“So when did you both last see Colonel Parham?” Major Vernon asked.
“The day before I went over to Holbroke, which was on the – well, I marked it on the almanac to remind me when I was to go.” Webb got up and took down the almanac from the shelf where it sat with the family Bible. He thumbed through it and found the place. “On the Monday. And you went away before that, Mary, on Sunday.” She nodded.
“And how did he seem that day? Was he on his walk as usual?”
“Yes, with the dogs, and his gun.”
“He did not seem troubled at all?”
Webb shook his head.
“And he never mentioned the house being haunted to you?” Felix asked.
“Haunted?” said Mr Webb. “Ardenthwaite?” He shook his head again. “Never heard anything like that about the place. Have you, Mary?”
“No,” said his wife.
“And did you have anything to do with Mostyn, the Colonel’s servant?” Major Vernon now enquired.
“Oh, do you have him fingered for it, sir?” said Mrs Webb.
“Why do you say that, Mrs Webb?”
“Because he’s a thorough rogue! And you must talk to Agnes, and the other girls – most of them are at Hawksby now. He was a dirty pest, I can say that much.”
“But that doesn’t mean he’d hang his own master!” said Webb. “And that’s just gossip, Mary, nothing more.”
“But I shall go and talk to Agnes, certainly, Mrs Webb. There is often more truth in gossip than you know.”
“There!” said Mrs Webb. “Haven’t I always said the same thing, Sam, haven’t I?”
They finished their tea, and set off with the dogs again.
“You will have to tread carefully at Hawksby,” Felix remarked. “Lady Blanchfort is not of a warm and welcoming disposition.”
“No, and she will be grieving in her own way for whatever her marriage was, I suppose,” said Major Vernon. “But I probably will not even need to trouble her.”
“If I were you, I would go by the book and abase yourself in the drawing room before you go questioning her servants. She is exactly the sort of woman who would object violently to that, even if one’s motives were unimpeachable. This morning she was as cold as a glacier. There was no sign of emotion about her.”
“She has great command of herself, then.”
“At her own husband’s funeral –” Felix pointed out.
“Estranged husband,” Major Vernon said.
“Then a little relief might have cracked her mask. Oh, it is no wonder the girl is so confused when her mother is such a marble monument!”
“Misery does harden people,” Major Vernon said.
“She is calcified!” said Felix.
“Not an ideal mother-in-law?” said Major Vernon with a smile.
“Please, please – spare me that!”
“It will be talked about. You danced with her and helped her when her father was dying. Oh, and your lands march together. In a novel, that would be quite enough,” he added.
“Heaven forbid!” said Felix. “No, never!”
“You will have to arm yourself against the speculation, then, Squire,” said Major Vernon.
“And do not, in the name of merciful Heaven, call me that, I beg you!”
The dogs began to bark furiously. They seemed to be very excited by a heap of broken branches a small distance away – they were sniffing and scrabbling.
“Interesting,” said Major Vernon, striding over to them. “What have you found there, Hero? What is it, girl?”
He began to push aside the branches. Felix came to assist him. Under the branches was a layer of bracken, and below that, spread like a tarpaulin over a shallow pit, was a dark green man’s overcoat, exactly the same shade and style as that worn by the late Colonel Parham.
Major Vernon picked it up to reveal the contents of the pit, namely a battered old travelling box. He shook out the coat and hung it on a low-hanging branch. Hector went up to it and tugged and whimpered at it.
“Poor old boy,” said Major Vernon, crouching and comforting the dog. “I’m afraid he’s gone for good. But what a clever fellow you are to lead us to this, and you too, my girl,” he added, pulling Hero close to him as well. “You shall get some nice scraps later for this, I promise.”
“I wonder if it’s locked,” said Felix getting into the pit to try the lid. “Yes.”
Major Vernon handed him his set of keys and in a few moments Felix had successfully picked the lock.
“I shall have to get you a set of your own,” Major Vernon said when Felix returned the keys. “You are far more adept that I am.”
“Too tempting,” said Felix. “I might turn to house breaking for a living. So what have we in here? Shirts, by the look of it.”
But what lay beneath the linen was a good deal more interesting: a varied collection of small valuables – snuff boxes, miniatures, silver cups, a gold watch and some old-fashioned jewelled shoe buckles.
“Is all this the Colonel’s, do we think?” Felix said, opening a double miniature. “His parents, perhaps?”
“Hard to say,” said Major Vernon, squinting at it. “But there was no trace of any of his personal effects in the house, so it is reasonable to suspect that Mostyn or whoever he was working with, gathered it all up. Strange not take them with him given how portable they are, but there may be reasons for that. And to take books as well – these are your books, Mr Carswell, I think, rather than the Colonel’s. They have the Ardenthwaite crest on them.”
“Perhaps he fancies setting up a gentleman’s library in his retirement,” said Felix, examining the titles. “It’s a curious choice of titles to steal. I should have never have missed these, I have to admit. What on earth would he want with them?”
“Perhaps they were taken to order for someone,” said Major Vernon. “We may be able to find something useful from that. And now we know that our man will be coming back for his treasures. I shall have to organise a watch.”
Chapter Twenty-four
The next day, as arranged, they presented themselves for dinner at Holbroke.
Carswell had begun grumbling about the necessity of this earlier in the day, and Giles wondered if he was worried about being forced into the company of Miss Blanchfort, a sentiment he entirely understood when he caught sight of Emma Maitland in an anteroom to the drawing room.
She was standing with her back to him, wearing the same fetching wine-coloured dress she had worn that night at the Treasurer’s House. Beside her stood Celia, dazzling in white muslin, admiring the famous Holbroke Doll House. They were both wearing crowns of spring flowers, their heads bent together as they examined some tiny detail.
“What a pretty sight,” Sally said, coming to his side.
“Celia is dining with us?” said Giles.
“Yes, Maria insisted. We are en famille, apparently. It’s really so charming.”
“As are these,” he said, touching the flowers that also decorated Sally’s hair.
“That was Maria. She and Celia have been making them all afternoon. Even one for Miss Blanchfort – and you might think that was quite wrong given her degree of mourning, but really it looks very right. I’m not quite sure how that can be – but it did make the poor girl smile when Celia gave it to her, which is something.”
“What do you make of Miss Blanchfort?” said Giles.
“Interesting you should ask – I had quite a conversation with her this afternoon. She’s a very clever young woman, certainly, but she’s had such a mass of tutors and teachers. The intention seems to have been never to allow her an idle moment to herself. Every minute of the day prescribed for her as if she was not to be trusted with the slightest liberty. She has found it very odd to be here and not being told what she should do. Of course, children do need routines, but an overbearing system such as that – I think it must be damaging. Not that she is damaged, but she is a little like a pot about to boil over.”
“It’s as well
she’s been taken off the fire.”
“Yes, this is an excellent place for her. Lord Rothborough could not be a better guardian and he is being strenuous in his efforts to reconcile her with her mother.”
“And if he cannot manage that, who can?”
“Quite,” said Sally. She glanced about her and at Emma and Celia in the anteroom. “Those two will have to be dragged away – that dolls’ house is a wonder, though.”
At this moment Emma Maitland turned away from the dolls’ house and caught sight of them. She smiled and came out of the room.
“Miss Waites came with us,” she said.
“That is good news,” said Giles.
“She is with Lady Maria at the moment, adjusting a sleeve. You were right – there will be plenty of work for her here. Patton is keeping an eye on her downstairs. She is dining with the upper servants and generally being made a fuss of so that she will feel safe. I explained it all to Lord Rothborough, and of course he was most obliging. Anything in your service, Major Vernon. He is a great admirer.”
At this point, the Rothborough spaniels came skittering into the room, heralds for the Marquis himself who was accompanied by his daughter and his ward. In their wake came Lambert, Carswell and Tom. The latter was all jaunty confidence in a new suit (so Sally informed Giles) and looked as if he had been frequenting great houses all his life, and intended doing much more of the same.
“He is going to be unbearable,” Sally murmured. “He has shot five rooks. We should have shot him.”
True to form, Tom now bounded up to Miss Blanchfort and asked if he might take her down to dinner.
“Tom, dear,” Sally said, “that is gallant, but it is for Lady Maria to decide who takes in whom.”
“I think it will do nicely,” said Lady Maria. “If Miss Blanchfort doesn’t object?”
“No,” said the young lady. “Of course not.”
“Mr Carswell can take your sister in, Mr Fforde. I know they are great friends,” Lady Maria went on. “And I will ask you for your arm, dear Canon Fforde, if you don’t mind? And Mrs Fforde, you will go in with Papa. Leaving Major Vernon and Mrs Maitland. Oh dear, I did not mean you to sound like remnants!”
“Please, we are not remotely offended!” said Mrs Maitland. Giles could not help smiling, for all that it pained him equally to hear her speak for him, thoughtlessly and yet accurately. It made him wish that it was a commonplace.
They went into dinner, which although it was a small party, ‘en famille’, as Lady Maria had put it, involved all the usual splendour of Holbroke: a blaze of candles and silver, and many courses of complicated, delicious food that seemed to decorate the plates like sculpture. Yet an informal mood prevailed, much helped by Tom and Celia, who seemed to shine brighter than any of the candles. That Lord Rothborough was delighted by them was obvious, and Sally and Lambert naturally looked very gratified by this.
As the dessert came in, Celia turned to Lord Rothborough and asked, “Would it be possible, my Lord – if I found a way to do it – to make some tiny books for the dolls in the Doll House? Mrs Maitland and I noticed that they have none.”
“Yes, of course,” said Lord Rothborough. “Would you write them yourself as well as making them?”
“Yes, I think I could. They would have to be nice stories. I shouldn’t give them anything improper. But exciting, naturally.”
“Naturally. There is no point in stories that are not exciting,” said Lord Rothborough.
“I have some stories that I have written that might do. And I have a tiny hand,” Celia went on.
“Then it should be a magazine,” said Tom. “Like Blackwoods. That might be easier to make than a little book, Celia.”
She considered it for a moment and said, “Yes, perhaps.”
“If it is a magazine,” said Canon Fforde, “then we all might contribute something. To thank our hosts?” He raised his glass to Lady Maria and then Lord Rothborough. “The Holbroke Digest?”
“Miss Fforde, nothing could give me more pleasure. A charming idea. Now tell me, who in your opinion writes the most exciting stories? Mr Ainsworth or dear Sir Walter?”
“Do you know what,” Tom said, “Edmund Hughes told me they are not allowed to read Sir Walter at the Palace.”
“They don’t have plum pudding at Christmas either,” said Celia.
“The Bishop’s family?” said Lady Maria.
“No plum pudding? How very strange,” said Lord Rothborough.
“Perhaps the Bishop has a weak digestion,” said Lambert. “Plum pudding can even seem excessive to me, and I’m a well-known glutton.”
“I’m sure the servants have a nice one,” said Sally.
“No, not even the servants,” said Celia.
“That seems rather harsh,” said Lord Rothborough.
“Our people would never stand for that,” said Lady Maria. “Plum puddings are a great thing with us, though. We have a special larder for them, and a secret receipt. I have often thought if ever we lost our fortune, I should take it and open a plum pudding shop!”
“It would almost be worth losing everything to see that,” said Lord Rothborough. “And I would sit in the back of the shop, smoking my pipe and being shockingly idle, reading nothing but the sporting papers, while my daughters worked themselves to the bone.”
-o-
Tom Fforde was permitted to drink half a glass of port before being sent up to the ladies. This he did with relish and managed to make a nice compliment about the quality of the wine, which pleased Lord Rothborough enormously. Felix wondered at his social skills. He remembered the agonized awkwardness of being fifteen all too well. How on earth did Tom manage to be so easy in himself? Perhaps it was something one was born with.
When he had gone, Lord Rothborough said, approvingly, “He is going to go far, Canon Fforde.”
“But in what field?” said Canon Fforde. “This idea of engineering is all very well, but I don’t think he is ready to be apprenticed. It’s a rough life, and he’s still very young.”
“Perhaps you should send him to Edinburgh,” said Lord Rothborough. “Yes, Felix? A couple of years at the University would give him a solid preparation in mechanics and mathematics. That family you lodged with, are they still taking in undergraduates?”
“Dr and Mrs Hill?” said Felix. “I suppose so. I’m not sure Tom would stand for the food there. It was dreadful.”
“Perhaps they have a new cook. I could make a few enquiries, if you like?”
“It’s certainly an interesting idea,” said Canon Fforde. “What do you think, Mr Carswell?”
“He would do well anywhere,” Felix said. “But given he does have a mathematical bent, there would be plenty for him at Edinburgh. But then one might say the same for Glasgow. I have an acquaintance who is now an instructor there, and quite satisfied with it.”
“This is all most interesting,” said Canon Fforde. “I have no intention of sending him back to school. That business with the tattoos – he has been in silly, idle company. He needs something definite to occupy himself with, something that he is inclined towards. Latin and Greek certainly don’t agree with him.”
“It never did with me,” said Major Vernon. “There is Woolwich as well. He mentioned that to me.”
“His ears will be burning,” said Canon Fforde.
“Oh, I doubt it,” said Major Vernon. “I think he will be sitting gazing at Miss Blanchfort, just as he was during dinner.”
“So long as he does not forget himself and attempt to flirt,” said Canon Fforde, getting up from the table. “I think I had better go up now and encourage him to go to bed – if you will excuse me, my Lord, gentlemen?”
“I will come with you, Lamb,” said Major Vernon.
Felix was left alone with Lord Rothborough.
“You are not tearing yourself away to gaze at Miss Blanchfort, then?” said Lord Rothborough.
“No,” said Felix. “Do you think I ought?”
“No, not at a
ll. I merely wondered –”
“I have already been told, in no uncertain terms, to offer for her by Mrs Webb, the forester’s wife.”
“You do not want to cross her, Felix, I can tell you that,” said Lord Rothborough, smiling.
“I’d better go and do it now then,” said Felix pretending to rise. Lord Rothborough laughed, put out his hand to stay him and said, “No, I don’t think so.”
“Truly?”
“Of course not! I thought we understood each other better than that.”
“It was not so long ago that you were talking about that girl in Germany.”
“And that was a mistake on my part, for which I crave your pardon.”
“You do?” said Felix.
“Circumstances have allowed me to see what is important. I have no wish to force your hand. You look astonished – perhaps you believe that old dogs cannot learn new tricks?”
“No, no – yes, I am surprised, but grateful, of course.”
“To be frank, there is no misery in the world like an unhappy marriage,” Lord Rothborough said after a long moment. “It is a curious thing how long it took me to realise it; it was not until this last winter in Italy.” He rubbed his face and sighed. “It is a terrible thing to know one is the sort of man who cannot find any love left in his heart for a sick woman, let alone pity. God forgive me, but I failed her. The mother of my darling girls, and I could not –” He broke off, rather overcome with his distress. He got up from the table and turned his back to Felix. “That is what I want to spare you, Felix. But you are a better man than I. I don’t suppose you would fall into the same trap.”
Felix got up and went to stand beside him.
“You did everything you could for her,” he said. “And she is much recovered now. No one has said that you have been anything but exemplary.”
“What one does and what one feels can be different things,” said Lord Rothborough.
“She is a difficult woman,” Felix said. “Sick or well, she is difficult. If you had done nothing, that would have been reprehensible, but you did everything you ought.”
The Ghosts of Ardenthwaite (The Northminster Mysteries Book 5) Page 21