by Carola Dunn
“Where is he?” bellowed the unpoetical ogre, glaring around the hall.
Vickie emerged from under the gallery, her bluebell-sprigged white muslin already dusty around the hem. “I don’t know who you are looking for,” she snapped, “but I wish you will go away. You’re frightening Anita.”
“No, he’s not,” Anita piped up bravely. “My daddy was a so’jer.”
“I’ve no desire to frighten women and children.” The ogre had ceased to roar, but he added in a fiercely threatening tone, “You can tell him that if he sets foot on my property he’ll be shot on sight.”
Constantia clutched Fanny’s arm. “It must be your uncle, the duke,” she whispered in horror, “and he is after your brother’s blood!”
Chapter 8
“I shan’t tell him anything of the sort.” Vickie’s belligerence equalled the ogre’s. “It’s his property, the lawyer said so. I daresay he could shoot you, or at least have you thrown in gaol.”
“Lawyer!” The ogre sounded aghast. He stepped forward. “What trumped-up roguery is the villain up to now?”
As the light fell on his scowling face, Fanny said, “He’s no older than I am, nearer your age, Connie, much too young to be my uncle. Sir,” she called, starting down the stairs, “pray calm yourself. I believe you and Lady Victoria are at cross purposes.”
“Cross purposes?” The young giant ran a bewildered hand through his dark hair. He looked from Fanny to Constantia, a step behind her, then to Vickie and Anita, and back to Fanny. “Lady Victoria? And who the deuce are you, ma’am? Begging your pardon.”
“I am Fanny Ingram. My brother is the new owner of Upfield Grange. And you, I collect, own the property between here and Heathcote?”
“I do,” he growled, “at least, so I supposed until...Lady Victoria?...said that the duke’s lawyer--”
“I thought you were the duke!” Vickie went off into a fit of giggles.
He grinned at her sheepishly. “No, ma’am, just the squire. Sir George Berman, of Netherfield.” He bowed, then added with a return to pugnacity, “And I’m not selling!”
They took Sir George out to the courtyard garden. He required considerable reassurance from Frank and Fanny before he believed that neither had any designs upon Netherfield. The Ingrams’ inheriting Upfield and Heathcote was a godsend for him, as he did not scruple to say. The late duke had plagued first his father and then himself mercilessly, and the present duke continued the harassment.
Constantia had scarcely recovered from her alarm on taking Sir George for the duke when she heard this evidence of his grace’s implacable nature. All his hostility must now be directed at the Ingrams. She could only hope that he might think twice about persecuting them when he learned of their coming close connection with her own noble family. Surely Felix would be able to protect Fanny, and Frank, too, until he recovered his full strength.
She looked at the captain and smiled. He was laughing as he waved a handful of papers at the squire. “I wager you’re the very person I need, Sir George. I know nothing of estate management and I cannot make head nor tail of this twaddle. I’ll pick your brains if you’ll give me half a chance.”
“So shall I,” said Felix, who had joined them in the courtyard in search of his passengers when the phaeton was ready to go. “I daresay you have a fair idea of the condition of Heathcote?”
Sir George, an ingenuous young man when not incensed, flushed with pleasure. “I do know this area and the land pretty well,” he said modestly. “I’ll be glad to advise you.”
Both Frank and Felix at once started to question him.
“Felix,” Constantia expostulated, “you promised to take us into the village.”
Her brother waved a dismissive hand. “In a minute.”
“Or an hour,” said Fanny with a resigned shrug. “Well, I for one don’t mean to spend another night in a chamber where every blink raises a cloud of dust. Come on, Connie, Dutton shall drive us.”
As they headed for the stables, Constantia glanced back. Frank was listening to Sir George with a serious, intent expression, his determined chin very much in evidence. He looked not at all like an invalid. For the first time since she had met him, she could picture him as an officer, commanding his troops with authority.
Vickie hovered on the edge of the group, attracted by the engaging young squire yet conscious of her responsibility for Anita, now exploring the tangled shrubbery. Constantia felt a moment’s qualm at leaving her sister unchaperoned, but after all, Vickie was still a schoolroom miss and Felix was there.
“Connie, are you coming?” Fanny called.
“Yes!” She had fallen behind. As she turned to follow, Frank looked up and waved to her, and her heart gave a little skip. He was going to have the most comfortable home imaginable, she vowed to herself.
The next three days were a whirlwind of activity. Mob-capped and aproned, Constantia, Fanny, and Miss Bannister supervised a swarm of village women as clouds of dust flew. Young Thomas laboured mightily, building and tending fires in each room to drive off the damp of disuse--though strictly speaking he was Lady Constantia’s footman, he willingly joined in. Furniture emerged from under dustcovers, some in good condition, some moth-eaten or worm-eaten but repairable, some fit only for the bonfire. Aromatic odours filled the air as woodwork thirstily drank in beeswax, lemon oil, and turpentine until it gleamed. The sun once again found its way through the diamond-paned windows.
Frank and Felix escaped the chaos with the excuse of inspecting the estate and visiting the tenant farmers. Sir George accompanied them, performing introductions and pointing out desirable improvements. From the ladies’ point of view, he made himself still more useful by inviting Vickie and Anita to spend the days at Netherfield with his mother and two sisters. The girls returned each evening with reports of puppies and kittens, Lady Berman’s kindness and Pam and Lizzie’s good nature.
Late on the fourth afternoon, Felix dropped Frank at the front door before driving round to the stables. Entering the great hall, Frank found Constantia admiring its now pristine glory.
“Look, even the chairs and settles and the sidetables have polished up well,” she pointed out, turning. Her apron was a smeary grey; a cobweb decorated her mob cap; and above the smudge on her cheek her blue eyes sparkled. “They are centuries old, Jacobean I believe, and magnificently carved. Did I not say this is a splendid hall?”
“You did.” He was torn between mirth, dismay, and a sudden urge to drop a kiss on the tip of her nose. “However, I hardly expected you to be used as a dust-mop in the cleaning of it, Lady Constantia. Indeed, I never dreamt you’d take an active rôle in the process, merely that you’d advise Fanny.”
“But I am having such fun.” She took off the cap and saw the cobweb. “Though I cannot say I care for spiders, alive or dead. Fanny and I, and Miss Bannister, don’t actually do a great deal, you know, we just tell the others what to do.”
“As an officer I appreciate the distinction, but I also know that if Lady Westwood saw you now she’d drag you home and never let you set foot in the Grange again.”
“You cannot imagine how glad I am that Mama is not here!” She glanced down ruefully at her filthy clothes. “I must go and change for dinner. I am not fit to appear even in the kitchen.” He watched her move to the stairs, her graceful dignity no whit impaired by her disarray. Who’d have thought that the sheltered daughter of an earl would take on so cheerfully the menial tasks of housekeeping?
Despite her contentment and his gratitude for her assistance, he was beginning to think it had been a mistake to invite her. Now that the world might consider him a worthy suitor, he found it more and more difficult to control his attraction to her. She was adorable, irresistible!
He could hardly ask her to leave, however. Sternly checking his thoughts, Frank turned away towards the small downstairs room converted to be his chamber. Lady Constantia had shown no embarrassment at being seen in all her dirt, which made it plain that she regar
ded him as a friend, not an admirer. And that, of course, was precisely what he wanted. Wasn’t it?
* * * *
At the unfashionably early hour of six, they all gathered around the kitchen table. The white tablecloth was darned, the glasses unmatched, the silver still tarnished, but after the day’s exertions Constantia was too hungry to notice, let alone to care.
Though they dined in the kitchen, Thomas served the simple dinner--a piece of gammon, a dish of mushrooms stewed in butter, plenty of bread and cheese, fresh damsons sent by Lady Berman, ale and cider. After the long, rootless years, three days had not diminished Frank’s relish in the rôle of host in his own house. Constantia smiled at his satisfaction as he made sure everyone had what they wanted.
“Me and Aunt Vickie picked the mushrooms,” Anita announced. “They grow in Uncle George’s field.”
“Uncle George?” Fanny exclaimed.
“It’s all right, Fanny,” Vickie assured her. “Sir George says he’s honoured to join the ranks of Anita’s uncles. We helped to pick the plums, too.”
“You have been busy,” said Frank. “You have all been busy. You ladies shall take a holiday tomorrow.”
“Not tomorrow,” Fanny protested. “The dining-room will be fit to eat in tomorrow if I just--”
“Tomorrow shall be a holiday,” he commanded. “I wish to stay at home without being chased from room to room by hordes of maids with feather dusters.”
Constantia was instantly remorseful. “Oh dear, you must find it dreadfully tiring being out and about all day, Captain. Though I must say,” she added tartly as he helped himself to a thick slice of baked gammon, “you seem very well and your appetite is just what one would wish.”
“My dear Lady Constantia, I was teasing! I am not in the least tired. Roworth does all the driving, and we are constantly invited in for refreshments at every farm and cottage, besides stopping to rest at Netherfield in the afternoons. No, I simply feel you three have more than earned a holiday.”
“Connie and Miss Bannister certainly have,” Fanny agreed, “but I want to keep at it, Frank, and I’ve already asked the women to come in.”
“I believe Mrs Tanner is quite capable of directing the others,” Constantia proposed. Turning to Miss Bannister, she asked, “Do you not think so, ma’am? Indeed, Captain, as she is a widow, you might consider hiring her as your housekeeper.” She guessed from Fanny’s startled dismay that her brother’s need to hire a stranger to run his home had not crossed her mind. “He will have to have a housekeeper when you are married,” she said gently.
“I suppose so, but for now I--”
“For tomorrow, at least,” Felix declared, “you and I are going to drive over to Heathcote. If we don’t set repairs in train soon, we’ll be living with your brother long after we are married. I don’t mean to wait forever.”
“Yes, you two go to Heathcote,” Frank seconded him. “Not that I’ve any desire to be rid of you, but I’m sure Sir George is right to say you ought to have the roof and the windows repaired before winter comes.”
“Sir George says Heathcote had a ghost,” Vickie reported, “but it left when the roof started to leak. He says perhaps it will come back when the roof is mended,” she added hopefully, disregarding their laughter. “He says the Grange never had one, Captain, nor dungeons.”
“I’m sorry to disappoint you, but you relieve me greatly! Your sister is troubled enough by spiders without the fear of coming across skeletons strewn about the cellars. Lady Constantia, will you give me your advice about the gardens tomorrow? I cannot guarantee you won’t meet a spider or two, but I’ll be there to rescue you.”
“I like spiders,” Anita announced.
“Then you must come with us,” said Constantia, “and I shall feel perfectly safe.” Quite apart from the hazard of eight-legged assailants, the thought crossed her mind that a small chaperon would not come amiss.
* * * *
The jungle that had once been the gardens of Upfield Grange provided spiders by the dozen. Anita was fascinated, scurrying from web to web. Constantia preferred the red admiral butterflies swarming about a straggling buddleia, and Anita agreed that they were very pretty. She was thrilled when one settled on her arm. As it slowly opened and closed its patterned wings, she stood quite still and held her breath, her eyes round.
Unfortunately, a patch of nettles also attracted butterflies--and therefore Anita. Constantia’s “Don’t touch!” came too late. Her hands stung, Anita ran to Frank, tears welling from those dark eyes.
“They bited me!”
“Poor sweetheart.” Incautiously he picked her up. He drew in his breath sharply and his face paled.
“Let me see.” Constantia hurried to take the child from him. He had been so much improved, so full of energy, the past few days, she had almost forgotten his injuries. So, evidently, had he.
She examined the red rash on Anita’s hands. “Don’t cry, darling,” she said, “it was just the nettles stinging. It will soon get better, I promise. Dock or dandelion, the juice of either will soothe it.”
Frank looked around vaguely. “Is there any here?”
“Plenty! Both are common weeds and of weeds you have a most excellent crop.”
“I do, don’t I? Ah, that yellow flower is a dandelion, isn’t it?”
Anita was intrigued by the white juice squeezed from the dandelion, and by Constantia’s explanation that the jagged-edged leaf looked like a lion’s teeth. Then Frank found a dandelion clock. In blowing away the seeds, Anita forgot the nettlerash.
“I daresay she’s spreading next year’s crop of dandelions,” Frank said with a sigh. “Still, there are so many it hardly matters. I can see it’s going to take a hell of...a vast amount of work restore the gardens.” He held back a branch to allow Constantia to proceed along the path.
“Yes, I’m afraid so. You will need dozens of gardeners to make any impression in less than several years.” Emerging from a pink wilderness of rosebay willowherb, she found herself at the edge of the park, at the top of the slope leading down to the bridge over the stream.
Dropping the remains of her dandelion clock, Anita ran to take her hand. “Can we go to the bridge, Aunt Connie? Please?”
“Yes, certainly.” She glanced back at Frank. “I shall take her, Captain, if you wish to go and rest awhile.”
“No, I’ll come. It will be good to walk properly after floundering through the jungle, and I don’t think there’s any point struggling any further.”
“Rather than trying to prune and weed, you may find it easier to clear everything and start anew. That way, you will only need to hire labourers for the present, not skilled gardeners.”
“Labourers are hard enough to find, let alone gardeners, or grooms, or indoor menservants.” He frowned as they started down the hill. “It seems all the local men either have work on the farms or have left the area in search of work. You have had better luck with hiring maids.”
“For the most part, yes, but we cannot find a cook who admits to being competent at more than the plainest of fare.”
“We have been eating well,” he said, surprised.
“Compared to what Fanny has told me of the wretched provisions you had in the Spanish mountains, perhaps! But unless you mean to be a recluse, your neighbours will expect the owner of Upfield Grange to entertain in reasonable style.”
“A recluse! Good Lord, no.”
Constantia smiled. “I thought not. So a decent cook must be found, by an advertisement in the newspapers if necessary.”
“Not to mention a butler and footmen, I suppose.”
“One or two. And you ought to have a gentleman’s gentleman.”
“I don’t want a toplofty valet like your brother’s Trevor peering over my shoulder!”
“Then we shall try to find you someone more agreeable. I am not sure how to set about hiring a valet, but Felix will probably know, though he has had Trevor since he left school.” She hesitated. “I sound like a
horridly managing female, do I not? I hope you will tell me if I encroach.”
“My dear Lady Constantia, I have asked for your advice. A fine fellow I should be to complain when you give it.”
More than his words, the warmth of his smile reassured her. His eyes crinkled at the corners when he smiled, in the most delightful way. She noticed that his threadbare coat no longer hung on him as on a scarecrow: his shoulders, though they still pained him, had filled out. Before Quatre Bras, he must have presented a vigorous, stalwart figure.
His quizzical look made her flush. To excuse her staring, she said, “Since you have asked for my advice, I will be so bold as to say it is time you augmented your wardrobe.”
“Or replaced it?” he said with a grin.
“Or replaced it,” she agreed, and turned her head away before asking what now seemed a shockingly personal question: “Do you still perform Mrs Cohen’s exercises...Anita, wait!”
The child had run ahead, and the bridge had only open wooden rails on each side. Now, as they approached it, Constantia saw a shabby man plodding down the opposite slope. Tales of tramps and gypsies and kidnapped children raced through her mind. Picking up her skirts, she dashed after the little girl.
“Anita, come back!”
But after pausing on the bridge and staring at the man, Anita sped on. “It’s Hoxins!” she cried. “Hoxins, it’s me!”
Behind Constantia, Frank exclaimed, “By Jove, so it is!”
She slowed her pace as the stranger stopped, a huge grin splitting his unshaven face. Anita dashed into his arms and he raised her high over his head, then set her on his shoulders and continued down the hill, his step jaunty.
“Hoxins?” said Constantia uncertainly.
“Corporal Hoskins, my batman.” Frank, too, was beaming. “A splendid fellow. How the dev...on earth did he find us?”
He hurried on. Constantia lingered on the near side of the bridge and watched the meeting of the two ex-soldiers. She was not surprised to learn that Frank had been the kind of officer who earns his troops’ loyalty--and to whom they turned in times of trouble, she discovered as they came closer.
