A Scandalous Journey: The Amberley Chronicles

by May Burnett

  The footman indicated a large, ornately carved oak door. “Through here, Sir.”

  Duncan nodded and entered, stopping for a moment as he faced at least thirty elegant persons assembled before him. The ladies were dripping with expensive jewels. Even Miss Towers, in a simple white dress, wore three matched strands of large pink pearls across her modest décolleté.

  “Lady Amberley,” he greeted his hostess again, bowing over her hand.

  “Ah, Captain Kinninmont.” To his relief she did not say she was glad to see him shaved and refreshed, though she was surely thinking something of the kind. He felt self-conscious, but it was not as bad as the officers’ mess in recent weeks.

  Roger Ellsworthy bore him off for a round of introductions. Most of his fellow guests were titled; and from the attitude of the others, like Roger and his sister, they also were closely connected to noble houses.

  Monique was standing in a group with Violet Ellsworthy and another young lady of similar age, whose green eyes he had already admired in a portrait in Sussex. So this was Lady Verena Ellsworthy, the older of the Earl’s two daughters. These noble ladies, he had to admit, put the young ladies of Portsmouth to shame with their style and assurance. But then it was no great feat to be completely at ease with yourself, if you were born into a rich and noble family.

  “Monsieur Bertrand de Montalban,” Roger introduced him to yet another sprig of fashion. “He is a second cousin of Mademoiselle de Ville-Deuxtours.”

  “And proud of the fact,” the young Frenchman said. “I am very happy to have finally made my cousin’s acquaintance here at Amberley. Do I understand that you are acquainted with my cousin? From a previous stay in England, I imagine?”

  He must not give rise to suspicions, and schooled his face to an indifferent expression. “Just so.”

  Roger bore him off before he had to give any details. “Bertrand is harmless, but it’s best not to say a single word too much.”

  “I am not likely to forget it.” It would be a strain to dissemble, foreign to Duncan’s character. How soon would he be able to leave this place? The longer he remained in the vicinity of Monique de Ville-Deuxtours, the worse it would be for him. He hated the false position in which he found himself, forced to imitate these young aristocrats, to pretend to be one of their own.

  But an officer must not betray unease or awkwardness in an unfamiliar environment. Duncan pulled himself together and affected a bored, indifferent expression.

  He was next presented to a young lady whom he presently led in to dinner, a baronet’s daughter, Miss Eugenia Minton. She was a chubby, jolly girl, and he had little trouble maintaining a steady flow of small talk even as his eyes strayed further up the table, where Miss Towers was seated between a young Viscount and Roger Ellsworthy. Did that mean that she outranked Miss Minton?

  “Where does your family hail from?” Miss Minton asked as they were served a platter of cutlets with green peas and tiny potatoes wrapped in strips of bacon.

  “A small place near Edinburgh. My father settled in the city, however, and opened a business there.”

  She was too well educated to betray shock or surprise. “But you are not in trade yourself, I gather, since you were introduced as Captain Kinninmont?”

  “I joined the army seven years ago,” he explained, “but I am selling out, as soon as the agent finds a buyer for my commission. It turns out that army life is not for me after all.” He was surprised at the calm voice in which he was able to say it.

  “I don’t blame you,” Miss Minton said, “all that parading, and no war in sight, must be boring after a while. I don’t think I could stand it for seven years.”

  “The absence of a war was part of the reason,” he agreed. “I may go into business after all. My plans are uncertain at this point.”

  “At least, as a gentleman, you can make plans and have many different choices,” she said a little wistfully. “In your position I would study medicine, a field that has always interested me.”

  “Are you well acquainted with the ladies of the family?” he asked. “You are younger than Lady Verena, unless I am mistaken?”

  “I am nineteen,” she informed him. “Lady Verena is some five years my senior. She is said to be holding out for a love match, and has rejected a great many suitors of eligible status, wealth and good looks.” There was a slight warning tone to her voice.

  “And is the same true of Miss Ellsworthy?”

  “So I must suppose,” Miss Minton said. “Her dowry is twenty-five thousand pounds, and her father or brother will likely succeed to the title one day. She is just as eligible as Lady Verena, except that her mother is not the sister of a Marquis.”

  “You are referring to Lord Pell? The brown-haired gentleman with the same green eyes as Lady Amberley?”

  “Yes, that’s him. I had a very interesting discussion about mummies with him the other night.”

  “Mummies? Egyptian ones, you mean?”

  “No, a body they found in a bog right here in the British Isles. The bog preserved him surprisingly well, but of course it is impossible to know how old the relic may be. From the scraps of clothes and ornaments, Lord Pell thinks it must be several hundred years or more. I would love to dissect his mummy.”

  Duncan did not betray his surprise at such an unwomanly ambition. “What happened to it?”

  “It was reburied with a Christian ceremony, in a cemetery. A terrible waste. Who is to say the man even was a Christian?”

  “If he was not, he must have been over a thousand years old,” Duncan pointed out. “That seems most unlikely.”

  She shrugged, but looked unconvinced.

  “And are you acquainted with Mademoiselle de Ville-Deuxtours as well?” he could not prevent himself from asking.

  “Not well, though I have seen her now and then since I was a child. Her mother is English, and owns dozens of breweries.”

  “Does she?” He was glad to discover that this detail at least was true.

  “Stepmother, I should say,” Miss Minton corrected herself. “Her real mother, through whom she inherited her huge fortune, was the last of a noble royalist family. And her father, of course, is the Marquis de Ville-Deuxtours. Unlike her younger brothers, she has not a drop of commoner blood in her veins.”

  “I see.” A marquis for father? And a huge fortune?

  “Not that she is proud or arrogant. I have always found her very pleasant, and by no means inclined to look down on others. When she mentions her time at court it is not to make others feel envious, but simply because that is the kind of life she leads. She has had more suitors than Verena and Violet combined, I understand, though she is not as pretty and so pitifully undersized.”

  “I consider the lady very pretty.”

  Miss Minton smiled. “Every type has its admirers. But with such a great fortune, she must beware of fortune-hunters night and day. Her parents have always guarded her carefully. I am surprised to see her here without them, or her lady companion.”

  “I heard that the companion fell sick, but is nearly recovered,” he said casually. “With so many respectable ladies residing here at Amberley, she is safe enough.”

  Chapter 22

  Monique’s eyes strayed down the table to the Captain several times. He was talking with animation to young Eugenia Minton. In evening attire Captain Kinninmont looked indistinguishable from all those eligible young men who had been hounding her for the past three years. By no means all had been blue-blooded, either; some of her most determined pursuers were scions of the wealthy bourgeoisie, rich young men who had everything but an ancient name, and wanted to graft it to their family tree through an advantageous match.

  The Captain was not a fortune-hunter, or desirous of founding a dynasty. Nor was he any kind of libertine. During their flight he had not taken the smallest liberties, though there had been ample occasion. Of course there might be a more depressing reason: very likely he was not physically attracted to Monique. Most men preferred more
substantial females, with curves they could find without the help of a magnifying glass. Some men paid her extravagant compliments because they were naturally drawn to what they called a “girlish” form, but their attitude had always struck Monique as repulsive. No matter how undersized, she wanted to be desired as a woman, not a child.

  “You are distracted,” Roger said. “More roast beef?”

  “No, thank you.” Her appetite was already appeased. The quantities of food served at such dinners always far exceeded her requirements and capacity. She lifted the crystal glass and took a tiny sip of the full-bodied wine, letting it rest for a long moment on her tongue before swallowing. French, from somewhere in the Midi.

  “I rather like him,” Roger said. Their closest neighbours were deep in different conversations, and not paying them any heed. “You could do worse. Of course I haven’t seen enough of his jib to be entirely sure.”

  “Violet disagrees with your assessment.”

  “My sister has not found one fellow who measured up to her standards in six long seasons. If you waited for her approval, you would die an old maid.”

  “You don’t mean to say that you expect Violet herself to remain single?”

  “Who knows? She can afford to take her time. Sooner or later someone will suit, or not. Not all of us necessarily have to marry.”

  “I always expected to do so, around my current age,” Monique confessed. “I want a family of my own, children, and eventually grandchildren.” If she lived long enough. Her mother’s early death was a bad omen, but her father had always told her that she was much stronger and more energetic, that there could be no comparison. Of course, he would say that, to reassure himself as much as her. He had always warned her not to marry too young. What would her father and stepmother advise in her current predicament?

  “I am leaving for Portsmouth early tomorrow,” Roger cut across her gloomy thoughts. “When I return, I may know more about your Captain, and whether you could risk marriage to him. Don’t go doing anything hasty in the meantime.”

  “Don’t worry about me, you know I am level-headed enough.” She took another sip, meditatively. “I’d rather marry because I wish to, than because society forced me into it. And there should be some natural attraction, too.”

  Roger raised his brows. “You find something about the young man off-putting?”

  “That is neither here nor there.” She could hardly explain that she had been referring to her own decidedly unconventional charms, her small and slight stature. It would be the nadir of humiliation to marry beneath her, only to watch her husband spend her money on loose women with big bottoms and bosoms.

  “I suspect Uncle Anthony’s marriage to Aunt Emily came about in similar circumstances,” Roger said. “At least, Father said it happened very suddenly during his travels. They cannot have known each other very well on such a short acquaintance, and yet they are happy enough.”

  “Anybody who was not happy with Aunt Emily, or Uncle Anthony, would be very hard to please. They are both easy-going and generous by nature.”

  “And you are terribly difficult to get along with, a fearful termagant? Or did you find the Captain irascible and capricious during your travels?”

  “None of that,” she said impatiently. “But how can one know from a few short days, if one could spend years or decades together without falling out?”

  “You derive a better insight into a person’s character during extraordinary and stressful circumstances, than from years of dinner parties and balls,” Roger argued. “Think back to your myriad suitors. Which of them would you have wanted as your champion during your adventures?”

  She was silent. Was Roger right? There were very few men she could have relied on, as she had done on the Captain almost from the first. The average pampered suitor would only have added to her troubles.

  “You are fortunate to be able to please yourself. Compared to most young women in England or France, whose prospects depend on attracting some man able to support them in the short period of their prime, you are in an enviable position.”

  “As are you,” she pointed out. “Have you not yet found the lady who made your heart beat faster, and impelled you to put a ring on her finger?”

  “The two don’t necessarily go together,” he said wryly. “I have been infatuated a time or two, but luckily I always came to my senses before doing something irrevocable.”

  “And nobody blames you for taking your time.”

  “No. I shall not offer for any lady, unless I am certain I cannot live without her.”

  “What if the lady you decide on doesn’t want you?”

  He shrugged. “Her loss. If she has such poor taste, clearly we would not suit after all.” He did not sound worried about the possibility. Of course not. He was a handsome, tall young gentleman with excellent prospects. It would be a rare, foolish woman who would turn him down when he fixed his affections.

  Yet Roger had not done anything important in his life, except to be born into the right family. If he were Roger Kinninmont instead of Roger Ellsworthy, would he be considered quite so splendid a young man, the darling of fashionable society?

  “I should be back here within ten days, a fortnight at most.”

  “Do be careful,” she begged him. The Captain’s enemies were capable of anything, and Roger was young and untried. Not that she would ever say so.

  “Don’t worry. I shall go under an assumed name, nobody will suspect what I am about. Perhaps I shall pretend to be thinking of buying a commission. I could sound out that Colonel and the junior officers, to see how welcoming they are.”

  “You could not buy the Captain’s place, you’d have to begin as a lowly ensign. That would hardly suit you.” She had to smile at the picture of Roger in such a subaltern role.

  “Obviously not. After a period of vacillation I shall come to the conclusion that a martial career is not for me after all. By then I should have gleaned all the local gossip regarding the regiment.”

  “And Uncle James agreed to this plan?”

  “I am a grown man,” he said loftily, “has that fact escaped your attention, shrimp? It is not in his power to stop me, but as it happens he has given his blessing, as long as I take Belling along.”

  “Uncle James’s valet? Why him? He does not look particularly fierce,” Monique said in surprise.

  “Appearances are deceiving in his case. He saved Father’s life three years ago, when his philanthropic work brought Father into danger in the stews. At the time Belling worked for Hendrickson, the investigator, and his past is not particularly respectable. He knows how to handle himself in a fight, and is expert at getting barmaids to chat.”

  “Then I’m glad you are taking him.” Belling certainly sounded like an asset for the proposed expedition.

  Monique threw a quick look at her other neighbour, who was still deep in conversation with the lady at his right side. “I caught only a little that time at the inn,” she said in a low voice, “when those two officers accosted us. Whoever invented this scheme is truly malicious. They waved their disdain in the Captain’s face like schoolyard bullies. He could not respond as they deserved because I was with him, in disguise.”

  “Nothing I have not heard before,” Roger said dismissively. “Of course if it had been true and there were proof, it would place any man in a nasty situation, especially in the Army or Navy. The idea that it was to be a prelude for a fake suicide is not too far-fetched, when you think about it. Some weak men would do it anyway, without anybody helping them along. To be ostracized by your fellows is a very grievous thing.”

  She nodded morosely. If she was unlucky she might experience ostracism herself, soon enough. “Has Uncle George agreed to write to his friend in the War Office?”

  “Father spoke to him, but Uncle George said he needed to talk to the Captain himself, get all the relevant details from the horse’s mouth. And that Uncle Anthony’s contacts might be even more useful. If they hesitate after talki
ng to Kinninmont, you could easily persuade them.”

  “I don’t want to give the impression that it is my own business.”

  “It may yet be,” Roger said with a steady look. “Be on your guard, shrimp.”

  Monique nodded. “We’d better all be, it would seem. Godspeed, Roger. Please find whoever shot at us, and might so easily have killed either him or me.”

  “That is what I plan to do.”

  Chapter 23

  At the conclusion of the meal Lady Amberley, whose expertise as hostess Duncan could only admire, deftly organised the large house party into separate groups. The younger generation opted for charades in the Green salon, while most of the middle-aged and the few older guests settled down at three whist tables, with decanters and attentive servants within call.

  Duncan was not in the mood for charades or card games, so it was almost a relief when James Ellsworthy gestured to him and led him to the library, where his host, Lord Amberley, young Roger and Lord Pell, the highest-ranking member of the house party, were already assembled.

  So now was the moment for the inevitable inquisition. He braced himself even as he remained outwardly impassive.

  “Whisky or brandy, Captain? A cigar?” Lord Amberley was affable enough. It was always advisable to lull your suspects or opponents in false security. Duncan accepted a whisky from his native Scotland. It proved to be of superior quality. Of course. These aristocrats did not stint themselves on anything.

  “James has mentioned that you discovered a case of corruption in her Majesty’s Army,” Lord Amberley began, when they were all sitting in a loose circle. “As members of the House of Lords, my brother-in-law Pell and I would like to hear more. Tell us in detail what you discovered, when, and what you did about it. How much experience do you have with the quartermaster’s office?”