‘What do you say, Levedale?’
‘If Miss Mardham would care to stop at the stables during our drive this afternoon, sir …’
‘Oh yes! Please say I can, Papa?’ She was clearly excited, and it seemed very unfair to hide the ponies away for a week just to tease her.
He nodded his assent, and she came and gave him a hug, and kissed his cheek, calling him ‘the best of Papas’. He liked that.
Lord Levedale could only watch and wish she would hug him and kiss his cheek too, if she could find a bit that was not red and sore.
*
Luncheon was an odd affair. Lord Mardham was in a very good mood, Celia was excited, and Lord Levedale quiet but contented. By contrast, Sarah Clandon, much to Lord Deben’s concern, still looked wan as she listened to Sir Marcus, and Miss Darwen was so suspiciously silent that Lord Pocklington remarked afterwards that it was unnerving. It was as though, after a couple of weeks in close proximity, and gradually blending, the party had suffered a lightning strike like the pine tree, and shattered into parts.
At half past two, the pony cart was in front of the house. Celia admitted to Lord Levedale that she felt a bit guilty when Pom looked pleased to see them.
‘It is like when one outgrows one’s first pony. It feels wicked to say ‘Thank you, that will be all. I have learned all I can from you and now I want something more exciting.’’
‘Well, I am sure when you have your phaeton you can drive round to the stables and give him an apple occasionally. Just do not confuse him with your Grandmother, because offering her an apple on your palm would not go down well.’
Celia giggled, but was then more serious.
‘Talking of palms, my lord, how is yours?’ He was not wearing a glove on his right hand, since it would not fit over the bandage without it pressing painfully tightly.
‘Sore, truth to tell.’
‘Oh, I am so sorry.’ Her face fell.
‘Why so? You did not make it sore, and in fact you have made it much better.’ He smiled at her. Today felt a good day, a day when he could forget the ancestors, see letting Marianne Burton down gently as the work of but a few minutes, and rejoice that things he was doing were making this wonderful girl happy. She smiled back as she climbed carefully into the back of the cart. They sat opposite each other, deliciously close, each thinking how much closer they had sat last night. Pom looked round as if to ask why they were not yet setting off, and Celia sighed.
‘Pom does not approve.’
‘Of what, Miss Mardham?’ It was a daring question, a little too daring, for Celia blushed, and shook her head. She set Pom off at a steady trot.
‘You do not need me any more, Miss Mardham,’ he said softly, as she negotiated a bend, and she turned her head swiftly, her expression panicky.
‘But I do, sir. I do. I am not nearly good enough to drive without you.’
‘Alas, ma’am, I am like that first pony.’ His smile was awry.
‘No, no you are not.’
‘You wait. When you have seen your new pair, and when you have your spanking new phaeton, you will want to drive alone, with just the groom.’
She shook her head, and there were tears in her voice.
‘No. Please do not speak of it. I won’t, I cannot.’
‘Forgive me. I have ruined your afternoon, clumsy fool that I am.’
She could not tell him how much more being with him meant to her even than the independence he was giving her. Deep down she knew what he said was true, and that also their time left together was very limited. Perhaps in another week he would be going. She felt as if when he did she would stop breathing. Last night, when Marianne had cast herself upon his chest, he did not look as a lover should look, or at least how Celia thought one should look. If he did not offer for Marianne then perhaps he might be persuaded to come and visit again.
‘Miss Mardham?’
‘I am sorry, sir?’ He had said something, and she had not heard a word.
‘I asked if you would like to do another circuit of the park before going to the stables.’
‘Oh, I see. Yes. Please let us go around once more.’
So Pom trotted obediently around the park, and Lord Levedale did not see the specially planted trees, nor the berries in the blackberry thicket. He just watched her profile, and loved her.
When Celia set the pony heading back to the stables, his pace picked up a little.
‘Oh dear, my lord. I fear poor Pom thinks we are going ‘home’ and that will be the end of his labours.’
‘Well, he has only to take us back to the house, so it is not asking much of him.’
They passed under the archway into the stable yard, and Lord Levedale commended her on the way she negotiated it. Celia blushed. A groom came out to hold Pom by the bridle, and Lord Levedale climbed down, offering his hand without thinking, and making a sharp intake of breath when she took it.
‘Oh my goodness! Are you alright, my lord?’
‘My fault,’ he managed, through gritted teeth.
No, no, not at all, It was foolish of me not to think … I should remove the bandage and check it?’ She sounded unsure and very contrite.
‘Not now. Come, for we have your ponies to see – and name.’
Harrop came out and touched his cap to Miss Mardham, smiling broadly, both knowing that she had a treat in store, and because it was good to see her back in the stable yard. She avoided looking at the loose box where her hunter used to be.
‘Now, Miss Celia, you come and see these two little beauties.’
He led the way, slowing his own pace, into the main part of the stable, where the ponies were in adjacent stalls.
‘They’ll settle in easy, being together,’ he said, cheerily.
‘Oh,’ breathed Celia. ‘Oh, they are beautiful, and so … sweet.’ She put her hand out so that the first pony could snuffle at her hand.
Lord Levedale repressed a grin. Trust a female to think of ‘sweet’.
‘Knook says as they move well, my lord,’ commented Harrop, looking at him, as though he too was finding ‘sweet’ hard to take.
‘Good. They are eight and ten years old, geldings of course, and their names are up to you, Miss Mardham.’
‘But did I not say Paragon and Perfection?’
‘That was before you saw them, Miss Mardham, and perhaps such names need to be deserved. Will you wait until you have tried them out?’
‘If you wish, my lord, but I am sure I shall not change my mind. Shall I, Paragon?’ She leaned down to drop a tiny kiss on the velvet nose. The pony blew through its nostrils, and she laughed. ‘See. He agrees.’
Harrop shook his head, smiling tolerantly. He had helped her onto her first pony, watched her fall in love with all things equine, and here, a year and a half after what had happened to her, she was back in the stables. It was a quarter of an hour before Celia could tear herself away, promising to bring apples on her next visit. Pom, waiting patiently, was rewarded with a pat and the same promise, and then they set off back to the house, with the stable lad standing on the rear step.
‘Thank you, my lord,’ she said softly, as she got Pom to trot on.
‘You should thank your Father, not me.’
‘But it was your idea, and I have no doubt you were instrumental in choosing them.’
‘Ah, now that is untrue also, since it was Jeb Knook, my groom, who selected them. I merely approved.’
‘I still thank you, and all I can do is to offer to put more salve upon your poor hand when we are indoors.’
‘That would be more than enough thanks, ma’am,’ he said, gravely, but when they stepped over the threshold all thoughts of dressings were forgotten.
Lady Mardham was having one of her spasms, and the house was in uproar.
‘What on earth is going on? Mama, what is the matter?’ Celia paled.
‘You probably know only too well, Miss Mardham.’ The voice was icy, and belonged to Miss Darwen, standing in the doorway
of the yellow saloon. ‘My ruby pendant has been stolen.’
Chapter 16
Celia looked at Miss Darwen blankly, and then, slowly, the import of what she said sank in.
‘Oh dear, oh dear,’ bemoaned Lady Mardham, whilst clutching her sal volatile.
‘It has been stolen, I tell you.’ Miss Darwen’s voice took on its most strident and discordant tone.
‘It would seem unlikely, my dear,’ Lady Mardham offered, nervously. ‘Any intruder would be noticed as a stranger about the house.’
‘And what’s more, why was only that taken if there was a burglar?’ chimed in Richard Mardham, from the head of the stairs. He had heard his mother in ‘one of her takings’ and hopped, dressing-gown clad, to find out what was going on. He was now affronted at the thought of his familial home being infiltrated by a light-fingered thief.
‘Go back to bed, Richard,’ recommended his sister, but he ignored her and began to make his way very gingerly down the stairs.
Celia hobbled towards the yellow saloon, with Lord Levedale in her wake. Miss Darwen drew aside, lips compressed and her expression unpleasant. Celia entered the room to see Lord Deben on his knees, searching under a sofa, and Sarah Clandon checking behind the clock. Lord Pocklington was standing, furrow-browed, clearly trying to recall something. The other members of the party were sat, self-consciously, about the room.
‘I do not care if anything else has been taken or not. My ruby pendant is missing.’
‘Raven,’ blurted out Lord Deben, and everyone turned to look at him. He stood up, colouring. ‘What I mean is, a bird stole it. Ravens like shiny things, or is that crows? Or jays? Or magpies? Well, anyway, some member of the crow family is noted for taking shiny objects. One got in, spied the trinket on your dressing chest and flew off with it.’
‘They steal eggs, do ravens,’ commented Lord Pocklington. ‘My gamekeeper has awful problems with them. Was the thing ovoid?’
‘No, and … I have never heard anything so ridiculous,’ snorted Miss Darwen. ‘I have not had my window open.’
‘Ah, but a maid might have opened it, to freshen the room, er, to remove the odour of soot, or such, after she cleaned the grate.’ Lord Deben was persistent, and Sarah Clandon, despite all, smiled to herself.
‘This is fanciful.’ Miss Darwen glared at him.
‘No more so than thinking your chamber has been burgled.’ Richard Mardham had arrived at the doorway, and leaned against it, glaring at Miss Darwen with thinly disguised dislike.
‘You must admit, Miss Darwen, it seems odd that only this one item was removed.’ Lord Corfemullen was the embodiment of calm reason.
‘No, my lord, because the thief stole the item specifically. I have worn the pendant several times and it has been admired.’ She looked to Celia Mardham, and her eyes were hard.
‘If you are suggesting …’ Celia controlled herself with some difficulty, ‘I only said something nice about it to be polite. In truth I found it garish.’
‘You say that now, but … I want every servant’s room searched, and every bedchamber.’
‘You may want that, Miss Darwen, but I will be da . . dashed if our retainers are to be treated in that manner.’ Richard Mardham looked to his sire.
‘We have never had any petty pilfering, beyond a couple of eggs from the chicken coop, young lady. It is inconceivable that any of our servants have stolen anything.’ Lord Mardham finally intervened.
‘So you will do nothing, my lord?’ Miss Darwen looked most dissatisfied.
‘I will have Copthorne alert the staff to the item having been mislaid, and ask them to keep a lookout for it. There will be a logical answer to this, and it will not involve the constable.’ Lord Mardham gazed steadily at Lavinia Darwen, and under that gaze she lowered her eyes.
‘I hope so,’ she mumbled, and sat, with just a trace of a flounce, upon the sofa beneath which Lord Deben had been hunting.
When a cup of tea was offered to her, she glared at Lady Mardham as though she might have her pendant hanging covertly about her neck. Lord Mardham remained impassive, but what he later commented to his wife was scathing. Lady Corfemullen launched into a long-winded narrative about a ring she had lost some years previously and had only discovered when a damaged floorboard had been lifted in her bedchamber.
‘And there it was, as shiny as the day it disappeared, barring a few cobwebs, and with no sign of damage. I cannot think how it got there, for although the floorboard creaked, there was no wide gap along it at any point.’
For once, her husband did not mind if she went on at length. He even interjected a comment that enabled her to continue. Lady Mardham threw him a grateful look.
Lord Levedale had remained in the background, observing, and thinking. Something did not ring true. Miss Darwen was an odd female, but he would swear that any woman who had had a valuable piece of jewellery stolen would be upset, not just angry. There was absolutely no sign that Miss Darwen was shocked or had shed a tear. He had not thought beyond that, but it did not feel right.
*
When all that could be said about the missing jewel had been said, and tea had failed to make the situation any better, there was an uncomfortable silence. Richard Mardham was persuaded to go back upstairs, but his Mama promised, as to a little boy, that he could come down to dinner if he was good. It made him grimace at Celia.
Lord Pocklington invited Lord Deben to play cards, Lord Corfemullen invited his lady wife for a stroll about the shrubbery, which made her blush, and Lord Mardham went to hide in the library. Sir Marcus began to converse with Sarah, which amounted to a lecture on the subject of servants, and the importance of employing those who were not related, lest they support each other in situations such as the current one. She listened in silence, which he took as hanging upon his every word, and was in fact her feeling how insulting Miss Darwen had been to Lord Deben, and how little he deserved such shabby treatment.
Miss Darwen stared very hard at Celia, her eyes almost boring into her. It was intended to intimidate, but Celia held firm. Miss Darwen might feign outrage, but Celia Mardham possessed the real thing. This awful young woman was making the most appalling accusation, and upon no possible evidence. Eventually, Celia simply got up, and left the room.
She went upstairs feeling suddenly tired. Perhaps the events of the previous evening, and the excitement of today were catching up with her. She rang for Horley, and lay upon the bed for a few minutes.
Her maid looked at her and shook her head.
‘I said as you ought to take things quiet today, Miss Celia.’
‘I know, and you were right, Horley, but until the last hour it has been a very good day.’
‘Would you be wishful to wear the blue tonight, miss. I got that mark out of it where the teacup dripped the other evening.’
‘Yes, why not, and the pearls please.’
Matilda Horley went to the dressing chest and opened her mistress’s jewel box. She took a deep breath.
‘Well I never!’
‘What is it?’ Celia sat up a little too quickly, and felt a bit dizzy. Her eyes refocussed. ‘Oh!’
Horley had a ruby pendant dangling from finger and thumb like a mouse caught by the tail.
‘Something is mightily wrong, Miss Celia.’
‘But it cannot be there. I do not understand.’
‘It was not there after luncheon, when you changed to go driving, that is for sure, because you wanted the figure-of-eight pin for your neckcloth, and I took it from the box. This here gewgaw was right on the top when I opened the casket, and it was not there then, I would swear upon the Good Book itself.’
‘So it was put there. Oh Horley, how awful. She, Miss Darwen, specifically said she wanted all the bedrooms searched, and she kept making it clear she thought I had it.’
‘That would be because she knew, in a way, Miss, that you did. Nasty thing to do.’ Horley shook her head.
‘But what do we do? I mean, if I take it to her she will
say I have given it back because she raised the alarm, and still say that I stole it.’
‘Ridiculous, that is, Miss Celia. As if you would!’
Celia frowned. It would be far better if the whole episode had never happened. She took a breath.
‘Go to Lord Levedale’s room, Horley, and see if he is there.’
‘Me? Go to a gentleman’s bedchamber?’
‘Yes, for this is an emergency. Tell him I need his help most urgently.’
‘You’re never inviting him in here, Miss!’
‘Oh, be sensible, Horley. You will be here also.’
Much discomposed, the maid scuttled off, hoping that nobody as much as saw her knock upon the door of his room. She was fortunate in that he had come up early to change, knowing that tying his neckcloth would take longer than usual with a largely disabled hand. Welney came to the door.
‘Mr Welney,’ whispered the maid, blushing. ‘Is his lordship within? I have a very urgent request from Miss Celia.’
Welney’s features remained schooled into impassivity as he relayed the message to Lord Levedale. His lordship, who had just been very cautiously shaved, because he said he would rather put up with the discomfort than look any more ragged, wiped the vestiges of soap swiftly from his cheek, pulled on his shirt, and came to the door, cravatless and attempting to do up his wristbands. Welney sighed, and reached to do them for him.
‘I am at Miss Mardham’s service.’
He followed Horley to Celia’s room, and looked in both directions before entering, conscious of the impropriety. Celia was sat by the window. A distinctive ruby pendant lay in front of the jewel box.
‘Horley found it in my box, and it was not there when I went out driving with you, my lord.’ Celia’s voice was vehement.
‘I do not doubt it, Miss Mardham. Do not think for one moment that I even considered it got there other than by the hand of she who “lost” it.’
Celia felt a wave of relief sweep over her, and it showed upon her face.
‘But what do I, we, do now? If I take it to her and say, “It has been found” she will insinuate that I have merely become too scared of discovery and returned it, and she will still besmirch my good name.’
Bless Thine Inheritance Page 18
