Thus it was that Benedict, taking a shortcut through a cobbled alleyway next to the tavern, met head on a rough fellow in long woollen coat and scarf, pulled up over the mouth, with his hat shading his eyes, who blocked his way. There was something in his hand and he was raising it - a cudgel. Benedict, trained in the art of fencing, was sorry that these days gentlemen no longer wore a sword at their sides. He cast about the alley for a weapon and saw a broken crate with empty bottles tumbling from it, no doubt for the gin-makers to collect on the morrow. The wood would be useless against the cudgel, so he picked up a bottle. It happened in seconds. The man swung the cudgel at Benedict’s head and he ducked and parried with the bottle connecting with the ruffian’s arm. The man yelped at the force of the blow, but it only deflected his own, which connected with Benedict’s shoulder. The young man jumped back, but his pursuer came at him again, landing blow after blow with the cudgel on Benedict’s half-turned body, unable to connect to his head, which Benedict had lowered beneath his arm defensively. As his opponent raised the cudgel once more, Benedict thrust the defensive arm out and smashed the bottle on the wall, moving towards his assailant, instead of away as he expected, and brought it up and under, cutting through woollen fabric and meeting soft flesh. The man dropped to his knees, looking up at Benedict, his dark eyes amazed, holding his stomach. Benedict, breathing hard, kicked the dropped cudgel away and knelt on one knee to check on his fallen assailant. At the last second he felt the air move as the thwack of another cudgel hit the back of his head. The last thing he saw, as he fell, was the toe of a boot - with a mirror-shine.
They began rifling the pockets and cursing, when the cry of ‘Who goes there?’ alerted them to the appearance of the Watch at the entrance of the alley, two burly watchmen, carrying flaming torches, rushed forward. With a last kick at the prostrate Fenton, both men ran, one holding his stomach.
Chapter 12
Arrangements for London
It was unusual, but Blake, the stately butler of Bassington Hall, was also Mr Allison’s butler in London, having an excellent surrogate in Coates, the under butler at the Hall, whom he had personally trained and who now stayed to run things whilst Blake went ahead to prepare Mr Allison’s London abode. Even in the off-season there were still eight servants kicking their heels in London, so it only required that Blake took two extra grooms, three chambermaids, two footmen and the French chef with him when he set off to make arrangements. Since he had sent word ahead, he was confident he would arrive to the Holland covers off and a small army of recruits scrubbing and polishing the floors of the main public rooms and the bed chambers, all to host six people for perhaps two nights in town.
London, fortunately, was not sunny, only bright and a trifle chilly for summer. In the heat, the poorer parts of town grew fetid and all manners of smells and disease took hold, which is why the haut ton decamped to the country at this season.
When he arrived, Mrs Hunter, the housekeeper at the London address, had the army of servants organised, and put the new recruits to work in quick order. Mrs Hunter, whose body was small and round, but whose energy was indefatigable, had once confided in him that unlike most of her inferiors she loathed the lazy summer months, or indeed any time that her master was absent. No doubt she would wish for a larger party and a longer stay, and she was one of the very few servants (with only Mr Allison’s valet, Camden, and Blake himself) who had deduced that one of the party might be their new mistress. This had led her to set the bedchamber windows to be washed once more, an extra task and hardly necessary, but Miss Fenton would find nothing to complain of and everything to admire in any house run by Mrs Hunter.
She would see to the extra flowers, and the house was in a fair way to being creditable, with Antoine taking charge of the kitchen and making a list of his requirements that some minions must source for him in the city, or have the copper pans thrown at them on their return. The stables were already in good order, holding as they did a small string of beasts that Mr Allison used in town, but being made ready to receive and care for the other ten horses and two carriages that were about to arrive. The two carriages that had brought himself, the other servants and some provisions that Antoine had thought it necessary to include were hired, but it was not to be considered that Mr Allison would convey his guests in anything less than his own travel carriage, with himself Scribster and no doubt Lieutenant Prescott taking up another. All for a visit to Astley’s Amphitheatre, Blake believed. He must send to find out if there were any outbreaks of typhus in the area. Large public spectacles, such as the daring equestriennes at Astley’s performing amazing tricks whilst standing on horseback, were favourite places for disease to spread.
He had been informed about the proposed trip to Astley’s not by his master, but by an overheard conversation that Molly, his favourite squeeze of a chambermaid, who may one day aspire to be Mrs Blake, told him of. After reprimanding her for eavesdropping, he had listened carefully to the conversation she reported as happening in Lady Fenton’s chamber. Molly was occupied in a small antechamber, putting away some newly laundered small clothes of her ladyship’s, and found herself trapped when Sir Ranalph had arrived and kissed his lady. She was about to show herself when Lady Fenton said, ‘For shame! We shall be late for dinner, sir!’ and so Molly had stayed put, thinking to avoid the slight embarrassment of interrupting an intimate moment between the baronet and his wife. They would be gone soon. In Blake’s experience, this was not always the case and he lectured Molly on the correct behaviour in this situation, which was obviously to make some noise in the antechamber before emerging and asking if there would be anything else, and making your escape in as an unhurried and unconscious way as possible, but he forgave her youthful inexperience and let her continue.
‘What do you think of this projected trip to London?’ asked the baronet.
‘I fear that Serena has something to do with it. She has badgered him with her desire to go to Astley’s.’
‘I fear so - when our younger daughter wants something, she uses unscrupulous methods to achieve it. Like her mama.’ There seemed to be a noise of a playful slap and perhaps another embrace, and Molly was beginning to wonder how to get out of this situation. (“ I told you,” Blake had told her, but let her continue with her account.) ‘Do you think we should nip this visit in the bud? It seems a great deal of upheaval for Allison.’
‘I shouldn’t think Mr Allison will have more to do than give the order,’ laughed her ladyship. (Mr Blake approved - her ladyship recognised a well-ordered household when she saw one.) ‘My only fear is that it interrupts the new ease with which we are all getting along here. The Lieutenant’s comfortable manners have been a godsend. Even Honoria seems a little more relaxed.’
‘Oh, I thought it was all going splendidly,’ said her husband, ‘they’ve all been riding together, and so on.’
There was a pause. ‘It never fails to surprise me what you miss, my dear. I was used to think Mr Allison a man of address, but he has hardly been relaxed around Honoria, nor she with him.’
‘Well, they are nothing but very courteous with each other,’ objected Sir Ranalph.
‘And do you think such courtesy should have won me, sir?’ There was the sound of a laugh and another embrace.
‘So all is not going well, in fact?’ inquired her husband.
‘Perhaps we should not have informed Honoria of his intentions, it does make her so anxious. She does not show her sweet nature to advantage and she certainly does not do much to encourage him.’ Her husband made a protesting noise. ‘I do not blame her. Honoria does everything I ask of her and she declares herself ready to receive his addresses. But her timidity is such that she is a little stiff, and Allison, rather than quelling her fears, seems rather to have adopted a little of her stiffness himself.’
‘And I have been thinking we are having a lovely party.’
‘Yes dear, and so we are. But the object of our party is a little in doubt.’
‘I wi
ll not have Honoria do what she does not want.’
‘I know that, my dear, and I have spoken to her on the subject, but she keeps assuring me that she does want it.’
‘Well, her season was the same. She was not really able to enjoy it as she should have. Being the season’s beauty would have delighted most young ladies, but my dear child did not have her head turned by the attention. She is not at all vain, we can say that for her. I’m sure Serena will relish it when it’s her turn.’
‘But the point it, if this match fails somehow, Serena will never have her turn.’
‘We could-’ protested Sir Ranalph.
‘Yes, perhaps we could visit Wilbert for a few weeks, but only a very few. And you know that being near him brings on your headache.’
‘Only when he loses at the tables.’
‘Well we cannot bail him out again if he does. It is bad enough that our girls cannot have another season. And what about Angelica?’
‘It must be thirteen years at least until we cross that bridge my dear. If I undertake not to frank Wilbert’s excesses, I trust our fortunes will have been restored by then. But I would say this: if there is any chance at all that this match doesn’t prosper, and I trust your instincts in this, then Serena should have her visit to Astley’s at least. For us, it seems hardly worth it - but for her it may be her one chance for that treat. Damn Wilbert and his abominable debts to the devil.’
‘Yes, my dear. To London we shall go. Perhaps there our principal players will be a little more relaxed.’
There was a rustle of silk and the couple went down to dinner.
Blake had understood a great deal from Molly’s report. That Miss Honoria Fenton might be his new mistress and that her nature was generally sweet and simple. Also that when it came to the day of her becoming a bride, she might need a little guidance and support on the household front, even supposing she was a daughter of the Manor. Blake would undertake that support and education in the most discreet way possible. He had regarded her closely, as was his wont with every guest at Bassington, and when his employer was not around he had found her a lively girl with sound sense of humour and an interest in everything around her. But when in the company of the gentlemen she faded slightly, he felt. Still beautiful, but so much more careful in her speech and deportment as to seem a little, well, stand-offish. The servants reported that every member of the family displayed exquisite manners with their inferiors, no lack of good ton there.
No, Blake was content to see his master marry at last and had no fault to find with his choice. There were worse things than a little timidity in a lady, and he would do all he could when she arrived to make her (and the rest of the party, obviously) see how a well-oiled house could run, so that she need not fear to be mistress of it all. Perhaps there would be some occasion to introduce her to Mrs Hunter and when she saw that kindly, efficient personage she would be reassured that the task of being Mrs Allison would not be overwhelming at all.
He would talk this through with Mrs Hunter tonight, over dinner in her small sitting room below stairs, and plan the best way to reassure the young lady whom she was excited to meet in two days’ time.
But as it happened, the party arrived that night, in considerable disarray and alarm and no one noticed that the third bedchamber’s windows were still a little dull or that the kitchen was thrown into a panic at the dearth of provisions. For a dreadful thing had occurred.
Chapter 13
Mr Allison’s Desire
It behoved him to get on with it, thought Allison. He who had lead a troop into battle with decision had delayed enough in asking one of the most beautiful, and kind natured young women of his acquaintance to marry him. Today was the day, he would ask her to walk with him after breakfast. He would enlist her mama in that (he was perfectly sure he could do this with little more than the nod - she had been awaiting it since the party arrived two weeks ago) and she would ensure that the world and his mother did not accompany them. The rest would go riding and he would declare his love, no, rather his regard to Honoria and then await her answer. It was beneath him to lie to her. A foregone conclusion, he believed. Not that he flattered himself that her heart beat for him. His moving closer than a chair’s width of her seemed to suffuse her face not with passion, but with an expression more akin to constipation of the bowels. He sincerely hoped that he would not have to look at that expression every morning over breakfast for the rest of his life.
But it was simply that she was timid. Scribster assured him that she was in truth a vivacious young lady with a wicked sense of humour, and he trusted in this. Gus had played many a prank on him since their days in Wellington’s army, but even he would not prank him all the way into marriage. Her vivacity rivalled her sister’s, Gus had said, but when questioned how he knew this or to relate an example of her wit, he only said he could not break an oath. But he smiled, in a very un-Gus-like way when remembering their exchanges, and it encouraged Allison to hope that he was not about to offer for a beautiful idiot or a permanently stiff, pattern-card of beauty. He would not have breakfast, he would not be thrown off his purpose by a teasing look from Serena’s dancing eyes - so like her sister’s in shape and colour and so different of expression. He would catch the mama first, and casually ask if his invitation could be relayed, whilst he excused himself to the library on invented estate business.
He resolved not to discuss this even with Scribster - he knew himself to be close to bolting, like one of his hunters under any but his own hand. He could not wait until Sir Ranalph sought clarification from him, this was the height of bad manners and would embarrass both of them. However good natured the Baronet was, he might also tarnish his lifetime family relationship with him at the outset. No, today was the day.
At the very moment that Allison was deciding this, his intended was walking with Mr Scribster in an avenue of high hedges some way from the house.
‘Why do you wear that dreadful hat, Mr Scribster? It must be a hundred years old.’
‘It is my grandfather’s hat.’
‘Well you ought to give it back to him speedily and get yourself another. One with a very flat crown so as not to elongate an already very long profile.’
‘What is wrong with my hat? I do not care to be fashionable.’
‘Perhaps you could aim for presentable.’ She held out her hand. He took it off and presented it to her.
‘Firstly, black felt does not recover its colour once it has turned this rusty shade,’ she pointed to the edges, seeing him look at it with the expression the world might take to be grave. She knew better and frowned him down. ‘-the brim width rivals a hat of my mother’s. And silver buckles are no longer worn on the hat-band, sir. Mr. Brummel must groan when he sees you coming.’
‘George? Yes, he does. He tells me that being an eccentric is the last resort of the ugly.’ He took his hat back and put it on his head. ‘So I embrace my eccentricity and I cannot give it back as my grandfather is now deceased.’
‘Well, the hat should have been buried with him.’
Her hand went once more to her mouth to stop the words, and he grasped it lightly and took it down. ‘Very well, I only wear it because my sister told me when it was bequeathed to me (probably for the silver buckle - my grandfather was a canny man) that I should not under any circumstances do so.’
‘Contrary! But your sister is not here to see you.’
‘Indeed, but it became rather a habit.’
‘Well do not wear it again! And cut your hair.’
‘You sound like my sister.’
‘I’m sure that she has only your good at heart.’
‘Are you?’ he said. ‘It is clear you have not met her. I do, however, believe that you do mean my good, and so I will get another hat and cut my hair at the soonest opportunity - but do not think that an army of hairdressers and a gallon of pomade can make my straight locks adopt the fashionable curl.’
‘A Brutus? No, you would have been better off being bor
n a generation ago. You could have worn your hair pulled back into a queue. I expect it would have looked very respectable. Why should you think I have your good at heart?’ She sighed, ‘I am nothing but rude to you.’
‘But I acquit you of being hurtful to no purpose.’
She walked a little, thoughtful. ‘That is very kind of you, but I do not acquit myself. I seem to take a deal more pleasure than I had ever thought possible in being perfectly beastly.’
‘It is merely the effects of being in a rather oppressive situation.’
Honoria’s eyes jumped nervously to his face. ‘What do you mean?’
He turned her to face him, grasping at her shoulders, ‘You know what I mean, Miss Fenton.’
‘You know why we are here then?’
Mr Scribster dropped his hands suddenly. ‘I probably do.’
‘Now you are being evasive!’ Honoria said.
‘No. Merely careful. You have told me not to press you for the truth of certain things and I feel we are about to approach those things.’ He pulled away a little and continued their quiet walk.
Honoria stepped some way before she looked at him. His gait was stiffer than his usual, loose-limbed amble. She laughed. ‘Look at you! You are in grave danger, Mr Scribster, of holding back out of good manners.’
He too laughed and said, ‘That will never do! So how serious is your crush on the handsome Lieutenant? Haven’t you noticed yet that he is an idiot?’
‘Just when I’m beginning to like you, you say something like that!’ She picked up her skirts and whirled around, running towards the house.
Honoria and the Family Obligation Page 11