The Echo at Rooke Court

by Harriet Smart

  “May have been a sovereign or two,” he said.

  “For which you gave her the key and left the building?”

  There was a long pause.

  “Aye, sir,” he said, “and I remember this, now you ask me – she did say Mr Cartwright sent her.”

  This struck Giles as a likely falsehood.

  “Does she have a name?”

  “Nay, no name.”

  “Can you describe her? Was she young, old, fat, thin?”

  “Young,” Noakes said, “but not a lass. Younger than I. She had a wedding band on and she had a way about her, as if she were the missus somewhere. Not high-born like you, sir, but she had a way of saying a thing that would make a man jump to it, if you know what I mean.”

  “And her clothes? Anything distinctive?”

  “She had a red pinny on, with stripes on it,” said Noakes. “And a bit of white stuff here,” he added, touching his neck. “Oh, and a leather bag tied about her waist, like a pocket. She took the money out of it.”

  “And was she wearing a cap or a bonnet?”

  “Bonnet. I couldn’t see her face for it, now you mention it. She had a little, you know what, covering her eyes.” He passed his hand over his face to indicate a veil.

  Giles frowned. How many women in Northminster wore striped aprons and bonnets with a veil? This was hardly going to help him. The leather pocket was perhaps the most useful observation he had made.

  “And you had never seen her before, Noakes?”

  “No, sir. She just came.”

  “She was lucky you were such a fool,” said Giles, getting up. “If you had done your job as you should then there would not be a young man at death’s door at the Infirmary.”

  “I didn’t know she was going to burn the place down!” he said. “Did I?”

  “What did you think she was about, then, Noakes?” said Giles. “In all honesty? Giving you money to absent yourself?”

  “Folk like me,” said Noakes, “we can’t be picky. We take the money and do as we are told. She said Mr Cartwright had sent her, so I didn’t think any better of it. I did what I was told, that’s all! Ain’t that what the likes of me are supposed to do?”

  He ended with a defiant shrug, and Giles wondered if there was anything else of use he might get from him.

  “If you see this woman again, I want to hear about it, Noakes. In the meantime you can go, but you may be sure one of my men will be keeping a close eye on you.”

  When he had gone, Giles asked Sergeant Coxe, who had been sitting with them in the room, what he thought.

  “I think he is playing the simpleton, sir.”

  “Yes, I think so too.”

  Coxe was looking through his notebook.

  “I have the door to door enquiries here, sir,” he said. “There was a woman seen passing through one of the yards at the back some time after one, but the description of her is sparse. I will go and talk to that witness again, see if it might be the same one. At least then we might know which way she came and went.”

  “Excellent plan, Coxe,” said Giles. “I look forward to hearing what you find.”

  Chapter Six

  They arrived at Hurrell Place at a little after six.

  “How delightful this is,” Emma murmured to Giles, leaning on his arm as they went up the grand staircase which led from the ancient hall to the drawing room. “To be travelling about together like an old married couple!”

  “Soon enough it will be true,” said Giles.

  “It cannot be too soon for me,” she said.

  “Yes, but we will need a little time to repair the house.”

  “Indeed. I have the estimates to show him, by the way.”

  “Of course you do,” Giles said.

  The servant announced them.

  “My dear Mrs Maitland, and Major Vernon, how do you do!” said Sir Morten, striding over to them. He was dressed in an old-fashioned plum-coloured coat and was accompanied by his lurcher dogs. “How good of you to come!”

  Sir Morten was enthusiastic in his greeting. He insisted on kissing Emma’s hand several times, and Giles felt his own arm was like a pump handle after filling a pail with water, such was the heartiness of the handshake.

  They were then presented to Sir Morten’s widowed sister-in-law, Mrs Edward Hurrell, a pale shade of a woman all in grey, thin and fragile-looking, who timidly whispered her how d’you dos. Lastly they met Arthur Hurrell, the son and heir, and also the clergyman of the parish, who looked bored, despite his perfectly correct manners.

  “Now, Mrs Maitland, come and sit down by me, and tell me all the news,” Sir Morten said.

  “What news might that be, sir?” said Emma.

  “Oh, you are a woman with information,” said Sir Morten, patting the space beside him. “Did I not say so, Mrs Hurrell? Mrs Maitland will keep us fresh. We are so dull here in the country.”

  “I am not sure what you want of me, Sir Morten,” said Emma, hesitating a moment longer before going and perching beside him. But she turned herself carefully to face Mrs Hurrell. “I have a little nonsense about the shape of sleeves, Mrs Hurrell, but I am sure that is of no interest to Sir Morten. If you want the news from town, Sir Morten, you must ask Major Vernon.”

  “I hear there has been a fire,” said Arthur Hurrell.

  “Another one?” said Sir Morten.

  “Yes, unfortunately,” Giles said.

  At this moment Lord Rothborough and Lady Maria were announced.

  “It is a great pleasure to be here again,” Rothborough said, shaking Sir Morten’s hand. “I’m only sorry the pressure of business has prevented more intercourse between our families. It has been too long – five years, I think?”

  “It’s a pity that Lady Rothborough cannot be with us tonight,” Arthur Hurrell said. Giles thought this was a sharp thing for a young man to say given the general speculation that went about on the state of the Marquis’ marriage, but Lord Rothborough showed no sign of being wounded.

  “You will see her soon enough, if you will honour us with your company at Holbroke, Mr Hurrell. She and my daughter Augusta are travelling back from Italy as we speak. She will be glad to see you there, at any time you desire, will she not, Maria?”

  “Yes, certainly,” said Maria. “We have great plans for this autumn. Do you like to dance, Mr Hurrell? We have been thinking of a ball, to celebrate – well, may I mention it, Papa?”

  “Of course. My eldest girl, Charlotte, is to be married,” said Lord Rothborough. “To Lord Dunbar.”

  “Oh, how delightful,” said Mrs Hurrell.

  “I think you were at Oxford together,” Lord Rothborough said to Hurrell.

  “I don’t recall meeting him,” said Hurrell.

  “A ball at Holbroke,” said Emma. “That will be a sight.”

  “It has been some years, yes,” said Lord Rothborough. “So you must not disappoint us, Mr Hurrell. We do not wish to be short of gentlemen who dance. For the sake of the ladies.”

  “I am not sure I am much of a dancer,” said Hurrell.

  “He will be there, sir,” said Sir Morten, “white-gloved and ready to do his duty. As will I, if an old man is allowed such a liberty, Lady Maria?”

  “It would be delightful, Sir Morten, to see you dance,” she said.

  “Then you will reserve one for me, my lady?” he said.

  “Of course, sir,” she said.

  “And perhaps one for my son?” he added, with a glance at Arthur Hurrell. Hurrell looked less than pleased at this.

  “It must be difficult for a clergyman to think much of dancing,” Lady Maria said, and got a thin-lipped smile from Mr Hurrell. “Tell me, is Mr Mark Hurrell at home at present? I remember him distinctly from when we were here last. He had just finished at Westminster and was about to go up to Ox–”

  “No, he is not here,” cut in Mr Hurrell.

  “Oh, how disappointing,” said Lady Maria. “I wanted to thank him. He was so kind to me that day. It is silly,
but I cannot forget it,” she went on, turning to Sir Morten. “He rescued me from a fractious dog – a bull mastiff. I don’t think I was in any real danger, but he was very chivalrous.”

  “I am sure that is the family tradition,” said Lord Rothborough. “I remember him too. A bright young fellow. Maria would talk of nothing else for days. What is he up to?”

  There was silence, and Sir Morten began, in a tone of great regret, “Unfortunately my son –”

  “Can no longer be received here,” said Arthur Hurrell.

  Another silence fell, which was broken finally by the timid voice of Mrs Hurrell: “Perhaps we should go and dress. Lady Maria, Mrs Maitland, might I show you to your rooms?”

  ~

  Giles was just taking stock of his room when Lord Rothborough’s man, James Bodley, appeared with a message from his master. Would Major Vernon object to his Lordship waiting upon him?

  “No, of course not, if he does not mind my dressing?”

  Mr Bodley said that Lord Rothborough would not mind in the least, and a few minutes later, when Holt had arranged Giles’ cravat to his exacting standards and helped him into his evening waistcoat, Lord Rothborough came in.

  “This is an odd roof to find ourselves under,” he said. “Poor Maria – I hope she is not afraid to come down to dinner. Why are you here, Vernon?”

  “I am currying favour with a potential landlord,” Giles said. “I must say I was curious when he mentioned that you would be here.”

  “Yes, and I am still wondering why I agreed to come,” said Lord Rothborough, going to the window and gazing out at the prospect. “Still, this is a sight worth seeing. I’ve not been here for years, and it’s the finest house in the county, Holbroke notwithstanding. My mother always said so and I’m inclined to agree with her. Just look at that stand of timber – it’s magnificent. I wonder how much it would be worth.”

  “Surely one would never want to sacrifice it?”

  “No, of course not, but it’s so well planted you might take your pick, get a good profit, and never notice anything had gone. I wonder if Sir Morten will let me speak to his forester. There is some dark art involved in that and I should very much like to know the secret!” He smiled and glanced back at Giles. “Landlord, you said?”

  “Rooke Court in the Minster Precincts,” Giles said. “Mrs Maitland and I went to look it over, and she beat him down to an improving lease at an outrageously low price.”

  “Ah, yes, but of course she would!” said Lord Rothborough.

  “The problem is, seeing all this, I think the expense of the improvements done to his standard will bankrupt me. But it is a charming house, and the only one we have seen that we like.”

  “Yet he has let the place decay? He can’t be too demanding. He should be grateful to have you. I’m only sorry I have nothing to offer you at present. All my suitable properties are let. There seems to be a demand for good houses in Northminster. The fruits of prosperity! I thought of throwing up a suburb myself, but the matter needs a little more consideration and more time than I have at the moment, unfortunately. I should hand it over to Maria. She has her model cottages, after all. They have become quite a thing with her. She argues beautifully for them. Speaking of our ladies, we should go and find them! They may need to be rescued.”

  They went into the long gallery, a spectacular room some sixty feet long and commanding magnificent views of the country in all directions. Tall, latticed windows filled the room with the golden light of the waning afternoon, making the great curtains of crimson damask appear a soft rose while the dark wood panelling glistened. The walls were crammed with portraits: a host of Hurrell ancestors looking down at them as they walked along; some stiff, some beautiful, some benign and others decidedly suspicious.

  At the far end, two boys were crouching on the floor setting out a game of ninepins, when Arthur Hurrell strode into the room. He grabbed the smaller of the boys by the collar, almost lifting him from the floor.

  “There you are, you dirty whelp! What are you doing in here? How dare you?” he said.

  “He has finished,” said the other boy, jumping up and attempting to stay the man’s hand, for he was about to box the smaller boy’s ears. “We have both finished!”

  “That is not what Mr Willoughby says!” said Arthur Hurrell.

  “It is the truth, Uncle Arthur, I swear it!” said the boy who had been captured. “I finished the lesson. I know it all, I swear I do!”

  “And I am to take your word over his, am I? When we all know what you are, Lewis Hurrell?”

  “He had finished,” said the other boy. “I made sure that he had. I made him repeat it. I swear I did.”

  Arthur Hurrell released the boy, though whether it was because of the boy’s words, or because he had caught sight of Lord Rothborough and Giles coming along the room, was not clear.

  “Gentlemen,” he said, straightening. “Good evening!”

  “And who are these fine lads?” said Lord Rothborough, indicating the boys.

  “My nephews,” said Hurrell, “who should not be here, alas.”

  “I told you, Uncle Arthur,” said the older boy, “we had finished –”

  “Be quiet, Morten!” said Hurrell. “And get back where you belong. I shall come and hear your lesson, Lewis, so beware! If what you say is false then there will be consequences for both of you.”

  Having made hasty bows to Giles and Lord Rothborough, the boys scurried away, leaving their ninepins behind them.

  “Excuse me,” said Hurrell. “They are little better than savages at the moment. They need to be kept on the shortest leash or it is nothing short of chaos.”

  “It will not be long before they are back at school,” said Lord Rothborough, wandering across to the ninepins and surveying them. “The sweet pleasures of the summer holidays always felt too brief, to my mind. One cannot blame them for making the most of it! I am sure we have all made mischief in our time.”

  “Yes, certainly,” said Giles.

  “Unfortunately, we are past the point of clemency,” said Mr Hurrell. “They are not to be trusted. A firm hand now will save them later. I was the same – wild, ill-disciplined and indolent – but my father took pains with me, and I am now grateful for it.”

  At this moment, the ladies entered the far end of the room, and Giles had the pleasure of seeing Emma take stock of her magnificent surroundings and stroll towards him, in her silvery skirts. She was accompanied by Lady Maria and Mrs Edward Hurrell, the mother of the savages.

  He supposed she was effectively the mistress of the house, but there was nothing about her manner that suggested she was at ease with her position. When Emma and Lady Maria complimented her on the large vases of flowers about the room, she seemed to find it remarkable that they had been noticed.

  “We do not entertain much,” she said. “I did not know what would be right. And I have probably made our gardener cross by taking so many.”

  “He will be pleased – you are showing all his good work,” said Emma. “What is a cutting border for but cutting? And in August – it is always tricky. But these combinations – the roses with the cornflowers and this one – now, what is that one, pray? I never can remember its name. And I have never seen them put together like this – have you, Lady Maria?”

  “No, it’s charming. I must remember it. And the smell of this rose is heavenly – oh, Papa, have you smelt this one?”

  Lord Rothborough then turned the full dazzle of his charm on Mrs Hurrell and her roses. On pretence of smelling another flower, Giles was able to slip his hand into Emma’s for a moment and squeeze it.

  “Are you well-lodged?” he asked.

  “In utter magnificence,” she said. “It must be the best bedchamber. Blue velvet with silver spangles. I was astonished. Lady Maria has much less state. I suppose being an old woman has some compensations; or maybe it is my future husband who gives me the consequence here?”

  “It’s all your doing,” said Giles. “My r
oom is nothing to speak of, though the views are beautiful.”

  “That is the case everywhere,” she said. “This place feels like another Eden, does it not? And what are they doing to produce such roses? Is it witchcraft?” she added in a whisper before moving away, for Sir Morten had come in accompanied by another lady and gentleman. As she drifted away and he felt his blood warm with longing for her, he reminded himself that it was only six weeks until their wedding.

  “Lord and Lady Wytton!”

  The names startled him and he paid attention to the new arrivals. A young couple – he, broad, solid, rosy-faced and genial; she, half his size, elaborately tricked out, jewels at her throat and in her hair. She seemed to sparkle and tremble at the same time as she shook hands.

  “Forgive me, have you any connection with Wytton’s Bank, my lord?” Giles asked, having been presented.

  “Yes, the same. I am one of the directors.”

  “Then you and I should have met soon enough. I wanted to speak to you. I am working on the cause of the fire in the premises adjoining the bank.”

  “A fire?” said Lady Wytton. “My goodness! What happened? Was anyone hurt?”

  “Unfortunately, yes,” said Giles. “One of your husband’s employees, Mr Frederick Pierce. He was rescuing the family on the other side.”

  “No!” she exclaimed. “Not Fred Pierce? Oh, how terrible – how badly hurt is he?”

  “He is in the Infirmary,” said Giles. “I don’t think they are very hopeful. He was almost foolhardy in his courage. So you know this young man, Lady Wytton?”

  “Yes,” she said.

  “How?” said her husband, clearly surprised.

  “Through Mr and Mrs Gray,” said Lady Wytton. “He is often there. He is a charming young man. Oh, this is awful, truly awful...”

  “I’m sorry to bring bad news,” said Giles.

  “Mr Gray thinks the world of him,” said Lady Wytton. “He wants him to go to Oxford and become a clergyman. And now he is –” She broke off, and then turning to her husband said, “Why did you not tell me this, Edward? You must have known about it. Mr Pierce would have told you, surely?”

  “Yes, of course he did, but I didn’t wish to distress you,” said Wytton. “After all, the fire did no damage to the bank. And I didn’t know that you knew Fred Pierce. I’m a little astonished that you should. But the Grays seem to entertain the multitudes.” He shrugged. “It is, of course, terrible news.”