by Joan Smith
“Your own promises to be the only respectable alliance in town.”
“My marriage?” he asked, his supple brows lifting in two arches. “I had best have another look at the newspaper. I stopped reading when I came to your notice.”
“I have not seen it announced publicly. When Lady Menrod spoke of the ball, and Lady Althea extending her visit, sending off for her mount, I thought...”
“What?” he demanded, staring wildly.
“Lady Menrod said... actually, she did not say anything about a wedding. We only assumed that as her cousin is to extend her visit at the same time as you are at home, there must be a wedding in prospect.”
“It is the first time I have heard about it.”
“It was just a surmise.”
“I mean about extending the visit, and having a ball. They will want to use the Manor for that.”
I did not tell him of his stepmother’s duplicity, her telling us he had offered the use of the Manor. “Of course the length of her visit is nothing to me,” he went on. “She is my stepmother’s guest, not mine.”
I examined him closely, wondering if I had misjudged the man. If he was telling the truth, and his enthusiastic tone suggested he was, then he was not planning to form a family unit to get the children after all. I would not mention Culligan’s precedents to him, in case he was unaware of the efficacy of this ploy.
While I had his ear, I determined to discover whether he, unlike I, had any letters from Peter indicating the father’s wish that Menrod stand guardian, in case of an early death. Later on, I said, very casually, “Did you hear often from Peter when he was In India?”
“No, he was an indifferent correspondent. He dropped a note from time to time. You heard often from your sister, I should think?” There was a wariness about him that warned me he was angling for the same information as myself.
“Yes, great, lengthy epistles, telling us everything.”
“Did you keep them?”
“Yes, I read them often still. They are full of interesting stories about India.”
His wariness increased. “I would be interested to read them, if you have no objections?” he suggested tentatively.
I swallowed my smile as best I could. “Save yourself the bother. There is no mention of the children coming to Mama and me, in case she should die. That is what you wish to discover, I know.”
“I don’t suppose you were truly interested to know what kind of a correspondent Peter was either.”
“Not in the least. Am I correct to conclude you have nothing in writing indicating his wishes in the matter?”
“Nothing. He was so young, he had not thought of death at all. It was a great tragedy, was it not, the two of them going down together in that boat? It was supposed to be a pleasure cruise. You never know when your turn is coming up, hiding around the bend, to snatch you.”
An uncontrollable shudder seized me at his lugubrious talk. “Must you be so morose? Here it is a beautiful spring day, and all you can speak of is dying.”
“We can speak of anything you like. I just happened to make one comment about death. It is not something you can hide from, you know. It is coming to us all.”
“Not for a few years yet, I hope.”
“You know not the day nor the hour.”
“You are beginning to sound like Mrs. Pudge.”
“I had not taken her for such a wise woman. I believe it is why men and women marry and have children, in a futile effort to cheat death, to have some bit of themselves still alive in the world. It is very likely why you are so fond of your namesake, Gwendolyn, and why I have become so quickly attached to Ralph. He looks much as I did when I was a child, you know. The dark Hazelton coloring, with something of his mother in his withdrawn nature.”
“Ralph is not withdrawn,” I answered quickly, but did not correct him as to my great love for my namesake. “He is very personable, easy to talk to, once you get to know him. Hettie used to write that he was rambunctious. It is his parents’ deaths that has made him a little shy.”
“He is more girlish than is good for a boy. It could become a serious problem for him later, when he has to go to school. He takes well to sports, though.”
“To riding in particular?”
“Yes, that was my meaning.”
“He is much too young to be put on horseback.”
“Pony back is all he will be put on for a few years yet.”
“I still think he is too young, but I don’t expect you to listen to anything I have to say.”
“I don’t pretend to be an expert on children. I would be interested to hear your opinions, particularly with regard to Gwendolyn.”
The only thing I had to say about her was that she was a saucy baggage, and I could hardly say that. “She is a great favorite with her grandma, because of her resemblance to Hettie. She has a winning manner.”
“She has, and is well aware of it, despite her youth. She has already cozened me into providing her with an unending supply of sweets, though I know perfectly well they are not good for her. I don’t mean to spoil the child, however, if that is what you are thinking.”
“No irreparable harm will be done in six weeks.”
This remark caused some constraint to settle over us. I used the silence to form my plans. I preferred that Menrod not accompany me to Culligan’s office. The reason for the engagement notice would arise, and it was not something I wished my opponent to be aware of. A visit to Oakdene was also essential. I would ask him to let me off at Culligan’s office, and hire a hackney cab to take me to Oakdene, from which spot Mr. Everett would see me home,
“You can drop me off here,” I said as we entered the block of Reading where my solicitor had his shabby office.
“Drop you off? My business is with Culligan too.”
“Oh.”
We alit together, walking slowly to the doorway, while Menrod surveyed the squalid surroundings, his lip curled in distaste. “Whatever made you select this fellow?” he asked.
“He came highly recommended,” I replied, quickening my steps past the mangy cat with a cod’s head between his teeth, the dusty windows, from which a toothless hag peered out, the knobless door.
“You could break your neck here,” he went on complaining as we felt our way up the dark, steep steps to the second story.
“I have learned to handle a dark stairway.”
Culligan removed his boots from his desk top when we entered, to make us welcome. He neither recognized Menrod nor gave me time to introduce him. “You have come to congratulate me,” was his smiling speech. “All a part of the job. We'll get those kiddies away from their uncle yet, see if we don’t, Miss Harris. You’ve heard what is being said of him? All the rumors set afoot without the need of an outright lie being told.”
“This is Lord Menrod,” I said quickly, before he should start on any other outrage.
“Eh?” he asked, his green eyes opening an inch wider.
“Lord Menrod, I would like you to meet my solicitor,” I said, emphasizing the name, to be sure Culligan understood.
“An honor and a pleasure to make your acquaintance, sir,” Culligan said promptly, sticking his hand across the desk, with his cuffs still in tatters. Menrod stared at the hand but made no move to touch it.
“You will be receiving a letter from Sir Nathan Beckwith very soon,” Menrod told him, his voice so cold, the icicles formed in the air. “In the meanwhile, if there are any more of these unfounded rumors about me put in circulation, you had better put them to rest, or I will be obliged to mutilate you. We came to tell you your services are no longer required. Good day.”
He then put a hand on my elbow and pulled me toward the door, while I had a dozen more things I wanted to say to Culligan, most particularly to discover about the announcement in the paper.
“You’ve not paid me for my latest work!” Culligan howled, with an accusing look at me.
“Did you bring your pistol with you, Miss Harris?
” Menrod asked.
“I have to find out about the engagement,” I said aside to Menrod. He stopped his dash to the door but looked extremely impatient.
“Was it you who put that article about Mr. Everett and me in today’s paper?” I asked bluntly.
His face squeezed up in concentration, as he rapidly figured the pros and cons of the act. “I might have been instrumental,” he hedged cautiously.
“A simple yes or no is all that is required.”
“Mr. Everett actually had it done,” he admitted, while scrutinizing my face for a reaction.
“Lucky for you,” Menrod growled, then continued to the exit, dragging me most uncomfortably by the elbow.
“I’ll send you a bill,” Culligan called after us.
“Save yourself the paper. There will be no payment,” Menrod called back, without slackening his steps.
“Everett has a lot of gall. Oakdene will be our next stop, I assume?” he asked, as we felt our way down the steps.
“There is no need for you to come.”
“It’s a long walk. You came in my carriage.”
“I can hire a hackney.”
We had reached the bottom of the stairs. He pushed the door open. The cat, now without the cod’s head, slithered in past us.
“Another client for Culligan,” Menrod remarked. “I was going to bash his teeth in, but dislike to give fuel to the rumors he is spreading. The best course is to ignore them.”
“I wonder if he was telling the truth about Mr. Everett sending that notice in.”
“He wouldn’t tell the truth about his name, unless he saw some advantage in it. I still cannot conceive what took you to him. Once glance at his setup must have told you what he is.”
“Let me solve the great mystery for you, once for all. What he is, Menrod, is cheap, or so I believed when I went to him. He was the best we could afford.”
“It might turn out to be the most expensive bargain you ever made.”
“What do you mean? Are you going to sue him? Surely I cannot be held accountable for his actions! I am only his client.”
“You had best get in writing today you are no longer his client.”
“You are going to sue, then?”
“I always follow my solicitor’s advice. I shall wait to hear what Sir Nathan has to say. If there is any question of your responsibility, of course I shan’t prosecute.”
“That is generous of you,” I said, impressed by his gallantry.
“Generous? You can’t get blood from a stone. You have no money.”
“Neither has Culligan.”
“Well, then, if you insist, I am the soul of generosity. I am also gentleman enough to feel churlish at doing battle with a poor, in the monetary sense, defenseless, and nearly witless lady.” This brash speech was accompanied by an arch smile. “Won’t you consider dropping the case, and let us be friends?”
“No, but I will rescind my compliment on your generosity.”
“We’ll talk this out later. We cannot have a good shouting argument in the middle of the street.”
* * *
Chapter 11
We entered the carriage to go on to Oakdene. The coming interview could not possibly be other than unpleasant. There was no one I would have preferred to be absent from it more than Menrod. What vulgarity would Everett not cop out into? He was so artless, he would say exactly what he was thinking, and what he thought was that he did me a great favor. I had figured out that Culligan had gone to him with the tale that an alleged coming marriage would help me, and Everett, so helpful, had gone along with it.
How could I let him say such things in front of Menrod, and how could I prevent him? I would announce frankly we desired to talk in private. There was plenty to entertain the other guest for a few minutes in the saloon while we talked elsewhere. Gracious, there was enough finery to entertain him for a fortnight.
“He’s overplanted,” was Menrod’s comment on the parkland as we entered the grounds of Oakdene. There was a superfluity of young trees, not appearing excessive at their present diminutive size, but as they matured, the parkland would resemble a jungle.
All of the house’s excesses appeared greater than before, when I entered with my companion. Servants got up in red livery with gold lace did seem almost comical, out in the country. The house I have already drawn for you. The few additions of carved trim went unnoticed. Everett was his usual stiff-kneed but genial self. He was delighted to see me, bewildered that I had brought the enemy along on my call, but willing to accept it.
“Step along into my saloon, and we’ll have a glass of something wet,” he offered. “What is your pleasure? I have got claret or sherry, orgeat, ratafia, brandy, champagne—you name it. Or a plain glass of home-brewed, if that is your pleasure, Lord Menrod. Maybe you’d prefer tea or coffee?”
I boggled under the surfeit of choices. “Sherry will be fine,” Menrod decided for us all.
We had then to select whether to sit before a red fireplace or green, in the sun or shade, with fire or without. I sauntered to one of the choicer locations away from the fireplaces, giving us a view from the corner window.
“You have done yourself proud here,” Menrod said, glancing around. Such a leading statement earned him a tour of the room. He was complimentary to his host, without falling into flattery. The pictures particularly attracted his attention. He expressed approval of Everett’s taste, which pleased the host immeasurably.
“I picked them all out myself,” he announced, beaming with pride. “Not like the sofas and whatnot, that they sent around from the catalogue.”
“That must have saved you a good deal of time.”
“It did, but every one of the pictures was chosen by myself from an auction at Sotheby’s, at a cost of £6,824.”
“You have good taste in paintings. I particularly admire the early Dutch pieces.”
“Dutch, are they? I made sure the lad said Flemish, but I have nothing against a Dutchman, so long as he pays his bills on time.”
I was happy to see Menrod behave himself like a gentleman. I feared he would be patronizing. All the while they talked, I was aware that sooner or later the real purpose of our visit must come to the fore. As soon as Menrod emptied his glass, I said to them, “Why do you not take another look at the paintings while Mr. Everett and I have our private talk?”
“It would be the article in the morning’s paper you refer to?” Everett asked.
“Yes,” I said, looking to Menrod sternly, to hint him away.
“May I help myself to another glass of your excellent sherry, Mr. Everett?” he asked, purposely avoiding my stare.
“Drink up. There’s plenty more where that came from. Sure you would not rather have champagne?”
“Quite sure, thank you. You spoil your guests.”
“I do my best by them,” Everett agreed, tilting the crystal decanter and filling all our glasses to the brim.
“About the announcement,” he ran on, oblivious to my quelling glances, “you need not take it at face value, Wendy. Between you and me and the bedpost, we both know what it means. Culligan is a rascal, not an inch of straight grain in him, but he came up with a proper clever idea there. If using my name as a prospective husband will help you win the kiddies, where is the harm in it? You need not feel obliged to have me if you don’t like. And if you decide you do like, that is more than I look for. Well, when it comes down to it, I doubt you actually plan to marry the lady staying with your stepmother either, eh, Lord Menrod? Despite she is a great lady, there’s no denying she is a trifle long in the tooth for a younger fellow like yourself.”
“No, I don’t plan to marry her,” Menrod agreed pleasantly.
“I knew it. A man in your position would not want such a well-aged piece when there’s fresher fowl on the market.”
Menrod raised his glass, perhaps to hide the unsteadiness of his lips. Unaware of the social niceties, Everett continued his chatter. “So there you are. Folks can engag
e in a legal battle tooth and nail, without necessarily falling out on a personal basis. Why, one of my best friends is a lad I beat out on the contract to supply lumber for a row of mill houses up north. We agreed on the sly between us, Rusty and myself, we’d not go below a certain price, and when it came down to it, he went down a guinea a load, and I went down a guinea and thruppence. With the quantity involved, thruppence a load was enough to give me the contract. I knew he’d go down a guinea, Rusty MacIvor. Knew to a penny what price he would ask, but he estimated wrong on me. Where do you buy your lumber, then, Lord Menrod?”
“I supply my needs from my own forest, and have it dressed at the local mill.”
“If you ever require ought that you don’t have growing at home, don’t hesitate to call on me. I can get you a good price, though I’m not active in the business any longer. I have contacts, you see.”
“I’ll remember that.”
“About the announcement, Mr. Everett,” I said, dismayed that it must be done publicly, but determined to do it, “What shall I tell the papers?”
He threw up his callused hands. “Nothing. Nothing at all. Let her ride. It is no one’s business but our own. You can use me for as long as you need me. Six weeks, I think, is the time of the interim thing your friend, here, has got set up?”
“That’s it. Six weeks,” Menrod confirmed.
“Happen you will have made up your mind one way or the other before then,” Everett suggested, with a roguish nod of his head at me.
“My mind is made up! I told you I did not wish to get married. It is extremely kind of you to have—have done this, though I wish you had not. Culligan was in touch with you?”
“Certainly he was. I hope I have not offended you, Wendy. He came over the other night and put it to me straight. ‘The lady wants to let on she has a husband at the beck, but hasn’t the nerve to ask you herself, so I am doing it for her,’ he said. I was happy to do it, and no need to feel obliged to me. Any time. We wrote up the notice and took it down to the newspaper office next morning.”
“You won’t get a more generous offer than that,” Menrod pointed out, with a smile hovering at the back of his lips.