An Unusual Bequest

by Mary Nichols

  ‘I can’t stake that.’ Cecil said, aghast. His face was grey, his eyes wild; he was a man in a panic, a dangerous man, but the fever was still bright in him. The conviction that he could win everything back had not left him.

  Stacey watched them, assessing their mood, knowing if the game went on, then he, too, must go on. He could not leave with the others, knowing he was leaving Charlotte Hobart to her fate. Would she come away with him? He doubted it. In her eyes he was little better than his companions. The fact that she had allowed him to kiss her, had cried in his arms, meant nothing except that she had no one else and he happened to be there. If he had read her character correctly, she was already regretting her weakness.

  ‘My lady, my lady, they have called for their carriages.’ The curtains were swished back and the room filled with sunlight. Charlotte blinked and sat up. Her eyes felt puffy and her head felt like wool; she had certainly not taken in what Miss Quinn had said.

  ‘What time is it, Quinny?’

  ‘Ten o’ clock, my lady. And those dreadful people are going. I heard one of them call for the carriages.’

  Ten! She remembered being wide awake when the clock struck two, and again at three. She must have cried herself to sleep after that. She threw back the bedcovers and got up. ‘Help me dress. I must see this for myself.’

  Half an hour later, washed and dressed in her usual black silk, her hair tucked up under a black lace cap, she walked sedately down the main staircase. The front door was open and servants were loading piles of bags and boxes into two carriages. Their owners were milling about, picking up gloves, adjusting bonnets and hats.

  Lady Grey, seeing her, came forward. ‘Ah, Lady Hobart, you have come to see us off. I am leaving with Mr and Mrs Comins. There’s nothing worth having here, after all.’

  ‘Then I wish you a pleasant journey.’

  ‘And good riddance, eh?’ The woman laughed. And when Charlotte did not answer, added, ‘Oh, I do not blame you. Nor do I envy you. Cecil Hobart is about the worst rakeshame I ever met and I’ve met a few, I can tell you. You are welcome to him.’ She turned as her maid approached. ‘Is everything in? Then let us be off.’

  Charlotte watched them depart, but realised almost immediately that Viscount Darton was not among them, nor Sir Roland Bentwater and Mr Spike. She turned to Foster, who had been overseeing the stowing of the baggage. ‘Have the others also left?’

  ‘No, my lady, they are still abed. The game did not break up until dawn.’

  So they had not all gone. No doubt those that remained would continue gambling until Cecil had nothing left, not even the Manor. What then? She hardly dare think of the house in the hands of Sir Roland or Mr Spike, nor, come to that, Viscount Darton, though of the three, he was the most likely to give her time to make other arrangements.

  Almost dragging her feet, she went along the hall to the small parlour near the kitchen, which, in times gone by, had been the housekeeper’s and more recently the room where she instructed Mrs Evans about the meals for the day and gave orders to the servants. It was small and cosy and Cecil never ventured there. She needed to think.

  She was standing at the window, looking with unseeing eyes as the pot boy crossed the yard with a bucket of scraps for the chickens, deep in contemplation, not of the scene but of her predicament, when she heard a light tap of the door. Thinking it was Mrs Evans, she turned and called, ‘Come in.’

  It was not the cook, but Stacey Darton. He was dressed for riding and her heart gave a sudden leap of alarm. Was he leaving like the others after all? Having bled Cecil dry, was he abandoning her to her fate? Had he come to say goodbye? ‘Lord Darton.’ She could not keep the tremor from her voice. She had not realised until now, when it seemed she was losing him, how much she had been depending on him to curb the excesses of her brother-in-law and his cronies, and if he left she would be more at their mercy than ever. Or was there more to it than that? Did she want him to stay because of something else, something deep inside her she refused to recognise, but which insisted on pushing its way to the surface of her mind? She pulled herself together, stiffened her spine and looked him directly in the eye. ‘What can I do for you, my lord?’

  He bowed. She looked exhausted, which was hardly to be wondered at. ‘Good morning, my lady. Forgive me for intruding, but I have something of yours to return to you.’ He held up a small velvet bag; because she did not put out her hand to take it, he stepped forward and tipped its contents on to the cloth covered table. There lay her necklaces and brooches and betrothal ring.

  She was so taken aback she could only gasp. She longed to pick them up, but something held her back, a sense of fairness or it might have been pride. ‘But, my lord, you must have won them in play. That means they are yours.’

  ‘And I choose to give them to you. I would not have you believe I could steal from a woman or condone it in others.’

  ‘I did not think it,’ she murmured. ‘Was that what you meant when you said it was the only way?’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘Is Cecil quite ruined?’

  ‘I believe so.’

  ‘In debt to you?’

  ‘Not by much, I took the jewels as my share. His main liabilities are still with Sir Roland and Mr Spike.’

  ‘Then I must press forward with my own plans.’ She picked up her jewellery and put it back in the bag. ‘I do not know how to thank you for these. They will enable me to pay an advance on the rent of a house.’

  ‘You cannot mean to sell them? Surely they are of great sentimental value?’

  ‘I cannot afford sentiment, my lord. I must go to Ipswich and get what I can for them and then I must look for a home for me, my daughters and whichever of the servants want to come with me. And I must earn a living. A school is the only way.’

  He looked closely at her. She was nearly at breaking point, her lovely eyes clouded with worry, her posture drooping. Dare he tell her what was in his heart? Dare he say, ‘I love you and I want to take care of you, so that you need never worry about a thing again? I want you to be my wife.’ Would she be convinced? And there was still the problem of Julia, the problem that had made him set off from home over two weeks before, a problem that had been pushed to the back of his mind, but which insisted on coming to the fore. Could he, instead of finding a school for his daughter, confront her with a new wife? However sympathetic Charlotte was, Julia would hate her. Unless they could be brought together in a different way.

  ‘My lady,’ He enclosed both her hands in his. The gesture was so natural she did not pull away. ‘Let me do it for you.’

  ‘Do what?’

  ‘Take your jewels and exchange them for hard cash. I know a man. He would give you a fair deal, a better one than you might obtain by going alone.’

  He was right. She knew no one and would be prey to any scoundrel who tried to pull the wool over her eyes, but even so she hesitated. ‘I don’t know what to say, my lord.’

  ‘Do you trust me?’

  She looked into his brown eyes gazing into hers and knew she did. Knew she loved him. Knew if she allowed him to do this for her, he would not be lost to her because he would have to come back when his errand had been accomplished. ‘Yes, my lord, I do, but it is a great deal to ask. You must be anxious to go about your own business. Your daughter will be wondering what has become of you. I cannot think why you have stayed so long.’

  ‘Can’t you?’ he asked softly.

  ‘Gambling,’ she said. ‘You said you enjoyed it as well as thenext man.’

  Her answer made him realise he had not entirely won her over and it was too soon to say what was in his heart. ‘So I did, but that does not mean I cannot help a lady in distress.’ He paused. ‘Let me do this for you. A lady travelling alone, carrying valuables, would be a target for every ruffian in the county and I can see to my business at the same time.’

  ‘Then I thank you from the bottom of my heart.’ The velvet bag was transferred from her hands to his.

 
While their hands were still touching, he bent forward and kissed her forehead. ‘I will be there and back in no time, my dear, but take care, won’t you? Keep out of the way of those mountebanks. If you have to get out in a hurry, go to the parsonage until I get back.’

  He had called her his dear, had kissed her again, oh, so lightly on the forehead. There had been nothing objectionable about it, nothing lustful, but she did not dare hope that it meant any more than a compassionate concern for the predicament she was in. ‘Thank you,’ she whispered.

  And then he was gone. She turned and gazed out of the window again, and a few moments later saw him cross the yard to the stables where one of the grooms brought out his big white stallion, saddled and ready to go. She watched him leap easily on to its back and clatter out of the yard to disappear round the side of the house. How long would he be gone? Oh, she hoped he would be quick, because now she was more than ever at the mercy of Cecil’s cronies. Had they won the house from him? Were they about to turn him out and her along with him? She did not care what happened to Cecil, but she did care what happened to her daughters and the rest of the household. What price jewels compared to that?

  She hurried up to the schoolroom, where Joan Quinn was endeavouring to teach her pupils. They knew there was something afoot; they had heard the first of the guests leave and could not concentrate on their lessons for trying to decide whether that meant they were all going and life could go back to being what it had been before, or that others might come in their place. Charlotte was unable to enlighten them. ‘Never mind them,’ she said, making up her mind that there was no time to be lost. ‘Come, put on your coats and bonnets, we are going to the village. It is time we went back to school.’

  They obeyed with delight and all three were soon making their way along the lane to the village. The Reverend was taking her class and looked up with a delighted smile when she entered. ‘Why, Lady Hobart, how good it is to see you. Children, greet her ladyship properly.’

  The children stood and chanted, ‘Good morning, my lady.’

  She smiled as she answered. It had been hard to get them to be natural with her. At first they had been overawed that she was a lady and she had not wanted them to address her as ‘my lady’, but the Rector insisted they must use the proper form of address and she could not think what else they should call her. Most of them had become used to it, but some of them forgot now and again and called her miss or missus. They did not hold grudges and were pleased to see her. Of course, it might be because she was not as strict as the Reverend Fuller and her lessons more fun.

  ‘Are you come to take your class?’ the Rector asked her.

  ‘If it is agreeable to you.’

  ‘Of course it is. Afterwards, I should like to speak to you. I have some news you might find interesting concerning the request you made of me two weeks ago.’

  The only request she had made that she could remember was about finding a house to use for a school. Did that mean he knew of somewhere? She could hardly wait to find out, but forced herself to concentrate on hearing the children read and gently correcting their mistakes.

  As soon as the children were freed to go home, she stepped over to the Rectory. The parson greeted her with a warm smile and, while his wife took Lizzie and Fanny with her to the kitchen to see some new kittens, he conducted her to the drawing room and asked her to sit. It was a large comfortable room, but a little shabby. The Reverend was not a worldly man and much of his stipend went on charitable work. ‘Did the lessons go well?’ he asked, seating himself opposite her.

  ‘Yes. It was good to be back with the children.’

  ‘Does that mean Lord Hobart’s guests have left?’

  ‘All but two, but the problem remains. I must move.’

  ‘You have not changed your mind, then?’

  ‘No, I am more determined than ever.’

  ‘Do you know Captain Alexander MacArthur, my lady?’

  ‘Captain MacArthur who lives in the house on the cliff near the lighthouse? The Crow’s Nest, isn’t that its name?’

  ‘Yes. His wife died last year. Her funeral service was held here at this church.’

  ‘Yes, I remember, but he is at sea so often, I can hardly say I know him.’

  ‘For all his blustery ways, a Christian gentleman.’ He paused as his wife came in carrying a tea tray, which she set down on the table in the window.

  ‘The little girls are amusing themselves with the kittens,’ she said, pouring tea for her visitor and offering her a piece of cake. ‘Good as gold, they are.’

  ‘Thank you,’ Charlotte said, knowing that Lizzie and Fanny had had the stuffing knocked out of them in the last three weeks, just as she had. She would rather have them noisy and mischievous than so subdued they were afraid to open their mouths. ‘I do not want to trouble them with thoughts of more upheaval until I have everything settled.’

  ‘Very wise,’ the Reverend said. ‘But perhaps it might not be too long if what I suggest is agreeable to you.’

  ‘You were speaking of Captain MacArthur,’ she said.

  ‘Yes. He is off back to sea, being sent to the Indian Ocean, he told me, and he has decided to let his house. I told him about your plans and he expressed an interest.’ He paused to let his words sink in, then added, ‘It might only be for a year, but it would give you time to find something more permanent.’

  ‘He knows what I intend to do? That it will be used for a school?’

  ‘Yes, I told him. He was a little reluctant at first, but I explained there would only be a handful of young lady pupils from the very best backgrounds and you would make only minimal alterations to accommodate them, and so he agreed.’

  ‘You did not tell him I want to include the village children?’

  ‘No.’ He smiled suddenly, his grey eyes lighting with mischief, making him seem years younger. ‘What the eye does not see the heart cannot grieve over. In any case, there is an extensive stable block which will make a fine classroom for the village children. They need not mix.’

  That was not Charlotte’s idea at all, but she decided not to tell him so. She must do nothing to jeopardise her plans now there seemed a chance they might be brought to fruition. ‘Did he mention the rent?’

  ‘No, that is up to you to negotiate. He is a generous man and, as I said, a true Christian and I do not think money is his first consideration. I will be disappointed in him if it is.’

  ‘Then I must see him at the first opportunity.’

  ‘He is in London at the moment. He told me he had to go to the Admiralty for his orders, and then see to the outfitting of his new ship, but he intends to come back before he sails. You will be able to see him then.’

  Her heart sank; as soon as he had told her the news she wanted to rush off and make all the arrangements—now she must wait again. She rose to go. ‘Thank you very much, Reverend. I shall wait patiently to hear from you that Captain MacArthur is back and will see me.’

  He rose too and conducted her to the kitchen where Mrs Fuller was busy making bread, a great deal more than could possibly be needed for two people, Charlotte noted, guessing that the extra was destined for the poor. It reminded her that it was over two weeks since she had taken a basket of food to the village. She would have to sneak some out from under Cecil’s nose. She smiled wryly to herself. Did the larder and its contents still belong to Cecil? It was a measure of her returning confidence that she could smile at all.

  The girls were reluctant to be dragged from the kittens, but came away on the promise they could visit them again in a day or two. Once on the lane, heading towards the Manor, Charlotte took stock. She had to stay there a little longer, so whoever was now in charge must not be antagonised, not until she was ready. How much would the Captain want in rent? How much would Viscount Darton get for her jewellery? Who would come back first, the Viscount or the Captain? She had better write to Mr Hardacre to acquaint him with the latest developments. He would, as her man of business, have to sign the
rental agreement and he might still be trying to persuade the trustees to release some of the girls’ legacy. If the sale of her jewels did not realise enough, she might still need some of that. But it would be paid back with interest, on that she was determined. Lizzie and Fanny would not lose their dowries or their come-out. That was the most important thing in a young lady’s life apart from her betrothal and marriage.

  ‘Can we go for a walk on the beach?’ Fanny asked. ‘I don’t want to go home yet.’

  ‘Yes, why not?’ she said. She did not want to go back to the Manor any sooner than she must and while she was on the cliff she would take a look at the outside of The Crow’s Nest.

  The house was a little way from the village on the southern side of the Hobart estate. It stood close to the edge of the cliff and she made a mental note that it would have to be fenced. With the children trailing behind her, she walked all round the property. It was a large house, with a strange turret at one end, from the top of which, on a good day, she surmised, one could see for miles out to sea; no wonder the Captain had dubbed it The Crow’s Nest.

  The house was nothing like as big as Easterley Manor, but, as far as she could see by peering in those windows that were not shuttered, there were several reception rooms downstairs, two of which were big enough to be used as classrooms. There was a coach house and a stable and a small garden. Its isolation was, perhaps, a drawback; there were no other buildings in sight except the lighthouse and the little cottage where the old footman, Jenkins, lived. Later, she might go and see him; she would need a man about the place and he might be glad of a few shillings to supplement the tiny pension the late Lord Hobart had arranged for him.

  Having seen all she could, she gave in to the girls’ entreaties to be allowed to go down the path to the beach. Walking along the sand, she was reminded of the last time she had walked there and been accosted by Viscount Darton. She had been unsure of his motives, prickly as a hedgehog, mistrustful, wary. But then he had not made it easy to trust him, had he? He was often uncivil and as much of a gambler as Cecil, the only thing that was different was that he seemed to be more successful. Had he really been thinking of her all along, wanting to act the knight in shining armour, or was that something he had dreamed up after he arrived? He could not have known anything about her before he arrived.