Read An Unusual Bequest Online
Authors: Mary Nichols
Tags: #Fiction, #Romance, #Historical, #General
An Unusual Bequest (10 page)
The children ran on ahead, sitting down to peel off their shoes and stockings, before dashing on to the beach and making for the pebbly water’s edge. Charlotte and Miss Quinn followed more slowly.
‘Poor mites,’ Joan said. ‘They have been cooped up like wild birds this last two weeks…’
‘I know, Quinny, but what would you have me do? I dare not let them run about the house.’
‘I know. How long do you think those dreadful creatures will stay?’
‘I do not know.’
‘Do you think when they go, life will be the same as it was?’
‘I don’t know that either, Quinny. I do not think so.’ They had reached the water’s edge and began walking along where the tide had gone out, their conversation accompanied by the gentle whoosh and rattle as the tide came over the pebbles. ‘But I have been making plans, whether they come to fruition depends on many things, but I think it would be wise to leave Easterley Manor.’
‘Leave, my lady? But where will you go?’
‘I do not know yet, but I beg you to say nothing of it to anyone. Until I am sure of my ground, no one must know.’
‘You may trust me, my lady, but if you leave what will become of everyone, the servants and me?’
‘While the girls are young, I shall need you, Quinny, though whether I will be able to pay you as well as the late Lord Hobart did…’
‘That’s not important, my lady, what is important is that I do not have to part from my angels.’
‘Angels!’ Charlotte laughed. ‘Just look at them. They are like wild things, shrieking and splashing each other. Their skirts are soaked and their hair ribbons untied. Anything less like angels I cannot imagine.’
‘Oh, my lady, I was so distracted by what you were saying. I’ll go and—’
‘No, Quinny, do not scold them. It is good to see them happy.’
Joan hurried off to remonstrate gently with the girls and Charlotte continued her walk, deep in thought. It was all very well to talk of plans, but how could she bring them to fruition? She would have to write to Mr Hardacre, find out what was happening; the uncertainty was playing the devil with her nerves. She nearly jumped out of her skin when a shadow fell across her and a voice said, ‘Good morning, my lady.’
Her fist went to her heart and even through her clothes she could feel its erratic beat. ‘Lord Darton.’
‘I am sorry if I startled you. Did you not see me coming?’
‘No. I was thinking.’
‘Thinking, eh? Now what would a lovely woman be thinking about on a beautiful day like this? It is a beautiful day, is it not?’
‘Indeed, yes.’ Her heart was still thumping and she could hardly find the breath to speak.
‘Makes you feel glad to be alive.’
‘Yes.’
‘You do not sound very convinced of it. Is life treating you so ill that you cannot smile?’
‘It is not life that treats me ill,’ she retorted. ‘It is people…’
‘Of whom I am one.’
She lowered her head without speaking; it was as good as an affirmation. He fell into step beside her without waiting for an invitation to do so. She walked on, gazing out to sea so that she did not have to look at him. He was so self-assured, so impertinent, as if he expected her to fall into his arms simply because he smiled at her. Well, she would not give him the satisfaction. And it was the second time too; he had done so the other evening at dinner. He had done it to goad her, and then later in the wine cellar, he had been…How had he been? Kind or insolent? Insolent, she decided, putting his arm about her in that proprietorial way and kissing her, as if she belonged to him. She belonged to no one. Why, then, was she so dependent? Whom could she trust?
‘You are still in a brown study,’ he said. ‘What is it that fills your mind so completely, you can shut yourself off from everything around you?’
‘My thoughts are my own.’
‘Share them with me.’
‘You would not find them interesting.’
‘How can I tell if you keep them to yourself?’ He paused, then, smiling, went on. ‘But let me guess. You are asking yourself how long you can put up with your brother-in-law’s guests. You are wondering if Lord Hobart will play so deep he will lose the roof over your head. You are wondering what will become of you. And you are debating how far you can trust me.’
‘If that be so, then perhaps you, in your wisdom, can also tell me the answers.’
He sighed. ‘I would that I knew. I fancy Sir Roland and Mr Spike will stay until Lord Hobart pays what he owes.’
‘And if he cannot pay?’
‘They will take whatever they can lay their hands on: pictures, ornaments…’
‘Not the house?’
‘They might try, but they are not the only ones in the game, you know.’
‘I do know. What I do not know is how deep in it you are.’
‘Deep enough to foil them, I hope.’ He paused. ‘My lady, can you not leave? I know it has been your home and you must be fond of it, but surely you are not happy with the situation.’
‘You must know I am not. What I cannot understand is why you stay. You are not like the others. I do not believe you are as addicted to drink and gambling as they are. Nor that you are so pinched in the pocket that you must deprive my brother-in-law of everything he possesses.’
‘Men who play as badly as he does deserve to lose.’
‘You do not have to encourage him.’
‘He needs no encouragement, believe me. My concern is for you.’
She looked up at him startled by his words. ‘Why?’
‘Because I think fate has dealt you an unkind hand.’
She laughed suddenly at the gambling connotation. ‘I am not a gambler…’
‘No? I think we all gamble at some time in our lives. Oh, it might not be with cards or wagers, but sometimes the decisions we make are gambles in themselves. You are gambling that the house party breaks up with no harm done and Cecil turns into an honourable man and—’
‘Lord Darton, that is wishing for the moon, not gambling.’
‘Then what are you going to do?’ he asked seriously.
She stopped and turned towards him, looking into his face for the first time. Either he was a very good actor or what she saw in his brown eyes was a genuine concern. Did he care? Suddenly it was important that he should. She wanted him on her side, she wanted him to understand. She wanted to feel able to lean on him for support as she had once leaned on Grenville. Her husband. Not since his death had she looked at any man with longing, not until now. Surely to God she had not fallen in love again? No, she told herself, it was simply that she felt lonely and isolated and needed a shoulder to cry on. But she must not cry, she must not.
He lifted a finger and gently wiped her cheek with the back of it and she knew she had failed; the tears were gathering in her eyes and one had slipped down her face. ‘My lady, I hate to see you distressed.’
‘How can that be true?’ she asked, suddenly asserting herself. ‘When you yourself have added to it.’
‘It is not my wish to do so, but I must play my part.’
‘Why?’
‘Now, do you know, I have no idea. Perhaps because I was bored and I enjoy a game of cards as well as the next man. Perhaps because I have taken a dislike to Cecil Hobart and his associates. I do not like a man who lays claim to kinship simply to fleece me. Or it may be that you and I never did have that conversation about education.’
‘Education?’
‘Had you forgot? You were expounding your views on teaching. Unusual they were too. Children should learn to be happy, you said, that life is not all work…’
She smiled at the memory. How affronted she had been at his daring to speak to her without an introduction. That seemed such a little thing compared to what had happened since. ‘So I did. But you did not agree.’
‘I neither agreed nor disagreed, but I was interested.’
‘Why?’
‘I have a daughter, Lady Hobart, a daughter who needs teaching.’
‘Oh, I did not realise that, but surely she has a governess and music teachers and dancing masters, things that my poor village children do not have.’
‘Is that why you stay? Because of them.’
‘Partly. My wish is to open a school.’
‘I thought you already had one.’
‘I mean a proper school, one with paying pupils. If Lord Hobart had not come back from India, I might have asked his permission to convert part of the Manor, I could have sent him a little rent from the income.’ She sighed. ‘But it was not to be and now I must find other premises.’
‘The village children would never pay enough to cover the overheads,’ he pointed out. ‘Unless you were not telling the truth when you told his lordship you had no money and you mean to subsidise it from your own purse.’
‘By paying pupils I meant the children of parents like yourself who can afford the fees.’
‘Are you qualified to teach them?’
‘I can teach the younger ones. I would employ someone for the more advanced pupils.’
‘I see. And would the children of the idle rich also be taught that life is not all hard labour? They have no conception of that, you know. Their whole lives are a round of indolence and enjoyment. The schoolroom is the only place where they are expected to do any work and, if they do not see the need for it, they rebel.’ He laughed suddenly. It was a merry sound and for a little while she forgot their animosity and relaxed a little. ‘That I do know.’
‘Then one must persuade them of the advantages. One must make learning enjoyable.’
‘Your present pupils seem to have learned that lesson already.’
‘They are keen to learn.’ She paused a moment, then added, ‘I collect you did not find school enjoyable.’
‘No, it was a harsh regime, though it did me no harm, but not what I had in mind for Julia.’
‘Your daughter?’
‘Yes. She is thirteen years old, thoroughly spoiled and a hoyden to boot. I hoped school might tame her.’
‘A daughter is not a wild animal, my lord.’
‘This one is.’
‘How can you say that? She is your flesh and blood. You made her what she is.’
‘I have seen little of her. She grew up with my father and mother while I was with my regiment. If there be any fault, it is theirs.’
‘Perhaps, Lord Darton, you expect too much of her and of them.’
‘How so?’
‘You are a stranger to her and yet, I surmise, you lay down the law, demand to be obeyed, not as a father who loves her, but as if she were one of your troopers who could be flogged into submission.’
‘You go too far, my lady. You have no grounds for criticising me when you do not know the whole. My patience is exhausted.’
‘And you think sending her away to school is the answer?’
‘Yes, but it must be the right school, that is why I was on the road, in search of one.’
‘At Parson’s End?’ The tone of her voice told him that she did not believe that. ‘Where there just happened to be a gambling den and you like nothing so much as chancing your arm at the gaming table. Your daughter, deprived of your company for most of her life, can go without it a little longer while you indulge your weakness. I misjudged you, my lord, I thought you possessed a grain or two of tender feelings, but I was wrong.’
He was furious. Not since he was in leading strings had anyone spoken so bluntly to him. At school he had been the leader of whatever pranks were played and later, in the army, no soldier would have dared to criticise him in that fashion. He felt as if she had dealt him a blow to the body and winded him. He had never had to defend his actions and he would not do so now. He stopped, turned to her and bowed. ‘I see no advantage in pursuing this conversation, my lady,’ he said. ‘I bid you good day.’
She watched him stride away, kicking at the sand as he went, swinging his cane as if he were wielding a broadsword. She had gone too far and now she had lost the only ally she might have had. Why, if she had played her cards right, she might have found her first pupil. She laughed aloud at yet another allusion to gambling, but it was a rough, tearful sound.
‘Mama, tell us the joke,’ Lizzie called. The girls were coming towards her along the water’s edge, with Miss Quinn in their wake. ‘Did Viscount Darton say something funny?’
She gathered the girls to her and smiled. ‘No, I was thinking what a beautiful day it is. It makes me feel so much more cheerful after all the rain we have had. But now we must go back.’
Back to that den of iniquity. She led them towards the path. Where would it all end?
H
er room was a shambles. While she had been out, someone had made a thorough search of it. Her clothes had been thrown out of the drawers and chests and were strewn over the floor; the covers had been pulled off the bed and the mattress removed. Her small jewel box had been broken open and everything taken; necklaces, brooches, even her betrothal ring, all gone. Even the few guineas tucked away in a small bag had been taken, leaving her truly penniless.
With no word from Mr Hardacre and matters going from bad to worse, she had been coming slowly to the conclusion that she must give up all idea of a school and use whatever assets she had to get herself and her children to her great-uncle and risk his displeasure. Now she could not even do that. But who had taken them? She trusted the servants; in any case, a thieving servant would not have made this mess—he or she would have taken what they wanted stealthily and covered their tracks. Whoever had done this did not care who knew it. Cecil was desperate for money. She turned on her heel and went downstairs to seek him out, anger driving away all caution.
It was Sunday afternoon, a time for worship and contemplation in most households, but at Easterley Manor the men and women were already at the gaming table. She had not ventured in the room where they were playing before, and they all looked up in surprise as the door was flung open and she rushed in, her skirts swishing about her, betraying her agitation. The table was laid with a green cloth; there were scattered cards and piles of money, some of it at the players’ elbows, some in the middle of the table, some of it holding down scribbled vouchers. But what caught her eye was not the money, but her pearls. She darted forward and grabbed them. ‘These are mine! Stolen from my room.’
Cecil grabbed them back. ‘Stolen from my father, you mean,’ he said, sneering at her. ‘Taken from my inheritance. I simply retrieved what was mine.’ He lifted them out of her reach as she went to grab them again. ‘Oh, no, my dear, I am afraid you must forfeit them.’
‘My father gave me those pearls long before I ever came to this house.’
‘Why should I believe that? I know for a fact my mother had some exactly like these; indeed, I think these are the very ones. What did you do for my father to persuade him to give them to you?’
She heard one of the women giggle. Enraged, she turned to look at them all. There was not a single friendly face among them. Even Viscount Darton, who had professed to be concerned for her, was looking bored, as if her domestic squabbles had nothing to do with him.
‘I take what is mine,’ Cecil went on. ‘You should not have hidden them from me when I have been so good as to give you and your bratlings a home. Now go away, you are interrupting our game.’
She was not done yet. ‘And the money? I had five guineas…’
‘Five, was it? And you said you had nothing. I knew you were lying.’
‘It was all I had.’
‘Extracted from my father as he lay dying, no doubt.’
She was so appalled that she could not speak. She stared at him, clasping her hands into fists.
‘I gave her the money,’ Stacey deliberately drawled, controlling his anger with a huge effort.
‘Good God, man, what for?’ Augustus Spike wanted to know. ‘Do not tell me you managed to melt the ice.’
‘Is it not customary to reward the servants of one’s host?’ he queried mildly, though it was taking all his will to stop himself laying a facer on the man. He dare not look at Lady Hobart, though he could easily imagine the venom in her eyes. Oh, how she must hate him! But it was better to call her a servant than allow these lascivious men to call her something worse.
‘Certainly, if they serve you well,’ Augustus Spike said with a grin that made his meaning very clear.
‘Do you expect me to believe that?’ Cecil demanded of Stacey, ignoring Augustus.
Stacey shrugged. ‘It matters not one jot what you believe. But I think you should give the lady back her money.’
‘You know damn well, I do not have it. It went on that last hand. And if we do not proceed with the game, I never will win it back. Now, do you think we can get on with it? Your deal, Reggie, I believe.’
Charlotte, knowing she was getting nowhere and unwilling to lay herself open to any more accusations and embarrassing innuendo, turned and fled from the room.
Stacey counted out five guineas from the pile at his elbow and got up to follow her. ‘I will add this to the amount you owe me, Hobart,’ he said, as he went.
He caught up with her on the second landing. She was in such a hurry that the only way he could stop her was to grab her arm and make her turn to face him. He lifted her hand and put the coins into it. ‘Yours, I believe,’ he said.
Oh, how she longed to throw them in his face, to call him every sort of name she could think of; he was no better than the rest. He had called her a servant, had implied…Oh, it was too mortifying. Did he really think of her in those terms? Not a real lady, but a servant who had married a title. She could point his error out to him, tell him she was a Falconer and watch his reaction, but why should she? She had never traded on that and would not do so now. What was worse was that she could not even give herself the satisfaction of refusing to take the money because she needed it. She clenched her fingers over it and gave way to the temptation to vent her anger and frustration on him. She hit him on the jaw, hard enough to rock his head back.
He quickly regained his balance. ‘Is that your usual way of showing gratitude?’ he demanded. ‘For your sake I have probably made an enemy of Cecil Hobart, if not the whole company…’
‘I did not ask you to do it.’ She was sorry she had hit him. The edge of one of the coins must have caught his cheek; there was a red mark where she had struck him. Never before had she lost her temper so completely and lashed out at anyone. She should not have done it, especially when he, for all his faults, had tried to help her. But she could not bring herself to apologise.
He smiled ruefully, rubbing his jaw. ‘You certainly pack a punch, my lady. Be thankful that I am gentleman enough not to retaliate.’
‘Oh, go away,’ she said. ‘Go back to your playmates. Leave me alone.’ But she was weeping; the tears were running down her face, salty, unstoppable. She had never felt so miserable, so alone. She was destitute and she was bandying words with this man as if it were his fault. She turned away, but not before he saw her distress. His heart, already as good as lost, went out to her. He knew that, however often they might quarrel, whatever she had been in the past—whether it was a lady’s maid, which would account for her gentility, the daughter of a mushroom who had spent new money having her educated, or a governess—he loved her and would go on loving her to his dying day. Anne-Marie, for all her high and mighty manners, had not had half the character of the woman who turned from him now so that he might not see her tears.
He reached out and took her by the shoulders, turning her back towards him. The fight had gone out of her; she did not resist. ‘Oh, my dear, please do not cry. I would not for the world have made you cry.’
His soft words were her undoing. She leaned into him and he enfolded her in his arms without speaking. Now was not the time for words. She was soaking the front of his waistcoat, but he did not care. There was no longer any doubt in his mind that he loved her. He loved her for her spirit, her compassion for others less fortunate, for her consideration, her independence and her fortitude. He loved her for her beauty and her soft, pliant body, clinging to him now, needing comfort. What comfort could he give? He took a handkerchief from his pocket and dabbed at her cheeks, carefully wiping away the tears.
‘Thank you.’ Her words were whispered. ‘I’m sorry I hit you.’
‘And I am sorry to have added to your distress. I did not mean to, believe me. I would rather help you.’
She smiled shakily. ‘You have. You recovered my money.’
‘Five guineas will not take you very far. Is that truly all you have?’
‘Yes, and my jewels. They are mine, you know, presents from my father and my husband. Cecil has no claim on them.’
‘I am sure he has not, but he is desperate.’ He paused to lift her chin with his finger so that he could look into her eyes, still bright with tears. ‘Do you feel better now? I must go back to the game. It is the only way…’ He released her and stood back, reluctant to leave her, wanting to go on holding her, but knowing, if he did not return to the game, any gains he had made would be lost.
‘What do you mean, the only way?’ she demanded, but he had gone, striding down the corridor towards the stairs.
She turned and went into her room, her figure drooping with fatigue, a fatigue brought on by worry and sleeplessness. She put the money in the pocket of her skirt, the only place where it was safe, and began slowly, mechanically, to tidy up the mess. Her mind was numb. She could see no way out of her predicament.
The game continued all day and well into the night. The players stopped only to call for food and more wine, but they did not leave the table except to relieve themselves. The more Cecil lost, the more he drank; the more he drank, the more fuddled his brain became and the more he lost. Stacey remained sober, concentrating as never before on the cards, watching everyone else, memorising where the cards were. He was doing it for Charlotte Hobart, the woman he loved as he had loved no other and, if luck should favour him, then he would hand everything he had won to her. She should have her school and Julia would come to it and in the fullness of time, when his daughter was happy and settled, he would court Charlotte Hobart properly. Her didn’t care about her antecedents; it was the woman he loved, not her family and whether they were high or low. The prospect brought a tiny smile to his lips. But if he lost? He did not want to contemplate that and so he concentrated harder than ever.
At midnight, Cecil threw down his cards. ‘Gentlemen, you have run me aground.’ Money and jewels had gone and he reached for a pencil and a slip of paper to write out yet another voucher.
‘No more vouchers,’ Sir Roland said.
‘I have nothing else.’
‘What about the inheritance?’ Reginald Comins asked him. ‘You said as soon as the lawyers had finished sorting it out, you would be a rich man.’
Stacey laughed. ‘It is evident you do not know the terms of the late Lord Hobart’s will, Mr Comins.’
‘Keep your tongue between your teeth, Darton,’ Cecil growled.
‘Oh, let us hear the terms of this will on which we have all put so much trust,’ one of the women put in.
‘Hobart has inherited Easterley Manor and whatever he can make the estate earn,’ he said. ‘But no ready money. That is all in trust for the children.’
‘Whose children?’
‘Your host’s and Lady Hobart’s.’
‘Cecil has no children,’ Adelia said. ‘You haven’t, have you, Cecil? I assume they must be legitimate.’
‘I plan to marry very soon.’
‘Then let us felicitate you. Who is the lucky lady? And when will the nuptials take place?’
‘Soon.’
‘And another year before we hear of an issue,’ Henry Corton put in. He had made his money in the slave trade and was extraordinarily fat; his coat with its silver buttons strained across his corseted stomach. He was ahead, not by much, but enough to make him wary. ‘Do you expect us to wait that long to be paid? Supposing the lady is barren?’
‘You know, my friends, I think we have been bubbled,’ Reginald Comins added. ‘And I, for one, intend to cut my losses and withdraw.’
One by one, others picked up their winnings or signed vouchers, mostly in favour of Sir Roland or Stacey, and then left the room. Only Stacey, Sir Roland, Augustus and Lady Grey remained.
‘You’ll marry our friend here, won’t you, Adelia?’ Sir Roland asked her. ‘Give him an heir…’
‘Now why should I do that?’
‘Because if the Viscount is correct, it is the only way to that inheritance.’ He grinned. ‘It would be your child’s birthright. I am sure you could find ways of laying your hands on it.’
‘So’s I could pass it on to you. What is there for me in that? No, you find another cat’s paw. I’m off with the others.’ She picked up the ten guineas she had won and flounced from the room, leaving Cecil facing his two chief tormentors and Stacey Darton, who still smiled, still chinked the coins he had won.
‘Then there is nothing for it but you will have to marry the ice maiden,’ Augustus told Cecil with a leer. ‘At least we know she ain’t barren.’
‘I cannot marry my dead brother’s wife, it ain’t allowed.’
‘Then I will,’ Sir Roland said. ‘Might enjoy warming her up a bit.’
‘You need the lady’s consent for that,’ Stacey said laconically, trying desperately not to let his fury show.
‘Oh, I think she can be persuaded, if it means saving her precious house and her daughters. Pretty little things they are.’
Spike gave a cracked laugh. ‘Can’t see you as a family man, Roly, my friend, not even for a fortune.’
‘There is no fortune,’ Stacey said quietly. He had himself firmly under control, but it would take very little to goad him into lashing out at all three. It would, he knew, be a foolish thing to do. The three together could easily overcome him and what help would he be to Charlotte and her little girls then?
‘How do you know that?’ Both men rounded on him.
‘Lord Hobart’s attorney is also my attorney and he told me. It is no more than pin money. Cecil ruined his father years ago.’
They turned on Cecil, making him cringe. ‘Is this true?’
‘No, it is not,’ he said. ‘He’s lying. There’s a fortune. I’m only waiting for that damned lawyer to get on with overturning the will. He said it would be easy and not take long.’
They looked from him to Stacey, wondering whom to believe. ‘I’ll buy Hobart’s vouchers off you,’ he put in while they hesitated. ‘At half their face value.’
Augustus Spike laughed. ‘Why should we do that when we have the chance to be paid in full?’
‘You think you will be paid in full?’ Stacey queried. ‘Are you prepared to gamble on that?’ He let the coins trickle through his fingers on to the table. ‘These and more for your vouchers. A bird in the hand, you know.’
