August, who had remained in the window-seat, now stepped forward. "Enough," he said with a resumption of his former hauteur. "Pray forgive me for reminding you, sir, that your son is an adult with several years of military service behind him. He is fully capable of making up his own mind, and"—he raised a hand to silence the older gentleman's furious attempt to intervene—"and I cannot allow that you cause him to suffer a relapse."
"
You
cannot allow?" gobbled Mr. Morris, purple in the face. "Why, damn your eyes,
you
are the one put him in that confounded chair!"
If Falcon winced inwardly, he did not show it. "Precisely so," he agreed. "I endangered Jamie's life, wherefore I now mean to devote my own life to his care." In a sudden relaxing of his stern manner, he said with his most beguiling smile, "No, really, sir, you are as devoted to him as he is to you, and I know you have his welfare at heart. Will you not allow him to choose his own path? And permit me to do what little I may to make amends?"
Mr. Morris huffed and puffed and eventually, considerably baffled, went back to his country home and advised his wife that the heir to his worldly goods was making a fine recovery but was gone out of his mind.
The next day Jonathan Armitage was called to the Admiralty, where he was awarded a full pardon and his back pay restored to him. They celebrated at Falcon House so that Morris could participate. Apart from the invalid, who was permitted no more than a small glass of sherry, August was the only man to remain sober.
A few days later, Gwendolyn received a letter from Italy. It was from Hector Kadenworthy, who wrote that he had managed to escape England, and had persuaded his aunt to follow and accompany him to the New World. "I hear there are some very tolerable estates in the Virginia colony, and some fine horseflesh. I hope to be able to start anew and build myself a comfortable life out there. Pray believe I was most relieved to hear that Falcon got out of that pest hole. He is too good a man to have expired in so wretched a way. If all goes well, and you should ever come so far, you must both be my guests."
Gwendolyn ordered a chair called up and went at once to share this news with August. Katrina met her in the entrance hall and imparted with a twinkle that her brother was in the book room searching for a work by Martin Luther.
"My goodness!" said Gwendolyn. "He has really mended his ways. I'd never have guessed he would be interested in theology."
"Jamie wants it read to him. And I will warn you, dearest, that my brother is rather a grump today, even for a new man."
"Trina," said Gwendolyn reproachfully. "Do not tease him. The poor dear is trying so hard."
"Yes. To stay awake."
"What? Could he not sleep? Oh, I do hope he is not kept awake by remembering—"
"He was kept awake because Jamie summoned him at two o'clock in the morning, complaining that he could not sleep. I told Jamie he should let his man help, but he has come to think August is the only one he can really rely on."
"Oh," said Gwendolyn, her eyes very wide. "And was August able to help?"
"He read to Jamie until he fell asleep; at four. He is being very patient, but, oh Gwen!" Katrina giggled. "The maxims have been thick on the ground!"
They repaired to the red and gold parlour where a fire blazed up the chimney and Morris sat in a deep armchair before it, nodding drowsily. "At last!" he said, not looking around. " 'Tarry-long brings little home,' August. I'd think you would try to— Miss Gwen!" Pleased, he stretched out a hand. "How good of you to come to see me on such a beast of a day!"
She put her cold hand into his warm one. "I am delighted to see you looking so much better, Jamie."
Falcon opened the door. "I found it, but—" He checked. He looked wan, but his tired eyes lit up when he saw Gwendolyn.
"Good morning, ma'am. Have you come to cheer our invalid?"
"Well, of course she has," said Morris briskly. "Ring for some hot chocolate for the poor frozen creature. And then you can read to us. You'll like this, Gwen."
"Yes, I'm very sure I shall. But I've brought a letter August will like to see, if—"
"Oh, he can read a letter at any time. Now sit down and be comfortable. Hurry up, Lord Haughty-Snort! Don't stand there like a statue! 'As good have no time, as make no good use of it!'"
It seemed to her that August's hands on the book gripped very hard, but he rang for a footman and ordered hot chocolate and cakes for them all before he took a seat close to Morris and began to read. The subject had to do with Whether Soldiers Can Also Be in a State of Grace. The condition of the pages was not good, and Falcon stumbled, striving to decipher the faded words. His efforts did not seem to be greatly appreciated, as Morris whispered to Katrina until the hot chocolate was brought in, and afterward had to ask that August re-read a page as he'd not been attending. Falcon looked rather stern, but repeated the page, and although Morris took to whispering again, persisted doggedly. " 'The mad mob does not ask how it could be better, only that it be different. And when it then becomes worse, it must change again. Thus they get bees for flies, and at last hornets for bees.' "
Morris, who had been chuckling over something Katrina had murmured, turned and observed solemnly, "Yes, indeed, 'A lie today leads to two tomorrow.' "
"What?" Falcon stared at him. "The word was
flies
not 'lies'!"
Gwendolyn was unable to resist remarking innocently, "Perchance Jamie is referring to 'li,' August."
"The passage refers to nothing of the sort," he snapped, his eyes darting indignation at her. "And if you don't want to hear this Jamie, why—"
"Oh—li," said Morris brightly. "Trina was telling me about it. Now there's a really interesting philosophy, though I'll own I didn't expect you to mention it."
Through his teeth Falcon said, "I did not mention it! If you wish—"
"You know, Miss Gwen," Morris went on, "you are absolutely correct. Those old Chinese Pages had some jolly good—"
"Sages," corrected Falcon in a strangled voice.
Morris peered at him anxiously. "My poor fellow. I am being a selfish dolt and taking too much of your precious time, besides boring you to death. I should have known how 'twould be. Now, you go and—"
"No, no." Falcon took a deep breath, and repented. "I'm the one being selfish. Pay me no heed. If you're ready, I'll continue with this."
"You are too good. But let's have a change, dear boy. Do pray find the book about this 'li' business Miss Gwen spoke of. I'd like to hear more of your ancestors. Some of 'em seem to have been quite bright."
Falcon's face was a frozen mask, and Gwendolyn held her breath. She was inexpressibly relieved when the door opened and the butler brought in a large covered basket.
"A gift for you, sir," he said, carrying it to the invalid.
Morris said eagerly, "Is that so? Looks like something in the food line. From whom, Pearsall?"
The butler offered a folded note.
Morris read aloud, "My dear Lieutenant Morris. This is just a little farewell present from someone to whom you were all so kind. I leave tomorrow to join my nephew in Italy and then we sail for the Americas. I was so sorry to hear of your illness, and I hope you will enjoy this small token of my esteem and that it may sometimes remind you of someone who is far away, but with you in spirit." He looked up, exclaiming, "Be dashed! 'Tis from Mrs. Millicent Haverley. I say, how jolly nice of her. Let's have it open."
Pearsall deposited the basket in his lap, and Morris lifted the lid. A small gray head shot up, and a miniature mouth emitted a piercing cry.
Katrina uttered a stifled squeak.
Gwendolyn pressed a hand to her lips.
Falcon grabbed for a handkerchief.
"Oh, what fun!" exclaimed Morris, lifting the little creature from its temporary home. "See here, August! I shall have a pet to keep me busy so that I won't have to put upon you so much! May I keep it, old fellow? You won't mind, will you Trina? 'Tis such a little thing. I'll call it—Millie. Unless 'tis a boy cat." He held out the kitten. "Do look and see, August. Is it a boy cat?"
With a roaring sneeze, August fled.
Late the next morning Sir Owen Furlong called, a radiant Maria Barthelemy on his arm. Pearsall showed them to the book room, where Gwendolyn and Katrina had their heads together over a collection of patterns for wedding gowns, and Peregrine Cranford was watching Morris and Falcon, who concentrated on a game of chess.
Sir Owen stared in astonishment at the kitten that purred on the invalid's lap. "Jove!" he exclaimed. "I wonder Apollo don't savage it!"
"Oh, Apollo don't mind Millie," said Morris. "August does, but he's being kind enough to tolerate her."
"I ab all heart." With a heavy sigh Falcon dabbed a handkerchief at his tearful eyes.
"Speaking of hearts," said Gwendolyn. "You are looking very light-hearted, Sir Owen."
He was, he told them proudly, walking on air, because Maria had consented to become his wife. It would have been hard to tell which of them was the happier. When the congratulations were over, Falcon asked whether they planned to make their home at Sir Owen's beautiful farm near Tunbridge Wells. Furlong said quietly, "No. We cannot, you know. Derek is ready to settle down and look after the farm, and fortunately Maria's grandmama has a large estate outside Lucerne. We are invited to live there—for a few years, at least, until there is no danger of Maria being charged with spying."
Maria took his hand and pressed it to her cheek. "Because of me, my dearest Owen must abandon his lovely old house and—and everything he cares for."
"Without you," he said fervently, "I can care for nothing."
The room hushed as they all watched the two who were so deeply in love.
Falcon rose abruptly and went to add more coal to the fire, then stood looking down, apparently engrossed by the dance of the flames.
He claimed a kiss from the bride-to-be when they left, however, and took two, a privilege both Cranford and Morris were too shy to demand.
When the farewells had been said, the hands wrung, and the ladies had embraced, the happy pair departed.
Perry Cranford said with a show of indignation, "I wonder Owen did not knock you down, you rogue! Two kisses stolen, and they're not even wed yet!"
Very aware that Gwendolyn watched him steadily, Falcon shrugged. "She is a lovely woman. And 'tis said opportunity knocks but once.
Carpe diem
, Perry!"
Cranford grinned. "Were I to go about
carpe-ing
those kinds of
diem-s
, Zoe would box my ears! I am most shocked, August! I'd understood you were turning over a new leaf!"
" 'Tis hard to turn tack on a narrow bridge,' " observed Morris solemnly.
"Tomorrow is Christmas Eve," said Falcon irritably. "Can't they let us alone? What the devil do they want now?"
Braving the bitter cold of the winter afternoon he had taken Morris for a walk. Many people were out, for shoppers were busy. Morris had expressed a desire for some roasted chestnuts and they'd been waiting at a vendor's barrow on the corner of Queen Square when Tummet had run to them with a message from Gideon. "The Cap'n's fireboy brung it, Guv," he'd panted. "You've all bin sent fer by—by the King! Cap'n wants you to meet him at the house on Snow Hill, and you'll all go on from there tergether."
"Majesty wants to give old Gideon a medal, I'll wager," said Morris. "He jolly well deserves one!"
"Lord above," grumbled Falcon, paying for the chestnuts and putting the bag into Morris' lap. "Say you couldn't find me, Tummet."
"Certainly not," countermanded Morris. "But I wonder why Gideon wants you to meet at Snow Hill. I thought Sir Mark meant to sell the place now they've reclaimed Rossiter Court. Gideon never liked that queer old house, and he has a dreadful head for heights. You're sure about this, Tummet?"
"Cross me heart and hope to die! I gotta find Mr. Cranford. You best get on, Guv."
"I don't suppose I am included," said Morris wistfully.
Tummet said, "The Cap'n said
all
of you, mate. Which means you, too, don't it?"
"Yes, by Jove! I say, do shake a leg, Lord Haughty-Snort! Mustn't dawdle about, dear boy! "Tis a lazy dog that leans its head against the wall to bark.' Best find us a jervey."
Falcon gritted his teeth and reminded himself once again that nothing he was able to do for Jamie could make up for the loss of his ability to walk.
Half an hour later, it was Morris who grumbled about his useless limbs as Falcon struggled to maneuver the invalid chair up the steps of the house on Snow Hill. When the shaken and sweating coachman had safely coaxed his scared team up the steep hill, he'd taken his pay and gone off grumbling about "mountain roads." Several horses were tethered to posts outside the house, but no one came to lend a hand, and Falcon's shins were well bruised by the time he had overcome the steps and was pounding on the front door.
"It's open," howled a distant voice. "Come on in!"
Falcon mumbled under his breath, and managed to negotiate the front door and the threshold. The house was dim and cold, but candlelight glowed from the family withdrawing room at the far end of the corridor. "Gideon?" he shouted.
"Here!"
He was almost to the door when the sense of danger set his nerves tingling. He muttered, "Stay here, Jamie," and leaving the invalid chair walked forward, throwing his cloak back over his left shoulder and easing his sword in the scabbard.
Outside the lighted room, he paused, then sprang through the door, sword in hand.
Reginald Smythe sat on the arm of a sofa. "So good of you to come," he drawled.
Falcon crouched. "By God, but I've hoped for this!"
A movement to his right caused him to swing around. A tall slim man with a really shocking scratch wig stepped from behind the door, sword unsheathed.
"The most competent Mr. Jones," said Smythe. "And Rufus," he added with a nod to the side.
Rufus materialized from beyond an armoire chest. He was big, with long arms. Grinning, he tossed a colichemarde with deft expertise from one fist to the other. "Ready to play, me bucko?" he enquired.