by Sally James
* * * *
They argued at some length, but Claude was adamant, and Mr Norville at last angrily excused himself, and went out to seek Harry at his rooms, where he was spending the evening quietly in preparation for his race on the following day, and poured out the story into his sympathetic ears.
“For to tell the truth I don’t believe this nonsense about sending it to his impoverished relatives. It’s more than likely he wants the blunt for women, or gambling!”
“I suppose he might feel an obligation towards them, if they really are so poor,” Harry suggested, trying to be fair.
“Pah! If they did spend on him, it was because they knew they were on to a good investment. Yet I don’t believe in that poverty. Claudine came far too well provided for than you might have expected if she’d had to rely on whatever expectations Claude had to borrow money. Look at their clothes. All of them have trunks full, and of the finest quality. And not all of her jewels are heirlooms, or what Frederick gave her. I knew them all.”
“Didn’t she say they had occasionally been pawned?”
“Yes, and how did they contrive to redeem them if they are so poor as she maintains? And have you seen that barbaric diamond ring Claude wears? I know he has not bought that with money from the estate, since he wore it the second night they were here, before he’d got any money or opened accounts. His uncle is sporting some damned expensive trifles as well, and gives the impression he’s always had the best of everything. As for Claude, I’ll never believe he went barefoot! He’s by far too soft. Talk to him, my boy, and try to drive some sense into his head.”
“He’ll not listen to me. I’ll do my best, but we’ve rubbed the wrong way since he came. Odd, he used to be a great fellow.”
* * * *
The race was to start south of the river, on the far side of Westminster Bridge, just beyond the first toll gate. Harry and Jack had selected the Portsmouth road as being less busy than other roads to the west of London. Charlotte, dressed in her newest walking dress of cream muslin, and a pelisse of green with a perky chip straw bonnet trimmed with cream and green ribbons, was waiting for Jack when he called to collect her. Harry was with Jack, waiting in the Square, Amanda beside him. She had on a white muslin gown and a bright pink pelisse, which, Charlotte told herself, clashed horridly with her hair. But somehow it didn’t appear to matter. She still looked strikingly beautiful. Her excitement was infectious, and as the two curricles were driven down Park Lane and through St James’s Park she called out to the others, speculating on what the weather was going to do, for some heavy clouds were gathering in the west, and what chances each driver would have.
Richard Davies had been assigned the task of making sure they started on time, and he was waiting for them at the far side of the bridge. Another friend had been sent ahead to the finishing post near Kingston to judge the winner.
Richard made a great play of inspecting the horses and the harness, much to Harry’s annoyance.
“What’s all this about?” he demanded. “Do you suspect either of us has tampered with the other?’
“Of course not, Harry. But it all has to be seen to be fair. There are considerable sums being wagered on the outcome, and we don’t want people like your—I mean like some of the habitual gamblers, questioning it.’
The clock of a nearby church struck the hour, and Richard, finally satisfied, smiled and said they could start when he dropped his handkerchief.
Charlotte grasped the edge of the seat, expecting Jack to whip up his pair as soon as Richard gave the signal, but he disappointed her by setting the horses into a gentle trot.
“Harry’s getting away from us! Jack, can’t you go faster? At this rate he’ll be in Kingston long before us!”
“I’m waiting for him to take the edge off their enthusiasm,” Jack explained. “Just wait a while, when there is less traffic on the road we’ll soon pass him.”
He was proved correct. After a mile or so, when the stream of coaches and wagons entering London grew less, he urged his pair on. His chestnuts proved to have a remarkable turn of speed, and Charlotte could see Harry’s pair were having a struggle to maintain their initial pace on a long hill.
As they passed Harry, near the summit, Amanda shrieked with dismay, and Harry shouted across to Jack.
“Well done! I let them go too fast at the beginning, I was praying for an accommodation coach to appear and force you to drop back!”
‘Will we stay in front all the way now?’ Charlotte asked, turning to look over her shoulder at Harry, who was not far behind and managing to keep up with them. Amanda was waving her hat and her hair was streaming out behind her.
Jack laughed. “All sorts of things may happen to delay us, or favor one of us. First we must pass the next toll gate.”
“Oh, can I blow the yard or whatever it’s called?” Charlotte asked, but Jack shook his head.
“No, it needs some skill.”
His groom blew a long blast on the post horn, but the gate keeper was slow in emerging from his house, and by the time he had opened the gate Harry, coming up at a cracking pace, was through the gate and past them as they eventually went through and got up speed again.
For a mile Jack was unable to pass, though he maintained the same speed as Harry and was close behind. Then all changed. Charlotte gasped in horror as, in front of Harry, she saw what appeared to be a farmer driving a gig pulled by a fat little pony towards them. He began to turn into a narrow lane, crossing straight in front of Harry, and then, when he saw Harry’s pair bearing down on him, he stopped, and the gig was straddled across the road. The woman with him was squeaking in fright and trying to clamber out of the gig, and there was no room for Harry to pass by on the left. He was too close to the gig to turn and try to pass on the other side, and while he was maneuvering Jack, to Charlotte’s delight, drove straight past. There could not have been an inch to spare between them and the pony, and for a moment Charlotte thought the offside wheel was in the ditch and they would soon be following it.
Jack had judged it to a nicety, though, and there was no disaster. As they swept past Charlotte could hear Harry cursing the farmer loudly, and grinned. No doubt the poor man would be for ever puzzled at his vehemence. But the delay had enabled Jack to gain the advantage, and as Charlotte looked back she was able to report to Jack that it looked as though the wretched man was so dumbstuck he was shaking too much to control his horse, and Partridge had been forced to get down and lead them out of the way
She giggled. “The female is still screeching with her eyes tight shut, and he’s gibbering with fright, and wondering, I dare say, how he comes to be sitting in the lane, and whether or no he’s dreamed it all!”
They kept ahead of Harry for some time, and then met with a further delay. In front of them was a lumbering stage coach, and the traffic in both directions had increased so greatly neither of them could overtake it for some time.
Then the road widened slightly on a bend, and Charlotte gave a gasp of horror as Harry, whipping on his pair, squeezed past them and then the coach on the outside. Jack, muttering that what Harry could do so could he, followed, and Charlotte saw the passengers on the roof staring, most of them cheering as the two curricles shot past. Not all the passengers were so encouraging. She thought the fat man in the fur coat would fall off, he looked so furious.
The next excitement was outside a small inn, in the center of a tiny hamlet with no more than a dozen or so houses on either side of the road, when a huge pig, squealing for mercy, came running from the yard, and after it a collection of ostlers, stableboys, farm hands and urchins, and well in the fore the local parson. One of the young lads threw himself on the pig and contrived to halt it, the parson fell on top of them both, and Harry had the greatest difficulty to prevent his horses from trampling on them. Perforce, he had to halt his pair, as there was no room to get past the crowd. Jack grinned as he pulled up behind them, and watched as Harry, trying to order them to take the wretched pig out o
f the way, was surrounded by the crowd all trying to reassure him that none of them had let it out of its sty.
Amanda looked back at them and grimaced.
“They don’t have these problems at Newmarket,” she said with a laugh, “but I have to say this is far more fun!”
While Harry was so engaged Jack spied a small gap, and with a wave towards Harry steered his pair through it. As Charlotte looked back she saw the pig, having escaped once more, making for the churchyard, with the parson hanging onto its tail. She hoped it kept its freedom, or had delayed being slaughtered for at least a little time.
Harry had, by now, extricated himself and followed Jack so closely Charlotte was convinced she could feel the breath of his pair on her neck. And just as they were in sight of the winning-post he crept past, and there was nothing Jack could do, his pair were finished, and Harry won by a length.
“That was a famous race!” Charlotte exclaimed as they were in the inn partaking of a substantial nuncheon. “Yet had any of those accidents not happened, the result could have been different, so how do you know which pair is superior? Ought you not to race them over a course with no other vehicles, and—and pigs and things?”
“No need,” Jack replied generously. “I know now my cattle can’t really match Harry’s greys. He had far more delays than I did, and still won! Well, Harry, I’ll meet you at White’s this evening, and stand you dinner!”
When the horses had been baited and rested they drove back to London at a sedate pace, and while Jack, saying he would see Harry later, escorted Amanda home Harry and Charlotte had to face an accusing James demanding to know who won, and why he could not have been the one to accompany Harry instead of a stranger like Amanda Gregory. He had been hoping right until the last minute that Harry would take him.
Harry had to sit down and between them he and Charlotte told James and the others all about the race. Even Lady Norville unbent sufficiently to comment that although she disapproved of such doings, and shuddered to think of the many times when Harry had put himself and others in danger, it seemed he was quite a capable whip.
“Capable!” Charlotte breathed disbelievingly, but said no more as Claude then entered the room and with a polite show of interest asked to be told who had won the race.
Mindful of his father’s request, Harry smiled at him.
“I did, Cousin, but I am sure your mother has no wish to hear all about it again, so why do you not join us this evening to celebrate?”
* * * *
Harry devoted his energies initially to entertaining his friends, and ensuring Claude was made to feel welcome among a group of young men who had not previously exerted themselves to include him in their circle. One or two of them looked at Harry in some surprise when he appeared together with Claude, but he was the hero of the occasion, and had the right to invite his own guests, so they thought little more about it.
Having plied Claude with an excellent dinner and some of the best wines the cellar could produce, he waited for the inevitable mellowing. His opportunity to mention the hunting-box came when they had left the table and gone into the gaming-rooms. The club was full this evening, and for a while Claude stood watching the players at a faro table, and Harry moved to stand beside him. He commented briefly on the play, and then, as Claude responded with a slight nod, broached the subject uppermost in his thoughts.
“I was surprised to hear you mean to dispose of the hunting-lodge,” he said abruptly. “I’ve seen you ride, and you’re an excellent horseman. I’ve had thought you might have enjoyed hunting. It’s near some of the best country.”
Claude glanced at him, a supercilious smile on his lips.
“I won’t thank you for your praises, since they may be calculated. Did your anxious papa set you on to talk me round?”
Harry pursed his lips at the tone, but with an effort controlled his temper and replied mildly.
“Is it surprising? Though I would rather say he thought I might be able to explain better than he the consequences of selling off part of your inheritance. It’s the start of ruin in most cases.”
“Is that what you have done? I had not thought it! I am the best judge of my needs, my dear Harry, and really, you may be satisfied I have ample for myself and my mother from the main estate. And I do not care for riding all day after some stupid animal that is better caught in a trap. I suppose your father also told you why I mean to sell the property?”
“I understand it is to provide for your French relations.”
“And do you object?”
“What right have I to object?” Harry asked curtly. “I do think you’d be wiser to provide them with an income instead.”
“So my dear uncle maintains. I can see he has primed you well, coz! Since you care so much, why do you not buy the hunting-box from me? As for sending money regularly to France, think only of the difficulties once war resumes. No money from England would be allowed to get to France.”
“I should think not, indeed. So you are of the opinion the war will be resumed?”
Claude shrugged. “It is inevitable. Nothing has been conclusively finished, war will break out again sooner or later.”
“How can you be sure this money will not fall into the wrong hands and be used against us?”
“Oh, do not fear, Harry. I will make very sure it goes exactly where I intend it to go. Tell your father from me I will do as I think fit, and he has no right to attempt to stop me.”
“No right!” Harry exclaimed angrily. “You say he has no right when but for his efforts your inheritance would have been worth far less than it is! And, come to that, he is your heir so long as you are without a son, and there is always a moral right for an heir to be consulted when major decisions are taken.”
“But not in law. Not where unentailed land is involved. As a matter of fact I have been pleasantly surprised to find so much of the land is not entailed. I have a greater freedom of action than I had at first supposed. Are you thinking you might inherit, Harry? I advise caution, for I mean to marry and have several sons, as soon as I have selected a suitable bride.”
He turned abruptly away, and strode across the room to where Richard’s father, Mr Davies, had just entered with a couple of friends. Harry watched as Claude greeted Mr Davies and drew him aside.
“I was not aware he had become acquainted with your father?” he said suddenly to Richard, and the latter nodded.
“He met us in Bond Street, and I had to introduce him. He seemed devilish anxious to talk about the political situation, and how long it was thought Addington would last, and whether the King was completely recovered from his illness last year. I can tell you, my father was hard put to it to get free of him. He don’t relish talking about state matters to anyone outside the family, especially in a public street where anyone might overhear what he says.”
“Well, he seems to have evaded him this time,” Harry said, seeing the older man nod briefly to Claude and pass through to an inner room.
Harry was simmering with impotent rage against his cousin, not only for the cavalier way he had replied to him, but at the hints he might be selling more of the property. He was honest enough about his own feelings to know he did care on his own behalf about what happened to the land, since he had for so long regarded it as a distinct probability it would one day be his. However, Claude’s jibes did nothing to mitigate his anger, and he was relieved to see his cousin, having found a place at the faro table, appeared to have no intention of rejoining him. Thrusting down his anger, he tried to recapture the satisfaction he had felt at winning the race, and enjoy this celebration.
For some hours he succeeded in doing this, but when the party decided it was time to repair to Harry’s rooms, he thought about his cousin again, and reluctantly accepted Claude must be invited to join them, since he had himself included him in the party. He went in search of him, and found him, a trifle flushed and preoccupied, still at the faro table.
“We are going to my rooms, Claude. Wi
ll you come too?” he asked.
“What, leave when I am winning?” Claude asked with a laugh, and glanced briefly up at Harry. “No, go to your party, coz. I prefer to remain here. I like deep play, not penny stakes amongst friends.”
“That’s the spirit,” a man at the far side of Claude said encouragingly. “You’ll never win a fortune at silver loo!”
Harry glanced at him, the dislike revealed plainly in his eyes.
“You don’t lose one either, Sir David!” he snapped, and turned away to rejoin his friends.
“Was Claude with David Clarkson?” Jack asked in an undertone as they left the club.
“It appeared so. Certainly he was receiving every encouragement from him,” Harry returned. “Jack, if he gets into the clutches of Sir David Clarkson, he’ll lose all the money from the sale of the hunting-box before he even has time to send it to France!”
“Is he a gambler, do you think?”
“From seeing him tonight, I fear so. He’d been at the table without a break, and the stakes are high, and he was exhilarated far more than by a normal excitement, I’d swear.”
Chapter 8
Gloomily he went with his friends, but was hard put to it to regain any pleasure in the evening. Claude’s words about doing as he wished with the bulk of the estate could not be forgotten, and he was up unusually early on the following morning and seeking his father in Grosvenor Square.
Mr Norville had gone out, however, and Harry found only Charlotte at home, waiting to ride out with some friends.
“You appear worried,” she told him bluntly, and he nodded, telling her of his fears.
“Surely he could not gamble it all away!” she exclaimed, aghast. “Indeed, I think it true he does wish to provide for his French relatives, and I suppose it is only just of him, for they did care for him.”
