*
John and Silas were riding along a dirt road that snaked past a small village. The peasants were working in the fields, and looked up at the two Englishmen. Despite their years in India and a tan deeper than any they could have gained in England, they were both much fairer than these southern Indians. Both had blond hair that had been bleached from years in the hot sun, blue eyes, high cheekbones and aquiline noses. Many people had commented on how alike they were, and asked if they were twins. John, always easygoing, had laughed, but it had irritated Silas, though he hid his reaction from his half-brother. Because John had been born in wedlock he would inherit everything. Silas was well aware that the old Earl had treated him with unusual generosity, but it wasn't enough. He was six months older than John, and in his own estimation much cleverer. He had frequently helped John out of scrapes when they were both at Oxford. While they had been in India it had been his schemes that had enabled them to win so often at cards, their cheating undiscovered. John's failings back in England had been because he was careless, too confident of his own ability, when his dupes had soon realised what was happening. They'd been far more successful in India, but the big prizes had eluded them. Now, going back home, it would be John who would have everything. In the letter which had come from that stuffy old lawyer there had been no mention of him, no legacy such as he might have expected. Silas was finding it more difficult of late to hide years of resentment. And he suspected John would not be as willing to be guided by him as he had been. He'd shown signs of restiveness during the last year or so, arguing against Silas's plans. When he was at home, with wealth and a title, and everyone kowtowing to him, he might turn against the man who had supported him, kept him out of trouble, for almost twenty years.
They came to a small but turbulent river, its banks covered with thick bushes, and bigger trees ahead. The track down to the water was steep, but the horses negotiated it and plodded through the swirling torrent. As they clambered up the far side, John was leading. Silas's mount stumbled, and halted, and it took a few moments before Silas was able to urge it forward. As the horse moved, limping on one of his fore legs, there was a whistling noise, and something hurtled past Silas's head.
John gave a sharp cry, and slumped in the saddle. His horse, startled, set off at a gallop along the track, which soon disappeared into the thick belt of trees. As Silas urged his own horse on, he saw John falling. He fell and rolled on the stony ground, then lay still. Silas dragged out his pistol and loosed off a shot in the direction of the bushes, where he could see rustling. Someone had been hidden there, but why should they attack travellers? For theft?
Silas's horse was struggling, and before they came up to John it stopped, hopelessly lame. Cursing loudly Silas, looking round him for their assailant, pulled out his other pistol from the saddle holster, threw himself off and ran towards John. There was a knife buried in his neck, and blood flowing freely from the wound. John was breathing deeply, and one leg was twisted awkwardly beneath him.
'Get help!' he gasped, groaning. 'Go back to the village. I think my leg's smashed.'
Silas shook his head. A temptation he had often wished, to be rid of John, was suddenly a possibility.
'Too late, old boy,' he said. 'It must have been one of the villagers who threw this knife. If I leave you they'll come and finish you off. Like this.'
He bent down and dragged the knife free. More blood spurted from the wound, and John cried out in pain.
'You'll die whatever I do,' Silas said softly. 'So as a last service to my dear brother, I'll make it easy for you.'
John stared at him, uncomprehending. His eyes were already glazing over as Silas plunged the knife deep into his chest, and he was unable to do more than give a faint groan. Again Silas wielded the knife, this time into his stomach, and he twisted it round until John lay still. Silas searched the body. He stripped off the money belt and fastened it round his own waist. He tore off the signet ring John had always worn and thrust it onto his own finger. Then he found John's papers and the loose money he had been carrying, stuffed it all into his own pockets, and leaving his brother, he went to retrieve his own belongings from the injured horse. He soon captured the horse John had been riding, which had halted a hundred or so yards further along the track. No one had approached them after that first attack, but he kept one pistol in his hand as he rode on. Within the forest it would be more difficult for anyone to throw a knife, and he doubted if these peasants had horses to follow him. He had a sudden opportunity, and needed to think, to plan.
*
CHAPTER 2
Silas, wearing the new and sober, but expensive clothes he had purchased before joining the ship, stood with his hands on the ship's rail as the stately vessel moved slowly from the quay. His knuckles were white as he gripped hard. So far his luck had held, but until he was well out at sea he couldn't relax. Even now, if there were anyone on board who knew him and John well, he might face difficulties. He and John had been very similar in looks. John was an inch or so taller, and slimmer, and his blond hair had been a shade darker, but unless they were together for comparison it would be a brave man who would swear to his real identity. And they could never again be together. John was dead. And because he had made sure to leave nothing on the body that could identify his brother, it would be a million to one chance the body would be identified before he was buried. He had destroyed his own documents, there was nothing on him that might betray him. He was the Earl of Escott, mourning his father, and going home to claim his inheritance. He must forget everything that had happened in the twenty years he'd been away from England, and behave according to his new dignity.
He flinched nervously as someone spoke behind him. He turned round and met the friendly gaze of a man with military bearing, tall and dark with a deep tan that showed up his bright blue eyes. He was smiling at Silas. His heart sank. Were there soldiers on this ship? Then he told himself not to be foolish. He hadn't been with the Company or the army for almost twenty years. No one from that time would recognise him. This man was too young to have been in the army then. And even if anyone did suspect, he reminded himself he was now John Escott. There was no one to dispute it.
'I'm told this is one of the faster ships,' the man said. 'I can't say I relish the notion of six months at sea, so let us hope it will cut off a few weeks. The name's Gerard Holbeck.'
Silas swallowed. He'd had no problems introducing himself as John to officials, but this was his first test with a fellow Englishman.
'John Escott,' he managed.
'Escott? The Earl of Escott's son? I was at Eton and Oxford with an Escott, Lucien. He must be your cousin.'
'Yes, indeed.' This was another test he would have to face, Silas thought, meeting his relatives. 'His father died a few years ago. He was just a boy when we – when I came to India.'
'Your father is dead as well now, I heard. My deepest commiserations. So you must be the new Earl. We are in the same boat. My father died a few months ago, and my mother is going home. I've resigned from the army, have to take over the family business, but I'll be doing it from England. I've had quite enough of India, and I have reliable deputies here.'
He nodded and moved away and Silas breathed a sigh of relief. If the man was travelling independently there might not be other soldiers on board.
While they had been talking the ship had moved out of the bay, and the sails picked up the wind. Silas felt the motion and remembered the voyage out. John had revelled in it, even when they encountered bad weather and the ship had been tossed around. He'd spent several miserable days in the cabin until his stomach had become used to the swaying, but even then he'd only been comfortable when the sea was calm and the deck motionless. He'd forgotten that, but if he were to claim what he knew was his due, he'd have to endure it. He would, though, retreat to his cabin before the sea became even rougher as they sailed further from land.
*
Amanda returned to Beech Court full of the joys of London. Lady
Charlotte had taken her there for two weeks in order to purchase the basics of a wardrobe ready for her come out in the Spring.
'You'll never believe how many gowns I shall need!' she said as they ate dinner the day she returned. She sipped her wine. 'Aunt Charlotte bought me dozens, or is having them made, but she wouldn't allow me to bring any home. They have to stay in Berkeley Square. I think she suspected I would wear them in the village, to parade them in front of everyone. I promised her I wouldn't damage them, but she wouldn't listen! And she didn't make me choose half-mourning for Uncle William,' she added with satisfaction.
'He will have been dead for a year by the time the Season starts,' he reminded her.
Lucien regarded Amanda with a fond smile. His sister was intelligent, had excelled at her boarding school, but in looks she was a pretty child still. Small and dainty, she had a round face, snub nose, and honey-gold hair. He was the only Escott who was, thanks to his mother, dark. Amanda was eighteen, it was high time he looked about for a suitable husband.
'Never mind. Aunt Charlotte will make sure you have all you need. Did you buy shawls and reticules as well?'
'Yes, and pelisses and sandals and fans and even hats. Oh, Lucien, you'll die when you see the most delightful poke bonnet! But Aunt said I'd need as many hats as gowns, and pelisses and cloaks too. She even insisted I had new nightgowns!' She giggled and drank more wine. 'I can't think who she imagined would see them!'
'Well, if you meet the man you'll marry, they could become part of your trousseau.'
Amanda shook her head and twinkled at him across the table, once more drinking from her wine glass. Lucien shook his head as the butler approached to top it up, and Sawyer, who had been with the family since before Lucien was born, nodded and with a slight smile stepped back.
'No, they are not at all suitable. They are plain, and so are the boring night caps, no frills or lace, not at all like the ones I saw Lizzie buy when she was married last year. They were so fine they were almost transparent! They made me blush, but I suppose if only your husband sees them it's not indelicate.'
'Not at all,' Lucien said, endeavouring not to smile. He had seen and, he recalled, enjoyed removing such garments from his mistresses. He doubted Lizzie's nightgowns were as indecorous as some he'd seen, though.
'It's fortunate Grandmama left me such a huge fortune,' Amanda said thoughtfully, 'or I'd never be able to afford everything Aunt says I'll need. I mean to buy a sporting carriage too. Should I have a curricle or phaeton? I saw one woman driving a high-perch phaeton, and everyone was staring. I'd love them all to look at me when I drive in the Park!'
Lucien swallowed his first remark. He had experienced Amanda's driving when he let her take the reins of the gig or the governess cart, but he didn't wish to dampen this excitement.
'First, you must improve your driving skills,' he said mildly. 'If the weather is clement during the next few months I must give you lessons.'
'Really?' She leapt up and ran round the table to hug him. 'You've never offered to teach me before. Why, I heard you didn't ever drive ladies in London. Lucien, you are the best ever brother a girl could have! Can we go out tomorrow? Please!'
'If the weather is fine enough.'
What the devil had he let himself in for with such a rash promise?
'In your high-perch?'
'Not yet,' he said hastily. Even if it damped her spirits he had to be realistic. 'You must start with just one horse and the gig, and when I think you can manage two, we'll try the curricle.'
Amanda frowned, then smiled.
'Cautious brother!' she teased. 'I've driven the gig for years.'
He refrained from reminding her of the occasional collisions with gateposts, even with the vicar's own gig, and that right in the middle of the village.
'With that fat slug of a pony who has to be whipped to make him trot. I never saw him go faster,' he said, grinning. 'We'll try with one of the carriage horses.'
'That's famous! I'll be a crack whip by March! I'll cut such a dash in the Park. Oh, I can hardly wait for the Season to start!'
*
By the time they were rounding the Cape Silas had found his sea legs. Perhaps the sea was calmer, or after years in India his stomach had become stronger. He spent more time on deck, and came to know several of the passengers. He was now used to being addressed as 'My lord' and was confident he could carry off the imposture when they arrived in England. He would, he decided, spend a few weeks in London before travelling to Escott Priory. He'd need more fashionable clothes, and his money was running low. He'd probably not be able to draw on his new inheritance before he had seen the family lawyer. He'd need to be cautious, but he should be able to win enough during the rest of the voyage for casual expenses. Clothes he could buy on tick.
By talking with other passengers he had discovered that Gerard Holbeck's father had been a wealthy merchant, exporting silks and jewels and spices to England. Mrs Holbeck, swathed in mourning gowns and several shawls whatever the weather, usually clutching a smelling bottle, could often be seen sitting on the deck and chatting to other women. There was a daughter, too, Fanny. Eighteen years old she was an artist, he learned, and spent most of her time sketching scenes on the ship. He'd managed to speak to her a few times, but she had done no more than give him a distracted smile as she went on with her drawing. She was small with delicate bones, and curly dark hair that refused to stay confined by ribbons. She wore simple muslin gowns in shades of lavender or grey, but they did not hide her shapely figure. He needed to discover the extent of her fortune. It might be easier to win an heiress during this voyage than go to all the trouble of spending months in London doing the pretty to people he despised, while competing with other men on the lookout for wealthy brides. What did he care if she came from merchant stock? It was the fortune that mattered, and she was a pretty wench, which was a bonus.
Her brother Gerard was not often on deck. He told Silas he had brought along a trunk full of papers to do with the business, and was trying to make sense of them before he had to take hold of the reins back in London.
'I'm not familiar with what my father did, where all his goods came from, and he imported from America when Britain was not at war with her, as well as China and the Spice Islands. My mother never took any interest in the business. I truly believe Fanny knows more about it than she does. And I've never had to understand financial ledgers before,' he said with a rueful laugh. 'If I'm not to make a fool of myself when we get to London I have to be able to talk sensibly to my managers there.'
'Will you make your home in London?'
'Oh yes. I shall need to live there most of the time, but my mother may prefer the country. We already have a house in town, but it's been let while Papa was in India. He only came out five years ago, when he expanded the business, but I was there for eight years, from the time I finished at Oxford. I only ever wanted to be a soldier, and I'll always regret missing the Peninsular campaign and Waterloo. I chose the wrong regiment,' he added. 'And there's the country place, too. It's near yours, I believe. Isn't Escott Priory in Shropshire?'
'Yes, near Ludlow.'
'We are a few miles to the north of Shrewsbury, but the house there is also let until the end of the year. We will go there afterwards.'
This seemed promising. Wherever the Holbecks were he could ensure he was within easy reach, making frequent contact. He hoped, however, to settle the business before they reached England, and to that end made himself agreeable to Mrs Holbeck whenever he found her on deck.
He had planned to find kindred spirits on board and occupy his time playing cards. He would also, he hoped, in this way be able to increase the ready money. In keeping with his new dignity he had acquired the best cabin, but that left him with insufficient to maintain himself in style in London until he could contact the Earl's bankers. However, after one day overhearing Mrs Holbeck telling another army widow how much she deplored all forms of gaming, he decided he must refrain. He could easily fin
d a few pigeons to pluck once he reached London.
*
Gerard looked up as the door to his cabin opened, and smiled at his sister as she slid round it. The soft dove grey of her half-mourning gown suited her dark prettiness. Their mother still wore unrelieved black, but Gerard had insisted it wasn't appropriate for his little sister, and despite Mama resorting to her smelling salts, as was her habit when thwarted, he had bought Fanny several grey and lilac gowns for the voyage.
'Are you busy?' She indicated the piles of papers spread around him, almost covering the bed.
'Never too busy to talk to you, Fanny. This is such tedious business, I'm happy to stop for a while.'
He cleared a space on the bed and indicated to her to sit down. She smiled at him, but she didn't look happy. He wondered if the long voyage was making her weary.
'How much more do you have to do?'
'Not a great deal, I hope. I've sorted out most of the papers, and I think I understand Papa's system now. I won't feel quite such a fool when I have to talk about it to his managers in London. Why, are you bored? Do you want more of my company?'
'No, I understand you have to read all these business papers, though I shall be glad to get to England. I am so bored with the ship, and I can hardly remember London, or Stanways. I was just a child when we left.'
'We'll be stopping at Madeira for a day soon, and you'll be able to go on land. Then we're almost home.'
She sighed. 'I shall be so glad. But it's this stop in Madeira I'm worried about. Will you take me ashore, please?'
Earl from India Page 2
