A Sister's Secret Page 9

  ‘Ah, the divil of a persuasive gintleman he was,’ said Mr Maguire, and looked uneasy. ‘Was it Your Honour’s own friend?’

  ‘It was. He lives close by, and while he knows nothing of the real reason why you are in danger, he has promised to keep your welfare close to his heart. I have told him you have enemies, and he will raise the alarm if he suspects they have entered the neighbourhood. I have also told him you are a loyal and worthy subject of His Majesty the King. Accept, therefore, that you have a sympathizer close by and do not give him further worry by showing yourself on the street again.’

  ‘The divil I will,’ said Mr Maguire, convinced now that he was indeed in danger. ‘The kindly gintleman is three times my size, so he is, Your Honour.’

  ‘Be sure, Mr Maguire, that your safety is our first concern,’ said Erzburger, ‘and that we shall look to it until the papists are in the hands of the law. The food I have brought you now should be enough for today and tomorrow, when I will see you again, as usual.’

  ‘Thank you, Your Honour, and God keep His Royal Highness.’

  Chapter Eight

  On the morning of Thursday, with the river outing arranged, Caroline spoke to Captain Burnside while they waited for Annabelle to come down. ‘You are making haste too slowly, Captain Burnside.’

  ‘Oh, we have Cumberland’s IOU, marm, and his request for a return game. And we also have eyes in his camp.’

  ‘Yes, we have all that,’ said Caroline, ‘but although Annabelle is showing interest in you, we do not have any lessening of her feelings for Cumberland. I put a plain question to her ten minutes ago, and was appalled by her answer, for she has now acquired an impossible notion that in order to possess her Cumberland will marry her.’

  ‘Ah,’ said Captain Burnside, ‘and if he says he will, you suspect she’ll believe him – and that in her infatuation she’ll then yield?’

  ‘Don’t speak of it. Prevent it.’

  ‘Time, marm, that’s the thing. Give the sweet girl enough time and she’ll come to see Cumberland as a ruination, not a husband, and by then she’ll be seeing me as a far worthier candidate for her affections.’

  ‘I could wish she might see what was true, sir, that you are as much of a ruination as Cumberland, but that would not do if she were still blind to his tricks. As for time, I hope you aren’t contriving to engage in a marathon, for I vow I should find it all of unendurable to house you here indefinitely.’

  ‘Be in good heart, marm, it won’t take as long as that,’ said the captain cheerfully.

  ‘Your deeds, sir, have not yet quite matched your words,’ said Caroline, and wondered, not for the first time, if her scheme was a sheer absurdity and Captain Burnside the most ridiculous part of it.

  Both sisters were in summery, patterned muslin, and each wore a white bonnet. Annabelle looked young and extremely pretty. Caroline looked superb. The sunny day was an embracing warmth. Captain Burnside, handsome in a dark brown coat and light brown breeches, beaver hat jauntily set on his head, drove the carriage. He handled the pair in the fashion of a man whose main consideration was for his passengers, and the jolts sustained over the rougher roads were of the gentlest.

  Arriving at Richmond a little before noon, he hired a cushioned punt, and with the sisters comfortably ensconced and the picnic hamper safely stowed, he doffed his coat and hat, took up the pole and set off upriver. His application was smooth and easy, and the punt glided over the smooth waters of the sun-dappled Thames. On either side, the green banks and riverside gardens were a pleasure to the eye, although Annabelle, with her virginal interest in men, found Captain Burnside even more of a pleasure to behold. In his cream-coloured waistcoat, casually folded cravat and tight breeches, his slenderness was of a sinewy kind, his looks commendably personable.

  Reclining beside her sister, their parasols up, she murmured, ‘Caroline, I do declare your friend, Captain Burnside, very pleasing and versatile.’

  ‘Captain Burnside, I’m sure, is happy to hear you say so,’ said Caroline.

  ‘Flattered, on my honour I am,’ said the captain. ‘I confess, of course, to lacking the high majesty of a man like the Duke of Cumberland, but there are few men who can compare with him.’

  Caroline frowned.

  Annabelle looked as if she would like to hear more. ‘One must agree the duke carries himself like a man born to be a monarch,’ she said.

  ‘He won’t be monarch of this country, I fervently hope,’ said Caroline.

  ‘His four elder brothers stand between him and the throne,’ said Captain Burnside, plying the pole lazily. The light rippled over its wet length, and that same light enriched the colours of the sisters’ gowns. Caroline’s ankles peeped in their white silk hose, and the warm river breeze stirred the hems of her gown and underskirt.

  ‘Since none of his brothers has a son,’ she said, ‘one must pray he doesn’t outlive them, for I could not bear England to have Cumberland for King.’

  ‘You are very hard on him,’ said Annabelle, ‘and surely he would make a better monarch than the present one, whose obstinacy was the cause of such a bitter quarrel between England and the American colonies.’

  ‘Cumberland would have been no less distant and haughty,’ said Caroline, ‘but today is really too beautiful for us to examine our differences. Instead, let us enjoy the tranquillity of this peaceful Thames, down which Captain Burnside is rowing us.’

  ‘Up,’ said the captain.

  ‘Up?’ said Caroline.

  ‘We’re proceeding upriver, my dear Caroline, and – ah – we’re punting, not boating.’

  Caroline’s parasol shifted a little to uncover her eyes, which held their cool look. ‘A punt is a boat, Captain Burnside,’ she said.

  ‘Well, not precisely, d’you see,’ he said from high above her, ‘and this is a pole, not an oar.’

  ‘A pole or an oar, what an absurd basis on which to build an argument,’ said Caroline.

  Captain Burnside smiled and took the punt leisurely on. Annabelle, languorous, dreamed of becoming wholly irresistible to the magnetic Cumberland. With riverside mansions and green lawns gliding by, Caroline found herself in unexpected enjoyment of the outing. She had not wanted to come, for there was no pleasure to be had from the artificiality of her relationship with Captain Burnside. Further, without her there, he could have been making unhindered progress with Annabelle. Not that she cared to think too much about what unhindered progress meant, especially as it was not too difficult to picture how an unprincipled rake like her hireling would go about it. They would be moored beneath the shade of an overhanging willow, the profuse green fronds hiding them, Annabelle reclining and the blackguard reclining with her; Annabelle, fresh and eager, too dazzled by London society and its sophisticated men for her own good, her gown far too revealing, her bosom far too defenceless, and Captain Burnside all too despicably accomplished in the art of reducing a young lady to weakness.

  Caroline quivered at her imaginings, and her own gown, with its low bodice, seemed far too revealing then. She had not known a man’s caress for years, not since she had refused to be a wife to Clarence and locked him out of her bedroom.

  She could have withdrawn from this outing and accepted an invitation to lunch with Lady Wingrove and her son Gerald Wingrove. Mr Wingrove was a man of fine looks and sterling character, the kind of gentleman she favoured. He was lately an admirer, and made no secret of the fact that he would like to become a suitor. She was still wary of all suitors, but Mr Wingrove could not be said to be objectionable in any way. She might have been in pleasant and civilized conversation with him now instead of being in this punt, with Captain Burnside looming above her and Annabelle, eyes sometimes on the river ahead and sometimes on their escort. In her sudden excess of sensitivity, Caroline tilted her parasol so that it hid her from him. His eyes could be very impudent.

  Yet, because the day was so lovely, the river so tranquil, she did not feel certain that she would rather have been at Lady Wingro
ve’s. Her temporary dislike of the moment slipped away and she relaxed, listening almost dreamily to Annabelle lightly conversing with the captain. Annabelle always had a fund of appealing chatter, and the captain had the facile tongue of his kind. She heard Annabelle laugh. Did she find him amusing? What had he said? It did not matter. He was playing his part in making himself appealing to her sister.

  Captain Burnside brought the punt into an inlet, where huge willows hung over the water and a grassy bank beckoned. A protruding notice board advised that the land beyond the bank was private property.

  ‘Should we picnic here?’ asked Caroline.

  ‘A capital suggestion,’ said Captain Burnside.

  ‘It’s private property,’ she said.

  ‘A guarantee that we shan’t be disturbed by Tom, Dick and Harry,’ said the captain. He edged the punt gently against a little timber landing stage and moored it.

  Caroline saw an inviting expanse of grass that was patterned by sunlight and shade. ‘How charming,’ she said.

  ‘How romantic,’ said Annabelle.

  ‘It seems uncrowded,’ said Captain Burnside.

  ‘We shall trespass only lightly,’ said Annabelle.

  ‘Should we trespass at all?’ said Caroline, who sometimes suffered a small army of poachers on her Sussex estate.

  ‘Perhaps not,’ said Captain Burnside, wishful to play a faultless role as a gentleman.

  ‘But it is so perfect for a picnic,’ said Annabelle.

  ‘Well, we shall do no harm,’ said Caroline.

  Captain Burnside gave each lady a hand on to the landing stage. Caroline’s clasp was very light, and she freed her fingers the moment her feet were secure. Annabelle’s hand lingered a little in his, and her smile let him know she was delighted with his choice of a picnic spot. Caroline did not miss the lingering of the handclasp. She was not displeased, but neither was she glad. She was suffering paradoxical reactions, probably because she suspected that if Captain Burnside did win her sister’s affections, he was quite capable of pleasuring himself. Annabelle, wilful though she was, was also very sweet.

  Captain Burnside lifted out the large hamper.

  Caroline, deciding she must put aside her qualms and give the rogue every opportunity to exercise his talents, said, ‘If Annabelle will help you set out the picnic, I shall take a little stroll, for I declare we have found ourselves a meadow of buttercups.’

  ‘Oh, I’m sure Charles and I will set it out to perfection,’ said Annabelle. ‘He is so capable, and I am not actually helpless without servants around. Together, we shall lay a very inviting picnic cloth, shall we not, Charles?’

  ‘Heaven help my part in it if we don’t,’ said Captain Burnside, ‘for I recollect your sister can be very exacting.’

  ‘In some matters, yes, Captain Burnside,’ said Caroline. ‘In other matters, I am an angel in my tolerance.’ And she strolled away under her parasol, her summery gown a fluttering lightness that made her look as if she were floating into the embrace of the warm, amorous sun.

  Annabelle opened the hamper and extracted the large white picnic tablecloth with lead weights sewn into its hem to prevent summer breezes lifting it. Captain Burnside spread it out over the grass. Annabelle, unloading neatly packed items, returned compulsively to the subject of the Duke of Cumberland, insisting that although he could be very audacious he was really very much maligned. Naturally, as a royal duke, he was formidably aristocratic, but that gave him a majesty which suited him. Alas, however, such majesty was apt to make her feel weak when she needed to be strong.

  ‘So you have said before, young lady,’ said Captain Burnside.

  ‘It surely is a sweet blessing to have your sympathy and support,’ said Annabelle, ‘and to confide my weakness to you.’

  ‘Ah,’ said the captain, receiving plates from her, ‘we all suffer far more from our weaknesses than our strengths. Young ladies can suffer excessively. However, miserable consequences can be avoided when a young lady is as determined as you are not to yield. And, of course, as a young lady adorably American, you’d never yield unconditionally to a son of King George, who made himself so unpopular with all of you.’

  ‘Oh, not to all of us,’ said Annabelle, liking the fact that Captain Burnside was a pleasure to talk to. ‘My parents will tell you that many colonists did not want the war, but were forced into supporting it, on pain of being brutalized. My family and many relatives are proud of our kinship with you, and I vow I am acquiring much affection for England.’

  ‘Well, I’m sure Cumberland ain’t the only one acquiring much affection for you,’ smiled the captain, and Annabelle, on her knees beside the picnic cloth, raised delighted blue eyes to him.

  ‘I do declare you the sweetest man,’ she said.

  ‘Oh, there’s a deal of water to flow under the bridge yet,’ he said, and returned to the punt to fetch the cushions.

  Annabelle finished setting out the picnic. Caroline came back at a graceful, leisurely saunter, looking not unlike a Georgian Diana in her lightly gowned magnificence. Captain Burnside set the cushions down, and with a murmur of thanks Caroline closed her parasol and sank billowingly on to one.

  Beneath the shade of a tree, Annabelle regarded her sister with a smile. ‘Caroline is very queenly, don’t you think so, Charles?’ she said, her round eyes a perfectly innocent blue.

  ‘An acquired queenliness,’ said the captain, accepting a chicken leg from Annabelle, ‘for I recollect that when she was younger—’

  ‘You recollect nothing of the kind,’ said Caroline, examining lamb’s tongue in aspic.

  ‘Nothing of what kind?’ asked Annabelle, glancing from one to the other of them.

  ‘Of whatever kind Captain Burnside was going to say,’ murmured Caroline, deciding the tongue was irresistible.

  ‘And what were you going to say, Charles?’ asked Annabelle.

  ‘The subject is closed,’ said Caroline.

  ‘But, sister dear,’ said Annabelle, ‘it has hardly begun.’

  ‘I was going to say,’ murmured Captain Burnside, ‘that when Caroline first came to my eyes as the young fancy of Lord Percival—’

  ‘Fiddle-faddle,’ said Caroline.

  ‘Caroline, do let him speak,’ said Annabelle, spooning creamed mussels from a jar. ‘I’m all agog to hear what were his first impressions of you.’

  ‘It’s so long ago, of course,’ said the captain, ‘that those first impressions are hazy.’

  ‘Wretched man,’ said Caroline, green eyes glinting and her fixed smile false, ‘it’s only a few years.’

  ‘I can, however, recollect a shy smile, a faint blush and a gown of pink organdie,’ said Captain Burnside, and began to enjoy his chicken leg.

  Annabelle shrieked with laughter.

  Caroline’s smile became even more fixed. ‘Your recollection is more imaginative than true,’ she said.

  ‘Well, perhaps the organdie may have been blue,’ observed the captain, credibly reminiscent.

  ‘But, Charles, a shy smile and a faint blush?’ laughed Annabelle. ‘Had you caught her tying a garter, then?’

  ‘Alas, no,’ said the captain, ‘Lady Caroline was ever the most modest of ladies. Ah, shall I pour the wine?’ He took the bottle from its chilled container, removed the cork and filled the crystal glasses. Caroline received hers with a glitter in her eyes, and a look that told him to expect the more cutting edge of her tongue before the day was out.

  They picnicked on a variety of good things, and the dry white wine was a perfect accompaniment. Captain Burnside favoured Annabelle as far as his pleasantries were concerned, but his attentiveness was by no means too unctuous or too obvious. That Annabelle enjoyed his conversation was plain to see.

  The warm air caressed the sisters and the sunlight that came shafting through the branches of the tree dappled their summer gowns. Caroline looked strikingly beautiful, Annabelle young and fresh and pretty. Captain Burnside, his hat and coat cast off, seemed informally at ease.r />
  The picnic over, they tidied up, and Caroline remarked how refreshing it was not to have servants fussing around.

  ‘Oh, we have Charles,’ said Annabelle, ‘and he is very refreshing.’

  When the hamper had been repacked, Captain Burnside placed it back in the moored punt, then sat on the edge of the bank, legs dangling, eyes musing on the water. Annabelle joined him.

  After a moment’s hesitation, Caroline walked over to them, and she too lowered herself to sit on the bank. ‘How peaceful,’ she said.

  ‘Hello, hello, what’s all this ’ere, then? Trespassers, is it?’

  They turned their heads at the sound of the rasping voice. Behind them stood three men. They were all dressed in brown coats, brown breeches and hard brown hats. The middle man was tall and burly, a stick of thick ash in his hand. The other two were thin and wiry. They all looked aggressive, and each had the slightly bloodshot eyes of men slightly the worse for their midday drink.

  ‘Who are you?’ asked Captain Burnside mildly.

  ‘Never you mind.’ The burly man was patently offended by their presence. ‘Who are you, that’s more like, and who’s yer wenches?’ He poked his stick first at Annabelle, then at Caroline. ‘There’s a notice, plumb out there for reading, h’observing and digesting. No landing nor fishing, no loitering nor sitting.’

  ‘Unfortunately,’ said Captain Burnside, ‘we passed it by.’

  ‘Oh, yer did, did yer?’ said the burly one. ‘Well, up yer get and off yer go, and lively, or yer’ll get pitched into that there river and yer wenches’ll come tumbling after.’