Brothers at Arms

by Brothers at Arms (epub)

  Within minutes, the coach passed through a pair of black-painted ornamental gates, along a sweeping gravelled driveway towards a three-storey, stone-built house, with white-painted sash windows, and came to a halt before a black-panelled door with curved fanlight over.

  Kilcot let down the steps, and Tom approached the door to beat a tattoo on the highly polished brass doorknocker. Several minutes passed before he heard the sound of shuffling footsteps. Then the door opened a few inches, and a reedy male voice quavered, “Yes, what d’you want?”

  Tom stepped forward, expecting the door to open further, but it refused to yield.

  “My name is Norbery,” he said, proffering his calling card through the crack in the door. “I have an appointment to see Mr Lucius Cobarne.”

  It was difficult to communicate with a person hidden behind a block of wood. Apart from the wheezy breath, there was little to indicate the age of the servant. The man’s voice sounded old, much as the wizened brown hand appeared to be.

  “The master’s not here now,” the owner of the rasping voice said as he started to close the door.

  Anticipating the move, Tom leaned on the door, forcing it to remain ajar. The surly reception did not augur well for the meeting ahead if the servants looked askance when a gentleman presented on the doorstep.

  “I would be obliged if you would tell Mrs Cobarne that Squire Norbery of Linmore has come from England to see her husband, in response to his letter to Miss Jane Littlemore,” Tom said in his crispest tone. It was not his habit to puff off his position, but if there was a time, this was it.

  “Who is it, Patrick?” a snappy female voice came from beyond the hallway.

  Tom looked in the direction of the sound. “Thomas Norbery, Mrs Cobarne. I apologise for my late arrival, but the directions I was given were unclear and I had difficulty in finding your location.”

  “My husband is not in the house at present,” the woman said. “Can you come back later?”

  “Regrettably no, madam,” he said. “I have come at his behest. If he is not here, I would be obliged if you could tell me where I can find him?”

  There was a brief silence. Then she said in an ungracious tone, “He is in his office in the village. I will have to send the servant to tell him of your arrival. You’d better come in and wait.”

  He turned back towards the coach, and addressed Salter. “It looks as if I may be some little time. Apparently the gentleman was called to his office.”

  There was nothing for it, but to wait until Cobarne deigned to appear. As he turned back towards the door, Tom sensed he was being watched, and looked up to a little window high on the upper floor. There were two dark heads huddled together, looking in his direction, but they passed from view as he entered the hallway.

  His first impression was of a well-ordered household, the scent of lavender polish with beeswax, and the absence of dust – clearly, a sign of conscientious workers.

  The rich mahogany staircase and door surrounds drew his attention. There were many fine examples in England, but he had not expected to see them here. Mr Cobarne was evidently a man of means. His house might look deceptively plain on the outside, but the interior had quality fittings.

  Having been obliged to admit him, the manservant led Tom past the open door of what he presumed was a drawing room, with an inlaid marble fire surround, and on to a sparsely furnished parlour, where the mistress of the house awaited him.

  When he saw Mrs Cobarne, he understood why she did not receive him in the formal reception rooms. He had seen too many housekeepers not to know the parlour was her milieu.

  Maybe that was what she had once been. She was disapproval personified in a shell of puffed-up self-importance. Her black silk gown, white cap and a fichu of the finest lace spoke of wealth, but her demeanour screamed of an upper servant worshipping on the altar of respectability.

  If only Jane could have been with him. She would have known what to say to a miserable-looking woman, clad in silk, instead of the bombazine he assumed she had worn before. It was difficult to know if her dyspeptic expression denoted pain, or whether her tightly braided pepper-grey hair was responsible; and every so often, she un-pinched her mouth, giving the impression of ill-fitting teeth.

  Normally, he could talk to anyone, but Mrs Cobarne made the simplest statement hard work as their conversation limped between the state of the weather and his sea crossing. Then there was a lull.

  Conversing with her was almost as bad as trying to talk with his wife. When he spoke, Kate invariably responded in monosyllables, if he was lucky. More often than not, she ignored him.

  Before he could ask if he could see the children, the servant shuffled into the room to announce that the master would return directly, and disappeared to the back of the house.

  Mrs Cobarne’s courtesy extended to offering him a seat, but she did not provide refreshment. Fortunately, her husband entered the room before Tom was obliged to seek a new topic of conversation.

  Lucius Cobarne’s appearance came as a surprise. With the precise letter to Jane in mind, Tom expected to see a dapper little man with a spare frame. Instead, the lawyer was of medium height and solid build.

  Despite his air of pomposity, the man looked ill at ease. He was meticulously dressed for business in formal black tailcoat and breeches, with a dark grey waistcoat and crisp white neckcloth, tied in the plainest style. Even his bushy black hair, streaked with grey at the temples, echoed his sombre attire, as did his faded dark eyes peering myopically through wire spectacles.

  Tom stood up at his entrance. “Good day to you, sir,” he said. “The name is Norbery, and I have come in response to your letter about the children.”

  Cobarne cast an anxious glance towards his wife before replying in a ponderous tone, “I presume you refer to the letter I sent to my late sister-in-law’s cousin, Mr Norbery.”

  Tom supposed it was natural for a lawyer to be pedantic about details, but this was ridiculous. “Indeed,” he said. “To Miss Jane Littlemore, my… sister-in-law.” Frustration made him hesitate. “I am here as her representative to collect the children.”

  “Of course, Mr Norbery, but you must understand my concern. I could not reconcile it with my conscience if I did not assure myself that I was letting my late brother’s children go to a good home.”

  The hypocrisy was more than Norbery of Linmore could tolerate. He looked down from his superior height and said, “If you expected Miss Littlemore to supply references, sir, you should have made it clear when you instigated this matter.”

  He had not intended saying anything about his political connections, but this was too much. “I trust my word as a gentleman and member of the English Parliament will be sufficient to convince you that I have the means to provide for their comfort. They will become part of my family, and be educated with my children.”

  The woman sat rigid in her seat, but the man was clearly labouring under some deep emotion. Maybe it was guilt.

  “Mr Norbery,” he said. “When my brother, Fergus, was killed three years ago, we took his children into our home. We do not have any family of our own, but my wife and I tried to give them the care they required. I think we succeeded with the boy. Charlie is intelligent and obedient. Sophie, his sister, is wilful, and does not take kindly to instruction. We were forced to send her to a convent several miles away to be educated by the nuns, but I regret to say she caused considerable disruption.”

  Tom waited to hear the magnitude of the little girl’s crime.

  “She ran away, repeatedly. Climbed over the garden walls and disappeared for weeks at a time.” The man’s face was puce with the effort of containing his agitation. “They found her up in the hills, living with gypsies – not once, but several times.”

  So that was the reason for the abandonment. Sophie caused embarrassment.

  Mrs Cobarne interrupted in a voice trembling with indignation.

  “We were mortified when the nuns said she must leave. It meant every
one in the district knew my husband’s niece was possessed of a devil.”

  “A devil, ma’am…?” Tom turned his attention to the woman. He had never favoured the use of a quizzing glass to imply disdain, but was sorely tempted now. “Surely, she is but a child, of… how many years?”

  “Eight years,” Cobarne said, almost in tears. “My wife mistakes the matter, sir. My late brother was full of devilment as a boy, but he learned discipline in the army. The girl has some of his nature in her.”

  Tom viewed the man with disbelief.

  “As his daughter, it would be surprising if she did not. Maybe she needs the company of other children. She will have the opportunity at Linmore. I have three of my own and the two daughters of my late brother in my care. Joshua, my younger son, is Charlie’s age, and the little girls are of a similar age to Sophie.”

  The man nodded. “If you would care to come to my book room, Mr Norbery, I would like to discuss the business arrangements of the transfer.”

  Obviously, that meant financial matters.

  When the library door closed, Lucius Cobarne said, “I am loath to admit this to a stranger, Mr Norbery, but my brother, Fergus, was improvident with money. I do not know how he and his wife managed their finances whilst they were alive, but when she passed away, I believe my brother went mad with grief. He doted on the children, but made no provision for their future. In truth, they have nothing to look forward to, other than what I choose to leave them.”

  He shuffled some papers on his desk. “Business is difficult at present, but in the future, I hope there may be some small amount left for them.”

  It was clear the man was more concerned with having to pay for their keep.

  “Mr Cobarne,” said Tom. “Irrespective of what you do, or do not give them, you have my word that I will provide for their future. They will lack for nothing.”

  A look of abject relief spread across the troubled face before him.

  “Good,” the man said. “Would you be prepared to sign a document to that effect? I have one here, if you care to peruse it before you meet the children.”

  Of course, he might have expected a lawyer to think of that. Tom’s antipathy was increasing by the minute. He glanced at the document, but was not prepared to put his signature to anything at such short notice.

  “I think it only fair to meet the children first. No doubt this… piece of paper will be in order, but I would like to study it in detail.”

  The lawyer had no choice but to agree.

  Charlie entered the room first, tightly clutching his sister’s hand. He was clean, tidy and undoubtedly terrified. It was obvious from his dark brooding eyes, and the way his lower lip jutted beneath his gritted teeth. He was so tense, even his wavy hair occasionally seemed to ripple as he trembled.

  Sophie was everything her prissy aunt was not, and for a moment, Tom wanted to laugh, because she reminded him of a gypsy girl he once saw at a Norcott horse fair. Someone had obviously tried to control her appearance, but no amount of scraping her hair into tight braids would change the picture. The weeks she lived with the gypsies had left their mark, but only time would tell whether the nuns had similarly influenced her.

  Dressed entirely in black from neck to ankles, her podgy little frame and lank dark hair presented an almost repellent picture. Then he thought about the female company to which she was accustomed, and understood why her mouth was sullen.

  He noticed her shifty black eyes flickering from face to face. When her fierce gaze alighted on her uncle, he recoiled. The man’s reaction made Tom pity this strange little girl. Having heard the complaints about Sophie, he could understand Charlie’s anxiety.

  This then, was the little girl who discomfited the family, and harassed the nuns. Without doubt, she was as different to the dainty little girls at Linmore as it was possible to be. He could imagine she might be a rebel, but hardly the devil they accused her of being.

  “Charlie,” his uncle said, “this gentleman is Mr Norbery. He has come from England.”

  The boy’s expression intensified as he extended a rigid hand. “I’m honoured to meet you, sir,” he said, and promptly turned aside as his sister tugged at his sleeve.

  Tom felt the scrutiny of those dark eyes as the little girl stepped forward. She looked from him to her uncle and back again. Then she shrugged her shoulders and nodded. He wondered if it meant he met with her approval.

  Having made her assessment, Sophie wandered over to the window, climbed on a chair and surveyed the waiting coach. Her brother did not take his eyes off her until she returned to his side.

  The girl glanced at her uncle and yawned. She did not say a word, but Charlie seemed to understand her meaning.

  “Sophie wants to know if we are going with you today, sir.”

  “That is yet to be decided,” Tom said. “There are matters I have to discuss with your uncle first.”

  “We’ll be ready when you are, sir. Come on, Sophie, you’ll have to get your coat.” The boy’s eagerness to leave surprised him.

  The children did not wait for permission. They dashed from the room and Tom heard their footsteps clattering up the staircase. He looked from Lucius Cobarne to the pathetic piece of paper in his hand. It was in legalese, but he understood enough to know it held no surprises.

  One thing was evident. The financial responsibility was his, and on his acceptance, the children would likewise be in his care, subject only to the addition of Jane’s name on the document.

  He felt an overwhelming sense of disgust against Cobarne for abdicating his duty to his dead brother’s children. Cold logic told him that he should make the man wait for his signature – but in his heart, Tom knew he was committed, irrespective of the repercussions.

  Selecting a quill from the desk, he dipped it in the inkwell and scribed his name with a flourish, Thomas Norbery, Esquire. Then he added, Representing Miss Jane Littlemore, Linmore Hall, England.

  The lawyer looked bemused as he received the paper.

  “I presume that was what you intended, Cobarne?” Tom felt he had regained the moral high ground. He did not want to stay with these parsimonious people. “I trust you will send a copy of this paper to my man of business. I will give you his directions.”

  “May I offer you refreshment, sir?” Cobarne belatedly remembered his manners.

  “Thank you, no,” Tom said. “It would appear the children have decided to come with me today. In which case, I think we should return to Dublin and make reservations for the morning crossing to Liverpool. To save time, I will instruct my grooms to assist with carrying the cases.”

  Within half an hour, the children stood waiting in the hallway to make their farewells. The moment Charlie shook his uncle’s hand almost proved his undoing. If the boy had not been clutching his sister’s arm, he would have broken down in tears, and the uncle was scarcely less controlled.

  Tom did not particularly like Lucius Cobarne, but he could see the man felt some affection for the boy. The woman showed no trace of emotion. Neither did the little girl.

  He was glad it was time to leave. He did not know how he would get on with the children, but so far, they seemed to have accepted him. Now he must take them home to Linmore.

  CHAPTER 3

  “Please, sir, will we soon be at Linmore? Sophie is tired.”

  It was obvious she was not the only one, but nothing would persuade Charlie to admit to such weakness. Squire Norbery looked at the boy’s determined face, almost grey with fatigue, and thought of the courageous way he had supported his sister from the time they entered the coach. He had not moved his arm once from around her shoulders or loosened his grip on her hand.

  Each one coped differently with the sea crossing. While Charlie was deeply engrossed in his responsibilities, Sophie became animated. It was the first time Tom had seen her smile. She clapped her hands and laughed at the waves lashing against the sides of the boat, as if daring them to do their worst. Her eyes shone as the wind blew back the ho
od of her cape and splashed her hair with spray, but she uttered not a word to him.

  When they went below to their berths, Charlie accepted Jack Kilcot’s offer of assistance, but Sophie ignored the girl who came to help her. She was still wearing the same clothes in which she left Blackrock, and when they sat down on their bunk, curled up alongside her brother.

  She was still asleep when they reached Liverpool. With no way of judging her reaction on waking, Tom carried her from the ship to the waiting coach. Fortunately, she did not stir.

  Once away from the port, they headed through the countryside towards the Cheshire inn and livery stables where they had left the Linmore coach horses. So far, caring for the children presented few problems. Charlie informed Mary Kilcot of his sister’s needs and the maid complied with his requests.

  The first time Charlie asked the distance, Tom said, “All being well, we should be home within a couple of days.”

  He could not blame the boy for wanting to know, but it was easier to say that, and let them be surprised if they arrived earlier. It was important for them to know they could trust his word.

  Charlie accepted what he said. Tom thought it was better to let them grow accustomed to his presence than overwhelm them with talking. He was glad of the chance to rest, and relieved to be going home. Luckily, the children slept most of the way to the inn and then awoke, ready to eat.

  He was right in thinking Sophie was not like other girls. She had no notion of decorum, table manners, or being clean. She refused to use cutlery to eat. Fingers came first and last with holding meat, dipping bread in gravy, and wiping the drips from her chin.

  Mary Kilcot tutted with disapproval, but Tom shook his head and reached for a finger bowl. Charlie did likewise, drawing Sophie’s attention as he rinsed his hands in the water and dried them on a cotton cloth. He bent his head close to his sister, and then requested, “Clean water, if you please, Mary, for Sophie.”

  While the rain beat down outside, Tom Norbery waited with his charges and servants under the wooden veranda covering the back door to the inn. Sophie was engrossed, watching Salter bring out the team of Linmore horses harnessed to the coach. Suddenly, she dashed forward onto the damp cobblestones of the courtyard amongst the bustle of shouting ostlers, travellers and conveyances.