‘I do not think that your mama would see it that way, Frances! And truly, it is not a very good idea!’
Lavender broke off. It was difficult to counsel sense to Frances when the idea actually held some appeal. To be the courier for Frances’s letters to James Oliver, and have an excuse to see Barney Hammond again without having to buy another unnecessary pair of gloves…Lavender shook her head sharply. She knew that now she was just being foolish. If James Oliver was not an acceptable suitor for the granddaughter of a Duke, Barney Hammond was even less so for an Admiral’s daughter. Besides, Frances did at least have some grounds for believing her feelings reciprocated. Lavender gazed at the sparkling lake and reflected miserably that she had no such basis for believing that Barney liked her. He had been courteous, kind even, and she had imagined that he might have wanted to kiss her, but that was all it was—imagination. And it was high time she accepted the truth.
Chapter Five
They left Riding Park two days later, sped on their way by good wishes and promises to visit from all the Covingham family. Frances had hugged Lavender and sworn that she would write, despite reminding her that she was the very worst correspondent in the whole world. The Covinghams planned to stay another two to three weeks in the country before making their way to London for the Little Season, and Frances was torn between high delight at the thought of her début in society and continued melancholy over her feelings for Mr Oliver.
The carriage was comfortable and Caroline dozed a little as they made slow progress along the narrow lanes. Lavender stared out of the window, and Lewis read one of the books that he had stopped to collect in Northampton. He had also picked up a parcel for Barney Hammond whilst he was there, for the bookseller, knowing that the Brabants were from Steep Abbot, had asked if they would undertake the delivery. Lavender wished that Lewis had refused but her brother, ever obliging, had cheerfully taken the commission.
Lavender looked at the parcel for Barney and, despite herself, wondered what it contained. Perhaps it was another medical dictionary for his mother, or some work of fiction for his sister. She remembered his references to his studies and wondered suddenly if these were academic books, and whether this was another of Barney’s secrets. Perhaps he read Byron of an evening, seated in the drawing-room of the fine house that the Hammonds owned in Abbot Quincey. She tried to imagine it—for a moment she actually tried to place herself there, before the fire, with her botanical sketches and her works of scientific reference. Then her imagination fixed upon her sharing a fireside with Arthur Hammond, and her mind shuddered at the picture. Decidedly that would not do. Whichever fortunate young lady ended up as Barney’s choice, she would have to love him a great deal to tolerate such a father-in-law.
Lavender looked out across the fields. The hedges and trees were fading from red and gold to the bare brown of winter. She usually loved the turning of the year, but just at the moment it made her feel sad. She looked up to see that Lewis had put down his book and was regarding her solemnly.
‘What is it, sis? You look blue-devilled!’
Lavender smiled at the childhood appellation. ‘I suppose it is just the loss of company. I had not expected to get pleasure from our visit to Riding Park, yet I had a prodigiously enjoyable time of it!’
Lewis nodded. ‘Yes, it was most agreeable. And now we are thrown back on our own company—’
‘Well, it will suffice!’ Lavender suddenly felt more cheerful. ‘I shall enjoy seeing Hewly again and besides, if we are short of company we may always invite Julia to stay—’
They laughed together.
‘You may mock,’ Caroline said sleepily, uncurling from her corner, ‘but I heard her say that she would call! And she is still a sort of cousin, for all her misdemeanours!’
They started to discuss the ball.
‘It is strange, is it not,’ Caroline said, as the carriage rattled along, picking up speed now, ‘how a man so pushing as Arthur Hammond should have produced a son as charming as Barney. One would think that he would not have it in him!’
Her words stirred a memory in Lavender’s mind, a picture of herself taking tea with Nanny Pryor in the cottage on the estate where her old nurse had moved in her retirement. It had been two years ago, or perhaps three. They had been chatting and Lavender had idly said to the nurse that the Hammonds all had very distinctive dark good looks, apart from Arthur Hammond, who was fair and florid. And Nanny Pryor had poured the tea into the flowered china cups and had said that the Hammonds had all been fair in the male line until Arthur Hammond’s grandfather had married a Spanish girl, and that Barney Hammond had inherited his looks from his mother. Lavender could remember the pursed look on Nanny Pryor’s face, the prim expression that always preceded a major piece of gossip. Then, sure enough, the nurse had said that Barney was really Hammond’s nephew and not his son at all…
‘I had heard that Barney is not Hammond’s real son—’ Lavender said thoughtfully, breaking off at the look of astonishment on the faces of Lewis and Caroline. ‘At least, that is the rumour,’ she added, a little hesitantly, ‘but I have no notion if it is true…’
Lewis was frowning. ‘I have never heard that tale, Lavender. Where did you get it from?’
‘Nanny Pryor told me,’ Lavender said, blushing to be repeating gossip. ‘She said that Eliza Hammond was Barney’s mother, making Arthur Hammond his uncle, not his father. No one knew who his real father was, but there are those who say that it was the Marquis of Sywell…’
Lewis whistled. ‘Well, there are enough of Sywell’s brats about the county, it’s true! What became of Eliza Hammond herself?’
‘She died in childbirth and never spoke the name of her lover,’ Lavender said. ‘At least that is what Nanny Pryor said. Apparently the Hammonds took the child as their own and never spoke of it again. I had almost forgot the tale until just now.’
Caroline raised her eyebrows. ‘It’s an intriguing story! It would certainly explain why Hammond treats Barney as a type of glorified shop manager rather than a true son!’
The others looked at her enquiringly. ‘Well,’ Caroline pointed out, ‘have you never observed that Hammond has sent his second son—his eldest son, if the tale is true—away to university whilst poor Barney is expected to work in the shop? Hammond has been so successful and is such a social climber, that he grooms his children as ladies and gentlemen! The boys have a tutor and the girls a governess, and he clearly feels the shop not good enough for them. What man would not, having achieved what he has done? And this gives him the best of both worlds, for whilst they may inherit his fortune, Barney will be there to carry on the business!’
Lavender turned to look out of the window. She did not wish her face to betray her. She had given little thought to the old tale before, for the Abbey villages were always full of gossip, but now it made her wonder—and it made her burn with indignation for Barney. She could not see why he should be made to suffer twice over, once for being illegitimate, and a second time because he was obliged to do Hammond’s bidding to earn his keep. That would explain why he kept so much a secret from his family, the adoptive relatives with whom he did not quite fit.
‘I cannot see that it would be much advantage to be another of Sywell’s by-blows,’ Lewis was saying. ‘Unlikely that a man would inherit any good looks or charm from that quarter!’
‘Do you think that they will ever discover who murdered the Marquis?’ Caroline asked idly, with a little shiver. ‘Ugh! It gives me the horrors to think of someone creeping about that old barn of an Abbey intent on murder!’
Lavender turned away again. This was one conversation that she certainly did not intend to join, for it pricked her conscience. There were certain things that she knew, things she had seen, that the Lord Lieutenant who was investigating the Marquis’s murder would be very interested to know. But she could never tell…
‘I do declare we are become as good gossips as anyone in the kingdom,’ Caroline said, on a yawn. ‘It must be the
Covinghams’ influence! Lord, I am tired, though! I am glad we are nearly home!’
The coach had almost reached Steep Abbott now. Lavender sat back and watched the trees of Steep Wood press in on the road. In the distance she could see the curve of the river. It was familiar and beautiful, and it did a little to assuage the ache in her heart. There was no doubt, though, that the remedy for her indisposition lay in her own hands. She would have to avoid Barney Hammond, at least until this foolish tendre she had developed had faded away. Then she might be able to treat him with equanimity. Now she had no such chance.
The following day saw Lavender walking into Abbot Quincey, in direct contradiction of what she knew to be her own best interests. Lewis had originally intended to take the gig out and drive round the estate, visiting Abbot Quincey afterwards to deliver Barney’s books and make a number of other calls. However, the tenant of Hewlton, a farm some three miles away, had called on Lewis urgently to discuss the problem of a fallen tree that had breached the estate wall. The two men were closeted in Lewis’s study and Caroline had suggested gently that Lavender might like to visit the Percevals—and hand over the books on the way.
Lavender had wanted to refuse but could not think of an adequate excuse. Part of her wanted to confide her feelings in Caroline anyway, but the other part was in such a turmoil that she knew not what she might say. In the end she had agreed, and had taken the package of books and an offering of apples from the Newton Wonder tree for Lady Perceval.
Barney was serving in the shop when she went in, and was just handing a parcel over to an elderly lady, coming around the counter to hold the door for her with a word and a smile. Lavender dodged behind a bolt of nankeen in order to avoid Arthur Hammond, who had not yet seen her. She waited until Barney was back behind the counter, then popped out from behind the roll of material and leaned across the work top. ‘Mr Hammond!’ she hissed.
Barney raised his eyebrows, looking faintly amused. ‘Miss Brabant? Is something amiss?’
Lavender frowned at him. ‘Pray lean closer, sir!’
Barney obligingly bent forward. ‘Yes, Miss Brabant?’
‘I have some books for you,’ Lavender whispered. ‘I thought you might not wish your father to see—’
Barney glanced over his shoulder at Arthur Hammond, who was draping a roll of sarsenet around a pillar and humming under his breath.
‘Books from Northampton?’ Barney whispered. Lavender nodded, though she was not really concentrating on his words. She noticed that his eyes were very dark brown indeed, with a ring of black around the iris. His eyelashes were incredibly thick and black, and his hair looked so soft and silky…
‘Miss Brabant!’ Barney said sharply, and Lavender jumped, blushing.
‘Yes?’
Barney looked faintly exasperated. ‘I will unroll a bolt of cambric on the counter. Slide the books beneath.’
Lavender scrabbled in her basket, gave Arthur Hammond a quick glance to ensure that he was not watching, and slid the package beneath the material.
‘Thank you!’ Barney gave her his heart-shaking smile. He looked over her shoulder and the smile faded. ‘Not to your taste, Miss Brabant?’ he asked, suddenly formal. ‘Perhaps the sarsenet? There is an elegant display over by the pillar…’
Lavender sensed rather than saw Arthur Hammond standing directly behind them. She turned and threw him a dazzling smile.
‘Mr Hammond! We were so very impressed by your emporium in Northampton, sir! Lady Anne Covingham was saying that it is the finest store in the whole town…’ She edged towards the door, still talking, and saw to her relief that Barney had eased the books under the counter and out of sight. Arthur Hammond was preening himself and basking in her flattery, and he saw her out of the door with many fulsome compliments and thanks, totally failing to notice that Lavender had bought nothing at all.
She walked rapidly away from the shop and only paused to draw breath when she reached the Angel inn. She reflected that she was not really cut out for deception, even so simple a deception as this. It made her wonder why Barney had to hide his academic pursuits from his father, but she supposed that if Arthur Hammond was determined that his adopted son should concentrate his attentions on the shop, he might be incensed to think that Barney was distracted by other interests.
Lavender slowed her pace and paused to adjust her bonnet. It was a sunny day, but rather more humid than of late. She had forgotten her parasol again, despite Caroline’s reminder.
There was the sound of running feet and Lavender turned to see Ellen Hammond hurrying down the road towards her, as she had done the day after Lavender had taken the kittens in.
‘Miss Brabant!’ Ellen was out of breath. ‘Barney asked me to give you a message. He thanks you for bringing his books and asks if it would be possible for you to do so again when his next delivery arrives.’ She blushed. ‘Our father, you know, is most disapproving of Barney’s studies—’
‘I understand,’ Lavender said quickly, wondering just what it was that Barney could be studying so secretly. She was torn, for on the one hand there was something appealing about being drawn into a conspiracy with him, even over a matter as inconsequential as some secret books. On the other, she knew it was a foolish indulgence, tempting because it would lead to further meetings…But Ellen was looking at her with such entreaty and it was impossible to resist.
‘Please tell your brother that I should be only too happy if he wishes his books to be sent to Hewly,’ Lavender said.
Ellen gave her a radiant smile. ‘Oh thank you, Miss Brabant! You are so kind!’
They walked a little way down the road together, Ellen confiding artlessly about how hard Barney had to work and how he sometimes studied late into the night, poring over his books by candlelight. In return, Lavender told her that the kittens were growing fast on a diet of kitchen scraps provided by the indulgent servants, and that they were too lazy to catch the mice that scratched in the barn outside. She and Ellen parted company, the best of good friends, at the entrance to Perceval Hall, and Lavender watched the girl skip away up the road back into the town. Her own step was slower. There was no doubt that it would have been wiser for her to refuse Barney’s request, leave well alone, avoid him…Unfortunately her own heart was now engaged and common sense had nothing to do with it.
The next consignment of books arrived ten days later. Lavender had spent the afternoon with Caroline in the garden, where her sister-in-law was advising Belton, the gardener, on the restoration project. It was Lewis and Caroline’s intention to re-create the gardens of a hundred years before, when Hewly had been part of the Perceval estate. Then, as Belton never ceased to remind them, the Hewly Manor gardens had been considered amongst the finest in Northamptonshire.
It was another hot day and the sun was low as Lavender trailed back inside. She had been in the kitchen garden, where the damson, walnut and greengage trees had provided some shade against the unseasonably hot sun. Although she had been speaking knowledgeably of fruit trees and cold frames with Caroline and Belton, most of Lavender’s mind had been preoccupied with thoughts of how and when she would contact Barney. It was Sunday on the morrow and although they might all meet up at Abbot Quincey church, she could scarcely attend with a parcel of books tucked under her arm.
The stone-flagged hallway of the Manor was cool in comparison with outside, and so dark that Lavender at first failed to see the figure waiting patiently at the bottom of the stairs. She jumped as he stepped forward, and she saw with a little leap of the heart that it was Barney Hammond himself.
‘Miss Brabant!’ Barney came forward quickly, sketching her a bow. ‘Forgive me for troubling you, ma’am. I was at pains to deliver your order as soon as it was ready.’
He held out a parcel that was wrapped in brown paper and tied with a ribbon. Lavender took it automatically, looking a little confused.
‘My order?’ she echoed. ‘But I did not—’
Barney shot her a warning glance. One of the m
aids was polishing the banisters, dusting assiduously as she edged ever closer to them.
‘Oh, that order!’ Lavender said, hoping she did not sound too hen-witted. ‘How kind you are, Mr Hammond! I was not expecting it so soon!’
‘Would you care to open it to see if the goods are of the appropriate quality?’
Lavender unwrapped the package hesitantly. It was a shawl, silky as gossamer and blue to match her eyes. She looked from it to Barney and saw that he was smiling.
‘It is beautiful! But—’
‘I wondered, perhaps,’ Barney said quickly, ‘whether you had anything to return to me, Miss Brabant? You mentioned that there was a fault in the cambric you purchased—’
‘Oh, indeed!’ Lavender said, catching his meaning. She had been puzzled by the delivery of the shawl but now saw that it was just a useful excuse. ‘By chance, I was only examining that today, sir. It is indeed a pity, but I believe the consignment must be returned to you.’
‘I am happy to wait if you would care to hand it back,’ Barney said. ‘However, if it is not convenient, perhaps…later?’
Lavender paused. Rosie was giving the banisters such a polish that Lavender feared they might wear away. She knew she could dismiss the maid so that she could talk to Barney freely, but that would only cause further speculation in the servants’ hall. She could not really invite him into the drawing-room either, for that simply did not happen when the draper was delivering an order. She bit her lip. She did not like the feelings of snobbery that the whole situation engendered. In fact, it seemed all wrong for Barney to be waiting on her like this.
‘If you would be good enough to call some other time, sir…I need to fetch the material and package it up, and would not care to keep you waiting…’
‘I would be happy to return later,’ Barney said meaningfully. ‘After dinner? Perhaps we could meet as we have done before, Miss Brabant…’
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