“No, no! Footmen reflect the marquess’s station. But I should like to reduce the size of the stables, and perhaps dispose of some of the carriages that no longer see any use. That should save two or three hundred pounds a year.”
“That is rather a small amount,” Humphrey said.
“But that small amount may be combined with a number of other small amounts saved elsewhere to add up to rather large amounts. There is always waste in a large household, and for those prepared to examine every expense, no matter how small, there are great economies to be made which do not inconvenience anyone. Indeed they may not even be noticed. For instance, have you observed any diminution in the quality or quantity of wine consumed?”
“Not at all. If anything, I would say the quality is somewhat improved.”
“That is because the amount of wine purchased has remained unchanged for some thirty years, a time when, I must suppose, the marquess of that time entertained rather lavishly. The wine cellars, large as they may be, are quite full. I have reduced the wine bill by three quarters, and yet the wine served is somewhat better quality because it is drawn from mature stocks.”
“That is very ingenious,” Humphrey said. “And this is what you were accustomed to do for Sir Osborne Hardy when you worked for him?”
“Indeed, and over many years my modest amendments had the happy effect of doubling his income, while also reducing his expenditure by half.”
“You are a clever man, Merton. I am very sorry indeed that Sir Osborne is dead, but it has been a fortunate circumstance for us, in sending you to straighten us out. But tell me, what would your advice be in my own case? How should I proceed if I wish to obtain the one hundred thousand pounds to establish my gaming house?”
“My advice would be look for a number of investors each willing to contribute a small amount to the venture, and then to marry Miss Blythe. The real Miss Blythe, that is.”
“Ah… you know about that? Naturally you do. You are quick-witted and observant, so you worked it out.”
“Thanks to Mr Julius Whittleton, and a letter I wrote on behalf of the marquess, a reply to which was, most surprisingly, not received. You understand me, I take it? My suspicions were confirmed by talking to Mr Percival Stoner at Branksford Abbey. He was very helpful, and agreed to say nothing at all about the matter.”
“So that was your doing! It seemed likely that the whole deception would be unmasked in the most embarrassing way possible, so it was a great relief when my fears in that direction came to nothing. It will all be public soon enough and then… but you suggest an array of investors, so why then would I need to marry Miss Blythe?”
“Why, for your own happiness, my lord. And hers, of course.”
Humphrey pulled his horse up sharply, causing the creature to toss his elegant head in protest. “You can say that with surety? That her happiness is at stake?”
“With surety? No man may be sure of a lady’s heart until he puts it to the test. But it is my opinion, and also that of Lady Hardy, that Miss Blythe holds you in the greatest affection.”
“And yet how can I speak?” Humphrey cried in frustration. “To court one lady openly, and then transfer my attentions the instant it is revealed that she has no fortune — it would be despicable, and would put me on a level footing with Julius, which I do not want. It would be of all things improper, and insulting to both ladies. Do you not agree that it would be improper?”
“My lord, I cannot advise you on such a subject. Sir Osborne was wont to say that if one doubts the propriety of an action, one had much better not do it, and especially where a lady is concerned. He was always most solicitous of Lady Hardy, and guarded her good name jealously. But he was a second generation baronet, which is not to be compared with the son of a marquess of long lineage. Much is forgiven those of high rank.”
Much might be forgiven him, as the son of a marquess, but how much would be forgiven Hortensia, a woman of no particular family, her fortune arising from trade? She could not afford to put a foot wrong. And then, when her deception was uncovered… If he were to marry Hortensia, he wanted her to be accepted into good society, just as he was, and not snubbed or sneered at or disdained as a vulgar mushroom. He was not convinced that even the Marford name was sufficient to overcome such a history. Even Carrbridge disdained her. What was he to do? His mind was no nearer to a resolution. His heart drew him strongly in one direction, but his head disagreed.
Humphrey fell silent, and they rode on without further conversation.
~~~~~
Silsby Vale House dozed in the noon sunshine, with no sign of gardeners or grooms. But when they rode round to the stables, the same groom appeared that Humphrey had seen before.
“We meet again, Robert! But tell me, is it safe to leave my horse with you? For the last time I did so, the walk home was most unpleasant.”
The man looked shamefaced. “Beg pardon, milord, but I didn’t know. I were just following orders.”
“Very well, then. Take good care of this fellow, for he belongs to Lord Augustus Marford, and he will rip your guts out and feed them to the crows if any harm befalls a horse of his.”
The man blanched. “I’ll look after him, milord, I swear it.”
“Good. I am glad we understand each other. Is your mistress at home?”
“Aye, milord. She never goes out.”
“What, not even to church?”
“Parson won’t have her.”
“A fine example of Christian charity,” Humphrey muttered, as he dismounted.
The housekeeper admitted them without demur, albeit with a sour expression on her face. They were shown into the same sitting room as before, where Mrs Andrews received them warily. Refreshments were sent for, although Humphrey had no wish for any, and while they waited for the tray to arrive, and then for the lady to pour tea and cut slices of cake, nothing was said that did not relate to the weather, the ease of their journey there and the likelihood of a good harvest. After a while, it fell upon Humphrey to maintain this conversation, for Merton was busy eating cherry cake, and the lady, having exhausted her repertoire of small talk, said little beyond “Oh indeed, my lord” and “Certainly, my lord” and “Is that so, my lord?”.
Having finished his cake, and no more being forthcoming, Merton at last commenced to explain the reason for the visit. Mrs Andrews looked from one to the other, and then said, faintly, “I can tell you nothing.”
“You may speak freely, Mrs Andrews,” Merton said. “I am Lord Carrbridge’s secretary and have his full confidence, and Lord Humphrey is his lordship’s brother. We stand here in place of his lordship, so we have the authority to ask these questions.”
“Oh, I do not doubt it,” she said. “But I do not have the authority to answer them.”
“Because of Sharp?” Humphrey said impatiently. “You need not regard him.”
She paled, her hand fluttering tremulously at her throat. “Mr Sharp is master here, my lord. I must regard him.”
“By what right does he rule here?” Humphrey said. “He does not own this house, nor is he your husband. Is he related to you, madam?”
She shook her head, but answered firmly, “He is master here.”
Humphrey set his tea cup down carefully on a side table and leaned back in his chair, scrutinising her. She lowered her head under his gaze. “You are afraid of him. He has some hold over you, perhaps?”
“Financial?” Merton hazarded. “Do you owe him money?”
She licked her lips, her fingers smoothing her gown over and over, although it bore no creases. “I can tell you nothing.”
Merton frowned, and began in severe tones, “Then we must—” but Humphrey waved him to silence.
“Mrs Andrews,” he said gently, “whatever your history with Sharp, you are dealing now with the Marquess of Carrbridge, who owns this house. Sharp is the marquess’s land agent, an employee, and acts only under his authority, so he cannot compel you to do or not do anything.”
; “That’s what you think!” she said, with a grimace.
“No, it is what the law thinks, and it is also what the marquess thinks, and you may be very sure, madam, that the marquess and the law together are far, far more powerful than Sharp. You need not fear him.” Still she hesitated, so he went on, “But no one can help you unless you speak of your dealings with my father and with Sharp.”
She looked down at her fingers still smoothing imaginary creases in her skirt, but when she looked up again, Humphrey saw resolve in her face. “Very well. I will trust you, my lord, and in truth, it would be a relief to tell someone all that has happened to me. Mr Merton, would you be so good as to look in that cupboard over there… no, the one to the right. Yes, that one. You will find a bottle of brandy and some glasses. Please pour me some brandy. A little more, if you please. And do take some yourselves. No? As you please.” She sipped and almost purred with satisfaction.
“Let me begin at the very beginning,” she said, settling back in her chair, the brandy glass in her hand. “We moved here, Cecil and I, not long after we were married, when his father died. At first, we lived modestly enough. Being neighbours to Drummoor, we were invited there occasionally — a dinner, or a ball, or one of the famous summer garden parties of those days. But then Cecil inherited a little money from an uncle, and nothing would do but he must go to London for the season and move in the same circles as the Marfords. And of course, he was drawn into the gambling. He loved it, and nothing I said would dissuade him. Needless to say, for the man was a fool, he was soon in too deep, losing money everywhere. But would he quit? Of course not! And eventually, as I had told him would happen, he lost everything he had — the money, the house, everything — to your father. Charles Marford.”
She took a long draught of brandy, and sighed, although whether on account of the sadness of the tale or satisfaction at drinking brandy in the middle of the day was more than Humphrey could tell.
“Charles was very kind,” she went on. “Such a charming man, and so handsome. You look so like him, my lord — goodness, it quite takes me back! He allowed us to stay on here without paying rent, which was very generous of him. But Cecil resented it so. Almost I think he would have preferred it if we had been thrown out on our ears and left to rot in a ditch. Three months later, he took a gun out rabbiting, and never came home. He was found with half his head blown off in the western spinney. An accident, the coroner said. Self-inflicted, the parson and half the county said.” Again the brandy glass was raised and she took a long swallow.
“It was a relief, to be truthful, for poor Cecil was not the man he had been, not a man I could respect. Charles was very understanding. I could stay on under the same terms, he said. I think he felt some guilt, for he often brought a haunch of venison or beef when he came over. He had an interest in one of the housemaids at the time, so he was here a great deal. He would have his dinner with me, and stay the night, and I suppose the housemaid crept into his room. There was a child—”
“Charlie,” Humphrey said.
She smiled. “Charlie, yes. Very like his father, as you are, my lord, although very light-fingered. Always stealing. We had to send him away in the end. But the time I speak of was before Charlie was even born. Your father liked to talk to me. I think he was lonely, for there had been some great tragedy in his life, a woman he had loved and lost — something of the sort. Then he had been forced into a society marriage, and he chafed rather at the restrictions. He was so unhappy.”
Humphrey listened in silent astonishment to this description of his father, a man who, whatever his other failings, had always behaved with great tenderness towards his wife. Had he really been unhappy? Or was it mere words to charm a gullible widow into his bed? Perhaps he had really disliked his marriage, and had come to love his wife despite that. It was a puzzle. Humphrey asked no questions, but vowed to relate the whole of it to Carrbridge, who, being the eldest, might remember something of their father in these long-ago times.
Mrs Andrews sighed. “He was so generous, so charming… it was almost inevitable that he should turn to me. For two years he came to me, although less often at the end. Then one day he told me he would come no more. He gave me this to look after, to keep things private, he said…”
She rose gracefully and went to a small desk at one end of the room. Unlocking it with a key she kept hidden beneath a vase, she produced a small roll of papers tied with ribbon. This she passed to Merton, who swiftly untied and unrolled the pages.
“The title documents,” he said with a satisfied smile. “Also, some lesser papers relating to the estate. Thank you, madam. These prove the marquess’s ownership.”
She nodded. “That was the last I ever saw of him. I missed him, of course, but I understood. He was the heir to the title, a man of importance, and I had been merely a passing dalliance to him. These great men — they take whatever they want, is it not so? I was not resentful, and my life was peaceful. But then, about six months after Charles had left me, Mr Sharp came. It had been decided that I must pay rent after all, he said. Of course I could not. I lived the most frugal life as it was, for all I had was my jointure, too hedged about with restrictions for Cecil to gamble away. So then he suggested—”
She broke off and frowned into the brandy glass, as if surprised to find it empty. Silently Merton rose and refilled it.
“He did not say it in so many words, you understand, for he never spoke in a straightforward way, but it was clear enough. If I were to… accommodate him, then the payment of rent need not trouble me.”
“That is despicable,” Merton said, in shocked tones.
She shrugged. “It is the way of the world. I had no protection, no husband or brother or son to stand up for me. It seemed preferable to me rather than destitution, and perhaps the workhouse. And it was not so bad, so long as I did exactly as he wished, and the servants too. He had a great temper if he was thwarted, although he never hit me. But I could not bear the upset, when he was cross. So we all did whatever he wanted, and he was satisfied.”
“Have you no family at all?” Humphrey said.
“A brother who washed his hands of me when Cecil died. A sister who washed her hands of me when I took Charles into my bed. Even the parson has washed his hands of me,” she said, with a sudden smile that gave some indication of how pretty she must have been in her youth.
“Well, you have protection now,” Humphrey said, standing abruptly, for he was too angry to sit still. “I shall ensure that Sharp does not come here again, and just to make absolutely certain of it, I shall send over one of the footmen to act as butler and make sure you are not troubled again.”
“Oh!” Her eyes widened. “My lord, thank you! That would be wonderful, for the housekeeper is in Mr Sharp’s pocket, you know. She reports everything to him, and intercepts all the mail, and prevents anyone from calling on me. At least she could not deny you, my lord! It is so difficult, and I sit in here, day after day, seeing no one, not able to go out except for a monthly shopping trip to York, and even then she accompanies me.”
“Mrs Andrews, you are a prisoner no longer,” Humphrey said gently.
They left her in tears of gratitude, and rode home slowly, rather overwhelmed.
“What is to be done about Sharp?” Merton said.
“Nothing,” Humphrey said shortly. “There is nothing that can be done. If you put all this to him, he will protest his innocence. He put no pressure on the lady, she simply offered herself. Of course she is not a prisoner, it is all in her mind. And it is all her word against his. He is the most slippery snake in the world.”
“There must be something we can do,” Merton said.
“I should like to smash his smug face to pulp, but that would put me in the wrong,” Humphrey growled. “It is not right, not right at all, but at least we have put a stop to it. Mrs Andrews will not be troubled by Sharp again.”
“It is contemptible, taking advantage of a lady in that way,” Merton said. “Sharp is the
very devil.”
Humphrey said nothing, wondering about his own father, who had also taken advantage of the lady, and the housemaid, too. What had Mrs Andrews said? ‘These great men — they take whatever they want’ and he could not deny it. His own father had been scarcely less despicable than Sharp. Selfish, careless, cruel — thinking only of his own pleasure, and heedless of the path of destruction left in his wake. And if his father had not used Mrs Andrews, would Sharp have dared to do so? He was very much to blame. One could not act as one pleased and ignore the consequences, not if one were a gentleman.
The more he thought about it, the more he knew that his own path was plain — he could not blindly follow his own wishes and pursue Hortensia. He must be circumspect, abide by his brothers wishes and do all as he ought. He must keep away from her for now, no matter how difficult.
17: An Audacious Plan
Hortensia woke to another dreary day, her spirits quite downcast. Her anger had long since given way to despondency. What now was there to look forward to? No rides with Humphrey, no close-fought games of piquet, no quiet conversation before dinner. And no Rosemary, either, for she was entirely absorbed in her new-found love, and had eyes for no one but Lord Kilbraith.
Rising early, Hortensia ordered a tray in her room, for breakfast was too public for her bruised nerves just now. What if she should meet Humphrey there? And there was Lady Carrbridge, too, who was bound to try to throw them together. No, she would keep out of the way, until everyone had gone off on their various schemes. Lord Reginald and the Chamberlains were bound for York to see about wedding clothes. Lady Carrbridge was to accompany the aunts to the Dunborough’s strawberry-picking party. The younger guests were to go to Harkwell for the village’s midsummer feast. Before long, the house would be quiet and then she could slink out of her room in safety.
As soon as she dared, she donned her riding habit and crept away to the stables. Oh, the joy of having a decent horse to ride! As soon as she was settled somewhere, she would set up her stable. But not snooty London, or stuffy Bath. No, she knew where she wanted to live, and it was just a matter of finding the right estate to buy. There was a property for sale beyond Harkwell… but would Humphrey be angry if— No, she need not regard his wishes. He took no account of her feelings, so why should she consider his? She may live wherever she chose, for it was no concern of his.
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