Laura Matthews (16 page)

Alvescot considered it wisest to change the subject, and he began to relate just what kinds of things he was doing at Cutsdean as co-trustee—the two years’ worth of accounts to investigate, his survey of the estate itself, his visits to the farms and his talks with the tenants. He did not actually expect Louisa to be interested in these subjects, but she nodded her head all through his recital, saying abruptly at its conclusion, “My father used to do that.”

“I was sorry to hear of his death,” Alvescot interjected politely.

Louisa’s lips puckered thoughtfully, and then she dropped a small bombshell. “I don’t think he’s dead.”

“I beg your pardon?”

“Well, I know he left a note saying he was going to kill himself, but I think I should have known if he died. You see, when other people have died, I’ve felt it, even before I heard of it, you know.”

When his sophisticated air deserted him, Alvescot looked astonishingly boyish. His brows now sprang up and his eyes widened, the corners of his mouth drooped and the tips of his ears reddened just the tiniest bit. “Do you have some reason, other than your ‘feelings’ for believing him to be alive?” he demanded.

“Oh, no,” she replied simply, adjusting her hands in her lap and gazing out over the fields they passed. “I knew when nanny died, long before the letter arrived. You just feel sort of different about someone when they’re dead. I even knew when the dog was run down by the stage.”

There didn’t seem to be anything for him to respond to her disclosures of being psychic. And it was a truly absurd idea, anyhow! If she was so damned psychic, why did she have so much trouble finding her way around Cutsdean? She could have sensed where William was and imposed upon him in her nude state, and left Alvescot out of the matter entirely!

They drove in silence for some time before he came out of his reverie with a start. “I beg your pardon! Would you mind if we went to the inn first? Or better yet, I could leave you at a shop and join you in a few minutes.”

“Whatever you wish. I have a number of purchases to make at Newsholme’s.”

“Splendid!” His enthusiasm was out of all proportion to the simplicity of the arrangement, but he didn’t seem to notice. “And I wonder if you would point out Aunt Damery’s house to me. I’m not sure I would remember it.”

Louisa indicated a charming, older building as they approached, and he realized he couldn’t possibly have forgotten it. The property sat slightly apart from the town, on the edge, surrounded by its own lawns and a stone wall with gates. Alvescot slowed his pair as they passed, noting the size and condition. Certainly it was sufficiently large and grand enough for anyone without grandiose pretensions. And convenient, with the shops so close by and a medical practitioner practically across the road. Really, there was no reason why Hortense shouldn’t return there, except for her having let it out.

Aside from being an ancient market town with a good trade in woolen and silk goods, Basingstoke boasted few attractions. There was the ancient hospital of St. John Baptist for aged and infirm priests, and the parish church of St. Michael, plus the ruins of an old guild chapel in a cemetery dating back to the early eleventh century. Otherwise, there were only the usual shops, and even those were not of a type to attract much attention. The earl set his companion down at Newsholme’s, promising to join her as soon as possible, and drove the curricle to the Red Lion.

What he had in mind was a private parlor for himself, where he could write a few lines to his solicitor in London. The innkeeper, a Mrs. Wilstrop, was more than willing to accommodate his demands for writing paper and pen, an inkstand, and some sanding powder, but she provided more. Mrs. Wilstrop proved to be a fountain of information.

“From Cutsdean, did you say? Why, bless my soul, you’re Frederick Damery’s cousin, aren’t you? I remember when you were in leading strings! And later, why, you cut almost as fine a figure as Mr. Damery himself.” She sighed, a whoosh of air that appeared to momentarily deflate her substantial person. “Poor lad. Oh, an awful thing it was, him losing his life that way without never seeing his daughter. Saw his son, of course, but not all that much. He was forever away fighting. Hard on Mrs. Damery. His wife, I mean. Not his mother.” Her expression indicated an utter lack of sympathy for the older woman. “A great pity the old lady moved back to Cutsdean and invited all her relations to join her.”

“Yes, a great pity,” Alvescot agreed. “The captain has just left for Somerset, where he may settle.”

Mrs. Wilstrop eyed him speculatively. “Mrs. Damery has taken hold of the estate now, but it can’t be easy to get rid of all those people.”

“No, it’s not easy.” Alvescot drew his gloves slowly through his hands, frowning at a slight tear in one of them, probably a result of his collision with Edward. “Do you happen to know Edward Curtiss? I understand he’s frequently in town.”

Mrs. Wilstrop snorted her disgust. “He has a woman here, a married woman with a husband who’s away most of the time. And he gambles and drinks. Altogether a wicked man, if I may be so bold as to say so.”

“Quite.” Alvescot smiled at her quivering indignation as she took his driving cloak and gloves, and led him to a private parlor off the entryway. One window was open and a curtain fluttered in the breeze. Mrs. Wilstrop indicated a small writing desk, scarred but serviceable, in an alcove toward the rear. “You’ll find what you need there, sir. Did you want a tankard of ale?”

“Thank you, no.” As she turned to leave, he spoke abruptly. “There is one thing, though. Mrs. Hortense Damery’s house here in town. Do you know who’s let it?”

“A man by the name of Jackson. He don’t spend much time there any more.” She pursed her lips and her eyes became thoughtful. “I doubt he intends to renew the lease when it comes due next month. The folks hereabouts didn’t just take him to their hearts, so to speak. I guess he expected a little more respect for having the grandest home in town. We’re simple folk, but not given to toadying to some overblown stranger. He don’t use the shops here, and he’s never set foot in the church. Who needs him?”

Satisfied, the earl nodded. “Thank you, Mrs. Wilstrop. You’ve been a great help.”

His pen scratched quickly across the sheet for several minutes. Even if Louisa’s impression was wholly in her head, the strange story of her father’s death could bear some investigation. Alvescot might have considered going to London himself, but he found he didn’t want to leave Cutsdean yet, and he had confidence that his solicitor would give the necessary attention to his request. When he had finished the letter, he sanded and sealed it before seeking out Mrs. Wilstrop, who, in appreciation of the coins he pressed on her, offered to carry it herself to the receiving office.

At Newsholme’s he found Louisa debating between two identical colors of thread which matched the sample she had brought. Alvescot patiently helped her make the decision and trusted to her choice of toys for the children since her childlike delight in them could be no less than John’s or Catherine’s. He was tempted to buy a charming parasol he saw on display for Vanessa but resisted the urge, only to have it catch Louisa’s eye. Her gaze was so whimsically eager that he hadn’t the heart to deny her, having seen how few were the coins in her purse. Louisa rushed into a flow of grateful words.

“It’s no more than a trinket,” he muttered, “in appreciation for your assistance in buying the children’s toys.”

What Mabel Curtiss would say of the gift he preferred not to imagine.

Chapter Eleven

When Alvescot had driven away in the curricle with Louisa, Vanessa tried to turn her full attention to her son. It would have been pleasant, she admitted, to have been the one who set off with the earl on his excursion to Basingstoke, but she had been in the Breakfast Parlor when Mabel made the push for her daughter. Vanessa was appreciative of Alvescot’s efforts to maintain some kind of peace within the household.

Louisa, she knew, had no interest whatsoever in their aristocratic guest nor could she believe for a moment that Alvescot entertained the slightest thought of an alliance with Louisa. So their excursion was nothing more than the most ordinary errand trip, which would give Alvescot a chance to see Basingstoke again, and Louisa an opportunity to putter about the goods in the shops, a chief delight with her despite her lack of funds for actually purchasing anything.

The overcast weather of the last few days had kept little John close to the stables in his rides, and now he urged Vanessa to ride with him to the far boundaries of the estate on the south. Their direction kept them in sight of Alvescot’s curricle for some time, as he tooled his pair along the leafy lane which skirted Cutsdean. Unfortunately, John noticed this as well.

“Why don’t we go through the West Gate and ride along with them, Mama?” he asked, eager to force himself on his godfather’s attention as often as possible.

“No, love, we wouldn’t be able to keep up with Lord Alvescot’s pair. Rollo would like our ride a great deal better, I think, if we go down to the stream. There never was such a pony for walking in the water!”

Easily distracted, John agreed that Rollo would especially like going in the stream, but part of his mind was still on Alvescot and he asked, “How long is he staying, Mama? The earl, I mean. I thought he was only come for a short stay.”

“Well, he hasn’t said when he’ll be leaving, John. He and I are trustees of your papa’s estate, and he’s looking into matters here.”

“What’s a trustee?”

“A person who looks out for your interests in a piece of property.” Vanessa smiled at his look of confusion. “One day Cutsdean will be yours, but someone has to take care of it in the meantime, until you’re old enough to do it yourself.”

“I thought Mr.
Burford did that.”

“Mr. Burford makes plans for the estate and carries them out, but I’m responsible, with Lord Alvescot, for deciding what plans to use. I direct the work Mr. Burford does because I’m the one who wants to make sure your inheritance will come to you.” The boy still looked uncertain, so Vanessa said, “It’s like taking care of you and Catherine. I’m your mother and I’m responsible for your health and happiness, but I can’t be with you all the time, so Lucy takes care of you under my direction.”

“I see,” John said, nodding wisely as his pony jogged across the meadow. “Since Papa can’t be here to take care of me with you, Lord Alvescot is sort of a second father for me.”

Startled, Vanessa protested, “Only in a
legal
way, you know. But then, he’s your godfather, too, which is sort of a
religious
guardianship. And he’s your father’s cousin, of course, so he’s related to you as well.”

“There, you see?” the little boy piped. “He’s connected with me in every sort of way, so I shall think of him as my . . . my step-papa.”

Color rose in Vanessa’s cheeks and she agitatedly toyed with the reins in her hands. “No, John, that would he inaccurate. The only person who can be your step-papa is a man to whom your mother is married after your father. You should think of Lord Alvescot as your godfather, since that is what he is.”

“Oh, very well.” John was tired of the subject and gave Rollo an energetic kick to start him trotting toward the row of trees along the bank of the stream.

Now why should his saying that have upset me, Vanessa admonished herself. Obviously, he’s heard the term “stepfather” and simply thought it would fit in this instance. He’s a child, and as a child I’m probably lucky he didn’t ask me something like, “Well, why don’t you marry him, then?” Not that I couldn’t have answered a question like that. I would simply have said . . . Various possibilities came half-formed into her mind, but none of them seemed both appropriate and wholly honest. In the end, as she and John dismounted near the stream, she decided she was infinitely grateful to him for not posing the question, and she would be careful in future to avoid the subject entirely.

John walked along holding Rollo’s reins while the pony splashed up and down the stream. The two of them made so much noise Vanessa was not aware of Paul Burford’s presence until he had ridden quite close to them. She watched him spring down from his horse and tousle John’s hair before approaching her with a smile.

“I thought I might find you here. For the last few days I’ve wanted a word with you, but there never seemed a good opportunity.”

His face was mildly perturbed and Vanessa said, “Come and sit with me. I just want to keep an eye on John so he doesn’t do anything outrageous.”

Paul tied his horse to a sapling and crouched down near her, brushing at a twig that had stuck to his buckskin breeches. There was a layer of dust on his brown topboots, but he paid no heed to it as he turned thoughtful eyes to her. “It’s a little difficult to broach the matter, Vanessa, because I know Alvescot is your co-trustee and he has every right to go into estate records as thoroughly as he wishes. And you mustn’t think he’s been in any way impolite or condescending to me. That’s not at all the case. But he seems to have some bee in his bonnet (so to speak) about my management of Cutsdean.”

A fly was buzzing about his head and he swatted at it impatiently, as though the distraction might prevent him from stating his case cogently. “I could understand his suspicion at first. After all, our expenses have been high for the last year, though not out of proportion to what we can expect from the harvest. He’s seen all that now, but he continues to go into everything with a fine-toothed comb. At this rate, he could be here a month.”

“Yes, I know it’s a little nerve-racking.” She brushed a strand of black hair away from her cheek. “But he hasn’t found anything whatsoever amiss, Paul. Not that I expected him to! I mean, I really believe he’s coming to realize that you’ve done wonders for Cutsdean. He didn’t understand the condition into which the land had gotten, you know, or the need for repairs to the cottages. You may be sure he wouldn’t allow such a state of affairs to exist at St. Aldwyns. And he was such a good friend of Frederick’s that I think it’s a bit difficult for him to understand how my husband could have permitted the neglect during those years.”