“I hope you are going to enlighten me,” he said eventually.
But she only laughed again.
He sighed. “I declare, you are worse than Polly.”
“You may as well put your book away,” Jess said.
“What do you mean?”
She looked up at him, her face wreathed in amusement. “I know exactly what you are thinking about, and it has nothing to do with that book. But then, she is rather distracting.”
He felt himself flushing, but there was no use in denying it, for Jess saw everything. “You know me too well,” he said, with a rueful lift of one shoulder. “But there is no future to it, I am resigned to that.”
“Do you think so? With twenty thousand pounds to her name? A schoolmaster could live very comfortably on the income from that amount of money.”
“A schoolmaster has no business even to think of such an unequal match,” he retorted.
“Unequal in money, perhaps, but not in rank. The name of Drummond is a well-respected one, with a history of many hundreds of years.”
“I am sure the Allamonts are just as respectable.”
“Now that is where you are wrong,” she said, laughter bubbling up again. “The late Mr Allamont was a gentleman and so was his father, but his grandfather was a Mr Albertson from Preston.”
“Oh. In trade?”
“Bobbins, I have been told.” She chuckled again. “So you need not hesitate to offer for her, if you are so minded. And judging by the way your eyes follow her everywhere, I suspect you are very much so minded, my dear brother.”
“It matters nothing what her great-grandfather did,” he said heatedly. “She herself is a lady, and a very wealthy one. I have a hundred pounds a year, plus the coppers I make from my teaching. She is as far beyond my reach as the moon.” He groaned, burying his face in his hands. “I am such a fool, a pitiable fool. As if my situation is not hard enough, now I must suffer all the anguish of a love unrequited, which must never be acknowledged. What am I to do, Jess? This life is insupportable. Dear God, what can I do?”
13: To Shropshire
Dulcie returned with her basket full of blackberries, and her stomach was rather full, too, for they were too deliciously sweet and juicy for her to resist. Polly’s basket was overflowing with green things that Dulcie could not identify. Some were just leaves, but some were pretty little flowers with delicate colouring that adorned the hedgerows and woodland fringes in abundance at this time of year. Polly had found some wild garlic, and a couple of strange mushrooms, too, which she said were good eating.
When they entered the cottage, Jess burst out laughing. “Oh, Dulcie, your own mama would not recognise you, for you look like the veriest hoyden.”
“I am a little torn about from the brambles, that is all,” Dulcie said indignantly.
“Torn about? Is that how you would describe your state? Your arms are scratched to pieces, your hair has half a bush trapped in it and your face is all over blackberry juice. Were they tasty?”
“Wonderful!” Dulcie said, laughing too. “I shall try to bring some semblance of tidiness to my appearance, and then I must start for home. But I shall come again tomorrow — if I may?” she finished uncertainly, turning to Mr Drummond.
“It would be a great kindness,” he said at once. “You cannot imagine my gratitude to you for lightening the ordeal of washing day. There is no favour I can extend to you of comparable magnitude, but I shall not let you walk home by yourself. I shall accompany you as far as the lodge.”
For some reason, this made Jess giggle.
“You are very kind, sir, but there is not the least need.”
“I should not be easy to think of you walking alone. Who knows what you might encounter? There could be any sort of danger… wild boar, for instance.”
Then it was Dulcie’s turn to giggle. “I do not believe there are any wild boar hereabout, Mr Drummond. Indeed, I am tolerably certain there are none to be found anywhere in England.”
“It is just as well to be prepared for any eventuality, however. I shall take my cane, so that I may defend you against… well, anything that leaps from the undergrowth.”
In the event, nothing leapt from the undergrowth, neither wild boar nor any other kind of creature. They walked placidly through the woods engaged in calm conversation. He asked after Mary, but Dulcie could give no better report than to say that she was low in spirits.
“Mr Drummond, may I ask your opinion on a matter? For you are familiar with horses, as I am not.”
“You may ask me anything you wish.”
“I have never seen Mary so despondent, but, having never owned a horse of my own, I cannot quite comprehend the attachment that must form between horse and rider. Is it indeed so deep? And is it quite usual for a person to be so unhappy at the death of an animal? I ask only so that I may treat with Mary in the most appropriate way.”
“How thoughtful in you to enquire! But yes, I must tell you that one feels such a close bond with one’s horse that the loss is almost unbearable, almost as profound as the loss of a friend or relative. My own horse was sold, and I felt it keenly, even though I knew that his new owner would cherish him almost as much as I did. Miss Mary has all my sympathy.”
That led him to talk of his four brothers and two other sisters and their home at Wester Strathmorran, the first time she had heard him speak so openly of his former life.
“Such beautiful country!” he said, his face animated. “Green and open, with gentle hills and wide, stony streams full of trout. The house is nothing special, plain and comfortable, not grand, but we have a castle on the estate, too, a little dilapidated. It is my younger brother’s life’s work to restore it to its former glory.”
In her turn, she talked of her father and his rigid regime of lessons which continued even when they were fully out. She was so absorbed in the conversation that even a wild boar might have had trouble diverting her attention from Mr Drummond. She was scarcely aware of the time passing before the gates and the smoking chimneys of the lodge loomed up before them.
“We are here already,” she said. “You have kept me so pleasantly entertained, Mr Drummond, that I did not notice the time passing. Thank you for escorting me.”
“The pleasure was entirely mine, Miss Allamont.”
She dipped a curtsy, and made her farewells. As she walked up the drive, she was conscious of a trickle of regret. What a pity it was that such a fine man should have formed a lasting attachment elsewhere. Isobel was fortunate indeed to have secured the affections of one who would make any woman a splendid husband. And yet, how tragic that they could never now marry. With such thoughts, the rest of the evening passed swiftly away.
~~~~~
On Wednesday morning, Alex sat on his box at the end of the lane at ten o’clock, or as near as he could judge it, for the parlour clock had stopped after he forgot to wind it on Sunday, and there was no other timepiece in the house. For perhaps an hour he waited. Two farmer’s carts came past, and the miller’s wife and daughter in their gig, and finally Mr Torrington the physician on his black horse, who hailed Alex cheerfully before turning down the lane to the schoolhouse to look in on Jess.
At long last, when Alex had all but given him up, the fast patter of hooves announced the arrival of the Marquess in his curricle, his tiger perched behind him. Alex’s box was strapped on with some difficulty, for the Marquess had brought several boxes of his own.
“I sent my valet and luggage ahead on the mail coach,” the Marquess said cheerfully. “However, one always finds a few additional items one does not like to leave behind. Up you get, Drummond. Let us be on our way, for I should like to put some road under our wheels before breakfast, you know.”
Alex was glad he had already eaten an early breakfast, albeit a hasty affair, for it now occurred to him that the Marquess might be the sort to postpone breakfast until noon, or even later. However, his lordship’s idea of some road under his wheels was no more than the few mile
s to the turnpike road. This took less than an hour, with only a short stretch of road so uneven and waterlogged that the horses had to be led through it. Long before Alex had had time to grow weary of travelling, they were pulling up outside a bustling inn, the ostler and an array of eager helpers rushing to see to the horses. Within minutes they were ensconced in a pleasant parlour, with plump serving women bustling about with jugs and platters and bowls of delicious-smelling foods. Life was so much easier with the arms of a marquess painted on the sides of the curricle.
This was the pattern for the rest of the day, with an hour or so of fast driving followed by an hour at a likely inn, resting horses and passengers alike. But gradually they made progress. The county boundary was crossed soon after noon, the fields and woods and hamlets of Brinshire giving way to the identical fields and woods and hamlets of Shropshire. But when they turned onto the lesser road leading to Market Clunbury, the land became more open with a view of distant hills. Nestled beneath them, the gleam of many windows through a haze of smoke suggested that they were approaching their destination.
“So what do you know of this town, Drummond?” the Marquess said, as they rattled through a tiny village, scattering dogs, chickens and small children.
“I? Nothing at all. I have never been to Market Clunbury.”
“But you are a man of education. You read books and so forth. You must know something of it.”
“It is not one of the principal towns of the county,” Alex said, rather at a loss. “From the name, I imagine it is a small market town. It is to be hoped that we do not arrive on market day, or the streets will be full of pigs and barrels of ale and jugglers.”
“That sounds amusing,” the Marquess said. “I am very fond of a juggler. Might they have fire-eaters, do you suppose? That would be tremendously exciting.”
“Just watch your purse, if you walk amongst the crowds,” Alex said, but the Marquess merely grinned at him.
As it turned out, their arrival was possibly the most exciting event of the day, to judge by the cheer from the crowd outside one tavern as they bowled past. No one else was about at all, apart from a few late shoppers hurrying home, baskets on their arms. Alex’s guess had been a good one, for Market Clunbury turned out to consist of one wide main street, which divided at the further end to accommodate the market cross and wool exchange. All the principal shops and businesses lined this street, with some fine buildings dating from the middle of the previous century at one end, while erratically-leaning Tudor structures clustered around the market end.
“There is the bank!” cried the Marquess, pointing to a black and white half-timbered building.
“There is another across the street,” Alex said. “And look, a third just round the corner.”
“Oh. How shall we know which one to watch?” the Marquess said in disappointed tones.
“Mr Burford’s brother will tell us.”
“Oh. So he will. How silly of me. There is our inn now.”
The curricle clattered under the arch to the yard, and again the Marquess’s coat of arms produced immediate attention, although his attire and manner were so obviously aristocratic that Alex suspected he could have arrived in a governess’s trap and received just such a response.
The first people to be seen as they entered the inn were Mr and Mrs John Burford, seated near the door beside a table laden with cakes. Burford jumped up at once.
“There you are! Did you have a good journey? The weather was kind to you.”
The Marquess began a long retelling of the drive, with every bump in the road, every inn, every tollgate given its due prominence. Alex sidled round to Mrs Burford. He rather liked the former Miss Belle Allamont, a plain-faced but sensible woman, the most practical of the Allamont sisters.
After the usual exchange of greetings, and some discussion of both Jess and Miss Mary Allamont, she said, “How is it, travelling with the Marquess? For I must tell you, Connie is a little worried about this hare-brained scheme of his. She is very glad you are with him, to keep him out of mischief.”
“As to Miss Allamont’s anxieties, his lordship himself told me that that was to be my role in this adventure, but I do not have the smallest notion how it may be accomplished. It would be astonishing if I have any power to keep a peer of the realm out of mischief if his heart is set on it. But the journeying is very pleasant — very pleasant indeed. I should have no objection to tooling about in this comfortable manner at the Marquess’s expense to whatever part of England he desires. Shropshire is very pretty, but I should like to compare it with one or two others — Kent, perhaps, or Northumberland.”
She laughed at him, but said, “He is not planning anything outrageous, is he? The objective is no more than trying to identify the source for all this money that goes into the dowry fund?”
“That is my understanding. Once we know the correct bank, the Marquess will wave his title under the noses of the bankers, and perhaps a little money, too, and they will alert us when this person arrives at the bank. Then we follow him home. Nothing more than that is intended, I assure you.”
“That is a great relief,” she said. “We shall leave you to unpack now, but I have a message from Luke and Fanny — you are both invited to dine with us tonight.”
“Are you sure it is not too great an imposition? For I know how it is — Mrs Luke will feel obliged to lay out a veritable feast with a marquess at her table.”
“Oh, indeed, but you have no idea how excited she is at the prospect. Think of the endless possibilities for discreet boasting to one’s friends. ‘As I said to Lord Carrbridge…’ and ‘The Marquess so enjoyed my fricassée of veal…’ You really must not deprive Fanny of so much enjoyment.”
~~~~~
Mrs Luke Burford was a delicate little woman, small and thin and pale, with a gown so fussily over-decorated that she looked like a child trying on her mother’s clothes. Mr Luke Burford, on the other hand, was a solid, not to say stout, young man, a slightly older version of his brother.
The meal was, as expected, a triumph of provincial ingenuity. There was not much fish, but almost every form of meat or game was present on the table in one form or another, and a vast array of vegetables, prepared in every conceivable way. Mrs Luke said virtually nothing for the entire meal unless the Marquess addressed her directly, and then she giggled and blushed like a girl newly out. At first Alex thought she was merely overcome by the Marquess’s exalted rank, but then he realised that she was observing every dish he sampled and no doubt noting how much of each he ate. Presumably every lady of her acquaintance would soon know the details of the Marquess’s culinary preferences.
Mrs Luke’s parents were also of the party. As Mr Hillsharrop had the management of the Allamont sisters’ dowry fund, he was in a position to tell them everything that was known about it, which was not much. He told them of the bank where the fund was held, however.
“I have had a word with Partridge, the fellow in charge there. Took the liberty of mentioning your name, my lord, and he is perfectly amenable to the idea. Very sound, old Partridge, very sound. There will be no trouble about it, none at all. You may sit in Partridge’s office, and someone will alert you as soon as this fellow comes in, you see.”
“Much obliged to you, sir,” the Marquess said. “It is devilish good of you to take so much trouble.”
“Not the least trouble in the world, assure you. Not the least. Happy to help. Have to do all we can for a marquess, eh?”
“I wonder why the late Mr Allamont chose to establish the fund here,” Alex said. “He could have used one of the banks in Brinchester just as well. This is such an out-of-the-way place, and he had no connections here.”
“He did in fact have a connection,” Mrs John said. “Papa was bequeathed a house here in Market Clunbury by a great-uncle or perhaps a great-aunt, I am not sure. It has been let for years. Papa visited every quarter day to collect the rent in cash. Mama came to look at the house a little while ago, but I never hea
rd what she plans to do with it. So Papa did have a connection to the town, besides the dowry fund.”
“What an odd coincidence,” the Marquess said.
“It cannot be a coincidence,” Alex said. “There must be some link between the house and the dowry fund.”
“I agree,” Mrs John said. “But it is an odd thing, for Papa disliked and mistrusted banks exceedingly, and dealt in cash as much as he was able. He had a box for each of us to which he added coins each year — that was the dowry he intended us to have, and it amounted to a thousand or so apiece. This huge amount bewilders me, and kept at a bank, too. It is not like Papa at all.”
“Where is the house?” Mr Luke said.
“Seventeen Water Street.”
“There are some good houses on Water Street,” Mrs Hillsharrop said. “We dine with two families there.”
“It is all so delightfully mysterious,” the Marquess said. “We shall have to have a look at this house before we leave.”
“I daresay it will be discovered to be a very ordinary house,” Alex said.
“That would be too disappointing for words,” the Marquess said. “At least tell me that there will be a market day or a fair while we are here.”
“Friday,” said Mr Luke. “You will want to stay well away from the high street on that day, my lord, and all public taprooms.”
“Stay away! Where would be the entertainment in that?”
Alex sighed. The Marquess was rather more wayward than he had anticipated. Keeping him out of mischief was not going to be easy.
14: Secrets
Alex woke not long after dawn the following morning. He had expected as much, for he was habituated now to cottage hours, and the need to go to bed early to save on candles and lamp oil. How they were to manage over another winter, he could not imagine. How badly he longed to sit all evening reading a book. The need for a more lucrative post was becoming urgent, especially for his sister’s sake. He had not quite realised, when he had accepted the offer of employment at Lower Brinford, just how small the village was, and how little potential for additional pupils. Then there was the dearth of single gentlemen who might be of interest to Jess. In London she had had no trouble attracting a pleasing array to choose from, even with no dowry to offer, but here even Brinchester was not promising.
Dulcie (The Daughters of Allamont Hall Book 4) Page 13