He was seated in Allison’s library, where he generally perused back copies of The Sporting Magazine, (or Monthly Calendar of the transactions of the Turf, the Chase and every other diversion interesting to the Man of Pleasure, Enterprise and Spirit). He was reading a stirring blow by blow account of a cockfight which had taken place two and a half years ago, when Prescott came in.
‘Might I have a word, sir?’
Sir Ranalph was no fool. If the lieutenant was asking for a word, rather than simply starting to talk, things may be worse than he’d thought. With a large wad of panic in his throat, he coughed and said, ‘Not quite feeling the thing, my boy-’ he stood up and cast the magazine to one side. He saw Prescott’s surprise and softened his swift departure with a friendly hand on his shoulder as he passed, ‘You’ll excuse me, I know,’ and he hurried from the room like a craven coward.
What to do? Things might be worse than he’d feared. If the lieutenant were to ask for Honoria (though how his wife had guessed at such a thing, and at a distance of forty miles, was beyond him) then Cynthia clearly did not wish it. This much he understood. But why Allison himself? Rowley Allison had shown himself to be everything he could have hoped for in a new member of the family - generous, considerate and amusing, nothing at all like his top-lofty reputation. And Cynthia herself had seemed delighted! How he was supposed to stop the lieutenant buttonholing him later this evening he had no idea. He supposed that the lieutenant did not know that his cousin had indicated his interest in Honoria. He’d get Scribster to drop a hint in his ear. Scribster was strange fellow, with a face that suggested a miserable disposition, but he’d come to see beyond that and admire his off-hand humour. He was sure he could trust him - after all Allison, who suffered no fools, had him for a friend.
Benedict was sitting up, Serena was applying herself to her duties as nurse, which was trying brother and sister both, since Benedict refused to discuss the reasons for his visit to London with her and she had taken the huff. This treatment included bringing him ratafia instead of wine, hauling at his pillows in a dutiful but less than gentle manner, and talking to him in a martyred monotone which made Benedict cross.
‘For dash sake, Serena, you treat your horses better than me. Put that plate of cakes nearer to me, I’m devilish hungry.’
‘I do not think you should be eating cake, you have had three already.’
‘The doctor said I should keep up my strength. Give ’em here.’
Serena moved them rather further away and said in a pious voice, ‘I’m sure that the doctor meant that you should be having posset and, and- gruel and such stuff as that to keep up your strength. The cakes will very likely upset your stomach.’
‘Yes, and next you’ll be saying I should have nothing but a plate of bread and milk-’
‘An excellent idea!’ said the pious Serena.
‘-but I am not two years old! For goodness sake, Serena, what is making you such a cat this morning?’
Serena looked a little ashamed, and a little confused. ‘You frighten us all with the result of your schoolboy antics-’
‘I don’t remember being cudgelled to near death when I was at Harrow.’
‘-and then you refuse to talk to anyone about it except Genevieve Horton.’
‘Lady Sumner to you. Jenny’s a deal older than you, Serena. Don’t take it amiss that I confide a little-’
‘Well, don’t treat me like a baby!’
Benedict narrowed his eyes. ‘There’s more to this than what I am, or am not, telling you,’ he said, sagely, ‘What happened when I was asleep - someone upset you?’ he paused then guessed, ‘Allison?’
‘Certainly not. He has been the most wonderful host-’
‘Did you go to Astley’s? You wrote me that you were coming to London for the express purpose of-’
‘Yes Benedict. That and the balls and assemblies, not to say the morning calls, have kept us very busy.’
‘Good!’ approved her brother, ‘glad you’ve seen a bit of the town, you might not get another chance-’
Serena threw a small satin pillow at him. ‘Do you think we’ve been out carousing while you were at death’s door, you horrible boy?’
‘Hey! Mind the invalid, wildcat!’ he leaned over and grabbed at the cake plate, wincing as his ribs moved, and ate with relish. ‘You might have known I’d be alright, it was mostly my head he hurt.’
But Serena had processed his throwaway remark. ‘What did you mean that I might not get a second chance? Do you mean to see London before I’m committed to my season? Honoria said Mama ran her out to social functions three and four times a day! I suppose there will not be much time to visit the sights. I should get one of the gentlemen to drive me up the mall to Buckingham House on my daily airings. How far is Newgate Prison? It is a bit grisly, but I own I have an urge to see the place where the Gentlemen Highwayman was held.’
‘Poor Serena - did you not meet a gentleman of the road on your way to London and have him shoot you and take all your trinkets? How unfortunate for you. No need to worry, you’ll be intimately acquainted with Newgate someday, I’ve no doubt.’ Serena exclaimed, but she knew that whatever funning thing he had to say, Benedict was keeping something from her. And she resented it. More secrets. Orry, Genevieve, and even Benedict. It was too awful. If he were fully well, she might have chewed him up with questions until he broke, but- it was all too frustrating. Her own mood, usually so sunny, was chafing at her and she could not allow herself to think why.
She longed to be at home. And yet she didn’t. She did not even know herself.
While Serena sat with Benedict, Mr Allison, Mr Scribster and Genevieve all seemed to have errands that sent them from the house, Honoria went to her room to salve an aching head whilst some new worry niggled at the back of her mind, not quite reaching her conscious thought. She would no doubt have to sit with Benedict this night, though he was beginning to ‘wish his sisters at Jericho’ as he said when conscious, encouraging them to leave his care to the servants. She could barely sleep and she felt hot and ill-tempered, not able to explain herself in any way. Benedict’s improvement meant that the whole reason for this visit was coming ever nearer. Sometimes she doubted that Mr Allison would offer for her, but surely he would have warned her parents by now. On the other hand, even if he did not, she would still bear the burden of knowing that she had not helped at all - she had neither sought his attention or been encouraging on the one occasion when he really did speak. Even knowing what it would mean for poor Serena, she had shied away from him.
Serena occasionally spoke of next year’s season and what a time they would have together. She did not know how to answer, so it was as well that they had the distractions of Benedict’s care. It was her duty to - but to do what? The secret messages of encouragement that ladies from her grandmother’s day had sent to gentlemen with the wave of a fan were not available to her. How did one encourage a gentleman these days? Though younger, she was quite sure Serena would know.
There was a knock on her door. Perhaps Serena, or even better, Mr Scribster. She could not tell him everything, but maybe he would see the things she could not and explain them to her - at least he would make her laugh.
She cast the shawl from her and sat up, swinging her legs to the floor. ‘Come in,’ she called.
It was her father who entered, and he smiled at her. ‘I noticed at breakfast that you were not quite the thing, Orry. I think you should have dinner in your room this evening.’
‘No, really, Papa. I am quite well. I will come down at the appointed hour.’
Her father adopted a stern voice that she seldom heard from him. ‘You will please me by keeping to your room, Honoria. I do not wish to have another of my children laid by the heels through illness.’
‘Of course Papa, if you wish it! I will try to rest-’
‘There’s a good girl,’ said her father, returned to his good humour. ‘Mind you don’t get up for any reason. I myself might be at your uncle’s t
his evening, but you must rest here till I see you at breakfast.’ He pinched her chin, hugged her, then headed for the door, obviously pleased with himself. He stopped, and turned towards her once more. ‘Did you enjoy your carriage ride this morning?’
‘Wh-? Yes, it was very pleasant.’
His eyebrows rose, ‘Pleasant?’
‘Yes.’ He apparently wanted a little more. ‘The weather was clement.’
‘Good, good. Clement, eh? Good.’ He nodded and left.
“What was that about?” she thought, but she could not be sorry. An evening free of the exhaustion of secrets and pretence was liberating. She sank into the bed and when a young maid brought her dinner at seven, she was still fast asleep. She even missed Serena coming in - who, seeing her sister sleeping, adjusted her coverlet and kissed her cheek before she crept away.
Sir Ranalph had done his best for that night at least, but locking Honoria in her room till her mother returned to take care of whatever situation this was would hardly be possible. Anyway, by dining at Wilbert’s (though his brother did not yet know) he could avoid whatever Prescott sought him for. It occurred to him that he might just want his opinion on a horse or some such thing, but he feared not. Niftily done, he was thinking, but he underestimated his stalker. Prescott was at the bottom of the stairs, with an anxious but hopeful smile on his face, saying, ‘Sir - have you a moment?’
Behind him, Mr Scribster, taking his hat off in the hall, stopped with a frozen expression on his face.
Sir Ranalph panicked, ‘Um, just heading out with Mr Scribster on a rather important matter.’ The shoulder slap in the passing was a trifle repetitive, but it was the best he could do. Scribster, no laggard he, had put his hat back on over his shiny thick hair and had already nodded the footman to open the door once more and the two left, Sir Ranalph giving a gesture of gratitude with his chin to the inscrutable Mr Scribster.
The gentlemen headed down the townhouse steps together.
'Thanks for that, Scribster,' said the big bluff baronet as the two descended into the square, 'You must be wondering what on earth-'
'Not at all, sir,' lied Scribster manfully, 'None of my business.'
'Well, as it happens, my boy, it might be.’ Scribster's face was as immobile as usual, and Sir Ranalph was suddenly finding it difficult to ask him for what had seemed a simple favour. It must be done however, so he put his arm around the man and led him to a coffee house where they could chat. 'Your cousin wants to speak to me, you see. And as he'd just been driving Honoria, he might be about to make a request of me.' Scribster's face remained frozen - drat the man, would he not help at all? 'It occurs to me, therefore, that he is unaware of, well, of the purpose of his cousin's invitation to my family.' He raised his eyebrows to encourage some nod of understanding from Scribster, but his face- 'Drat it, sir, your friend must have confided in you. I know that nothing is settled yet due to the dashed business with Benedict, but-' Sir Ranalph sighed. He felt as winded by this conversation as if he had just climbed a mountain. 'Might you just mention it to Lieutenant Prescott? Put him in the picture before he-? Well. I suppose he might still-’ Sir Ranalph was still floundering, 'It might save some embarrassment.'
Scribster, at last, broke his silence. 'My friend does not like his affairs talked of, you see. I don't really know if I am at liberty to mention to his cousin something he has not mentioned himself.' Sir Ranalph's face fell. 'But I can hint, perhaps.' He sipped his coffee, 'But presumably, Miss Fenton has given Prescott leave to talk to you?' His voice was bland, colourless.' And perhaps my friend should be made aware of-'
'I beg of you, no sir.' said Sir Ranalph quickly. 'I do not know what my daughter is aware of and what not. Until I discover how it is, I do not wish anything said.' Scribster nodded. Sir Ranalph sat back, exhausted. 'My wife would know what to do. All this kind of this thing is her ladyship's purview. She understands the girls.' The baronet sighed even more deeply. Come to think of it, he was too narrowly defining his wife's purview, she understood her sons too. Even his brother understood Benedict better than he.
'Shall we go, Scribster?' he asked at last. Scribster, who he normally thought of as having a watching disposition, seemed to strive to come away from some dream.
'Certainly, sir,' his tall, strange companion said. Sir Ranalph eyed him. Scribster had always been the taciturn, detached member of their party, unaffected by much. Though the baronet had intuited his strength and on a few occasions his humour, he had never before seen the raw look in the urbane gentleman’s eyes. But suddenly he was reminded of twelve-year-old Benedict after his favourite dog had died. It was but a minute, and the old cold stare was back.
If the baronet didn’t have his own problems at present, he would have attempted to make the reticent young man confide in him. But he did. How on earth was he to keep his Honoria away from two perfectly pleasant young men who now stood in the relation of good friends? Well, tonight was dealt with. It was like Sir Ranalph to take this as a sunny thought and head for his club to take several cups of cheer before he confronted his brother.
Later that afternoon, Allison went to see how his young invalid was doing and found Benedict trying to get up, having swung his legs out of the bed and attempting to stand, his face as grey with pain as a ghost. Lady Sumner had a hand on his shoulder to keep him down and two footmen stood by, looking at a loss, Benedict ordering them to help him rise and Lady Sumner countermanding his orders. ‘Do not dare!’ she said to one of the hapless duo as he stepped forward according to Benedict’s summons. The man froze. Her hair had escaped its confines once more and she looked like a raging virago.
‘Dickie, if you don’t sit still, I promise you it will be the worse for you. Your ribs are broken, you annoying young pup, you could be puncturing a lung or some such thing!’ Still less than ever did Allison now think that the pair were lovers. His own elder sister addressed him in just such terms. Benedict still rose however until she said, ‘I will not take your gift!’ and whatever this meant, the boy sat down.
‘Can I suggest a compromise, my lady?’ said Allison entering the fray and nodding the footmen to the door.
‘Not if it means he shall get up and ruin his rest,’ said Lady Sumner pugnaciously.
‘Lady Sumner - might I call you Jenny?’ said Allison, bending his handsome head and smiling, ‘Let Benedict agree to rest this afternoon-’
‘If I rest any more I shall very likely-’ objected Benedict.
‘Be quiet, Benedict.’ Benedict grinned and shut his mouth. Allison turned back to her ladyship, who was wearing a stubborn look and had her hands on her hips in the manner of a woman standing her ground. ‘Later we will corset him in bandages so that he cannot move and we’ll let some footmen carry him into dinner. How’s that?’
‘I do not need to be carried,’ protested Benedict, ‘There is nothing but bruises on my legs!’
‘Be quiet!’ one drawling and one angry voice said at once.
‘Oh, very well,’ Benedict agreed, swinging his legs back into the bed and wincing despite himself.
Genevieve did not look like she was quite finished, but Blake quietly entered and approached his master.
‘Sir, Lord Sumner is in the hall and wishes to see her ladyship.’
Benedict’s legs swung forward with alacrity and Genevieve descended from Virago to suppliant, her eyes big with panic. She began to say something.
Taking all this in at a glance, Allison answered, ‘Lady Sumner is visiting with a party of friends, at present, Blake. Please inform his lordship that he is welcome to visit tomorrow morning, when no doubt her ladyship will be here.’
His master’s word was a matter of faith for Blake, so naturally he did not so much as glance at the (absent) Lady Sumner as he left on his mission. The trio stood close, Benedict’s hand had found Jenny’s and Allison had allowed himself the intimacy of a reassuring hand on her shoulder. They froze as one until they heard the final closure of the front door.
‘Jenny-�
� began Benedict.
But Lady Sumner had recovered herself. ‘Back into bed, Dickie, or I swear I shall not be responsible for what I do.’
Benedict did as he was told, and Allison and she left the room. In the corridor, Allison spoke. ‘Lady Sumner- if there is something-.’
‘It’s Jenny. And heaven save me from any more knight-errants, Mr Allison. I admit that my husband’s visit was - a surprise. I cannot disguise that it was an unpleasant one, for we are, um, - estranged - at the moment as you must have guessed.’ He nodded gravely. ‘We are too much like friends now for me to try to hide this from you. But I have already taken care of - I need no help. It is just that for a moment, I-’ She turned and squeezed his hand, looking up into his eyes frankly. ‘You have given me just the delay I need to deal with him, fear not. And thank you.’
Watching her walk away, Mr Allison could not quite shake his worry, however. It was more than sullen reluctance or righteous anger he had seen in Genevieve Sumner’s eyes when her husband was mentioned. It was fear. He knew Sumner as an overblown blowhard with occasional charm and no integrity. He was famous for his indulgence in any number of vices, but many men about town were - even the married ones. What singled Foxy Sumner out was the shady way he conducted his affairs. He didn’t provide for his discarded mistresses as he should, was often late paying his gambling debts, had a loose tongue with the secrets of his friends and, the ultimate sin in gentlemanly circles, could not tell a thoroughbred from a donkey. Allison had seen enough of his wife to know that her strength of character could surely prevail against such a man, that though she might have found she had made a bad bargain in her husband, she would have lived with it and made do, as many married couples did. But she was afraid. Nothing in Sumner’s weak arsenal of bumptiousness could cow such a woman. There was only one thing that could. Allison’s blood ran cold.
Honoria and the Family Obligation Page 19
