He had brought his writing case, and a list of likely schools which might have a vacancy for the Michaelmas term, which he took to the private parlour the Marquess had secured. He decided to apply first to schools situated in large towns, for Jess’s sake. He ordered some chocolate, with a frisson of pleasure at being able to do so, and a matching twinge of guilt at not being able to pay for such delights himself, and having to depend on the Marquess’s generosity. Then he settled down to write his applications. By the time the Marquess emerged from his room, Alex had a neat pile of letters.
“Good Lord, you are terrifyingly industrious this morning, Drummond. Here, pass me your pen and I will frank those for you.”
“That is most obliging of you, my lord.” He had hoped for just such an event, for an application franked by a marquess would carry more weight than one which the receiving school had been obliged to pay for, but even so, he felt a little remorseful in using his friend in such a way.
Breakfast with the Marquess was a leisurely affair, but eventually he declared himself ready to venture forth.
“This bank — will it be open so early in the day, do you think?”
Alex laughed, and said, “Lord Carrbridge, it will have been open for hours. We shall be lucky if it has not already closed again.”
“Oh.” The Marquess looked astonished. “What strange hours banks must keep.”
They walked the short distance to the bank, spent a few minutes being bowed to by Mr Partridge, and were speedily satisfied that all was in hand for the visit by the mysterious stranger on the Monday following.
“Is it always the same man who brings the money?” Alex asked the banker.
He frowned. “I cannot speak upon the point with any certainty, sir. It may be the same man, or it may be different men, but always wrapped in a greatcoat, whatever the weather, and a periwig and a broad-brimmed hat.”
“And no name or direction was ever given?”
“Oh, no, sir. It is not necessary for the deposit of funds, you see. Although most of our customers do give a name, or are already known to us.”
“At what hour does he usually call?”
“There is no time in particular, sir, but not early. No, most definitely not early.”
“Nevertheless, we should perhaps be in position as soon as you open for business, Mr Partridge, just in case this man comes early for once.”
The Marquess winced. “How early would that be, Drummond? For I have to tell you that I am not at my best much before noon.”
“It only needs one of us to be here, my lord. I shall take the first watch, and you may join me whenever convenient.”
“Ah! A splendid idea, Drummond. What an excellent fellow you are. Much obliged, Mr Partridge. We shall see you on Monday.”
Outside the bank, Alex said, “That was settled more easily than I had expected. I had thought the bank might have given us more trouble.”
“True,” the Marquess said. “There was no need at all to play the peer of the realm card, for the estimable Mr Hillsharrop had already smoothed our path. And to think I could have spent another two or three days enjoying the smiles of a certain young lady, and drinking the Allamont cellar dry, and instead I find myself suffering the trials of a rather indifferent inn. I am sure there are bedbugs. Were you bitten? I am tolerably certain I have been bitten, and in some damnably uncomfortable places, too.”
“Every inn has its share of tribulations,” Alex said, trying very hard not to laugh. “I slept very well, thanks to your valet bringing your own sheets and pillows.”
“One cannot possibly travel without one’s own bedlinen, can one? No inn can be depended upon in that regard. But what on earth are we to do until Monday, Drummond? It is an unconscionably long time without any entertainment, and before you protest, I do not regard dinner with the Burfords as entertainment. Mrs Luke was the quietest little mouse of a woman I have ever met. Never have I had to work so hard to get a conversation going with a lady.”
“She was overwhelmed to meet a marquess, I suspect,” Alex said. “There are a number of things we might do to alleviate your boredom, my lord. We might go to see this house in Water Street, for a start. We might also make discreet enquiries of the better inns regarding Lady Sara.”
“Drummond, we asked at every inn we stopped at along the way. Not a soul recalls a Lady Sara Allamont passing through. What is the point in continuing?”
“Because we know she came here to look at the Water Street house. She must have stayed somewhere.”
“Ah! Very good reasoning, Drummond,” the Marquess said. “You see, this is why I brought you along with me — that clever brain of yours.”
“That and keeping you out of mischief,” Alex said.
“That too,” the Marquess said equably. “That too.”
~~~~~
“No fire-eaters,” the Marquess said in disgust. “Not even a juggler or a stilt-walker or a marionette show. This is quite the dullest market ever seen. Nothing but animals and bales of wool.”
“Shall we repair to the inn?” Alex said. “At least we have a private parlour there, so we can escape the crowds.”
“They are very rowdy, are they not? But what are we to do until the dinner hour?”
“There are cards, and I saw a backgammon set last night.” Alex rather hoped the Marquess would decline the backgammon, for the board would remind him too forcibly of other games in recent weeks, and an enchanting heart-shaped face frowning over the dice, trying to work out her best move. Then he chided himself for such thoughts. Dulcie was out of his reach, he reminded himself firmly.
“Cards — that would be amusing. We need only play for pennies, you know.”
“Thank you, but I cannot afford to lose even so small a sum. I am sure the inn will have fish—”
“Fish! How novel. I have not played for fish since I was a boy. But it shall be as you wish, Drummond.”
They passed the hours pleasantly enough, although Alex found it frustrating to be idling away his time in such a manner, when there was so much to be done in the garden just now. All the herbs to be gathered and the surplus fruit and vegetables to be dried or stored, and he was not there to help. His thoughts strayed often to the cottage, wondering whether Jess was still improving in health, and whether the beans had gone over, and how the pig was. That wretched pig — sometimes he even dreamt of the poor creature, rolling in the mud in its pen. So much needing his attention at home, and yet here he was, finding mindless occupation for a bored marquess.
Even their investigations had borne no fruit. The house in Water Street was just an ordinary house, exactly like all its neighbours. It boasted the graceful style of a hundred years earlier, more elegant, he felt, than the stark plainness of more modern edifices. A quiet house in a quiet street, with a small garden in front, well-kept and unostentatious, apart from an ugly pair of carved lions’ heads mounted on the wall either side of the front door. Discreet enquiries of the local merchants had elicited the information that the house was occupied by a Mr and Mrs Smith, who kept no carriage and seldom ventured out, but entertained a great deal, according to the vintner. Apart from a fondness for beef, goose and partridge, and a dislike of trout, nothing more could be discovered about them.
As for Lady Sara, she was remembered at the town’s only passable hotel, where she had once stayed for three nights. There had been no subsequent visits.
“Yet we know she has been into Shropshire on more than one occasion since then,” Alex said. “Where could she have stayed? She would surely not use a false name, for all her belongings are monogrammed.”
“Daresay she met someone on that first visit, and now she stays with her friend,” the Marquess said.
“But why would she be so secretive about it?”
“Oh… let me see, a widow, still beautiful and full of life, lived under a man’s thumb for twenty or more years… can we think of a possible reason?”
“Oh! Oh, I see. Good grief, what a thought, thou
gh! Lady Sara! Do you really think…? Surely there is nothing disreputable to it. She is an earl’s daughter, after all. It may be that she just wants some part of her life kept secret. If she wanted anyone to know about it, she would make it public.”
The Marquess nodded knowingly. “In my experience, Drummond, all ladies have their little secrets and it is best not to ask about them, if you want a comfortable life.”
~~~~~
Dulcie walked over to the schoolhouse every day. She always took some little thing with her — some fruit from the hot houses, the remains of a fish, some potted meat or a slice of raised pie, anything that might be a treat for Jess’s supper. There was no need for her to go early, for the rather fearsome matron engaged by the Marquess shooed her away whenever she tried to help.
“You be a lady,” she said, with a disparaging sniff, when Dulcie reached for an apron. “T’ain’t not ’propriate.”
So Dulcie sat in the parlour with Jess, sharing the endless task of mending and darning and patching, and chatting companionably. Or rather, Jess chatted, for she was beginning to recover her liveliness, although tempered with a degree of melancholy.
Sometimes she would heave a great sigh and fall silent, and Dulcie guessed she was thinking of Mr Middleton.
“Never fall in love, Dulcie,” Jess said one day. “It is too painful.”
Dulcie set down the shirt she was mending. “Not all men are so cruel,” she said quietly. “You were unlucky, but most men are more honourable, I believe. I do not think you should turn your back on the idea of love so completely. You will meet someone, in time. One bad experience should not be permitted to dash all your hopes, and this Mr Middleton has proved himself unworthy of your affection.”
“So I tell myself a hundred times a day,” Jess said with a smile. “Indeed, I have repeated it so often that I even begin to believe it. What he did was quite wrong, and yet… he is so awkwardly situated. He cannot marry to please himself, or his aunt would cut him off without a penny. Yet he could not bear to let me go, so he said.”
“If he could not marry you, it was dishonourable in him to engage your affections,” Dulcie said.
“Oh, he did nothing wrong in that way!” Jess said eagerly. “He paid me no extraordinary attentions, not at first, not until I made it clear to him that his addresses would be very welcome to me. No, you must not think badly of him, for the blame was all mine. But it would be foolish to repine. It is done, and I am determined not to regret him. Already he is receding in my memory, and soon he shall be quite forgot. It is fortunate that I no longer move in the same circles as him, for think how distressing it would be to meet him regularly, and perhaps have to be civil to his wife, when he marries. That would be more than I could bear. At least I shall never have to see him again, and for that I am exceedingly grateful.”
Dulcie murmured her approval of this sentiment, thankful that her foolish letter to Mr Middleton had not borne fruit. How dreadful if he had arrived on the doorstep, and brought all the heartrending memories rushing back. Why, it could have caused Jess to fall into further decline, and that would be the worst thing possible for her at this delicate stage in her recovery. Rest and no distress were what she needed above all.
One day, as Dulcie set off for home, Jess decided to walk down the lane with her.
“Perhaps I may also walk a little way into the woods, also,” she said, tucking her arm into Dulcie’s. “It is not so hot as it was, but the air is very still and close. The trees are so pleasantly green, and the shade will be refreshing.”
They had not walked far when Jess began to talk of Glenbrindle. “Max must be there by now, and the Earl will be so happy to have him home, I am sure. He always favoured Max above the others, but I do not know what he will say to the idea of Mary as a daughter-in-law.” She gave a little laugh. “It is hardly the most suitable match for the heir. But perhaps Lord Strathmorran will be glad to have him settled, for none of them have been in any hurry to wed. At least Isobel is betrothed at last.”
“Oh — poor Mr Drummond!” Dulcie cried. “How upset he must be.”
Jess gave her an odd glance. “Do you think so?”
“Oh yes, for he is quite in love with her, he told me so himself. They have had an understanding for years, have they not? He will be so broken up.”
“Perhaps. He has known for some time that he could not marry her, so I believe he is resigned to it.” She was silent for a while. “He will find someone else to love, I am sure, for he is very personable. I know I am a partial observer, but he has such a happy combination of good humour and ease of conversation. Do you not think so?”
“Oh, certainly. He is most amiable, and his manners are greatly pleasing.”
Dulcie thought him something of a flirt, but she could not say so, for she disapproved rather. And perhaps she would be less condemnatory if he had taken the trouble to flirt just a little with her. She recalled his explanation of it — that any attentions might be seen as the action of a fortune hunter, which on the face of it was plausible enough. Yet he flirted outrageously with Grace and Hope. Then she wondered crossly why she cared who Mr Drummond flirted with. It was not as if she had any attachment towards him.
“Amiable,” Jess said thoughtfully. “Indeed he is. So you like him then?”
“Like him? Who could not like such a pleasant man? Oh, look, over there, a rabbit! And another one!”
“I am glad to hear it,” Jess said.
“Hmm? Hear what?”
“That you like Alex. You have had your disagreements, but you get along rather well now, I would say.”
“Get along? Oh, indeed, I see him as quite a friend now. Oh, there they go. How funny they are, the way they bounce about. Such sweet little animals, when they are not nibbling away at the carrots in the garden.”
“And very tasty in a stew, with herbs and mushrooms,” Jess said.
15: 17 Water Street
Sunday passed off more peacefully than Alex had dared to hope. The complaints of boredom from the Marquess died away in the face of the need to attend two church services. He delighted Mrs Luke by squeezing into the Burford pew, and giving her ample opportunity afterwards to whisper to all the ladies of her acquaintance. Alex could not hear the words, but he saw the admiring glances and he could imagine it all. ‘The Marquess of Carrbridge, you know. A good friend of Mr John’s, and he has dined with us twice already. Such an amiable young man.’ Later they enjoyed dinner with the Burfords yet again, which the Marquess bore with commendable grace.
Monday saw Alex ensconced in the obliging Mr Partridge’s office, which, to his delight, was on a higher level and afforded a view over the entire floor of the bank. Alex could sit, partially concealed by a pillar, and watch everyone who came in. Mrs Partridge, who turned out to be extremely pretty and several decades younger than her husband, kept him supplied with coffee and cakes, so that he was amply rewarded for his hastily snatched breakfast at the inn. Somewhere around noon, the Marquess ambled in and proceeded to flatter Mrs Partridge so outrageously that her husband began to get agitated. The banker could not, of course, remonstrate with a peer of the realm, but Alex could, and did, which reproof the Marquess took with good humour.
The clock above the wool exchange had struck two before the mysterious man put in an appearance.
“There!” hissed Mr Partridge, while almost at the same moment, one of his people from the floor gave the pre-arranged signal.
The man was exactly as described, muffled in a greatcoat, and sporting a large hat which, when viewed from above, concealed his face entirely.
“Why, he looks just like a highwayman,” the Marquess said. “That would be famous, would it not?”
“It is hardly likely that the Miss Allamonts’ dowries arise from such ill-gotten profits,” Alex said, amused. “Besides, highwaymen are not noted for depositing their takings in a bank.”
The Marquess looked disappointed, but had to allow that Alex was probably correct.
&n
bsp; They had agreed their plan in advance. Quietly, they made their way down the stairs to the lower floor of the bank. The Marquess was to stand near the door of the bank, apparently deep in conversation with Mr Partridge. Alex was to loiter near the stranger, to see if he could make out anything about him. When he left, they would follow him out.
Despite his concerns about keeping Lord Carrbridge out of mischief, Alex could not help feeling the excitement of the adventure. His life had had little enough fun in the last year or two, and following someone home without being spotted was amusingly furtive without being in the least dishonest. He consoled himself with the thought that the Marquess had a legitimate interest in knowing the source of his future wife’s wealth.
There was no danger of losing sight of their quarry, even had the bank been crowded. He was the only person within sight wearing such voluminous garments. Alex tucked himself away behind a statue, while the Marquess launched into a fluent conversation with Mr Partridge. Alex only caught snatches of it, to his regret, for it sounded most entertaining, involving a maiden aunt and an elopement to Scotland.
The stranger had already conducted his business, for he turned and began to make his way back to the door. In moments, he would sweep past Alex and out of the building. Alex slid further of of sight, keeping his head down. Unluckily, a group of boisterous farmers poured into the bank at that moment, and the stranger was forced aside. To Alex’s dismay, he realised the man was moving behind the statue and would be upon him at any moment. The plan was in tatters, for how could he follow now? The man would pass so close that he could hardly fail to recognise Alex if he should see him again.
There was a coin on the floor, and on impulse Alex bent and picked it up.
Dulcie (The Daughters of Allamont Hall Book 4) Page 14