by Mary Nichols
Chapter Eleven
The Earl was in the stables talking to Greaves, whom he had amply rewarded for his quick thinking and bravery by promoting him to head groom, giving him a fat purse and a cottage on the estate. He turned when Miles entered the stables looking for him.
‘There you are,’ he greeted him. ‘I was just talking to Greaves about replacing Caesar. That mare of yours is too docile by far, you want a horse with some spirit. I heard about a well-bred stallion for sale in Swaffham and thought I might buy it for you. How about going to look at it?’
Since the fire the Earl had changed, become less bombastic, more tolerant. It was as if the flames had cauterised whatever it was that had made him like he was. Perhaps the gift of a horse was meant as a peace offering. It gave Miles hope, though he was well aware that, proud and stubborn as his father was, it would take a huge effort for him to climb down. The trip to Swaffham might afford the opportunity to talk to him without the risk of him walking away if he did not like the way the conversation was going. ‘Yes, I could do that. When were you thinking of going?’
‘In an hour.’
‘Then I shall be ready.’
He went indoors and climbed the stairs to the sick room. Helen was sitting in a chair by the window wrapped in blankets while the nurse changed the sheets on the bed. He fetched a chair and joined her. She turned to look at him. He looked tired, his eyes heavy beneath his singed eyebrows. ‘Have your visitors gone?’
‘Yes, they did not stay long.’
‘Am I to congratulate you on your betrothal?’
‘No. There are important matters to resolve before I can think of marrying anyone.’
‘Oh.’ She did not know quite what to make of that. What important matters? The dowry, perhaps, marriage settlements, repairing and refurbishing the Manor?
‘How are you, Helen?’ He spoke softly so that the nurse could not hear him.
‘Better, I think, though my burns are still a little painful.’
‘I expect they will be for a while yet. I wish we had arrived on the scene sooner; I might have prevented some of it.’
‘But you did arrive and saved my life. I cannot thank you enough for that.’
‘Think nothing of it, I do not. I am glad I was there because if anything had happened to you because I failed to do what I could, I should not have been able to live with myself. Can you tell me how it happened? Did you turn a lamp over or something like that?’
‘No, it started downstairs after I had locked up for the night. I went round as I always do to make sure all the lamps and candles were out and the fires doused. I am sure I left nothing burning. I cannot think how it started and it took hold so quickly. If you had not come I should have burned to death.’ The thought of what might have happened made her shudder.
‘Thank the good Lord you did not. You are here and safe. Do you think someone could have started the fire deliberately?’
‘I did wonder about that, but why would they? And if they did, did they mean to kill me or simply damage the building beyond repair?’
‘I think probably the latter. With all the paper and your books down there, the shop would have burned like a furnace once it was alight. Whoever it was would not have been able to control it.’ He paused. ‘Did you see or hear anyone?’
‘No. Only the fire crackling and the windows blowing out.’ She gave a cracked laugh. ‘And I had only just replaced them, too.’
‘I intend to get to the bottom of it,’ he said. ‘If it was deliberate, it will not go unpunished. I have asked the men on the Co-operative to keep their eyes and ears open. Did you have any fire insurance?’
‘A little, but it was so dear I could only afford enough for the fire engine to come and douse the fire, not to rebuild or replace the press. It was old anyway. How badly is the building damaged?’
‘I went to look. The walls are standing, but the interior and the roof have gone. It is in a dangerous state and will have to be pulled down.’
‘Then I have lost everything. Oh, Miles, what am I to do?’
He reached out and laid a hand on her arm above the bandages, longing to do more to reassure her that she had nothing to worry about, that he would look after her for the rest of her life, but it was too soon. He had first to solve the problem of Verity Somerfield to everyone’s satisfaction ‘Not quite everything,’ he said. ‘I found this.’ He reached into his pocket and withdrew the necklace she had been holding when the fire started. Its green stones glittered against the bandages on his hands as he held it up to her, though the silver setting was blackened. ‘I saw it shining among the ashes. It is the one you wore at the Assembly dance, is it not?’
‘Yes. Oh, I am so glad you rescued it. It belonged to my mother. I was not aware of its existence until I went through the trinket box after Papa’s death.’
‘I believe it might be valuable.’
‘Do you think so? I thought it was paste, though it is very pretty.’
‘Shall I have it valued for you?’
‘Yes, please, but I doubt it will help me out of my predicament, do you?’
‘No, but you are not to worry about it. You do nothing for the moment except recover and then we will decide what is to be done.’
‘We?’ she echoed.
He smiled. ‘You did not think I would let you bear it alone, did you?’
‘But I am a burden to you. And it is not fitting…’
‘You are not a burden and as for it not being fitting, that is nonsense. And where else would you go? Now I am going to Swaffham to buy a horse to replace Caesar.’ He stood up and bent over her to kiss her forehead. ‘Do not worry. All will be well.’
She watched him leave the room and then sank back in her chair, touching the spot where his lips had pressed. Why had he done that? Why was he kind to her when it would be better if he were indifferent, then she might not be so torn apart by loving him? He was nothing like his father, he cared about people, cared about her, but not enough to love her. It was all very well to tell her not to worry, but how could she help it? The nurse came to help her back into bed and she lay back against the pillows in despair.
Fancy Miles thinking that necklace might be valuable. She was sure he was mistaken; her parents had never been wealthy and when her father had been taken to court by the Earl, he would surely have remembered if there was something he could sell to pay the fine. On the other hand, if it was something her mother treasured, he would have been reluctant to do that. If her mother had treasured it, she had never worn it. If Miles was right and it was worth a little money, selling it might mean the difference between managing her life and penury. It might fetch enough to buy her some clothes. Without clothes she could not even leave the sick room.
‘Here, miss, drink this,’ the nurse said. ‘It will ease the pain and help you to sleep.’ A small glass was put to her lips and she drank obediently, though it tasted bitter. Her last thought before she drifted off was of Miles. Why did she have to go and fall so hopelessly in love with the son of her implacable foe, a man about to become engaged to someone else? As soon as she was strong enough to leave, she would take herself off, away from the source of her misery. But where? Everything was going round and round in her head, her thoughts too muddled to make sense.
* * *
Miles joined his father in the coach and they set off for Swaffham, about fifteen miles distant. They were silent for a time, while Miles cogitated how to begin asking his questions. ‘Miss Wayland is recovering slowly,’ he said.
‘Good.’
‘It looks likely that the fire was started deliberately.’
‘Who would want to do that?’ The Earl twisted round to face his son. ‘I may have wanted her out of town and no longer tormenting me, but if you think—’
‘No, Father, I do not think that at all. You are not the only adversary she has. She has ruffled quite a few feathers in her time at the Record. I have put some men onto making enquiries.’
‘I dou
bt you will find a culprit now.’
‘Perhaps not, but in view of the fact that she is ruined, you will withdraw that court summons, won’t you? You no longer have anything to gain by it.’
‘Oh, but I have. I want you married to Verity Somerfield.’
‘Verity Somerfield does not want to marry me.’
‘She will do as her father bids her.’
‘I hope not. I hope she will have the courage to stand up to him. We should not suit and both of us would be made miserable. Is that what you want?’
‘Oh, come, it is not as bad as that. You do not have to live in each other’s pockets, you know. You will have your own interests to occupy you, though I hope they do not include mixing with the lower orders as you do now, and she will have her wifely duties. I am persuaded she knows what is expected of her. What more do you want?’
‘I want a strong affection between us, a meeting of minds, interests in common. I want to love and respect the woman I marry.’
‘Pshaw, that is sentimental nonsense.’ ‘You may think so, but for me it is essential.’ ‘You are besotted by Miss Wayland, I know that, but it cannot be, Miles.’
‘Sir, I am of age, I do not have to ask your permission to marry, nor who my bride should be. Miss Wayland is all I hope for in a wife—gentle, forbearing, intelligent and hard working, besides being very beautiful. She cares for those around her and helps those in need…’ ‘I know all that. Her mother was the same…’ ‘How well did you know her mother?’ ‘I knew her when she was Eleanor Brent and lived at Ravensbrook Manor.’
‘And? I am persuaded there is more to it than that. Did you love her?’
‘I was betrothed to her.’ ‘Betrothed?’ Miles repeated in astonishment. ‘Yes. Is that so extraordinary? We were both from good families who had been friends and neighbours for years. There was a grand ball. Everyone was there, including a whole tribe of her Brent relations. She looked magnificent in a blue-green gown and emeralds at her throat…’ His voice faded and his eyes clouded, as he remembered.
‘What happened? Why didn’t you marry her?’
‘One night the Manor went up in flames. The fire engine was sent from Warburton and everyone from miles around ran to hand buckets of water to try to put it out, but by then it had taken hold and nothing could be saved. Lord and Lady Brent were in the part of the house where the fire started and could not be rescued, but we pulled Eleanor out alive.’
‘We?’ Miles queried.
‘Henry Wayland and I. Eleanor was taken to Ravens Park to recover. She was suffering from the smoke, but not badly burned. Henry Wayland called every day to ask how she was.’
‘Was he a printer then?’
‘No. He was a curate.’
‘A what?’ Miles was astounded.
‘A curate, a man of the cloth. He hardly had a penny to his name. His visits were allowed because everyone thought it was part of his parish duty to visit the sick, but they went on even after she had recovered. Fool that I am, I allowed it. One day Eleanor disappeared, took herself off and then it was discovered Henry Wayland was missing, too. There was a terrible scandal. The Brent relations cut Eleanor out of their lives and Wayland was defrocked. I found out they had married and gone to live in London.’
What he had been told was a revelation, but it explained a great deal and for the first time Miles felt real sympathy for his father. It perhaps explained why he had become ill-tempered and autocratic and why his poor mother had suffered and was still suffering. ‘I am sorry, Father, I did not know any of this. How much of it does my mother know?’
‘I cannot be sure. I did not meet her until a little time after the fire, but she may have heard the rumours. Nothing was ever said between us. We married and you were born and all might have been well if Henry Wayland had not come back to Warburton years later and set up his newspaper.’
‘I had joined my regiment by then.’
‘Yes. Why on earth they decided to return I cannot imagine, unless it were done to rub my nose in my humiliation.’
‘So that is how the feud came about,’ Miles said. ‘It is hardly surprising, but is it reason enough to hate Helen?’
‘She is the image of her mother. Every time I see her I am reminded. Even that might have been bearable if she had not taken over where Wayland left off and waged a campaign against me.’
‘And that was why you wanted her out of our lives.’
‘Can you blame me?’
‘Perhaps not, but Helen is not her mother, Father.’
‘She has enough of her mother in her to have inherited some of her bad blood.’
‘Nonsense! All she has inherited are these.’ He pulled the necklace from his pocket. ‘I found them in the ruins of the shop after the fire. Helen thinks they are paste, but I am not so sure.’
‘They are not paste,’ his father said. ‘They are real emeralds. What are you doing with them?’
‘Helen asked me to have them valued.’
‘Does she want you to sell them?’
‘I do not know. I shall have to ask her. I imagine she will be reluctant, but if they are all she has, she might be forced to part with them.’
‘You will not get the best price in Swaffham, you know. Better take them to London. They should make enough to start her up in a new business venture somewhere away from Warburton.’
‘Only if you stop that court case.’
‘We are back to that, are we? You know the conditions.’
‘Those have surely gone by the board since the fire and Helen came to Ravens Park to recover.’
‘I am tired of your quizzing, Miles, leave it be.’ The Earl leaned back in his seat and deliberately shut his eyes. ‘I will speak to Sobers; more than that I will not promise.’
It was a small step and Miles could not be sure his father meant it, but he could go no further until he knew what Helen wanted. If the stones were real, then she would not be as destitute as they had thought, but then she might assert her independence and leave Warburton as she had planned and he did not want that. More than ever he was determined to make her his wife. If only she would have him. He could not even be sure of that.
* * *
His father was right about the necklace, he discovered, when his first call on reaching Swaffham was to consult a reputable jeweller. The stones were particularly fine and he was offered several thousand pounds for them. He thanked the jeweller, put the necklace back in his pocket and rejoined the Earl, waiting outside in the coach.
‘You were right,’ he said, getting back in the vehicle and directing the driver to take them to the horse dealer. ‘They are worth a small fortune.’
‘I knew that. I bought them. They were my betrothal gift. Now, can we concentrate on looking at this horse?’
* * *
The animal, called Pewter on account of its dark-grey coat, proved to be a good buy, sound in wind and limb and with a spirited temperament that would repay firm handling. Miles had brought his saddle and, after mounting and trotting the animal up and down for some minutes, decided he would have it, but insisted on paying for it himself. Leaving his father enjoying a meal in the George, he set off for home. He wanted, more than anything, to see Helen, though what he would say to her, he did not know. Knowing the reason for the enmity between their fathers did not solve his problems. Helen had loved her parents and would be distressed to be told the tale and he did not think he would tell her. But would it be a good start to a marriage to keep it from her, especially if she found out from another source? She would hate him for that and turn him down. She might turn him down in any case.
He rode at a canter and then a gallop to test out the horse’s stride, then set it to walk while he gave himself up to thinking how he could resolve the impasse he was in. First he had to settle things with Verity Somerfield without hurting her and without subjecting her to her father’s ire. How to do that occupied several miles and he came to no firm conclusion. Then he had to tell Helen how he felt about her,
that life without her by his side would be barren and empty and if she did not agree to marry him he would be the most miserable being alive. Hardest of all, he had yet to persuade his father to accept the situation and withdraw that writ. Then, somehow or other, the lawyers must get to work and make sure the case was dropped. It was going to take all his ingenuity to bring it all to a successful conclusion. Failure did not bear thinking about.
* * *
Apart from her hands, Helen had not been badly burned and she knew she could not stay under the Earl’s roof a minute longer than she had to. But she had no clothes, not a stitch to her name, no home, no money, no means of earning a living. Whoever had started that fire had well and truly ruined her—not only ruined her, but made her beholden to the Earl of Warburton. And being so close to the man she loved when nothing could come of that love was sheer torture.
She had been looking towards the window, watching the wind swaying the tops of the trees, which was all she could see from the bed, but turned when the door opened, half-expecting Miles and preparing herself to tell him she must leave. But it was the Countess who came into the room, carrying a bundle of clothes, which she laid on the foot of the bed. ‘How are you today, Miss Wayland?’
‘I am feeling much stronger, my lady.’
‘Good. Would you like to dress? I have found some clothes I think will fit you and Nurse will help you into them.’
‘Thank you. You have been very kind to me, but I cannot stay here. It is not fitting.’
‘You are right, my dear, which is why I wrote to your Brent relations. Your cousin, Lord Brent, has come to fetch you.’
‘Lord Brent? How can that be? There were a few Brent relations at my mother’s funeral, but they never wanted anything to do with us.’
