by Joan Smith
This brought inevitably to mind his establishing himself as Wingdale’s partner in what I considered little less than a crime. My spine stiffened—I could actually feel it. “You are automatically established here, being Carnforth’s heir.”
“I understand your confusion. Actually what I ought to have said is that I wish to establish the community in a manner more pleasing to me. How’s that for arrogance?”
“You will soon be the equal of Captain Wingdale, changing the place to suit you. I hear you have got hold of the acres bordering the lake. If you destroy that lovely wilderness ...”I said, then stopped in my tracks. If he did, there was nothing I or anyone could do but mourn and complain.
“What do you think of bathing machines, Chloe?” he asked, leaning back and half closing his eyes to contemplate this new modern horror. “Of the type they are using at Margate and the other ocean resorts, you know. Do you think our lake waters too cold for bathers?”
“Why not establish a permanent fair while you are about it, with jugglers and roundabouts and swinging boats, to keep the tourists perfectly happy, as you empty their pockets?”
“I’d like a touch more of quality. A miniature Vauxhall Gardens, say, with a pavilion, Indian of course, a couple of thousand of lanterns, music, dancing ...” he rambled on, still in his ruminative pose, though I think he was peering at me through his partially closed eyes.
I could sit still no longer. I jumped to my feet, feeling a strong urge to box his ears. Instead I said, “I must go inside now. You are perfectly welcome to wait for Edward here in the garden, if you wish.”
“Don’t be an ass, Chloe,” he said, reaching out with incredible speed to seize my wrist and prevent my leaving. “I have no intention of turning the place into a circus. I have to live here too, you know.”
The pressure on my wrist was so tight as to be painful. As I wrenched free, I looked to read his expression. He was laughing at me.
It seemed a good time to change the subject of conversation. We talked without further outbreaks of ill humour for another quarter of an hour, when Edward at last appeared around the bend astride his old mare.
“Mr. Gamble, Chloe—what the deuce are you doing sitting out in the dark?” he asked.
I had not noticed it was beginning to darken. Looking towards the horizon, I saw the sun was setting in an orange-red haze that promised no rain, no relief. “Waiting for you, sluggard,” Gamble answered unceremoniously. “Your sister has kindly beguiled the time away with her charming company. We haven’t quite come to blows yet, but your arrival is timely.”
“Come inside and have an ale,” Edward offered.
“I have been gasping here the past hour, hoping she would take the hint and offer me one,” Gamble replied.
“You’ll never get anywhere hinting with Chloe,” Edward said. “It is best just to come out and ask for what you want.”
“I shall bear that advice in mind,” Jack replied, looking at me in a quizzical way. He offered his arm to walk to the front door, while Edward went around to the stable.
“Oh, Chloe, I thought it was Tom with you in the garden, or I would have joined you,” Nora said when we entered the saloon.
“Why, don’t you trust me, Mrs. Whitmore?” Jack asked with a teasing smile. “Or is it only that you would have enjoyed my company?”
“Neither one!” she said, flustered. Then as she realized what she had blurted out, she went into stammering apologies till Jack blandly advised her that next time he would send for her—to protect himself. Only then did she realize he was joking, and settled down sufficiently to resume her netting.
“I see you have got a new carpet, Mrs. Whitmore,” he went on, with a twinkle in his eyes there was no trusting.
“Chloe has wanted one ever since she saw now nicely you are redoing the Hall,” she answered, smiling and nodding. “She is always singing the praises of your work.”
“She has already complimented me on it. I have an Indian blanket that would go very well on your sofa, if you would accept it,” he said, directing his speech to Nora alone. Never a glance at me.
“That would be lovely. We have noticed how the rest of the room looks shabby, with the new carpet. That is the trouble with buying anything new; it makes all the rest look so old.”
“Especially when it is old,” I said, defeated.
Edward joined us, and the two men went into his study, not deeming business suitable for the ears of ladies. They were closeted for the better part of an hour, with a second order of ale going in at the end of thirty minutes. I was on thorns for Jack to leave, that I might discover from Edward what matter was discussed.
“What on earth were you talking of for so long?” I asked as soon as we had privacy.
“A horse. Jack is selling me an excellent mount. He picked it up in London for Emily, but it is too frolicsome for her. She is frightened of it, and I have agreed to buy it.”
I was disappointed, and also apprehensive. “What price did you pay for it?”
“Don’t worry about the cost, Chloe. It was a bargain, and I am not to pay for it till I have the money.”
“But how much? What is the price?”
“A fair price. Cheap, in fact,” he said, and would say no more, which tended to convince me he had been rooked. Neither did I think the purchase of a mount had taken an hour. Edward had no notion of haggling over prices. There had been more than the mount discussed, but between Nora and myself, we could not wrench it from him.
“We talked business, of course, farming business,” he admitted at last, before locking himself back up in his study, with a sly, secretive look on his face.
Chapter Fifteen
The Leroy house lately sold to Wingdale was torn down, the cellar filled in, the park cleared, and ten little new excavations dug for the cottages that would replace it. Wingdale had his crews out beginning to lay the bed of a new road, straight as an arrow, as threatened. In the normal way, I would have been ill with worry and frustration, but as it happened there was an anxiety closer to home to bedevil me.
Edward was running madly into debt. The mount purchased from Gamble proved to be no ordinary jade, but a beautiful piece of horseflesh that cost more than a hundred pounds certainly, though Edward would not admit it. It was the second best mount in the neighbourhood, outclassed only by Jack’s own Arabian. Edward’s was a Barb, a sweet goer. A horse, even such an expensive one, would hardly put us in debtors’ prison, but the mount was only the beginning of his folly. Nora held me to be partly accountable, which made me feel all the worse. I had been lamenting from time to time the sad dilapidation of Ambledown, which gave my brother the corkbrained idea to call in architects—in plentiful supply at that time with the imminent building of a whole village nearby. Like the horse, they were going “cheap” (and like the horse, I think Gamble had something to do with nudging him on to it).
The house itself is built of stone two feet thick. It stands four square, solid, and will stand for several hundreds of years. The dilapidation occurs mostly at the openings, where the water has eased its way in around windows and doorframes. There the stone is perishing, and wanted replacing, as did some of the window frames and doors. There is an ornamented battlement on our left facade added on by the Tudor ancestor who had delusions of grandeur. His original idea was to match it with another on the right side, but he must have run out of money for it was never built. The battlement, which is crenelated, was in some disrepair around the top. This proved to be the last straw, as far as cost went. A group of six men came and began erecting a scaffold, whose building alone took them three days. An antiquarian was called in for consultation to ensure getting all the details quite accurate, as to materials and methods of workmanship.
“Edward, we cannot afford it!” I moaned, more than once. It became a refrain. I was as tired of saying it as he must have been of hearing me. “I hope you have not been so foolish as to take a loan from Wingdale.”
“Certainly not. He hasn�
��t a penny to spare these days, with all his own building. I happen to know he is in a tight financial bind. Why, if it weren’t for Gamble’s generosity, he would have to stop construction of Wingdale.”
“Gamble is footing the bill for the building?” I asked, my blood rising.
“You know he is a partner in it now, Chloe. They cannot be stopped. The whole stretch of road headabouts is going to be built up new, and I don’t mean for Ambledown to look a fright, shaming us before our neighbours. Little better than a blight on the landscape.”
“Is that why you’re doing this?”
“Not the only reason,” he answered, flushing, but he offered no other reason.
“Where did you get the money? Tell me, Edward. Was it from Gamble?”
“Yes, he forwarded me the money.”
“Oh, you fool! Don’t you see what he is up to? He wants to get Ambledown away from you. They don’t plan to have one old Tudor home sticking out like a sore thumb in their new village of little brick dog houses. They plan to get you over a financial barrel so you’ll renege on your mortgage, then they’ll snap it up and tear the house down, to stick up a dozen new ones. You must be mad to have gone along with this.”
“That is not the way it is at all, Chloe. Jack wanted me to do the repairs. He thinks Ambledown is a lovely old historic home. Besides, I am not to pay him a penny of cash. Over the years he is to take a part of my new yield of lambs each spring.”
“How large a part?”
“That has not been settled. The fact is, there is no set time when I must pay him cash, so you worry for nothing.”
“Edward, you should have remained a poet. What if the flock have a low yield? How large a number are you committed to each spring? And if you cannot pay, then what? Will Gamble not expect cash instead?”
“No, he did not say so!” Edward said, but he was frowning, less confident now.
I pressed home my point. “You have not forgotten our broken walls, our murdered sheep dog—after Gamble got Ulrich drunk. Suppose Gamble and Wingdale pull some of their other stunts on us—set fire to the barn while the ewes are down for spring delivery, for example? Then what? You owe Gamble I don’t know how much money, and you need not think he will wait a decade to collect, for he will not.”
“He’s not like that, Chloe. Not a dishonourable man.”
“He stole Emily from you while your back was turned.”
“That was different.”
“Yes, it was worse. I should think you would have been warned by that incident.”
“You never wanted me to marry her anyway.”
“That’s neither here nor there. You loved her, and she loved you. Had Gamble not come home, you would have married her. He stole her from you, weaned her fickle affection away with gowns and carriages and gew-gaws, and now he is stealing Ambledown from you with these unlikely loans that are never to be repaid in cash.”
“You don’t know what you’re talking about.”
“Do I not? One of us doesn’t know what he’s doing, but it is not me. I’ll tell you this, Edward, I disapprove very strongly of your dealings with Gamble. I want nothing to do with him in future. This is your house, and if you wish to entertain the man who is determined to ruin you, that is your affair, but I shall not meet him, and I shan’t go to his ball either.”
“That is nonsense. We have already accepted. You and Nora are making new gowns.”
“Yes, with silk and crepe bought on credit. I am sorry we ever did it.”
“Well I am not,” he said petulantly, and stalked from the room.
My eyes, following him, alit on the Indian blanket Gamble had sent down to Nora, which she treasured, not realizing he was only poking fun at our hideous new carpet. It decorated the sofa. I snatched it off to take to her room. I would tell her it was getting too rough a usage down here, for I could not bear to look at it another day. I regretted the purchase of extravagant silk, but I stuck to my guns about the ball. I would not attend.
I made my intention known informally to Emily a few days before the great event. She came over in her phaeton in the afternoon for a visit, tended by a groom, who never failed to accompany her now when her chaperones were otherwise occupied. With the silk bought, Nora and I went on with the sewing, planning to amaze the village with our gowns at the next public assembly, or possibly to astonish the parish at church on Sunday if we found we could not wait. If it were to be the latter, a tippet must be added to conceal the daring cut of my own. My morals must have been lowered by constant exposure to the tourists, for I would not normally have exposed so much of throat and arms, and shoulders.
Tom Carrick was also there that afternoon. He had got tired of being angry with me and came to make it up. He brought a leg of pork with him as a peace offering. I had not been able to tell him I was not going to marry him, as I had not seen him in a dog’s age.
“Chloe, you are making a new gown for the ball! How pretty the shade is. May I see it?” Emily asked, not long after she was in the saloon.
“It is not for the ball, Emily. Actually, I do not plan to attend it!”
“Not attend? Why not?” she asked, blinking in disbelief.
Tom’s chin dropped an inch in shock. I had not told him of my plan.
“It is a personal matter. I cannot discuss it now, but if your cousin wishes to know why, I will be happy to tell him.”
She could not have cared less about this intriguing statement. “Is Edward coming?” she asked anxiously.
“Yes, he is.”
“Oh, thank goodness!”
She stayed for half an hour, during which time Tom was very eager to get back to my refusal. As soon as she was out the door, he said, “I want to hear all about it, Chloe. If that fellow has insulted you ...” His chest swelled to indicate his eagerness to defend my name.
“He hasn’t. Merely I disapprove of everything he stands for—what he is doing here. He wants to live in peace in this community, Tom. If we all get together and let him know how strongly we disapprove of this development business ...”
“Oh is that all!” Tom said. “I thought it was serious. No denying the fellow carries on with the ladies. And he all but engaged to that nice little Emily. I wonder she don’t look sharp and accept him. Daresay it will be announced at the ball.”
“That seems to be the consensus of opinion. Do you plan to attend the ball?”
“Of course I do. It would look dashed shabby not to, after I have sent in my acceptance. Besides, I have ... that is ... the fact is, Chloe, the Mandrels have asked me if I would give them a lift. They have a carriage but have to hire job horses, you know, and as I will be going right past their door I knew you would not mind. You will be going with Edward.”
“I won’t be going at all. You don’t have to explain your passengers to me. Take the Mandrels anywhere you want,” I said snippily. I was offended to the core. I didn’t care two straws for Tom Carrick, yet I felt betrayed. Even jealous. If this dalliance with Cora grew much stronger, I would end up accepting Tom in a fit of pique.
Nora had left to take the pork to the kitchen and did not return. She smelled romance in the air at Tom’s return, and wished to give it every chance to blossom. Poor Nora! I had driven her into a state of fidgets nearly as bad as my own, with my loud worrying. The upshot of her absence was that Tom grabbed my hands and grew ardent. “Chloe, my dear, it don’t mean a thing! You know you are the only woman I care a fig for.” It was enough to confirm in my heart my total lack of feelings for him. He persisted a little. I opened my mouth to say definitely no, but the pork was even now in the oven. He would leave at once, and it seemed uncivil to send him from the door after accepting the gift. It was a long ride home without any dinner. Such are the trivia on which our fate hangs. If I had told him ... but I didn’t.
He stayed for dinner, leaving soon afterwards. I went to the front door with him, hoping for a chance to tell him I had reached my decision. My act only gave him the idea I was warming to hi
m. Edward was not so cunning as Nora. He did not stay behind, but walked with us to the door, making it impossible for either Tom or myself to say anything of the least importance. Since I had been dismissed from managing Ambledown, I had become incapable even of managing my personal affairs.
“Tom is a good chap,” Edward said in the avuncular tone he sometimes used since becoming a worthy. “Jack was saying just the other day what a fine match it will be for you, Chloe. Mistress of Tarnmere. Doing pretty well for yourself.”
“I’m not interested in Jack Gamble’s opinion,” I said curtly. How dare he say anything of the sort?
Edward, the gudgeon, took me at my word and turned away, forcing me to go after him to demand when Gamble had discussed me and Tom Carrick. “At Wingdale Hause today. I had lunch with them—Wingdale and Jack.”
“You went to that place!”
“They serve a very tough mutton, and the price is exorbitant. Jack says when he ... oh, but I wasn’t supposed to mention that.”
“When he is what?”
“Nothing. You asked when Jack spoke of you and Tom, and that’s when it was. He said you’ll smarten Tom up no end, Chloe. He thinks highly of you. You can always change the name of Tarnmere, if that is what ...”
“He may go to the devil!” I said, and stormed up the stairs.
When I returned below thirty minutes later (for it was much too early to go to bed) Edward had gone out. When I asked Nora where he had gone, she said, “He mentioned something about a meeting at Wingdale Hause. It has to do with organizing the wrestling competition for next year. They feel it ought to be advertised more widely, for it would bring in a good many tourists.”
“Edward is going along with that?”
“He is a very good wrestler, Chloe. Or was, before he turned poet on us. He was quite flattered at having been asked to join them. He intimated that Gamble wished to include him in running the village affairs, which pleased him no end.”
“Why doesn’t he just sell Ambledown and move in to the Wingdale Hause? It would save him a deal of riding.”