‘I think, though, that to die like this is a blessing, no? To jump into the next world.’ The Empress looked at him directly and Bay saw that there were golden flecks in the dark irises.
Bay nodded. ‘He was riding for a fall. Damn fool was almost blind. Shouldn’t have been out today.’
‘So maybe he chose the manner of his going, Captain Middleton?’ She was still gazing at him and he couldn’t look away.
‘But the waste of it…’ Bay gestured to the dead body of Salamander, but kept his eyes on the Empress’s face.
‘No, no. You must think of it as glorious. He died a free man.’
Bay could hear the noise of the field on the other side of the fence. In a moment they would be surrounded. She was still looking at him. He thought of the blind gallantry of Postlethwaite, charging down the field with no thought of the consequences. He took her hand and kissed it.
She did not pull her hand away immediately. It was Bay who pulled back, as if astonished at his own action.
He was about to apologise, when she spoke. ‘It is only when I am hunting that I feel free. Perhaps it is the same for you, Captain Middleton?’ Her voice was soft and warm but she was not smiling.
‘I have taken a liberty, Your Majesty. Forgive me, I forgot myself.’
He waited for the reprimand, but she only tilted her head a little to one side.
‘Don’t apologise, Captain Middleton. You were paying a tribute to your friend, I believe.’ She smiled then.
Bay tried to smile back. It struck him that she was exactly right; he had been inspired by Postlethwaite’s recklessness.
‘I think Postlethwaite might have kissed both hands,’ Bay said.
Elizabeth laughed. Even though smiling made the skin round her eyes crease, she looked much younger. Bay realised that she had neither been shocked nor surprised by his action.
‘I see I have had a lucky escape. Now, Captain Middleton, could you help me get on my horse?’
Bay linked his hands and bent down so that she could use them as a step. He saw as she drew up the material of her habit that there were no petticoats, and as she put her foot in its elastic-sided boot in his palm he realised that she was wearing suede breeches underneath the riding dress, and he knew that the glimpse had been quite deliberate. His hands shook as she swung herself into the saddle. As she looked down at him, he saw her face regain its regal composure.
‘Thank you,’ and she nodded to him as if he had been a servant.
A Proposal
The huntsmen had arrived with Spencer. The Earl took in the situation and bowed his head for a moment.
‘Who’s down?’ he said to Bay.
‘Postlethwaite. Broke his neck,’ Bay replied.
‘You shot the horse?’ Spencer asked.
‘The leg was broken.’ Bay felt reluctant to admit that it had been the Empress who had administered the coup de grâce to Salamander.
‘Capital fellow, Postlethwaite,’ said the Earl. ‘Shame about the horse.’
Bay helped the grooms lift the gate off its hinges. The unwitting cause of Postlethwaite’s death would serve as a stretcher for his body. It took five men to lift him from under the dead horse. Bay crossed the old man’s hands over his chest and put his silver-handled crop by his side. One of the huntsmen blew a long note on the horn as the grooms picked up the makeshift bier and started to carry it back over the fields.
What was left of the hunt started to make its way back towards Melton. Bay caught up with the Empress but she had pulled her veil down and they rode back to the house in silence. When they reached the house, Count Esterhazy, who had changed into dry clothes, came out to greet her and they rode off together towards Easton Neston. The Empress did not say goodbye to Middleton, but as she set off down the drive she turned and raised her hand in farewell.
Bay watched the Empress ride away down the drive until she was out of sight. As he pulled Tipsy’s head round towards the stable yard he felt the tension in his body. His jaw ached as if he had been clenching it for the last two hours. Dismounting, he felt his legs tremble beneath him. He stood still for a moment, leaning against the wall of the yard, pressing down on his heels, trying to find his balance. Closing his eyes, he waited for the shaking to pass. He had been so reckless earlier, inspired by poor doomed, gallant Postlethwaite.
Bay opened his eyes and saw that Charlotte was standing in front of him, her face screwed up with distress. She put her small white hand on his arm.
‘Oh Bay, I am so sorry.’
He tried to make his face into the appropriate shape.
‘Poor old Postlethwaite. Still, he had a good run of it. Not such a bad way to go.’
A shadow of surprise crossed Charlotte’s face. ‘Colonel Postlethwaite is dead?’
‘Came off after a jump and his horse rolled on top of him. It was very quick.’
The party bringing Postlethwaite’s body back to the house would be arriving soon. Bay took Charlotte’s arm and led her out of the stable yard into the park. It would not do for her to see Postlethwaite’s broken remains being carried back into the house. He could feel her arm trembling under his hand. They walked in silence towards the vista which ended in the Temple of Diana. When they reached the ha-ha, Bay made to open the wicket gate, but Charlotte stopped him.
‘Were you there when Colonel Postlethwaite fell?’ she asked.
‘I didn’t see it happen. I was the other side of the fence, but I was there directly afterwards. He died instantly.’ Bay tried to sound reassuring, remembering that Charlotte’s mother had died in a hunting accident. ‘That kind of thing is over in a second.’
‘And the Empress? Was she there too?’ Charlotte said.
Bay paused. He thought of the Empress holding the pistol at Salamander’s head and his own behaviour after.
He said, ‘Postlethwaite was with us at the head of the field. The Empress was there before I was.’
Bay saw, to his surprise, that Charlotte’s eyes were filled with tears.
‘But what’s the matter? Surely you are not crying for old Postlethwaite, a man you met but once, who died a death of his own choosing?’ He took her small hand between his two palms. ‘Don’t cry for him, Charlotte. He was smiling at the end.’
Charlotte shook her head, as if to scatter the tears. She raised her head and looked directly at him.
‘Will the Empress will be hunting with you again, tomorrow?’
Bay looked at her. He didn’t understand the question, or rather, the urgency behind it. She couldn’t possibly know about his foolish gesture towards the Empress.
‘Well, yes. Spencer has asked me to be her pilot for the whole visit.’
But at that her face relaxed. Bay felt in his pockets for something to dry her eyes, and pulled out a handkerchief with which he dabbed her wet cheeks. It took him a moment to register that the handkerchief was the one that the Empress had given him beside the body of the Colonel. He wondered if Charlotte would notice, but she was too preoccupied to take in what he was wiping her face with.
Charlotte continued, ‘You see, I thought I might have made her angry. When I took the photograph. She put up her fan. And then I saw you next to her, and I was so worried that she would be cross with you, because of me, I mean.’
Bay remembered the hard tilt of the Empress’s jaw behind the fan, and the colour in her cheeks.
‘And I thought you might be tarnished,’ Charlotte burst out. ‘With the connection.’
Bay hesitated. He could not admit to Charlotte that he had not acknowledged the relationship between them, that he had entirely failed to defend her, that he had simply changed the subject. She expected more of him, and he rather liked the version of himself that he saw reflected in her eyes. He would like to be that person, not the man who had kissed the hand of the Empress next to the body of a dead friend.
‘Dear Charlotte, as if any association with you could do such a thing,’ Bay said, and as if to prove it he bent down and kissed Charlot
te on the mouth. Her lips were dry and slightly salty from the tears. She trembled so gratifyingly that he kissed her again, pulling her to him with one hand around her waist. It was too late to turn back now. He wanted to jump, without second thoughts.
‘I long for the day when you are my wife,’ he whispered into her ear. ‘I want to marry you. As soon as possible.’
He felt her relax into his arms and she kissed him this time, making it quite clear what her answer was.
* * *
At last Charlotte pulled back from him to look at his face. She put one hand to his cheek.
‘Bay, you should know that I can’t marry without Fred’s consent, at least not until I am twenty-one.’
‘I shall ask him tonight.’
‘And he will lecture you about the virtues of a long engagement. He and Augusta have waited for a year.’
Bay smelt lavender water and a tiny whiff of fear. ‘I know there are good reasons to wait, but are they really so very important?’ He wanted to kiss the inch of neck that was visible above the boned collar of her dress; he wanted to cover the red blotches that were forming there with his mouth.
‘I am afraid that money is always important. Fred is my trustee and at the moment he enjoys the income from my inheritance. When I marry he will lose that money, and that is not something he is looking forward to.’ Bay was not listening, he wanted so much to capture that flush. He bent towards her again, but this time he felt a hand against his chest stopping him.
‘I can’t marry you right away, even if I would like to, so we must be,’ she tried to smile as he pressed against her, ‘we must be prudent.’
‘Prudent?’ said Bay, taking the protesting hand in his and finding that inch of neck with his mouth. Charlotte shuddered and for a moment she seemed to surrender, but then she stiffened and this time she pulled away from him in earnest.
But he would not let go of her hand. He looked down into her small, worried face, saw the hectic flush on her cheeks, the filling eyes.
‘Do I look like a prudent man? I think you have confused me with somebody else.’
She almost smiled, but his voice was urgent.
‘Charlotte, I am … unsteady.’ His grip on her hand was hard, almost painful.
The look on her face made him regret those words.
‘Not in my affection for you, never that. But in myself. I would like to be settled.’
And as he spoke Bay felt that there was nothing he would rather do than settle down with Charlotte in the country.
‘Let’s elope, Charlotte. We could manage on my income to begin with. I could sell my hunters and we could live very quietly at first.’
Charlotte thought she understood his unsteadiness; she remembered the scene at dinner when Blanche Hozier’s baby had been mentioned. But she did not understand Bay’s urgency.
‘Sell your hunters? Even Tipsy? You would give up your chance of the Grand National to elope with me? Well, I am flattered beyond measure, but are you sure that such a sacrifice is really necessary? I shall be twenty-one in the autumn – surely we can wait nine or so months to be married. I don’t see there is any reason for us to behave like fugitives. Fred may not welcome my marriage, but once I have achieved my majority there is nothing he can do to stop me. I see no compelling reason to run away like thieves in the night, when we could be married quite respectably within a year.’
Bay’s handsome face turned away from her.
‘You’re right, of course, it is unreasonable of me to expect you to give up your trousseau and your wedding finery. I know these things mean a lot to a woman. But Charlotte, I so wish it could be done now.’
Charlotte moved so that she could look at him face on.
‘But why? I care nothing for wedding finery, but I do care about what family I have left. Fred can be insufferably pompous sometimes, especially now he is engaged to Augusta, but I would still like him to walk me down the aisle.’ She paused for a moment, trying to read his face.
‘What makes you so desperate to run away? You must know that my feelings for you will be the same in September as they are now. I will not change.’
Bay sighed. He knew that he had done this all wrong. The only reason for haste was his own inconstancy. He could not tell Charlotte that he was afraid for his own heart.
‘Forgive me, dearest Charlotte, I am not myself. Major Postlethwaite’s death was a great shock. It made me think that we must take our happiness when we can.’
Charlotte kissed his cheek.
‘I think we are young enough to risk waiting a few months. Meanwhile you must be nice to Augusta. If she thinks of you as a desirable husband for me, then Fred will hardly dare to object. Perhaps you could present her to the Empress? Have you noticed how much more civil she is to you now that you are riding out with royalty?’ She put up her hand and traced his moustache with her fingertip.
Bay nodded.
‘I promise to marry you as soon as it is practical.’ She smiled. ‘And you won’t have to sell Tipsy or disappoint the Empress. I think she would be very sorry to lose you.’
A Summons
The invitation arrived after dinner. The ladies had gone to bed and only a few of the male guests were lingering in the billiard room. This, like the rest of Melton, had been fitted out in the Gothic style, with a vast wrought-iron lamp over the table which cast a cathedral-like gloom over the proceedings. Each cue had its own carved niche against the wall, set in a row like truncated choir stalls.
The game was coming to an end. Hartopp was winning and his face was crimson under his dundrearies. Bay and Fred were making half-hearted efforts to catch up with him, but they knew they were beaten. The men had almost finished the brandy that had been left out on the butler’s tray, and Hartopp made for the bell to ring for some more, but Fred put his hand on his arm.
‘Don’t think we can ring for reinforcements, Chicken. Gives the wrong impression.’ To make amends he emptied the decanter into Chicken’s glass.
‘To the victor, the spoils.’
The three men were toasting Hartopp’s triumph when the door opened. All three men looked round a little guiltily – they had been quite loud in their toasting – but the figure at the door was not an irate butler but a small boy. In his hand he carried a letter.
‘Please, sirs, I have an urgent message.’ The boy, who was no more than eleven years old, was consumed by the importance of his mission. This was his first time beyond the green baize door. His normal post was cleaning boots behind the scullery – but when the groom had arrived from Easton Neston with the message, the butler had not thought it worth his while to get dressed again as it was only for one of the young gentlemen, so he had sent the boy. The message had arrived a good half an hour before, but the boy, who was not familiar with the company side of the house, had lost his way in the dark and had blundered into a good number of dark, echoing spaces before he had found the billiard room.
‘And who is the message for, boy?’ Fred Baird held out his hand.
The boy hung his head. In his panicked stumblings through the dark rooms he had forgotten the name that the butler had told him. He held up the letter in answer, but Fred, who had been largely responsible for emptying the brandy decanter, was feeling playful.
‘Well, which one of us three graces is the lucky recipient of the enchanted apple, eh?’ he said, laughing immoderately at his own joke.
The boy had no idea what Mr Baird was talking about, but he heard the drink in the man’s voice and he knew better than to answer. He continued to stand there, mute, still holding out the letter.
‘Surely you can make out the letters – is there an M for the magnificent Captain Middleton here, an H for the heroic Captain Hartopp, or a B for Baird of the Borders?’
The boy shook his head and Baird, on the other side of the billiard table, shook his head too in imitation. His face looked ghostly and mad under the shade of the green light and the boy began to shake with fear. He knew how men could be when the
y had too much drink in them. He longed to be back beside the kitchen fire, polishing the riding boots until he could see his reflection in the leather.
‘Come on, boy, the suspense is too much. Who is the lucky fellow, eh?’
The boot boy said nothing. The writing on the envelope was nothing but a black scrawl to him, as he could not read.
Baird turned to Chicken. ‘In my house, a boy like that would speak when addressed by his betters. He would not skulk like a mangy cur when asked a direct question.’
Bay, who until that point had not been paying much attention to Baird’s drunken posturings, heard the thin note of cruelty in Fred’s voice and he turned to look at the boy. He saw the shake in the outstretched arm still holding out the letter. He put down his brandy glass and began to move round the billiard table to the door where the boy stood.
‘Stop, Middleton, damn you. I have asked the boy a question and I will have an answer.’
Fred had tipped over from jocular to bellicose. Bay had seen this before in Ireland, where Baird had been notorious in the mess as a mean drunk. He carried on round the table till he was next to the boy and touched him on the shoulder. The boy’s arm was rigid. Bay took the letter and found a shilling in his pocket which he put in the boy’s still shaking hand, folding his fingers around the coin like an envelope. The boy stood still for a second longer and then he ran out of the room as fast as he could.
‘Insolent little devil. And you, Middleton, what do you mean by interfering? I had asked the boy a question, I was waiting for an answer.’ Fred was nearly shouting.
Bay looked down at his name on the letter and turned it over, and when he saw the double-headed eagle outlined on the black sealing wax, he put the letter into his waistcoat pocket.
‘Most likely the boy couldn’t read and he was too scared to admit it. Didn’t you see how he was shaking? But in answer to your question, the letter is for me.’
But Baird’s rage was escalating now. Thwarted in his persecution of the hall boy, he turned his fury on Middleton.
The Fortune Hunter Page 14
