He pushed himself off the wall and staggered through empty rooms, inhabited only by insects and vermin. Eventually, he found his way to the kitchen, which was no more welcoming than the rest had been. The fire in the hearth was only a memory. He stumbled down the passageway and found the butler’s pantry where there was still a cot, though the sheets and blankets had vanished. He didn’t care. He lay down and was oblivious in moments in a state half-sleep and half-stupor.
Come morning, the world showed no improvement. If anything, it was worse, for now his head was splitting, his stomach was tossing, and he was cold. Bitterly cold. He should make a fire. Unfortunately, he did not actually know how to do that. He knew he needed wood, but it probably needed to be chopped or something. Didn’t wood need to be chopped? To hell with it.
He rubbed his cheek. He needed a shave. His razor was in his bag, but where was his bag? Ah, yes, he’d put it down at the tavern. It was probably still there. He doubted these clowns would dare disturb a bag belonging to the viscount. And the tavernkeeper could provide him with hot water, perhaps even a bath. He’d doubtless be honored to be of service.
A few hours later, Newell had revised his opinion of the clowns. They had not touched his bag, to be sure. However, they showed not the slightest glimmer of deference to his station. The tavernkeeper had the audacity to offer hot water for a price, and that price to be given before the water was supplied. He had been of a mind to give the lout a good thrashing, and would have done so had he been feeling more himself.
Then when he had asked where his sister was, the lout had denied all knowledge of her, had even been surprised to hear she had returned. Impossible. In a village this size, Katherine’s return could never have passed unnoticed. She was not in the house. No one had been living there in months—that had been obvious from the layers of dust everywhere. Someone had to be giving her shelter.
He stomped out of the tavern and looked around. He didn’t even know who lived in this godforsaken place. There was a church, however. He could see a steeple in the distance. That meant there was probably a vicar, and a vicar was the sort of person Katherine might turn to. He seemed to remember her going to church on Sundays in London. God, she was so prissily self-righteous. He turned back to the tavern, opened the door and bellowed, “Where does the vicar live?”
Jason Powell, the tavernkeeper, stepped outside and closed the door behind him. He was no taller than Newell, and there would be no more than a few ounces difference in their weight. However, much of Newell’s weight was fat. Powell’s was solid muscle. In no hurry to assist the viscount, he stared for a minute before saying, “Dr. Finley lives in the vicarage.”
Newell huffed in exasperation. “And where might the vicarage be?”
Powell didn’t bother to hide his sneer as he looked at Newell. “Next to the church.”
Newell waited for a “my lord”. It didn’t come. He was about to demand it, but the look in Powell’s eyes dissuaded him and he turned away in silence.
The vicarage, however, proved to be of no assistance. The vicar was there, right enough. Dr. Finley was a small man, bent over in a scholar’s hump, with snowy hair, an angelic smile, and absolutely no idea where Katherine could be. The news that she was missing caused him great distress, great distress, indeed. He was horrified, in point of fact. He had been expecting to hear from her, and had been worrying when no letters arrived. Yes, he agreed, if she had returned to Grassington, she would most certainly have come to him, most certainly. Or, of course, to the squire.
“The squire?” Newell demanded.
“Oh, yes,” said Dr. Finley. “The squire and his family are very fond of Katherine. They will be most upset to hear that she is missing. You really should have taken better care of her, you know. She is your responsibility now.”
The old man paid no heed to Newell’s grimace. He was hobbling around as he spoke, collecting a scarf and a cape, and then he headed for the door. He paused and looked at Newell. “Well, come along then,” he said.
“Where are we going?”
“To see the squire, of course. He needs to be told Katherine has been lost.”
The vicar moved with surprising speed, and Newell had to hurry to keep up with him. It was close to two miles before they turned into the gates, and another mile before they reached the house. Newell was limping, and annoyed that Dr. Finley did not seem even a bit winded.
“Tell the squire that we must see him at once,” Dr. Finley told the butler as he walked in and hurried down the hall. “We will wait in the library.” Newell followed. He did not seem to have any choice.
Nor did he have a chance to sit down before a sturdy gentleman of middle years hurried in wearing a worried frown. “Finley, what is the matter?”
Dr. Finley waved at Newell. “This is Viscount Newell, Katherine’s brother. You will remember him from his visit after Lady Newell’s death.”
The squire turned to the younger man and gave a nod. “Ah, Newell. Horatio Grant, at your service.” Then he sniffed and looked more closely, making Newell uncomfortably aware that he was not smelling particularly fresh. “Where is Katherine? Is she with you?”
“He seems to have misplaced her,” said Dr. Finley, frowning at the young man.
“No, no,” said Newell. “The silly creature has run away, and I’m trying to find her.”
“Run away? You mean to tell us she eloped?” asked Grant. “Bless my soul.”
“Elope? Katherine? That doesn’t sound a bit like her, I must say. Whom did she elope with? Whoever it was, she can’t have known him very long. I’m quite sure she had formed no attachment with any of the young men around here.” A sensible-looking lady entered the room and the conversation.
“This is Katherine’s brother, my dear, and he’s come looking for her. Newell, my wife.”
Mrs. Grant nodded coolly to Newell. “Why are you looking for her here if she has eloped?”
“She hasn’t eloped,” said Newell, finally getting a chance to speak. “She ran away, and I assumed she had returned to her old home. I’ve come to take her back.”
“Well, dear me, this is the first I’ve heard of it,” said Grant. “Run away, you say? How extraordinary. She certainly isn’t here, is she, my dear?” He turned to his wife, who was looking at Newell.
“Why would she have run away, my lord?” asked Mrs. Grant. She was looking at Newell in a decidedly unfriendly manner.
Newell flushed. She sounded as if it were his fault Katherine was gone. “No idea, I’ve no idea at all. You know how girls are, silly creatures. Get all upset about some trifle.”
“Really?” Dr. Finley shook his head. “Perhaps it’s the air in London. She always seemed a very sensible, levelheaded girl when she was living here. Not at all silly.”
“Indeed, it is most unlike her to get upset about trifles. If she ran away, it must have been over something serious.” Mrs. Grant was still looking at Newell in a way that made him quite uncomfortable. She reminded him of one of the masters at school, the one who had always known when he was lying. “You’ve no idea what could have upset her?”
“No idea whatsoever,” he insisted, “but I must get her back.” That second part he managed with great intensity since it was perfectly true. He was terrified at the thought of facing Farnsworth if he was unsuccessful. “Have you any idea where she might have gone? I must find her. It is vitally important.” He could hear himself pleading now, pleading to these bumpkins. He hated it, but could not seem to help it.
“Important? Of course it is important,” said Grant. He frowned at Newell. “A young girl like that all on her own. I must say, you don’t appear to have taken very good care of her. Not at all.”
“Well,” said Mrs. Grant thoughtfully, “she did always long to visit the Lake District. She was quite fond of Mr. Wordsworth’s poetry. Could she have saved up enough of her pin money to enable her to travel?”
Newell looked at the woman with intense dislike. Pin money! She was taunting h
im, he knew. She probably didn’t know where Katherine was—they had all seemed honestly surprised to learn of her disappearance—but he was sure she had an idea and was not going to tell him. Perhaps that would be enough for Farnsworth. He hoped so, for apparently it would have to do.
*
The squire looked at his wife thoughtfully. Something was clearly going on here, but he was not about to try to bring it into the open. He trusted his wife’s judgment, and he had no reason to trust Newell. On the contrary. He had disliked Newell when he turned up for the first time in years after his mother’s death and he had been very sorry to see Katherine leave with him. He did not seem at all the sort of man to be in charge of a young woman, for all he was her brother.
Right now, however, he wanted to get Newell out of here. Finley seemed to be of the same opinion, for he was dithering away at Newell to urge his return to London.
Grant drew the viscount to the side for some private conversation, with his wife’s nod of approval. It did not take long to discover that the only reason the viscount might linger in the neighborhood was that he lacked the funds to get him back to London. That problem was easy enough to solve and, very shortly, the viscount was in the Grants’ own carriage, being taken to Leeds, where the coachman had orders to buy him a ticket and see him safely on the London stage.
They waved him off, waiting at the door until the carriage was out of sight. Then Dr. Finley ceased to dither and turned a sharp glance at his hostess. Grant asked his wife, “Do you know where Kate is?”
“No. I assure you, and you, too, Dr. Finley,” she turned to the vicar, “I have told no lies. I have no actual knowledge. I will not deny that I have a suspicion, but that is because Lady Newell was my friend. And because she was my friend, I have my doubts as to the new viscount’s suitability as a guardian for his sister. Kate is not a fool. If she ran away, she must have had good reason.”
“I can’t say I took to him myself,” said Grant, “but she can’t be left out there on her own with no one to protect her.”
Mrs. Grant nodded. “If I find she is not safely where I suspect, I will tell you. But meanwhile, I will leave you to plead ignorance in all innocence.” Then she thought again. “There is another place she may have gone, and you may be the best one to make inquiries there. Her mother’s family—I know Mary’s father is dead, but she had at least one brother. Kate may have turned to him.”
Grant scowled. “Never even came to the funeral. No sense of responsibility, any of them, her family or his. How they produced two good ladies like Lady Newell and Kate, I can’t imagine. I’ll ride over myself, just in case.”
Chapter Four
Sussex
Lady Clara was dining with her mother and her uncle, who appeared greatly amused as she recounted her recent adventures, having been allowed to join in the discussions at the dressmaker’s where Miss Darling was ordering some new gowns. Lady Clara’s opinion had even been solicited as they chose fabrics and trimmings.
“Do you mean to tell me that a young lady who can read Greek and Latin and quote Virgil—quite accurately—is unable to choose a new dress without assistance?” asked Ashleigh as he carved the mutton into neat slices.
His niece looked at him in exasperation, and Lady Talmadge said, “Don’t be difficult, Peter. The two things have nothing to do with each other.” Then she looked thoughtful and added, “And do be sure to take some peas. You are eating far too much meat of late. I fear it is distressing your digestion.”
He looked at his sister incredulously.
She smiled—see how he likes being treated like a child—and continued, “It is of great importance for an unmarried young woman, especially one with neither fortune nor connections, to present a proper appearance. I am glad she is doing something about it.”
Ashleigh frowned slightly as he resumed his seat. “What was wrong with her appearance? I thought she looked quite pretty when she came to dinner, though I suppose her dress was a trifle drab.”
Lady Clara sighed dramatically. “Uncle Peter, really! Her dress was faded and years out of date. That sort of thing is dreadfully depressing for a girl. I promise you that when you see her at the Assembly Ball next week, you will be struck dumb with amazement. ‘Quite pretty’ indeed!”
“The Assembly is next week? Oh, good. Ambruster is coming to visit. He wants to talk to me about investing in some canal project. He’s bringing his wife and daughter, and that will give them something to do.”
She would be at the Assembly Ball. Ashleigh had not seen her since that dinner. She had, however, managed to pop into his thoughts with alarming frequency, and every time he thought he had succeeded in banishing her, Alice and Clara brought her name up. They seemed to be making something of a pet of her, and he gathered that Miranda had also taken her up. Perhaps she would dwindle into the commonplace when he saw her again, and would stop sending his thoughts, his highly improper thoughts, down paths they should not take.
And perhaps not. He frowned at his plate.
Lady Talmadge smiled at him. “A canal project? Really, Peter, how can you be so naive? The only project the Ambrusters are interested in is a marriage between you and Selina.”
“Selina Webster? Eeew!” said Lady Clara. “Please, Uncle Peter, not her. She’s horrid.”
Ashleigh raised a brow. “Miss Webster is a very beautiful young woman of considerable poise and elegance, with a very nice sense of decorum. Some might suggest that my niece could take her for a pattern.”
Lady Talmadge looked at her daughter. “If you ever start behaving like Selina Webster, I will disown you.” Then she turned to her brother. “You can’t possibly want Clara to be like Selina, can you?” The question was half-amused, half-worried.
“No,” said Ashleigh with a rueful smile. “For all her virtues, Selina is so icily correct that the temperature drops immediately when she enters a room. Her mother’s conversation is devoted to pointing out the many ways in which Selina is suited to being a duchess. Selina’s conversation, on the other hand, seems to be devoted to pointing out the faulty behavior of everyone else.”
Lady Talmadge tilted her head and looked at her brother. Dinner progressed through the next course and the plates were being removed when she turned to her daughter. “You may go upstairs, Clara. I need to speak with your uncle.”
The girl gave a long-suffering sigh and rolled her eyes but went.
Lady Talmadge returned her attention to her brother. “You give a misleading impression, you know. The last time you encountered the Ambrusters, you were so courteous that they clearly thought you were on the verge of making an offer. And I was hideously afraid they might be right.”
Ashleigh sat back and gave his sister a look of alarm. “Really, Alice, you know me better than that. I was simply trying to keep from showing how tiresome I found them.”
“I hoped that was so, but I was beginning to fear you might be considering Selina Webster simply because she would never indulge in behavior that could cause a scandal.”
“There’s nothing wrong with wanting to avoid gossip and scandal. Our parents provided quite enough of that to last this family for generations,” said Ashleigh sharply. “When I marry, I will want a well-bred wife, to be sure, one whose birth and education will enable her to fulfill the position of duchess with decorum, but that is not enough. I want a wife who understands and accepts the duties, not just the privileges, of her position. Miss Webster is well aware that those below her have a duty to her, but does not seem to consider that she might have a duty to them as well.”
“And you think that is enough? Birth, decorum, and an acceptance of duty?”
Enough? He thought of a girl who looked like a sprite, a prideful girl with a surprising education. A slim, graceful girl with green eyes. He shook his head sadly. “No, I know it is not. After all, you brought all of that and more to your marriage to Talmadge, and I cannot think that was an example to emulate.”
A shadow crossed her face and she g
ave her head a small shake.
Ashleigh tore himself from thoughts of green eyes and looked at her with real concern. “Do you think to marry again, Alice? You have no need to do so, of course, but you are still young, and you do not need me to tell you that you are beautiful. You could have your pick of suitors.”
“I truly do not know what I want. At first, after Talmadge died, I was simply relieved to be free of him. But sometimes, when I see Miranda so happy with Merton, I am reminded that not all marriages have to be like mine.”
“If you wed again, it will be your choice, Alice. I promise you that it will be your choice and there will be no pressure from me.”
“And will it be Clara’s choice, too, when she is of an age to wed? You will not be like Franny Darling’s father, who disowned her when she wed a cit?”
“Is that what happened? I never knew.” Ashleigh shook his head. “Andrew Darling was the kindest, most honorable man I ever knew.”
“But he had no title. He was not even a gentleman.” Alice looked steadily at her brother.
He smiled. “Very well. If that is what you are asking. If Clara falls in love with a man as good and honorable as Andrew Darling, I will not forbid the match. Should she declare herself in love with a libertine, however, that is an entirely different story.”
Alice laughed. “You need not worry. In that case, I will forbid the banns myself. But we have strayed from our topic, which was a marriage for you. Do you seek a love match then?”
Thoughts of Miss Darling leaped into his mind. They had been doing that all too frequently. He shrugged them aside. “What man does not hope, at least secretly, for a wife he loves? But that is not always possible. I have responsibilities to the estate, to the title, to the country, that I cannot ignore. Were I to make a foolish marriage, I could lose the respect of my peers. That would mean that I would lose any influence I might have in the Lords and elsewhere. Still, at the very least, I want a wife who will share my life, be a companion, someone who is not a fool. I don’t know that I must be in love with her, but I will need to like her.”
A Debt of Dishonor Page 5