‘Er, is your sister blue-devilled? I mean, must be dashed unpleasant for her, hobbling about and whatnot, but last time I saw her she seemed remarkably stoic. Brave girl, I thought her.’ Lord Deben was a young man without an excessive intelligence, but possessed of a very kind nature.
‘Yes, well, Mama thinks she needs a fillip and has said she wants me to toddle down to the family seat and, mark you, to bring a couple of my friends with me.’
‘Sounds very reasonable. I mean, not much fun being there with people you don’t know or dislike. Much nicer to have a couple of your own friends about. Place might be packed with some very fusty old types for all you know. Not sure they would cheer the poor girl up very much. When is this to be?’
‘Fortnight Wednesday. And I was thinking of heading up to Yorkshire and staying with Rufus Leeming for some grouse shooting. Who would want to come into Gloucestershire with me?’
‘Well, it will be the beginning of September, so there will be partridge. As I recall you do well for partridge, and if you want company, well, yours truly would be glad to oblige,’ Lord Deben offered, diffidently. ‘Not sure how my being there might cheer your sister up, but only too happy, etc …’
‘Jolly decent of you, Debs. Sure you do not mind?’
‘Not at all. To be honest, finding myself at a bit of a loose end at the moment, and I have no inclination to make a bolt for home. Father keeps asking what I am doing to occupy myself as if he thought I should actually do something specific. Just because he keeps writing long essay things, like one had to do at school, but all about some plant or other. Odd fish, my Pater, I sometimes think. I was complaining about it to Pocklington only yesterday evening. Now, there’s a thought. What about inviting him too? Pocklington, not my Father.’
Mr Mardham, ignoring the part of the letter which had suggested his friends be the sort hanging out for a wife in the near future, willingly assented to this idea. Lord Pocklington was a gentleman keen on outdoor pursuits, and had only remained in the Metropolis because his family seat was, in his words, ‘infested with aunts’.
‘At least you will be assured of good food, Debs. Nothing fancy served at Meysey, but Cook has a way with patties …’
‘I remember the last time I went down with you, and there was that raised pie. Melted in the mouth it did.’ Lord Deben’s mouth watered at the memory, and the whole idea suddenly seemed far more appealing to both gentlemen. Richard Mardham set aside his letter, requested his friend to await him while he dressed, and suggested they then go in search of Viscount Pocklington, via their club and Tattersall’s ring.
Chapter 2
Sir Thomas Burton was a man who knew his limitations. He was not ashamed of his comparatively humble beginnings as the son of a Bristol wine merchant, and exceedingly proud that he had risen to be an alderman of his city and then a Member of Parliament. He knew full well, however, that many of his aristocratic acquaintance tolerated him for his wealth and acumen, but yet looked down their noses at him for his origins. It did not bother him a whit for himself, but it did concern him that his only child, upon whom he had begrudged no expense at a very select Queen’s Square seminary in Bath, might find her path to social acceptance blocked by ‘trade’. That very ‘trade’ would one day make her, and thus her husband, very wealthy indeed, but for all the talk of young women who had risen above far more humble birth in the past, he had fears that his beautiful Marianne would end up a simple ‘Mrs’ when she ought to be a titled lady. Purchasing Embling Grange shortly after the death of his wife, he had gentrified himself to a degree where he frequently brushed shoulders with the aristocracy, but was not close. He was therefore quite surprised to find himself singled out by the Earl of Curborough in a Gloucester gunsmith’s.
‘Ah, Sir Thomas, thinking of acquiring a new gun for the shooting season, eh?’ The earl’s manner was that of a close friend, although they were but nodding acquaintances.
‘Er, yes, my lord.’ In truth, Sir Thomas, very much a townsman, had never owned a shotgun before, and was hoping his gamekeeper might take him somewhere out of the way and teach him what to do so that he would not disgrace himself in the months to come. ‘Mr Prosser here has been checking what length of stock would suit me best.’
‘Ah, yes. Let Prosser see you right and, well, perhaps I could offer you some shooting once the pheasant season begins.’
Sir Thomas blinked and mumbled his thanks, conscious that he would always accord the gunmaker the courtesy of ‘Mister’ because he respected the man’s skill in his trade, just as the earl would never think of addressing the man with more than his surname.
‘How is Miss Burton these days? Not “flown the nest” yet, has she?’ Lord Curborough laughed at his own wit. This made up for the fact that it was extremely unlikely that anybody else would do so.
‘No, my lord. She is a great support to me still, but I suppose it won’t be long before some fine gentleman comes asking for her hand. She has just had a very kind invitation from Lady Mardham to stay with her friend Miss Mardham, at Meysey.’
‘Has she, indeed. I know Mardham. The thing is, my boy Levedale needs to set up his nursery. Since my poor Laurence died, he is the last of our name and … Illustrious name of course, though we are not as plump in the pocket as once we were.’ Lord Curborough sighed, but was watching Sir Thomas very closely. ‘My elder boy was a little wild, though good at heart. Levedale was always the steadier of the two. Make a good, thoughtful husband.’
Sir Thomas was not sure how to respond. To agree would be to imply a knowledge of the young man he did not possess, and to disagree would be even worse.
‘Quite so, my lord,’ he managed, noncommittally.
‘You would like having your daughter not too far placed from you, no doubt, mistress of a nice estate, and a countess.’
This was all going a little fast for Sir Thomas, but he nodded nonetheless.
‘I shall see if Mardham will extend his invitation to Levedale, and you never know, perhaps it will be my boy asking for a private interview with you in the near future, what.’
Sir Thomas nodded again. He did not know whether to be delighted or worried.
*
Lord Curborough’s ancestral seat was some twenty miles distant from Meysey, and he knew Lord Mardham through mutual acquaintances rather than being a close friend. In pursuance of his plan – and Lord Curborough considered it a very excellent one – he arranged to see several of these mutual acquaintances over the course of the week, playing upon the fact that he was a ‘lonesome widower rattling about his home’, and on the third foray found himself in luck, for the Mardhams were also dining. Some judicious eavesdropping led him to understand that the underlying reason for the house party was to show off Miss Mardham, though why they were bothering to do so eluded him, since surely she was some form of cripple.
It was a simple matter to engage in private conversation with the viscount, as they joined the ladies after the port.
‘How is your son? Robert, isn’t it?’
‘Richard. He does very well. He is up in Town still, as the young bucks like to be, you know, but coming down to Meysey next week, which will please his Mama.’
‘Ah yes, my own poor wife doted upon our boys.’ Curborough sighed, heavily. ‘I am glad she did not live to see Laurence depart this life so young. But there. Arthur – Levedale as he now is – well, he’s a sound fellow, but there is little to interest him at home, and he is kicking his heels rather.’
As a hint, it was not subtle, but Lord Curborough was not a subtle man.
‘He is in Gloucestershire?’
‘Why yes,’ lied Curborough, unblushingly.
‘Er, perhaps he might care to join the younger set with us then, from the eighth.’
‘You know, that sounds the very thing.’ Curborough managed to look as if this was a delightful surprise to him. ‘He is at low ebb, you know, not having found any filly up to his weight, so to speak, this Season.’ That, thought Curborough,
ought to be the clincher. No need to say that he would not be taking a second glance at a ‘filly’ that trotted out lame.
‘He would be very welcome to spend a few weeks with us. Not that we have anything more than some fishing, a little shooting, and some jolly company. I shall get my lady to send an invitation.’
Lord Curborough’s delight was not feigned, and he returned home to write, that very evening, commanding his son and heir to return forthwith to the family seat as a matter of urgency.
*
‘I am not sure we do not need another lady, after all, you know.’ Lady Mardham looked down her final list of guests. There were several names with lines scrawled through them, and scribbled superscriptions. ‘The Corfemullens cancel each other out, if you see what I mean, and Richard does not count of course, but he is bringing Lord Pocklington and Lord Deben, and Sir Marcus Cotgrave has accepted, and Mr Wombwell, and his mama is coming as my own friend, and now it seems we are to have Lord Levedale also, but the good news is that Curborough has hinted he is on the lookout for a wife, so … That is five gentlemen and only two young ladies. Oh dear! I cannot think of three more. No, wait! We could invite the Darwens’ daughter. She is back after an unsuccessful first Season.’
‘That might be because she has a very uncertain and spiteful temper, Mama. You have described her as “that awful girl” on several occasions.’ Celia did not sound delighted.
‘True, but that was before her come-out. Besides, if it is true, do you not see that as to your advantage?’
‘No, since for the majority of the time I will be the one having to entertain her.’
‘Nevertheless, she evens up the numbers a little, so I will send out an invitation. Oh, now what about my cousin Cora’s girl? If she is anything like her mother in her youth she will not turn heads. Very average, was Cora. Came as a total surprise when she married Colonel Clandon. I am sure Cora would be delighted for her to have the opportunity of mixing with the right sort of people. Now what is her name? Sarah, or Susanna, or is it Sophia?’
Celia said nothing. After all, her Mama was talking to herself more than to her. For her own part she was not looking forward to a house full of gentlemen before whom Mama would expect her to use wiles, which she did not even think she possessed, to catch one as a husband. It was embarrassing, for her and for them. She would far prefer to live quietly where everyone, except Mama, had got used to her limp. The guests would either stare at her, or do as Mama did, and look away, pretending not to notice. At least everyone except Lord Deben. He had come down with Richard while she still felt very unused to her bad leg, and was rather overwhelmed by it, and he had treated her in much the same way as Richard himself. She could happily treat him as she did her brother, but the thought of him as a suitor was perfectly ridiculous.
*
Viscount Levedale drove up the curving drive towards the house in which he had been born. He had happy early memories of it, before his brother Laurence, and then he himself, were sent off to school. He smiled, recalling how enormous even the small formal gardens had seemed to them, as they played chase, hid from Nurse, or pretended to be hunting dragons. It was as if that was another world, for in later years everything had changed. Laurence and he had grown apart after his elder sibling was sent down from Oxford and given himself up to a life of gambling, loose women and frequent inebriation. Mama had grown hollow-cheeked and ill, ravaged as much by worry as disease, and since her death, three years past, her younger son had only been home the once, and that was six months ago, when his brother had been interred in the same family vault. Now he came because he was summoned, and an air of melancholy and slight dilapidation clung to Silvertons.
His groom jumped down to take the chestnuts’ heads, and his lordship climbed down, thanked him, and went to ring the bell that he heard echo through the house. A stooped and elderly butler opened the door after some minutes, and looked up at him with rheumy eyes.
‘Good afternoon, Pawston.’
‘My lord! You were not expected until tomorrow.’
‘I am early, yes. Will that discommode everyone?’ He gave the butler a smile, and Pawston, as always, fell under its charm.
‘Not at all, my lord. His lordship is not at present at home, however. He is gone over to Squire Huxtable this afternoon, but is due home to dine. May I say as how it is a great pleasure to see you home again, my lord.’ Pawston positively beamed at him, as befitted a butler who had been in service in the house since before his lordship had made his entry into the world.
‘Thank you, Pawston. It is good to be home.’ This was not entirely true. There were sad ghosts in Silvertons, and Levedale was at a loss to understand what his sire had considered so important that he had commanded – and it was no less – that he come up from Devon immediately. He had always been a poor second in his father’s eye, largely because Laurence was so like his father in looks and temperament. ‘Young Arthur’ had been more in his mother’s mould – quiet, thoughtful, and completely uninterested in those things in which Laurence had found entertainment. Not for him a life of tawdry women, high stakes gambling and heavy drinking.
Lord Curborough seemed to have regarded his heir’s lifestyle as one of which to be proud, and his younger son correctly assumed that it was the same he himself had followed in his youth. That in itself ought to have been a warning to Laurence, for Lord Curborough was florid of face and large of girth, and the Romney which hung in the long gallery showed him a rakish, dark and handsome young man of lithe build. Laurence had once looked so similar that his mother described him as a walking portrait of his father.
That his debauchery would ruin not just his figure but his health and empty what little remained in the family coffers had been obvious to everyone except father and son. Arthur, living within his allowance, was castigated by his father as ‘boring’, and when he had inherited a neat little Devon property from his maternal grandparent and chosen to go and live there, Lord Curborough had gone so far as to question his paternity. ‘Why any son of mine should want to play farmers in the middle of nowhere I cannot imagine. Almost I might have imagined your mother had played me false.’ This had been an unfounded slur upon his countess. Lady Curborough had been accounted something of a beauty in her youth, with glossy chestnut locks, and near perfect features, if with rather too tall and slender a figure. From her, Arthur had inherited colouring and inches, for he was an inch or two over six foot, whilst his brother and father were of a very average height. The bond between mother and son had been close. When in adulthood he understood the reasons for his Mama’s gentle melancholy, his relationship with his Father had deteriorated to the point where he came to Silvertons only to see her, and usually when his father was away. Her death had grieved him deeply, whilst it was the death of Laurence from a disordered liver that had nearly broken Lord Curborough. His grief was exacerbated by the discovery that his heir had been far more deeply in debt than even he had thought possible, and the discharge of those debts, on top of the earl’s continued extravagances, had resulted in much of the estate being mortgaged or put out to long-term lease.
Stepping into his brother’s shoes had not given the new Lord Levedale any pleasure, nor improved his relationship with his father. The urgency of the missive demanding that he return to the family seat meant that he had obeyed it, but without any enthusiasm. Now, as he looked about him and mentally reviewed all that the house needed in renovations, he became quite despondent. He settled himself in the library with a volume of Juvenal which had clearly not been taken from the shelf in decades, and a glass of what he had to admit was a devilish fine burgundy which cleared the dust of travel from his throat, and waited.
It was some two hours later when Lord Curborough arrived home. Levedale heard his blustering voice in the vestibule, and his terse comment that he would see his son when he had changed for dinner. The Juvenal was replaced, and the viscount made his own way upstairs to the chamber he had occupied since late adolescence. There were signs
of moth in the curtains, which had faded from a rich green to a muted drab, and the paint on the window embrasure was yellowed with the sun, and cracked. It was not a room much used, but he had seen that even the public rooms were little better. He compared it to his own modest residence, a neat house of local stone with a simple stuccoed facade and of seven bedchambers, which was amply served by a butler, cook, two serving men and two maids. His only extravagance had been to increase the size of the succession house in the kitchen garden to provide his household with earlier produce and exotic fruits.
His man, Welney, had laid out his evening clothes in readiness, and called immediately for hot water, since his lordship liked to shave before dining, being a gentleman whose chin could lose its smoothness in the course of the day.
‘I regret that this chamber being so far distant from the kitchens, my lord, I cannot vouch for the water being as hot as you would wish it.’
‘Oh, I am used to that, Welney, do not worry.’ His lordship rubbed his jawline and grimaced.
‘Will we be remaining long, my lord?’
‘I cannot say, until my Father has disclosed the reason for his summons. I think I will stop off in Bath on our return journey for a few days. You have been muttering over the state of my shirts and I could invest in some new ones.’
Welney made a noise which was both a denial that he did anything so impolite as mutter and yet was also approving of this plan.
*
Until such time as the servants withdrew, Lord Curborough confined his discourse with his son to platitudes, which that gentleman found frustrating. However, the food, whilst far too much for one of Lord Levedale’s abstemious appetite, was very good, and he sent his plaudits to the cook. Eventually, Lord Curborough nodded dismissal to Pawston, the staff withdrew, and father and son were left alone.
‘So, sir, what is the reason for your hasty summons?’ The viscount’s tone had an edge of challenge to it.
Bless Thine Inheritance Page 2
