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 Have any Regency fans noticed that there's no Jane Austen themed colouring book? well, there is now, with 50 illustrations in a handy-sized 8.5x8.5" book, expensive, because it's on top quality paper which doesn't bleed with felt tips [though I haven't tested it with alcohol inks.] But each pic has a plain back in case alcohol inks bleed or to write the outline of your own Austeneque masterpiece opposite the picture....
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the scholar#s sweetheart 21

 

Chapter 21

 

Eusebius had no idea that the gypsy camp had been burned out; he had been disappointed that none of them were there for him to kill, and had wondered where they had gone; and had decided in his own mind that they were probably at a fair, stealing from the public, and had left their tents for their return. He really knew very little about the gypsy community. However, it is doubtful that he would have changed his plans had he known that Crowy Heron had thought along similar lines since in Eusebius’s mind, he was cleansing, not attacking.

The rector kept a year’s supply of lamp oil in an outhouse, along with firewood, kindling, lamps, charcoal for chafing dishes and the like. Puzzled as to how to carry things, Eusebius raided the milking shed of Widow Hodges, stealing the milkmaid’s yoke he found there. The kindling was tied in bundles and Eusebius managed to get several bundles hung off his back like a kindling seller in any town, and entirely spoiled the buckets on the yoke by filling them with lamp oil. He prepared a torch and stuffed it into his belt Then he lifted the heavy yoke onto his shoulders. He tottered and spilled some lamp oil onto his trousers. How hard could it be to carry the damned thing? He thought. Women did it so it must be easy.

It wasn’t easy, and Eusebius cursed the perversity of women that they were so contrary as to use contraptions that were awkward for men to use. He stumbled along until he got the hang, more or less, of letting the weight go with his movement instead of fighting to keep it level. He got more oil on himself.

It was damnably heavy; but Eusebius gloried in the pain of the effort. He felt that he was walking in the steps of his Saviour carrying His own cross to save the world. Eusebius was planning to save this corner of the world and the weight on his shoulders seemed meet and fit.

He made his way up the front drive, mentally cursing when his uneven gait made him stumble and make a sound on the gravel.

 

oOoOo

 

A momentary break in the cloud permitted a thin, unwilling shaft of moonlight to show the fantastical hunched figure that was Eusebius with his load.

“What on earth?” muttered Evelyn.

“Milk pails?” said Toby. “Why milk pails?”

“Carrying something,” said Imogen. “His back looks like a hedgehog, has he got some sort of armour?”

“Sticks,” said Jasper. “Fire! He...he’s going to burn us all like Crowy burned....” His eyes were wide and terrified.

Evelyn wrapped his arms tightly around his son.

“No, he isn’t,” he said. “We have buckets and washtubs ready filled, and wetted blankets to beat out flames, and more people than usual able to lend a hand. The house is so rambling we have places to go if it gets a hold anywhere, and failing anything else, we can go into the cellar which opens into an underground ride to the church which is blocked at the far end by the perversity of my sire, but at least has air vents along it.”

“Really?” said Jasper, momentary panic overcome by a twelve-year-old boy’s not unnatural fascination for underground tunnels.

“I exercise the horses there in inclement weather,” said Evelyn. “It’s wide enough to turn. I tell you what, Jasper, have the children, pregnant women, and nursing mothers go down into the cellar; past the brandy, there’s a door to the left which goes under the stables and the tunnel starts under one of the loose boxes, which has a folding floor, and a slope down.”

“Oh! I know where it comes out; there’s an archway in the rise towards the woods, with metal gates, and there’s a load of earth come down to stop it being more than a foot or two deep, so not even much use as caves go,” said Jasper. He ran off to do his father’s bidding, and Evelyn sighed in relief.

“Skittish around fire?” asked Toby.

“He got to Crowy and his cousins before I did,” said Evelyn, grimly. “Don’t despise him; He’s too young to have had to kill. And it’s recent, and he hasn’t even had a proper night’s sleep since.”

Toby nodded.

“He did what he had to do,” he said. “You could of taken credit, and I reckon he’d of let you.”

“Officially, they caught themselves in their own trap and semi-officially, I helped them do so, but he has reason to dislike fire.”

Toby just nodded. He could recognise a man who wanted to protect his son, and himself, from the law – if any law officer cared a jot about dead gypsies. Which Toby doubted; and moreover, most magistrates would not bother with gypsy testimony telling the truth of the matter, so the marquis was safe enough in telling him.

 

oOoOo

 

Eusebius made his way round to the side, where he knew he could easily get into the house via the terrace. He made his way most of the way up the steps, and then stopped to kindle a flame and light his torch. He had slopped some more oil onto the steps, but there was plenty in the buckets to hurl around into carpets and soft furnishings. He got the torch burning well, dipped in pitch as it had been, something else the rector kept, for repairing tarpaulins, and for treating the mounts of any of his parishioners who came to church, if they had occasioned any cut from loose stones on the road.  Then he moved on up the rest of the steps, and cried out as his foot caught in something, and he measured his length on the stones of the terrace, his cry muffled by having pierced his lip with a tooth. This, however was the least of Eusebius’s worries, as the lamp oil spread out across the flags, and as he fell, first the fumes, then the oil, ignited as the torch contacted the flammable material, and flared up, engulfing him, flame leaping into the clothes drenched in oil, and to the bundles of kindling on Eusebius’s back. Frantically, he scrabbled to his feet, slipping in the oil, abandoning the yoke, and ran, a human torch, for the steps, with some idea of throwing himself into the ornamental lake.

It had not occurred to Eusebius that he had tripped on some physical obstacle, since his progress had been uneven to say the least in any case; as a result of which, he tripped again on the simple tripwire, blackened with tar, which Woodlock had set as part of his traps. Soon, fire would find the tar and burn it away, but it was still good, and Eusebius, running in panic, in the terror and pain of being on fire, tripped on it again, and went head first down the steps, mercifully ending his agony in breaking his neck as he landed.

Servants and gypsies streamed out of various rooms with buckets, tubs, and wet blankets to work on dousing the fire before it caught on the painted wood of doors and windows onto the terrace, and some from the kitchen regions to beat out the flames on the rapidly blackening thing which had once been Eusebius, his arms outstretched but the elbows bent and the knuckles clenched, looking more as if he was seeking a fight than in supplication. Henri D’Auxerre crossed himself, more out of the habit of his youth, it may be said, than any religious fervour, since the cook’s favourite litany was, ‘Another bottle of Chambertin from the cellar, my girl, and a glass for me to test it.’

None of them had heard of the ‘pugilist’ reaction of tendons to extreme heat, leading to the bending of the elbows and clenching of the fists, and looked on this aggressive seeming position in horror.

Evelyn pushed his way through the crowd of servants staring at Eusebius.

“Is he dead?” he asked.

“And burning still in Hell,” said Henri.

“That’s between him and his maker,” said Evelyn. “For my own part, I think him a sick, sick man, for whom death is perhaps a release. I’d better break the news to Cornelius, then we must take him to the church and tell his father.”

“I’m here,” said Cornelius. “You and I will carry him.”

 

 

With the blackened body, well disguised in a linen wrapping, laid in the chapel, Evelyn and Cornelius went soberly to the rectory.

There were no lights burning, as Eusebius had not bothered to light any candles or lanterns, waiting merely for it to be dark to execute his plan. Cornelius called out, and a faint call answered him.

Quickly kindling candles, the two young men followed the sound of the weak call to the study. Cornelius stared at his father’s haggard face in the pale candlelight.

“Papa! Whatever happened?” cried Cornelius.

“Cornelius! Be aware! Eusebius has returned and he has lost his mind, he is talking of killing you... he swore he would come back and thrash me for taking your side, to beat the demons out of me!”

“Papa, oh, papa! He... he is dead,” said Cornelius, sobbing as he undid his father’s bonds.

“Oh, Cornelius! It came to that? I should have hoped that you could subdue him,” said Augustus, sounding disappointed.

“Nobody had any time for that, he was dead before anyone could approach him,” said Cornelius. “And if you ask me, a mercy in a way.”

“Did you fire the fatal shot, then, thinking it a mercy?” demanded Augustus.

“Fatal shot? What are you talking about?” asked Cornelius.

“You said you had killed him,” said Augustus.

“Papa! I never said any such thing!” said Cornelius, indignantly. “You are leaping to conclusions again, have you a touch of the same madness that has afflicted my brother?”

Augustus paled.

“I... you said he was dead, and... and I could not think of anything else...”

“I would have shot him like a mad dog to protect my wife and my children but none of us had to,” said Evelyn. “How ready you are to see planks in the eyes of others, sir! Eusebius came after dark, by stealth, with buckets of lamp oil, kindling, and a torch, planning to burn down the hall. Providentially – and I do believe Providence had a hand in it – he stumbled, spilling oil, and set light to himself and spilling most of the oil on the flagstones. He ran in fear and fell down the steps, and by the angle of his neck, he broke it on falling. My people tried to douse the blaze, in case he lived, but it was too late. Cornelius and I brought him to the church, and I strongly advise that you do not undo the wrappings. I can get more bed linen, let it do as a shroud.”

“I... I am sorry,” said Augustus, putting a hand to his face. “Oh, my poor son, to die in the commission of such a sin!”

“I don’t think he is a sinner so much as a sick man,” said Evelyn. “And surely his poor broken mind can be healed by the grace of our Lord in Heaven? We will pray for his soul, and for him to become the soul he should have been before the madness took him. And in the meanwhile, I think you should come with us; Cornelius will pack a valise for you. You should not be alone. You shall have a nice hot bath, and a light meal in bed, and sleep in. I will write to the Bishop to send a locum, so you may take a repairing lease, with us, or at the seaside, as you choose.”

“I... I... thank you, I do not wish to remain here,” said Augustus. “The study... someone will need to clean it...”

“Don’t worry, I will see to it all,” said Evelyn.  He helped the old man to his feet... no, he thought, not an old man, not even sixty yet, though he looked as if he was in his seventies.

 

Spalding helped Augustus Reckitt to bathe, and put on a nightshirt, installed tenderly in a guest bedroom with a hot brick, and Henri rose to the occasion to produce a fricassee of chicken with rice alongside the green goose cooked for the family, and a good mutton stew for the gypsies, who had been disrupted from their normal habits.  Larkin also was served the fricassee, as was Lementina, both of whom were the major invalids.

“You rise to the occasion magnificently, Henri,” said Imogen, who knew when to lard on the compliments. “And goatsmilk porridge for the infants? Splendid, I don’t know what I would do without you!”

Henri preened.

Cornelius sought out Shuri and flung himself on the floor by her chair to bury his face in her lap, choking out what had happened until he broke down and began to sob. She stroked the back of his neck and murmured comforting words.

“Why am I crying?” asked Cornelius. “I don’t even like Eusebius. What am I crying for?”

“Hush, it doesn’t matter,” said Shuri. “You are crying for the big brother you wanted and never had. And you are crying that your father always saw him, not you, that the only notice he took of you was to punish you for some slight or imagined transgression. I can’t believe that he would automatically assume you had killed him! And even if you had, he surely knows you would only do so to save others.”

“I think Papa has a touch of the same madness Eusebius had, seeing sin all around,” said Cornelius. “But he has it mostly under control. I gave up long ago expecting him to give me attention for doing something right. I thought I had stopped trying to please him but it still hurts when he puts on his disappointed face.”

“Well, then! Assuming that your go-between pleases me, you will know how to be a better father than he is,” said Shuri.

“You would like more children than Jasper?”

“I think so. He is not, and in some ways, never has been mine, as he’s always been the lord’s son,” she said.

“Yes, I see,” said Cornelius. “Our children would be reared as gentlemen and ladies. And I’ve a mind to adopt Silas as well.”

“Oh, that would be nice,” said Shuri. “He is my brother, though, so he could live with us as such.”

“That would be better,” said Cornelius. “I had better go and tell Theo; but I will go and see how Papa is first.”

“You are a better son than he sometimes deserves,” said Shuri. “I will go and spend some time with Lementina; she will also be pleased that her grandson who needs it most will live with her.”

 

Augustus had regained some colour, but looked very frail sitting in bed. He was agitated however, and when Cornelius went in, he burst out, “Oh, Cornelius, how could you?”

Cornelius froze as if slapped.

“How could I what, sir?” he asked. “Not knowing what I am supposed to have done to earn your ire, I am unequal to addressing the matter.”

“Why, I am told that you purpose to move into a cottage not just with the woman Shuri, but another woman, named Lamentation or some such!” cried Augustus.

Cornelius had had enough. He managed to ape his father’s look of disappointment.

“Why, sir, I had thought better of you,” he said.

“You mean it is not true? But I have heard you planned to adapt the old gatehouse to accommodate her.”

“Why, yes, most certainly,” said Cornelius. “And her name is Lementina. She is Shuri’s grandmother, and is too old to travel with the tribe. Surely you do not have so filthy a mind as to suppose I would install a mistress along with a wife? I confess I am disappointed that you would listen to gossip and interpret it in such a fashion.”

“I... You... you are disappointed in me? I... well, I... oh, dear.”

Augustus was broken.

Cornelius ran to his side and buried his head against him.

“I am sorry,” he cried. “I... I wanted you to know what it felt like.”

Augustus was aghast.

“I keep failing you,” he said, sorrowfully. “The world is so full of wickedness,  I seem to look for it in my boys.”

“It’s one reason I want my own cottage,” said Cornelius. “I don’t want my authority with my children and Shuri’s brother to be undermined by living in the rectory and having you assuming that I am misbehaving in some way and saying so in front of them.”

Augustus wept.

“If it had only been I who died, not Eusebius!” he cried.

“But it was not, which means the Lord still has a use for you,” said Cornelius. “So, you will have to get well, in order to fulfil it. I am going to break the news to Theo.”

“I... my blessings on you in doing so. I... I will write to Emilius,” he added.

“Thank you, papa,” said Cornelius, intending to read such a letter and hope that it would not be about his father’s sorrow over Eusebius dying, and implied criticism that Emilius had not got himself killed in the dangerous occupation of soldiering. 

 

Jurij Korybut, space cadet

 So, I've been properly story-boarding my pics from Night Cafe, and improving on them, there and as post work, to make a proper graphic novel.

Thoughts? 

 

the scholar's sweetheart 20

 

Chapter 20

 

“My lady, my people ought to be moving back to the campsite,” said Woodlock, nervously to Imogen. “We have trespassed on your hospitality...”

“Nonsense,” said Imogen. “It was a most unpleasant upset, and moreover, it has been wet for days. We must have a covered hall associated with the cottages for old folk so you can camp there under a roof if need be.”

“We don’t need to be coddled,” said Woodlock.

“I look at your people and see a young mother who went into labour prematurely over the shock of the fire. I’ve had to get in a wet nurse from the village to help her feed her baby as her milk is insufficient. She birthed in a hurry and bled a lot because of it. I would have liked to have had her in the temporary hospital with Lementina, but her father bullied her into staying here in the ballroom with her husband, calling her weak for needing attention; and if he or you could manage to give birth, there would be no more generations because men could not handle the pain and stress of childbirth, and would refuse to have any more after the first so do not,” Imogen poked a finger into Woodlock’s waistcoat, “Talk about being coddled. You men can go and camp outside if you like but I have taken the responsibility for the women and children, and I will have constables arrest anyone who tries to take any of my patients away and that means you, too, Tobias Petulengro, you big bully, you can leave Million and her baby alone.”

“No woman speaks to me like that!” roared Tobias Petulengro, advancing on Imogen, his soot-encrusted, ham-like hands bunched.

“Toby! Have some sense!” cried Woodlock, well aware that attacking a pregnant noblewoman would get his smith hanged.

Imogen dropped down to grab him around the knees and pulled. Unable to get a grip on the polished floor, he went down on his back.

“This woman does,” said Imogen, setting her foot on his privates. “You’re an idiot, Petulengro, because I know how to keep your daughter and grandson alive, and you don’t, but you think that by intimidating me, you get to do what you please. Well, she isn’t in your tent any more; she’s in Jonah Grey’s tent as his wife, and he has some say, and in my house, so does she. So back off, and be a man not a beef-witted cauliflower-brained thumping machine.”

“And so help me, if I catch you even talking to the marchioness again, I will kill you,” snarled Woodlock. “Because if I kill you, maybe the marquis, who is a noted pugilist, shot, and swordsman, will maybe leave the rest of the men of the tribe alive. Believe me, if you touch Evelyn Finch’s wife, he will rage with the Finch rage which will only be assuaged by blood.”

“He’s right,” said Imogen. “My husband has the devil’s own temper if his own are touched, which is why Crowy Heron, if not already dead, is a walking dead man. I know you don’t like being cooped up here, but some of your tribe have suffered burns, and getting dirt into burns kills. And in the wet, avoiding mud is impossible. Those who feel ready to resume the camp are welcome to do so...” she broke off as Silas limped in.

“There’s some fat man down at the camp stabbing the tents with a big knife and swearing to kill all the gypsies and cut off the Finches root and branch. Who are the Finches?”

Imogen paled.

“That’s my husband’s family name,” she said. “Sit down, Silas, and get your head between your knees and get your breath back. Woodlock, find George, and tell him to get everyone inside, and lock all the doors. Get those ballroom doors shut, and close all of the shutters which are there to conserve heat. If that is who I fear, seeing you will inflame him to fury.”

“I’ll sort him out, lady,” said Petulengro, more co-operative in the face of a common threat.

“Good, I’ll need volunteers to take him in charge, but I don’t want to kill him if we can avoid it, but I want my maids and your womenfolk protected,” said Imogen. “Go with Woodlock, and anyone else prepared to fight, saving only the married men with children who will defend the tribe here.”

Imogen left the ballroom and went into the gun room. She used the key on her chatelaine to unlock a gun cabinet and removed two shotguns and a Baker rifle. She gave the shotguns to George and Woodlock, and took the rifle to the landing window over the front door.

She saw Eusebius Reckitt weaving his way almost as if drunk towards the front door, and opened the window, waiting for him to be within shouting range.

“Eusebius!” she called. “Stop right there! You need help, and you need to turn yourself in! Put your hands on your head and kneel and wait to be taken in charge!”

He did not do so, of course, and Imogen had never really expected him to do so. She recalled a soldier in the hospital her father had set up, who had had a bullet removed from where it had lodged in his skull, who had gone insane, and tried to kill all the other soldiers and nurses. He had been shot by a wounded officer, which had shocked Imogen, but she remembered the young officer’s words. A crazy man, like a mad dog, could not be reasoned with, and there came a point when stopping him being a danger to others was more important than caring for him.

Eusebius pointed a finger at her.

“You! You’re nothing but a whore and I’m going to kill you and your unborn brat and Finchbury and his bastards!” he cried. Imogen took aim but continued speaking.

“Did not our Lord say that whoever placed a stumbling block in the way of a child should be cast into the ocean with a millstone tied around his neck?” she asked, mildly, seeking for a shot to wound, not kill.

“They are not children! They are demons! Gypsy demons!” howled Eusebius.

There was, indeed, no reasoning with him.  Imogen took aim and fired at his upraised pointing hand.

She took him in the forearm, and Eusebius fell over in shock.  George and Woodlock ran out of the front door, but somehow, Eusebius stumbled to his feet and ran off.

“Don’t pursue, he is completely unhinged, and dangerous, do not approach him,” she ordered. “Get back in the house and lock the door.”

“There’s only one of him...” started Woodlock.

“With a madman’s cunning and hysteric strength,” said Imogen. “Get someone with sharp eyes onto the top of the old tower to keep a watch out,”

 

oOoOo

 

“We’ll go up the back to reach the house,” said Evelyn. “Past the church; Cornelius, do you want to stop and warn your father?”

“Not when we have Shuri and the boys with us, no,” said Cornelius. “It would be like Eusebius to hold Papa and make me give myself up, and he won’t stop with me. In fact, I suggest we all get down low on the floor as we come up the drive.”

“It sounds overly cautious, but... very well,” said Evelyn. He rapped on the sliding door to the coachman. “Drive in the back and go fast,” he said. “Keep your blunderbuss with you, and if you are threatened, for pity’s sake use it, don’t throw it down and jump down like a lamb to the slaughter.”

“Yes, my lord,” said the coachman, chastened since his pusillanimous behaviour before Fowk.

The passengers got down on the floor as the carriage swept through the village, to the surprise of Bess and Stumpy. Bess licked Evergreen’s face and Stumpy wagged his stumpy tail at this new game.

They were to be glad they had done so; as the coach swung into the back drive, there was a loud shout, and shortly after the report of some firearm, and the rattle of shot on the coach body. One of the windows broke and Jasper flinched as a piece of glass cut his cheek. The coach bowled on, and came round and into the stable yard, and came to a halt.

“Get the gate shut!” shouted Evelyn, jumping out. “Anyone hurt?”

“Not badly,” said Jasper. “Diw! Though if that piece had gone straight down into my head, I’d have been dead,” he added, soberly, picking up the offending shard of glass, which was some five inches long with a pointed end.

“Right, that’s it, every able bodied man in the house and grounds can consider himself deputised as a constable, and let Eusebius Reckitt be brought in dead or alive,” said Evelyn. “Check over our riding horses, he was shooting with a shotgun, check he didn’t hit either.” He ordered the stable hands, and then led the passengers in through the stable door, coming face to face with George and Woodlock with shotguns.

“You heard, then,” said Evelyn. “You’re both constables, everyone is a constable, and whatever it takes it takes.”

“Silas saw him stabbing the tents,” said Woodlock. “Silas is on the tower with a musket, your lady wife is at the front overporch window with a rifle, and we’ve closed the place to protect the women.”

“There’s no telling what the fellow will do,” said Evelyn. “But I want every bucket and tub filled with water, and spare blankets soaked as I have every expectation that he will attempt to burn us out. The rooms off the terrace are vulnerable so we’ll be posting guards there.  We could chase him around for hours, and not get anywhere, because he is not acting rationally.”

“A couple of Rom trackers...” suggested Woodlock.

“Do you track mad dogs?” asked Evelyn.

“If a threat to our families? If we must,” said Woodlock.

A pair of small missiles hurtled in.

“Papa! Jasper!” cried Phebe.

“Ah, good, take Stumpy somewhere where you can nurse him, he has been kicked,” said Evelyn, dumping Stumpy’s basket in her arms. Phebe was best deflected with something to do.

“With your permission, I’ll take some of the lads and set up sundry snares,” said Woodlock. “If we ain’t tracking him, we know he’ll head back here, and we might as well make use of that to capture him.”

“So long as you remember that those big man-traps we have somewhere are not legal any more,” said Evelyn. Woodlock snorted.

“We’ll be a lot more subtle than that,” he said.

“Evelyn? Is that you?” Imogen’s voice called from upstairs.

“Yes, love, all back safely, and Corny gave us a lift,” called Evelyn.

It has to be said that Imogen sat down hard, and put her head between her knees. All back safely included Jasper; and indeed, Jasper found her thus when he ran upstairs looking for her, and gave her a fierce hug.

“Oh, Jasper! I am so glad to see you,” said Imogen.

“Crowy and two cousins of his are dead,” said Jasper. “I... I burned the house they were in.”

“Fitting enough considering they tried to do the same to Lementina,” said Imogen.

Jasper relaxed. He had been dreading telling her.

“Stay with me a while and help me keep watch,” said Imogen.

“Gladly,” agreed Jasper. 

Mrs. Hudson found them both asleep, and tutted. On the tower, Silas, Hesilla, and Evergreen were taking turns to watch, which made more sense, so Mrs. Hudson covered the sleepers with quilts and slipped pillows under their heads and demanded that Evelyn find some people able to use ‘that dratted rifle’ to take their place. Evelyn joined his wife and son with the taciturn Toby Petulengro, who had decided that any woman who could best him was worthy of respect and needed his support. Not knowing of the contretemps, Evelyn merely welcomed someone not overcome with the fatigue of being active for days on end, as he said.

“Rest. I watch,” said Petulengro. He did not say that he also respected a man who would kill Crowy Heron and his cousins; whatever the official story, the Lovell tribe believed that Evelyn had killed them. He would have no more trouble at all from this tribe.

Evelyn did as he was bid. He came awake like a cat as Petulengro blew in his ear. It was dark.

“Heard gravel,” Petulengro murmured right by his ear.

Evelyn was alert immediately, peering out into the night. There was no light on the landing, of course, in order to preserve their night sight. Imogen and Jasper also came awake as if sensing the tension. All heard a foot crunching and strove to see out into the cloudy night.

 

oOoOo

 

Eusebius had been nicked by the rifle bullet when Imogen fired, and he briefly came to his senses appalled by what he was doing, as the pain interrupted his crazed intent; unfortunately it was not enough, and he retreated, determined to pay back pain for pain, to wipe out the family who had stolen and corrupted his little brother, had even corrupted his father, and turned everyone against him. He had almost saved the soul of the girl, Mary, but the devils had corrupted her too. The Finch family were the embodiment of the devil and his demon spawn and must be excised, and the demons disguised as gypsies too. Had Eusebius been familiar with the works of Lord Byron, he would have recognised a line from ‘The Corsair’ in Evelyn, ‘There was a laughing devil in his sneer,’ but for Eusebius this was not a figure of speech but absolutely literal. Somehow, Evelyn had, in Eusebius’s mind, even infiltrated the church so that the Ecclesiastical Court unfrocked him, and sent him to a retreat with an alienist, a man who claimed to understand him, but plainly did not. Eusebius had suddenly realised that he was the only man in the world who could see clearly, and recognise the demons amongst them.

He had to arm himself.

He took himself to the rectory.

“Eusebius! My boy, what are you doing here?” his father, the traitor, who had turned on him. Eusebius snarled, and manhandled the rector into his study, where he proceeded to tie the rector to his chair, and took the key to his gun cabinet from the drawer. Augustus Reckitt had a fowling piece, which Eusebius thought scarcely adequate but it would have to do.

He also bandaged his hand, driving out the little maid with language so foul she fled in real terror and went to take refuge with Widow Hodges and her goats.

Hearing a carriage’s wheels, Eusebius burst out of the door in time to see the emblazoned carriage turn into the gates of the hall, and he fired, without expecting to do much harm, but hoping to frighten whoever was within.

Then he went to make himself a meal in the kitchen, with no thought for his father, tied up in the study, and to wait until dark. 

 

 

 

The scholar's sweetheart 19

 

Chapter 19

 

“For the information of any busy-bodies,” said Evelyn, icily, including in his address the groggy Sam, who was returning to signs of life, “I am Evelyn Finch, Marquis Finchbury, and with the help of the youngster here and his excellent dog, I have been rescuing my son, who is a lad of some twelve years old, who was kidnapped by Crowy Heron, who was a gypsy of whom any man should be wary; he is now dead along with two of his cousins.  My young friend is of the Lovell tribe who will deal fairly with anyone who will deal fairly with them. I pass on to you that they can be trusted to do a fair day’s work for a fair day’s pay. They help me with my harvests. There are gypsies and gypsies.”

Sam had sat up and was fingering his jaw, tenderly.

“You means, you ain’t a gypsy?” he burst out. “Why didn’t you say?”

“You didn’t give me time to do so, you big ox,” said Evelyn. “Moreover, the gypsy boy here is in my care, and under my protection, so I am bound to fight to protect him since you’re more than twice his size, and I call shame on any man of your size who would hit a child at all.”

“Go home, Sam,” said Harris. “You ain’t in any condition to drink or work, an’ in a week you can boast that you stood up against a real marquis and lost to the better man.”

“I still don’t like gypsies,” grumbled Sam.

“Nobody’s asking you to,” said Harris.

At that moment, the door opened, and Cornelius walked in, followed by Shuri, though Evelyn almost did not recognise her for a moment, with her aureole of curls.

“Corny!” said Evelyn.

Cornelius looked stricken.

“No Jasper?” he whispered.

“He’s upstairs, asleep,” said Evelyn.

Cornelius was in time to catch Shuri as she fainted.

“Let’s be having your parlour again, Harris, my friend,” said Evelyn. “The lady, though not my wife, is my son’s mother. I have an interesting family tree,” he added. “Tea, please.”

“Aye, well, that proves you’re an aristo,” said Harris. “Not just complex, but you takes it calmly.”

“I’ll go and see if he’s awake,” said Evergreen, sliding off up to see if he could rouse his friend and tell him his mother was there.

 

Jasper sat up when Evergreen touched him, ready to fight until he recognised his friend.

“Your mother’s here,” said Evergreen.

“Here?” said Jasper. “What do you mean, here?”

“Here at the inn, looking like a great lady, with Mr. Reckitt. Your – our- tutor.”

“What are they doing here?”

“Looking for us, but mostly for you,” said Evergreen. “Come on; she’s been wound like a watch, I think for she fainted.”

“Mother? She never faints,” said Jasper.

“Well, she did, when your da said you was upstairs,” said Evergreen. “He asked me to call him ‘Evelyn.’ I ain’t sure I’m comfortable.”

“Why not call him ‘Uncle Evelyn?’” suggested Jasper.

“Well, maybe I could live with that,” said Evergreen.

Jasper washed his face and followed Evergreen to the parlour. He was half afraid that he was dreaming, the way he had on that awful journey wrapped in the tent, and then in half-sleep in his hideout under the tree. Dreams where his mother survived, though he did not really believe that she had.

He came into the room and looked at the daybed where she reclined, sitting up now.

“Shuri? Mother?” he said.

“Jasper! Chavo!” she held out her arms, and Jasper stumbled into them.

“He said he’d killed Lementina for sure, and you were with her,” he sobbed. “Oh, I can’t stop crying!”

“It’s all right, my little boy, I’m here. I’m here. Lementina is still alive and fighting. We’re here.”

“Well!” said Evelyn. “How did you get here?”

“Carriage,” said Cornelius. “And to my mind we might as well all go home in it right away, because it’s only a little over an hour and I want to go back to my bed and sleep.”

“You never drove!” Evelyn was horrified.

“Of course I didn’t! You keep a competent stable of grooms and coachmen,” said Cornelius. “If you and I share one seat, and Shuri and the boys share the other, it will be fine, and your horses tethered behind.”

“And the mule,” said Evelyn. “And Bess and Stumpy on the floor of the carriage.”

“Sounds like a good idea to me,” said Cornelius. “Whenever you are ready.”

“Whenever your good lady is ready,” said Evelyn.

 

They were largely ready to leave after another half an hour, once Shuri, Jasper, and Evergreen had poured out their own stories. Evelyn returned to the bar, and peeled off several high denomination notes for Harris.

“I can’t take this, my lord, I’ve not done anything...”

“You were a haven in need, both going and returning, and what’s more you stood up for us to that bully-boy and the constable,” said Evelyn. “And any time you need anything, it’s yours.”

“Well, I don’t say I couldn’t use it to build an extension so I can offer more accommodation,” said Harris. “It’s my own place, not owned by a brewery so I can do as I please.”

“Well, let me know if you want an investor,” said Evelyn. “Would that mule be useful to you?”

“Well, to be honest, yes,” said Harris. “Poor thing needs feeding up and a bit of tender care.”

“I’ll leave it in your hands then,” said Evelyn. “I’m not sure it would be kind to make the poor beast keep up with a coach.” 

 

“It suits you, mother,” said Jasper. “You look very well as a lady. Are you going to marry Corny?”

“Yes,” said Shuri. “But you need to poke him into asking me properly and in front of the tribe with a proper proposal.”

“I can bring him up to snuff,” said Jasper.

“I didn’t mean to choose until we were all back home and had settled down to proper routines again,” said Shuri. “But... well, he’s always there for me. He caught me when I came over all unnecessary, when I heard you were alive, just as I was thinking that as you were not with Evelyn and Evergreen...” it was her turn to cry in Jasper’s arms.

“Diw! We are a pair,” said Jasper. “It’s all right, mam cariad.”

“You funny boy,” said Shuri. “Enid has always treated me with kindness, so I can see why you wanted to learn Welsh for her.”

“It feels right in my mouth,” said Jasper. “I will act as your go-between and tell Corny that he must make a good offer for you. I value my mother highly.”

“Don’t overdo it; he is not that well off,” said Shuri.

“Oh, I will negotiate more cleverly than that,” said Jasper. “He is to be sure that you have at least two new gowns a month and four bonnets a year, a library subscription, and the freedom to go off on your own when you feel a need.”

“Jasper! I do not need so much!”

“Of course you do, Ma. That’s a meagre amount compared to what Imogen expects, but is reasonable for a country lady. You can always have some as fabric to make up for yourself.”

“I prefer fewer gowns and have them off the peg,” said Shuri.

“No, no, no, you do not value yourself highly enough; made up for you by a seamstress, even if not by a modiste,” said Jasper. “You could pay Imogen’s sewing girl; she will be glad of more work.”

“I will leave it to you,” laughed Shuri.

“Good,” said Jasper. “Oh, I feel so much more the thing now I know you are alive. Pa said he thought you would live, but even he did not know, not when he left.”

“It looked worse than it is,” said Shuri. “I have had half my hair burned off, and Imogen is having a switch made with what was cut off on the good side, which she assures me can be added to my own hair as it grows and arranged, if I wish it, over something called a ‘rat,’ which is apparently padding to make hair look bigger.”

“Oh, I do not interfere in the affairs of women and their beauty products,” said Jasper. “I don’t believe in witchcraft and I eschew such cantrips and spells.”

“You would do well to learn something of them, dear one, to know what is real and what is artifice,” said Shuri. “My pretty curls are borrowed from the wig of some pirate, I believe.”

“What, old Prosper Finch? Famous!” said Jasper. “How anyone so mean-looking could be named Prosper I don’t know, unless he prospered by miserliness. He has the ugliest nose in the whole gallery, and his whiskers make him look like a villain, the way they stick out without a single softening curl.”

“You like having family, even those you can disparage, don’t you?” said Shuri.

“Yes, ma, I do,” said Jasper. “It’s good to have roots; I was born to be a Giorgio, really. I would not want to go back to the tribe, though sometimes I feel constrained, but Pa gives me a lot of freedom.”

“And if Cornelius can let me wander at times, and I would not mind if he came with me, I should not, I think, miss it,” said Shuri. “If he will tramp with me for two or three days at a time and sleep in a tent under the stars in good weather, and I’d be content for that to be on your father’s lands.”

Jasper nodded.

“I will see to discussing it,” he said.

 

The horses were happy to set off again, having rested, and they all got into the coach, Stumpy being carried.

“I’ve never longed so much to be going home,” said Evelyn. “It has become home, with Imogen, and with my children.”

“I think it is a pleasant region in which to live,” said Shuri, glancing at Cornelius.

“Could I build a little cottage on your land, rather than live in as tutor?” asked Cornelius. “I have pledged to care for Lementina as if she was my own mother, but my father would not, I think, accept her at the rectory, and if we have Eusebius spending any time....”

“Of course,” said Evelyn. “There’s the old gate keeper’s cottage before the new entrance was built, if you don’t think it too small. It has three rooms upstairs and three downstairs.”

“That seems quite suitable,” said Cornelius. “I have no need of a large cottage. I would make one of the downstairs rooms over for Lementina; am I correct in thinking that there is a small kitchen, a parlour in front, and a long room with plenty of windows overlooking the old way in, with a door into each of the other rooms, and the stairs up from the kitchen?”

“Yes, I believe that was how it was laid out,” said Evelyn.

“I will have one of the windows made into a French window, and a patio outside with one of those Italian conceits over, whaddya call it, a loggia, so she can sit outside even in inclement weather, if she chooses, and maybe build a fourth room upstairs on the loggia for any extra children... if I should be getting married.”

“You are, and I’m the go-between and you will have to listen to my demands,” said Jasper “But back home.”

“I am? Oh, Shuri!”

“No, we do not talk, you work with my go-between,” said Shuri. “If you want to do it, do it properly.”

“Yes, ma’am,” said Cornelius. “Why are we stopping? We cannot be there yet.”

The panel to the coachman opened.

“Beg pardon, my lord, we’ve been flagged down, a proper flag, and he looks respectable.”

“The devil we have!” said Evelyn. He helped himself to a pistol from the pocket on the door of the coach and got out of the coach on the near side. Cornelius took the other pistol, and slid out of the coach on the off side, to back up his friend against any more footpads, should there be any.

The man who had flagged them down wore Ecclesiastical black.

“My lord! It is you in the coach with your crest. I have to warn you, Eusebius Reckitt escaped from the custody of the alienist to whom he was confided, and he left a journal which made little sense save that he stated his intention to kill his brother, and the Finch family, ‘Grubbed out root and branch,’ is how he put it, and burn out the gypsies in their camp; and I fear he will set an ambush for you.”

“The hell!” said Evelyn. “Well, I have to walk into it; if he’s heading for the hall, my wife and any child she carries, and my daughter are there. I thank you for the warning. Tell the bishop that I cannot be held accountable for any man who threatens my family.”