the scholar's sweetheart 18

 

Chapter 18

 

Evergreen rode easily on the crupper behind Jasper.

“After all, you’re the young master, you ought to be riding the horse,” he had said. Jasper had hesitated briefly, but agreed. He could still fancy he tasted smoke with its added load of burning human, and he felt sick. He was not sure he could manage to ride the crupper, which took more work than just staying in the saddle. They rode several miles.

“Papa... I feel most unwell,” said Jasper, unwillingly.

“Can you manage another mile and a half?” asked Evelyn.

“I... yes,” said Jasper.

“We’ll put in at the inn where they were so obliging before,” said Evelyn.

Evergreen grunted agreement. They had been civil enough to him, too.

 

Jasper got off his horse and swayed. Evelyn caught him, and lifted him.

“I’ll help the stable hand, my lord,” said Evergreen.

“Thanks, lad,” said Evelyn. He went into the inn.

“My lord! You found your son? Is he injured?” cried the landlord, running forward.

“Fortunately nothing serious, but he’s been suffocated, starved, left without water, and escaped out into the wood with nothing but the gypsy clothes he found,” said Evelyn. “He’s twelve years old, and it’s all been rather a lot for him.”

“Crowy Heron is a real problem,” said the innkeeper.

“Not any more,” said Evelyn, grimly. “The man liked to play with fire, and he and his two insane cousins were, as Shakespeare says, ‘Hoist by their own petard;’ or in other words, they managed to trap themselves in their hideout and burned it down. My boy rescued their mule and dog, but wasn’t about to risk himself for them!”

Jasper grunted but Evelyn ignored him. He had no intention of letting the official story be anything but that Jasper escaped and that Crowy and his cohorts accidentally burned themselves to death in attempting to kill Jasper.

“I don’t know what to do about accommodation,”  said the innkeeper. This time, Evelyn noticed that the name ‘John Harris’ appeared over the door.

“Can you put a truckle or a mattress in the same room for my lad’s friend?” asked Evelyn. “The bed is wide enough to share with my son. There’s room for another bed or mattress.”

“Yes, my lord, I can do that, thank you for being so accommodating.”

“It’s not your fault, Harris,” said Evelyn. “I appreciate that you do what you can. I’m not unreasonable, unless someone decides to put my back up.”

Harris managed a smirk.

“You mean, if I’d decided to take offence at your gypsy friend?”

“Well, yes,” said Evelyn. “I have a good relationship with the Lovells.”

“Well, I’ll remember that, if they pass through,” said Harris.

The bedroom was unchanged from when Evelyn had left it, and he deposited Jasper on the bed.

“Sleep it off,” he said. “Nobody is going to get you now. I love you. Your mother loves you, and so does Imogen.”

“Oh, papa, I love you,” said Jasper. “I don’t want you to claim any responsibility for killing them, it was my fault.”

“Hush, I’m going to put about the story that they thought they had you trapped and meant to burn you to death, and trapped themselves.”

“Oh, Papa, is... shouldn’t I own up to it?”

“No,” said Evelyn. “There will be those who would blame you, without knowing all the facts, or realising that you had good reason to fear Crowy and his cousins, or fearing what he might do to your mother if he found out he had taken you by mistake.”

“I thought Ma was dead,” said Jasper. “Crowy swore that he had certainly killed Lementina, and as Ma was in with her, what was I to think?”

“Lementina would be dead had not Cornelius taken some nasty burns to rescue her,” said Evelyn.  “He respected your mother to be able to get out by herself once he helped cut the tent, and indeed she did, with a bit of aid by Woodlock.”

Jasper digested this.

“Ma would know that Cornelius did what she would expect him to do,” he said. “I do like Woodlock, but not as a spare father. He’s more an uncle or an elder brother.”

“I can’t dictate who Shuri chooses,” said Evelyn. “But I hope it impressed her enough to incline her choice towards Cornelius.”

 

The stay at the inn for as long as it took for Jasper to rest would have passed well enough, had not a big ploughboy come in for his nooning, and his eyes fell on Evelyn and Evergreen. Evergreen dressed as what he was, a gypsy boy, with trousers rather than breeches, workman’s boots, a loose waistcoat, and a coloured neckcloth at his throat, knotted casually. It was little different from a labourer’s costume save that most labourers favoured neutral-coloured or dark waistcoat. Evergreen’s waistcoat had once been bottle green, but now sported a number of gay patches where it had worn, and a gay stripe down each side where Shuri had made over the garment when Evergreen had grown, and added strips at the bottom of it in plain linen, which Evergreen had added to with bright colours.

As the boy was plainly with Evelyn, and dodged behind him, the ploughboy came up to Evelyn, who was a trifle more rumpled than his usual immaculate self.

“I don’t like gypsies,” he said.

“Well, don’t eat any, then,” said Evelyn, calmly.

“Wot?”

“You said you don’t like gypsies,” said Evelyn. “I don’t like Brussels sprouts, so I don’t eat them.”

“Sam, back off,” said Harris.

It is doubtful that Sam, the ploughboy, even heard him. He went for Evelyn.

Evelyn was known to box with Gentleman Jackson, and swayed out of the way of the roundhouse swing, using the momentum of his sway to roll his buttocks off the bar stool, and got to his feet. He was easily as tall as the big ploughboy, if not as broad.

“You poncy little gyppo, I’ll pound you!” growled Sam.

“Sam, he ain’t a gypsy!” warned Harris.

“Harris, he’s spoiling for a fight.  And as Crowy managed to get himself killed and I didn’t have the pleasure of sinking my fist through his mandibular developments, I shall take great joy in doing so with this volunteer for my dental rearrangement,” said Evelyn, in an even, pleasant voice, swaying to avoid pile-driving blows, and assessing the reach and speed of his opponent.  He jabbed once in a feint, and as Sam went to swat his hand away contemptuously, by which piece of underestimation Evelyn felt a forearm bone crack under his feinting hand, he then drove his left fist hard into Sam’s unlovely mouth full of blackened stumps.

Sam went down, spitting out teeth. He had a broken forearm, was dizzy, and had a mouthful of blood, but he got up, roaring, his fists windmilling. Evelyn hit him once in the solar plexus, and caught his chin with an uppercut. Sam lifted right off his toes and fell, as if poleaxed.

“Well, that’s it, you’re under arrest,” said another man.

“For defending myself? That’s hardly a crime,” said Evelyn, examining his bloody knuckles, cut on Sam’s teeth. “If a man attacks me, and I happen to be a more effective proponent of the noble art of pugilism, that’s hardly my fault.”

“I don’t understand Romany words, but jus’ you come along o’ me, I’m the constable, I am,” said the man.

Harris ran out from behind the bar, and put his hands on his hips.

“Did your ma drop you on your head when you was a baby, Will Stubbins?” he demanded. “You look at his lordship’s linen and see if it ain’t finer nor any collar you’ll ever feel, you slubberdegullion! My missus washed it when he was on his way out after that Crowy Heron, an’ now he’s back with his son rescued, an’ hurt an’ frightened, an’ you make as much a fool of yourself as Sam Willard, who has less brains than God gave a pigeon.”

“Well, what for is he talkin’ in the gyppo heathen language?” asked Will Stubbins.

“Gawd help you, you idiot, he’s talkin’ upper class, and me, I knows it account o’ how the swells come in here for a heavy wet when Sam’s takin’ on pets o’ the fancy at the fair,” said Harris. “He’s grown up with jaw-crack words, you fool! Mandibibles, that’s a fancy word for the jaw an’ teeth, ’n’ pugilism, that’s boxing. I can’t help it that you’re too stupid to talk the king’s English.”

“He might say he’s a milord, but anyone can say that,” said Stubbins.

“You’re an arse,” said Harris. “Look at the cut of his coat! That wasn’t made in Salisbury by some half-arsed tailor an’ if it cost less than a  couple of ponies I’ll be surprised.”

“Please, I never wear coats that cheap,” said Evelyn. “What Harris can see, and you plainly cannot, Stubbins, which does not look good in a constable, is that my coat is Bath coating and is made up for me by Weston in London. My linen is fine, and my neclcloth, whilst not starched as highly as I normally expect, is arranged in the Trone d’amour style because it’s one I can tie well and quickly without wasting a dozen or so. You have surely at some point marked the style of speech of your local magistrate, you might notice that I keep my hands manicured, and if you had asked me, I could have given you a calling card and shown you a letter from both my bank and from my tailor which I had on me when I left precipitately, on learning that my son had been kidnapped.”

“Well, that oughta be a job for the constables, so why didn’t you ask them, hmm?” said Stubbins, hooking his thumbs into his waistcoat armpits and rocking back on his heels.

“Because we travelled over several magisterial bailiwicks of course, you fool,” said Evelyn. “I do not have the time or the inclination for your idiocy. Go away, or I’ll lodge a complaint with your local magistrate, whoever that is, and I will make my displeasure known. Be glad I am a more temperate man than my sire was; he would have horsewhipped you.”

It was perhaps the contemptuous tone which meant more to Stubbins than Evelyn’s linen, coat, or vocabulary; but being threatened with being horsewhipped, as Stubbins read it, was the clincher; this really was an aristocrat.

And Evelyn sighed that it took being offensive to prove it.

 

oOoOo

 

“Mr. Reckitt,” said Shuri, tartly, “I am not made of fine bone china, and I am not a china marchioness on a shelf, so please stop behaving as if I were Evelyn’s Great-Aunt Uppitytypa.”

Cornelius laughed.

“I’m sorry, Miss Lovell, you look rather fragile,” he said. “And I know you must be in some pain, too.”

“Because you are? Yes, I am, but like you, I’m trying to ignore it, because we both worry about our errant family,” said Shuri.  “And you called me ‘Shuri’ very nicely before.”

“I do answer to ‘Cornelius,’” said Cornelius.

“I am a little nervous of using your first name,” said Shuri. “I am used to people using mine, and being ‘Miss Lovell’ seems... odd. But if I use your name, it... it feels as if I have made a decision.”

“I see,” said Cornelius. “That is the way it generally works, but it seemed wrong not to be prepared to be as informal as your folk. But I will respect your wishes to remain aloof, in which case, I should also do you the courtesy of calling you ‘Miss Lovell.’”

“I suppose so,” said Shuri. “I... I do feel drawn to you, but I want to be totally sure, and, moreover, to make a decision when we are not thrown together in the throes of high emotion as we have been over... over all this.”

“I do understand,” said Cornelius. “I want to put my arms around you, and assure you I will be ready to look after you and Jasper; and part of that means letting both of you be yourselves as you can look after yourselves.”

“I like that you understand me well enough to see to Lementina, not me,” said Shuri. “I like that you listen to me and respect my wishes, and do not try to tell me that I am wrong and need to be told how to feel.  I like that you acknowledge that I am in pain but do not fuss over me for it. I think I will think favourably on your suit, but I want to think about it and imagine life without you, and imagine life on the other hand without wandering at will. Which is what I have to weigh up.”

“Not life without Woodlock?”

“If I chose to remain a gypsy, I would marry Woodlock because I like him, and respect him, and I would be a good and faithful wife, because it would be good for the tribe. It is the lifestyle I would regret more than Woodlock, whom I love, but not.... Cornelius, you mix me up inside because I feel like a young girl who has found her womanhood for the first time.”

“Then, Miss Lovell, I suspect you have chosen; but I will not insist on you acting upon it until you are ready, and part of that will be able to consider embraces that do not hurt.”

Shuri pulled a wry smile.

“You know, that is indeed a considerable part of wanting to wait.”

She blushed as she almost blurted out that she wanted to run her fingers through his golden curls; it would not do to even think of such things. And of course, his hair might not grow back, as hers might not. But that was the way of things, and there was no point dwelling upon such matters.

 

the scholar's sweetheart 17

 sorry sorry I started doing my emails first. bad me! 

 

Chapter 17

 

“Go and wash and dress, Cornelius,” said Imogen’s crisp voice.  “You shall have the services of Spalding, who is pining without Evelyn to valet for, and I’ll see Shuri to my room to dress in something, as she’s not far off my size, and I’ve unearthed a wig which will do. You’re de trop. And remember to have Spalding pack valises for Evelyn and Jasper as well.  Woodlock is staying with his people to keep them calm.”

“My clothes! They were all burned,” said Shuri.

“As well we’re about the same size,” said Imogen, calmly. “I know I don’t have many colours which work well on you, but I can wear some yellows which look fabulous with your skin tones. And some apricots.”

“I can’t take your clothes....”

“Shuri, you and I share a son, which makes you my sister. Of course you can. I can get more.”

“I don’t know that a wig....”

“I was thinking that if I padded a cap and sewed curls to it, it would work admirably. You wouldn’t have liked the wig itself; it’s a full-bottomed wig belonging to Evelyn’s great great grandsire, and if the portraits are anything to go by, he looked like a pirate.”

Shuri sniggered.

“I’ve seen some statues of men with those awful wigs,” she said.

“I know; but the hair is still good, and I can cut locks from it, because your hair will probably grow back curly.”

“If it’s not burned too badly,” said Shuri, anxiously. “Burns can leave skin too scarred.”

“I think it took the hair and protected the scalp somewhat,” said Imogen. “I checked out you and Corny quite thoroughly, and I think the follicles are undamaged, there was only a thin layer of skin which came off with the crisp hair. Otherwise he’d have to go around looking like a very young Friar Tuck rather than like an escaped Putto.”

Shuri managed a giggle.

“Is that the singular of putti? Aren’t they the sort of cherubs some people put on tombstones?”

“Yes, and on baroque swags on curtain tops and furniture in the sort of noble homes I prefer to avoid,” said Imogen. “How much hair do you want to show? I thought this lace trimmed cap would do?”

“As long as it looks natural, do as seems fit,” said Shuri. “I don’t want to look a quiz. Having a burned face is bad enough.”

“I don’t like to put a curl of hair over the burn, in case it hurts,” said Imogen.

“Can you put it so it doesn’t lay against the skin? I’m vain enough to care,” said Shuri.

“I can do that,” said Imogen. “I’ll put hair under the cap, too, to add to the padding and to show through, and then several layers of folded muslin to keep your scalp comfortable and a dressing under all.”

“Bless you,” said Shuri.

“Gloves will cover your dressings on your arms, too.”

“What, are you trying to turn me into a lady?”

Imogen gave Shuri a straight look.

“If you choose to marry Cornelius, though he won’t pressure you to dress a Giorgio, you would make life easier,” she said.

“Ah, yes, of course,” said Shuri. “Something I need to consider. Your gown is comfortable.”

“Yes, I could see that having to wear panniers would be horrible, and a reason to avoid marrying a Giorgio,” said Imogen.

Shuri flushed.

“And even so, I might do so, if I loved him enough,” she said, softly.

“Do you?” asked Imogen, bluntly.

“I... I am not sure,” said Shuri. “He is amiable, educated, but does not talk down to me; he was interested in my thoughts upon ‘Pride and Prejudice,’ by ‘A Lady,’ and though we disagreed somewhat over Charlotte’s choice to marry the repellent Mr. Collins, he does not hold that his view must be superior for being a man, but said that as a woman, I could more readily put myself in Charlotte’s position. It throws many lights on his character; will you mind if I discuss that? Since you are busy making me a wig.”

“Not at all,” said Imogen. “I take it that he is of the view that, so long as Collins is not actually likely to beat his wife for real and imaginary transgressions, the acceptance of financial security must count heavily in her decision?”

“Yes; and I would rather die an old maid than marry someone who would erode my spirit, drop by relentless drop, until I became no more than an echo of the sound of him dripping.”

“This being the sort of beau my grandmother wanted to palm me off onto, I agree wholeheartedly,” said Imogen. “How beautifully you put that!  What you have to realise is that Cornelius is not a wealthy man. Therefore, for him, financial security looms large, as he has been brought up having to count both sides of a groat twice. I grew up wealthy and you grew up without any wealth at all, and in a way it engenders a similar outlook; a carelessness about wealth which either comes easily, or doesn’t come at all, and therefore might as well be ignored. He is thinking along the lines of what he would do if Charlotte was a dependent of his, his sister, for example, or rather, what he ought to do.  Being loosened up will do him no harm. You should show him, if you get the opportunity, that you can snare rabbits and gather wild food and survive when money is short, it will show him that you don’t have to depend on him earning. On the other hand, you should appreciate his hard work to give you the sort of life he thinks you should have. Men are very fragile, you know.”

“So, he would palm off a sister onto someone who is not actually bad but who has nothing to recommend him so he could be independent?” Shuri scowled, and winced as this hurt.

“No, you misunderstand me,” said Imogen. “He would want a sister or daughter of his to be happy, but he would also want her to be settled in case anything happened to him, so she could not rely on his earning power. But he would listen to any plaint that this was not what she wanted.  His concept is that a clergyman has a dependable, if low, income. I think since his brother caused so much trouble, he would be more open to the idea that this is not always enough. He has not seen, as I have, how a woman can be browbeaten by a man who controls the purse strings – I really worry about my cousins Marjorie and Dinah.”

“I can tell him about that. Indeed, I did, I said that I was free for the first time since my father was killed, and I would not willingly enter a relationship where a man would expect me to be a shadow of himself. He asked if I thought he would do so; I said, I do not know. Because I did not know him well enough. I said that as he asked my opinion, I thought he would not, and he seemed much relieved.”

“I think he would try to give you as much freedom as possible,” said Imogen. “He knows how much Jasper values his freedom. I had to tell Evelyn how it was going to be, because he kept trying to protect me from himself. People like him and Cornelius are brought up to believe a man is the protector, only Evelyn learned one thing from his mother and tutors and was shown a contradiction by his father, which has made Evelyn even more protective. I agree with him and do what I want.”

Shuri sniggered.

“Well, I’m glad you went out the day you took down Fowk, despite, as I understand it, the marquis’s strictures while he was at large.”

Imogen went red.

“I plain forgot,” she said, in a whisper. “But I had to go, Phebe had no decent clothes. And it’s important for little girls to have nice dresses.”

“Yes, indeed. That is important. I heard you took a groom, too, with a blunderbuss?”

“Yes, and the fool meekly threw it down!” said Imogen. “I confess, I was as furious with him as I was with Fowk at that moment, and I just went ahead and drove at Fowk. I thought he’d leap off the road and then my groom could arrest him, but I think the outcome was more favourable.”

“He was arrogant; I doubt he could believe you would actually drive him down.”

“I don’t know why. Many an aristocrat would do so; people like Evelyn’s father wouldn’t hesitate.”

“But you’re a woman and to be intimidated; because he and Crowy Heron are the same. Oh! And Jasper is in his clutches...” Her eyes filled with tears.

“Jasper is resourceful. Evelyn, Evergreen, and a nice dog called Bess are looking for him. I can only suppose some fool has decided they are all gypsies on trouble bent and has arrested them, or something; but Evelyn has letters on him that will prove who he is, and even if Crowy Heron has been tiresome, nobody is likely to do anything like hang them out of hand.”

“I hope you are right,” said Shuri. “But I want to go and see...”

“I wish I could go, too,” said Imogen. “But I don’t want to leave Lementina.  I’d take Phebe if it were just a question of her, but it will be a day or two before we can be sure Lementina is out of danger.”

“And bless you for that,” said Shuri. “I will deputise for you as well as I might.”

 

oOoOo

 

 Cornelius felt better for a shave, which he permitted Spalding to undertake, and a careful wash, and clean clothes made him feel even better.

“If I might suggest, Mr. Reckitt,” said Spalding, “It might not be stylish, but a night cap under your hat might minimise discomfort.”

“You’re probably right,” said Cornelius. “And I’d look more ridiculous bleeding into my hat.”

“If I may say so, sir, I do not think the burn bad enough to prevent your hair from growing back,” said Spalding. “Where it is not covered by the dressing, it is apparent that the hair has broken off short of the scalp, and that is encouraging.”

“Well, if it does not, other men have pattern balding, and at least I have it in a good cause,” said Cornelius.

“Indeed, sir, and the gypsies very complimentary of your courage, and promptness in saving one they all love, as well as their chieftess,” said Spalding.

“And letting down Jasper,” said Cornelius.

“Oh, no, sir!” said Spalding. “Mr. Jasper would far rather that you save his mother and the old lady. And you should know it.”

Cornelius bowed his head.

He knew it was true.

“A shame a man cannot split himself in two, eh, Spalding?” he said, trying to keep his tone light, but the bitterness escaped.

“Oh, no, sir, that would be most ineligible,” said Spalding. “All those entrails would spoil the set of even the best tailored coat.”

“Spalding, thank you,” said Cornelius. “Just what I needed to think things through in perspective.”

He came onto the landing to see Shuri, demure in dimity, with a set of ridiculous ringlets erupting from a confection of linen and lace that covered most of her head.

“Miss Lovell! I... you... I would not believe, if I did not know, that you had ever been in an accident,” said Cornelius. “You are as lovely as always.”

“You look well enough yourself, Mr. Reckitt,” said Shuri. “I trust you feel able to set out?”

“Yes; I have too many images of Evelyn getting himself into trouble,” said Cornelius. “Though it could be as simple as Crowy Heron giving him the slip and going on the run. Evelyn will not pause until he is dead, you know; he takes threats to all his family very seriously.”

“I know,” said Shuri. “And I am bothered that all of them may have been taken up by constables as brawling gypsies, and Evelyn accused of theft of his identity and any papers he has.”

“There are plenty of people who can verify who he is, but I can see some magistrates not bothering to move fast,” said Cornelius. “And I can’t help wondering what desperate straits he might go to if Jasper was.... hurt.”

“Or killed,” said Shuri. “I can face the possibility; I have been facing it. If we can face it together, it will be less overwhelming.”

Cornelius nodded.

“Yes, we shall face it together,” he said. “Shall we?” he gestured to the stairs to descend and offered his arm.

“I’m not taking your arm, and it isn’t out of perversity, it’s out of a desire not to drag healing skin off your arm or lose mine,” said Shuri.

“A time when automatic gestures of etiquette are actually out of place,” said Cornelius, pulling a comical face.

“You’re over-trained,” said Shuri.

“Yes,” said Cornelius.

 

They met Woodlock in the vestibule.

“I’ve had a carriage set up for you,” he said. “A satchel of salves and draughts and dressings, enough food for half an army, blankets and comforters, extra hay for the horses and bran to make a bran mash, a cookpot, a kettle, and some contraption with charcoal in for burning to make a fire if you aren’t capable of making a real one. Though, I suppose, making tea in the carriage is valid, as it’s perishing all of a sudden.”

“The weather has taken a nasty turn for the worse,” agreed Cornelius.

Woodlock embraced him. Both were careful of each other’s burns. Woodlock’s eyes were suspiciously damp.

“She looks good in your people’s clothes,” he said, softly. “I fancy she has chosen already, in being willing to dress Giorgio. But if you don’t take good care of her, I’m going to knock your block off.”

“I wouldn’t expect my brother to do anything else,” said Cornelius. “I want nothing more than to take good care of her; but I am also aware that this does not mean trammelling her.”

“If you understand that, then I am sure you’ll both be very happy,” said Woodlock.

 

Cornelius helped Shuri up the steps into the coach, and settled down, rapping on the side of the coach for the coachman to set the horses in motion, and head for the unknown. Woodlock had picked Collins, the head groom, who had let Imogen down in acceding to Fowk’s demands but who had learned his lesson, and it amused Cornelius that he was positively bristling with weaponry. He could see a blunderbuss, a shotgun, and a pistol on the dash as well. Collins was taking no chances.

 

 

the scholar's sweetheart 16 cliffie bonus

 

Chapter 16

 

Jasper melted into shadows, as the door crashed open.

“I’ll give you something to bark about, you cur!” cried Swallow, crashing into the stables. There were several pained yelps, then silence. Swallow banged out again and back into the cottage.

“What a fool,” muttered Jasper. He eased open the stable door, and found the dog lying, panting in pain.

Jasper risked shutting the door and setting a light in a lantern.

“Easy, boy,” he said, running a gentle hand down the dog’s flank “Nasty bruises and I think he’s broken your leg.”

Jasper had the touch with animals, and the dog whined and tried to wag his tail.  Jasper had nothing but water to cool wounds, but he tore a strip off his shirt to splint the broken leg. He noticed a jar labelled ‘horse liniment,’ and opened it to sniff; it was still pungent, so he added it to the dog’s wounds, and slid it into his own pack. Then he put out the lantern, and led the mule out of the stable and down the path, where he tethered it, carrying the dog, which he made comfortable on a horse blanket from the stable, and left a bucket of water from the stable for both of them. There was a pump by the side of the stable, but he did not dare work it, only scoop such water as there was from the trough.  He tied three saplings together and threw another horse blanket over them as a makeshift shelter, and brought hay.

The cart was outside, and had been well-oiled. Jasper filled it with hay and straw, and pushed it slowly towards the front door. There was a curtain of sorts over the window, to keep out the cold of the night, and he moved the cart only when he could hear loud conversation and the odd burst of laughter.

He put hay under the windows both sides of the door and under the sill of the window on the side of the house with a trail round to the front. He fetched out the whittled wedges which he pressed into the casements as hard as he could without hammering. That sealed the parlour windows on both sides.  Jasper suspected that the men would fall to dicing before they went to bed, and that would keep them occupied. He managed to press in wedges to that window when they fell to quarrelling loudly, and blessed his luck. They could, perhaps, go upstairs and try to go out of the upstairs windows; but not if the roof was well alight before they realised the trouble they were in. He had found a can of lamp oil, and splashed it liberally on the threshold and the hay leading to the cart, and set a lighted shuttered lantern right by the door which would be knocked over into the lamp oil the moment the door opened.

Then he slipped away up the cliff, with some more hay, and stuffed it in the chimney. Chimneys smoked from time to time, and they would put the fire out, but it would help rob the room of good air and make them sluggish. Then he kindled a flame, pouring the rest of the lamp oil into strategic points of the thatch, at both ends, and on the roof of the stable block, and set light to the thatch.

It had been dry for days, and despite the mizzling rain, it went up like a torch. Jasper had to leap back as it leaped up, to avoid being burned, and beat a hasty retreat from the roof. There was a good downdraught from off the hill, teasing the flames and licking them into a more fervent ardour of pyrotechnic endeavour, such that by the time he had reached the ridge, the whole roof was ablaze, and the light of it a ghastly orange in the sky. Sparks flew up and smuts floated lazily down, and Jasper reflected this was what snow in hell would be like.   Jasper retired to his log, and waited. It also protected him from hot smuts, and if the fire spread to the trees, which he thought it should not, he could always retreat to his passageway below. He did not want to burn the forest, but he thought the nearest trees too far to do more than char a little at worst.

It would take a while for the men in the cottage to become aware of what was going on.  Had he but known it, their senses were even more dulled for Crowy having managed to steal some brandy. The roof was well alight, and the beams below the thatch, before Crowy asked, rather drunkenly, what the roaring was.

“Mus’ be a storm,” said Swallow. “It was raining when I went out after the dog. Like as not that’s why he was barking. Look, there’s flickers of lightning.”

“It’s awful red,” said Perun. “Hey, it’s a fire! We must of been struck by lightning!”

It was around about then that the three rogues thought of grabbing what they could, and saving their lives by running out of the door.

And inevitably, one of them kicked over the lamp as they all tried to exit at once, and the lamp oil went up with a dull ‘WHUMP!’ setting light to the cart right on the door, and for having its path blocked by the cart body, sucking right into the door of the cottage, and setting light to the somewhat brandy-flavoured gypsies. They had managed to spill some whilst drinking, and fire loves warm brandy.

Then the screaming started. 

Jasper heard it, and was briefly satisfied; but as it went on, he found he had to exit his hideout to be violently sick.

“Let ’ee burn, you murderous bastard an’ carry on burning as ’ee burn in Hell for eternity for burning my mother,” said Jasper, reverting to childhood vernacular. Then he crept back into his nest and sobbed for his mother and Lementina, who was a grandmother to him. He cried himself to sleep.

 

oOoOo

 

Evergreen and Evelyn entirely missed the excitement of the fire. For one thing, the cottage was on the other side of the ridge; and for another, they were both inside the tent, and did not see the flickering in the sky, since the greater part of the fire had burned down by the time Evergreen got up to feed their fire.  A timber framed building can be reduced to ash and charred beams in a couple of hours. It can then smoke and smoulder for a considerable time, depending on the thickness of the beams, regardless of how hard it may be raining, once the fire has taken the main thickness of a beam and is smouldering happily underneath it, making charcoal.

Having failed to realise there had been a fire, Evergreen came awake first, and Evelyn roused from endless restless half-dreams with a groan as he realised one leg was asleep from having had Bess partly on it. He wanted to relieve himself, and swore as he could not feel his leg when he tried to put weight on it. Somehow he limped to a distance to lean on a tree as he relieved the pressing need, by which time his leg had moved from numb to tingling and burning, as feeling returned.

“Numb?” asked Evergreen.

“Not any more; feels as if a dozen rats are trying to gnaw it off,” grunted Evelyn. “Your dog is heavy.”

“She knows better than to sleep on me as I kick her,” said Evergreen. “You’ve made her very happy.” The dog’s tail was wagging.

“The feeling is not mutual,” said Evelyn.

“Well, if you are mobile, I’ll leave you in charge of the fire and see about scouting,” said Evergreen.

 

 

Evergreen came upon the rough shelter with a mule and a dog in it first.  And Bess gave tongue and ran up the path.

“I’ll be back,” said Evergreen, and ran to follow Bess. The air was smoky and thick, the damp air holding down the smell of charring, and the acrid sweetish scent of burned bodies. Evergreen’s nose twitched. Crowy Heron had been known to use fire before against those who crossed him, and he proceeded with caution. He swallowed hard, wondering if he was about to find his childhood friend’s body burned beyond recognition, and if so, how he was going to break it to Evelyn.

He pushed on round the corner, and stood, mouth open, to see the blackened skeleton of what had once been a cottage, its massive beams charred and smoking, all fallen in. The chimney stood still in the centre, a monument to its sturdy construction.

“Well, damn!” said Evergreen.

Bess pawed at the cliff face.

“Evergreen?” said a voice.

“Jasper?” said Evergreen.

Jasper clambered over the cliff and scrambled down, and embraced his older friend wordlessly.

“Did you burn him out?” asked Evergreen.

“I burned them all in,” said Jasper, in grim satisfaction. “Crowy, Perun, and Swallow. Barricaded the door and set a trap for that to go afire if they opened the door, and it leaped back and caught them, from what I can gather. I... I just left the fire to do its job. They screamed an awful lot,” he said.

“Well, old man, let’s go find your da,” said Evergreen. “I left him in charge of the camp; is that your mule and dog?”

“It is now,” said Jasper. “I’m not sure the dog is going to live, Swallow was vicious, but if he didn’t damage anything inside with his great boots, the dog will live.”

“We can put him on the mule and look him over properly at the camp,” said Evergreen. “Your da has medicines with him.”

“I stole some horse liniment when I took the mule and the dog out of the stable,” said Jasper.  “Innocent beasts didn’t ought to die.”

“No, quite so,” agreed Evergreen. He thought Jasper a wounded creature himself, shying from touching a wound that could be better healed by dealing with it.

“Lementina was alive when we left,” said Evergreen, abruptly. “Her ladyship thought Cornelius got her there in time to save her life.”

“And... and Shuri?” asked Jasper.

This was it, thought Evergreen.

“Burned on the face and arms, and lost all her hair,” he said, “They say she might scar.”

“She... they think she’ll live to be scarred?” said Jasper.

“Last I heard,” said Evergreen. “Her and Cornelius both. Bad burns but being treated.”

Jasper gasped. “If she is badly scarred...”

“It was down one side. No problem with her eyes,” said Evergreen. “And see, there’s your da.”

“Papa! Oh, papa!” Jasper was a small missile who nearly bowled Evelyn over, as the tall man strode forward seeing the little figure with Evergreen.

“My son, oh, my son!” cried Evelyn, and then Jasper was sobbing in his arms. Jasper stumbled through how he had thought his mother and Lementina burned to death as Crowy boasted of killing Lementina, and so he burned him and his cousins.

“I am sorry that you had to do it as I was planning on killing them myself,” said Evelyn. “But well done for managing it.”

“You aren’t sore at me?” asked Jasper, his early vernacular creeping in.

“No, I’m proud of you for escaping and doing what you had to do,” said Evelyn. “I would have killed them with no more compunction than shooting a mad dog. Less; I’d have sympathy for the dog. If you feel remorse, you are a bigger man than I am.”

“Remorse? No. Only satisfaction that they cannot hurt anyone else,” said Jasper. “I wondered if there was something wrong with me for not being horrified. I mean, other than how horrible the screams were.”

“Just remember, that is what Crowy planned for Lementina,” said Evelyn.

“I thought he had killed her, and ma,” said Jasper, again. “It was revenge.”

“It was his intent, so it counts,” said Evelyn. “Well! We have some sandwiches and beer; let us eat breakfast, and go and collect the horses. We should be home for dinner as we can head straight there, not all around the houses.”

“Oh, papa! Have you healing salves? Swallow Heron kicked this poor dog,” said Jasper.

“Certainly, and proper dressings,” said Evelyn. Jasper saw to the nameless dog whilst Evelyn and Evergreen put out the fire and struck their makeshift camp. Jasper was glad he had kept the gay skirts in his pack, using one to make a sling for the injured cur.

 

Evelyn had not expected to be met by aggressive villagers with pitchforks.

“Thieves! You stole from me!” howled the innkeeper, leading them.

“I borrowed a spade, which I return to you now,” said Evergreen, handing it over. “And how dare you accuse his lordship of stealing, when what you charged for sandwiches and moth eaten blankets was daylight robbery!”

“Enough!” barked Evelyn. “If anyone stole from you, it was Crowy Heron and his cousins, who can’t answer for their crimes, being dead; but be assured, my young son here has been through enough of an ordeal having been kidnapped by gypsies and even having to wear the mismatched rags of the kind Crowy Heron thinks suitable, and I will not hesitate to shoot. I have a shotgun and two pistols, and I suggest you disperse and go home before I read the riot act upon you.”

His plainly educated tones and fine quality if rumpled clothes were enough to make some back down right away; the look of blazing fury in his eyes and the shotgun he produced accounted for the others. Jasper too was a convincing sight, despite his gypsy clothing, as his looks tended to pity him whilst he was going through a growing spurt, and the tear tracks on his face were unmistakable.

“Well, who’s going to put right what was stolen?” demanded the truculent innkeeper.

“You don’t deserve it, but I’ll pay for what was stolen,” said Evelyn in clipped tones. “And you had better have fed my horses and seen to their grooming.”

“I might not have had time...”

“Jasper, Evergreen, curry the horses, and this mule, and see to feeding them a good bran mash and if the stablehands give you a hard time, knock them down for their contumely,” said Evelyn. “I shall want to purchase a basket well lined with an old comforter for this poor dog, ill-treated by his former owner,” he said

If the rest were not enough, a word like ‘contumely’ completely collapsed the innkeeper. He arranged a basket which could be strapped to the mule for the transport of the dog, and muttered to his employee that only an aristocrat would be daft enough to take on care of a misbegotten cur which was likely useless and any normal man would hang it quickly to save the cost of a bullet in shooting it. It was as well for him that Evelyn did not overhear this comment.

The dog growled once at Evelyn, who fixed it with a steely gaze, and addressed it in the tones of One Who Orders. “Now then, sirrah! Why such bad language to your new master?” demanded Evelyn. “At rest, now.”

The dog subsided and tentatively wagged its stump of a tail.

“Poor old boy,” said Evelyn, presenting a hand to sniff and then doing the precise place on the cur’s ears which reduced it to drooling pleasure. “I fear you are no aristocrat to be named for any of the Hounds of Actaeon; I fancy you will be known as ‘Stumpy.’

Stumpy wagged what little tail he possessed. He might be in pain, but he discovered a ham bone in the basket, and he had already eaten that morning. He was grateful for a new owner who was not handing out more whipping or kicks.

Evelyn kept the motheaten blankets. He anticipated being home before nightfall, in taking a direct route; but it would not harm to have the means to camp; he had, after all, paid for them! Well-washed, the children could play with them in the garden.

 

oOoOo

 

Meanwhile, Cornelius had arisen, sore, but otherwise whole in spirit and demanded of Mrs. Hudson if he was to be released from durance invalid.

“You’ll do very well, I think, Mr. Reckitt,” said that worthy. “You can remove to your own room.”

“How is Shuri?” asked Cornelius.

“Doing well enough for a guest room,” said Mrs. Hudson. “Or to set out after Master Jasper.”

“Evelyn not home then?” asked Cornelius.

“No, sir,” said Mrs. Hudson.

“Lementina?”

“That one’s too stubborn to die,” said Mrs. Hudson, in satisfaction. “So long as I can keep her from infection. But she won’t travel again.”

“I’m adopting her as my mother and I’ll have a cottage built,” said Cornelius.

“Aye, that will do nicely,” said Mrs. Hudson.  “You’ll have to talk her round, though.”