A Question of Impropriety

by Michelle Styles

  Diana went forward and caught the carriage door. ‘Simon!’ she said in an under tone. ‘He is your son. Speak to him. He worships you.’

  ‘He ran away rather than face his punishment.’ Simon’s knuckles shone white against the door. ‘I have nothing but contempt for him.’

  ‘He made a mistake. He was very nearly kid napped.’ Diana held out her hands, pleaded with her brother to understand. ‘It is but by the grace of God that he is here.’

  ‘Diana, I have a business to run. Allow me to handle him in my own way. You should have forced him to walk. He chose to come here. He should not be rewarded with a ride on Coltonby’s horse.’ He rapped on the roof of the carriage.

  Diana stuffed a hand into her mouth and held back a sob. Who she felt sorrier for—Simon or Robert—she could not have said. All she knew was that this was a tragedy in the making. But she also knew that she could not make Simon do anything. He had to lead his life as he chose to. She glanced at Brett and saw a muscle jump in his cheek. ‘Are you not going to thank Lord Coltonby?’

  Simon stuck his head out of the window. The two men stared at each other. Neither moving a muscle.

  ‘My gratitude, Coltonby, for returning the boy.’

  ‘As your son has been returned safely to his parent, there is no need for me to remain here.’ Brett ad dressed his words to Simon, but made no move to dismount.

  ‘Thank you,’ Diana mouthed. Brett gave a nod and his horse cantered away.

  The stable yard was silent until long after his horse’s hooves had faded. Simon’s carriage, however, remained stationary. Diana went up to the door, opened it and looked at her brother’s distressed face. She thought she saw a tiny tear in the corner of his eye, but Simon never cried, not even when he had told her about Jayne.

  ‘Simon,’ Diana whispered and willed him to respond to his son. ‘You need to do something. He has had a scare. He has agreed to return. I don’t think he will try it again. He was nearly kid napped by drovers. He followed bad advice.’

  ‘I can imagine what risks he took, Diana. It doesn’t make it right.’

  ‘You made mistakes when you were that age. I can remember the apple-tree incident. How many saplings did you break?’

  ‘And what did Father do? Beat me! Within an inch of my life!’ Simon drew in his breath.

  ‘At least our father cared about your fate.’

  ‘I would never whip Robert like that.’

  She offered a small prayer up as the silence stretched again. Simon surely had to understand. Robert was only a boy. She felt a movement at her side and Robert pushed between her and Simon.

  ‘Papa?’ he said. ‘I didn’t mean to be bad. I wanted you to know the truth. I wanted you to think the best of me. I did not make a stink bomb. Henry did. But it was my fault that he knew how to do it. You are right. I should never have left. I should have stayed and accepted the punishment.’

  Simon glanced down at Robert. His throat worked. ‘Was it very smelly?’

  ‘Terribly.’ Robert’s nose wrinkled. ‘Henry had done the compound wrong. It exploded too early.’

  Diana held her breath.

  ‘I will write to Dr Allen. He might be persuaded to take you back, but I expect you to behave like a Clare should—with dignity and honour. It is not up to you to decide if a punishment is just or not. You leave that to your elders.’

  ‘Yes, sir. I will.’

  ‘We will speak about this later.’ Simon nodded towards the coachman and the horses began to move.

  Diana watched the carriage roll away, pain fully aware that there was nothing she could do except hope that Simon would somehow see sense and not brand Robert as being exactly like his mother. There was much in him that was Clare. Simon had changed over the past few years, and she wasn’t sure she even recognised him.

  ‘I can’t believe Robert did that,’ Simon said later that evening after they had finished supper and Robert had gone to bed. ‘Left school for such a small thing. He should have taken his punishment like a man.’

  ‘But he was punished. He has learnt his lesson.’ She paused. ‘He is only a boy. Give him time, Simon.’

  ‘But why leave?’ Simon held his ruby-red glass of port up to the light. ‘All he had to do was to send me a letter. I would have read it.’

  Would you have? Diana wondered. Suddenly it seemed after years of not questioning her brother and his motives, she had to break her silence. It was too easy to play it safe. It was as if Brett had awoken some devil within her, and she was tired of taking the sensible course. ‘He probably wanted to make sure you under stood the whole story.’

  ‘I fear he takes after his mother and you know where her wildness led. Those last years of her life, all that pain and suffering… Diana, how could I want that for Robert?’

  ‘Will Dr Allen allow him to return?’ Diana asked. She held back the words explaining that Robert was only nine and could hardly be expected to play a man’s part.

  ‘I will write to the good doctor and explain the situation.’

  ‘Why do you think he will agree?’

  ‘I have donated enough money to that school. Dr Allen will hear me out. For the right sum, he will do as I ask. That much was made clear the last time Robert misbehaved.’ Simon ran his hand through his hair as he paced up and down in the dining room. ‘Robert and I will have a full and frank discussion. He will do as I say. We will have no more of that nonsense.’

  Simon had for bid den her to be in the room when he con fronted Robert. The boy had emerged white faced, but resolute. Diana longed to hug him to her, but he had clearly grown too old for such behaviour.

  ‘We almost lost him, Simon.’

  ‘I gave my promise to his mother that I would look after him and I have done so.’

  Diana pressed her lips together. She knew what Simon believed and why. He had confessed every thing about his marriage and his fears for Robert. At the same time she had been grateful that he had never questioned her about London. He’d just been glad that she had returned.

  ‘Does he have to go back? There must be other schools we could send him to.’

  ‘Dr Allen’s is the best in the north-east. It is my decision. Robert will have the best, but his mother’s tendencies have to be cur tailed.’

  ‘And who will take him back when he goes?’

  ‘You can.’ Simon waved his hand. ‘I am busy with my engine. It is at a crucial stage. It moved two feet this afternoon. Robert will understand. He loved his time there last summer.’

  ‘Simon, it would be better if you took him. You could speak with Dr Allen. Explain in person. It would mean so much to Robert.’

  Simon looked at her and slowly shook his head. ‘Please, Diana. You know I would give in. I want to be a different father than ours.’

  Diana pressed her hands onto her thighs, regained control of her emotions. ‘Very well, I will. I want to see him settled properly. Lord Coltonby has offered a ride in his carriage if it will make things easier.’

  ‘Coltonby seeks to use my son for his own purposes.’

  ‘Why…why do you say that?’

  ‘It should be obvious to you what the man is about, why he is sniffing around here.’ Simon’s eyes raked her up and down. ‘He will never marry you, Diana.’

  ‘Did I say that he would? Why do you persist in thinking the worst of him? Cambridge was finished years ago.’

  ‘He is doing this to get me to drop the price of the land. He will then go and sell the rights to Sir Norman Bolt. Don’t think that I am not aware of how much Sir Norman needs that land.’ Simon clasped his hand to his forehead. ‘My God, to think I nearly gifted it to Biddlestone in exchange for investing in my engine. It was sheer providence.’

  ‘I thought Lord Coltonby wanted the land for the view.’

  ‘Ah ha, he says that, but he and Maurice Bolt have been as thick as thieves. Why else would they have raced? I over heard Bolt boasting about his father’s new engine and you know it would give them access.
I know Maurice Bolt wouldn’t risk his father’s prize mare for a boot-blacking receipt. There is more to it.’

  ‘Simon, you are spouting nonsense. Lord Coltonby is not interested in engines. Or wagon-ways. He is interested in horses. You are wrong about him.’

  ‘Then ask him. And while you are at it, ask why he is sniffing around a tradesman’s sister. What were you thinking about by meeting him, Diana? You are playing into his hands.’

  ‘You are hardly a trades man, Simon.’

  ‘In his eyes, I am and always will be. Do you really think your charms have beguiled him?’

  ‘You are angry Simon. You seek to hurt someone.’ Diana choked back the tears.

  ‘Am I?’ Simon whispered. ‘Or am I seeing things clearly where you are wilfully blind? He is exactly like your misbegotten fiancé, out to get what he can.’

  ‘I need to see my nephew. He is my first concern, not your ongoing childish feud with Brett Farnham!’ She walked with quick steps out of the dining room.

  ‘That’s right. Go on, Diana, run away from the truth.’ Simon’s voice floated after her. ‘It is easier that way.’

  Diana stopped on the stairs and sank down. She laid her head against her knees as Simon’s vile words washed over her. He was wrong. Brett was not using her. He had never sought to use her. They were friends.

  Brett surveyed the Ladywell Main colliery from his curricle. The machinery and men were laid out in front of him as the sound of the great pumping engines rang in his ears. The solid ponies pulled the carts along the wagon-way towards the landing on the Tyne from where the coal would be shipped to Newcastle and beyond. Prosperous. Clare cared more about his business and his machines than he cared about his son or his sister. He wanted investment in his engine. Very well, Brett would give him the money, pay over the odds for the land as well but, in exchange, he wanted Simon’s co-operation with Diana. Together, they could make her understand that his offer was honourable, and why marriage was the only option.

  Brett alighted from the curricle and tossed the ribbons to Jimmy Satterwaite. The lad showed real potential as a possible tiger, particularly as Brett’s former tiger refused to settle in Northumberland and had returned to the bright lights of London. ‘Look after them. They are skittish enough around machines. I’d send them back to Tattersalls but they are high steppers. This will not take long.’

  A great roar drowned out the lad’s comment. A huge black machine advanced out of the shed, puffing smoke and grinding along the cast-iron rails. Sparks flew up in a massive cloud, showering the machine with red gold. Jimmy cowered slightly and both horses pawed the ground.

  ‘Look to the horses, Satterwaite,’ Brett said sharply. ‘If they go, there will be no stopping them. You want to be a tiger, don’t you?’

  ‘I will, sir, but that thing…’ The lad pointed a trembling finger as his horses reared a second time. ‘It frightens me. Me da were injured by one of them machines. Spent weeks off work.’

  ‘Hardly a fiend from Hades, boy. Concentrate on the horses. Lead them away from here—slowly and steadily.’

  The lad gave a half-nod and clung on to the bridles for dear life. He seemed to be in charge—but barely. Brett turned his attention back to the screaming monster. He started forwards.

  A burly man stepped in front of Brett, blocking his way. Brett glared at him.

  ‘You ain’t allowed here. No one is allowed here. Not while this here is happening.’

  Brett raised an eyebrow. ‘I am Lord Coltonby. I have business with your master.’

  ‘I don’t care who you say you are. Mr Clare has said no one is to be here. Not today. Today, we are closed.’

  ‘Clare will see me now. Or face the consequences.’ Brett regarded the man with a stern eye. Ice-cold fury washed through his veins.

  The burly man pursed his mouth and shook his head. ‘Mr Clare ain’t going to like it.’

  ‘I don’t care if Mr Clare likes it or not.’ Brett glanced over his shoulder and saw Jimmy struggling to hold the horses as the monster advanced towards him. ‘What in the name of all that is holy is that?’

  ‘Travelling engine, sir. That’s what they call them. Loco Motives.’ The man continued to block his way.

  ‘I do not care what they call them. There is a problem.’

  Brett watched in horror as the iron rails began to buckle and twist, splintering under the weight of the engine. He watched as the machine tilted and the fiery coal began to spill out over the wooden blocks that held the rails. The air became thick with oaths and screams as the men realised what was happening.

  The foreman stood, stunned, watching in disbelief. Brett saw the flames begin to lick the engine.

  ‘Do something! Get some water,’ he yelled, but the man continued to stand there, rooted to the ground.

  ‘He said it was safe.’

  Brett ran forwards, shouting orders to the men who gathered around the disaster like fair goers gawking at the latest marvel. ‘Why are you standing there? That man needs your help.’

  ‘We daren’t go any closer. The master will have it under control right enough. He always does.’

  ‘This has happened before?’

  ‘Not as bad as this…’

  Brett paid no heed to the man and raced forwards. The heat from the engine seared his face. Simon Clare stood propped up at the controls, eyes closed, seemingly oblivious to the carnage happening around him. He had courage, Brett would grant him that.

  ‘This contraption is going to explode! Get out while you can.’

  Clare glanced at him. ‘Get away from here. You don’t know what you are playing at, your lordship. Go back and play with your horses. Leave this to the experts.’

  ‘Neither do you!’

  ‘I am perfectly safe. You will be in danger if you stand there.’ Clare leant forwards and twisted a knob. The great machine heaved forward again with a grinding sound. Sparks flew up in greater arcs, covering Brett with a thousand pin points of light.

  ‘Not as much danger as you are in.’

  Without hesitating, Brett plunged in and pulled the man out. The infernal machine gave one last shudder and then the orange-red flames licked the spot where Clare had stood. He placed Clare on to the ground and turned his attention to the machine and the smouldering rails. The machine continued to puff smoke and steam in to the air.

  ‘How do you stop it?’

  Clare lay there, singed, a queer smile on his face. His features were blackened with soot, but his green eyes blazed. He struggled to stand up, stood there swaying back and forth as Brett examined the wreckage. ‘What sort of mad man are you, Coltonby? I told you to get away from here. You and your bungling have destroyed every thing.’

  ‘No permission needed. No thanks required.’ Brett leant closer, made sure that Clare could see his lips. ‘You would have died in that machine.’

  Clare’s response was to land a punch on Brett’s jaw. Brett staggered back, surprised.

  ‘I don’t forgive a man lightly when he reacts that way,’ Brett said, fingering his jaw.

  ‘You had no cause to rescue me.’

  ‘You don’t want to be rescued. Very well, then.’ He picked the man up by his jacket, started to haul him towards the smouldering machine, then stopped. ‘You are not worth it, Clare.’

  ‘Let go of me,’ Clare struggled.

  The machine’s groaning and creaking in creased. The men who had been gathered round started to scatter.

  Brett kept his grip tight around Clare’s arm. In this mood, there was no telling what he might do. And he had no wish for Diana to accuse him of harming her brother.

  ‘Let go of me, Coltonby. If I don’t stop it, that boiler will blow.’

  ‘Promise me you will be sensible.’

  But Clare twisted and freed himself from Brett’s grasp.

  Brett gritted his teeth and watched Clare take three steps. With a gigantic roar, the boiler of the engine exploded. Brett watched in horror as Clare was hit. He staggered an
d fell to the ground. He got up on to his knees and tried to rise, only to fall again.

  ‘I think I might have overestimated something.’ He collapsed on the ground and lay still.

  Brett leant down him over. Clare’s face was pale white against the soot. He gave a funny gurgle and lay still. Brett put his ear to Clare’s chest and heard the faint rattle of a breath.

  ‘Get a doctor, quick!’

  Chapter Fourteen

  ‘Do I have to do my times table?’ Robert looked up from the dining-room table. ‘I am not at school, and the sun is shining.’

  ‘You will be learning at home until Dr Allen says that you can return.’ Diana regarded her nephew. She wanted to be else where, as well. Not in here, stuck trying to remember how the eight times table went. The weather had turned slightly chillier and the sloes, blackberries and other hedge fruit were ready for picking. There were a thousand other things she longed to do, but her duty was to ensure Robert kept up with his school work. If she concentrated on Robert, she could forget Simon’s insidious accusations about Brett. His words kept going round and round in her brain. Why had Brett become interested in her? Why had he started paying her attention? She needed to know the answer, but it also frightened her. What if Simon was correct?

  ‘But…but…’

  ‘Do you want your school friends to see that you have fallen behind? Do you want them to laugh at you? I have always had trouble with my eights, in particular eight times seven.’ She swallowed hard. He had to understand how easy it was to fail. ‘I know how cruel people can be.’

  ‘But I can already do up to the twelve times table, Aunt Diana,’ Robert blurted out, holding out his paper. ‘See! It is simple, particularly eight times seven. You write fifty-six equals seven times eight.’

  Diana sighed, and reached for the paper. He had neatly written out all the times tables. The pain behind her eyes threatened to become a fully fledged headache. Despite having no expense spared on her education, her grasp of mathematics remained hazy. Abandoning maths might be the best plan. ‘Shall we try geography, then? I will draw a map of Northumberland and you can put in the principal rivers and towns. And I want the handwriting legible, not ink stained.’