Sons of the Marquess Collection

by Mary Kingswood

  Humphrey was laughing so hard by this time that he could form no coherent sentences. It was Harriet who began to object.

  “But that just puts Humphrey in prison instead of Charlie, so it seems to me that he is in just the same difficulty.”

  “No, no!” Humphrey said, trying to stop laughing and not quite succeeding. “Do you not see? If Charlie is caught stealing, he will be hanged for it, or at best transported. But Lord Humphrey Marford pretending to be a groom and stealing a necklace for a wager?”

  “Oh, I see,” Harriet said. “A slapped wrist, perhaps, or a few days in prison, depending on the magistrate.”

  That set Humphrey off again. “Oh yes, depending on the magistrate!”

  “But there is a difficulty,” Hortensia said. “I had hoped to intercept you before you called on Lord and Lady Melthwaite, but now they know that you were here this morning, so you could not be in the carriage on your way to Sagborough at the same time.”

  “A great many people know where Humphrey was bound,” Harriet said. “His valet, several grooms, my coachman, although he will say nothing of it.”

  “They are all servants,” Hortensia said. “But if Lord Melthwaite tells everyone that you were here—”

  “But I was not,” Humphrey said. “Obviously, I cannot be here, since I am busy stealing a necklace and being hauled off to Sagborough. However, someone impersonating me might possibly have been here.”

  “Ohhh!” breathed Hortensia. “How splendidly ingenious! Naturally you bribed Charlie to take your place on the visit to Tambray Hall.”

  Harriet laughed, but shook her head also. “You are both insane, and possibly even brazen enough to pull it off. You may be assured of my secrecy, and Merton is discretion itself, so you need have no fears there. Good luck, Humphrey, and congratulations, Miss Quayle.”

  “Erm, thank you, but—?”

  “I never thought Humphrey would ever find his equal in daring, but it seems he has. You are very well matched, and will be very happy together, I daresay, if you can avoid being hanged first. Good day to you both, and enjoy your stay in prison, Humphrey. I shall tell Connie not to wait dinner on your account.”

  And with that she climbed back into her carriage, the impassive coachman manoeuvred past the curricle and the equipage disappeared towards Drummoor in a cloud of dust.

  Tom scrambled into the rumble seat while Humphrey climbed into the curricle. “Shall you drive, my lord?” Hortensia said in a small voice.

  “You seems to be doing perfectly well,” he said. “Pray continue, Miss Quayle.”

  They drove on for some miles, rehearsing the story again, but Humphrey cursed Harriet for her foolish clumsiness. If she had said nothing, they would have gone on in the highest spirits. Hortensia had called him by name, in the most delightful manner, and he had had the most tremendous difficulty in not calling her by name, too. Now the casual mention of them being ‘well matched’ had set a damper on the spirits of both. There was a constraint between them, and how he hated it! In the two days since the outing to Branksford Abbey, they had hardly spoken a word to each other, apart from polite greetings and requests to pass the buttered prawns. She still wore her drably unadorned greys and lilacs, and still passed almost unnoticed amongst the company as the mousy companion, Miss Quayle. No one appreciated her but Humphrey, for even Julius had been routed, yet they were as strangers to each other.

  But as they neared Sagborough, and the leafy lanes and golden fields gave way to cottages and then houses and finally the many-storeyed buildings of the town, gradually she began to relax and even smile a little, as the excitement of the venture could not be suppressed. He directed her off the main road into small, quiet back lanes and they drove to a secluded spot at the rear of the prison, shielded from view by a wing of the building and some overgrown pear trees. Here Humphrey donned the greatcoat, wig and hat of a clergyman.

  “You forgot a plain neckcloth,” he said, struggling into the coat with Tom’s laughing assistance, for it was several sizes too small.

  “I packed a scarf,” she said. “That will have to do to hide your magnificently arranged cravat. Oh dear! That coat has surely not been in fashion these thirty years. ”

  “Poor Billings!” he said, shaking spiders from the wig. “If he could see me now, he would give notice on the spot.”

  “No, he would not, for you are not Lord Humphrey Marford at this moment,” she retorted. “Who are you, in point of fact?”

  “I am Mr Nathanial Hay, the parson of St Simeon’s Church in the parish of Mishcombe,” he said at once, in the quavering voice of a septuagenarian. “I was summoned by… someone, I shall think who it might be presently… and informed that Lord Humphrey was in trouble and— Lady Hester, of course! No one would question the wishes of such a sweet old lady. Lady Hester sent me to talk sense into her foolish great-nephew. There, will I do?”

  She giggled. “Poor Mr Hay! Such a dapper little man. I dare swear he never in his life looked so disreputable as you do now. Let us hope no one in Sagborough knows the real Mr Hay. But you will carry it off admirably, Humphrey. Good luck! Oh, I almost forgot.” She fished the rumpled note from Mr Merton out of her pocket. “You will need this for the magistrate. Go on now.”

  He stood beside the curricle, and took one of her hands. “Thank you, Hortensia. I hope Charlie is suitably grateful for all this. Oh — but what are you planning to do with him?”

  She was blushing furiously at the use of her name, and when she answered her voice was not quite even. “Why, take him straight back to Drummoor. Where else should he go?”

  “I am not sure, but not there. If any of the maids should see him—”

  “Oh. Yes, of course. What about the inn where you met him?”

  “I have a better idea. Take him to Silsby Vale House, where his mother is cook. She can knock some sense into his skull, if anyone can. Tom knows the way to Silsby Vale, then Charlie can direct you from there. I must go, but… Hortensia, do not wait here too long for Charlie. If this goes wrong, neither of us will be coming out tonight. When the church clock next strikes the hour, you must go, understand?”

  She nodded. “You will be all right? I mean — you will not be transported or anything of the sort? I should not like that at all!”

  “Neither should I,” he said, smiling up at her suddenly anxious face. “Have no fear, the magistrate will treat gently with me.”

  “Of course, for you will know him well, I daresay. You probably dine with him.”

  Humphrey laughed. “Most assuredly, and I shall not even have to suffer the rigours of prison for very long. The court is in session tomorrow, so I shall be home in time for dinner and we shall drink champagne and toast the success of our little adventure. Good bye for now.”

  “God be with you,” she said quietly.

  Reluctantly he released her hand and strode away. At the corner, he looked back to see her white face watching him. She gave him a tremulous smile, and he responded with a little wave. Then he turned the corner, walked along to the entrance to the constables’ house, and pushed open the door, remembering to stoop a little, since he was an elderly parson now.

  It was a dispiriting place, the constables’ house, just a few rooms squeezed between the courthouse and the cells. There were only two public rooms, one an office and the other fitted with benches for those awaiting the release of a prisoner. Since both had a propensity to be filled to overflowing with argumentative drunken farm labourers on market and festival days, the furnishings had the tired air of battle-hardened survivors, covered with dents and scratches, and not a chair or table in the place with four solid legs.

  All was quiet today, and one of the constables bustled out from the rear rooms, where he had no doubt been enjoying his dinner, judging by the spot of gravy on his chin. He was a well-rounded man, who would undoubtedly enjoy his meal, and not be happy to have it interrupted. But he understood the significance of the parson’s hat and the Bible, and made a passable effo
rt at a smile.

  “Good day to you, sir. How may I be of service to you?”

  “I am Mr Nathanial Hay, parson of St Simeon’s Church in the parish of Mishcombe, by Drummoor,” Humphrey began, in his querulous voice. “I understand you have one of my parishioners in your care just now, my good sir. Lord Humphrey Marford.”

  The constable’s eyebrows rose. “Well, he says he’s Lord Humphrey, sir, but he ain’t no gentleman, by his manner o’ dress, sir.”

  “Ah, the foolish boy! These nobles, they will have their little jests! And their little wagers. Has he not explained how it came about?”

  “Oh, yes, sir, but… so he really is Lord Humphrey? Lor’ love me, I’d never have guessed it! But a charge has been laid, sir, and he’ll have to go up before the magistrate tomorrow.”

  “Of course, of course! I expect nothing less of you, my good man. You carry out your duties in the most exemplary manner. The citizens of Sagborough must sleep easier in their beds at night knowing that the splendid men of the constabulary are protecting them.”

  The constable’s chest puffed out a little. “Why, thank’ee, sir! It’s right grand to be appreciated, like.”

  “No, Lord Humphrey has made his bed, and now he must lie in it, eh? He will see how the magistrate likes his little joke. But his great-aunt, Lady Hester, is most concerned for his immortal soul, and has asked me if I might visit him in his rough cell and induce him to pray with me.”

  “Ah, Lady Hester!” the constable said, his face softening. “Such a beauty she was, in her day. My old da’, he danced with her once, at the harvest ball at the assembly rooms. They don’t come to the harvest ball no more, the Marfords, but in those days they did, and danced with anyone who asked ’em. I remember her well. Anything to oblige poor Lady Hester. How is she, the dear, sweet lady?”

  “Very frail, but in good spirits, as always.”

  “Tell her we’ve not forgot her here in Sagborough. This way, sir, and mind that beam or you’ll crack your skull, a great, tall gentleman like yourself. Down this way — watch that flag, sir, it’s a bit uneven. Here he is, sir, the prisoner.” He rattled his keys, the lock creaked and a heavily studded door was flung open. “I’ll just wait out here, sir.”

  “No need, my good man. You may lock me in with him, so that you need not fear he will escape, while you have a few minutes to finish your dinner. Let us have… oh, twenty minutes for quiet prayer and reflection.”

  “Well, now, I’m not sure…”

  “You would not want to deprive a man of his chance to talk privily with a man of God, I am certain.”

  “Oh no, not at all, sir. Twenty minutes, then.”

  The keys rattled, the lock clanked, and the constable’s ponderous footsteps echoed into the distance. Then silence fell. The cell was a gloomy place, lit by one barred window high up on the wall. Apart from a bucket and a wooden shelf against the wall, to act as both seat and bed, the room was unfurnished.

  Humphrey turned to Charlie, who was sitting on the bench watching him with a bemused expression on his face.

  “I say, who are you?” Charlie said, in the polished voice of a nobleman. “I did not send for you.”

  “Well done, Charlie! Very impressive, but you can drop that voice now.”

  “Milord?”

  “Well spotted. Can you do my parson’s accent, do you think?”

  “Of course I can, my good man,” Charlie said at once, in quavering tones.

  Humphrey grinned. “Excellent. Get your clothes off and put these on, and you will walk out of here a free man in under twenty minutes.”

  “What? Not a chance,” Charlie said. “I’ll not let you do this for me.”

  “But I will not have to,” Humphrey said. “No one is going to hang the brother of the Marquess of Carrbridge.”

  “Which is me, just now. I can do it, you know I can — convince everyone I’m you, like.”

  “Only by perjuring yourself in court.” Charlie looked at him blankly. “Only by lying. Whereas I really am the marquess’s brother. No lies needed. Well, not many. The magistrate will waggle a finger at me and tell me not to do it again. No time for arguments, Charlie, just swap clothes quickly otherwise you will get me into hot water too.”

  “Oh. Don’t want to do that, milord. I’d do anything for you, you know that. Don’t never want to get you into trouble.” And he began shrugging out of his clothes.

  They both had a little difficulty with their new attire. Humphrey had trouble squeezing himself into Charlie’s tight-fitting uniform, and Charlie could do nothing with Humphrey’s cravat. In the end, Humphrey tied it for him in a simple knot, trying to suppress Billings’ anguished countenance from his mind, and hoping that the scarf and greatcoat would cover the mess.

  The constable’s heavy tread was already approaching, when Humphrey grabbed the Bible and slammed Charlie’s hand onto it. “Swear to me right now that you will never do anything like this again.”

  “I swear it. And… thank you, milord. Thank you.”

  Then the keys rattled, the lock creaked and the door swung open. “You finished, Mr Hay, sir?”

  “I am, my good fellow,” said Charlie, in such an authentically querulous voice that Humphrey was lost in admiration. “We have prayed together, and I must hope that his lordship is in a more penitent frame of mind. Good day to you, my lord.”

  “Good day, Mr Hay,” Humphrey said in his own voice. “Thank you for visiting me. Pray give my regards to Miss Hay and Miss Agnes.”

  “I shall do so. May God forgive you your sins, my lord.”

  And so saying, Charlie swept out, head high, the Bible under his arm.

  The door clanged shut, and Humphrey started to laugh. Then, he settled himself on the bench as comfortably as he could, and prepared for a long, uncomfortable night.

  19: Repose And Reparations

  Hortensia had twice to walk the greys about while she waited, to prevent them from getting cold. Three times she sent Tom out into the square to read the time from the church clock. But before the hour struck, a tall figure in greatcoat, wig and hat came round the corner. Her heart lurched, but then she saw at once that it was not Humphrey. Something about the set of the shoulders was all wrong. Charlie had almost as much height as Humphrey, but he had not the same breadth of shoulders.

  She should have been pleased that their little scheme had succeeded but instead she was rather downcast. Humphrey was in prison, and there was no knowing how that would end. Oh, if only he were there beside her, smiling up at her in that heart-stopping way of his, holding her hand—

  No, this would never do. She needed to pull herself together. Charlie climbed nimbly into the curricle without a word, and Hortensia set the horses in motion at once. Tom, who had been holding their heads, jumped up behind them. They clattered through the cobbled streets of Sagborough at a sedate pace, so as not to attract too much attention, but they were an odd grouping altogether — a rich gentleman’s curricle being driven by a lady and with a seemingly elderly and ill-dressed parson as a passenger.

  Turning onto the York road, they passed some fine old buildings clustered around a market square and then a range of working yards for a barrel-maker, an ironmonger, a glass-blower and a brewer, before the town abruptly ended with two or three larger properties ringed by walls and high railings. Almost at once, they plunged into woodland. After a mile or so, they turned again onto a smaller road following a lively stream dotted with small mills and their clusters of cottages. Then more woodland, followed by good farm land, the fields studded with cattle. The hedgerows rose on either side of them, the great heads of cow parsley nodding gently. Bees hummed in the afternoon sun, and every mile, every new vista of splendid English countryside raised Hortensia’s spirits a notch.

  They crossed another road from York, and then dropped down into a broad valley.

  “Wait a minute,” Charlie said. “This ain’t the way to the marquess’s house. This is Silsby Vale.”

  “Inde
ed it is,” Hortensia said. “Lord Humphrey felt it would be safer for you if you do not return to Drummoor for a while. If any of the ladies’ maids who saw you today were to recognise you in the stables, there could be some very awkward questions asked. I am taking you to stay with your mother for a while.”

  “Oh.” He was silent for a while. “’is lordship said I was to go there?”

  “He did.”

  “Then I will, although I don’t know as anyone there’ll be very ’appy to see me, like.”

  Hortensia noted the sudden lapse into the local vernacular, and Charlie’s left foot tap-tap-tapping nervously. “If you are not content to stay there, Charlie, I shall take you somewhere else,” she said, although she had no idea where that might be.

  “You’re very kind,” he said, and almost his voice seemed to be breaking. “Don’t know why you’d do anything for me.”

  “Because you are half-brother to the Marquess of Carrbridge,” she said gently. “For his part, he wishes to take care of you and see you respectably established. I hope you wish also to do him credit, and to do nothing to bring dishonour on the family.”

  “I do!” he cried. “I do wish that… not bringing dishonour… everything you said. But it’s difficult sometimes to know what to do. I’d like to help Lord Humphrey, but I seem to make a mess of it. I only wanted to help him get his gaming house, and I thought those rich ladies wouldn’t miss a few bits and pieces.”

  “A few!” she said in alarm. “Did you take anything else, Charlie?”

  He hesitated, and she could almost hear him considering lying. But then the shoulders slumped. “A couple of things.”

  “Where are they? Not in your room, I hope?”

  “Nah, not that stupid! There’s a big jug thing with birds on it near the top of the stairs by the long room with all the paintings. They’re in there.”

  Hortensia interpreted this to be the Chinese vase near the gallery. “I shall retrieve them, if I can. But Charlie, you must never do anything like this again, do you understand?”