Heir to Rowanlea

by Sally James

  “We can take a turn and you will feel better,” Jack said off-handedly, and went on to speak of their plans for the next few days, apparently oblivious of Harry’s lack of response.

  The church bells announced the hour, and Claude had not arrived. The surgeon had appeared a few minutes earlier in a discreet dark-coloured chaise, and Jack strolled over to greet him, bringing him back to be introduced to Harry. They chatted desultorily, but Harry kept looking towards the town, expecting Claude to appear at any moment. The quarter rang out, and then the half hour, and he was becoming angry. Jack began to suggest Claude had lost his courage and would not appear, but the doctor gave it as his opinion they should wait for the full hour before they gave up. By nine o’clock there was still no sign of either Claude or Sir David, and they made their way to the tavern where breakfast was awaiting them. The surgeon declined to accompany them, and Jack was not attempting, now the danger was over, to hide his relief it had all turned out so satisfactorily. Harry, however, was furiously angry and ready to label Claude a poltroon, a lily-livered, chicken-hearted rascal who did not deserve to bear the name of Norville.

  It was there, some time later, while they were partaking of excellent ham and even better ale that Sir David Clarkson found them. As he entered the coffee room where they were seated, Harry rose to his feet with an exclamation of disgust.

  “Well, has that paltry cousin of mine condescended to appear at last?” he demanded.

  “I am afraid he will not be coming, Mr Norville. I had the utmost difficulty in dissuading him, but since he has his right hand in a sling, it really was impossible. I could not permit him to attempt to shoot left-handed, which is what he wished.”

  Sir David smiled deprecatingly as Harry snorted in disbelief.

  “A sling? What is this? How comes he to have such an excuse?”

  “It is no excuse, I do assure you,” Sir David said coldly. “As he made his way home last night he was attacked by a gang of ruffians. Lord Norville made a gallant attempt to fight them off, but in doing so he sustained an injury to his right arm, and can most certainly not hold a pistol.”

  Jack laughed, and Harry turned to him in disgust.

  “I might have known he would have been too great a coward to face me. An ingenious excuse, is it not? Well, Sir David, I am naturally bound to believe you,” he added, not bothering to hide his sneer, “and beg you to return to your principal and arrange another date, when we must hope yet another accidental injury will not prevent the meeting!”

  Unexpectedly Harry found neither Jack nor Sir David would agree to this.

  “Don’t be a fool, Harry. The magistrates will have got to hear of it, and will be sure to stop it,” Jack told him bluntly. “Claude has defaulted, for whatever reason, and your honor is satisfied. Now it must end.”

  “I regret the imputations you are making, Mr Norville,” Sir David said curtly, “but Mr Weare is right. I wish to make it plain that the inability to appear was in no way the fault of Lord Norville. Now it must be considered at an end. Good day to you both!”

  * * * *

  He departed, and some time later Jack and Harry followed him. Back at his rooms Harry found Willis in a state of considerable agitation at his long absence, and also waiting to inform him his father had sent a message to ask him to call on him as soon as possible.

  Knowing this summons must mean his father had become aware of the duel, Harry braced himself for what did indeed turn out to be a most uncomfortable half-hour, during which he endured his father’s reproaches in silence, only explaining what had led to the duel when Mr Norville, having run out of ways of expressing his displeasure, demanded to be told what he had to say for himself.

  Incredulous at first, then forced to believe Harry, he sat behind his desk and shook his head sorrowfully.

  “Frederick must be turning in his grave,” he said heavily. “I never thought to see the day when one so near to me could cheat at cards!”

  Harry eventually took his leave, but found Charlotte lying in wait for him, and she whisked him into the morning room, saying her mother had gone out and Lady Norville was with Claude.

  “Oh, there has been such a commotion!” she exclaimed, “and I cannot fathom the half of it. Aunt Claudine seems to think you have tried to murder Claude, and had him attacked last night.”

  “So that’s his story, is it? Is he really hurt?” Harry said, but Charlotte shook her head.

  “I have not seen him, but I would not be surprised if he is shamming, for he is the greatest coward,” she said angrily. “But do pray tell me all about it, Harry,” she coaxed, and he did so.

  “Lord, he isn’t a bit like he used to be!” Harry concluded. “In the old days he would never have thought of cheating, even in a game of hide the slipper.”

  “No,” Charlotte said slowly. “Harry, I have been thinking, and there are so many strange things. It seems impossible, for Aunt Claudine is real enough, but what if he could be an imposter after all?”

  Harry stared at her, then shook his head.

  “You have windmills in your head if you imagine that, I know it is what we might like to believe, but it cannot be true.”

  “It does seem unlikely, but listen to me,” Charlotte ordered. “First there is the fact he is afraid of dogs, and Frederick never was. He could get any animal to trust him, and the dogs adored him. Wolf seems to have taken a dislike to Claude. He says he was bitten badly, but I do not think that could have turned someone like Frederick so completely against dogs.”

  Harry shook his head.

  “You were very young when you last saw him,” he reminded her. “You cannot be sure of what he was like.”

  “No, and it is difficult to be sure after so long about those slight differences we noticed in his appearance—his hair being darker and no scar on his lip. But his memory is truly dreadful, he does not seem to recall anything about Rowanlea and the people there.”

  “Anyone can forget names,” Harry argued.

  “Yes, but I would not have thought anyone could have forgotten Mrs Turner’s gingerbread. He had completely forgotten her and the gingerbread when he was asking me about a cottage for Bagshot.”

  “A cottage for Bagshot?” Harry said in puzzlement.

  “Yes, he said he wanted to come over here now that his sons ran his farm—which he apparently got through his French wife—and he was old and homesick. Do you recall him? He was Uncle Frederick’s man, was he not? I think he was the small wiry one with sandy-colored hair. Yet if he exists he would know about Claude, unless the cottage is a bribe.”

  “Did Claude tell you what he looked like?”

  “Well, I described him and asked if that was he, for I could not remember the name, and he agreed.”

  “This gets odder! The small fellow was MacDonald, and I remember there being some trouble just before Uncle Frederick went to France. He hired a new man, Bagshot, but he was tall and burly, and was already married. His wife went with them as Aunt Claudine’s maid.”

  “Then it could not have been Bagshot, even if his wife had died and he had married again. Claude had heard the name but never known what the man was like. I wonder if he does not really want a cottage, but threw out the name to make me less suspicious when he did not remember Mrs Turner? That must be it.”

  “Yes, possibly, but there could be other explanations,” Harry protested.

  “For one, or two mistakes, or lapses of memory,” Charlotte agreed, “but not all this! Do you recall when Jack disturbed that nest of wasps once?”

  Harry grinned at the recollection.

  “It would be hard to forget! Frederick dancing about and in the end jumping into the river to escape from them. He was livid with Jack because it had not been he that was stung.”

  “Yes,” Charlotte agreed, “but when I mentioned it to Claude, he pretended to remember, and said he recalled Jack being stung! Surely he must have known was he, and that he ended up in the river.”

  Harry stared at
her, permitting himself to be convinced at last.

  “But what can we do?” he asked after a moment. “If he is an imposter, who is he? And why should Aunt Claudine be involved in the deception?”

  “He is like her, and so must be one of her family, but whoever he is she is better off with him the owner of Rowanlea than if she were merely your father’s pensioner. And they mean to transfer all they can to France, when they have sold what is not entailed. If war broke out again, we could do nothing even if we could prove him to be false!”

  “Have you spoken to my father?” Harry asked at length.

  “No, I have been so unsure, and I wanted to talk to you first. Shall we go and tell him what we think?”

  Harry nodded, and they turned to the door, but at that moment it opened and Lady Weare, accompanied by Mr Penharrow, entered, accompanied by James with Wolf bouncing after him.

  Charlotte looked from her mother, who was twisting the ribbons of her rather fetching bonnet into little more than rags, to Mr Penharrow, who appeared a trifle sheepish. The latter cleared his throat and spoke.

  “Charlotte, James, your mother has consented to become my wife. I hope you will wish us both happy!”

  After a startled moment, Charlotte flung herself on her mother, kissing her and demanding to be told all about it, while Harry, unable to reach his aunt, shook Mr Penharrow warmly by the hand.

  “I’m delighted, sir!” he exclaimed, and Charlotte, releasing her mother from the ecstatic embrace, turned to shake his hand a little shyly.

  “So that was why you were looking at a house in Hill Street,” she said accusingly to her mother. “You deceived us all.”

  “I don’t have a town house, you see,” Mr Penharrow explained. “At least, I have one in Russell Square, but I would not wish to have your mother living there among the Cits.”

  “They didn’t deceive me,” James remarked laconically. “I guessed how it would be when I saw them kissing last week. I went out again quietly, and shut the door,” he added quickly as his mother looked at him, startled, “for I thought you would not wish the servants to see.”

  “Odious boy!” Lady Weare said, laughing and blushing.

  “When is the wedding to be?” Charlotte demanded. “Will we live in Hill Street then?”

  “We’ll marry as soon as possible after your ball, Charlotte,” Mr Penharrow declared. “It has taken me long enough to persuade your mother you would not resent me.”

  “Of course not,” Charlotte reassured him.

  “And I need James to come and help me care for this hell hound he wished on me.”

  “So that was why you knew Mr Penharrow would not refuse to have Wolf!” Charlotte said in amusement. “You are an odious boy! He would not have dared say no.”

  “Besides, I am afraid your mother might find some other excuse for delay unless I tie the knot quickly.”

  “What other excuse?” Charlotte asked in puzzlement.

  “Well, your own wedding, perhaps?” Mr Penharrow said, looking at her quizzically, and Charlotte blushed as furiously as her mother had done earlier.

  “I have no plans for a wedding,” she said quickly, but Mr Penharrow merely laughed, and Charlotte hastily began to ask her mother questions about the arrangements to be made.

  * * * *

  In the excitement engendered by Lady Weare’s announcement, Harry and Charlotte were unable to speak with Mr Norville until late in the afternoon, but they eventually found him alone and persuaded him what they had to say was important. He listened with growing unease as they related their suspicions and the incidents that had given rise to them.

  “It sounds bad, I’ll admit,” he said at last, “but how can we prove aught? Everything could be explained, and there’s no definite proof.”

  “Then we must get it!” Harry exclaimed. “Sir, if he is an impostor you cannot permit him to sell off your land.”

  “It will be said we resent his reappearance, if we make any accusations, and you in particular are jealous,” Mr Norville warned.

  “We’ll make no accusations until we are in a position to prove them,” Harry asserted. “I’ve a mind to go to France myself and see what I can discover. Do you know where the rest of Aunt Claudine’s family live? I could start there.”

  “Did Mr Glossop’s agent ever return?” Charlotte asked suddenly. Her uncle shook his head.

  “We have heard nothing, but he’s been gone for just a few weeks, really a very short time.”

  “Then we’ll have to devise ways of trapping Claude, it’s all that is left,” Charlotte said gloomily. “I mean, trick questions, talking about people who do not exist and persuading him to admit he knows them. Then one of us must be with him when he first visits Rowanlea, to see what he remembers or not, if he does know it.”

  “Trick questions will prove naught except a poor memory,” Harry replied, “and you may be sure he will not venture near Rowanlea without Aunt Claudine to guide him.”

  “Then what can we do?” Charlotte exclaimed.

  “I’ll go to France,” Harry decided. “It is the only place where proof is available. Sir,” he went on, turning to his father, “will you arrange for me to have all the details Glossop’s man started with, and anything we know in addition?”

  Mr Norville looked at him seriously, and then sighed.

  “I don’t like it, my boy. If Claude is as we fear, he’s a damned unscrupulous fellow, and you’ll be in danger once he knows what you are about.”

  Harry shrugged. “We must make some story up to account for my absence. I must do it, for it’s our only chance!”

  “Aye, you are right. Very well, I’ll go to see Glossop in the morning, and arrange for him to meet you. Not at his office or here, I think, for someone will know and word might get back to Claude, which would alert him.”

  With that Harry and Charlotte had to be content, but they discussed it at length until Charlotte, suddenly realizing the time, said she must change for dinner immediately.

  She whisked out of the room and Harry followed her more slowly. He was taking his hat and cane from Rivers when Claude came slowly down the stairs, his right arm in a sling and the sleeve of his coat pinned romantically across his chest, and supported on either side by his valet and one of the footmen. He paused slightly when he saw Harry, who had turned and was surveying him sardonically, without making any move to greet him.

  Claude recovered his aplomb and trod down the remaining stairs.

  “Good evening, Harry,” he said smoothly. “I had not expected to see you in my house today. I must offer my sincere apologies for having missed our—appointment—this morning, but as you see, I was prevented.”

  He waved his henchmen back and then indicated his bandaged arm.

  “My uncle and I were returning home last night when we were set upon by some gang of ruffians,” he explained smoothly. “They stole my fob and some rings from my uncle.”

  “I trust he is not also injured,” Harry returned.

  “Only slight contusions, cousin.”

  “How fortunate! Severe injuries are so restricting, are they not? Pray excuse me, or I will be late for a dinner engagement.”

  So saying he departed abruptly, and went off to his rooms, there to ponder on what excuse could be offered to his friends which would be believed by Claude to account for a disappearance of several weeks. At the thought that, ironically, if he had fought Claude and killed him such a departure would have been inevitable, he grinned, at once in a better mood, and set off for his party confident that eventually he would unmask Claude.

  * * * *

  On the following morning Elizabeth made her promised call on Charlotte, and was, by means of subtle flattery, induced to accompany her to a new milliner Mrs Maine had discovered in South Street, and whose praises she had sung at the dinner party. Charlotte, blessing her good fortune that it was a delightfully sunny, mild day, persuaded Elizabeth to dispense with the company of a footman, saying that to be always spied upo
n by servants was detestable, and they had really only a very short way to go.

  At Madame Renee’s Charlotte ordered the most ravishing chip straw hat, tied with ribbons she declared matched precisely one of her new gowns, and Elizabeth spent a considerable time debating the respective merits of a hat trimmed with dyed feathers of a blue which perfectly matched her eyes and one with cunningly contrived knots of ribbon of a delicate shade of pink.

  Walking back along South Audley Street, Charlotte’s steps grew slower, and she ceased the spate of gay chatter that she had maintained since they had left the milliner’s.

  “What ails you?” Elizabeth asked in concern.

  Charlotte shook her head and halted.

  “I know not. The oddest feeling, as if my head were floating above my shoulders. Oh, Elizabeth, I feel so peculiar.”

  “You are not going to swoon, are you?” Elizabeth asked in horror, looking about her for help which failed to materialize.

  “I—I don’t think so—but—oh—if only I could lie down!”

  “Charlotte, take my arm. We are not so very far from Norville House, surely you can manage that distance!” Charlotte permitted herself to totter a few more steps along the street, then she sagged heavily against Elizabeth.

  “I cannot go further!” she gasped, and clung onto the nearby railings.

  “But what shall we do?” Elizabeth wailed.

  Charlotte put her hand to her head, and through her fingers made sure there was no one about who could observe them.

  “Harry,” she uttered in a faint voice. “He lives here, the next door but one. Fetch him, I beg of you!”

  Elizabeth sighed in relief.

  “Of course, he can help you home.”

  “I don’t want—Oh, Elizabeth, please do hurry, I am sure I am going to swoon.”

  Casting her a horrified glance, Elizabeth sped along to Harry’s door and hammered on it frantically, then distractedly came back to assist Charlotte, who was making a valiant attempt to walk the remaining few yards towards the door.

  Mr Cooper opened his door and stepped back in astonishment when he was confronted by two modishly attired young ladies, one of them somewhat ineffectually supporting the other who staggered across the threshold and collapsed in a heap at his feet.