Free Swept Away by Marsha Canham

persons Anna saw when she entered the room.
    The next visitor she recognized from a brief introduction at Sunday mass was Colonel Rupert Ramsey, retired from active service by a shattered elbow, and more recently attached to the garrison at Berry Head to oversee the demobilization of the army. He was short and wiry in an ill-fitting uniform, with a pointed face and thick curly hair more suited to a sheep than a man.
    She sought her aunt immediately, hoping to take some clue from Florence’s expression as to why Ramsey was here, but her gaze had barely touched upon the diminutive gray haired figure in black bombazine when it was jolted abruptly over to the second pair of ‘toffs’ seated by the fireplace.
    Both balanced delicate cups and saucers on their laps, which they set aside at once and rose in deference to her arrival.
    “Anthony!” Annaleah gasped, seeing her brother. Her gaze shifted again. “Lord Barrimore ?”
    Their formal bows executed, it was her brother who spoke first. “Anna. Good show. You have saved old Willerkins the need to hunt you down.”
    Anna was too stunned for cleverness or subtlety. “What on earth are you doing here?”
    Her brother coughed into his hand. “A rather blunt greeting, I must say. To which the equally blunt answer would be the obvious: We have come to fetch you home.”
    He was impeccably dressed, as usual, in a charcoal jacket, green striped waistcoat, and pearl gray trousers. Winston Perry, Marquis of Barrimore made for a rather sombre contrast in black superfine from head to toe, with the only break in severity being the stiff white collar and cravat. He was taller than Anthony by an inch or more, with precisely clipped and curled brown hair surrounding a handsome face that might have been considered irresistible were it not for the fact his expression was usually as tight as his collar. At the moment, only the two brittle green points of his eyes showed any animation, scarcely a flattering departure as they assessed her loosely combed hair and simple muslin dress.
    “Do come in, Anna dear,” her aunt invited, “and take some tea with us. You remember Colonel Ramsey? He has no time for tea himself,” she added, “but has come to warn us to be on guard against any strangers lurking about.”
    “Strangers?” Anna’s voice came out suitably hesitant.
    “Yes. You have not seen any, have you dear? ”
    Instead of answering directly, she looked at Colonel Ramsey. “Has there been trouble in the village, sir?”
    Ramsey stopped undressing her with his eyes and looked up into her face. “We have reason to believe there may be some trouble brewing, what with Bonaparte due to arrive in port any day now.”
    “Bonaparte is coming here? To Torbay?”
    “Why yes,” Anthony said, parting the swallow tails of his coat to resume his seat. “The most recent sightings put the Bellerophon less than a week out of port. Plymouth will not have him and London wants no part of the circus he is expected to draw. It was decided, quite rightly so, that he should be kept as isolated from the general population as is possible. They do not even intend to land him, merely let him sit on board the ship at anchor.”
    “What does that have to do with us?” Anna asked.
    “Nothing directly, of course,” the colonel said carefully.
    “It would seem, Niece,” Florence interjected, “they are also looking for a dangerous criminal. A gentleman by the name of Althorpe.”
    “I would hesitate to call Emory Althorpe a gentleman, dear lady," Ramsey said with a scowl, "since he is wanted for a host of crimes, none of which carry less than a penalty of hanging.”
    “Yes, well, I only vaguely recall the boy,” Florence said, waving her cane absently, “and thought him dead long ago of a shrunken head in Borneo. At any rate, you say there is a reward being offered for his capture and arrest?”
    “Five hundred pounds,” Ramsey nodded. “Authorized by Lord Wessex himself, as Lord Barrimore