Reforming Lord Ragsdale Part 19

Lord Ragsdale did as he was told. Not for nothing had he suffered through two interminable years at Oxford with this warden. He would be compliant; he would grovel, if, indeed, groveling were needed. And that appeared to be the case. There was nothing remotely pleasant in the gaze that the warden fixed upon him. He deftly tossed the compress into a wastebasket, stood up, and would have promptly sat down again, if Emma hadn't been there to support him. He opened his mouth to apologize, but he had not reckoned on his little secretary.

"Sir, I wish you would leave," she said, addressing the warden in tones as stringent as his own. "Lord Ragsdale has had a rather trying day, and he does not need this kind of donnybrook."

I have had a trying day? he asked himself, as his estimation of Emma rose another level. My dear, you must be full to bursting with anxieties, and you are worried about me? He looked at the warden, determined not to whine or grovel, after all. If Emma doesn't, I won't, he decided. I'd like to think I have learned something in these few months.

"Please be seated, sir," he said, indicating a chair. He sat down again. "Tell me what my wretched cousin has been up to. I am eager to know whether we should flog him, place him in irons, hurl him into the ranks, or let some d.a.m.ned bird or other peck out his liver while we chain him to a rock."

To his gratification, the warden blinked and sat down. "Well, I do not know as it is all that serious ..." he began, almost put off by Lord Ragsdale's plain speaking. Then the ill-used look came into his eyes again, and he leaned forward. "Your cousin has perpetrated the most fiendish deed ever to sully the golden stones of our fair university on the Isis." He sat back in triumph, daring Lord Ragsdale to respond.

"Oh, surely not," he replied easily, with a glance at his cousin. "Robert is not intelligent enough to bring down a... let me see now ... six-hundred-year-old inst.i.tution. I seem to remember a mult.i.tude of pranks, especially one involving a number of naked men and a traveling circus. Please be more specific, warden."

"Was that you, sir?" Robert interrupted, his eyes wide. "That is still talked about in hushed tones."

"Oh, really?" Lord Ragsdale asked, pleased with himself, and kindly overlooking the choking sounds coming from Emma as she went to the window and stood there with her back to the men.

"It was cards, Lord Ragsdale, cards!" said the warden indignantly playing his own trump. "Exactly as you warned him."

Oh, d.a.m.n, thought Lord Ragsdale wearily. Does this mean I will actually have to make good on my promise, and send this useless fribble into the army? I feel sorry for our side already. He twisted around to look at his American relative, who was still standing by the door. "Well, sit down, lad, sit down where I can see you, and tell me the whole sordid tale."

Robert sat next to him, which Lord Ragsdale thought a bold piece of impertinence, considering the cloud of ruin that hung over him. He continued to smile with an expression that Lord Ragsdale could only call cherubic. His eyes were even a little dreamy.

"John, it was the most magnificent opportunity, and I could not resist. I tried, though, I really did. Imagine, if you will, all those men in each hall and quad. It was, it was..." Robert raised his hands helplessly. "Words fail me," he concluded in a modest tone.

"They don't fail me!" said the warden, pointing his finger at Robert Claridge. "He organized what he called a floating poker game that traveled from college to college, until the entire university was involved. It was scandalous!"

"The whole university?" Lord Ragsdale asked, his voice an octave higher than usual. "Even those tight rumps at All Souls? Oh, pardon, warden, that was your school wasn't it?"

"Oh, especially them," Robert said, warming to his subject. "I think they were dashed grateful to be asked to join in the fun." cast a kindly glance at the warden, who was turning whiter by the second. "Really, I think they ought to get out more, sir."

The warden leaped to his feet, stabbed the air with his finger, then sank into his chair again, a much older man. Emma s.n.a.t.c.hed up the ships' rosters and began to fan him, crooning little nonsen-sicals until he regained his color and waved her away.

"You should know there were vast sums involved," he concluded, enunciating carefully.

Lord Ragsdale sighed. "I was almost certain there were, sir: He fixed his blurry eye on his cousin. "What do you have to say?"

"Only that it will never happen again."

Lord Ragsdale and the warden sighed in unison and then indulged in a hearty bout of silence, which was broken at last by Robert.

"I suppose you do not wish me to continue at Brasenose," he said to the warden, his tone hopeful.

"Most emphatically not," the warden stated. "We will be lucky if anyone decides to study again before the end of term." He appealed to Lord Ragsdale. "And now, my lord, what are you going to do with this worthless bit of pond water?"

By G.o.d, I wish you would stop grinning in that idiotic fashion, Lord Ragsdale thought, looking at his cousin. "I will think of something terrible," he told the warden. "It will probably be so bad that it will even eclipse the naked men and the circus."

The warden waited expectantly, but Lord Ragsdale only smiled and rose to his feet, extending his hand. "Thank you so much for bringing him here in person, sir," he said.

"I wouldn't have it any other way," the warden replied. "I would not for a minute wish this American on an unsuspecting population!"

Lord Ragsdale nodded. "I share your concern. I trust we will meet again in future under more kindly conditions."

The warden shook his hand, and moved purposefully to the door, which opened as if by magic. Lasker, his face utterly unreadable, stood there to usher him out. The warden looked back at Robert and shuddered, then delivered his parting shot.

"We will not meet again, my lord. Should you, by some grave mischance, ever find a consenting female, marry, and reproduce yourself, do not send your offspring within a mile or two of Oxford."

Lord Ragsdale took it all in, and managed to avoid catching Emma's eye. If I look at you, I am doomed, he thought. "Very well, warden, very well," he said, his voice contrite, and almost without a quaver. "The lady I am contemplating an alliance with comes from a Cambridge family, so we need not ever trouble you again." He looked at Lasker, who held the door for the warden. "Lasker, because the warden is still so upset with us, you have my permission to slam the door on your way out. Ah. Excellent."

How I wish I could laugh, he thought after the slam had finished reverberating throughout the main floor. He turned instead to Robert, then sat down.

"Now that I am seated, you can tell me the total of your losses." He glanced at Emma. "I cannot tell you how delighted I am to have a problem that I can solve merely by throwing money at it. This will be close to a pleasure, Robert."

It was Robert's turn to stare at him. "Cousin, you have changed," he exclaimed.

"I suppose I have," Lord Ragsdale agreed, pleasantly surprised that someone noticed. "Come on, tell me what I am to pay, and to whom."

Robert pursed his lips and perused the carpet for some time, as though seeking guidance. When he looked up, he still had that silly grin on his face. It's entirely possible that I could throttle him yet, Lord Ragsdale thought. I wish he would not chortle over my upcoming losses.

"Cousin, I think you do not perfectly understand the situation," Robert began, choosing his words carefully.

"Oh, no?" Lord Ragsdale asked.

"No, sir, you do not." Robert leaned forward, and looked around as though the warden were within ten or twelve blocks. "I won this time." He looked at Emma. "Seven thousand pounds, Emma!"

Lord Ragsdale closed his eye. Emma gasped and sank down beside him on the sofa. He reached over and patted her. "Tell me I heard what I heard, Emma. My eyes are gone, my hearing is going. Who knows what will go next?"

"You heard me," Robert insisted. "I won fair and square." He opened his blue eyes wider. "Of course, I don't think that Brits are any great shakes at poker yet. It may take some time." He pulled up a chair closer to the sofa. "That's what I want to talk to you about."

Lord Ragsdale opened his eye. "You want to pay me back?" he asked "Possibly," Robert temporized. "I could pay you back, and then I could release Emma from her indenture." His voice became contrite, hesitant even. "It's the least I can do, Emma. I know that it has not been a pleasant situation for you."

"It's not that troublesome," she said simply, looking down at the unread ships' rosters she still held in her hands.

"You could do that," Lord Ragsdale said, wishing suddenly that Robert were still at Oxford, and had never considered poker. Couldn't you have waited a week or so, Robert? he wanted to ask. I'm busy here with something of substance for the first time in my life.

But Robert was not through. He looked at Emma until she glanced up and met his eyes. "Emma, may I tell you what I would rather do with the money?"

She nodded, and set aside the rosters. Lord Ragsdale could feel her tension, so he moved closer until their shoulders were touching.

"I would rather take all the money and go home, throw myself on my father's mercy, and start repaying him what I owe." He looked at Lord Ragsdale soberly. "I truly do not wish to gamble again. What would you have me do, John?" he asked.

I would have you take the money and run, Lord Ragsdale thought. Go home to Virginia, and leave Emma and me to sort through this terrible time. He looked at Emma, who was regarding the carpet as Robert had earlier, and chewing on her lip.

"I think it should be Emma's decision, Robert," he said finally. "She's the one who has suffered the most from all this and-"

"Oh, I have not suffered," she interrupted quickly. She blushed, and held out her hands to Robert. "I was prepared to, and maybe I even wanted to, but I have not suffered. And Robert, you won't believe what I have learned."

Robert smiled at her. "He's right, Emma. What do you want me to do?"

Please, Emma, do not leave me, Lord Ragsdale thought. If you go, I am sure I will not have the courage to propose to Clarissa and "fix my fate," as you so ingenuously expressed it. I might not treat my servants right, or keep away from alcohol, or find anyone half so fine to handle my correspondence.

"Your decision, Emma," he added, determined not to hold his breath and appear like a small boy.

She picked up the rosters again and looked at him, then at Robert. "Take your money and go home, Mr. Claridge," she said quietly. "I know your father will be pleased." She touched Lord Ragsdale's hand. "Lord Ragsdale has promised to release me when he is engaged, and I think he has almost reached that point. I want you to go home, Mr. Claridge."

Robert leaped to his feet, pulled Emma up, too, and swung her around until she protested and told him to let her down. He kissed her on both cheeks, and hugged her until Lord Ragsdale feared for her ribs.

"Emma, you are a game goer!" he said. "I will leave you enough money to pay your pa.s.sage back to Virginia, if you should choose to rejoin us. I am sure Father will find you a position as a teacher, or nursemaid." He went to the door. "And now I want to find Sally and tell her." He leaned against the door. "Thanks, John and Emma. I wonder why I never noticed before what wonderful people you are."

"Perhaps because we were not so wonderful," Lord Ragsdale commented, after Robert left the room. He looked at Emma. "My dear, I will release you from your indenture anytime you say."

She took that in, and settled herself more comfortably on the sofa, kicking off her shoes. "We have not yet finished the bargain, my lord." She got up suddenly then and went to the desk. "Now I think you should write a note to Miss Partridge and tell her that you will be at her home first thing in the morning, so you can set out for Bath."

He joined her at the desk, sitting down and picking up the quill. "I know she will do terrible things, like make me propose," he grumbled.

"And it will be good for you," Emma insisted. "When you are finished, I will give it to Lasker and tell him to have the footman deliver it tonight."

He did as she said, pausing here and there for advice on lover-like words. He finished and signed his name with a flourish. "I suppose you realize this means that I will be reformed, rehabilitated, married, and will probably turn into someone so dull that my children will wonder what their mother was thinking."

She smiled at him. "Serves you right, my lord," she replied, with just a touch of her former acidity. She took the note from him and opened the door upon Lasker, who appeared to be waiting outside. "Please have Hanley deliver this to the Partridges on Whitcomb Street," she instructed.

"And bring us some coffee, Lasker," Lord Ragsdale said as he returned to the sofa. "It's going to be a long night."

"I told you to go to bed and rest your eye," Emma said, then blushed and added, "my lord."

He resumed his former position on the couch. "I won't leave, Emma. Sit down right here and let's start looking."

I am seeing the backside of too many dawns, he reflected several hours later as Emma finally admitted defeat after two readings of the lists. I would have quit after one reading, he thought, closing his eye to the smudged, faint lists, and weary of looking.

Ever mindful of his eye, Emma had done much of the reading, going slowly through the lists, saying each name aloud, and only troubling him when she could not decipher the words before her. He lay with his eye closed, listening to her, holding his breath when she paused, and sitting up once or twice when he heard her sharp intake of breath. But each time was a false alarm. There was no David or Samuel Costello on any of the lists they had searched so hard for.

"Could it be that the political prisoners were not even mentioned?" he speculated at one point. "I mean, if the a.s.sizes have no record, why should the ships' manifests?"

It was a discouraging thought, but early morning was a time for discouraging thoughts. Emma considered it a moment, then rejected it. "I cannot see how that would be so," she argued. "A ship would need to know precisely how many were on board, concerning matters of s.p.a.ce and food."

"I am sure you are right," he said, happy to agree with her.

And so she had read through the manifests two more times, grumbling the second time about ship captains, and bad handwriting. On the third reading, her voice was subdued. Finally, after the clock chimed three, she put down the lists.

"They're not here," she admitted.

She sat on the floor beside the sofa, leaning against it. He reached down and rested his hand on her shoulder. "Emma, do you really think they ever left Ireland?" he asked quietly.

She was silent for a moment as she rested her cheek against his hand. "Yes," she said finally. "They were in good health, and it was Eamon"-her voice faltered-"Eamon who confessed to everything." She drew up her knees and rested her chin on them. "Do you know, the interrogators pressed him for other names of accomplices, and he recited the whole family graveyard." She turned her head to regard him. "No. Eamon implicated no one else alive. They had no reason to kill Da and Sam, too. No reason."

"Well, then, we must find the Minerva and the Hercules," he said. "Give me a hand up, Emma."

She stood up, rubbed the small of her back, then helped him to his feet. "I suppose it can keep until you return from Bath," she said as she placed the lists on the desk.

"Emma, you have my permission to return to the docks and check some more," he said. "Only please take the footman with you, and enough petty cash for bribes. Oh, and return the lists tomorrow."

She nodded. "I'll make sure you have receipts for anything I spend."

"It's not necessary, Emma." He opened the door, surprised how dark the hall was, then remembering that everyone else was long in bed. "I'm so tired," he said, more to himself than to her. And discouraged, and wondering when this will end for you.

They walked upstairs together, and she said good night to him on the landing that led to the servants' quarters on the third floor. Emma, stay with me tonight, he thought suddenly. It's only a few hours before dawn, and I'm a little low in spirits.

He shook his head at the thought and wished it would go away. But there it was, dancing about in his head like a little shadow puppet. I do not wish to do anything to you-I'm too tired for that-but I would like to hold you in my arms.

"My lord," Emma said, her hand on the railing.

He looked up expectantly, wondering if by some miracle she could read his mind, and was not opposed to the idea.

"Yes, my dear?" he asked, his voice soft.

He could hear her chuckle in the gloom, even though he could not see her. "You should know that I made another confession this morning."

Her tone was playful, but not amorous, so he put away his own roguish thoughts. "Say on, Emma."

She must have sat down on the stairs, because he heard a rustle of skirts, and her voice was lower. "When I went to Fae Moulle, we... I encouraged her to cheat you. The receipt we compiled for her milliner's shop was greatly more than she really needed."

"Emma, you're a rascal," he said, amused where a month ago he would have been angry. "You wanted to cost me money."

"I hated you, my lord," she said simply, her voice coming at him so quiet from the darkness of the stairs. "You were just another Englishman."

He felt his way to the landing again, and rested his arm on the newel post, not certain of where she was. "Well, what penance did the priest suggest?"

She laughed, and got to her feet, and he could tell that she was farther away than he thought. "Remember, I told you he was Irish, too! He told me to pray for your soul, but only if I thought I wanted to."

He joined in her laughter. "And do you?" he asked finally.

"Oh, I already have," she said quickly, and she seemed almost surprised at his question. "Good night, my lord. I'll be in the book room for your instructions in the morning."

And then she was gone, hurrying up the stairs to her little cubbyhole under the eaves. In another moment he heard a door close quietly.

Chapter 19.

Could it be that this is what the French aristocrats felt like on their way to the guillotine? Lord Ragsdale thought, as the Partridge carriage rumbled on its sedate way to Bath. He could almost imagine the cheering, c.o.c.kaded crowds milling about and ready for a whiff of blood.

But this is absurd, he thought, as he smiled down at Clarissa Partridge, who had captured his hand so possessively and pressed her thigh against his in a manner that was faintly pleasant. When they clamp me to the board, slide me under the blade, and we are p.r.o.nounced man and wife, I will be the envy of my generation. Envious males will probably drink my health in clubs all over London, and marvel at my good fortune. The thought sent a shudder through him, which he could only ascribe to feet of the coldest sort.

See here, John, he told himself, it is merely that you are afraid for nothing. Surely every man experiences some little trepidation at the loss of liberty, and at the reality of life with a wife. He returned his gaze to Clarissa again, admiring the gold of her hair, and her flawless complexion. Clarissa, if you happened to throw out freckles like Emma Costello, you would probably lock yourself in a dark room and remain there. But there was no danger on that head. Clarissa possessed skin that most women could only dream about.