‘It is the country way,’ Miss Fellowes responded. ‘You are welcome, sir.’ This evening, he was resplendent in an evening coat of silver-grey brocade, which he wore with black satin breeches and a white silk waistcoat embroidered with tiny blue flowers. Barnes had managed to persuade him to have his hair powdered, and this was confined at his neck in a black silk bag.
Constance, not wanting to be outdone, had donned a new lilac gown with a short train and elbow-length sleeves, trimmed with silver lace. She had been very well satisfied with her appearance until her aunt had remarked that she had thought that her niece would keep this for a grander occasion. Her uncle, opening his eyes very wide, had told her that she would make the rest of them look shabby. From a desire not to look countrified and dowdy in front of a sophisticated London visitor, she was then assailed by the horrible fear of looking overdressed, and would have gone upstairs to change had it not been far too late to do so. Now, confronted by the duke’s splendour, she was pleased that she had made an effort, and even more so as she saw the light of appreciation in his eyes.
‘This must look very odd,’ remarked Mrs Grayleigh after the introductions had been made. ‘We arrived at the same time as His Grace, and since I was so afraid that Melinda might trip on some unevenness and damage her ankle, which has only just healed, His Grace kindly offered to escort me, whilst his secretary carried Melinda with my husband showing the way.’
At that very moment, the door opened again and Jenkins, confident this time about his priorities, declared, ‘Mr Grayleigh, Miss Grayleigh and Mr—’ There was a pause and a whispered word. ‘Mr Okoro.’
It was Abdas who entered first, with Melinda in his arms. Although he had carried her from the carriage and right up the path, this did not appear to have caused him any effort. Like his employer, he, too, was in evening dress, in a coat of old gold brocade. He wore his own hair unpowdered and tied back at his neck. A greater contrast to the slender, fair-haired Melinda, clad in white muslin, sprigged with tiny blue flowers, could not possibly be imagined.
Mrs Grayleigh was at once all concern over her daughter, who hastened to assure her that she was perfectly well, and quite ready to be set down on her feet if Mr Okoro would be so kind. ‘I did not really need to be carried,’ Melinda said to the African, her soft tones robbing the words of any offence. ‘I am the only child left at home, and Mama is inclined to fuss.’
‘Then I must be grateful for her concern, since it gave me the privilege of a most pleasurable duty,’ Abdas replied, with a bow.
Constance happened to be standing next to the duke, and she now turned to him, her manner rather more hesitant than usual. ‘Mr Okoro, I suppose, is your secretary.’
‘Yes.’
‘Not your slave.’
‘Not my slave.’ There was a brief, awkward silence, into which both spoke at the same time.
‘I really must apologize—’ Constance began, whilst Max started with the words ‘As a matter of fact—’ They both broke off.
‘Miss Church, pray proceed,’ Max said, with an open-handed gesture.
‘I must apologize for my mistaken assumption,’ she said quickly, fearing that any moment the fuss over Melinda’s arrival would be over.
‘Yes, I think you probably should,’ he agreed gravely.
Constance now found that while it was one thing to admit a fault, it was quite another to have someone else agree. She turned towards him with every intention of telling him that if she had been mistaken over this matter, then she had certainly not been over his brutal treatment of Mr Field.
Fortunately, before either of them could say something that they would almost certainly have regretted, Jenkins came in to announce that dinner was served.
Constance had half expected that the duke would turn his nose up at every dish, and look down it at the assembled company. As she reluctantly acknowledged later, he did neither. Seated between herself and her aunt, he proved to be perfectly conversable, acquainted with country ways, and admitting to a passing interest in the sea.
‘My cousin is a ship owner,’ he confided, ‘and has taken me on more than one voyage.’
‘And you, Mr Okoro?’ Miss Fellowes asked, the company being so small that it was deemed perfectly acceptable to talk across the table. ‘Have you also been to sea with His Grace’s cousin?’
‘I have indeed,’ Abdas replied with the ghost of a grin. ‘I have much for which to thank Mr Persault.’
‘Is that so?’ asked Melinda in her soft voice. ‘Pray tell us more, Mr Okoro.’
‘I owe him nothing less than my freedom, my dignity, in short, my very life,’ the African replied. He went on to describe how Max Persault had put his own life at risk to rescue him, and had then made it his business to educate him. ‘How can one possibly repay such a debt?’ he concluded. Melinda nodded, enthralled by the story.
During his description, Constance, whilst paying close attention to what he was saying, had become conscious of tension building up in the man sitting to her left. Now, as Okoro finished speaking, the duke exclaimed, ‘Nonsense!’ Aware that this outburst had drawn everyone’s attention, Max said as casually as he could, ‘Although Okoro is correct in the substance of what he says, my cousin would never want you to think in those terms.’
‘Mr Persault sounds a most excellent gentleman,’ offered Constance.
‘And so he is, Miss Church,’ Okoro replied, ‘and as modest as he is gallant. Is he not, Your Grace?’
‘You are better placed than I to judge,’ said the duke after a short pause. Then, anxious to change the subject, he said, ‘The lighthouse at Cromer looks interesting. Has it been there for long?’
‘There has been a tower on Foulness for just over a hundred years,’ Mr Fellowes responded. ‘Before that, a fire used to be lit in the church tower.’
‘Good heavens!’ Mrs Grayleigh exclaimed. ‘Surely that must have been very dangerous.’
‘It was quite common, I believe, before towers were built specifically for the purpose,’ Mr Fellowes explained. ‘I cannot tell you when such towers began to be built, I’m afraid. I suspect that the one at Cromer might have been one of the first.’
‘Not if it was only built around a hundred years ago,’ Max put in. ‘The first one built by Trinity House was at Felixstowe in 1609.’
‘Indeed?’ remarked Mr Grayleigh with interest. ‘You seem very knowledgeable, sir.’
Max now perceived that in his haste to get away from the subject of his own virtues, he had encouraged discussion of yet another matter in which one of his station would not normally be expected to take an interest. ‘It was one of those voyages with my cousin,’ he answered, thinking quickly. ‘Sitting in his cabin with little to do, I was driven to study his collection of books on nautical subjects.’
‘It’s amazing what a man will read when there’s nothing else to come by,’ said Fellowes. ‘If you find the lighthouse interesting, you should visit it.’
‘It might be’ – Max paused briefly – ‘amusing to compare the view to that from Beacon Tower.’ He turned to Constance. ‘Miss Church, you are local. Perhaps you might care to conduct me there?’
Taken by surprise by this sudden request, Constance found herself saying ‘Yes; of course.’ She looked around for rescue and caught her friend’s eye. ‘Melinda, have you ever been to the lighthouse? Would you find it interesting?’
‘I am sure I should,’ Melinda answered.
Max, looking across the table, was struck with a sudden thought. ‘You had better come with us, Okoro. Two young ladies may be more than I can manage.’
‘Of course, Your Grace,’ Abdas responded with an inclination of his head and a flash of his white teeth. Melinda glanced across at him, then looked quickly away.
‘If you permit, Mrs Grayleigh, Melinda could come and stay with us for a few days,’ said Miss Fellowes hospitably. ‘Constance will be pleased to have the company.’ Mrs Grayleigh willingly gave her consent to this plan, to the delight of both y
oung ladies.
The meal itself, which had been a source of dread to more than one person around the table, turned out to be a surprising success. The cook had indeed put forth her best efforts, and Miss Fellowes, who had told herself that she was not really anxious, was able to breathe a sigh of relief. The guests from Beacon Tower had both proved themselves to have excellent appetites. Constance had been a little surprised to see the duke revealing himself to be such a hearty trencherman. He even went so far as to ask if the cook might be sent for in order that he might congratulate her on her expertise.
Still reluctant to think well of him, Constance was inclined to curl her lip at his playing the great man in this way. Mrs Dobbs clearly did not share her view. She appeared in a crisply clean white apron, beaming with pleasure.
‘You don’t have a sister who cooks, by any chance?’ the duke asked her, half in jest. Mrs Dobbs was pleased to say that she did, and that her sister, who was similarly gifted, lived locally, and was looking for work. She promised to send Mrs Hays to wait upon His Grace on the morrow, and went back to the kitchen with her head held high.
‘I think that went very well,’ Miss Fellowes announced in satisfied tones after their guests had left. Mr and Mrs Grayleigh had offered to take the duke and his secretary up in their carriage, but the two men had declined civilly.
‘Exceedingly well,’ her brother answered. ‘Mrs Dobbs was pleased with the compliment to her skill.’
Constance sniffed. ‘Typical of the fellow to have her dragged from her kitchen so that he might play the great man,’ she remarked.
‘For my part, I found the duke perfectly conversable,’ said Miss Fellowes. ‘There was no height in his manner at all.’
‘I cannot see that there is any reason why there should be,’ said Constance defensively, for she had been surprised at how easily he had mixed with the company.
‘He is a duke,’ her aunt replied, ‘and the first such that I have had across my threshold, what is more.’
‘I thought that Mr Okoro seemed the more interesting of the two,’ said Constance airily.
‘I see what it is,’ said Mr Fellowes astutely. ‘You are determined not to give him any credit at all, my girl. You condemn him for sending for Mrs Dobbs, but if he had not done so, you would have called him ungrateful. He ate a hearty meal – for which no doubt you will say he was a glutton; but if he had picked at his food like a sparrow, you would have said that he was too proud to be satisfied. I accept that you don’t like him, but it isn’t like you to be so judgemental.’
‘Uncle, if you had seen—’ Constance began.
‘Pray, preserve me from another recital of his bad behaviour on the journey,’ said her uncle. ‘From what I have seen of him, I could almost suppose him to have a twin brother, so unlike the man you have described have I found him to be. I wish you would lay that matter to rest, for I am heartily tired of it.’
‘I beg your pardon for being so tedious,’ said Constance rather stiffly.’ I think I will retire now.’
‘Do not go up yet,’ said Miss Fellowes quickly. ‘I have just rung for some more tea.’
Before Constance could respond to this speech, her uncle diverted her – as indeed, he had intended to do – by saying, ‘I was talking with a fellow from further along the coast this morning. He told me that there is some notion of keeping a careful eye on the shore at Weybourne.’
His sister wrinkled her brow. ‘For what purpose?’ she asked.
‘We have been at war with France since February,’ Constance reminded her, catching his meaning. ‘Weybourne is a weak spot. Big ships can get quite close in because of the deep water.’
‘Then thank goodness that they are alive to the danger already,’ said Miss Fellowes in a relieved tone.
‘Alive to it – but prepared?’ Mr Fellowes muttered as the tea tray was brought in. Constance glanced at him sharply. Perhaps fortunately, his sister did not hear.
When they had drunk their tea, Constance was the first to go upstairs. After she was out of earshot, Miss Fellowes said to her brother, ‘I thought that you were a little harsh earlier. Remember she lost her father only two years ago. It is not so long really, given that they were so close.’
Fellowes sighed. ‘Perhaps; she can be very decided in her opinions, and rather too quick to judge, you know. I am sure it comes from all that sitting-in on learned conversations from an early age. It has made her rather precocious.’
‘Yes, I know,’ his sister agreed. ‘All the same, she did have a point.’
‘Please, no recitals of the duke’s ill-doings from you as well,’ he implored her. ‘Let us not spoil the memory of a most enjoyable evening.’
Although Constance did change into her night attire, it was quite a long time before she actually got into bed. The evening had provided her with much food for thought, not least the fact that, no doubt because she had been flustered, she had actually agreed to go on an outing with their new neighbour and his secretary.
Only days ago, she would have rejected the very idea as quite impossible. Since then, she had discovered that she had been mistaken about him over a number of matters. He had not reprimanded his coachman; he did not keep a slave; he was not above being pleased in the company of ordinary folk. Whatever next?
To divert her thoughts from this disturbing man, she started thinking about her friend. There had been no denying the instant spark of attraction between Melinda and the handsome African. Constance wondered how Mr and Mrs Grayleigh would feel if her daughter fell in love with him. She would not be the first to conceive a passion for someone of another race. Literature gave a fine precedent in Othello and Desdemona, although their union had not had a happy conclusion. In real life, too, marriages between races were not unknown. Olaudah Equiano, the former slave and abolitionist, whose recent autobiography she had read, had married an English girl. Constance suspected that the welcome that Okoro might receive from the Grayleighs would very much depend upon how generous the duke was prepared to be towards his employee.
When the incident with Mr Field had been fresh in her mind, she would have warned her friend that His Grace would very likely cut his secretary off without a penny. Now, she was not so sure. For one thing, she knew nothing about the dismissed valet. Perhaps he really had been incompetent, and inclined to play for sympathy as well.
For another, Abdas Okoro was dressed, if not as richly as his master, with unmistakable style. Furthermore, whilst Okoro had addressed the duke very properly as ‘Your Grace’, his tone, although courteous, had lacked the obsequious deference that she would have expected the duke to demand from one who served him. In many ways, they had addressed one another as men on an equal footing.
She thought of how her uncle had thrown out the outlandish suggestion that the duke might have a twin. This was clearly absurd; yet there was no doubt that the nobleman’s behaviour was markedly different from how it had appeared on the journey. Could the man be acting a part for some reason; and if so, what might it be?
Chapter Fourteen
The visit to the lighthouse had been planned to take place two days later. In order to carry out this arrangement, therefore, Melinda’s father drove her to Runton in the morning. Knowing that Mr Grayleigh was a true countryman, accustomed to country hours, Constance was up betimes. She was glad that she had been so punctual when the Grayleighs’ gig appeared at the gate as she was rising from the breakfast table. Trotting alongside the gig was a great shaggy handsome beast, roughly the size of a small pony.
Melinda’s wolfhound, a gift from her brother, had been with her since he was a pup. Originally given the majestic name of Augustus, in keeping with his noble heritage, he soon became Gussy, and within a very short period of time, he and Melinda had become inseparable. If she spent an evening away from him, he only just found it tolerable. To be separated from his beloved mistress for more than a few hours, however, could not be borne. He would howl, refuse to eat, and bare his teeth at anyone unwise enough to att
empt to lure him from the gate, where he would wait anxiously for her return. He was well acquainted with Constance, and sniffed around her amiably, wagging his tail, as she came to greet her guest.
Constance had known that Gussy would also be visiting them, as had her aunt. ‘Well, he’ll have to sleep in the shed,’ Miss Fellowes had said hopefully, as she did every time Gussy and Melinda came to stay. Needless to say, Gussy always slept at the foot of Melinda’s bed, a fact of which Miss Fellowes was well aware.
Mr Grayleigh carried his daughter’s portmanteau into the house, politely declining Miss Fellowes’s invitation to take some refreshment. ‘I have some business at Felbrigg and must not be late,’ he explained. He bade his daughter farewell, glancing about him as he stepped back outside. ‘You may be well advised to postpone your visit to the lighthouse until another day,’ he remarked. ‘The mist has come down over the sea, and you won’t see much.’
‘It may clear,’ Constance suggested. ‘Early mists sometimes do.’
‘Hmm’, was the countryman’s unpromising reply.
Since the exact time of Melinda’s arrival had not been known, the arrangement had been that as soon as the ladies were ready, they would walk together to Beacon Tower. The duke and his secretary would then escort them to the lighthouse, which they would inspect before enjoying a picnic.
‘It does look very misty,’ Melinda remarked after her father had gone. ‘But we must walk to Beacon Tower, or the gentlemen will wonder what has become of us.’ Constance agreed.
It was not the first time that one of them had visited the other in this way. On this occasion, Constance had to wonder whether Melinda was hoping for more chances to see the handsome African. Naturally, she told herself firmly, she was not similarly anxious for another encounter with the duke. After all, their most recent meeting had been a little embarrassing.
On the morning after the dinner party, Miss Fellowes had entered the parlour with an exquisitely decorated cloisonné enamel box on the palm of her hand. ‘One of the gentlemen must have left a snuff box behind,’ she had said.
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