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.”

 

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.