Imperfect Pretence

by Imperfect Pretence (retail) (epub)

  ‘I can put a fine room at your disposal, Your Grace,’ said the landlord, after a baleful look at his other customers which promised reprisal later. ‘I swear to you that I had no notice of your coming.’

  ‘Field,’ said Max in a dangerous tone.

  ‘Your Grace?’ murmured Alistair tentatively.

  ‘Did you send ahead and reserve rooms for me?’

  ‘Your Grace, I … I… .’

  Max held up his hand. ‘Enough! We will continue this discussion out of the gaze of the vulgar populace. Take me to this room of yours,’ he said to the landlord. ‘If it proves to be satisfactory, then I shall stay. If not… .’

  ‘If not, Your Grace?’ the landlord ventured.

  ‘I have the ear of the Prince of Wales. If it is not to my liking then no one who is anyone will ever stay here again.’

  ‘This way, Your Grace,’ said the landlord, indicating the stairs, and going ahead of this most difficult guest, who followed him, his unfortunate servant bringing up the rear.

  After Max had pronounced the room to be tolerable, and had made some very exacting requests with regard to his dinner, the landlord withdrew, only just falling short of leaving backwards, as from the presence of royalty. Max looked at Alistair, his eyes sparkling, then hastily covered his mouth with a handkerchief as uncontrollable mirth threatened to prove his undoing. Alistair laughed silently, his shoulders shaking.

  When they had both regained control of themselves, Max said, ‘What now?’

  ‘We have now paved the way very nicely for the last act of this comedy,’ said Alistair. ‘After the porter has brought your baggage upstairs, I will go down with a despondent air, and say that I have been dismissed. Arrangements have been made to get me to Harwich, so I’ll make my way to the appointed rendezvous. In the meantime, you can be as obnoxious as you like, declaring how useless I was, and that you cannot possibly stir another step without a valet.

  ‘Barnes has instructions to appear tomorrow morning at about nine o’clock. He will have a tale to tell of a master who has recently died. He will say that he is on his way to London to find a new situation. No doubt someone will remember that you are in need of a valet.’

  ‘And if not?’

  ‘Improvise.’

  ‘No one with any sense would want to work for me after the way I have been behaving,’ Max pointed out.

  ‘Barnes is as used to playing a part as am I,’ said Alistair. ‘He won’t take any of your theatricals to heart, you may be sure.’

  Max nodded. ‘I’ll not deny I’ve enjoyed playing the role, although it does go against the grain with me.’

  The baggage duly arrived and Max eyed it scathingly, pretending to detect that the wrong luggage had been used, Field having foolishly left behind the new receptacles, pale blue, and printed with His Grace’s crest, and used the old maroon instead. ‘That should do it,’ Alistair grinned. ‘Max, I must be going.’

  ‘Alistair,’ Max replied, his voice holding sudden recognition that now the whole business, which had seemed for a time like a carefree schoolboy jape, had a deadly purpose. ‘Be careful, won’t you?’

  ‘It’s how I survive,’ his cousin replied.

  ‘By the way, what do I do if anyone seems to be acting suspiciously, or questions my identity too closely?’

  ‘Kill them,’ was the tranquil answer.

  Max blinked. ‘Godspeed, then.’

  ‘And to you.’ Briefly, the two men embraced. Then Alistair opened the door. ‘Your Grace, I beg you,’ he exclaimed, his voice high with panic.

  ‘Enough!’ Max replied in an arrogant tone. ‘Just get out of my sight.’

  As Alistair appeared in the taproom, the landlord caught his eye. ‘Is His Grace comfortable?’ he asked anxiously. ‘Is there aught I can do?’ He glanced over Alistair’s shoulder to see that two ladies had entered. Since he surmised that they would certainly not outrank a duke, he decided to make sure that his more exalted guest was attended to before he turned his attention to lesser mortals.

  ‘It’s nothing to do with me,’ Alistair replied, with the air of a man who is trying to be nonchalant when he feels much more like bursting into tears. ‘I have been dismissed.’

  ‘Dismissed?’ exclaimed the landlord.

  ‘After five years’ service,’ Alistair confirmed, lifting his handkerchief to his eyes. ‘As for what I am to do now, I have no notion.’

  There was an awkward silence. ‘You could stay here tonight,’ said the landlord grudgingly. ‘If’n you have the ready—’

  ‘If he does not, landlord, I will gladly pay for a night’s lodging,’ said one of the ladies at the door.

  The landlord looked at them again as they stepped out of the shadows. Miss Fellowes and Miss Church had been waiting politely until the landlord should be ready to attend to them. ‘That’s uncommon good of you, ma’am,’ he answered, directing his remark to the older lady.

  ‘It is little enough when set against the dreadful life that this poor fellow has had to endure in the clutches of such a tyrant,’ said Miss Church, revealing by her voice that it had been she who had spoken originally. She turned to the dismissed valet. ‘Believe me, sir, you are well rid of him,’ she went on earnestly. ‘I saw you earlier at Chelmsford and was very unfavourably impressed with his manner of conducting himself. There are plenty of gentlemen in the world who know how to speak to their servants properly. Make sure that the next gentleman you work for is one of those.’

  ‘You are very good, ma’am,’ Alistair responded. ‘It is just that I am used to His Grace’s little ways.’

  ‘And now you can become used to someone else’s,’ replied Miss Church briskly. ‘I am certain that you will find someone better equipped to show off your skill. Your present master may be a duke, and dressed as fine as fivepence, but he has all the appearance of a brute and a brigand underneath.’

  ‘You are kindness itself, ma’am,’ Alistair responded earnestly, making more play with his handkerchief. ‘For the immediate future I have an acquaintance living in the town. I shall find lodging with him for, to be sure, I think that staying the night here with my former master in the same inn might very well turn my stomach.’

  ‘That’s the spirit,’ said Miss Church bracingly, her hazel eyes twinkling. ‘Good valets are hard to come by, you know. You may very well find that he will miss you far more than you will miss him.’

  ‘I hope it may be so, ma’am,’ Alistair responded, with a little bow, before leaving the inn.

  After Alistair had gone, Max stood thoughtfully, staring down at the ring on his little finger. It was Alistair’s gold signet ring, worn by the Dukes of Haslingfield, and passed from one to the next only in the event of death. That he should be wearing his cousin’s ring seemed ominous in the extreme.

  On the next finger to the Haslingfield signet was his own ring, which was of rose gold, set with a particularly fine pearl. He had not acquired it originally with the intention that he should pass it on to an heir. Insensibly, over time, however, it had become a settled thing in his mind that that was what he would do with it.

  Seized by a notion that was part superstition and all urgency, he strode to the door, then paused, his hand on the handle. How could he accomplish what he intended without putting his cousin at risk? Glancing swiftly about him, he spotted the bag which contained his own black cloak and soft felt hat. He dragged both out of the bag, threw the cloak around his shoulders and crammed the hat down low on his head, hiding his powdered hair. Then he ran swiftly down the stairs, looking neither to the right nor the left, murmuring a low-voiced but polite ‘By your leave, ma’am’ to a lady who stood at the entrance, before stepping out into the late dusk.

  His actions had only taken minutes, and Alistair had just left the inn yard when Max caught him up. ‘A moment,’ he said, laying one hand on his arm.

  Alistair turned abruptly. ‘This isn’t wise,’ he said in an ominous tone.

  ‘Is any of it?’ Max asked. ‘I just want
ed you to have this.’ He handed his cousin the rose-gold ring. ‘I’ll accept it back in exchange for yours.’

  ‘And you came after me for this?’

  Max coloured; fortunately, the dim light concealed the change in his complexion. ‘If I have your ring, you might not come back; if you have mine, you must do so in order to return it.’

  With a reluctant grin, Alistair took the ring, then gripped his cousin’s hand before turning to walk away.

  ‘Mr Field!’ A woman’s voice called out through the night.

  ‘Damnation,’ said Alistair. Then he turned to his cousin. ‘Go, Max; go now.’

  Max threw his cloak over his shoulder and merged with the shadows before slipping back into the inn, taking care not to be seen.

  Constance Church had been wrestling with her conscience as the duke’s misused valet had departed. There was no reason why she should feel responsible for his well-being, or, indeed, for righting the wrongs committed by his master. The fact remained, however, that she had a warm lodging and a good home at her journey’s end, whereas the fate of Mr Field seemed far less certain. As she had paused in indecision at the inn door, a man of middle height, muffled up rather more than the mild evening warranted, had muttered a word of apology and swept past her into the yard. At the same time, she had become aware of a conversation taking place between the landlord and her aunt. ‘If you will follow me, ladies, I have a very good room available,’ he had said politely. ‘You’ll find it quiet up there as it’s right away from the tap.’

  Constance had taken one step away from the door, when she suddenly realized that this would be her last chance to help Mr Field. ‘One moment,’ she had said, before turning to go out into the yard. By the light of the lamps, she could see the former valet in serious talk with the man who had just passed her in the hall. She paused, reluctant to disturb a private conversation. This might be her only opportunity, however, so she ran into the yard, the valet’s name on her lips. As she drew closer, the other man turned away and disappeared into the shadows.

  ‘Ma’am?’ said Alistair, touching his hat politely. He recognized her as being one of the two ladies who had expressed concern for him a little earlier.

  ‘Mr Field, are you in some desperate trouble?’ she asked impulsively.

  ‘Trouble, ma’am?’ he echoed, suddenly rather still.

  ‘The man who was here just now; he looked as though he might be threatening you in some way.’

  The valet smiled. ‘No indeed, ma’am; just a fellow who thought he knew me.’

  ‘You relieve me. Mr Field, I am persuaded that you must surely need more help than you were prepared to admit just now, so I have brought you this.’ Constance held out a few coins from her reticule. ‘It will enable you to pay for lodging elsewhere, should your friend not be to hand.’

  ‘Ma’am, you are more than kind,’ he protested. For all his customary sang froid, he was genuinely a little moved.

  ‘No, I insist,’ she answered. ‘Godspeed.’ So saying, she turned and hurried back into the inn.

  Alistair grinned, spun one of the coins in the air, caught it, then made off for his rendezvous.

  Chapter Five

  Miss Fellowes and Miss Church partook of an excellent dinner before retiring. The possibility of the duke’s eating in the public dining room had aroused very different emotions in the bosoms of the two ladies. Miss Church had declared herself anxious to confront him so that she could give him a piece of her mind. Hearing of this intention, Miss Fellowes had immediately begun praying that he would not make an appearance, so that an embarrassing scene might be avoided. In the event, they did not see him, so presumably he had dined in his room.

  The following morning, the ladies came downstairs just before nine o’clock, intending to break their fast before continuing their journey. As the landlord had predicted, they had found their spacious bedroom very comfortable, and their rest had been undisturbed by noise of merriment from below. They were just thanking their host for his thoughtfulness and making their wishes known to him, when a quietly dressed, respectable man came in and asked if he might be served with a meal. He greeted the ladies with a polite bow, which they returned, before going back to their own conversation.

  When the landlord came in with tea for the ladies and ale for his new customer, the man started to make enquiries about conveyances, and the ease of getting to London. ‘The gentleman for whom I have been valet has recently passed away,’ he explained, ‘and I need a new situation.’

  Miss Church and Miss Fellowes looked at one another and kept their lips firmly shut. Doubtless the landlord had the same thought in his head, since he said, ‘I know of no one living hereabouts in need of a manservant, sir. No doubt you’ll find something in London.’ Miss Church looked up at him as he was leaving the room, their eyes met, and unmistakably he winked, causing her to hide a smile.

  They were all just finishing their breakfast when the sound of raised voices then the slamming of a door was heard from upstairs, followed by running feet. A few moments later, a waiter came in and approached the landlord, who was asking if everyone was satisfied with their meal.

  ‘Beg pardon, sir,’ he said, ‘but His Dukeship wants to get dressed. My dirty hands won’t do, he says.’

  ‘Let’s see them, then,’ said the landlord.

  The waiter held out his hands. ‘Mebbe the nails are a bit dirty,’ he said doubtfully.

  ‘Rest assured, landlord, that even if your servant’s hands had been scrubbed by the Archangel Gabriel himself and dipped in holy water, they would still not be clean enough for that martinet upstairs,’ said Miss Church.

  The waiter turned to the landlord again. ‘What shall I do? He says he won’t leave until he’s been shaved and dressed, and he won’t let me near him.’

  ‘Well, he can’t stay here for ever,’ exclaimed the landlord, provoked into unaccustomed exasperation.

  ‘You have a gentleman upstairs in need of assistance?’ asked the quietly dressed man who had just had breakfast.

  ‘I would assist him out of the window,’ said Miss Church bluntly.

  ‘Constance!’ exclaimed Miss Fellowes, for this was too much even for one used to her niece’s strong views.

  ‘The Duke of Haslingfield is upstairs,’ the landlord disclosed. ‘He arrived yesterday—’

  ‘And his first action was to dismiss his valet in the most brutal way possible,’ interrupted Miss Church.

  ‘Then perhaps he may be looking for another,’ said the newcomer thoughtfully.

  ‘Believe me, sir, this will not be a happy situation for you,’ said Miss Church earnestly. ‘I am sure you would be much better advised to go on to London and find employment there.’

  ‘My niece, if forthright in her views, is essentially correct,’ put in Miss Fellowes. ‘He was most unpleasant, both in manner and behaviour.’

  The man rose to his feet. ‘You may be right, ladies,’ he replied. ‘In the meantime, our kind host clearly needs help to speed this gentleman on his way, so I shall see what I can do.’ He left the room and, presumably, ascended the stairs, since his footsteps were too soft to be heard.

  Miss Church stood up. ‘Shall we go and prepare for our departure?’ she said to her aunt.

  ‘Presently, my dear,’ Miss Fellowes replied placidly. She smiled at the landlord. ‘At my age, it is most unwise to hurry into activity after a meal, do you not agree?’

  ‘Certainly, ma’am,’ agreed the landlord, all smiles himself now it appeared that he might soon be rid of his troublesome guest. ‘Pray remain for as long as you please. Shall I fetch more coffee?’

  ‘Thank you; and perhaps just a tiny scrap more of toast?’

  ‘What are you doing, Aunt Roberta?’ Constance asked, as soon as the landlord had gone to replenish the coffee pot. ‘We don’t really have time to linger.’ They were to travel to Diss that day and dine with friends before staying the night.

  ‘There is no rush, my dear,’ Miss Fellowes respon
ded placidly. ‘I know that the Scotts keep country hours, but even so, we will not be dining before five. There is plenty of time.’ She leaned forward and continued, lowering her voice to a whisper. ‘Don’t pretend you don’t want to hear the end of this tale,’ she said, ‘because I wouldn’t believe you.’

  ‘I do not have the slightest interest in what “His Dukeship” does,’ Constance replied scornfully, ‘except that I would hate to see this man treated as abominably as poor Mr Field.’ Nevertheless she subsided back into her seat, and permitted the landlord to pour her another cup of coffee.

  While he was doing so, the man who had breakfasted with them came back into the room. ‘I would be obliged if you would send up some hot water so that His Grace may shave,’ he said. ‘In addition, I shall require somewhere to press His Grace’s linen.’

  After the upset of the previous day, these familiar needs were well within the landlord’s power to supply, and he went immediately to see about attending to them.

  There had been something about the proprietary way in which the man had spoken that had caught Constance’s attention, and she said suspiciously, ‘Surely you are not intending to take a permanent position with that tyrant, sir? If so, I must strongly advise you against it. He may be more pliable this morning because he is desperate for help. Remember, I have seen him at his worst.’

  The man smiled slightly. ‘We have agreed to see how well we shall suit,’ he replied. ‘Believe me, if I am not happy in my situation, I shall not stay.’

  ‘You relieve my mind, Mr—?

  ‘My name is Barnes, ma’am,’ answered the man, bowing slightly.

  ‘We wish you well, Mr Barnes,’ said Miss Fellowes, ‘and success in your new post.’