The Rebel Page 12

  The touch seemed too intimate, too casual, he thought. And the minister’s attentions toward her caused Nicholas to question again if there could not be more between them than she was admitting.

  “Are you coming?” She turned and asked after Adams had led her a few steps in the direction of the rectory.

  “I am.” Nicholas started up the hill after them. “I have no intention of being left behind.”

  CHAPTER 11

  “Mother!”

  At the sudden outcry from behind her, Alexandra Spencer jumped and then pressed a hand to her chest. She hadn’t heard the door to her daughter’s room open. She hadn’t been aware of any other noise but the creaking she’d heard inside these walls. She could have sworn something was behind this stretch of painted plaster.

  “Did I frighten you?” Frances closed the door of her room behind her.

  “Of course not!”

  “Then what are you doing listening to the wall?”

  “I wasn’t listening to the wall, Fanny.”

  The young woman came closer and peered at the solid wall of the hallway and back again at Alexandra’s face. “Then what are you doing, standing here? Mother, it was not my imagination that you were pressing your ear against this wall.”

  “It certainly was your imagination.” She took a handkerchief out of her sleeve and patted the beads of sweat that had formed on her forehead and upper lip.

  “Did you hear a noise?” Apparently unconvinced, Frances mimicked what she had seen her mother doing and pressed an ear to the cold plaster. “Maybe this place is haunted. Or do you think there are secret passages running behind these walls? I love that in the novels, don’t you? From what I have learned so far about the history of this place, there was a castle that was previously built on this hill. Now wouldn’t it be exciting if…?”

  “No, it would not be.” Lady Spencer placed a hand on the small of her daughter’s back and, pressing lightly, started her down the corridor. “Whatever you thought I was doing, it was only your imagination running away with you. My room is extremely warm this afternoon, and I was simply enjoying some of the coolness of this corridor before going downstairs to dinner.”

  Frances gave an impish grin. “Do you know there are patches of red that climb right up the skin of your neck whenever you try to fib?”

  “Frances Marie, this is no way for a young woman to be speaking to her mother.” Alexandra paused at the end of the hall and before starting down the stairs. “But on a totally different matter, what were you doing in your room? I thought I heard yours and Nicholas’s voices coming from the corridor only a few minutes ago. Why are you not with him…pestering him…doing your sisterly duty?”

  “He dismissed me.” Fanny pouted in the direction of his door. “He wouldn’t say a word about his day. He’s horrible. He wouldn’t answer a single question. And he became quite agitated—snappish even—when I asked him if he’d had the opportunity to propose to Clara yet. He’d better marry soon, Mother. He’s becoming positively curmudgeonly.”

  “You know, dear, I think it might be best if you were to leave that topic alone for now.”

  “But why?” The young woman crossed her arms over her chest. “Did we not come all the way to Ireland so that Nicholas could propose? It would be so much more pleasant to get to know Clara in the fashion of a sister-to-be than continue in this required hostess and guest relationship. We are so close in age, and there is so much we could plan and do together if everyone stopped tiptoeing around the subject. We…”

  Both of their heads turned as Nicholas emerged from his door. From his shining dark boots to the short, fitted black jacket to the buff-colored buckskin breeches, he was the very image of the country gentleman on his way to dinner. Alexandra noticed, though, the tenseness that had settled around his lips. The look he was directing at Fanny was impatient, if not downright dangerous.

  “Am I interrupting something?”

  “Why, yes!” The young woman was quick to answer. “You are interrupting my complaints to mother about…”

  “Why not be on your way downstairs, young lady.” Alexandra turned a sharp look on her daughter.

  “But mother…I think this is a perfectly good opportunity for—”

  “Downstairs, Frances Marie.” This time the mother’s tone left no room that she meant to be obeyed. “Tell Sir Thomas and Lady Purefoy that Nicholas and I will be down shortly.”

  Rankled but dutiful, the young woman gathered her skirts in two fists and disappeared down the stairs.

  “Thank you.” Nicholas closed his door and offered his arm to Alexandra. “I love her dearly, but I have lately acquired so much appreciation for what you have been saving me from these past few years.”

  “Fanny is a good girl. And she is not always so impatient.” She placed a hand in the crook of her son’s arm, but refused to go downstairs yet. “Is there anything that you want to talk to me about?”

  He glanced at her cautiously.

  “You know, Nicholas…I could be of assistance to you.” She paused, gentled her voice even more and looked up into blue eyes that could not hide his distress. “I am still your mother, and there is no reason why you should shoulder all of this pressure alone. I can, with great subtlety, bring up a topic. I can drop a hint regarding your state of mind. Whatever you wish. I can even distract them, if that is what you desire. I want you to know most of all, however, that you have every right to take your time before committing to anything permanent.”

  His other hand came up and pressed Alexandra’s affectionately against his arm.

  She looked about the empty hallway and lowered her voice. “I know I should have had this talk with you before we even arrived here. But now is as good a time as any, I suppose.” She paused, gathering her thoughts. “We both know that in our society there are certain requirements—formalities is perhaps a better word—that must be observed before men and women enter into a marriage partnership. Yes, indeed, partnership is the correct way of stating it, for it has become very much a business relationship. Therefore, a business contract is required of all parties.”

  “What is your point, Mother?”

  “I am getting to it, Nicholas. Knowing you as I do…understanding you better than you think…I believe you need more than a business partner. You need a woman who can match you in will and in wit. You do not need some ornament who will expect to be put on a pedestal as a wife.”

  “You are very observant.”

  “And so are you.” She patted his arm. “A quality inherited fully from my side of the family.”

  He gave her a gentle bow of the head and smiled.

  “I hope you will not consider my comments as meddlesome, but I have been greatly disturbed by the thought that perhaps my presence here might press you into making a hasty decision…” She let the words drift in the air. This was the most she’d allowed herself to become openly involved in Nicholas’s life in many…many years.

  “As well, you should be the first one who is told.” He placed a hand on the darkly gleaming wood of the banister. “She is not for me. I shall not make an offer for Clara’s hand.”

  Alexandra stifled a great sigh of relief. She tried to withhold any sign of jubilation and keep her expression impassive.

  “And I am not for her, either. I shall make my intentions known to Sir Thomas tonight, for I do not wish for any misunderstandings or hard feelings to develop. We shall try to avoid any unpleasantness.” He glanced down the shadowy stairs before turning his attention back to her. “In fact, if Sir Thomas and Lady Purefoy have no objection, I wish to remain at Woodfield House for the fortnight we had originally planned.”

  “Splendid!” she managed to squeak, too pleased to say any more.

  As they started down the stairs to join their hosts for dinner, Alexandra considered telling Nicholas about her little discovery in the attic that morning. Though he’d never pursued painting himself, she knew he was as much of a connoisseur of the arts as she was he
rself. She was certain that he too would be much taken by Jane’s paintings. She would like to be there to see his face as the power of her message conveyed itself to him. But she refrained from singing the praises of the older sister. Nicholas would have to discover her all on his own.

  And staying at Woodfield House for the full fortnight could present the most provocative opportunities.

  ***

  “And how did you find the new magistrate, Sir Nicholas?”

  Clara idly pushed the pheasant about on her plate as they all waited in silence for the baronet to answer her father’s question. She dared not peek up at him, though, for she was beginning to suspect that Sir Nicholas had not heard the question at all. Indeed, for most of dinner he’d seemed considerably distracted. His interest appeared to dwell thoughtfully on Jane’s empty place across the table.

  Earlier, when her sister and the visitor had arrived at the rectory in Ballyclough with Henry, Clara had immediately sensed the tension between the two. The air in the small dining room felt charged, like a summer night before a thunderstorm. Indeed, there had been few words exchanged between the two during the modest luncheon. Thinking about the time there at the rectory, Clara felt the cold lump form again in her stomach. Henry had never once looked at her during the meal.

  Then, on the ride back to Woodfield House, Jane had again chosen to ride far ahead of Clara and Sir Nicholas. No one had said anything beyond the necessary courtesies, either on the road or upon reaching Woodfield House.

  All of this, however, did little to distract her from her own pain.

  Her father pointedly cleared his throat, drawing their brooding guest’s attention. “I was hoping to get your opinion on…”

  “The new magistrate.”

  Clara was relieved to hear the baronet finally speak.

  “Yes.”

  “I was considering my response, Sir Thomas.”

  “Measuring it, you mean.” Her father let out a burst of laughter, and Clara felt her mood lighten. “You didn’t like him, by thunder. I’m sure Musgrave would be distraught to hear that.”

  Sir Nicholas directed a sharp look toward the head of the table. “I had no idea the magistrate would care about my opinion one way or the other. Perhaps I should have shared it with him before we parted ways this morning.”

  “Then you do not deny it.” Obviously pleased, Sir Thomas shook his head and downed a great swallow of wine. “Please allow me, sir, to pass on your reaction to the man. I would very much enjoy ruining Sir Robert’s mood with such news.”

  “You really would waste your energies on such a pointless exercise? Surely, there must be more stimulating things for one to do in this country.”

  The comment, delivered in a slightly mocking tone by Sir Nicholas, caused a ripple of amusement to emanate from all the women at the table. Clara, though, quickly stifled her own mirth as she saw a dark cloud descend immediately over her father’s mood.

  He cleared his voice in that all too familiar manner that indicated his displeasure. She stared at him, thinking desperately for a way to ease the renewed tension.

  “I wonder, though,” Sir Nicholas added soberly, “if your enjoyment in ‘ruining Sir Robert’s mood’ might stem from the fact that he has succeeded you in a task that you excelled at for so many years. I believe it is not uncommon to be somewhat critical of the person who has taken on one’s own position and responsibilities.”

  After a long uncomfortable pause, the older man’s head nodded once in agreement as he gestured to a servant for more wine. “Indeed, sir. Very observant. And no harm in it, either.”

  Clara fought back her surprise at the exchange. She had never heard anyone speak to her father quite so bluntly. But Sir Thomas’s calm and equally candid response nearly bowled her over. Her father emptied another glass of wine before continuing.

  “I was the king’s magistrate in this region for more than twenty years. When I took the post here, the violence against the gentry was more vicious than anything you might have heard in the stories of the Sussex smugglers’ war of the ‘40s. But I handled them, sir. With a strong hand, I made the people here know that civil authority would be respected and obeyed. Those who would not respect the king’s law, however, would learn to fear it. Because of my work, sir, the landlords finally found it possible to take charge of their own lands and control their tenants.”

  Sir Thomas’s hand shook as he lifted his glass again. “And later…when the investment in pasture became more profitable than tillage, when some of the landlords decided to lease the land to graziers instead of to tenant farmers, I was the one who challenged the rebels…the Whiteboys…or Shanavests…or whatever bloody hell they call themselves.”

  Clara’s stomach clenched in a knot. Her mother’s face had gone deathly white. Totally unconcerned, Sir Thomas drank down another glass of wine and continued.

  “The Whiteboys only exist because they dare to defy common decency and threaten their own kind. The wretches force others of their class to take an oath under threat of violence. And that, sir, is illegal. Nine years ago, we caught five of their leaders not far from Waterford. I was one of the judges who ordered the ruffians hanged. By hanging those five, I was sending a message to everyone that the administration of oaths in such a way would be treated as the capital offence it was. In a single stroke, I curtailed their aggression dramatically.” He pointed a finger at Nicholas. “And this is the root of the problem with Musgrave. I keep telling him that instead of wasting so much of his time socializing with the landed gentry…people who for the most part find him intolerable anyway…and instead of going around the district harassing the papist tenants on insignificant matters like the nonpayment of rents, he should be going after these rebel leaders. He needs to be concentrating his efforts on scum like this Egan that you ran into yesterday…or these two others they call Liam and Patrick, a pair of blackguards as bad as the first. And then there is another rogue who goes by the name of Finn. That one doesn’t show his face very often, but we know he has his fingers into the activities of at least three of the neighboring counties. Until the day these blackguards’ heads are hung on a post in Cork City, Musgrave will garner no respect from the gentry. Thus far, he has done nothing to instill fear into the hearts of these rebels.”

  “I saw a rather large barracks being erected in Buttevant.”

  “By thunder, talk about a pointless exercise!” Sir Thomas banged his glass on the table. “Those dragoons will do nothing but stir up these rebels. We need strong civil authority in Ireland, not military occupation.”

  Stealing a glance out of the corner of her eye, Clara could see that Sir Nicholas was staring at the brocade on the silk tablecloth. His face was a mask, but she sensed that he knew about Jane. She had not openly questioned her sister about what had taken place yesterday, but when Clara considered the cut on his arm, the blow to her face, the silent message that clearly passed between them when they first met, she was certain. Sir Nicholas had to know Jane and Egan were one and the same.

  “I have even made some recommendations to Musgrave on how he could proceed to set a trap for them.”

  “A trap…?”

  Lady Purefoy practically jumped to her feet. “I…I…believe it would be best if we women retired to the parlor. This kind of talk is far too shocking, Sir Thomas, and you shall be frightening our guests out of their wits.” She looked across the table. Will you favor us with your company tonight, Sir Nicholas? Or are you staying behind with my husband this evening.

  Clara knew it was not like her mother to take charge such as this, but as her father drained his wineglass yet again, she was grateful for the interruption.

  “If you will forgive me this evening, m’lady—” The baronet stood and bowed politely as the rest of the women rose, as well, “—I should like to stay behind and speak with Sir Thomas. There are a few topics pressing that I believe we need to discuss.”

  Catherine Purefoy practically beamed. “Absolutely, Sir Nicholas. An
d please take your time. We shall be waiting in the parlor for you both.”

  Clara felt as if a cold stone had lodged itself in her stomach. She dragged herself toward the door, watching her parents exchange a look of satisfaction. The momentary air of harmony that hung between them, though, was a stark reminder of the sacrifice that she had decided six months ago to make—the sacrifice she’d confessed this very morning that she hadn’t the heart to go through with.

  But with Henry’s rejection today, Clara was now lost, set adrift, destined to be swept along on life’s currents.

  This marriage was to be an emotionless contract between families. Very well. She would suffer through it and reap the good it would bring her parents. She was selfless—in spite of Henry’s condemnation—and she would prove it.

  ***

  Egan held back her immediate objections to the idea and—as she always did—tried to consider what good it might bring to the people most affected by the English king’s brutality.

  “Ye all know that this is not the first time they’ve extended an invitation to us,” Liam said. “But this gathering in Kildare of the Shanavest leaders will be the largest ever held. And by having representatives from all over the south, they know they can plan a campaign of unrest that will be felt all the way to London. Many feel it is time to send that message of unity to every magistrate and high sheriff in Ireland.”

  “It could be a trap.” Jenny, the eldest in the group, frowned at the circle of faces before turning back to Liam and Egan.

  Liam shrugged. “It could be. But we all live every day with a noose about our necks.”

  The leader paused, and Egan watched him focus on the discussion of those who had gathered inside the ruined abbey. She knew as well as he did that this decision could not be made without a consensus of those who were here. What they decided would affect the future of all.