Chapter 53: A Forgiving Nature
He had made her angry again. Jane paced the floor of the Bordons' drawing room, terribly put out with her husband. Tavington had absolutely forbidden her to go to the aid of little Deborah Porter. They nearly quarreled in front of everyone, until Harriet Bordon, and then Bordon himself had intervened, and had given sound, rational arguments as to why Mrs. Tavington could be gone for two days from the children who depended upon her.
It was his tone: his hectoring, preemptory, "I am the Colonel' tone that had rankled. Furthermore, his dismissal of the girl's fate had seemed heartlessly cruel. Porter might have been a cheat and a villain, but the children—and probably, to some extent, Mrs. Porter—had been as much his victims as the Tavingtons. John was easier to move. Bitter and betrayed as he was, it was easier to make him see that they had a responsibility to the child.
Finally Bordon settled the matter. "I shall go. Yes, Mrs. Tavington, I shall go at once. My dear Harriet, ring and have the carriage sent round while I dress a little more warmly. I can be at Clacton in what--?"
"Three—no, nearly four hours," John allowed.
"Very well. I shall go and fetch the child. Expect me back early tomorrow"
Tavington snarled, "I won't share a roof with any of that man's get!"
Harriet tried to soothe him. "No, of course not, Colonel. No one expects it. The child can stay here a time, or with some respectable woman, until some sort of arrangement is made for her."
"I should go, too," John growled. "I daresay I shall have to pay the reward, and assure the magistrate that I am not pressing charges against the girl. It's too ridiculous. Besides, something may have been salvaged from the shipwreck. Porter owed me three thousand pounds. I daresay he had at least some of it with him. It would do no harm to ask." He eyed his weary servant. "Sorry, Pratt. I can see you're tired."
Harriet said, "He needs something to eat. Pratt, go to the kitchen, and Mrs. Arden will take care of you. It will be at least an hour before you can set out. I'll have Mrs. Arden pack a hamper for you all as well. Who knows when you will be able to dine?" Thinking a little more, she asked if any of the Porters' possessions remained at their house."The girl will need fresh clothing, certainly."
John grumbled, but gave a maidservant a key, and orders to look through the steward's house for anything a ten-year-old girl could wear. He flung himself into a chair, glowering. Harriet sighed, and ordered tea for everyone, and some substantial sandwiches to give the gentlemen strength on their journey.
Tavington leaned over and asked John quietly, "Do you have enough money on your person?"
"Eh? Oh, yes, plenty of money—it's just—damn it, Will! The man killed his family as surely as if he had taken an axe to them! That poor woman. Should I have done things differently? Perhaps if I had prosecuted the man, the rest of them would be alive."
Overhearing, Jane said fiercely, "It's not your fault! You were merciful and it's not your doing that the man was a fool and villain. I'm certainly not going to blame myself that his confederate attacked me. None of this is the child's fault either," she added, glaring at Tavington, who scowled back. "Let keep sight of whose fault this is!"
After a little more consultation, it was acknowledged that a woman should go along to care for the little girl. The Porters' old maidservant was found and hustled into the coach, which set off just a little before the hour was up. Tavington saw them off and drank a final cup of tea in silence, not understanding how Jane could care about the fate of an enemy's child. In South Carolina, children could be as dangerous as their parents. You never knew when one of the little bastards might be carrying a pistol or a knife. A sense of grievance could lead to a blood feud. It could be worse. At least the child is a girl. Perhaps that is why Jane can be so magnanimous.
He kept his temper with difficulty. He did not want to quarrel with Jane—not when she had been so kind to him and to little Thomas, not when he had nearly lost her in such a horrible way. He sighed, looking through the bare trees to Wargrave. Jane was very brave—and not just for a woman—but she didn't have a soldier's way of looking at things. Military justice was harsh, but necessary. Even very young soldiers were subject to the same punishments as veterans. Even little children suffered when their elders fought. Life is a battlefield. It is the natural order of things. I daresay it is hard for Jane to accept. She's much too soft-hearted.
Jane and Harriet talked quietly about the children. It was very calming to Jane, who could not understand how William could be so unfeeling to an orphaned child. If being a soldier had made him so hard-hearted, perhaps it might be best if William sold his commission and devoted himself to his literary pursuits. He would be home all the time, then. Yes, that's a nice idea. Being an officer is so expensive, anyway. Half of his wages at least must go to uniforms and horses and mess fees and the like. We could live well enough without it. He is so dissatisfied with the conduct of the war. Perhaps he could express himself more freely if he were not in the King's service.
After another half-hour, Jane felt they were calm enough to go home together peaceably. The servant was sent for Ash, who promptly hid under the bed, not wanting to stop playing with his friends. Betty hauled him out by his small feet, kicking and screaming, amidst the complaints of Robin and Susan. The howls trailed down the stairs, and did not improve Tavington's temper. Seeing how irritated he was, Jane took Ash in her arms and kissed him.
"Tomorrow, if you are good, Robin and Susan may come and pay us a visit. Can you be a good boy and stop crying?"
"Don't want to go!" Ash whined.
"Well," Jane said briskly, "it's time to go home. You don't want to stay so long that Susan and Robin are tired of you!"
"We're not tired!" Susan assured her, innocently and unhelpfully.
"Not tired 'tall!" Robin seconded.
"Well, you will be," Jane said, too frazzled to be patient. "We must go, and see to the babies. I would like to invite you all to call tomorrow, but if Ash is not going to be good—"
Ashbury sniffled and whimpered, "I'm good now."
"I hope so. Well—I hope to see you all tomorrow. Mrs. Bordon, thank you for your kind and patient hospitality."
Harriet smiled and kissed her cheek, whispering, "It's quite all right, my dear." Brisk in her turn, she said to her children, "Make your duty to Mrs. Tavington and the Colonel, children."
"Mrs. Bordon, good day to you," Tavington said, bowing respectfully.
They stepped out into the chilly world outdoors and all three of them sighed deeply. After a few yards, Tavington took the weepy Ash from Jane. "You're too big a baby for your sister to carry."
"Not a baby! I'm a big boy!" Ash pouted. "Down! I can walk!"
Gritting his teeth, Tavington set the little boy down gently, and took his hand. Ash walked manfully for a little way, before wanting "Up!" again.
Jane and Tavington did not speak during the short walk, but the cold air was bracing. By the time they entered the arched doorway at Wargrave, both of them were considerably cooled down. Jane spoke first.
"I'll take Ash upstairs. He needs a wash, and I must feed the babies."
"I'll carry him. I need to go upstairs and pull myself together for dinner anyway."
Jane was very glad to see Moll, and said so. The babies were beginning to fuss, hungry for their supper of milk. Jane collapsed wearily into the soft support of the chair, and let Moll arrange things.
"You look tired, ma'am."
"I am. The Colonel and I had a difference of opinion." Briefly she told Moll the news, and found that Moll had already heard it.
"Ma'am, the Colonel has the right of it. You couldn't go off and leave the babies, and you couldn't take 'em with you!"
"Yes, I know. It's just the way he said it that set me off. I don't like to be ordered about—I had quite enough of that from Papa!"
"If I were you, ma'am, I'd save my quarreling for a better cause. What about the little gal? Are they bringing her back here?"
"Not here. The Colonel refuses to house her here, and I think Sir John feels the same. They're very angry with Porter, and as he is dead, little Deborah is suffering their displeasure on her father's behalf. If it were up to me, I would take her in, for she's a nice child, and an innocent. I really don't think the Colonel will hear of it, and perhaps it is too much to expect him to tolerate one who will always remind him of such terrible events. I must do something for her, however."
Moll sat down, thinking. "Maybe it's best that she get away from here, ma'am. People'll always talk about her father. Maybe she should go where folk ain't heard of her Pa and what he did."
"Hmm." She blew out a breath, stirring the fine hairs on William Francis' little head. He wriggled, and she gave the top of his head a quick kiss. Then she felt obliged to kiss Thomas, too, lest he feel neglected. She turned Moll's words over in her mind.
"You know, I think you may be right. I could send her to school." She straightened, liking the idea more and more. "Yes! There must be a nice boarding school in Chelmsford or Colchester—no—perhaps that's too close. Perhaps London would be better, or somewhere north—"
"Somewhere where she ain't going to see the sea!" Moll suggested tartly.
"You're right! That would be terrible. I shall send a note to Mrs. Hindley. She has educated three daughters, and must have looked into a number of schools. Or perhaps Penelope—no, I don't want the girl to go to a charity school. She will suffer enough. I never went to school myself—I don't even know what the expense might be—"
"Well, ma'am—write your note. Give it to Young Joe to ride over to the Hindleys' and wait for an answer. There's naught to get stirred up about—she ain't going to be here afore tomorrow."
Shortly thereafter the note was written and sent. Jane and Tavington had a quiet dinner together, and then Tavington decided to make peace by drawing his wife into the library, for some pleasant time alone by the fire. Rambler wanted to sit with them, and stretched out by Tavington's chair, watching in bemusement as Nemesis and Jane played together with a length of crimson yarn.
Nemesis was very fierce indeed with the yarn, rolling onto her back and grabbing at it with a flurry of tiny claws and fangs. The end escaped her, and she watched, preternaturally alert, as it wriggled away. She pounced, so suddenly that Rambler barked in alarm. The play began again, and Nemesis got the yarn under her little body and sat on it, satisfied with her triumph.
"Well!" declared Jane in mock vexation, "I suppose you think you're very clever!"
"Nemesis always wins in the end, my Jane," Tavington observed. "What would you prefer? Chess or a book?"
"Oh, a book—especially if you read. I have some sewing to do, and it would be very pleasant."
"Have you ever read Smollett's Expedition of Humphry Clinker?"
"No. Miss Gilpin thought his books a little—risqué. Is the book amusing?"
"I like it. I think you'd find it very interesting. It's about a gentleman and his family who take a tour from their home in Wales all around Britain—to Bath and London, and then up to Scotland. They send letters home to their friends describing all the sights and their sometimes ridiculous adventures."
"That does sound nice—sort of a comedy cum travel memoir."
Tavington went to look for the book, and just as he was pulling it from the shelf, Young appeared in the doorway.
"You have a note, Madam. Joe has returned from the Hindleys."
Jane took the paper from the silver salver, and nodded a thanks to the butler. Tavington raised his brows.
"Is there something wrong with the Hindleys?"
"Not at all," said Jane, reading quickly through the contents. "I had a question about schools for girls and I thought that Mrs. Hindley would have some knowledge on that head."
Tavington was puzzled, and then realized on whose behalf she was asking. "Jane—you cannot mean to spend our money on that wretched Porter child!"
Jane shot to her feet glaring. "Mrs. Hindley says it would be only fifteen pounds a year including laundry! And I would use my money! I have money and I like Deborah and I will help her!"
Tavington rose, exasperated. "What money do you mean? I hope you are not—"
Jane whirled and ran from the room, calling over her shoulder, "I do have money! I can prove it!"
He dropped the book to the floor with thump that startled both animals. Nemesis darted under a chair, but Rambler followed his master, barking, as Tavington ran after Jane.
"You are the stubbornest creature I ever knew!" Tavington shouted, racing up the stairs behind her. "I cannot understand you!" He caught up with her in a moment, and grabbed her by the arm.
Jane jerked her arm free, and clattered angrily up the stairs, hiking her petticoats scandalously high. She pressed her lips together, and strode angrily to the door of the room and flung it open with a bang.
"Here!" Jane said, rifling through her chest of drawers. She threw aside some linen and produced a battered tin box. "Now you'll know my darkest secrets, and I hope you are satisfied!"
She snatched off the lid and held it out for his inspection. "Here is four hundred sixty-five pounds, four shillings, and sixpence. It is the last of my money from the days before we married. This was my nest egg if disaster befell me. With this I paid off Miss Gilpin when my father cheated her, I bought Letty's clothing for our journey to England, and I outfitted Moll. You simply thought I was frugal! Well-- I am, but the rest I kept to live on in case—in case—" her eyes filled with tears.
Tavington stared at her in bewilderment. "In case—what?"
"In case you took my money and deserted me!"
"Jane!" He sat down heavily on the bed. "You cannot still have that ridiculous idea in your head! I leave you? Perhaps you mean if you ran away from me!"
"I would never do such a thing!"
"Then why hide this money from me?" He thought a little longer, and got up. He took her firmly by the shoulders. "Jane. I am not going to leave you, ever. I swear it." With a finger he brushed away a tear. "Nor will you leave me. For if you did I would—what was it you once said?—'hunt you down. You'd never escape me.' Well, I feel exactly the same." Seeing how upset she was, he softened his tone. "I am very glad you have this money, my darling. It's nice for you to have a little cache when you wish to be extravagant or charitable. I just don't understand why you want to spend it on this little chit whose father betrayed us. You are too forgiving, Jane!"
She gave him a quick hard glance. "Well for you that I am!"
"What do you mean?" he asked in surprise.
"You cannot have it both ways, William. I forgave you completely, and I accepted your little Thomas into my home and heart. He shares my very milk with my own son. If I can forgive that, how can I not forgive an innocent little girl who never did me harm? Thomas is no more innocent than she. If you were consistent, you would dislike me for the sake of my father. I cannot be hard with one and soft with another. I am what I am, and I cannot be cruel to a child."
He wrapped his arms about her and pressed her close. "No, I would not want you to be that sort of woman. Do as you please with the girl, but don't expect me to tolerate her under our roof."
She softened a little in her turn. Setting down the box, she held him tightly. "I don't expect it. I know you find it hard to forgive a wrong. Besides, it would not be good for the child. Who knows what ill-natured people might say to her behind my back? I shall send her to this school Mrs. Hindley recommends. It is far away in a little village near Northampton, and no one other than the Headmistress need know about her father. I shall ask Miss Gilpin to help me, too. Deborah can be sent with a servant to Biggleswade, and then Miss Gilpin can take her on to the school."
He gave her a long, warm kiss. "That is a very sensible and humane plan. The sooner she leaves the neighborhood, the better—for her too. Write to your old friend at once, and I'll have a manservant ride there directly. It can all be settled by the time we are ready to leave for London. I am very happy you have some extra money to spend as you like. Now, are you still angry with me?"
"A little."
He kissed her again.
She persisted. "Don't order me about like one of your dragoons. I already know I must obey you. It's not necessary to hector me."
"I lost my temper. I was thinking only of you. Are you sure you want to actually see the girl? Will it not distress you?"
She let him kiss her again, and cooperated more fully. After a moment, she replied, "Not at all. I have no difficulty separating her from her wicked, silly father. Neither should you."
He took her by the hand and led her to the bed. "Then let us be friends again."
Rambler was sitting up, watching them attentively. Tavington noticed him and grimaced.
"Out! Go see Moll!"
He shooed the dog away and shut the door. Through it, they could hear Moll in the nursery, laughing at them.
------
The next day was a bustle of activity. Jane asked Pullen if the remaining scraps of the bombazine would make a mourning dress for a little girl.
"'Twould be a short and skimpy thing, ma'am."
"Perhaps I had better send to Chelmsford and see if the shop has any of it left."
"'Tis is a good thought, ma'am. If it would not be too great a liberty, perhaps I could go myself and see that it was the same stuff. There's a fearsome deal of other things we need. If you've a mind to outfit Deborah Porter, she'll need a cloak and gloves and a trunk and all. Not that I'm getting above myself, ma'am, but I could discharge it all faster and better than another. Then there's the fine linen for the babes, and some broadcloth for to make some little coats, and you wanting a new petticoat and sleeves for your own gown, and—"
"You're quite right," Jane surrendered. "Let us make a list immediately. Have a good breakfast and then go at once. Let us see if Moll needs anything."
As it happened, there was plenty that Moll wanted, but not much that she needed instantly. "I'll be London soon enough, but maybe things can be got cheaper in Chelmsford. If you would, Miss Pullen, take this money and buy me three shirt lengths of decent linen. I've a mind to make some for my Tom, by way of a wedding present. 'Twill be an occupation when I'm in town. If there's a bit left, pick up a huswife for the poor little gal so she can do a bit of sewing. 'Twill take her mind off her troubles."
"Well thought of, Moll. Pullen, here is my list. Young Joe will go with you and carry the parcels. Do try to keep warm."
She spent the morning with the babies, helped by Rose. Tavington filled the time by taking a gun out, accompanied by Moll and Tom and Rambler, to do a bit of shooting. Jane heard some shots echoing in the distance, and hoped he was having a good time. He was in a better humor this morning, resigned to his wife's patronage of the little orphan. He was even amused by the tin box, and promised to get her something more fitting to hold her darkest secrets when they returned to London. A little before noon, Sir John appeared, walking up the lane. Jane greeted him, anxious to hear the whole story.
"I'm half-starved, Mrs. Tavington. Could I wheedle a shred of sustenance from the kitchens?"
In short order, the dining table was laden with cold ham and cold pigeon pie: with pickles, with thick-sliced bread and cheese. Tavington appeared, somewhat tidied, to enjoy the collation with his brother, while Jane waited impatiently for the story.
"Ha! Mulled cider!" John exclaimed, breathing in the fragrant steam. "I love my cook—in a perfectly chaste and appropriate way, of course," he grinned. "Well, well! I can see you want to know what happened, Mrs. Tavington, so I'll tell you without more ado. The child is found and is put to bed at the Bordons' even now. Mrs. Bordon ordered a basin of soup for her. Needs something hot and wholesome in her, poor little mite."
Tavington carved a generous slice of ham for Jane. "Did you have to pay the reward?"
John grumbled, "Oh, yes. No help for it. The fellow held to his rights, and I can't say I blame him. I should have written the notice more clearly. It is hard, though, to lose another fifty pounds on top of the money that went to the bottom with Porter."
"It is all lost, then?" Jane asked.
"Everything. The wind blew up, the boat capsized, and the only thing found was the girl. They righted the boat, but everything it had carried was gone. If anything floated to shore, nobody's telling, and that's their right, of course—the salvager owns what he finds. Hard luck on me, but there it is."
"What about Deborah? Did they use her very ill?"
"It could have been worse. Some old woman was looking after her until the bailiffs came and took her to gaol. Her clothing was rather the worse for wear, naturally, and had only just dried. I'll say for the old woman that she made them wait until the girl was dressed before she let them take her. The gaoler put her in a cell by herself, so she wasn't pawed by the inmates. The gaoler's wife even fed her fairly well. Of course," he said, looking uncomfortable, "she had seen her family drown only a few days before, and some pretty hard things were said to her. She was frightened half to death by the sight of me, but Bordon calmed her down and told her you weren't dead—she had some idea that you'd been murdered, from all the gossip—and that nobody was going to hang her. I passed a bit of money to the right people last night, and they released her to me early this morning. Bordon and I thought we'd best be off before they changed their minds and held her until the quarterly Assizes."
"That was very kindly done of you, Sir John. I shall go to the Bordons' directly and see her."
"Jane is concocting a scheme to send the girl away north to school as soon as possible," Tavington told his brother. "Her friend Miss Gilpin will be asked to help."
"Very kind of you," John said, quaffing more cider. "Good idea all around to get her out of the way of gossip."
"I shall bring back Susan and Robin to play with Ash when I return, " Jane said. "I promised that they could visit, even if Harriet is too busy."
"I shall go with you," Tavington said. "There is no need for you to walk alone."
Rambler went with them too, trotting alongside amiably. He had had a good hunt, and was rather full of himself. He lounged politely while Tavington got the rest of the story from Bordon.
Meanwhile, Harriet took Jane upstairs to look in on little Deborah. The curtains were partly drawn. In the grey light, the child looked dead at first. Jane shivered, and then made herself sit on the edge of the bed.
"Deborah. It is I, Mrs. Tavington."
The girl's heavy eyes opened, looking at Jane with inexpressible relief. "Oh! You're not dead! Sir John said you weren't, but people don't always tell children the truth. I was so frightened."
The girl struggled to sit up, and Harriet put a helping hand behind her back. The pillows were arranged, and Deborah reached out a tentative hand. Jane took it and smiled kindly at her.
"I am perfectly well. I had a bad fright, but the Colonel kept me from harm. I am very sorry about your family, my dear. No one blames you, and I will see that you are cared for."
Deborah burst out--"I knew that we were leaving forever when Papa made us pack everything. Mamma knew it too. He had been taking bits out to the road for weeks, and hiding them in the hollow oak at the crossroads. Mamma cried that day, and said that Sir John would chase us, but Papa said that that horrible man who stayed with us would frighten you, and everyone would be looking so hard for him that no one would think about us. I'm sorry he frightened you. That was a mean trick. I knew you were coming that day, and I asked Mamma to send a note to you to tell you we were gone, but she said Papa wouldn't hear of it. Then they said that man killed you and I was an accomplice—"
Jane hugged the little girl tightly. "You are nothing of the sort. Your father was foolish to trust such a bad man, but I know your mother and the other children had no part in it. I am not angry with you. Now—here—" she gave the girl a handkerchief. "Keep that. It's yours."
"What's going to become of me?" Deborah whimpered. "The gaoler's wife said I would be sent to debtor's prison if I didn't hang, because Papa owed Sir John money. Set me to work as a servant, but please don't send me to prison!"
Jane answered, more fiercely than she meant to. "No one's sending you to prison!"
Harriet touched her shoulder warningly, and told the girl, "You may stay here until other plans are made. You need food and rest and quiet. You need fear nothing here."
"Oh, yes! Thank you, Mrs. Bordon! I wish you had come a long time ago!"
Jane sighed, wishing the same. None of this might have happened if John had not neglected to appoint a clergyman to this parish. She said only, "I have been thinking about what is best for you. I have decided to send you to a good school a friend recommended."
"School?" Deborah asked, very surprised. "But I can already read and write and do plain work—"
"That is all very well," Jane told her, 'but I have in mind sending you to a school where you will receive a gentlewoman's education. At Mrs. Cooper's school you will learn all the proper branches of study: music, drawing, mathematics, fine sewing, and languages. It will fit you to earn your living as a schoolteacher or governess. It is a fine, healthy place, I'm told, and Mrs. Cooper is a kind woman. First we shall help you recover, and then we shall outfit you properly. If you feel able to stand, we need to measure you now for some clothing."
The maid was called, and told to bring the sewing box. With Harriet's help, Deborah was eased out of bed, clad only in a ragged shift. Her measurements were quickly taken, and then noted down. She climbed gratefully back in, and Jane and Harriet sorted through her pathetic garments.
Harriet whispered, "She needs everything. Robert had to wrap her in a blanket for the journey back. So far she shows no signs of infection, thank God. She must have a very strong constitution."
Overhearing them, Deborah cried, "I wasn't strong enough! I wasn't strong enough! Papa and the boatman were arguing so, and nobody was watching when the wind changed. The wave came, and the boat when up and up and up and then it twisted over. Everything slid sideways. The boatman was hit on the head by the sail swinging around and then Mamma screamed and screamed. She was holding onto Prissy so tight and her cap went flying—"
"Oh, Deborah," Jane groaned, sitting down and taking the girl's cold hands in her own.
"Let her talk if she needs to," Harriet murmured.
"—And then the water rushed up to us and it covered us. It was so cold I stopped breathing for a second, and then I kicked hard and I fought and my hand hit the side of the boat. I took a big breath and I started climbing. And then I saw Papa farther off and Harry was crying for help. I called to Papa, too, but he swam to Harry and they tried to get back to the boat. Papa was pushing Harry at me, and I tried to reach for his hand and pull him up, but I wasn't strong enough! My hand was so cold that I couldn't hold on any more, and Harry let go and went under again. Papa dived down, and then another wave came and the boat rocked so I thought it would turn over again. I saw Papa once more. Just his head, and he was looking around and calling, "Harry! Harry!" and then there was another wave and he was gone. And I was all alone."
"My dear child," Jane croaking, crying herself. "I'm so sorry!"
Harriet sat on her other side, and said, "Never blame yourself, Deborah. God in his mercy spared you, and you did nothing wrong. It was for your parents to protect you and your brother and sisters. Your father was foolish to trust a wicked man, but he suffered and paid for his mistake. God understands when people make mistakes, and as for your innocent mother and the children, I promise you that God has them safe in his care and they have nothing more to fear ever. You must be a brave girl and live for them. Never blame yourself for living." She wiped the girl's tear-stained face with a damp cloth. "I want you to sleep now. My maid Sarah will sit with you. Close your eyes and rest."
They left the room and shut the door silently.
"That stupid man," Jane whispered bitterly.
Harriet was firm with Jane, too. "He's dead, and he died knowing that he had killed his family. That pays for all. I like your idea about the school. When do you plan to send her?"
"As soon as she's well enough. I have sent my maid to Chelmsford to buy some things for her. A letter was dispatched to my old friend in Biggleswade. Deborah can be sent there first, and then Miss Gilpin can escort her to Little Brockham, near Northampton. No one need know the story, and she will have a good education. I've always found her a sensible, good-hearted child, and this will give her a chance in life."
Harriet embraced her. "You are a very fine person to care for this little orphan. Please allow me to help in the sewing. I don't know what to do about her shoes, though. The saltwater has turned them nearly green. They dried partly on her feet, and so they still fit after a fashion, but they look dreadful. There is no proper cobbler resident at Wargrave Cross, as I understand."
"I had thought to have Miss Gilpin see to that in Biggleswade. Deborah can stay there a week or two before she goes on to school."
They went down the stairs together, an arm about the other's waist. The men looked up, both smiling to see such signs of amiability between their wives.
"All sorted out, then?" Tavington said, with a lifted brow.
"For the most part. I sent Pullen to Chelmsford this morning to make some purchases, both for the child and for us. We shall outfit her and send her to Biggleswade very soon, as long as she does not fall ill."
Tavington rose, "Well then, let us take your children off your hands for the afternoon, and perhaps the two of you can have some peace! Bordon, you look all in, man."
"I am, rather."
"You are certain you don't mind?" asked Harriet.
"Not at all. We promised to have the children visit, and they can walk over with us."
The children were brought down, and wrapped up against the cold, and the Tavingtons gave a hand to each, while a happy Rambler herded them all home again.
-----
That was not the only excitement of the day. Late in the afternoon, after Pullen had returned and the little Bordons been taken home, an express rider rode up to the door of Wargrave Hall.
"For Mrs. Tavington," they were told, and Jane wondered what thunderbolt would strike them now.
"It is from Letty," she said, rather bemused by the contents.
January 8, 1782
My dearest, dearest sister,
I am well. I am sending this by express because I wanted you to speak to you right away. Lord Fanshawe would think me silly, but I have money now, and my friend Lady Carteret told me how to send an express. I did not give the letter to Mr. Speedwell because I decided that I do not want him reading my letters. Also I did not want him tattling to Lord Fanshawe that I had sent an express.
There is no alarm. I just wanted to talk to you and know that it would not take weeks for this to reach you. It is silly and extravagant, but I don't care. I miss you terribly. Please come to London. I know you like Wargrave Hall, but please come to London. I want to sit and talk with you. I am with child, and I need you so!
Lord Fanshawe and I make for London tomorrow, but slowly. We shall pass through Oxford, for Lord Fanshawe wants me to see the varsity where he studied. He did other things there, he admits, but he speaks very fondly of his teachers, too. He went to Jesus College there. Then we will spend some days with his friends who have a great country house, and then south to stay with another old friend at his place.
There was a great Twelfth Night Ball here, even though it was Sunday. Lord Fanshawe does not care about such things. His family was invited and many other friends. It was fairly clear and we looked at the half moon through our telescope. It was cold, and thus every one was wrapped in grand cloaks and furs. I was praised for providing a novel entertainment.
Bath was very nice. I went to the theater eight times. The latest play I saw was The Rivals. It was very funny and Captain Jack Absolute reminded me of the Colonel. We drank the waters nearly every day and his Lordship went to the hot bath often. He did not recommend it for me, though. I was glad. I saw the women bathing. They get all sopping wet in their clothes. One lady's petticoat slipped from her and she had to call her maid to dive under the water to retrieve it. The poor girl was a sight when she came up to the surface again.
I danced a great deal and heard some fine music. We met the Duke and Duchess of Devonshire, and she was most elegant and civil, though she and the Duke speak in a ridiculous way. There were endless balls and dinners that we gave or attended. I long for London and you.
Dearest sister, when I am back in the London house I have devised a plan for my days that will be better than constantly concerning myself with fashion.
Eight o'clock-- Rise and Dress (I know it sounds late, but we keep such hours, I do not know how I shall rise any earlier and still get any sleep)
Nine o'clock-- Meet with the housekeeper and cook.
Ten o'clock-- Write letters and practice music.
Eleven o'clock-- Breakfast (His lordship never takes breakfast any earlier)
Noon –A lesson of some sort. I shall have our good friend Mr. Bellini twice a week. On the other days (except Sunday, of course) I shall have lessons in Drawing, French, and Italian.
One o'clock—Dress to go calling on the days that I go out. Otherwise I shall have nice long lessons.
Two o'clock—Morning Calls except on Sunday, of course, and Wednesday, when I shall be At Home to receive visitors. Do you think Wednesday is a good day? What day will you be At Home? If you want Wednesday I can choose another day.
Four o'clock—A dish of tea, either at home or with a friend. The Painted Parlor is so pretty. You must see it.
Five o'clock—Dress for dinner
Six or seven o'clock—Dine, depending upon our evening plans.
The rest of the evening to be as guests or hosts of some entertainment, for his lordship never spends a quiet evening at home.
On Sundays I shall go to church and do a great deal of reading. I imagine we shall give dinners on Sundays sometimes. I want you to be our very first guests.
As you see I spend a great deal of time dressing. Lord Fanshawe expects me to look very fine. My maid are sweet girls, and I am learning some French from them. Lord Fanshawe feels I must learn French and Italian. I am sure Mr. Bellini will help me with Italian. Perhaps you would like to learn Italian, too? You could come and we could practice together.
His lordship is resolved that we arrive in London by the sixteenth. Surely the Colonel will allow you to come to London. I long to see William Francis and Little Ash again, too. Mama loved Little Ash so much. His lordship has urged me to give all the little boys good presents. I shall wait until we meet in London, so you can tell me what would be most welcome.
I pray you are well, and believe me
Your most loving sister,
Letty
"Well," asked Tavington, "what is the matter? Is she ill?"
"She says not." Jane smiled, rather tenderly. "She is with child. She misses me and begs me to come to London, where she will be on the sixteenth."
"A child! Fanshawe must be insufferably smug, the old lecher!"
"I am sure she is very happy about it."
"So much the better! You may debate the matter with me, but I know you will willingly oblige your sister, especially if she is in such a condition."
"You have already convinced me. I hope she is not unhappy. She does not say she is, but she sounds very lonely. She is eager for improvement and learning when she comes to London."
Jane read out Letty's projected daily schedule, which drew a snort from Tavington.
"Very praiseworthy, I daresay, but I doubt either her health or the whirl of London will allow her to honor it. So, Mrs. Tavington, when will you be 'At Home?'"
"Often, I hope! But not on Wednesdays, it seems. On Wednesdays, I shall spend the afternoons with Lady Fanshawe. And I would like to learn some Italian. Perhaps she could have her lesson in that subject on Wednesdays."
"Why? So you two and your friend Bellini can keep secrets together?" Tavington said, trying to keep his tone light. Jane thumped his arm, with a little disbelieving laugh.
Tavington smiled back, but truth be told, he rather resented Bellini. The man had written several times to Jane, and his letters always made her laugh. Bellini was older than Tavington, and quite ugly, in his opinion; but he was Italian, and a musician, and altogether a smooth, plausible fellow. Just the sort to try to deceive a trusting woman. Jane was probably too clever for him, but Letty might be vulnerable, especially if she were unhappy in her marriage. He must keep an eye on the business, and warn Jane if necessary. Not now, though. He did not want to throw cold water on anything that drew her to London.
-----
On Friday a servant arrived from Mortimer Square, bearing Jane's traveling habit, wrapped in heavy paper. Pullen made her try it on, and they both admired it. Very plain, as mourning clothes should be, but also very elegantly cut and finished off with great skill.
In the meantime, the Wargrave Sewing Society (President, Mrs. William Tavington, Vice-President Mrs. Robert Bordon) had made evident its own industry and resourcefulness. Their first achievement was a soft and warm little dress of the bombazine for Deborah Porter, so she could leave her bedchamber without appearing like a scarecrow. She wanted to help with the sewing, so Harriet cut some squares of linen and had the child bind the edges for handkerchiefs. Deborah was very timid about appearing downstairs, and took her meals in the nursery, where she made herself useful. The rest of the sewing was doled out to every woman in the Tavington and Bordon households: to one a shift, to another a petticoat, or a cap.
Nonetheless, Tavington caught a glimpse of her on a visit. A pale, washed-out looking child: probably paler than usual because of the contrast with the sooty black of her clothing. Long, light brown hair and a plain but clever little face. He looked again, and felt a surge of pity. He did not know if Jane acknowledged the resemblance, but her interest in the girl was no longer a mystery—or even a grievance –to him.
That afternoon, he went up into the attics of Wargrave Hall and found some things of his sisters' that had been put away and forgotten. An old tortoise-shell toilet set: brush and comb and little hand-mirror, still serviceable if not very grand; and an unused leather-bound notebook that Lucy had intended for a diary, but had neglected. There was a silver chatelaine that he thought might have been Caro's: it pinned to the waist of a gown and attached to it with delicate chains were a penknife, a thimble, a needlecase, a tiny crystal bottle for scent or smelling salts, and a small pair of scissors in a case. A bundle of drawing pencils would be just the thing to amuse a child. A curious little box of inlaid wood caught his eye. The items were gathered up and left on the sewing table in the dressing room without comment. Jane said nothing herself, and packed them away amidst the growing pile of possessions in the child's new trunk.
The men went out shooting every morning. In the afternoons, Bordon saw his parishioners and worked on his upcoming maiden sermon. Tavington and his brother rode all over the estate, visiting the farmers, the villages, and the clergymen, talking and planning. Lord Colchester's steward, Mr. Somerville, produced a nephew whom John thought might do very well in Porter's place. They went in detail through the account books, glad that much of the debt had been made good, and sorry about the rest.
"I'll admit I'm put out about losing that three thousand," John told Tavington in private. "I'd intended to set the entire amount aside for Fanny, and now I must start over. Perhaps I'll have some luck at the tables back in London. If I do, I swear that I shall put the first five thousand I win in the funds for my daughter, so help me God!"
Tavington grunted in sympathy, but the conversation reminded him that John was still far richer than he could ever hope to be. He and Jane now had three boys to provide for, and only the interest from Jane's money and his own wages to live upon. The boys would need money of their own. Will did not even have the six hundred pounds Ash and Tom possessed. Young officers could not possibly live on their meager wages. Tavington knew that from humiliating experience. His memoirs, though a favorite project, were unlikely to earn much money, if any. They would keep him in the public eye, and with luck, benefit his former soldiers.
The real money was in government appointments. Many men had made fortunes as paymasters or controllers or some such. Much as he had loved this short time in the country, Tavington knew he must return to London and be prepared to do whatever was necessary to push his fortunes at Court and in the Army.
-----
Sunday arrived, and the bells of the Wargrave Cross Church, so long silent, rang out again. Bordon had settled the verger, sexton, and parish clerk in their old offices. The parish turned out in force to hear their new vicar. Tavington went dutifully, his arm in Jane's, and John of course came too, rather heavy-headed from too much good wine the night before.
Moll and Tom sat together in the back, longing to hear the banns for their upcoming wedding. Moll looked surprisingly genteel in her black gown, but her smile was very wide for anyone wearing mourning.
The Tavingtons sat together in the family pew, which was alarmingly visible to the entire congregation. Harriet sat in the vicar's pew. Bordon spoke on charity, and the text was from the reading from the New Testament was First Corinthians, chapter thirteen.
"When I was a child, I spake as a child. I understood as a child, I thought as a child: but when I became a man, I put away childish things. For now we see through a glass, darkly: but then face to face: now I know in part: but then shall I know even as also I am known. And now abideth Faith, Hope, Charity, these three; but the greatest of these is Charity."
It was a very good sermon. Bordon had a clear and resonant voice that carried well, and his delivery was serious without pomposity, and sincere without wild-eyed enthusiasm. Harriet was smiling, even throughout the most solemn parts, tremendously proud of her husband.
Tavington hoped that his friend had found his niche. Bordon was a clever fellow with a good heart. He had seen enough of life not to be easily shocked, and would take his duties here seriously, just as he done his duties in the army. Currently, Bordon was most concerned about the parish school, and was trying the trace the whereabouts of the former schoolmaster.
The banns were published, not just for Moll and Tom, but for five other couples. Bordon would be busy with marriages alone. The Bordons were invited to dine that night at Wargrave, and everyone cherished the time they had left together.
"But we will meet again soon!" Jane comforted herself and the rest. "The Colonel and I will return on the twenty-sixth, and see dear Mrs. Royston married the following Monday. By that time you will be well settled in the neighborhood. Everyone is so pleased with you!"
When the ladies withdrew after dinner, they talked again about Deborah's belongings. She was looking better: still sad, but now looking forward to going to a real school for young ladies.
"Robert will take her to Biggleswade on Tuesday," Harriet told Jane. "Your Miss Gilpin knows him, so it seemed the best thing. It is but thirty-four miles, so he plans to rest the horses and return later the same day."
"Does he have the money in a convenient place—" Jane began anxiously.
"Yes, yes! My dear Jane, he has the purse you gave him with the fees, and the traveling money for Miss Gilpin, and the money for the shoes and other incidentals, and some spending money for Deborah herself. Everything is packed and ready, as you know perfectly well!"
Jane smiled wanly, still afraid there would be some unexpected trouble. Miss Gilpin had replied by the same courier who had brought her Jane's letter. She was perfectly happy to be of assistance to Jane's protégée, the poor little orphan. The child could stay with her until Miss Gilpin felt she was ready to go to school. Jane's money would pay handsomely for a hired carriage that would take them to Mrs. Cooper's, and then return Miss Gilpin to her home.
Deborah had been instructed to write regularly to Mrs. Tavington and Mrs. Bordon, and was provided with sufficient writing materials.
"I thought it a very good idea," Harriet remarked. "No matter how decent people are, it does no harm for them to know that others are watching how a child is treated." She gave Jane a fond hug. "Stop at the vicarage when you leave tomorrow, no matter how early. I want to kiss the children goodbye, and Susan and Robin will be heartbroken if they cannot see you all before you go to London."
"We shall, of course."
-----
Even John was up and about early that morning. The children were fed and dressed warmly, the trunks were loaded into the carriage, and Jane arrayed herself in her handsome new mourning garb. Gloomy as her appearance was, it was very stylish.
Rose cried to see them go, even with Jane's assurances that they would be back in three weeks and by that time Rose would be safe forever from the smallpox and would returning with them to London. All the servants gathered to see them off, and Jane and John and Tavington himself had to stand and submit to the fond tears and kisses of the elderly Mrs. Carter and Maggie Jeffreys.
The brothers would travel on horseback, as would the two valets, leaving the coach for Jane, her two maidservants, and the children. Rambler stood whimpering by Tom Young, who held the dog by the collar, lest he run after his people. Moll was good-humored as ever, but very sleepy. Jane suspected that she and Tom had bid a fond farewell to each other at length the night before.
"Are you feeling well, Moll?"
"Never better. Swelled-up like a dead toad, here and there, but t'ain't nothing I can't handle. I'll miss Tom, but I'll go to the shops and get us all set up, while Tom has some fellows in to fix up the cottage. A bit of carpenter's work—and a cradle—and there ain't going to be a better house in England!"
Ash was happy to ride in the carriage, once he saw that everyone was going, but it was clear that he did not understand that they would not soon return to Wargrave Hall. They got out at the Bordons' and were kissed again. Susan and Robin lined up, looking upset, and Deborah Porter stood with them, tears in her eyes.
"Well, well," muttered John. "You're a good girl, Deborah. I hope you find the school to your liking."
Impulsively he reached into a pocket and gave her two gold guineas. Tavington smiled tightly, and hoped that Ash would not throw a tantrum when they left. At least he would be in the coach, and Tavington would not have to hear the wailing from close quarters.
However, Ash was put out because he wanted to ride on the horse with the man he had now learned to call "Kernah." Not wanting a scene, Tavington took the little boy in front of him on his saddle, hoping the child would soon tire. They waved, and blew kisses, and Ash sat up straight, very proud to be riding with the men.
Jane sighed and sat back on the cushions, knowing the babies were bound to cause trouble eventually. No use in repining: she looked forward to being in London, even if she did not look forward to the journey. She looked back, seeing the corner of Wargrave Hall behind her through the trees, massive and reassuring. It would be here whenever she might come back. Reluctantly, she glimpsed the part of the lane that would always fill her with dread. It too was falling behind, as the coach picked up speed. The kind voices faded into the noise of the rolling wheels. In time, they bounced and jounced over the joining with the London road, and were well on their way. In the spring, Jane thought, John must have the road repaired.
She peered through window, wondering which was the hollow oak that Porter had used to hide his family's belongings. For some time, the babies wanted attention, and Jane played with them, hoping to keep them happy. Another mile, and Ash was tired, and was handed into the carriage and settled down for a nap, his head in Moll's comfortable lap. Pullen's fingers worked busily at her sewing, while Jane dozed, and waked, and completely missed the part of the road where the Carvers had attacked them months before.
Ash woke, and grew restless. "I'm hungwy."
A hamper was opened, and he was given a piece of bread and butter, and a little cup of cider.
"I need to pee."
He balked at using the little pot in the coach. Moll was a little uncomfortable herself: so in the end the coach slowed, and stopped, and the women took turns walking out of sight, along with Ash, who wasn't sure he really needed to go after all, but then, going back to the coach, had to go right away.
Jane's patience was stretched thin. She was almost cross with Tavington, lounging comfortably in the saddle, smiling at her with ironic resignation. It was at this halt that they noticed a straggler following them, sore-footed but undaunted.
"You idiot dog!" Tavington said, amazed. "Look, John! That ridiculous dog has tracked us the entire way. Here! Rambler!"
Rambler loped toward him, tongue flapping to the side, and made a spectacle of himself as he rolled over on his back and fawned at the feet of Tavington's horse. Jane poked her head out of the coach.
"Is that Rambler? How is it possible?"
"It is, but I don't think he can keep up much longer. Would it be too impossible for him to ride in the coach?"
"Wambler!" Ash screeched.
Thus it was that Rambler scrambled up the steps and abased himself doggily once more. He was moderately pleased to see Pullen, rather pleased to see the babies, quite pleased to see Jane, very pleased to be hauled about by Ash's eager hands, and sublimely overjoyed to be with Moll again.
Jane grinned shamelessly. "We must never tell the Colonel, but I suspect that the poor dog was following you."
Moll chuckled, and buried her fingers in Rambler's thick coat. "He's a good dog, that's for sure."
They were rolling again.
"I'm tired," Ash announced.
He did not want to lie down here, he said. He was tired of riding in the coach. He wanted to go to his bed in the nursery and be with Rose. Jane wondered how the Bordons had managed to cross the Atlantic without committing mayhem on troublesome little boys.
The babies cried, and needed to be changed, and needed to be fed, and then it was getting to be past their usual dinner time. They were approaching London at last, and Jane's urgings that Ash be patient were growing a little more clipped. Rambler was the best behaved of her charges, stretched out serenely on the floor of the coach. Finally Ash consented to lie down by the dog, and rested his blond head on the shining russet back. Rambler panted with content, smiling broadly.
Jane was so relieved to be turning into Oxford Street that she nearly cried. Buildings grew familiar: the houses grew more expensive-looking. They saw the corner of Mortimer Street and turned to the right, past Colchester House.
"Home at last!" she cried, and then stopped, rather embarrassed.
Was this her home? I suppose it is. Yes. This is my home. I shall always love Wargrave, but this is my home—our home—the children's home.
They drove to the door and stopped. Tavington was waiting to hand her out, smiling his own pleasure at being back in London.
The babies were handed out to waiting servants, but Ash had fallen asleep, and objected to leaving the coach. He kicked and whined until Moll swept him up in her strong arms and carried him down the steps. Rambler looked eagerly out the door before he trotted down after the rest of the party.
"Nooooooo!" Ash roared, hungry and over-tired.
"Be quiet, Ash," Tavington ordered, and was surprised when the little boy stopped complaining.
Hmmm. I must remember to use that tone again, Tavington thought, absurdly pleased with himself. Jane looked exhausted, and he decided that they would enjoy an afternoon nap together.
Almost instantly, the noise began again: not from one, but from three little boys.
"They must be starving!" Jane said, taking her husband's arm. "We'd best get them upstairs."
"At once, Madam," Tavington agreed, with mock solemnity. "We cannot delay their triumphal entry into the nursery of Number Twelve, Mortimer Square!"
End Part II
Notes: huswife—a housewife: a little sewing kit that could be kept in a pocket.
If you have seen the common mottled brown plastic that is used in cheap hair ornaments, you should know that it is made that way to copy the appearance of tortoise shell. It was not particularly cheap in the 18th century.
I will take a one or two week break, to finish outlining the plot of the third part of Tavington's Heiress. Please leave a review. It will encourage me to work harder. I do take suggestions into account. Thanks to all who have stuck with me. Since you express interest, I will continue the adventures of the Tavingtons and their friends as William and Jane plunge into London life, meet the King and Queen, and uncover a dangerous secret.
Next—Chapter 54: All Roads Lead to London
