“Only just finding them? Usually they get underfoot from the start and make a thorough nuisance of themselves.”
“He seems to have paid them off — money or a house, that sort of thing,” Gus said. “Then, on his deathbed, he appeared to regret not doing more for them, and made Carrbridge promise to take care of them. Which he does, when he finds them, but there are no records anywhere, so sometimes it is a matter of recognising the Marford nose. One turned up who was the image of Humphrey — quite uncanny. There could be scores of them for all we know.”
“Well, if he paid them off, his duty is done, I should say. Shall we ride back, now? Will you introduce me to Mrs Walsh? Wait — let me pick her some flowers. Ladies like to be given flowers.”
“Michael…”
“No, I shall be very good, I promise, but I should like a closer look at her, you know. Besides, if you like her, you are such a slow-top that you will need someone like me to bring you together, otherwise you will ride by her house twice a day without ever doing more than to bid her a good morning in passing.”
“She is a married woman,” Gus protested, but Edgerton just laughed.
“The best kind,” was all he said.
At the lodge, Edgerton dismounted, clutching his bundle of wild flowers, and insisted Gus dismount too and knock at the front door. He was uncomfortable about it, for they had no real reason for calling, but Edgerton was perfectly capable of going alone, and Gus had no wish to impose his friend on Mrs Walsh without being there himself to shield her from the worst of his foolishness. Or so he told himself. So he tied Jupiter’s reins loosely to the gate, and the two men walked into the little front garden, filled with herbs and bees humming, and up to the front door.
She answered it almost at once, which made Gus suspect she had been watching out for them. He made the introductions, Edgerton presented his flowers and she blushed prettily as she thanked him. Gus was conscious of a momentary pang of envy for the unknown Mr Walsh, with such a delight to come home to at night. For some ten minutes Edgerton chattered away to her on the front step, and although she blushed, she responded very readily. She told them, which Gus already knew, that she came from Drifford, the mill town some twenty miles away by road. No, she had not been born there, but when she was fourteen, her clergyman father had had to give up his living through ill health and had rented a small property there. She had met her husband when he had been quartered at the army camp near the town.
“Militia?” Edgerton said, with a soldier’s interest in his fellow professionals.
“No, the Regulars. He… he was killed not long after he went out to the Peninsula. His first action. He was very brave, his colonel said.” Her voice wavered, her fingers clutching the skirt of her gown and Gus thought he saw tears on her lashes, but she blinked them away. Poor woman! How unfortunate to be left a widow at such a young age.
“I am very sorry to hear it,” Edgerton said, but he cast a speaking look at Gus, which seemed to say, ‘A widow! Now you need not hold back’. “Gus’s brother is on his way to the Peninsula, is he not, Gus?”
She lifted her chin. “Ah, such men are heroes, who go to foreign lands to uphold the virtues of a civilised society and keep us safe, and free from tyranny,” she cried. “So courageous, all of them. One can only admire their dedication.”
Gus had to smile at that. “In Gil’s case, it is less a matter of devotion to King and country, and more a question of galloping about with a sword in his hand as much as possible. He has joined a Hussar regiment, and is wild to see some action, but he may feel differently once he gets there.”
“But he would not shirk his duty,” she said, straightening her back. “Just as my husband would not, and paid the ultimate price for his country. I wish your brother good fortune, and I shall pray for him and hope that God will protect him, my lord, but I wish he will not rush to join the fray. My husband was a careful man, who took no undue risks, yet that did not save him.”
Gus said nothing, wondering whether Gil’s love of risk would count for him or against him in war. He had heard tales of men whose reckless daring was legendary, yet they survived battle after battle unscathed while careful men like Mr Walsh fell in their first skirmish. There was no accounting for it.
Shortly afterwards, he deemed it proper to leave. But as they cantered back to the stables, Edgerton grinned lasciviously at him.
“A widow, eh? What could be better! You are well set there, Gus, for she would be in your hand without the least exertion.”
Gus was so annoyed that he spurred Jupiter to a gallop and left Edgerton far behind.
~~~~~
Gus had discovered, on his first Sunday at Castle Morton, that Mrs Walsh did not attend the castle’s own chapel. He decided, therefore, that she must attend one of the town’s churches, and why should he not also venture outside the walls of the duke’s domain for his weekly dose of preaching? He wondered a little at his own interest in the lady, for he had never been in the petticoat line himself, and if asked would certainly have said that he was too young to be thinking of matrimony. He was but four and twenty, with an empty title and not a penny to his name, except for the small allowance his brother made him and the even smaller amount he made from his work at Tattersall’s. That would be more profitable in time, but he could certainly not afford to consider taking on a wife who brought nothing but charm to the marriage.
Nevertheless, his second Sunday saw him ensconced in a pew at St Peter’s Church, not far from the castle gates, and looking eagerly about him for a certain face. The office began before he had seen her, but when he left the church, he was rewarded by a glimpse of her. He positioned himself so that she would have to pass him by, she saw him and curtsied, he bowed and she moved away. Not a word spoken, but his spirits were lifted by the sight of her. He was beginning to be concerned for the state of his own heart. Was this what it felt like to fall in love, this keen interest in her welfare and a desire to see her? He had not yet dreamt of her, but he felt gloomily certain that such an event could not be far away and then he would be truly sunk.
“You are acquainted with Mrs Walsh?” said a voice at his ear. He turned to see Lady Darrowstone beside him, as ethereal as ever in pale muslin, with an exotic little cap to match.
“Slightly,” Gus said, hoping he did not look too conscious. “I ride past her lodge almost every day.”
“One might ride past a place a thousand times without ever striking up an acquaintance with the occupant,” she said archly.
“My horse nearly ran her down at our first encounter, and on my return I naturally enquired after her wellbeing,” Gus said rather huffily, for he did not like this line of questioning. He had no obligation to explain himself to Lady Darrowstone, after all. “I have exchanged pleasantries with her once or twice since then, no more than that.”
She laughed and tapped him playfully on one hand. “I do not mean to quiz you, Lord Augustus, but the lady intrigues me. Why does my father-in-law support her? Who is she?”
“A relative, perhaps?” he hazarded.
“Not that I have been able to find out. No one knows the least thing of her origins or history. She just arrived one day and settled in the empty north lodge, from which she never emerges except for church. Who is she and where did she come from?”
“Why, she is from Drifford,” he said, surprised. “Her husband was a soldier who was killed in the Peninsula.”
She laughed in delight. “And already you know more of her than I have been able to determine in the three years since she arrived. Although — that is a convenient tale, is it not? The soldier husband, who died in the war. Many a woman uses that story.”
“I have no reason to disbelieve her,” Gus said, not at all pleased with the suggestion that the husband was an invention.
She laughed again. “Oh, Lord Augustus, I do believe you are sweet on her! Well, you may think of her as you choose, I am sure.”
“Thank you, I shall,” he said stiffly, with a
bow. She smiled, shook her head and moved on, leaving Gus seriously ruffled by the encounter. Was it possible that the soldier husband was no more than a convenient fiction? Yet she had seemed so sincere as she talked of him. He was certain that she had been close to tears. No, her husband was real enough. But still, there was some mystery about her, and he would love to find it out.
~~~~~
Amaryllis Walsh hurried back home, her head down, her mind filled with thoughts of Lord Augustus Marford. Such an awkward problem! If he were just a flirt, like his captain friend, there would not be the least difficulty, for she could deal with his type easily enough. But a serious man who looked at her in just that way… that was trickier, for such men were apt to become persistent, as she knew only too well.
Still, he was only here for a little while and once his business was concluded he would go back to London and leave her in peace. She could only hope he was not too curious about her history, for if he found out the truth, all her comfort would be destroyed. Yet, how could he find out? She would never tell, and the few other people who knew would certainly never reveal it. She was safe, surely she was safe.
6: An Accident
The following day was too wet even for Gus to venture abroad. He stayed in the little parlour he shared with Edgerton, practising his neglected violin, replying to one of his sister-in-law’s long, chatty letters, and trying without success to read one of the three books he had brought with him. Edgerton had gone into town straight after breakfast, and Gus began to think that might have been a better way to pass the time. By the middle of the afternoon, his boredom has reached a critical threshold, and he threw on his greatcoat and braved the rain. He would take his letter to the post office himself.
The rain was a little less heavy, but even so, he was drenched by the time he had splashed his way to the little room at the inn and back to the main square. There were a few shops down one side, and he idled his way past them, gazing into the windows, although not taking much notice of what he saw, for his mind was elsewhere. At a certain lodge, to be precise, for no matter how much he remonstrated with himself, his thoughts would keep straying back there.
When he came to the street where Lady Darrowstone lived, a quick glance showed him that lady progressing directly towards him. He was not minded for conversation, so he ducked hastily into the nearest shop. It turned out to be one of those shops so common in small towns, a mixture of cast-off furniture and household ornaments, some books, sheet music and instruments — the detritus of house sales, items of no interest individually and sold as a job lot by impatient owners. There were a few good pieces, and Gus lingered over a small but pretty pianoforte, his fingers running over the keys, since its position in the window meant that he could observe Lady Darrowstone pass by.
“You play, sir?” enquired an elderly man in neat black.
“The violin only. Do you have any suitable music for me?”
“A few pieces, sir. We do not get much call for it, but… this one might do. Or this?”
Gus chose three pieces and paid for them, and then, satisfied that the danger from Lady Darrowstone was over, hastily left the shop and slunk back to his quarters in the castle.
~~~~~
The next day was wet again, and saw Gus industriously working at one of his new musical pieces, but the day following dawned clear and bright, and he was at the stables on the stroke of eight.
“He’s a bit frisky, today, milord,” said one of the Carsons.
“Good, for so am I,” Gus said. “A fast ride will be just the thing for both of us. Stand away, there.”
Jupiter shot out of his stall, hooves skidding on the stone slabs, and was almost at full speed before he was well out of the stables, grooms leaping out of his way with oaths, buckets clattering. The horse no longer needed any guidance, for he now always headed straight for the northern gate. That suited Gus very well too, so he settled down to enjoy the ride, hoping the gate would be open. It was, and they sailed through without any reduction of speed. Gus laughed for joy, and lay low along the horse’s neck, letting the creature have his head.
They had not gone far when something untoward flashed upon Gus’s awareness, a flicker of something on the track ahead of them that should not be there. Almost at once, they were upon it. Jupiter reared high, with a whinny of alarm, his hooves thrashing the air. Gus could only hold on tight, but the horse veered sharply aside, then kicked wildly with his rear hooves, only to jink again and jump so abruptly that Gus was tossed into the air.
He landed hard on his back, crashing into a bush of some kind. Jupiter whinnied again, then his hoof beats settled into a rhythm and faded into the distance. After that, there was no sound but Gus’s own laboured breathing—
—and someone screaming, a high-pitched, long-drawn-out wail that chilled his blood.
Gus rolled over, with a grunt of annoyance as thorns tore at his face. But although he was winded, there was no great pain, and he seemed to be more or less intact. Pushing aside the last fronds of the bush, he saw the last thing he expected…
A child.
He was very young, perhaps four or five, curled up into a muddy ball and screaming his head off. That seemed like a good sign, for surely he would not make so much noise if he were seriously injured? There was no blood, in any event.
Gingerly Gus rolled onto his hands and knees and then pushed himself to his feet. Everything worked, thank God. Still nothing terribly painful, and no limbs dangling uselessly, although he would feel the bruises in a day or two, no doubt. He had the greatest fear of broken bones, for no matter how competent a surgeon might be, an injured body never got put back together quite the way it had been before.
The child was still screaming.
“Are you all right?” Gus said, realising immediately that this was probably the least sensible remark he had ever uttered. He knelt down beside the boy. “Are you injured? Hush, now, I am trying to help you. Are you in pain?”
But the child only screamed all the harder.
“Hmm. I do not believe you could howl with so much vigour if you had sustained a major injury, young man. Your head is not broken, and your arms and legs appear to be in working order. But I wonder where you are from? The only habitation nearby is Mrs Walsh’s house.”
Perhaps it was the sound of that lady’s name, or perhaps it was just the reassuring rumble of an adult voice, the child’s sobs slowed.
“Mama,” he said.
“Yes, a very good idea, young man. Shall I take you to find Mama? Can you walk or should you like me to carry you?”
A small nod, so Gus scooped the child into his arms. “There! Are you comfortable? No pain? Very well, so which way is home, young man?”
He pointed towards the lodge, so Gus began to walk. The child began to whimper, and since he seemed to be soothed by talking, Gus said, “You know, it seems a little rude not to introduce ourselves after we have been thrown together in this unfortunate way. I shall begin, shall I? My name is Gus. What are you called?”
“Ned.”
“Ned, eh? A fine name. You remind me of my young nephew, for you must be much of an age. He is four years of age now, and I guess that is about your age, too, am I right?”
The child nodded.
“You are well grown for four, Ned. You are a little larger than my nephew, I think, although his lungs work just as well as yours do when he falls down. His mama is a very pretty lady. Is your mama pretty, Ned?”
Another nod.
“Of course she is. All mamas are pretty to their children. My mama was pretty, too…” He stopped, trying to remember her face, and realising that he could not bring it to mind any more. It was seven years since she had died, and even before that she had faded, seeming less and less substantial with each passing month. Nor had she ever sat for her portrait, so there was no reminder gazing down at him from the wall. Catching his breath, he remembered the child in his arms, gazing up at him with wide blue eyes. “What about your papa — is he
handsome?”
But the child made no answer.
They had not quite reached the lodge gates when a voice could be heard, crying, “Ned! Ned! Where are you?”
“He is here!” Gus called, as loud as he could. “He is safe!”
She entered the woods at a run, and he was not surprised to see the anxiety of a mother writ large on her face. Who else around here might have a four-year-old child but Mrs Walsh?
“Oh, Ned, what have you done? Oh no!”
“He is quite safe, and, as far as I can tell, unharmed,” Gus said. “He was on the path in front of me, and startled my horse, but I do not believe he was struck. Jupiter jumped to avoid him. However, you will want to send for a doctor to be quite sure.”
As they emerged through the gates, three others converged on them, a man and woman of middle years, and a younger woman, servants to judge by their clothing.
“John will take him from you now, my lord,” Mrs Walsh said.
“No, you will want him to fetch the physician. Allow me to carry Ned into the house for you. Do you have a sofa where he may be examined?”
“Yes, yes, in the parlour here. John, run at once to Mr Lassiter’s house. Thank you, my lord, lay him down on here. Lucy, fetch cloths and a bowl of warm water, with a little lavender in it. Maggie, some brandy.”
“You would give the child brandy?” Gus said, in surprise.
She smiled. “The brandy is for you, my lord. You look as if you need it.”
“Oh.” Gus was aware for the first time of his bedraggled state, his coat and shirt torn, his buckskins and topboots coated in mud, and pieces of bramble everywhere. “I beg your pardon, madam, I am not fit to be in your parlour.”
“You are very fit to be here when you bring my son back to me, my lord, and I thank you from the bottom of my heart.” All the time she was loosening clothing and surreptitiously feeling arms and legs, and running her hands over the child’s skull. “It seems by some miracle that he has escaped injury. But you, my lord — you must have been thrown, I think. Are you hurt?”
Sons of the Marquess Collection Page 48