Fenella J. Miller (2 page)

Then slowly, like a man thrice his age, he pushed himself upright and faced the new owner of Grove House.

       ‘Grove House is home to my mother, grandmother and two sisters, Wydale. They cannot be expected to leave at a moment’s notice.’

       He watched the other man consider the information, then a slight smile played across his narrow lips. ‘That is hardly my problem, Fox. A gambling debt is a debt of honour. Grove House is mine and I wish it to be unoccupied when I take possession.’

       ‘Wydale, consider a moment. I’m sure Fox has every intention of honouring his debt, but it would be gentlemanly to allow him grace to do so.’ Mr Reed’s voice was well modulated, the words spoken softly, but Wydale flinched as if slapped.

       Edmund saw two red spots appear on the man’s cheeks and braced himself. The explosion never came.

       ‘You are right, of course, sir. I am in no hurry to possess such a paltry set up, Fox. You have three months to pay your debt. I shall expect either the deeds or the full amount in cash by the end of July.’

       Edmund felt the band across his chest begin to slacken. Three months was not long but, by God, it was longer than three days. He would ride home at once and explain the matter to Liza; she would know what to do. When he had been sent down in disgrace, she had written to the college and he had been reinstated at once. Hadn’t she turned the estate from disaster to success? Somehow she would find a way to save them all.

       He turned to face the tall, immaculately dressed man, leaning elegantly against the mantelpiece. ‘Thank you, sir; my sisters, my mother and grandmother are in your debt.’ The man inclined his head a little, but otherwise ignored him. Edmund fled the club in

Brook Street and almost ran back to his lodgings in Albemarle Street. His man servant was waiting up for him.

‘Denver, we must leave at once. There has been a disaster tonight. I have gambled away Grove House and we have got just three months to come about.’

       Denver, a man twice his master’s age, kept a commendably straight face, not showing the deep shock he must have felt. ‘That is bad news indeed, sir, but I’m sure Miss Fox will think of a way out this disaster.’

* * * *

Fletcher watched the blond young man push his way through the packed room and vanish into the outer vestibule. He was sick of watching his acquaintance fleece the fresh-faced young men, who appeared every season like clockwork, to dip their toes into games of chance.

       ‘Wydale, I think this time you have gone too far. To take the man’s estate is barely acceptable, but to make his family homeless is the outside of enough.’

       Wydale’s eyes narrowed in annoyance. ‘It is all very well for you to cavil, Reed, but you’re the warmest man I know. Your pockets are not to let; you could drop ten thousand guineas and hardly notice that you’d done it. I, however am at
point non plus
. Unless I recoup I shall have the bailiffs at my door.’

       ‘That bad? I knew you’d been digging deep, my friend, but had no idea things had come to such a pass. Let me help; as you say I would hardly notice a few thousand here or there.’

       The two men, one tall, his features aquiline, his eyes and hair dark, the other taller by head, his hair a nondescript brown, his features pleasant, but not even the most besotted of mother’s would call him handsome.

       Fletcher knew himself to be no match when it came to charming ladies. He found the business of attending balls and soirees uncomfortable; he did not have an easy fund of small talk ready and knew the many fluttering debutantes and their doting mothers only sought him out because of his wealth.

       He hid his discomfort behind a manner that was thought by all, apart from his closest cronies, to be arrogance and did nothing to dispel that myth. When in company he maintained his top lofty stare; looked down his nose from his superior height at all and sundry and they considered him proud and disdainful. Most forgave him because he was rich as Croesus and the most eligible bachelor on the market.

       He nodded at his friend. ‘It’s almost dawn, I think I shall return home and get some shut eye. I am booked to spar at Cribb’s later today and unless I want to lose my bout, I had better get some rest.’

       Together they left the club unaware how the crowds parted to let them through. No-one, if they had any sense, got in the way of Lord Wydale, who was a deadly shot or Reed who could floor a man with one blow from his massive fist.

       Outside, topcoats swirling around, their beavers’ pushed firmly on their heads’, they strode off to Grosvenor Square, where Reed’s magnificent townhouse was situated.      

‘Reed, I think it wise for me to leave town for a while. I was hardly popular before tonight and once word gets round that I have ruined that country bumpkin I shall be a pariah and my creditors will soon realize I am in desperate straits.’

       Fletcher grinned. ‘You’re a proud man, Wydale. Why not let me pay your debts? Surely it would be better than having the ruination of young Fox on your conscience.’

A bark of laughter greeted this remark. ‘Conscience? You know me well enough, Fletcher, to understand that I was born without one. I would rather ruin a stranger than accept charity from a friend.’

       ‘Then let us repair to the country together. I believe that painter fellow, Constable, hails from around Dedham way. I have it in my mind to commission him to paint my estate.’ He had made this idea up as he walked; he already had dozens of portraits hanging on the walls of his home and had no need for any more, however prestigious the artist.

He was not about to let his friend go down to Dedham on his own. Edward Fox seemed a harmless enough young man, foolish beyond belief, but harmless. Whatever happened he would not allow the young man’s family to be evicted; somehow he would find a way to extricate both men from their monetary problems without either being obliged to sacrifice their honour.

       Sometimes he wished he was like ordinary folk - a country squire, a local landowner running his estates - not someone whose ancestors could be traced back to William the Conqueror and whose ancestral home was the size of a barracks and had as much charm as an abattoir. He chuckled at his analogy, and his friend turned to look at him in surprise.

‘What do you find so amusing?’

       ‘I was thinking about Longshaw and how much I hate the place. As soon as my father has the grace to turn up his toes, I shall raze it to the ground and build something of a reasonable size which has every modern convenience.’

       ‘Is it the house you hate, or its occupant?’

       ‘Both, my friend, both.’

Chapter Three

It was almost dinnertime when Eliza headed back; she always changed after a day’s work. Whatever her feelings about frills and furbelows she would not dream of upsetting her mother by appearing in men’s attire in the dining room.

       She hurried upstairs, using the servant’s route as usual, and entered her own bedchamber via her dressing room. Jane, the maid she shared with her sister, was waiting for her.

       ‘I have laid out your royal blue silk, Miss Fox, it’s sometime since you wore that one.’

       ‘Thank you, Jane. It’s a matter of complete indifference what I wear, but I’m sure you’re correct, it probably is some time since you put out that particular evening dress. Is my bath ready? No matter if it’s cold, the dirt comes of whatever temperature you wash in.’

       She strode into her bedchamber pleased to see the hip bath standing in front of an apple-wood fire. It was steaming gently and smelt of rose petals. The screen placed around the bath was more than adequate to hide behind if someone should inadvertently enter the bedchamber whilst she was immersed. It was the work of moments to strip off her dirtied britches, bloodstained shirt and waistcoat. Her boots she had abandoned at the door, she knew better than to track stable dirt through the house. Mrs Green was an efficient and diligent housekeeper and didn’t look kindly on anyone adding to her work in such a way.

       ‘Has Miss Sarah gone downstairs yet, Jane?’

       ‘That she has, yes. She was so eager to tell madam about Polly, the new filly, there was no persuading her to wait until you were ready.’

       Eliza stepped easily into the deep bath, her long slender legs making the deep sides look shallow. With a sigh of pleasure she sank, ducking her head and rubbing her hair vigorously to remove the last vestiges of straw. She knew that some of the grander houses in the neighbourhood had already installed bathrooms and water closets. Such luxury! What she would give to have a bath in which she could stretch out fully and not be obliged to sit crouched, her knees almost under her chin.

       She smiled wryly. Edmund and Sarah were the image of Mama; they had her golden hair, pale blue eyes and slender frame. Edmund also had her ease and elegance of manner, something she wished she had.

       She was like her father and some strange quirk of fate had made her the tallest in the family, given her his startlingly blue eyes and streaky blonde hair. Eliza felt a lump in her throat as she thought about the one person who had understood, had always been on her side, and accepted her occasional lapses of what was considered to be acceptable behaviour for a young lady.

He had been returning from one of his many trips abroad when his ship had gone down, taking all hands with it. Although it was now almost five years since the day he had perished she still felt a wrench of sadness every time she remembered.

       It was strange, but after five years she could no longer even recall the face of Dickon, the man she had loved so dearly. She remembered the agony she had felt when she’d received the letter. Coming so swiftly upon the death of her father, the double burden had almost been too much.

       She stood up abruptly, sending a wave of dirty water cascading over the edge of the bath. She laughed as it vanished through the cracks in the floor. Perhaps one day the ceiling in the parlour would explode, covering everyone with the remnants of her daily ablutions.

       Jane handed her a large warm bath sheet and she dried herself vigorously before stepping into her various undergarments. Eliza refused point blank to wear a corset, wearing a chemise and petticoat was torture enough. Obediently she raised her arms and bent her knees to allow Jane to drop the evening gown over her head.

       The rustle of silk as it fell to the floor gave her no pleasure. Wearing a beautiful gown meant nothing to her, she had no interest in fashion. Her mother ordered her clothes from the local seamstress, all she did was specify the colour.

       She liked bright colours, quite unsuitable for an unmarried lady, but Mrs Fox was so relieved to have her oldest daughter dressed in anything other than britches and shirts, she allowed her to wear deep blues, emerald greens, damask rose and reds.

Ten minutes after stepping out of the bath Eliza was ready to go downstairs. It was almost five o’clock, the dinner gong would be ringing at any moment. She did not wish to keep her mother waiting. During the day she did as she pleased, dressed as she liked, spent her time wading through mud, riding astride like a man, visiting their tenants; in the evening she became the dutiful daughter her mother wished her to be.

They were eating the last mouthfuls of a delicious confection that Cook had prepared especially for Sarah when they heard the sound of a horse galloping down the drive.

       Sarah jumped to her feet and ran to the window, pressing her nose hard against the glass trying to see who was coming. ‘I think it’s Edmund. It looks very much like Edmund, Mama. What is he doing here and arriving in such a hurry?’

Sarah ran out of the dining room and down into the servants’ quarters where she could escape into the yard. She was obviously determined to be waiting when her brother arrived.

       ‘Eliza, after her quickly. She has no sense when it comes to Edmond. She might well get in the way of his horse and be injured.’

       ‘I think you are underestimating both of them, Mama. Sarah might have limited abilities in many things but she understands animals and Edmund understands her.’ Eliza pushed back her chair, knowing it was useless to argue when her mother had made up her mind. ‘Are you quite are sure you wish me to go outside dressed in this gown? It is doubtful it will survive the experience.’

‘Now I have no idea what to do for the best. You have only three dinner gowns, you cannot afford to ruin one of them.’

       Eliza hid her smile behind her hand, but her grandmother was not so tactful. Her loud crackle of mirth echoed around the dining room. ‘Hannah you’re incorrigible. Either Sarah is in danger or she is not; whether Eliza ruins her gown should be immaterial’

       Mrs Fox blushed painfully. ‘It is all very well for you to make fun of me, Mama, but you do not have the responsibility of clothing my daughters respectably on a limited budget.’

       ‘I shall go down to the kitchen, Mama, and wait for Edmond there. I’m sure Jane is already downstairs and will have gone out with Sarah when she rushed past so precipitously a few moments ago.’

       ‘Of course! How silly of me, ‘ Mrs Fox hurried through the double doors into the drawing-room.

       Eliza squeezed her shoulder gently. ‘I’m sure we’re making too much of this. Edmund is a young man, he likes to ride
vente a terre
.’ She smiled. ‘I expect he was hurrying in the hope he would be in time for dinner.’

Downstairs Mrs Green was waiting, her face creased with anxiety. ‘Miss Sarah ran through a moment ago, Miss Fox, calling out that young Mr Fox had returned I hope it’s not bad news.’

‘My brother has certainly returned, Mrs Green, but whether it’s with bad news I have no idea. I can assure you that if there is anything that affects this household you shall be the first to know.’

Eliza glanced sideways into the servants’ hall where she was relieved to see Jane was not among the girls sitting round the table. Two chambermaids, her mother’s French maid, Marie Baptiste, and her grandmother’s maid, Betty were there, all watching through the half-glazed wall to see what was happening.