He paused a moment. Then he said, almost speaking to himself,
“I curse myself for being such a fool as to give that ‘bit of muslin’ two gowns she fancied only two weeks ago. But how could I know that things were so desperate?”
“You still have the Priory,” Fenella said hesitantly.
“Yes, I still have the Priory,” Lord Corbury answered. “But I could not sell it even if I wished to because it is entailed to my son. The son I am not likely ever to be able to afford!”
“At least it is a roof over your head.”
“And I should be grateful for that,” Lord Corbury agreed ironically. “I also have a thousand unproductive acres of land which I cannot afford to farm myself and certainly am unlikely to find tenants who will do it for me. Do you realise, Fenella, that since the war all over the country farmers are going bankrupt?”
“I do realise it,” Fenella answered, “and I think it is disgraceful! While we were at war with the French we all needed food and were grateful if the farmers could feed the country. Yet now in 1817 only two years after Waterloo, the same men who were cheered and acclaimed cannot even raise a loan to carry them over the harvest.”
“They say the country banks are going broke one after another,” Lord Corbury said, “so you can hardly expect them to grant loans which are never likely to be repaid.”
Fenella sighed.
“What are you going to do?”
“That is what I am asking you,” he answered.
“I was hoping that when you came home you would be able to help people on your estate. But it does not now appear you will be able to do so.”
“What people?” Lord Corbury asked without much interest in his voice.
“Well, the most important is Mrs. Buckle,” Fenella answered. “After all, Periquine, she is your responsibility. She has been at the Priory for nearly fifty years. She first came when she was twelve as a scullery-maid to your grandfather.”
“What is the matter with her?” Lord Corbury asked. “I saw her when I arrived and she seems all right to me.”
“She is all right in her health,” Fenella answered. “It is Simon, her son. You know how she dotes on him.”
“I understood he came through the war without a scratch.”
“He did and he married a girl from the next village last year. As he wanted to earn a living, he borrowed twenty pounds so that he could buy a horse and cart and set up as the local carrier. The old man who used to be the carrier died two years ago.
“Well, what is wrong with that?” Lord Corbury enquired.
“There is nothing wrong with it except that he went to Isaac Goldstein, who is one of your new tenants. He has rented the Old Mill House.”
“The Old Mill,” Lord Corbury said wrinkling his forehead. “I thought that was too dilapidated for anyone to take.”
“He pays only a very small rent for it,” Fenella said, “and he is the horridest man you can possibly imagine. I would never have let him put a foot on the estate, if it had been anything to do with me. But Johnson let him the house because, I imagine, he was desperate for tenants. Periquine, he is a Usurer!”
“Here in Little Coombe!” Lord Corbury exclaimed. “Good heavens, what do we want a Usurer for?”
“We do not,” Fenella answered, “except for someone like Simon. Mr. Goldstein goes regularly to Brighton and all the towns nearby, and I understand he has a thriving business. But he is crooked, really crooked, and that is what is so wrong.”
Lord Corbury moved a little way from the window obviously interested in what she was saying.
“What do you mean he is crooked?”
“Well Simon borrowed twenty pounds from him a year ago,” Fenella answered, “and Mr. Goldstein says he now owes him a hundred, and it goes up every month.”
She made a gesture with her hands.
“How can Simon possibly pay him back £100? And you do see that however hard he works he gets deeper and deeper into debt.”
“It is their usual method of extortion,” Lord Corbury exclaimed, “I may be a fool in many ways, Fenella, but I have never been so cork-brained as to get into the clutches of Usurers. I have seen only too often what they have done to my brother-officers. One chap actually committed suicide because they squeezed him dry and went on threatening until he just could not pay any more.”
Fenella clasped her hands together,
“I knew you would understand, Periquine,” she said, “and that is why I hoped you would do something when you came home.”
“What can I do?” Lord Corbury asked. “I certainly cannot give Simon £100!”
“It is worse than that, it is not only Simon,” Fenella said.
“Who else is involved?” Lord Corbury enquired.
“Well, you remember Mrs. Jarvis who kept the ‘Green Man’?”
“I remember Jarvis well,” Lord Corbury replied.
“He died about five years ago, but Mrs. Jarvis carried on by herself. She had Joe, her son, to help her until he went to the war. But she managed after he left and she saved every penny she made for him, so that when he came home he could take his father’s place.”
“What happened?” Lord Corbury asked.
“Mrs. Jarvis fell ill in the winter before last. It was very cold, and I think she economised on coal so as to save more money. Anyway she got pneumonia, and when she was dying Isaac Goldstein came to see her.”
“Why should he do that?” Lord Corbury asked.
“It appeared he was married to her sister, and whether she sent for him or whether he just chanced to drop in I do not know. Anyway she gave him her money in safe keeping for Joe when he came back from the war. She also asked him to look after the Inn or, if it had to be sold, to keep the purchase money for Joe too.”
“Go on,” Lord Corbury said.
“Mrs. Jarvis died and when Joe came back and was told what his mother had arranged, Isaac Goldstein said that his mother had left him nothing.”
“It is impossible!” Lord Corbury exclaimed. “How could he get away with it?”
“Apparently he just said to Joe, ‘You prove that she gave me any money or that she wished you to have the proceeds of the sale of the “Green Man’.”
“He had sold it then.”
“Yes he sold it a week after Mrs. Jarvis died, and according to local gossip he sold it well. But of course no-one knows for certain. It was quite a flourishing little Inn in its way, and there was also the money she had saved. Joe reckons it must have been over a thousand pounds in all and he has not had a penny.”
“This is the most disgraceful thing I have ever heard!” Lord Corbury exclaimed, “I would like to tell this man Goldstein what I think of him.”
“A lot of people have tried to do that,” Fenella said, “but it does not do any good. He does not care, he is rich and he is a miser. I have seen him...”
She stopped suddenly and her face lit up.
“Listen! Periquine ! I have an idea!”
“What is it?” he asked.
“I have thought of how you can get back the money for Simon Buckle, for Joe Jarvis, and perhaps make some for yourself.”
“What are you talking about?” Lord Corbury enquired.
Fenella rose from the sofa to stand with her hands clasped together, her green eyes staring across the room as if she was concentrating fiercely.
“I know where Isaac Goldstein hides his money,” she said. “I have seen him come back from his trips to the coast and take bags and bags from his cart, carry them into the house and hide them under the floor-boards.”
“How on earth have you seen that?” Lord Corbury enquired.
Fenella drew a deep breath.
“I have told you he is a horrible man. Well, he has two very fierce dogs who guard his house when he is away, to protect his money of course. But, Periquine, he does not feed them properly. I suppose he thinks it keeps them savage if they are hungry. He gives them little enough when he is there, but when he is aw
ay they often go for three or four days without food and sometimes even water.”
“The dirty swine! But what can you do about it?” Lord Corbury said.
“I feed them,” Fenella answered.
“You feed them !” he repeated incredulously.
“I started by throwing them food over the fence,” Fenella explained. “So now when they see me they wag their tails and I can do anything I like with them. Of course Isaac Goldstein does not know this.”
“But you are quite certain they would not hurt you?” Lord Corbury asked.
“I really believe now they would protect me against anyone else,” Fenella smiled. “But do you not see, Periquine, it makes it so easy! We will take Goldstein’s ill-gotten money, give Jarvis and Simon what they are owed and perhaps there will be enough over for you to do at least a few repairs to the farms.”
“Are you suggesting I should steal?” Lord Corbury asked in a voice of thunder.
“I am suggesting that you should take from the rich and give to the poor,” Fenella retorted.
“I have never heard such a ridiculous idea in the whole of my life!” Lord Corbury exclaimed. “You do not suppose I would stoop to being a thief, do you?”
“Well, if you will not do so, Simon will remain in the clutches of this monster,” Fenella said, “and Joe Jarvis is in such depths of despair that he just drinks away every penny he earns while he ruminates over the manner that he has been treated.”
“I should have thought he could do something better than that,” Lord Corbury remarked.
“What can he do?” Fenella enquired. “There was no witness present in the room when Mrs. Jarvis handed over the money, only we all know in the village how hard she worked, and how she saved every penny for her Joe. We also know that she certainly would not have wanted her brother-in-law, whom she hardly knew, to sell ‘The Green Man’ and put the money in his pocket.”
“Perhaps I could speak to a lawyer on young Jarvis’s behalf,” Lord Corbury suggested.
“And how will you pay him?” Fenella enquired.
Lord Corbury made an impatient exclamation and walked towards the window.
“I must say, Periquine, I think you have grown very old,” a soft voice said behind him.
“What do you mean by that?” he demanded.
“We used to do some daring things together,” Fenella answered. “Do you remember when we stole all the prize peaches from the Lord Lieutenant’s green-house because his gardener was so offensive to all the poorer people who entered for the Flower Show and made certain they never had a chance of winning anything? We ate some of the peaches and threw the rest in the lake. No-one ever discovered who the thieves were.”
“We were young then,” Lord Corbury said.
“And another time you took your father’s horses without his knowledge and we drove to a Mill on the Downs. It was one of the most wonderful days I have ever spent in my whole life, Periquine. Do you remember how exciting it was?”
“It was indeed,” he answered. “Thirty-eight rounds and both bruisers so exhausted at the end they could hardly strike at each other.”
“We drove the horses home,” Fenella said, “and because old Sam the groom was fond of us he never gave us away. I remember when your father asked what we had been doing, you said we had been fishing. At least you were not afraid in those days.”
“Damn you, I am not afraid! But stealing is just not the sort of thing a gentleman does.”
“It is not much use being a gentleman with only pride in your pocket,” Fenella said.
“It is the only thing left for me,” Lord Corbury said bitterly.
“Well, it will not get you very far with Hetty,” Fenella said. “It is not only Sir Virgil who is ambitious.”
Lord Corbury turned round angrily from the window.
“You will not say anything against Hetty. She is perfect! The most beautiful, the most wonderful, the most adorable creature on whom any man has ever set eyes. I have known a lot of women since I have been away, Fenella, but there has never been anyone as beautiful as Hetty.”
“Yes she is very — beautiful,” Fenella agreed with a little sigh on the words.
“You would not be bad-looking, Fenella, if you took a little more trouble with yourself,” Lord Corbury said with the critical familiarity of a brother. “Why do you not get yourself a new gown and take more trouble over your hair.”
“A new gown!” Fenella laughed. “You seem to have forgotten my condition is very much the same as yours.”
“I am quite certain your father is not bankrupt,” Lord Corbury retorted.
“Oh, he is not bankrupt,” Fenella answered, “but he has no money to spend on frills and furbelows for his daughter. He is intent at the moment on buying a first edition of Milton’s ‘Paradise Lost’. Three months ago it was a first edition of Francis Bacon and the month before that a very expensive volume of Alexander Pope.”
“But if you are eighteen, surely your mother wants you to meet people and go out into society.”
“Mama!”
Fenella threw up her hands.
“You have been away a long time, Periquine. You know Mama is only interested in her garden. She is buying some special lilies from China. The Azaleas which arrived last week from India cost an absolute fortune. Papa and Mama still behave as they did when I was a child - as if I did not exist. When they remember I am there, they send me on an errand.”
“Poor Fenella, it was always the same, was it not?” Lord Corbury said.
He moved beside her, put his arm round her shoulder and gave her an affectionate hug.
“Well, we seem to be in the same plight!” he said. “Which, if you think about it, is nothing new.”
“We used to manage to have some fun all the same,” Fenella said softly.
“We will have some more in the future,” Lord Corbury promised.
There was a silence while he was still holding Fenella close against him.
“Mrs. Buckle has not had any wages for nine months,” Fenella said quietly, “and she told me to ask you for something with which to pay the trades-people. Since the gamekeepers all left, there have not been any rabbits or pigeons off the estate, although of course you can go out and shoot some.”
“If I can afford the cartridges,” Lord Corbury said bitterly.
He released Fenella and then stood staring down at her.
“How much risk is there in taking this money you were talking about?” he asked.
Fenella gave a little cry of delight.
“You will do it? Oh, Periquine, I knew you would! Even if there is not a penny over for yourself, you will be able to help Joe and Simon, and perhaps there will be enough to pay Mrs. Buckle and old Headstone, the butcher. He told me to tell you he would be deeply obliged for even a little towards his account.”
“Curse you, it is crazy!” Lord Corbury said. “But it does not appear as if I have much alternative. Is there anything in the house left to sell, Fenella?”
“Not unless you sell the beds,” she said, “and they will not fetch much. The hangings are all moth-eaten and every blanket is full of holes, as I found when I helped Mrs. Buckle make your bed.”
“You knew I was coming?” Lord Corbury asked sharply.
“I knew you would come soon after Mr. Swayer had seen you. He came down last week and had a look round.”
Lord Corbury was silent for a moment, and then he said,
“Well if I have to be hanged, I may as well make it worth their while. When do we start on this crazy robbery of yours?”
“Isaac Goldstein went away to-day,” Fenella answered. “That means that he is very unlikely to return before the day after tomorrow. It would be safest if we went tomorrow.”
“You had it all planned out for me, did you not?” Lord Corbury said accusingly.
“No, I swear to you I only thought of it at this moment,” Fenella answered. “And you know quite well I did not expect you home quite so soon, or
I should not have had to hide in the Priest’s Hole when Hetty arrived.”
Lord Corbury looked at her searchingly to see if she was telling the truth.
“If I thought this was one of your plots to get me into trouble, Fenella -” he began.
“No, Periquine, no!” she interrupted. “You know I do not wish you to get into trouble. That anyway is a most unfair thing to say, because in the past half the time I took the blame for your misdeeds. What about when your cricket-ball went through the Church window? You would not own up because you said your father would have you flogged at Eton for it.”
“Good Lord, what a memory you have!” Lord Corbury said. “That was years ago.”
“I have not forgotten anything,” Fenella said, “and I have been hoping that when you came back it would be just like old times.”
“At least in those days I had a father who paid for things,” Lord Corbury said. “Now I have to find the money myself.”
“And you will find it — I know you will!” Fenella cried enthusiastically. “You have always been clever, Periquine, you always had a quick brain. Look how well you did at school! And the Duke of Wellington said you were one of the best Captains he ever had under his command.”
“Fat lot of use it is now!” Lord Corbury said disagreeably.
“I think you are being unduly despondent,” Fenella said. “You will think of something brilliant sooner or later. Meanwhile let us collect a little money. You could call it a — fund for — Hetty if you — like.”
She spoke the last words hesitatingly and she saw Lord Corbury’s eyes light up.
“That is a good ideas Fenella,” he said. “I will collect money somehow, even by the most nefarious means, and when I have enough I can go to Sir Virgil and ask him for Hetty’s hand. It will not seem so reprehensible if I am doing it so that I can marry her.”
“No of course it will not,” Fenella agreed, “and you do — love her — very very — much — do you not?”
“You know I do,” Lord Corbury said. “And if it means I can marry her, I swear to you, Fenella, I shall not quibble at robbing the Bank of England!”
“Then you must indeed — love her,” Fenella said in a very small voice.
06.The Penniless Peer (The Eternal Collection) Page 2