‘Doubt if the old fool has had such a captive audience for years,’ muttered Fenton, as the cousins made their way back cross the street to their hostelry. ‘Shouldn’t think that room’s seen so much as a duster since the blessed Gunpowder Plot itself!’
Maitland laughed. ‘You could be right there,’ he nodded, in cheerful acquiescence. ‘Nevertheless, it is just faintly possible that our loquacious friend might well have provided us with some rather useful information.’ And, indicating the list in his hand, he then enthused, ‘These villages, for instance—I see that Willowby is amongst them—an ex-military friend of mine lives in that vicinity—promised I’d look him up, if I got the chance. Fancy a trip over there tomorrow morning, Jerry?’
‘Consider me at your service, dear boy,’ returned his cousin, carefully picking his way across the straw- strewn forecourt of the Dun Cow. ‘Only too happy to let you organise this campaign in whatever way you see fit—wouldn’t have the vaguest idea where to start, meself!’
And so it was that, shortly after eleven o’clock the following morning, the Honourable Jeremy’s well- sprung chaise, along with both of the cousins, found its way to Gresham Hall, which turned out to be an imposing early Georgian residence situated on a small rise on the far side of Greenborough village.
‘Fancy-looking pile,’ remarked Fenton enviously, as he brought the carriage to a halt at the foot of the Hall’s front steps. ‘Worth a pretty penny, I’ll be bound.’
Having been alerted by the sounds of their approaching vehicle, a stable lad appeared from the rear of the property to take hold of the horses’ heads, while the two men jumped to the ground and ascended the steps up to the wide front door, which was quickly opened by a tall, stately-looking individual, dressed in plum-coloured livery.
Upon learning the identity of the visitors, the manservant’s haughty demeanour vanished immediately, to be replaced by an expression of deep respect.
‘Mr William Maitland!’ he exclaimed, in an almost reverent tone of voice, as he ushered the pair into the large black-and-white tiled hallway. ‘May I say what a great privilege it is to come face to face with you at last, sir!’
‘Good of you to say so,’ murmured Maitland, not a little embarrassed at the serving man’s effusive attitude, which must stem, as he now realised, from his having learnt about the part he himself had played in his young master’s rescue and recovery.
To his further consternation, the elderly butler then thrust out his hand, saying, ‘Allow me to shake you by the hand, sir! Oswald Moffat, at your service, sir!’
Reaching out to take hold of the other man’s hand in a firm and friendly grip, Maitland could only pray that he was not about to be subjected to this sort of unwanted adulation from very many more of Earl Gresham’s staff.
Inclining his head, he said graciously, ‘I’m very pleased to make your acquaintance, Moffat. Perhaps you would see if her ladyship is receiving visitors this morning?’
Hurriedly remembering his place, the manservant gave a courteous bow and, after showing the two men into an anteroom, bade them to take a seat. Then, after bowing to Maitland once again, he exited, his eyes alight with pleasure, as he hurried to impart the good news of the hero’s arrival, not only to his mistress, but also to his colleagues below stairs.
‘What the devil was that all about?’ demanded Fenton, in astonishment, as soon as the door had closed behind the departing butler. ‘Damned funny way for a servant to go on, if you ask me!’
‘’Fraid it looks as though we might have to put up with quite a bit of that sort of thing,’ said Maitland, with a rueful grin. ‘Cat seems to have put it about that I had a hand in saving his life.’
‘Seems there’s no end to your blessed talents, Will!’ exclaimed Fenton, eyeing his cousin sourly.
‘Stow that, Jerry!’ returned Maitland, reddening slightly. ‘I only did what any fellow would have done in the circumstances, which hardly warrants remarks of that sort, surely?’
Fenton gave a careless shrug. ‘If that butler chap’s performance is anything to go by,’ he observed, ‘it strikes me that the odd sarcastic remark from yours truly might well serve to help keep your feet on the ground!’
Before Maitland could reply, a soft tap on the door heralded Moffat’s return and the two men were escorted up the stairs to the morning room, where a smiling Countess Gresham, her son at her side, was eagerly awaiting their arrival.
‘My dear Mr Maitland!’ she exclaimed, rising from her seat and hurrying forwards to greet him. ‘I have so wanted to meet you face to face! How can I ever thank you for saving my son’s life?’
Doing his best to ignore his cousin’s disdainful sniff, Maitland reached forwards and took Lady Letitia’s outstretched hands into his own. ‘Eddie is my friend,’ he said gently. Then, looking up and catching sight of the viscount’s sober expression, he added, ‘Had the roles been reversed, I know that he would have done nothing less!’
Tears glistened in her eyes as, releasing her hands from his clasp, the countess threw her arms around him and hugged him tightly. ‘You dear, dear boy!’ she cried. ‘I beg that you will always consider Gresham Hall as a second home!’ And, raising herself on tiptoe, she reached up and kissed him on his cheek.
Maitland returned her hug in much the same way as he was often wont to embrace his own mother and, after allowing her a few moments to regain control of herself, led the countess back to her seat. Then, having complied with her request that both he and his cousin should sit themselves down, he enquired as to the whereabouts of her ladyship’s other guests.
‘My father took several of the gentlemen out on a drag-hunt early this morning,’ answered Catford, on his mother’s behalf. ‘The rest of our party are sunning themselves in the garden.’
‘We were out there ourselves until Moffat brought news of your arrival,’ added the countess, with a warm smile. ‘But I did so want to speak with you alone before you were besieged by the others.’
‘I trust that you are making a jest, your ladyship!’ exclaimed Maitland, in horror, doing his best to ignore the nearby viscount’s smothered laugh. ‘I must assure you that I have no desire to be besieged by anyone!’
‘Then I fear that I shall have to apologise in advance, my dear boy,’ returned Lady Letitia, leaning forwards to pat his hand. ‘Your exploits have become somewhat legendary within the family. It would be well nigh impossible for me to try to prevent any of them from wanting to shake you by the hand and offer you their thanks. If you could just grin and bear it for a few minutes, I promise you that it will soon be over and done with!’
Assuring the countess that he would do his best, Maitland rose and, offering her his arm, led her out of the room and down the stairs. Fenton, whose earlier fit of pettishness had not been improved by her ladyship having, apart from her initial greeting, virtually ignored his presence, followed the pair, unaware that his revulsion at the thought of having to stand by and witness Maitland basking in hero-worship was not entirely dissimilar to his cousin’s own feelings at being obliged to submit to it.
Chapter Five
Some little while later, having endured all the effusive praise and hearty backslapping with as much good nature as it was possible for him to bring to bear in such trying circumstances, Maitland was at last released from his ordeal and allowed to catch his breath. Stepping down from the terrace, he swept his eyes across the manicured lawns in search of Stephanie who, along with Georgianne, had desisted from joining in the general mêlée that had greeted the cousins’ arrival. Eventually, having spotted her sitting in the shade of a large chestnut tree on the far side of the garden, he was just about to make his way over to her, his heart thumping in joyful anticipation when, with a start of annoyance, he perceived that the Honourable Jeremy had already forestalled him. Miss Highsmith, if her mischievous glances and ripples of laughter were anything to go by, appeared to be very much impressed by Fenton’s blond good looks and well-practised charm. And, as he watched Stephanie pi
cking up her sketchbook and executing a few swift strokes with her pencil, Maitland could not help but notice that three or four of the other young men of the company had also started to drift over in her direction.
Since he could not bring himself to be merely one amongst the many of those who had congregated about the clearly popular Miss Highsmith, he sauntered across to another part of the gardens to join Catford, who was engaged in a spirited conversation with his cousin Georgianne.
‘Ah, there you are, Will!’ cried the viscount, with a huge grin. ‘Finally managed to stave off your devoted admirers, I see!’
‘No thanks to you, dear friend!’ grunted Maitland, as he threw himself down on the grass next to his ex- comrade. ‘Next time you’ve a mind to fall off your horse, kindly call on someone else to drag you out of trouble!’
‘Wouldn’t dream of it, old chap!’ chuckled the viscount, with a sly wink at Georgianne.
Although her lips curved in amusement as she listened to the two comrades’ teasing repartee, Georgianne, who was well aware that her cousin’s affable friend would far rather be sitting next to Stephanie than where he was at present, was unable to hold back the slight pang of longing that had suddenly invaded her heart. Bending her head, she tried to concentrate her mind on the piece of sewing that, for some time now, had lain idle in her lap but, even as she proceeded to execute the small neat stitches, she found her attention wandering across to where Maitland lay sprawled elegantly on the grass beside the viscount.
What a very fine physique the fellow has, she thought admiringly, as her eyes swept over him. How broad his shoulders are! But then, as she found herself dwelling rather too long upon how well his breeches clung to his muscular thighs, her face grew quite hot and she rummaged hurriedly in the basket beside her in search of the small fan that she always carried.
Noticing her sudden discomfort but, unaware of the true reason behind it, Catford scrambled to his feet, saying, ‘This sun getting a bit too much for you, Georgie? Let me fetch you a cooling glass of Mrs Barnet’s lemonade.’ And, looking down at his friend, he added, ‘What about you, Will? Fancy a drop of ale?’
After intimating that a glass of ale would, indeed, be most welcome, Maitland raised himself from his prone position and, casually draping his arms over his drawn-up knees, focussed his attention upon the opposite side of the lawn, where Stephanie was still holding court to her rapt audience.
Georgianne, having observed his melancholy demeanour, could not help but feel a flash of compassion for him. ‘Poor Mr Maitland,’ she said gently. ‘Stephanie has so many admirers—you will need to arrive at a much earlier hour if you wish to be first in line!’
At her words, Maitland gave a sudden start and an embarrassed flush began to cover his cheeks, but then, having realised that there was little point in denying the obvious, he gave a dismissive shrug, saying ‘So it appears! I did hope to get the chance to ask her if she would care to join me in an early morning ride tomorrow morning—but it looks as though I shall have to settle for writing her a note, instead.’ Then, getting to his feet, he turned to go, saying, ‘If you will excuse me, Miss Venables, I believe I shall go in search of Catford, in order to ascertain where I might lay my hands on some writing materials.’
Georgianne’s smile did not waver, nor did her expression betray her inner disappointment. ‘You will find paper and ink a-plenty in the library,’ she said brightly, indicating one of the sets of doors leading out on to the terrace above them. ‘Pens, too, I should think, for I mended several myself only yesterday. Do, please, go and write your note and, if you care to trust me with its delivery, I shall see that Stephanie receives it at the first possible opportunity.’ Then, pausing, as a slight frown puckered her brow, she added hesitantly, ‘However, I do feel that it is only fair to warn you in advance that Miss Highsmith does not, in fact, ride!’
Maitland’s steps faltered and he turned back to face her. ‘I beg your pardon?’ he said, staring down at her in astonishment, for this was a possibility that had certainly never crossed his mind. ‘Did I really hear you say that Miss Highsmith does not ride?’
Georgianne nodded. ‘I’m afraid not,’ she replied, with a sympathetic smile. ‘She took a tumble when she was just a child and has refused to mount ever since— she actually has a great fear of horses, although she does enjoy being driven about the countryside. Perhaps you could invite her to take a ride in your carriage, instead?’
Maitland’s heart sank. ‘Unfortunately, as you are no doubt aware, I travelled up to Warwickshire on horseback. And the carriage in which we drove here this morning belongs to my cousin.’ He nodded towards Fenton, who was still in the thick of those enjoying the exquisite Stephanie’s favours. ‘It should be possible to hire one, I suppose,’ he went on, more to himself than to his companion. ‘It’s getting one’s hands on a halfway decent one that might pose the biggest problem, though.’
Weighing up the various pros and cons of the unexpected dilemma, he stared moodily across the lawn, a hot spurt of jealousy running through him every time Stephanie bestowed her vivacious smile upon one of her admirers. But then, suddenly conscious of Georgianne’s eyes on him, he remembered his manners and, hurriedly collecting himself, lowered himself to the ground at her side.
‘And how about yourself, Miss Venables?’ he asked, more out of politeness than from any real interest. ‘May I take it that you do not share your friend’s aversion?’
‘Oh, absolutely not!’ replied Georgianne, her eyes immediately lighting up and, to Maitland’s surprise, completely transforming her face. ‘It is quite my most favourite pastime and one that I indulge in at every possible opportunity. Uncle Charles—Lord Gresham, I should say—has only just recently purchased the most delightful new mare for me—I had quite outgrown my dear old Meg. Fortunately, we have no need to put her out to pasture quite just yet, since she is so gentle that Cat’s two sisters are perfectly happy to trust her with their youngsters.’
A smile crept across Maitland’s face. ‘I have been fortunate enough to hang on to my own Pegasus for more than six years now,’ he said, in reply. ‘I have other mounts, of course, but none so dear to me. One grows so attached.’
Georgianne gave an enthusiastic nod. ‘Oh, I do so agree,’ she said fervently. ‘I have to confess that I already find myself sharing many a secret with Puss!’
His smile deepened. ‘Puss? An unusual name for a mare, surely?’
Catching his twinkle, she returned the smile. ‘Her name is Olympus really, but it became too much of a mouthful when I was urging her over a seven-footer, so she became Puss, which does seem to suit her temperament rather well, I feel.’
‘I’m sure that it does,’ he returned, somewhat absentmindedly, for his eyes had strayed once more to the group on the far side of the lawn.
Swallowing her regret at his sudden change of manner, Georgianne refused to allow her disappointment to show. ‘Steffi enjoys many other pastimes,’ she said stoutly. ‘She sketches and paints quite beautifully and plays the pianoforte far better than anyone I know. And, look—’
Reaching over into the basket by her side, she drew out a carefully folded piece of material and held it out for his inspection. ‘Her embroidery is perfectly exquisite.’
Somewhat taken aback, Maitland eyed the small flannel garment that she was holding up to him. ‘What is it?’ he asked curiously. ‘It looks not unlike a doll’s petticoat!’
‘It’s to be a nightdress, silly!’ She laughed and, seeing his lack of comprehension, pointed to the pile of garments in her sewing basket. ‘A newborn babe’s nightdress—we sew them for Lady Highsmith’s charity home, only…’ as, with a self-conscious smile, she hurriedly folded the small garment and returned it to her basket ‘…I fear that I am no embroiderer—a simple seamstress, that’s me!’
‘Your work is very fine,’ he replied. ‘And of far more practical use than the usual traycloths and tea serviettes, I should imagine.’ Then, reaching out, he ran his fingers th
rough the finished garments. ‘Why is it that not all of the garments have this small rosebud embellishment? Does it have to do with the status of the recipient?’
Georgianne looked shocked. ‘Good heavens, no!’ she disclaimed hotly. ‘When they are finished, they will be identical! It is simply that I have been at liberty to forge ahead with my part of the task, while Steffi has had rather more calls upon her time, so she has a little catching up to do. You gentlemen must take the blame for that,’ she added, eyeing him mischievously. ‘Not you personally, I grant, but, I dare say as soon as you are given the opportunity…?’
‘As a matter of fact,’ he countered, somewhat impulsively. ‘I was rather wondering whether you yourself would consider allowing me to join you on one of your morning rides?’
For the briefest of moments, she stared at him, her face quite impassive, then, giving a swift nod, she smiled, saying, ‘Yes, of course, although Cat and I go out very early—you will have to be here by seven, if you mean to join us! Oh, look! Uncle Charles and the others have returned; I must go and see if Moffat has everything ready—it seems that we are to lunch “al fresco” today, which, while it is intended to provide a great deal of enjoyment for Aunt Letty’s guests, does, of course, rather involve the staff in a great deal of extra work. If you will excuse me?’
As he scrambled to his feet, Maitland’s eyes followed Georgianne’s graceful figure as she crossed the grass, mounted the steps leading on to the terrace and disappeared around the corner of the building. Then, wondering where the devil Catford had got to with the promised drinks, he lowered himself down on to the grass once more and stared thoughtfully at the abandoned sewing basket. Why Georgianne’s apparent lack of enthusiasm to include him in her morning ride should have come as such a disappointment to him, he could not imagine, since, as far as he had been concerned, his impromptu gesture had come about more out of good manners than for any real desire for her company. Not that the young lady had not proved herself to be excellent company, he hastened to remind himself, a swift grin creasing his face as he recalled Georgianne’s impassioned listing of her friend’s numerous accomplishments. Added to which, he thought good-humouredly, it had been a good many years since anyone had had the temerity to label him ‘silly’!
The Major and the Country Miss Page 5