The Echo at Rooke Court

by Harriet Smart

  “That I am being careful. As you suggest.”

  “Not the easiest undertaking,” she said.

  “No,” he said, thinking of all the nights of late when he had been obliged to resist Eleanor’s charms. His convalescence was reaching the stage at which it no longer served as an excuse.

  She leant a little closer and clasped his hand for a moment.

  “If you find yourself in difficulty,” she said in a whisper, “please do not hesitate to seek my help, Felix. I wish only to be a friend to you.”

  Then suddenly she had gone, slipping away into the crowd, leaving him wondering whether she meant what his disorderly, frustrated mind thought she meant, as Eleanor approached. She was glowing from the exercise and patting her wheat ears back into place.

  “How nice of you to take pity on Mama,” she said. “I am surprised she agreed to it.”

  “There was no pity involved,” Felix said. “She is a good dancer. Almost as good as her daughter.” At this Eleanor sank down in a deep, playful curtsey, like a ballerina acknowledging her audience. Felix hauled her back to her feet and said, “I don’t suppose you have a single dance left for your husband?”

  “No. I am completely engaged. Who would have thought this neighbourhood could muster so many excellent men to dance with? I’m astonished!”

  “And so few unmarried girls. How did you manage that?”

  “There are plenty of those and they all have had their chances. If the gentlemen prefer me, then –” she shrugged. “I must say, it is the most agreeable thing in the world to give a ball rather than simply go to one. We ought to make a habit of it. This room is perfect for dancing. In fact, if we were to knock down the wall between the morning room and that funny little room next door, we might get another nice drawing room out of it, where we could set up the card tables and so forth.”

  “And charge a shilling for admission like the Northminster Assemblies?”

  “No, of course not. Ah, here is Mr Gray for his galop!” she said, turning to the young man who was approaching them.

  This Mr Gray was the younger brother of Mr Gray at Raythorpe, whom he much resembled. He was a barrister, down from London on a visit.

  “I feel hesitant to claim it, Mrs Carswell,” he said, “seeing you here with your husband.”

  “Oh, Mr Carswell doesn’t mind,” said Eleanor, taking Gray’s hand.

  “Thank you,” said Gray, more to Felix than to Eleanor. “Oh, and I have a message for you, sir, from my nephew. He hopes you will come for his sixth birthday.”

  “Certainly.”

  “His mother was convinced he would never walk without a limp,” said Gray. “But he will be ready for a dancing master soon enough, thanks to your husband, Mrs Carswell.”

  “I only began the work. It is Mr Harper who finished it,” Felix said. His illness had prevented him visiting Johnny as much as he would have wanted, and Mr Harper, with his infinite kindness, had taken over the case. He had improvised a most ingenious, light-weight frame that the child was able to bear with much more equanimity, with a result that he had recovered more quickly than anyone could have hoped.

  “It is a shame not to see Mr Harper here tonight,” Gray said.

  “He does not dine and he certainly does not dance,” Eleanor said. “He takes his goodness too far. I feel sorry for his wife.”

  “I think she is quite in agreement with him,” Felix said. “But if she wished to go out, he would – and put aside his principles for her.”

  “A model husband, then!” said Eleanor with an arch smile. “Come, Mr Gray, the dance is starting. We must get to our places.”

  ~

  “How old is Lady Blanchfort?” Emma asked.

  “About our age,” said Giles.

  They had sought a brief refuge from the ballroom in a cool little anteroom after an energetic waltz. Emma’s cheeks were delightfully flushed and matched the roses that patterned her gown. As they sat down together, Giles found himself wishing he might take her straight upstairs and at last make her completely his wife.

  “She makes an alluring widow, don’t you think? She suits the weeds.”

  “Do you think she might be looking for a husband?” said Giles.

  “Oh, certainly. But since I have taken the only suitable one for fifty miles about,” said Emma, “she must sit and pine. For a long time, as well, for where and whenever will anyone appear who is your equal?”

  “She did not look as if she were sitting and pining when she was waltzing with Mr Carswell.”

  “No, she did not. I had better keep Charles away from her. He is always falling in love these days, and an older woman like that – very dangerous. There has been some girl over the summer who broke his heart, and when I told him about Lady Maria and Sir Mark he looked downcast, as if he had been holding the idea of her in reserve. What am I to do with him?”

  “He will be safely back at Oxford soon.”

  “Where he can flirt with Rome and think of becoming a celibate?” Emma said, and gave a shudder.

  “It will be interesting to hear what Oxford makes of Arthur Hurrell now,” said Giles.

  “Or Mr Willoughby,” said Emma.

  “Will we have an English pope in forty years’ time?” said Giles.

  “How curious that would be,” said Emma.

  The door opened, and Lord Rothborough came in.

  “I see you don’t care for the galop either, Major and Mrs Vernon?” he said.

  “No, we don’t,” said Emma. “That last waltz was quite enough for me.”

  “I think Mrs Carswell means to dance through her slippers,” said Giles.

  “And Maria,” said Lord Rothborough, sitting down with them. “Sir Mark has given her carte blanche in his absence to dance as much as she pleases.”

  “Oh, it has come to that,” said Emma, smiling, “that such things must be discussed?”

  “It has,” said Lord Rothborough, leaning back. “And who am I to stop them, when they are so sensible in their sentimentality? Of course, there is no question of there being any formal betrothal at this point. Lady Rothborough has seen to that, but I have given them liberty and it has not been abused. In fact, I am consulted and considered to such a degree that it is not good for me. In the meantime, I had a letter from Sir Mark about the trial.”

  “He is still with his aunt at the Assizes?” Giles said.

  “Yes, they have instructed Penrose as you suggested. We can only hope for an outcome that will not damage the boys too greatly now.”

  “You still have them with you at Holbroke?” Emma said.

  “Maria insisted. She has already begun to smooth them out nicely,” he said. “But sometimes I wonder if it is too much responsibility for her. She has taken on a great burden cheerfully. I can only hope there is time for her to flourish a little more, to be idle and silly and all those things we need.”

  “I think Sir Mark feels that too,” said Emma. “Why else would he give her carte blanche tonight?”

  “I hope so,” said Lord Rothborough, getting up again. “I wonder if she will spare her father a dance? And you, Mrs Vernon – if I may, Major? Will you take me for a quadrille?”

  “Yes, certainly, my lord,” said Emma, standing up also. “We should not hide ourselves away in here, should we?” she added to Giles. “Given the feast is in our honour.”

  “No. Then I will ask Lady Blanchfort to stand up with me,” said Giles. Emma smiled at that. “So she may not pine.”

  “What’s this?” said Lord Rothborough.

  “Oh, nothing,” said Emma. “I’m only feeling excessive pride in my new husband.”

  “So you should,” said Lord Rothborough, offering her his arm. “Come, a quadrille!”

  They walked away to the door, with Emma glancing back at Giles with a most playful smile, that made him glance at the clock. It was a little after midnight. In less than two hours they would be able to go to bed.

  ~

  “Ah, you’ve not gon
e up yet!” said Felix, finding Major Vernon in the hall. He opened the door to his study. “Can I tempt you with a dram?”

  “A small one,” said Major Vernon.

  “Yes, of course,” said Felix. “I know your habits.” Felix put a glass into his hand. “To Mrs Vernon!” he said, raising his glass.

  Major Vernon raised his glass, took a nip of his whisky and then looked about him.

  “This room is coming on.”

  “I think so, though it has been quite a bother getting the bookshelves made as I wanted them, but we are nearly there.”

  “You will soon be settled,” said Major Vernon.

  “Like oil and vinegar in a flask,” Felix said.

  “Do you mean you and Mrs Carswell?” said Major Vernon.

  “We are different substances, and I have not quite worked out how one might keep us amalgamated. You and Mrs Vernon – well, you have undergone a chemical transformation some time ago now, it seems to me. You and she are no longer separate things, but a new compound. Eleanor and I, on the other hand – oil and vinegar.”

  “From what I know of chemistry, which is not much, of course,” Major Vernon said, “some compounds take longer to form than others. Is that not so?”

  “You are right,” said Felix. He put down his glass. “Come and see my new microscope. I have finally got it set up to my liking and I have to say it has been worth the trouble. I have made a couple of slides to compare animal and human blood. The result is very intriguing.”

  He turned up the lamp and began his demonstration. In a few minutes they were absorbed in the magical effects of a top quality lens, examining the subtle differences between the blood of a human male and that of a pig, until the clock chimed the half hour.

  “You must excuse me,” said Major Vernon. “Mrs Vernon will be wondering what has become of me.”

  “Oh Lord, yes, of course,” said Felix hurrying him to the door. “My best wishes again to you both, sir.”

  They shook hands warmly; Major Vernon turned towards the staircase, and with his customary energy began to climb the stairs two steps at a time.

  Felix returned to his study, and went back to the microscope. As he did, a squeak of protest came from the floor, and he discovered that he had accidentally stepped on the tail of Lady Blanchfort’s cat who had claimed the room as his own domain. Felix scooped him into his arms, murmuring an apology, before depositing him in the armchair where Byron had made a habit of sleeping. He supposed he ought to go up to bed. The chances were that Eleanor, having danced so much, would be too tired to desire his attentions. Yet he lingered at his bench, looking at his slides, enjoying the peaceful pursuit of knowledge and the undemanding companionship of a cat.

  ~ THE END ~

  Read the first chapter of the next Northminster Mystery: The Fatal Engine

  Dramatis Personae

  Northminster

  Major Giles Vernon: Chief Superintendent of the Northern Investigation office

  Mrs Emma Maitland: engaged to be married to Major Vernon

  Holt: Major Vernon’s manservant

  Lord Rothborough: local grandee and natural father of Lord Rothborough

  Lady Maria Haraald: Lord Rothborough’s youngest daughter

  Felix Carswell: consultant surgeon to the Northern Office of Investigation

  Eleanor Carswell: Felix Carswell’s wife

  Lady Blanchfort: Eleanor’s mother

  George Pierce: director of Wytton’s bank

  Frederick Pierce: George Pierce’s son and a bank employee

  Noakes: a watchman

  Captain Lazenby: Chief Constable of the Northminster and County Constabulary

  Mr James Harper: Chief Medical Officer at the Northminster Infirmary

  Hurrell Place

  Sir Morten Hurrell: a wealthy baronet, owner of Hurrell Place

  Rev Arthur Hurrell: Sir Morten’s heir and Rector of Langdon

  Mrs Edward Hurrell: Sir Morten’s sister-in-law

  Mark Hurrell: Sir Morten’s youngest son

  Rev John Willoughby: an idealistic young clergyman

  Mr Powell and Mr Stapleford: University of Oxford undergraduates staying at Langdon Rectory

  Raythorpe Hall and village

  Lord Wytton: country gentleman and director of Wytton’s bank

  Lady Wytton: Lord Wytton’s wife

  Miss Margaret Wytton: Lord Wytton’s sister

  Braithwaite: a farrier

  Esther Braithwaite: Braithwaite’s wife

  Mr Gray: the Rector of Raythorpe

  Mrs Gray: Mr Gray’s wife

  Axworth

  Mr James Bennet: a medical student

  Dr Wharne: attending physician at the Axworth Fever Hospital

  Excerpt from The Fatal Engine: Chapter One

  December 1841

  “I can’t interest you in checks for the trouser, sir?” said the tailor, placing a card of samples in front of Felix on the counter. “We have a new selection in, with a fine handle to the cloth, I must say, and of course much worn in London at the moment.”

  “Dark grey,” Felix said, indicating his trousers. “Just the same as these. Two pairs.”

  “As you wish, sir. Your name, may I ask? Are you a returning customer?”

  “Carswell,” Felix said. “Yes. Where is Mr Loake? Is he not well?”

  “He is retired,” said the tailor, and making a slight bow, went on: “Edward Edwardes at your service, Mr Carswell. I have taken over the business. If you will excuse me a moment, I will just look out your account.”

  He disappeared behind the velvet curtain that divided the shop and Felix glanced at the sample card. The checks were large and gaudy – one a particularly unpleasant combination of mustard and muddy brown. Felix could not imagine Mr Loake even suggesting such a thing as checked trousers. He had had the knack of guessing what was wanted even when Felix had not been able to articulate it. He felt rather annoyed at his sudden retirement.

  Edwardes returned with the ledger. He was smiling at what he saw, as well he might, given how much money Felix had spent there.

  “Mr Carswell,” he said, laying it on the counter. “Of Hawskby Hall? An honour, sir, and thank you for favouring us with your custom,” he added with another bow. Then he glanced Felix over and looked down at the ledger again. “Might I ask you the favour of allowing me to re-take your measurements, sir? I see that you were last here for your wedding clothes in June. We find that gentlemen, when settled into married life, often need an adjustment here and there.”

  If no man was a hero to his valet, neither was he to his tailor.

  “Yes, if you must,” said Felix. “It will not take long, will it?”

  He had arranged to meet Major Vernon there and did not want to keep him waiting.

  “Not long at all. Just the trousers today, sir?”

  “Yes. Dark grey, made of whatever these are.”

  “Of course. This way, sir,” said Edwardes, sweeping open the velvet curtain. “Let me help you with your coat, sir.”

  Felix found himself standing in his shirtsleeves in front of a vast looking glass in a gilt frame. This was an innovation since his last visit, as was the blazing gas light above. An assistant stood with a notebook while Edwardes set about with his tape measure, calling out the measurements to him. It was certainly more efficient than old Mr Loake with his stoop. Perhaps he had been right to retire.

  Edwardes stepped back, and appraised his figure in a manner that Felix found disconcerting.

  “You have reduced a little, sir,” Edwardes said. “Most unusual.”

  “I was ill,” Felix said.

  “My commiserations, sir,” said Edwardes. “Now, as to the style, I think this cut is not as elegant as it might be. Given your lean physique, sir. These pleats here, I think we might dispense with. The flat front is much in favour. I think Prince Albert himself –”

  “No, just as these are, Mr Edwardes,” said Felix. “With deep pockets.”

  “As
you wish, sir,” said Mr Edwardes.

  At this point the shop bell jangled and the assistant scurried out to see to the visitor. On his enquiring how he might help, Major Vernon was heard to reply, “Is Mr Carswell still here?”

  “In here!” called out Felix. Major Vernon looked through the gap in the curtain. “I think we are done, yes, Mr Edwardes?”

  “Yes, sir,” said Edwardes, drawing back the curtain to reveal the Major, dressed in the full splendour of his silver-laced, ink-blue frock coat, cloak and forage cap – surely a most impressive and interesting sight for a tailor. Edwardes looked him over with his practised eye.

  “Is Mr Loake unwell?” asked Major Vernon.

  “No, sir, retired. I am Edward Edwardes and I have taken over the business.”

  “Did you not have a livery-making business?” said Major Vernon.

  “Oh yes. It is just that when Mr Loake said he wished to retire and wanted to find someone of suitable quality to take over – well, we came to an arrangement. You are one of Mr Loake’s gentlemen as well, I take it, sir?”

  “Yes, Major Giles Vernon. I hope Mr Loake has not left Northminster? I should like to wish him well.”

  “I think he has gone to Swalecliffe – his sister lives there,” said Edwardes.

  “That is Northminster’s loss, then,” said Major Vernon.

  “Yes, certainly, sir,” said Edwardes, “but I hope I will be able to continue to serve in a manner to equal, and perhaps surpass him. I have great experience of the London trade, Major Vernon, and although, of course, no true gentleman can ever be a slave to fashion, he must wish those who make his accoutrements to be aware of all that is most current and elegant.”

  Major Vernon smiled at that, and Felix felt an urge to burst out laughing. He pulled on his coat, anxious to be gone. Mr Edwardes had other ideas, and positioned himself in the middle of the shop.

  “Before you go, gentlemen, might I just remind you that with the Christmas season fast approaching, and so many dinners and parties in hand, it is a splendid moment to consider the matter of evening dress? I only mention it, as we have – fresh in – the most exquisite collection of evening suitings, as well as all the latest fancy silks. There is nothing more cheering at the festive season than a bright waistcoat.”