The Notorious Lord (35 page)

‘Your mother’s
enceinte,
’ Sir Arthur said, his gruffness belied by the sweet smile he gave his wife. ‘Pregnant, in an interesting condition…’

‘Thank you, Papa,’ Rachel said, ‘I understand.’ She put a hand to her head, feeling a little dazed herself. ‘This is a great surprise, Mama. I am pleased for you, of course, but…I assume that it was not what you intended.’

Lady Odell had been watching her daughter’s face anxiously, but now her own brow cleared. ‘Good gracious, I would not wish you to think that it was an
accident,
Rachel! I have been wanting another child these twenty-three years past, ever since you were born. It was the greatest grief of my life that you were destined to be an only child, for your father and I wanted a large family, but as the years passed and no playmate arrived for you, we began to think that it was not to be. So we took you everywhere with us so that you were not too lonely, and we were not lonely too…’ Lady Odell sniffed. ‘We tried to make up for your lack of siblings by involving you in everything that we did, but…’ she sighed ‘…you never did care for antiquities, did you? Still, I hope that you have been happy travelling with us and seeing the world.’

Rachel opened her mouth and closed it again. This was not the moment to shatter her mother’s illusions about her happy childhood and love of travelling. Indeed, it seemed that such confidences would never be exchanged now, for Rachel saw very clearly that she had made some wrong assumptions. Sir Arthur and Lady Odell had kept her with them at all times because they were desperate for a family and she was all they had. And also because they were afraid that she would be lonely, the only child with no siblings. They had always wanted children. They had always wanted
her.

Rachel swallowed the huge lump in her throat. ‘I am so
happy
for you, Mama! Papa—’ she turned to Sir Arthur, who was beaming benignly ‘—oh, Papa, this is wonderful news!’

Lady Odell stood up to embrace her and Rachel rushed
around the table so that her mother should not be obliged to come to her.

‘Pray sit down and put your feet up on the stool, Mama. You must take matters very carefully now! No more excavating for the time being, and no shifting heavy objects…’

Lady Odell hugged her tearfully. ‘We are giving up the excavating and the travelling, Rachel. We feel that it is time to retire. With a new family, you know, there will be much else to do. We thought that we should like to stay at Midwinter Royal, at least for a while, and then if your father decides that he needs to do some more work he will have the burial ground on hand.’

‘Young man’s game,’ Sir Arthur grunted. ‘I leave all that to Cory.’

Rachel looked at him sharply. ‘Is Cory returning to Midwinter Royal, Papa?’

Sir Arthur looked shifty. ‘Coming to consult with me on my paper for the
Antiquarian Review,
’ he said. ‘Did I not tell you?’

Rachel felt a mixture of exasperation and sheer nervousness. ‘No, Papa. No, you did not tell me. You never remember to tell me anything!’

Sir Arthur looked a little taken aback at her vehemence. He checked the clock. ‘Should be here soon,’ he offered. ‘Thought I should let you know. I need some coffee first though. All this emotion, you know. You’ll find me in the library if you want me.’

The door closed behind him. Rachel stared wildly at Lady Odell.

‘Cory is coming here…now? This morning?’

‘Yes, my love,’ Lady Odell said. She sat back and closed her eyes wearily. ‘I believe he is to call at Kestrel Court first. I feel a little tired. I think I will take a rest.’

Rachel was already halfway to the door, but she paused with her hand on the knob and looked back at her mother sitting peaceably by the fireside.

‘Mama,’ she said suddenly, ‘I wondered about names. If it is a girl…’

‘We shall call her Aethelflaed,’ Lady Odell said contentedly, without opening her eyes. ‘We thought it appropriate to honour the Anglo-Saxons.’

‘Hmm,’ Rachel said. Perhaps, like her, Aethelflaed would have a sensible second name that she could use.

‘And if it is a boy?’ she said. ‘Tostig, perhaps?’

‘That’s good!’ Lady Odell said, opening her eyes and looking at her daughter thoughtfully. ‘Very good, Rachel. But we had already decided upon Edgar. What do you think?’

‘It could be much worse,’ Rachel said, smiling. ‘I should like to have a little brother called Edgar.’

‘Edgar Ptolemy,’ Lady Odell said. ‘It will be perfect.’

‘Can I offer you some coffee, old fellow?’ Richard Kestrel said to Cory Newlyn, steering him solicitously into the study at Kestrel Court. ‘You look as though you have been riding hard. Don’t want to send you off to see Sir Arthur in such a state of disarray.’

Cory took the proffered cup and drank half of it down without really noticing. He felt exhausted. He had spent a poor night at the Star and Garter near Colchester where he had tossed and turned in a flea-ridden bed. Prior to that he seemed to have spent endless sleepless nights for weeks and weeks, lying in his bed listening to the sounds of London by night and thinking incessantly about Rachel Odell. During the day he had dragged himself to the British Museum and spoken of relics and antiquities and hieroglyphics, and dry-as-dust matters that suddenly seemed dead and empty to him. Life had had no spark without the promise of Rachel’s presence. It seemed there was no joy any more. Not even the prospect of travelling could light the enthusiasm that once he had possessed.

And now he was to see her again. A part of him did not
want to and another part was determined to put his fate to the touch one more time. One more chance to persuade Rachel to his point of view. With one major difference…

Richard was offering to refill his cup. Cory took the coffee and tried to concentrate on the matter in hand.

‘Sir Arthur…’ he said abstractedly. ‘Yes…’ He frowned. ‘I must confess that I was somewhat surprised to get your letter, Richard. Sir Arthur has never required my help previously in putting together an article for publication. Indeed, he is the acknowledged expert in the field.’

He thought that Richard looked innocent, which was in itself suspicious, but when his friend spoke he sounded completely sincere. ‘Is that so?’ Richard said. ‘I would not know, of course. I merely agreed to pass on his request to you.’

‘Mmm…’ Cory frowned at him. His abstracted look was lifting and a more familiar look of acute intelligence taking its place. ‘And then there was this curious errand for Justin,’ he continued. ‘Told me that he had some urgent intelligence to pass on to you that he could not possibly commit to the postal service and could I possibly deliver it whilst I was here.’

‘The latest intelligence from Whitehall on the dangers of invasion in the locality,’ Richard said, crossing his legs at the ankle. ‘It was too sensitive to send any other way.’

Cory produced a package and set it down on the table beside him. ‘Here it is. I slept with it under my pillow last night. No one can have tampered with it.’

‘Thank you,’ Richard murmured. He gestured his friend to take a chair. ‘Won’t you sit down for a minute? No point in rushing over to Midwinter Royal whilst the family is still at breakfast.’

Cory sat. He drank his coffee. He fidgeted. He was aware of Richard watching him with amusement.

‘Richard,’ he said suddenly, ‘how much would you be prepared to give up for a woman?’

Richard was silent for quite a while. ‘Any woman or the
right
woman?’ he queried lightly. ‘The answers are very different. For the first I’d venture very little. For the second, I’d give everything I have.’

Cory got up again. He went over to the window and stared out sightlessly. ‘You would give up everything?’ he repeated.

Richard shrugged. ‘Sometimes you have to lose all to gain all, Cory. And very often the thing that you fear is nowhere near as bad as you imagine. Sometimes—’ he smiled wryly ‘—you gain everything in the world.’

Cory closed his eyes for a second. ‘I thought that I enjoyed taking risks,’ he said, ‘but this is an entirely different matter.’

‘I am told,’ Richard said, smiling, ‘that it is not as dangerous as it sounds. My sister Bella calls it the art of compromise.’

‘Compromise.’ Cory tried the word out. ‘I own that is not a familiar concept.’

‘Not for any of us, old fellow,’ Richard said drily. ‘We are for the most part selfish beings and we have always had the means to indulge our desires. Until we come up against something that is so valuable that it requires us to reconsider what is truly important, we do not even need to think about it.’

Cory was silent for a moment, then he turned and looked at his old friend. The worn look had lifted slightly from his face. ‘How the hell did you get to be so wise anyway?’ he asked.

‘Native perception,’ Richard said airily. ‘Is there anything else I may do for you, or would you like to be on your way?’

Cory moved decisively to the door. ‘I think I may as well go,’ he said.

After he had gone out, Richard sat back in the chair and unwrapped the parcel from his brother. There was a brief
covering note from Justin that he perused with a grin. Then he unfolded the contents of the package. There were several copies of
The Times
and the
Gentlemen’s Magazine
and nothing else at all. Richard opened the paper at the racing page and settled back in his chair.

‘Splendid,’ he said.

After Rachel had sat in the window for fifteen minutes staring down the lime avenue for a glimpse of Cory’s arrival, she found that she could sit still no longer. Her stomach was knotted with nervousness and she felt quite ill with anticipation. Despite the fact that she had absolutely no idea what she was going to do or even to say to Cory when she saw him, she decided to confront the dilemma head on. She slipped on her spencer, took up her parasol and went outside. In her preoccupation she totally forgot to change her shoes.

She hurried along the drive and through the stone gates that led on to the road. Here a little stream, an offshoot of the Winter Race, ran beside the road amongst the brambles and the nettles. The river level had subsided now, but the stream still ran higher than usual, splashing over stones and sparkling in the sun. The day was quiet, the sun out again, but less hot than it had been before the storm.

For a hundred yards Rachel kept up a punishing pace, but after a while she was obliged to slow down and moderate her speed a little. Her hair was starting to come down and her skirts were already stiff with dust. At this rate she would arrive at Kestrel Court looking like a vagabond.

She stopped in the shade and took several deep breaths, putting her hands on her knees and bending over in an unladylike but effective manner, to regain her breath. How foolish she had been to rush off like this to Kestrel Court on foot. It was several miles and she so ill prepared. Already she needed a drink.

Rachel clambered carefully down the bank to the brook
and cupped her hands in the refreshingly cool water. She raised it to her lips and it ran down over her chin, splashing on her dress. She looked at the stain and shook her head. No matter. She was already too untidy to care. And she was wasting time.

She straightened up and a dazzlingly bright light struck across her eyes from the surface of the stream. Something was reflecting the sun directly at her. She put a hand up to shade her gaze and almost tumbled into the water. The Midwinter chalice, perfect replica of all the pictures that she had ever seen, was sitting amidst the brambles much as she imagined King Richard III’s crown might have sat on the thorn bush after the Battle of Bosworth.

Rachel stared. The beautiful golden cup rolled slightly in the water, catching the light. Rachel set her lips. She took several steps away. The cup tumbled over in the current and floated a few yards downstream before stopping again. It was almost as though it was waiting for her.

With a little, irritable sigh, Rachel scrambled down the bank again and reached into the water. The Midwinter Treasure rolled closer, coming neatly into her hand. Rachel smiled ruefully and pulled it from the water. It felt cold and clean and precious. It felt as though it was meant for her.

‘Well,’ she said aloud, ‘since you are here now, you had better come with me.’

Almost at the same time, she heard the sound of hooves on the road and looked up, startled. Cory was riding along the track towards her. Rachel watched him approach. He looked heart-breakingly the same and yet somehow different. Thinner, older, more worn, perhaps…Rachel felt an overwhelming love that closed her throat and left her trembling. Her heart was beating like a drum.

It was about three seconds before Cory realised that she was there and then he reined in and slowed the horse to a walk. He did not take his eyes off her as he came closer.

Rachel found that she could not speak and she could not
move. She waited. She had even forgotten the gold chalice, although she was clutching it so tightly that the sand scored her fingers.

Cory reached her side and swung down from the horse and stood before her. At last she found her tongue.

‘How are you, Cory?’ she said, and it amazed her that her voice sounded so steady when inside she was in turmoil. ‘I heard that you had returned to Midwinter. I was coming to see you.’

‘Rachel.’ Cory’s gaze did not waver from her face. He had not even glanced at the cup in her hand.

‘I…’ Rachel looked down. She felt utterly tongue-tied, so instead of speaking she held out the Midwinter Treasure. ‘I found this just now…along the river bank. It must have washed up there after the floods. I thought that you should have it.’

Cory glanced briefly at the chalice, but did not take it. ‘The Midwinter Treasure,’ he said. ‘I see. Is that why you were coming to find me?’

‘No,’ Rachel said. She put the cup down gently on the ground. ‘I came to find you because I wanted to talk to you.’

Cory’s face did not change. He looked expressionless, remote. Rachel felt her heart shrivel a little. She realised now that she had hoped there would be no need for explanations. She had wanted to run into his arms, to love and be loved without reservation. Instead there was a coldness and a distance that had to be bridged between them. And there was no guarantee of success.