Jo Beverley - [Rogue ] (36 page)

Judith almost wanted to protest that they might need a quick escape, but brought herself to order. No matter what horrible tricks they had been up to in London, the family were hardly likely to attempt a cold-blooded massacre.

Anyway, with luck, they were gone.

She prayed earnestly that they be gone.

The carriage house could hold ten vehicles, but the only inhabitants were an ancient traveling Berlin and a dogcart. Leander assisted Judith down and they went to explore.

Next door was a tack room, and beyond that the stables. One horse, a sturdy cob, turned curiously to look at them, alone among twenty or more stalls.

"There were half a dozen or more horses here when I visited," said Leander, going over to the cob. "But this fellow is being cared for, so there must be someone about."

"I don't suppose they'd leave the place entirely empty, would they? I must say, this is a very fine stable." Judith looked around at the Dutch-tile walls, and a ceiling whimsically painted with a scene of Pegasus heaven.

"Nothing too good for the Temple," said Leander dryly. "Come on, let's explore and discover the worst."

They left George to care for the horses, and began to work their way through the wall chambers of Temple Knollis. "All the rooms link," said Leander, as they passed through a fodder room. His voice echoed in the tiled magnificence. And this was simply the workrooms. "Absolutely no need for servants to venture into the courtyard, as you'll see."

Judith peered through a grimy window at the courtyard. "It's so big. A little enclosed park. It must be pretty when all the plants are in bloom."

"Yes, it is."

"And," she pointed out, "I'm sure the servants appreciate not having to go outside in cold or wet weather."

He laughed. "Ever practical. I'm sure you're right. Come on."

They passed though rooms used for storage, and then rooms used to keep fruit. Judith stepped aside to inspect the racks of apples. "No bad fruit," she said. "These haven't been neglected for long."

"The family were here only days ago."

A grape room, with grape bunches being kept fresh in their glass holders, and then a larger door. "The house," Leander said. "Though only, if my memory serves me, the servants' hall and kitchen. Do you want to go that way, or do you want to nip through the courtyard and enter by the front door?"

For indefinable reasons, Judith felt that Leander should enter his home for the first real time through the front door, and said so.

"Right," He swung open the narrow door onto the courtyard. Judith walked through and looked around admiringly. It was a beautiful space even on a dull day—a private, enclosed heaven. The walls were not square, but an irregular shape, probably following the peninsular, and they were covered by skeleton branches, probably of roses, wisteria, laburnum, and other such plants.

One little tower contained a dovecote, and she could hear the throaty cooing of the birds. She smiled at Leander. "It's lovely."

"Yes, but at what cost?" He led the way up to the carved oak doors and hesitated. "I'll be damned if I'll knock for admittance to my own home." He turned the knob and opened the door. He smiled with a touch of his boyish humor, and swung Judith into his arms to carry her into the house.

She was laughing when he put her down, but her laughter turned to astonishment when she looked around. "My goodness."

"Exactly."

Judith would have been hard-pressed to express what she thought of Temple Knollis. It was undoubtedly beautiful. The entrance hall ran the depth of the house, with large windows at the end letting in light, and an exquisite view of the river. The upper lights of the windows were stained-glass flowers in shades of yellow and gold, which cast magical lights about the room.

The floor was a gold-swirled marble, and the same marble formed slender pillars along the length of the room. Embrasures in the painted walls held white marble statues; plinths held exquisite vases in jewel-bright colors. Numerous doors led off this chamber, the wood the rich gold and black of amboyna. To one side, a wide staircase curved gracefully up to yet greater glories.

"My goodness," Judith said again.

"Extraordinary, isn't it?" remarked Leander, strolling into this magnificence. "One has to admire my grandfather's taste, and then wonder why one doesn't like it."

Judith knew she was afraid to touch anything for fear of breaking it. She looked at one of the Etruscan vases on a plinth."These will have to be moved before the children come here."

He turned to it. "I think you'll find..." He tugged it, and it didn't move. "Wired down, you see. But not proof against a flying ball."

"I'd never let them play in here."

"But that's the point," he said, his voice echoing as if in a church. "The whole place is like this. You saw the stables. Neither you, nor I, nor the children, are going to live in a museum." He looked around. "I must admit, however, that nothing seems to be missing."

"These are hardly the most transportable items."

"True. Let me think... This way, I believe..."

He led the way to a door, and opened it upon a saloon of some kind.

Perhaps, thought Judith, it was the drawing room, but it was hardly the place for comfortable family evenings. Gilded pillars divided tapestry-covered walls. The ceiling was an amazing trompe l'oeil view of the heavens. The furniture was of the finest quality, covered with expensive silk which looked new. She would be afraid to sit on it.

Perhaps the room would be the better for fires in the three fireplaces. The whole house was deeply chilled; she kept her hands tucked well inside her muff.

Leander looked up and said, "The third prophet from the right is apparently my grandfather, forever looking down on the wonders he hath wrought."

Judith looked up at the sharp-faced man with flowing hair, and shuddered.

Leander walked across the room, and opened another door. "Ah, yes."

Judith followed and found she was in a plate room. Glass cases displayed gold and silver bowls and dishes for all occasions. "Nothing missing as far as I can see," said Leander. "Stranger, and stranger."

Judith remembered her words to Rosie. "Will we have to eat off golden plates after all?"

"Of course not." Leander led the way into the next room, where ranks of china—English, French, and Oriental—were displayed.

He put his hands on his hips and surveyed it all. "The place appears to have been abandoned untouched. I can only assume—"

"And what do you think you're doing?" a voice demanded.

Judith and Leander turned sharply to face a young man armed with a pistol. It was young James Knollis. Judith's heart leapt into her throat, and she thought of throwing herself before Leander.

But James let the pistol drop, and paled. "Oh lord," he said.

"Precisely," said Leander, and removed the pistol from the young man's hand. "When did you get back here?"

James went from pale to red. "I came straight back from Winchester, sir. I'm sorry about that. I couldn't think what else to do."

Leander uncocked the weapon. "Why was there any need to do anything?"

James looked between them and sighed. "You'd best come talk to Mother."

"Your mother is still here?"

"We're all still here," said James with a touch of bitterness. "What choice do we have?"

Leander and Judith shared a puzzled look and followed James as he led through room after room, and into the servants' quarters. Why was his mother in the kitchen?

The whole family was in the kitchen.

James ushered Leander and Judith in, saying, "Cousin Leander, everyone, and his wife. In other words, Lord and Lady Charrington."

There was a general air of consternation in the crowded room, but no threat that Judith could detect. All the same, she was glad Leander still had the pistol in his casual, but doubtless competent, hold.

"Good day," he said smoothly. "I must assume you are my aunt and cousins. Where is Uncle Charles?"

The woman rose slowly to her feet. She was a sturdy woman with a strong jaw and very fine eyes. Her face was guarded. "Up, children, and make your bows to your cousin."

The nine youngsters at the table—from a girl of about sixteen, to a little one of about three—struggled up and bowed or curtsied. Most of them were boys and bowed. The family almost rivaled that of King George for fecundity.

Leander's aunt looked at him with no hint of apology. "My husband is in bed, of course. He's pretty much bedridden, and it'll only agitate him to know you're here, but I'll take you to him if you insist."

The kitchen was cozy, even hot. Leander assisted Judith out of her fur mantle, and shrugged out of his greatcoat. "I'll insist on nothing until I've some idea what is going on, Aunt." He pulled two extra chairs up to the long table for himself and Judith, then said, "Would you care to tell me why Cousin James tried to frighten us away with tales of diphtheria, and why you are camped out in the kitchen?"

Once everyone was seated again, the children set to their food—a hearty stew with dumplings.

Aunt Lucy didn't answer his question. "Would you care for some stew, my lord? It's all your providing anyway."

"Yes, please," he said, and Judith said the same.

She wondered whether to prompt him about George, but doubted he had forgotten. Perhaps he was keeping the footman a secret, in case of need. She suddenly wondered if the soup would be poisoned, but was reassured when one of the older boys asked for more and had his bowl refilled from the same pot that had filled theirs.

The stew was very good, but it was peasant fare, and contrasted absurdly with the gilded palace they had just walked through. It contrasted with the magnificence of the kitchen in which they sat. Judith had heard that the kitchens of the Regent's Pavilion in Brighton were ornate; he obviously had much in common with the first Earl of Charrington.

The room was large and beautifully proportioned, with long windows to let in light and high ceilings to cope with smoke and steam. Here again the walls were tiled, and the tiles formed handsome pictures of fish, game, and cheeses. Great racks and shelves held dishes of all kinds.

Leander took a few spoonfuls of his stew and then said, "Are you going to answer my questions, Aunt?"

"I would prefer to wait until the children are finished, my lord."

He accepted it calmly. "Very well. Perhaps we would be easier if you were to call me Leander. I am not that much older than your oldest son. Or nephew, if that suits you better."

This did seem to fluster her. "I will try, Lord... Leander."

"And you must certainly call me Judith," said Judith, "for I am unused to titles anyway."

"Aye," said Aunt Lucy. "Your marriage wasn't long ago, was it?"

"A mere two weeks." So no one was under the false apprehension that Bastian was Leander's son.

Aunt Lucy wiped the hands and faces of the two youngest, who had finished. "I understood that you had children, Judith."

"We left them with friends for a day or two."

The woman flashed them a shrewd look. "Ah."

Judith was surprised to think she could like Lucy Knollis. She was an intelligent, strong woman with a fine family.

"How old are they?" asked Lucy.

"Bastian is eleven. Rosie is six."

"My Arthur here is eleven, and little Elizabeth is nearly six. They'll be able to play together."

Were they aiming to stay? There could be trouble ahead.

"Bastian is to go to Harrow soon," Judith said. "What schools have your boys attended?"

Lucy's face hardened. "The older ones go to Blundell's in Tiverton. We don't care to send them far from home."

"What a shame," said Leander. "There'd be no question, then, of Arthur going to Harrow with Bastian? It would be good for him to have a friend there. And the younger boys in turn, of course."

Lucy looked dumbfounded. "Well... I don't know, I'm sure..."

"We'll have to see if they get along," said Leander smoothly. Judith recognized that he was into handling mode, and knew the family had no hope. Except that his intentions seemed to be benign. Was he going to let them stay on after all? Judith was not happy at the thought of trying to make a home out of the Temple with this tribe underfoot, doubtless objecting to every change she made.

Leander spoke again. "Coverley is not so far away that they will have trouble getting together."

This reference to his uncle's inherited property was slid in so smoothly it took a moment for it to register with Judith, but then she glanced quickly at Lucy. She caught no trace of pique.

"It's but a mile." There was some reservation in it, though, and Judith wished she knew why.

The meal came to an end, and the children departed. They all seemed to have tasks. In some cases it was to look after the little ones, but in others it was a maintenance job around the house. What had happened to the servants?

James stayed behind, seating himself pugnaciously at the table, as if expecting to be sent away. If his father was sick, he doubtless felt it was his place to support his mother.