Heir to Rowanlea

by Sally James

  Charlotte was just disengaging herself from one of these when they heard a noise from downstairs, a deep bark and James’ voice adjuring the dog, she assumed it was a dog, but where he had acquired it she could not begin to understand, to keep quiet.

  Moving incautiously to rid herself of this encumbrance and go to investigate, she pricked herself with one of the pins, and winced.

  “Ouch. Now what is James up to?”

  Free at last she went downstairs, hastening after her mother, who had gone before her, to see James, a huge white but filthy dog, and a strange gentleman in the hall.

  * * * *

  Moodily kicking a stone in front of him, resenting the way he had been ejected from the barge with such ease, James wandered in the direction of the Tower which loomed up a short distance away, and had almost reached it when his attention was drawn to a knot of boys much his own age, gathered about some object that was causing vigorous argument. James wandered over and found the cause of the dissension appeared to be a large, dirty white long-haired dog who sat in the middle of the group, looking at them with interest, and wagging a friendly tail.

  “I tell yer, ‘e prigged a leg o’ lamb from me pa’s stall. I seen ‘im mesel’,” a scruffy urchin declared.

  “An’ that’s a ‘angin’ matter,” another joined in eagerly.

  “Let’s string un up, like the Frenchies string up t’ nobs!”

  “Naw, drown ‘im, in t’ ‘oss trough,” another suggested.

  “Chuck ‘im in t’ river!”

  “ ‘Angin’ an’ quarterin’,” a more bloodthirsty one cried.

  “Where does he come from?” James asked the nearest boy, much smaller than the rest, who stood on the fringe of the group, staring enviously at his elders and betters.

  “Off o’ some Russian ship wot sailed wi’out un, two days since,” the lad volunteered, but the rest of them turned at the sound of James’ voice and stared belligerently at him.

  “An’ oo the ‘ell do yer think y’are?” one of the biggest asked, stepping forward threateningly.

  “Poking’ ‘is nose in,” another elaborated.

  “Plant ‘im a facer, Tom.”

  “Ar, show un ‘e can’t come ‘ere in ‘is pretty togs an’ come t’ gent on us!”

  James faced them sturdily.

  “You can’t kill the dog like that. If he stole meat because he’d been abandoned, it was because he was hungry.”

  “Ooh, ‘ark at it!”

  “We’ll kill un if we like! Gerrout on it!”

  “Let the dog go!” James persisted. “Here, boy,” he bent down to entice the dog away from its would-be tormentors, and one of the boys, to the accompaniment of raucous laughter from the rest, grabbed his ankle and heaved, rolling James in the mud.

  Wild with anger James scrambled to his feet and went for them, flooring two of them with his first two blows because of the sudden surprising attack. After an astonished moment they all piled in gleefully, and despite the fact that he was being taught by Harry, and was already a powerful and skilful fighter, James had no chance against half a dozen opponents who did not scruple to use whatever means occurred to them of punishing this interloper who dared interfere with their sport.

  Things would have gone ill with James had not a curricle driven by a gentleman in a many-caped coat swept round the corner, and been halted at the sight of the mêlée.

  Perceiving that one boy seemed to be the universal target, the gentleman laid about him scientifically with his whip, and within a few moments all of James’ antagonists had flown from the scene, and James was left, the dog approaching in a friendly manner to lick his hand, confronting his rescuer.

  “I—thank you, sir!” he gasped, trying to recover his breath, and patting the dog’s head.

  “What was it? Is this your dog?”

  “No, no. I just found them, planning to hang it, or drown it, because they say it stole some meat. The poor animal’s been left behind from some Russian ship, they said. Do you think he’s a Russian dog?”

  “Most probably. I’ve seen others rather like him. Are you badly hurt?”

  James had been gently exploring the portions of his anatomy that had borne the brunt of the attack, and wincing as he discovered the bruises and contusions he had suffered. His torn and filthy clothes did not appear to concern him, and he grinned crookedly up at his rescuer, one eye rapidly closing, blinking the other to get rid of blood that poured down from a cut on his temple, and licking another cut at the corner of his mouth.

  “It’s not too bad,” he said. “Thank you, sir, for coming to my aid. I had to save the dog!”

  “I trust the animal will be truly grateful! What do you propose doing with him?”

  “Why, take him home, of course! If I left him here they’d be after him as soon as we’d gone.”

  “Where is home? I’ll take you there after your cuts have been attended to. My name is Penharrow.”

  “I am James Weare. We live in Grosvenor Square. There is no call for you to concern yourself more with me, sir, truly. I do not wish to be a trouble.”

  “There is every need,” Mr Penharrow said grimly, “if you are not to frighten your mother into a spasm or a fit of the vapors when she sees you!”

  James managed a chuckle.

  “Oh, no, mama never kicks up a dust,” he said blithely, but when Mr Penharrow, handing his horses over to the groom who had been standing woodenly beside them during these proceedings, took his arm to lead him across to a small inn, he offered no resistance apart from making sure the dog was following. That sagacious animal was close on his heels, and James patted him approvingly.

  Handed over to the innkeeper’s wife, who clucked and scolded while she bathed his hurts and anointed them, James had time to be thankful he would return home in a slightly better condition than might have been the case. However calmly his mother might have received him, he knew well enough she worried about him, and the less she knew of his exploit the better. He would contrive to reduce the number of his opponents, and belittle his own skill, for he knew that if she thought he was in any danger, further solitary expeditions would be forbidden, and he could not bear the thought of forever having Mr Williams always by his side.

  * * * *

  As Mr Penharrow drove him through the City, he rather shyly asked him not to divulge the full extent of the battle, and smiled in gratified relief when Mr Penharrow promised to be discreet and not alarm his mother.

  Despite James’ assurances that she would not be unduly concerned, Mr Penharrow did experience surprise when Lady Weare, accompanied by a younger version of herself, presumably her daughter, presented with her bruised, battered and beplastered son, his torn clothes filthy with blood and mud, merely raised her eyebrows slightly, asked whether any bones were broken, and on being assured he was only a trifle the worse for wear, bade him to go straight upstairs and soak in a hot bath.

  “Which will serve the dual purpose of easing your bruises and cleansing you,” she said calmly.

  James turned towards the stairs and the dog, the cause of all the commotion, turned with the clear intention of not allowing his rescuer out of his sight. He had recognized in James a good thing, and with canine sense meant to make the most of it. Lady Weare however had other ideas.

  “Not the animal, I think,” she said firmly. “He seems in as great a need of a bath as you are, but he can take his down in the stables.”

  “Do you mean I can keep him then?” James asked, overjoyed, and would have flung his arms round his mother had she not laughingly fended him off.

  “When you are respectable!” she chided. “I will come to see how you do in half an hour. Rivers, will you please find someone to take the dog to the stables.”

  “I’ll take him,” Charlotte said, and after a slight struggle, for the dog did not wish to be parted from his rescuer, managed to slip a piece of string the butler produced round his neck and drag him to the kitchens.

  When they had depa
rted, Lady Weare turned to invite James’ rescuer into the drawing-room for a glass of madeira. She expressed her gratitude to Mr Penharrow, asked how he came to have rescued James, and surveyed him with interest. He was in his late thirties, with brown wavy hair neatly styled, brown eyes that regarded her calmly, a twinkle in their depths, a straight nose, and generous lips above a determined chin. He was not much above middle height, but so well proportioned, and held himself so straight, that he appeared taller. Not excessively handsome, she thought, but a pleasing countenance.

  “It was fortunate for him you were by, and intervened,” she remarked. “I am most grateful to you.”

  “I had business down at one of the warehouses. I am connected with the navy,” he explained. “I trust he will suffer no lasting harm. The dog seems to have found himself an excellent home.”

  She smiled and nodded.

  “James adores all animals, as his father did. But have you any notion what breed it is? I’ve not seen the like before.”

  “I’ve seen dogs somewhat like it in Russia, and James was told by the boys who were tormenting the animal he came from a Russian ship, but I think there’s a dash of German sheep dog too. So far as I know they are used to hunt wolves, but this specimen seemed a friendly enough animal.”

  “Thank you, I’ll tell James. I do hope we will see you again?”

  “Here is my card. I must go now. My best wishes for James’ full recovery, and I hope to see you both soon.”

  He took his leave and Lady Weare, after sitting for a while, went to ensure James had put salve on all his wounds, and laughingly to ask if he meant to rescue all the stray dogs in London, in which event they might have to rent the whole of the neighboring stables.

  He grinned and hugged her.

  “You are a trump!” he declared. “I wonder what to call him?”

  “Trouble?” she suggested, then told him what Mr Penharrow had thought about his breed. “He said there were wolf hounds like him in Russia. How about Czar?”

  “No, Wolf is better,” James decided. “I must go down and see that Ben has bathed and fed him.”

  As he seemed little the worse for his adventure, his mother allowed him to go, and soon her attention was claimed by Charlotte, who was trying to decide on more of the patterns for some of the dresses Miss Drover was to make for her.

  * * * *

  That evening Charlotte contrived to get Harry by himself. He had retreated to the billiard room after dinner, and was knocking the balls about in a rather desultory fashion when she entered the room.

  “Elizabeth seems determined to marry a title,” she said casually as she picked up a cue and sighted along it.

  “It’s her parents who want that,” Harry said.

  “Well, I don’t think she’d be averse to it,” Charlotte said and pushed the cue to hit the nearest ball. To her surprise it bounced off the cushion and fell into one of the holes.

  “Pure fluke,” Harry said, and demonstrated his own superior ability by potting three balls in succession.

  Charlotte sighed. “Why do some girls set such store by titles?”

  “If you are criticizing Elizabeth, you can stop at once,” Harry said, and glowered at her.

  “Well, if all she wants is a title, as well as a bigger fortune, when she already has plenty of money herself, I think that’s odious. What does it matter if she’s called my lady and goes into dinner ahead of other people?”

  “No one asked you what you thought.”

  “Am I not allowed to say what I think? Titles are nonsense. As for fortunes, ideally, it should arranged that people with fortunes should marry those without, and then everyone would be more equal.”

  Harry laughed, but Charlotte heard the bitter note.

  “Are you showing revolutionary tendencies?” he asked, and hit the ball so hard it bounced off the table. “Abolish titles, make everyone’s fortune the same, eventually, if you followed your system. It would never work.”

  Charlotte shrugged. “Perhaps not.”

  She hit a few more balls, but with so little success that Harry, irritated, stood behind her and attempted to guide her shots.

  “I’ve heard people say girls become more interested in men who pay them no attention,” she said over her shoulder. “I think if someone kept asking me to marry him once I’d refused I’d feel he was being weak.”

  “Just what are you trying to say?” he demanded, moving away from her to the far side of the table where he began to pot balls with enviable ease.

  Charlotte looked at him, trying to make her expression as innocent as possible.

  “Why, nothing, Harry. It’s just that since we have been in London I have heard girls talk in a way I never heard them do at home.”

  She hit another ball and it missed all the others. She frowned.

  “I shall never be able to play anywhere near as well as you do. I’m going to read in the drawing-room.”

  As she put up the cue and went towards the door Harry stepped in front of her and grasped her arms to prevent her leaving.

  “Oh, no you don’t! I know you, brat, and you are trying to say something in what you think is a tactful manner.”

  Charlotte, normally despising such feminine tricks, fluttered her eyelashes and lowered her gaze.

  “Harry, you’re hurting me,” she said, and he let her go. She trembled. and thought it was because he had seen through her stratagems.

  “Sorry. But keep out of my affairs, brat, or it will be the worse for you.”

  * * * *

  The following day Charlotte attended a musical evening. Jane, her mother’s abigail, not having time to sew the jonquil muslin, had trimmed one of her old gowns, of white muslin, with real flowers, tiny hothouse rosebuds. With her hair simply arranged and tied with ribbons of the same color, she presented a delightful picture. At Lady Charles’ house Charlotte discovered that several of the guests were already known to her, being either friends of her mother who had visited them at Rowanlea Manor, Mr Norville’s home, or Harry’s cronies who had often stayed with him. All welcomed her kindly, and any trepidation she might have felt at being thrust headlong into the social whirl was quickly banished as she chatted happily with her old and new acquaintances.

  It occurred to her, half way through the evening, that Harry was paying particular attentions to a striking redhead. She watched them laughing together, and noted the flirtatious looks the girl favored him with. Harry did not seem averse to flirting back, and Charlotte began to wonder whether he was really so attached to Elizabeth after all. Or maybe her hints had been understood after all, when she had thought he was merely annoyed with her for even mentioning Elizabeth. She asked one of Harry’s friends, Richard Davies, with whom she was already well acquainted, who the girl was.

  “The redhead? Oh, that’s Amanda Gregory. She came out last season, and refused I don’t know how many offers. Harry hasn’t made up to her before, though one of her brothers was at Oxford with us and we’ve known her for years. Estate in Yorkshire, and there’s a younger sister coming out this year, though I haven’t seen her in town yet.”

  Charlotte stored up this information and changed the subject. She had an opportunity of making use of it the following day, when Mrs Maine and Elizabeth were among the morning callers in Grosvenor Square. While their mothers were comparing notes about mutual friends, and new milliners, the two girls sat together on a small, satin-covered sofa.

  “It is so delightful to be making our come-outs together,” Elizabeth exclaimed, smiling with what appeared to Charlotte as strained friendliness. “It will be such fun going to the same parties, and meeting people together. When do you plan to hold your ball?”

  “At the beginning of June, mama says. She is already making plans.”

  “I envy you the ballroom here,” Elizabeth admitted. “Mama hopes to persuade my cousin to permit us to hold mine in his house in Cavendish Square, since our house is unsuitable. What a shame you were not here for the dear duchess’
s ball. A dreadful squeeze, but so many friendly people. I danced every dance despite not knowing more than a dozen people beforehand. Why, Lord Pauling danced with me twice, and said that if propriety had allowed he would have been content to have danced with me all night.”

  “Who is Lord Pauling?” Charlotte asked, feeling obliged to say something in response to this confidence.

  “Oh, he is famous for his horses. They say he spends as much on his stables as he does on his town house, and I can tell you that is very large, in Berkeley Square. He hunts with the Pytchley and the Quorn, and has the most perfectly matched team of bays I have ever seen. He is taking me driving in the Park this afternoon, which is quite a triumph, for I have been told he rarely takes females up with him. But there were several other men who paid me almost as lavish compliments. I declare, I shall have my head turned if they all behave in this manner.”

  “I expect they do it as a matter of politeness, feeling it is expected of them,” Charlotte could not resist saying, and smiled inwardly at the exasperated glance Elizabeth threw at her.

  “What have you been doing?” Elizabeth asked. “Have you met many people yet?”

  “Only a small party last night, but some interesting people. Do you know Amanda Gregory?”

  “I think she was at the ball. Dreadful red hair, if I have it aright. No wonder she didn’t find a husband all last season.”

  Charlotte chuckled.

  “I heard she refused several offers. But Harry did not appear to dislike her hair,” she said slowly. “He scarcely left her side all evening, and she did not seem to object. I suspect he has gone out driving with her now, for he refused to tell me where he was off to.”

  “Oh?” Elizabeth returned, and then smiled brightly, but Charlotte thoughtfully noted her constrained manner as she chatted about the other people she had met, and wondered if she could be feeling jealous. Perhaps in this way she could make Elizabeth feel more kindly towards Harry.