Despite all Lavender’s prayers for rain, the following morning was dry. Frances was adamant that they were to walk into Abbot Quincey and quiz Barney Hammond on the origin of his book, and although Lavender hung back from the proposed trip, she thought it only fair to acquaint him with his possible connection with the Kenton family.
It was a lovely day. The sun was bright and warm and the hedgerows were full of birds, but for once Lavender did not wish to stop and enjoy the sights and sounds of the country. The roads were a little muddy, and after a mile Frances was already complaining that it was an unconscionable distance. To Lavender it seemed all too short. In no time they were in Abbot Quincey and walking up the main street, and she was glad of the moral support of Frances and Lady Anne.
‘Back straight, chin up!’ She could imagine the Admiral admonishing her as she walked past the curious stares of the passers-by. ‘Nothing to be ashamed of, girl!’
Lavender straightened her back and looked directly ahead of her, yet even as she was walking past the Angel inn and the bakers and the milliners she was wondering which of these people had seen her with Barney at the pool and had hurried to spread their gossip.
The draper’s shop was busy and it seemed that all conversation ceased as they crossed the threshold. Lavender’s gaze had gone immediately to the counter, where Arthur Hammond was serving a customer. Of Barney himself there was no sign. Lavender did not know whether to be glad or sorry, and part of her simply wanted to turn and run.
Arthur Hammond looked up and his florid face registered indecision. It was the first occasion on which Lavender had ever seen him display hesitation when confronted by customers from the nobility. Clearly her own position was now equivocal since she had refused to marry his adoptive son, and no doubt he was still smarting over the way that Lewis had summarily evicted him from Hewly. On the other hand, Lady Anne and Miss Covingham were too important to be ignored. He hovered, came forward, fell back again, and finally brought himself to address them.
‘Ladies,’ he pointedly refused to look directly at Lavender, ‘how may I help you?’
Lady Anne and Frances both looked at Lavender, who was hoping that she might quietly sink through the floor.
‘I would like…I had hoped…to see Mr Barnabas Hammond…’
A whisper ran through the other customers, who had edged closer to listen, pretending an interest in the bolts of material that were closest to where Lavender stood. Arthur Hammond’s face hardened with dislike.
‘My son is from home! Beg pardon, Miss Brabant, but I have work to attend to and no time for idle chatter!’
Lady Anne looked down her nose at him and swept the two girls out of the shop without further ado.
‘That man is so unpleasantly pushing and rag-mannered,’ she observed crossly. ‘Remind me not to patronise his shops again, Frances!’
‘Yes, Mama.’ Frances seemed quite cast down for once. ‘You might at least have made a push to discover where Mr Hammond had gone, Lavender!’ she whispered under her breath. ‘Now we shall never solve the mystery!’
Lavender did not reply. She was feeling so miserable that she would happily have left the mystery of Barney’s parentage where it belonged—in the past. First she had bolstered herself up to see him, then her hopes had been dashed by Hammond, and the whole experience had been so unpleasant that she thought she would never set foot in the draper’s shop again. It was fortunate that she had already bought herself so many hats and gloves—now she need not go shopping for several years.
‘I am to call on Lady Perceval,’ Lady Anne said as they reached the gates of the Hall. ‘Do you girls wish to accompany me?’
‘No, thank you, Mama,’ Frances said listlessly, after a glance at Lavender’s face. ‘We shall go back to Hewly.’
‘Very well. Make sure that you return directly and do not wander—’
‘No, Mama…’
‘And do not take a short cut through the woods and become lost—’
‘No, Mama…’
‘And I shall see you shortly. No doubt I shall take the carriage back…’
‘Yes, Mama…’
They walked on in silence and Lavender was glad that Frances had the delicacy not to chatter. For once her irrepressible friend seemed as cast down as she.
It was the sound of hooves upon the road that drew them both from their respective apathy. Frances caught Lavender’s arm and pulled her on to the grass verge and almost into the hedge.
‘Lavender, be careful!’ Her voice lifted. ‘Well, upon my word! It is Mr Hammond—and Mr Oliver!’
Lavender had never seen Barney riding before and had not even known he could. The thought brought a slight smile to her lips, for was it not just another of his secrets? He sat the black hunter with ease and competence, and beside him James Oliver brought his grey under control with a slight touch on the rein. He raised his hat.
‘Miss Covingham! Miss Brabant! This is the most delightful surprise!’
Casting a fleeting glance at Barney’s face, Lavender felt that his surprise was not of the delightful sort. His dark gaze was resting on her, but with none of the warmth or pleasure that she would have hoped to see. This was decidedly awkward. She had wondered what her reception would be and now she knew. He had reluctantly proposed and she had refused and now there was nothing left but cold pride.
James Oliver dismounted with alacrity, to loop his reins over his arm and walk alongside Frances with a touchingly eager pleasure. Barney on the other hand looked as though he might ride straight past with only the slightest of acknowledgements. Then, evidently succumbing to his own innate courtesy, he swung down from the saddle and came to stand beside her.
‘Miss Brabant. You are well?’
‘Yes, I thank you, sir…’ Lavender could feel the colour coming into her face, the embarrassment that made it almost impossible to look at him. She made an effort. ‘And you? I hope…That is…I hope you are well also?’
‘Yes, thank you.’
There was a silence, in marked contrast to the chatter of Frances and Mr Oliver, who were strolling ahead. It was evidently Mr Oliver’s intention to walk with them back to Hewly, and suddenly it seemed to Lavender a very long way to be filled with silences. She was going to have to broach the matter of the book, if only to pass the time. She cleared her throat.
‘Mr Hammond, it is timely that we should meet, for there was something that I wished to ask you.’
‘Yes, Miss Brabant?’
Lavender thought that Barney sounded ever-so-slightly bored.
‘It is about the book that you gave me. I wondered about it because I remember you telling me that you inherited it from your mother, yet it has the arms of Kenton inside the cover. Do you know anything more of its history?’
Barney looked blank. Worse, Lavender thought, he looked totally uninterested. ‘I fear not, Miss Brabant.’
Lavender sighed. It was going to be even more difficult than she had anticipated if he was going to answer her in monosyllables.
‘Are you certain? It could be very important! You see—’ She took a deep breath. ‘Sir Thomas Kenton saw the book when he called at Hewly, and claimed that it had once been in his library. He had given it to his son John. Yet the book was left to you by your mother and there must be some mystery here—’
‘I do not imagine so.’ Barney glanced down at her, his dark eyes indifferent. ‘No doubt this John Kenton left the book somewhere and my mother picked it up from curiosity—or perhaps tidiness! She was a housemaid, after all!’ Now Lavender heard some feeling in his voice, the anger of a man who was tired of being reminded of the scandal and mystery of his birth. No doubt Arthur Hammond had never ceased to remind him of his mother’s disgrace and his own charity. She hesitated, on the verge of giving up, but something made her persist.
‘I am sorry if my interest seems ill-bred—’
‘It does!’ Barney sounded plainly angry now. ‘In fact, Miss Brabant, it seems damnably impertinent! Can yo
u not just leave well alone?’
He had not raised his voice, but the hard edge to it made Lavender’s eyes smart. She had already been upset by Arthur Hammond’s rudeness and now Barney’s contempt and lack of interest caught her on the raw.
‘There is no cause for such discourtesy! I am only trying to help you, for it seems that John Kenton may have been your father!’
Barney dropped the horse’s reins and spun round on her. He caught her wrist in a grip that felt bruising.
‘And how will being the bastard son of this John Kenton help me, Miss Brabant? Do you know how many times I have tortured myself with thoughts of my father—doubt, speculation enough to drive a man to madness? How many times do you think that my uncle has spoken of my mother’s shame and the fact that she did not—could not—name her lover? I am sick with the thought of it all!’ His furious gaze pinned Lavender to the spot. ‘Do you think that knowing the name of the man who dishonoured her would make me one whit more acceptable as the suitor of an Admiral’s daughter? I think not! So cease your investigations, I beg, and do not pry into my history!’
Lavender stared at him. Wrapped up in her own unhappiness, it had not occurred to her that Barney might still be feeling bitter that he had nothing to offer her. She had thought herself so much better and braver than he for being prepared to dare all for his love. Now she saw that his torment sprung from the fact that he loved her just as much as she loved him but he would not relent until he felt he had something better to give her. The problem of his parentage just seemed to make matters more intractable. She put a hand on his arm.
‘Barney, you know that I—’
‘No!’ He shook her off furiously. ‘Lavender, I mean what I say! Do not interfere! And do not speak to me about this again!’
‘He seemed very angry,’ Frances said, awed, as they strolled in the Hewly Manor gardens that afternoon. ‘To think I had imagined Mr Hammond as the most placid gentleman in the world!’ She gave a giggle. ‘When he mounted his horse and took off across country like that I wondered what could possibly have happened! And all James could do was lament that the horse was one of the best in his stables, and like as not it would break a leg!’
Lavender gave a wan smile. ‘Well, I suppose I am well served for prying into Mr Hammond’s business! What man would care to have his antecedents picked over in such a way? I knew it yet still I persisted! It will be best to leave well alone now!’
Frances looked horrified. ‘Oh, no, you cannot do that! Why, ten to one we shall find that Eliza and John Kenton were married and that Mr Hammond is heir to a fortune! Oh, Lavender, do not give up now!’
Lavender shook her head. She pushed open the gate into the lavender walk and the two girls strolled up the stone path to the house. The heads of lavender were dead and grey, their scent faint now in the autumn. Lavender tried to lift her spirits.
‘You seemed to be getting on marvellously well with Mr Oliver, Frances—until your mama came along in the Perceval carriage!’
Frances smiled mischievously. ‘Yes, was that not bad luck! Mama looked quite put out! Still, I had the chance to tell Mr Oliver of our address in London, and he assures me he will contrive a meeting during the Little Season!’ She frowned a little. ‘I think him quite sincere, you know, and for all Mama’s concerns I am no silly miss to throw my bonnet over a windmill!’
Lavender thought that she was probably right. Frances was bright and insouciant but she was no fool, and no doubt Lady Anne would come round to the merits of the match. James Oliver might not have a title but he was as well connected as the Covinghams themselves and had a very tidy estate in Hertfordshire.
‘Now, Lavender,’ Frances was saying briskly, ‘there is only one more day before we leave for London and I must, positively must, get to the bottom of the Kenton mystery! So I have decided that there is only one thing for it!’
Lavender felt her heart sinking. Frances was a dear girl and a great friend, but she was also totally incorrigible.
‘Sir Thomas Kenton must hold the key to all this!’ Frances was saying. ‘And as he has already invited you to call, dearest Lavender, we may take him up on his offer tomorrow! It is decided! We are going to Kenton!’
Chapter Ten
Not surprisingly, Frances’s plan to visit Kenton the following day was greeted with disapproval. She was already in her mother’s bad books for having been found in conversation with Mr Oliver, and Lady Anne expressed the strong conviction that Frances should cease to behave like a hoyden and spend the day quietly resting before their journey.
During the late morning, whilst the ladies were taking a gentle stroll in the gardens, Frances grabbed Lavender’s arm and pulled her through the doorway into one of the walled orchards.
‘Lavender, I am resolved that we should go to Kenton in spite of everything!’ she whispered. ‘It is the only way! If we visit Sir Thomas he may be able to throw some light on the matter!’
‘Your mama—’ Lavender began.
‘Oh fie! We need not tell her!’ Frances’s eyes were bright. ‘Mrs Brabant always rests in the afternoons and like as not the other ladies will retire to their rooms! Mama certainly will if Mrs Chessford is about! I heard the gentlemen say that they plan to go out riding so they will not be back before dinner…It is ideal! We may ride over to Kenton in an hour and be back before nightfall!’
Lavender swallowed hard. ‘I do not believe I have quite your spirit of adventure, dear Frances! But I am happy to take the carriage!’
Frances looked disappointed. Clearly a staid carriage drive did not fit with her ideas of romantic adventure.
‘Oh, very well! I suppose that is better than nothing! Be sure to be ready directly after luncheon—pretend that you are taking a rest, then creep out to join me in the stable yard!’
That the plan worked at all was largely due to the fact that Caroline’s rooms faced west, away from the courtyard, and that she and Lady Anne were enjoying a chat in privacy. Julia, meanwhile, had driven into Abbot Quincey on an errand and the gentlemen were away across the other side of the estate. Lavender was tolerably certain that no one had seen them go.
‘Mama will be up on her high ropes when she finds out!’ Frances said gleefully, as the countryside rolled past. ‘But by then we may have solved the mystery of Mr Hammond’s ancestry! Oh, Lavender, it is so exciting!’
Lavender was not so sure. She was aware that she was behaving in an irresponsible manner ill-suited to a lady of three and twenty, and that she could be considered to be leading Miss Covingham astray. The fact that it had been Frances’s idea to take the secret journey to Kenton was beside the point, for she could hardly blame her friend when the recriminations started. She clenched her hands on her reticule. Then there was the fact that she was going against Barney’s expressed wishes, and that they might come away with no more idea of what had happened than they had had before…Lavender sat on the edge of her seat and wished for a more resilient spirit.
It was only ten miles to Kenton, and Lavender was still having serious misgivings by the time that the carriage drove through the trim village around the green, past the small stone church, and in at the gates of Kenton Hall. The stone wall was tumbledown and the deer park beyond was a mass of grass and wild flowers. Evidently Sir Thomas had neglected his grounds for his books, for the whole estate had about it an air of charming neglect.
The house came into view at the end of the drive, a compact building with golden stone and a red roof, much of it covered in ivy. The carriage sweep was thick with weeds. The girls got out and stood on the gravel. The first thing that struck Lavender was that it was quite silent; the house was shuttered and there was no sound but for the harsh cry of a peacock from the gardens.
Frances, whose yearning for adventure seemed suddenly to have deserted her, was looking about her a little apprehensively.
‘Perhaps Sir Thomas is from home? Lavender, shall we go back, now, at once—’
‘We cannot turn round and go tamely h
ome now!’ Lavender walked up to the oak front door and reached out decisively to pull the bell. She heard it jangle away in the depths of the house but there was no response. Sir Thomas, it seemed, was not at home.
‘Oh, there is someone down in the gardens!’ Frances was clutching her arm rather in the manner of someone about to run away. ‘Perhaps…Do you think…’
‘It is Sir Thomas!’ Lavender caught sight of the figure of Sir Thomas Kenton as he crossed the terrace and strolled down a grassy walk towards the lake. He was carrying a book, his head was bent, and he had evidently not noticed his visitors at all.
‘Sir Thomas!’ Lavender turned away from the door and hurried across the drive to the small path that led through a gateway into the formal gardens. Around this, the east wing of the house, the gardens were more neatly kept, with box hedges and clipped lawns. Now that she was closer, Lavender could hear Sir Thomas reading aloud in Latin as he walked. He looked a little startled to be accosted from a great distance, but then his face broke into a broad smile.
‘Miss Brabant! What a delightful surprise, my dear! How do you do?’
‘Sir Thomas—’ Lavender hurried forward to shake his hand. ‘How are you, sir?’ She drew Frances forward. ‘This is Miss Covingham. Pray excuse us for arriving without warning—’
‘Not at all, my dear!’ Sir Thomas beamed at them. He tucked his book away under his arm. ‘I am enchanted to have some company for afternoon tea! There are late strawberries from the hot houses, you know, in sore need of eating!’
He shepherded them up a straight path between tall hedges, up a wide sweep of stone steps and on to the terrace.
‘Have you driven over from Hewly?’ Sir Thomas asked, as he gestured for them to precede him through the long door leading into the library. ‘It is a pleasant journey, is it not—at least in the sunshine!’ He laughed. ‘I cannot believe that I was so unlucky to have become marooned so close to home—’
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