The Major Meets His Match

The Major Meets His Match

by

Sarah M Jefferson

(c) 2013

Published by Ex-L-Ence Publishing at Smashwords.

‘The Major Meets His Match’ is a work of fiction and any resemblance between the characters and persons, living or dead, is purely coincidental.

Also by Sarah M Jefferson:

The Ranee’s Tears

Smashwords Edition, License Notes

This eBook is licensed for your personal enjoyment only. This eBook may not be re-sold or given away to other people. If you would like to share this book with another person, please purchase an additional copy for each recipient. If you’re reading this book and did not purchase it, or it was not purchased for your use only, then please return to Smashwords.com and purchase your own copy. Thank you for respecting the hard work of this author.

Contents

Dedication

Chapter 1

Chapter 2

Chapter 3

Chapter 4

Chapter 5

Chapter 6

Chapter 7

Chapter 8

Chapter 9

Chapter 10

Chapter 11

Chapter 12

Chapter 13

Chapter 14

Chapter 15

Chapter 16

Chapter 17

Chapter 18

Chapter 19

Chapter 20

Chapter 21

Chapter 22

Chapter 23

Further Reading

Dedication

This book is dedicated to Miles and Kate and all the rest of my family, with love.

CHAPTER 1

Tuesday the 11th August 1812, was a particularly golden afternoon. Major Bedivere Lynmouth left Lady Markyate’s house in the Royal Crescent to keep an appointment. The early-morning mist which had enveloped the valley had now burned off, and the Major paused on the pavement to enjoy the clear air.

Pleased with the world and the fair City of Bath spread at his feet, he lingered to gaze at the green lawns sloping down to a mixture of trees, chimney pots and slate roofs below, and to where pale freestone buildings nestled around the Abbey. Nearby, the sparkling Avon threaded its way under bridges and over the three-tiered weir, and beyond the river, Claverton Down rose up to meet the cloudless blue sky. Although he carried his arm in a sling, his customary vigour was returning as the wound in his shoulder healed. His recent experience of the harsh landscape baking under the unrelenting Spanish sun made the Major appreciate the gentle scene all the more, as he allowed himself a few moments of quiet contemplation before reluctantly turning away to stroll to his destination in Upper Gay Street.

Arriving at the door of the house rented by Mr. Enoch Beadle, the Major reached out for the knocker glowing brassily in the sun. But, before his gloved hand so much as touched it, the door swung wide and a small whirlwind in brown flew out. Caught off balance, he received the whirlwind full upon his chest. Oomph! His breath expelled sharply, as he automatically clutched his assailant to him with his good arm. They reeled back together, and were only prevented from falling into the area below by stout iron railings. For a few stunned moments they remained thus clasped, then his captive struggled to free itself. Unhand me, sir! a muffled voice came from against his chest, I’ve had quite enough... Let me go, I say! and resolved itself into an angry young woman.

With pleasure, gasped the Major, immediately loosening his hold. She stepped back, straightening her dowdy bonnet, and looked up. All he saw at first was a pair of fine, tawny eyes blazing with strong emotion, then he noted the traces of tears on her flushed cheeks.

Oh! she said, I do beg your pardon, I thought you were someone else.

Obviously, he said, Do you always burst through doors and knock people over?

No, of course not, she replied crossly, addressing his waistcoat. But I was in a hurry.

So it would seem, She raised her head at the dry tone, and looked at him more carefully. A frown clenched his dark brows and his weather-beaten face was shadowed. Oh sir, she said softly, I do hope I have not hurt you.

He brushed it aside, ‘tis of no consequence.

She retreated a pace so she no longer had to crane her neck. About a head and a half taller than herself, his wiry figure was faultlessly dressed, excepting he wore his blue long-tailed coat loosely over one shoulder in order to accommodate his left arm in a sling.

Oh! she said with compunction, You’re hurt. Your poor arm. Did I knock against it? I’m truly sorry.

No, for I was fast enough to keep it out of your way when you ran into me. What possessed you to leave the house like that?

Her eyes, softened at the sight of his arm, blazed once more, Gross provocation, she replied shortly. If I haven’t hurt you sir, I’ll be on my way.

She turned to go. Intrigued to know more, he put up his good hand as if to stop her, then let it fall to his side, and watched while she walked briskly towards Queen Square, her head held high. A youth and a boy, whom he had noticed earlier idling in the street a few houses down, greeted her and fell into an animated conversation. Soon the tall youth was patting her arm while the youngster jumped up and down, waving clenched fists. She put a hand on the boy’s shoulder as if to quiet him, and with the other she attempted to smooth his hair. Impatiently the boy jerked his head away. Ah, the Major reasoned, a governess with her charges, and turned to raise the knocker on the Beadle’s door.

As the Major stood at the footman’s elbow waiting to be announced to Mrs. Beadle, he could not help but be aware that the opening of the withdrawing room door had disconcerted the room’s occupants. There was a tell-tale second’s lapse before the two voices, both talking at once, tailed off into silence, leaving an instant of unnatural quiet.

The stillness was broken by the sharpest of the two voices exclaiming in irritation, What is it John? Do not stand there like a looby.

Major Lynmouth, here for his appointment, Ma’am.

Major Lynmouth! Great heavens! Not now. Can’t you see I’m not at home? Can’t receive him now. Of all the ill-considered times... tell him I’m not home.

But Mamma, he wrote for an appointment, the other lighter voice pointed out firmly.

So he did. Yes - no - yes. Amaranth, smooth your hair, and your hem is tucked up... there... that’s better... Is my cap on straight? Well, John, what are you waiting for? Send him up.

Major Lynmouth, Ma’am, announced John as the Major stepped forward. Although he had every reason to expect to be well received, he diplomatically pretended he had not been an inadvertent auditor of a slice of the Beadle family’s home life. For her part, Mrs. Beadle, her countenance showing a deal of colour, was all smiles. She bustled forward to greet him, Major, ‘tis a pleasure to make your acquaintance.

The pleasure is mine, Ma’am, he replied bowing politely over the plump hand held out to him.

Proudly Mrs. Beadle brought forward a vision in cornflower blue. May I present my daughter Amaranth?

Quite dazzled by the girl’s exquisite fairness, the Major bowed again, Enchanted, Miss Amaranth.

The vision curtsied prettily, and smiled up at him through her lashes. Her first impression was of a young man, but as he took her dimpled hand in his, closer inspection disappointed her, he was quite old - thirty at least - for flecks of grey sprinkled his dark brown hair, and lines radiated from the corners of his eyes. But ever the coquette, she was happy to practice her wiles on any attractive male however old, Oh, Major, she said sweetly, I too, am so pleased to make your acquaintance. His obvious interest lit up his grey eyes, in startling contrast to his dark face. Absorbing the impact of the perfection of her beauty, he replied with great sincerity, My pleasure entirely, Miss Amaranth.

Pray tell me, sir, your arm does not pain you?

Why no, Miss Amaranth, ‘tis on the mend.

So, it does not hurt you to dance?

He laughed, Miss Amaranth, I was wounded in the arm, not the foot.

Amaranth, scolded Mrs. Beadle, Major Lynmouth is not interested...

On the contrary Ma’am, I love to dance and if Miss Amaranth allows me, I will engage her for the first country dance at the next assembly in the Upper Rooms...

Such frivolous nonsense! came a derisive voice from a corner of the room.

A cloud crossed Mrs. Beadle’s face. With a suppressed sigh, she reluctantly turned to indicate a thin lady in grey whom the Major had not noticed before. Half-masked by a handsome piano whose top was untidily strewn with books and sheet music, the lady sat bolt upright on its bench in the shadows. She clutched a large reticule to her bosom as if frightened someone would wrest it from her. This capacious article was full to overflowing with papers and, the Major’s experienced eye told him, a man’s silver hip-flask. An air of extreme disapproval emanated from her. Hepzibah, may I present Major Lynmouth to you. My sister-in-law, Miss Beadle. The Major stepped forward to acknowledge the introduction and recoiled slightly as the distinct aura of peppermint assailed his nostrils. His bow was grudgingly acknowledged with a distant stare and the slightest inclination of Miss Hepzibah’s haughty head.

Disconcerted, the Major turned once more to Amaranth who was gazing at him with regret. Oh! Major, I had quite expected you to be wearing your regimentals, officers look so dashing in scarlet, quite cast us ladies in the...

There was a crash and tinkle of falling glass as an object rocketed through the sash window, landed with a bounce on the carpet between them and rolled to rest at the feet of Miss Hepzibah. The startled lady squawked and jumped up in fright. Waving her arms in alarm, reticule, books and papers flew in all directions.

Initially stunned by the interruption, the other two ladies became alive suddenly and squealed in unison as they rushed into each other’s arms. Showing more presence of mind, the Major leaped to the window. He looked out and saw a boy standing on the pavement opposite, staring up, grinning widely, with an air of satisfaction at a job well done. The Major had no difficulty in recognizing him for the youngster lately in the charge of the governess he had encountered on the doorstep earlier. She must have her hands full with that one, he thought, need eyes in the back of her head. But now he was puzzled by the miscreant’s behaviour. Instead of running away, the boy, who was not more than ten or eleven, stood with his head cocked on one side as if waiting for a reaction from the household. Astonished at this deliberation on the boy’s part, the Major ran down into the street.

His approach was greeted with a crow of triumph, as the boy danced up and down in delight, That’ll teach ‘em for telling lies, an’ I’ll tell Mrs. Beadle I said so.

The Major’s lean hand took hold of the boy’s collar, I doubt you’ll have the chance, lad. It’s off to the constable with you.

No, no! The boy was immediately crestfallen. That is not at all what I want. Please, sir, I must see Mrs. Beadle to tell her.

Well, said the Major kindly, You could always plead an accident, throw yourself on her mercy.

I must see Mrs. Beadle, but not to throw myself on her mercy, the youngster said with exasperation at the Major’s obtuseness, ‘tis not the point. Don’t you see, I want to tell her I threw the stone, make her understand ‘twas her punishment for telling lies. ‘tis wicked to tell lies, you go to hell if you do... He gestured widely, endeavouring to impress his reasoning on the man firmly holding his collar. Twisting round to emphasize his point, the boy quickly realised they were causing a deal of interest among the passers-by, and cannily took advantage of his position, An’ if I don’t get to see Mrs. Beadle, I’ll yell, I’ll kick up the devil of a fuss, I’ll scream, an’...

Enterprising, aren’t you, commented the Major. Well, I’ll escort you to Mrs. Beadle, but do not be surprised if she calls the constable. What is your name, boy?

Satisfied his goal was attained, the boy did not mind telling his captor, Matthew Sinclair, sir.

When the Major ushered young Matthew into the withdrawing room, the cobblestone, for that was the missile, remained where it had landed on the handsome turkey carpet, surrounded by splinters of glass. Her cap awry, Mrs. Beadle lay back in her chair. She pressed a hand to her breast as if to calm palpitations while Amaranth assiduously fanned her mother’s flushed face. Miss Hepzibah, re-seated on the piano bench, eyed the cobblestone with extreme distaste while delicately sipping from the silver top of her flask. The odour of peppermint was very strong.

Retaining his grasp upon Matthew’s collar, the Major pushed him forward and announced, This is Matthew Sinclair, I believe he has a matter of importance to discuss with you, Mrs. Beadle.

He was unprepared for her reaction to this simple speech.

Sinclair! screamed Mrs. Beadle starting up in her chair, Pray do not mention that name to me. She sank back, her nostrils pinched, He’s the nasty little brother of that flirt, that brazen hussy, that, that viper...

That’s not true! Nothing of what you say is true. Master Sinclair wrest himself from the Major’s hold and stood in front of Mrs. Beadle. Hands upon hips, he glared at her belligerently, You are telling lies, and you’ll go to hell for it, my sister never...

Lies! Mrs. Beadle sat up with a jerk. How dare you, you impudent brat. Lies, are they? My daughter is not a liar. She reported to me how Cleone Sinclair flirts. Flirts with every man she comes across. Not only with my poor Florian, but positively enticing Mr. Beadle’s ward, Geoffrey... Mrs. Beadle’s bountiful bosom heaved. She shut her eyes as if to hide the sight of Matthew, and sank back in her chair. Why did you bring him here. Take him away, Major...

With his chin jutted out and fists clenched, Master Sinclair stood his ground, No. I’ll not go. Not until you take it all back, the lies...

Matt! came an appalled voice from the doorway, what are you doing?

Matt turned, Oh, Chris. I am glad you have come, I cannot get Mrs. Beadle to understand...

No, I should think not, said Chris stepping into the room. He bowed politely to them all, and the Major recognized him for the youth whom he had seen greeting the governess in the street earlier. I apologise for my brother, Ma’am, but you see he loves his sister and cannot bear for her to be slandered.

‘tis not slander young man, I’ll have you know, your sister...

Christopher Sinclair stood up straight and looked down his long nose. Ma’am, I hesitate to contradict a lady, but I will not stand idly by and hear anyone say aught against my sister. So, now, if you will kindly apologise, pay me the seventeen shillings you owe her, and allow me to collect her books and sheet music, we will say no more about it.

Say no more about it? cried Matt hotly, Chris, that is not right.

Hush, old chap, ‘tis the Beadles’ word against ours. You and I know the rights of it, but to cause a fuss will make matters worse.

That’s not fair!

The Major put his hand on Matt’s shoulder, Your brother is correct, I’m afraid. Come, apologise for the broken window, and we’ll leave.

What broken window? asked a bewildered Chris.

Eager to impart the news, Amaranth cried, Your hooligan of a brother broke it.

Christopher was thunderstruck, He did what?

Threw that cobblestone... confirmed the Major, nodding his head toward the offending object.

Why ever would he...? Christopher turned to his brother, Matt?

’cos they deserved it, maintained Matt sturdily.

A faint smile tugging his lips, Christopher said to Mrs. Beadle, I apologise for my young brother, Ma’am, and he will apologise too...Come, Matt.

Matt stood his ground, I won’t apologise, they deserved it.

At this impasse, the Major intervened hastily, I think I had better return another time. I’ll take this young firebrand with me, and we’ll await his brother in Queen Square. He grasped Matt’s collar firmly once more and led him away protesting.

Chris was left to face the irate Mrs. Beadle. He stood very tall and held out his hand, My errand is to collect the seventeen shillings you owe my sister. If you please, Ma’am.

Seventeen shillings! she exclaimed shrilly, And what about my window, ‘twill cost all of that to repair it?

No it will not, said Christopher calmly.

Yes, it will. Besides, your sister’s goings on has left me in the lurch, where will I find another teacher for my daughter and niece so qualified...

You should have thought of that, Ma’am, before you dismissed my sister out of hand, without so much as enquiring -

And she deserved it. What kind of chaperone would I be if I put a brazen hussy in charge of my delicately nurtured charges...

From the piano came a snicker, Tee hee hee, Christopher looked round at this. He was highly incensed to see not only was the odd Miss Hepzibah Beadle enjoying the scene, but Amaranth was smirking at him over her mother’s head.

Control yourself, Hepzibah, ‘tis no laughing matter! Scolded Mrs. Beadle, Let me tell you, young man, I caught that Cleone mauling - kissing my son...

This was too much. Has it not occurred to you Ma’am, Christopher’s voice rose up over Mrs. Beadle’s, That the shoe was on the other foot? My poor sister has told me how your saintly Florian has made her life a misery with his nasty, encroaching ways, pinching and pawing her at every opportunity, cornering her on the stairs, and she not in a position to fight back. Not to mention this Geoffrey person, mooning after her. Cleone has had a lot to put up with... I told her to give up teaching Amaranth and Abigail, but, listen to this, Ma’am, she said she had an obligation to her pupils and could not let them down. D’you hear that... an obligation, and now, instead being rewarded for her diligence, she is thrown out of the house neck and crop without being given one chance to explain how Florian’s attentions -

Mrs. Beadle rose out of her chair, That is not true! she screamed, My Florian -

What is all this? thundered a new voice, I have never heard such a noise, I cannot work for it. The burly form of Mr. Enoch Beadle thrust itself into the room, his coat unbuttoned and his neckcloth undone. He glared at them all over the spectacles perched on the end of his nose. Wagging a sheaf of papers at them, he complained, Disturbing me at my work. Mrs. Beadle, you know I cannot be disturbed. I demand to know what all this is about.

He was overwhelmed with explanations from all sides. Only Hepzibah remained silent, her eyes gleaming with secret enjoyment.

Quiet! Shouted Mr. Beadle, and immediately silence reigned. That’s better. Well, Mrs. Beadle, I am waiting for an explanation.

Oh, Mr. Beadle, such a morning I’ve had. That creature I hired to teach Amaranth and Abigail the French language and the pianoforte proved unsatisfactory, so I have dismissed her. As you can see, her young brother broke my window in revenge, and now I have her other brother dunning me for seventeen shillings...

Christopher looked at Mrs. Beadle in disgust.

Why not tell the truth, Ma’am?

‘tis the truth.

No, it’s not and you know it, he retorted.

And what is the truth, young man? asked Mr. Beadle.

Christopher poured out his story to a counterpoint from Mrs. Beadle of Shameful hussy... my poor charges... never so taken in... Amaranth and Abigail subjected to such lewd behaviour... Florian would never do such a thing without encouragement...

Mr. Beadle listened to it all calmly. At the end of the recital he said, And how do I know you have the right of it? ‘tis Mrs. Beadle’s word against yours, and you only have the tale by hearsay?

I know my sister, sir.

Hmm. Mr. Beadle looked at him shrewdly, Well, here’s a pretty coil. However, the best resolution to this is that I pay you the seventeen shillings owed Miss Sinclair...

And what about my window, Mr. Beadle? cried his wife.

Yes, well, shall we deduct a crown for its repair?

Two shillings, countered Christopher firmly.

Yes, well, you drive a hard bargain, said Mr. Beadle with a glimmer of a smile, counting out the money from his net purse. Here you are young man. And don’t forget your sister’s things.

"Thank you,