“Impressive,” he muttered, as the immaculately liveried footman jumped down from his seat on the back of the vehicle and opened the glazed door for them. Liam helped Xanthe to step up and into the carriage. She had yet to master the art of elegantly getting about in her new dress. While the stays were not madly tight, the narrowness of the skirt and their full length forced her to take small strides and frequently lift the hem. Despite these handicaps, she was delighted with the printed cotton dress Betty and Mr. Pinkerton had chosen and made for her in such a short time. The tiny forget-me-not flowers printed onto a moss green background gave the dress a freshness and prettiness that she loved. She had even forgone her beloved boots for a pair of kitten-heeled shoes, which looked perfectly the part.
The interior of the carriage had plush red padded seats, set facing one another across a spacious footwell. As the door was closed Liam tapped the roof with his cane. “A soft top. I didn’t know they had convertibles way back.”
Xanthe signaled to him to keep his voice down but the driver had already cracked his whip, sending the horses forward at a smart trot, so that the noise of their ironclad hooves on the street and the rumbling of the wheels meant any conversation inside the landau could not be heard outside.
“It is a beautiful thing,” Xanthe said, running her hand over the velvet cushions, peering out through the window that afforded a neatly framed view of the little town as the driver adeptly navigated the cobbled streets. “The Wilcoxes can’t be short of money to keep something like this.”
“This does feel a bit more special than your average family vehicle,” Liam agreed. “Fantastic suspension, can you feel it? I’d have thought anything like this would have been a bone shaker, but it’s a pretty smooth ride. Amazing. And it shifts too!” He beamed as they left Bradford and picked up speed along the open road heading west. “Only four horsepower and it’s got better acceleration than my MG.”
“It’s a bit more comfortable than the stagecoach I traveled in when I was here in 1605.”
Liam shook his head slowly. “The stuff that comes out of your mouth.”
“I know, it all takes a bit of getting used to. But it’s real.”
“Yup,” he said, pushing his hat a little farther back on his head, “and that is what makes me feel more than a little bit crazy.”
“It gets easier,” she assured him. “Which is when you have to be even more careful. Don’t let your guard down. Remember…”
“I know, quiet and moody, no chatter, no jokes…”
“How did you get on at the inn last night? I heard you come home late.”
“They don’t seem to have a chucking-out time. Luckily the beer is pretty weak, otherwise I’d have been snoring under a table in there still. Quite the drinkers, the locals round here, and, well, I had to match them.”
“Of course.”
“But it was worth it. The barman was either busy or cagey; didn’t get much out of him. There were a few snooty types who sat at tables and didn’t go near the bar, just waited to be waited on and kept themselves to themselves.”
“It was like that even a couple of centuries ago. Spies and traitors everywhere, was what people thought. Everyone suspected everyone of either being treasonous or being about to denounce them as treasonous. The chocolate house was one of the few places people felt they could talk freely. Things should be calmer now, though. The wars are over. From what I know, the Prince Regent might be unpopular but he is accepted as ruler.”
“He’s your party animal, by all accounts. Throws money around, endless balls and fun and more clothes than he can ever wear, and mad vanity building projects. Not popular is right, but I get the feeling people are more interested in just getting their lives and their businesses back on track.”
“Wars always hit the poorest hardest.”
“Looks like. But, gossip is free, and every pub has its resident talker. In fact, the Rose and Crown Inn has two, and they compete with each other to tell the most scandalous tales.”
“Excellent!”
“It was. Though a lot of it wasn’t anything to do with what we’re here for. I had to sift through a fair amount of tabloid stuff. Remind me to tell you about the lonely farmer and the white donkey when we have a moment.”
“Can’t wait.”
“So, what I learned about Fairfax and the Wilcoxes. First up, despite this awesome, high-spec set of wheels, Mr. Wilcox is practically broke.”
“Things are that bad? But they are such an old family, and the estate is huge…”
“It’s also falling to bits. Partly due to lack of workers, with so many of the men lost to fighting Napoleon, but mainly due to bad investments. Seems Wilcox loves to entertain, hunting parties, shooting, having loads of people to stay … and this was all funded by the family wealth, which took a severe hit when the treasury changed taxes and stuff to fund the war. Looks like he was badly advised, put money in the wrong places to try and increase his income, and practically lost the lot.”
“So they need a wealthy husband for Petronella, and Fairfax was just waiting right there. How handy. Makes you wonder if he played a part in those ill-fated investments. I wouldn’t put it past him.”
“It gets worse. Not content, so Bob Darrington told me after his third pint, with marrying into high society and then waiting for his new bride to give him an heir to inherit the family pile, Fairfax gets Corsham Hall as part of Petronella’s dowry. Once they are married Mr. Wilcox will hand it over to him. And, just to keep an eye on his soon-to-be new home, I guess, he’s currently living in the dower house on the estate.”
“That is good news! Now we know where the astrolabe is. And the closer to the Wilcoxes the better, for us, if I can manage to build on this friendship with Petronella. Well done, Liam!”
“Might not be as helpful as you think. Apparently, Fairfax never invites anyone to his home, is fiercely protective of his privacy when he’s there, and keeps three burly footmen who look like they were chosen for their size and their handiness with their fists.”
“Damn.”
“Fairfax does have a bit of a reputation as an oddball around here. He’s from off, and no one has ever heard of his family. All they know is he has a lot of money.”
“Which will buy you status, if you know who’s selling.”
“Like Mr. Wilcox.”
“Like Mr. Wilcox.”
“Comes to something, when you have to sell your daughter.”
“It wasn’t uncommon. Making a good marriage was sometimes all a young woman could hope to do to restore the family fortune. She couldn’t inherit anything herself. She couldn’t earn any money. With no brothers to inherit the estate, it would have gone to some distant relative anyway once her father died.”
“Well, I don’t believe any half-decent father would marry his daughter off to a man like Fairfax if he knew what he was really like. At least we can tell him, warn them.”
“It’s not that simple,” Xanthe explained. “If they were to call off the wedding, what would they do? The money’s got to come from somewhere. She has to marry someone.”
As the reality of the poor girl’s situation hit home, they continued their journey in silence for a while. Xanthe held on to a tiny hope that somehow she would be able to find a way to help Petronella beyond ridding her of Fairfax.
“Wow,” said Liam a moment later, leaning close to the window to lower it and get a better view. “That is some house.”
Corsham Hall, revealing itself in glimpses as they sped along the avenue of lime trees, did indeed look impressive under the warm summer sunshine. The grand Georgian facade, with its handsome classical proportions, clean lines, and generous windows, looked very much to Xanthe as it had when she had attended the sale there. The trees along the driveway were smaller with no gaps in their number, having not yet weathered so many storms. There were, of course, no electricity wires or cables to interest the view, and no cars. Instead the parkland was dotted with sheep, the gravel appro
ach bordered with low box hedge and some splendid topiary, and the sweep leading on toward the east side of the house where the stables were. The driver pulled the puffing horses to a halt outside the front entrance and the footman jumped down from his perch to open the carriage door. Xanthe and Liam had barely stepped down when a maid in spotless apron and mob cap scurried out from the front of the house and nimbly descended the broad steps. She bobbed a curtsey to the guests.
“If you please, miss, sir—Miss Wilcox asked that you be brought to the garden directly.” With that she turned for the side of the house. They followed, Liam twisting this way and that to try to take in the house and grounds as the maid led them quickly through the formal parterre and across to the iron gate that opened into the huge walled garden. Xanthe felt a pang at the memory of bringing Flora to this very place, and of watching the wonder on her face as she had taken it all in. Although she still worried about what Fairfax might do in her own time, she felt so much better now that her mother knew where she was and why. As the maid let them through the gate they were spotted by Petronella, who at once put down her trug and hurried to greet them.
“Miss Westlake! How happy I am you are here. Come, Evangeline!” she called to the slender girl who at that moment was enjoying the swing seat beneath an arbor of white roses. Her sister looked to be about twelve years old, with delicate features, lighter hair than her sibling, and abundant energy.
Xanthe bobbed a slow curtsey and Liam managed a good bow, remembering to remove his hat. “Thank you for inviting us,” she said. “This is my brother, Liam.”
“Miss Wilcox.” He succeeded in looking quite somber until Evangeline leapt off the swing with a giggle and came running over. Her glee was infectious and Xanthe watched as he smiled broadly, took her hand, and kissed it lightly, executing another impressive bow as he did so. “Miss Evangeline, I believe. Delighted to make your acquaintance,” he said carefully.
Petronella reached out and straightened the sash on her sister’s dress, the bow of which had become crooked. “Evangeline shares my passion for the garden,” she said, “though less for love of flowers, and more for the opportunity to run wild.”
“I am pleased to meet you, Mr. Westlake, Miss Westlake, and I am not such an unrefined creature as my sister would have you believe,” she insisted, performing a wobbly curtsey with a determinedly straight face, which she only maintained long enough to make Petronella smile, before falling into giggles again.
“Fortunately,” Petronella said, “we do not stand on ceremony here at Corsham. Without the civilizing influence of a mother all these years we are shockingly casual in our habits, and Father has always encouraged us in activities that take us outside the house. He was disappointed not to have boys, d’you see?”
Liam shook his head. “I do not believe any father could possibly be disappointed with two such delightful daughters,” he said.
If Xanthe could have nudged him without being noticed she would have done so, hoping to remind him to keep quiet whenever possible, rather than venturing into the risky business of paying compliments. It was already becoming clear that their plan for him to be the moody, mysterious type was never going to work. His efforts were well received, however. Evangeline looked at him closely.
“What uncommon hair you have,” she said.
“Evangeline!” Petronella hissed at her.
Liam lifted his hat again and gave a shrug. “I confess I am not much bothered about my hair,” he said, adding, “there are so many better things to be doing, don’t you agree?”
“Oh yes!” Evangeline nodded. “I swear I would sooner cut all my hair off, it is such a nuisance with rags to be tied in at night and pins to tame it by day. How much easier it would be to climb a tree or scramble down a riverbank free from the fuss of ringlets and coils.”
“Do you often climb trees?” Xanthe asked.
“Only when Petronella is not looking,” she replied.
Her sister corrected her, “Rather, when you think me distracted. I always know what you are about, Evie, you cannot have it otherwise.”
Evangeline frowned a little. “Then you will know I have set up the pall-mall on the far side of the delphinium beds. Let us play before tea!”
“Our guests have just this minute arrived.…”
“And will be stiff from sitting in the carriage and in need of activity if they are to enjoy their cake and sandwiches. Mr. Westlake, you will have a game, won’t you?”
Liam opened his mouth and closed it again, uncertain as to what was being asked of him. He shot Xanthe a look, brows raised.
Xanthe scanned the garden for clues and was thankful to glimpse two croquet mallets propped up against a far wall.
“My brother would be happy to play. He thinks himself quite the expert,” she leaned closer to Evangeline and whispered, “only he has a shameless disregard for the rules, so see he does not cheat!”
“Indeed he will not!” Evangeline laughed, taking him by the hand and leading him at the run toward the flat piece of grass beyond the flower bed.
Liam looked back at Xanthe with an expression of mild panic but she was reasonably confident he would do a good job of keeping Evangeline occupied while she talked to Petronella.
“There,” Petronella took Xanthe’s arm, “my sister is happy and I have you to myself. Come, I have so looked forward to showing you the roses. Now, you must not mind that some are not at their best. July is a hard month for them, with the spring and early summer varieties over and the August blooms not yet come. But here, my favorites are lovely still, see?”
“Oh, yes, these are beautiful.” She touched the nearest flower, a blowsy white rose with the most delicious scent. “You will have plenty to choose from for your wedding,” she said, watching closely for the girl’s reaction to mention of her upcoming nuptials.
Petronella gave little away. “They must not be picked a moment sooner than is necessary or they will wilt terribly in this heat,” was all she said.
Xanthe tried again. “Such an exciting day. Your father must be very proud; I hear your fiancé has a fair fortune,” she said, fighting against the modern British reserve that made her uncomfortable even mentioning money, particularly when linked to the choice of a husband. She told herself these were different times. To be marrying to secure the future of the family was a thing to be applauded, an achievement, not a reason for sadness or embarrassment.
Petronella turned away from the roses for a moment to watch her sister, her face showing a mixture of love and sadness. “We do what we can for those who rely upon us. It is a simple matter, when the way forward is so clear,” she said.
Xanthe asked as gently as she could, “Forgive me, but you are a young woman, do you not yearn for love?”
Petronella turned back to her roses. Even in profile, Xanthe was able now to detect the sorrow in her expression. “Believe me when I tell you I have known great love, Miss Westlake. I was engaged, you see, to Edward Steerwell. He was an officer in the King’s Lancers, which is a noble and wonderful thing to be. Alas, in time of war, it is also a perilous occupation, and one he did not survive.”
“I’m … so very sorry.”
“Do not pity me. I have known love, which is more than many can say, it is not?” She looked at Xanthe then, the composed, stoic smile back in place.
Xanthe was thrown by this admission of heartbreak and at a loss for a reply. She was still trying to find the right words when the sound of fast-moving horses interrupted the moment. The others heard it too. Evangeline broke off her game and ran to the second gate in the far wall, Liam following on. Petronella muttered a small sound of disappointment under her breath but then recovered herself.
“Here is Father and his party home from their ride, and sooner than expected. He will be pleased to meet you both. Though, I confess I am disappointed not to have more time with you, Miss Westlake. I should so like to know you better.”
“Please, call me Xanthe.”
“I sh
all!” she said, taking her hand. “And you must call me Nell, for it is my family name, and I feel we will be firm friends, you and I. Come, let us meet the men before they take it into their hot heads to bring the horses into my garden!”
As they stepped through the gate and onto the expanse of lawn they had a clear view of the park as it flowed away from the house, and three riders approaching at speed. The horses’ flanks were foam flecked and their necks glistened with sweat from fast riding on a warm day. The front rider of the trio was an older man whom Xanthe took to be Mr. Wilcox. He carried a little more weight than was healthy and his complexion betrayed a love of port wine and good food, but he looked vigorous and strong. The second man rode a showy black horse which still fought for its head even after a long ride. The man appeared completely untroubled by his mount’s antics, looking as at ease in the saddle as if he had been born there. The third member of the party was not such a natural horseman yet exuded an air of confidence and seriousness, and even at a hundred paces his demeanor and his eye patch meant Xanthe was able to recognize him at once.
13
“Father!” Evangeline ran to greet the riders, making a fuss of her father’s horse, not in the least concerned about getting her hands or dress dirty. Xanthe could tell she was a child who longed to be active, outdoors, and generally engaging in things that were considered unseemly for a young lady. She did not envy her the constraints of her life. “We have this moment begun a game of pall-mall; say you will join us.”
“Let us at least dismount before you pester us, child. Nell, can you not teach your sister patience?”
“I fear she has not the capacity for it. Much like her father.” Petronella smiled.
“Ha! As ever, I am to blame, I see.” He lowered himself somewhat heavily from his horse as grooms appeared, hurrying from the direction of the stables. “Yet, I know my daughter has manners enough to introduce our visitors,” he said, looking first at Liam and then at Xanthe.
The Garden of Promises and Lies Page 18