Chapter 52: The Vicar of Wargrave Cross

The newly-ordained vicar of Wargrave Cross arrived on the Monday after Epiphany rather early. He arrived in state, riding in his own chaise with his lady, and accompanied by his patron, Sir John Tavington. The Tavington coach followed behind, loaded with such articles as had caught Bordon's eye during the busy days of Christmas. Harriet had done much already to prepare the house for habitation, and a cook, three maids, and two menservants were already on the premises, awaiting their new family.

Bordon insisted on moving into the vicarage directly, and the Tavington coach was emptied of crates and trunks and boxes and baskets. Harriet anxiously supervised the placing of her new pianoforte in the drawing room—the first pianoforte ever in the village of Wargrave Cross. She was enchanted with the instrument; and it had been stored prior to its journey in the morning room of Number Twelve, Mortimer Place, to the fascination and delight of the Tavington sisters. A sofa covered with a floral brocade calculated to withstand the depredations of young children was placed facing the instrument, and Harriet sighed with happiness at the good effect. Her husband had surprised her with a little escritoire and chair. There were two lovely paintings of country scenes, and a new breakfast set, and a crate of books, and a few new toys for the upstairs nursery. It bade fair to be the home of their dreams.

Once that was done, the party went on to Wargrave Hall, to receive the greeting and congratulations of Tavington and Jane, to have a late breakfast, and to collect Robin and Susan for the carriage ride back to their own home.

"But I want go see!" Ash complained as the Bordons drove away.

"Not yet, Ash," Jane said gently, restraining him. "We'll let them settle in, and then we'll visit tomorrow. Give them a big wave!"

He pouted, and Jane was relieved he did nothing worse. They had managed to convince him that he would indeed see Robin and Susan and Mamma Bordon and the "Cap'n" again. How he would react to a trip to London, out of daily reach of his friends, was something that concerned Jane a little. A little more time was needed, to get him used to the idea that his home was with Jane and the Colonel and the babies. The Bordons' coach disappeared behind some trees, and Jane noted the number of Wargrave residents who were converging on the vicarage.

The villagers had been curious about Bordon since glimpsing him briefly at Christmas. It was apparent from the first that he intended to run his parish with a strong and steady hand. The following Sunday would see the first services in the church in over a year, and the villagers and tenants would be calling on their vicar, wanting to plan weddings and christenings, wanting to reopen the school, wanting his advice and guidance for the Parish Relief—and some simply wanting to talk.

John had delivered some letters to Jane from Mrs. Tazewell and Bellini. Jane read them through with a smile, particularly enjoying Bellini's description of the court in Vienna and the high spirits of his friend Mozart. The Tavington coach had also contained a box for Jane.

Up in the dressing room, she looked through it and sighed. She was still not in perfect health. Pullen sturdily pulled up a chair and sat her in it, and exclaimed over the treasures in the box.

"It was very good of Miss Penelope to help with my mourning," Jane said, fingering yards of fragile black crape. "And a cloak!" she cried, surprised, pulling it out for a better look.

"Try it on at once, ma'am," Pullen urged her. "This is very fine!"

"I suppose," Jane agreed, "and I certainly needed a new cloak. It's rather gloomy, though." She stood and let Pullen arrange it on her shoulders. "I look quite Gothick."

"'Tis mourning, ma'am," Pullen said patiently. "Oh—and these gowns—"

Jane read the note pinned to them.

"My dear, dear Jane,

John has told us of your horrible encounter with that monster. We are thinking of you, my dear, and pray for your recovery after such a shock. William had me order some clothing for you as soon as he returned on the 27th, and we told the modiste that it was a matter of some urgency. I fear the traveling habit is not yet finished, which vexed me greatly. I shall send it on as soon as it is done. The three gowns packed together are for your maidservants, when they attend you in public. I have labeled each one. Meanwhile, my dear, accept condolences from Caroline and me on the death of your honored father. We are so anxious for you, and long to see you and darling little William Francis very soon. Material goods cannot comfort a grieving heart, nor heal your injuries, but there is a satisfaction in knowing one can face the world with dignity and propriety, and thus we offer these tokens of our sincere affection."

"Mourning gowns for you and Moll and Rose. They're quite—nice—in their way."

Pullen held her own gown up against her to look in the mirror. "Every respectable woman needs a black gown, ma'am. Miss Penelope chose quality stuff for these."

Jane read a little more of the note: "I did not include mourning livery for Tom Young, as he is staying at Wargrave and can be considered more John's servant than yours. With your maids, however, it is best that we observe the proprieties. Dear William gave me a great deal of money and a free hand. Caro applied the black borders to the handkerchiefs herself. I hope you like the hat. I trimmed it myself with dyed ostrich plumes—"

"It is here in the box below, ma'am." Pullen dug it out and opened it, very impressed, "Oh! That is handsome, ma'am! Put it on, so we can see it together with the cloak."

"I look so pale, Pullen."

"I shall see to that, ma'am, never fear."

She lifted out large bundle carefully wrapped in paper. "What is this, I wonder?"

It was a black silk polonaise with a matching petticoat.

"How kind of her! I hope it fits!" cried Jane.

It was awkward to have no gown but her black bombazine, which was very much the worse for wear since the attack. It had been scrupulously cleaned, but it was fraying at the hems and sleeves, and even skillful mending could not quite disguise the signs of tearing at one of the shoulders, and a huge rent in the front of the skirt. Jane removed the hat, and threw off the cloak. Pullen helped her out of the bombazine, and then the new silk gown was donned: first the wide petticoat, and then the polonaise.

"May I puff it out, ma'am?"

"Yes, if you like. I think it's quite nice."

She put her hand on the bodice, watching Pullen's reflection busy with the hidden ties that could be loosened for a smooth look, or tied tightly to lift the skirt of the gown back in flounced puffs edged with black Venetian lace.

"Now that is something like!"

Jane thought so too, and finished Pen's letter:

"William told me that there was to be a party on the Monday night after the Bordon's arrival, and he was anxious that you have a nice new dress, so we told the modiste to complete that, if nothing else. The mantua-maker finished the cloak very quickly. The trimming was Caro's thought. At least you shall be warm when you return to us.

Your affectionate sister,

Penelope Tavington"

Despite her bruises, Jane wished to keep to Sir John's original plans to introduce Bordon to the neighborhood. The gown was a godsend: she had dreaded receiving the guests in her mended bombazine. There were to be the Bordons, the Spottiswoodes and the Hindleys, along with two other country families of long acquaintance, and she wanted to the evening to be pleasant for all. Since the houses were only a quarter of a mile apart, a servant could be sent in case of emergency.

It was a very pleasant party. Jane enjoyed meeting the new acquaintances. The Hindleys had a young daughter at school in London who was home for the Christmas holidays. At sixteen, Christabel Hindley was not exactly out, but she was certainly old enough for an intimate dinner party in the country. Jane was sorry that there was no boy or girl of similar age to provide company for her. The Spottiswoodes had never had children. Of the two new families, the Blandings' children were too young to attend, and while Mr. and Mrs. Charteris had sons, they were half a world away, one in the Royal Navy, and the other in the East India Company. The Hindleys' two other children, both older daughters, were already married and lived too far away for frequent visits.

A major topic of conversation, unavoidably, was Carver's attack and the Porters' flight. The steward and his family had been tracked to Maldon, where they had hired a small fishing boat. Whither they had sailed, however, was a mystery. A coroner's hearing was yet to be held on the death of Carver, but its verdict was obvious to all.

Jane, when applied to for the details of the attack, knew that there was no help for it. "Very well. I shall tell you all, and then I would prefer not to speak of it again. It was very alarming, and had the Colonel not come a day early, I might very well have been murdered. But I wasn't. I have learned, however, never to walk abroad alone without my pistol."

"You have a pistol?" asked Miss Hindley, awestruck.

"Oh, yes. I bought one in South Carolina. We were all in great danger with the war raging around us. I wish I had had it with me that day, but I did not. It apparent that the Porters and Carver conspired together to take revenge on the Tavington family. The Porters sheltered Carver and gave him intelligence about the Hall and about my movements. In return, Carver's crime would distract everyone from the Porters' flight."

She recounted the story of meeting Carver in the lane, much edited to spare her own feelings and those of the rest of the party. It was not something she could make light of, but she did not care to repeat his ugliest threats or exactly describe how it had felt to be choked nearly to death.

What she said was quite enough for the assembled party, however. Miss Hindley was impressed at Jane for daring to hit the man, even with a stick.

"How could you be so brave?" she wondered. "I should have fainted! I should have died of fright!"

She was very young, and a guest, and Jane did not speak her full mind to her. Her conscience, however, could not allow her to pass over it in silence. "My dear, fainting is all very well when one is surrounded by friends, but when one is in real danger, fainting merely makes it easier for the enemy. It's much better for a woman to keep her wits about her."

"Better for anyone," agreed Bordon, with a smile.

"I pray they are caught and brought to justice!" cried Mrs. Blanding, very indignantly. "It makes one afraid to sleep in one's bed at night!"

Tavington's eyes glittered with the memory. "Carver will threaten no one else, Madam. I saw to that."

"And so, you see, there is nothing more to be said, unless the Porters come to light," Jane declared cheerfully. "May I help you to more custard, Mrs. Spottiswoode? Just a little?"

At length the ladies withdrew, and the men settled down to some wine and further talk about the pursuit of the Porters.

"I've had their description printed and sent everywhere along the coast, and have offered a reward of fifty pounds for their capture, " John told them. "It's maddening, to think that the wretches may escape. One tries to be generous and fair-minded, and to have it all thrown in my face is intolerable. And then to plot to harm Mrs. Tavington! Hanging is too good for the man."

Dr. Spottiswoode shook his head. "I feel sorry for the children. They must discover his villainy eventually. How they will suffer, poor little creatures."

"If they're still alive," Bordon remarked. His rough journey from America was still fresh in his mind. There was a little puddle of spilled wine on the table. He ran his finger through it, reflecting on all the things that could happen to a family at the mercy of the elements. "Putting out to sea in a small boat in bad weather with a woman and four young children was insane. There's a good chance that the lot of them were drowned."

"Dreadful, dreadful," was the Reverend Mr. Hindley's doleful contribution. "Such shocking ingratitude."

The conversation moved on to the repairs to Wargrave, to the remarkable efforts of Mrs. Tavington, to the phaeton that Sir John had ordered built, and finally to the wonderful plentitude of game they had all enjoyed in the past few months.

Another bottle was opened and passed around the table. Tavington caught Bordon's eyes, feeling a little tired of local gossip. John was not so far gone in drink that he did not notice it, and then urged the two soldiers to talk about their adventures in America.

Tavington was at once unleashed to talk about his favorite hobby-horse: the sufferings of the Loyalists in the colonies, and how the peace would ruin them. Bordon supported him, by telling of the courage and resourcefulness of their soldiers, and the faithfulness of the wives who had shared their dangers. The company was willing to hear a few tales of adventure, and so Tavington told the story of brave Corporal O'Lavery, and how he had saved the dispatches by hiding them in his wound.

Mr. Charteris, who had never traveled beyond London, but who had read many books, then asked eagerly, "In all your travels, have either of you ever seen an actual Red Indian?"

Dumbfounded, Tavington and Bordon stared blankly at each other. Bordon, for all his tact, could not quite keep from smiling, and Tavington, out of respect for his brother's guest, refrained from laughing out loud.

Bordon cleared his throat, and answered gravely, "Yes, we have known many, of many different tribes. Most recently, in South Carolina, the Cherokees were excellent scouts, and very loyal to the Crown. It is a pity that the rebels will no doubt take a cruel revenge of them for it. One man in particular, Wolf Claw, was a clever tracker, and was of great service to us."

"Do you speak their language? How did you communicate with the savages?"

Tavington felt for Bordon, knowing how sympathetic his former captain was to the situation of the native tribes. He had made many friends among them in his years in America, and did not like to hear them described as "savages."

"A great many of them speak the King's English quite well. There are many different tribes, to be sure," Bordon explained. "--Many different languages and customs. Different tribes vary as much as different nations here in Europe. Some have customs we might describe as savage, but they might regard our use of the pillory, or the stocks, or the lash, or the gallows—or above all, imprisonment-- as equally so."

"'Custom is King,'" quoted Dr. Spottiswoode, nodding sagely.

"Just so," agreed Bordon. "What I did find among them of more moment, was courage and honor, great resolution and endurance in the face of hardship, and immense love and respect for Nature in all its forms. They, too, ponder their place in the universe and consider the nature of God—the Great Spirit. Some of their lore is surprisingly similar to ours. For example, from the Mohawks I discovered that the constellation of Ursa Major—the Great Bear—is also called the Bear amongst them."

There was some astonished amusement, and Bordon continued. "Yes—it is quite so. I was talking with Tatotaho, a good fellow and friend one night as we lay on the ground looking up at the stars, and he told me that the four stars that form a rough rectangle, they call the Bear, and that the stars we call the Bear's tail, they call warriors. The closest warrior is the brave one, reading to hunt the bear, the one behind—which if you look closely is actually two stars—is a warrior with a pot ready to cook the bear; and the farthest is a cowardly warrior hanging back!"

More laughter: and John, seizing the moment, suggested that they not hang back from the ladies, who must impatient for them. They strolled together through the Great Hall, talking about savages and astronomy, about the war and horses. Music already drifted out of the drawing room, where Jane and Harriet were practicing a duet that Jane had laboriously transcribed from a copy belonging to Miss Gilpin. The men crowded in, finding seats, and applauded when the ladies ended their sonata with two final chords, played very nicely together.

"Already started the entertainments without us!" said John," I call that positively cruel!"

"We must do something while we're waiting for you, Sir John, or we'd all be sound asleep when you arrived," Jane shot back with a smile.

"Ha! Well, well—oh, and here is the tea! I tell you, Blandings—"

"—Yes, with two, Mrs. Tavington. I thank you—"

"—It seems to me, Bordon, that a book of those old Indian tales would be well received—"

"—I have heard that her sister, Lady Fanshawe, has a most beautiful voice. We must hope to hear her sing someday—"

"—Lady Fanshawe? Is she married to—that—Lord Fanshawe?—"

"—Mrs. Bordon, was this your first journey to England?—"

"—Her little brothers? Their mother abandoned them? How shocking!—"

After a quarter-hour of such conversation, Jane thought her youngest guest looked a little bored, and beckoned her over with a smile.

"Miss Hindley, now that the gentlemen are here, I was wondering if you cared to perform for us? You mother told me you are quite musical."

The girl looked pleased and nervous. "Oh! But you and Mrs. Bordon are so accomplished! I couldn't—"

Jane touched her hand reassuringly. "I do not mean to make you feel uneasy, but I assure you that you will find this a friendly audience, and good practice for the future. Everyone loves music. Why don't you start something you like very much and know very well?"

Her mother was looking encouragingly at her, so the girl seemed inclined to agree.

Mrs. Hindley said meaningly, "You ought to play for Sir John, my dear Christabel. You owe it to our kind host!"

Jane became aware of a certain message beneath the words, as the mother nearly glared at her daughter, and the daughter shrank beneath her mother's piercing eyes. Oh, my! What is this? Does Mrs. Hindley wish her daughter to set her cap at John? He is over twenty-five years her senior! Of course, my sister married a man nearly fifty years older than she. I suppose I cannot blame the woman for trying. A pleasant man and Wargrave Hall to be won.

Miss Hindley was pretty enough in an understated way, very much an English Rose, with shining brown hair and soft blue eyes. Their guests could not know that John was as good as engaged to the absent Mrs. Martingale. Jane decided she would simply keep an eye on things to prevent the girl's feelings being hurt.

Miss Hindley snatched up her music from a table and fidgeted into the chair at the harpsichord.

Jane announced, "Oh! How kind! If you please, everyone, Miss Hindley is going to perform for us!"

The noise of conversation quieted. Jane gave her husband and his brother a reproachful look, and they broke off their talk, subsiding back politely into their chairs. The girl took a deep breath, and began the chords of a popular air by Haydn. She had a very schoolgirlish manner, but her playing was accurate, if a little stiff.

In a high, sweet voice she sang:

"She never told her love,

She never told her love,

But let Concealment,

Like a worm in the bud,

Feed on her damask cheek.

She sat like Patience on a Monument.

Smiling, smiling at Grief."

Everyone applauded, her parents loudest of all.

Jane added her own praise, "That was delightful! Will you not sing another, Miss Hindley?"

The girl blushed, and with an air of "in for a penny, in for a pound, " she plunged into another song at once. Jane looked around the room, satisfied that everyone seemed to be having a pleasant time.

After Miss Hindley finished and was thanked, Jane moved people to some card tables, for John really wanted to play tonight, though for modest stakes. He would play at whist with the Spottiswoodes and Harriet, and the rest of the party was gathered around to play Speculation, with Tavington in charge of the proceedings.

"I must excuse myself for a little while," Jane explained, "and see to the children upstairs. I shall join you again shortly." As she left, she heard a few whispers.

"---Suckles her child herself, I heard," said Mrs. Blandings. "Very dutiful, but rather she than I! I tried it, and—"

"---Such a pleasant lady," remarked Mr. Charteris to Bordon. "A shame about that villain—"

"The pleasant lady" was glad to have a respite. She liked the guests, but she felt a headache coming on, and was gloomily aware that she had taken on a little too much this evening. She went up to the nursery, wanting some peace in Moll's company. She first went to the second floor, to see Ashbury peacefully asleep in his little bed. Rose was staying up there with him, and she looked up with a smile, sewing by candlelight. Jane pressed a kiss to her little brother's brow. The boy stirred, and grimaced in his sleep. Jane touched his shining hair, and then glided silently out of the room.

Downstairs, the babies were restless, wanting some milk before bedtime. Pullen was summoned, and helped Jane remove her gown and petticoat before putting them to the breast. She could hardly return to her guests covered in spit-up milk. It was arranged very expeditiously, despite Tom's tendency to babble adorably at her.

"He'll be talking before you know it!" Moll beamed. "Then he'll probably never stop."

Baby Will looked up at her, lifting his brows in the funny way he had. It always made Jane laugh. She settled back into the chair and shut her eyes.

"Are you feeling all right, ma'am?"

"Yes, I'm just tired. So much noise!"

Pullen laid her hand over Jane's brow for a moment. "At least you're not feverish, ma'am. That's a mercy! Let me bring you some more of that willow tea. Don't you think that a good idea, Mrs. Royston?"

"That I do, Miss Pullen. Here, ma'am, we can brew it up right quick. You've a heap more evening before you."

Jane enjoyed being pampered, and her half-hour of nursing and tea-sipping passed too quickly. She laughed again, as the babies wriggled and grinned with the pleasure of full little bellies. She felt much better, as Pullen helped her into the gown once more, and Moll settled the babies to sleep.

By the time she returned to the party, her headache was in remission, and the guests were discussing the possibility of some impromptu dancing.

"Why not?" considered Jane from the doorway, refreshed and smiling.

"Oh! Could we, Mrs. Tavington? I love dancing of all things!" cried Miss Hindley.

The footmen moved some furniture and rolled up the carpet. Jane headed to the harpsichord to provide the music, but was gently pushed aside by old Mrs. Spottiswoode, who seated her plump person before the instrument with a kind shake of the head.

"My dear Mrs. Tavington—dancing days may be over for the Doctor and me, but I can still play country dances for hours on end! Here, my love," she said to her husband, "do you sit down by me and watch the young ones enjoying themselves!"

The old parson was comfortably seated with a glass of port, and Jane very gratefully prepared to dance. Sir John invited Harriet, as their guest of honor, and Bordon claimed Jane. Tavington, understanding the look in Jane's eye, gently asked for the honor of Miss Hindley's company. The rest of the married couples paired up, and within a moment, Mrs. Spottiswoode was beginning an irresistible reel.

They danced for over an hour. Mrs. Spottiswoode had not exaggerated her encyclopaedic memory of popular dances. It was something Jane had not known or guessed about the grandmotherly woman, and she felt a touch of regret that she might soon be leaving the neighborhood. Partners were exchanged, the dancers moved from pattern to pattern, turning about, meeting a new face, hands together and apart, dipping under outstretched arms. Mrs. Hindley did attain her immediate goal, for John felt it his duty to dance with every lady guest, and thus he partnered Miss Hindley, who blushed ardently the entire time. Jane consoled herself that John had not paid any more attention to the girl than he had to anyone else, and could not therefore be accused of raising unfounded hopes.

Too soon, it was over, and they were bidding the guests goodnight. Harriet and Jane kissed each other very affectionately, and Jane promised to call the very next day to admire the additions to the vicarage. John found himself an unfinished bottle of wine and vanished into the library, with an earnest word of praise and thanks to Jane.

Tavington and Jane were left alone in the Great Hall. He brushed a stray curl from Jane's pale cheek. "It was a wonderful evening. I hope it was not too much for you."

"Oh, no," she answered. "I flagged a little in the middle, but time with the babies and a cup of willow tea set me up again. What lovely people! Your brother is fortunate in his neighbors. I am sorry the house was not in a condition to receive visitors before this. I liked them all quite well."

They headed slowly for the staircase, one arm of his about her shoulders, hers about his waist.

Tavington remarked, "You were very kind to that schoolgirl. What a bread-and-butter miss! She looked like she was about to burst a vein when she danced with John. What was that all about?"

He nodded to Young, who was supervising the clean-up. The butler gave Tavington a candle to light their way upstairs.

Jane lowered her voice. "I believe Mrs. Hindley had put a word in her daughter's ear about your brother. He is the most eligible bachelor in these parts! I hope he announces his engagement soon, so the poor girl is not hounded too much by her mother."

"John and that little chit! What an idea!" He laughed and pulled Jane closer.

"You said you are leaving Monday next. I shall a great packet of letters for you to deliver when you go. When shall I see you again?" Jane asked.

"On Tuesday."

"Don't tease." She pinched him.

He pinched her back, and shook his head. "It's the simple truth. I shall stay over Sunday to hear Bordon's first sermon, and then you and I are going to London, my dear. Do not bother to write to your friends: you shall see them yourself soon enough. I'm not leaving you alone any more. Wargrave is doing very well now, and it can surely bear your absence. If John wants more done, he has time to see to it himself, or he can bestir himself and hire that housekeeper you suggested. When I return to London next Monday, I want you to come with me."

She was torn between sorrow at leaving Wargrave, and excitement at seeing London again. "Then the Carters' cottage must be put in order at once, and a pension arranged for them. I shall talk to John about it over breakfast. Mrs. Carter has suggested a cousin of hers—a middle-aged widow, who might do well as housekeeper. But what about the inoculations?"

"Finished. Two of the maids became quite sick, but are recovering. As soon as you are in London, I will send out that fellow Harris—the inoculator—to Wargrave to minister to the servants here."

"But we must return in three weeks. By that time, Mr. Bordon will have pronounced the banns at three Sunday services, and Moll and Tom can be married, as I promised them." She lowered her voice again. "It should not be put off any longer than that."

Tavington smiled, "She is with child? She must be very happy about that. Yes, I see no reason that we cannot return in three weeks. They can be married at the end of January. It is not as if Wargrave were in Yorkshire or parts north, after all. Since it is but a few hours, there is no reason not to make frequent visits."

They reached the top of the stairs, and Jane paused at the window, looking out at the grounds. The reflection of the candlelight shone back from the window, illuminating pale images of the two of them. In their mourning clothes, they looked rather ghostly.

"I confess," Jane said, "that I shall miss living at Wargrave, despite all that Carver and the Porters could do. I have enjoyed having a project such as this. It has given me such a feeling of accomplishment."

"And living with me and raising the children will not?"

"That is unfair. You must understand what I mean. You are gone much of the time, and the children are infants—even Ash. I love your sisters, but they have their own lives, too. I do not think I am the stuff of which a fine lady, living only for fashion and expense, is made."

"No, and I thank God for it!" laughed Tavington.

He took her hand, and led her toward their bedchamber. It was very dark at the top of the stairs, and a slight draught whispered down the gallery. Tavington had to let go of Jane and shelter the sputtering candle with his hand. The feeble light of another candle revealed Doggery asleep by the door. Jane glided past him and opened to door to their room, which was warm and ruddy with firelight. Pullen came out to meet her, and they departed to the dressing room to prepare Jane for the night.

"Did you have a pleasant party, ma'am?"

"Yes, very nice, Pullen. Thank you thinking of the tea: I should not have enjoyed the dancing much without it."

They went through the ritual of disrobing. The polonaise, the petticoat, the pockets, the underpetticoat, the cork rump, the stays, the high-heeled slippers, the garters, the silk stockings, the jewelry. Jane rubbed her sore feet, glad she would be off them for the next few hours. Pullen unpinned her hair, and brushed it very gently, careful of the side of the Jane's head that was still bruised. The cosmetics were carefully wiped away. Jane washed and finished all her preparations, and Pullen set a pretty nightcap on her head. Jane took another look in the mirror, and saw a tired woman.

"Off to bed with you too, Pullen. Tomorrow we shall begin work on some new projects, now that the holidays are over at last. Stay—Pullen—how would you feel about a return to London? The Colonel was speaking of it."

"My place is with you, ma'am. Whether here or in London makes no difference to me."

"Really? I thought perhaps you liked it very much here—"

"Aye, ma'am, I like it here very well. I've enjoyed my little room and all the great doings, but I always knew we would be in London at last. Shall we be going to the old house, then?"

"Yes. I am told things are—quite different—there, since Lady Cecily is ill and confined to her room. It appears that I shall be rather the mistress there, as well."

Pullen nodded thoughtfully. "'Tis a very fine house. It will be a pleasure for you to do with it as you've done here. I hope your habit comes before we leave."

Jane had not thought of that. "I hope so, too!"

After a quiet "goodnight," Jane passed into the bedchamber. Doggery was long gone, and William was already in bed, awaiting her. Sitting up, he kissed her as she climbed in beside him, and promptly tugged off her shift.

"I like to feel your skin against me. Much nicer than linen. Do you want some Fanny Hill tonight?"

She considered, and then snuggled closer. "I don't think I need it. Here, yes, put your hand there."

They kissed, long and slow. Tavington whispered, "I was very proud of you tonight. You are such a charming hostess. You saw that everyone was cared for and considered. We shall be so happy together in London."

"I feel quite happy at the moment. Oh!"

His impatient fingers prepared her, awakening her. She touched him lightly in her turn, following the lines of muscle and sinew, shivering as the soft hair of his belly tickled her. She took hold of him, feeling his blood pulse. They played for a little while, watching the other for perfect moment. A soft grunt as he maneuvered her beneath him, and they were joined and moving together.

"Rather like dancing," Jane said with a little moan. He slid his arms around her and held her fast.

"Rather better than dancing," he growled, "Or rather, dancing is a pale reflection of this."

There was no reason not to take all the time they wanted. Jane's consciousness narrowed to the feeling between her legs, shivers of delight radiating through her thighs, settling in her belly. Tavington's face was closed and intent, completely focused on the sensation of the moment. Jane dug her hands behind her, into the pillow, as she exploded into little broken shards of joy.

The moment lasted, and lasted, nearly crossing the border into pain, and then she was past it and in a world of silence and peace. Tavington took a long, deep breath, utterly spent. He shrugged Jane's lax legs away, and rolled to the side, one arm resting lazily over her. His mind was a happy blank, only gradually returning to thoughts and plans. It seemed more trouble than it was worth to make himself speak.

Eventually, his brain cleared, and he could pursue his original idea. "Jane?"

"Ummm."

"Are you asleep?"

"No." She ran her fingers through his hair, curling it around her fingers. "No. I feel very relaxed, that's all. We should sleep, though. I have so much to do tomorrow."

"The devil take that. You should sleep late. Perhaps we might have a bath."

"A bath would be nice. But really, William, I do have things to do. I must get up at seven to feed the babies, and I promised Harriet a visit tomorrow."

"We shall all call. I want to see the vicarage filled with Bordons, too. We shall take Ash, and let him play with his friends."

"Are you serious about taking me back to London?"

"Of course I am. I'm tired of not living with you. I do understand your attachment to Wargrave, and it does you credit, but your work here is mostly done. You may not see it yet, but London really can offer you more. You want to make your mark in society, but not in the common way. Very well: I have a proposal for you, which might satisfy you for a few months at least. I have gone back to work on my memoirs: would like you to work with me?"

Jane woke up a little more, and looked at him keenly, surprised and flattered. "Work with you? In what capacity?"

"Let's see—as my secretary, my amanuensis, my editor, my proof-reader, my extra memory, and my conscience. I wish to get these memoirs in order and published by the spring."

"You do not want to wait until the war is utterly at an end?"

"No! I want to keep the issue before the public and try to raise some sympathy for my men when it can do them good! I lost all my papers at the Cowpens, but I've reconstructed a great deal from memory. As soon as I meet with Rawdon, I'll ask if he has copies of dispatches and battle orders."

"He is in England? I am glad to hear it."

"Yes—so I heard. He'll be in London in a week or two. You can give a dinner party for him! We must plan around the King's movements, however. On the twenty-first, I and the rest of the 3rd Dragoon Guards must go to Windsor, and accompany the King back to London. There will be quite a spectacle, and a grand review of the troops, featuring Colonel William Tavington in his latest role as a toy soldier."

"A very handsome toy soldier," she whispered, cuddling against his side, at the precarious edge of sleep. "My own toy soldier."

-----

Ashbury was excited about seeing the vicarage. It was not too cold, and so they decided to walk, with Tavington carrying his tiny brother-in-law most of the way. Jane had not been out of the house since she was attacked, and was happy to have a strong man on either side of her when she passed the place she nearly died. Her companions looked at her anxiously, but Jane smiled and walked sturdily along. Her silk petticoat rustled under her mourning cloak. At least she was not wearing the same clothes. They were greeted as best friends, and shown into the warm, sprawling house. Harriet glowed as she led Jane into the drawing room, now very much her own.

"Oh! A pianoforte! You did not tell me!"

"I wanted it to be a surprise."

"Oh, do let me play it before I go. I have never played one. How is the touch?"

The men enjoyed her enthusiasm, and Ashbury demanded a hug and kiss from Harriet, returning each very energetically. Robin and Susan greeted the guests as well, and then were excused up to the nursery, where they and the kind-hearted Betty could show the little visitor the glories of their new domain.

The guests were briefly shown the study. Bordon had much to say about the last resident's historical notes.

"Sir John mentioned the old gentleman's interest in local lore. He made some fascinating discoveries. It's a great pity he never published. I may well take up his work, but of course I would give him proper credit!"

They settled comfortably in the drawing room, the men discussing further explorations of the Hill and the Barrows, and the women trying out the new instrument. Jane was invited to sit and play for them.

"How different the sound is! More percussive, somehow. I like it, but it is so entirely different."

Harriet sat down with her, and the two of them began their favorite duet, commenting throughout the piece at the changed tonal quality. They had nearly reached the end, when the Bordons' manservant appeared, with a message for Sir John.

"Beg pardon, but a fellow rode in fast, wanting a word. It's your valet, sir, come with news." This quite stopped all conversation.

"Pratt, it's you then? Come in, man!"

Pratt then appeared, looking very tired. His clothes were travel-stained, and the man himself looked smaller. Jane wondered if he had had enough to eat, while searching for the fugitives.

"Well, what it is" John demanded. "Are the Porters caught, then?"

The valet was grim. "After a fashion, sir. At least they've got one of them, up there in Clacton Gaol. There's a fellow who'll be wanting the reward."

"Only one of them! What's become of the rest?"

"Drowned, sir. Drowned dead. They set out in that high wind, and the boat capsized. Spilled them out in the cold water, and only one was saved. No bodies, neither."

Bordon looked away, sickened to hear that his own worst imaginings were fact. Harriet bit her lip and caught Jane's cold hand in hers.

"Was it Porter?" John asked angrily. "I'll wager that wretch would save himself first."

"No, sir. Not the man. He went to save his little boy and they both went under, I'm told. No, 'twas the oldest girl they found clinging to the bottom of the boat, half-dead. She gave her name, and yesterday they heard about the reward and hauled her off to gaol proper quick. The magistrate's considering what to charge her for, right now."

Jane burst out, "Deborah! They locked away that little girl! How horrible! She is but ten years old! Who knows what kind of men she is among? I must go at once!" She started forward, hardly thinking about what she would do, when Tavington seized her wrist in an iron grip.

"You'll do nothing of the sort," he hissed. "I forbid it!"

Note: If you ever take a look at the Big Dipper (which is really only a part of Ursa Major) look carefully at the handle of the dipper. At the bend is the middle star. Careful observation reveals that it is a double star (Mizar and Alcor). Hence the Indian with the pot. Amaze your friends with your star lore!

Thank you to all my reviewers. I really like reviews. Please take the time. It is my prize for writing and really encourages me.

Next—Chapter 53: A Forgiving Nature