06.The Penniless Peer (The Eternal Collection)

by Cartland, Barbara

  Hetty put a little basket she was carrying down on the table in the Hall.

  “That is supposedly for Mrs. Buckle,” she said. “Pour it away when I have left.”

  “You are lovely,” Lord Corbury said with a sudden depth in his voice, “so lovely I cannot believe that you are true!”

  Hetty gave him a provocative glance from under her eyelids.

  “Suppose we go into the garden and — find out,” she said very softly.

  Fenella saw Lord Corbury reach out to take Hetty’s hand in his and raise it to his lips. Then he drew her down the passage to the garden-door, and a few seconds later Fenella saw them walking across the uncut lawn.

  They seemed out of place in the ill-kept garden, and yet the huge grey house with its ancient grey walls standing behind them, the wide sweep of the silver lake, the ancient oak trees in the park, were, Fenella thought, the perfect background for Periquine.

  He was a part of it, a part from which he could never escape. He belonged to it so closely, so securely, that it was impossible to think of him without remembering that the Priory belonged to him and he to the Priory.

  As the little sunshade and Periquine’s high-crowned hat finally vanished from view, Fenella gave herself a shake and went back to the task of tidying up the mess that Periquine had left when he arose that morning.

  He was finding it hard to manage without a valet.

  He had always had a servant to look after him in the Army, and in the past there had always been valet and footmen to lay out his clothes, bring him crisply laundered neck-cloths, and polish his boots until he could see his face in them.

  Now there was only old Barnes who was long past his work, and it was as much as he could do to attend to the Dining-room and to shuffle upstairs once a day with His Lordship’s hot shaving-water.

  Fenella looked round the big room which had belonged to Periquine’s mother.

  It was panelled, but Lady Corbury had painted the old oak white, and the big carved four-poster which had been there since the Restoration was a riot of gold cupids and entwined hearts.

  The curtains were of blue velvet, faded and worn, but still the beauty of the colour warmed her heart.

  The inlaid chest of drawers had been made in France two centuries earlier. Fenella always dusted it tenderly.

  The place would have been chaos, she knew, if she had not come over every morning to tidy up, to see that the clothes Periquine had worn the day before were pressed, his boots cleaned, and to lay out his evening-clothes ready for him to change before dinner.

  He did not realise that she did it for him, and did not question the fact that he was really put to very little discomfort by his newly straitened circumstances.

  He was always glad to see her, and as if she had not already given herself enough to do, he invariably found her some further services. Today she had been late with her tasks because the morning had been so exciting.

  They had deliberately waited two days to see if Isaac Goldstein made a fuss. They listened apprehensively expecting to hear rumours from the village that he had been robbed.

  But when nothing was said, and when Fenella going down to the fence to feed the dogs had discovered he had gone away again, they decided it was safe to put their plans into operation.

  Accordingly this morning Fenella had told Mrs. Buckle the glad news that Lord Corbury before he left London had won a large sum gaming and that the debt had been honoured within the usual week.

  “That’s real good news, Miss Fenella!” Mrs. Buckle exclaimed.

  “Will you give me a list of everything that is owed to the tradesmen?” Fenella asked.

  “That’s not difficult, Miss,” Mrs. Buckle replied. “I have it here in writing, set down and added up by Simon, because as you well knows I can’t write. But it was not necessary, for it’s written in me brain like words of fire, and I’m sure I could hardly sleep with a wondering how it can ever be paid.”

  “It is to be paid now,” Fenella said with a smile.

  When she had the list from Mrs. Buckle she had gone to Lord Corbury for the money.

  He had taken the gold coins from the Priest’s Hole. Without telling him Fenella had asked for more than they owed, because she knew that food must be bought at least for the week ahead, and she felt sure that Periquine would dislike having to keep continually breaking in to his “Fund for Hetty”.

  After that Lord Corbury had sent for Simon Buckle and given him £100 to pay back the loan he had obtained from Isaac Goldstein.

  “Promise me one thing,” Lord Corbury had said to the astonished young man.

  “‘Anything Your Lordship wishes me to promise, M’Lord,” Simon had replied, finding it hard to believe his good fortune.

  “It is that you will never again get into the hands of the Usurers,” Lord Corbury said. “Borrow from anyone rather than those sharks. They are extortioners who simply steal your money from you under the pretence of doing business.”

  “I’ll not be such a knuckle-head another time, M’Lord;” Simon said gruffly and found it almost impossible to express his gratitude.

  If Simon Buckle was overwhelmed by Lord Corbury’s generosity, it was nothing to the stupefaction of Joe Jarvis when he learnt His Lordship was to give him back what he thought he had lost for ever.

  Fenella had insisted on being present at the interviews because it gave her such pleasure to realise that justice was being done.

  She felt her eyes grow misty with tears when Joe Jarvis said with a rough sincerity,

  “Oi’ll never be able t’thank ye for this, M’Lord, but Oi’ll serve ye for th’ rest of me life!”

  “Is there any chance of your getting back ‘The Green Man’?” Lord Corbury enquired.

  “Oi shouldn’t be surprised M’Lord if Oi couldn’t go in as a partner,” Joe answered. “Th’ man that bought it be a’ getting on in years, and Oi have heard he finds th’ work too much for him.”

  “A partnership would be a good idea!” Lord Corbury remarked. “But, if he agrees to your suggestion, have a proper agreement with him, and before you sign anything bring it to me first.”

  “Oi’ll do that, M’Lord. And thank ye, M’Lord, thank ye.”

  Joe hurried from the room as if he wished to be off to ‘The Green Man’ to start negotiations, but Fenella knew it was because he was half afraid that he would disgrace himself by bursting into tears.

  She looked at Lord Corbury as the door shut behind Joe.

  “It was worth it,” she said softly.

  He smiled back at her.

  “I am beginning to think so too,” he answered, “although it makes me embarrassed when they thank me. After all it is not my money I am giving them.”

  “But you risked your neck to get it, and that after all is more valuable to you than anything else,” Fenella said.

  “That contention is of course unanswerable,” Lord Corbury laughed.

  The excitement of the morning was not yet over. Fenella had sent for Mr. Porritt the local builder, and he too was delighted when he heard that he was to repair the farms.

  “I don’t mind telling you, M’Lord,” he said, “I and my two sons have been out of work these last three months. This job’ll be a real blessing to us and I makes no bones about it!”

  “Then do not over-charge me,” Lord Corbury said, “and get it done as quickly as possible. I intend to advertise that the farms are to let.”

  “There’s no need to do that, M’Lord,” Mr. Porritt replied. “There be a young farmer over at Bugle End who has had his eye on the land that MacDonald farmed ever since he left. He even consulted me about doing the necessary repairs to the house and to the barn. But he had no cash laid by and I didn’t dare give him credit, seeing as how farming be not doing well at the moment.”

  “Is he a good farmer?” Lord Corbury asked.

  “He has that reputation and he be an honest man,” Mr. Porritt replied. “I don’t believe Your Lordship’ll be disappointed in him.”<
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  “Tell him to come and see me,” Lord Corbury said.

  “I wouldn’t be surprised if there wasn’t someone else from that part of the county who’d like Grimble’s farm,” Mr. Porritt went on. “Have I your Lordship’s permission, M’Lord, to say you will consider any trustworthy applicant?”

  “You have indeed,” Lord Corbury answered, “and the sooner they are in, the better I shall be pleased. When the repairs on these farms are completed, Porritt, we will have to turn our attention to the others.”

  “There’s a lot of work to be done, M’Lord,” Mr. Porritt said shaking his head but obviously delighted at the idea.

  “Let us start with the first two,” Lord Corbury suggested, “then perhaps something can be done about the others.”

  Fenella looked at him a little apprehensively as the builder went from the room.

  “The other farms are in a very bad way,” she said.

  “Damn it all, I have to have more money! “ Lord Corbury ejaculated. “You know as well as I do, Fenella, the rents on this land have made a good income in the past and they should do so in the future.”

  “Yes, I know,” Fenella agreed. “Have you any ideas?”

  “I am thinking,” he replied enigmatically.

  Fenella did not press him.

  ‘He would not be thinking of anything but Hetty now!’ she told herself and she went into the Salon and sat down on the floor beside one of the windows.

  She had noticed that the lining of one of the curtains was torn and showed beneath the damask.

  The linings of all the curtains were in a disgraceful state, but even if they were replaced, Fenella knew it was hardly worth the expense since the curtains themselves had faded so that the edges were almost white.

  The room had been very lovely when Periquine’s mother was alive, but after six years’ neglect there was so much to be done that Fenella’s mind shied away from even contemplating what it would cost.

  At least their mad adventure in stealing so much money from Isaac Goldstein had solved the immediate problem of Periquine having enough to eat, and there was after all always a roof over his head.

  It was so wonderful to have him home again. Fenella could hardly bear to remember the nights during the War when she had laid awake wondering if he was in danger, thinking of him being wounded or even killed.

  News had been very intermittent and it was a long time after the defeat of Napoleon in 1814, in which she knew his Regiment had taken part, before she heard he was safe and had come through the fighting without even a scratch.

  That day she had gone to the little Church-in-the-Woods and thanked God with an almost passionate intensity that Periquine’s life had been saved.

  She had thought that he would come home when his father died, but the 9th Lord Corbury was laid in the family vault without his son being amongst the mourners.

  Fenella had learnt with horror that the reason for Periquine’s absence was that hostilities had been resumed in France after Napoleon had landed in the South.

  Once again she was back on her knees praying for his safety tossing and turning against her pillow every night as she found it impossible to sleep.

  Then at last came the victory of Waterloo and the war was really over but still Periquine did not return.

  Now he was back and she tried not to feel too glad that he could not marry Hetty as he wished to do. If ever that happened she was well aware she would be excluded from his life.

  She wanted his happiness, she wanted it even more than she wanted her own, and yet she knew to live without being able to see and be with Periquine would be like shutting out the sun.

  She was so intent on her thoughts that she did not hear the door open and jumped when a voice, lofty and authoritative, said,

  “I understand Miss Baldwyn is here.”

  Fenella looked up and saw standing in the doorway a very impressive gentleman who she instantly concluded must be Sir Nicolas Waringham.

  He was extremely smartly dressed and his hair was arranged in the windswept manner adopted from the Prince Regent. There was a stiff, somewhat pompous, dignity about him which made him easily recognisable from Lord Corbury’s description.

  Fenella realised as she stared that the newcomer was waiting for an answer to his question.

  “Do you want to speak to Miss Baldwyn?” she asked.

  “I should have thought that was obvious unless you are nit-witted,” Sir Nicolas said sharply. “Hurry, girl, and find her!”

  His tone told Fenella all too clearly that he had mistaken her for a servant, and without really thinking she replied mischievously in a broad Sussex accent,

  “Aye, but us be real turnip-heads in th’ countree.”

  Her impersonation was too broad to be anything but ludicrous, and Sir Nicolas raised his quizzing-glass. Then he said in a different tone,

  “I see I was mistaken. I must ask your pardon because I mistook you for a maid-servant.”

  Fenella rose to her feet.

  “It was understandable,” she said, “because I am busy with a humble task of sewing. At the same time may I introduce myself? I am Lord Corbury’s cousin, Fenella Lambert.”

  “Then you are Lord Farquhar’s niece!” Sir Nicolas exclaimed. “I know your uncle, Miss Lambert. He is most distinguished and a close friend of the Prince Regent.”

  Fenella had reached Sir Nicolas’s side. She curtsied as she said,

  “And you must be Sir Nicolas Waringham.”

  “You are correct in your assumption, Miss Lambert,” Sir Nicolas replied. His bow was perfunctory and he barely bent his head.

  Fenella was thinking quickly. It would certainly not do for Sir Nicolas to go in search of Hetty and Periquine. He might surprise them in what would appear to him, since he was Hetty’s suitor, to be a reprehensible situation.

  What was more, if he were to tell Sir Virgil there was no doubt that they would both be in trouble.

  There was only one thing to do, Fenella decided, she must somehow keep Sir Nicolas engaged until they returned.

  “I do not think Hetty will be long,” she said evasively, “and I am so very interested to meet you.”

  “Indeed! “ Sir Nicolas raised his quizzing-glass once again.

  It was obvious he had not been impressed by Fenella’s somewhat shabby appearance. Since she had been working upstairs in the bed-room, her hair was curling untidily round her forehead, and not at all in the decorous manner expected of a young lady of Fashion.

  “Periquine has told me you have a most interesting ancestry,” Fenella said.

  For a moment she thought the hard and indifferent expression on Sir Nicholas’s face relaxed a little.

  “My family tree is in fact unique,” he replied. “I am as I expect you know, the Premier Baronet of Great Britain. My ancestors were land-owners and Sheriffs before William the Conqueror invaded these shores.”

  “How thrilling,” Fenella said, “it must make you very proud.”

  “Why not?” Sir Nicolas enquired.

  He looked round the room as he spoke. His eyes seemed to miss nothing and Fenella thought there was a little curl of contempt on his lips. Then he said, as if he excused the situation to himself,

  “The Corburys are also of ancient lineage?”

  “They go back as far as Henry VIII,” Fenella said quickly.

  “Before that,” Sir Nicolas corrected. “There was a Con- bury at the Battle of Agincourt.”

  “Oh, was there?” Fenella exclaimed with interest. “You must tell Periquine ! I am sure he would be delighted.”

  “I find people are sadly uninterested in their family trees,” Sir Nicolas replied. “To me breeding is of the utmost import.”

  “I can believe that.” Fenella said hoping she did not sound sarcastic. “At the same time, Sir Nicholas, you must realise that we are all descended from Adam.”

  He looked at her in astonishment. “What do you mean by that?”

  “Well, it is obvious
is it not?” Fenella asked. “Unless men descended like angels from the skies or came up like devils from down below, every man and woman on earth today must have originated from the first man and woman, whoever they may be.”

  She saw that the idea which she had put forward to divert him had certainly succeeded. Sir Nicholas tapped his quizzing-glass against his teeth and then sat down in an armchair.

  “I must have time to think about this most interesting contention of yours, Miss Lambert,” he said. “I must admit it had never occurred to me before, but now I see there is a certain reasoning in what you say.”

  “What is more important than breeding,” Fenella continued, “are brains and bravery. Every family which has been ennobled and knighted have originally received their title for some deed of valour or service in statesmanship.

  “We should bring up our children to strive to better themselves, not to be content with what they have inherited from their dead ancestors.”

  She saw a look almost of astonishment in Sir Nicolas’s eyes, and thought that perhaps she was being unkind. His family tree must be, she thought, very precious to him.

  It was his hobby, his consuming interest, something which he had made peculiarly his own, and now she was trying to belittle it to him.

  “I hope one day, Sir Nicolas,” she said quickly, “I shall have the opportunity of seeing your family tree.”

  “I would like to show it to you,” he answered, “but I do not suppose you would find it very interesting. Genealogical tables are quite difficult to understand and most people have no conception of what they mean.”

  “As a matter of fact I do understand them,” Fenella smiled. “Some years ago my father was working on ours. He is very fond of research, he made me help him, and I discovered some quite fascinating ancestors who I had no idea existed. One was a very wicked Austrian Princess who set the whole Court in a twitter by her scandalous misdemeanours.”

  “Austrian!” Sir Nicolas exclaimed. “That would account, Miss Lambert, for the colour of your hair.”

  Fenella looked at him questioningly and he said,

  “Did you not realise that the Austrian women, especially those who live in Vienna, are famous for their very dark red hair?”