by Sheila Walsh
‘I do,’ the woman was fumbling in Mrs Ibbot’s reticule. ‘And there is some physic she carries with her … I think it contains laudanum for her nerves.’ Her eyes regarding Pandora, begged for understanding. ‘Cordelia isn’t herself since … well, you know! You’d think she’d be getting over it by now, but … you see, Jack was her youngest …’
‘Ma’am, you don’t have to explain.’
‘No. Only I told her she ought not to come tonight … so many people! But Lady Sarah asked her especially. She thought it might do her good, the music, you know … it came as a surprise … her bothering about Cordelia’s trouble, that is ‒’
There was a faint moan from the couch.
‘Yes, yes … but do go to Mrs Ibbot now. I will send one of the servants to you.’
Pandora turned quickly away and found that the Duke had come back into the room. She had not heard the door. He inclined his head.
‘How is the lady?’
‘Just about to regain consciousness. Please, can we go?’ she pleaded. ‘I don’t want her to find me here.’
He uttered something remarkably like a snort of exasperation and took her arm. She was thankful for it. Now that the episode was over, the expended emotions took their toll. Her legs began to tremble. She stumbled and was at once lifted off her feet.
‘Little fool!’ he muttered, ignoring her protests. ‘You just had to involve yourself!’ He carried her into a small anteroom and deposited her upon a ridiculously ornate sofa. ‘Don’t move!’ he said and strode from the room.
Pandora had no desire to move. A cold sweat of faintness threatened to engulf her and she bent, head down, until it passed, while in the far recesses of her mind she wondered why the Duke had sounded so angry. Perhaps Lady Sarah had taken her annoyance out on him! Somehow it didn’t seem very important at that moment.
When he returned she was still hunched over, immobile, her forehead propped on spread fingers, her elegant coiffure fast disintegrating into straggling disarray about her shoulders.
‘Pandora?’ Alarmed, he spoke her name sharply, without thinking. As he knelt beside her she lifted a wan face to him.
‘Sorry. Stupid of me …’
He said something indistinguishable and thrust a glass under her nose. ‘Drink it,’ he commanded.
‘Must I?’ Pandora managed a wry smile as the brandy fumes caught in her throat. ‘I’d as lief you didn’t insist, sir. My stomach would most surely reject it and I fear I am disgraced enough in your Lady Sarah’s books for one evening as it is!’ She sat up with great care ‒ and sighed. ‘Besides, I am already feeling much more the thing.’ His face, very close to her own, looked curiously taut. ‘Why don’t you drink it yourself?’
He uttered a short bark of laughter. ‘Perhaps you would like me to offer it to Mrs Ibbot?’
‘Thank you, but no ‒ she has her own physic. Oh dear, I promised that nice lady who is with her that I would send someone to them …’
The Duke stood up, tossed off the brandy and set the glass down with great precision on a pretty Buhl sofa table at her elbow.
‘You are an exasperating girl!’ he said, towering over her. ‘Not ten minutes since, that woman was treating you abominably, accusing your father of murder in front of everyone ‒ and not only did you let her get away with it, you actually stayed behind to ‒ to fuss over her like a deuced mother hen! Why, for pity’s sake?’
‘You have just said it, sir. For pity’s sake.’ Pandora shrugged, her voice sounding suddenly tired. ‘Perhaps I overreacted in the first place, and Octavia’s attitude fanned my bitterness towards that poor woman. But who, seeing her grief, could continue to hold her responsible because she needed to find someone to blame for what happened?’
The Duke could have said much but, looking at her, refrained. From the distance, faintly, came the soaring notes of a soprano.
‘Do you want to stay ‒ or go home?’
Pride dictated that she should brazen it out, but pride seemed suddenly unimportant.
‘Oh, home, I think. It would be less embarrassing for everyone. But what about Lady Margerson?’
As if she had been summoned, there was a rustling and her ladyship’s flowing form filled the doorway, turbaned and draped in shawls. She extended her hands and the whole edifice began to slide. The Duke rescued the shawls and rearranged them about her shoulders.
‘My dear child! Such an unfortunate occurrence. I am sure you will not wish to stay … the shock to your nerves! The carriage is even now being summoned …’
‘But I don’t want to spoil your evening, ma’am. Is not the singer supposed to be very fine?’
‘She may be for all that I am any judge.’ Lady Margerson leaned forward, wheezing slightly with the effort. ‘To tell the truth, my love,’ she confided, ‘her screeching gave me the headache within a very short time. The moment I discovered what had happened I was glad to be away from it. Let us go home and be comfortable.’
‘By all means.’ Pandora laughed a little shakily and as the Duke raised her to her feet, she lifted her eyes to him. ‘Will you make my apologies to Lady Sarah?’
He offered to accompany them, but she would not hear of it.
‘Would you prefer not to go to Chedwell tomorrow?’ he asked her quietly as Lady Margerson’s carriage prepared to leave. ‘We can easily postpone the visit until next week.’
‘Heavens, no!’ she exclaimed. ‘I am not so poor spirited!’
When Lady Sarah came upon the Duke a short time later, he was sitting alone in the drawing room.
She remarked upon it as he stood up, exclaimed that he was missing La Gianetti and attempted to take his arm.
He put her away and there was a blankness to his voice that should have given her pause. ‘I have just seen Mrs Ibbot and her friend to their carriage.’
‘Very noble of you!’ she said with a brittle laugh.
‘Lady Margerson left with Miss Carlyon a little earlier,’ he continued in an even tone. ‘All asked me to convey their apologies to you … in your absence.’
‘I came as soon as I could. I do have my other guests to consider.’ Sarah moved restlessly about the room, avoiding his eyes. ‘Well, perhaps it is for the best. Lord, what a coil!’
‘I wasn’t aware that you numbered anyone like Mrs Ibbot among your acquaintances?’
‘I … she is something of a family connection.’ Sarah shrugged her beautiful shoulders. ‘I thought to take her out of herself, but I see now that it was a grave error!’
‘It was indeed,’ he said, soft as silk.
‘Well, what is done cannot be mended!’ she exclaimed flippantly, swaying provocatively as she moved to the door. ‘Now do stop being tedious, Robert, and come to the music room.’
‘Why did you do it, Sarah?’
Something in his tone stopped her. She swung round, brows arched. ‘Do? My dear, what am I supposed to have done?’
‘Spare me the air of innocence. You don’t really take me for a flat.’ His voice had grown clipped, his eyes were chill as ice. ‘That scene was carefully contrived ‒ and since I cannot suppose your object was to expose that poor demented woman, I can only imagine that you thought to discredit Miss Carlyon.’
‘Your little puritan?’ She was betrayed into wild derision. ‘Lud! I vow I could laugh! Why ever should I wish to do such a thing?’
‘Why indeed?’ he drawled, and strolled to the door. ‘You had better return to your guests. Pray make them my excuses. Your music, I fear, holds insufficient charm to render my stay bearable.’
Chapter Ten
Pandora had never before travelled any distance in such style or felt herself to be so cosseted and she gave herself up to it with shocking ease. The sun was shining and her eyes were drawn constantly towards the window and upwards to the clean-washed blue of the sky. The countryside was in its most glorious array as Heron’s coach swept through town and village and out again on to roads where hedgerows gave way now and then to cottage gardens vib
rant with colour. Red-roofed houses nestled among orchards busy shedding the last of their blossom in heavy snowy drifts, and on the distant Surrey hills great stretches of woodland showed thick and green.
She sighed blissfully and the Duke threw her an indulgent look. By tacit agreement, no mention had been made of the previous evening’s events and she certainly appeared none the worse for them.
‘We should reach Chedwell shortly before midday. I have arranged for luncheon to be prepared for us at Clearwater. I thought we might collect William first and take him with us, if you would like that?’
‘Like it?’ Pandora exclaimed. ‘I think it the kindest and most splendid of ideas! You are going to a great deal of trouble, sir.’ This he denied with an air of lazy indifference that she was fast coming to know. She said anxiously: ‘You don’t think ‒ that is, Mrs Brearly won’t mind, will she? I know I thought it would be fun to surprise William, but …’
‘With a family as large as hers appears to be,’ drawled his grace, ‘I doubt that one small boy will be much missed.’
And so it proved. When the first excitement of their arrival was over, Mrs Brearly, who was every bit as agreeable as her husband, said that of course William would be wanting to spend as much time as possible with his sister ‒ and Mr Brearly promptly excused him from his studies for the rest of the day.
The unreserved joy with which William flung himself upon her moved Pandora greatly and more than compensated for the shortcomings in his letter writing. It took but a short time to establish that he was very much at home and was eager to show her everything there was to be seen, starting with his room.
The Duke had been standing a little apart, a faint smile touching his lips as he watched brother and sister reunited, so alike in many essentials, so obviously one in spirit. When applied to, he assured them that luncheon would await their pleasure, but declined the honour of accompanying them on their voyage of discovery, electing instead to take a glass of Madeira with Mr Brearly in his study.
William’s room was just right, comfortably cluttered but airy, and spacious enough to house all those things a growing boy is prone to collect. Pandora had loved the rambling old rectory on sight. There was ample space for work and play, and a large garden ordered enough to look pleasant, but with many secret corners and an orchard full of trees just asking to be climbed. And from beyond the trees came the unmistakable sough of running water.
‘You really are happy here, Will?’ From her place on the window seat Pandora looked round from her contemplation of the garden.
‘Yes, of course. If I can’t be with you, I’d as soon be here as anywhere ‒ in spite of the girls!’ He gave her the lop-sided grin she had so missed seeing.
She recalled Mr Brearly’s comments earlier, ‘The boy still likes to wander off on his own a good deal, but it is in his nature to do so, and there is room enough here in all conscience! William is a great thinker, Miss Carlyon ‒ he often prefers to work things out on his own ‒ and work them out he does, by George! But he gets on well with the others, too … there is no hint of stand-offishness! I am well pleased with him.’
Pandora stood up and held out a hand. ‘Come on. We had better not keep his grace waiting too long.’
‘I guess it was jolly lucky for me,’ William said, opening the door. ‘The Duke knowing about Mr Brearly, I mean.’
Pandora stopped in her tracks. ‘Oh, no, dear ‒ you are mistaken. It was Mr Lewis who found Mr Brearly.’
‘Well, I know that’s what we thought, ’dora, but it was the Duke who first suggested the idea. Bengy let it out ‒ he’s the one who’s a bit younger than me ‒’ William explained with lofty superiority of his years. ‘He overheard his mother and father discussing my coming before it was ever arranged.’ He saw the consternation in her face. ‘Oh Lor! I ’spect I shouldn’t have told you ‒ though I can’t see why. I mean, it isn’t the sort of thing the Duke would need to keep secret, is it?’
‘No,’ Pandora said slowly. ‘But perhaps you had better not say anything to him about it.’
‘Oh, I shan’t blab, never fear!’ he said cheerfully. ‘I say, I am looking forward to my luncheon. I can still remember that spread I had at St James’s Square. Just wait till you see Clearwater. Honestly, ’dora, it is the most enormous house … and Heron owns everything for miles around!’
She began to realize what he meant as the carriage presently drove under a great stone arch with ironwork gates thrown wide in answer to a sharp blast on the horn, past a substantial gatehouse and then seemingly for miles through rolling parkland until at last a building could be seen on a slight rise in the distance. Eventually the driveway curved and the full west front of the house came into view. She must have uttered some sound for William paused in his chatter and grinned, whilst the Duke turned his head lazily to look at her.
With both pairs of eyes upon her, she felt obliged to say something. ‘So that is Clearwater,’ she managed, clearing her throat. ‘It is certainly … impressive!’
She thought he chuckled.
The stonework of the extensive façade, trapped in sunlight, glowed with a golden warmth which, as they drew nearer, highlighted the eight Corinthian pillars fronting the portico quite splendidly. The carriage had scarcely drawn to a halt when two footmen came running to open the door, let down the steps, assist her to alight.
In a daze she was led through a vestibule into a vast marble hall where their echoing footsteps added to the feeling of unreality; they passed up grand stairways and down less grand ones and along spacious corridors lined with ancestral portraits whose subject glared haughtily down at their intrusion.
Finally they came to a charming saloon of modest proportions furnished in shades of pale bronze pinks and soft yellowy greens. Here a table was laid with covers for three in the curve of a large window looking out over terraced gardens towards the shimmering expanse of water which gave the house its name.
William voiced unstinting approval, but his interest was plainly centred with hopeful expectation upon the table and the imminent arrival of food.
‘And what of Miss Carlyon?’ The Duke’s voice brought her back from a rapt contemplation of the view.
‘I think it is quite beautiful,’ she said simply.
‘Yes, I suppose it is.’ He said it as though he had never given the matter consideration. He came to stand beside her. ‘Where every prospect pleases,’ he quoted softly, ‘and only man is vile. Isn’t that how the hymn has it?’
‘Oh no! At least, the quotation is right, but …’ She stopped, realized in time that she was being gently baited and bit her lip on a rueful smile. And then the luncheon dishes began to arrive, providing a welcome distraction.
Pandora was grateful for William’s uncomplicated chatter which continued almost unabated throughout the meal, allowing her to pursue her teeming thoughts. She had grown used to the Duke’s unusual, sometimes quixotic ways, but this latest revelation of William’s was beyond anything! Why should he put himself out in such a way for a boy he scarcely knew?
She looked up and found herself under scrutiny.
‘You are eating very little, Miss Carlyon. Pray allow me to tempt you to one of these pastries.’
‘Yes, do have one, ’dora. They are truly scrumptious!’ William, having eaten his way through two enormous helpings of a succulent beef pie with oysters, a selection of cold meats and the pastries, had now turned his attention to a dish of sweetmeats.
‘Oh, I meant to tell you,’ he said, selecting the choicest one and nibbling at it, ‘Mr Oliver was here last week. He was dreadfully downcast! He was bringing the balloon down in a field just beyond the village when he hit a cross wind.’ He glanced across at the Duke. ‘It can happen, you know, sir, when you get very close to the ground …’
‘Disconcerting, I imagine,’ he murmured obligingly.
‘Yes. But everything might have been all right if the valve hadn’t stuck fast. He couldn’t close it, you see, and with the gas escaping,
the balloon wouldn’t lift again. The upshot was, he crashed into the branches of a tree, and what is worse, the boat was quite badly damaged!’
‘Oh, poor Mr Oliver! I do hope he wasn’t hurt!’ exclaimed Pandora and was instantly reassured. She cast a swift glance at Heron. ‘But really, dear, I don’t believe his grace ‒’
‘On the contrary, Miss Carlyon, you behold me a fascinated audience! Pray go on with your story, William.’
‘Well, that’s it, really, except that I don’t know how he’ll go on now. His pockets are almost always to let and I don’t think he can afford to replace the balloon, which is a great tragedy because he is jolly clever and quite dedicated …’ Again William’s eyes strayed towards the Duke. ‘Of course, what Mr Oliver really needs is a benefactor!’
‘Oh no!’ cried Pandora, mortified beyond all measure.
‘Well, why not?’ he reasoned. ‘I should’ve thought you might like to help Mr Oliver, sir ‒ only you’d have to convince him that you were really interested because he can get pretty stiff-rumped if he suspects anyone is trying to offer him Spanish coin!’
‘William! That is enough!’ Pandora implored. ‘You really must not plague his grace in this bully-ragging way!’
Heron rested his elbows on the table and laced his fingers together, tapping them reflectively against his chin. ‘And how do you suppose we could go about convincing Mr Oliver of my genuine desire to be involved?’
‘Well, that shouldn’t be too difficult.’ William’s hand hovered over the sweetmeat dish once more and, receiving the nod from his host, he took one. ‘I mean, you know the rudiments of the subject, and I could probably prime you if there’s anything you don’t quite twig. And only consider, if you do help him to build a new balloon, he will most likely offer to take you up in it!’
The Duke met Pandora’s anguished embarrassment with blandness. ‘An irresistible inducement, naturally,’ he murmured.
She didn’t know where to look.
‘Manned flight is a fascinating subject, sir! One day I mean to conduct some experiments ‒ on a small scale, you know.’ Warming to his theme, William pushed aside his plate and leaned forward earnestly. ‘You see, if one could find some way of controlling speed and direction, the possibilities are endless! In battles, for instance ‒ one could fly over the enemy and fire down on them, perhaps even drop missiles of some kind …’