The boy’s eyes widened. “You really a lord? What you a lord of, then?”
“Unfortunately, I am not a lord of anything, but my brother is — he is the ninth Marquess of Carrbridge. Are you hungry, Kit? You look hungry to me.”
The boy nodded, words failing him, although whether this was caused by the prospect of food or meeting the brother of a marquess was hard to determine.
“Boy!” Gus called, and the tapboy, who had been loitering ready to intervene if anyone harassed his noble customer, rushed forward. “Bring something hot for Master Sandwell, if you please. Some soup, preferably with some meat in it. And bread.”
“For Kit, sir? I mean, my lord?”
“If you please. Come and sit down, Kit.” The boy scrambled up onto the bench, and a few minutes later, a bowl of steaming soup arrived. It looked rather unappetising to Gus’s eye, but he guessed that the boy would not mind. Nor did he, for he dived in with gusto.
By this time, Gus had acquired rather a crowd of children, who watched silently and enviously as Kit polished off his soup, and a big chunk of bread. It was one of the girls who dared to speak.
“Please, sir, I want some too.”
Gus signalled to the tapboy, who rolled his eyes but went off to the kitchen. And within a very few minutes, some twenty children were squeezed around the tables, as the tapboy was kept busy running back and forth with bowls and bread.
A man with a clerical neckcloth walked by, smiled and diverted to the tavern. He was a dumpy figure, small and solid, with a shock of white hair.
“Good day to you, sir,” he said to Gus, doffing his hat. “While I commend your Christian charity in offering sustenance to these ragamuffins, I feel honour bound to warn you of the risk of fleas.”
Gus laughed. “I am sure I shall survive the onslaught, although I am not sure my valet will recover from the humiliation if I inflict fleas upon his person. But his dignity is more fragile than mine, I fear. Lord Augustus Marford at your service, sir. May I offer you some refreshment? I do not recommend the soup, but the ale is tolerable.”
The clergyman laughed. “Mr William Parker, my lord, and thank you, that would be most acceptable.”
“Kit, Maggie, move further down and make room for Mr Parker.”
Gus passed a pleasant half hour in conversation with Mr Parker. The children lost interest when no more food was forthcoming, and drifted away, but the parson lingered, talking about the town and its history.
“It is much bigger than it used to be, of course. This was the whole of it at one time, and the few mills further up the river. But Mrs Ballard made some great improvements, and built the new town where the managers and merchants live, and this part is half forgotten. Out of sight, out of mind. But this is the heart of Drifford, my lord, with all the mills and warehouses and weaving halls, and the workers who keep the looms moving, sending gold to Mrs Ballard’s coffers, and all for a few coppers earned.”
“With so many mills here, there must be employment for all who need it,” Gus murmured.
“You would think so, but it is a matter of profit,” Mr Parker said. “The children are cheap to employ, so once they are old enough they can have as much work as they want. Adult women are paid less than men, so they are preferred for many jobs. Many of the mills have only two or three adult men working there, for the heavy work. The men often have to stay home and care for the little ones while their wives work. And the sick or old are of no use. It is a hard life, my lord, very hard.”
“I had no idea,” Gus said. “How much do they earn, these people?”
“A few pounds a year, when there is work to be had.”
“A few pounds. And I was wondering how on earth I was to manage with only a thousand pounds a year.”
The clergyman smiled. “And that is the natural order, is it not? That the nobility are sent to rule us, and are given the wealth to sustain their position. A duke or earl should not have to wonder whether he can afford a piece of beef this week, for he has more important considerations weighing on his mind. But one always hopes that some of his wealth will be expended to relieve the cares of the poor, as we do in the church, also, when we can. I do a little, but my living is such a poor one that there is but little to spare.”
“A poor living? That surprises me, Mr Parker, when your church is such a splendid building.”
“Splendid building? Oh, I see, you are thinking of the new church in Ballard Square. No, I am parson of Old Drifford Church, my lord, which is a much less imposing affair, I assure you.”
This statement, trivial as it may have seemed on the surface, hit Gus with all the force of a bolt of lightning. He shot upright, his cane clattering to the ground. “There is another church? Why did we not think of that? Good God, but perhaps…? Tell me, Mr Parker, does your church have a register for recording marriages?”
“It does, but—”
“Aha!” He jumped to his feet. “Please, may I see it?”
A wary look crossed the clergyman’s face. “My lord, I—”
At that moment, Willerton-Forbes and Merton reappeared, half-running across the little square. “Marford! There is another church! There may be a register there.”
“There is,” Gus said. “Gentlemen, this is Mr Parker, the parson of Old Drifford Church. My friends Mr Willerton-Forbes and Mr Merton.”
“Then pray, sir, take us there at once and allow us to examine the register,” Willerton-Forbes said excitedly. “This may be the final piece of the puzzle.”
Parker drew himself up to his full height, which brought him almost level with Gus’s shoulder. “I regret, my lord, gentlemen, that I cannot do that.”
Willerton-Forbes puffed out his chest and said with all the gravitas of the judge he would surely be one day, “Then, sir, you would be breaking the law, for the register is a public document and may not be withheld.”
Parker deflated a little, but said, “I must ask your reason for seeking to examine the register.”
Willerton-Forbes glowered and would have answered him robustly, but Gus waved him to silence. When he spoke, his voice was sympathetic. “I think, Mr Parker, that you have been keeping a secret these five years past, as you were undoubtedly asked to do. But there are those who have the right to know this secret, those who would not for the world do anything to harm the lady concerned. The matter cannot be kept hidden indefinitely.”
Parker’s eyes flicked from one to the other of them, weighing Gus’s words. “I think you know the secret already,” he said heavily.
“We seek only the proof,” Willerton-Forbes said. “For myself, it is a legal matter, not to be made public except to the duke himself. Lord Augustus’s interest in the question is… more personal.”
“Ah.” Mr Parker looked at Gus, and nodded. “That is a different matter. Come with me, gentlemen, and I will show you the register.”
~~~~~
Gus hummed all the way back to the castle, to the amusement of Merton who sat beside him. He hummed through his bath, and he hummed while Willett was fussing over his cravat. Willett was in high good humour too, for the duke had summoned half the county to attend a grand dinner at which he would announce his betrothal, and that meant full evening dress. Willett approved of full evening dress, considering it the height of elegance in male attire. Gus cared nothing for elegance, especially not tonight, but he submitted meekly to Willett’s ministrations and decided not to distress the valet by any mention of fleas.
He could hardly believe that he had finally got to the truth. At last, his way was clear and he need no longer agonise over the proper way forward. It would mean giving up his horses and living more quietly than he was used to, but the compensations would be immeasurable. If she would have him, of course. He must not presume. But at least he could court Amaryllis in good earnest now, and not be coy about it. Whether she would want him… he could not tell. She had not been very encouraging so far, but then he had not been able to demonstrate his intent previously. He would—
Shouting broke out somewhere nearby. Several male voices, loud and harsh, and a female voice, rising to a wail. “Lord Gus! Lord Gus! Lord Gus! Help!”
Lucy, he thought, a spasm of terror spearing through him. Amaryllis! She was in danger, in need. He was outside like a shot, and racing towards the voices. Three footmen were trying to hold Lucy back, her face chalk-white, eyes wide with terror.
“Lord Gus!” she cried when she saw him. “Quick, please, help us!”
“Your mistress? At the lodge?”
“Yes. Mrs Ballard… taking Ned away. Please help!”
Gus poked a finger at the nearest footman. “You, fetch as many men as you can and get to the north lodge. Find Captain Edgerton, if you can, and tell him to bring his pistols. Lucy, find my grooms, tell them to have Jupiter ready for me, just in case. Go, go, go!”
Grabbing his cane, he ran. Coatless, heedless of the startled servants leaping out of his way, he tore down the stairs, out in to the grounds and across the gardens. Please God that he would be in time! Please God let nothing happen to Ned! Please God, please God, please God!
23: Pistols And Rapiers
Gus flew across the castle grounds towards the lodge. The gravel path was straight and pale enough that he could just make it out in the darkness, but even so, twice he stumbled, regained his footing and sped on. Into the sheltering belt of trees, running blind in the pitch dark, hoping he was going aright. Then lights ahead, shouting, a child’s high wail, and he burst out of the trees.
A carriage was drawn up on the drive, the coachman and a groom standing at the horses’ heads. As he approached the house, a figure emerged from it, carrying the screaming Ned. Mrs Ballard, striding purposefully towards the carriage. Running behind her, crying and pulling at her sleeves, a figure so familiar, so dear to him that he was swamped with pain at her distress.
“Stand!” he yelled. “Release him at once!”
Unhurriedly, Mrs Ballard turned to face him as he panted up to them, hot, dishevelled and furiously angry.
“Release him at once!”
She looked him up and down, then with a supercilious sneer, she said, “Ah, Lord Augustus Marford. This does not concern you.”
Before he could reply, Ned wriggled violently, then sank his teeth into the nearest flesh, which happened to be her neck. Mrs Ballard screamed and dropped him. Amaryllis snatched him up, clutching him to her bosom, as Mrs Ballard lurched towards her and managed to grab an arm. Maggie and John, who had followed Amaryllis out of the house, rushed in to help. In the tussle, Amaryllis fell, and twisted so that her body was arched protectively over the still screaming Ned, with Mrs Ballard pulling ineffectually at Ned’s arm, while Maggie and John in their turn pulled at her arms.
“Move away!” Gus yelled. “Move away now or I run you through!” With a twist and a swift tug at the head of his cane, he withdrew a long rapier.
“Oh, so brave!” Mrs Ballard mocked, but she took a step back all the same.
“Go, now,” Gus growled. “You have no business here, madam.”
“I have every business!” she said, chin lifting. “I am come to reclaim what is mine, what was stolen from me.”
“Ned is not yours.”
“He is, he is!” and her voice was high, on the verge of hysteria. “He is mine, my son’s only child, and he belongs with me.”
“Ned is not yours. He is the son of Lord Edward Winfell and grandson of the Duke of Dunmorton.”
For the first time, he saw hesitation in her. “Nonsense,” she said, but without conviction. “What story is this?”
“It is the truth, as God is my witness, and if you do not leave here immediately I shall be forced to take the appropriate measures.”
A couple of footmen appeared, puffing, from the trees, and then two more, followed by Captain Edgerton, brandishing a fearsome pair of pistols.
“Well, now, Marford, who would you like me to shoot first?” he said, as affably as if asking his preference between beef and mutton.
Eyes narrowed, Mrs Ballard spun round and stalked back to her carriage. The groom, his face struggling to stay impassive, held the door open as she entered, shut it behind her and climbed up behind as the equipage rumbled into the night, passing a cluster of grooms arriving with pitchforks and even a couple of axes, fully prepared for a pitched battle, instead of a tussle between two ladies for possession of one small child.
Gus threw aside his rapier and rushed across to Amaryllis. “Are you hurt? May I help you to rise?”
She scrambled into a sitting position, Ned cradled in her arms, both of them crying. Gus helped her to her feet, and, arm protectively around her back, ushered her towards the house. He saw Edgerton watching, and nodded his thanks.
Edgerton smiled. “I shall secure the defence while you dole out brandy to the casualties.”
Gus shook his head in bemusement. He supposed Edgerton had seen some action in his years with the East India Company Army, and that gave him the ability to keep a cool head in battle, but Gus was too intimately connected to those involved to be so calm about it. Amaryllis had been so close to losing Ned! And if Mrs Ballard had succeeded in taking him, it would have been the very devil to get him back again.
He took Amaryllis into the parlour and settled her on the sofa there, Ned on her knee. They were both still crying, Ned a steady, grinding sort of cry, and Amaryllis in deep, convulsive sobs. He would have let go of her then, but she clutched at him so fearfully that he sat down beside her, his arm resting around her shoulders. It was dreadfully improper, and yet it felt like the right place for it, and after all that had happened, his own nerves needed the reassurance of her nearness just as much as she seemed to need him.
Outside, he heard Edgerton barking commands, very much the army captain in charge. Inside, murmured voices as John and Maggie came and went, lighting lamps, bringing brandy which no one wanted, and conferring in whispers in the passage outside the parlour with the returning Lucy. Gradually, quiet returned to the lodge, Ned’s cries reduced to an occasional sob. After a while, Maggie came in and took him away to the kitchen for milk and cake and the quiet comfort of the servants.
Only Amaryllis wept on, her thin body wracked by sobs. With Ned gone, she leaned across Gus, resting her head on his chest and grabbing his shirt with one hand, clutching at it as if she could not bear to let go of him. He had no complaint to make over this arrangement. Somewhere in the scuffle, her cap had been lost, and her smooth hair now lay just an inch or so below his chin. If he bent forward ever so slightly, he could feel the silken touch of it on his skin, could smell the herbs she must use in her soap. He hardly dared to breathe, for fear that she would recognise the impropriety of their closeness and move away from him.
A knock on the door was followed by Edgerton’s head. He leaned the cane, the rapier hidden inside it once more, against the wall. “The perimeter is secured, and the night guard is in place. Anything else I may do for you?”
Gus spoke low, trying not to disturb Amaryllis. “I should be obliged if you would send word to my grooms that I shall not be needing Jupiter tonight after all. I thought I might have to give chase, but it was not necessary in the end.”
“Very well. If there is nothing else, I shall go back to the castle briefly to find out who the old man chose, but I shall be back directly.”
Who the old man chose… Gus had forgotten that the duke was to select a duchess from the unlikely bevy of hopefuls hanging around him. He could not see the clock, but he was fairly sure that he had missed dinner and perhaps the announcement too. Not that he cared any more, but he felt a prick of conscience for the lady concerned. And the duke himself should know about Mrs Ballard, and all that had happened that day.
As the door clicked shut behind Edgerton, Amaryllis shifted so that her head rested on Gus’s shoulder and her blue eyes gazed up at him. But still she clutched his shirt, and made no attempt to pull away.
“Thank you,” she said, her voice as thin as paper. �
�Thank you for rescuing us. I did not know who else I might call upon.”
“You may always call upon me,” he aid quietly. “I will always come to you if you have need of me.”
Her eyes filled with tears again. “Thank you.” After some effort, she composed herself. “How long have you known… about Edward?”
“I guessed a long time ago,” he said. “But I do not understand why you keep it such a secret.”
“I had to hide Ned away, to keep him safe from that woman. Everything I have done for the past four years has been to keep him hidden from her, so that she would not take him away from me. I have told so many lies… even to the duke. And to you! But it was imperative to keep him from her.”
“She has no right to him, and the law would support you.”
She smiled up at him. “Oh, Gus!” His heart tightened at the use of his name, and he could not resist returning her smile. “You are a man, and one with a powerful family at your back. The law would support you. But a woman alone, with no husband or brother to protect her, is weak and vulnerable. I was supposed to marry him, you know. Her son. James. He pursued me almost from the moment Papa and I moved to Drifford. When I was sixteen, he became… persistent, and she encouraged it. We lived next door to them, in the very shadow of their house, and they owned it, so they imagined they owned me too. There was no escaping them.”
“I saw the house,” he said softly. “She was there, and she told me all about James.”
“Oh, she would! She is obsessed with him! But I did not like him at all. There was a cruel edge to him that repelled me. He beat his horses and his servants, and I daresay he would have beaten his wife, in time.”
“Good God!”
“I refused him, of course, but he would not leave me alone. I was not of age, and Papa would never have given his consent, but he would not give up. Gus, may I tell you all? You will be shocked, but I would have you know the worst of me.”
“It would please me greatly to hear everything of your life, good or bad.” He ran a finger down her cheek, smiling, and she gazed up at him, so trusting, so guileless. He could not believe that the worst of her was anything terrible. How could it be? She was an angel, and could no more do a wicked thing than stop breathing.
Sons of the Marquess Collection Page 63