Before he took his leave, Major Falk said, flat and emotionless, "Write Tom Conway if
I'm killed. He'll know what to do."
That seemed to give Emily an opening. "I trust it will not prove necessary, sir. Er, what
arrangements--"
"Tom knows what to do," he repeated. "No complications to trouble your head over,
unless you mean to give the children up."
"No. Oh, no, of course I don't." Exasperation sharpened Emily's voice.
Falk went on, oblivious, "That's settled then. Write Tom."
At that point Peggy brought his freshly scrubbed children down to the foyer, where the
major and Emily awaited them. Peggy was inclined to be distraught and dramatic. Major Falk sent
her out to lament over her departing husband and took Tommy, who gave his father a wet kiss of
the sort he bestowed on all corners.
"Bye, Papa." He wriggled to be put down, and his father obliged with a small pat on the
little boy's petticoats. "Bye," Tommy repeated, cheerful. "Bye-bye."
The major had knelt by his solemn-eyed daughter and took her in a cautious
embrace.
"Don't go."
"I have to."
Amy's face screwed up.
He said something soft and rapid to her in Spanish, adding in English, "Shall you write to
me,
querida?"
"I can write my name."
"Yes, and very clearly, too."
"I'll write," Amy said with dignity, "if you will,
tambien.
Bring me
un
paroquet, Papa,
and write me of Doña Inez in America."
Tommy whirled in a gleeful circle. "Bye, Papa."
"Oh, sir, I'll keep my heels in." Matt clattered down the stairs. His shirttail hung out. "I
promise."
"Hush, Matt." Emily intercepted her son at the foot of the stair. Tommy was still
whirling and chanting.
He is going to knock over that table,
Emily thought, distracted. She
lunged after Tommy just in time to prevent a vase of late daffodils from crashing to the polished
tiles of the entry. "Bye," said Tommy impudently. "Bye, Mama Em."
"Oh, Tommy." Half laughing, Emily turned, and stopped with her smile frozen on her
lips. Major Falk still knelt holding Amy, his hands cramped desperately on her small shoulders and
his eyes clenched shut.
"You're squeezing me, Papa."
"Like a lemon," he said in an almost ordinary voice. Amy giggled.
He released her and rose slowly, his face composed and colourless.
"Shall I write you every month as usual?" Emily wanted to say something splendid and
healing, but her voice rattled out dry and precise as peas on a shuttle.
"Yes, if you will. The winds from America are somewhat erratic. Don't be alarmed if my
replies are delayed as much as three months. Good-bye, Matthew." He shook hands with Emily's
son.
Three months!
Emily did not voice her despair. It was rather too late for that.
"Shall we come out with you?"
"No!" He added more quietly, "I shall have to detach Peggy from McGrath."
"Poor Peggy."
"Poor McGrath," he said drily. "Good-bye, Mrs. Foster."
"Bye!" Tommy shrieked. "Bye! Bye! Bye! Bye!"
The first letter came within the month by a packet Major Falk's ship met off the Lizard. It
contained a spirited account of Doña Inez and Eustachio on the high seas, and Doña
Barbara seasick in the scuppers. Emily responded immediately and warmly. Amy and Matt added
careful sentences about the pony. The second letter followed the first within a week. Doña
Barbara was back to brewing chocolate, and Eustachio had had a narrow escape from sharks. After
that the letters stopped.
By September Emily was reading the American news with grim attention. The army had
burnt the city of Washington. There was no mention of Major Falk. She told herself not to play the
hysterical female. Contrary winds.
Finally, when Amy's birthday passed without a parcel, Emily wrote Major Conway.
Because she was unsure of how she ought to address a dying man she kept her language stiff and
formal. The reply was delayed. When it came it was marked from a village in Lancashire, not Rye,
whence she had directed her letter.
Major Conway, it appeared, had taken on the position of estate agent on one of Lord
Dunarvon's manors which was just now being opened to coal mining. "Fascinating new engines,"
the major wrote with obvious enthusiasm. "Dunarvon talked of installing one of Stephenson's
circular rail roads--steam-powered, of course--if the vein proved rich, and by the way, don't
worry. Richard always lands on his feet." Major Conway's clear unconcern set Emily's mind
temporarily at rest but another silent, letterless fortnight unnerved her and she wrote again.
"I'm sure there is no cause for alarm yet," the major replied by return post, "but as you
may have questions for me in my role as guardian-of-record, perhaps you might consider meeting
me in London in ten days' time. I must travel there on a matter of business in any case." He added
further soothing comments, which meant he knew no more of his friend's whereabouts than Emily
did.
It took Emily five minutes to decide to go.
For several days after their early arrival in Town, Emily and Aunt Fan amused themselves
with raids upon cloth warehouses, arcades, and book emporia. Emily bought toys. She had a sinking
feeling there would be no toys from America for Christmas, so she was perhaps overlavish.
They are all three such good children,
she reflected from the safe distance of sixty-odd
miles.
She found a handsome cloisonné snuffbox for her father. She also indulged herself
in a sinfully expensive bonnet. It was blue with a deep poke and an enormous feather dyed to match
that curled over her left eye. She liked it so well she wore it back to the hotel and told the garrulous
modiste to burn the old mourning-grey. She was glad she had done so over Aunt Fan's protests, for
when she and her aunt entered the solemn foyer in a flurry of bandboxes and parcels she bumped
into Major Conway.
"My dear Mrs. Foster." The proprietor, a man of wonderful dignity, allowed her a tight
smile. "This gentleman has just been enquiring for you. Shall you receive him?" He retreated five
discreet paces.
"Oh, dear. Major Conway, you're early!" Distracted, Emily pulled off her glove and held
out her hand. "How do you, sir?"
"Very well, ma'am."
Emily peered around the feather into a pair of tired grey eyes.
"I like your bonnet," the major said in a pleasant baritone. He was a tall man. "Matches
your eyes."
Emily smiled. "I knew how it would be when I read your letters, sir. You know precisely
what to say. I shall probably fall in love."
The grey eyes lit and he smiled delightfully. "I can't see any objection to that, ma'am, but
I think we should conduct our courtship in a less publick arena."
Emily and Aunt Fan had had time to dispose themselves on the small sopha before their
caller arrived at their first-floor suite. When Phillida, with a coy giggle and a flounce, announced
the major, Emily rose. Welcoming pleasantries died on her lips. "My dear sir, you look quite
white. Shall you take a glass of...oh dear, we have nothing stronger than ratafia."
He gave a faint, twisted grin. "I am afraid--under circumstances--I can accept nothing less
than cognac."
"Brandy." Emily nodded. "The very thing. Unfortunately we haven't any."
"Yes, we have." Aunt Fan whisked from the room.
Emily stared after her. "Dear Aunt Fan, always prepared for emergencies."
"It is scarcely that," Major Conway rejoined in a rather steadier voice. "Why I should be
suddenly afflicted with this nuisance, when I trotted up three flights yesterday, I don't
know."
"Well, that's probably the cause," Emily said reasonably. "If you'll sit in that chair by the
fire, sir, you'll feel more comfortable directly."
The major sat by careful degrees. By the time he was settled and looking less green, Aunt
had returned with a stoppered bottle plainly labelled
Tonic
in raised letters. Aunt Fan
poured a healthy dollop into what Emily took to be her tooth glass. Aunt did not precisely say now
be a good boy and drink it all down but that was the gist. Major Conway obeyed. Presently he
regarded them both from half closed grey eyes.
"And to think I asked them to send up a mere tea," he murmured.
"Did you, sir?"
"Yes. I thought you might require soothing."
Emily laughed, relieved. "I should like tea of all things. Can it be had in one's rooms?
Aunt and I have been taking ours downstairs with the common herd."
"Common? In Grillon's?"
Emily pulled out a gilt armchair and sat. "It is rather an exalted place."
"I could have installed you in Dunarvon's town house, but you'd find it oppressive. It's in
holland covers." His returning smile faded. "My conduct just now relieves me of the tedium of
explanation. When Richard left we had agreed that I would be needing a replacement. I asked you
to come, because I wished to make you known to my successor. Don't look so distressed, Mrs.
Foster," he added, wry. "Grillon's staircase won't kill me. Bevis had leave. I thought you might as
well meet him."
Emily frowned. "Mr. Bevis? That sounds unlikely."
"Lord Dunarvon's heir," Major Conway said. "Viscount Bevis. We are friends. He is just
now on leave from Brussels, where he is on the Prince of Orange's staff, but I daresay he will be
selling out. In any case I think he'll do. Richard is acquainted with him."
"Acquainted," Emily echoed, rather faintly.
He grimaced. "You are too acute, ma'am. Richard objected to Bevis on the grounds that
he does not know him well, but neither Richard nor I could fix on anyone nearer. And I do know
Bevis. He is the best of good fellows. I think you'll find him agreeable."
"Will he kiss my hand in the French style?"
The major's grey eyes lit. "I think it extremely likely. Bevis has excellent taste."
Caught in her own mild joke, Emily blushed. "You flatter."
"I never offer Spanish coin," he said gently. "I thought it time to commence our
courtship."
That drew a smile. "I shall be glad to meet Lord Bevis, Major, though I trust there will be
no occasion to prolong the acquaintance. Have you had word of Major Falk?"
He frowned. "He was used to write you regularly?"
"I writ him an account of the children at least once a month. He responded as soon as he
received my letters. There have been delays before, but six weeks was the longest I ever had to
wait. I know the American winds are even less cooperative than those in the Bay of Biscay. A
sixmonth, however..." She fell silent.
He did not comment at once. When he spoke, he seemed to choose his words with care.
"I sent an enquiry through Richard's regimental adjutant. You must understand that Richard is
rather inclined to stumble into adventures."
Emily waited.
Adventures.
"Other people lead orderly, regular lives. Richard is constantly falling into scrapes." He
grimaced, as if the word were not to his taste. "He does not seek disasters. They find him out.
However, I daresay he'll turn up like a bad penny as soon as the peace is signed."
"Scowling and flinging off sarcasms like squibs." Emily sighed. "No doubt you're
right."
Major Conway said drily, "I perceive you have seen Richard at his best. What a fool he
is."
Emily raised troubled eyes. "I have only met your friend twice. He was worried, I
collect. And quite desperately tired."
"You're a perceptive woman."
"It did not take a great deal of perception to see that," Emily rejoined. "Will you tell me
how things are left?"
Major Conway frowned. "Richard did not?"
"He told me not to trouble my tiny head, and that you would know what to do."
Major Conway raised his brows.
"Oh, not in so many words." Emily's pent-up exasperation burst through, surprising her.
"I wonder why it is that men suppose women incapable of rational judgement. I am not a widgeon,
sir. I have run my son's estate since my husband's death." She raised her chin. "And improved the
receipts. I should be far more at ease if I could make plans for Amy and Tommy. As it is I am
wondering whether to prepare Amy to earn her bread or to marry a duke. I had inclined to the
former," she added darkly, "but if her affairs are to be dealt with by belted earls I perceive I erred
in my assumption."
Major Conway went off into the whoops.
Presently his mirth tickled a grin from Emily. "It is not funny."
"No. Merely absurd." Major Conway shifted his long legs and gave way to a final
suppressed chuckle. "There would be a small pension, of course. I--or Bevis--would see to that,
and I daresay we could find young Thomas a place in a school for officers' sons."
"As I thought," Emily said, resigned.
"There's rather more than five hundred pounds."
Emily whistled and caught herself up guiltily. "I beg your pardon, sir."
The major regarded her with a bemused air. "Pray don't apologise, Mrs. Foster. I've
never met a lady who could whistle. I beg you will marry me at once."
"I had to teach my son, Matt," Emily said absently. "To whistle, that is. Five hundred
pounds." She tapped her forefinger on the chair arm. "The legacy, I daresay. What a blessing Major
Falk's godmother chose to die at such an opportune moment." She looked up to find the major
staring at her in blank incomprehension.
"The legacy. He made it over to the children when he brought them to me."
"There was no legacy."
It was Emily's turn to stare.
"I do not know why Richard should spin such a tale," Major Conway said slowly. "No
doubt he had reasons. If his children have anything at all it is because he sweat for it."
Emily regarded him for a long moment without blinking, then shook her head. "I do not
understand."
"I do." The major closed his eyes and rubbed his brow as if his head ached. "Richard has
never had anything but his pay, Mrs. Foster. And a certain gift for improbable prose
fictions."