Grace Gibson

by The Lost Heir of Devonshire

  “We should walk the horses, governor,” the coachman growled. “I can’t like to see ’em standing so long.”

  At this perfect point of distraction, the shrubbery parted and two shrouded figures emerged, darting quickly into the far side coach door. Catching sight of this with a rush of satisfaction, Neville signalled to the coachman to be off. He mounted Lucifer and they proceeded at a stately pace down the road.

  “Make haste,” Neville admonished the coachman as quietly as he could while still being heard.

  “I am driving them as hard as they’ll go,” came the unsatisfactory assurance. “This galleon weighs enough to warrant a string of eight goers, and it’s none too well sprung, neither. If we don’t lose a wheel in the hour, I’ll say we are lucky.”

  Inside, Will groaned with despair on hearing this dim prognostication. Their plan relied on putting the villain out at least four counties away, in the wilds.

  As is the way with beasts and conveyances, the thing held together from the sheer determination of those in whose interest it held paramount importance. By the first posting house, the coachman was heard to admit it was built “solid-like, as they used to be,” and Neville felt empowered to knock lightly on the coach door and inquire as to the comfort of his “cousin.” The maid answered after a small pause that they were in need of nothing save haste.

  So it went the night through, to the very beginning of dawn. When Will could faintly perceive the road and its increasing desolation through North Umberland, he sat upright and checked his pistol one last time. This was a stretch of road where the faint hearted never liked to go, and even the stout of mind hurried through. Being a young man who did not like to rise before noon, the depressing hour of five in the morning struck Will as the perfect time to play out his part.

  He knocked boldly on the roof of the carriage, saying quietly to the maid, “Look sharp there and pluck up. I’m not able to deal with the vapours just now.”

  She murmured her assurances that she was able to withstand whatever shocks were about to ensue, as the coach came to a slow halt.

  Outside, Neville asked what was amiss and if all was well. When there was no answer, he went toward the coach to ask again. When Miss Fanley and her abigail still failed to reply, he motioned to the groom and dismounted.

  “Come now, my love, this is no place for us to stop. Whatever can be the matter?”

  All this he said in extreme irritation, for he was tired and his nerves were strung tight. He determined to put an immediate end to his bride’s moratorium against him and opened the coach door abruptly, with every expectation of delivering his wife-to-be a sharp stricture on obedience.

  Will Fanley placed his pistol immediately in Oscar Neville’s face. “You dastard!” he cried, pushing him out into the road and following instantly on his heels. He threw off his cloak with his left hand and glared hard and gleefully at Neville’s shocked stare.

  “Taking my sister off, are you?”

  Just then, noticing the outrider putting the sights of an old blunderbuss on him, he said over his shoulder, “You, coachman, John Osbury. You’d best take that blunderbuss off me and put it on the proper villain, and do as I say. I am Will Fanley and I’ve told your hostelry about what’s ado, that you’re taking my sister out of Greenly against my will. I’ve had your job for this night’s work and I’ll not undo it lest you trade sides.”

  The order was immediately obeyed with stammering apologies from both the coachman and the outrider. The delay, though, gave Oscar Neville time to gather himself from shock and ascertain the circumstance.

  “Will,” he said cajolingly, “do not stand in the way of love! I am only doing your sister a kindness. Denley has jilted her, and she cannot stay in Greenly without the greatest shame being laid upon all your family-”

  Will glared at Neville in utter scorn. “I’d as soon see her an old maid than see her your wife. You fleeced the wrong lamb, Oscar. I’ll have all her inheritance for my own soon enough, and I’ve not killed you only because you’ve done me the service of buying off that dog Denley, for I assume it was your doing that he’s flown.”

  The totality of the situation overwhelmed Oscar Neville, and he began to babble a little senselessly, even as Will had the groom empty his pockets and take off his boots. “You’ve left many a man with less,” Will replied coldly to Neville’s enraged protests. “You will have plenty of time to think of that; I wish you will dwell on it for some hours to come. Indeed, Oscar, I wonder if anyone will take you up at all. This is highwayman country.

  “Now, take care you never come near my county again, because the magistrate is hearing complaints from Jack Himmel today and I understand the landlord at the Green Man is turncoat to save his own skin. We ‘country rustics’ don’t take to sharpers, you know.”

  Will Fanley had thought he might leave Neville with a peal of wicked laughter, but in truth, he was disgusted to the bone by the business. Denley had not misspoken: a killing would have been a nastier business than he had the stomach for. Thus ended his pretentions to violence. He soberly minded the business of turning the coach around, while keeping Neville pinned under his pistol. Only when he had Lucifer tagging alongside in the control of the groom, and the old beast of a conveyance lumbering back to a posting house, did he assure himself that his initiation to manhood was now at an end.

  Chapter Forty-Two

  Will Fanley returned to a subdued household. This was fitting, given that he had himself fallen into a sober mood. Mary claimed she was anxious to hear the details of Neville’s undoing, yet her heart was not in it.

  “Well, and so it is done. I hope someone took him up, but I cannot bear to think of him ever plaguing another innocent family.” Then, straightening, she addressed her brother. “Denley has gone, Will.”

  “Certainly. He had to go.” Will placed another log on the fire in the parlour.

  “But I’m afraid you do not understand. He has made us to understand he will be gone for quite some time, and further, that he may never return.”

  This news much struck her brother, and once he had questioned his sister from every angle, it thoroughly disgusted him. “Well good riddance to them all, I say. Yesterday I was resigned to being no more than a country man, and today, I am heartily glad of it. These city people make fickle friends, Mary, and I’d as soon live confined but well at Greenly, than be entertained and forced to endure all their falsities.”

  Mary turned her attention back to her stitchery. She did not have the heart to defend Robert, replying in a hollow voice that time would lessen the blow and soften their opinion of him.

  This prognostication turned out to be very true for Will Fanley. Denley had made good on his word, and had written in his final letter to Mr. Fanley a petition to educate him abroad. Although he never thought his father would agree to the scheme, Mr. Fanley had been convinced to such a degree that he began to believe it was his very own idea. The preparations and correspondence involving Will’s year abroad were a ready relief to a household so newly deprived of excitement, and by the time the heir of Greenly departed for the larger world, he began to believe there never was a greater man than Robert, the Marquis of Denley.

  The loss of her brother sent Mary into a period of inner dullness and outer duty. In her own private hours she replayed as many moments with Denley as she could call to mind. In her public hours, she settled back into the role of managing a large house and a needful father. Upon the passage of three months since the night of her supposed elopement, she had begun to take the Marquis’ advice and walk the lanes in her old brown shoes, or, as spring began to be felt, mounted like a lady atop her new friend, Caesar.

  The tranquil sweetness of this enormous beast was like a salve; when she was perched high on his back, so palpable a reminder of Lord Robert’s presence was he that she could almost forget his master was gone. As the sun warmed the world, it warmed her heart, and she took to riding Caesar for longer periods, venturing to Treehill to see how Moll
y Harper got on in her new post of housekeeper to an empty mansion.

  Chapter Forty-Three

  It was on just such a day in late April, when riding home from Treehill in the company of her groom, Barker, that she came abreast of Lord Eversham in his carriage. He ordered the horses to be stopped and spoke kindly to Mary. “I have only come to see for myself that all is well with Denley’s estate, Miss Fanley.”

  “I daresay they will be much shocked to see you sir,” she said with amusement, thinking that poor Molly might very well faint with terror.

  He agreed with her. “It is precipitous, but I do not mind the inconvenience. It gives me a ready way to see how things really are.”

  “But they will hardly be able to feed you, sir. I would be very much obliged if you would consider yourself a guest at our table until they have gotten a proper cook.”

  “It would be my pleasure, Miss Fanley. I hoped I would be given an opportunity to wait on Mr. Fanley and yourself.” His Lordship turned his gaze to Caesar. “Robert told me he would leave this horse in your care. You look well on him, but you are so small, he looks to be twice the giant.”

  “Oh, we are quite the sight. The cottagers still come out to gawk at us, but we do not mind making a spectacle.” She bent to proudly stroke Caesar’s neck, causing Eversham to smile very slightly.

  The lord’s coming was a delight to Mr. Fanley, and Mary found herself warming to the man. He took up her offer of meals without unnecessary and tiresome protests; he availed himself of an early dinner every night at Greenly before he would ride back to Treehill. He enjoyed her playing and sat quite at his ease during Mr. Fanley’s quiet spells, not seeming to need entertainment of any kind. They grew easy together, and in the space of nine days’ time Mary began to think his visit was one of rare leisure. Denley was mentioned only in passing, and Eversham avoided all subjects leading up to the question of his whereabouts. On the tenth day, Eversham arrived rather early. He claimed he had thought to petition Mr. Fanley to ride to Greenly with him on a matter of business, but he was well-aware that Mr. Fanley’s habit was to turn his eye to the planting at this time of year. Mary offered him tea, which he accepted, and once the two were left alone in the parlour, he spoke forthrightly.

  “I am glad of an opportunity to see you alone. I would like your opinion on a matter. But first I must ask, Miss Fanley, if you and I could agree to be frank with one another?”

  She looked at him in surprise. “I would certainly hope so, sir. I have come to think of you as a friend of our family, if it is not too familiar.”

  “A familiarity I prize. And I am your friend, Mary.”

  She blushed. “I beg you will go on. I sense you have something particular to say to me?”

  “I do. No doubt your father was wounded by Denley’s abrupt departure.” He lifted a hand to stay her dissimulations. “It is as it should be. There was, by the time Robert left, an obligation of friendship and an understanding of constancy.”

  “Of a certainty we were mystified. We believed his intention was to settle here.”

  “He had every intention of settling at Treehill. He was only lately forced to a change of plans when…certain persons arrived to disrupt his hopes.”

  Mary lifted her eyes in sudden alertness. “Mr. Neville? But, sir, I do not understand how one man could apply so much pressure on the life of another man.”

  “This is what I want to explain. You are aware Denley is not exactly the pride of his family?”

  “I understand he was a very bad boy who seems to be set on becoming a very good man.”

  This speech almost amused Lord Eversham. “Do not be deceived as to the extent of his mischief, Mary. He was despicable.”

  “So I have been repeatedly told. He said as much himself, sir, and yet I find it a distant reality, given that I know a different form of him.”

  “To be sure, he is altered, and although I have never believed that a man can truly change his nature, I have reason to believe Denley’s transformation is of the permanent sort.”

  Mary stirred uncomfortably. “May I ask then, sir…where he is at this moment?”

  “He is in prison, Mary.”

  She gasped, paled and searched for words, but failing, she simply retreated into her sewing. He admired her self-control, and continued, so she would not be forced to speak.

  “You must forgive me for the harshness of that speech.”

  She cleared her throat and brushed a tear away. “Indeed, sir, I do not know how you could have softened the news. I would have properly despised you for the attempt.”

  She collected herself while he sipped his tea patiently. At last she was in command enough to ask, “Will you enlighten me to the circumstances, my lord? I would like to know precisely where he is held and if there is a way to send words of encouragement to him or…”

  “I have wanted to do so for some time now, and I hope you will forgive the delay. We have had our work to do in seeing to his legal affairs, and only lately do I have enough information as to the duration of his obligation to feel secure in seeking you out.”

  Mary’s strength dissolved. “Tell me everything, sir, I beg you…” The words caught in her throat. “How was he caught?”

  “I had thought to bring Robert here and let him rusticate while the storm of outrage at his last escapade — a nearly fatal duel conducted in the heart of London — passed over. I had thought perhaps he would have to remain hidden here for life, and I accustomed him to the idea. But I had not planned for the obvious — he was a person of interest who would be hunted, and Mr. Neville sniffed him out almost immediately. If not Neville, I am sad to say, any one of a dozen persons who find Denley an irresistible quarry would have done so.” He looked a little weary, adding, “In truth, Mary, my plan was not a good one. I should have sent him off to the Indies.”

  “I am glad you did not. But I do not quite understand, sir. We rid ourselves of Mr. Neville. How was it that Lord Robert did not stay to…to hide out here?”

  “Mr. Neville called the law on him.”

  “So he rode from here to flee the law? But they never came for him!”

  “They would have. Of a certainty, they were on their way to you. But Robert did not want that distress for Mr. Fanley, and he led them off.”

  “So he was caught on the road?” she whispered in agony.

  “No, he had with him two gentlemen of my employ who kept him safe until he reached me in London.”

  “Then why would he not take to the sea, sir? How could he have gotten caught if he was under your protection?”

  “You may well ask that. The circumstance irks me no less than it does you. But you see, Denley is a man of will. His makeup is one of extreme determination, whether for a cause of good or ill. He decided, Mary, that he was done with running. He was determined to face the consequences and pay his debt.”

  This was a development she had not counted on, causing her to stand abruptly. “That is the stupidest thing I have ever heard!”

  Eversham received her impassioned words with customary asperity. “We agree, then. I am forever telling him he is overly scrupulous, but he is his mother’s son.”

  She paced to and fro in front of Eversham. “But they could have had him hanged!”

  “Well, certainly it could have gone like that. But there are forces at work that are beyond us, Mary. Where the poor would love to see a nobleman disgraced and despoiled, the aristocracy would never sanction one of their own to be turned over to the mob. You see, Mary, the privileged Ten Thousand want to be above the law, to govern their own through the strictures of society. They wanted only to ostracize him as their ultimate punishment — a social decapitation if you will — but not one of them would spare any cost to block a legal precedent that would negate their exemption from the common rule of law. In short, they would never let him be tried by a jury or found guilty of any very serious crime.”

  “But you have said he is in prison!”

  He lifted his ha
nd impatiently. “A private debtor’s prison. I assure you he is not in chains. We took him to a magistrate alone, where he pleaded his case, and many crimes were punished by heavy fines instead of stocks or flogging.”

  She shuddered involuntarily.

  “We were fortunate that he did duel in public, because there were witnesses to testify he had cause. Apparently the man was beating a dog.” Eversham smiled tightly. “I told you Denley is overly scrupulous. In any case, our magistrate was selected precisely because he is interested in the cause of animal cruelty. There was an impressive assembly of lawyers, Miss Fanley, all weaving the law around to their own ends. Even the prosecutor was not unfriendly to us. He wishes, as do many men, to advance into a higher class.”

  The rest was a rather financial accounting of the affair. The fines were enormous and must be paid as a condition of his release. In the end, excepting Treehill and a family property in Ireland, they divested of everything that was not entailed. Over the years, Eversham had slowly assumed ownership of his own properties, and in that way had salvaged a little of what was once Devonshire. But even so, the ducal seat was let out to some nabob who wanted to make a grand show and apply for entry into the bon ton through bald pretention. “The world is changing, Miss Fanley, and it is just as well. I have ever been one for a simple life.”

  Mary swayed in awe at the enormity of the calamity. “So, how do things stand, sir?”

  “We are now prepared to meet his obligations within the year.”

  “And the line, sir?”

  “Our family name is materially damaged, but we are not dead. He will be Devonshire soon enough, and good blood is still an object of great envy. In time, we may see him considered to be…respectable.”

  She smiled sadly. “I should hate to see it. But tell me, as to his present comfort, does he have all he needs?”