06.The Penniless Peer (The Eternal Collection)

by Cartland, Barbara

  Chapter Two

  Lord Corbury, sitting in front of the fire with a glass of wine in his hand, heard a noise at the window. He turned his head to see Fenella clambering through the casement.

  “Why do you not come in at the door?” he enquired, only to perceive the answer to his question as she came towards him.

  She was wearing pantaloons and a tightly buttoned jacket. With her slim figure she looked very much like a small boy.

  “Good heavens!” Lord Corbury ejaculated.

  “They are yours,” Fenella explained. “You wore them last when you were at Eton.”

  She laughed and added “Do not look so shocked! You must realise that long skirts are not conducive to climbing through the fan-light of the door, which is what I shall have to do.”

  “Well I only hope no one sees you,” Lord Corbury said.

  He made no effort to rise but lay back in his chair, and Fenella knew by the expression on his face that he was feeling depressed.

  “What has happened?” she asked as she reached his side. “Did Hetty not come this afternoon?”

  “She came,” Lord Corbury replied.

  “And she has upset you?”

  “She made me feel how impossible it is for me ever to contemplate marrying her,” Lord Corbury said sourly.

  “What did she say?” Fenella enquired.

  “She did not put it into so many words,” Lord Corbury replied, “but I received the impression that no suitor with less than £50,000 in the bank would be acceptable to her father.”

  Fenella pursed her lips together to prevent herself from saying aloud what she thought. After a moment Lord Corbury went on,

  “I may as well acknowledge defeat right away! What is the point of fighting when there is not a chance of winning ?”

  “That is exactly what we might have said in England during the war,” Fenella answered. “Who would have thought that a little island like ours, so tiny on the map, could defeat the might of Bonaparte when he had already conquered nearly the whole of Europe.”

  There was a pause. Then Lord Corbury said,

  “You are very sweet, Fenella, and somehow you always manage to cheer me up. Do you really believe in miracles?”

  “Of course I do’,” Fenella declared, “especially where you are concerned. I am sure, Periquine, that God helps those who help themselves.”

  “So you are still intent on this madcap robbery?” Lord Corbury said.

  “Do you suppose I have dressed myself up like this just to sit beside you in heavy gloom?” Fenella enquired.

  She looked at Lord Corbury’s glass and added suspiciously,

  “You are not drinking to drown your sorrows, are you?”

  “Precious little chance of that,” Lord Corbury replied. “This is the last bottle in the cellar. After tonight I shall not be able to drink anything but water.”

  “After tonight things may be very different,” Fenella said.

  She walked across the room to the window.

  “We must start soon. We ought to arrive at the Old Mill when it is dusk but not too dark for us to see our way to the house. We also have to go through the wood.”

  Lord Corbury tossed back the rest of the wine that was in his glass.

  “Let us get going,” he said recklessly. “Do you want me to wear some sort of fancy-dress?”

  Fenella regarded him critically. He might be poor but at the moment he appeared as elegant and as exquisitely garbed as any Beau she had ever seen.

  Then she remembered that when these clothes were worn out he would not be able to afford others.

  “Put on the oldest things you have, Periquine, “ she said. “We have got to climb over a fence and I will have to stand on your shoulders to get in through the fan-light. You will find some of the garments you wore before you went into the Army upstairs in your closet. I tidied them only last week. And wear a black cravat - it is far less noticeable than what you have on now.”

  “I suppose there is sense in what you are saying,” Lord Corbury said grudgingly.

  He went from the room and Fenella heard him going upstairs.

  She picked up his empty glass and carried it to a tray which stood on a side-table. Then she looked round the room to see if there was anything else she could tidy.

  She had been over during the morning and had made the Salon appear as habitable as possible. There were bowls of flowers on the table, and while the cushions were old and worn they were clean because she had washed and pressed them herself.

  Yet there was no doubt the whole place looked sadly shabby, and she knew only too well how it must appear in Hetty’s eyes.

  The Priory was, Fenella thought, as far as she was concerned, the most beautiful place in the world. After the Dissolution of the monasteries in the reign of Henry VIII, the King had given the Priory and its estates to one of his courtiers who had served him well, and invested him with a Knighthood.

  By a miracle the Priory and its lands had remained in the hands of the family through the troublesome times of Cromwell’s dictatorship, and on his Restoration Charles II created the barony of Corbury.

  ‘However poor Periquine may be,’ Fenella told herself, ‘I am glad that he cannot sell the Priory or dispose of its lands.’

  Somehow she felt sure that something would happen which would enable him one day to live in his home in the style in which he wished to do. She could only pray that that day was not too far ahead.

  She knew Periquine so well. She knew how easily he got depressed, how quickly his spirits would rise again. But there was a depth, although he was not really aware of it, in his character and a resilience which would eventually, she was certain, carry him through to victory.

  ‘He must succeed, he must !’ she told herself, and then with a drop of her heart realised that success for Periquine meant that he would marry Hetty.

  It was hard to contemplate Periquine being married to anyone, but least of all to the girl they had both known since they were children.

  Hetty Baldwyn had always been spoilt and had shown it by her air of disdain and condescension towards other girls, and the manner in which she assumed as her right that every man of her acquaintance should be at her feet.

  While Periquine had been away with the Army in France, Hetty had captivated all the young men of the neighbourhood and had then gone to London to captivate the Beau Monde.

  ‘It is understandable that Periquine cannot resist her,’ Fenella told herself now.

  She thought of Hetty’s classical features, golden hair, unblemished skin, and knew she was not likely to be missed by Periquine’s roving eye once he returned from the war.

  ‘All I want is his happiness,’ Fenella thought, but she knew if she was honest with herself that she did not feel he would find happiness with Hetty Baldwyn.

  She was still standing in the Salon with a worried expression in her green eyes when Lord Corbury came downstairs again.

  He had obeyed her instructions and was wearing a very old pair of pantaloons which Fenella knew had been darned on one leg.

  He had on a jacket which having been made for him some years ago, was slightly too small. A black cravat encircled his throat and was tied in an elegant knot on the front of his shirt.

  Nevertheless he managed to look smart because he wore his clothes with an air and they seemed to accentuate the raffish glint which was never far from his eye.

  Fenella gave a little laugh.

  “Can this really be the Robber Chief in person?” she asked mockingly.

  “If you say any more,” Lord Corbury replied, “I will give you what I used to give my fag at Eton who looked just like you in that suit - six of the best.”

  “I am sure you were a bully,” Fenella retorted, “and if you stay here bullying me we shall never reach the Old Mill before it is too dark for the dogs to differentiate between friend and foe.”

  “Oh Lord, the dogs!” Lord Corbury ejaculated. “I had forgotten them!”

 
; “I had not,” Fenella answered. “I have brought them some food, it is outside the window.”

  “Do we have to enter and leave the house in this surreptitious manner?” Lord Corbury enquired.

  “You can go out through the door if you like,” Fenella answered, “but I certainly do not want Mrs. Buckle or old Barnes to see me. Not that I expect that they would move from the kitchen fire at that very moment.”

  “Let us take no chances,” Lord Corbury said with an air of resignation.

  He followed Fenella over the window-sill and out onto the terrace outside.

  Being so small she had some difficulty in clambering out while he could almost do it in one stride.

  There was a basket on the moss-covered flagstones and Fenella picked it up.

  “I hope you have brought plenty,” Lord Corbury said.

  “There are always masses of scraps at home,” Fenella answered, “our cook is very extravagant.”

  “It is more than Mrs. Buckle is ever likely to be,” Lord Corbury said bitterly. “As she informed me tonight she cannot cook what she has not got.”

  “Poor Periquine, are you hungry?” Fenella asked.

  “Not at the moment,” Lord Corbury replied, “but I have a suspicion that by the end of the week I shall be setting rabbit-snares with old bits of wire, and trying to charm pigeons down from the nest.”

  “No cartridges!” Fenella said perceptively.

  “Only a few,” Lord Corbury answered. “God knows I have never seen a house containing so little of everything.”

  There was a bitterness in his tone which told Fenella that he must have made an inspection of the place during the day and she wondered if it was after Hetty had left in the afternoon.

  Perhaps she had not stayed for long. Lord Corbury had been cheerful enough when she had left him to go home for luncheon.

  “I have rot told Papa and Mama you are here yet,” she had said. “Not that they would be particularly interested, but I thought the fewer people who knew, the less likelihood there would be of Sir Virgil hearing of your arrival.”

  “That was thoughtful of you,” Lord Corbury approved. “The only thing I have to live for is Hetty’s visits and if she does not come to see me I shall feel like blowing a hole through my head.”

  Fenella did not answer this. She had only hoped that Hetty would make an effort to go to the Priory during the afternoon.

  She would not do so, Fenella knew only too well, unless it suited her. If she herself wanted to see Periquine, she would get there whoever tried to stop her. It was a question of going out of her way to bring him any comfort. Fenella very much doubted if she would make an effort.

  ‘I am being catty,’ she told herself. ‘I must not be unkind about Hetty. And I must not be jealous of her because she is so beautiful.’

  Even as she thought of it, Fenella knew it was not Hetty’s beauty that made her jealous, but the fact that Periquine was interested in her.

  Always in the past when he had been home he had seemed to belong to her, there being few distractions to take him from her side.

  She had gone out shooting with him in the Autumn, she had sat beside him when he fished in the summer. They had rowed a boat on the lake and ridden their horses through the woods.

  Merely country interests, country pursuits! And yet Fenella could never remember a time when either of them seemed bored. There had always been something interesting to do.

  But now Periquine was depressed. That she could understand, where money was concerned. But it was not like him to have lost his enthusiasms, and not to be amused by ordinary everyday things which had entertained him in the past.

  They walked across the lawn side by side in silence. The sun was sinking behind a great wood of fir trees in a blaze of crimson, gold and saffron.

  Already the sky overhead was a translucent blue and the first evening star twinkled faintly in the midst of it.

  ‘There is nothing more lovely,’ Fenella thought, ‘than the Priory in May.’

  There was the fragrance of lilacs, the heavy scent of syringa, and everywhere that she looked there were patches of colour in shrubs and trees which while undoubtedly overgrown, were nevertheless very lovely.

  As they walked along moving towards Robin’s Wood that lay parallel to the long drive which ran to the Highway, she thought that the peace and beauty of the evening was having a soothing effect on her companion.

  After they crossed a narrow bridge over a stream which fed the lake she said,

  “There are some very fat trout since you last fished here.”

  “Are there?”

  She thought that Lord Corbury’s eyes lit up.

  “Then I must certainly have a try at them. It is so long since I had a rod in my hand that I dare say I have lost the art of hooking a fish.”

  “I expect it will come back to you,” Fenella said.

  He looked at her and smiled.

  “Forgive me for being so blue-devilled,” he said beguilingly, “I realise you are trying to cheer me up, and even if you cannot do so, I have no right to inflict my miseries on you.”

  “It is not a question of inflicting anything on me,” Fenella answered. “We have always shared our difficulties in the past.”

  She looked up at him as if she hoped he would agree with her, but now he was watching the rooks coming in to roost and merely said absently,

  “Yes, of course.”

  They moved into Robin’s Wood, which was now thickly overgrown as the trees should have been thinned years before.

  There was a twisting path between the tree-trunks and they followed it. It grew darker and still darker as the sun dipped into the horizon, and the evening light did not percolate through the thick branches above them.

  It was as they were moving without speaking that they heard someone coming. Fenella stood still, and quickly Lord Corbury, with a reaction which must have come from his service training, took her arm and pulled her behind a thick briar-bush.

  “Who can it be?” he whispered.

  “I have no idea,” Fenella answered. “There is never anyone in the woods at night.”

  The sound of someone moving rather slowly but heavily came nearer. Then they heard the murmur of a voice.

  It seemed to Lord Corbury the words were foreign and then when the speaker was nearly level with them, he realized the man whoever he might be, was saying a prayer.

  Restraining an impulse to raise his head to look, Lord Corbury still holding on to Fenella’s arm remained crouched down beside her until the footsteps and the voice receded into the distance.

  “It is quite all right,” Fenella said, “it is only the old Vicar.”

  “The old Vicar?” Lord Corbury questioned.

  “You must remember him. He was the Vicar of Little Coombe for years. Then he got so vague and absent-minded that the Bishop gave him charge of the Church-in-the Wood.”

  “Do you mean the Monk’s Chapel?” Lord Corbury asked.

  “Of course. It is just as it used to be when we were children. It is still full of squirrels, birds and even rabbits. I often go there on a Sunday when the old Vicar, if he remembers, holds a Service.”

  “Does anyone else go?” Lord Corbury enquired.

  “There are two old women from the village who adore him, one of whom cleans his tiny house. It is little more than a hut, but he is happy there. The Parish has grown too much for him. He always forgot funerals, and someone invariably had to fetch him to a wedding long after the bride had arrived.”

  Lord Corbury laughed.

  “That must have caused a great deal of trouble.”

  “It did,” Fenella replied, “especially as the old Vicar was usually lost in the woods. You remember how he loved the animals? He still tames the squirrels, and the deer eat out of his hands.”

  “I must go and see him one day,” Lord Corbury said. “I might have spoken to him just now.”

  “I thought of that but it is wisest that no-one sees us,” Fen
ella said, “Isaac Goldstein is so crooked that I do not think he would dare make a fuss about his monies being stolen, but one never knows and it is safer if we are not seen anywhere in the vicinity.”

  “Quite right,” Lord Corbury approved.

  They went back onto the path and now it was getting very difficult to find their way.

  Fenella went ahead and finally as they emerged through the trees, Lord Corbury saw ahead of them a high fence of over-lapping wattles.

  “That was never there in the past,” he ejaculated.

  “No, Isaac Goldstein put it up,” Fenella answered. “He said it was to keep the dogs in, but I have a suspicion it was to keep intruders out.”

  The Mill House looked very dilapidated. The stream ran by it on one side, on the other it was only a short distance from the highway on a drive which had not been repaired for years.

  Some of the windows had been boarded up, the others were dark and there was no sign of any light.

  Fenella had the idea that Lord Corbury was feeling apprehensive.

  “It is quite all right,” she said soothingly, “I saw with my own eyes Mr. Goldstein go away and if he has been extorting money from his victims all day it is not likely he will drive home in the dark.”

  Lord Corbury had no answer to this logic and followed Fenella in silence to the fence. There he saw in one place a number of logs which had been placed against it and he guessed this was where Fenella climbed over when she was alone.

  She handed him the basket and, as he expected, stepped up the logs and putting her hands on the top of the fence, threw her leg over.

  Instantly there was a sudden snarling and barking below which sounded so ferocious that instinctively Lord Corbury put out his hands to prevent her going any further.

  Fenella gave a little whistle.

  “It is all right, boys,” she said, “it is me.”

  At the sound of her voice, the snarling and barking ceased, and instead Lord Corbury could hear the dogs jumping about making noises of welcome. When he looked over the top he could see they were wagging their tails.

  In the dusk they certainly looked frightening. One was a large wolfhound, the other a huge mongrel of doubtful extraction. Both had large jaws and sharp teeth and Lord Corbury had little doubt they would dispose very effectively of any intruder they did not welcome.