by Anne Millar
“It was all around the army, my dear. Dear Lady Lockhart had a letter from her son who was with the King’s German Hussars who rescued the wanton from the French. Quite unashamed of her state, befuddled with the drink she’d taken. No sign of him at all, he was probably hiding to save his skin.”
“What on earth could have taken them to some border hamlet? Didn’t they know the danger?”
“Too eager to follow their base natures, my dear. They had to be well away from her husband and the army for their purposes. Well their secret is well and truly out now. It’s the husband one has to be sorry for. Even though he will inherit the title now. He must wish he’d killed his wretch of a brother instead of wounding him.”
“Do you think he will put her aside?”
Judith didn’t hear the answer to that. Her warmth was gone, driven away with the happiness she’d just began to hope for again. It had to be Thomas and Charles and Jane that the harpies were talking about. He’d followed her to Spain to carry on an affair, his brother’s wife, till this incident had exposed their secret. That was why Charles had fought Thomas and why his father had disinherited him. How could she have been so trusting to think of giving him another chance? There was nothing more to Thomas Stainford than broad shoulders, fine feathers, and a predilection for abandoning his naked sister in law to the French.
The three dances that remained before her assignation with Thomas Judith floated through in a daze. At first all she thought to do was huddle in her misery and ignore everyone, but that would only have brought the witches two to investigate and whatever else Judith knew she couldn’t tolerate any excuses for him. So she danced and smiled and bided her time.
He came over as confident and smiling as ever. No reason not to be poised when he was unaware she knew his secret. Amara and Matilde knew it too, their sources were too varied and widespread for them not to. Yet both of them were still prepared to push her at him when he had behaved so abominably. Did they think she wouldn’t find out? Or didn’t it matter if she did?
“Judith. I have been looking forward to this.” Charming, quite charming, the cold hearted charm of the inveterate rake. And she had been naive enough to believe it. Once. “I want to tell you about the changes in officers I have arranged.” He was smiling as though he expected she would want to hang on his every word. “Before the battalion goes to Spain.”
“How kind of you. But is the battalion not commanded by Colonel Horsley, Major?” So much for the way he’d lulled father over keeping John safe. Thomas had intended to take the battalion to Spain all along, as Theodore Horsley had suspected. She was the only one too dense to realise it.
“That matter will be sorted out.” Still smiling, inviting her to join in his smug certainty. Only someone whose sense of entitlement included helping himself to his brother’s wife could smile like that.
“How clever of you Thomas. Tell me, how did you fail to sort matters out when the French cavalry chased your sister in law down the street naked for what remained of her virtue?”
Whatever reaction she had expected it wasn’t the one she got. “I failed to protect her as I should have. Jane was terrified and humiliated. I regret that I let both her and Charles down.” He could have denied it, she wouldn’t have believed him, but he could have tried.
“That is why Charles fought you, why your father disinherited you?”
“Yes.”
People were staring to stare aware of something being wrong, and from across the room Aunt Matilde started to move toward them. To be warned off by Judith’s glare. No one would stop her saying what she had to say to Thomas.
“I refused your offer, Thomas. Now I am very glad that I did. You are a foul man and I do not wish to have to acknowledge you in future. You will oblige me in this by not calling at Oakenhill.” She was holding herself as tight as a bowstring, dreading that he would prolong the moment. Instead he bowed and excused himself, leaving her alone with her relief and dismay.
Chapter 10
The interlude came to its appointed end when Judith handed the Tresham coachman and postillion over to Mrs Rogers for sustenance and billeting before their return journey to London. Before she’d taken her hat off she was asking for Brewson.
“Your father is down by the water meadow, Miss. Some trouble with the fences again.” As an answer it was non sequitur but Bridges never could dissemble worth a tinker’s curse, and she could see him quail when she turned her full attention on him.
“And why is my father doing the steward’s job, Bridges?” Awkward silence. “You might as well tell me you know, it will be quicker in the long run. However difficult you find it.” He still said nothing and Judith could feel her toes in their travelling boots itching to start tapping on the hall floor. Which would only spook Bridges further.
“Is Brewson unwell, Bridges?” Mrs Rogers would have explained everything by now and Judith cursed the conventions that prevented her putting a woman in overall charge of the household, and her storming into the kitchen right now to secure the answers she wanted. She was sorely tempted to do just that but Bridges would be humiliated.
“No, Miss.” A long enough hesitation to confirm the unease that was evident in his face. “Your father said he would explain.” So something had happened over which father and Bridges anticipated her displeasure.
“Very well Bridges. I’ll be in the library.” She could see Lucy hovering by the stairs, expecting her to want to change out of her travelling dress, but instead Judith stalked across the hall to see what she could find out from her father’s papers. That turned out to be precisely nothing, and when Mrs Rogers brought her tea the housekeeper was just as uninformative. Awkward, uncertain and evasive, but totally uninformative. Whatever it was it must be bad for Mrs Rogers to bring the tea herself instead of sending a maid. By the time Judith heard her father’s return she’d stewed herself into a fit of anxiety.
“Father.” She must be a shrew to make a man so ill at ease in his own library. Thomas Stainford had had a lucky escape when she’d turned down his offer.
“Judith, did you enjoy your visit with your aunt?” Judith knew she’d die if she were forced to exchange pleasantries and details of the visit. London was another existence that had no relevance here: hats and dresses and balls that her father’s sister had paid for because they didn’t have the money.
“What has happened?”
“The cattle broke down the new fences at the bottom end of the river meadow. I was making sure the men did a better job of fixing it this time. We can go down later if you want to see it.” If father was encouraging her to this level of supervision it could only be because he wanted to hide something truly awful.
“Why hasn’t Brewson dealt with it? Is he unwell?” Whatever she thought of Brewson’s abilities, she would not have him ill.
“Judith, Brewson is too elderly for such exigencies. That is why I have engaged a new steward.” Father had the look of a man who’d just confessed his guilt and now waited for his sentence of execution.
“What?” Judith knew herself outflanked. She’d ranted over the need to replace Brewson and now father had. Without bothering to consult her. “Who is the new man?” She wanted to ask about Brewson; how he’d taken it, where he would live, why father had decided now. Instead her last vestiges of restraint told her she’d learn more by letting father explain in his own time.
Only he didn’t seem to realise that was what she was waiting for. Fussing the papers on his desk that she’d rifled through wasn’t what he should be doing right now.
“Father. Why? Who is the new man?”
“Gregor Tomkin.” The name triggered some recognition though she couldn’t place the man. But maybe this was for the best, though she would need to make sure Brewson was provided for. Though why now, so suddenly?
“Who is he, father? Is he experienced?” An estate like Oakenhill needed a firm hand, and one that knew what it was doing.
“His father has been a steward all
his life, so it’s fair to expect that the boy will have picked up much.” Boy. The word screamed risk, even allowing for father’s tendency to use it of any man under forty.
“Who is he father?” There was a captain in the militia with that name, the son of Sir Theodore Horsley’s steward. John and he were firm friends. Judith could feel her nerves shredding one by one at the implications of this. Please let it be someone else.
“John recommends him highly.” That was no comfort at all. “Sir Theodore does too. Finds the father a most reliable man.” So now Oakenhill was to have its steward picked by their nouveau neighbour?
“What about Brewson?” Judith was trembling, finding it hard to stop herself screaming in frustration at this imbecility, and asking about Brewson was a way of diverting her attention.
“He will have to leave the steward’s house, obviously, but I am having one of the cottage s renovated for him when he gives up his position.”
If Brewson hadn’t given up his role and was presumably still being paid why hadn’t he dealt with the broken fences? Had he simply stopped work on being told that he was being replaced? “Father, when does Tomkin start? What about his duties with the militia?”
“He has none, anymore. Thomas Stainford has relieved both him and John from their duties with the militia.” Thomas had said he was to make changes. But he hadn’t said John was to be sacked.
“Sir Theodore has made John his adjutant for the regiment with his present rank of Captain. He wanted to make him a major but Stainford refused. Apparently Horseguards must approve all promotions for officers in the regiment now.” Father sounded weary, as though exhausted by relating this.
“But Tomkin has no duties now?” Did that mean he had already started as their steward. Dear lord, they weren’t paying for two stewards were they? While father did the work?
“That is what I said, Judith.” The edge in her father’s voice should have served as a warning, but Judith was too angry to heed it.
“Father we need to make economies, not engage a second steward because Sir Theodore wishes to find a position for his steward’s son. Oakenhill cannot afford this. I will not allow it.” She realised she’d gone too far even before his face darkened. Usually it was John who caused father to react with anger.
“Since I am Lord Hampton and John is my heir, it is not your place to allow, Judith.” There was no doubting his seriousness and Judith felt betrayed for the second time that afternoon. The world was falling away under her and it felt as if she could do nothing about it.
“Father, I have tried to save this place from ruin. I know what we can afford, and it is not this. Please, you have to listen to me.” She could see the opposition in his face as she grew increasingly desperate.
“You do not know, Judith. You cannot.”
The finality and resignation in his voice broke her will to protest. Everything she tried to do for the estate counted for nothing. ‘She couldn’t know.’ For this she’d fretted and frayed and postponed changing out of her dusty travelling clothes, waiting and dreading what had happened.
“If you will excuse me father, I must change after my journey.” Any dudgeon she managed as she swept out of the library couldn’t be high enough. Let it all go to wrack and ruin if that was what they wanted. Father and John deserved nothing else.
John never came into the flower garden. She wasn’t even sure that he knew where it was. So his appearance was bound to catch her napping. Not that he seemed pleased at her confusion.
“Hello sis.”
Some instinct warned her to keep a rein on her temper this time. Whatever he wanted it was to her advantage to listen before she laid into him. That didn’t mean she had to be civil, so she ignored his greeting.
“Father said you were upset about Gregor.”
“I’m upset that this estate cannot afford to pay your friend simply because he has lost his commission with the militia.”
“Stainford sacked him you know. Gregor did nothing wrong.”
“He sacked you too, didn’t he?” No harm in reminding John that Thomas had no high opinion of his military abilities.
“But Theo has made me his adjutant. Really his number two you know. Though Stainford blocked the promotion Theo wanted to give me.” Judith was not so easily duped, she knew that an adjutant was only a workhorse and not a field commander. But she said nothing.
“Old Brewson is past it anyway, Judith. I’ve heard you say it yourself.”
As she had on more than one occasion. That didn’t alter the fact that the steward of Oakenhill needed to earn his money, not be a sinecure for one of John’s idle friends. “We cannot afford him. John. Oakenhill is in trouble enough without subsidising your chums.”
“How right you are, Judith.”
The ground was being cut away from under her with monotonous regularity today, and Judith’s response to that astonishing conclusion was to stand and stare at her brother.
“You see, sis. I’ve had some bad luck. Bled rather too freely. Lost quite a lot of blunt on the cards, Judith. Only Theo’s credit is keeping me afloat. If he were to withdraw I’d be on the rocks. And I really don’t think I could face someone over the barkers. Not my sort of thing.”
From the way his lip was quivering she knew John was telling the truth. He was deathly afraid of being called out over his debts.
“Was that why those men beat you?”
“A warning, sis. To make sure I understood the money I owe would be collected. One way or another.”
“Father knows doesn’t he?” That conversation with Aunt Matilde in the library. They had some inkling at least of how far down John was.
“There’s nothing he can do, Judith. And no one else in the family will help me out again.”
“We could sell Oakenhill.” It twisted deep inside her to say it. This place was her home, her family’s home. And yet she couldn’t see her brother die for his debts.
“No point, sis. The money would only go to repay the mortgages. There’d be nothing left over.”
Mortgages? She had known of only one. But John wasn’t finished.
“There is one way, sis. Theo has pockets deep enough for this. And he’s willing to help. Only he wants to unite our families so his children can have Oakenhill as their inheritance. So you see taking Greg on as our steward is only a little thing.”
It was only a little thing in that context. Theodore Horsley wanted to unite their families by marrying her. John was talking about altering the entail so that her descendants and not his would inherit the family lands. Her children, children she would be expected to provide with Sir Theodore Horsley, the beaver baronet.
“Don’t worry, sis. Theo will have the lawyers for this and he’ll pay for it too. I don’t mind. Rather my own fault after all. ‘sides, there can’t be any money for you otherwise. I’m sorry for that. I really am. But we’re living on borrowings as it is.”
How typical of John to be concerned with the cost of the legal arrangements it would take to alter the family entail. When she had no option but to marry Sir Theodore. Unless she found a man who would take her penniless and not mind her ruin. But that wouldn’t help John or save father from fretting over him. And would Sir Theodore mind her state if he got what he wanted?
“I’ll leave you to think on it, Judith.” She made no effort to acknowledge her brother as he skulked away. “It really is the only way, sis.”
It didn’t take much thought to realise John was right. For the first and possibly the only time. Never mind that his own stupidity and recklessness was the cause of the problem, he had identified the only way that the Hamptons could emerge from their dilemma with more than the clothes on their backs. And in John’s case alive. Never mind the servants and estate workers who depended on the family.
Her sacrifice was needed for the family, was the only way to save the family. Judith was in no doubt that it was a sacrifice, the thought of spending any time with Sir Theodore, let alone in his marital bed was
quite repulsive. There was his mother to contend with too. ‘Call me Lady Florinda’ was likely to be a major irritant.
The only thing more painful was contemplating the alternative, John dead or disgraced for avoiding a duel, her father’s decline accelerated by losing his second son, Oakenhill being sold up. There really was no one to turn to, father had obviously already asked his sisters. Who had done more than could be expected by bailing John out in the past. Now she had to be the saving of the family, no matter what the personal cost. Or risk. Judith tried very hard to ignore any thought of Sir Theodore’s reaction if he suspected his bride was less than virgo intacta.
Her father made no pretence at surprise when she came to the library. For that at least she was thankful. This was going to be a very awkward discussion and any attempt at equivocation would make it unbearable. “I have to marry Sir Theodore Horsley, father.” There, it was said and the walls of the library hadn’t collapsed.
“I fear so, Judith. I do not know how else we can extract John from this mess he has created.” The pain in his eyes tore at her, and Judith knew she was one word away from breaking down in tears.
“I will not pretend it is a love match, father. Or one that I welcome, but it is my duty and I will accept it.” That made her sound like some kind of plaster saint when every fibre of her wanted to scream to her father to save her from this. But he couldn’t, and she knew that, and she knew he felt all the pain of a father having to ask his daughter to make such a sacrifice.
“John has his faults, Judith. God knows I know that better than anyone, and whose fault it is that he has grown up as he has. I am sorry for what you must do, but he is still my son. My last son.”