A Sister's Secret Read online

  ‘Upon my soul,’ said Captain Burnside, ‘have you no manners?’

  ‘Eh, what’s that?’ demanded the offended gentleman.

  ‘Stow yer gab, mister,’ said one of the other men, his voice thick, ‘or Jonas’ll top yer with his nob-smasher.’

  ‘That he will,’ said the third man. ‘Did yer hear him, Jonas, did yer hear him ask about yer manners?’

  ‘I heard him,’ said Jonas, the burly one, ‘which don’t h’improve his prospects nohow. So, me fancy cove, up yer get, like I said afore but ain’t a-saying again, and off yer go.’

  ‘Kindly remove yourself,’ said Caroline icily, ‘and take your drunken friends with you.’

  ‘Well,’ gasped the second man, ‘if that don’t beat all the king’s ’orses and all his other capers too. What impertinence. Did yer hear her, Jonas?’

  ‘I heard,’ growled Jonas. ‘You take her, Willum, and you take t’other ’un, Jake, while I sees to ’is lordship ’ere. Yes, you.’ He prodded Captain Burnside with his stick. ‘Up yer get, and smart. I’m going to chuck yer in, then pull yer out, then take yer, with yer wenches, to Mr Meredith, what’s a gent who’ll clap yer in his stocks for yer trespass. Now then, me cove.’ He rapped Captain Burnside heavily on the shoulder. The other men, darting, seized the sisters. One took Caroline by her left wrist and pulled her to her feet. Caroline flashed her right hand and smacked his face, hard. Annabelle, hauled bruisingly to her feet by the other man, gave a little outraged shriek and kicked him.

  Captain Burnside, on his feet, took the man by the shoulder and wrenched him round. The burly Jonas intervened and smote with his stick. It caught Captain Burnside a glancing blow on the side of his head. He fell. Caroline’s assailant, incensed by her slapping of his face, threw her unceremoniously to the ground. Annabelle, treated no less brutally, staggered and fell over her sister. She screamed. Captain Burnside, hurt by the blow from the stick, but by no means incapacitated, rolled aside as Jonas struck again. The stick bruised the turf. Again it was raised to strike. Again it descended. Too late. Arms like steel wrapped themselves around the burly man’s legs and heaved. Upended, he crashed like a falling caber, big and heavy. His bellow of rage was cut short as the fall took his breath from him.

  Captain Burnside, upright, saw Annabelle and Caroline on the ground, struggling and kicking, the louts trying to pin them. Gowns and underskirts were billowing, lacy pantaloons gossamer-like in the sun, bonnets off and hair dishevelled. Annabelle was yelling, but Caroline was in a silent fury, her teeth clenched and her nails scratching.

  The captain wrenched the stick from the dazed Jonas. He used it mercilessly, striking off the hard hats of the bruising louts and then smiting their unprotected heads. The blows brought gasps and shudders. The two men rolled over. The metal-capped end of the stick thrust hard into one man’s stomach. He emitted a gasping yell. A hand seized his collar, jerked him to his feet and sent him whirling. He fell, sprawling over the still winded Jonas. Captain Burnside dealt with the other oaf as the man came to his feet. His left fist shot straight out and took the man in his eye. He plummeted backwards. Annabelle and Caroline watched, eyes wide open, bosoms heaving.

  Captain Burnside used his foot to shift aside the man who had fallen on Jonas. And Jonas gazed up into a face fierce and cold. His colleague rolled over, came up on his knees and shot to his feet, expression livid. He threw himself at Captain Burnside. The captain sidestepped, thrust out a foot, tripped the man and accelerated his further fall with a blow to the back of his neck.

  Jonas scrambled, came up, flexed his muscles and advanced. ‘Yer’ll get yer liver cut out for this, yer’ll get transportation,’ he wheezed, ‘but first yer’ll get this.’

  He swung his fist at the captain’s jaw in a tremendous round-arm blow. Annabelle gasped, the captain ducked, the fist travelled over his head, and he delivered a blow on his own account, an uppercut that took Jonas clean under his chin. His head snapped back and the turf shuddered as he hit it.

  He looked at the blue sky, and the blue sky seemed red. A face appeared, a cold face. The stick prodded his chest.

  ‘Get up,’ said Captain Burnside, ‘and get your ruffians on their feet.’

  ‘Oh, yer’ve got a bad time coming,’ wheezed Jonas, ‘you and yer wenches, that you ’ave.’

  Captain Burnside applied the toe of his boot to the man’s ribs. ‘Get up,’ he said again, and Caroline could not believe that her smooth-tongued hireling could look so icy and menacing. He was rigid with controlled fury.

  Jonas shook his dizzy head and climbed ponderously to his feet. His colleagues came totteringly upright, one man with a hand clasped over his damaged eye and emitting groans.

  ‘You, and you.’ Captain Burnside gestured with the stick. ‘Line up, all of you.’

  They lined up, Jonas drawing in air and watching the stick.

  ‘Blinded me, that’s what he’s done, blinded me,’ said the damaged man.

  Captain Burnside cast a glance at the sisters. They were dishevelled, but on their feet.

  Jonas made a rush, and his arms lunged. The stick struck his left arm. He roared with pain.

  ‘Oh, yer son of Satan, yer’ve nigh on broke it,’ he bellowed.

  ‘Turn round, all of you,’ said Captain Burnside.

  They turned, presenting their backs to him. He used the stick again. He struck the buttocks of each man. The man called Jake whipped round in fury, and aimed a savage kick at the captain’s middle. It struck only empty air. A hand took him by the collar, and he was literally run over the grass and pitched into the water. He hit it with a frightened scream and disappeared. He came up choking and panic-stricken.

  ‘Oh, yer lordship – for God’s sake – I can’t swim …’

  Captain Burnside, from the bank, watched the miserable fellow kicking, struggling and splashing. Jonas and his companion stared numbly. The frightened man sank again amid a frenzy of thrashing limbs.

  ‘Captain Burnside!’ Caroline, gown hitched, came running. ‘Captain Burnside, you can’t! I implore you, bring him out!’

  The man’s head reappeared, and he spat out choking water. Captain Burnside leapt on to the landing stage, leaned and held out the stick. The drowning man took desperate hold of it, and the captain drew him to safety. He scrambled up, his soaked garments plastering his body.

  ‘Go,’ said Captain Burnside. ‘Go. All of you.’

  They went, all of them, mouthing in fury. Caroline and Annabelle watched their figures stumping angrily over the meadow. Annabelle, white and shaken, flung her arms around the captain. Caroline stared at her sister, and bit her lip.

  ‘Captain Burnside,’ gasped Annabelle, ‘oh, mercy me, those dreadful men!’

  He patted her shoulder. ‘Not the friendliest people one expects to meet in so idyllic a spot,’ he said.

  ‘Oh, I surely thought that together they would batter you senseless.’

  ‘Ah, well, we divided them and so they fell, and I fancy they’re more bruised than we are.’ He patted her shoulder again. Annabelle, distressed, clung tighter, liking the feel of his body, reassuringly firm and strong, his warm chest a comfort to her bosom.

  Caroline regarded the embrace uncertainly. She supposed nothing could have impressed Annabelle more than Captain Burnside’s rout of the tipsy oafs. But she was not sure she liked the way her sister was clinging to him. And she certainly did not like the way he was caressingly comforting Annabelle.

  ‘Captain Burnside,’ she said, ‘is my sister in a swoon?’

  ‘Faith, I hope not,’ he said, ‘for I don’t precisely shine when it comes to doctoring swooning ladies.’

  Annabelle detached herself. Reluctantly, thought Caroline. And, heavens, her bodice. The visibility of her bosom. Catching her sister’s eye, Annabelle pinked, turned aside and made the necessary adjustment. The accident of exposure had, of course, been facilitated by the lowness of the bodice. For months now, Caroline had recognized in her sister all the symptoms of a girl dangero
usly infatuated, buying gowns far too revealing in her desire to bring her figure to the attention of Cumberland. Caroline knew herself to have been similarly disposed during those days when her own infatuation made her crave Clarence’s attention.

  She sighed. Captain Burnside, retrieving fallen bonnets, expressed the hope that she had escaped serious hurt.

  ‘I am not hurt at all, thank you. But did you intend to let that man drown?’

  ‘Oh, the well-being of men who brutalize women don’t concern me too much,’ he said.

  ‘Heavens,’ breathed Caroline, ‘you would have watched him drown?’

  ‘Not with ladies present. Far too harrowing for them. I felt it was enough to scare him to death before fishing him out.’

  For his ears alone, as she accepted her bonnet from him, Caroline murmured, ‘You feel, sir, that brutalizing ladies is less forgivable than deceiving them?’

  Before he could answer, Annabelle called, ‘Do you think that is Mr Meredith himself?’

  They turned. In the middle of the meadow the three men were talking to a large, heavy-looking gentleman, and gesticulating as if very angry and offended. The large gentleman suddenly exploded. Brandishing a stick, he strode towards the riverbank like a man bent on furious confrontation.

  ‘That, I fancy, is almost certainly Mr Meredith,’ said the captain, ‘and he don’t look too sociable. To the punt, ladies.’ He escorted them in wise haste to the landing stage. He stepped aboard the punt, and brought the sisters carefully into it. He untied the rope, took up the pole and pushed off. The punt began to drift. ‘A most enjoyable picnic, but I don’t think we should stay to see what Mr Meredith means to offer us in the way of postprandial pastimes.’

  Annabelle, recovered, gurgled with laughter. Caroline smiled. The pole dipped, found purchase, and the punt surged forward as the large gentleman, in a brown coat, buckskin breeches and beaver hat, arrived on the riverbank.

  He shook his stick furiously at them. ‘Damn your eyes, sir, come back!’ he shouted. ‘I’ll have your damned head for battery, assault and trespass! Come back, y’scoundrel, d’you hear?’

  ‘Gently, sir,’ said Captain Burnside, ‘there are ladies present.’

  ‘Be damned to their petticoats, and be damned to you too for hiding behind ’em!’ roared the red-faced landowner. His stick executed a violent dance in the air. The punt surged on. ‘Come back, you fly-blown blackguard, and take a flogging.’

  ‘Mercy me,’ cried Annabelle indignantly, ‘our gentleman friend will do no such thing, sir. It is your men who should be flogged, not he.’

  ‘Hold your tongue, damned wench! Come back, you gypsy scoundrel!’

  ‘Must point out, sir,’ called the captain, ‘that though you’re better dressed than your servants, up to a point, you’ve no more manners than they have. Beg to give you good day, sir.’ And he sent the punt skimming out of earshot, ensuring livid curses went unheard by the ladies.

  ‘Oh, how cool and capable you are, Charles,’ said Annabelle, settling back on the cushions beside her sister. ‘Caroline, I vow we might have been murdered if Charles had not been so sternly brave on our behalf.’

  ‘Or if he had not landed us on forbidden ground in the first place,’ said Caroline.

  ‘True,’ said the captain, poling fluently. ‘Beg you’ll overlook it.’

  ‘But, Caroline,’ protested Annabelle, ‘how can you rebuke him when he has just saved us from those dreadful bullies? You all are very unkind to an old friend.’

  ‘Oh, Captain Burnside and I understand each other, I think,’ said Caroline, a sun-splashed figure in graceful repose, ‘but I declare myself very happy that he was able to prove himself an officer and a gentleman.’

  ‘Who would ask him to prove that?’ said Annabelle. ‘Not I.’

  ‘Upon my soul, such faith in a man is decidedly uplifting,’ said Captain Burnside cheerfully, and the punt glided smoothly on its way back to Richmond.

  Chapter Nine

  Arriving back home with Annabelle and the captain, Caroline declared herself in need of some refreshing tea. Annabelle declared a similar need, and the captain declared himself willing to join them.

  They partook of it in the drawing room, Captain Burnside so much at his ease that Caroline thought him far more at home with its graciousness than he had any right to be. She was beginning to despise herself for what she was doing, and could not put aside the feeling that she should pay her hireling off and have done with him. But no, she could not do that. She must at least retain his services in respect of the acquisition of the letter that was driving her dear friend, Lady Hester Russell, to despair and distraction. He must procure it from Cumberland. Concerning Annabelle, there was still a strong aversion to seeing her in Captain Burnside’s deceitful arms. She could not bear to think of further embraces, all contrived by the blackguard. It was an unlovely thing to have hired him for the purpose of being falsely sweet to her sister. If Annabelle did not deserve to become a mere plaything to Cumberland, no more did she deserve to become a victim of deception. Yet if she were left to the mercy of Cumberland, the consequences could be disastrous. Captain Burnside still represented the better alternative, providing he kept his word to disappear from Annabelle’s life the moment she transferred her affections to him. And from the glances and the smiles she gave him, her interest did seem to have taken a positive turn.

  Caroline’s secretary, William Anders, knocked and entered when the teapot was empty. Quietly, he advised her that Lady Hester Russell had called and wished to see her. Privately.

  ‘Oh, yes. Very well, William.’ Caroline excused herself and received Hester upstairs, in her suite.

  Lady Hester Russell, in her early twenties, was a vivid brunette, richly favoured in her looks and figure. And since she was also a warm and affectionate person, she was a sweet wifely pleasure to her husband, Sir George Russell. At this moment, however, she was a woman in distress. Her yellow satin day gown itself seemed beset by quivers. Not long since it had been forced to desert her body. Cumberland had been responsible, and she had come shamefaced from her rendezvous with him to seek comfort and hope from Caroline.

  She had received the usual kind of command from him two days earlier, and this afternoon had reluctantly and despairingly presented her veiled self to him. In his bedroom, spacious but austere, as befitted a man who despised decorative fripperies, she showed an unhappy face and pleading eyes as he removed the veil that had given her anonymity. She was a reluctant mistress to him, and so she had an appeal that compliant mistresses did not.

  ‘Cumberland, I cannot continue like this,’ she whispered. She was the victim of a brief period of madness. Ravished in a country house while her husband lay with his senses and the pain of his broken leg dulled by laudanum, she had incredibly conceived infatuation of a shamelessly physical kind for the duke. It did not last long, but at its height she had written him a love letter insanely foolish in its passion. It was that letter he used to keep command of her favours. Whenever he called, she had to go to him. ‘Cumberland, today must be the last time, for my dearest George will surely find me out if you do not show me mercy.’

  Cumberland’s eye quizzed her flushed face, her pleading look. ‘Come,’ he said, ‘nobler and prouder husbands than George have found out wives just as sweet as ye without ruining the marriage. It ain’t civilized to raise a roof when it’s only a matter of a little indiscretion.’

  ‘But it will ruin his love for me,’ she breathed.

  ‘Will it so? Ye’re overlooking the other consideration, my rosebud. When a man discovers his wife has the love of royalty, he also discovers she is thereby newly desirable.’

  ‘No, George will never be a complaisant cuckold, never. Cumberland, I beg you, give me the letter.’

  ‘It’s a sweet letter,’ said Cumberland reflectively, ‘a treasure of its kind. Am I to part with it, and with ye too? However, ye’ve been a delicious pleasure, and I’ll concede I should at least think about it.’


  ‘You have said that before, and nothing has come of it,’ cried Hester.

  ‘Well, I’m uncommonly attached to ye,’ said Cumberland. ‘Come, waste no more time, for ye have me in impatience. I don’t suffer my own impatience too gladly, ye know that.’

  She did know it. He was capable, in a moment of temper, of doing that which would devastate George and the marriage. She shivered and clenched her teeth as he turned her and unbuttoned her gown. It slid whisperingly to her feet, and her short silk shift dropped to her waist. His arms came around her from behind, and his hands gently, devilishly, caressed her. Once she had been responsive to his touch. Now it only shamed her.

  In bed with him a little later, she burned and shivered, and afterwards the tears spilled. He regarded them mockingly.

  ‘How so, when ye were sweetly passionate?’ he said.

  ‘That is what shames me so,’ she gasped.

  Because of this she rushed to confide in Caroline, to entreat again her help. And Caroline, coldly furious with Cumberland and his carnality, assured Hester that she had taken steps to give the necessary help, that she would accelerate progress.

  ‘I vow I shall, Hester, although I cannot tell you the details. There, dry your eyes, or George will discover every mark of your tears.’

  ‘It is so much worse than you can imagine,’ wept Hester, ‘for though I swear I hate Cumberland and his bed, he contrives to arouse in me the shamelessness of the bawdiest doxy.’

  ‘The weakness of our flesh is very traitorous,’ sighed Caroline, but could not imagine herself anything but fiercely resistant in the arms of any man whom she despised. Which brought her to think of Captain Burnside and the disgust she would feel if she were subjected by him even to a kiss.

  ‘Caroline,’ whispered Hester, ‘if the letter is not soon retrieved, I will kill either Cumberland or myself.’

  ‘Don’t say such things, dearest Hester. Cumberland will give it up soon enough, I promise.’