“Will you not be meeting His Grace himself?” the Duke enquired.
“Certainly not! Lord Upminster does not approve of me. He says I am too outspoken, immodest and bereft of genteel graces. His Lordship prefers simpering creatures with downcast eyes who will sit tatting all day and only speak when spoken to!”
“I can see that you clearly don’t fit into that category,” the Duke said mockingly.
“Grandpapa always said that women are a damned nuisance anyway and never more so than when they are being womanly.”
The Duke laughed again.
There was no doubt that this engaging girl was giving him plenty to think about. At the same time he found her more amusing than any young female he had ever conversed with.
“But you still have not explained,” he asked him as they reached the village green, “why you are waiting for the Duke.”
“Do you not understand?” Verena said. “Copple Hall is a mile from here by road, the drive is nearly another half-mile. By riding across the fields, I can be there in ten minutes. Charmaine is heartily bored with sitting about in her best gown waiting for the Duke when she might be meeting Clive in the shrubbery and the cook has sworn that she will not cook another pigeon until His Grace’s horses are seen at the lodge gates.”
She gave a little laugh.
“The moment I do see the coach, I will gallop cross-country to warn them that the conquering hero approaches! Charmaine will change her gown, cook will start roasting pigeons and his Lordship will be waiting on the doorstep! And the Duke, because he is so obviously a bumptious blockhead, will believe that they are glad to see him!”
“His Grace also fought on the Peninsula,” the Duke said quietly.
“I don’t believe it!” Verena exclaimed in astonishment.
“I can assure you it is the truth. I know he was there.”
“If he was, he was like the Hanover Huzzars who later ran away at Waterloo,” she added scornfully. “I have often heard Grandpapa decry those young fops, those decorative young gentlemen, who took to their heels and galloped all the way back to Brussels.”
“They were not Englishmen, I can assure you,” he replied frigidly, feeling that he must defend himself.
There was a silence for a moment and then Verena ploughed on,
“I wish I could ask Grandpapa about the Duke, but anyway it is of no consequence. If those la-di-dah Society bucks and dandies did go to war, they found themselves swansdown jobs on the staff and never got near enough to the enemy to see a shot fired.”
Thinking of how cushy it had been to lie all night on the side of a mountain before the Battle of Bussaco and that the hunger and fever they suffered around Badajoz could hardly be described as “swansdown”, the Duke wanted to shake her.
Nevertheless he managed to say quite calmly,
“Many of the bucks and the dandies you describe so scathingly did in fact fight with great gallantry and a considerable number of them were killed in action.”
“Perhaps I am being unfair and prejudiced,” she said repentantly. “Grandpapa would rebuke me and I promise you that I have the greatest admiration for any of our soldiers, whoever he may be, who suffered all the discomforts of the Peninsula or who fought at Waterloo.”
The Duke did not reply and after a moment she said almost shyly,
“Will you not tell me your name, sir? For, if you have the medal of which we have just spoken, you must indeed be a very brave man.”
There was only an infinitesimal pause before the Duke replied,
“My name is Royd – Theron Royd.”
“And your rank?”
“When I left the Army I was a Major.”
“You must have hated to leave your Regiment. Grandpapa always told me that it was the saddest day of his life when he said ‘goodbye’ to the Grenadiers.”
“I believe not only the Grenadiers but the whole Army must have missed your grandfather.”
“I am sure they did, and oh, I do wish you could say that to him.”
They were by now nearing the inn, which the Duke noted was called The Dog and Duck.
There was no sign of Billy until Verena spied him halfway up an oak tree. She went over to the foot of it.
“Have you seen the coach, Billy?”
“Not a sight of it, Miss Verena.”
“Are you sure?”
Billy slithered down the tree.
“Slit me throat if I lies, miss,” he replied, making a gesture across his neck with a dirty finger.
Then he ran off towards the back of the inn.
“No Duke!” Verena exclaimed. “Do you think His Grace has been delayed by the turn of the cards in a seedy gaming hall or can he have succumbed to the charms of an over-toasted ‘Incomparable’?”
The Duke smiled.
“What do you know of ‘Incomparables’, Miss Winchcombe?”
“Nothing, I am pleased to relate!” Verena replied tartly. “But I am sure that they and the Odious Duke would deal well together.”
As she spoke, Verena seated herself on a wooden bench outside the inn and the Duke followed her. Assaye, who was behind them, started to crop the grass.
“I like your horse,” the Duke commented. “Is it really true that he will obey everything you say to him?”
Verena smiled.
“Assaye!” she called. “Attention!”
The horse instantly straightened himself with his hooves together and his head held high staring right ahead of him. He was completely motionless.
“At ease!” Verena commanded after nearly a minute had passed.
“I can make him die for the King, but when he gets up again he will roll and make such a mess of the saddle. What is the time? The Church clock has not worked for years.”
The Duke drew his watch from his waistcoat pocket.
“A quarter after five o’clock.”
“Then there is one thing certain,” Verena said, “the Odious Duke will not be coming now!”
“Why not?” the Duke enquired.
“Because the Upminsters dine at six,” Verena replied, “and, even if he arrived here this very moment, he could not reach the hall in less than twenty minutes. And I do not suppose that such a fastidious conceited coxcomb could change his clothes in less than half an hour, do you?”
“I am sure that His Grace would find it an impossibility,” the Duke agreed, “although maybe he is not used to dining at country times.”
“I thought of that too,” Verena confided, “and I told Charmaine to tell her father. But Lord Upminster replied that he was not going to have his belly rumbling for any ornament of the Nobility, whoever he is!”
Verena laughed and added,
“When his Lordship does see the Duke, I suspect that he will be so delighted at His Grace’s appearance that he will agree to dine at midnight if need be. Anyway my vigil is at an end, for today at any rate.”
She rose as she spoke.
“But you cannot leave,” the Duke said quickly. “Have you forgotten that I shall not recognise the blacksmith when he passes across the green? And I have no particular wish to sit with Salamanca in the stall until he returns.”
“No, of course not. I had forgotten,” Verena said. “But, as a matter of fact, I have something rather important to do.”
“What is that?” the Duke asked.
She hesitated and the Duke knew she debated within herself whether she should confide in him. To his surprise he saw the brown eyes flecked with gold gazing at him searchingly as if she seriously wondered whether he was trustworthy or not.
Verena was in fact thinking that the Duke seemed a very presentable man. She had thought at first that there was something rather conceited about him, as if he condescended to her, but now she thought that maybe he was shy of talking with strangers.
She had an odd feeling that he was not quite what he appeared to be. Why she had that impression she could not explain to herself. And then she suddenly thought it was because men wh
o had been habitually in uniform were never quite at their ease in civilian clothes.
Major Royd was a soldier and that should commend him if nothing else did! How often since her grandfather had been ill had she longed for someone to talk to who would be interested in the things that she was concerned with.
As if suddenly she made up her mind, Verena turned round a little further on the seat and, looking up at the Duke, said,
“If I tell you a secret, will you swear not to speak about it to anyone else unless I permit you to do so?”
“I swear,” the Duke replied without hesitation.
“Then – something very strange is going on around here and I am determined to discover ‒ what it is.”
She hesitated for a moment and looked over her shoulder as if she was afraid that someone might be listening to her.
“I think,” she replied in a low voice, “it is something that involves highwaymen. But if it is, there are quite a number of them and they are behaving in a most peculiar way.”
“What are they doing?” the Duke then asked with a faint smile of amusement.
He had heard stories of this sort before and knew that the majority evolved from the superstitious fears of drunken yokels or the imagination of young girls who had experienced nothing exciting in their lives.
“Just down the road from here,” Verena explained, “there is The Priory. It belongs to Grandpapa and was originally the family seat of the Winchcombes. But the top storeys were burnt out over fifty years ago and my great-grandfather moved to our present house that was actually the Dower House. It was very small and uncomfortable until Grandpapa made a large amount of prize money in the Mahratta War and spent it on enlarging the house and improving the estate.”
“I am so glad that the General received his prize money,” the Duke interposed. “I always thought it was extremely unfair that Wellington, or rather Colonel Wellesley as he was then, only received four thousand pounds after Seringapatam when the total treasure was estimated at well over a million.”
“Grandpapa thought it disgraceful too!” Verena agreed, “because he says it was really Colonel Wellesley who won the battle while General Harris received the credit and a hundred and fifty thousand pounds.”
“Prize money is always controversial,” the Duke said, “but continue with your story.”
“About a month ago the village boys started to talk about strange men being seen near The Priory. I thought that they were poachers or perhaps some travellers who had sought shelter there. And then a week ago Billy told me that he and another boy had seen four men going into The Priory carrying boxes or barrels. “When I heard about it, I rode over to The Priory on Assaye. There was no sign of anything unusual except that there were footmarks in the dust on the cellar steps and in the cellar.”
Verena wrinkled her forehead.
“The boys are always truthful, especially Billy. He would not think of lying to me and I thought the men must have taken something to The Priory that they wished to hide and then go back to collect it again later. I am sure they must have been highwaymen. We are too far from the coast for smugglers to be bringing in brandy or other sorts of contraband.”
“The boys claimed they were carrying barrels and boxes?” the Duke asked.
“That is what they told me,” Verena answered. “And this afternoon, when I came here to wait for the Duke, Billy told me that the men had been seen again. He did not see them himself, but Tom, another village lad, swore that soon after dawn four men passed through the village and went up the old drive towards The Priory.”
“Were they riding?” the Duke asked.
“Tom thought, although he could not be sure, that each man carried a small barrel in front of him on his saddle.
“What are you going to do about it?” the Duke enquired.
“I had intended, if it became too late to expect the Duke, to visit The Priory on my way home. It is not far from here. I suppose – ”
She hesitated and then continued,
“ – I suppose you would not come with me?”
“I certainly do not think that you should go there alone,” the Duke answered.
“I am not afraid!” Verena retorted scornfully. “You must not think that. But it would be most useful to have with me someone completely unprejudiced to see what is there and perhaps to decide if the footsteps in the dust are fresh.”
“Then let’s hope that the contraband is still in evidence,” the Duke smiled. “Footsteps are not very conclusive evidence.”
“No indeed,” Verena agreed. “And pray Heaven that it is not any of our local men getting up to mischief.”
“If it was, would that worry you?” the Duke asked.
“Grandpapa has always felt a responsibility towards all the families in Little Copple. A number of the men do work on our estate and the Winchcombes have lived here for generations before Lord Upminster’s father bought The Hall.”
“So, if your local yokels have ‘taken to the road’, you will then try to persuade them to embrace a more respectable calling,” the Duke said mockingly.
“I am very sure, Major Royd, that you felt you had a responsibility towards your troops in the War,” Verena said severely. “We at home believe we have a similar responsibility towards those who serve us.”
The Duke, who was a conscientious landlord and showed both his tenants and his employees a generosity that was unrivalled in the vicinity of Selchester Castle, replied meekly,
“I stand rebuked.”
“That was rude of me,” Verena said impulsively. “Forgive me? But since Grandpapa’s illness I try to do what he would have wished and it is not always easy when there is no one who I can turn to for advice.”
“Do you live alone with your grandfather?” the Duke enquired.
“Mama and I came here to live with him after Papa was killed at Waterloo. Then Mama died and, since my Governess retired, Grandpapa and I have been very happy alone. He is somewhat crusty at times and a lot of people don’t understand the way ‒ in which he – ”
Verena hesitated for a word.
“Barks at them!” the Duke interposed.
She dimpled at him.
“That is right. I have never felt his bite, but sometimes his wounds hurt him and he has had lumbago on and off ever since he had served in India. Then indeed he can be very irritable.”
“Who could blame him?” the Duke enquired. “But I am certain of one thing, your grandfather would not wish you to visit The Priory alone. So I will accompany you.”
“That is very kind of you,” Verena said. “And when we come back we can take a short cut to the blacksmith’s shop. So, if Fred is back by that time, we shall find him there. Anyway, when he does return home, his wife will tell him that Salamanca is waiting for attention.”
“Come along then,” the Duke suggested with a smile.
He had an odd feeling that he would like to put out his hand and hold Verena’s almost as if she was a child who he was taking for a walk.
Instead they moved side by side and the Duke thought he had never known anyone so unaffected, so completely lacking in self-consciousness as this lovely young woman in the green habit.
Assaye followed them without being told to do so.
They progressed across the green and down the dusty roadway until outside the village they came to a stone-flanked gate covered with ivy and a drive on which the moss was growing thickly.
“This is the entrance,” Verena told him.
The Duke, moving forward, saw that there was an avenue of very ancient oak trees that had interlocked their branches overhead across the drive so that it had become an eerie tunnel of darkness even in the clear light of the sun.
“I am sure that the villagers would think that this place is full of ghosts,” he suggested.
“But, of course,” Verena answered. “And indeed we actually have several family phantoms. There is a white nun who wrings her hands for some crime for which she is doing eterna
l penance and a Cavalier who clanks his chains and bumps overhead on floors that no longer exist.”
“And you are not frightened of them?” the Duke enquired.
“You forget I am a soldier’s daughter. I would be ashamed to run away from some spooky creature that could not really hurt me.”
“Let me, however, suggest you be wary of any human creatures who may frequent this place,” the Duke warned. “Highwaymen are desperate ruffians and so I must beg of you, Miss Winchcombe, never to come here alone.”
“I have played here in The Priory ever since I was a child,” Verena retorted. “I am not going to allow a lot of ne’er-do-wells to scare me.”
“Don’t be foolish,” the Duke said sharply. “Surely you know that to walk deliberately into danger is as foolhardy as the charge of the Heavy Cavalry at Waterloo that your grandfather must have spoken about.”
“He has described it to me a hundred times!” Verena answered. “No cavalry had ever before routed so great a body of infantry in formation. You may think them foolhardy, but it was extremely gallant.”
“Out of the whole charge only fifty remained alive,” the Duke said harshly. “And the horses suffered abominably. I hope never to see such a terrible slaughter again.”
Verena looked at him searchingly and after a while she said slowly,
“I have a feeling that far too often when there are wars those who remain at home, especially the women, are regaled only with the glorious exploits. In actual fact war is cruel and evil, is it not?”
“That was just what the Duke of Wellington said himself,” the Duke replied, “or something like it. His actual words were, ‘I hope to God I have fought my last battle. It is a bad thing to be always fighting’.”
“I had not heard he said that. But I have often thought that, if I have a son, I would want him to serve his country and to be a soldier. But I would also pray every night that he would never be called upon to fight in any war that involves so much sacrifice and suffering as the wars in which my grandfather, my father and you have fought.”
“That is the right sentiment where women are concerned,” the Duke approved.
The Odious Duke Page 6