As Tom was saddling Ganymede, a familiar face peeped out from one of the stalls further down. It always made her smile to see him, with his features so like Humphrey’s.
“Hello there, Charlie! How are you?”
“Very well, ma’am,” he said, coming boldly down to stroke Ganymede’s nose.
“Keeping yourself out of trouble, are you?”
He laughed. “Good as gold, I am! Aren’t I, Tom?”
“Mister Tom to you, if you don’t mind,” Tom said equably. “He’s got the cheek of Old Nick himself, that lad has, and you don’t want to go encouraging him, madam. But he hasn’t put a foot wrong lately, I have to say.”
“I am very glad to hear it,” Hortensia said. “I am sure Lord Humphrey will be pleased.” She was not at all sure why she mentioned Humphrey, except for the pleasure of hearing his name spoken, although there was a little stab of pain, too.
“Hope so,” Charlie said, although a shadow crossed his face as he spoke. “He’s been right good to me, speakin’ up for me an’ all. An’ I hope he knows I’d do anything for him.”
“I am sure he does,” Hortensia said, absentmindedly, her thoughts already away on the moors, planning her first gallop. “Towards Mishmere today, Tom?”
The cloudless blue sky and the freshness of the air alone could not have lifted her spirits, but Ganymede’s power and strength could and did. As she reined him in after their first gallop, she was laughing in delight, Humphrey almost banished from her thoughts.
But by the time she had returned to her room, all her gloom was back in full force. An hour or two of riding every day was not enough to relieve her dismals. There was nothing to be done but endure, and count the days until she could leave this place forever. Except, of course, that she would also be leaving Humphrey forever, and that brought the tears very close to the surface.
She had just changed into her morning gown and was about to dismiss the maid, when a scream echoed through the house, then another, followed by much shouting and the thumping of running feet. The maid’s eyes were wide.
“Oh, Lor’, now what?” she said.
“Let us go and see who is being murdered, shall we?” Hortensia said bracingly.
Upon opening the door, the yelling was louder, and emanating from further down the corridor.
“Leggo of me! Leggo!” a male voice shouted.
“Hold him! Don’t let him escape! Letitia, grab his legs.” Female voices, followed by more screaming.
Hortensia set off at a fast pace, rounding a corner only to run full pelt into a crowd of women in the sombre attire of lady’s maids. On the ground, pinned down by two solidly built women of at least sixty, was Charlie. A younger woman was crying, and another had a bloody nose. They were all so busy shouting instructions and urging each other on, that no one took the slightest notice of Hortensia’s arrival.
“What is going on?” she cried. Then, louder, “Stop all this caterwauling at once!”
Silence fell, punctuated by sniffles, and an occasional wriggle from Charlie.
“Oh! Miss Quayle! Beg pardon, madam, but we was just apprehending this ’ere thief.”
“It’s one of the grooms, by ’is uniform,” another said. “Shouldn’t even be in the ’ouse.”
That was true enough. It was going to be difficult to explain away Charlie’s behaviour, yet it had to be done. He was family, and if he were to be hauled off to the constables, or, even worse, transported to Australia, it would be a dreadful thing for the marquess and marchioness. Could one be hanged for stealing? She could not say for certain.
“Yes, but do get off him,” Hortensia said. “He will suffocate, you know, if you sit on his head.”
“But if we do, he might escape!”
“If you do not, he will die and you will likely be charged with murder, but the choice is yours. Have you some rope or some such? Strong ribbons? Good. Fetch some and we shall bind his hands. And feet, to be safe.”
Cautiously, the two women moved off Charlie, while another of their number, perhaps more sensible, tied Charlie’s hands and feet with strong twine. He gazed at them with wary eyes, but made no further attempts to escape.
“There now, he is quite safe, and you may tell me what has happened here,” Hortensia said.
“Why, I caught him in the very act of thieving, ma’am. Caught him in Lady Patience’s room, with the jewellery box open.”
“He had the stolen item in his hand?”
“Well… no, madam, but I’m sure he put something in his pocket — that pocket there.”
Hortensia’s heart plummeted. If Charlie had been doing no more than snooping about it would have been possible to explain it away, but actual stealing was another matter. But there was no help for it. “Charlie, I must look in your pocket. You understand, I am sure.” She gave him her most meaningful glance, but she could not speak more explicitly and could only hope that he understood she was on his side.
He raised fearful eyes to her, but gave a quick nod of acknowledgement.
She knelt beside him. Gingerly, she put her hand in his pocket… and drew out a dazzling necklace encrusted with emeralds. The assembled ladies all gasped. Hortensia rocked back on her heels. A brooch could be explained away, even a diamond pendant, if it were small, but this… it was worth a fortune. What on earth had he been thinking? But there was no possibility of explaining it away.
Two footmen had now appeared at a run, and, to Hortensia’s relief, Mr Merton. He, at least, would appreciate the delicacy of the problem. She drew him aside, and in a few quick sentences, told him what had happened.
“He will have to go to the constables,” Mr Merton said in the same quiet tone. “I see no help for it. Nor can we expect leniency from the magistrate, not for a groom, whoever his father may be.”
But that gave Hortensia the glimmering of an idea. “Mr Merton, can you contrive to get me two minutes alone with him? Or with no one but you? I need to talk to him privately.”
He asked no questions. “Basset, Gaffney, will you take him down to the blue room for now. Ladies, you may return to your duties. Miss Quayle and I will see this fellow on his way to the constables in Sagborough. Miss Cartwright, this is your mistress’s necklace, I believe? Pray see it safely stowed away. Miss Quayle?”
Almost, he got away with it. His tone was so authoritative, in his quiet way, that the younger lady’s maids began to drift away. But the two stout older women who had been sitting on Charlie were not so easily deterred.
“I need to go with him,” Miss Cartright said, pursing her lips. “I have to bear witness against him. Saw him with my own eyes, so I did.”
“You may bear witness at his trial,” Mr Merton said in his mild way.
“I shall tell my tale to the constables,” she said determinedly. “And Miss Wilde here will come with me, to bear witness to his attempts to escape, which speaks forcibly of his guilt. I know my duty, Mr Merton.”
“Very well,” he said, giving no sign of alarm. “Miss Cartwright and Miss Wilde may accompany him to Sagborough. Pray fetch your bonnets, ladies. The rest of you — about your duties, if you please.”
“Bring a Bible, ladies,” Hortensia said. “You may instil a degree of penitence in the prisoner on the journey by reading him improving verses.”
Charlie rolled his eyes, but Hortensia merely glowered at him. The ladies disappeared, and the two footmen hauled Charlie to his feet, and assisted him towards the stairs. Mr Merton and Hortensia followed at a little distance.
“Do you have a plan?” Mr Merton whispered. She nodded, and he gave a very slight smile. “It had better be a good one,” he said.
She was not sure whether it was good or not, but it was certainly audacious, as it must necessarily be, given the tight spot that Charlie was in.
The blue room was a small, unwelcoming room beside the main entrance. She guessed it was a place where unexpected visitors might be deposited while the butler determined what to do with them. There was no fire,
no tray of decanters, nothing but a ring of firmly padded chairs and a few undistinguished paintings on the walls. Charlie was plopped unceremoniously on a chair. He said nothing, but he was white-faced and his eyes were huge with fear.
Again, Mr Merton took charge of the situation. “Basset, pray order the carriage brought round for a journey to Sagborough. The smaller chaise. Gaffney, fetch some brandy. The prisoner looks like to swoon, and I could use some myself.”
The two footmen left the room without questioning the orders, but Hortensia was puzzled.
“You sent the senior man to order the carriage, and the junior for brandy?”
“It takes longer that way — Gaffney will have to go to Crabbe for the brandy. Say what you have to say, Miss Quayle, for we have but little time.”
She nodded. “Charlie,” she began, “believe me when I say I intend to get you out of this mess, if only for Lord Carrbridge’s sake. You are family, so exertions must be made. I have no idea what made you do this, but—”
“Why, for Lord Humphrey!” he said, in surprised tones. “So he can have this gaming house he wants. He’s been so good to me, that—”
“You are an idiot, Charlie,” she said briskly. “Now, listen carefully. When you get to Sagborough, let them arrest you and lock you up. Then, and only then, you will tell them that you are Lord Humphrey Marford. You had a bet with Mr Merton here to get yourself arrested for… how much would you wager, Mr Merton?”
“That will never work,” Mr Merton said with alarm. “He may look like Lord Humphrey, but—”
“Nonsense!” Charlie said, in his plummiest accent. “I assure you, my dear fellow, I shall have not the least difficulty in persuading the constables that I am Lord Humphrey.”
Mr Merton’s eyes widened, but with only the merest hesitation, he said, “Five hundred. That would be about Lord Humphrey’s level.”
“Very well. The bet was for a monkey, do you understand, Charlie? And you must pretend to be Lord Humphrey, and not let up for a moment, no matter what happens, understood?”
His eyes gleamed. “Oh, yes! A monkey, a wager to get myself arrested, keep up the accent. I can do that.”
“They will not release him,” Mr Merton said, urgently. “Not just because he says he is Lord Humphrey, no matter how convincing.”
“No, the case will have to go to the magistrate. But you need not worry, Charlie. Just remember, you are Lord Humphrey Marford. You are the son of a marquess, remember?”
“Aye, and I really am,” he said, grinning. “You’re very clever, miss.”
“We shall see,” she said. “Do not let me down. Mr Merton, may I trouble you for a note detailing the bet? To convince the magistrate.”
He nodded, understanding. Hortensia exhaled slowly. It was a relief to have Mr Merton involved, for he was very quick on the uptake, and entirely to be relied upon.
Just then, Gaffney returned with the brandy, with Crabbe and another couple of footmen in attendance, and there was no more opportunity for private talk. Hortensia could only hope it had been enough. Mr Merton slipped away, and returned soon after, pushing a piece of paper into her hand. Shortly after that Miss Cartwright and Miss Wilde appeared, one holding a Bible and the other the book of common prayer, so it was to be supposed that Charlie would have a dull time of it on his journey to Sagborough.
The carriage was brought round, Charlie and the two ladies were disposed within it, and, after some discussion, Mr Merton and Gaffney, the largest footman in the house, were squeezed in also, and the carriage rolled on its ponderous way.
Then Hortensia turned, and fled through the house to the stables.
“Tom! Tom, where are you? Tom!” She raced up one side of the stables, then back down the other. “Tom!”
“Here, madam.”
“Oh, thank God! Where is Lord Humphrey, do you know?”
“Aye, he went off to Tambray Hall with Lady Harriet in her carriage not half an hour ago.”
She made rapid calculations in her head. “Yes, that is possible — just. But there is no time to be lost. Tom, I need the curricle, right now. Please have the greys harnessed at once.”
“Lord Humphrey’s curricle, madam?”
“Yes, of course! At once! It is imperative!”
To her enormous relief, he did not quibble, but instantly nodded once. “Twenty minutes, madam.”
“Make it fifteen. I shall be back directly.”
She ran again, first to the attics, and then to her own room for a pelisse and bonnet and gloves, and a small portmanteau. Then another race back to the stables, where the greys were already waiting. She tossed the portmanteau onto the rumble seat, and jumped up onto the driving seat.
“Tom, you are wonderful. Pray get us moving while I fasten these wretched buttons.”
“Aye, madam.”
They clattered over the cobbles and out under the arch, Tom expertly deploying the whip, while Hortensia fastened the tiny pearl buttons on her pelisse, and then tied the ribbons on her bonnet.
“Oh, the devil take it! I forgot my gloves. Never mind, I daresay I may drive well enough without them. Let me have the reins now, Tom, and hold tight, for I am going to spring them.”
Tom blew the horn to alert the lodge to open the gates, and they tore through as if on fire, and then on through the village, the horn again in use to ensure no one stepped inadvertently in front of them. Hortensia hardly noticed, being fully occupied in controlling the spirited horses, who were well pleased to be allowed to proceed at such a pace, and most unwilling to slow down for the least obstacle. They passed within an inch of the parson’s gig, startling the two ladies it conveyed, and then neatly dived through a curricle-sized gap between a cart full of carrots and a carriage that looked familiar.
“Oh, well done!” Tom cried. “A fine piece of driving, Miss Quayle!”
“Thank you, but was that a Drummoor outfit?” she said.
“Lady Moorfield and Lady Patience,” he said. “Don’t worry, we went past so quick, I’ll wager they never saw a thing.”
“It cannot be helped if they did,” she said. “Which way to Tambray Hall, Tom?”
“Next left, madam. It’s a tight corner, with a mile post on the inside. After that, you should have a clear road until close to Camnay Farm, where the hay wains will be out for scything the two big meadows.”
They drove in almost total silence, Hortensia concentrating on the horses, and Tom making only the occasional remark to warn of turns and possible hazards. In not much more than half an hour, therefore, they came to the neat stone wall that marked the southern perimeter of Tambray Hall. Approaching them in the opposite direction was Lady Harriet’s neat carriage.
“Devil take it!” Hortensia said, pulling the curricle to a halt in the very centre of the lane so that carriage would be forced to stop. “I had hoped to reach him before they even arrived here. Now we have a problem.”
Two heads peered out of either side of the carriage as it slowed to a halt. Even before wheels had stopped turning, one door flew open and Humphrey descended in a lather of indignation.
“Tom, what the devil are you about—? Oh! Miss Quayle? What is going on?”
“I must take you to Sagborough, Humphrey, but you have quite spoilt my devious plan, for you have already called at Tambray Hall and now — good day to you, Lady Harriet! — and now Lord and Lady Melthwaite have seen you, and it is imperative that no one should know where you are. But it is too late and I am very cross with you.”
He smiled up at her, not in the least disconcerted. “I would by no means spoil any plan of yours, Miss Quayle, devious or otherwise. But pray explain it all to me, and perhaps we may contrive some amendment which will make you less cross.”
And her stomach fluttered at the affection in his voice, and the warmth of his smile. She could not help herself from smiling back just as warmly.
Beside them, Lady Harriet looked from one to the other, and murmured, “Well, well, well. So that is how it is.”
Quickly, Hortensia explained about the stolen necklace, and how Charlie had been hauled off to the constables. “So you see, we must help him! You do understand, do you not?”
Humphrey laughed. “Oh, yes! And how are we to do that? Are we going to spring him from prison?”
“Of course!” she said. “At least — you are, Humphrey.”
18: Sagborough
Humphrey could not help laughing, partly from exhilaration, for what could be better than breaking into the prison at Sagborough and snaffling a prisoner from under the noses of the constables? But partly, it was the excitement on Hortensia’s face, which so exactly matched his own. What a woman she was! No weeping or wailing or hand-wringing for her. Instead, she formulated a plan and carried it out. Although…
He frowned. “I am not quite sure how it is to be done. The prison is moderately secure, you know. How are we to break in?”
“Oh, no necessity for breaking in. You will walk in through the front door.”
His frown deepened. “But—”
“And he will walk out of it. Do you not see? I have told him to tell the constables that he is you.”
“But that will not work! If I go into the prison, the constables will see at once that there are two of us who look exactly the same.”
“Really, Humphrey!” she cried. “You are very slow today. Naturally you will not walk in looking as you do now. You will be a parson — I have brought some clothes from the play attic, although I hope they fit, for you are very large, it must be said. I even have a Bible for you, but you must think up a name for yourself and a reason why you have been asked to go there, for I cannot think of every little detail. Then, when you go in, you must ask to be alone with the prisoner, you know — so that he might confess, or some such. Then you switch clothes, and Charlie walks out as the parson.”
Sons of the Marquess Collection Page 38