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The great'st grace lending grace
Ere twice the horses of the sun shall bring
Their fiery torcher his diurnal ring,
Ere twice in murk and occidental damp
Moist Hesperus hath quench'd his sleepy lamp,
Or four and twenty times the pilot's glass
Hath told the thievish minutes how they pass,
What is infirm from your sound parts shall fly,
Health shall live free and sickness freely die.
~ All's Well The Ends Well, Act II, Sc. I
Dover, June 1803
For Lieutenant Robert Fitzgerald to receive a missive addressed in his mother's handwriting was not unusual. For it have been sent express was so unusual that he excused himself to a more private corner of the Mess to break the seal and open it.
“Good God. Not Livvy!” he exclaimed, scanning the contents of the sheet. His youngest sister Olivia had been ill, seriously enough that they were worried for her health and would be removing to Scarborough with all despatch so that she might recover – the doctor had recommended sea air and the Yorkshire coast would be far better for her constitution than spending months at home hoping she would improve.
He recollected himself. “Yes, there will be an answer,” he informed the waiting mess servant briefly, before crossing to the Mess writing table and hastily penning a reply to the effect that he would immediately apply for furlough and would, should he be lucky enough to be granted it, make his way up to meet them and would lodge at the George (he'd had to pause to recall the name of the best inn the place had).
He sealed the letter, informing the servant that it was to go express, and went to add his petition for furlough to the Requests Book. There was nothing further he could do until it was accepted (if it was going to be) and he went to busy himself reinspecting those men and horses whose turn-out had not been up to standard that morning.
Three hours and one brief interview with the Colonel later, Robbie had packed his valise and was giving final instructions to his sergeant. He had a three months' furlough tucked securely in the inside pocket of his uniform jacket – his Colonel had been surprised to note that he had taken hardly any leave at all since joining the regiment and had blithely written out a pass for far longer than Robbie had expected, or requested.
The journey was a pleasant one, at least – or would have been, had Robbie been less worried about his sister. He was far closer to Viola, which was only natural as Viola was twelve when he had taken his commission, and Olivia only six and a half. (He smiled wryly to himself, recalling that at that age the 'half' was so very important to a young person. Or at least, it been to him, when he was that age himself.) Lord Rotherham's family were, perhaps, remarkable among those of their level in Society for being so close, but Robbie was sure he had noticed envious looks on the faces of friends and colleagues when talking of his family.
He took the stage (being too late for the Mail) to London, and changed for the Mail for the longer stretch of the journey north, grateful for the macadamised roads and the urgency of the coachman's horn which meant other travellers had to clear the way – the mails could not be delayed. It had been worth the higher price for the speed of travel, especially when compared to the heavy lumbering stage-coaches. Of course, nothing could compare to being astride a horse, or even to be driving in one's own carriage, but Robbie was not about to take his own horse and slow his journey.
He was very glad to reach York, the terminal destination for the particular Mail coach he had travelled on, and sought a nearby inn; he would stay in York overnight and take a horse to Scarborough in the morning. There would be no point in leaving immediately as he would not arrive at a suitable hour to see Olivia, even were she not convalescing. He had an errand to run that would delay his leaving by a good half-hour or so anyway, making him even later.
He slept well that night, having come to the conclusion that there was nothing he could do that he wasn't already doing, and Olivia must be out of danger for the family to have removed her to the coast. This was a convalescence, which meant she was on the mend. There would be very little point removing her from the familiar comfort of Rotherham Hall while she was still desperately ill, after all – especially to take her to Scarborough. That must be a day's journey from Rotherham by coach, at least, even when the coach was a comfortable well-sprung chaise.
The ride from York to Scarborough was not, all things considered, a long one – certainly not for a man accustomed to spending most of the day in the saddle. Robbie had refused the first horse the livery stables had offered him; the man had either been blind or stupid if he thought that he could pass a broken-down nag off as acceptable to a man wearing the uniform of a cavalry officer. However, he had finally got the best the stables had to offer and was on his way. He would vastly have preferred his charger, but the journey would have taken him four times as long if he'd given in to the temptation of riding his own horse up from Dover, taking into consideration all the necessary rest stops his horse would require. The Mail merely changed horses and continued after a pause of a few minutes.
The landlord of the George and Dragon in Scarborough did, thankfully, have a letter for him from Lady Rotherham, and it seemed mere moments after his arrival in the town that he was ringing the doorbell of a rented house in the Crescent. Naturally it was in the best part of town, although the houses could not compare with those in Bath. Then again, it was not as though people came to the coast as a regular thing, although the popularity of sea-bathing was growing. The Yorkshire coast was, naturally, far more bracing than the softer and more popular climes of the south coast which he had left two days before.
He handed a card to the footman, and glanced around the hallway as he waited. It was a short wait, however, for only a few minutes later footsteps approached from deeper within the house.
“Robert!”
He turned, and there was a... Well, no, Lady Rotherham would never run; she was much too dignified for that, but it was only a second or so before he was in his mother's embrace.
“Mother! How is she? I left almost as soon as I got your message, although I did not think I could be here quite so quickly. It is a horribly long way from Dover, you know.”
Lady Rotherham nodded dismissively in a way that intimated to Robbie that she had no notion just how far away it was, nor what it had taken for Robbie to be able to get away from his regimental duties. She had written, he had come: That was all there was to it.
“She is recovering – she is out of danger or we should never have removed hence, after all. Come, you will want to see her.” She took his arm.
“Well, yes, Mother, that is why I came, you know,” he replied with a fond smile as he was towed upstairs to the drawing room.
Olivia was sitting on a sofa by the window where she could look out to the street below. She was wrapped up in a brightly-coloured Kashmir-wool shawl, with a blanket tucked around her legs, and as Robbie entered, she looked up from combing out the hair of a doll. Viola was sitting beside her, and lowered an open book to her lap as Olivia looked up and shyly queried “Robbie?”
“Robbie?” Viola had jumped up, dropped the book onto her chair and nearly thrown herself into his arms.
He spun her around, before sobering and putting her down. “I beg your pardon, Vi, I am sure that you are much too old for childishness like that – and you and I can talk later.”
He bestowed a kiss on Viola's cheek and crossed the room, going to his knees beside Olivia's sofa. “Hello, Livvy. I came as soon as I could, as soon as I knew Mother and Father were bringing you here.”
“Without a horse?” She turned to the window momentarily before looking back at him, her dark eyes large in too white a face.
“I left him with the ostlers at the George; he's just come all the way from York with me on his back and I didn't think it fair on anyone to bring him here. Anyway, I needed to stretch my legs.” Robbie left unspoken the fact that he hadn't even known where 'here' was until he'd spoken with the landlord of the George, by which time his mount had been taken in hand by the ostlers, and he had been reassured that the address he required was a mere few minutes' walk away.
A footman brought a chair over and Robbie scrambled up from his kneeling position to shift the chair so that it was beside the sofa and he could sit down facing his sisters, grateful for the comfort offered.
He indicated Olivia's doll with a smile. “Shall you introduce us?”
She frowned momentarily. “Her name's Rosalind...”
Of course, she was only ten; she probably did not know about formal introductions and suchlike yet. Anyway, it hadn't been meant seriously. “She is very pretty. Do you know the lines Shakespeare wrote about a lady called Rosalind?”
His sister shook her head slowly, keeping her eyes fixed on his face. “She's a character in one of his plays, but I don't remember all of it. I like the name, though.”
Robbie leaned forward a little, so as to see the doll better. “From the east to western Ind,
No jewel is like Rosalind.
Her worth, being mounted on the wind,
Through all the world bears Rosalind.
All the pictures fairest lined
Are but black to Rosalind.
Let no fair be kept in mind
But the fair of Rosalind.”
Olivia smiled, a little tiredly.
“Of course, you will not remember so much Shakespeare yet, I am sure. I was very precocious in learning to read him at the age I did, after all. I am sure you will be much more interested in other things. Let me see... I rode all the way to London on an outside seat of the stage, and you will laugh when I tell you why.”
Olivia lowered her doll to her lap and fixed her huge dark eyes on his face. “Why?”
“Well, it was not because all the inside seats were taken, as you might think, for I had managed to secure one. The first part of my journey was inside, but when we changed horses at Canterbury, we had more passengers join and one of them was the shortest fattest lady I think I have ever seen. She had three chins, and such a loud voice – I think they must have heard her in London! - and she complained about every thing. The beds were too hard, the horses were too smelly, the inn servants threw her valise and bandbox around without a care for what might be in them and she had now to ride inside with a common soldier! Oh, it was too much, she would complain to the driver, and to the trustees, and to my officer for allowing it – wagging a fat finger under my nose. She would write to anyone and everyone – even to His Majesty the King!”
He grinned and was rewarded with a shy smile from Olivia and a laugh from Viola, who had moved the book to a nearby side table and resumed her seat.
"But, Robbie, surely..."
The Countess looked up from her sewing. "Viola! Let your brother tell his story."
Robbie grinned at Viola before returning his attention to his youngest sister, whose gaze was fixed intently on his face. “Well, I could not allow that to continue, for her voice was so shrill and piercing that I thought everyone would get the headache within five minutes, and besides all that, the horses had been changed and the driver and guard wanted to be off, so I shrugged and made her my very best bow before scrambling up to sit with the outsiders on the roof. I had my revenge, though, for when we reached London, I handed her my card and told her that my father the Earl of Rotherham would be pleased to respond to any complaints she had to make about his son. And Livvy, you have never seen anything so funny as that fat old lady standing in the inn yard making a face exactly like a goldfish, opening and closing her mouth without a single squeak coming out.”
Viola's amusement was unfeigned but Olivia's laugh, though genuine, was also tired and a little breathless, and Robbie tucked her blanket and shawl more closely about her before pressing a brotherly kiss to her forehead and silently withdrawing from the room, quickly followed by Viola, who threw her arms around him. He returned the hug, only releasing his sister when he felt her hold slacken.
“I've missed you, Robbie!”
He caught a strand of her hair between finger and thumb and gave it a gentle, teasing tug. “The next time I see you, you'll be wearing your hair up and I will be lucky if my Lady Viola deigns to bestow so much as a smile upon me,” he said with a fond grin.
“Only if you're going back tomorrow, and you won't, will you?”
He let the smile drop from his face. It only returned as she stepped back, crestfallen.
“Certainly not – it's a devilish long way just for a one day's stay, Vi. I have a three months' pass and I intend to stay here just as long as I can before I have to go back. Though, not today, I think; I just arrived from York and am rather tired out, besides smelling of horse – all my things are at the George and you would not like to sit at table with me smelling of the stables, surely?”
“No-o, I suppose not.”
“Well then. I will be back tomorrow, though.”
He did return the next day, as promised, bringing with him a new leather-bound sketchbook and mechanical pencil. “I thought you might like to practise your drawing, and an artist needs a proper sketchbook,” he told Olivia as he handed the items over, before looking around for something. His eyes lit up as he saw the very thing he wanted, and brought over an occasional table, opening it out to show the green baize of the card-table. “There,” he said, and pulled up a chair before pulling out a pack of cards from his pocket. “It's only you and me, so Snip Snap Snorum is out, at least until later. But we can play Rummy, just the two of us.”
Lady Rotherham looked at them fondly over her embroidery hoop as they played quietly. Robbie, not the best card player in the world, still somehow contrived to let Olivia win more games than she lost until the gong sounded to announce that dinner was served.
The family being on holiday to facilitate Olivia's recovery, dinner was an informal affair with no need to change. Olivia was not consigned to nursery suppers alone and Robbie carried her, still wrapped in her shawl and blanket, to the dining-room.
He proved most attentive to both of his sisters during the meal, and eventually Viola asked, “Robbie... why don't you come and stay here, with us, instead of rushing back to the George every evening?”
He opened his mouth to reply, but their father forestalled him. “He is a young man, Viola, and young men require their independence. Although you would be most welcome to stay with us if you wish to do so, Robbie.”
“I thank you for the offer, sir, but you are quite correct. Besides, Livvy does not wish me to hover over her for the whole of my stay, I am sure.” Besides, his living elsewhere than with his family meant that he would be able to plan some things and have them come as complete surprises, to everyone.
He was able to put one of these plans into action the very next day, bringing his horse to the front door of the house. They had evidently been watching for his arrival, for the door opened and Lord Rotherham stepped out, carrying Olivia who was wrapped up securely in cloak and blanket against the chilly wind coming off the North Sea. Robbie guided the horse closer and between the two men, Olivia was soon perched on the horse in front of Robbie, who wrapped an arm around her to keep her secure.
“Don't you need both hands?” she asked, as he tucked a strand of her hair behind her ear.
“Not at all! A cavalryman who needs both hands to ride would be a fat lot of use, after all,” Robbie replied. “Now. Have you ever ridden along a beach, at all?”
“No...?”
“Ah. Well, then, this is going to be fun. You know the 14th is encamped at Dover at the moment, so we have the opportunity to do this regularly – it's good training, you see.” He guided the horse down to the beach, which was empty of all but one or two people out walking, and halted the animal on the hard sand below the high tide line.
“Are you comfortable?” he asked, helping her adjust her position a little when she said that she was not. “Better?”
There was a nod, and Robbie urged the horse to a walk, then a trot and finally into a canter; the surface was hard and firm enough that they could get a good speed, and there was no need to worry about picking up stones or anything.
He had no idea how far they had gone when he finally slowed the horse back to a walk, but Olivia seemed a lot more perky than she had earlier – at least from what he could tell, being seated behind her and unable to see her face.
There were whoops and cheers from behind them, and he turned the horse, unsurprised to see that Viola and Lord Rotherham had followed them. He was amused to see that Viola's riding habit was very much fashioned along military lines and styled after his own uniform, down to the orange of the high collar and the cuffs, and the silver hussar-style lace braid. He tucked Olivia's blanket a little tighter around her, unwilling to risk the slightest chill even on this warm June day as they waited for the others to come up to them.
“There. Was not that fun?” he said, with a grin.
She turned her head to nod and he was pleased to note the colour that had come into her face.
“I think we must return home now, though – I should not like to wear you out so soon in my stay,” he added, and lifted a hand to his father and Viola, who were still some distance away – Rotherham had obviously held his horse back in order to stay level with Viola's smaller pony. He could not say that he was surprised to note that the pony was Acorn, an animal he had originally inherited from Richard. No doubt Olivia would ride him too, when she was well again.
The four of them rode back along the beach in companionable silence, enjoying the salt-scented breeze, gentler than the usual Yorkshire winds, but still bracing enough.
When they reached the rented house again, Robbie carefully lifted Olivia down from the saddle and carried her in to place her back on her sofa, although he allowed her to remove her outdoor cloak before tucking the blanket around her again. He took a seat near her, settling down to play cards with Viola as their sister drifted off to sleep, worn out by the short excursion.
Robbie came by every day. Sometimes he sat with Olivia and read to her, or played cards with her, and sometimes they went out, riding or exploring the rock-pools on the beach, an activity which Viola disdained, pretending she was too old for such childishness, although she inevitably found herself drawn in when Robbie found a sea anemone or a hermit crab or something else equally interesting for Olivia to see.
The family spent other afternoons gathered together in the drawing room simply to enjoy being in each other's company. Viola and Lady Rotherham sat at a table, their heads bent over some work – netting, Robbie fancied it was, when he glanced up from the game of chess he was playing with his father. Olivia had her sketchbook to hand and was propped against the arm of the sopha, her knees drawn up as an impromptu easel as she sketched.
She had drawn all sorts of things in the weeks since Robbie had given her the sketchbook, but she had turned away from still-life or trying to draw the view from the window, and had chosen to try her hand at something else. It was only once he finally conceded the game to his father that he realised he had become Olivia's most recent subject.
“I cannot do hands,” she said mournfully, frowning at the piece of paper.
He got up and leaned over to look.
“Oh, Livvy!” The exclamation was one of fondness as he looked down at the portrait she had done. It was rough, admittedly; she was only ten, after all, and recovering from illness, but there was something rather charming about the bald lines. He did not think it looked very like him, but there was something indefinable about the pose – the position of the head, perhaps, or something about the mouth or the lift of the eyebrow – that told him it was himself and not their father.
“It's not very good...” Olivia said doubtfully, looking between the paper and its subject.
“No? You've not drawn many portraits, and it takes practise, like anything else. But you have an artist's eye. I should like to keep it, if I may?”
She carefully tugged the sheet out of her book and handed it to him. “I've never done a portrait before,” she confessed, and he grinned.
“Then I am very proud to be the subject of your first one.” He carefully folded the sheet of paper and tucked it into the inside pocket of his jacket; he would transfer it to a book later to keep it from getting creased.
It was over dinner one evening about halfway through his three months' leave that he suddenly exclaimed, “But you haven't been to the castle yet!”
Viola pounced immediately. “Castle? What castle?”
“You will find out.”
“Robbie! Do not be so mean! You cannot mention a castle and say nothing else! That is the height of unfairness!”
Robbie sent her an innocent look. “Then I shall be unfair, for I will not be drawn any further than to say you shall find out in due course.”
Despite the protests his sisters subjected him to, he refused to say any more on the subject that evening, although he sat with his father when they all retired to the drawing room and Olivia and Viola were sure they were talking about them for every so often they noticed Robbie or the Earl glance in their direction. Viola could not keep her mind on the book she was reading, and every so often the air was punctuated with exclamations of “Viola!” from Olivia, recalling her to her task for another few minutes until she glanced towards her brother again. He was so infuriating sometimes!
The next morning found Lord Rotherham's landau waiting outside the door. The Earl solemnly handed his wife and eldest daughter up, before lifting Olivia in. He and Robbie were quick enough to take their own seats together on the rear-facing bench, each wearing a self-satisfied grin that was so similar that there was no mistaking them for anything but father and son.
“Papa! Where are we going?” Viola asked, as Lady Rotherham fussed with the shawl tucked around Olivia.
“It is not my surprise, but Robbie's,” the Earl answered with an amused look as his son assumed an innocent expression and drew Olivia's attention to a rabbit feeding by the side of the road.
It was not long at all before the carriage rounded a corner and the ruins of a castle were revealed, standing on a headland and looking rather forlorn.
“Oh, how romantic!” Viola exclaimed. “Is that where we are going?”
Robbie's grin was answer enough, and neither girl could take her eyes off the ruins as they drew closer, eventually drawing up on a smooth piece of grass in the shade of a stone wall, the ruins before them in all their desolate glory.
“I said there was a castle,” Robbie told his sisters with a grin, jumping down to the grass before handing them down. “Mama, there is a picnic laid out somewhere, but I daresay the girls wish to explore first.”
Lady Rotherham opened her parasol and took the arm her husband offered. “They are not the only ones, Robbie. I am sure we shall all have a good appetite when we come to eat lunch, but surely it is too early to eat just yet.”
“As you please, Mother,” Robbie said, entirely delighted with the pleasure on everyone's faces as they took themselves off to explore.
“Someone's brought our costume box,” Viola exclaimed, her voice floating into the air from around a corner.
She reappeared and looked at Robbie with a shrewd, direct look that owed more to their father than their mother. “Robbie! You've been here before!”
Robbie held up his hands. “Only once – the other day; I wanted to make sure that it was as perfect as I hoped it was. And anyway, wouldn't you prefer to perform a scene or something in a real castle than have to pretend? Mama's drawing room drapes rather lack the solidity of real stone walls, after all.”
Viola shrugged and turned away again to discuss something with Olivia, as Robbie went to explore on his own.
Neither Robbie nor his father had a care in the world right now, and the Earl and Countess were strolling about the place, arm-in-arm as their daughters explored the ruins, chattering and laughing. The only thing that could make this more perfect, he thought, was if Richard were here, too. Well... maybe.