Lord Gilbert (Sons of the Marquess Book 5)

by Mary Kingswood

  “We must go there and see them for ourselves, of course,” Gil said.

  “How are we to do that?” Carrbridge said. “We cannot simply walk in, even if they would admit us to the house.”

  “We shall have to be sneakier than that,” Gil said, with a frisson of excitement. “I suggest that we get into the grounds at night, and look in through the windows.”

  “And if we are caught?” Monty said. “How would we explain our presence there?”

  “No need to explain,” Gil said, laughing. “We run away! Or fight — there are six of us, after all.”

  “Seven,” Merton said in injured tones. “You will not keep me away from this without tying me up. Besides, I can also identify Mr Richard Prestwick and his wife.”

  “As can I,” Gus said. “So how soon may we go to High Berenholme?”

  “As soon as we have planned the sortie thoroughly,” Gil said firmly. “The last thing we want to do is to alert Sharp to our knowledge of his whereabouts and have him take off again. So we need to identify him and his wife, and immediately arrest him, while ensuring that there is no possibility of escape. That means securing all the exits from the grounds beforehand. We shall have to do some reconnoitring before anything else.”

  “Ah, the military mind at work,” Humphrey said, with a smile. “Plan your campaign, Captain Lord Gilbert Marford, then give us our orders.”

  ~~~~~

  It was more than a week before Gil had everything in place. The Bartons of Watersmeet were very helpful, and invited Gil to stay for as long as was necessary.

  “We can accommodate your brothers, too, if need be, but it would be rather a squash,” Lady Anne said. “Not at all what I would wish for a marquess.”

  “For the moment, it will only be me,” Gil said. “And my wife, if it is not too much trouble.”

  “No, indeed, we should be delighted to have Lady Gilbert as our guest,” she said, with apparent sincerity.

  Gil was not sure he trusted her, however. “Is she being kind to you?” he asked Gen as they retired to bed on their first night there. “She is terribly superior, and might feel that you were not quite up to the mark.”

  “Oh, no, she is perfectly amiable, I assure you. Holland says that all the servants have been told to treat us well, because you are the son of a marquess. I suppose the title makes me socially acceptable in her eyes. Besides, my father is a professional man, and my mother is distantly related to the Duke of Purbeck. She was impressed by that when I told her of it, did you notice?”

  “Or perhaps she just likes you, for who could not, after all?” he said, making her blush. He loved to see her confusion. One day, perhaps, she would be so accustomed to her new life that she would accept compliments as no more than her due. She might even learn to flirt a little. But for now, her innocence and openness were entrancing.

  Apart from the Bartons’ hospitality, Watersmeet was important in another way, for the property adjoined High Berenholme. There was even a gate in the wall between the two properties, testament to the close association between the families living there in earlier times. With a little oiling and the removal of a padlock, the gate would give the brothers access to High Berenholme at the required time.

  The trapdoor to the roof had now been uncovered, and the inside access found, so now Gil need only climb the servants’ stairs to reach it, rather than a tree. From the roof, he had a clear view over the trees into the grounds of High Berenhome. He spent hours up there with a telescope, waiting patiently for signs of the family. He saw men riding, far away in the furthest reaches of the park, but he could make out nothing about them. Three young ladies, accompanied by a woman in the drab attire of a governess or maid, made a decorous walk about the shrubbery and round the lake each morning at eleven o’clock precisely.

  On the fourth day, two ladies, one older, wearing black, and one younger, in vivid purple, emerged from a room bordering the terrace and sat for some time on chairs in the sunshine. Gil had never seen Mrs Ballard, but the older of the two women was matched the description he had been given. The younger woman he presumed to be Mrs Richard Prestwick.

  And then, on the fifth day, the whole family emerged onto the terrace. The three young ladies and their governess. Mr and Mrs Richard Prestwick. Mr Harold Prestwick. Mrs Prestwick.

  And Mr Prestwick. He was, quite unmistakably, Sharp.

  Gil sent for the constables.

  ~~~~~

  It was another week before the constables from Northumberland and York had all arrived, and they could make their move. The plan was a simple one — two constables would go into the house and attempt to arrest both Sharp and his wife. If, as was expected, they were denied, they would leave quietly, with the promise to return the following day with reinforcements.

  Sharp and his wife would almost certainly then attempt to escape. The role of the Marford brothers was to ensure they did not, by securing the main gate. When Sharp’s carriage was forced to stop, the constables would emerge to arrest him and his wife.

  “Now, you all know what you have to do?” Gil asked his little army as it assembled in the stable yard at Watersmeet. It was a rather larger army than he had planned for, since a number of Drummoor servants had offered their services. Mr Barton was keen to do his part, too, and accordingly had volunteered several of his grooms and gardeners to join in, who had armed themselves with scythes and pitchforks in readiness to defend the honour of Watersmeet.

  “You may leave all the ironmongery behind,” Gil said firmly. “Several of us will have pistols, just in case we should be shot at, but otherwise fists will be enough, and even that will be a last resort.”

  It was worrying, having an untrained mob on the loose. Not that Gil was much more trained himself. On the basis of six months causing havoc in an army camp, and a summer spent enthusiastically commanding the Lancastrian forces on the roof of Drummoor at the age of twelve, he was deemed competent to lead his motley collection of soldiers.

  “We take control of the lodge first, then we keep out of sight,” he told them. “The Northumberland constables will play their part, and leave. Then, we wait for the approach of a carriage. Only then do we emerge to block the gates, understood? When the carriage stops, our Yorkshire constables will make the arrests. No one else is to go near the carriage or attempt to intervene. We are only here to make a show of strength and help out if it comes to fisticuffs. If shots are fired, drop to the ground and try to get behind something solid. There is a risk, so if any of you wish to stand aside at this point, no one will think the worse of you.”

  One or two of the men exchanged glances at this, and shuffled their feet awkwardly. “I’ve a wife an’ bairn back home,” one said.

  “Then you should certainly not risk your life,” Gil said resolutely, trying very hard not to think of his own wife and coming child.

  Two or three men turned and crept away. The rest drew closer to hear their final instructions, and there was a sparkle in their eyes that Gil knew all too well. That excitement he felt whenever he did something risky — everyone felt it, it was a normal thing. When action was necessary, even dangerous action, that was what men did, they stood tall and marched side by side, but they hummed with energy, too, enjoying that thrill of fear. Then, when the threat was over, they went back to their desks or stables or fields, quite contented. As Gil would be, one day. Surely he would.

  The Northumberland constables were to arrive at the house at noon. Half an hour before, Gil led his brothers and Merton through the gate from Watersmeet into the grounds of High Berenholme. There was plenty of shrubbery to hide them from the house, but at that hour of the day, there was a real risk that a member of the household would be walking that way. They were lucky, however, and saw no one as they made their way to the main gates of the house, where the lodge was situated.

  The lodgekeeper was a retired estate gardener who lived in the lodge with his wife. It was not an arduous position, for the gates stood wide open all day. There was
no sign of the couple as Gil and his band stealthily approached. The lodge and gates were out of sight of the house, but the village lay just beyond the gates, and any undue noise might attract attention from passers-by. Carrbridge and Monty went round to the front door, to knock and be admitted openly that way, while the rest of the group crept in through the back door.

  Both the lodgekeeper and his wife went to the front door, so when Gil lifted the latch and entered the warm kitchen, the fire gently smoking beneath a kettle, the room was empty. They silently filed in, and Merton softly closed the door again. Voices drifted down the passageway from the front of the house, a low murmur at first, then louder. Eventually, there were footsteps, the inner door opened and the astonished faces of the lodgekeeper and his wife appeared.

  “What the devil is going on?” the lodgekeeper said. “What are you all doing here? What do you want of us?”

  “Nothing at all,” Gil said. “Only the use of your cottage for a few hours. We are engaged in an important mission for the constables from York, who will be along shortly. You are providing a great service to His Majesty’s law and the safety of the good people of Yorkshire by aiding us.”

  “Oh,” the lodgekeeper said, round-eyed. “Well, if it’s for His Majesty…”

  His wife was less easily subdued. “Who are ye, anyway? Honest folk don’t sneak into other folk’s homes like this, pretending to be a vicar, too. It’s not right.”

  “I am the Marquess of Carrbridge,” Carrbridge said in his loftiest manner. “These are my brothers — Lord Gilbert, Lord Humphrey, Lord Augustus, Lord Reginald. Mr Merton is my secretary. You have already met Lord Montague, who truly is a clergyman. He is parson at Kirby Grosswick.”

  Monty beamed at her, as she looked from one to the other, still not entirely convinced. “The Marquess of Carrbridge?”

  “Look, here is my card,” Carrbridge said. “And here is my watch, you see, engraved with my name. ‘Francis Marford, Earl of Deveron’ That was before I became marquess, of course.” He dangled it on its chain.

  “How typical of you still to have your watch, brother,” Gil said.

  “Well, naturally! Do you mean that you no longer have yours?”

  “Lost it at faro long since,” Gil said.

  “Well, really, Gil! Is nothing sacred to you? Your own watch, engraved with your name, given to you by Mama with her own hands, and you offered it in a wager?”

  “Several times, actually.”

  “He is not alone,” Humphrey said. “I won mine back a few times, but Wareham disappeared with it in the end. He always was a scoundrel.”

  “Well, of all the—!” Carrbridge began, but the lodgekeeper’s wife burst out laughing.

  “Aye, ye be brothers, sure enough. Harold, fetch the gentlemen some ale. Sit ye down, milords, and make yeselves at home. I’ll just fetch the apple pie through from the pantry.” She surreptitiously tucked Carrbridge’s card away in a fold of her apron, as if worried that he might claim it back again.

  “What an excellent woman you are, madam,” Gil said.

  She dimpled at him, and bobbed a curtsy. “Call me Fanny, milord, please do.”

  After that it was easy enough. The York constables arrived not long after, in time to see the two Northumberland constables pass by in a plain carriage on their way to the house. Then, in small numbers, the various grooms and gardeners, who settled in the small byre at the back of the lodge, whispering together. Last of all, Gen arrived with a large portmanteau.

  “What are you doing here?” Gil hissed. “This might be dangerous! I do not want you anywhere near Sharp.”

  “Don’t worry, I shall stay well out of sight, but I can help if anyone is injured.”

  “Let us hope it does not come to that,” Monty said worriedly.

  “Now we are equipped for every eventuality,” Humphrey said cheerfully. “Lady Gil for the bloody noses, and Monty for the last rites.”

  Gil and Gus laughed, but Monty looked horrified. “You do not think—? No, surely not! It will not come to that… will it?”

  “I think he may be teasing you, Lord Montague,” Genista said.

  “Oh, very likely. Humphrey never takes anything seriously. But you really must call me Monty. Everybody does.”

  She blushed, as she always did at kindness, as if she never expected anyone to be kind to her. Gil smiled, his heart overflowing with love for his gentle wife.

  “Thank you… but it seems disrespectful to the son of a marquess.”

  Monty shook his head. “But you are family now, Lady Gil, so you need not stand on ceremony.” His eyes twinkled and he whispered conspiratorially, “Especially if you have inherited your father’s disdain for the nobility. He called me Mr Marford, you know, and he talked of Gil as Captain Marford. Quite a character, your father.”

  “I beg your pardon, I—”

  “Oh, no, no, no! I did not mean to make you uncomfortable. He is an eccentric, and we have a few of those in our own family. We also have our share of the sort of people your father despises — rich, idle wastrels, who spend their lives in selfishness and indolence, creating nothing nor engaged in useful occupation. Those are the besetting sins of my class.”

  “Every class has its own besetting sins,” she said quietly. “Those of my class are envy and greed and ambition and a horrid sort of two-faced insincerity, where wickedness is kept quiet so that a man might go smiling to church on Sundays. I believe I prefer your class, Lord Montague, for although many are indolent and pursue only pleasure, a rich man has the power to do great good. Look at Lord Carrbridge, who is having a hospital built to serve the poor. What greater charity could there be?”

  “But that is part of the responsibility laid on us,” Monty said. “We have been given great wealth and power, but we are expected to rule with wisdom and compassion. That is the point of the expensive education we undertake. We have not been given freedom from the need to plough and harvest and grind our own flour in order to play faro. Carrbridge is a magistrate who dispenses justice. He sits in the House of Lords, and helps to run the country. He might advise the King or the Royal Princes, or speak for the country in foreign courts. It has taken him a few years but he is finally taking up the mantle of his responsibilities.”

  “I have never felt worthy of the position,” Carrbridge said, overhearing. “I was so young when I came into my honours — just twenty-one, far too young. And I am not the cleverest of us, or the most worthy, or the bravest. Why should it be me? Why not Harriet, for that matter? Nothing would have defeated her. She would have made a wonderful marquess, if only she had been a man.”

  “And if she had been older than you,” Gil said, laughing.

  “Oh, very true,” Carrbridge said, laughing. “But I have finally come to accept my destiny, Lady Gil. I am a marquess, and I cannot have all the advantages without accepting the duties as well. I want to do some good in the world, if I can, within my limited capabilities. And if ever I am unsure what to do, I have five brothers who will all give me the benefit of their opinion.”

  “Five brothers and a sister,” Genista said. “Do not forget Lady Harriet.” Carrbridge bowed to acknowledge the point.

  Gil raised her hand to his lips and gently kissed it. “Now this is the lady I remember from Lavender Cottage, who was not afraid to speak her mind. Welcome back!”

  She laughed, and, as he had known she would, turned bright red.

  “There is a carriage coming,” Humphrey said. “The constables are coming back.”

  The room fell silent, as the sound of carriage wheels crunching over the gravel drew nearer. Was it possible that they had managed to arrest Sharp and Mrs Ballard? Gil and Carrbridge moved to a window overlooking the drive. The carriage drew near, they had a clear view through the window of the constable inside, he shook his head. Then the carriage rolled out of the gates and away through the village.

  “How long will it be before they try to escape, do you think?” Carrbridge said.

  Gil
considered. “It is past noon now, and unless they have another house very near by, they will need to stay at an inn overnight. They will not dare to delay long. Two hours, maybe three. Money and a few clothes is all they will need initially.”

  Carrbridge nodded.

  “So now we wait.”

  28: A Confrontation

  After a while, the lodgekeeper was sent out to close the gates. Gil was reluctant to entrust the task to him, in case he decided to abandon his wife and run away to raise the alarm, but the couple seemed to have accepted the idea that it was a secret mission for the King. Sending anyone else would have been a greater risk, since the gates were clearly visible from the village. But the lodgekeeper did his job, returning with a conspiratorial grin, and not asking any of the awkward questions that Gil had expected.

  Then they waited.

  After an hour, two women came to the closed gates on the village side and peered through the bars. “Fanny? Harold? Is everything all right?” they called. But no one answered and after a while they went away again.

  Then, an hour or so later, a woman came and tried to push the gates open. They were barred on the inside, so it was impossible, but she rattled and pushed and pulled. “Pa? Are ye in there? Ma? Anyone home? It’s Lucy. What’s goin’ on?”

  The lodgekeeper’s wife looked at Carrbridge, but he shook his head and raised a finger to his lips.

  “Ma, answer me! Pa! Open t’gates!”

  It seemed an age before she gave up and went away again. Gil released his breath gustily. “Have you any more children who might come looking for you?” he said to the lodgekeeper.

  “Not in t’village, no. A niece in t’kitchens o’ t’big house, tha’s all. Not her day off, so she won’t come by.”

  But others in the household could and did come by. Not five minutes after Lucy had finally gone away, two women, rather drably dressed, strolled down the drive from the house, and stopped dead at the sight of the closed gates.

  “Miss Haversmith, governess to the young ladies, and Miss Platt, lady’s maid to Mrs Richard,” whispered the lodgekeeper’s wife. “They have friends they visit in the village.”