Cut to the Quick (7 page)

The main road to Whitford passed through Alderton, the village nearest to Bellegarde. It boasted a proud old coaching house, the Blue Lion, with a brick lower story painted pink and an overhanging upper floor of timber. The houses had white, blue, or yellow facades, embellished with designs that had been swirled on the plaster while it was still wet. An occasional swinging sign announced a stationer, a greengrocer, a milliner, a blacksmith. The village was very quiet, with women and children, but few men, on the streets. Hugh said the men must have gone to Whitford for the horse fair.

At Whitford, copers had set up shop across the village green, and were loudly extolling the horses they had to sell. The gullible listened eagerly, while more seasoned onlookers cynically shook their heads. Potential buyers walked round and round the horses, inspecting their teeth, their hooves, their coats.

The party from Bellegarde turned their own horses over to a groom and explored the fair on foot. They quickly agreed that there was nothing worth buying, but they strolled about good-naturedly and listened to the horse-chanters ply their trade. Julian, on the alert for their tricks, noted wryly how one horse’s knees had been stained to conceal blemishes, and another’s gums were burned black with caustic to give an appearance of youth.

After a while Colonel Fontclair went off alone, saying he needed to give his lame leg a rest. Guy, Hugh, and Julian were standing about drinking ale they had bought at a nearby stall, when a reedy voice sounded behind them: “Will you buy a whistle, gentlemen? Some’ut to call your dogs?”

They turned and saw a wizened old man peering at them. He had a face as browned and wrinkled as a raisin, and long, stringy white hair darkened with dirt. He wore stained, baggy trousers and a brown coat buttoned wrong. A cap like a battered flatiron perched on his head. The immense sack he carried was strangely at odds with his drab clothes: it was a patchwork of hundreds of stray bits of cloth, in all manner of colours, patterns, and shapes.

“Hullo, Bliss,” said Hugh. “I didn’t know you were in the neighbourhood.”

“Passing through, as always, sir—passing through. And how is your lady mother?”

“My lady mother is fine,” said Hugh, smiling. “If you come to Bellegarde, I’m sure she’ll see you don’t go away empty-handed.” The person called Bliss grinned, screwing up his eyes into slits. “Oh, I mean to, sir, I mean to. But in the meantime, won’t you buy a doll for your young sisters?” He reached into his sack and brought out a rough-cut wooden figure in a calico dress. “Or maybe this one as is so finely turned out”—he jerked his head toward Julian—“might like a comb for his hair or a brush for his coat. And how about you, sir?” His gaze slewed round to Guy. “Perhaps a flute to play to your lady friends?”

“Get along with you, curse your impudence!” Guy said, between laughter and indignation.

Hugh gave Bliss a coin. “Bless you, young sir!” he cried out. Several bystanders looked around, laughing, at which Hugh got very red. Bliss went on, unheeding, “You’re a credit to your lady mother, whose al’ays got a kind word and some’ut to give an old man as is struggling to make his way in the world. Not like that Lady Tarleton, who says I ought to be sent to the work’hus. She’ll get her comeuppance one of these days!”

“I’d like to see the man who could give it to her,” said Guy. “There’s a reckoning in store for everyone, soon or late,” the old man said slyly. “You ought to keep that in mind, Master Guy.”

"Why you confounded old—" Guy was beginning. But Hugh took hold of his arm and drew him away. Julian, following, looked back and saw the old man watching them keenly. His eyes remained fixed on them till the crowd closed in and cut off his view.

“What's the point of arguing with him?*' Hugh was saying. “He's only a feeble old man, and queer in his upper story besides."

“I don't believe it for a moment," said Guy. “The fellow's a rogue. He'd slit his own grandmother's throat for tuppence, if he thought he could do it without getting caught."

“That's a curious sack he carries," said Julian.

“Yes it is, isn't it?’* said Hugh. “He made it himself. People say it used to be an ordinary sack, but every time it got a hole in it he patched it with bits of material that he cadged off drapers and village women. He*s been doing that for so many years that it*s nothing but patches now. He*s very clever with his hands. He makes all the things he sells—dolls, whistles, pipes, baskets. I think he gets more money begging, though, than he does by peddling the things he makes. Sometimes he does errands and chores for people—he*s very spry, though he must be as old as Methusaleh."

“Is Bliss his surname or his Christian name?**

"I don*t think anyone really knows. It*s the only name we've ever known him by. He's been tramping around our part of the county for as long as I can remember. Every few months he turns up near Bellegarde, and Mother is always kind to him. I think he's really fond of her—but then, of course, Mother brings out the best in everyone. There's no love lost between him and Aunt Catherine, but you'll have gathered that.’*

*

At about noon, Hugh assembled the scattered members of his party, and they rode home. Guy was in uproariously high spirits. Colonel Fontclair remained quiet and withdrawn. Julian found it easy to forget he was there at all.

Back at Bellegarde, they went to the drawing room for hock and seltzer water before luncheon. Miss Joanna and Miss Philippa made an appearance, ushered in ceremoniously by their governess, and

watched with loving but alert eyes by their mother. They both curtsied demurely to Julian, but Philippa shot him a wary look, probably wondering if he would let on they had met already. She need not have worried; he would not dream of reminding anyone of her breach of etiquette.

She asked him a great many questions about London. Considering that he was such a man about town, she was shocked to discover how many important places he knew nothing about. He had never been once to the pantomime at Astley’s, and he could not say for certain he had stood on the spot where Anne Boleyn and Catherine Howard lost their heads. “It was easier for kings to get rid of their wives in those days,” she observed. “Thwack! thwack! with an axe, and the king could get married again.”

“That must have been frightfully convenient.”

“I think history’s ever so interesting. I’m writing a history, you know.”

“No, I didn’t. A history of what?”

“Of my family—all the battles we’ve been in and the heiresses we’ve eloped with—that kind of thing. Of course, we don’t know much about what our ancestors did before the seventeenth century. There was a terrible fire here during the civil war, and ever so many papers got burnt up.”

“That must make it difficult to write a family history.”

“No, not really. I just make most of it up. Nobody will know the difference.”

Luncheon was announced, and Joanna and Philippa had to return to the schoolroom. After the meal, which was served on the terrace overlooking the formal garden, Lady Fontclair again urged Hugh to take Mr. Kestrel on a tour of the estate. “Should you like that?” Hugh asked Julian. “Or would that be too much riding for one day? The park is quite nice, and we’ve got some fine model farms. I don’t know if you’re interested in that sort of thing.”

“I try to be interested in very nearly everything. I always think boredom is to some extent the fault of the bored.”

Hugh was relieved. He had feared that a fellow like Kestrel, jaded with London life, might not be easy to keep entertained. “I’ve got

to closet myself with the parents for an hour or two, to go over those settlements the lawyers sent. Why don’t I come looking for you after that?”

Julian agreed. He was not sorry to get an hour or two to himself. The Fontclairs had a superb pianoforte, and he had been wanting to try it out.

He went to the music room. There was no one there. He opened the piano, laying bare her ivory keys with a little thrill of anticipation. He touched the keys, explored them, finally drew from them the joyous, rippling strains of Mozart’s Sonata in C major.

As he struck the final notes, there was a little burst of applause. Looking over his shoulder, he saw Maud Craddock in the doorway. He came to his feet.

She blushed, left off clapping, and hid her hands behind her. “I hope you don’t mind my listening. It was very nice.”

“I don’t mind in the least. I’m flattered you should wish to.” She relaxed ever so slightly. “You’re very good, aren’t you? I mean, I don’t know much about music, but you seem to me as good as the real musicians who play at Papa’s parties.”

“Thank you.” He could not help smiling, but he managed to look gratified rather than amused.

Her gaze shied away from his. She walked past him and began to examine a harp on the other side of the room. “Mr. Fontclair is very fond of music. I— I daresay that’s one of the things you and he have in common.”

This is rather a coil, he thought. Of course she thinks, since I’m Fontclair’s groomsman, he and I must have been Damon and Pythias for years. I can’t admit we’re barely acquainted without explaining how we came to know each other—which would be amusing, but hardly sporting toward Fontclair.

“We do share an interest in music,” he allowed.

She turned toward him suddenly, shaking a little, her face very white. “Mr. Kestrel—may I talk to you? I wouldn’t ask, only there isn’t anyone else. I— I can't talk to Papa—I’ve tried, and it’s no use. And I can't talk to any of the Fontclairs. They’re not my friends—they never wanted me here—I couldn’t expect them to. You’re Mr. Fontclair’s friend—you know him. You understand his family, his world. Will you advise me? Will you help me? I don’t know what to do!”

“My dear Miss Craddock.” Julian closed the distance between them in a few quick steps. “I don’t know how I can be of service to you. But whatever I can do, rest assured, I will.”

“Thank you,” she whispered.

He led her to a sofa, and sat down beside her. She looked around uneasily. “Perhaps we should close the doors, or go out into the garden.”

He shook his head. “Closing doors only attracts attention, and in a garden one never knows who may be behind the next cluster of wisteria. From where we are now, we can see clearly into the hall and the rooms on either side of us. No one will be able to get near us without our knowing.”

Maud could not help thinking he must have, had a good deal of experience arranging tete-a-tetes with ladies. Misgiving swept over her. What was she doing?—meeting alone with a fashionable gentleman, one she hardly knew! Her father said young men of the Quality were all scoundrels, who would compromise a girl as soon as look at her. No matter, she thought desperately, I’ll take the risk. Nothing can make things any worse than they are now.

She looked down at her lap, clasping and unclasping her fingers. “I expect you know this marriage between Mr. Fontclair and me— it didn’t come about of its own accord. My father arranged it. I don’t know how. At first I thought the Fontclairs must owe him money. A lot of people do, and some of them get into quite desperate straits. So I looked through his ledgers once, when he wasn't there. I know I oughtn’t to have done that without telling him, but I had to know what hold he has over the Fontclairs. But there wasn’t any sign that he’d lent them money.”

“What other means of— persuasion— might he have used?”

“I think he’s holding something terrible over the Fontclairs' heads. He must be—otherwise they'd never have agreed to accept me as Mr. Fontclair’s wife.” She added in a low voice, “I suppose you know Papa was a servant here, years ago.”

“I had heard that, yes.”

She looked at him very directly for the first time. “I want you to

know, I’m not ashamed of Papa’s birth, or mine. Everything Papa has in the world he won for himself, by hard work and discipline and a firm will. I’m proud of him for that. But the Fontclairs couldn’t be expected to look at him or me that way. They value different things—birth and rank and having ancestors who came over with William the Conqueror. It’s wrong of Papa to try to force himself and me into their world. I told him that. I told him I would much rather marry a self-made man like him than a highborn gentleman who didn’t want me. But he wouldn’t listen—he still won’t. He has his heart set on this marriage. I’ve never seen him want anything so badly.”

“Have you any idea why?”

“I thought at first it was just because the Fontclairs seemed powerful and grand to him when he was a boy. I thought perhaps my marrying Mr. Fontclair was a kind of symbol to him of everything he’d achieved. Now I’m not so sure. Since I’ve been at Bellegarde, I’ve begun to think he has some grudge against the Fontclairs, and they against him. Lady Tarleton hates him. Of course, that might just be because she’s angry about the marriage—but I don’t think so. I have a feeling she’s hated him for years. And I think he hates all the Fontclairs and wants revenge on them. I’m the revenge, Mr. Kestrel.”

Julian hardly knew what to say. “I imagine you’ve thought carefully about whether you can marry Hugh Fontclair, believing what you do?”

“That’s what I wanted to talk to you about. Mr. Fontclair told me when he offered for me that the honour and safety of his family depended on my marrying him. He was very honest about it. He couldn’t say he— he loved me. We’d never even met before. He was right to be straightforward and not pay compliments he didn’t mean. I asked him what Papa would do to his family if he didn’t offer for me, or if I didn’t accept. He said he was sorry, but I would have to ask Papa. I’m sure Papa’s given orders to the Fontclairs not to tell me. I think, deep down, he must be very ashamed of himself. He’s not a bad man, truly, though you may find that hard to believe.”

“Judging him by his daughter, I should say he must be the finest fellow alive.”

Her mouth dropped open in a little moue of surprise. She smiled shyly. “That was a nice thing to say. Thank you.
^M

It dawned on him, all in a moment, that Miss Craddock was adorable. He could think of far worse penances than having to take her to wife His eyes must have expressed his appreciation, but all he said was, “You haven’t yet told me how I can help you.'*