The Diabolical Baron

by Mary Jo Putney

  The captain noted it without comment, but Chelmsford found himself saying apologetically, “I’ve done all I could to bring it about this last year, but the income isn’t sufficient to do all that is required in such a short time.”

  By this time they had reached the main stable block. While many of the stalls were empty, six or eight good horses remained. No grooms were in evidence so Richard took a saddle from the tack room.

  “This should be interesting,” he said. “I haven’t been on a horse in a year.”

  The lawyer’s eyes shot to the injured leg, ashamed for having forgotten. Much as Richard might be determined to ignore his handicap, he would still run into problems controlling a horse. “Do you think you can manage?” Chelmsford said, reluctant to demur openly.

  “There’s only one way to find out.”

  Chelmsford was alarmed to find the captain heading for the largest and liveliest of the horses, a beast with a wicked gleam in its eye and the unpromising name “Rakehell” on a plaque above its door.

  “If it has been so long, perhaps a quieter animal?” the lawyer said with a hint of desperation.

  “We wouldn’t want to make it too easy, now, would we?”

  Chelmsford was stilled by the mischievous spark in the captain’s eye. Resigning himself to the inevitable, he saddled a peaceful-looking mare called Daisy. If the French hadn’t killed the boy in seven years, a horse probably wouldn’t do it.

  After mounting, the lawyer turned to see Richard nose to nose in earnest conversation with Rakehell.

  “What are you doing?” he asked.

  “Asking him to take pity on a broken-down soldier.”

  “In Spanish?”

  “Horses seem to like it.” With this unanswerable statement, the captain swung up to the saddle. Rakehell fidgeted a bit but refrained from the wild acrobatics his appearance and name had suggested. As the lawyer stared, Richard said cheerfully, “Now, what was it you wanted to show me?”

  Shaking his head, Josiah reminded himself once again not to underestimate Richard Davenport.

  * * * *

  Three hours later they drew up on a hill overlooking the pretty village of Wargrave. It was about a mile away from the house, and its gray stone cottages were scattered casually along the banks of a small river.

  Richard had been surprised at how large the estate was; seeing was quite different from hearing about it in London. There were a dozen tenant properties as well as the home farm, with sheep and cattle, plus a variety of crops. The estate itself was a complete community with dairy, laundries, succession houses, forge, brew-house, dovecote, fishpond, and everything else needed for self-sufficiency.

  Now many buildings were closed or little-used. In its heyday Wargrave Park had bustled like a beehive; now it more nearly resembled a ghost town.

  Looking down at the village, Richard asked, “Is everyone down there a Wargrave tenant?”

  “Yes, in the sense that the estate owns the cottages. Most of the villagers earn their bread with different skills. There’s a blacksmith, of course, and a shoemaker, a baker, a shop with a smattering of useful items. Much like any other village.”

  “How do the people feel about the Davenports?”

  Chelmsford considered his reply for a moment before answering. “They don’t confide in me, but my impression is that they are wary and watchful. Fifty years ago most of the villagers farmed the common land. Then the old earl had a private Enclosure Act passed and fenced off much of the estate. In most cases the villagers’ shares of the common rights were too small to support themselves. Many had to sell their land to the earl and leave.”

  “Where did they go?”

  The lawyer shrugged. “Some to the mills in Lancashire, some to the cities, some to the colonies. I doubt if there is a person in the village who hasn’t a cousin in Canada or the United States. One of Julius’ quarrels with his father was over the enclosures. He thought it disgraceful that people were forced off land their families had farmed for centuries. He did what he could. I know of half a dozen cases where he gave families enough money to emigrate, and I suspect there were more.”

  Richard gazed down at the village, imagining the rage and helplessness of those forced out of their ancient homes. “It certainly sounds like my father. From what I read in the newspapers, struggles over Enclosure Acts are still going on.”

  The lawyer said shrewdly, “If you are interested in social reform, you will have far more power as an earl than as a former Army officer.” As he saw Richard’s face close, he decided a change of subject was in order and continued. “I think most of the villagers are hoping that Reginald Davenport will quickly sell out to Lord Radford. There have been some dislocations at Wildehaven, but he has done a good job of minimizing the human damage. He is considered an enlightened landlord. And of course he’s not a foreigner.”

  “What constitutes a ‘foreigner’?”

  “Anyone born more than fifteen miles away,” was the prompt answer,

  The captain laughed. “In that case, I would hardly qualify as from this planet.”

  “Perhaps. But Julius is still remembered fondly here. There would be no lack of cooperation.”

  “If we may turn this discussion to the present, what time will dinner be served? Riding has given me a country appetite.”

  “Whenever we’re ready,”

  The captain turned his horse and they headed back to the stables. Richard’s effortless control dismissed any concern Chelmsford had felt about his riding ability. As long as the boy could talk to the horse first, he’d be all right.

  Chapter 9

  The next morning, Caroline gave a delicate catlike yawn behind her palm before sipping the cup of coffee. Her aunt grinned at her with the ruthless cheer of the natural early riser. “I thought I heard you moving about late last night. Were you composing something?”

  Her niece swallowed her coffee and said, “I became involved in a new piece for the harp. The instrument at Wargrave Park inspired me. Before I realized, it was almost two o’clock.”

  “You were born to be a night owl, Caro. Here you sit, barely alive for your breakfast at nine o’clock. I have already been for a ride, taken a bath, and written a letter. Why, the day is half over!” Jessica said teasingly.

  Caroline eyed her with disfavor. “If we shared a house, the only thing that would prevent me from committing morning violence is that my body would not obey commands to move quickly.”

  Jessica gave her rich throaty chuckle. “If you had Wellesley pouncing on your feet at first light you’d wake up early too. I actually did consider a little violence on him this morning, but he was too fast for me.”

  Caroline moved to the sideboard, shuddered at the braised kidneys, then decided she could face an egg with her toast. “Perhaps you could leave him free to prowl at night. I should think everyone in the household knows of him by now, so he should come to no harm.”

  “I might try that. I love morning rides, but after a late night they needn’t be as early as that worthless cat demands. Are you going over to Wargrave Park again today?”

  Caroline was beginning to feels as if she would survive the day. At her aunt’s words, she brightened and said enthusiastically, “Oh, yes! It is the most wonderful place. In the three days since Lord Radford left, I’ve hardly touched the surface of the music library, and the instruments are just wonderful.”

  She stopped, then said guiltily, “Unless you would rather do something together today. I’m ashamed to admit it, but until this moment I hadn’t given a thought to how you are spending your time. I hope you haven’t been too bored.”

  “Not in the least,” Jessica replied. “It’s been wonderfully relaxing. I’ve caught up on my correspondence and finished a dress I had cut in London. And of course I’ve done a lot of riding. Lord Radford’s horses are superb. Since he gave me the freedom of the stables, I’ve been exploring every inch of the estate.” She smiled impishly. “I bought a shirt and breeches from one of
the stable lads and have been riding astride again—at least in the early morning.”

  Caroline shook her head with amused resignation. “Incorrigible as always. Which of us is the chaperon?”

  “I am working on becoming an eccentric old lady. I assume a man invented the sidesaddle as a way of handicapping female riders, and riding astride is my way of protesting.”

  “I have never heard that a sidesaddle slowed you down. Still, you might as well enjoy your freedom here. I think that is why I prefer the country. London was too full of rules and critics.” As an afterthought, Caroline added, “I shouldn’t think you would have to work too hard on becoming eccentric. It’s the ‘old’ part that people won’t believe.”

  “All things come to her who waits,” her aunt said serenely. “Especially old age. I may stop by Wargrave myself to see the magical music room. Perhaps we can play some duets.”

  “That would be nice. I’ll tell the butler, Somers, that you may be along.” She busied herself pouring a new cup of coffee, then said offhandedly, “Yesterday the lawyer who is handling the estate came for a visit. He had someone with him who will be staying for a while. An inventory-taker, I believe.”

  Her mind strayed for a moment. Captain Dalton had such a wonderful voice, rich and deep as hot chocolate on a cold night. Caroline was always more attracted by voices than faces; perhaps that was why she didn’t find Jason as devastatingly attractive as other women did. Not that his voice was really unpleasant, but it had an abruptness that was most un-restful. . . . She was recalled from her reverie by Jessica’s voice.

  “Oh? Perhaps the estate will be settled soon. Having an earl in residence should improve the neighborhood social life. I hope the heir and his family are pleasant people. You will likely see a good deal of them.”

  “I suppose.” Caroline’s response was lukewarm. Then she said hopefully, “Perhaps the new earl will be single and will fall passionately in love with you. We can be neighbors.”

  “Earls never stay single for long unless they have no desire to marry. And I am sure they are entirely too used to having their own way to suit me. It would never do,” her aunt said.

  “Ah well, if you don’t wish to be a countess ...” Caroline said mournfully.

  “If you can find me a doddering earl guaranteed to expire within two hours of the ceremony, I promise you I will consider it. In the meantime, shall we have dinner at seven o’clock?”

  “That will be fine. I shall ask the Wargrave butler to remind me to leave at six.”

  “And tell him to remind you again at a quarter past the hour,” Jessica prompted. “I’m sure that one reminder will be insufficient.”

  “Very true,” Caroline said. “I should hate to be responsible for driving Lord Radford’s chef away by my lateness and failure to appreciate his art. It would be a bad omen for my future here.”

  “Definitely. Keeping a cook happy is essential to a household’s comfort,” her aunt said as she rose from the table. “Enjoy your day. Perhaps I will see you later at Wargrave.”

  * * * *

  Caroline was thoroughly awake and filled with un-analyzed anticipation as she walked to Wargrave Park. The path passed through light woodlands with occasional clearings and it was popular with all kinds of wild birds and small animals. She had seen moles, rabbits, deer, shy red squirrels, and even a badger on a rare daytime mission. She was mentally working out a composition to describe the woodland walk: flutes for the birds, violins for the breeze rustling the leaves and long grasses.

  The sound of real birdcalls ahead distracted her from her composing. She proceeded slowly. The path crooked, then passed into a clearing. She stopped on the edge, arrested by amazement.

  Captain Dalton was seated on a fallen tree trunk with a number of birds around him, some even eating from his hand. He was whistling birdcalls that sounded absolutely authentic.

  Apparently the birds agreed, because more were coming as she watched. She recognized greenfinches, robins, linnets, and a tiny blue tit hanging acrobatically below his hand. He held some kind of seeds, with more scattered on the ground. It was an amazing sight, and she held her breath for fear of disturbing it.

  She saw the captain’s eyes move in her direction, but he continued his silvery trills and chirps. A fight broke out between an aggressive green finch and a newly arrived great tit, and suddenly the whole flock whirled away.

  She stepped forward. “I hope I wasn’t responsible for ending that. I thought only Saint Francis could call the birds from the trees.”

  Richard smiled companionably. “I hope you won’t tell anyone. It would quite ruin my reputation to be linked with a saint.”

  Unbidden, she sat on the log before he could rise, noticing how totally relaxed he was, and how his hazel eyes seemed always on the verge of laughter. “What were you saying to the birds?”

  “I’m really not sure,” he admitted, “but doubtless it means something like ‘Dinner is served.’ Cupboard love, I fear.”

  “I think it was the most extraordinary tiling I have ever seen. How did you learn to do it?”

  “When I was a boy I always enjoyed watching birds, and since I also liked whistling, one thing led to another. We moved about when I was young, so I had a chance to learn different species. Did you know that birds have different accents in different parts of Europe? Not as pronounced as human differences, but definitely there.”

  “How remarkable! Do you suppose there was an avian Tower of Babel, cursing them to different languages?” Caroline suggested.

  “Perhaps,” he added. “But I’m afraid I can’t ask them. All I can do is mimic.” His eyes grew distant as he said thoughtfully, “I didn’t know I could still do that. I hadn’t tried since I went into the Army eight years ago.”

  Caroline was silent as she thought through the implications of that.

  “Besides,” he added, “in Spain calling birds might have ended with them in a pot when the supply trains were too far behind. It is very squeamish of me but I don’t think I could eat a songbird I had just conversed with. Or any songbird, really.”

  She shuddered. “A dreadful thought, Captain Dalton! Still, if one were hungry enough ...”

  “I have never been that hungry,” he said firmly. “And I would prefer you not to call me Captain Dalton. I know that military titles tend to follow one around forever, but I am in the Army no longer and have not the least desire to give anyone orders. Actually”—he turned his green-golden eyes on her—”I would prefer you call me Richard.”

  She forgot she had met him only the day before; he seemed as familiar as the face in her own mirror. “Only if you will call me Caroline,” she said shyly.

  The moment stretched between them, too deep to last very long. Richard stood and offered his hand to help her up and took her music case from her. “Shall I escort you to Wargrave? Mr. Chelmsford is probably looking for me. He wants to explain the accounts this morning.”

  “Will you be able to spend any time in the music room?” she asked.

  “I will find the time this afternoon,” he promised.

  They walked to the house in companionable silence, Caroline enjoying the way he matched his strides to hers. With Jason’s long legs, she sometimes felt like a small child being taken for a walk by a parent. Richard’s gentle courtesy was pleasing. Not that she couldn’t rise from a log or carry her music case herself, but she rather enjoyed the attentions.

  They separated in the main hall, Richard to find the lawyer and Caroline to go to the music room. It took her uncharacteristically long to decide what she wanted to do. Play the pianoforte? The harp? Perhaps search out some new composers in the sheet music?

  In the end she decided to work on the harp composition that had kept her up late the night before. Soon she was lost in trying to perfect a new fingering pattern she could hear in her head but not quite create out loud. She was startled when the butler, Somers, gave a discreet cough to gain her attention.

  “Excuse me, miss,
a light luncheon is being served in the family dining room. The gentlemen wondered if you might wish to join them.”

  “Oh! I had not realized how much time had passed. Yes, that would be very agreeable. I shall be along directly.”

  As the butler left, she looked around for her reticule, but realized she hadn’t brought it. Well, her hair would just have to go uncombed. At least her mint-green dress was presentable.

  In the eyes of the gentlemen, she was more than presentable. The meal was a merry one, with Caroline being drawn out of her shyness by Richard’s interested questions. Soon she was describing the horrors of a London Season, finding amusement in events that seemed an unrelieved ordeal at the time. Exercising a gift for mimicry she hadn’t known she possessed, she parodied some of the more foolish society types.

  Her favorite story was of the harridan who thoroughly investigated all young ladies at their first Almack’s assembly. “I swear, I thought she would ask me to open my mouth so she could check my teeth. She asked about my parents and grandparents and would go ‘Harrumph!’ at every answer. She is known to be looking for a wife for her depressing son. While no girl could possibly be good enough, I did have one feature that her son lacked.”

  “What is that?” Richard asked.

  “A chin!”

  When the laughter from that subsided, the captain said, “I am reminded of some of the young aristocrats who came into the Army expecting romance, adventure, and all the comforts of home. Perhaps some of the Guards regiments could supply that, but the Ninety-fifth Rifles are a rowdy lot, and proved a sad shock for them. When these fine young sprigs of the nobility found they were really expected to sleep in tents and rise at dawn ...!”

  He shook his head sadly. “But that was not the worst.”

  “What was the worst?” inquired Chelmsford.

  “When they discovered that Army life would ruin their boots!” They all laughed. Young dandies had been known to suffer nervous collapse if they got even a scratch on their gleaming Hessians. The effects of campaigning in the Peninsula must have been dire.