He had told them very little of substance, but it was clear that, if there were more to tell, it would not be forthcoming. They took their leave and walked silently back to Mr Luke’s house, the lamps casting a mellow glow over streets glistening with the remains of a rain shower.
Inside, Mr Luke poured brandy and passed glasses around. “What do you think, my lord? Are you indeed satisfied?”
“I do not know what to think,” the Marquess said. “Drummond, what is your opinion?”
Alex sipped his brandy thoughtfully. “I do not believe Smith has told us anything we could not have guessed already, but it certainly makes sense, although—”
“So that is all right, then,” the Marquess said. “There is nothing more to be done.”
“Unless you want to set the constables onto our friend Smith,” Alex said with a smile. “After all, you said yourself that the house could not be maintained on the profits from gaming for pennies. Smith put on a performance for us tonight, but there must be more serious gaming elsewhere. And I feel—”
“Ah! In the basement, most likely,” the Marquess said. “That is usually where the underhand business goes on — higher stakes and probably loaded dice, or skilled card sharps to fleece the unwary. The brothel is not entirely closed down, either. Did you notice the heavy perfume wafting about the upper floor?”
“There may be other similar establishments elsewhere,” Mr Luke said. “The amounts deposited are very large, and I do not for one second believe that Smith willingly handed over half his profit.”
“None of that is to the purpose!” Alex said in frustration. “What I do not understand is why he hands over any of it. A matter of honour, indeed! I think not, nor is it likely Smith had any care for the welfare of the Miss Allamonts. Why would anyone give away so much money? He could have got away with a much more modest amount, I am certain. And there are other questions. Why is the letting agent in Liverpool? Why is the account still being added to now that Mr Allamont is no longer of this earth? Who is collecting the rent since his death, for it was used to be collected in person? Why is this Mr Smith so young? It seems an incongruous role for one who is younger than I am.”
“Drummond, you are a clever fellow, but none of this interests me,” Lord Carrbridge said. “The only question I wanted answered — where the money came from — has, I believe, been addressed. As to the rest, who can say what it all means?”
“It is a mystery, but I do not believe there is anything to be gained in pursuing the matter further,” Mr John said. “However it came about, this money has been greatly to the benefit of all the daughters of Allamont Hall.”
“I agree,” said Mr Luke. “These other matters are not our concern.”
Alex was not convinced. There was so much unexplained, to his mind, most particularly the crucial question as to why the Water Street proprietor would willingly give away so much money over the years to the benefit of young ladies to whom he owed no debt of family or friendship. Fear of exposure was not sufficient to account for it. But the Marquess shrugged and began to talk of the journey home, and Alex said nothing more.
~~~~~
Apart from the joy of seeing Jess again, and in much better health, there was nothing at all to raise Alex’s spirits on his return to Lower Brinford. The pig, the vegetables and the schoolroom were all that awaited him, together with the first two refusals from schools he had applied to. Clearly the Marquess’s frank had been insufficient to soften their hearts. He was also discovering that an all-round classics education was inadequate these days — schools wanted men who understood science and the arcane subject of mathematics.
Now, if it had been his brother Donald, he would have been accepted in a moment, for he liked nothing better than mixing this substance with that, and applying heat or vinegar to the result. Or else he was bending lamplight with prisms or cutting open a frog, just to see how it worked. But his oldest brother was wrestling with managing an estate sadly shrunken from its glory days, while he himself was stuck in the wilds of Brinshire with no prospect of escape.
The only bright spot was the continued presence of Miss Dulcie Allamont. She came almost every day, whatever the weather, bringing little gifts, and her smiling face was a great joy to him. How much she had changed since that terrible argument when she had been so rude about Jess and he had reprehensibly lost his temper. And yet, how much harder it was to see her and delight in her company, knowing that he could never aspire to marry her. Not that she would even consider him as a husband, were he as rich as a prince. For all her smiles now, too many angry words had been exchanged. It was fortunate for his peace of mind that his days were too full gardening chores and preparing for the return of his pupils to allow him leisure to repine. Only at night, when he lay wakefully in his bed, would thoughts of Dulcie’s sweet face intrude and keep him from sleep.
“The pig was making a strange noise in the night,” Jess said one day. “Did you hear it?”
“That creature always makes strange noises,” he said crossly. “It knows not how to be silent, as a well-mannered beast should be.”
Jess shook her head reprovingly. “Ah, you refine too much upon the pig. Shall I ask Mr Garmin to have a look at it?”
“By all means, and perhaps I shall have him slaughter the wretched animal and salt the meat for the winter, for then it would plague me no more. I swear, Jess, I am sick to death of looking at it rolling about in its pen and watching me balefully. It deserves to be turned into chops and bacon.”
She tipped her head on one side, looking appraisingly at him. “You are very much out of sorts these days. What ails you, brother?”
They were in the kitchen, Jess sitting with her sewing while he tended the fire. He pulled out a chair from the table and sat heavily. “Ah, Jess, it is so hard to return to all this after travelling with the Marquess. Life is so easy when you have money, and a crest on your conveyance. Everyone jumped to attention wherever we went, and scurried round after us, and the table was always laden with the choicest cuts of meat and a bottle of something exceptional, even in the shabbiest inn. For a few days, I was a gentleman again, and now here I am chopping wood and picking beans and fretting over the pig, with nothing to look forward to but years of the same. I am so tired, Jess. I was not made for this life, and nor were you. Yet I cannot find a way out of it.”
“You are still a gentleman, and that will never change,” she said quietly. “Something will turn up, it always does. Sooner or later, you will find a post better suited to your abilities.”
“No schools want me.”
“Then perhaps a tutoring position? Or we could always throw ourselves on Donald’s mercy.”
“I swore I would not be an expense to him. No, I must find a place with a larger income.”
“Or you could marry,” Jess said softly. “A young lady with enough money of her own to keep you in greater comfort, perhaps? A rather pretty young lady, who seems drawn to this cottage with surprising frequency?”
He buried his head in his hands with a groan. “You know me too well, Jess. The thought of it torments me, but I cannot conceivably offer for her with no money of my own. That would make me the worst kind of fortune-hunter. Besides, how could I ask her to move from Allamont Hall to this?” He gestured at the low ceiling, stone floor and rough furnishings.
“With her money, you could afford something better, or the cottage could be extended to provide a more capacious wing.”
“Do not even think of it,” he said roughly, rising with a scrape of chair legs against the bare floor. “She deserves something better than this.”
“Why not ask her what she wants? At least put the idea into her head, so that she might consider the possibility. You have always been so correct and distant with her, I daresay she has not the least idea how you feel. You might—”
“No! Enough of this! It is out of the question, so do not ever speak of it again, do you hear?”
She blinked at the anger in his voice.
“Of course, if you feel so strongly on the subject. Do sit down, Alex. You make me nervous when you pace about in that restless way.”
He stopped, hands on hips, and took a calming breath. “I beg your pardon,” he said stiffly. “I did not mean to raise my voice to you. Pray forgive me, sister. And now I must go and dig the potatoes for dinner.”
An hour of vigorous work amongst the vegetables filled two buckets with potatoes and another with carrots, but did nothing to relieve the aching in his heart.
~~~~~
“May I ask where you are going to, Mama?”
Dulcie’s mother held one hand out to her maid, who carefully buttoned the delicate lavender kidskin glove. “You may not,” Lady Sara said, wiggling her fingers gently, and then presenting her other hand to be attended to.
“How may we reach you, then? If there should be a crisis?”
Lady Sara raised her eyes at that, gazing impassively at her daughter. “There is a daily crisis in this house — a frayed bonnet ribbon, or a housemaid in tears, or the milk gone sour. You cannot imagine how pleasant it is to leave such irritations behind. With Connie away at Drummoor, you are mistress of the house, Dulcie, and if there is a crisis, you must deal with it yourself, at least any domestic trifles that arise. For anything of greater moment, you may apply to Mr Ambleside or Mr Burford. They are family now and owe us a degree of aid when required. In my opinion, a lady should always leave important matters to gentlemen, so that she may focus on the feminine arts and household management. You will contrive perfectly well, I am sure.”
“Thank you, Mama.” Dulcie made a curtsy. “I hope you have a pleasant journey.”
Beside her, Grace and Hope also curtsied.
Lady Sara’s gaze passed over her three daughters. Then, as if satisfied, she nodded and swept out of the entrance hall and down the steps to the waiting chaise.
“Of course we will contrive,” Grace said crossly, as soon as the door was closed. “We have always done so before, when she goes away. We are quite used to her absences.”
“Hush,” Dulcie said, shepherding her younger sisters into the morning room and closing the door. “Not in front of Young and William, Grace.”
“As if they do not know all about it,” Grace said, flouncing off to the worktable.
“Do you think she will be home in time for Connie’s wedding?” Hope said, scurrying after her. “How dreadful if she should forget, and miss it.”
“She can hardly forget, not when the occasion is mentioned a hundred times every day,” Dulcie snapped. “I daresay she goes away so often because she is tired of hearing about it. We are all tired of hearing about it.”
“You are just cross because Mama will not let you go to London for the season,” Grace said.
“You do talk such nonsense!” Dulcie said, her chin lifting defiantly. “As if I care a fig for such things! London is full of rogues and scoundrels. Look how poor Jess Drummond was taken in, and Connie had a horrid time there, too.”
“But if you do not go, how will you ever find a husband?” Hope said tearfully. “Then we cannot marry, either, and we shall all die as old maids. For myself, I have little desire for matrimony any more, but Grace must marry, for she is too pretty and lively not to. She needs her dowry, Dulcie, but you do not seem to care. You spend all your time at the schoolhouse when you should be out visiting, and at least trying to attract a suitor.”
It was a problem that was weighing heavily on Dulcie’s mind, too. She had not realised how greatly she had depended on the prospect of a London season to launch her into the highest circles and so find herself a suitable husband. To stay at the home of the Marquess and Marchioness of Carrbridge would be the perfect opportunity, and when they were willing to invite her and she was quite ready to accept, it was uncommonly harsh of Mama to refuse her consent. But then, she had refused to let Connie go, too, until she had pretended to be betrothed to Lord Carrbridge’s brother, so she supposed it was just Mama’s way.
There was no one to pretend to a betrothal with Dulcie. She was left with only those gentlemen who fell into her way locally, and she could not depend on another Marquess happening by. The assemblies at Brinchester were entertaining enough, but she had not so far met anyone who caught her eye. Her immediate neighbourhood was even less promising in the way of eligible gentlemen. Sir Osborne Hardy cared more about his clothes than anything else, and would not look at her unless his mama and his friend approved. Mr George Graham was dreadfully wild, and hardly likely to marry at the age of three and twenty. The cousins, Mark and Hugo, were even younger. And then there was Mr Drummond…
Here she paused. If only he had a little more money, and a modest estate somewhere, nothing too large, not like Drummoor. Connie’s letters made it sound terrifyingly grand. So many servants and rooms, so much entertaining! Something a little smaller would suit Dulcie very well, and especially with a fine-looking man like Alex, his manners and behaviour everything they should be. He was neither too overbearing, as Mr Ambleside tended to be, nor too bookish and retiring, like Mr Burford. Nor did he have the arrogance that came with rank, like the Marquess. Dulcie had quite lost her wish to marry a high-ranking nobleman, especially when a study of Debrett’s Peerage had confirmed her suspicion that there were vanishingly few dukes who were not married already, or in their dotage, or still in the schoolroom.
But a gentleman like Alex would be a very comfortable husband, with a little house somewhere with a few chickens and perhaps a goat, but definitely no pig. He would not like another pig. They could play backgammon every evening, or she might play the pianoforte while Jess sang for them. Such a good friend Alex had become. Dulcie might even be tempted, if he had a little more money. And, of course, if he were not in love with the Lady Isobel Dunnoull. Dulcie laughed at herself for even thinking of the possibility, for there was not the remotest likelihood that he would look at someone of her own modest standing when he had been betrothed to an earl’s daughter, not unless his only interest in her was the twenty thousand pounds of her dowry.
At that point, she had exhausted the list of possible suitors. She sighed. Whatever was she to do?
17: A Card Party
The pig only squealed once, and then there was blessed silence, apart from the murmurs of Mr Garmin and his sons, going about their grisly business. Alex had not wanted to watch the gruesome moment of dispatch, choosing to lurk morosely in the cottage. Once he was sure the deed was done, he treated himself to half a glass of brandy in celebration, as Jess watched him in amused silence from her chair beside the parlour fire.
“Do not look at me like that,” he said. “The pig is dead, and I may surely celebrate his life and death.”
“I believe you celebrate his death with rather more enthusiasm than his life,” she said, laughing.
“Indeed I do, and with good reason, for through his passing we shall eat well for some weeks to come.”
“For months, with care, especially if the weather turns cold soon,” she said. “Mr Garmin will preserve the meat we cannot use immediately, and the hams will hang until we need them. By the time we are done with this pig, we will never want to see pork or bacon or ham or trotters again.”
The knocker at the front door sounded and Alex made to get up, but Jess jumped to her feet.
“Stay, enjoy your wake, brother. I believe I heard the inn cart in the lane, so it will only be Bertie with the morning mail.”
She returned moments later with several letters. “Three more for you,” she said, her tone determinedly cheerful. “But we only had to pay for two. This one is from Max, and the Earl has franked it.”
Alex looked gloomily at the other two. There was little point in breaking the seals, for he could see at once that they were from schools he had applied to for a post, and with only one small sheet of paper apiece, they could not be other than rejections. He cast them aside, and opened Max’s letter instead. Any news from Glenbrindle was welcome to him in his English exile, and he was curious to hea
r how Max had fared, and how the Earl had taken the news that his new heir was not, in fact, his son at all.
The contents shocked him. “Good God, he is not to be cast aside at all!” he exclaimed.
“Lord Strathmorran accepts him?” Jess said. “But he has always preferred Max over any of the others, and I daresay he does not wish to stir up a scandal around Lady Sara, especially where it concerns the Countess. Gallop over heavy ground to get past it as lightly as possible, so he always said.”
“It will not please Lady Strathmorran,” Alex said.
“There is not much she can do about it now,” Jess said. “It was her doing that Max was accepted as her son in the first place.”
“When he was merely the third son, with no likelihood of inheriting,” Alex said. “Now he will have the whole estate and the title, too. She must be horrified.”
“That was the risk she took all those years ago. It is done, and she cannot go back and change her mind, not without stirring up the most appalling scandal. But what of Mary? Surely Lord Strathmorran will want to aim a little higher for his heir?”
“Apparently not,” Alex said, scanning the rest of the letter. “He trusts Max’s judgement on the matter, it seems, and would rather have him happy in his marriage. Max is to leave Glenbrindle on Monday next to return here with the aim of securing her. He has written to her father to express his intentions, so that she has time to make her decision.”
“Gracious! But there can be only one outcome, surely. She cannot refuse him.”
“I would imagine not. Do you know, it strikes me as an odd fancy for Max to take,” he said thoughtfully. “She has little to recommend her, I should have said. Quite apart from the lack of position or fortune, she is handsome enough but not a great beauty, has few accomplishments and no style. Nor is she a great conversationalist or wit. A pleasant woman, but not exceptional in any way. She would make an admirable parson’s wife, doing good about the parish, but hardly suitable for an earl.”
Dulcie (The Daughters of Allamont Hall Book 4) Page 16