Scandal at the Dower House

by Marina Oliver

  ‘That we will have to decide later. You could give him, or her, away, or leave the child to be brought up in Portugal. It has been done before when ladies have found themselves in such a predicament. We can afford to pay for its keep.’

  Joanna sighed. ‘I suppose that’s best. Oh, Cat, I knew you’d find a way to help me. How soon can we go?’

  Jeremy’s bullet was dug out by a Brussels doctor, and he was told that with care he might survive.

  ‘Though you will probably always walk with a limp. Some of the muscle has been torn. You should remain here for a while, not put undue strain on your constitution,’ he was warned.

  For a few days he was delirious. Nicholas almost despaired of him, but eventually the fever subsided and he was once more rational. Then he drove his brother to distraction by demanding to be taken home.

  At last Nicholas decided that Jeremy would be less likely to fret himself back into a fever if they did go home, so he organized a large travelling coach and hired Bates, a soldier who had been a valet before he joined the army, who assured him he had been used to nursing injured men. They set off at the beginning of July, travelling as slowly as possible. It was agony for Jeremy, for the roads were poor and, despite all the coachman’s care, he was inevitably jolted. He bore it stoically, but Nicholas was thankful when they boarded ship and Jeremy had not suffered a relapse.

  When they reached Brooke Court late one afternoon, Jeremy was put straight to bed, but on the following morning he insisted on being helped to sit in a large chair by his bedroom window, his leg supported by a footstool.

  ‘Nick, I’m a crock, useless for the army,’ he stated, when Nicholas looked in to see how he did.

  ‘It’s too early to say.’

  ‘I know it. I’ll never be as active again, and I cannot bear the thought of anything less than proper fighting.’

  ‘With your experience you could still be useful.’

  ‘No, I’d go mad tied to some desk in London. Did you mean it about letting me live at Marshington Grange?’

  ‘Yes. As you are my heir we might be able to break the entail, and I’ll give it to you.’

  ‘I’m truly grateful. I doubt the rents from the entailed farms will cover the upkeep, but I have the money Grandmother Talbot left me. I would like to try my hand at some of the new farming methods I’ve read about. I think I could make it profitable.’

  Nicholas was amused. ‘I didn’t know you had an ambition to become a farmer.’

  ‘Well, I didn’t, before. I’ve always been interested, though. One of the fellows in the regiment lives near Thomas Coke at Holkham, and he was telling me about the gatherings they have each year. Coke’s Clippings they call them, because they hold them at shearing time. He invited me to visit him next year.’

  ‘Would you have mainly sheep?’

  ‘No. I think cattle would also do well, and I’d like to breed horses of some kind. I don’t yet know what sort, riding or carriage types. I’ve been reading about what some of the other farmers do. There’s a deal of marshy land which could be drained and made into good sheep pasture. I couldn’t sleep last night,’ he admitted, ‘so I compiled a list of books I want. Could you have them sent down for me? While I’m laid up I can be studying and making plans.’

  ‘Give me the list and I’ll send someone to London to fetch the books,’ Nicholas said, thankful to see Jeremy involved in new plans rather than repining over the end to his army career.

  ‘But I ought to be down at Marshington as soon as possible, before the harvest, so that I can plan for next year. I saw there was a lot of common land still, so I will need to make some enclosures. And if I can persuade the villagers to agree to amalgamate their strips they can all benefit. Oh, I assure you I intend to be a model landlord!’

  ‘You can’t go down until you are fit enough to ride.’

  ‘I’ll be able to drive a gig in a few days.’

  ‘I can’t permit it. But,’ he added, holding up his hand to stem Jeremy’s protests, ‘I’ll go down myself and see what needs doing. Then if there is a need to introduce an Enclosure Act I can do it in the Lords.’

  Catarina waited impatiently for answers to her letters. The one from Mr Sinclair came first and said there would not be another boat going to Oporto until the end of July, but she and Joanna would be very welcome to sail on her. He hoped they would spend at least one night with him and his wife before the departure. Some time later, her Aunt Madalene, her mother’s older sister, sent to say how delighted she would be to see her nieces, and bemoaning the fact they did not intend to stay more than two weeks.

  Joanna fretted at the delay, but Catarina had so much to do she was glad of the respite. The new agent, Mr Trubshaw, left to oversee matters on the estate, found his situation difficult, and he was for ever consulting her as to what her husband would have wanted him to do. No matter how often she told him that he should apply to the new earl, she had to admit that while Lord Brooke was in Belgium with Wellington’s army she was the best person to make necessary decisions.

  The news of Napoleon’s defeat was greeted with great joy and thanksgiving. Catarina heard of the many deaths and wondered rather sadly what would happen to the estate if both Lord Brooke and his brother had perished. The thought of perhaps never again seeing Nicholas Brooke was unexpectedly painful. Who would be the next heir? Then she told herself sternly she ought not to care. Though she would be sorry, for they were pleasant men, it did not concern her. She felt a considerable lightening of her spirits, however, when a letter from Lord Brooke came to tell her Jeremy had been wounded and would be unable to travel to Somerset for a while, but he himself would visit Marshington Grange in the near future to make any necessary arrangements.

  ‘Let’s hope we’ll be gone before then! I look such a sight!’ Joanna complained.

  Joanna was complaining rather a lot and sometimes Catarina wanted to slap her young sister. She had got herself into this predicament by being too gullible and ought to be thankful there was a possible way of hiding her shame.

  ‘I hate black! It makes me look sallow,’ she stormed, when Catarina told her that if she meant to go into the village she had to wear one of Catarina’s mourning gowns, while her own were being made by the village seamstress.

  ‘You must, out of respect for Walter, or you’ll scandalize the village. And remember, when we are in Lisbon, and you are pretending to be a widow, you will have to wear it all the time. The Portuguese are very strict about that. If you were to remain there you would be expected to wear black for the rest of your life.’

  ‘Then I shall return home as soon as I am rid of this incubus!’ she stormed, rubbing her still slender waist.

  ‘I can’t endure this food,’ she said the following day, pushing aside the plate of pork cutlets with Robert sauce. ‘It turns my stomach.’

  ‘If you make such a fuss at Aunt Madalene’s she may suspect your condition,’ Catarina warned. ‘After all, she has had a dozen children herself, and has several grandchildren.’

  ‘If I am forced to eat such messes I shall be sick!’

  ‘You will control yourself. And unless you stop complaining and making yourself unpleasant to my servants, I’ll call off the entire plan. I’ll leave you there on your own once we have been to Aunt Madalene’s.’

  Chapter Four

  NICHOLAS ARRIVED A few days later, and found Catarina in the Dower House garden, wearing an old white sunhat and picking peas. He’d forgotten just how lovely she was.

  ‘Good morning,’ he called over the hedge which separated the garden from the drive to the Grange.

  She glanced up, then straightened her back and walked across to the hedge. She looked pale and somewhat harassed, he thought. There were shadows under her eyes which had not been there before, even at the time of the funeral, and there was a wary look in her eyes. Did she suspect him of planning things for the estate of which she did not approve? He felt a sudden desire to take care of her, to remove the worry from her
eyes.

  ‘Good morning, my lord. We received your letter. How is your brother? Was he seriously wounded?’

  ‘A bullet in his leg. He’ll probably always have a limp, but at least I was just in time to stop some butcher of a surgeon amputating the leg. I swear they killed almost as many men as the French did!’

  Then as Catarina paled he cursed his unruly tongue. He hurried on.

  ‘He is fretting to be down here. He will take up residence and has many plans for farming. He wants to emulate Thomas Coke and breed fine sheep.’

  ‘Walter met Mr Coke once and much admired him. If he had been younger I think he would have liked to experiment, but he maintained he had too much else to do. His father had left the estate in a shocking state; it was all Walter could do to make it profitable by the time we married.’

  ‘Jeremy plans to drain some of the marshland and turn it into pasture. I trust you have no objections to such a scheme?’

  For the first time since they’d met, Catarina smiled, and Nicholas was taken aback at the transformation of her face. She had been beautiful before, but rather in the manner of the expressionless Madonnas the Italians were so fond of painting. This smile gave a hint of mischief, and Nicholas wondered what it would be like to make love to her and release those emotions.

  ‘Walter was planning to do just that,’ she told him.

  ‘Then would you ride out with me and show me the best places? Had Walter made detailed plans?’

  ‘I imagine there are maps in the estate office which will show what Walter was planning. Mr Trubshaw will know. He has been assiduous in trying to master all the details of the estate. I feel so ashamed we did not discover the problems with Mr Carter. As he was the son of our dear former agent we trusted him. It was fortunate you found out so soon.’

  ‘I am accustomed to checking such matters. I will spend the rest of today consulting the plans. May I call for you at ten tomorrow? You have a riding horse, I hope?’

  ‘Yes, my two horses were my own property,’ she replied, and the smile vanished.

  Nicholas cursed his thoughtless words. She clearly recalled Lady Keith’s fury that she had been left anything beyond the minimum. He nodded and turned away.

  ‘Tomorrow, then. I am grateful.’

  As she went back into the house Catarina chastised herself for being so curt. Joanna’s tantrums were affecting her own temper. The sooner they could be on their way to Portugal the better. She must make amends by being helpful and friendly towards Lord Brooke tomorrow.

  She had two riding habits, one of dark green, the other cherry red. As she had not anticipated riding anywhere other than on the estate, and by herself, and would soon be going to Portugal, she had not bothered to have a black one made. Which should she wear? The green was closer to mourning, but the cherry red one suited her better, and was much newer, more fashionable. Nicholas, the earl, she kept reminding herself to call and think of him, had only ever seen her in dreary black, which did nothing to flatter her. She wanted to show him she could look more attractive, but shied away from considering why she wanted him in particular to see her as attractive. Would many people be scandalized if she wore the brightly coloured one? They would be on Grange land, or in the village, all the time, so perhaps it would not matter.

  It wasn’t difficult to be friendly, she found. He put himself out to be a charming, interesting companion as they rode towards the village. He was so attractive she wondered yet again why he had so far escaped matrimony. Perhaps there was a woman he loved, she thought, to whom he was betrothed, or whom he wished to marry. The thought gave her an unwelcome jolt of dismay. She was horrified as she realized she was considering what it would be like to be married to him herself. Hastily she cast about for something else to concentrate on. The army, the recent conflict with Napoleon, she decided.

  When she asked, he told her about the battle, which was already being called after Waterloo, the village where the duke had made his headquarters.

  ‘It was one of the worst battles I’ve been involved in, and I spent several years fighting in Portugal and Spain. If Blücher and the Prussians had not arrived in time, we could well have lost.’

  ‘And your brother? Is he recovering?’

  ‘Slowly. He will not be fit to come and live at Marshington Grange for quite a time, so I will be coming for a few days occasionally. In the meantime, may I hope you will keep a friendly eye on the estate and let me know if anything needs to be done that the agent cannot deal with?’

  Catarina shook her head. ‘I’m afraid that will not be possible, my lord.’

  ‘You won’t?’

  ‘I can’t. My sister and I are going to be away for some time. We have decided this is an opportune moment to visit Mama’s family in Portugal.’

  ‘Then I will have to depend on Mr Trubshaw. Your family live near Oporto, I believe you said?’

  ‘My Aunt Madalene and her family do, but there are many other cousins elsewhere. It is a large family.’

  ‘A friend, another officer, married a Portuguese girl and lives near Oporto. He spoke the language and acted as liaison with the Portuguese soldiers, but he was injured, and this girl’s family took him in and nursed him. I believe he is becoming an expert on growing olives. Thomas Winterton. Perhaps your family know him?’

  ‘It could be so.’

  ‘I’ll give you his direction.’

  Catarina tried to change the subject. Once they had visited Aunt Madalene she and Joanna planned to vanish, not contact any of Nicholas’s friends. She pointed out the new cottages.

  ‘All the people are now housed here, delighted to have the room and be near their friends and the common.’

  ‘I saw the old ones had been pulled down. These look handsome.’

  They were built in pairs, of stone and with slate roofs. Each had a plot of ground in which vegetables were growing. Most of the cottages had a run with fowls scratching at the dirt. Beyond them the ground rose slightly until it became a low range of hills. It looked like the common, and already the hay was harvested and the animals turned out to graze.

  ‘The big fields are that way,’ Catarina explained, pointing, ‘and the marsh starts beyond them and curves round following the river we saw by the old cottages. Walter was planning to drain the nearest part first, but’ – she swallowed – ‘he never began. He was coming back from looking at them when something happened and he was thrown from his horse. We don’t know what caused it, whether something startled the horse, or it stepped into a coney hole. It was a little lame when it returned to the stables. Then we began to search. It was some time before Walter was found, and by that time he was dead.’

  ‘I am truly sorry. You were fond of him, clearly.’

  ‘He was a good man. Now I think we should start back and go through the woods. The pigs won’t have been turned out there yet. But they grow fat on the acorns and make a good meal for Christmas!’

  To Catarina’s relief Joanna behaved with all due decorum while they stayed with Mr and Mrs Sinclair in Bristol. The sea voyage was calm and Joanna’s spirits revived.

  ‘I can see an end to this,’ she said on their first evening at sea. ‘I’m sorry I’ve been so obnoxious, but I felt nauseous and I was worried. Catarina, I’m so sorry to have caused you so much trouble.’

  Catarina hugged her. ‘You were foolish, but we’ll manage it together. And what would I have done alone at the Dower House? At least we can see something of Mama’s home. Papa always meant to bring us, but he said the war made it too dangerous.’

  One of their cousins, Antonio de Freitas, was waiting to greet them when the ship docked at Oporto, and drove them the few miles to the Quinta das Fontes. It was far larger than Catarina had expected, a long, low house painted white, with green shutters at every window, and wings extending back to enclose a delightful courtyard. This was ablaze with flowers, many of which were new to Catarina, set in stone urns. All the rooms, on the ground and upper storeys, opened out on to shaded terra
ces and balconies. Colourful tubs of flowers adorned the balconies and all the steps, and bougainvillaea clambered up the walls. A fountain played in the centre of the courtyard, making a gentle tinkling sound as the water fell into an ornamental pool. The sun shone on the drops of water creating rainbow colours which flashed for a moment and then died. Aunt Madalene, having greeted them enthusiastically and remarked how like they were to their dear mother, took them out to where a table was laid in the shade.

  ‘The fountain is from a natural spring,’ she explained, as they drank tea and sampled delicious honey cakes, ‘and gave the name to the quinta. There are other fountains in the garden, but we will show you those tomorrow. And the vineyards. Your Uncle Mario will explain how we make the wine. Oh, how delightful it is to have you here. I want to hear all about your lives in England. But I do wish you could make a longer visit.’

  ‘Now the wars are over, we will come back often,’ Catarina promised. ‘This time, I’m afraid, we have promised to pay visits in Lisbon and Faro.’

  ‘Do we know your friends? There are still many English officers in Lisbon looking after things while the court is in Brazil. Perhaps you will know some of them.’

  For a moment Catarina wondered whether they should avoid Lisbon; she had not known about the English still being there. Then she decided that, as they would of necessity remain secluded, there was little chance of being seen or recognized. It was unlikely she would know any of them. She and Walter had not been much into Society, and since both she and Joanna were dark-haired and did not have the pale complexions of English girls, they would be taken as Portuguese.

  Catarina was realizing how difficult it was going to be to keep Joanna’s secret, their aunt being so hospitable and interested in their lives in England. Already she was telling lies, inventing excuses, and hating herself for the deception. Joanna had no qualms, though.