06.The Penniless Peer (The Eternal Collection) (4 page)

While Periquine had been away with the Army in France, Hetty had captivated all the young men of the neighbourhood and had then gone to London to captivate the
Beau Monde.

‘It is understandable that Periquine cannot resist her,’ Fenella told herself now.

She thought of Hetty’s classical features, golden hair, unblemished skin, and knew she was not likely to be missed by Periquine’s roving eye once he returned from the war.

‘All I want is his happiness,’ Fenella thought, but she knew if she was honest with herself that she did not feel he would find happiness with Hetty Baldwyn.

She was still standing in the Salon with a worried expression in her green eyes when Lord Corbury came downstairs again.

He had obeyed her instructions and was wearing a very old pair of pantaloons which Fenella knew had been darned on one leg.

He had on a jacket which having been made for him some years ago, was slightly too small. A black cravat encircled his throat and was tied in an elegant knot on the front of his shirt.

Nevertheless he managed to look smart because he wore his clothes with an air and they seemed to accentuate the raffish glint which was never far from his eye.

Fenella gave a little laugh.

“Can this really be the Robber Chief in person?” she asked mockingly.

“If you say any more,” Lord Corbury replied, “I will give you what I used to give my fag at Eton who looked just like you in that suit - six of the best.”

“I am sure you were a bully,” Fenella retorted, “and if you stay here bullying me we shall never reach the Old Mill before it is too dark for the dogs to differentiate between friend and foe.”

“Oh Lord, the dogs!” Lord Corbury ejaculated. “I had forgotten them!”

“I had not,” Fenella answered. “I have brought them some food, it is outside the window.”

“Do we have to enter and leave the house in this surreptitious manner?” Lord Corbury enquired.

“You can go out through the door if you like,” Fenella answered, “but I certainly do not want Mrs. Buckle or old Barnes to see me. Not that I expect that they would move from the kitchen fire at that very moment.”

“Let us take no chances,” Lord Corbury said with an air of resignation.

He followed Fenella over the window-sill and out onto the terrace outside.

Being so small she had some difficulty in clambering out while he could almost do it in one stride.

There was a basket on the moss-covered flagstones and Fenella picked it up.

“I hope you have brought plenty,” Lord Corbury said.

“There are always masses of scraps at home,” Fenella answered, “our cook is very extravagant.”

“It is more than Mrs. Buckle is ever likely to be,” Lord Corbury said bitterly. “As she informed me tonight she cannot cook what she has not got.”

“Poor Periquine, are you hungry?” Fenella asked.

“Not at the moment,” Lord Corbury replied, “but I have a suspicion that by the end of the week I shall be setting rabbit-snares with old bits of wire, and trying to charm pigeons down from the nest.”

“No cartridges!” Fenella said perceptively.

“Only a few,” Lord Corbury answered. “God knows I have never seen a house containing so little of everything.”

 There was a bitterness in his tone which told Fenella that he must have made an inspection of the place during the day and she wondered if it was after Hetty had left in the afternoon.

Perhaps she had not stayed for long. Lord Corbury had been cheerful enough when she had left him to go home for luncheon.

“I have rot told Papa and Mama you are here yet,” she had said. “Not that they would be particularly interested, but I thought the fewer people who knew, the less likelihood there would be of Sir Virgil hearing of your arrival.”

“That was thoughtful of you,” Lord Corbury approved. “The only thing I have to live for is Hetty’s visits and if she does not come to see me I shall feel like blowing a hole through my head.”

Fenella did not answer this. She had only hoped that Hetty would make an effort to go to the Priory during the afternoon.

She would not do so, Fenella knew only too well, unless it suited her. If she herself wanted to see Periquine, she would get there whoever tried to stop her. It was a question of going out of her way to bring him any comfort. Fenella very much doubted if she would make an effort.

‘I am being catty,’ she told herself. ‘I must not be unkind about Hetty. And I must not be jealous of her because she is so beautiful.’

Even as she thought of it, Fenella knew it was not Hetty’s beauty that made her jealous, but the fact that Periquine was interested in her.

Always in the past when he had been home he had seemed to belong to her, there being few distractions to take him from her side.

She had gone out shooting with him in the Autumn, she had sat beside him when he fished in the summer. They had rowed a boat on the lake and ridden their horses through the woods.

Merely country interests, country pursuits! And yet Fenella could never remember a time when either of them seemed bored. There had always been something interesting to do.

But now Periquine was depressed. That she could understand, where money was concerned. But it was not like him to have lost his enthusiasms, and not to be amused by ordinary everyday things which had entertained him in the past.

They walked across the lawn side by side in silence. The sun was sinking behind a great wood of fir trees in a blaze of crimson, gold and saffron.

Already the sky overhead was a translucent blue and the first evening star twinkled faintly in the midst of it.

‘There is nothing more lovely,’ Fenella thought, ‘than the Priory in May.’

There was the fragrance of lilacs, the heavy scent of syringa, and everywhere that she looked there were patches of colour in shrubs and trees which while undoubtedly overgrown, were nevertheless very lovely.

As they walked along moving towards Robin’s Wood that lay parallel to the long drive which ran to the Highway, she thought that the peace and beauty of the evening was having a soothing effect on her companion.

After they crossed a narrow bridge over a stream which fed the lake she said,

 “There are some very fat trout since you last fished here.”

“Are there?”

She thought that Lord Corbury’s eyes lit up.

“Then I must certainly have a try at them. It is so long since I had a rod in my hand that I dare say I have lost the art of hooking a fish.”

“I expect it will come back to you,” Fenella said.

 He looked at her and smiled.

“Forgive me for being so blue-devilled,” he said beguilingly, “I realise you are trying to cheer me up, and even if you cannot do so, I have no right to inflict my miseries on you.”

“It is not a question of inflicting anything on me,” Fenella answered. “We have always shared our difficulties in the past.”

She looked up at him as if she hoped he would agree with her, but now he was watching the rooks coming in to roost and merely said absently,

 “Yes, of course.”

They moved into Robin’s Wood, which was now thickly overgrown as the trees should have been thinned years before.

There was a twisting path between the tree-trunks and they followed it. It grew darker and still darker as the sun dipped into the horizon, and the evening light did not percolate through the thick branches above them.

It was as they were moving without speaking that they heard someone coming. Fenella stood still, and quickly Lord Corbury, with a reaction which must have come from his service training, took her arm and pulled her behind a thick briar-bush.

“Who can it be?” he whispered.

“I have no idea,” Fenella answered. “There is never anyone in the woods at night.”

The sound of someone moving rather slowly but heavily came nearer. Then they heard the murmur of a voice.

It seemed to Lord Corbury the words were foreign and then when the speaker was nearly level with them, he realized the man whoever he might be, was saying a prayer.

Restraining an impulse to raise his head to look, Lord Corbury still holding on to Fenella’s arm remained crouched down beside her until the footsteps and the voice receded into the distance.

“It is quite all right,” Fenella said, “it is only the old Vicar.”

“The old Vicar?” Lord Corbury questioned.

“You must remember him. He was the Vicar of Little Coombe for years. Then he got so vague and absent-minded that the Bishop gave him charge of the Church-in-the Wood.”

“Do you mean the Monk’s Chapel?” Lord Corbury asked.

“Of course. It is just as it used to be when we were children. It is still full of squirrels, birds and even rabbits. I often go there on a Sunday when the old Vicar, if he remembers, holds a Service.”

“Does anyone else go?” Lord Corbury enquired.

“There are two old women from the village who adore him, one of whom cleans his tiny house. It is little more than a hut, but he is happy there. The Parish has grown too much for him. He always forgot funerals, and someone invariably had to fetch him to a wedding long after the bride had arrived.”

Lord Corbury laughed.

“That must have caused a great deal of trouble.”

“It did,” Fenella replied, “especially as the old Vicar was usually lost in the woods. You remember how he loved the animals? He still tames the squirrels, and the deer eat out of his hands.”

“I must go and see him one day,” Lord Corbury said. “I might have spoken to him just now.”

“I thought of that but it is wisest that no-one sees us,” Fenella said, “Isaac Goldstein is so crooked that I do not think he would dare make a fuss about his monies being stolen, but one never knows and it is safer if we are not seen anywhere in the vicinity.”

“Quite right,” Lord Corbury approved.

They went back onto the path and now it was getting very difficult to find their way.

Fenella went ahead and finally as they emerged through the trees, Lord Corbury saw ahead of them a high fence of over-lapping wattles.

“That was never there in the past,” he ejaculated.

“No, Isaac Goldstein put it up,” Fenella answered. “He said it was to keep the dogs in, but I have a suspicion it was to keep intruders out.”

The Mill House looked very dilapidated. The stream ran by it on one side, on the other it was only a short distance from the highway on a drive which had not been repaired for years.

Some of the windows had been boarded up, the others were dark and there was no sign of any light.

Fenella had the idea that Lord Corbury was feeling apprehensive.

“It is quite all right,” she said soothingly, “I saw with my own eyes Mr. Goldstein go away and if he has been extorting money from his victims all day it is not likely he will drive home in the dark.”

Lord Corbury had no answer to this logic and followed Fenella in silence to the fence. There he saw in one place a number of logs which had been placed against it and he guessed this was where Fenella climbed over when she was alone.

She handed him the basket and, as he expected, stepped up the logs and putting her hands on the top of the fence, threw her leg over.

Instantly there was a sudden snarling and barking below which sounded so ferocious that instinctively Lord Corbury put out his hands to prevent her going any further.

Fenella gave a little whistle.

“It is all right, boys,” she said, “it is me.”

At the sound of her voice, the snarling and barking ceased, and instead Lord Corbury could hear the dogs jumping about making noises of welcome. When he looked over the top he could see they were wagging their tails.

In the dusk they certainly looked frightening. One was a large wolfhound, the other a huge mongrel of doubtful extraction. Both had large jaws and sharp teeth and Lord Corbury had little doubt they would dispose very effectively of any intruder they did not welcome.

“The basket!” Fenella said as she jumped down to the ground. Lord Corbury handed it to her, while the dogs slobbering with excitement danced around her.

She gave them some food which they gobbled up with such speed that it was obvious they were both very hungry.

“Come over,” she said, “I will not let them hurt you.”

 “I hope you are sure of that,” Lord Corbury replied a little dryly. “I have a great objection to forming part of a dog’s dinner.”

“There is plenty for them here,” Fenella said, “and I will protect you.”

Lord Corbury put his leg over the fence and waited. One of the dogs looked towards him and gave a little growl in his throat.

“It is a friend,” Fenella admonished him, patting his head as she spoke.

She gave him another large piece of meat and an equal portion to the other dog.

“All right!” she said.

Lord Corbury rather apprehensively lowered himself down to the ground.

“Keep near to me,” Fenella commanded. “They have accepted you or they would have sprung at you by now.”

“That is undoubtedly re-assuring,” Lord Corbury remarked.

He stood close to Fenella while she finally took two large bones from her basket and handed one to each dog.

“That will keep them busy,” she smiled.

She threw the empty basket back over the fence and led the way towards the house.

It was certainly in a bad state, Lord Corbury noticed. The wood was crumbling away from the windows and the garden that had been there in the Mill-Keeper’s time was non-existent. A chimney-pot had been blown down and lay smashed on the path that led to the front door.

“I cannot believe that Mr. Goldstein is a particularly good tenant,” he said.

“He is a miser,” Fenella answered.

When they reached the front door, Fenella looked up and Lord Corbury followed her glance.

There was a fanlight over the top of the door which had rusted away and which he could see was broken at the sides. The glass from it had gone and it was stuffed with old rags.

The aperture however looked very narrow and he wondered if anyone, even as slim as Fenella, could squeeze through it.

As if she read his thoughts she said,

 “I am sure I can do it. Let me get on your shoulders.”