A Scandalous Journey: The Amberley Chronicles

by May Burnett

  “You called me Monique earlier.”

  “I forgot myself in the heat of the moment, and beg your pardon for the liberty.”

  She looked at the clue that she still clutched in her hand. A wonder she had not dropped it when they had been kissing. “My cool below soothes the thirsty throat,” she read aloud.

  “That sounds like a well of some kind. Is there one on the grounds?”

  “Yes, near the rose garden. This way.” She walked quickly, hoping that the brisk exercise would explain away her burning cheeks if they met anyone. Though that was likely a vain hope. The members of this house party might be frivolous, as the Captain had charged, but they were sharp-eyed like all members of high society. Sniffing out scandal and illicit attachments was second nature to them.

  “I hope Roger comes back soon, with proof against your persecutors,” she said, seizing his hand and giving it a small squeeze.

  “You cannot wish for that more fervently than I do.”

  When they arrived at the well, the next clue was pinned to the rope, above Monique’s head. She could not have detached it without risking a tumble into the deep, but the Captain easily reached and unpinned it.

  “The opposite of wisdom is my name.”

  “The folly,” she said, “we were quite close to it earlier. I suspect that the treasure is there, but it is unlikely that we’ll get there first. The clues are very easy, and Violet always plays to win, even if it is just a childish game.”

  “Then I suggest we call it a day and return to the house. Wandering these gardens alone with you is dangerous.”

  “You think your enemies might invade them, and try to kill us again?”

  “The greatest danger here is to my heart.”

  Monique said nothing as they quickened their steps towards Amberley’s garden entrance. Now that she knew what kissing Duncan Kinninmont felt like, the danger might not be to his heart only.

  Was it the kind of peril she should flee, or take a headlong plunge, regardless of the risk?

  She had a great deal to think about.

  Chapter 25

  As Roger was about to hire a room in Portsmouth’s best inn, he was hailed by a former school fellow from Eton. “Ellsworthy!” this young man cried in instant recognition. “What are you doing here so far from your usual haunts?”

  “Hello, Pauling,” he said without enthusiasm. Had he already signed the guest book as Mr. Tom Ribbald, as he had been planning, it would have been highly embarrassing to be addressed as Ellsworthy. He had not sufficiently considered how small the world was.

  “I have come on business,” he glibly informed the young man. “There is a scholar nearby, whom I want to consult about a paper on moths. What brings you here?” As far as he could remember, the Paulings’ estates were located in Dorset.

  “My great-aunt Selina lives in Portsmouth. Mother hopes that by regular visits I can persuade her to name me her heir. I doubt it will work, but when my mother gives an order all of us march to her tune.”

  “Your aunt is a permanent resident of this port? Perhaps you could introduce me.” The old lady would be familiar with local affairs, and able to facilitate a meeting with officers of Captain Kinninmont’s former regiment.

  Pauling stared. “I have to visit her because I must, but why you would subject yourself to weak tea and local gossip is beyond me. But if you like, by all means come along. I was going to call upon her now.”

  “Nothing would give me greater pleasure,” Roger lied. “Can you wait some ten minutes, till I have secured a room and seen to my luggage?”

  “Take your time. I’ll go have a cheroot in the courtyard until you’re done.”

  Roger quickly bespoke the best room available, for three days, hoping that would suffice to complete his mission. He left the disposal of his trunks to Belling.

  “How old is this aunt of yours, and what is her name?” Roger asked Pauling as they walked along a cobbled street.

  “Mrs. Rowdon Parker. Her late husband was a rich businessman. In trade, and the family rather shunned her, until she was left a childless widow. When it emerged how much he left her in the consols, my mother suddenly recalled how fond she had always been of the old girl. I have no idea of her age, around sixty, I suppose.”

  Roger wondered if the old lady saw through her relations’ opportunism. Very likely, as Pauling was not the brightest of his former schoolmates, and still blabbed whatever passed through his head.

  When Roger was presented to Mrs. Parker his guess was confirmed, for there was a cynical gleam in the old lady’s eyes as she listened to young Pauling’s fulsome compliments. She was very gracious to Roger, however.

  “Ellsworthy – are you related to the Earl Amberley?”

  Clearly, even here in Portsmouth, people closely studied their Debrett’s. “He is my uncle,” Roger acknowledged. “My father is his younger brother.”

  She swiftly ascertained that he stood in direct line of inheritance. Unwilling to discuss his expectations, Roger turned the subject. “I have seen several officers in the streets. What regiments are quartered here at present? Several of my boyhood friends joined the army when I went up to Oxford. I wonder if any of them are stationed here now.”

  “I doubt it,” Pauling said before the old lady could answer. “Nothing but guard regiments and cavalry would do for Old Etonians, and from what I’ve seen, there is only common infantry here.”

  “True,” his aunt confirmed. “We currently have the 125th Foot quartered in the town. And some artillery units, but they are not a whole regiment, I believe.”

  “Are you acquainted with the commanding officer?”

  “Colonel Mossley? Anyone who is anybody in Portsmouth society has met him, and of course his dashing wife, Lady Rowena. She believes herself to be the social leader of the place.” From the way the old lady sniffed, she did not share this belief. “She always dresses like a fashion-plate, and keeps referring to her brother the earl.”

  “Is she pretty?” Pauling asked.

  “Strangely, some people think so,” his aunt replied. “Too old for you, Geoffrey, for she must be thirty-five if she is a day.”

  “And married to a ferocious soldier,” Roger reminded his schoolmate. “I would still like to meet her. I believe we may be distantly connected.”

  “Nothing could be easier,” Mrs. Parker told him, “there is a public dance tonight, where she is sure to be present with her husband. I think the tickets are sold out, but if I write a note to Mr. Pelham, who is in charge of these little entertainments, he will make extra arrangements. After all, one can never have too many handsome, single young men at these balls. You are single, are you not? And not yet engaged?”

  “Perfectly so,” Roger reassured her. “I thank you for your kindness to a lonely traveller. Who knows, I may meet the woman of my dreams at this ball in Portsmouth.”

  “Don’t go raising false hopes,” she drily advised him, before writing the note and sending it off to Mr. Pelham by messenger. “The ticket should be delivered to your rooms within the hour. You can pay the fee on delivery.”

  ***

  The ticket duly was delivered, and within a few hours Roger was presented to the Colonel and the Colonel’s wife, a sharp-faced blonde. The local master of ceremonies obligingly introduced him as a dancing partner, and presently Roger led Lady Rowena Mossley into a lively Scottish reel.

  Like Mrs. Parker, she quickly ferreted out his status and connections, and thereafter was all affability. He asked about her life as a Colonel’s spouse, and she complained that it was hard work to keep the junior officers’ wives in line. Some of them had no idea of the deference and obedience owed to their Colonel’s lady.

  Gravely, he sympathized, even though he could understand why any spirited young woman would dislike obeying Lady Rowena’s edicts.

  “I believe I am acquainted with the brother of one of your officers,” he said casually, “Buckley Donforth’s younger brother is a Major here, isn’t he?
Is he present at this ball by any chance?”

  She opened her eyes wide for a moment, but then shook her head. “Major Donforth is a delightful creature and an excellent dancer, but currently he is laid up at his brother’s estate with a badly broken leg. My husband values him as one of his most promising officers.”

  “Oh, does he? Buckley will be gratified to hear it.” It sounded as though Lady Rowena had no idea of any accusations against Donforth. In the Colonel’s position discretion was advisable, so her ignorance did not have to mean anything.

  “When I admire those splendid uniforms, I could almost see myself in one,” he said as they moved side by side. “The girls certainly seem to appreciate their glamour. Well, you married a soldier yourself.”

  They turned the other way. “Joining the army is not a decision to be taken lightly,” Lady Rowena warned. “But if you have any such intention, you might consult my husband.”

  “Perhaps I will.”

  After their dance she introduced him to several young officers, who presently bore Roger off to what they termed ‘more lively entertainment.’ This turned out to be a local club catering to gamblers. There also were girls of light virtue circulating among the tables, who could be taken upstairs for a quick tumble at a relatively modest price. His new friends described the delights to be found there without false shame, and heartily recommended one Rennie, if he felt so inclined, as the best of the lot by far.

  Roger was no prude, but he easily resisted this temptation, and played at dice with the officers. He did not grudge the loss of a few guineas and kept offering rounds of drink to his new boon companions. They were inured to plentiful alcohol, and it took over two hours till their tongues were sufficiently loosened for his purposes.

  A casual enquiry after Major Donforth elicited no particular reaction. They believed he would resume his duties as soon as the broken leg was strong enough.

  “I understand he’s the regimental quartermaster? Isn’t that usually an officer promoted from the ranks?”

  “Not in our regiment,” he was informed. “We don’t hold with former sergeants attaining commissioned rank. Already, there’s far too much riff-raff among officers, the last thing we need is to have some jumped-up commoner in such a responsible position.”

  “The actual work is done by the quartermaster sergeants, of course,” another officer acknowledged before taking a deep drought of ale. “But Donforth is a good fellow, up to every rig, and generous with drink.”

  “From the way his brother Buckley described him, Donforth did not strike me as likely to sit bent over account books when there’s fighting to be done.”

  A Lieutenant shrugged. “Donforth had a Captain who was very good at that sort of thing – it stands to reason, he was a shopkeeper’s brat himself. Kinninmont could spot a wrongly tallied sum at thirty feet.”

  “Where is he now? I suppose with Donforth laid up, he is doing all the work?” For a moment he feared he had been too pointed in his questions, but they were too bosky to notice.

  “No, young Redwing here has been drafted into the job since Kinninmont left. The best thing the fellow could do, under the circumstances.”

  “We were betting if he would sell out or, ah, sell out in a more permanent fashion,” a bulky Captain said in a slurred voice. “Cost me five pounds when he up and left.”

  Roger kept his opinion of such callousness to himself. “It sounds as though he was no great loss to the regiment.”

  “Well, I wish he were still here,” Lieutenant Redwing complained. “I did not join up to become a glorified clerk. And I cannot make heads or tails of the records, most of them are missing.”

  “Nonsense. We cannot tolerate any man-milliners in our regiment,” a Captain objected. “He brought dishonour on our flag.”

  “Who, Major Donforth?” Roger pretended confusion.

  “Captain Kinninmont, curse him. You could have knocked me down with a feather when I heard how he’d been caught, in flagrante, with a footman.” The Captain shook his head dolefully. “Disgraceful.”

  “Shocking,” Roger agreed. “What happened to the footman? Was he dismissed?”

  “I have no idea. Don’t know the fellow’s name, or for whom he worked. Doesn’t matter anyway.”

  “And when did this shameful episode happen?”

  “About a month now? Can’t rightly remember. From one day to the other it was all everyone could talk of. How Kinninmont managed to keep his head up until he sold out, is beyond me. I’d have shot myself in his place.”

  “It would have been better if he had,” the others chimed in. Only young Lieutenant Redwing was silent.

  “In my experience one usually knows such a thing about a man before he gets caught,” Roger said doubtfully. “Did this Captain really work with you for several years, and none of you suspected?”

  “I never liked him,” a Major said, “he put on airs above his station, and should never have joined, in my opinion. But his men respected him, before he was seconded to the Quartermaster. I was rather surprised at the rumours, because I saw him pay court to a young lady some two years past.”

  “That has nothing to say to it,” another told him. “Stands to reason he would do that, to pull the wool over everybody’s eyes.”

  “So who caught the man and started the talk?” Roger asked.

  They shrugged. None of them could remember where the rumours had originated, and the supposed witnesses were not the same, when the versions they had heard were compared. Lieutenant Redwing even said, “I wonder if it was all a hum. I do wish he came back to make sense of the account books.”

  “No chance of that,” a hitherto silent ensign said. “Didn’t any of you hear that he’s wanted for robbing a coach?”

  This was evidently news to the others, who began to argue whether Kinninmont, whatever else you might say of him, would be stupid enough to do something so foolhardy. “I never took him for a chump,” one of his stoutest critics opined. “He’d have disguised his features at least, if he resorted to crime.” A faction was willing to believe anything of the Captain, however, and held that once he’d sold out, and lost his honour, he would not have cared what happened and if he was caught.

  Concluding that he had wrung as much information out of these drunken wretches as was to be found there, Roger called for another round at his expense, and smoothly made his excuses.

  He felt uneasy on the way back to the inn, and looked behind him more than once. Perhaps he should have taken Belling along. Had he aroused the suspicions of Kinninmont’s enemies?

  Somebody had very deliberately started those rumours to destroy the Captain’s good name, and his life. The young officers he had interviewed were mere dupes, but in their readiness to believe the worst of their brother in arms they had also contributed to his plight.

  Roger was glad to reach the sanctuary of his hired room, and securely locked the door. The evening had only deepened his conviction that he would never want to be a soldier, especially in such a regiment as this.

  Chapter 26

  The dinner to which Sir Claud and his lady, as well as a number of other local families had been invited, had been scheduled well before the unexpected arrival of Monique and Captain Kinninmont. As Lady Amberley explained to Monique earlier in the day, she would minimise the potential damage by separating her guests around three different tables of twenty-four each, presided by herself, the earl and Verena as host or hostess. She consigned the Captain to her daughter’s table with most of the younger people, and Sir Claud to her own, close enough that she could divert him if he proved too garrulous on the subject of Monique’s adventures. Monique would be seated at Lord Amberley’s table.

  Monique wished the event were already over. She felt too unsettled to socialise with so many strangers in addition to the two dozen guests staying at Amberley. At least she was dressed once again to her customary standards, in a favourite blue evening gown fashioned by an exclusive Parisian modiste. Her companion and m
aid had arrived at Amberley in the early afternoon, and brought her trunks with them on the coach. All three had been overjoyed at being safely reunited. Miss Maynard had begged off attending the dinner, as the ride had given her a headache. She was thinner and paler than Monique remembered ever seeing her.

  During the period when the guests assembled, before they would proceed into the Great Hall, there was an inevitable mingling, with many introductions and animated small talk. The neighbouring gentry were avid to meet the members of the house party, of whom they had already received reports through local gossip; if the earl and countess’s friends were less desirous of closer acquaintance with vicars, justices of the peace, and masters of the hunt, they were too well-bred to betray such sentiments.

  Scant minutes before they were to go in, Monique came face to face with Lady Russell. She tensed as Aunt Charlotte introduced them: this must be the spouse of that unpleasant justice of the peace. Unfortunately her own name seemed equally familiar to the thin, tall blonde in a puce evening gown, for Lady Russell stared down at Monique in a most disconcerting fashion. Monique straightened her back defiantly, cursing the fact that even in this posture she barely came up to the woman’s shoulder.

  “Mademoiselle de Ville-Deuxtours? Aaah,” the woman said in an odiously meaningful voice. “I must say, you look well enough after that dreadful ordeal.”

  Monique smiled languidly. Too bad one could not bash indiscreet fellow diners over the head with the nearest poker. “How kind of you to say so, Ma’am. You also look the picture of health.”

  “What ordeal?” another voice demanded. It was the wife of a local baronet, Lady Messley. From the identical long nose she must be closely related to Lady Russell. “Do tell, Sarah.”

  Lady Russell looked coy for a few seconds, which only incited greater curiosity among the bystanders. Monique exchanged a quick look with Aunt Charlotte. Was there no way to shut up these nosy ladies?

  “You must mean the dangerous accidents my young friend’s party suffered on the way from her parents’ castle in the Loire valley,” Mrs. Ellsworthy said calmly. “It was indeed a harrowing journey, but ended well, for which we all rejoice.”