
to take his dinner in his own room and remain there, and
Edward's isolation was complete.

He abandoned the dining-room, to everyone's relief, and
had an ample but unrefined meal sent in on a tray to the
steward's room each evening, where he shared it with Tiger.
He tried playing patience and unapposed chess, but found it
unrewarding, and took instead to staring into the fire for half
an hour, with Tiger's head on his knee and a glass of brandy in his hand, before retiring early to bed. It was a dismal sort
of life, and his joy and relief when he came home from
Twelvetrees to find Héloïse and James in residence again was enormous.

With Héloïse home, the house seemed to vibrate with life.
Servants walked briskly and sang about their work; mirrors
and table-tops gleamed, the sun shone in brightly at the
windows, and everything seemed to smell nice. Wherever
Edward turned, in the few hours he was ever awake and within
doors, Héloïse seemed to be somewhere near, smiling at him
like a little household goddess, small and dark and idiosyn
cratic, but exuding warmth and safety; James argued with him
over everything and anything, but always understood exactly
what he was talking about; and meals became again delicious
and surprising, hot, on time, and vibrant with conversation.

At the end of July, Sophie and Africa came home, and the
house echoed with the sound of running feet and high, happy
voices. Sophie ran up and down the stairs, chattering in English and singing in French, followed everywhere by
Nicholas, who trotted after her with a determined expression
on his face, while Kithra padded after him as though he were on
a string. Sophie had brought home presents for her favourite
people, hugs and kisses for everyone, stories of her adventures
and new songs and the names of new friends.