‘These things do not arrange themselves,’ countered Georgianne, with a light laugh. ‘They require a highly proficient hostess, such as my aunt, to bring together all the infinitesimal details that are involved in orchestrating what is—even given the most dedicated staff— a most frightfully complicated business. If you do not intend to involve yourself in the running of your own residence, we must just hope that the man that you marry—whoever he may be—will prove wealthy enough to provide you with a skilled staff who have no difficulty in interpreting their mistress’s requirements, without her prior instruction!’
‘I suppose you’re right,’ sighed Stephanie, jumping to her feet and pacing restlessly about the room. ‘I shall never be as practical as you are, no matter how hard I try and, as for being wealthy—I just wish there were a way I could find out how rich he is without actually asking him point blank!’
‘Who—w-what?’ faltered Georgianne, staring across at her friend with a puzzled frown. ‘Who are on earth are you talking about?’
‘Jeremy Fenton, of course!’ returned Stephanie, with a defiant toss of her blonde ringlets. ‘He has been describing his life in London to me and I do so envy him. Trips to the theatre and the opera house, visits to pleasure gardens and parties almost every night! And, you can tell by the cut of his jacket that his tailor cannot be cheap.’
‘But you can’t possibly contemplate marrying a man based purely on the cut of his jacket!’ exclaimed the startled Georgianne, whose own impression of Maitland’s dandified cousin had left her with the distinct feeling that he was something of a mountebank and, more than likely, given to indulging in wild flights of fancy. ‘Besides which, I thought you had your heart set on capturing a duke or an earl!’
‘Fat chance I have of coming across either one of those stuck in this awful backwater,’ shrugged the disaffected Stephanie. ‘An heir to a baronetcy looks to be about the best I can do—for the moment, at any rate.’ Pausing, she pondered her reflection in the looking- glass, absent-mindedly rearranging a stray curl, before adding, ‘I sometimes wonder if I didn’t make the most dreadful mistake in not snapping up Catford when I had the chance! In fact, if it weren’t for that horrid gammy leg of his…’
‘Steffi!’ gasped her dismayed friend. ‘I won’t have you saying such beastly things about poor Cat!’
‘Well, you can’t argue with the fact that he’s not nearly so attractive as he was three years ago,’ returned the unrepentant Stephanie. ‘Whereas, Mr Fenton, as well as being remarkably handsome, has a decidedly dashing air about him. I just wish I could find out if he has enough money to make him worth my while!’
‘Oh, honestly, Steffi!’ chortled Georgianne, as she collapsed back on her pillows in a fit of giggles. ‘You are quite incorrigible! What Lady Highsmith would say, if she were to hear you making that sort of remark, I cannot imagine!’
‘If you really must know,’ retorted Stephanie abruptly, turning around to confront her friend, ‘my dearest grandmama has given me every reason to suppose that she will never countenance my marrying anyone, regardless of his rank or station. Some few weeks ago, I took the opportunity to snatch a quick look at her will, while she was out of her office.’ Ignoring Georgianne’s shocked face, she went on, ‘It appears that she has left her entire estate to me—but only on the proviso that I continue running Highsmith House as always and that I never marry—otherwise the estate goes straight into a trust fund and I get a paltry five hundred pounds a year annuity!’
For several minutes, Georgianne stared at her friend in silence, unable to think of anything to say. She was finding it difficult to believe that Lady Highsmith would be so cruel as to treat her granddaughter, her only living relative and one whom everyone could see she petted and spoiled most dreadfully, in such a callous and heartless way.
‘But, why?’ she eventually managed. ‘Why would she do such a thing?’
‘Oh, she’s always had this weird belief that all men are inherently evil.’ Stephanie shrugged. ‘My grandfather was a bit of a beast, by all accounts, and involving herself with all these fallen women must have given her a rather distorted view of the opposite sex, I suppose. In any event, I mean to do something about it all before she gets back from Harrogate—it’s merely a question of considering where my best options lie!’
Shaking her head in disbelief, Georgianne was just about to remonstrate with her friend, when the door opened and Lady Letitia entered, bearing a tray. Upon seeing that her niece already had a visitor, she gave a little frown.
‘Now, off you go, Stephanie,’ she directed, as she laid down the tray on Georgianne’s nightstand. ‘I believe I told everyone that Georgianne was not to be disturbed for the rest of the day—I find it rather surprising that you chose to disregard my instructions.’
‘I only just popped in for a minute to see how she was faring, ma’am,’ came Stephanie’s swift rejoinder, as she hurriedly made for the door. ‘I won’t bother her again, I promise you.’
‘Ridiculous child!’ tutted Lady Letitia, as she straightened her niece’s coverlet. ‘I swear that she sometimes tries my patience to the limit! How are you feeling, my dear?’
‘Much better, Aunt Letty,’ Georgianne was happy to assure her.
Her aunt gave a satisfied nod. ‘I am very glad to hear it, dear girl,’ she said. ‘And, if it will ease your mind, Eddie has instructed me to tell you that Olympus is now safely ensconced in her stall and her injuries have been attended to.’
Nodding smilingly at the expression of relief on her niece’s face, she then added, ‘And now, my love, Cook has sent up some tit-bits to tempt your appetite—a bowl of her delicious chicken broth and a tiny piece of grilled salmon. Do try to eat a little of it, dearest—she will be so upset if you don’t. Emily will be along shortly with the lotion and a fresh hot-water bottle and then you can settle down for the night, without fear of anyone disturbing you again.’
To her surprise, Georgianne discovered that she was, in fact, quite hungry and soon managed to polish off Cook’s offerings, along with the glass of wine that her aunt had so thoughtfully provided. Following which, her maid’s gentle massaging with the soothing lotion gradually had the effect of making her feel quite drowsy again and, snuggling down once more into the lavender-scented softness of the newly replaced pillows, she readied herself for sleep.
As she slowly drifted off, she was unable to prevent her thoughts from wandering over the day’s events. Although she had been shocked by Stephanie’s unexpected confidences, she could not help wondering whether it might not be preferable to be in her friend’s shoes rather than in her own at this point in her life. At the very least, she reasoned sleepily, Stephanie did have the option of marrying or not, as she chose, whereas she herself would never be given that luxury. Due to some foolish indiscretion on the part of parents whom she had never even known, their daughter appeared to be condemned to lifelong spinsterhood. And, even though Cousin Eddie had insisted that there were a good many men around who would dismiss the murky details surrounding her birth as being of little consequence, how was she to recognise such a man? Would he be tall or short, fat or thin, or would he have broad shoulders, a fine physique and clear grey, laughing eyes like…?
With a hint of a smile upon her face, she fell into a deep sleep.
Chapter Nine
Upon his return to Dunchurch, Maitland was greeted by his excited cousin, who was all agog with the news that yet another hold-up had taken place on the heath during his absence.
‘Would you credit it—in broad daylight, too!’ Fenton declared as, wilfully ignoring the other man’s muttered expletives, he strutted backwards and forwards, preening himself in front of the pier glass in Maitland’s room, while his cousin struggled to arrange his neckerchief. ‘Made off with every penny they had, so the landlord tells me!’
‘Do get out of my way, Jerry!’ exclaimed the now highly infuriated Maitland. ‘Has it escaped your attention that I’m trying to tie this blessed cravat? Why c
an’t you go and study your reflection in your own damned mirror?’
‘Just thought you ought to know, old man,’ replied Fenton, continuing with his aimless perambulations, quite undaunted by his cousin’s ire. ‘Personally, I don’t much care for the idea that we’re going to be dashing back and forth across the pesky place, in search of Mel’s elusive brat! Practically asking for it, if you want my opinion! P’raps we should confine our investigations to the villages on this side of the heath, until these beggars are apprehended—I’m told that the local constable is drafting in a troop of dragoons from the military barracks in Coventry.’
‘Well, they’ll soon see the blighters off!’ laughed Maitland, as he stood back from the looking-glass with a satisfied nod. ‘Although, from what I’ve heard, the chaps who are doing this are not exactly in the style of your average highwaymen.’
‘How do you mean?’
‘Well, for a start, they seem to steer clear of the more obvious targets—fancy crested carriages, with bags of luggage and so on—and choose to hit on fairly ordinary folk instead. I understand that this morning’s attack was on that inoffensive-looking pair who sat near us at dinner last evening. Shouldn’t have thought that any highwayman worth his salt would have given them a second glance, let alone gone to the trouble of holding them up—do you happen to know what they made off with, by the way?’
‘Sizeable amount of coin, I believe—or so the chap told the landlord,’ supplied Fenton, as the pair made their way down to the inn’s breakfast parlour. ‘Oh, and a couple of rings his wife was wearing—hardly worth a fortune, if my memory serves me correctly.’
Settling themselves at a table near the window, the two men tucked in to the hearty meal with which they were soon provided. Any further attempts at conversation were kept to a minimum as the pair of them made short work of several slices of glazed gammon and a couple of succulent pork chops apiece, followed by a dish of devilled kidneys topped with poached eggs.
‘I shall have to have all my jackets let out, if I keep this up!’ gasped Fenton, finally pushing his plate aside and reaching for one of the foaming tankards of ale that the serving-maid had just brought to their table.
‘You could do with a bit more flesh on your bones,’ grinned Maitland, surveying his cousin genially. ‘Added to which, I’m glad to observe that your complexion is already beginning to lose its usual pasty look—this country air appears to be having a most beneficial effect upon your constitution!’
‘Well, I have to admit that it ain’t been as bad as I feared it might be,’ returned Fenton, leaning back in his chair, with a contented smile on his handsome face. ‘Where are we headed today, old chap? Bit too soon to pay another visit to your chums at Gresham Hall, I suppose?’
‘Out of the question!’ retorted Maitland, somewhat sharply. After his rather disconcerting experiences earlier that morning, he felt that he needed a little time to himself to marshal his incoherent thoughts. The unfamiliar and rather disturbing emotions that he had found himself experiencing in regard to Georgianne Venables had perturbed him greatly and he had every intention of quashing them in the bud without delay. For, having replayed Saturday’s conversation with the viscount over and over in his mind, he had eventually come to the conclusion that Catford appeared to be just as enamoured of Georgianne as she was of him and, that being so, there was absolutely no way on earth that he would allow himself to do anything that might queer his friend’s pitch.
Hoisting himself out of his chair, he tossed a coin on the table for the serving wench and, followed by the now yawning Fenton, strode towards the door.
‘Better get on with it, I suppose,’ he said. ‘Tell them to have your carriage ready in ten minutes and we’ll tackle some of the villages to the south of the town.’
Having collected their hats and gloves, the two men made their way round to the back of the inn into the stableyard, where they found Maitland’s ex-sergeant, Pete Andrews, standing ready at the horses’ heads.
‘Picked a fine morning for your little jaunt, sir,’ he grinned, steadying the sprightly pair of greys as the men leapt up on to the driving seat. ‘Going somewhere nice?’
‘Just round and about, to take in a little of the magnificent scenery,’ returned Maitland, smiling down at the man. ‘Thought any more about my offer, Sergeant?’
‘Still considering it, sir, if you don’t mind!’
‘Well, let me know when you’ve reached a decision—I think you’d be a fool not to accept it.’
With a brisk nod, Andrews executed a smart salute, his bright blue eyes following the smart chaise as it bowled out of the yard. Then, turning, he made his way back to the tack room, where he had been cleaning saddles.
What a miserable coil he had got himself into, he thought, as he settled himself back down on his stool and reached for the saddle-soap. Discharged from the army hospital without a penny to his name and scarcely a rag to his back, he had been obliged to make his own way home, along with the many hundreds of other unfortunates whose military services were no longer required by their units, the war between England and France having reached its bloody climax on the field at Waterloo less than a year ago.
Had it not been for running into Matty and Josh, God only knew what might have become of him. Deeply self-conscious of the ragged scar that marred his once- handsome face, he had been unable to bring himself to return to his wife and children in Essex, initially having decided that it would be far better for them to believe that he had perished in the final battle.
However, after having spent the past few months cloistered with Josh Todd up in the tiny garret that the pair of them shared in Matty Skinner’s uncle’s cottage, which was situated just around the corner from the inn, he had been given ample opportunity to reconsider the wisdom of his former decision. The trouble was, as he had very soon realised, that any attempt to extract himself from the web into which Skinner’s harebrained chicanery had entangled him was bound to prove difficult, if not well nigh impossible.
Already there was talk of bringing in the militia and, being an ex-soldier himself, Andrews had no delusions as to what methods would be employed, once a troop of trained dragoons laid hands on their quarry. Furthermore, it wasn’t even as if any of them had profited greatly from Matty’s ill-conceived scheme. Whilst it was true that, in shunning the flashier coaches and carriages, they had avoided the likelihood of having their heads blown off by an armed guard’s blunderbuss, his own share of the miserable pickings that they had achieved, by directing their activities at a more lowly set of travellers, had so far provided him with less than half the cash needed to buy his ticket home—which was now his constant dream.
To begin with, he had regarded the escapade as little more than a bit of harmless fun, since he had been adamant that there should be no violence involved, having seen more than enough of that during the past five years. The plan had been, to begin with, fairly simple. Every so often, when a suitable target had been agreed upon, one of the three would help himself to a mount from the inn’s commodious stables, where there were never fewer than a couple of dozen horses available at any one time. Then, whilst the remaining two of the trio set about employing a series of delaying tactics upon the unsuspecting travellers, their elected member would make off for the disused charcoal-burner’s hut, where the tools of their nefarious trade—cloak, hat and mask—were kept secreted. Having disguised himself in this time-honoured fashion, the intending highwayman would then make for a suitably secluded spot on the heath, well in advance of the approaching carriage. By using different mounts on each occasion and continually switching places in this way, any descriptions that the beleaguered travellers had been able to supply to the authorities had been, thus far, highly confusing and somewhat contradictory.
Unfortunately, any enjoyment that Andrews might have derived from the activity at the start had long since evaporated. On top of which, the ringleader Skinner, whom the ex-sergeant suspected of helping himself to a greater share of
the meagre pickings than was dealt out to Todd and himself, had grown overly confident and was now insisting that the time had come to step up the operation and try for bigger game. The mere thought of the inherent dangers involved in so doing was enough to send cold shudders down Andrews’s back, with the result that he now lived every day in the very real fear of finding himself at the end of the hangman’s noose, should the trio’s activities be discovered, a circumstance that seemed to him only too likely to occur rather sooner than later!
From Andrews’s point of view, his ex-major’s offer was an absolute godsend and could not have come at a more auspicious moment. If he could just find a way of leaving the area without either of his two accomplices being made aware of his ultimate destination, he could put all this jiggery-pokery behind him, collect his wife and boys and set about making a fresh start.
With a bitter sigh, he reapplied himself to his task, reasoning that, whatever decision he came to, none of his plans could be put into action until Maitland showed signs of quitting the area.
The number of villages to the immediate south of Dunchurch proved to be singularly few, obliging Maitland to direct his attention to those situated on the western fringes of the heath, much to his cousin’s apprehension.
‘Ain’t sure that it’s wise for us to be travelling in this vicinity,’ he muttered, glancing fearfully into the bushes that lined the narrow lane upon which they were travelling. Having elected to hand over the reins to Maitland some time ago, he was now wondering whether he would not have done better to keep them in his own hands, since it went without saying that, should the two of them be called upon to defend themselves, his cousin was by far the better shot.
Maitland laughed. ‘I doubt whether any self-respecting highwayman would care to chance his arm twice in one day,’ he said reassuringly. ‘Mark my words, the fellow will lie low for at least a couple of days before he strikes again—probably tucked up in the arms of his doxy, even as we speak. Try not to trouble yourself about such things.’
The Major and the Country Miss Page 10
