Lord Humphrey (Sons of the Marquess Book 2)

by Mary Kingswood

  “Charlie,” Humphrey said.

  She smiled. “Charlie, yes. Very like his father, as you are, my lord, although very light-fingered. Always stealing. We had to send him away in the end. But the time I speak of was before Charlie was even born. Your father liked to talk to me. I think he was lonely, for there had been some great tragedy in his life, a woman he had loved and lost — something of the sort. Then he had been forced into a society marriage, and he chafed rather at the restrictions. He was so unhappy.”

  Humphrey listened in silent astonishment to this description of his father, a man who, whatever his other failings, had always behaved with great tenderness towards his wife. Had he really been unhappy? Or was it mere words to charm a gullible widow into his bed? Perhaps he had really disliked his marriage, and had come to love his wife despite that. It was a puzzle. Humphrey asked no questions, but vowed to relate the whole of it to Carrbridge, who, being the eldest, might remember something of their father in these long-ago times.

  Mrs Andrews sighed. “He was so generous, so charming… it was almost inevitable that he should turn to me. For two years he came to me, although less often at the end. Then one day he told me he would come no more. He gave me this to look after, to keep things private, he said…”

  She rose gracefully and went to a small desk at one end of the room. Unlocking it with a key she kept hidden beneath a vase, she produced a small roll of papers tied with ribbon. This she passed to Merton, who swiftly untied and unrolled the pages.

  “The title documents,” he said with a satisfied smile. “Also, some lesser papers relating to the estate. Thank you, madam. These prove the marquess’s ownership.”

  She nodded. “That was the last I ever saw of him. I missed him, of course, but I understood. He was the heir to the title, a man of importance, and I had been merely a passing dalliance to him. These great men — they take whatever they want, is it not so? I was not resentful, and my life was peaceful. But then, about six months after Charles had left me, Mr Sharp came. It had been decided that I must pay rent after all, he said. Of course I could not. I lived the most frugal life as it was, for all I had was my jointure, too hedged about with restrictions for Cecil to gamble away. So then he suggested—”

  She broke off and frowned into the brandy glass, as if surprised to find it empty. Silently Merton rose and refilled it.

  “He did not say it in so many words, you understand, for he never spoke in a straightforward way, but it was clear enough. If I were to… accommodate him, then the payment of rent need not trouble me.”

  “That is despicable,” Merton said, in shocked tones.

  She shrugged. “It is the way of the world. I had no protection, no husband or brother or son to stand up for me. It seemed preferable to me rather than destitution, and perhaps the workhouse. And it was not so bad, so long as I did exactly as he wished, and the servants too. He had a great temper if he was thwarted, although he never hit me. But I could not bear the upset, when he was cross. So we all did whatever he wanted, and he was satisfied.”

  “Have you no family at all?” Humphrey said.

  “A brother who washed his hands of me when Cecil died. A sister who washed her hands of me when I took Charles into my bed. Even the parson has washed his hands of me,” she said, with a sudden smile that gave some indication of how pretty she must have been in her youth.

  “Well, you have protection now,” Humphrey said, standing abruptly, for he was too angry to sit still. “I shall ensure that Sharp does not come here again, and just to make absolutely certain of it, I shall send over one of the footmen to act as butler and make sure you are not troubled again.”

  “Oh!” Her eyes widened. “My lord, thank you! That would be wonderful, for the housekeeper is in Mr Sharp’s pocket, you know. She reports everything to him, and intercepts all the mail, and prevents anyone from calling on me. At least she could not deny you, my lord! It is so difficult, and I sit in here, day after day, seeing no one, not able to go out except for a monthly shopping trip to York, and even then she accompanies me.”

  “Mrs Andrews, you are a prisoner no longer,” Humphrey said gently.

  They left her in tears of gratitude, and rode home slowly, rather overwhelmed.

  “What is to be done about Sharp?” Merton said.

  “Nothing,” Humphrey said shortly. “There is nothing that can be done. If you put all this to him, he will protest his innocence. He put no pressure on the lady, she simply offered herself. Of course she is not a prisoner, it is all in her mind. And it is all her word against his. He is the most slippery snake in the world.”

  “There must be something we can do,” Merton said.

  “I should like to smash his smug face to pulp, but that would put me in the wrong,” Humphrey growled. “It is not right, not right at all, but at least we have put a stop to it. Mrs Andrews will not be troubled by Sharp again.”

  “It is contemptible, taking advantage of a lady in that way,” Merton said. “Sharp is the very devil.”

  Humphrey said nothing, wondering about his own father, who had also taken advantage of the lady, and the housemaid, too. What had Mrs Andrews said? ‘These great men — they take whatever they want’ and he could not deny it. His own father had been scarcely less despicable than Sharp. Selfish, careless, cruel — thinking only of his own pleasure, and heedless of the path of destruction left in his wake. And if his father had not used Mrs Andrews, would Sharp have dared to do so? He was very much to blame. One could not act as one pleased and ignore the consequences, not if one were a gentleman.

  The more he thought about it, the more he knew that his own path was plain — he could not blindly follow his own wishes and pursue Hortensia. He must be circumspect, abide by his brothers wishes and do all as he ought. He must keep away from her for now, no matter how difficult.

  17: An Audacious Plan

  Hortensia woke to another dreary day, her spirits quite downcast. Her anger had long since given way to despondency. What now was there to look forward to? No rides with Humphrey, no close-fought games of piquet, no quiet conversation before dinner. And no Rosemary, either, for she was entirely absorbed in her new-found love, and had eyes for no one but Lord Kilbraith.

  Rising early, Hortensia ordered a tray in her room, for breakfast was too public for her bruised nerves just now. What if she should meet Humphrey there? And there was Lady Carrbridge, too, who was bound to try to throw them together. No, she would keep out of the way, until everyone had gone off on their various schemes. Lord Reginald and the Chamberlains were bound for York to see about wedding clothes. Lady Carrbridge was to accompany the aunts to the Dunborough’s strawberry-picking party. The younger guests were to go to Harkwell for the village’s midsummer feast. Before long, the house would be quiet and then she could slink out of her room in safety.

  As soon as she dared, she donned her riding habit and crept away to the stables. Oh, the joy of having a decent horse to ride! As soon as she was settled somewhere, she would set up her stable. But not snooty London, or stuffy Bath. No, she knew where she wanted to live, and it was just a matter of finding the right estate to buy. There was a property for sale beyond Harkwell… but would Humphrey be angry if— No, she need not regard his wishes. He took no account of her feelings, so why should she consider his? She may live wherever she chose, for it was no concern of his.

  As Tom was saddling Ganymede, a familiar face peeped out from one of the stalls further down. It always made her smile to see him, with his features so like Humphrey’s.

  “Hello there, Charlie! How are you?”

  “Very well, ma’am,” he said, coming boldly down to stroke Ganymede’s nose.

  “Keeping yourself out of trouble, are you?”

  He laughed. “Good as gold, I am! Aren’t I, Tom?”

  “Mister Tom to you, if you don’t mind,” Tom said equably. “He’s got the cheek of Old Nick himself, that lad has, and you don’t want to go encouraging him, madam. But he hasn’
t put a foot wrong lately, I have to say.”

  “I am very glad to hear it,” Hortensia said. “I am sure Lord Humphrey will be pleased.” She was not at all sure why she mentioned Humphrey, except for the pleasure of hearing his name spoken, although there was a little stab of pain, too.

  “Hope so,” Charlie said, although a shadow crossed his face as he spoke. “He’s been right good to me, speakin’ up for me an’ all. An’ I hope he knows I’d do anything for him.”

  “I am sure he does,” Hortensia said, absentmindedly, her thoughts already away on the moors, planning her first gallop. “Towards Mishmere today, Tom?”

  The cloudless blue sky and the freshness of the air alone could not have lifted her spirits, but Ganymede’s power and strength could and did. As she reined him in after their first gallop, she was laughing in delight, Humphrey almost banished from her thoughts.

  But by the time she had returned to her room, all her gloom was back in full force. An hour or two of riding every day was not enough to relieve her dismals. There was nothing to be done but endure, and count the days until she could leave this place forever. Except, of course, that she would also be leaving Humphrey forever, and that brought the tears very close to the surface.

  She had just changed into her morning gown and was about to dismiss the maid, when a scream echoed through the house, then another, followed by much shouting and the thumping of running feet. The maid’s eyes were wide.

  “Oh, Lor’, now what?” she said.

  “Let us go and see who is being murdered, shall we?” Hortensia said bracingly.

  Upon opening the door, the yelling was louder, and emanating from further down the corridor.

  “Leggo of me! Leggo!” a male voice shouted.

  “Hold him! Don’t let him escape! Letitia, grab his legs.” Female voices, followed by more screaming.

  Hortensia set off at a fast pace, rounding a corner only to run full pelt into a crowd of women in the sombre attire of lady’s maids. On the ground, pinned down by two solidly built women of at least sixty, was Charlie. A younger woman was crying, and another had a bloody nose. They were all so busy shouting instructions and urging each other on, that no one took the slightest notice of Hortensia’s arrival.

  “What is going on?” she cried. Then, louder, “Stop all this caterwauling at once!”

  Silence fell, punctuated by sniffles, and an occasional wriggle from Charlie.

  “Oh! Miss Quayle! Beg pardon, madam, but we was just apprehending this ’ere thief.”

  “It’s one of the grooms, by ’is uniform,” another said. “Shouldn’t even be in the ’ouse.”

  That was true enough. It was going to be difficult to explain away Charlie’s behaviour, yet it had to be done. He was family, and if he were to be hauled off to the constables, or, even worse, transported to Australia, it would be a dreadful thing for the marquess and marchioness. Could one be hanged for stealing? She could not say for certain.

  “Yes, but do get off him,” Hortensia said. “He will suffocate, you know, if you sit on his head.”

  “But if we do, he might escape!”

  “If you do not, he will die and you will likely be charged with murder, but the choice is yours. Have you some rope or some such? Strong ribbons? Good. Fetch some and we shall bind his hands. And feet, to be safe.”

  Cautiously, the two women moved off Charlie, while another of their number, perhaps more sensible, tied Charlie’s hands and feet with strong twine. He gazed at them with wary eyes, but made no further attempts to escape.

  “There now, he is quite safe, and you may tell me what has happened here,” Hortensia said.

  “Why, I caught him in the very act of thieving, ma’am. Caught him in Lady Patience’s room, with the jewellery box open.”

  “He had the stolen item in his hand?”

  “Well… no, madam, but I’m sure he put something in his pocket — that pocket there.”

  Hortensia’s heart plummeted. If Charlie had been doing no more than snooping about it would have been possible to explain it away, but actual stealing was another matter. But there was no help for it. “Charlie, I must look in your pocket. You understand, I am sure.” She gave him her most meaningful glance, but she could not speak more explicitly and could only hope that he understood she was on his side.

  He raised fearful eyes to her, but gave a quick nod of acknowledgement.

  She knelt beside him. Gingerly, she put her hand in his pocket… and drew out a dazzling necklace encrusted with emeralds. The assembled ladies all gasped. Hortensia rocked back on her heels. A brooch could be explained away, even a diamond pendant, if it were small, but this… it was worth a fortune. What on earth had he been thinking? But there was no possibility of explaining it away.

  Two footmen had now appeared at a run, and, to Hortensia’s relief, Mr Merton. He, at least, would appreciate the delicacy of the problem. She drew him aside, and in a few quick sentences, told him what had happened.

  “He will have to go to the constables,” Mr Merton said in the same quiet tone. “I see no help for it. Nor can we expect leniency from the magistrate, not for a groom, whoever his father may be.”

  But that gave Hortensia the glimmering of an idea. “Mr Merton, can you contrive to get me two minutes alone with him? Or with no one but you? I need to talk to him privately.”

  He asked no questions. “Basset, Gaffney, we will take him down to the blue room for now. Ladies, you may return to your duties. Miss Quayle and I will see this fellow on his way to the constables in Sagborough. Miss Cartwright, this is your mistress’s necklace, I believe? Pray see it safely stowed away. Miss Quayle?”

  Almost, he got away with it. His tone was so authoritative, in his quiet way, that the younger lady’s maids began to drift away. But the two stout older women who had been sitting on Charlie were not so easily deterred.

  “I need to go with him,” Miss Cartright said, pursing her lips. “I have to bear witness against him. Saw him with my own eyes, so I did.”

  “You may bear witness at his trial,” Mr Merton said in his mild way.

  “I shall tell my tale to the constables,” she said determinedly. “And Miss Wilde here will come with me, to bear witness to his attempts to escape, which speaks forcibly of his guilt. I know my duty, Mr Merton.”

  “Very well,” he said, giving no sign of alarm. “Miss Cartwright and Miss Wilde may accompany him to Sagborough. Pray fetch your bonnets, ladies. The rest of you — about your duties, if you please.”

  “Bring a Bible, ladies,” Hortensia said. “You may instil a degree of penitence in the prisoner on the journey by reading him improving verses.”

  Charlie rolled his eyes, but Hortensia merely glowered at him. The ladies disappeared, and the two footmen hauled Charlie to his feet, and assisted him towards the stairs. Mr Merton and Hortensia followed at a little distance.

  “Do you have a plan?” Mr Merton whispered. She nodded, and he gave a very slight smile. “It had better be a good one,” he said.

  She was not sure whether it was good or not, but it was certainly audacious, as it must necessarily be, given the tight spot that Charlie was in.

  The blue room was a small, unwelcoming room beside the main entrance. She guessed it was a place where unexpected visitors might be deposited while the butler determined what to do with them. There was no fire, no tray of decanters, nothing but a ring of firmly padded chairs and a few undistinguished paintings on the walls. Charlie was plopped unceremoniously on a chair. He said nothing, but he was white-faced and his eyes were huge with fear.

  Again, Mr Merton took charge of the situation. “Basset, pray order the carriage brought round for a journey to Sagborough. The smaller chaise. Gaffney, fetch some brandy. The prisoner looks like to swoon, and I could use some myself.”

  The two footmen left the room without questioning the orders, but Hortensia was puzzled.

  “You sent the senior man to order the carriage, and the junior for brandy?”


  “It takes longer that way — Gaffney will have to go to Crabbe for the brandy. Say what you have to say, Miss Quayle, for we have but little time.”

  She nodded. “Charlie,” she began, “believe me when I say I intend to get you out of this mess, if only for Lord Carrbridge’s sake. You are family, so exertions must be made. I have no idea what made you do this, but—”

  “Why, for Lord Humphrey!” he said, in surprised tones. “So he can have this gaming house he wants. He’s been so good to me, that—”

  “You are an idiot, Charlie,” she said briskly. “Now, listen carefully. When you get to Sagborough, let them arrest you and lock you up. Then, and only then, you will tell them that you are Lord Humphrey Marford. You had a bet with Mr Merton here to get yourself arrested for… how much would you wager, Mr Merton?”

  “That will never work,” Mr Merton said with alarm. “He may look like Lord Humphrey, but—”

  “Nonsense!” Charlie said, in his plummiest accent. “I assure you, my dear fellow, I shall have not the least difficulty in persuading the constables that I am Lord Humphrey.”

  Mr Merton’s eyes widened, but with only the merest hesitation, he said, “Five hundred. That would be about Lord Humphrey’s level.”

  “Very well. The bet was for a monkey, do you understand, Charlie? And you must pretend to be Lord Humphrey, and not let up for a moment, no matter what happens, understood?”

  His eyes gleamed. “Oh, yes! A monkey, a wager to get myself arrested, keep up the accent. I can do that.”

  “They will not release him,” Mr Merton said, urgently. “Not just because he says he is Lord Humphrey, no matter how convincing.”

  “No, the case will have to go to the magistrate. But you need not worry, Charlie. Just remember, you are Lord Humphrey Marford. You are the son of a marquess, remember?”

  “Aye, and I really am,” he said, grinning. “You’re very clever, miss.”