Henry stopped to admire the vista afforded by a break in the trees, and called it to Hugo’s attention. By the time they moved on, the rest of the procession was some distance ahead.
“Hope seems to have taken the news well,” Henry said, keeping his voice low, although no one was near enough to overhear. “I had expected her to be distraught, for she’s a sensitive little thing.”
“There were a few tears,” Hugo admitted. “However, she recognises that it must be a good thing to have Ernest restored to the family.”
“As to that, who can say? But you are still betrothed?” Hugo acknowledged it. “That is no bad thing, for either of you. She has harboured her tendre for Burford quite long enough. Most unnatural in a girl of that age. Given all the admirers she has had, it astonishes me that she never fell for any of them. But it is a good match for you, for you have not two farthings to call your own, apart from the allowance I make you. Hope will make you a good wife, and give you a fine set of Master and Miss Allamonts, I make no doubt.”
Hugo was on the brink of confessing that such an occurrence was unlikely when he remembered Mary’s advice not to tell people about his arrangement with Hope. Besides, his own uncertainty as to the exact situation existing between them made the subject excessively awkward.
Instead he said slyly, “But perhaps I may soon be wishing you happy?”
Henry laughed and demurred, but although he did not admit to the possibility, neither did he deny it.
As they entered the church, Hugo looked at the pews where strangers without acquaintance in the village might sit, but could see no one of Ernest’s age. Miss Endercott confirmed it as soon as he emerged into the churchyard.
“He is not here,” she said without preamble. “All I can find out about him is that he is pleasant enough, seldom talks about himself except to say that he comes from Liverpool, but likes to sit in the taproom of an evening with his valet, chatting to the locals.”
“That is very singular!” Hugo said. “Why would any gentleman do that?”
“That I cannot answer, but he has been overheard to ask questions about Allamont Hall. He has an interest there, perhaps?”
“Does he have his own carriage?” Hugo said, sidestepping the question.
“He arrived on the public coach, and has hired neither horse nor vehicle. When he goes out, he is always accompanied by his valet, and they walk everywhere.”
Hugo frowned and fell silent.
Miss Endercott said gently, “It is not my concern, of course, Mr Allamont, but a man who has honest business at the Hall would present himself at once, and during daylight hours, not creeping about in the dark, as if he wished to hide his face. Nor would he lurk at an inn for a fortnight.”
“A fortnight! He has been here so long?”
“It will be a fortnight this coming Tuesday. I should think he knows everything there is to know about the Hall and its family by now, after all those tankards of ale provided for the villagers and farmers.”
Hugo lost no time in telling his father, James and Burford this interesting news as they ambled back to the Hall.
“That is most helpful,” Henry said. “I must say, Miss Endercott is a positive mine of information. I do not know how she does it, but she is quite a treasure. Still, I am at a loss to account for this behaviour. Why delay making an approach for almost a fortnight? It is inexplicable.”
“Perhaps he wishes to be sure of how matters stand at the Hall before he presents himself,” Burford said, although in doubtful tones. “It would show a high degree of delicacy to ensure one was not encroaching at an inconvenient time.”
“It is difficult to imagine a time which would not be inconvenient for such an appearance,” Henry said.
Hugo thought back to Miss Endercott’s opinion that an honest man would not lurk at an inn for a fortnight, and was obliged to agree with her.
“Such behaviour is not inexplicable if one is of a suspicious nature,” he said ruefully. “One might say that the case is very understandable if a man wished to pass himself off as Ernest, but needed first to find out all he could about the family in order not to be caught out.”
“I have wondered that, too,” James said. “Who would even recognise Ernest after all these years? I am very sure I would not. His mother, perhaps, or his sisters, but even then, there might be some doubt. He has been gone such a long time! This fellow could be anybody.”
“The thought has crossed my mind also,” Henry said. “Yet the timing is against any falsity. The moment for such a deception was surely just after my cousin’s death, and it would have been a man with local connections, knowing the family’s circumstances, who attempted it, surely. Why would any outsider try to perpetuate a fraud now, so close to the end of the five years? How would anyone know of the situation?”
“That may be my fault,” Hugo admitted sheepishly. “I posted notices in various newspapers asking for information about Ernest and Frank, and mentioning that the inheritance of the Hall was at issue. The date by which a claim must be made was also given.”
“When were these notices posted?”
“Three weeks ago.”
“Then we have grounds for suspicion in the timing alone,” Burford said. “But if this man is truly Ernest, he will likely have papers to prove it, and failing that, he will know details from his childhood that only a true member of the family would know.”
“So all we have to do is to ask him questions? Like the name of the scullery maid at the time, or the coachman?” Hugo said.
“Not that, no,” Burford said. “Anybody might know such things. It must be something that only the children would have known. You must ask Mrs Burford and Miss Hope for ideas. They will be bound to recall something to the purpose.”
~~~~~
It was not difficult for the sisters to devise a series of questions which would prove beyond all doubt whether the man at the George and Dragon was indeed Ernest Allamont. Hugo was not minded to delay putting him to the test.
“The sooner we settle this, the better,” he said as the gentlemen sat over their port after dinner that night. “If he does not come again tonight, then I shall go to the George and Dragon tomorrow and question him.”
“Allow me to come with you,” James said. “Two against one.”
“He has his valet, too,” Burford said. “If you will take my advice, I strongly recommend a larger party. If this is indeed Ernest, you are at no risk, but if he is just an opportunist, he may choose to fight his way out of trouble. I have done a little boxing in my time, and I would be very happy to accompany you.”
“Let us all go,” Henry said. “Four of us will discourage any incipient belligerence. Besides, if this is indeed Ernest, I confess to a lively desire to see him for myself, and this way we shall not be transgressing against Sara’s wishes. I suggest we leave early tomorrow, to catch him at his breakfast, but perhaps we need not trouble the ladies with our plans. It will be time enough to enlighten them after it is all over, and the identity of this man is settled.”
6: The George And Dragon
Hugo leapt out of bed the following morning, filled with excitement. After a day of doubt and confusion, he would at last have an answer to the identity of the man who claimed to be Ernest Allamont. He tried not to hope for one answer or the other. Either would be good, he told himself firmly. If this was truly Ernest, then that would be wonderful for the family. But if it was not… a little ripple of excitement ran through him every time he thought of it. If it was not Ernest, then Hugo was exactly where he had hoped to be for so long — the inheritor of Allamont Hall.
He would not be human if he did not yearn for one outcome rather than the other. Two futures lay before him, one of wealth and a position in society and ownership of an estate he had grown to love, and the other one of scratching a living as best he could. He thought of Hope learning to manage on cheap cuts of meat and only two new gowns a year, stitched by her own hand, and his heart ached for her. He wanted
nothing but the best for his betrothed, and scrimping and watching every farthing was very far from the best.
But there was still a chance, if this man was an impostor.
The four men met in the entrance hall, their faces serious. They strode through the woods in silence, with just the rustle of a few fallen leaves underfoot to mark their passage. Even the birds had abandoned their morning chatter in observance of the solemnity of the occasion.
“Let me take the lead,” Henry said to his sons as they approached the inn. “I want to see if he recognises me at all, for I do not suppose I have changed as much as you two have, and Burford he will not know at all. When we need to ask him the questions about his childhood, you may do that, Hugo, for you have the highest stake in this venture.”
They marched into the George and Dragon, and Brodie, the keeper, was there at once to greet them, almost as if he expected to see them. And perhaps he did, Hugo thought, for if Miss Endercott knew of the connection between the supposed Mr White and Allamont Hall, others must do so too. In any event, Brodie displayed no surprise when they asked to be directed to Mr White.
“In the best parlour, Mr Allamont, sir. This way, if you please. Good day to you, Mr James, Mr Hugo, Mr Burford. Take care on the stairs, Polly has been mopping the treads. Just along here, gentlemen.”
“Do not give our names, if you please,” Henry said to him in an undertone.
He nodded, knocked briskly, then threw open the door and stood aside to let them past.
Henry was the first into the room, then James and Hugo. Bringing up the rear, Burford closed the door firmly behind him, then stood in front of it, arms folded. Burford wasn’t a tall man, but there was a solidity to him that was immensely reassuring.
Two men jumped up in alarm from a small table laden with cold meat and breads, tossing their napkins aside. One was a thickset man of perhaps forty, with a nose that looked as if it might have walked into a fist once or twice. The other was younger, perhaps the right age to be Ernest.
“What is the meaning of this?” the older man said, moving round the table to stand protectively in front of the younger man.
“Good morning, Ernest,” Henry said in his blandest tones, leaning his head to look around the obstacle of the older man to the younger man hidden behind. “How splendid of you to return home after all these years. You remember me, I am sure.”
“Of course he does,” the older man said at once, relaxing his stance, and moving aside. “Ernest, come and talk to your cousin.” There was the slightest emphasis on the word ‘cousin’.
The younger man licked his lips, throwing the other an anxious look, but he moved forward willingly enough. “Good morning, Cousin Henry.” His gaze turned to the rest of the party, but he made no attempt to name them.
Hugo stared at him, unsmiling. Was this indeed Ernest? There was nothing about him that looked familiar, but then a boy changed a great deal between the ages of fourteen and twenty five. The hair was a little fairer than he recalled, the face too rounded, the eyes — no, that was wrong. All the Allamont Hall children had their father’s dark eyes, but now Hugo gazed into a pair of soft blue eyes. He smirked.
“You remember my eldest boy, James, of course,” Henry was saying now. “And my youngest, Hugo.”
“Of course. We played together as boys, many times, when you visited from Willowbye.”
Now he was smiling, sure of himself. He was well versed, Hugo had to give him that. All that hanging about in the taproom and plying the locals with ale had certainly paid off.
“You were so good at battledore and shuttlecock,” Hugo said. “And we used to play with that mangy old dog of the head groom’s — what was the creature’s name?”
The young man smiled and shook his head. “I cannot remember. It was a long time ago.”
“But you were very bad sometimes,” Hugo went on. “Do you remember the incident on the stairs? I never thought you would get away with it, it was so outrageous.”
“I know nothing about that,” Henry said, taking his cue from Hugo. “What happened, Ernest?”
He smiled and shook his head. “No, no! I cannot! Let it be forgot.”
“What harm can there be after all these years?” Hugo said, his smile widening. “Tell everyone what you did.”
There was a silence, the young man still smiling although his eyes flicked from one to another. “No, no,” he said, subdued now. “It is too bad to bring up all my childish misdeeds when my character is quite different now.”
“So it is,” Hugo said quietly. “Your character is very different now. So different that I do not even recognise you as my childhood playfellow.”
There was a long silence. The older man’s face hardened and again he moved to protect his young friend.
“There is a public coach passes through the village a little after ten o’clock,” Henry said. “If you hurry, you can be on it before the constables get here.”
“Now just a moment—” the older man began, quite willing to make a fight of it judging by the bunched fists. But the solid form of Burford shifted just a little, and the younger man drew back.
“The game is up, Dick,” he said. “Let’s just get away from this place. I never liked the rig above half anyway.”
“Remember to pay your shot to the innkeeper,” Burford said pleasantly, holding the door open for them.
The younger man whipped through like a rabbit released from a snare, but the older man stuffed as much of the food into his pockets as could be held there and sauntered out with his head high.
~~~~~
Hope discovered that the gentlemen had gone out as soon as she woke the next morning, for her maid was full of the news.
“Mr Henry, Mr James, Mr Hugo and Mr Burford, all on foot and heading towards the village, miss, and Mrs Cooper all agitated, not knowing whether they intend to be back for breakfast or not, for they left no word.”
“I do not know either, Janet, so we will just have to hope they will be back in time. I daresay they would have mentioned it to Young if they had no plan to return.”
She guessed their intent, for why else would they all go to the village so early in the day? There could be no other reason but to talk to Ernest — or whoever it was.
She was dressed and downstairs in time to see the first of their visitors departing, for Mary wished to return to Sir Osborne as soon as may be. Belle was also up and about, and when Mary’s carriage had disappeared down the drive, the two ladies withdrew to the morning room, where they set to work on their stitchery with industry.
“Is he very ill, Sir Osborne?” Hope asked her sister, as she cut a piece of ribbon for a reticule. “For he has always fussed a great deal about his health, and it is difficult to know which part of his concern may be real and which is mere nervousness.”
“He is truly ill, I believe,” Belle said. “Mary is concerned about him, you know, and she is not at all prone to unnecessary anxiety.”
“He coughs a great deal,” Hope said. “I do hope it is not… what I think it may be. For that would be very bad.”
“Consumption.” Belle’s voice was almost a whisper. “That is what Mary fears also, but the physicians she has engaged will not use the word, not unless there is no other possibility. A weak chest, or a prolonged cough, or summer fever — so they term it, even when the summer fever becomes a winter fever without remission. But he has the very best of care, and he may yet defeat it. We must pray that he does.”
“Of course. But how miserable for Mary to be tied to a sick husband, so that she can barely leave her own house for fear of what may happen.”
Belle smiled. “That is a part of marriage — ‘for better or for worse’, is that not how it goes? And Mary is fortunate that her husband is considerate and generous, and does not keep a mistress as Papa did, or gamble away his fortune as poor Mr Wills almost did. All men have their odd little quirks that their wives must learn to live with, as you will discover soon enough.”
; “Oh. What are Mr Burford’s quirks? Oh, I beg your pardon, sister, is it impolite in me to enquire?”
Shaking her head with a smile, Belle said, “Nothing outrageous, I assure you. He frets so over the children. He spends more time in the nursery than I do, I swear, and when he and Nanny get together to discuss an incipient rash, there is no dragging them apart. He will want to be on our way home directly after breakfast, if I know him.”
Hope listened, wide-eyed, to this description and could not reconcile it with her memory of the Mr Burford who had once adored her so much that he could not speak a word, and blushed to the roots of his hair whenever he looked at her. He had been a god-like being who had loved her to the exclusion of all reason. Then he had turned to Belle instead, who had reduced him to the state of a mere man in the mortal realm, a man who found spots and crying babies fascinating. Hope was glad they were happy together, but seeing her hero brought so low was dispiriting.
It was Hope who heard the first distant sound of masculine voices, and then the crunch of gravel. She flew to the window.
“They are coming, and… they are in high spirits.”
What did that mean? It must be good news, but what sort? Had they talked to Ernest?
“It went well, then,” Belle said, in her calm way.
Hope raced out into the entrance hall just as the gentlemen gained the front door. Hugo was the first through, his face alight with joy.
“All is well, Hope!” he cried as soon as he saw her. “We have seen the scoundrel off and we are safe! The Hall is ours!”
He strode across the floor, scooped her into his arms and swung her round.
“Hugo! Put me down!” she squealed.
But he was irrepressible. “You should have seen Papa. He was tremendously clever, for he pretended that he believed it all, and then I followed on with the questions that you and Belle came up with, and of course the fellow had not the least idea. So he is gone, and will trouble us no more.”
“So he was an impostor?”
“Certainly he was. His eyes were quite the wrong colour. The audacity of it! He had seen my advertisement in one of the Liverpool papers, and decided to try to wheedle his way into the family, I daresay. As if we would fall for such nonsense. But we had the better of him, and now all is well.”
Hope (The Daughters of Allamont Hall Book 6) Page 5
