Midwinter Manor 2 -Keeper's Pledge (6 page)

It struck Philip rather queasily, after he’d said it, that Matthew was, in fact, a year older than Danny had been when they’d commenced their current relationship. But no, even at eighteen, Danny hadn’t been as young as Matthew was now. He’d been the man of the house, provider for the family, since his father’s death years previously. One didn’t stay a child in those circumstances.

“Young he may be, but certain standards are still expected,” Frederick grumbled. “Don’t mind telling you, I’m worried he’s going to cause a scandal. Get himself sent down from Cambridge. Then what’ll he do? Mope around the house quoting poetry and acting out soliloquies?”

“He does seem quite taken with the idea of the stage,”

Philip murmured apologetically.
“The stage! Ridiculous notion. Quite apart from the lack

of suitability, I’m quite sure it’d only make him worse. Probably take to wearing green carnations and talking with a lisp. No, he needs an occupation that’ll get these flighty, romantic ideas out of his head.” Frederick’s eyes narrowed as he gazed keenly at Philip. “Didn’t you have a friend who was like that, once? Obsessed with Shakespeare and wearing his hair long, all that sort of rot? You had him staying here last time we visited, I seem to recall. What was his name? Maddingley? Maddock?”

“Maddox,” Philip corrected him reluctantly. “Robert Maddox. From Herefordshire.”

 

“What happened to him? Did he grow out of it?” “No.” Philip’s voice was harsh. “He died in ’18. Influenza.”

“Oh. Sorry to hear that, old man.” Frederick did, at least, have the grace to look abashed. “Wretched business, influenza. That’s what carried Millie’s mother off, before I knew her, of course. Well. Perhaps you could have a word with Matthew, at any rate. Impress upon him the dangers of his conduct. He won’t listen to me.”

“I’m not at all sure he’d listen to me either, I’m afraid. After all, it’s not as if I held the purse strings, or anything like that.”

“Ah, but you’re the head of the family. That still stands for something. The boy looks up to you.”

 

Philip stared. “Thank you, but I doubt that very much.”

“No, no, he told me himself. Last night—yes, I know he was in his cups after dinner, but he took himself off for a walk after that. Cleared his head a bit. When he came back, he let slip a couple of things that made me think—well, as I said, he looks up to you.”

Philip went ice-cold with horror. Had he not been sitting down, he feared he might have fallen. As it was, his breakfast threatened to make a reappearance. “What… what did he say? Precisely?”

Frederick looked at him, his eyebrows raised. “I don’t recall,
precisely
. Something about that gamekeeper of yours? Yes, that was it. I gather you’d had some trouble with him? Needed to give the man a dressing-down? At any rate, Matthew said he’d seen a whole new side of you, dealing with him.”

Philip fought a disastrous urge to laugh.
A whole new side
….
Chapter 6

D
ANNY
went about his duties in the morning with a heavy tread. For all his determination, he’d not slept well last night. Deciding not to worry about something was like deciding the weather would stay fine. If a storm was coming over the hills, there was nowt he could do to stop it.

He was out mending one of the pheasant coops, making sure it was secure enough to keep foxes out and chicks safely in, when he heard his name hollered.

“Mr. Costessey, sir!” One of the lads from the house, it was, his face bright red from running.
“What’s the hurry, young Arthur?”

“It’s Mrs. Standish, sir. She says you’re to come and talk to her, if you’ve a minute.”

 

Danny frowned as he straightened. “And did Mrs. S say what I’m to talk to her about?”

 

“No, sir. But she said as it couldn’t wait ’til dinnertime. That’s why she sent me.”

Danny’s heart beat faster, for all he tried to tell it there was no call to suppose this had to do with last night. If he and Philip had been seen… behaving inappropriately by one of the staff, he’d not have gone to Mrs. S. He’d have gone straight to the law, or to Mr. S.

Who’d like as not have asked Mrs. S to have a quiet word, damn it all to hell.

No, he couldn’t go thinking like that. He’d mither himself half to death if he went around expecting the worst all the time. Maybe some more guests had arrived unexpected like, and she was in need of a couple of birds for the table? Seemed unlikely, though. Not much of one for guests, Philip wasn’t. Least he hadn’t been until lately. “I’ll be right along. You run back and tell her I’m on my way.”

As Arthur scurried off, Danny forced himself to follow at a more dignified pace. Running after the lad would only cause more comment. Reaching the house, he poked his head into the kitchen. Mrs. Standish stood at the table, teaching one of the maids to make pastry. “Mrs. S? What’s so urgent it can’t wait till tonight?”

The housekeeper looked up and wiped floury hands on her apron. She usually smiled when she saw Danny, but this time her face was stern. A cold weight seemed to fall into Danny’s stomach. “Would you step out into the kitchen garden for a moment with me, please? Flora,” she said to the maid, “carry on with this while I have a word with Mr. Costessey. Just rub it in as I taught you, and you’ll be fine.”

Flora bobbed her head, and Danny followed Mrs. S into the garden. Even within the shelter of its walls, the chill bit through his clothes and right down into his bones. Mrs. S looked pinched with it, wrapping her arms around her body.

Danny leaned against the wall, folding his arms. If there was trouble, he’d as soon she’d get on and tell him about it. The fear that eyes had seen him and Philip, and tongues had started to wag, curled in his belly like a viper. “From the look on your face, Mrs. S, I’m thinking this isn’t about you wanting another couple of rabbits for the table.”

“No, Danny, that it isn’t.” She gave a sigh. “Have you spoken to that brother of yours lately?”

“Toby?” Danny’s voice was louder than he meant it to be as he stepped forward in surprise—and relief. “Has he got himself into trouble?”

There was a sour look on Mrs. Standish’s face as she answered. “Not himself, no. It’s young Effie who’s the one in trouble.”

“Effie? Effie the upstairs maid?” Danny barely knew her by sight. She’d seemed such a quiet lass.

“That’s the one. She was in tears this morning, and I got the whole story out of her. That young scoundrel’s led her astray, though I warned her when she came here against having followers.”

Danny couldn’t quite seem to get his head around it. “But… Toby? He’s no more than a child himself!”
“He’s old enough to wed.” She folded her arms, letting the implications speak for themselves.
“Maybe, but how he’ll support a wife and child on an undergardener’s wage….” Danny shook his head. It’d be him supporting them; there was no other way. “I’ll speak to him. Has the lass got family?”

“None. She’s from the foundling home. Be a fine thing to send her back there to add to their number.”

 

“No. I’ll speak to Toby, and we’ll make sure Effie is looked after. Whatever happens.”

 

“Should I take it that means you’re in some doubt as to whether he’ll shoulder his responsibilities?”

Danny shook his head slowly. “I’d like to reassure you, Mrs. S, but fact is he’s been headstrong and stubborn of late. But I’ll do my best for the girl.”

She harrumphed. “Question is, will that brother of yours do
his
best?”

 

“He will if he knows what’s good for him,” Danny said grimly.

H
E FOUND
Toby on the edge of the park, helping to clear a dead tree that had just been felled. Nodding to the head gardener, Danny hailed his brother. “Toby? I want a word.”

Toby scowled but followed Danny over to where they might talk without being overheard. “I hear you’ve been carrying on with the upstairs maid,” Danny said without preamble.

“So what if I have? It’s no business of yours who I keep company with.” Toby thrust his hands in his pockets, and stared mulishly at his feet.

“It is when I hear you’ve got her in the family way.”

Toby looked up, his face crimson. “What? Who told you that? Did Effie tell you?”
“She told Mrs. Standish, who told me.”

“You got no right poking your noses in, the both of you. It should’ve been me Effie told. Me!”

Damn the boy—was that all he could think of now? His wounded pride? “Maybe the lass was worried how you’d take it. Can’t say as I blame her, seeing you now.”

Toby’s handsome face had turned ugly with rage. “You got a nerve, Danny Costessey. Criticizing me. At least me and Effie, that’s natural. Not like what you get up to with Mr. Luccombe. I’m not the one bringing shame on this family, and that’s a fact.”

“Hold your tongue!” Danny glanced furiously over to where the other men still worked clearing the tree.

“I don’t know how you can hold your head up,” Toby went on, no quieter than before. He faced up to Danny, seeming more like six inches taller, rather than the two or three Danny knew he really was. One lichen-smeared finger jabbed at Danny’s chest. “You’re not a real man. There’s a word for men like you. You’re just that soft bastard’s cat… catamite!”

Danny snapped, and threw a wild punch at his brother. It landed just over the bruise he’d got from Albert Grover, and Toby went flying, landing sprawled on his arse on the mossy ground.

“Toby! God, lad, I’m sorry….” Appalled at what he’d done, Danny ran to hold out a hand to the boy. “Let me help you up.”

“Don’t you touch me!” Toby scrabbled backwards, away from him. “Don’t you lay one finger on me.”

 

“Toby….”

 

“You stay away from me, Danny Costessey, or I’ll swing for you. I mean it.”

His chest aching, Danny did as he was bid while Toby got off the ground. The other gardeners had stopped work to watch them curiously, but made no move to interfere. “Toby—”

“And don’t you say one more word about Effie. That’s my business, not yours.”

 

Danny stood like a statue. With a heavy heart, he watched his brother walk back to work.

 

P
HILIP
had made some excuse and left Frederick to his paper.

Matthew knew. Matthew had
seen
. Sick with mortification, Philip hardly knew where he walked until he found himself once more in the billiard room with Matthew.

Save for their changed dress, it might have been last night still. Philip certainly felt light-headed and nauseous enough to have been drinking. Although five minutes ago he should confidently have said Matthew was the last person he wished to face, somehow Philip couldn’t make his feet turn and carry him back out through the door.

Matthew looked up at Philip’s entry and greeted him with a sly smile, then carried on with his shot. It missed. Somehow it allayed Philip’s fears a little. Surely no one this bad at billiards could make any decent stab at blackmail, or even exposure?

Matthew pouted at the errant ball, straightened, and began to chalk his cue. “Care to join me?”
“I—ah, no. Thank you.” Still Philip could make no move to leave.

“Probably for the best.” Matthew smiled up at him from under lush, girlish lashes. “Lord knows, I’m very easily conquered.”

“P-perhaps….” Philip cleared his throat. “Perhaps you should study to be less so.” Well, that was his duty to Frederick done. But Lord, how to broach the subject that was weighing so heavily on his mind?

In the event, he didn’t have to.

“You know, cousin,” Matthew said with knowing emphasis, “your gamekeeper really ought to make sure his door is properly closed of an evening. Anyone might wander by and see him at his leisure.”

Philip’s feet betrayed him instantly, stopping dead as if they had, all at once, forgotten how to tread. “You… s—saw?”
“And heard. Really, cousin, I should never have thought it of you.”
Philip felt as though he were entirely hollow. One sharp blow, he thought, would collapse him utterly. “Have you s— spoken of this to anyone?”
“Lord, no!” Matthew looked horrified at the thought, giving Philip some small shred of comfort. “I despise hypocrisy, almost as much as I despise Frederick’s stolid, middle-class values. Speaking of which, I don’t suppose I might, in the circumstances—I’m sure you’ll agree we have something of a fellow feeling here—ask you to put in a good word for me with my tiresome brother? He’s been threatening to cut my allowance.”

Warm relief flooded through Philip, filling the void within him. If all he was to suffer for his appalling indiscretions was some gentle pressure to mend brotherly fences, he felt he’d had a truly miraculous escape. “Of course. I’d be glad to. Although….” He hesitated. “It really wouldn’t hurt to tone it down a little. Your, ah, flamboyant behavior. Frederick’s isn’t the only good opinion you need to worry about. Scandal can be a beastly business.”

Matthew tilted his head thoughtfully as he regarded Philip from beneath those too-long lashes of his. “You’ve managed all right. The only talk I’ve heard about you is that you’re not one for society. I don’t suppose you could give me a tip on how it’s done?”

“I doubt you’d much care to follow my example,” Philip said sadly.

“Well, you slipped up a little last night, it’s true, but then, how were you to know I’d followed you?” He pursed his lips; Philip imagined the intent was to look thoughtful, but Matthew in fact appeared merely petulant. “I suppose I should apologize for that,” he mused. “Not really cricket. But then again,” he said, brightening, “I’ve always loathed field sports.”

It was impossible not to feel a sort of helpless fondness for the boy. In a firmly avuncular way, of course, and tinged with more than a little exasperation. He seemed so very, very young, and lost in the way only young men can be lost. Young women, Philip reflected, seemed to manage the whole business of growing up with a vast deal more ease. “And therefore, since you ‘cannot prove a lover, to entertain these fair well-spoken days’, you are ‘determined to prove a villain, and hate the idle pleasures of these days’?” he quoted lightly.

Matthew’s face blossomed with a genuine smile. “Yes! You see, I knew you’d understand.” Still holding the cue as if it gave him comfort, he flung himself into one of the chairs by the wall. “It’s all so wretched at home. Frederick despises me; Millie is nervous of me. Even Lucy won’t take me seriously.”