“Oh, yes, sir, two. Mrs. Warrender didn’t take hers, you see. Lord Hawth sent for her.”
“Good God!” He turned to Futherby, who was clearing his throat unhappily. “You don’t mean to tell me I even own Mrs. Warrender’s carriage?”
“You own everything,” interposed Coombe with satisfaction. “I doubt if the ladies were entitled to take away so much as their bits and pieces. As I would have said, had I been consulted. And all through the careless drafting of Mr. Futherby here.”
“So you have told me several times. I begin to think there are worse things than carelessness. Chilver, have Mrs. Warrender’s carriage and horses sent after her to Hawth Hall with my compliments and apologies, and order out the other one to set Mr. Coombe on his way to London. He can hire in Glinde, I take it?”
“Yes, sir.”
“Good. Add the expenses to your account, Coombe, and, good-bye.”
“You’ll regret this!” But Coombe found himself being inexorably shown the door by Chilver.
“So much for that.” Warren turned with a smile to Futherby. “Now pray be seated, Mr. Futherby, and tell me all about this carelessness of yours. I do feel there has to be some kind of explanation.”
“Of course there is.” Futherby had watched the foregoing scene with a great deal of interest. “But Mrs. Warrender has been too kind to ask, and, to tell truth, I hardly liked to tell her.”
“Mr. Warrender, eh?”
“Yes, sir. A very strong-minded man. Liked things done his way, and fast. I shouldn’t have given way to him, Mr. Warren. You don’t need to tell me that, and no one can blame me more than I do myself. But it was that or he would take his business away. And, truly, Mr. Warren, I was anxious for Mrs. Warrender … with a stranger … it might have been so much worse. And it was just for a few days, you see! How could I imagine what was going to happen!”
“How indeed! Does Mrs. Warrender know how bad things are?”
“Well, not entirely, or I am sure she would not have taken a stitch of clothing with her. Still less Miss Kate. They left all their jewels. Told me to give them to you when they were gone.”
“Oh Jehosaphat!” His tone belied the mild phrase. “What the devil am I to do about that, Futherby?”
“No use sending them after, I’m afraid. It will be a miracle if Mrs. Warrender accepts the carriage. Or rather, she might, but I bet you any odds Miss Kate won’t.”
“Strong-minded is she? She certainly looks it. Ah.” The door had opened to reveal chilver and a footman bearing refreshments. “Thank you, Chilver. Perhaps you would be so good as to see that Mr. Coombe has something in his room before he goes.”
“Very good, sir.”
Alone with Futherby, Warren poured wine for them both. “One bridge crossed, I fancy. It looks as if I am not to lose my staff after all.” He raised his glass. “May I toast my new man of business, Mr. Futherby?”
“Thank you, sir.” The attorney gave him a straight look. “I’d be proud. Just so long as it don’t conflict with Mrs. Warrender’s interest.”
“We’ll see that it doesn’t,” said George Warren.
As Lord Hawth’s old-fashioned carriage bowled up the long drive through Hawth Park, Mrs. Warrender’s spirits sank visibly, and when they turned a corner to see the huge, ugly stone house looming before them she clutched her daughter’s hand. “I must have been out of my mind!”
“Not a bit of it.” Kate gallantly fought down her own qualms in order to comfort her mother. “Just much braver than usual. After all, we could not have stayed as guests of that… that…” She paused, vainly searching for a phrase.
“Your cousin, Kate,” reminded her mother.
“Well removed, thank God. Now we have seen him, we must be grateful his father chose to change the family name.” She choked suddenly with laughter. “Oh, Mamma, wasn’t he a sight! I shall never forget Chilver’s face as he showed him in. Do you think the servants have left in a body by now?”
“I do hope not. I urged Chilver not to, but I must confess I have my doubts. Poor young man, one cannot help but feel a little sorry for him.”
“I cannot imagine why,” said Kate. “Well, here we are. And at the front entrance I am glad to see.”
“Well, I should hope so,” said Mrs. Warrender, preparing to alight.
They were expected. Two footmen in shabby livery had flung open the big double doors’ at the head of a shelving flight of stone steps, and inside the butler waited to receive them in his immaculate black.
“How are you, Parsons?” Mrs. Warrender gave him her friendly smile. “Chilver sends his kind regards.”
“Thank you, ma’am.” The smallest hint of a reciprocal smile flickered across his face. “His lordship is awaiting you in the study.”
“Oh?” Doubtfully. She had hoped for a moment to remove her bonnet and shawl and collect her wits.
“He leaves almost at once for London, ma’am.” It was something between an apology and an explanation.
“Oh,” she said again, and they followed him down a long, dark hall to the room Kate remembered so well.
Hawth was seated at his big, mahogany desk, writing busily, but rose when Parsons opened the door and ushered them in. “Welcome to Hawth Hall.” He was in riding clothes, which suited him better, Kate thought, than yesterday’s morning dress. Seating herself, beside her mother on a faded damask sofa, she listened with reserve to the formal apology he was making. He had been summoned urgently to London. They must forgive him for playing the part of an absentee host. But perhaps in his absence Mrs. Warrender would have time to decide whether she really felt able to take on the formidable task of setting his household to rights. “You see now what it is like.” An expressive glance flashed from cob-webbed cornice to shabby curtains. “And the servants the same. I shall be in London for the inside of a week. When I return, I hope you will tell me you can set all to rights for me.”
“Everything?”
“Everything that needs it. I am contemplating marriage.”
“But the lady—”
“No.” He turned to Kate and changed the subject. “Miss Warrender, I have to ask a favour of you.” He did not enjoy doing it “The children …They seem to miss that nurse of theirs. Parsons tells me Harriet is not well.”
“You’ve not seen them?”
“I?” Surprised. “No. They are in disgrace, and rightly so. Besides, what use am I to them?”
“I don’t know.” She looked at him thoughtfully. “Are they still on bread and water?”
He shrugged. “I don’t know. I have not countermanded the order, but what those servants of mine are doing is another matter.”
“Well, I declare!” Mrs. Warrender jumped to her feet “If that isn’t just like a man. Little Harriet—she is the youngest?—I’ll, and you don’t even know if she is being fed! If you will excuse us, we will go to her at once. But first, if I may, I would like to give you my answer, my lord. What is the use of waiting a week to give it when, frankly, we have no option but to stay. I would say I was grateful to you for having us, were it not that you so evidently need us. And now, if you will have us shown to the children’s rooms?”
“Immediately.” He could hardly have looked more surprised, Kate thought, if one of the chairs had answered him back. But then, she was quite surprised herself. He had rung the bell, now turned back to her mother. “Knowles, my bailiff, will wait on you in the morning to take your orders.”
“Orders?”
“For setting first the Dower House and then this barracks in order. He tells me the Dower House can be made habitable in a few days, but it must be done to your wishes.”
“Oh.” Now he had amazed her. “Thank you. But—this house—you will wish to be consulted.”
“I? Good God, no.” The door had opened. “Parsons, the ladies wish to visit the children. You will take care of them in my absence. Your servant, Mrs. Warrender, Miss Warrender. I shall hope you find you comfortably in stalled in the Dower Ho
use when I return.”
“Well—” began Mrs. Warrender, safe outside the door.
“Hush!” said Kate.
And, “This way, ma’am,” said Parsons.
The nursery wing was as far as possible from the study, and Kate found herself wondering if they would ever find their way back. “How is Miss Harriet?” she asked Parsons as he led the way down yet another long corridor.
“She’s right down poorly, miss.” He was suddenly human. “I’m glad you ladies have come and no mistake. Mrs. Simmonds, the nurse, had been with them all their life. She was—well, in some ways I reckon she was more of a ma to them than their ma. Stands to reason Miss Harriet’s fretting. Of course his lordship don’t understand.”
“No. He wouldn’t. Where’s Mrs. Simmonds now?”
He turned to flash her a startled glance of complete understanding. “At Glinde, miss. She sent this morning to ask how they were.”
“Good.”
“Not very.” His tone was a warning. “He won’t have her back, miss, not nohow. What he does, he stands by.”
“Very inconvenient,” said Kate.
“But laudable in a way,” said her mother.
The day nursery was a large, sunlit room with faded carpet and chintzes, and a huge antique rocking horse. When Parsons opened the door, Giles was riding listlessly on the rocking horse, while Sue sat on the window seat, deep in a book. They both looked up in surprise as Parsons ushered the two strange ladies into the room. “Miss Sue and Mr. Giles,” he told Mrs. Warrender. And to the children: “It’s Mrs. and Miss Warrender, come to look after you.” And then, on a much more human note; “How’s Miss Harriet?”
“Asleep, I think.” Sue looked wan and anxious, but made a graceful curtsy to the two ladies. Then, “Warrender?” she asked eagerly. “Are you—are you, perhaps, related to Kit Warrender?”
“Yes, dear.” Mrs. Warrender bent to surprise her with a quick kiss. “Quite closely. He told us about you. That’s partly why we have come.”
“I’m so glad. We’re worried about Harriet, Giles and I, aren’t we, Giles?”
“Well, you are.” He had descended from the rocking horse to make a somewhat ungracious bow. “I think we can do very well without old Simmonds. She does nothing but fuss.”
“That’s not a very pretty way to talk,” said Kate, and met a black, challenging glance, very like his father’s. It was odd how differently one got treated if one braided one’s hair and dressed like a dowd. “Take us to Harriet, Sue?”
This won her a quick look of haughty surprise. Had Sue expected to be addressed as Miss Chyngford? But she put down her book and led the way through an inner door to the night nursery. “We were out late the other night,” she explained, “and Harriet caught cold. She always does.” She made it sound as if it was the child’s fault
“I see.” Mrs. Warrender sat down by the bed where Harriet lay, flushed, snuffling and half asleep. “Good day, Harriet. We have come to help you get better.” A gentle hand was on the child’s hot forehead. “Yes, quite a cold, poor little thing. Parsons—” he had, surprisingly, lingered in the day nursery—“we need a doctor.”
“I was afraid so, ma’am.”
“Will Lord Hawth have left yet?”
“He was in a great hurry, ma’am.”
“Yes. And of course he has no medical man of his own, being a stranger in these parts. So, if you will, Parsons, send a man to Dr. Thatchem in Glinde. My compliments, and I would be grateful if he would come at once.” The child muttered something that sounded like “Simmonds.” “Do you know where Mrs. Simmonds is staying, Parsons?”
“Yes, ma’am.” He was looking at her with more and more respect.
“Then have her fetched. Or, better still, ask Dr. Thatchem to bring her in his coach. I won’t waste time writing a note. He’ll do it for me. And in the meantime, a fire in here, please, and I think I had best come with you and see what I can find by way of a tisane for the child. How long since there has been a housekeeper here, Parsons?”
He looked gloomy. “Board wages, ma’am.”
“Quite so. Kate, dear, you stay here and see she does not uncover herself. I am afraid there is some inflammation on the chest. Sue will help you, I know, and Giles will come for me if necessary.”
“Yes, mamma,” said Kate meekly, taking off her bonnet and replacing her mother on the chair by the bed. And then, with a wicked smile, “I trust Lord Hawth has left!”
“I’ve no time for him now,” said her mother.
All through that exhausting day, Kate watched her mother with amazement. What had happened to the timid wife who used to break into silent tears at the first cross word from her irascible spouse, and who had postponed every decision to his better judgment?
The doctor arrived at noon, bringing with him Nurse Simmonds, a buxom young woman with a roving eye and an instant, loving hug for little Harriet.
“We’ll have you better in no time, my precious, you see if we don’t.” She looked a quick question from the doctor to Mrs. Warrender.
“The child really does need nursing,” said Dr. Thatchem. “I’ll apply a blister. She’ll need constant care. Best from someone she’s used to.”
“Of course,” said Mrs. Warrender. “I will explain to Lord Hawth when he returns.”
Leaving Mrs. Simmonds once more in charge of the nursery, she proceeded to a whirlwind inspection of the house that left the small staff of servants awed and shaken. She was upstairs in the big linen room, looking for sheets fit for use on her and Kate’s beds, when Parsons appeared to announce the arrival of her carriage, and give her George Warren’s message. She stood for a moment, thinking. “Civil of him,” she said at last. “I think it would be discourteous to send it back. Ask the man to wait, Parsons, while I write a note.”
The result of this was the arrival, towards evening, of Parsons’ daughter Betty, whom Mrs. Warrender had been training as housemaid at Warren House. Warren had sent her in his remaining carriage as soon as it returned from taking Coombe to Glinde, and the carriage was accompanied by a grinning stable-boy, riding Boney.
“Mamma, we can’t!” Kate, who had protested in vain against the acceptance of the carriage, was angry now. “I won’t ride him,” she said.
“Then he’ll be a great nuisance to Lord Hawth.” Her mother had been reading the note Betty had brought. “Don’t fret, child, it’s not a gift, it’s a loan. He asks what use he would have for a lady’s horse, and begs you will exercise him.”
“That just shows how ignorant he is,” said Kate crossly. “Boney’s no lady’s horse.”
“And sometimes I think you’re no lady,” said her mother.
“You will be ruled by me in this, Kate, and if you refuse to exercise Boney, then I shall just have to.”
“You, mamma!” It had long been a family joke that Mrs. Warrender was terrified of horses.
“Or Lord Hawth?” suggested her mother.
“What will he say when he finds his stables filled to bursting with our horses?”
“I doubt he’ll notice,” said Mrs. Warrender. “The size they are …” And went back to reading George Warren’s note. “Good gracious! He’s dismissed that Mr. Coombe and asked Futherby to handle his affairs!”
“Absurd!” said Kate. “Futherby will never consent. There’s a clear conflict of interest.”
“Oddly enough,” said her mother, “Futherby has.” She turned the page. “On the understanding that our interests shall be protected. There is a message from Futherby. He will call tomorrow to explain.”
“He had better,” said Kate.
Just the same, she could not resist the temptation to go and see Boney installed to his new stables, nor help being impressed by the shining order of the big stable yard. Lord Hawth might have let his house go to rack and ruin, but he or his head groom had seen to it that there was nothing wrong with the stables. They lay between the hall and the Dower House, which had been the original family home, before an ei
ghteenth-century Chyngford made a fortune from the South Sea Bubble and astutely sold out in time. It was he who had celebrated his fortune by cannabalising stone from the ruined priory outside the park wall and commissioning young Lancelot Brown to design the hall to his own specifications. Between them, they had given it everything from Gothic turrets to crenellations and secret passage. They had failed, lamentably, to make it anything but a stylistic monstrosity.
Leaving the stable yard by the far gate, Kate was entranced by her first view of the Dower House. While Hawth Hall stood bold and ugly on the slope of the down, and, inevitably, caught every sea wind that blew, the Dower House was tucked away in a sheltered hangar and looked very much as if it had grown there. It must be older even than Warren House, Kate thought, its brick and tiles mellow and its timbers pale with age. Best of all, no one had ever improved it. It lay there snug and settled in its fold of the hills, its leaded casements gleaming red from reflected sunset, its chimneys twisting upwards as they must have when Elizabeth was queen. In the excitement and fatigue of the day, she had hardly had time to understand just how much she hated to leave Warren House, just how badly she was going to miss it. Now, her eyes suddenly filling with tears, she felt it all, and, at the same time, felt better.
“There you are, Kate.” Her mother came along the path round the outside of the stables to join her. “They told me I’d find you here.” If she saw the tears standing in her daughter’s eyes, she gave no sign of it, but took her arm and stood silently for a moment also gazing at the house. “I like it,” she said at last. “Don’t you?” She loosened the string of her reticule and produced an enormous key. “I thought we’d have a look by ourselves first.” She led the way across a cracked and weedy terrace to the front door.
“You think of everything,” said Kate, following. “I had no idea. Did you know it was like this?”
“Like? Oh—old, you mean? Yes, I came here once, years ago, when I was younger than you are.” She gave her shoulders a little shake and fitted the key in its heavy lock.
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