Gus and his groom and valet rode on in rather better spirits after their refreshments at the army camp, and, after a sharp descent through woodlands, entered the town of Drifford. A narrow river valley was crammed with mills and weaving halls and manufactories of many sorts, tall buildings shading the only road. But as the valley opened out and a bridge crossed the river, the town proper emerged, with warehouses and neat rows of cottages for the workers, and many shops and artisans’ yards. Then another, grander, bridge, leading to a fine church and other stone buildings clustered around a large square, with wide streets leading off. All of it looked prosperous and well kept, and the streets were thronged with people and wagons, a couple of goats being led somewhere and men on horses trotting about purposefully, while the river was crowded with barges plying up and down to the warehouses.
In the centre of the square was a statue of a lady in a hooped skirt, bearing the inscription, ‘Mrs Charles Ballard, Patroness of Drifford’.
Intriguing, to see a woman so honoured. But there was no time to linger to find out more about her, for Jupiter was getting restless in the traffic. After he had kicked out at a cart with a pig in it, and attempted to bite one of the goats, Gus pressed on out of the town back to the main road, and eventually back to High Morton.
~~~~~
There were three letters waiting for Gus. Two were from Connie, but the other was from Tattersall’s, and was brief and to the point.
‘Pray stay at Castle Morton for the time being. We are sending a legal expert to advise.’
He balled it up and threw it on the fire in disgust. Now there was no escape, and what was he to do with himself? Or, more to the point, how was he to avoid Mrs Walsh?
Connie’s first letter was even briefer. ‘Tell me your widow is not Lady D — she is poison, Gus!’
The second was more in her usual style. ‘Dear Gus, pray forgive my moment of hysterics. On rereading your letter, I see that your widow is impoverished, which Lady D cannot be and I am very thankful for it. Not thankful that she is impoverished of course because think how delightful it would be for you if she had a fortune at her command, for you could marry at once. If you wished to, I mean. Oh dear, I am not at all coherent, am I? It is only that I was in such a state of alarm in case you had fallen in love with Lady D, for you must not, I implore you! She is a most unpleasant woman, she was in London when her husband died and she did not go home at all. Everyone in her set is just as bad, for they hate their husbands and their children, and that is despicable, is it not? They all sneer at me whenever we meet, and although I am not a duke’s daughter, Papa was perfectly respectable and I do not like to be sneered at, and especially not in my own house. So I am determined not to invite any of them again. Horrid women! They like to draw young men in and then abandon them when they are quite in love. It is too cruel, so you must never fall in love with Lady D, promise me that! Oh, but you are not, are you? It is the other widow. Gus, dear, you must write and tell me all about her — I want a proper description of her hair and eyes and height and figure, and whether she likes books or anything of that nature. For you are quite bookish yourself, so it would be very comfortable to have a wife of that type, for look how happy Belle and Mr Burford are, and they are both terribly bookish.’
Gus stopped at this point, laughing at the idea of himself as bookish. But then to Connie, anyone who was occasionally seen with a book in his hand was bookish.
‘I have heard from Lincolnshire, and the wedding went off charmingly. Reggie and Robinia are gone to Melton for a week or two, but Robinia is very keen to be settled in her new house, so they will not—”
A knock at the door heralded the entrance of the butler.
“Ah, Bedford, good afternoon. All is well here, I take it? His grace in his usual spirits?”
“His grace requests your presence, my lord.”
“Yes, yes, dinner at five. I understand.”
“No, my lord, immediately.”
“Oh.” That was curious. “Anything up?” But the butler said nothing. “Hmm. Very well, but I must change out of all my dirt, you know. Pray tell his grace that I will be there directly.”
“Very good, my lord.”
In an unusually rapid half an hour, Gus was washed and changed into more respectable attire, and was striding across the bridge to the keep. His curiosity was piqued, for what could cause this unprecedented summons? Perhaps there was some news on the ownership of the stud, which would be excellent, if true, since it would allow him to escape to the south within a few days. He tried resolutely to suppress the pang of regret that assailed him.
A footman outside the duke’s drawing room threw open the door and announced him. He stopped on the threshold in astonishment.
The room was full of ladies. That was his first impression, although in fact there were no more than half a dozen or so. But in that austerely masculine environment, filled with heavy furniture and dark wood panels, their frothy muslin dresses and feathered caps seemed to be everywhere, and the duke himself, cowering in his chair, looked like a black spider surrounded by fluttering moths.
“Ah, Marford! At last! What took you so long?”
“I was still in my riding clothes, Duke, so I—”
“No, I mean this business of yours that took you away. I have been expecting you back for days. But look who is here! You know everyone, I take it?”
He did, but the names were as insubstantial as thistledown in his mind. Lady Darrowstone’s supercilious sneer was easy to remember, and there was Lady Emma Frensham lurking in a corner, and her aunt, Lady Prudence Frensham, dozing by the blazing fire. But the other three — they were Emma’s sisters, but what were they called?
Emma laughed, seeing his difficulty. “Come, your grace, my sisters have been living quite secluded for years. It would be a miracle if Gus could remember their married names. Maria is Lady Delacross now, Gus. Lucia is Lady Carey and Arabella is Lady Graceton.”
Gus smiled his appreciation, and made his greetings, but all the time wondering at their presence there. Emma had been invited, and Lady Prudence would naturally chaperon her, but why were the other three there? Was it a family effort to see Emma wed to the duke? And why was Maria here, so recently widowed, yet the only signal of it her black gloves? And sitting a little aside, Lady Darrowstone, another widow, but with not a scrap of black, watching the scene with amusement.
“Is this not delightful, Marford?” the duke said. “It is quite marvellous how ladies’ minds work, for one need only invite one, you know, and here are a whole gaggle of them, but I am sure I did not invite them all. No, I am positive of it. And Edith is never invited at all, but here she is, as if I wanted her here, which I do not.”
Lady Darrowstone only smiled the more at this insult, but Emma’s younger sisters twittered in mock indignation.
“Now, Duke, you know that four minds are better than one — five, if one includes Aunt Prudence,” Maria said. “I do not know why you asked Emma for help, for she is so bird-witted she will not be of the slightest use. But Arabella and I — we can help you find a wife, I am certain of it. I have any number of ideas already, you know. I am so full of ideas, I hardly know where to begin.”
The duke tittered, but Gus thought he looked a little uneasy all the same.
“Whatever are you thinking of, Emma?” Gus whispered to her when he had a chance to move towards her. “This will not help your cause.”
“Bringing my three prettier sisters with me, you mean? I am aware of it, but they would come. Lucia and Arabella were at Maria’s too, you see, and the butler most unfortunately brought my letter from the duke into the parlour when everyone was there, so there was no hiding it. But there is no difficulty, because Lucia and Arabella are married, and Maria is so recently widowed…”
She broke off unhappily, and Gus saw her eyes stray to her sister, the black gloves, the only sign of her widowhood, now resting in her lap. Maria had always been a flighty type, and perfectly capable of snaffling a duke from under
her sister’s nose, if she felt like it. And she was pretty, there was no denying it. Maria was small and dark and appealingly plump, while Emma was tall and pale and inelegant. Emma’s frizzy mountain of hair was transformed on her sister into charmingly becoming curls. It was hard to see much advantage to Emma from Maria’s presence.
At dinner that evening, Maria and Arabella raced for the seats next to the duke, until he shouted at them and insisted that Gus sit to one side of him and, after some dithering, Lady Prudence the other.
“At least that way I shall have rational discourse on one side of me.” Raising his voice, he turned to Aunt Prudence. “And you, madam, will please me best by remaining silent.”
“I have nothing to say to you, old man,” Lady Prudence said cheerfully. “I am only here to chaperon my niece, and very tedious a business it is, too, and hardly necessary with her sisters here. I hope your cook is better than your manners. Footman! Wine here, if you please.”
Lady Darrowstone had gone back to her own house, but it was still an uncomfortable meal. Maria was determinedly cheerful, leaning round Aunt Prudence to talk to the duke.
“Do you like your women fair or dark, Duke? It would be helpful to know.”
“Oh yes, it would be most helpful to know that,” Arabella said. “Ask if he prefers tall or short, Maria.”
“Do you prefer tall women or short, Duke? We must have all your preferences arranged, you know.”
“Oh yes, all his preferences. We can do nothing without those.”
And so they went on, while the duke ignored them, talking resolutely to Gus about his visit to Galthwaite, although too distracted to attend to the answers. Meanwhile, Lucia sulked from being left out of all the scheming, and Emma sat quietly at the furthest point from the duke, watching and not eating much. Lady Prudence ate her way through a prodigious amount of food, with a footman stationed behind her chair ready to replenish her wine glass the instant she clicked her fingers.
When the ladies withdrew, the duke sighed. “Thank God! Heaven preserve me from all women. Whatever possessed me to consider marrying again, Marford, answer me that?”
“You have taken an aversion to the attorney from Cheshire who will otherwise follow in your footsteps,” Gus said with a smile. “And if you dislike having them around, why, send them away. You did not invite the sisters, after all, only Emma herself. I am not even sure why she needs a chaperon, so you could dispatch Lady Prudence, too, if you were so minded.”
He chuckled. “She will empty my larders and cellars, that one! Ah, but earl’s daughters, you see, every one of them. Hardly the thing to toss them out into the night, is it? And who knows, they might turn up some pretty little creature to warm my bed. Begun to think about that, I cannot deny it, and there is something very appealing in the idea. What about you, Marford? Any plans to get leg-shackled? Although you are young enough and active enough and handsome enough, dammit, that you hardly need to bribe them with a trip to the altar.”
“Not rich enough to marry,” Gus said, “and not foolish enough to get entangled otherwise.”
The duke cackled. “Aye, you are a downy one. Although a little bird told me you seem to like to ride past the north lodge. Ah, you look conscious! But you had better stay away from her, if you know what is good for you, that is all I have to say about it.”
“That is… very cryptic,” Gus said, his curiosity piqued. “I have no skill at reading hints, Duke, so if you know something against the lady, you had best say so plainly.”
The duke grunted, and looked at him through lowered eyebrows. “Do you play me for a fool or are you really as naive as you pretend to be? I cannot tell.”
“I beg your pardon, your grace. No offence was intended.”
“Now you are on your high horse. Too sensitive by half, you young men these days. In my day, we were a deal more robust. But let me speak plain, then, Marford. That woman is not a suitable match for the son of a marquess. There! Is that clear enough? Do what you came here to do, and then take yourself back to London, and leave me in peace. And now let us rejoin the ladies, for I tire of your company.”
They played a round game of vingt-et-un, everyone joining in except Lady Prudence, who declared she was too old for cards, ordered the fire built up and promptly fell into a sound sleep. The duke was the banker, and a lively job he made of it too, ribbing everyone unmercifully when they went bust, gleefully collecting his coins when he won and sulking when he lost. Maria and Arabella chirruped like songbirds at first, and only began to grow quiet when their losses started to mount. Emma played at random, and lost heavily. Gus played as he always did, steadily, for one could not have Humphrey as a brother without acquiring some skill at cards. And Lucia played silently but with great skill and annoyed Maria and Arabella by winning a great deal of money.
Abruptly, the duke’s liveliness dissipated. They were all abused roundly for their lack of amusing conversation and dispatched to their beds. The ladies drifted in a gaggle of shimmering silk across the bridge to the outer castle, but Gus lingered on the bridge to smoke. He had never taken to snuff, but liked an occasional pipe or cigar when he was in contemplative mood.
Tonight he had a great deal to think about, not least his discovery about Mrs Walsh. Her husband was fictitious, which was a common ploy for a woman finding herself in an awkward situation. Yet why had the duke taken her in, when he disapproved of her sufficiently to warn Gus away? Not that he intended to disobey, in this case, for he saw his own danger with the lady and had no desire to become entangled. There was still time for him to step back, and that was what he must do. There would be no more rides through the cool northern woods. From now on, he would take Jupiter south and stretch his legs on the stud’s gallops on the cliff top. But he had still to attend church, and there could be no harm in returning to St Peter’s, could there? He need have no conversation with her, but to see her face on a Sunday would get him through the long dreary days of the rest of the week.
He had barely turned his thoughts, with some effort, to Emma and her problem, when the lady herself appeared at his side, wrapped in a voluminous shawl.
“I am not at all ready for my bed,” she said. “Since you have the same problem, perhaps we might keep each other company? But if you wish to be alone with your thoughts, pray say so at once. You need not be gallant with me, you know, Gus. We are old friends, are we not?”
“Indeed we are, which is why your company is always a pleasure, Emma.”
“Shall we walk?” she said, pointing towards the outer castle.
“By all means. Shall we rouse Lady Prudence to chaperon you? Or one of your sisters, perhaps?”
She laughed merrily. “I am an old maid, and hardly need a chaperon at my advanced age. I am not sure why Aunt Prudence is here, except from greed and nosiness. Besides, I believe my reputation is quite safe with you, and there need be no fear that you will take advantage of me as soon as we are alone, and ravish me. Although I have always wondered if ravishment is quite such a dire prospect as maidens are told. It might be rather fun, who knows?”
“Do not wish for it!” Gus said sharply, as they entered the castle.
“Oh, so serious!” she said, turning enquiring eyes on him.
“It is a serious matter. Having seen the distress of a lady who was almost a victim of such an event, I can assure you that it was no fun at all. Although dealing with the scoundrel was quite fun. We tossed him in the river eventually. Where are you leading me, Emma? I do not know this part of the castle at all.”
“No more do I,” she said with a laugh. “I do so love exploring, however, and especially at night, when one is least likely to encounter the butler. Other people’s butler’s are so censorious, do you not find? Do grab that lamp over there, Gus, for we must have some light. Ah, that is better. Now then…” She opened a door, only to find all the furnishings shrouded in holland covers. “Oh, how disappointing. Let us try that one… Oh dear, are none of these rooms used?”
I
n this way she progressed along the corridor, finding each room filled only with ghostly shapes. But eventually, one that was not. It was a long gallery filled with marble busts on plinths, each one labelled.
“Look! The first duke… and the second… Quick, quick, where is the present duke? Hurry, Gus, bring the lamp. Ah, there he is! So handsome, is he not? This is how he looked when I first saw him, you know. I must have been eight or nine, peering down from the gallery at the dancers in the ballroom, and there he was. The handsomest man in the room, and the best dancer. He was quite magnificent.” She sighed. “I suppose there was never much hope that he would ever notice me, and now there is none.”
“He is an irascible old man, and would make your life a misery, Emma.”
“Oh no, that is not how he is, not really. It is his gout, you see. He is in constant pain, and that would make any man irascible, for he does not want to take laudanum. It clouds the wits so. But I have some little tricks which might help him, if I could but get him to attend to me. But who are these faces? Henry, Edward, George… his sons. All dead now, poor souls.”
“Oh, Edward!” Gus said, realising. “The soldier who died in the Peninsula. Of course.”
So that was why the duke had taken in Mrs Walsh and her son. A charity case, indeed. Ned’s father was the duke’s son, Lord Edward Winfell. No wonder the duke had warned Gus away from the lady, when she was raising the last reminder of the duke’s dead son.
11: A Matter Of Law
Gus had no prospect of sleep that night. After Willett had left him, he sat up in bed and pondered all he had learnt. So Mrs Walsh’s case was indeed the age-old one of a woman seduced by a handsome face. Perhaps he had even promised her marriage, eventually. ‘When I return from the Peninsula…’ or perhaps it was more ‘When my father will look favourably upon the match…’. For the duke would not have countenanced a marriage between his son and a woman of no consequence, not when the succession was so insecure. Henry was the heir then, but he had no sons, and Edward, the spare son, was very much needed. Yes, his father would have expected him to make a noble match.
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