by Mary Nichols
‘Umbrellas?’
‘Yes.’ Harry smiled grimly. ‘Long narrow boxes. The wagon is heavily laden and will take several days to reach the port, by which time the Fair Trader is expected to dock. I will have ample time to be there ahead of it and catch the culprit red-handed when the boxes are taken on board, but I will need to enlist the help of the Excise men to examine the manifest and the cargo. They can make the arrest.’
Clarence rubbed his hands together, smiling wolfishly. ‘I’ll give you a letter to take to the local Excise, asking them to give you whatever assistance you require. But what has that to do with Allworthy?’
‘I discovered he owns the Fair Trader.’ He had to be doubly sure of his ground or the tattlers would have a field day. ‘We have to make sure he is there himself or he might well wriggle off the hook.’
‘Where is he now?’
‘Here, in London.’
‘Then you have to entice him to Norfolk.’
Harry smiled. ‘As soon as he learns that is where I am heading, he will not be able to resist coming after me.’
‘I hope you are right.’
‘So do I.’
He waited while the colonel wrote the letter to the Excise, then went to Boodle’s, intent on letting it be known he was going out of town to Norfolk, before setting off for Bostock House.
He was striding up Bond Street, deep in thought, when he found himself face to face with Jane. They stopped two yards apart and looked at each other. She was wearing a wool cloak with a deep hood that had fallen back from her head, revealing startled green eyes in a pale face. He doffed his hat, but did not speak. Instead he raked her with his eyes, waiting for her to acknowledge him as politeness demanded.
She could not find her voice and simply looked up into his face. It was the dearest face in the world to her; she knew every mark, every tiny scar, the way he smiled, the way he frowned. ‘Captain Hemingford. How do you do?’ she managed at last.
‘My health is excellent. And yours?’
‘I am perfectly recovered.’
She did not look it. She looked very pale, as if she had not been sleeping, and her green eyes had lost their customary sparkle. But she held her head high. He knew she had been troubled by the gossip; if he had had his way, he would have stuck by her side and defied them together. But she would not have it. And he had to abide by that. ‘I am glad to hear it,’ he said. ‘Will you allow me to escort you home?’
She looked about her like a frightened rabbit. ‘I do not think so, it will undo all the good.’
‘To hell with that! And I will not apologise for my language. I want to talk to you.’
‘No, Harry, no.’
‘If you cannot bear to be seen in my company, then we must meet secretly.’
‘It is impossible to keep a secret in London. I do not go out unaccompanied, even now Hannah is only a few paces behind me, waiting for me to go on.’
‘Then come and visit Anne. She misses you.’
‘I miss her too, but you know it would not do, not yet, not until—’ She stopped. ‘She told me she was going to devote her life to you.’
‘Did she?’ She was trying to look fierce and it made him smile. ‘Dear, faithful Anne.’
‘Yes, she is. I cannot comprehend how you can bear to take her money.’
‘Take her money! Whatever are you talking about?’
‘She told me she would give you all her inheritance to set up your manufactory and live with you as your housekeeper.’
He laughed. ‘And you believed I would accept it? I am very disappointed that you do not know me better than that.’
‘But the project was so important to you. It was becoming an obsession.’
‘No, my love, it was the means to an end. I have done with it now.’
‘Oh.’ She did not understand—what end? And if he could not tell her so, why could he not have confided in Anne, who was as close to him as any sister could be? ‘Does Anne know that?’
‘She will, very soon.’
‘What will you do instead?’
‘What would you have me do?’
‘It is not for me to say, but perhaps you should listen to your grandfather.’
‘Settle down in domesticity, you mean?’
‘Yes. It would scotch the rumours once and for all.’
‘Then perhaps I will.’
She felt a cold wind whirl about her though there was not a breath of it in the street. How would she endure it, if he took a wife? ‘I must go. Tell Anne I will write.’ And with that she turned and beckoned to Hannah, who hurried to join her mistress.
He watched them until they had turned the corner and then hailed a cab to take him home. Anne had suggested accosting Jane in the street, and though he had not deliberately done that, it had made no difference. She was still too worried about the gossip. Well, the gabble grinders would soon have something else to talk about. What would Jane say when she learned he had been instrumental in her erstwhile suitor’s downfall? It might look like spite; though she had rejected the man, it did not mean she would take pleasure in his disgrace. It would be better if his part in the affair was never made public.
He was completely taken aback when he arrived home and the footman who admitted him, and took his coat and hat, told him the Earl of Bostock had arrived and was in the drawing room with Miss Hemingford. The Earl had not been to the capital in years, saying he hated the place, and this unexpected change of heart was puzzling and, coming so soon after Jane had mentioned him, was ironic. ‘How did he get here?’
‘He came in the old barouche, Captain. It has not improved his temper.’
Harry thanked the servant for the warning, went up to his room, changed out of his riding clothes and donned a blue kerseymere tailcoat and matching pantaloon trousers, yellow-and-white striped waistcoat and a modest cravat. Feeling a little more ready to face whatever was coming, he ran lightly down the stairs, stopped to tweak his cravat and put a cheerful smile on his face, and entered the drawing room.
His grandfather was sitting in a wing chair by the hearth, a glass of brandy on a small table at his elbow. Anne sat opposite him, her hands resting lightly in the lap of her amber silk gown. ‘My lord, this is an unexpected pleasure,’ Harry said, acknowledging him with a bow. ‘Anne, good evening.’
‘Grandfather is come to join us for a few days,’ she told her brother.
‘Oh, then I wish you had forewarned us, my lord, for I am obliged to leave for the country tomorrow morning.’
‘Running away?’ the old man queried. The journey had evidently taken its toll, for he seemed more frail than he had been when they had left him at Sutton Park.
‘My lord, I protest. I have never run away from anything in my life. And why should I need to?’
‘Not from me, you clunch, I am too old and near my end to be a threat to you. I was referring to that mushroom who turned up at Sutton Park to carry Jane off.’
‘I am certainly not running away from him.’
‘No? I heard he had called you out and you had refused to meet him.’
Harry laughed. He had been telling the truth when he told Clarence he had not seen Allworthy and he saw no point in seeking him out in order to quarrel with him. It would have been different if Jane had not made it perfectly clear she did not want to see him again. He would fight for her, die for her, but not to satisfy the vanity of a rejected man. ‘Is it not wonderful how these rumours spread and grow? I have not refused to meet him because I have not been given the opportunity to do so.’
‘That is just what I said,’ Anne put in. ‘Mr Allworthy is making a great deal of noise, but that is all it is, empty noise.’
‘Then you must call him out,’ the Earl told his grandson. ‘You cannot, in honour bound, ignore what he is saying.’
‘Oh, I do not intend to,’ Harry said grimly.
‘Oh, Harry!’ Anne cried. ‘You surely do not mean to meet him. It will be as good as admitting you have done what he ac
cuses you of.’
‘And what is that?’ the old man demanded.
‘I believe he is saying that I persuaded Jane to refuse him, that I enticed her away.’
‘We know that is not true,’ the Earl said. ‘I was there. He must be made to eat his words.’
‘Is that why you are come to the Smoke?’ Harry asked him. ‘To see me fight a duel?’
‘If that is what it takes to defend the family honour, then you must do it. I have it on the best authority he is no swordsman, nor marksman either.’
‘And what do you think Jane will say to that?’
‘Jane?’ he queried, as if surprised that Jane came into the matter at all. ‘She will be proud of you.’
‘No, sir, she will be angry. She is doing her best to live down the scandal, as I am. If I kill Allworthy or he kills me, there will be no end to it. He is not worth it.’
‘I never thought to hear kin of mine refuse to demand satisfaction when he has been wronged.’
‘I shall have my satisfaction, never fear, but not in a duel and not in a way that reflects badly on Jane or the Hemingford family name.’
‘Harry is trying his best to protect us all, Grandfather,’ Anne put in.
‘Then I want to hear how he is going to do it.’
Harry sighed. He told them what he suspected and why he had to leave for King’s Lynn the following morning. ‘If all goes well, he will be arrested by the Excise men,’ he told them, ‘and I shall be as surprised as the rest of the haut monde when the arrest is reported.’
‘I knew there was something havey-cavey about the fellow,’ the old man cackled. ‘Oh, I’d give a deal to see his face…’ He paused. ‘But what did you mean, you will have no hand in it?’
‘I do not want the world to know. Jane might not understand.’
‘I cannot believe she is wearing the willow for him.’
‘I hope she is not.’
‘Why did he offer for her?’
‘Why would he not?’ Harry demanded. ‘Any man would be proud and pleased to have her for a wife.’
‘And she is a Hemingford,’ the Earl murmured. ‘Marriage to her would have set the seal on his acceptance in Society.’
‘But he is related to the Earl of Denderfield,’ Anne put in.
‘So he might be, but Denderfield don’t recognise him. His father was a second cousin, born on the wrong side of the blanket.’
‘I did not know that,’ Anne said. ‘I wonder if the Countess of Carringdale knows it?’
The old man sipped his wine. ‘Why should she? It ain’t something he’s likely to noise abroad, is it?’
It was news to Harry, too, but it explained a great deal about the man’s character: his correctness, his fanaticism about having everything just so, his need for recognition, his open display of his wealth, come not through inheritance but by treachery. He was a nobody who liked to behave as if he were a somebody. His grandfather was right—Jane would have set the seal on his rise in Society, especially if the Countess of Carringdale had a hand in it.
‘Poor Jane,’ Anne said. ‘What an escape she has had.’
‘It is not over yet,’ he said. ‘I have to go to King’s Lynn in the morning.’
‘Do take care,’ Anne said. ‘He will not give himself up willingly.’
‘I know.’ He paused. ‘Will you go and see Jane? I know she sent the man away and as far as I know is not pining for him, but she must have had some feeling for him in the beginning. She will be shaken by the news of his arrest.’
‘You can tell her yourself, when you come back.’
‘No, she must come to me.’
‘I never heard such a farrago,’ the Earl said. ‘Swallow your pride for once, boy.’
‘Pride!’ He gave a bark of a laugh. ‘I digested that two years ago when I enlisted. It is not pride, but reticence. She must come to me, so that I know she has accepted Allworthy’s downfall and does not blame me.’
‘Of course she will not blame you,’ Anne said. ‘If she has any sense, she will be relieved.’
‘Take the new carriage,’ his grandfather said. ‘I collect you have done as I asked and purchased it?’
‘Yes, it is to be delivered in the morning, a well-sprung travelling coach, upholstered in red velvet and drawn by as fine a quartet of cattle as you’ll find anywhere.’
‘Then take it, but be warned, if that finishes up at the bottom of a ravine, you shall pay for it yourself.’
Harry smiled. ‘Then I had best decline, for I could not find the blunt to have a simple scratch repaired, let alone buy a whole carriage.’
‘Does the War Department not pay you?’
‘I have a captain’s pay, sir. And the allowance you are pleased to give me.’
‘What about this gun you are going to invent?’
‘There is no gun, sir. It was a ploy.’
Anne gasped. ‘Harry, how could you? How could you let us think you really wanted it? And you had me feeling sorry for you because no one would back you.’
‘Sorry, Sis. I had to maintain secrecy, should not have told you now, but…’ He shrugged.
The old man laughed. ‘Take the carriage, my boy, it’s as good as yours anyway. Giles will drive you.’
‘But you will need it yourself to go back to Sutton Park. You can’t use that barouche, it is falling to pieces.’
‘I know that, but if you think I am going home before this fracas is resolved, you are mistaken. I shall stay here until you return, and then we will talk of the future.’ He drained his glass and reached for the bell on the table at his side. ‘Where’s my dinner? I haven’t had a bite since an indifferent meal at the Swan in Stevenage.’
The meal was served almost immediately, during which they chatted amiably. Harry was surprised and pleased that they were dealing so well together. Now, all he needed was his errand to King’s Lynn to pass off successfully and for Jane to realise they belonged together and he would be the happiest man alive.
Jane had been exceedingly disturbed by her meeting with Harry. She had been telling herself that once the gossips had tired of talking about her, then she could resume visiting Anne and slowly she and Harry could mend whatever had gone wrong between them, that they would come to realise they loved each other. But he was still keeping things from her, as he had two years before. She could tell by the cagey way he said the gun project was no more, which not even Anne knew, and the way he had readily agreed that he would marry and settle down. Surely, if he loved her, he would have protested that nothing was further from his thoughts?
She spent the rest of the day copying some work for her father, noticing that his words were jumbled and did not make grammatical sense; it was almost as if he had been rambling when he wrote them. ‘Papa,’ she said, at last, ‘it is nearly dinner time. Shall we stop?’
‘Are you not well?’
She was about to say it was him she was concerned about, but decided he would take no notice of that. ‘I am a little tired.’
‘Then stop, my dear. We can catch up tomorrow.’
Worried about her father, worried about Harry and Anne and what Mr Allworthy intended, she spent a restless night, full of dreams in which she relived the terror of being tossed about in a carriage tumbling down a steep incline. But in her dream Harry lay white-faced and still and she could not bring him round. The Countess of Carringdale was there too, picking her way over the debris, telling her it was God’s retribution and unless she married Donald Allworthy, she would never know another moment’s peace. And there was Mr Allworthy, wiping blood from his sword. She woke in terror, the tears wet on her face. Surely, surely it was not an omen?
She dressed quickly and went downstairs. There was no one about; the house was silent. Slipping out of the side door, she walked round to the mews and asked for a hack to be saddled. Ten minutes later she was making for the park. But today, not even a gallop could dispel the heavy feeling gripping her heart and she turned back.
As soon as
she entered the house, she knew something was wrong. The door stood wide open and the first thing she noticed was Dr Harrison’s black hat on the hall table beside the vase of chrysanthemums she had put there the previous day. ‘Papa!’ she cried, and ran swiftly upstairs, followed by Hannah, who had been watching out for her.
They were met on the landing by the doctor coming from her father’s bedroom. She stopped, afraid to ask. ‘Papa?’ The word was a whisper.
‘Miss Hemingford,’ he said. ‘I am afraid your father has had a seizure.’
‘How bad is it? Can I go to him?’
He stepped in front of her, barring her way. ‘Miss Hemingford, I regret to have to inform you that Mr Hemingford is no more.’
‘Dead?’ she shrieked. ‘Oh, no, it cannot be.’
He put his hand on her shoulder. ‘It was very quick, my dear, he did not suffer.’
She put her face in her hands and would have fallen if he had not caught her. ‘Sit down, Miss Hemingford, sit down,’ he said, drawing her towards a chair. Then, to Hannah, ‘Fetch your mistress a glass of brandy.’
Once the fiery liquid had burned its way down her throat, she looked up at the kindly doctor. ‘When did it happen? I have been gone little over an hour.’
‘In the night. The footman found him when he went to wake him.’
He was already dead when she left the house. She could not believe she had not known, had not sensed something about the silent house that should have alerted her. Guilt flooded over her in great waves, impossible to bear. ‘I should not have gone out.’
‘You could have done nothing for him, my dear, do not distress yourself on that account.’
‘Can I see him?’
‘Of course. When you are ready.’
She stood up, took a deep breath and went into her father’s room. He lay in the big bed he had brought from their country home, the one he had shared with her mother, looking tiny and hollow-cheeked. There was a single sheet draped over him and turned back so that his crossed hands lay above it. She noted absently that the fingers were still stained with ink. Poor Papa! That book had killed him, that book and his disappointment that it had not been published and he had never been recognised as an authority on his subject.
