The carriage appeared, his luggage was loaded onto it, his valet took his seat inside and the groom his beside Rawston, the coachman. It only remained for Leo himself to get into the carriage. His foot was upon the step when a voice hailed him.
“Mr Audley! Mr Audley, sir! A moment of your time, if you please.”
Mr Mason rushed into the inn yard, his coat tails flying, his wig slightly askew.
Leo stepped down. “Mr Mason? I am at your service, sir.” Unless it is about your wretched daughter again, he thought savagely.
“May we talk privily, sir?”
Leo ushered him back to the tiny room barely bigger than a cupboard that had served as his private parlour, chasing out the kitchen maid who was cleaning the room. “Now, sir.”
“Mr Audley, it occurs to me that I have not yet proffered my deepest regret for the unfortunate misunderstanding that arose between us. I concede that I… misread the situation, and can see that you were an innocent party.”
Leo bowed politely. “I am pleased that the matter is now resolved.”
“Phoebe is a foolish girl, but one cannot expect wisdom from one so young, I suppose. Still, no hard feelings, I hope, sir? All’s well that ends well, eh?”
“I cannot agree with you, sir,” Leo said coldly. “Although it is gratifying that you now recognise my blamelessness, there has been considerable damage to my reputation.”
“To your reputation? It is Phoebe’s reputation that has been destroyed, not yours.”
“You agree that I am, and always have been, innocent of any wrong-doing, yet you spread rumours of such wrong-doing to my host at the time, Sir Ruthven Caldecott, to his neighbour, Mr Richard Coylumbroke, and to my brother-in-law, Mr Peter Kingsley, that I know of, and perhaps others yet unknown to me. Many among my acquaintance, and even members of my own family, believe me guilty of the worst kind of villainy. Mr Kingsley barred me from his house, sir, and there are those who may never again look favourably upon me.” He paused, as the import of his words swept through him. Lucy! She was perhaps lost to him for ever because of Phoebe Mason’s calumny. “Yes, sir, my reputation has been grievously damaged. I have my faults, I admit, but seducing and abandoning innocents is a level I have not, and would never, stoop to.”
Mason hung his head. “And I have been the means of propagating this slander against you, Mr Audley. But that, at least, I can set right. I shall speak or write to all those to whom I spoke against you previously, and assure them that you are quite innocent and that I had entirely mistaken the matter.”
“Thank you, Mr Mason. That is a relief to my mind. And now I have kept my horses waiting long enough, so I shall bid you good day.”
“Good day to you, sir.”
“I hope you can bring this young man to the altar,” Leo said. “When your daughter marries, let me know of it and I shall send her a wedding present.”
“You are a generous man, Mr Audley, and a good Christian. May God bless you!”
Leo supposed that most of the world would, on balance, agree with that assessment of his character, but as his carriage clattered over the cobbles and swayed out of the inn yard, he could not see himself in that way. Generous? Yes, perhaps. It was easy to be generous when one’s income far exceeded one’s needs. But a good Christian? That, at least, must remain in doubt. But he was resolved to do better. One day, perhaps, if he made the greatest effort, he might be worthy of Mrs Walter Price.
He travelled only for an hour, to Coylumbroke Castle. He always smiled, as he drove in through the ornate stone archway, to think that one day Tom would be master here. That would be a day to celebrate, when Tom should finally come into his inheritance and live as a gentleman without the constant fear that his uncle would cut him off.
The present owner, however, was not such as to inspire a smile. Richard Coylumbroke was a dour and uncompromising man, not to say sullen. He had never married, and had selected Tom as his heir at the age of seven from an assortment of nephews, describing him as the least unpromising of the bunch. He had seen him educated at the finest establishments, after which he had given him a generous allowance and, apart from requiring his attendance for Christmas, Easter and a few weeks of shooting in the autumn, asked nothing of him, except to suffer every aspect of his person and his behaviour to be soundly abused at regular intervals. Although Leo would have liked his friend to stand up to his uncle more, he quite understood why he did not, and why he remained terrified of a man who wielded so much power over him.
Coylumbroke received Leo, as always, in the magnificent vaulted great hall, a room designed to impress the susceptible. Leo, having even more impressive receiving rooms of his own, and knowing that his host spent his days in a much smaller and cosier room, was not in the least susceptible. It amused him that Coylumbroke still went to such efforts, even having known Leo for decades.
After the usual polite preamble, Coylumbroke said, “Well now, I daresay you are here to convey some news of that rascally nephew of mine. Tell me the worst, what scrape is he in now?”
“Why, none, that I know of, sir.”
“Ha! And if he were to be in a scrape, you would certainly know of it, no doubt, for you are responsible for most of ’em.”
“What kind of friend would I be if I did not lead him into a scrape now and then, and afterwards get him out again?” Leo said lightly. “I am sorry to disappoint you, but Tom is perfectly well, and the last I saw of him, he was pursuing a blameless existence in Shropshire.”
“Blameless? Doubt that! He is far too feather-brained to keep out of trouble. Too interested in the females, what is more.”
Leo laughed gently. “Tom knows perfectly well that his popularity as a guest rests on his willingness to do the pretty to the other guests. He is very good at it, as you must be aware. However, he cannot possibly be in any trouble, since I am not there to lead him into it.”
The older man shook with silent laughter. “Aye, you are very slick with words, Audley, very slick. So if it is not Tom, what brings you to my door then? And never tell me that you were just passing by and thought to drop in.”
“I came north to settle the business with Miss Mason,” Leo said. “And as I was passing by…”
Coylumbroke half smiled wryly, but looked intently at him. “Miss Mason, eh? I rather wondered, given the timing, if Tom might have been involved in that, which would not have pleased me one bit, but then when it emerged that it was you—”
“Actually, the responsible party is a fellow by the name of Malcolm Fuller, according to Miss Mason.”
“Fuller! Good God!” Coylumbroke began to laugh, a deep rumble that seemed to begin in his feet. “Well, well, well! And all this time, she has been blaming you, yet you never denied it. Why ever did you allow everyone to believe such a thing if it were untrue?”
“One does not quite like to call a lady a liar,” Leo said. “It goes against the grain, somehow. I did try to convince her father that perhaps she might be mistaken in the matter, but he would not have it. Eventually I tired of the business, so I came north to put a stop to it once and for all.”
“Hmm. I can see that it would be tedious to have such a stain on one’s reputation. Very damaging. And for a man like yourself, yet to marry, it could put some of the more eligible girls out of reach, despite your fortune. Yes, I can see why you wanted to quash these reports. So you had no dealings with the girl at all?”
“None whatsoever.”
“Hmm. Seemed plausible, though. You do have something of a reputation as a ladies’ man, Audley.”
“Married women, Coylumbroke, who know what they are about, and not nearly so often as rumour would have it. I have never dallied with maidens — far too risky.”
“And not much fun, either, so I am told. Never was tempted myself. So are you looking for a bed for the night, or are you heading straight back to Shropshire?”
“Neither, sir. Tell me, what are the roads like to Liverpool?”
~~~~~
‘Dearest Lucy, Yo
ur last letter was much shorter than usual. Are you out of sorts? Are you suffering from oppressive heat or anything of that nature, for there is nothing more fatiguing than heat, is there? I am so comfortably situated here for Yorkshire never suffers from oppressive heat, seemingly. It is the rain which is oppressive just now. I hope you are not doing too much, for your two young ladies sound quite a handful. I am sorry to hear that Mr Audley is gone away, for I know you enjoyed his company. But do not be alarmed that I am any longer under a misapprehension regarding him, for you made it very clear that my hopes were misplaced, and I do not wish you to be cross with me again, and I shall not even enquire about Mr Coylumbroke, so you see I am endeavouring not to see romantical attachments everywhere, as you advised. Do let me know how you go on, and if you have any more word from Margaret. Your affectionate sister, Fanny.’
~~~~~
JUNE
Lucy was tired. The twins had clearly decided that she was there solely to spoil their fun, and that their purpose in life was to thwart her at every turn. The ingenious thief had again managed to steal a coin or two, despite Lucy hiding her purse in a locked drawer each night. Augusta lay about all day complaining about how large she was, and how uncomfortable, and how glad she would be when this baby was finally born. Mr Kingsley had grown increasingly morose, and now spent most of each day, and often the evenings as well, hiding in the library. And Mr Exton and Mr Cherry had abandoned any pretence of friendship, and settled into a state of deadly enmity.
On top of all this exhausting contention, Mr Audley had gone away and life was unaccountably empty. Lucy could not decide whether she was glad or sorry for his absence. She missed his reassuring presence more than she had expected, although it was more like the annoyance of a missing milk tooth — one does not mind the loss, but the gap is a constant reminder of something vaguely amiss. Lucy would hurry to the breakfast parlour eager to tell Mr Audley of some trivial incident which might amuse him, only to remember as soon as she entered the room that he was far away. Or she would read a new letter just arrived from one or other of her sisters, and find half a dozen points she wished to discuss with him, and be quite cross that she could not.
The matter of his proposal weighed so heavily on her mind that she was quite remorseful. How foolish of her to mistake him so badly! She had supposed he wanted to employ her in some capacity, perhaps when her role as chaperon to Deirdre and Winifred should be over, but then how could she possibly have guessed that he would wish to marry her? He had given not the least hint of it, and why ever would such a man, who could marry as high as he pleased, look at Lucy Price, a penniless widow? Even now, she could not make it out. But he had said nothing of love, so perhaps he merely wanted a wife he could leave at Stoneleigh Hall to bear him children so that he could continue his life in Bath as he pleased. It was a dispiriting thought. Lucy had only been proposed to twice, and neither occasion was the least bit romantic. Walter had simply said, “We could always get married, Luce,” and Mr Audley had said… she could not even remember what he had said, but it had not been in the least romantic, that much she knew.
Her sisters had done much better in that way. Rosamund had had innumerable offers. Gentlemen had thrown themselves at her feet, literally, in one case, and waxed passionate about her great beauty and her many perfections and how they would die if she would not have them. Annabelle, too, had received several offers, and one suitor had pursued her right across the garden and through the house declaiming his love loud enough to be heard by anybody, and certainly by Lucy, Margaret and Fanny who had stolen along silently behind them, awed by so much ardour directed at their sister. Fanny had had offers too, and even Margaret had, although no one would have expected her to marry Mr Pickles, and she had burst into tears and run from the room when he had grabbed her hand, which was quite understandable. But the only men who had proposed to Lucy were an old man wanting companionship, and a rich man who wanted… she could not say. She had never understood young men, and Mr Audley, for all his friendliness, was a closed book to her.
Such thoughts made her ache for her sisters. If only they were here, and she could tell them all about Mr Audley! Fanny would cry and feel sorry for him in being refused, and Annabelle would tell her she was doing the right thing to refuse him if she did not love him, and Rosamund— Here she quailed. Rosamund, dear, practical Rosamund, would tell her at once that she should have accepted him, for look how rich he was, and could rescue the entire family from poverty without blinking. And it was true, but she could not marry a man who would undoubtedly make her unhappy, for he would always have mistresses. And so she wept a little each night, and wished he would come back so that she could see whether he still looked at her in that peculiarly intense way he had or whether she had destroyed whatever affection he might once have felt for her. It was so hard being a woman, having to wait and wonder and not know what a man truly felt.
Into this dreary existence, Mr Tom Coylumbroke was a beam of pure sunshine. He flirted a little with Deirdre and Winifred, he was attentive to Augusta, he cajoled Mr Kingsley into good humour and he even managed to reduce the tension between Mr Exton and Mr Cherry. Once he took the two men off to watch a horse race, after which they returned to Market Clunbury the very best of friends. Another time he took them to an exclusive gentlemen’s club, which was less successful since they did not reach their beds before dawn and there was a great family row about it, although Lucy did not quite know why. But after that, the two men got along better, Mr Exton devoting all his attention to Deirdre, while Mr Cherry settled for Winifred’s company.
But there were still moments when this fragile accord fell apart. Mr Exton had negotiated to take Deirdre out in his curricle, which suggestion had been steadily denied by both Mr and Mrs Kingsley as too particular. It was, Augusta said, as good as announcing their betrothal. It was Mr Coylumbroke who pointed out that such an outing would be quite unexceptional with a chaperon. He therefore offered to take Lucy up in his own curricle, and so long as the two vehicles stayed together and did not enter an inn or other dubious establishment, there could not be the least impropriety.
At the appointed hour, not two but three curricles drew up around the fountain outside the front entrance, for Mr Cherry had arrived too.
“Why, I had word that you could not fulfil your promise to Miss Kingsley, David,” he said in surprise. “You asked me to take your place, yet here you are.”
“Really, William! As if I would let down a lady. You may go home at once.”
“Now look here—”
“The more the merrier,” Mr Coylumbroke said hastily. “Perhaps Miss Winifred may be prevailed upon to join us.”
“She is to stay with her mama,” Lucy said. “Mrs Kingsley is too unwell to be left alone. I believe we must keep to the original plan. Perhaps another day, Mr Cherry…”
For an instant, good manners warred with his sense of outrage, and perhaps good manners might have won the day, had not Deirdre said, “I like William’s horses better, so I shall go with him.”
Within seconds Mr Exton had taken exception to this scheme, Mr Cherry had taken exception to Mr Exton, with the result that the two men were exchanging blows as well as words, and Deirdre was screaming, although whether in terror or delight was hard to tell.
“I say, I say!” Mr Coylumbroke said, rushing towards the combatants.
With one final shove, Mr Exton pushed Mr Cherry into the fountain, with a great splash.
Deirdre squealed again.
17: A Curricle Drive
Mr Exton would have climbed into the fountain to continue the altercation, but Lucy clouted him on the head with her parasol.
“Enough! What a disgraceful exhibition! You may both go home at once!”
“Then I shall go out driving with Mr Coylumbroke,” Deirdre said, lifting her chin.
“You will do no such thing,” Lucy retorted. “You will go indoors and take off your spencer and bonnet, and bear your mama company like a dutiful daughte
r for once, and yes, you will explain to her, and to your papa, exactly what has happened here and your part in it. For it was you, was it not, who sent that message to Mr Cherry? And then, when all might have been settled amicably, you spoke up to incite the gentlemen beyond endurance. It is hardly the behaviour of a lady, and it only made matters worse. What they see to admire in you is beyond my comprehension. I am ashamed of you, Deirdre Kingsley.”
“I did not send any message,” she yelled, before remembering to be ladylike. Demurely lowering both her eyes and her voice, she said, “I am sorry to say such a thing of a sister, but it must have been Winifred. I am sorry, both of you. There, now we are all friends again. May I go with David now, Lucy?”
“No, you may not. Your parents must decide whether Mr Exton may be permitted to take you out driving on another occasion.”
“Very well.” She curtsied sedately to the three men, and to Lucy, then climbed the steps back into the house, past the butler and footman standing before the doors.
“Deirdre sent the message?” Mr Cherry whispered, his face white. He climbed out of the fountain and stood, dripping, beside his former friend.
“Nonsense!” Mr Exton said robustly. “It was Miss Winifred, you heard her say so.”
He stomped away to his curricle, Mr Cherry did likewise and the two equipages bowled away down the drive.
“Well, that was illuminating,” Mr Coylumbroke said. “Do you really believe it was Miss Kingsley’s doing, Mrs Price? She seems too amiable a young lady to pull such a trick against well-intentioned young men.”
“Oh yes. I have seen her play one against the other before.”
“Miss Winifred seems very envious of her sister,” he said dubiously.
“She believes herself in love with David Exton, so naturally she is jealous, but she is more the tears and shouting type.”
“There are those who say that Miss Winifred tells lies,” he said, not looking at her as he scuffed the gravel with one booted foot.
The Chaperon (Sisters of Woodside Mysteries Book 2) Page 16
