The Headstrong Ward (11 page)

“So you see,” Anne was telling Captain Debenham, “my plan was not quite right. Laurence cannot be the one to cry off; she must. We must find a way to make her.”

Edward scratched his head. “She won't do that. The bishop is keen on the ‘family connection.'”

“How do you know that?”

“One of his cronies is father to a friend of mine. Heard the whole story.”

“Hmm. Well, but surely there are other families?”

He shrugged. “But the girl likes Laurence, I suppose, hard as that may be to stomach.”

Anne grimaced at him, but considered this possibility seriously. “I am not certain she does,” she said finally. “She seems to want to manage him, but I haven't noticed any signs of real affection.”

“Well, the only way to call
her
off is to dangle a better match before her.” Edward grimaced in his turn. “A rum notion.”

“Edward, you are brilliant. That is precisely what we will do. We will find someone better suited to Miss Branwell and throw them together!”

He shook his head. “No one's suited to that harpy. Wouldn't wish her on my worst enemy.”

“N-no. But surely there is some man who would find her amiable.”

“Laurence,” suggested Captain Debenham pessimistically.

“Yes, but he is mistaken!”

“There you are.”

“I mean someone who would admire her true qualities, someone who likes a woman to be…”

“It won't fadge, Anne. Who would?”

“Well, I don't care,” snapped the girl impatiently. “It must be someone other than Laurence. I shall begin looking at once, and you are to do so too.”

“I'll do my best, but I don't promise anything. Everyone I know avoids the Branwell like plague.”

Anne waved this aside. “Is there nothing else we can try at the same time? Think!”

Edward frowned. “Might make a push to convince her that Laurence is unworthy of her regard.”

“What do you mean?”

“Tell her something off-putting about him. Tell her he drinks too much.”

“He does not!”

“No,” admitted Edward rather regretfully. “And she wouldn't believe it, either. Have to think of something else.”

“We are
not
going to tell lies about Laurence, not even to save him,” said Anne firmly.

“All right.” Edward shrugged. “Still, it's not a bad idea.”

She ignored this. “We must consider what sort of man would draw Miss Branwell away from Laurence, and then find him. I suppose she wishes to marry a clergyman, as her father is a bishop. And you say they are concerned with a good family connection.”

“She has money, too,” added Edward. “Her father won't countenance a pauper.”

“I should think a very serious young man,” mused Anne. “Interested in music, and eager to have the management of his household taken wholly out of his hands. Yes.”

Edward laughed. “Particularly that last. Find a wellborn churchman who wants to live under the cat's foot, and there's your man.”

She could not help but giggle at this description. “That does not sound too difficult.”

He snorted. “Sounds dashed impossible to me.”

“Nonsense. We can begin looking tonight. Can you think of anyone who might be here?”

“At Almack's?”

“Laurence is here.”

Edward frowned and pondered the question. After a while, he shook his head. “This'll never work, Anne.”

“Of course it will. It has to. Come, let us walk about and examine the crowd.”

“Looking for clergymen? Have you lost your wits?”

“Are you turning cow-hearted on me now, Edward?”

“I? Not a bit of it. But, Anne—”

“Good. Come along, then.” She took his arm and urged him up from the sofa.

“See here, Anne…”

“Don't worry, we'll find someone. Now, who is that gentleman over there?”

With a sinking heart, Edward followed the direction of her gaze and embarked on the first of what was to be a long series of character sketches.

The following morning, Anne went riding in the park with Edward. They had agreed upon this appointment at the end of an unsuccessful search at Almack's, in the hope that one or the other of them might think of a new scheme during the night. The day dawned fresh and clear, with air so cool and crisp that Anne could almost imagine that she was in the country again, and as she put on her dark blue riding habit, she said to herself, “We
will
solve this problem today; I'm sure of it.”

And in fact, Edward's first words to her were, “I have hit upon something!”

She hurried down the stairs to join him in the front hall, but nothing more could be said until they had mounted their horses and started toward the park, the groom following at a distance. “What is it?” she asked then, easily holding her fresh mare alongside Edward's mount.

“It is the simplest thing. I don't know why I didn't think of it last night.”

“What?”

“Well, we want to see the Branwell married to someone else, don't we?”

“Yes, Edward. Do come to the point.”

“Give me a chance. Now, there is one very simple way of ensuring that she must do so.”

“What?” said Anne impatiently again.

He gestured with his free hand. “We will arrange for her to be stranded overnight with the chap, someone we don't like. A bit of work on a carriage wheel ought to turn the trick. And then, you see, they will be forced to…” He trailed off in the face of Anne's wide, horrified gaze. “What's the matter?”

“The matter? Edward! You cannot be serious.”

“Why not? The thing's a certainty.”

“We
could
not be a party to such a shocking trick. I am…I hardly know what to say to you. How could you suggest such a thing?”

Edward moved his shoulders uneasily under her accusing stare. “I thought you wanted to separate her from Laurence,” he said defensively. “This would do it, with the least trouble and sure success. I don't see why you're cutting up rough about it.”

“Don't you?” She continued to gaze at him.

He shifted uncomfortably again and looked away. “It is unusual, of course, but…”

“Edward!”

“I was only trying to help,” he burst out. “This was your scheme, and I think you might be more grateful for my ideas.
I
wasn't the one who decided to meddle.”

Anne opened her mouth on a blistering rejoinder, then shut it again. He was right. The original plan had been hers. Edward's suggestion was outrageous, but perhaps her calm assumption that she knew what was best for Laurence, a man eight years her senior, and her headlong plunge into his affairs, was just as wrong. Edward's impossible scheme showed her the folly of her own actions. “You are right,” she said, bowing her head. “How could I be so arrogant as to think I could order Laurence's life better than he? I rushed in without thinking again, and made my usual muddle.”

“No, here, I say, Anne. I didn't mean—”

“We will forget the whole matter,” she interrupted. “We won't speak of it or think of it again. Laurence must be allowed to make his own decisions.” They had reached the park, and she turned her mare onto a gravel lane bordered with evergreens, spurring her to a trot.

Edward fell a bit behind, and it took him a moment to catch up. “But, Anne…” he began then.

“No. You aren't to mention the matter again.” She looked away. “There are daffodils! See, through there.”

He did not answer her, and she turned to look at him. Captain Debenham's handsome face showed a very uncharacteristic expression. He seemed lost in thought. As she watched, his brows came further together, he shook his head once, and looked up. “No, Anne,” he said. “You are wrong.”

She stared at him. He did not sound like the heedless, teasing Edward.

“Not about my scheme,” he continued. “I see that that is unsuitable. I suppose I was half joking anyway. But we cannot simply give up. I admit I wasn't keen on interfering when you first enlisted me, but now I am convinced. I've watched Laurence with that girl. She's got him blinkered and tied. He has no more idea of her true character than a cat—less! He thinks her a model of goodness. It ain't fair!”

Anne gazed at him, astonished.

“Dash it, Laurence and I disagree about scores of things, but he's a good fellow. He don't deserve that harpy. He needs a nice lively girl, to keep him from being stodgy.”

“You…you care about him, don't you?” murmured Anne, who had been watching his face as he spoke.

“I?” Edward looked away, then down at the path before them. “He is my brother, dash it.”

The girl smiled. “Yes. But do you think it is wrong to meddle in his affairs without telling him? I know it was my idea, but now…”

“Well, we certainly can't
tell
him what we mean to do,” replied Edward sensibly. “He wouldn't stand for it.”

“Exactly.”

He eyed her. “Have you changed your opinion of Lydia Branwell all at once?”

Anne shook her head.

“Well, have you decided you don't care for Laurence after all? Perhaps you want to see him miserable?”

“No!”

“All right, then. We must go on with our plan.”

“Y-yes. Oh, Edward. I don't know what is right. Perhaps we should ask Charles.”

“Charles!” He stared as if she had suddenly lost her mind.

“He is older, more experienced.”

“Don't you know what Charles would say to us if we ran to him with this?” Anne turned to look at him. “He would tell us we were both fools to worry over Laurence, and that Laurence was an even greater fool to have offered for the Branwell,
and
he would say that he has no patience with fools.”

“But I did tell him…”

“No, Anne. This is up to us. What are we going to do?”

She frowned at him, feeling confused. “We are
not
going to compromise Miss Branwell.”

“No, no. I told you I had done with that.”

“Yes. Well…we must, uh, go back to our old plan, I suppose.”

“A substitute for Laurence?”

She nodded, still far from satisfied with the way things stood.

“We can keep looking,” he agreed. “But we need some alternatives, in case we can't find anyone. We must think.”

The rest of their ride was taken up with discussing, and rejecting, various courses of action, and when they returned to the Debenham town house, they were no further along. As Anne bid Edward good-bye, she still felt distinctly uneasy. She had made so many mistakes in her life through being too impetuous, and she was afraid this was another. Edward's reassurance, and his new concern for his brother, gratified but did not calm her. He was far too much like herself to represent the steadying influence she knew to be vital in these cases.

She thought over their conversation again as she walked up the stairs, holding up the heavy skirts of her habit. It made her frown. But her gloomy meditations were interrupted dramatically on the first landing. One of the housemaids burst out of the corridor doorway, her arms flung over her head, shrieking. Close behind her flew Augustus, his gaudy red-and-blue plumage flashing against the pale blue walls. The maid did not pause upon seeing Anne, but ran down the stairs with dangerous speed, still screaming at the top of her lungs, and disappeared through the door leading to the kitchens, slamming it behind her. Augustus, thwarted, screeched, “Blast ye!” and spiraled up to settle on the hall chandelier, glaring down at Anne with malevolent glee.

At this moment Mariah appeared at one side of the landing, wearing a long earth-soiled apron and carrying a trowel, and Charles at the other, in impeccable yellow pantaloons and a light blue coat. Both of them followed Anne's stunned gaze to the chandelier. “Damn your eyes!” squawked the parrot, swaying back and forth among the crystal teardrops.

“How,” inquired Charles calmly, “did he escape his cage? I presume it was not intentional?”

“If they would let me be,” complained Mariah, “and not continually plague me with silly questions about this ball, it would not have happened.”

The viscount turned to look at her.

“I let him out in the garden for some exercise,” added Mariah. “Every creature needs exercise; birds are no exception. The door was tightly closed; there was no possibility of escape. Then that silly girl came in with some question about glasses. What do I know about glasses? Why do they send to me? She left the door standing open, and when Augustus saw it, he naturally flew out. He is not stupid. But he did
not
attack the girl. It was her screaming that excited
him
. I might have gotten him back into his cage by now if it weren't for that.”

Anne bit her lower lip to keep from giggling.

“I see,” replied Lord Wrenley. “Well, perhaps you might do so now.”

Mariah snorted. “He will not come
now
. He is overstimulated and hysterical.”

Charles looked up at Augustus, who returned his gaze impassively. “Is he?” They regarded one another.

Unable to restrain herself any longer, Anne burst out laughing. She laughed so hard that she had to lean against the stair rail.

The viscount turned to her. “Happy as I am to see you so amused,” he added, “I cannot help but wish that you would remove your, er, pet from my chandelier.”

This only made Anne laugh harder. She put a hand to her mouth and tried valiantly to stop. “I'm sorry,” she gasped. “It was just the way you looked at each other.” She lapsed into giggles.

Charles gazed up at Augustus, whose beady eye remained on the group below him, then back at Anne. A spark of amusement kindled in his gray eyes though his face showed nothing.

“She won't get him down either,” said Mariah. “Leave him. He'll come when he's hungry.”

“Possibly,” agreed the viscount, “but I am not inclined to await that event. I cannot endure hours of shrieking housemaids or the, er, other inconveniences attendant upon Augustus's freedom.” He noticed that Fallow had come into the hall below and was eyeing the parrot with dislike and apprehension. “Is that not right, Fallow?” he added.

“Absolutely, sir,” agreed the butler.

“We must find some means of dislodging him,” concluded Lord Wrenley, “and I think the task falls to Anne. The bird belongs to her.”

Anne, who had finally gotten her giggling under control, replied, “
I
don't know how to get him down. Why, he is twenty feet from the floor. And I can't put a ladder against a chandelier.”

“Call him,” retorted Charles, a hint of irritation creeping into his voice.

Hearing it, Anne decided to oblige, though she had little hope of success. “Augustus! Come down at once. Down, sir.” She held out her wrist as she had seen a woman do in an old picture of hawking. “Augustus!”

Lord Wrenley's lips twitched visibly. The parrot swayed from side to side on the chandelier and leered at Anne.

“Come down, Augustus! I will give you a seed cracker.” She moved her wrist suggestively.

“Of course he won't,” began Mariah, and Charles burst out laughing. Anne glanced sharply over at him, started to frown, then smiled instead. Their eyes met, and she was once again overcome by giggles. Mariah put her hands on her hips. “I shall be in the garden if you want me,” she said disgustedly, and she turned on her heel and disappeared into the corridor.

Charles and Anne laughed until they were weak, he leaning against the door frame, she again draped over the stair rail. Fallow watched them with bewilderment for a while, then went to fetch a footman and a ladder. Augustus remained as he was.

Finally, exhausted, they fell silent. “Nevertheless, we must get him back to his cage, you know,” said Charles then.

“Oh, yes. But how?”

Fallow returned with his henchmen. The tallest footman placed the ladder against the wall and climbed up as far as he could, Fallow and another servant holding the base steady. It brought him nowhere near the parrot.

“I have an idea,” said Charles. Anne turned to find a mischievous light in his eyes. “Wait here,” he added, and ran lightly up the stairs and out of sight.

He was gone so long that Anne began to consider going after him. She could not imagine what he was doing. But after about half an hour, during which Augustus did not move and Fallow and the footmen gave up and took the ladder away again, he came down; in his hands were a long-handled net and a small cloth bag. “I thought this was still in the attics,” he said with satisfaction, indicating the net. “It belonged to my father. He was a great salmon fisherman. I am only glad he is not here to see the use I mean to put it to.”

“But it is not long enough to reach Augustus,” replied Anne.

“No, but I have a plan. I shall stand on the stairs as near to the chandelier as possible, holding the net. You will dislodge the bird with
these
.” He handed her the cloth bag, and she opened it.

“Checkers!”

He nodded, smiling. “They were also in the attic. I wanted something light enough to spare the crystal. Wooden checkers are just the ticket. How is your throwing arm? I remember it was once very accurate.”

She wrinkled her nose at him. “If you are thinking of the cricket ball that I threw at Edward, that was an accident.”

“Naturally.”

“And I haven't tried anything like it for years.”

“But you are game?”

Anne weighed the bag of checkers in her hand; their eyes met. She smiled, bit her lower lip, and nodded.

“Good.” He moved up a few steps and braced himself on the rail, grasping the net in both hands. “Fire when ready.”

She moved up beside him, taking a checker and calculating the distance that separated her from Augustus. Her eyes narrowed as she cocked her hand back and threw. The missile struck the crystal teardrop beside the parrot's perch, causing it to swing dangerously, but it only made Augustus flap his wings and screech at them.