Chapter 22 #3
Beth couldn’t help but smile at the memories his words evoked, and she saw him take a sudden breath. “Having settled this unholy pact, Beth,” he said quickly, “we’re leaving.” To Nicholas he said, “We’ll send over the handwriting.”
Nicholas and Eleanor walked them to the door. “Mad adventures suit you both,” Nicholas said and yet Beth was sure he had seen the mark on her face and interpreted it truly. In dismissing it, of course, he was quite correct. It was a mischance along the way, nothing more.
“On the whole,” said Lucien, “I think I prefer a quiet life. I died a hundred deaths yesterday after seeing Beth sitting there with a pistol trained on her.”
“Love can be the very devil, can’t it?” Nicholas said, wrapping an arm around his wife.
“But on the whole, it’s all it’s cracked up to be,” said Lucien, drawing Beth to him, “once one’s got the knots worked out, that is.”
“Have I been such a tangle for you, Lucien?” Beth inquired solicitously.
“I have been thoroughly entangled,” he said with a warm look.
There was a sharp rap at the door.
Nicholas opened it and a lad shoved a paper at him. “There you are, guv.” The boy ran off to make his other ordered deliveries of the special edition.
They were all abruptly sobered. Nicholas looked at the paper then up at Beth and Lucien. “Do you want to know?”
“Of course,” said Lucien.
They went back into the drawing room. Silence fell. Nicholas opened the paper and scanned the page. “God, what a list,” he muttered. “And the damned thing is it can’t be complete….” He ran his eyes over the fine print then stopped, as if he couldn’t quite believe his eyes.
Then, “Dare,” he said.
He passed the paper over to Hal Beaumont and went to stare out the window. Eleanor joined him and after a moment he drew her to him, and she rested her head on his shoulder.
Beth looked at Lucien, a very sober Lucien.
She reached out and took his hand. She’d only known the lighthearted young man slightly.
He’d been the one who had once tried to build a champagne fountain.
She remembered dancing with him at her betrothal ball.
“I’m sorry,” she said softly. It was inadequate, but it was all she could think to say.
He squeezed her hand. “He wanted so much to be part of it.” He looked at Hal. “Are there any more?”
“Many, many more,” said Hal, grim faced. “I’m sorry. I know too many of these fellows. I don’t see Con.” He passed the paper blindly to Stephen Ball and hid his face in his hand. After a moment he looked up. “Do you think … would Blanche turn me from the door?”
“No,” said Lucien.
Hal walked out.
Stephen said, “I don’t think Con’s name is here. Or Leander. As Nicholas said, the list can’t be complete but there’s hope.” He passed the paper on to Miles Cavanagh.
Nicholas came back and poured wine for all, making it clear he was about to propose a toast. Everyone stood.
“The Company of Rogues is now nine,” he said soberly.
He raised his glass. “To all the fallen: may they be young forever in heaven. To all the wounded: may they have strength and heal. To all the bereaved: may they feel joy again. And please God,” he added quietly, “may there one day be an end to war.”
He drained his glass and sent it smashing into the empty fireplace. Everyone followed suit, even Beth, though she was shocked by the moment.
Soon after she and Lucien slipped out of the house to walk home. The streets were still vibrant with the delirium of victory but every now and then Beth saw a face as sober as theirs.
“It may not be the end of war,” she said tentatively, “but it surely is the end of this war.”
“I should have been there,” Lucien said and quoted again the words from Henry V
“‘And gentlemen in England now abed
Shall think themselves accursed they were not here,
And hold their manhoods cheap….’
Not for glory. I don’t know if there was any glory. It’s just that I should have been there. And to hell with the pride of the de Vaux.”
Beth felt helpless in the face of this grief, felt almost as if he was shutting her out. Acting on instinct, as soon as they were in Belcraven House she said, “Let’s go to my rooms.”
Once there she sat on the sofa and drew him down beside her. “Tell me about him.”
And so he did. Eyes closed, resting in her arms, he recalled for her the whole story of the Company of Rogues.
How Nicholas Delaney, already a leader at thirteen, had gathered together some boys to be a mutual protection society with vague overtones of the Knights of the Round Table, which was why they’d stopped at twelve members.
“We wanted to call ourselves the Golden Knights, I think,” Lucien said with a smile, “but Nick said we weren’t there to protect the weak and innocent but to protect ourselves. And so we became the Company of Rogues. Which was pretty apt. The tricks we used to get up to….”
He went on to describe their tricks—some acts of revenge for cruelty done to one of the members but many just very inventive mischief.
“We had a rule—I’m sure it was Nick’s doing—that we couldn’t use the Company to evade just punishment.
I seem to remember him saying it was necessary to learn not to get caught, but if we were caught we had to take our medicine.
God, when I think of some of the floggings.
Do you think it toughens us into mighty warriors? ”
Beth stroked his hair. “I don’t know, love.”
“Dare,” he said. “Dare could take the worst beating with a smile. Afterwards he’d howl, but at the time he’d keep this silly smile on his face.
It used to drive the masters wild. I suppose he smiled…
.” After a moment he went on. “There’s nine of us now, assuming Con’s all right.
Allan Ingram followed his father into the Navy straight from Harrow.
He was killed three years ago. A fight with a Yankee ship.
Roger Merryhew died of wounds he received at Corunna.
Leander—he’s Lord Haybridge—he’s with the guards.
He must have been at this battle of Waterloo. ”
“His name wasn’t on the list,” Beth reminded him.
“The lists aren’t complete, and they give scarcely any of the wounded. He could have lost a limb, been blinded.”
They lapsed into silence. Beth found herself pondering the business of the toy soldier.
Eleanor had reported Nicholas’s comment that there was no reason his daughter shouldn’t grow up to be a soldier.
It was clear that Nicholas had no fondness for war, so why would he say such a thing?
Because it was a consequence of the equality of the sexes he obviously believed in.
Beth found herself chilled by that implication which had never been addressed by Mary Wollstonecraft.
Lucien sat up and buried his head in his hands. “I’m sorry, Beth, I think I want to go back to Lauriston Street. Apart from anything else, there’s still this Deveril business to be taken care of. Do you mind?”
“Of course not.” She understood the Company’s need to be together. She went and found Deveril’s letter and gave it to him. But then she found she didn’t want to be left behind. Somewhat hesitantly she asked, “May I come with you?”
“Of course. You’re a member by marriage, and it is your plan.”
They found the Delaney household returned to normal, a rather sober normal, but normal all the same.
Eleanor was nowhere to be seen. Nicholas, Francis, Miles, Stephen, and Peter were around the dining table discussing their plans.
Nicholas smiled when they came in. Beth thought it was significant that he had a sleeping baby in his arms. She thought Arabel was the magic key in this house.
“You have the letter? Excellent. I’ll take it to my clever friend shortly, then all we have to do is fight over who gets the fun of breaking and entering.”
It was Miles Cavanagh, the gingery Irishman, who said, “I think we should rule out married men for a start.”
Peter Lavering eyed him. “I think we should rule out foreigners.”
The Irishman’s eyes flashed. “Ah, if only Ireland were a foreign land.”
“No politics today, please,” said Stephen Ball. “I get enough of the Irish Question on the floor.”
Nicholas spoke up. “With Amy due to have the baby any day, Peter, we can’t involve you in anything. Besides which,” he added, “you aren’t a member.”
Peter looked belligerently uncomfortable. “It ain’t my fault my family always goes to Winchester.”
Nicholas smiled apologetically. “I’m sorry. You are, of course, a full honorary member. But you’re still not getting involved in this. I missed Arabel’s birth, and I have strong feelings on the subject. Stephen, you’re not coming either. If anything goes wrong we may need your influence—”
Eleanor popped into the room. “’Ware servants!”
A few moments later Hollygirt and a maid came in to lay out a cold collation, tea, and ale. When the servants had left and the food was being passed around, they continued the discussion.
“If I’m proscribed,” said Sir Stephen, “then I think Francis should be, too. He’s a member of the Lords though he rarely takes advantage of it.”
Lord Middlethorpe said, “Stubble it, Steve.”
Nicholas shook his head. “We only need one to plant the will. The rest will be to guard and distract—” He broke off at the sound of the knocker.
In a moment the door opened and Hal ushered Blanche into the room. A rather tense and uneasy Blanche. “He would insist that I come,” she said.
Eleanor came forward. “You must be Mrs. Hardcastle. You’re very welcome.”
Nicholas said, “Yes, indeed. Come join us at the table.”
Hal and the bemused White Dove were soon seated in the circle. Blanche looked at Nicholas with a slight frown. “We met before last night,” she said. “About a year ago.” There was clearly some significance to this. Almost a challenge.
“Yes, I know,” Nicholas said easily. “I was with Thérèse Bellaire.”
Blanche glanced at Eleanor, and Eleanor smiled. “It’s all right, Mrs. Hardcastle, I know all about it.”