“Do not disturb yourself, sir,” Tom said, crouching beside him and offering him a towel. “You are not at all well.”
“I am a fool,” he said. “Why I even attempt these things… Thank you. You are very kind.”
“Anyone would have done the same.”
“But poor cripples should not swim out of their depth and then oblige others to rescue them. I beg to apologise, sir.”
“It was nothing. In fact I was chasing you to ask you for a race.”
“I should have liked that,” said the man, managing a smile.
“Another day perhaps?” said Tom.
“Yes,” said the man. “May I know the name of my preserver?”
“Thorpe, Thomas Thorpe,” said Tom.
“Colonel Hugh Farquarson at your service,” responded the man.
Tom finished drying himself and began to get dressed.
“I shall go and tell the attendant to fetch your things,” he said. “And then, will you do the honour of taking some breakfast with me? I feel I must honour such a determined sportsman.”
“I should be more than grateful, sir,” said Farquarson.
***
Tom decided it was as well he had invited him back to his lodgings. Although determined not to make anything of it, the Colonel had a very severe limp and had to lean on a stick. His experience in the water had obviously exhausted him. He admitted that his own lodgings were up the hill by the church, whereas Tom was much more conveniently lodged on the sea front.
Gough was very glad to know that it was not his master who had nearly drowned. He would have been embarrassingly grateful to the impressive military gentleman if that had been the case. As it was not, he was content to fuss over the breakfast table until Tom felt he must send him away before he lost his temper with him, which he did not wish to do in front of the Colonel. He noticed that Farquarson smiled as Gough took his leave and found he must say, “I am going to look out a cottage on my estate for him and I shall give him an apothecary’s chest set with a silver plate inscribed with my grateful thanks. He is an excellent servant but I am not an old man who requires a nursemaid – in which capacity he served my father very well, as a matter of fact.”
“Then perhaps I should take him over, Sir Thomas,” said Farquarson.
Tom who was carving himself another slice of cold beef, shook his head.
“I have just saved you life. I do not mean to make it difficult for you. Besides I am sure you have a very good servant already. Military men always have good servants.”
“I had one, yes,” said Farquarson. “But the regiment suffered many great losses in our last engagement and Archie was one of them. He was as good a soldier as he was my servant.”
“I am sorry,” said Tom. “What is your regiment?”
“The Ninety-Third Sutherland Highlanders,” said the Colonel.
“Then you were at New Orleans?” Tom said.
The Colonel nodded, and Tom swallowed. He had read accounts of the battle. From what he had read, it was extraordinary that the Colonel had survived. It had been a very bloody and costly encounter.
“I can have no conception of that,” he said. “I have never had the courage to allow myself to be tested by war.”
“I do not doubt you would have distinguished yourself,” said the Colonel.
“I don’t know,” said Tom. “Everything in my life has always been easy for me. I have money, position and excellent health. I have been very fortunate. I have never had to struggle and suffer for something greater than myself. Because of that, I wonder if, when it came to the point, I might fail to do as I should.”
“You did as you should today,” said the Colonel.
“That was not courage,” said Tom. “It was necessity.”
“There is more of that in battle than courage, let me assure you,” said Farquarson, draining his glass.
“Then let us drink to necessity, since it seems I may congratulate myself on that,” said Tom, picking up the decanter and refilling the Colonel’s glass.
The Colonel smiled and raised his glass.
“So tell me, Sir Thomas what brings you to Cromer. You are not here for you health, I take it?” he enquired.
“No, I am here to get myself a wife,” said Tom.
“Then am I to congratulate you yet?”
“Yes, it is as good as fixed, although we have not begun on the settlements yet. By which I mean the lady has obliged me, but our families have not yet fully assented.”
“Do you think they will not?”
“My mother is against it. She does not think her good enough for me, which is nonsense of course.” The Colonel had assumed a bland, diplomatic expression. “Ah, I can tell what you are thinking, sir, and it is not the case. I have not fallen for a grocer’s daughter. No, the lady in question is the daughter of a Viscount and I believe she has twenty thousand pounds – not that I would care if she had not a farthing. But my mother cares, she cares very much indeed.”
“I believe I know the lady,” said the Colonel smiling. “Can we be speaking of Miss Rufford?”
“Yes,” said Tom, surprised.
“Then I should have met you at dinner tonight, Sir Thomas,” said Farquarson. “For I recall now that my aunt told me you were expected.”
“Lady Amberleigh is your aunt?” said Tom. “You must help me allay her fears. She is convinced that I am using Caroline to get out of the match that my mother wants for me, which is not the case at all. Miss Rufford is your cousin, then, Colonel – you know her – and that man could not use her for such an end.”
He found himself colouring as he spoke, suspecting Farquarson would be appalled if he knew how he had behaved.
“I know her only a little now,” said Farquarson. “I was better acquainted with her as a child, for I have been out of the country for ten years.”
“What was she like as a child?”
“Enchanting,” said Farquarson without hesitation. “Yes, you are very much to be congratulated.”
Tom felt distinctly uncomfortable. The Colonel’s admiration was very clear and very natural. Previously Tom knew he would have taken great pleasure in having secured for himself a woman who could rouse the admiration of other men. But now, he did not know what to do with Farquarson’s congratulations. He envied Farquarson’s straightforward response to Caroline’s very considerable charms, for he could no longer locate that response in himself without conscious effort.
Carefully he said, “I thank you sir, and I hope I shall prove to be worthy of your delightful cousin.”
“I am sure of it,” said Farquarson. “I shall have the pleasure of making my sister known to you tonight as well.”
“Is she with you here?”
“No, she stays with my aunt. She arrived only yesterday.”
“Miss Rufford did not say she was expected.”
“No, she was not. The party she was travelling with were obliged to make other arrangements and break off their tour. It was as well that Lady Amberleigh was here.”
There was a knock at the door and Gough came in.
“Forgive me, sir, for interrupting you, but I had to come directly up and tell you. Her ladyship your mother is come. And Lord Wansford and Lady Mary as well. They are all climbing out of a chaise this very minute.”
“Damnation!” exclaimed Tom. “You must be mistaken, Gough.”
“How could I be mistaken, sir?” said Gough.
“Of course not,” said Tom, going to the window. “My God. What does she think she’s about?”
“What shall I do with them, sir?” said Gough.
“You had better clear the cloth,” said Farquarson calmly surveying the remains of their breakfast. “And you, Sir Thomas, had better put your coat on.”
Tom was grateful for this show of implacability and made himself respectable as Farquarson suggested, although he was not sure that Wansford merited any such deference.
In a matter of moments Lady Thorpe, Lord Wansfor
d and Lady Mary Liston arrived.
“Who is this?” said Lady Thorpe indicating Farquarson.
Tom made the necessary introductions.
“Colonel, I’m enchanted,” said Lady Thorpe with languid indifference. She looked around the room. “Well, this is all very drab. I suppose you find this sort of place amusing. Mary dear, don’t skulk there, hiding yourself in the shadows. Come and show Thorpe your pretty new hat. Does she not look exquisite? She is quite grown an inch since you last saw her. And I declare there is no countenance in the world more pleasing.” Lady Mary, lost in the costly magnificence of clothes entirely unsuited to a girl of seventeen, came nervously forward, only to be propelled by Lady Thorpe almost into Tom’s arms. “Come sir, this is no way to greet your future wife. You need not stand on ceremony with us. Kiss her.”
“Ma’am, I should tell you that Colonel Farquarson is Miss Rufford’s cousin,” said Tom.
“Indeed?” said Lady Thorpe, not the least abashed. “That is fortunate. Is it not, Wansford?”
“Very,” said Lord Wansford who had picked up from a side table a fragment of medieval tile that Tom had found on one of his antiquarian expeditions. “Still scrabbling in the mud for trash, I see, my boy.”
There were few things in the world that annoyed Tom more than being addressed as “my boy” by Lord Wansford whom he heartily detested. His temper was not improved when Wansford threw the tile at the empty grate. Fortunately Farquarson caught it deftly and saved it from destruction.
“Mary will cure him of the silly habit, I dare say. Won’t you, my dear?” said Wansford, taking his ease in a chair.
“I don’t know, Papa,” said Lady Mary.
“Gough, bring me a glass of sherry, will you?” said Wansford. “And some ratafia for the ladies.” He furrowed his brow and studied the Colonel. “Farquarson. Where do I know that name from? Who’s your father?”
“Sir George Farquarson of Glenmorval,” said Farquarson.
“I believe we were at Harrow together,” said Wansford. “Mind you, there was quite a crop of threadbare Scotch gentry there at my time. But I do remember an exceptionally proud, long fellow with red hair like yours. So are you his heir?”
“I am, my lord.”
“Heir to what, I wonder? Does your roof leak? I have never stayed in a house in Scotland where one could consider oneself comfortable.” He glanced at his daughter. “Mary, will you not stand there like a piece of cattle. Go and sit down. Sit down with Thorpe on that sofa in the corner and make yourself agreeable to him, for he’s being a stubborn brute, and if we are not to persuade him to do his duty, I think you had better do it.”
“I would thank you sir,” said Tom, “and you, madam, not to confuse the Colonel as to my position.”
“Then I shall make it perfectly clear. My daughter and Thorpe are going to make a match of it,” said Wansford.
“We shall do no such thing!” exploded Tom.
“What did I say? – a stubborn brute. You should have let me thrash him more, my lady,” Wansford said to Lady Thorpe. “I might have been able to get his nonsense out of him, if you’d let me take him properly in hand when he was a boy.”
The miserable humiliation of those occasions when Lady Thorpe had permitted it, were still vivid in Tom’s memory and now brought him near to striking Lord Wansford.
Fortunately Farquarson spoke up, in the mildest tone imaginable. “My Lord, you’ll forgive me saying this, but you cannot force a grown man to marry your daughter. What threat can you possibly enact upon him to do it?”
“You may be a fine soldier,” said Wansford getting up. “But you haven’t much knowledge of the law – or of the particulars of the case. I shall sue him of course, for breach of promise. And I’ll win. I’ve documents to prove it.”
“Then they are fabrications,” said Tom. “I swear to you Farquarson, he is lying.”
“That remains to be seen,” said Lady Thorpe. “Come my dear Mary, let us go and see if this wretched town can offer us any thing remotely resembling a civilised accommodation.”
When they had gone Tom began to protest his innocence, but Farquarson cut him short.
“They travel as a party?” he said, watching the carriage leave from the window.
“Yes.”
“Your mother and Lord Wansford are very…” he hesitated.
“Oh, there’s no need to be delicate about it,” said Tom. “Yes, they’re lovers. They have been since I was a boy. They are an accepted couple in some circles. Wansford had a wife until about a year ago. I dare say they are only waiting for sufficient time to elapse before they marry.”
“And he expected you to submit to him like a stepson?”
“Exactly,” said Tom. “You may imagine how I detested that. The worst of it is that I think their attachment hastened my father’s death – and for that I can never forgive them. And the moment I reached my majority I was determined not to let Wansford rule me any longer. And he cannot forgive me for that.”
“Yet he wants you to marry his daughter. It would be an advantageous match for you.”
“Yes – more than advantageous. She is an only child and the estates are not entailed.”
“Good God,” said Farquarson. “That surprises me. So she gets everything?”
“Everything. She is an heiress sans pareil. I believe he does have some regard for my mother and this is his strange way of obliging her – by forcing Lady Mary and me to the altar. My mother would like nothing better. She hopes I might even be raised to the peerage as a result.”
“To the extent that they would fabricate documents?”
“I hope to God it has not gone so far.”
“No, I think that was said merely to frighten you – a whiff of grape shot,” said Farquarson.
“So Colonel, how do we counter-attack?” said Tom. “Assuming you think my position worth defending.”
“Well, considering you saved my life this morning, I do not have much choice but to reciprocate and help save your skin. Besides, it is abominable to use a child like that.”
“Yes, she’s the real victim of this. And since I shall not marry her, I dare say she will be hawked around town in an outrageous fashion next season and sold to the highest bidder.”
“Poor creature.”
“Perhaps you should offer for her, then. You are welcome to Wansford as a father in law. Better still, persuade her to elope with you,” he added with a grin.
“No thank you,” said Farquarson. “No offence to the lady, of course. She’s pretty but not in my style. She is too fair and pale for me. I like dark hair and dark eyes and a high complexion. That is what I have always admired – that and an elegant open manner with a great deal of playfulness in it.”
That was Caroline Rufford to the letter.
Chapter 7
Caroline had dressed Griselda with sophisticated simplicity in white silk with an embroidered silver gauze slip, and sent her maid to attend to her hair and disguise the ravages of the scissors with a matching silver gauze scarf. Now feeling like a stranger to herself in such finery, Griselda sat alone at the pianoforte, diligently reminding herself of the tune of “Caro me bene” in case she was not able to escape performing that evening. The tune sounded more wistful and plaintive than usual as she laboriously picked out each note. She had just decided that she would refuse to play, when the door behind her opened and a servant announced, “Sir Thomas Thorpe.”
She got up and turned around, the apologies for her cousin and aunt all ready to fall from her lips. But then she completed the turn, faced the gentleman and saw exactly who the famous Sir Thomas Thorpe was.
It was her stranger – now every inch of him showing him to be the gentleman of birth and fortune she had guessed he might be. He was impeccable in the discreet elegance of his evening clothes; his black silk stockings and the subtle figure in an ivory waistcoat proclaimed his quality and position. She felt her own stupidity and shame flare up in her cheeks and she longed to wal
k straight out of the room.
For an instant she thought that he had not recognised her, but then she realised that shock had paralysed his features. He had come into the room with a bland polite expression and it had got stuck in the moment when they faced one another.
“You – you are Sir Thomas Thorpe?” she said, breaking the silence at last. “Well, sir, that is most interesting. You see, I know in what relation you stand to my cousin. I know that you offered your hand to her the day before you met me at the Abbey.” The words came tumbling out. She could not stop them. “Oh yes, I know a great deal about you now, Sir Thomas, probably a great deal too much! I even know that there is some doubt about whether you are actually free to offer for her. There has been talk of some previous attachment.”
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