“Not at all. You must have noticed surely how I hang on your every word,” she said, reflecting his humour. “Come, we must be seated again. I believe the next act is about to begin.”
“Then I trust you will enjoy it as much as the first and will join us again when we make up another party.”
“Thank you, Sir George, I should be delighted.”
Things were in a fair way to being in place for Lydia and Rupert’s wedding so the ladies were free to entertain themselves during the days approaching the nuptials. These were to take place in St George’s Church in Hanover Square. One day in early October, it being a cool but pleasant day, Phoebe and Lydia took the carriage to Green Park. They had stood down and were strolling in the afternoon sunshine when they were approached by a well-dressed gentleman who claimed Miss Marcham’s acquaintance.
“I doubt you will remember me,” she didn’t “but I had the pleasure of meeting you some months ago. You were in town for your cousin’s wedding, I believe.”
“I was, sir, though you will have to excuse me. Your name for the moment escapes me,” she said, straightforward as ever.
He laughed in appreciation. “I had the pleasure of standing up with you at Almack’s. Frederick Fawley at your service.”
Phoebe did not find the man encroaching. His manners were as plain as his dress, neat as a pin and with no ostentation. Had he pressed her she would have withdrawn but it seemed he was ready to move away when he said, “I see you are still at a loss so I shall trouble you no further.”
Perversely, Phoebe chose to extend the encounter. “No, I am pleased to have the opportunity of renewing our brief acquaintance. Allow me to make known to you my cousin, Miss Talbot, with whom I am staying at present.”
“Good day, Miss Talbot,” he said, bowing over her hand. “But forgive me, were you not staying with Miss Talbot when last we met?” he asked, turning to Phoebe.
“I was indeed, Mr Fawley, but it was my cousin’s sister who was then to be married and is now Lady Denby. I am in London now because Miss Talbot’s own wedding is approaching and I am to attend her in church.”
The gentleman turned once more to Lydia. “My felicitations. Is your wedding to take place soon?”
“In less than two weeks. Mr Brendon sent a notice to the Morning Post but perhaps you overlooked it.”
“Mr Rupert Brendon!” Fawley exclaimed.
“You are acquainted with him?”
“Yes, though I haven’t seen him for years,” he said in a quieter tone. “We were at university together. Well, I wish you every happiness, Miss Talbot. I hope, Miss Marcham, to have the honour of standing up with you again soon. Good day.” And he was gone as quickly as he had appeared.
“Was that a bit strange, do you think? His manner changed completely when you mentioned Rupert’s name. I wonder what it was all about.”
“He did seem to take his leave rather abruptly. And I think we too must take ours or Mama will be wondering what has become of us.”
Frederick Fawley was indeed distracted as he walked away. He had been delighted to see Phoebe, recognising her at once as the heiress he had met earlier in the year. Things were not going well for Mr Fawley and he had a while ago concluded his only salvation lay in taking a wealthy bride. He would, however, have liked also to be able to admire his chosen wife and that had not proved to be so easy. Desperate as he was he had not been able to bring himself to offer for a single one of them. But he remembered Phoebe from their previous encounter. As well as being very beautiful she was also quick-witted and able to hold an intelligent conversation. That she knew Brendon was not helpful. The two men had not been friends and Fawley felt Rupert held him in contempt. Perhaps there would be a way of separating Miss Marcham from the happy couple. He resolved to further his acquaintance with her.
Phoebe was sitting in the morning room with her cousin when Frederick Fawley was announced. She looked up, surprised.
“Good day, Miss Marcham. Miss Talbot. I trust I do not come at an inconvenient time.”
“Not at all. We are alone for the time being and glad of company, both my mother and my fiancé having deserted us,” Lydia said with her ready smile. “Would you like some refreshment?”
Fawley accepted the offer and began to ask the bride about her forthcoming nuptials. There was no doubt he had a certain address but Phoebe could not like him. Too practised. That was the conclusion she came to and in the following days she found nothing to change her mind. He visited often and following his first call he made Phoebe the object of his attention. On two occasions he found Rupert and Duncan before him and didn’t linger.
“I see you do not admire my new suitor,” Phoebe said in an undertone when Rupert was engaged in conversation with Lydia and Sophia. Her eyes were laughing but it seemed Duncan did not appreciate the humour as she did.
“Is he annoying you? Give me the word and I will see he doesn’t call again.”
“No, how could you. This is not my home and it is not for you or me to dictate who calls.”
“Tell me truly, does he make a nuisance of himself?”
“As to that, no, but he is a little more forward than I would have him be on such short acquaintance.”
Duncan forbore to remind her he had himself been excessively forward from their first meeting onwards and she seemed not to have had any objection there. The reflection gave him hope. He had a pressing problem. The wedding was to take place three days hence. If Brendon was to carry his bride directly to Cranford, Duncan would need to find other accommodation. Still he feared to put his luck to the test. That Phoebe liked and trusted him he knew. Her confidences about Fawley proved that. But he couldn’t get out of his mind her easy exchanges with Hugh. Did she not appear to treat them the same?
He was still procrastinating when he walked into the Talbot’s morning room to find Phoebe alone with Fawley and struggling in his arms. All consideration of keeping his own counsel fled as rage overcame him. With no thought but to relieve her of this imposition he pulled the offender away and planted a right hook of which Jackson himself would have been proud.
“I’m sorry. I didn’t mean…my feelings overcame me,” Fawley said, scrambling to his feet. “I will take my leave of you.” With which statement he glared venomously at Duncan and withdrew. Neither Phoebe nor Duncan noticed for she was overcome by fury and he, mistaking her tears for fear, enveloped her in his arms and murmured in her ear.
“There, there, my darling. Don’t cry. I shall never allow that blackguard near you again.”
She looked up into his face. What could he do but kiss those trembling lips.
“I thought you were my friend,” she said, the first to recover.
“I am your friend but I desire to be so much more. Miss Marcham, will you do me the honour of marrying me?”
“Only so that you will remain at Glendale to help me solve Simon’s riddle,” she said smiling. “We will stay at Glendale, won’t me. My father?”
“I haven’t told you, I think, that I have sold my share of Kirkleas to my brother. You find me homeless with no roof to call my own.”
“Why then can I see a smile in your eyes?”
Duncan explained with all due modesty that he was in fact a very wealthy man. He would not remain at Glendale as her pensioner. Some arrangement must be made. But neither would he tear her away from her home and her father. Where in any case could he take her? They were discussing the possibilities when Lydia and Rupert came into the room. One glance was enough for them to sum up the situation and a toast was drunk to the happy couple. Sophia, when she joined them, was delighted, going so far as to joke that she could now be happy to see them ride out alone together.
“You will stay with me for a short time after Lydia and Rupert return to Cranford for you will need to buy your own bride clothes and I would be happy to assist you.”
It was a command rather than a request but Phoebe, her relationship with her aunt now being far more amicable, was more
than willing to acquiesce.
“Had you not offered, dear Aunt, I would have asked. Thank you,” she said, taking Sophia’s hands into her own and clasping them warmly. “Your taste is impeccable. I have seen as much when shopping for my cousin.”
Baroness Talbot was affected in no small way, happy to have at last reached an understanding with her niece. She hid her feelings in bluster, remarking that she must bustle about for Mr Brendon, the elder Mr Brendon, was due to arrive later in the day in time for the forthcoming nuptials and she had much to do. No-one was fooled. Sophia had softened beyond recognition.
Chapter Sixteen
“Aunt Sophia, have you seen my locket? I seem to have mislaid it though I cannot understand how as it is forever clasped about my neck except when I am asleep.”
“Your mother’s locket?”
“Yes, and the most precious thing I own. I can only assume it must have dropped off somewhere in the house as I haven’t been outside since I put it on this morning.”
“How distressing for you. I remember Emily’s joy when our own mother gave it to her on the occasion of her wedding. I have one very similar.” She paused, obviously listening. “Is that a carriage? It would seem Mr Brendon has arrived. I shall ask the housekeeper to instigate a search before I go to greet him.”
Phoebe was more upset than she cared to show. Her father had given her the keepsake after Emily’s funeral. “Look after it well, my child, and remember, while you wear her locket your mother will always be with you.” She had searched the morning room and her own bedchamber. Could it have come off when Duncan had embraced her? She sent a message to Fenton’s Hotel where he had said he was going upon leaving her, and he returned immediately but without the news she’d been hoping for. He exchanged greetings with Max, recovering from his journey by taking refreshment in the morning room with his hostess. A comprehensive search of that room was conducted but to no avail. The response from the servants too had been negative. It seemed Phoebe’s treasured possession was lost, perhaps forever.
Frederick Fawley arrived back at his rooms in deep despair. While Phoebe had given him no particular encouragement, her manner had led him to believe he might have a chance with her. She was not, after all, in her first or even her second season and must surely be wanting to establish herself. Foolishly he’d concluded that Miss Marcham was to be his salvation. He raked his hand through his hair and was surprised to see something dangling from his cuff. Close inspection revealed it to be Phoebe’s locket. It must have torn off when he was struggling with her. He took it between finger and thumb and he could see this was no trinket but rather a valuable piece of jewellery. He considered his options carefully. Should he return it to her? No, he decided. All he would gain was her gratitude. He turned his mind to how best he could profit from the situation. He could sell the locket, of course, but he wouldn’t receive anything like its true value. Another far more loathsome solution occurred to him. He availed himself of paper and pen and began to write. He decided to allow Phoebe time to realise and rue her loss. She would be frantic to know its whereabouts and would pay handsomely to retrieve it. The locket was engraved not with her name but he was familiar enough with her circumstances to know who Emily was. With a sneer that distorted his features he folded the note, placed it on the table ready for later and went out with more of a spring in his step than had been apparent for some long time.
On the eve of the wedding Max and Duncan bore Rupert off and Phoebe was grateful to enter with Sophia and Lydia into those last minute arrangements, for they helped take her mind off her loss. They were disturbed early in the afternoon when a footman knocked discreetly on the door.
“A note for Miss Marcham. Said it was urgent so I brought it straight up.”
“Thank you, Simpkins.”
The words were scrawled and appeared to be from someone with little education, for Fawley had made some effort to disguise his hand. She sat down, pale at first and then with heightened colour as her anger rose.
“What is it, my dear? Have you received bad news?”
“No, Aunt, for it seems my locket has been found and that cannot be bad news. This person,” she said, waving the note in the air in disgust, “demands a ransom for its return. You will not believe the price he demands! I shall not pay. How dare he!”
Sophia pointed out that if she did not pay she was unlikely to retrieve her property.
“It is repulsive. Excuse me, I must leave the room for I can see I am distressing you. Do not worry. I shall think of something.”
Alone in her bedchamber she read again. She was to come unaccompanied to a designated place at five o’clock that afternoon. If anyone was seen to be with her the deal was off. If she followed instructions her locket would be restored. There was some suggestion that she might arrive in a hackney which could wait for her at the end of the alley. Phoebe, far from being afraid, was determined the villain should not be allowed to get away with it but she was at a loss to think of a solution. Yes, she was a tall woman, but she didn’t feel confident about tackling a grown man on her own. In the end she decided she must enlist Duncan’s help. She had no hesitation asking him. Her worry, as she hastily wrote a message, was that it might be difficult to find him in time. She had no idea where three high spirited men out for some fun might go to find suitable entertainment. Her mind was quick, though, and she remembered that Max had brought his valet with him from Somerset. She sought him out and he undertook to carry her note to Duncan without delay. Phoebe returned to the morning room.
“Are you all right? What have you decided?”
“Do not worry, Lydia, all is in hand. Now tell me, what is it to be? The ivory ribbons or the pink?”
Phoebe made no attempt to see her bank manager. There was no way she would succumb to blackmail. As she waited it seemed the time flew by. On the other it appeared to drag interminably as she prayed Duncan would receive her message and come to her aid. Just as she’d decided she must call a hackney and go alone he rushed into the house.
“What is it?” he asked, all concern, for there had been little in her note other than a call for help. “What has happened?”
“You’d best come with me into the library and I’ll explain.”
She had never seen Duncan angry before. It showed him in a new and, under the circumstances, not unwelcome light.
“You are dressed for the street! You were about to go alone? I cannot believe you would be so foolhardy.”
Naturally this did not go down well and her own temper flared. “Would you have me then ignore the summons entirely. I have no address. Just an alley. If I do not go my mother’s locket will be lost to me forever. How could I know you would be here in time?”
“I am here now. Go back to your aunt. I will deal with this.”
“You cannot have thought. One look at you and the villain will run away. I have to get near enough that he doesn’t suspect. If you would but remain hidden until I have made contact I am sure you will be able to overtake him.”
Though he would have preferred to shield her from any contact with such a villain, Duncan could find no fault with Phoebe’s plan and a hackney was summoned. They spoke little during the journey but Duncan held fast to her hand. He felt uncomfortable hiding himself as Phoebe stepped from the carriage but he had no choice. As she entered the alley a figure appeared at the far end. She moved slowly hoping her adversary would walk towards her and thus be closer when Duncan made his move. He came a short way and stopped. In an obviously disguised voice he called for her to come to him.
“You will understand, I am sure, that I do not wish to venture far from my cab. I will come no further. Here, I have what you asked for,” Phoebe said, holding out a bag stuffed with paper. “Let us get this over with quickly so I may never see you again.”
Greed made Fawley over-eager. He moved forward. Duncan leaped from the carriage and was upon him before he realised. Kneeling on his stomach, Armstrong tore off the kerchief that had been hidin
g Fawley’s face.
“You! I knew you capable of villainy but I never suspected you would stoop so low.” Duncan hauled him to his feet and tied his hands behind his back, using the very same kerchief he had whipped from his face.
“My locket, Duncan. Does he have my locket?”
He’d almost forgotten Phoebe, so great was his disgust. He put his hand into Fawley’s breast pocket and retrieved the jewel. At least Fawley had intended to fulfil that part of the bargain.
“I have it, Phoebe, and I apologise but I must request that you sit in the cab with this filth until I have handed him over to the law.”
Fawley, still dazed from the blow, went meekly enough, knowing that he would never again be accepted in society. That a prison sentence awaited him. That his life was ruined. As he cowered in the corner, Duncan turned to Phoebe and tenderly clasped the locket around her neck, back where it belonged.
Lydia’s wedding day dawned bright and sunny. Baroness Talbot sat in the front pew, Clarissa on the one hand and Phoebe on the other. If the older lady shed a few tears it was not to be commented upon. A small number of guests marked the occasion, joining the family for a wedding breakfast before Rupert and his bride set out for Cranford. Max was to remain in London for a few days and removed to Fenton’s Hotel but both he and Duncan spent much time visiting the ladies. It was during one such visit that Max asked to see the sketches and watercolours Sophia had executed when staying at Glendale. Duncan took each in turn and held up the work for all to see. As he displayed one of the sketches Phoebe gasped and clutched her hand to her locket, a sure sign of her agitation.
“What is it, my dearest,” he asked and she pointed to the drawing “What? What have you seen?”
The image Sophia had chosen to depict was of the old ice house, unused for decades but in spite of foliage having grown about its entrance the Glendale coat of arms was clearly visible through a gap in the ivy.
The Ghost of Glendale Page 11