Polly and the Prince (13 page)

Time passed unnoticed. The maid had to be sent to summon her to dinner.

* * * *

That evening she wrote a brief note to her family to announce her safe arrival, and a few days later she sent a letter describing her activities. Mrs. Howard gave it
to Ned when he came home in the evening.

He scanned it quickly and would have liked to discuss Polly’s news over dinner, but the meal was interrupted by a fierce dispute between his mother and his brother. Ned had to order Nick to hold his tongue, an expedient he thoroughly disliked. After dinner, Nick retired sulkily to his chamber, while Mrs. Howard walked down to the vicarage to join in an evening of sewing for the Poor Basket.

Ned went to his office, intending to go over some figures relating to a copse that was to be thinned and the timber sold. He found himself thinking of Polly instead. Until she left he had not realised to what extent her equable temper had acted as a shield between his argumentative brother and his easily agitated mother. Her simple presence, without any active intervention, was a calming influence on both. Ned missed her on his own behalf too. He was aware of an emptiness, a dissatisfaction with his life, which he had never been conscious of before.

He took her letter from his pocket and read it again. She was enjoying herself sketching Lady Sylvia’s daughters and beginning on their portraits, walking on the downs, making a thorough study of the pictures at Dean House. She was already grown very fond of both the girls and their gentle mother.

Did he imagine a certain wistfulness when she mentioned that she had had no occasion to go into Brighton, or to view the Royal Pavilion? Ned hated to think that she was still pining for the Russian.

Slowly he folded the letter and put it away in a desk drawer. The figures he ought to be working on stared up at
him. A cup of coffee would clear his head, he thought.

He was in the hall on the way to the kitchen when the front door-knocker sounded. Hearing the kitchen door open, he called to Ella, “I’ll see who it is.”

He opened the front door. On the step stood Kolya Volkov.

Chapter 11

Ned Howard stared. Kolya could not tell
from his face whether he was pleased or annoyed, or simply surprised, to see his erstwhile pupil.

“I beg pardon that I disturb you so late.”

“Not at all.” His response appeared to be automatic rather than heartfelt but he stood aside and said, “Won’t you come in? Your business in Brighton is finished?” He led the way into the drawing room.

“No, I must return tomorrow.” Kolya glanced around the empty room. His impatience was not to be contained. “If you please, I may see Miss Howard?”

“Polly is not here.”

“I will wait, unless is better I come back in the morning?”

“She’s not out, she has gone away. I’m surprised no one mentioned it at the manor if they knew you were coming here.”

Limp with disappointment, Kolya dropped into the
nearest chair. “I have not been yet to manor. She is gone? To where?”

Ned avoided his question. “Will you take a glass of brandy? Or coffee, perhaps; I was about to have some.”

“Coffee, thank you.” He waited while Ned rang the bell and gave Ella the order. The maid curtsied to Kolya with a nod and a smile. She, at least, was glad to see him.

“You said you have not been to the manor yet,” Ned said abruptly. “Have you dined?”

“Na samom delye—
as
matter of a fact—no.”

“There’s some cold pigeon pie, sir, and Mrs. Coates could heat up the rest of the sparrowgrass soup.”

“Ask her to do that, Ella.”  His duty as a hospitable host carried out, Ned seemed to relax.

“Please, where is Miss Howard?” Kolya ventured to repeat.”

“She has been commissioned to
paint a portrait.”

His unwillingness to say where Polly was suggested the answer to Kolya. “In Brighton?”

Ned’s affirmation was reluctant.

“Already! Is better than I hope. You will give me the address, please? I wish to pay my respects.”

“I’ll have to think about it. You must understand that my only concern is for my sister’s welfare.”

Kolya conceded temporary defeat. “I will come in the morning,” he said philosophically, and proceeded to enquire about various matters concerning the Loxwood estate.

When, an hour or so later, he rose to leave, Ned said, “You will find that Lady John is still much occupied in organizing her new household. I know you will be welcome at
the manor, but she was not best pleased when Lord Fitzsimmons appeared a day or two ago.”

“Fitz came back?” Nor did the news please Kolya. “Is not my business, but I beg you will tell me, you gave Miss Howard’s address?”

“No,” said Ned shortly, sighing. “I shall see you tomorrow.”

Kolya rode on to the manor, well fed and in good spirits. Ned Howard was a good fellow, and their parting had definitely been more amicable than their meeting. Besides, he had a plan. If Polly’s address was still withheld in the morning, he would suborn Nicholas. The lad was bound to know the name of his sister’s patron if he did not know the address.

* * * *

John and Rebecca Ivanovna were happy to see him. They sat up late discussing John’s plans to stand for election to Parliament. Nonetheless, they were all at breakfast when Ned Howard arrived at the manor at nine the next morning.

Ushered into the dining room by the new butler, the nephew of the stately individual who had tyrannized over the Five Oaks staff for decades, Ned accepted a seat and a glass of ale. He apologized to Lady John for introducing business at her breakfast table.

“My lord,” he continued, “I mentioned to you the necessity of finding a buyer for the timber which is to be cut down. I have heard that Mr. Nash, the architect, is purchasing materials for building the king’s new chapel at the Brighton Pavilion, and it occurred to me that, being so close, we might make an advantageous sale.”

“Sounds like a good notion.” His lordship cast a knowing glance at Kolya. “You’ll want to go down to Brighton, I daresay, to make arrangements. You will stay at his Grace’s house, of course.”

“Thank you, my lord. I wondered whether…that is, do you suppose it would cause any difficulty if I took my brother with me?”

“I doubt one more will seriously disrupt the household. Want to keep your eye on young Nicholas, do you?”

“He’s a good lad, sir, and I wouldn’t want you to think otherwise. It’s just that, well, my mother’s nerves are not of the strongest…”

Kolya and John laughed. “I seem to remember when I was that age her Grace never set eyes on me without suffering a spasm,” said John understandingly. “By all means take the boy.”

“I shall call on Mrs. Howard while you are gone,” Lady John promised, “to make sure she wants for nothing.”

“Thank you, my lady, you are very kind.” Ned looked at Kolya.

“We shall travel together, of course,” Kolya assured him. His heart was light. The cautious brother would not be going to Brighton to keep an eye on his sister if he did not mean to reveal her whereabouts. “I am at your service.”

Ned had a few matters of estate business to deal with before their departure, but travel was swift on the fine June day. It was shortly after four by the time the three reached the outskirts of Brighton and walked through the gates of Dean House.

“Why can’t I wait till tomorrow to see Polly?” Nick demanded, not for the first time. “If I’m going to join the Navy, the sea is
much
more important.”

“The sea will still be there tomorrow,” Ned pointed out.

“So will Polly.” Heaving a big sigh, Nick abandoned the argument as his brother raised the gleaming door-knocker.

“I’m Miss Howard’s brother,” he told the maid who opened the door. “Pray inform her that I am here.”

She looked flustered. “I’ll ‘ave to ask Mrs. Borden, sir,” she said, and scurried off.

They waited several minutes on the doorstep, Kolya increasingly impatient, Nick muttering remarks of which “waste of time” were the only audible words. At last a grey-haired woman approached.

“Miss Polly’s out, sir, but if you’ll step this way her ladyship’ll see you in the garden.”

Kolya had no desire to meet her ladyship, but politeness forbade retreat. Apparently agreeing wholeheartedly with the first part of this reflection, Nick stepped backwards. Kolya seized his arm and propelled him after his brother. In the wake of the housekeeper, they crossed the hall and a sitting room to emerge through French doors onto a terrace.

Far from strolling the walks of the garden, or taking her ease on one of the benches scattered about it, Lady Sylvia was on her knees by one of the flowerbeds, planting out seedlings.

“Here’s Mr. Howard, my lady,” Mrs. Borden announced.

Her ladyship cast a quick, scared glance up at them from under the wide brim of her hat, then returned to her task with dogged determination. As Ned went down the brick steps towards her, Kolya held Nick back. If for some reason the pretty young woman was afraid of them, it was better if she had only one to deal with.

Kolya heard her say in a hurried, breathless voice, “You are Miss Howard’s brother?”

He could not make out Ned’s words, but his tone was soothing. A moment later he helped Lady Sylvia to her feet and with her returned towards the terrace. Her steps were slow and reluctant.

“It seems Polly has taken the Misses Ellingham for a walk,” Ned said. “Her ladyship has kindly offered to show us which way she went, if you choose to go with me, Volkov?”

“Not I,” murmured Nick, but he had manners enough to keep his comment inaudible to all but Kolya.

“Certainly,” Kolya assented promptly. A meeting in the countryside would suit him much better than in a drawing room.

Ned presented his companions to Lady Sylvia. As she turned to lead the way across the garden, Kolya saw her appealing look at her housekeeper, who was still standing on the terrace. Mrs. Borden gave her a nod of encouragement.

Though Kolya was mildly intrigued by this odd behaviour, his mind was on Polly. He and Nick followed Ned and the lady through a door in the wall around the garden. Immediately beyond, a chalky path ran at an angle across a gentle slope of short, wiry turf to a stile set in a hedge wreathed with blush-pink dog roses.

When they reached the stile, Lady Sylvia stopped. On the other side the path divided into three and the slope steepened, rising unbroken to a rounded hilltop. She pointed to the right-hand path.

“Miss Howard said she was going to go that way.”

Kolya had the impression that she meant to return to
the house, but Ned offered his arm to
help her over the stile. She accepted it without demur, and without looking at him.

After a few minutes at a slow pace behind her ladyship and his brother, Nick drew level and said, as if expecting an argument, “I’ll go on ahead. Can you see the sea when you get round the side of the hill, ma’am?”

“I’m not sure. Possibly.”

That was enough for Nick, who set off at a brisk walk. With a word of apology, Kolya hurried after him.

The view to the south turned out to be blocked by another rise. Nick was disappointed. Kolya was not—at the far end of a valley filled with a tangle of bushes and what looked like the ruins of a house, he saw three figures: a woman and two girls. He grinned as he noticed the rectangle of a sketch book under the woman’s arm.

“There is your sister.”

Disappointment forgotten, Nick bounded ahead, yelling and waving. “Polly! Hi, Polly!”

Kolya was tempted to follow suit, but the dignity of his years forbade it, if only because Ned and Lady Sylvia would appear around the bend at any moment. His stride lengthened, however, and he was not far behind Nick when brother and sister met. He saw Polly’s glad welcome, and saw her expression change to one of wary reserve as she turned to
him.

Nick interrupted her stiff greeting. “Can you see the sea from the top of this hill?” he asked.

Polly looked blank. The smaller of the two children answered. “Yes, come on, we’ll show you.” She took Nick’s hand and tugged.

He looked startled but said, “All right.”

“Come on, Nettie.”

“We have to ask Miss Polly,” the older girl reminded her.

“Yes, go on,” Polly said distractedly. “Take care of them, Nick.”

Kolya’s unexpected appearance seemed to have sent her wits a-begging. She had recognized him from a distance and joy had flooded through her, but face to face with him she could find nothing to say. The hurt of knowing he had sold her pictures returned.

His smile had become a look of puzzled concern. “You do not mind that I have come?”

“No. No, of course not. Ned gave you my direction?”

“He brought me here. I have something for you.” He plunged a hand into his pocket and pulled out a roll of papers. “The flimsies, they are called. They are yours. I sold two pictures.”

“Money? For me?” A surge of relief dizzied her, and she put her hand on his arm to steady herself.

His warm, strong hand covered hers. “You are pale. You must sit down.”

“I’m quite all right,” she protested, but she allowed him to spread his coat on the dry, springy grass and sat down. A scent of crushed thyme arose.

He sat on the fragrant turf beside her. “I did not mean to give a shock. I thought you knew. Did not Lady Sylvia buy one painting?”

“Yes, she has the one of the little boy.” Polly was ashamed of having doubted him. Everything she knew of him should have told her that he was incapable of being so underhanded as to sell her work for his own profit.

“I wanted you to know that even in Brighton, where the king has many art treasures, your painting is valued,” he explained. “Here, take this money. Is seventy guineas after shopkeeper has taken a share. It is enough?”

“
It
is more than I could ever have hoped for. But I do not need it, sir, and you do. You must keep it.”

“I take lady’s money?” His outrage made her even more ashamed. “Did I not tell you when first we meet that I will not take lady’s money?”

“Just the shillings in the guineas? As a commission?”