He stopped, for there was some commotion out in the hall, with one loud voice intermingled with the low murmur of the butler. The door burst open and a young man of about twenty raced in, the butler wringing his hands helplessly behind him.
“—such nonsense in my life, Gripp! Why should I not go in? Papa, why is Gripp trying to stop me from seeing you? Oh!”
The room froze into a little tableau, the newcomer just as taken aback as the others. He stared at Gus, and Gus, shocked, stared back. There, looking back at him from the young man’s face, quite unmistakably, was the Marford nose.
“Lord Augustus,” Sir Roger said, as blandly as if nothing untoward had occurred, “may I present to you my son and heir, James? James, this is Lord Augustus Marford of Drummoor, brother to the Marquess of Carrbridge.”
“But…” the boy said. “But… I do not understand.”
9: Family Secrets
The butler crept out of the room, closing the door with a soft snick. The silence in the room was absolute as they stared at one another. It was Sir Roger who spoke first.
“Come now, James,” he said, not unkindly. “You are not deficient in intellect. Surely you can work it out?”
The boy’s eyes drifted to his mother, and then back to Gus, then to his mother again. “No,” he whispered. “No. It cannot be.”
Gus had not taken his eyes off the boy, but now his gaze was drawn to Lady de Ferrers, hands to mouth, tears pouring down her cheeks, rocking slightly.
“You must not think badly of your mother,” Sir Roger said firmly. “I put her in an impossible position, but I was very happy with the outcome. I have always been happy with the outcome, which was exactly what I wanted.”
“You knew!” she cried. “You have known all along.”
“Of course. But it is time everyone knew. Grayson, my old friend, I can see that this is no surprise to you, so you do not need to make for the door. And Lord Augustus, this concerns your family, too. Please, all of you, sit again. Lord Augustus, may I trouble you to pour some brandy for my son. Fanny, will you take a little brandy, too? Let me recount my story, and then you may judge me, if you will.”
He took a sip of Madeira, and it was wonderful to see how skillfully he managed to raise and set down the glass when he could see nothing.
“I married young, since I was an only child and it was my duty to ensure the succession. My first wife — ah, poor Dorothea! Her horse threw her into a wall, and broke her neck. Three years we were married with no sign of a child, but within a year I had married again, and a widow this time, with two children already. Surely she would give me a child or two? But no. In twenty five years, there was no sign of it, and I had resigned myself to the inevitable — my dim-witted nephew would inherit everything. But then fate intervened, and Lucy died too. A third chance! So I married my lovely Fanny, and surely God would smile upon us? She came from a large family, so there were bound to be children. But no. In three years, there was nothing. And now I was desperate, for my dim-witted nephew had by this time married a wife as pea-brained as himself, and produced a brood of unpromising children, and I did not want them in my house, ever.”
He paused for another drink, or to collect his thoughts, perhaps, since for the first time there was agitation on his face.
“So I devised a plan. Amongst my less reputable friends from my youth was one who was wilder than most, Charles Marford. I suppose he was the marquess by then, but to me he was always Charles Marford, handsome, charming, irresistible to women. Fanny was drawn to him, too, I could see that. So I threw a party, a month-long house party, and in the middle of it, I arranged an emergency that took me away for a week.”
“You planned it all!” Lady de Ferrers cried. “You wanted me to… But why did you not just ask? An arrangement between friends — it has been done before.”
“Because if I had suggested it to you openly, you would have been insulted, and proclaimed your unbreachable virtue and sworn always to be true to your marriage vows. And if I had asked him, he would have refused to besmirch the wife of a friend. In fact, I was not sure he would surrender to the temptation at all, so I devised the wager to make sure of him. I pretended to be entirely certain that no one could seduce you, not even Charles, and so certain was I, that I staked the Hall on it. I made my calculations first, naturally, to ensure that we would still have enough money to live on. Charles could never resist a bet, so…”
“But you were certain I would surrender to the temptation,” she said sadly. “You needed no trickery to ensure my compliance.”
“My dear, I was not at all certain, but I stood to benefit either way. There were only two outcomes. If you resisted him, I would have known I had a virtuous wife and been glad of it, and if you did not, then I would perhaps have a child to inherit the Hall and could be glad of that. As I am, my dearest, as I am. You and Charles have given me an incomparable gift, and I am truly grateful to both of you.”
“Then I am not your son at all,” James said, his voice low.
“You are my son in the eyes of the law, and in every other way that matters,” Sir Roger said. “You may have Charles Marford’s blood, but I have given you all that makes you a man, James. Do not let this change you. I had hoped you would never know of this, and that is why I sent you to the farm today, and told Gripp to keep you away from my visitors, for Grayson warned me of Lord Augustus’s coming. But now that you do… I hope you will not judge me harshly. All I have done is to preserve my family and bring happiness to my old age, and there was no harm in that, was there? Was there?”
~~~~~
‘My dear brother,’ Gus wrote, ‘I came to Galthwaite to find Sharp, and ended up finding something quite different. How generous Father was! For he has spread his charity liberally over the north of England, even into the family of Sir Roger de Ferrers of Hexlowe Hall, whose son and heir has as fine an example of the Marford nose as I have seen. The father is pleased about it, having no other child, and the boy, being not yet twenty, is bemused and distressed and angry by turns, as the wind changes. He professes a wish to meet you, but I leave you to determine the wisdom of that.
‘As for Sharp, I can find no trace or rumour of him. The rents from the Hall and the weaving mill are paid to an attorney in Galthwaite, who deposits them to an account at the bank there in the name of a Mr Harcourt, who is a very fine gentleman, well dressed in the London style, arriving on horseback accompanied by two grooms. The bank manager and attorney are horrified that you are not receiving the rents due to you, and if you will supply the title deeds to the properties, all will be corrected. The occupants of Gillingham House pay no rent that I can find, and are excessively disreputable. I have a buyer for the property if you are minded to sell it.
‘I return to Castle Morton tomorrow, so do not reply to me here. I daresay I shall be returning to London very soon, and I shall be glad of it, for apart from this visit there has been little enough entertainment, and what little pleasure there has been is best to end anyway. You may apply to Connie for more information on that head, for she knows all my little secrets, although they are trivial when compared with some others. Ah, secrets! Is there a family in the kingdom that does not have these long-buried mysteries? We have our share, but it appears we are not alone in that, and perhaps such matters are best left buried in the past, where they belong.’
He set down his pen thoughtfully. Was that true? The human mind was naturally curious and liked to know all that might be known of its fellow humans, but perhaps a man might be happier not asking too many questions. Especially about a lady with a heart-shaped face and wide blue eyes. So many questions… Why did she live in such isolation, excluded from society? What was her connection to the duke? And why, when she held her husband in such clear affection, did she speak of him so little? It was puzzling, but he had no right to seek answers and certainly it would be better for his peace of mind if he did not.
Gus dined with the Grayson family that day, the talk all of the event
s at Hexlowe Hall.
“What a risk he took!” Lady Grayson said. “Imagine if there had been no child at all — he would have thrown away his home and his wife’s virtue for nothing.”
“I imagine he would then have taken matters a stage further,” her husband said. “Having established the willingness of both parties to fall into sin, he would undoubtedly have approached them more directly, and persuaded them to repeat the offence until a child resulted.”
“Goodness!” the lady said. “That is… unorthodox. And if it had been a girl? Would they have been expected to try again?”
“The knighthood dies with Sir Roger, so a male heir is not essential. For a daughter, there would be a marriage in due course to a wealthy man prepared to change his name to de Ferrers. That is done all the time. But Marford, this was no shock to you, I think. Your father had something of a reputation as a rake.”
“Indeed, and Lady de Ferrers is far more in line with his usual tastes, although we have recently discovered the fruits of his dalliances with less lofty females.”
Lord Grayson chuckled. “He liked a roll in the hay with a milkmaid, eh? He would not be the first.”
Gus glanced at Lady Grayson, rather shocked at this plain speaking with a lady in the room, but she laughed easily, not in the least discomposed.
“I cannot speak to the hay, and the milkmaid was in fact a parlourmaid, but the principle is the same,” Gus said. “The boy grew up to be a light-fingered rogue, and would undoubtedly have been hanged or transported if Humphrey had not rescued him. He is carving a career for himself in the theatre now, where his plausibility is an asset.”
~~~~~
Gus left Galthwaite early the next morning. The viscount had told him of a different route back to High Morton, one which veered further to the north but ran through quiet minor tracks to a pretty little vale where lay an excellent inn, one which would cater even for Jupiter’s fastidious requirements, if Gus should choose to stay overnight. The vale was indeed pretty, the inn perfect, the stops along the way, also supplied by the helpful viscount, excellent, and Gus was in mellow mood by the time their journey brought them back to the main road some miles north of High Morton.
The road to the south forked at that point, so they stopped at the small inn there to rest the horses, while Gus enquired of the innkeeper for the correct road to High Morton.
“Either will get you to High Morton, sir,” the innkeeper said. “T’road to t’right be more direct, is all. Tak’ t’road to t’left, and you be going through Drifford first.”
Drifford. Gus was seized by a powerful urge to see the town, with its place in Mrs Walsh’s history. So as soon as the horses were ready, he led the way down the left fork, his groom and valet trotting along uncomplainingly in his wake. They were used to his sudden starts.
The road passed through good farmland, and then a belt of trees before emerging to a surprising sight — an army camp in all its well-regimented glory.
“Ah, the army,” Gus murmured to himself. “I had forgotten the army.”
He would have pushed on at once for a closer view, but his valet called out to him. “My lord! My horse — I think he may have lost a shoe.”
A quick examination confirmed this assessment.
“Well, we must enquire at the army camp for the whereabouts of the nearest farrier,” Gus said, not at all displeased to have an excuse to visit the camp. He did not even have to give his name, for the soldiers manning the gates recognised him as a gentleman by his appearance alone. They were directed to the farrier, and it was the work of a few minutes to replace the missing shoe and set them on their way again.
They were halfway back to the gate, and Gus was trying to think of an excuse to linger and perhaps make enquiries about the mysterious Edward Walsh, when a troop clattered past, led by a pair of officers. One of them gave an exclamation and wheeled his horse about.
“Jupiter? By George, it is Jupiter, I am certain of it! I would recognise that proudly arched neck anywhere. How are you, old boy?” He leapt from his horse and began stroking the horse’s neck, as Jupiter whinnied in return. “And unless I miss my mark, you must be Lord Augustus Marford.”
“I am indeed,” said Gus, laughing. “I have been recognised by many different characteristics in the past, but never by my horse before.”
“Ah, but I have known this fellow since he was a foal. I even have the honour of being thrown by him on several occasions, before I decided that he had bested me and retired from the fray. Lord, but he is beautiful! And it gives me the greatest pleasure to see him ridden by one of the few men in England capable of it. Why, you make him look almost docile, my lord.”
“He is not, I assure you, but if he is ridden hard every day he graciously pretends to be amenable. You must be one of Haverley’s brothers, I suppose?”
“Kit, the youngest. But do come in and have a chat. We see so few fresh faces here, and yours is a most unexpected one. You will be able to tell me all the London on-dit, I daresay.”
Gus was by no means unwilling. The horses were safely stowed in the stables, Carson and Willett were led away to be filled with army beer, and Gus followed Kit Haverley into the officers’ quarters to be plied with a very good Madeira and an array of pastries. In return, he told Kit and his fellow officers as much town gossip as he knew, which was not much. Then he remembered his own family, and tried the tiger lady on his listeners, which went down very well. Astonishingly, they had already heard the tale.
“Ah, such a glorious story cannot be kept hidden,” Kit said. “I wish your brother the greatest joy of her, for she sounds like quite a handful. And so he is to open a gaming house in York? It will be a great success, in his hands. I like Lord Humphrey — he once told me never to play cards for money, for I should surely lose. I have not the brains for it, he said. Play dice for small amounts, if the ivory be not loaded, and you might win a little sometimes, but do not attempt anything requiring skill.”
Gus laughed. “That sounds so like Humphrey — he is no diplomat.”
“Oh no, he was quite right,” Kit said. “I always lost at cards, and everyone says, do they not, that one’s luck will turn if one but keeps playing? But at whist or piquet or anything of that nature, my luck never turned. So I stopped playing for money, and only a little at games of chance, like dice or faro, and I have been much happier for it.”
Eventually, enough gossip had been proffered and wine consumed for Gus to ask the question burning in his mind.
“There is a widow in High Morton whose husband was here for a while. It would have been perhaps five years ago now. He went to the Peninsula not long after and was killed there. I should be glad to know what sort of man he was. His name was Edward Walsh.”
“Edward Walsh?” Kit said. “Not ringing any bells. Was he an officer?”
“That I cannot tell you,” Gus said. “I would imagine so, for his widow is a lady, but one never knows.”
“Rickard, be a good chap and go and look the fellow up, will you? So what are you doing here, Marford? It is a long way from Drummoor to High Morton, widow or no widow.”
Gus explained about the duke and the stud, and the discussion that ensued filled quite half an hour. The pastries were long gone and the Madeira was running low when Rickard eventually came back.
“No Edward Walsh,” he said. “In fact, no one by the name of Walsh at all. Not amongst the officers, nor amongst the men. Whoever he was, he was never here, that much is certain.”
Or perhaps he did not even exist, Gus thought sadly. Perhaps Lady Darrowstone was in the right after all, and Mrs Walsh’s story was just the age-old one, of a woman making a mistake and paying a very high price for it. Abandoned and alone, who could blame her for inventing a dead husband to add a veneer of respectability to the situation? Poor lady! His heart was heavy, but he was powerless to help her.
10: The Duke Has Visitors
Gus and his groom and valet rode on in rather better spirits after their refre
shments at the army camp, and, after a sharp descent through woodlands, entered the town of Drifford. A narrow river valley was crammed with mills and weaving halls and manufactories of many sorts, tall buildings shading the only road. But as the valley opened out and a bridge crossed the river, the town proper emerged, with warehouses and neat rows of cottages for the workers, and many shops and artisans’ yards. Then another, grander, bridge, leading to a fine church and other stone buildings clustered around a large square, with wide streets leading off. All of it looked prosperous and well kept, and the streets were thronged with people and wagons, a couple of goats being led somewhere and men on horses trotting about purposefully, while the river was crowded with barges plying up and down to the warehouses.
In the centre of the square was a statue of a lady in a hooped skirt, bearing the inscription, ‘Mrs Charles Ballard, Patroness of Drifford’.
Intriguing, to see a woman so honoured. But there was no time to linger to find out more about her, for Jupiter was getting restless in the traffic. After he had kicked out at a cart with a pig in it, and attempted to bite one of the goats, Gus pressed on out of the town back to the main road, and eventually back to High Morton.
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