“Your brother never mentioned he had a handsome little sister,” he said. “A handsome clever little sister.”
“Now you are being foolish, Mr Peters. I am far beyond the age of that sort of thing. I am a contented spinster, let me tell you!” But it was clear enough from her tone that the flattery had done some work.
“Do you have any drawings to hand?” he asked.
“Now, how did you guess?” she said, delightedly. “Oh, I can see why my brother liked you, Mr Peters. You are quite his type.” She went again to the cupboard and took out a great roll of drawings. “I have asked for two architects to draw up a scheme for me. That is the usual thing, I think?”
“Very sensible, ma’am, very sensible.”
“Now, what do you think of this one? This stage would be the largest in the North East, and would be able to accommodate the sort of spectacles usually confined to the West End. Imagine that, sir, in Northminster!”
After a glass of sherry and an extensive lecture on Miss Bickley’s theatrical fancies, Giles managed to take his leave.
“If you come back before noon tomorrow, you will catch him, Mr Peters.”
“I shall come then, most certainly.”
“I will tell him you were here,” she said.
It was still raining heavily as he left, and he then had a miserable walk through the less pleasant districts of the city in a futile search for any trace of Kate. He found nothing more of any interest, and made his way back to The Black Bull, soaked to the skin and bone tired.
If Kate was lost, he had at least discovered something else important about Bickley’s operation. Bickley might be on his knees in front of the Bishop, pretending to be a repentant sinner, but his family were still firmly in control of his interests, and he was still firmly in control of them. It was a piece of showmanship that would not disgrace the great stage of Miss Bickley’s imaginary palaces of entertainment.
But illusions could be destroyed, as easily as soap bubbles could be pricked. It was just a question of finding a pin.
He would need to talk again to Johnny Hopkins, alias Horatio Baxter. But that could wait until the morning.
Chapter Seventeen
Felix was surprised that Major Vernon had let him remain by the fire with a glass of wine and his letters. He had gone off with such urgency that he wondered if he ought to offer to assist him in whatever endeavour he had embarked upon.
He had not been sitting long when Mr Wilkes came in, asking if he would come and look at a newly arrived guest – a very great gentleman, apparently, had been taken ill.
“Or I should say, gotten worse,” Mr Wilkes said. “For he didn’t look in the prime of it when he arrived. I said to Mrs Wilkes that he looked in a dreadful condition. Apparently he was supposed to be travelling on today to his country property, but he couldn’t face it after the railway. Hardly surprising, if you ask me – those things make me queasy to think about them – and yet you’ve been to Swalecliffe and back today, sir, I gather!” Wilkes gave a shudder. “Of course, Mrs Wilkes says I should be glad for the increase of trade, and she has a point, but I can’t help thinking –”
He broke off as they reached the guest’s door. He tapped it and went in.
“Here he is, Mr Field,” said Mr Wilkes, addressing a black-coated man who was sitting at the table covered in paperwork. “Mr Carswell, the surgeon.”
“Do you have much practice here?” said Mr Field, looking at Felix rather doubtfully. “You seem rather young, sir, if you don’t mind my saying.”
“A little,” said Felix. “My work is principally with the County Constabulary.”
Mr Field frowned. “My employer has been under the care of Sir James Rennison,” he said.
“Then he has been in good hands,” said Felix. “Perhaps if I might see him? I understand there was some urgency –”
“Sir Richard Blanchfort,” said Mr Field.
“Lord Rothborough will be distressed to hear an old friend is ill,” Felix said. “He mentioned him to me only the other day.”
“You attend Lord Rothborough?” said Mr Field.
“No. My father is a clergyman on his Scottish estate. I have known him since I was a child.”
This was recommendation enough for Mr Field whose whole manner seemed to change in a moment. Felix swallowed his amusement and went with him to the adjoining bedroom.
Here Sir Richard was lying in the vast, old-fashioned canopy bed that dominated the room.
It was as well the bed was broad, for the man himself was a giant. In good health he would have had an impressive physique, but now he appeared to be wasting away.
“Sir Richard, this is the surgeon – Mr Carswell,” Field said. “Jackson and I thought it best to find someone.”
“A clergyman might have been a better idea,” said Sir Richard. “Carswell, did you say?”
“Yes, sir.”
“Come a little closer, would you? You look most –” and then as Felix approached the bed, a mixture of puzzlement and pain crossed his face. “You look familiar – William, is it you? But how can –”
“Lord Rothborough was speaking to me of you only the other day, sir,” Felix said, taking his hand, and feeling his pulse. “He will be very concerned to hear of this. Perhaps a visit from him might help you.”
“I should very much like that,” said Sir Richard, grasping Felix’s hand in return. “And you are – you are his boy, are you not?” Felix nodded. “The likeness is uncanny. You might be him when I first knew him! How strange is the hand of Providence to bring you here now!”
“I hope I can help you a little if I can,” said Felix. “You have not been well for some time, I understand. You have been seeing Sir James Rennison?”
“I am dying,” said Sir Richard. “That is the plain truth of it. Sir James has done his best, and can do no more for me. I have very little time. I want to see my daughter. I must see her. If I can accomplish that, then –”
“I have met her,” said Felix. “I danced with her the other night, here in Northminster. But I do not know if she is still in town. If she was, I would fetch her to you at once.”
“You danced with her?” said Sir Richard, managing to smile. “How I wish I might have seen her dance!”
“You might yet partner her yourself, sir,” said Felix. “With all respect to Sir James, you may have more life left to you than you imagine. We can be mistaken.”
“You are kind to say so, Mr Carswell,” said Sir Richard, “but I fear my remaining days are very few. If only I could find a little more strength. The pain is very exhausting, but I am afraid to take any more opiates in case they take me before I have made my peace with my daughter and my God.”
“It is possible to mitigate some of the pain, without that risk,” said Felix. “You should not rule it out entirely. And you must send for Miss Blanchfort.”
“No, no, sending for her will not do. You must go and get her for me,” said Sir Richard. “Just as you said. Her mother will never let her come here if I send a servant. You must go, Mr Carswell, and tell her that there is no hope and no time.”
“I do not know if Lady Blanchfort –” Felix began, thinking it rather likely that he would be seen entirely in the light of a servant.
“Yes, yes, but you must oppose her. You must stand on your authority as a medical man,” said Sir Richard. “She will not be able to refuse you that. And if she does, you will remind her that Lord Rothborough is Eleanor’s trustee and future guardian, and that you are his representative.”
“I will do my best,” said Felix.
“Eleanor will come with you. Her mother may have poured poison into her heart but she will come if she knows the truth. She will want to come. And you will be a good messenger.”
“I hope so,” said Felix. “I will go at first light, I promise. In the meantime, perhaps you might let me examine you and do what I can to make you comfortable? You ought to rest as best you can so you will be in a good state to see her.�
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Sir Richard nodded, and sank back on the pillows, clearly too tired and in too much pain to speak any further. Felix examined him very gently and rather more superficially than he would have done in other circumstances, but even from such slight observations it was hard to dispute Sir James Rennison’s grim prognosis.
Turning away from the bed a moment, Mr Field handed him a paper, saying, “I had Sir James write up his diagnosis in case we had to summon another medical man.”
It made for sober reading and confirmed Felix’s observations. A cancer of the stomach, which had spread into his bones and blood.
Felix did what he could to alleviate the pain, making him a mild opiate draft which he consented to drink. He then redressed the wounds where the skin had broken and applied soothing poultices where he could.
Eventually Sir Richard did pass into a form of sleep. In other circumstances it would have been far kinder to hope that this was the prelude to a gentle departure in the next dozen hours, yet the sense of the man’s unfinished business hung in the air, like the lingering smoke of a recently extinguished candle. Felix left, hoping that Sir Richard would last long enough to see his daughter at least for a little while.
He left The Black Bull and went to arrange for a carriage to drive him at first light out to Hawksby Hall, where Lady Blanchfort and her daughter were staying. He then walked round to the house in the Minster Precincts where Lord Rothborough generally stayed when he was in Northminster, but found on enquiry that his Lordship and Lady Maria were still at Holbroke. However, a servant was driving there first thing, with various items of business and shopping, so Felix sat down in Lord Rothborough’s book room and added a letter of his own to the pile.
He sat there for a few moments alone, having sealed the letter with a stamp showing the Rothborough crest and given it to the servant. It was a crest which he also had in the form of a signet ring, which he never cared to use, let alone wear, but which Lord Rothborough had given him on his coming of age. He had struggled so hard to build his life free of the shadow of that crest, and yet now he found himself, willy-nilly, its representative. The hand of Providence, if one believed in such things, did indeed work in strange ways, and now it seemed to be determined to throw him into the society of that curious, red-haired young lady whom he had decided it would be better for him to avoid at all costs. But a dying father’s wish overturned all other considerations.
Chapter Eighteen
Hawksby Hall lay in the village of the same name that was, thanks to a spanking new road, a fast and easy drive from Northminster. Alongside this road quite a few houses were beginning to be built, making a sort of suburb of the outskirts of the village; but in its heart, beyond the ancient Parish church, the old order was still evident.
The Hall, large, white and regular in form, was perfectly visible from the village green, but was set back behind a long gravelled forecourt accessed only by a pair of elaborate wrought-iron gates. These gates were locked and a bell had to be rung, and it was a few minutes before a manservant came running up from the house to enquire his business.
“I am on urgent business from Sir Richard Blanchfort. I must speak to Lady Blanchfort,” said Felix. “This is my card.”
“Urgent, you say, sir?” said the servant examining the card.
“Extremely,” said Felix.
“Very well, sir,” said the servant, and opened the gates to him. Felix followed him across the gravel and up to the entrance of the house.
“If you will wait here, please sir,” said the servant, showing Felix into the hall.
He was left to wait, with the distinct impression that envoys from Sir Richard were not very welcome. After a few moments he saw a mounted groom come trotting round from the back court of the house. He was leading a milk-white pony with a side-saddle on it, presumably meant for the young lady of the house for her morning ride. Felix supposed then that Miss Blanchfort would be down imminently and she would be ready to go to Northminster at once. That, he hoped, would simplify matters.
Another five minutes or so passed, and Felix began to grow impatient. The groom outside with the horse nonchalantly took out his pipe and lit it. Felix would not have minded a cheroot of his own at that moment, when suddenly a door behind him burst open and Miss Blanchfort, dressed in her green habit, came striding out, with her habit skirt flung over high over her arm, her tightly-fitting riding trousers completely on view.
“I shall, and you shall not stop me!” she was saying to the older woman who came after her.
“You shall not, Miss!” said the older woman catching her arm. “Your mother has forbidden it. You –”
At this moment they both caught sight of Felix. The woman released Miss Blanchfort’s arm, while she now bounded forward towards him, smiling.
“Mr Carswell!” she said. “What can you be doing here?” She put out her hand to him, and he could not resist taking it.
“I have bad news, I’m afraid. Your father –”
“Yes?” Lady Blanchfort’s voice broke out from the staircase. “What is this urgent message, sir?”
Lady Blanchfort was coming downstairs in her dressing gown. She stopped a few steps from the foot of the stairs. “Yes?” she said again.
“It is Papa,” said Miss Blanchfort. “Something has happened to him. Oh Mama –”
“He is gravely ill,” Felix said. “He wishes to see you at once, Miss Blanchfort, and I think urgency is in order. ”
“And he has asked you to come here and say this?” said Lady Blanchfort.
“Yes.”
“Well, we shall see about that. Eleanor, please go to your room.”
“Mama, did you not hear what he said?”
“Yes, and did you not hear what I said? Go to your room.”
“I shall not!” she said. “I am going to see my father. He is very ill, Mama –”
Lady Blanchfort shook her head.
“I doubt it. Thank you, Mr Carswell, for your message. Please inform Sir Richard that his manipulations are of little interest to me.”
“Manipulations!” exclaimed Miss Blanchfort. “Papa is ill, Mama, do you not understand what he is saying?”
“It certainly is not a manipulation, ma’am,” said Felix. “I have examined him myself. He is in considerable danger. Sir James Rennison has said that there is very little hope, and, from what I have seen, I would have to concur.”
“I think you had better leave, Mr Carswell. Come here, please, Eleanor,” she said putting out her hand to her daughter.
But Miss Blanchfort stood where she was, shaking her head.
“I will go with you, sir,” she said. “I will not take such a risk, Mama, I cannot, no matter what you say about it!” She glanced at the door and then at Felix in a manner that he could only interpret as conspiratorial.
“You would not dare –” said Lady Blanchfort, coming down a step. “Miss Taunton, would you –?”
Miss Taunton was about to lay hands on Miss Blanchfort again, but the young woman was too fast for her. Before anyone could stop her, she had run out of the door and was dashing noisily across the gravel towards the gates and his carriage.
Felix took his cue and ran after her.
“Stop her, sir!” he heard Lady Blanchfort shouting after him but he knew he would do no such thing.
Miss Blanchfort had already leapt into the carriage.
“Back to Northminster!” he shouted to the driver and jumped in behind her.
Miss Blanchfort was sitting in the corner opposite, in a regular furl of habit skirts.
“That is what I must deal with. Always! Always!” she exclaimed. Then she pressed her hands to her face. “How bad is it?” she said.
“Hopefully there will be time,” said Felix.
“And how long has he been ill?” she said. “I did not even know that. I do not get letters from him any more. Perhaps he writes, but she does not let me see them.”
“I am sure he writes,” Felix said.
&
nbsp; “I write to him, but I am not allowed to send them. How I hate her! How can she be so wicked? My own darling Papa –” She looked away from him and out of the carriage window, the tears streaming down her face. “Just because she loathes him for her own wretched, unjustified reasons, I am always to be punished for loving him. He is my father! Oh dear Lord,” she said closing her eyes and pressing her hands together. “Spare him, dear Lord! For my sake. At least for a little while.”
-o-
Major Vernon was just on the verge of leaving when they returned to The Black Bull. He looked puzzled, as he might, to see him handing Miss Blanchfort out of the carriage.
“Miss Blanchfort’s father is here, and gravely ill,” Felix said to him. “I wonder, should I fetch Canon Fforde?” he added.
“I’ll go and get him. My best wishes, Miss Blanchfort,” Major Vernon said.
She nodded, as she stood wiping back her tears, standing in the doorway to the inn.
“Come,” Felix said, and took her upstairs.
Outside, a fair spring day broke out, drying away the rain of the previous night. But inside the walls of the ancient timbered inn, Sir Richard’s life slowly ebbed away. He could not speak much to his daughter, but the sight of her seemed to comfort him enormously, and she sat by the bed, her hands wrapped about his. Sometimes she bent forward and kissed him.
She no longer looked like the Queen, nor even the Princess of the Fae. She looked pale and mortal and far too young to have to undergo this trial, without any close friends about her. Well-meaning strangers were all she had.
Canon Fforde came and gave Sir Richard communion, and read from the prayer book in his kindly, sober, and intelligent manner. This seemed to both comfort and distress Miss Blanchfort, for it showed that there was little more to be done except wait for the inevitable, and indeed an hour or so later, his breathing wavered and struggled, and he was gone, her hands still wrapped about his.
She rose and looked across at Felix enquiringly, for he had been holding his other hand, feeling the cold of death creep up. He made the other necessary checks, closed his eyes, and returned her gaze with a shake of his head.
The Ghosts of Ardenthwaite (The Northminster Mysteries Book 5) Page 15
