Chapter Six

Henry

Henry and Carter waited until it was dark before making the journey up to Beechen Cliff from Number1 the Royal Crescent, the Templetons'family home.

"I look like a numbskull," Henry said.

"You look like the young musician John Greenwood," Carter replied, "which is not quite the same thing."

"I am not sure why you insisted I wear these clothes to walk across the city," Henry grumbled. "These breeches Selina found me are more than a smidgeon short and the jacket's too tight."

Carter snorted. "I don't think we're going to be too concerned about fashion, do you? You are no Beau Brummel. Instead, you are a young impoverished musician who is about to have the chance of his life tomorrow, playing his violin at a masked ball in Bath. You must be incredibly excited!"

"Yes!" Henry said, pitching his voice oddly. "I simply can't wait to make my debut performance in the Upper Rooms."

"What sort of accent was that meant to be?" Carter said.

"Don't rightly know– I was trying to sound a bit different, that's all. I've got my violin here right now– do you wish me to strike up a tune?"

"Certainly not!" Carter said. "First of all, it would draw everyone's attention to you. People will start flinging open their windows to see what's going on. And secondly, I think it might set off the neighbourhood cats."

"Spoilsport!" Henry said. "But I might do some practice once we get up to Beechen Cliff, for I could do with brushing up a few of those dance tunes."

"Perish the thought!" Carter said. "We are supposed to be staying discreetly at the house, remember? I think the next-door neighbours might have something to say if they heard your dreadful playing wafting through the walls."

"Very funny! Anyway, 'twas kind of Cook to give us the bag of food. I'm starving."

"You're always hungry," Carter said. "Although I must say, I wouldn't turn down another slice of that venison pie."

"Which way should we go here?" Henry asked. "Past the theatre?"

"We had better not. You never know who might be hanging round. 'Twould be best if we take the path down to the river's edge and walk along until we can cross the bridge."

"How I am longing for the time when I can go about openly in the daylight," Henry said. "I wouldn't even mind going to the Pump Room and tasting the disgusting water."

"We need to find out who your enemy is first," Carter said. "'Tis not worth taking a risk."

The two men looked about and up and down the river path before scurrying across the bridge.

"I will feel safer once we're hidden by trees," Carter said.

"'Tis not long now."

On they went, up the steep hill and then they both bounded up Jacob's Ladder two steps at a time.

"I have never been this fit," Henry said.

"Army training and the last six months have toughened you up."

"Mostly the last six months," Henry said. "The training I got when I joined the army didn't prepare me for what I faced at Waterloo."

"Quiet!" Carter whispered suddenly. "And stay still."

"What is it?" Henry mouthed.

A few seconds of silence followed, then the wind in the trees, a carriage on a distant road, horses' hooves, the hoot of an owl...

"Nothing," Carter said. "I thought I heard something– but no."

At the top of the steps, the two men followed a narrow path and slipped through the back door of the terraced house where they had been hiding out.

"Let us get down to business," Henry said.

Carter drew the curtains, lit some candles, and grabbed a couple of platters from the side, while Henry unwrapped the food from Cook and cut generous slices of venison pie and fruit cake.

"'Tis not worth lighting a fire," Carter said as he tucked in. "You look tired and should go to bed soon. How's your shoulder?"

"Not bad," Henry said. "Perhaps a little sore after my sister thumped me earlier."

And my darling Kitty touched my shoulder too, shortly before we kissed...

"Bed. Now," Carter said. "You're nodding off."

Later, as helay in bed, Henry's thoughts ran over the events of the day– and what a day it had been, from seeing Kitty near the library in Milsom Street until now.

Would he escape detection at the ball tomorrow by dressing up as the fictional John Greenwood? An owl hooted outside, answered by another.

"Henry!" There was an urgent whisper from the doorway.

"Carter?" Henry sat up in bed. "What is it?"

"There are too many owls. I don't like it."

"What do you mean, you don't like it? I thought you enjoyed nature."

"'Tis no time for jokes," Carter said. "I have to be wary in my line of work."

Good grief! "In my line of work?" Carter was more or less admitting that he was much more than a manservant. How interesting this was– but perchance 'twas not the best time for a discussion.

"I'm going outside," Carter said, "to have a snoop around. Come downstairs and bolt the door behind me."

Henry yawned. "I suppose I have to stay up until you come back?"

"That's the idea," Carter said, "and would be exceedingly kind of you. Or put it another way– I'll be downright furious if I have to sleep in the garden because you've gone back to your bed when I return."

Henry grinned. "What do you expect you're going to find out there? What makes you suspicious? Apart from being a spy, of course."

"I'll ignore that comment! And what's making me suspicious is the amount of hooting going on. We have not heard this many owls any other night, have we?"

"No– we've seen some bats, though– can't hear them because apparently their sounds are too high for the human ear to pick up."

"Fascinating though this lecture on natural history is, I believe I must get going. Come on!"

Henry shivered as he leapt out of bed and padded after Carter down to the ground floor. He did as he was told and bolted the door securely, both top and bottom.

Once Carter had left, Henry looked around the kitchen. There was nothing for it– he would have to eat another piece of cake and maybe have some ale too.

And I'll while away the time thinking about you, dearest Kitty, and wishing you were waiting for me upstairs, lying in my bed.

Sometime later Henry was roused from his half slumber at the kitchen table by a sharp knock at the door.

"Only me," Carter said. "Let me in."

"Anything to report?" Henry asked as he opened the door.

"No," Carter said "No evidence of anything, not that I could find, anyway. If there was anyone there, they've gone now."

"Maybe you were being overly cautious?"

Carter's mouth was set in a grim line now. "I'm not so sure. Just because I didn't find any evidence doesn't mean there weren't people out there looking for us– or even following us, God forbid."

"What does it mean, then?" Henry said.

"It could mean our enemy is cleverer than I had thought."

*

Kitty

Kitty too was finding it hard to sleep that night. She had tried reading in bed by candlelight, but this made her eyes tired without the rest of her body feeling sleepy.

Next, she tried lying on her side and relaxing every part of her body from the top of her head down to the ends of her toes– followed by tensing every part of her body then releasing it. Neither of these techniques had the desired effect, so she drew her knees up to her chest and tried to think about nothing, absolutely nothing at all. Her mind would soon be a blank and she would drift off into peaceful slumber...

Only this was not what happened. Instead, her mind became crowded with images– her father's disapproving face when she had told him she did not wish to marry Lord Steyne, Miss Steele's unexpected appearance in Kitty's bedroom when she had been thinking about her beloved Henry, her mama's pallor and lack of energy when Kitty had read to her the previous evening, and tea with the Templetons– the fun, laughter, music... the kiss! Her feelings...

And holding everything together, acting as the framework for Kitty's musings, was the beautiful Mozart pianoforte duet and the feeling of being at one with Henry as they journeyed through the musical landscape. Four hands, two minds and hearts, joined as one in the performance.

Fragments of music from the duet escaped from inside Kitty's head– whirling spirals of semi-quavers danced across the ceiling, on and on, with snippets of melody wafting through her bedchamber. Could no one else in the household hear it? 'Twas so loud! Would her mind never find rest? And what were the notes trying to say?

Then silence fell on the other side of the music, and there was a vision of Kitty and Henry– not seated at the pianoforte this time, but lying in her bed.

Kitty floated on the ceiling looking down at herself with Henry. They were so close; it was paradise. Henry started kissing her, as he had done in the Templetons' withdrawing room. Kitty moved her lips, remembering, remembering... Henry's soft lips were upon hers, two mouths moving in perfect time with each other, then his probing tongue was joined by hers as they melded together, deeper and deeper... and what would have come next if Henry had really been in her bedroom?

Kitty was a little hazy about the mechanics of love. When she was sixteen, her mama had spoken to her about marriage and about what it meant, but she had made such veiled references that Kitty had been none the wiser after their conversation.

"Your husband will lie next to you in bed," Mrs. Honeyfield had said. "You will climb the heights together– you will be as one. Many will tell you that this is something for a woman to endure, but I have heard some find it an enjoyable experience rather than a duty."

"And which of these was it like for you," Kitty had asked, "endurance or enjoyment?"

Mrs. Honeyfield had turned bright red at that point and said that it was time for Kitty's pianoforte lesson and she was sure she had just heard the music master arriving at the house.

Kitty had thought about what her mother had told her– and hoped very much that she herself would fall into the enjoyment category rather than endurance.

Marriage and what went on between a man and wife was something that had been a frequent topic of conversation between Kitty and Selina. There had been one hysterically funny occasion many years ago when the two girls had been in the nursery at the Templetons' and Selina's governess had overheard Selina and Kitty speculating about what might happen when they were married. The governess had then told the two girls the most extraordinary tale, which was obviously patently untrue, about what happens between a man and a woman in holy matrimony.

"The man has a certain appendage between his legs," she had said, "which is usually small and insignificant."

This much the girls already knew– but they remained silent, wondering what might be revealed next.

"Under certain conditions," the governess had continued, "the appendage becomes aroused and hard, and is then placed inside a lady to give her pleasure and to relieve the man's need."

Selina and Kitty had laughed so much to hear this nonsensical tale that Lady Templeton had come into the nursery to find out what on earth was going on. Neither Selina nor Kitty were capable of rational speech at that point, and the governess had become flustered, mumbling something about the fact that she thought girls should not be ignorant, for would that not make them into victims? And was it not her duty to educate young ladies about what they would face in the future?

Lady Templeton had ordered the governess to go down to the parlour with her, and shortly after that Selina was told that her governess had left to seek alternative employment.

Kitty had not thought of what the governess had told them for years and years, but now the details came back to her mind.

Was it a nonsensical tale? Kitty now recollected that when she had been sitting snug on Henry's knee in the Templetons' withdrawing room, she had been surprised by a change occurring in a part of Henry's body– a certain stiffening, for want of a better word. This might suggest there was some truth in the governess's story. And it had not seemed funny, but natural, although admittedly unexpected.

And if Kitty combined the matter-of-fact nature of what the governess had told her and Selina, with the more whimsical account of marriage from her mother, ah, was it then possible that Kitty was getting nearer an understanding of what it might mean to be joined to a man? To experience married love?

At last, I begin to understand... from Henry's sublime kisses, on and on, until... ah, Henry, my darling!

Kitty must have fallen into a light sleep at that point, for the next time she awoke, in a tangle of bedsheets, she was conscious that time had moved on– together with her understanding of what it was to love a man, physically.

But my Henry is not here– all is but a dream.

She coughed and reached to the side of her bed for a sip of water to ease the tickle in her throat. The stuffed-up feeling persisted, and Kitty became desperate for a nip of fresh air.

Despite the chill in the room, she decided to open one of her windows– but because she was still half asleep, she had forgotten that the windows in her room were no longer plural and she was mistakenly trying to pull back a non-existent curtain from a blank wall.

Oh no! How could she have forgotten the daylight robbery and the modifications to her room? Not to mention the choking dust and lack of air...

Kitty stumbled over to her remaining window in the gloom, stubbing her toe in the process, which increased her low spirits. She pulled back the drape and one side of the shutter, then lifted the lower sash of the window. Ah! The December night air was chilly– but refreshing.

"...have to be quick," a woman's voice murmured from the shadows far below. "Who knows who might overhear us..."

"What have you to report?" a male voice said.

Kitty knew that confident drawl– Lord Steyne! He must be talking to one of his women. But why outside her house?

"You said before when we met that you thought you saw..." Lord Steyne continued. "I have men checking it out as we speak... and what of the other situation?"

". . . cannot be sure . . . the quantities . . . I am not much experienced in these matters . . ."

And the woman sounded like Miss Steele. This was confirmed when there came forth a high-pitched whinny. That insufferable woman had better not be wearing Kitty's red cloak again.

"Zounds!" Lord Steyne said. "You need to learn to do your job, woman."

". . . I have tried . . ." Miss Steele said.

Kitty strained forwards, whilst taking care not to be detected– a delicate balance! Why couldn't they speak up? Miss Steele was generally very keen on diction.

And now they were talking about Easter. Why? For it was not long before Christmas.

"I need to attack fast," Lord Steyne said, "on all fronts..."

Kitty could not believe her ears! This sounded like some sort of threat– but to whom?

". . . but if they don't want to . . .?" Miss Steele said.

Kitty sat down on the floor beneath the window and put her head in her hands, feeling the blood pounding away. Had she fallen headlong into one of her dramatic novels? What was going on? She was convinced Lord Steyne wished someone ill, but who? It could not be to do with her or her family, for did Lord Steyne not wish to marry her, however repellent the idea was to her? And had he not recently said he would pay for a doctor to treat her poor ill mama?

Should Kitty tell someone about this? She could talk to Papa, and felt sure he would be concerned, but he was still out playing cards in one of the gambling dens. And Mama was far too ill to be bothered with this. Miss Steele was someone to whom Kitty was supposed to able to turn– and yet she was a part of the mysterious problem!

Kitty groaned. She would have to wait– and perhaps confide in Henry tomorrow when she saw him at the ball.

*

Henry

Henry woke early the next morning. He lay on his bed staring out at the dark sky. Had someone really been looking for them last night? Following them, even? Perchance he should not have gone into Bath in daylight to meet Kitty and then to his parents at the Royal Crescent, and on to Sydney Gardens? Thence to the Crescent again. Oh dear. Carter had urged caution, yet Henry had insisted.

But there was nothing to be gained from crying over spilt milk– what was done was done. Henry clenched his fists. What if, by his own foolish behaviour, he had put his family in danger? He would never forgive himself. And as for Kitty! If anyone tried to harm his darling girl, he would not be answerable for the consequences.

Henry's heart nearly burst out of his chest at the thought of Kitty. The kiss! He had wanted so much more... although he would never disrespect Kitty in the way he had heard some of his friends talk about their women. Why, even Edmund boasted openly of his conquests.

Lord and Lady Templeton had always been keen for Edmund to settle down and find a suitable wife and had dropped many hints about this, for Edmund would inherit the Templeton land and estates, and must make a good match. It was his duty to produce an heir and a spare, both of them male, or preferably an heir and several spares, to inherit the Templeton title and wealth in due course.

Henry's parents had been able to have a more relaxed attitude to Henry's matrimonial prospects. There had been no pressure for Captain Templeton to choose a wife before he left for war– in fact quite the reverse.

Lady Templeton had always told Henry how important it was to choose wisely and that he was lucky because he could choose for love, whereas Edmund must choose his marriage partner in a more strategic way. Indeed, Edmund himself thought of marriage more as a business contract than as an occasion for romance.

"I will marry to please our parents," Edmund had once told Henry, "and I will take a mistress or mistresses to please myself."

Henry shuffled in his bed uncomfortably. He had never wanted to take a mistress. He had loved Kitty for as long as he could remember, and although there had been temptations along the way, he had never succumbed.

Once Edmund had said to him, "Come out with me tonight, and I can show you all the pleasures Bath has to offer– and believe me, they are many and varied."

"No," Henry had said. "I am not going out to look for these casual encounters. Nor am I interested."

"I respect you for that, Henry," Edmund had said. "You are a better man than I am– and I know why you feel this way, too."

"Why is that?" Henry said.

Edmund had laughed. "Henry, if you think that anyone in our family does not know how much you love Kitty, and have always loved Kitty, then you're an even bigger dunderhead than I had taken you for previously!"

Henry's friends had not been so admiring of what they called his puritanical behaviour.

"For God's sake, man, you're not going into the church!" one of them had said.

"Something wrong with you?" another had suggested.

Other remarks had been more crude.

In the end, Henry had simply ignored his friends' comments and told them it was his business, and his business alone– and they had stopped teasing him.

Truth be told, I am not the only one of my friends not to have lain with a woman yet, but they are too scared to admit it openly.

There was another reason, too, why Henry was reluctant to "sow his wild oats," as many of his friends put it. Once, his mama had taken him aside and explained that if a man was to behave in a certain way, then he should be willing to accept the consequences.

"Consequences?" Henry had said.

"Yes," his mama had replied. "Consequences for the woman– and for any offspring resulting from the union."

Henry had bitten his lip before venturing to suggest, "...there are methods, whereby... are there not?"

His mama had looked amused and said, "Whatever your friends have told you, there is no completely certain way to ensure the woman does not become with child."

Henry had no answer to this.

"And seriously, Henry," his mama had continued, "these situations can result in great hardship and suffering for the woman and her baby. I know of what I talk, for in my own family, there is an example, which happily worked out better than some– but which was nevertheless far from ideal or fair, especially for the woman and her child."

"But . . ."

"No, Henry!" Lady Templeton had held up a warning hand "Our discussion is at an end. The tale is not mine to tell. I merely wanted to alert you to one of the facts of life that young gentlemen are often misled over."

Realizing he was not going to be able to get back to sleep, Henry hopped out of bed and went down to the kitchen and started to make some tea. By the time it was brewed, daylight was beginning to peep through the windows, and yet there was still no sign of Carter. He must be particularly tired after his nighttime jaunt along the cliff looking for phantom owls or gang members that might or might not have been pursuing them.

"Here you are, Carter," Henry said, going into Carter's chamber. "I've brought you a cup of tea."

Carter sat up in bed and scratched his head. He was still wearing his clothes from the day before.

"Good Lord! I'm supposed to be your manservant, remember? What business have you bringing me a hot cup of tea? But I am mighty grateful that you have."

"There is still some venison pie down in the kitchen– would you like me to fetch you a slice for breakfast?"

"Thank you, but I'll wait until I go downstairs to eat," Carter said. "There are enough mice in this house– I don't want to leave pastry crumbs for them to feast on in my chamber."

Henry sat down on the chair beside Carter's bed. "The house is getting in a bit of a mess– makes me appreciate how much the maids do in my parents' house."

"Talking of maids," Carter said, "when are you going to declare yourself to your favourite young woman in all the world?"

"And who might that be?" Henry said.

Carter guffawed. "I am going to say something to you– but do not want you to take it the wrong way."

"Why would I do that?"

"You might think 'tis not my place to interfere– but I want to offer guidance."

"Ah, 'tis the sort of advice you're always giving me," Henry said. "I know you're going to start prattling on about Kitty again and ask why I didn't ask her to marry me before I left for war."

"Not quite," Carter said. "As you are hinting, I've probably said enough about that missed opportunity already."

"More than enough!"

"But it is about Kitty– and your future together."

"What, then?" Henry asked.

"First, I want your solemn word you're not going to take offence."

Henry took a few more gulps of tea then set the cup down on the floor. "Why I should take any advice on affairs of the heart from a grisly old bear like you that has never been married, I have no idea."

Carter sat bolt upright in his bed. "What makes you think I've never been married?"

"You dark horse!" Henry said. "What happened? Have you really been married?"

"I married my childhood sweetheart," Carter said. "She lived in the village where I grew up."

Henry let out a long, low whistle. "How old were you when you were wed?"

"We were both eighteen– then she died a year later from consumption. And before you ask why I did not marry again, that's simple– I never found anyone to compare with her."

Carter, a romantic! Who would have thought it?

"And how long ago was this?"

"Too many years," Carter said. "Her death made me restless, and I moved away from the village where I had grown up and made my way to London."

"And became a spy?" Henry said.

"I worked for the government."

"Same thing?"

Carter regarded Henry with grave eyes for a considerable time before sighing deeply and saying, "My good friend, you are correct in your assumption. Many years ago, I became a spy for His Majesty's government. 'Twas not the sort of work I would ever have undertaken as a married man, but being widowed made me reckless."

"You and I have been together for a long time now, through thick and thin," Henry said, "and yet this is the first I've heard of your marriage or anything this personal."

"In my line of work, we learn to be reticent. I have told you more than I have told most people. There is one who knows my whole story… but that is a tale for another day."

"Thank you for trusting me enough to tell me as much as you have," Henry said. "As for the rest of your story, I respect your privacy– but whenever you feel like telling me that tale, I'll be ready to listen."

"Thank you! And I think I'll have that slice of venison pie now," Carter said. "Let us go down to the kitchen."

"But first, ask me what you wanted to. You know, the thing I might not want to hear."

"'Tis quite personal . . ."

"You have just shared much that is personal with me," Henry said, "so I will try not to over-react."

"Here goes, then: do you perchance occasionally feel too frightened to love Kitty because of what you have gone through in the war and afterwards? Scared, because she will have to get used to the new you? I mean, what if she cannot cope with the person you have become?"

"Are you asking if I am a coward?"

"You are no coward!" Carter said. "But I have known many soldiers who on return from war were changed characters. It can happen when men have been through unspeakable times, when they have been ordered to be more aggressive than they would ever want to be. An officer of my acquaintance was at the sack of Badajoz, and he told me that living through that, seeing how the soldiers behaved– and being powerless to stop them– will stay with him to his grave. For many years after he returned from war, he was unable to stop reliving the past– and this had a detrimental impact on his relationship with his family and friends. It took a long while for him to recover from the great shock to his mind."

"Ah, I see what you mean– and you are right. Life seemed straightforward before the war, but after the horrors of battle, followed by lying in that ditch, I sometimes find my courage deserts me. Kitty deserves a better man. One that has not taken life. One that does not wake at night reliving savage scenes of great suffering..."

"You scarce knew who or where you were when first I found you," Carter said gently. "In the grip of a raging infection, you struggled to speak, let alone walk– and yet you have come a long way since then, and the passage of time will continue to help. You should not be afraid to declare yourself to Kitty. Do not let the war sap your spirit. You do want to marry her, don't you?"

"I love Kitty with my whole heart," Henry said. "And yes, of course I want to marry her. But am I still deserving of her? Sometimes I have my doubts. And then on top of my own unworthiness, there is the predicament I find myself in now, with an unknown enemy. Nothing can happen between us before this is resolved, for I will not put Kitty in danger."

Carter smiled. "However changed you are, you are still the perfect match for Kitty. I am glad we were able to talk in this way, for now I am all the more determined to discover and get rid of your enemy– to clear the way, so that you and Kitty can have your happy ending."

A happy ending with my darling Kitty– more than I deserve but everything I long for...