“Oh, Charlie,” Humphrey murmured. “Now what have you done?”
9: Theft And Deception
Humphrey slid from his horse, and strode across to the group. “Harris, Frank, Williamson, Brenson… stand aside, if you please. Now, which of you has a complaint against Charlie?”
“Almost all of us, milord,” Harris, the head gardener, said indignantly. “We’ve all lost odd sums since he arrived, but now Brenson’s caught him with his hand in his pocket. It’s not right, milord, and so I tell you. We’re honest folk here, and none of us so rich we can afford to lose even a penny or two, and it’s not right for him to steal like that, whatever he may have done before.”
“Indeed, it is not right,” Humphrey said. “Frank, Tom… and where is Lester? Ah, there you are. Tell me, all of you, how does Charlie do his work? Is he industrious, punctual, tidy?”
“Aye, milord,” Lester, the head groom, said. “He’s a good hard worker, and sharp, you know? Only have to tell him once. If it weren’t for the thieving, I’d be right glad to have him.” The other grooms nodded their agreement, as Charlie watched warily.
“That is a glowing testimony indeed,” Humphrey said. “I am reluctant to turn off a good worker, just because he has not yet set aside some bad habits. Everyone should be given a chance to learn to do better. You say you only have to tell him something once, so let us put that to the test. Charlie, I am going to ask you to explain yourself to me, but be warned — if you lie to me or refuse to answer, then I will be forced to take you to the constable so that the magistrate can examine your case more thoroughly. However, if you are willing to confess to everything you have done and make full recompense, and promise never to steal from anyone ever again, then you may keep your job here, and all will go on as before.”
Charlie’s head lifted, and he said sullenly, “You’ve already made your mind up that I’m guilty, then.”
“I have, because I have known most of these men around you for years. Harris was working here before I was even born. Lester lifted me onto my first pony when I was two or three years old. Brenson started work here the day my youngest brother was born, and if he says he caught you with your hand in his pocket, then I believe him. You will not convince me of your innocence — remember how I met you, after all. But if you admit to your crimes openly and honestly, and swear never to do such a thing again, I will allow you to keep your job here.”
Charlie licked his lips, and looked at Humphrey and then at the hostile faces around him. Straightening his back, he said, “I did steal, it’s true. Only small amounts, honest. I never meant no harm by it, milord, truly. It’s just a habit, I suppose. I’m really sorry.”
“It is not I to whom your apology should be addressed.”
Charlie hung his head again. “I’m sorry, really sorry,” he muttered to the assembled grooms and gardeners. “I’m just not used to working with decent folk, and… and I wanted to buy ale for some of you at the Hare And Hounds, cos you’ve been kind to me, and I had no money.”
There was a stunned silence, then Lester burst out laughing. “You stole our own money to buy us ale? Oh, that’s priceless, Charlie. You’re an idiot, you know that?” He clapped Charlie on the shoulder, and the others laughed and shook their heads.
Humphrey said, “Lester, Harris, let me have a full reckoning of all that has been taken, and I shall see that it is repaid from Charlie’s salary. He will not be buying anyone ale for a while, I fear. Go on, get back to work, all of you.”
He turned to see Miss Quayle still standing in the yard, watching events with great interest.
“Let me escort you to your room,” he said. “I shall show you the quickest way to and from the stables. Ganymede is yours to ride whenever you wish for the duration of your stay.”
“Lord Humphrey, you are too generous! But I am far too selfish a creature to refuse such a magnificent offer. Thank you! A thousand times thank you!”
“I know you will take great care of him,” he said, smiling at her enthusiasm. “But promise me you will always take one of the grooms with you. They know the best routes, and also the hidden dangers that might catch you out. There are gullies and hidden streams on the moors where an unwary rider could come to grief, and I would hate you to break Ganymede’s neck. Or your neck, either.”
She laughed out loud at his impudence. “I shall take the greatest care of Ganymede, you may be sure of that, and I will try very hard not to break any necks.” She followed him into the house and up the stable stairs. After a pause, she added, “He is very like you. Indeed, you might almost be brothers.”
“Charlie? The likeness is remarkable, and you can guess the reason, I suppose. Our new under gamekeeper is another of Father’s little surprises.”
“Every family has such surprises,” she said equably. “It is no great matter, after all. You met him when he picked your pocket, I gather.”
“Something like that,” he said, with a little laugh. “He is not a very good thief, but he is clever in other ways. He can imitate my voice perfectly, even the accent. Now that he has shaved and cut his hair, if he were dressed in my clothes he could pass himself off as me in a moment.”
“And could you pass yourself off as him?” she said, with an amused smile.
Humphrey cleared his throat. ‘Aye, reckon I could do that right enough. T’Yorkshire speech ain’t so ’ard.’
She laughed. “Too much! His accent is not so strong. But a good effort. You are right about Charlie, though — he is clever. After all of your dreadful warnings, he did not, in the end, make any promises for the future.”
Humphrey stopped dead. “Good God! You are quite right. What a sneaky little fellow he is! I must remember to talk to him again, and extract his solemn promise, and perhaps I should get him to swear on the Bible.”
“I should say his word was enough,” she said. “You do not trust him, and yet you keep him here and even excuse his bad behaviour.”
He shrugged. “He is family. Despite his origins, he is my brother and think how embarrassing it would be if he were to be transported or hanged. Carrbridge would feel it greatly.”
“He is a gentle soul, the marquess,” she said. “We go through this door next, I think.”
“You know your way around already,” he said, chagrined.
“While… my friend was engaged with her social activities, I have been exploring. I hope you do not mind.”
“Not in the least,” Humphrey said. “But now I am on my mettle to show you some part of Drummoor that will provide you with a novelty.”
“The cellars?” she hazarded. “The servants’ quarters? The roof? I have heard Mr Chamberlain describing the Drummoor roof as having something quite exceptional in the way of chimneys, so I expect Lady Carrbridge to order an expedition there forthwith, the aunts to be conveyed in sedan chairs and a picnic provided, with chilled champagne and cold leg of duck.”
“What an enchanting idea!” he said, grinning. “I must suggest it to Connie. But for today, how about the attics? If we take this stair just through here, we can reach the play attic. Most of the attics are pretty dull, full of broken furniture and old trunks and the like, but the play attic has all the old toys, and in wet weather we were allowed to have sword fights and hobby-horse races and dress up in embroidered coats and wigs and tricorn hats, pretending to be grown up. Such fun we had up there! Come on.”
And without thinking he grabbed her hand and towed her along at a run, up a narrow stair, along a dusty corridor and then through a low door to the attic. She laughed and allowed herself to be towed. He had no idea how long they stayed there, for she spotted an ancient puppet theatre and nothing would do but to find all the puppets and put on an impromptu performance of Punch and Judy. She took the female parts, and he the male, and he could not remember a time when he had laughed so much or enjoyed himself so unreservedly. Not since he was a boy, certainly.
It was only when they heard, very faintly, the dressing gong, that they brush
ed away the accumulated dust and spiders’ webs from their clothes, and rushed away to change for dinner.
Humphrey had thought he was going to be late, but when he reached the pink drawing room, only Connie was there.
“Where is everyone?”
“Still waiting for the footmen to carry hot water upstairs for their baths, I daresay,” Connie said. “We were dreadfully late back from Sagborough. Lord Carrbridge was here a moment ago, but he was called away by a visitor.”
“Ah, the privileges of rank — taking your share of the hot water before your guests,” Humphrey said, bending to kiss her hand. “Was Sagborough interesting? Did the peacock walk live up to expectations?”
“Very much so, you teasing boy! You would have found it dreadfully dull, but the ladies enjoyed it enormously, even the peacock walk. Although I must confess, the peacocks were as untidy as any I have ever seen. Do they moult, do you think? Or perhaps they were suffering from the mange. But one showed his tail to us, so Lady Hawthorn’s honour was satisfied. How has your day been? I expect you have been out riding, and not doing your duty visiting our neighbours.”
He pulled a face. “Tambray Hall? The Melthwaites are too dull for words. I have been more pleasurably engaged in riding out with Miss Quayle. Tell me, Connie, what do you think of her?”
“Miss Quayle? A little mouse of a thing. She never says a word. Humphrey, it is kind of you to take an interest in the poor creature, and it may help you to fix your interest with her mistress, but do not waste too much time on her, for she has not a penny to her name. You are supposed to be wooing Hortensia Blythe, not Rosemary Quayle.”
“I am aware. But what do you think of her gowns?”
“Her gowns?” She stared at him, bemused. “Well, they are very stylish, for a companion. An expensive modiste, certainly, but then I suppose Miss Blythe clothes her. She dresses a little drably, which is fitting, but—”
“Exactly! Those greys and violets — they look to me like half-mourning colours.”
“So they are,” she said. “Or would be, with black gloves. But quite unexceptional, for a companion. Humphrey, what are you thinking?”
But there was no time to discuss the oddities of Miss Quayle further, for Carrbridge entered the drawing room with his visitor, who was to stay for a night or two. Lord Kilbraith was cousin to both Mary, Lady Hardy and also to Connie, and was heir to an earldom in Scotland. Having had business in York, he had impulsively extended his journey to Drummoor. Naturally, Connie was delighted to add him to her roster of house guests, and not merely on account of the family connection. Lord Kilbraith was rich, handsome and amiable, and therefore must be welcome in any company. In addition, he was only a little above thirty and as yet unmarried, which made him of the greatest interest to the ladies.
With the day’s visit to Sagborough and the addition of a charming new guest, the dinner-table conversation was as lively as Humphrey could remember. One end of the table was absorbed in the minutiae of lace and boot-buttons and Lady Hawthorn’s peacock walk, while the other exchanged family news and compared the children’s growth and wondered why they met so seldom.
Yet Humphrey was restless. He knew he ought to intensify his courtship of Miss Blythe if he was to have any hope of winning her, yet his head was full of glowing brown eyes and a lady in a green riding habit, a lady who could put Ganymede over the wall without the least hesitation. She had not a penny to her name, and he could not afford to think of her, yet he could not get her out of his mind. And his foolish hesitation meant that he lost the chance to sit beside either of them. Miss Blythe was claimed by two of the Marford cousins, squabbling for the right to lead her into the dining room, and settling the matter by each offering an arm. And Miss Quayle was led in to dinner by Julius Whittleton.
Now that was an odd thing. Everyone knew that Julius was hanging out for a rich wife, and he never, ever pursued a lady, even in the mildest of flirtations, unless there was a fortune to be gained. He had been pursuing Miss Blythe assiduously ever since he had met her. Yet tonight he was exerting all his considerable charm towards Miss Quayle.
Humphrey sat morosely halfway down the table, too far away to participate in any of the livelier groups, surrounded by uncles and aunts who had nothing original to say, and were far more interested in their food than in him. He did his polite best to engage them in conversation, but it was hard work.
In between these efforts, he watched the two friends covertly. Miss Blythe was as pretty as a summer garden in pale pinks and blues which set off her delicate complexion to perfection. Her gown was simply styled, as became her age, and was both elegant and fashionable, but she wore no jewels and nothing but a ribbon in her hair. She looked charmingly unsophisticated, as she smiled and chatted readily to her dinner companions, without seeming to be especially interested in either.
Miss Quayle’s dark hair was even more simply styled, with nothing but a silver comb adorning it, and she, too, wore no jewels, but her lilac gown and sheer over-gown bore the sort of understated embroidery that Humphrey knew was hideously expensive. He was not much of a judge of ladies’ attire, but it struck him now that if one were obliged to pick one of the two as the heiress by the quality of her gown alone, then Miss Quayle would certainly be the winner. As he considered this interesting fact, he remembered her remark about buying an estate on the moors, and her confusion over whether she had ever lived in England before. Yet only that day she had said ‘I have so missed this English air’.
Was it possible that they were all mistaken, and Miss Quayle was the heiress, and Miss Blythe the companion? Or had they even taken each other’s names? Yes! For they never called each other by name, and talked always of ‘my friend’, to avoid the possibility of a mistake. And Miss Blythe — the real Miss Blythe — was only just out of mourning for her father, and had a wardrobe full of grey and lilac gowns, easy enough to reuse as a companion’s attire. Two women, newly arrived from India, with no relatives and no acquaintance in society — how simple to switch identities.
But the real question was — why? What was to be gained by the deceit? Even as he solved one part of the puzzle, another rose to take its place.
He was very satisfied with his deduction, but if any corner of doubt had remained in his mind, one other factor would have convinced him, and that was Julius Whittleton’s change of allegiance from Miss Blythe to Miss Quayle. Somehow, he knew about the deception. And then Humphrey remembered that Julius had been helping Merton for some time, and had occasionally been left to open and sort the marquess’s mail. Carrbridge had written to someone with connections to India to enquire about Miss Blythe, and it was entirely possible that Julius had read the reply.
Now Humphrey was in a dilemma. He could no longer pursue the lady who called herself Miss Blythe, knowing she had no fortune. Yet equally, it would look very odd in him to abandon his attentions to her altogether. That was not the behaviour of a gentleman. Nor could he act as Julius had, and suddenly pay court to the lady who really had the two hundred thousand pounds. Only an unmitigated fortune hunter would act so.
And yet… the lady with the fortune was also, seemingly, the one who rode as bravely as any man, who learnt a new game in the time it took to explain the rules, who could match him in intellect, in spirit and in physical prowess. His dark-eyed lady who drew his gaze over and over again. Usually when he glanced her way, she was turned away from him, listening politely to one of Julius’s monologues. But once, she was looking straight at him, and she lifted her knife and fork and made a little gesture with them, suggestive of Mr Punch being hit over the head. Then she smiled, such an intimate, secretive little smile that his heart turned over.
What was happening to him? He knew so little about her, and yet he was more than halfway to being utterly, irrevocably in love with her.
10: Mutual Attraction
When the ladies withdrew and the gentlemen rearranged themselves at one end of the table, Humphrey found himself sitting next to Lord Kilb
raith. As soon as the port had passed round, Kilbraith turned to Humphrey and said, “Who is the pretty little thing in the blue and pink? The one with all the blonde curls directly opposite you.”
“That would be Miss Hortensia Blythe,” Humphrey said, wondering even as he spoke if that was true. “Recently arrived from India.”
“Fabulously wealthy,” Uncle Joshua put in. “Two hundred thousand, by all accounts, and in her own control, with no restrictions. I imagine she will not be husbandless for long.” He laughed, a deep, fruity rumble. “Humphrey has his eye on her already. A good match for him, if he can get her, although you could cut him out, I make no doubt, Kilbraith, if you set your mind to it. The chit would like to be the Countess of Strathmorran one day, I daresay. Shall we have a small wager on which of you will win her?”
“I beg you will not,” Humphrey said sharply. “It is too bad when a lady is the object of gossip and speculation just because she has a fortune at her command.”
“Too bad it may be,” said Uncle Joshua, “but it is the way of the world, Humphrey, m’boy. Pretty girl, money by the bucketful — bound to set folk wondering. Bound to be surrounded by hopeful young men. Only natural. But you had better get a move on, or Kilbraith will snaffle her from under your nose.” He chuckled again, and it was fortunate for Humphrey’s temper that his uncle was called to intervene in a debate further down the table.
Kilbraith talked for a while on indifferent topics, but later, when the port had circulated more freely and the table was becoming noisy, he said in a low voice to Humphrey, “Tell me truly, Marford, what is your situation with Miss Blythe? For I would not for the world encroach if there is any existing attachment or understanding. But if there is not—”
Humphrey caught his breath. How easy it would be! An agreement between gentlemen. A smile, a nod, a conscious look — and Kilbraith need not trouble him. His own pursuit of Miss Blythe could continue unimpeded, for even Julius had withdrawn, seemingly.
Sons of the Marquess Collection Page 30
