Captain Ingram's Inheritance

by Carola Dunn

  Oxshott briefly recovered his manners. “Much obliged, ma’am, I’m sure. So Roworth and my niece are gone to Heathcote? They’re looking to wed soon, I daresay.”

  “As soon as the house is habitable, which will not be long now. They need new furnishings, but the roof is finished, the broken windows mended, the painting and paperhanging begun, and a few servants hired.”

  “Ha!” A look of such malevolence passed across the duke’s features that a cold trickle of fear ran down Constantia’s spine. But she must have imagined it. His peculiar kind of forced affability was to the fore as he said civilly, “Be so good as to have Mentham sent to me at once when he returns.”

  “Certainly, Duke.”

  Oxshott reconciled to the departure of the rest of his family, her mission was accomplished. She made an excuse to leave him and went up to see if the transfer of her belongings to her old chamber was completed. All trace of the occupancy of Lady Elvira and Lady Yates had been cleared, the window opened wide to dispel a faint smell of medicines. The air coming in had an autumnal chill though the sun was shining.

  A shawl about her shoulders, Constantia settled on the window seat to read, but she found herself gazing out of the window, hoping to glimpse the barouche-landau returning. Only because the duke was so anxious for his son’s company, she tried to persuade herself.

  But it was no use pretending it was not Frank she wanted to see. If only...With a sudden shock she realized she had never written to Miriam, her time and attention occupied by the now departed guests. She set down her book and moved swiftly to the little inlaid writing table in the corner.

  Two days later, when she went down to breakfast, Thomas presented her with a letter on a silver salver. She reached for it eagerly. though surely it was too soon to expect a response.

  “From Vickie!” She tried to hide her disappointment.

  “What has she to say?” asked Fanny, cutting up a rasher of bacon for Anita.

  Constantia slit the seal, unfolded the paper, and quickly scanned her sister’s scrawl. “Poor Vickie! Miss Bannister is unwell so she is constantly under Mama’s eye and never does anything right. She is not permitted to write to the Bermans.” Constantia kept to herself Lady Westwood’s reported opinion that the Squire and his family were unfit acquaintances for the daughter of an earl.

  She frowned over a passage marked with blots and heavily scratched out words. “Please tell...Pam and Lizzie she misses thim...oh no, them, of course, but why has she dotted the e?...misses them dreadfully and they is not to forget her. I thought Miss Bannister had drummed more grammar into her than that. And she has run her words together though she left a blank space at the end. She must be sorely tried.”

  “Poor Vickie!” said Fanny.

  “I shall write a note to Lady Berman with her message.”

  “We haven’t seen the Bermans since she left. I suppose they will not call as long as Uncle Oxshott is here. Thank goodness he’s rapidly recovering. He’ll soon be well enough to go home, if we can only persuade him to remove himself!”

  By that afternoon, the duke had recovered enough to insist that Frank take him for an airing in the barouche-landau.

  Frank suppressed a sigh. “If you’re sure you are fit, Uncle, Hoskins shall tool us about the lanes for a while.”

  “No need for Hoskins. I want to see your skill with the ribbons, my boy.”

  “Very well. I daresay the ladies will enjoy a drive.”

  Oxshott testily declared that he was damned if he’d have the ladies fussing about him. So they went off together, Frank on the box and the duke seated in the back, shouting directions as to the route he wished to take. A blustery, invigorating wind swirled bronze and yellow leaves down from the trees. Frank was sorry Constantia and Fanny were missing the outing, but it was not worth an argument with his uncle.

  They were bumping along a rutted lane through a copse when the duke shouted, “Stop!”

  “What...?” Frank reined in his pair.

  “A poacher!” Oxshott stood up in the back, gesticulating at the trees to their right. “I saw him clear as day. You’d better go after the ruffian or you’ll have no game left to call your own. Hanging’s too good for the brigands!”

  Frank saw nothing but trees swaying in the wind and brambles laden with blackberries, and he did not much care if his poorer tenants helped themselves to his land’s bounty. But once again it was easier not to argue with the duke, who was excitedly, if stiffly, descending from the carriage.

  Tying the reins to a nearby sapling, Frank started along the nearest path, a rabbit track, to judge by its narrowness. He penetrated some twenty yards into the copse, pushing aside briars and ducking low branches.

  “There’s no one here, Uncle,” he called.

  “Go a little farther. The damned miscreant’s hiding from you.” Oxshott started after him, then stopped and bent over, leaning with one hand against a tree-trunk. “Devil take it, a stone in my shoe.”

  A shot rang out. The duke screeched, clapped both hands to his buttocks, and fell over.

  A crashing in the brush marked the precipitate retreat of the poacher. Frank briefly contemplated pursuit but decided it was more important to go to his howling uncle’s aid. He ran back.

  Upon his Grace of Oxshott, fortune once more frowned. The duke had been well and truly peppered in the backside.

  * * * *

  “Most fortunately it was the lightest gauge of birdshot,” said the doctor, closing the chamber door behind him. “Otherwise his grace might well have bled to death. He will be in severe discomfort for a fortnight or so, I fear.”

  Ingrams and Roworths managed to hold back their groans until the physician had departed. Another fortnight at least, and who could guess how long before he was fit to travel!

  Chapter 17

  “St. Luke’s little summer we call it hereabouts,” said Mrs Tanner, “though it’s a bit early this year.”

  The second week of October was warm and dry. The duke had been confined to his bed for nearly two weeks of blissful peace. The household ran smoothly and Constantia could not pretend Fanny still needed her support.

  Daily she expected another summons from her mother, which she would have no excuse to disregard. Daily she hoped for a letter from Miriam Cohen. The longer she waited, the more sure she became that Miriam was delaying answering her enquiry because there was no remedy for her scar.

  And that was another reason why she must leave when Lady Westwood next sent for her. In the meantime, she tried to enjoy Frank’s company, the beautiful weather, the changing colours of autumn, without thinking of the future.

  Then Miriam’s letter came. She took it unopened up to her chamber and sat down in the window seat, turning the folded sheet over and over in her hands before she brought herself to break the seal.

  The letter opened with apologies. Constantia had directed her letter to Miriam’s father’s house in London. It had arrived after the Cohens returned to Nettledene, taking her parents with them, leaving the London house shut up. So the delay was not due to Miriam’s reluctance to disappoint her! A tiny seedling of hope sprang up.

  A moment later it withered, blighted. Miriam regretted that her attempts to restore badly damaged skin to its original smoothness had never proved successful. If the scar itched or flaked, a lotion composed of...

  Constantia stared down blindly at the crumpled paper in her fist, the other hand clenched to her breast. In her head throbbed a single word: never, never, never.

  “Are you ready, Connie?” called Fanny from outside her door. “The sunshine is so glorious I hate to miss a moment of it.”

  She had forgotten that she, Fanny, and Dolph were to take Anita down to the bridge, the child’s favourite walk. It was no use wallowing in self-pity.

  On the second attempt, her voice came out right. “I shall be with you in just a minute.” Half-boots, bonnet, pelisse, gloves, anything else? She looked distractedly around the room. The letter lay discarded on t
he floor by the window. She picked it up, smoothed it flat, and hid it in a drawer. The scar did itch at times.

  She did her best to be cheerful as they strolled down the hill, crunching through heaps of yellow elm leaves, but Fanny noticed that something was amiss.

  “You are blue-devilled today,” she remarked as Anita and Dolph stopped to throw armfuls of leaves at each other.

  “The duke will soon emerge from his lair,” Constantia said lightly. “Is that not reason enough for blue devils? But you are quite capable of coping with him by now. I shall have to leave soon.”

  “Oh no, Connie!”

  “I cannot defy Mama for ever.”

  “I suppose not. Oh drat!” said Fanny with a disconsolate sigh. “You will come back before the wedding, to hold my hand?”

  “Of course.”

  * * * *

  In the general gloom caused by Oxshott’s return to circulation, Constantia’s low spirits aroused no further comment. The duke, still unable to sit on any but the softest of cushions, took to wandering about the house, materializing unexpectedly like a disgruntled ghost. Dolph, who had blossomed, grew more and more silent and unhappy.

  One morning, shortly before the hour when the duke usually appeared, Frank met his wretched cousin in the hall and invited him to drive out with him. Frank now drove his carriage about the estate nearly every day. He was thinking of buying a riding horse, for regular exercise had at last restored the strength of his arms and shoulders. If it were not for the sight of himself in the mirror, which he did his best to avoid, he might almost believe the exploding shell at Quatre Bras had never happened.

  Dolph eagerly accepted his invitation. “Maybe I can help,” he blurted out. “If something happens, I’ll try to help. Best if I go too. Won’t tell Father?”

  “I won’t tell. I wonder whether Lady Constantia would care to go with us.” He never drove her alone, but his cousin was sufficient chaperon since they would not go beyond the Upfield farms.

  “No!” Dolph sounded oddly desperate. There was no understanding the poor fellow. He added with an inspired air, “Busy. Lady Connie’s busy today.”

  “All right, let’s go.”

  As they walked down the passage to the back door, the front door knocker sounded behind them. Frank paused. A moment later Twistlethwaite ran after them.

  “Cap’n, sir, ‘tis the Earl o’ Westwood!” He thrust a visiting card at Frank. “And the Countess o’ Westwood, too, the footman says. They’re coming in right now, Cap’n! What’ll I do?”

  The Westwoods! What the devil were they doing at Upfield? He turned back, Dolph trailing after him. “Go and tell Miss Fanny and the Roworths, quickly, man.”

  When he reached the hall, Lord and Lady Westwood had already entered, their identically inflexible figures silhouetted against the open door. Frank strode forward to greet them, to welcome them to Upfield Grange though he had no very kind memories of his welcome to Westwood.

  “Captain Ingram,” said the countess before he could utter a word, “is my youngest daughter here?”

  “Lady Victoria?” Still more astonished, he shook his head. “No, ma’am. She left weeks ago.”

  “I beg, nay, I demand that you do not conceal her from me.”

  “I assure you, ma’am,” Frank said stiffly, “I shouldn’t dream of hiding your daughter from you.”

  “Captain,” said Lord Westwood, grim-faced, “you are unused to the conventions of civilized life. I must warn you that, whatever the custom in the army, the penalties for assisting a young girl to abscond from her lawful guardians are severe.”

  “Sir, I...”

  “Mama! Papa!” Constantia’s arrival, followed by Hoskins, cut short Frank’s angry retort. She kissed her mother’s cheek and asked somewhat nervously, “What brings you to Upfield Grange?”

  Coming in with Fanny, Felix repeated the question.

  “Surely that can wait, Felix,” Fanny protested, “until your parents have sat down and caught their breath after their journey. Pray come into the drawing-room, Lady Westwood. You will like some refreshment, I daresay. Hoskins, tea and the madeira, if you please.”

  Lady Westwood regarded her future daughter-in-law with something closely approaching approval.

  Once they were settled in the drawing-room, the countess turned to Felix and said abruptly, “Your sister is missing.”

  “Vickie? Missing?”

  “Captain Ingram claims she is not here.”

  “Nor is she, Mama,” said Constantia, incensed. “What do you mean, she is missing?”

  “I mean, if she is truly not here, we have no notion where she is.” Lady Westwood’s rigid back failed her. She leaned back in her chair, though otherwise her coolly aristocratic demeanour altered not a whit. “Victoria’s conduct has been utterly unacceptable since she returned to Westwood. Miss Bannister was indisposed after the journey, and then fell ill. By the time she recovered I had come to the realization that she is unfit to supervise Victoria. She was dismissed and...”

  “Dismissed!” Constantia cried. “Miss Bannister dismissed? But where did she go? What will she do?”

  “I did not make it my business to enquire. No doubt she has friends or relatives.”

  “I wish she had come here,” Fanny exclaimed. “She knows I want her for Anita’s governess.”

  “Perhaps she thought you would not want her after she was dismissed.” Constantia threw a glance of bitter reproach at her mother. “We must find her.”

  “I’ll have Mackintyre set Taggle to track her down,” said Frank, and was rewarded with glowing gratitude in the eyes of Lady Constantia.

  “But what of Vickie?” Felix asked.

  “Victoria was sent to her grandmother, in Bath.”

  Frank guessed from Constantia’s shudder that her grandmother was not an amiable old lady.

  “She was sent by post-chaise,” said Lord Westwood, “since I have not yet purchased a new carriage. A maid went with her. After all, it is no more than twenty miles.”

  “We did not learn for ten days that my mother had previously removed to Cheltenham Spa to try the waters. She never received my letter advising her of Victoria’s arrival.” Lady Westwood covered her eyes with her hand, looking suddenly old. “We have been unable to discover any trace of her in Bath or its environs.”

  Constantia hurried to her mother’s side and put her arm around her shoulders. “Mama, you are exhausted. Pray come up and rest on my bed.” She helped the countess to stand up.

  As they moved towards the door, with Fanny following, Lord Westwood said heavily, “We were convinced we should find Victoria here.”

  Felix shook his head. “We’ve seen neither hide nor hair of her. Taggle is the man we need.”

  “Who is this Taggle?” asked the earl.

  Frank was about to answer when he noticed Constantia, at the door, had fixed him with an appealing gaze. Leaving Felix to describe the inimitable Taggle to his father, he went after the ladies.

  Sure that he had not misread her, he waited in the hall while she and Fanny took Lady Westwood upstairs. Dolph had disappeared and the duke had not yet appeared, thank heaven. Hoskins, Twistlethwaite, and Thomas lingered. Frank sent the Yorkshireman about his business but kept the others by him. Though he didn’t immediately reveal to them what was going on, he trusted both. He wasn’t sure what Constantia had in mind, and she might need them.

  Constantia was shocked by her mother’s revelation of weakness. She was less surprised to find that Lady Westwood’s chief concern was that her youngest daughter would bring scandal upon the family. However, the countess also seemed genuinely distressed by the possibility that Vickie was in trouble or danger.

  Where could Vickie be? A faint glimmer of an idea had made Constantia appeal silently to Frank. The glimmer brightened as she rang for Joan and helped Mama to take off her bonnet. Half-forgotten incidents and words, that odd letter...

  Joan hurried into Constantia’s chamber, bringing Lady Westwo
od’s abigail. Leaving the maids to assist her mother, Constantia drew Fanny aside.

  “I hate to ask it of you, Fanny, but may I leave you to minister to Mama? I have a notion of Vickie’s whereabouts which I ought to discuss with Felix.”

  “Of course I’ll stay with her. Where do you think she is?”

  “I had best not say, in case I am mistaken. Pray do not tell Mama, lest it raise her hopes in vain.”

  Fanny nodded understanding and turned back to the countess. Constantia slipped out. It was true that she did not wish to raise Mama’s hopes, but more to the point, she did not wish to be stopped. It was equally true that she ought to discuss her idea with Felix, but then Papa would know. If her guess was right, the fewer people who ever found out, the better.

  Dashing into Fanny’s chamber, she borrowed a loose-fitting hooded cloak. She would have to go without gloves since her hands were quite different in size and shape from Fanny’s.

  From the gallery she saw Frank waiting. She knew she could count on him! He came to meet her at the foot of the stairs.

  “Captain, I have an idea where Vickie may be. If I tell Felix, Papa will be involved, and I had rather he was not. Will you take me to...to Heathcote?” She hated to prevaricate, but her real goal would require explanation and she did not want to waste time. It could wait until they were in the carriage.

  “Of course. It’s a slim chance she might be hiding there, but worth a try. Hoskins, you’ll come with us. Bring my carriage round.”

  The corporal departed at a run. Constantia would have preferred to go without him, but perhaps Heathcote was still too far for Frank to drive. She turned to her footman.

  “Thomas, if Lord Roworth proposes to take any action, tell him to wait until Captain Ingram returns from Heathcote. I must go too, in case we find my sister, but pray do not mention my absence to anyone if you can avoid it.”

  “I won’t utter a word, my lady,” said the footman fervently, “not if they was to pull out my tongue with red-hot pincers.”

  “I trust it will not come to that!” She smiled at him distractedly, then turned to Frank. “I hope Mama will think I am with Felix and Papa, and vice versa.”