by Mary Brendan
Elise frowned. To her knowledge old Dr Perkins was reluctant to visit the sick unless they were on their deathbeds. Even the children in the village had to be wrapped in blankets and taken to his house when ailing. But then Dr Perkins looked to be a lot older, and in far worse shape, than was her papa. The physician was quite stooped and rickety in the knees and simply getting on to his trap to travel to patients would be an ordeal.
‘Doctor Perkins has been to see you?’ Elise echoed in surprise.
‘No...that fellow has gone to Brighton to live with his sister now he has retired. And not before time. He must have been close to his three-score years and ten and had dreadful arthritis.’ Walter removed his glasses again and, crossing his hands on his chest in readiness for a chat, began, ‘Colin Burnett has arrived from Harrogate to take up where Cedric Perkins left off and a good chap he is, too. He brought me a linctus he’d made up himself and it did stop the tickle in my throat for a while.’
As her father smothered another cough with a fist Elise went to him to put a cool palm on his forehead. ‘You don’t feel feverish.’ She smiled. ‘Your dinner will do you good. I’ll see if Bea is up and about and ready to dine.’
* * *
‘I thought I’d made it clear that I didn’t want you bothering me again at home.’
‘And I thought I’d made it clear that I’m not bluffing in this.’ The viscount hadn’t done him the courtesy of facing him while speaking, but James Whittiker was aware of hard black eyes watching him in the glass.
‘Am I losing track of time?’ Alex pivoted away from the huge gilt-framed mirror in front of which he’d been adjusting his neckcloth in readiness to exit the house. ‘If my memory serves, I recall you generously allowing me a week to consider matters. I don’t believe seven days have passed since your last intrusion.’
Whittiker bristled beneath the viscount’s contempt. ‘Circumstances have changed.’
James had been incensed to learn that Elise Dewey and her sister had bolted. Of course, should he spill the beans, a furore would still erupt, but the damage to the Dewey family wouldn’t be as potent. The fun of a scandal was in seeing despair crippling the prey when they were shunned and tattled about.
Arabella Dewey’s antics had already besmirched the family’s name and were another reason James feared his revelation might not have the required impact. The news of Elise’s wanton behaviour might simply incite some muttering about bad blood running in families before people turned their attention to juicier on dits doing the rounds.
Since he’d last come to Upper Brook Street James had tested the waters, but sensed no undercurrent of fearful expectancy leaking out from the girls’ kith and kin. On paying a visit on the Chapmans he’d found them to be no different, and the topic of the sisters’ return home had prompted Maude to voice her regret at their departure and her hope that their aunt Dolly might persuade them to return to town.
James was ready to believe such people might still be in blissful ignorance of what lay in wait for Elise Dewey. But it was the viscount’s attitude that really agitated him. Blackthorne was treating him as he had before the day he’d issued a threat to blackmail. Alex regularly turned up at White’s and extended to him his customary weary courtesy before settling down to drink, gamble and converse with his friends.
James understood there was a possibility Blackthorne would flout the law and summon him to a dawn meeting. In that eventuality Whittiker knew he’d have no option but to attempt a humiliating withdrawal from the débâcle. The viscount’s skill with weapons had been honed over many years in the military and far outstripped his mediocre talent with sword and pistol. James was counting on the noble fellow being as reluctant to risk arrest as he was of risking his life. But Blackthorne was playing his cards too close to his chest and James was sweating on the outcome of the game. He feared the whole episode might simply blow over with no gain made.
Thus he’d decided to make a premature visit to Upper Brook Street, to urgently discover what Blackthorne planned to do and with the intention of turning the screws if necessary.
Impatient to get rid of his unwanted caller, Alex prompted harshly, ‘You said circumstances have changed. Elaborate or be gone if you please. I’m on my way out as you can see.’
‘The Dewey sisters have left town,’ James muttered.
Alex shrugged bewilderment. ‘Were you expecting they might consult you before returning home?’
‘If you think sending her away will dissuade me from pursuing this matter...’ James hissed.
‘Please excuse me, my lord...’ Robinson had coughed loudly, then come into view to address his master. ‘The curricle has been brought round. Shall I have your belongings loaded on...or send it back if you are to be a while?’ He shot a pained look at Whittiker. When the fellow had turned up the butler had been in two minds whether to turn him away without recourse to his employer. But the viscount had been strolling the corridor towards him and had heard the bang on the door so there had been no opportunity to shoo the dumpy fellow down the steps. The viscount was a good and fair employer, but he demanded conscientious obedience in return for the generous wages he paid.
Robinson had read Alex Blackthorne’s displeasure in his face when he broke the news of his caller’s identity. Following the order to let Whittiker in and banish any servants from the hall while a meeting took place, the butler had set about attending to his master’s travelling needs. Robinson had drawn some satisfaction from the fact that the viscount had denied the fellow an audience in his study.
‘I’m ready to leave. Carry on with loading up if you please.’ Alex approached his butler to take his coat.
‘You’re going out of town?’ Whittiker sounded alarmed.
‘I’ve estate matters to deal with. Robinson will show you out.’ Without another glance Alex moved in the direction of the stairs, taking them two at a time.
Whitening in indignation, Whittiker stomped ahead of the butler to the great doors and affected not to notice the manservant concealing his contentment behind compressed lips.
Alex’s expression, as he strode along the corridor in the direction of his chamber, was no less grim than Whittiker’s had been moments ago. He hadn’t lied to Whittiker: he was going to Blackthorne Hall. But he wouldn’t be there for long. He intended spending no more than a day in Berkshire before heading towards Hertfordshire. He wondered if Elise would be as glad to see him as he would be to see her...
Chapter Fifteen
‘The post has arrived, Papa.’
Beatrice had called out to her father then, twirling about by the front door with two letters in her hand, she hurried to his study to find him.
‘There is one for you and I’m sure it is from Aunt Dolly as I recognise the hand.’ Beatrice put the letter on the leather-topped desk. ‘This one is addressed to Elise and is from Verity Chapman; I know her hand, too, you see.’
‘Indeed, you are right about mine; this is certainly from my sister,’ Walter confirmed, having scanned the writing and given his elder daughter a congratulatory beam.
‘Who was hammering on the door as though they would break it in two?’ Elise had been reading a novel in her chamber when the banging startled her.
‘There is a letter arrived for you from Verity.’ Beatrice proffered the parchment. ‘Papa has one from Aunt Dolly.’
Beneath constricting ribs Elise felt her heart skip a beat. Had her friend and her aunt heard of an imminent scandal concerning them and simultaneously written to warn them of it?
Beatrice gave an exaggerated sigh. ‘I should have liked a letter to open.’
The sound of the doorknocker again being employed brought three heads up.
‘There you are, my dear,’ Walter Dewey said, placing his letter back on the desk. ‘The fellow is back with the one for you he forgot to deliver. And in a bet
ter frame of mind, I suspect, as the door’s not taken such a battering.’
The summons to open up had seemed less forceful and Beatrice hurried back out into the hallway.
There was the sound of a muffled male voice, then moments later her sister reappeared with a gentleman at her side.
‘Doctor Burnett has come to visit, Papa.’
‘Ah...come in...come in, Colin, my dear fellow.’ Walter pushed to his feet, flapping a hand to urge him forwards. ‘Let me introduce you to my children, newly returned from the metropolis only days ago.’
Colin Burnett swung a smiling look between the young ladies. ‘How fortunate you are, sir, to have such exceptionally pretty daughters.’
Elise glanced at her sister just as Beatrice gave the complimentary fellow a shy smile.
‘My elder, Beatrice, let you in and this is Elise.’ Walter held out his hands either side of him, proudly indicating the two young ladies. ‘Now, shall we go to the parlour and have some refreshment?’ He clutched at his stick leaning against the wall and came around the desk in a slow gait. ‘The girls might be persuaded to entertain us with tales of their parties and balls in town.’
‘I’ll ask Mrs Francis to bring some tea, Papa.’ With a little bob for the doctor Elise went ahead of them towards the kitchens.
She desperately wanted to open her letter rather than attempt a polite conversation with their guest, but instead slipped it into her skirt pocket. She knew she must wait until she could properly digest its contents and steel herself against dreadful news. Thankfully her father had abandoned his note unopened on his desk so they had some respite...at least until after Colin Burnett had left.
Elise felt guilty and selfish then for hoping the doctor would soon be on his way. Their life in the country was humdrum and before she’d gone to town she would have enjoyed a visitor calling on them. Her father and sister had both looked pleasantly surprised at the doctor’s arrival. She purposely dwelled on him and how taken aback she’d been by his appearance. In her imagination the new doctor would resemble her first memory of the old one: a middle-aged fellow of dry character and spare build. But Colin Burnett seemed a congenial and cultured young man, perhaps in his late twenties, and was rather attractive in a bucolic way. Had she not known his profession she might have taken him for a country squire’s son with his bluff complexion and shock of auburn hair falling forwards over one eye, causing him often to push it back with large square fingers.
‘Ah...Miss Elise...I was going to find your father and ask what to prepare for supper, but I dare say you’ll do as well as him.’
Elise had been on the point of entering the kitchen when Betty Francis had exited the pantry opposite, holding by the legs a chicken in one hand and a rabbit in the other. First one, then the other, lifeless creature was raised for Elise’s inspection. ‘My Norman will pluck or skin it, so no problems in the choosing; you may have whichever you fancy, or both if you reckon Mr Dewey will run to it.’
‘Chicken, thank you, and might we have some tea brought to the parlour? Doctor Burnett has arrived.’
‘Has he now?’ Betty’s eyes grew round. ‘Quite a bit of a to do going on in St Albans about him, you know. When I was there the tongues were wagging nineteen to the dozen...’
Elise blinked, then asked apprehensively, ‘Why, what has he done?’
‘Nothing, so far as I know...apart from breaking a few hearts since he arrived in the neighbourhood.’ She gave Elise a slow wink. ‘But he is a rather strapping handsome sort, isn’t he? And a bachelor.’ She pulled a knowing face, crossing her arms under her ample bust so the animals dangled below her armpits. ‘The vicar’s girls have been hoping he’ll come over for tea with them and their mama. That saucy Victoria was saying she’d break a leg if necessary to get him there. I think she was funning. Well, seems you two young ladies have beaten them all to it and not yet a week back from town, are you.’
‘He seems very pleasant.’ Elise smiled. ‘Might we have that tea quite soon? I’m not sure how long Dr Burnett is able to stay.’
‘Seeing as it’s him, I’ll break out the box of raisin gingerbread I was saving for you all for Sunday after church.’ Mrs Francis ambled off towards the kitchen.
The mention of gossip in St Albans had made Elise’s heart resume pounding. She fingered the parchment in her pocket and was suddenly compelled to open the letter and quickly read it. If it contained the news she was dreading, she felt certain her aunt Dolly’s missive would also distress her father. Since they’d returned home she’d noticed he seemed more tired and frail than usual. She was suddenly very glad that the doctor had come unexpectedly because he might sound her father’s chest before leaving...
A loud rat-a-tat brought her head up sharply and with a quiet imprecation Elise thrust the letter back whence it came and marched towards the front of the house. Days went by when no soul came near nor by their front gate, she thought, as she turned the doorknob. Yet today, of all days, three knocks in the space of one hour...
‘Are you going to invite me in, Elise?’
Elise snapped together her softly parted lips, finally conquering her astonishment and shaking some sense into herself. ‘Yes...of course...I’m sorry...I was not expecting to see you...’ she breathed.
Quickly she stood aside to allow Alex Blackthorne’s large frame entry into the cottage. They faced one another in the narrow corridor, a sunbeam filtering through a high window, crowning her head with glints of gold. Quickly Elise pushed stray tendrils back behind her ears, wishing she’d not lain on her bed, crumpling her hair and clothes when reading earlier. Had she known he was on his way she’d have taken care with her appearance. But she’d not imagined he’d turn up out of the blue without first sending word to warn of his arrival.
‘Why didn’t you write and let me know you were coming?’
A sardonic smile conveyed better than words that there’d been no time to do so, and when Elise allowed herself a moment to study him she saw a fine film of dust on his rugged features as though he had travelled very fast without a stop. ‘Have you brought bad news?’ she whispered.
‘I suppose that depends on how you take what I have to say.’ Alex replied wryly.
‘What have you come to say?’ Elise murmured in a barely audible voice.
Alex looked about the hallway at the three doors leading off it. ‘Is there somewhere more suitable for us to talk?’
The initial shock of seeing him had rendered her speechless, hence his need to prompt her to invite him inside. Once again he’d had to remind her of expected niceties. Her unintentional, yet reprehensible, lack of hospitality reminded Elise just how different were their circumstances.
Unkempt as he was from his journey, his bearing retained the unmistakable stamp of affluence and breeding. In her cotton clothes and rustic surroundings Elise was sure he saw before him a spinster who had attended fashionable town venues, garbed in the modest finery her father had scrimped to buy her, so she might catch a husband.
And, of course, it was the truth. A family of her own to cherish was no less appealing to Elise than to Beatrice, and had she attracted a suitor she could love, and trust to reciprocate her loyalty and affection... As she glanced at the handsome man just a hand span away from her, she was assailed by a wounding insight.
Her chin inched up. ‘I should like to introduce you to my father,’ she said proudly. ‘We have another guest. The doctor is here.’ Elise suddenly remembered the fellow’s presence.
‘Is somebody ill?’
‘Doctor Burnett has come on a social call, although my papa has a cough. It is the time of year he says that makes his chest bad.’
Elise felt long fingers manacling her wrist, then Alex firmly led her to a door. ‘Will this do?’ He hesitated, primed to turn the handle on learning nobody was within.
She nodded. ‘It is the mo
rning room; the others are taking tea in the back parlour.’ She remembered her manners this time. ‘Would you like some tea, sir?’
Alex felt a smile tug at a corner of his mouth at the way she continued to address him. ‘Perhaps later, Elise,’ he said.
‘I think we should leave the door ajar...’
‘And I think it’s a little late to worry unduly about etiquette.’
Inwardly wincing at his ironic tone, Elise clasped her hands behind her back to steady them out of sight of his hooded sepia gaze. ‘You have come to tell me Whittiker has done his worst? Are people already talking about us?’
‘Possibly.’
Alex’s blunt answer drained the blood from Elise’s cheeks.
‘He came to see me yesterday and made it clear he will not back down on this matter. Whether he has started to spread his poison...’ Alex shrugged his uncertainty, strolling to the square sash and looking out at his curricle parked on a dusty track.
Already the racing equipage had drawn a few curious lads to circle it while sending glances towards the house. The tiger balanced on the back remained unflustered by their attention. Even in town, where top-notch carriages and horseflesh abounded, his master’s various travelling stock drew admiration and envy.
‘I don’t believe Whittiker is bluffing, so if the news is not yet out it soon will be.’ Alex turned from the window. ‘He bears a grudge against me and has debts to settle. Now he has a means of extortion he’s confident of killing two birds with one stone. His quarrel isn’t with you, Elise. I have come here so we may discuss what to do to limit his spite.’
‘Thank you,’ Elise said with such heartfelt gratitude that it caused a smile to soften Alex’s chiselled lips.
‘You imagined I’d forget about the matter and allow him to do his worst,’ he stated. ‘Didn’t you?’
Elise flushed indignantly, feeling that somehow she was being reprimanded. ‘I’m not a fool, sir, and know this calamity might ruin my future and that of my sister.’ She took a few paces to and fro. ‘Whereas what awaits you?’ A slender white hand gestured the injustice of it all. ‘Clucking tongues and sly looks for a short while before you carry on much as before in all aspects of your life.’
