“What’s going on in here?” Charles stormed, still trying to make sense of it. Harriet, usually so shy and trembling, came to her sister’s rescue.
“Oh Father, I had such a fright! Marjorie must have tried to get up and come downstairs after all, sick as she is, and she’d fallen in the floor! I came to look in on her and found her fainted! Can you help me get her into bed?”
Charles cast a nervous glance over his shoulder before nodding thoughtfully. “Yes, yes. Let’s be done with this!”
Harriet and her father each took an elbow, and Marjorie did her best to look both weak and grateful. It was a small comfort to know that her father, who did believe her to be invalid at that very moment, was still as tender as any governess would have been.
“Thank you, I think I’m feeling better now,” Marjorie replied, feigning illness. “I was only trying to fulfill my obligations, to be a good hostess…”
“Nonsense, dear sister! You must stay abed until you’re well!” Harriet insisted, squeezing her hand. Marjorie looked at her curiously, but her sister only shook her head.
‘There, that should do you well,” their father said, seeming very uncomfortable in the presence of a young lady who was not at her best. He cleared his throat and backed towards the door. “Yes, see that you stay in bed until you’re fairly recovered from… whatever is the matter.”
Their father excused himself and left, and Harriet very nearly burst into a fit of laughter. Marjorie held up a hand to silence her before leaping from the bed and listening at the door. When she’d decided it was safe, she turned to her sister and gave her a smile of thanks.
“That was too close, I’m afraid. I cannot blame you for screaming, but it was almost disastrous!” Marjorie said in a low voice before coming back to the bed and sitting down.
“When you didn’t come down for dinner again, I made your excuses to Father and his friend. He was not pleased at all, and I think therefore that it is a providential thing that he had to help you to bed just now. But what is happening? Why were you dressed so?” Harriet asked, a hint of fear in her words.
Marjorie slowly told her sister the whole story, all the way from her first adventure at the races to her employment at the Earl of Lanercost’s stables. A broad swath of emotions covered Harriet’s face in turn, from surprise to horror to pride.
“But Marjorie, how ever will you escape the house to go to these stables each day? You will have to leave before dawn!” Harriet cried, wringing her hands.
“I plan to tell Father that I’ve been invited to London to visit with family friends. After all, won’t a bride need fine things for her trousseau?” Marjorie replied, certain that it would work.
“And when you don’t return with these new things? What then?”
“I aim to have these things brought back. Someone at dinner recently informed me her niece would be traveling, that will do just fine. Or perhaps you might want to venture to the city?” she asked, hinting strongly at Harriet’s own mission. “Perhaps we could tell Father that we’re both to go! You would be the perfect person to keep all of my secrets!”
“But what of it when I return?” Harriet’s voice dropped to a tearful whisper as her eyes became moist. “Will you truly leave us to be a farm boy, letting our name fall into ruin? I’ve no offers of marriage and no thought to be wed any time soon, but this would be the end for both of us. You’ll drag me down into the mire with you should you do this.”
Marjorie waited silently, pondering what Harriet said. She hadn’t thought of the repercussions to her sister’s own good name, only her own need to earn her keep and fulfill this love her mother had instilled in her. How could she expect Harriet to understand when the girl barely remembered their mother’s face, let alone her burning passion for her horses?
“Dearest Harriet, you have my solemn vow: nothing I do will heap ruin upon you. When the time comes, you will have your choice of eligible, worthy suitors. But do you not see? How are you to find a suitable match without a dowry? Without the money for so much as a gown to attend the season’s balls and teas in? Whether or not you believe it to be so, there is a shortage of elderly nobles who can be bought for a husband!”
“Oh Marjorie, do not think of it like that!” Harriet cried, grasping her sister’s hands. “The Duke shall make a fine husband, I’m sure of it. And when you are wed, you will be the happiest wife. Don’t fret about his age or his sister’s constant meddling. But worse, don’t let that be the reason you run from your home and throw yourself in with a bunch of farm hands!”
“I’m sorry, but my mind’s made up,” she answered firmly, standing up and retrieving her boy’s clothes. “I have to do this, to see if there’s any way at all to save this family. You may not think it now, but mark my words, you will be grateful for it. I promise you that!”
“I can only trust your good word,” Harriet replied evenly, sitting up straighter. She still wore a pained, worried expression, but at least she had stopped wringing her hands and slumping nervously. “You’ve never brought me harm, not in all the years I’ve been your sister. I have to trust you on this, as well.”
“Thank you, Harriet. Your devotion means everything to me,” Marjorie answered softly. “Please know that you are the reason that guides my decisions at all times!”
“No! Don’t place such a heavy burden on my narrow shoulders!” Harriet replied, finally laughing. “I’m not worthy of your ponderings!”
Marjorie gathered her sister in her arms and hugged her closely. “Some days, Harriet, you are the only reason I still think to keep going.”
* * *
Downstairs, Charles Acton’s guest, such as he may be, was preparing to leave. He held his hat in hand, brought to him by a rather angry-looking butler who sniffed the air with disdain as he approached, and followed Charles to the front door.
“I be thanking ye for my supper,” the man said in a coarse brogue. “And who knows? With every new misdeed, I might come around again for a bite and some company.”
“Certainly not. See to it that you send word via courier before arriving here in the future,” Charles cautioned him. “Remember, your work is hired and well compensated. I do not expect to see you come around again unless I’ve asked you.”
“Ah, but that’s the rub!” the uncouth man said, slurring slightly from the heavy helpings of wine he’d enjoyed throughout the evening. “Once you hire Old Scamp, he owns a bit of ya… forever. You knows what I’ve done, but I knows that you paid me to do it. Bear that in yer mind the next time I come by a’needing a favor or two.”
His threat still ringing in Charles’ ears, he turned and stumbled through the doorway, shaking hands with the butler on the way out. Dabney turned to look at his employer, but he’d already turned to walk off in anger.
