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  “Do you know, Nora, I don’t think Mr. Gamble will be giving Emily any dowry,” I prophesied, then laughed one of those giddy, overcome-with-emotion laughs that erupts at wakes and funerals and other awful, inappropriate occasions.

  “Lud, she’ll be lucky if he doesn’t give her a thrashing,” she agreed. “It does look bad for him, her darting off as she did.”

  “He should not have frightened her to death then, should he? I must own I would not suggest she return, now that I have met him.”

  “Good gracious no. I would as soon trust a fox with a chicken. I don’t know how you had the nerve to stand up to him. Edward will have to marry her now.”

  Edward seemed like slim protection from Jack Gamble, but I was too tired to argue. Emily came slipping down to make sure he was gone, then went back up to her room. I waited up till nearly midnight for Edward to come home. Nora retired an hour earlier. I told him of the visit, asking, “What do you plan to do about the situation?”

  You are aware by now it was not my hope to urge this particular match on him, but I did mention it obliquely. His response surprised me. “We are in no position to marry at this time, Chloe.”

  “She doesn’t eat much. That would be the only additional expense,” I told him.

  “No, there would be children eventually, and they cost something,” he pointed out, with a rare streak of practicality. His true and utterly selfish reason for postponing the day was soon coming out. “Besides, a group of us from the Poetic Society are planning a tour of the Lake District on foot. We plan to spend a month, beginning at Grasmere in a week’s time and going straight up north to Ullswater, then down counter-clockwise in a circle, with a jog down to Furness Abbey, coming home up the east side of Windermere. It will be a wonderful experience.”

  “You won’t go in the bracken season. Surely you’ll wait till October!”

  “We can’t wait, Chloe. Harrison has a post starting the end of August, and Fergie will be going back to university. We must go now. It is not the best time for it, but it is the only time we are all free. Six of us plan to go. You’ll get my things ready, won’t you, Chloe? Pack a knapsack with clean linen and mint cakes and all that, and see if we can spare a little money. Wordsworth suggests strongly we make a stop at Penrith. He used to live there, you know. He says it is beautiful.”

  “What about Emily?” I asked, overcome once again at his innate selfishness.

  “The chaperone Gamble spoke of should be installed in a week’s time. We aren’t leaving for a week. She can stay here till then.”

  “You would not be so sure about that if you had seen Gamble.”

  “I did see him. He was in the village when I was on my way home, going into Wingdale Hause. Someone said it was Jack Gamble at least. A great, tall, dark fellow. No wonder Emily is frightened of him. I was myself.”

  This speech left me in no doubt whatsoever as to who was to protect Lady Emily from her cousin. Me! This settled the matter to Edward’s complete satisfaction. “Goodnight, Chloe. You won’t forget to see about the money, will you? I shan’t need much.”

  As the slim funds we possessed all belonged to Edward by rights, this was by no means an imposition. In fact, he was generous as well as selfish: generous with money, about which he cared not a hoot; selfish with his time, which he preferred to dedicate to his Muse.

  Chapter Four

  In the morning Emily donned my walking shoes and went for a long walk around the head of the lake with Edward, seizing what she could of his company before his departure. They took a luncheon, which outing promised to be romantic enough to precipitate the proposal. I half wished her luck, that we would have a legitimate excuse to keep her with us. She wore a suspiciously sulky face upon their return, and when I put a hint to Edward he said only, “Nothing definite is settled, Chloe. I am happy you wish for it though. I thought, a while back, you were not in favour of it.”

  “It is time to drink or pass the cup,” I advised him.

  “I am very fond of Emily,” he said, in his dreamy, irresolute way, then heaved a deep sigh designed to inform a listener he was too weary to continue the discussion. I took it as a tentative suggestion of a proposal in the near future.

  When Gamble came rattling the front door again that afternoon, the future was speeded up. I imagine Nora spotted his mount coming up the driveway. She arose from her chair with an unaccustomed haste, muttering “dinner” as she darted towards the kitchen. As Nora usually expresses the same interest in dinner as Edward in money, I knew it was but an excuse. I had not yet twigged to her reason for leaving. At least I had Edward for protection. Odd that one should feel the need for protection from a supposedly civilized neighbour, but I own I was grateful I had not to meet Gamble alone. The cause of all the furor, Emily, was resting abovestairs after the exertion of the picnic.

  Gamble hardly bothered to glance at me. He turned the full glare of his black orbs on poor Edward, who smiled back calmly enough. That poetic soul of his acted as an insulation against the realities of life to an alarming degree. I made introductions. Edward offered his hand in friendship. Gamble nearly pulled it from its wrist. I had to smile to myself to see my brother flex his fingers, not without pain, after the performance.

  “Would you be kind enough to tell my cousin I am here to take her home,” was our caller’s first speech after the introductions.

  “Emily is staying with us,” Edward answered mildly.

  “I beg to differ. Her aunt Crawford is visiting at the Hall, and she is required at home.”

  This aunt referred to was Mrs. Henrietta Crawford, known to her friends as Hennie. She was Lady Carnforth’s married (and widowed) sister. He had chosen the closest relative to get Emily back home with no loss of time. Hennie lived no farther away than Windermere. She was a perfectly respectable woman of whom no worse ill was ever spoken but that she was the greatest skint alive. She would have chaperoned the Dragoons if it allowed her to live without expense for a few weeks. With the chaperone provided, I had run out of excuses to keep Emily with us.

  Undaunted, Edward said, “I have promised her she may stay here. I cannot break my word.”

  I don’t know what sort of promise the minx had extracted from him on that picnic, but the understanding had definitely been that she only stay till a chaperone had been installed. Gamble cast a look on him that was not even angry, only impatient. “Please get her. Now,” he said. The air was crackling again, charged with some suppressed menace.

  I looked to Edward. He looked uncertain. “I’ll tell her,” I said and bolted from the room, feeling very much as Nora had felt the night before, no doubt.

  Emily smiled quite contentedly when I took the news up to her. “Is Aunt Hennie at the Hall? How nice! I think I should go and see her. I shan’t be afraid now, with her there.”

  An unworthy wave of relief rolled over me. I went back belowstairs to hear Gamble putting the blocks to Edward. “May I know how you would propose to support her?” he demanded in a hatefully toplofty tone. Had Edward finally made up his mind then, and spoken of a definite attachment?

  As my brother uttered no reply to the question, I stepped into the breach. “Emily will be down shortly. She has decided to go home and see her aunt, Edward,” I told him in a voice full of indifference.

  Not to be put off with this news, Gamble continued staring at my brother. “I repeat, I doubt very much that you are able to support her in the manner to which she is accustomed.” A scathing flicker of his eyes darted about our saloon, then returned to their prime target.

  And still Edward, the clunch, stood with his tongue between his teeth. It was not to be borne. “I hope not indeed, sir,” I shot back angrily, “for what she is accustomed to is living in pretentious squalor. I cannot think it has added much to her comfort to have a bailiff underfoot either.” It is really quite horrid, being an older sister. Nature’s impulses are all reversed, with the female having to protect the male (and looking a perfect shrew into the bargain. N
ot that I cared what our guest thought of me personally.)

  “How tedious life in Grasmere has become if malicious gossip is the chief pastime. Tell me, Miss Barwick, would my cousin share the mistress-ship of the house with yourself?”

  “Yes.”

  “How delightful for her,” he said ironically.

  “We rub along very well together I assure you.”

  “I have heard from her father that Emily has the disposition of a saint. He did not mention any tendency to martyrdom.”

  As the gloves were now off, I did not hesitate a minute to reply, “We all know well enough Lord Carnforth is never perfectly aware of what passes in the world.”

  “I should think not indeed, if he has given this misalliance his sanction. Odd he did not mention it.”

  “Nothing is settled. It is just an idea ...” Edward began in a placating way. He had no sensitivity for handling people. A firm line was the only way with the likes of Gamble. Already I knew that much about the man. If you give a bully any notion of weakness, he will only press the point harder.

  Emily came tripping lightly into the middle of the battlefield, to make her curtsey to her cousin. I must say she showed him a very charming smile, for a young lady who had done nothing but complain for the past twenty-four hours and more. “Is Aunt Hennie really at home?” she asked, a breathless quality in her voice showing her excitement. Her colour, perhaps, was a little high as well.

  “Certainly she is, my dear,” he answered in a voice as soft as velvet. Even those flashing black eyes had softened. The crackle was gone from the air. There was some tenderness in Gamble’s regard as he smiled at Emily. It was difficult to see why she had ever been frightened of him, unless he was acting for our, or her, benefit. I shall admit the full depths of my own suspicious nature and state at once I also wondered whether she had not exaggerated the affair out of all proportion to push Edward into a firm offer.

  “When did she come?” Emily asked.

  “I went to Windermere and fetched her this afternoon. You were a very naughty girl, you know, to go slipping out of the house without telling us. Your father and I were worried about you.” He wagged his finger at her playfully. She blushed a shade pinker and smiled up through her lashes at him. If she was not that minute trying to incite Edward into a fit of jet black jealousy, I would have been much surprised.

  “I’m sorry, Cousin,” she said.

  Edward looked from one to the other of them in confusion. I would have given an ear to know what tales she had been telling him of her cousin. Really it was enough to make one wonder what she was up to. A few more teasing remarks passed between the two of them, while I stood watching, my stomach turning with disgust. Yet one could not but notice the striking picture they made, the fair young beauty and the tall, dark, dangerous-looking man.

  “We’re off then,” Gamble said suddenly, arising.

  “My bags aren’t packed,” Emily told him, and laughed.

  “We’ll have them sent for tomorrow,” he answered, so eager to get her away that she would be going to bed in her petticoat. It was noticed as well that the things would be sent for, not even picked up in person. One would think we were running an inn.

  I suppose the minor point must be conceded that Mr. Gamble had some latent, under-developed notions of propriety. He turned and thanked us for having entertained Emily before leaving, which is more than the hussy herself bothered to do. Neither of them made any mention of calling on us, or invited us to visit them.

  “What do you make of that performance?” I asked Edward, after they had gone.

  “He didn’t seem so bad. I cannot imagine why Emily was so frightened of him.”

  “Frightened? Bah, she’s no more frightened of him than I am, the hussy. Have you proposed to her at last?”

  “Oh no. He asked me what my intentions were, you know, and that is how he came to be asking how I would support her, but I did not commit myself.”

  Nora, having observed their exit from the top of the stairs, came tripping in to hear what we could add in the way of visual details. She allowed it to be “odd”, and with a little encouragement “very odd indeed”. Edward hunched his shoulders and went out to look at the moon. He was creating an epic on a vestal virgin which I had thought referred to Emily, but it turned out to be the moon instead.

  The only soul in the neighbourhood who shared my sense of pique at the treatment we received from them was Tom Carrick, when he came calling the next morning, and it was only Gamble he would allow to be at grievous fault. “You don’t want anything to do with them,” he said in his righteous way. “There’s bad blood in the family, always was, always will be. The old lord drinks like a fish. Gamble is a confirmed libertine, and the gel sounds little better than a flirt, when all’s said and done. They will deal well together.’’

  “What—do you think he is interested in her in a romantic way?”

  “Probably. He will inherit it all one of these days. The old lord will push for a match. The best thing for all concerned.”

  Chapter Five

  For forty-eight hours we heard nothing further of Lady Emily. I ascertained while at the bank getting some money for Edward that our mortgage had not been taken over by Wingdale. Captain Wingdale had some men installing a gaudy, ugly set of arms on a hanging sign outside his inn. It looked familiar. I shall see if I can discover whose arms he has borrowed, for I doubt the Wingdales possess any.

  Edward kept us hopping at home preparing the linens and ninety-nine other items required for a walking trip of a month’s duration. His companions in the walk came out one evening to discuss the enterprise, but ended up boring Nora and myself to yawns with their poetic foolishness. Each had to recite his latest creation, you know, all sounding very much like each other, and like bad Wordsworth. Nora at least got three inches of netting accomplished; I got nothing but a slight headache from worrying about what was transpiring at the Hall. Tom’s remark had worried me. Emily was a bit of a rogue, but not rogue enough to deserve a libertine like Gamble.

  After the company left, I said to Edward, “Don’t you think you should go up to the Hall and see if Emily is all right?”

  “She is fine. Fergie mentioned seeing her in the village—in high spirits he said. I shall go to say goodbye, however, before I leave.”

  Departure was still three days away. By dint of frequent repetition, I got a promise from him to go the next day. In the interim, we were not completely bereft of news from that quarter, for anyone who dropped by had a fresh rumour.

  “They do say he’s brought a troupe of foreigners home with him,” the higgler confided, his eyes round with interest. “Come in on the stage they did, wearing sheets and diapers. The women got strange marks on their foreheads, and the men folks, some of ‘em, got whiskers and beards like bishops.”

  As if this were not rumour enough to keep us lively, Tom Carrick, never tardy in finding an excuse to drop by, told us somewhat more grammatically that he could vouch for it personally that both a tiger and an elephant had been smuggled through the village under cover of darkness, the former in a cage made of tree branches, the latter on foot with a native sitting on his head. It was Mrs. Partridge who had seen the parade. One would have to go through the village invisible to evade her eyes. She never sleeps, and never misses a trick.

  As we were on the main read to the Hall, we could see for ourselves the train of wagons wending their way up the twisting path, stocked with intriguingly closed cartons as big as carriages. One could only imagine their contents. What on earth could be in them? There were enough to furnish the Hall from the bottom floor up.

  Edward was virtually useless as a spy. He went to see Emily, and returned home satisfied that the girl was not being abused in any way. He hadn’t but one detail of the cargo from India. “Gamble has given her a monkey, so she will be well amused till my return.”

  “It sounds as though he is setting up a menagerie,” Nora declared, “what with tigers and elephants an
d monkeys.”

  “The strangest creatures in it will be the human beings,” Edward then remembered to mention. “I cannot imagine why he brought home so many natives, I think they are servants. They are all washing and polishing the Hall, in any case.”

  “Aye, natives is it?” Nora asked knowingly. “Half native and half Gamble is more like it.”

  “They do look rather like Gamble,” Edward thought, with no trace of condemnation. “But then he is so dark that the likeness may be only one of complexion. In any case, Emily is happy as a dove. She has got her own woman now, a servant girl called Mulla, to take care of her. Oh, and Gamble has paid off the bailiff, Emily said.”

  “When is she coming to see us?” I asked, hoping for a more detailed account from her than I was apt to pry out of Edward. “She has not been here for some time now.”

  “She will come before I leave,” he said, rooting on the table for his copy of Wordsworth, which was not usually so far away from him.

  She didn’t, but as it happened, she finally rambled down the afternoon of the day Edward set out for his tour. He left at daybreak. Emily came in the afternoon. She had Hennie Crawford with her, a lady known to us from former visits during the better days at the Hall. Gamble did not accompany them. The change in Emily was quite simply remarkable. What was first noticed was her more elegant toilette—a new white shawl was around her shoulders, while her curls were brushed carefully into a pannier do, gathered up from her face to hang in a basket of curls at the back.

  Her more demure behaviour was in all likelihood due to the presence of Mrs. Crawford. The woman was not precisely a dragon, but she had been known to complain that a card of condolence had a spelling error in it, which gives you, I trust, some notion that she was what is commonly termed a high stickler. It was the dead heat of summer, which did not deter Mrs. Crawford from wearing black mittens to match her black scowl. She had been eating onions.

  We were given to understand in short order that a greater honour than we deserved had been bestowed on us in her coming. “Has Mr. Barwick left yet?” she asked eagerly. The closest thing to a smile that decorated her face during the whole visit broke out when the answer in the affirmative was given. Emily showed some traces of regret, but the Tartar was delighted.