Imperfect Pretence

by Imperfect Pretence (retail) (epub)

  The African inclined his head again. ‘And I in Mr Barnes, I’m sure,’ he said. ‘With your permission, I’ll help with the horses, Your Grace.’ Max, resisting the temptation to join him, nodded carelessly and watched him approach the groom, who was releasing the carriage horses from their harness.

  Abdas Okoro carried himself like royalty, but he had never told Max precisely how exalted was his lineage. Along with others from his village, he had been seized and sold into slavery. The ship on which he had been imprisoned had been attacked by pirates and sunk in a sea skirmish. The Lady Marion had arrived on the scene in time to pick up survivors, of which Abdas had been one of only a handful. None of his family members had survived the disaster. Perhaps this might have been the reason why, given the choice as to his fate, he had elected to remain with the Lady Marion, learning the various tasks on board ship as Max had done, showing his keen intelligence by his attitude and his initiative.

  That had been five years before. In the intervening time, Okoro had learned to speak English, as well as to read and write. Accompanying Max on many voyages, he had proved his worth over and over again.

  On one occasion, early on in their association, Max had gone ashore in a foreign port in search of a certain merchant, and due to an error of judgement, had found himself in a highly insalubrious spot, under attack by four villainous ruffians. He was preparing to acquit himself as well as possible, determined not to go down without putting up a fight. All at once, the attitude of the men had changed as the athletic-looking African had appeared from nowhere and had crouched back to back with Max, sword in hand. The two of them must have looked far too formidable to tackle, and the four ruffians had fled.

  ‘My thanks,’ Max had said, turning to Okoro. ‘I didn’t realize you had learned to use a sword.’

  Okoro had grinned, his teeth shining white in his ebony face. He had held up the sword. ‘This is the end I hold, right?’ he had said, pointing to the hilt with the other hand.

  Max had burst out laughing, and clapped him on the back. From that point on, he had attended to the other man’s fencing tuition personally. The next time they had been in a similar situation, Okoro had disarmed his opponent with ease.

  Since that time, the African had become Max’s right-hand man. At first paid a wage commensurate with his responsibilities, he was now the master of a comfortable independence by dint of certain wise investments, mostly made through Boughton, and a ship owner in his own right.

  Max turned to the coachman, who was still examining the front wheel furthest from the bank. The man straightened, and touched his forelock. ‘A cracked felloe, Your Grace,’ he said apologetically.

  Max’s heavy brows drew together. ‘The devil, you say,’ he said, joining the man and bending down to examine the problem. There was indeed a deep crack running along the wooden framework of the wheel. It looked as if it might widen with every possible jolt. ‘This is a new carriage!’ Max exclaimed wrathfully, as he drew himself up to his full height, and stared at the coachman.

  ‘I’m … I’m very sorry, Your Grace,’ said the coachman anxiously, taking a short step backwards. He had heard how this haughty nobleman had dismissed his previous valet, and did not want to suffer the same fate.

  ‘I’m sure you are,’ Max replied, briefly forgetting his role and speaking as one exasperated man to another. ‘Damned inconvenient for both of us. Can this take us as far as the next town, do you think?’

  Relieved at not being blamed for this mischance, the coachman bent down to have another look. ‘I wouldn’t advise it, Your Grace,’ he said. ‘Not laden, anywise. You see this crack? I reckon it’s owing to a fault in the wood.’

  ‘Then what do you suggest we do?’ Max asked him.

  ‘I could walk to the nearest town, and bring another carriage back to transport Your Grace and Mr Barnes and the luggage,’ the coachman ventured. ‘Your own carriage would probably get there unladen, where we could find a wheelwright and have the wheel mended or replaced.’

  ‘Okoro could ride into town and save you walking,’ Max pointed out. He glanced round to see the African and the groom leading the horses to a nearby stream where they could take refreshment.

  ‘I’d as soon make the arrangements for the repair myself, if Your Grace is agreeable,’ the coachman answered. ‘And I don’t want anyone but me driving this carriage – not in the condition it’s in.’

  Given the freedom to consult only his own wishes, Max would probably have chosen to walk with the coachman. Unfortunately, he had Barnes and his disguise to consider. He sighed. ‘Let it be so,’ he said, waving a hand resignedly. At least, he reflected, the longer they spent on the road, the less time he would have to pass himself off as lord of the manor.

  Chapter Eight

  Constance and her aunt had spent the night at Norwich. They had made an early start in order to get to Marsham in good time and return Mrs Brewer’s post chaise. There they had accepted her offer of cakes and wine, before collecting Patch and the gig from her stable.

  They had refused her invitation to stay for the night, pleading the need to get to Cromer. In fact, they intended to stop off in Aylsham and do some shopping before spending the night at the Black Boys. ‘I can’t help feeling guilty because I know she is so lonely,’ said Miss Fellowes, as they waved goodbye to their tearful-looking hostess.

  ‘We can invite her to dine with us instead,’ said Constance, as she took up the reins and pointed Patch in the direction of home. ‘I cannot and will not sleep in her house again. Her beds are lumpy; and as for what I saw that night, it was far too big to be a mouse!’

  She was still speaking when they rounded the bend and saw a carriage standing at the side of the road. As luck would have it, they witnessed the very moment when the coachman took an involuntary step backwards, fearing his employer’s possible anger. ‘Devil take him!’ Miss Church exclaimed wrathfully. ‘It’s a wonder anyone remains with him for more than five minutes! I declare, under his fine clothes he’s nothing but a common bully.’

  ‘I wonder how poor Mr Barnes has fared,’ said Miss Fellowes. Then, seeing that her niece was bringing Patch to a halt, she added quickly, ‘Oh pray, Connie, don’t interfere!’

  ‘Interfere? They are plainly in distress. I must offer assistance to fellow travellers,’ she answered, reining in the horse as she called out, ‘Can we help in any way?’

  Max looked up at the two ladies in the gig. At the inns where they had stopped, he had been preoccupied, first with the need to get Alistair off safely, and then by the requirement to play the part allotted to him. Consequently, although Miss Church and Miss Fellowes recognized him at once, he had only a vague idea of having seen them somewhere before.

  ‘You are very good, madam,’ he said, bowing with his best ducal flourish, whilst maintaining an air of hauteur. ‘As you see, we have come to grief.’

  ‘Yes, I do see,’ Miss Church replied. ‘I also noticed that you were in the process of blaming your coachman for the difficulty.’

  ‘Blaming him?’ Max echoed, rather taken aback, because he had not been doing any such thing. ‘Indeed, madam—’

  ‘Please do not try to pretend that you were not,’ Constance replied, enjoying this pleasant feeling of superiority which sprang partly from his mishap and partly from the fact that he was obliged to look up at her. ‘I saw the poor fellow flinch as if he expected to be struck! And no wonder, if he witnessed the heartless way in which you dismissed your poor valet!’

  Max stared at her. In spite of everything that Alistair had said, he had really not expected their movements to arouse any interest. He now perceived how mistaken he had been. In a rural area such as this, any stranger might be noticed. He could not afford to allow any attention to turn to suspicion, especially when Alistair’s safety was at stake. He raised his brows. ‘My good woman, you are speaking of matters of which you know nothing.’

  ‘Nothing?’ she retorted. ‘When I witnessed your inhumanity for myself? That poor
dismissed valet was as much one of God’s creatures as you are, and with as much right to decent treatment.’

  One consequence of the training to which Max had subjected himself under Abe Collings had been a real appreciation of the difficulties experienced by ordinary sailors. Collings was firm but humane in his approach, and severe punishments were reserved for those who endangered the safety of the ship and its crew by their actions. Life aboard ship as a working seaman was very hard work, as Max well knew. To exclaim ‘Hear hear’ in response to the young lady’s words as his instincts demanded, however, could well involve him in exactly the kind of exchange of views which he was anxious to avoid. He therefore put his head back and said nothing, staring down his nose at her.

  She sighed in exasperation and shook her head. ‘I do not know why I am troubling myself to address you when it is patently obvious that you do not have the smallest understanding of what I am saying.’ She turned her attention away from Max, and looked at the coachman. ‘You, on the other hand, look like a sensible man,’ she said. ‘May I be of any assistance to you?’

  The coachman looked nervously from Max to Miss Church and back again. Max said nothing, making a dismissive gesture as if the whole matter was beneath his notice, and began to study his fingernails. The man glanced at him again, then said hesitantly¸ ‘Well, ma’am, I … I would be glad of a ride to the next town, so I can get help for His Grace.’

  ‘You are very welcome, although personally I would make His Grace walk,’ said Miss Church, moving over to make space for the coachman, and tactfully handing him the reins. ‘And, if you were to decide that you did not want to remain in the employ of so unpleasant a person, I would make it my business to find you another situation.’

  They were about to pull off when Max bethought him of something. ‘Dickinson,’ he called. The coachman brought Patch back to a halt. Miss Church looked round and witnessed the astonishing sight of the duke approaching them with two or three running steps. ‘You may need some money,’ he said, throwing a purse up to the man.

  ‘Thank you, Your Grace,’ said Dickinson, pocketing the purse, before setting Patch moving as before.

  Relieved of the responsibility of controlling the horse, Constance found herself staring down at the duke. His running steps from the carriage to the gig had given her pause for thought. This, together with the angle at which she was seeing him, his face upturned towards hers, amounted to an unsettling and quite illogical feeling that she had seen him somewhere before, in different circumstances.

  For his part, Max stood watching the gig until it turned a corner and disappeared from sight. When he got back into the carriage, he was laughing; but when Barnes asked him what had so amused him, he simply replied that it was one of those jests that did not bear repeating. He urged the valet to go back to his book, leaving him free to sit back, close his eyes and think again about the recent encounter.

  Max had spent as little time in the company of simpering debutantes as he could possibly manage. His mother’s notion of suitable young ladies for him to meet seldom chimed with his own. He much preferred women who knew their own minds, and were able to express their opinions; in fact, very like the forthright young woman who had raked him down so thoroughly.

  He allowed his mind to dwell on the moment when he had looked up at her, and their eyes had met. There had been an odd moment of connection, coupled with a sense of recognition which, like Miss Church, he had dismissed at first as being impossible. Then he recalled looking up at a window in Diss and seeing a young lady look down at him – a young lady to whom he had kissed his fingers. It was the same girl; he could swear it! She could easily have been in Diss. Her knowledge of Field’s dismissal confirmed that she had been following the same route. His grin grew broader. How annoyed she would be did she but realize! It was an entertaining thought to savour.

  He could have sworn that she had waved at him that evening. Were there two sides to the lady: the prim and proper one that the world saw, and the wilder, more adventurous one that waved to rogues and scoundrels? He found himself feeling quite regretful that he would never have the opportunity to put this to the test. They were most unlikely to meet again, and even if they did, he could not taunt her with that spontaneous moonlit encounter without endangering his very purpose for being here.

  It was well over an hour before Dickinson got back to them with a hired coach driven by a groom. He explained that there was a wheelwright in Aylsham who would examine the wheel and repair it if possible, or replace it with a new one if necessary. In either case, the work would be done by the following day.

  ‘Did I do right, Your Grace?’ Dickinson asked anxiously.

  ‘I cannot see that you could have done any other,’ Max replied. ‘Did you deliver the ladies safely?’

  ‘Yes, Your Grace,’ Dickinson answered. ‘They’re stopping overnight at the Black Boys inn, where I hired the carriage from.’

  ‘The Black Boys? Is that a good establishment?’

  ‘It looks like the best, Your Grace.’

  Following this brief conversation, the next task was to transfer the luggage to the hired coach, in order to lighten the damaged vehicle so as to put the smallest possible strain on the wheel.

  The horses were now put to again, and not for the first time, Max was torn by frustration. He did not enjoy periods of inactivity, and longed to be helping the men with some of the physical work. The only way that he could restrain himself from leaping up onto the roof and unfastening the straps that held the luggage in place was by climbing indolently from one coach to the other, and pretending to lose interest in the whole proceedings. As he did so, he caught Abdas’s eye, and the other man grinned sympathetically.

  They were soon underway again, but the road continued to be as bad and by the time they were approaching the outskirts of Aylsham, another hour had passed. ‘We’ll stay the night at the Black Boys,’ Max told Barnes.

  ‘Is that wise, Your Grace?’ Barnes asked anxiously. ‘Surely somewhere outside town as before—’

  ‘Barnes,’ Max interrupted politely, ‘which of us is the duke?’

  ‘Very good, Your Grace,’ said Barnes after a tiny pause. ‘Pray exercise some caution this time. No climbing out of windows, I beg of you.’

  Max grinned. Perhaps it wasn’t wise, as Barnes had said. Perhaps he ought to avoid the young lady, but he didn’t want to. In any case, if this inn was the best in town, then it was logical for him to stay there. If he happened to bump into her, well it would be down to Dame Fortune. ‘I shall be the model aristocrat,’ he promised, as they pulled into the yard of the Black Boys inn.

  His resolve lasted for perhaps half an hour. It was not late, and rather than sitting in his rooms, Max announced his intention of strolling about the town before dinner. ‘Have a care, Your Grace,’ murmured Barnes.

  ‘I’m not made of glass, man,’ Max replied, trying not to sound irritated, before sallying forth with Abdas in attendance.

  It was not the kind of sight that was very common in Aylsham. Max was in a coat of fine blue broadcloth with buckskin breeches, and glossy hessian boots. His waistcoat was of pale-blue silk with a fine gold stripe, and his cravat was edged with lace. Abdas, at his shoulder, was a little taller than Max, and he cut an athletic figure. More than one head turned at the sight of the aristocratic nobleman and his companion.

  They paused on the threshold of the Black Boys Inn, surveying the market square on which it stood. The square, known as such from its function rather than from its shape, which was not exact, sloped slightly, with the inn occupying one of its upper corners. They walked slowly around the square, pausing at the corner diagonally opposite to the inn. In front of them was a fine shop, well appointed and of a good size, displaying all kinds of haberdashery goods in the window.

  Max turned to Abdas. ‘This part of the world is famous for its cloth, or so I’m told,’ he said. ‘What say we take a look?’

  ‘And here was I thinking that you’d got enou
gh coats,’ murmured Abdas.

  ‘Not nearly,’ Max retorted. ‘Why, I’ll wager I might have to wear one of them twice before Christmas!’ Then he went on more seriously, ‘I’m just wondering how they get their fabrics away from here and onto the market. It can’t be more than ten miles to the coast, compared to a long, tedious journey to London by road. There might be a new venture for both of us.’

  The shop was already busy with customers. A stout man was just concluding his purchase, whilst an elderly lady was waiting for a young assistant to bring some lace from a top shelf by means of a ladder. Two other ladies were admiring a length of stuff which was being displayed to them by a well-dressed man standing behind the counter, on which a large quantity of material was laid out.

  ‘And I think, ladies, that you will find that this will be admirably suited to your purpose, although this also—’ At that moment, he looked up and took in the exalted nature of the customer who had just entered. Breaking off his sentence with a cursory ‘Excuse me’, he beckoned a young assistant over to attend to the ladies, and came around the counter, bowing. ‘Welcome to my establishment,’ he said obsequiously. ‘In what way might I serve you?’

  Max’s response was utterly instinctive. ‘By finishing your transaction with these ladies,’ he said promptly, bowing slightly in their direction as they turned. His words were courteous, and no less than would be expected of any gentleman.

  Miss Church had realized the exact moment when a customer whom the proprietor perceived as being more significant than themselves had come into the shop. Mr Planter, who had until that moment been almost overpoweringly polite, was suddenly addressing his remarks over her shoulder in the direction of the door. Moments later, he had bustled away importantly, leaving the poor assistant whom he had summoned quite at a loss as to what he was expected to be doing.