Lord Iverbrook's Heir

by Carola Dunn

  “An old injury, ma’am. I thank you for your kindness.”

  “Made worse by your walk from Oxford. And no, he has not dined, Miss Whitton.”

  “I shall have a tray sent in. Should you like the rest of your dinner on a tray, Iverbrook? I doubt Mama will return to table.”

  “I am very sorry, ma’am, to have caused such consternation.”

  “Our local people are anything but cosmopolitan, I’m afraid. Few of them have ever been farther afield than Oxford and the next county seems like a foreign country though it is just the other side of the Thames. Iverbrook, a word with you and then I shall leave you to your business.”

  “Sit down, Joshua,” said his lordship, following her out.

  “I shall have a room prepared for him,” she said. “He looks to be tired and in pain. How very gentlemanly he is! I had thought he must be an ex-slave.”

  “He belonged to that Arthur Hodge of whom I told you, but now he is articled to a solicitor in London. If you have a truckle bed that may be set up in my chamber, that will do very well. We shared a cabin from Jamaica and I know that, unlike Tom, he does not snore!”

  “We have another room, though it is small. Persuade him, if you can, to let my mother look at his leg. You know her abilities.”

  “Yes, and that she is as kind as her daughter. Thank you, Selena.” He took her hand and dropped a kiss on the palm, then went back into the library.

  For a moment she stood there, her hand pressed to her hot cheek. In the past few days she had felt that they were becoming friends, but this was the first time she had heard such warmth in his voice. Why should it make her heart beat faster? If she welcomed his Joshua, it was small return for all he had done for her. All the barley was cut and stacked, and she had been able to catch up on her accounts for the first time in three months. For once she would have a free Sunday, and they planned to take a picnic on the river after church.

  Smiling in happy anticipation, she went to see if she could find a servant capable of carrying out her orders.

  Lord Iverbrook turned to Joshua, who gasped with pain as he tried to stand.

  “Sit down, man! What’s the trouble? Are you at odds with Mr. Crowe? Or come to cuffs with the other clerks?”

  “No, sir, they treat me very well. Mr. Crowe was good enough to allow me two days off to come here when I explained. It’s Mr. Hubble, my lord!”

  “Hubble? What the devil have you to do with that old shyster?”

  “He has a clerk, James Goodenough, with whom I have become friendly. When James heard your name from me, when I told him what you have done for me, he said he had been given the task of preparing papers to enter suit in your name against your brother’s will. Since you confided in me that you had not yet decided to go to law, I asked if this was usual when the suit might not be pressed. Sir, James told me the decision had been made and the papers were to be ready for Chancery by Monday!”

  “The blackguard! I’ll wager he aims to make a pretty penny off me. You were quite right to come, Joshua, and I’ll make it all right with Crowe.”

  “I asked James if he could delay the matter, and he said he might find some error that required recopying, but he dared not stretch it out beyond Tuesday.”

  “I shall post up to London tomorrow and wait on Hubble’s doorstep on Monday morning. No, I’ll send for him to come to Dover Street. He will take me more seriously if I stand on my dignity. And what is more, I shall set things in motion to transfer my affairs to your old Crowe’s hands.”

  Pondering ways and means, Iverbrook paced up and down the library. It was a long, narrow room, its walls lined with books ranging from rare editions of Horace’s Odes to a Manual of Modern Methods of Raising Cattle. The ceiling was painted dark blue, relieved by gilded stars arranged in their constellations as nearly as possible in a sky with the wrong dimensions. Orion’s belt caught his lordship’s eye and he swung round.

  “Don’t tell Miss Whitton! It can only worry her. I’ll just say I am called away on urgent business. Shall you be fit to travel tomorrow?”

  “Yes, sir, of course, if you do not mean to make me walk to Oxford again.” Joshua smiled at the viscount’s indignant denial. “Though it is not so very far if you do not lose your way.

  “Ha! So you lost it too, did you? These damned country lanes with never a signpost had me going round in circles.”

  There was a knock on the door and Polly peeked in. “I brung some dinner for Mr. Joshua, my lord,” she announced. “And her la'ship says she’ll take a look at his leg after, him being willing, that is. You oughta, sir, honest. My lady can cure anything.” She deposited a loaded tray on the huge mahogany desk that filled one end of the room. “Can I getcha anything, my lord? That Sir Aubrey, he’s at the port in the dining room.”

  “A glass of brandy, please, Polly. I won’t join Sir Aubrey though.”

  “He’s a naughty one that, and no mistake,” she giggled, and seemed ready to proceed to further revelations, but Bannister’s entrance sent her flying.

  “A good girl, but chattersome, my lord,” apologised the butler. “A glass of brandy for your lordship? At once! Is everything as you like it, Mr. Joshua?”

  “Perfect,” said Joshua, lifting the dish covers and releasing clouds of fragrant steam.

  Later, on his lordship’s orders, he allowed Lady Whitton to examine his bad leg. She bustled into his chamber and closed the door firmly behind her.

  “I can’t see you blushing, young man,” she said, “but judging by the look on your face you are embarrassed enough without half the world peering in as they pass by. I have seen legs before, dear boy, though not of this colour. I daresay they are all alike inside. Tell me when this hurts.”

  She sat down on the edge of his bed and gently manipulated his knee. He said nothing, but looking up she saw his eyes closed, brow furrowed, and lower lip caught between his teeth. She took one of his clenched hands in both hers.

  “You must tell me when it hurts, child. Otherwise I cannot find out what is amiss.”

  “Sorry, ma’am,” he burst out. “Mr. Hodge, when he hurt you, he like hearing squeals. More you squeal, more he hurt, so I learn to be silent.”

  She stroked his hand till it uncurled and he lay back on his pillows.

  “Mr. Hodge did this to you?” she asked quietly. “He was your master?” With a lace handkerchief that smelled of rosemary she wiped the sweat from his brow.

  “Yes, my lady. My owner. This was nothing. He killed many slaves. Too many in the end. He was arrested and brought to trial for murder.”

  “How did you come to meet Hugh?”

  His face lit. “I was a witness at the trial. Many people came, Lord Iverbrook among them. He talked to me and I told him how I admired the lawyers who were fighting for the rights of slaves against their owners. I remember his exact words. He said, ‘You seem to be a clever chap, how should you like to be one of them?’ Then he bought me, and freed me. On the way here from Jamaica he shared his cabin with me and taught me to speak properly. In London he found me lodgings, gave me money to live on, and paid for me to learn to be a lawyer. At first I thought he was a god, one of our African gods, but now I know he is a very good man, and my friend.”

  “Your friend indeed! I am happy to hear that Hugh has so much practical compassion, for the one without the other is useless. And now, let us be practical and try if we can find what is the matter with your leg.”

  While her mother was thus occupied, Selena was receiving Iverbrook’s apologies for his proposed abrupt departure on the morrow.

  “I wish you success in your business,” she said. “And I hope you will not quite abandon us in future?”

  “By no means! I shall return as soon as I can, no later than Tuesday if all goes well. There is still the wheat and clover to be cut.”

  “You must not feel obliged to return for that! I cannot express my gratitude for your help, but I have done the harvest before and will do it again. It will not kill me, yo
u know.”

  “No, but it makes you excessively uncomfortable, and then you are cross as a bear at a stake.”

  “How odious of you to put me to the blush! At least you need not be present to suffer my megrims.”

  “Oh, but I must. There are certain matters between us that have not been settled, and I have not forgot if you have.”

  “Peter!” The twinkle in her hazel eyes was extinguished. She bit her lip. “You are persistent, my lord. I assure you that I shall not give him up, and if you continue to press me, you will not be welcome here, harvest or no harvest."

  “I shall rely for a welcome on your amiable mother, Miss Whitton. I mean to obtain custody by hook or by crook, and if you fight me it just makes it more difficult for both of us. Come, let us cry friends, and discuss the matter calmly for once."

  Selena turned on her heel and walked out.

  Going in search of her mother, to try to persuade her not to invite the viscount to return, she found her in the stillroom.

  “Have you found out what is wrong with Joshua’s leg?” she asked.

  “It is an old injury that never healed properly, and rheumatism has set in. I am making up some oil of wintergreen liniment and white willow tea for the poor boy to take back to London with him.”

  “Was it caused by his owner? Iverbrook told me a little about him.”

  “Yes, that dreadful Hodge. Dear Hugh behaved just as he ought, bought him and freed him.” She told Selena the story. “The dear boy would die for Hugh,” she finished.

  It did not seem a propitious moment to request that the paragon be refused admittance to the Manor. Her feelings utterly confused, Selena went to bed.

  She was woken in the night by the sound of water dripping through the elm outside her window. It was raining steadily; there would be no harvesting tomorrow. She decided to stay a-bed late and miss the viscount’s departure, thus solving the problem of how to bid him farewell.

  * * * *

  The heavy drizzle was still falling when Tom Arbuckle shook his master awake. His lordship yawned and stretched and sat up. Then he saw the clock on the mantelpiece.

  “Seven o’clock? What the devil do you mean by it, Tom? I distinctly remember saying eight for today. No farm work and we’ve not so many miles to cover.”

  “‘Tis sixty mile to London if it’s a score, m’lord, and the lanes will be like a hasty pudding.” He pulled back the draperies at the window. “We’ve a ways to go afore we reach the post road.”

  “Oh lord!” groaned Iverbrook, “and we’ve only the curricle. We can’t let Joshua get wet, with his leg the way it is. I wonder if we might borrow the Whittons’ carriage, just till we get to a posting-house and can hire a chaise.”

  “Better ask her ladyship,” advised Tom with a grin. “Miss Whitton‘d likely say no.”

  “You servants are gabblemongers, one and all. Now how did you know Miss Whitton and I are at outs? No, don’t tell me, you impertinent clothhead. Give me some clothes!”

  Still grinning, Tom went to the wardrobe.

  Though half expecting it, my lord was disappointed when Miss Whitton did not put in an appearance at the breakfast table.

  “I expect she is sleeping in,” said Lady Whitton placidly. “She rises so early as a rule, but in this weather there is not much to be done about the farm."

  “It’s raining, Uncle Hugh,” Peter explained. “Do you like rain? Lots of grown-ups don’t like it. Me and the ducks do, ‘cept when I’m not ‘lowed to go out.” He clapped his hands across his mouth in dismay, but his grandmother neglected to issue the expected prohibition.

  “I wonder what Sir Aubrey is doing?” said Delia. “He retires when we do but he is never seen below stairs before noon. He cannot still be sleeping.”

  “I expect he is trying to decide what shade of red to wear today,” said Lord Iverbrook acidly. “I gather he brought no servant, and a fop without a valet must spend the greater part of his time dressing himself. Nor dare he entrust the care of his wardrobe to mere maidservants, and I’ll wager Bannister has better things to occupy his time.”

  Delia looked reproachful. “Just because he is a gentleman of fashion and you do not care how you dress . . ." She flushed at her mother’s shocked glance. “I beg your pardon, sir,” she stammered.

  “Very true, I do not,” he said cheerfully. “My friends frequently roast me on my unmodishness. Lady Whitton, pray advise me. Will Joshua come to much harm travelling in this weather?”

  “I have already told Jem to set your horses to our barouche, Hugh. You will send for your curricle whenever it suits you. Try to keep Joshua warm and dry and rested. I had Bannister take him his breakfast in his chamber so that he could keep the leg up as long as possible. In a day or two, God willing, he will be as well as ever, though I fear the leg will always pain him.”

  “Thank you, ma’am. If you please, may I come for the curricle myself? I have no intention of abandoning Miss Whitton in the middle of the harvest.”

  “Are you coming back soon, Uncle Hugh?” Peter bounced up and down in his seat. “Will you bring me one of your gentleman’s horses for my own, like you said? Please will you?”

  “You are much too little for a gentleman’s horse,” said Delia scornfully.

  “Timmy Russell says he’s going to get a gentleman's horse and he’s only a little bit bigger’n me."

  Lady Whitton intervened before Delia could animadvert on the general untruthfulness of small boys.

  “If you are done with your breakfast, Peter, go up to Nurse now,” she said. “You may come down to say good-bye to Uncle Hugh later.”

  However, Lady Whitton was the only one to wave good-bye as the carriage rolled down the drive half an hour later, with Tom on the box, Iverbrook and a bundled-up Joshua within. It turned down the lane and she hurried back to her stillroom.

  She did not see the rest of the family until lunch time, when she found both Delia and Selena in the dining room. Sir Aubrey made a grand entrance, spectacular in crimson and pale pink. He apologised for his late appearance and blamed it on the exigencies of his toilette. Selena hid a giggle, but Delia thought the effect well worth the effort and looked at him in awe.

  “Where is Peter, Mama?” asked Selena, helping herself to raspberries and cream. “Is he coming down to lunch?”

  “I’m sure dear Aubrey will not mind if he joins us as usual. I expect Nurse has not noticed the time. Bannister, send Polly for Master Peter, if you please.”

  Bannister returned moments later. “Master Peter is not with Mrs. Finnegan, my lady,” he announced. “It seems she has not seen him since just after breakfast. She thought he was with your ladyship.”

  “No, not since breakfast. Selena? Delia?” They both shook their heads. “I expect he went to see Jem in the stables, the naughty child.”

  “I’ll send Polly, my lady.” They heard him shouting, “Polly, run quick now and see if Master Peter’s in the stables!”

  With a hollow feeling in her stomach, Selena realised what must have happened.

  “No use, Mama,” she whispered. “He swore he would do it by hook or by crook. Iverbrook has abducted Peter!”

  Chapter 7

  There was a stunned silence.

  “Nonsense!” said Lady Whitton, recovering. “Hugh would not dream of running off with the child.”

  “Besides, he left his curricle here,” pointed out Delia.

  “I expect that was a ruse to divert suspicion,” said Sir Aubrey. “To a gentleman as plump in the pocket as Lord Iverbrook, the loss of a carriage is nothing. I have seen a thousand times its worth wagered in a single evening’s gambling. By heaven, I shall call the dog to account!”

  “Nonsense,” said Lady Whitton again.

  “He is quite determined to take Peter from us, Mama,” Selena repeated. “He has told me so in no uncertain terms.”

  “But you cannot suppose that he would act in such a surreptitious fashion. It is underhanded, and quite illegal I am sure.”<
br />
  “Possession is nine tenths of the law,” said Sir Aubrey with relish. He had no wish to have the child on his hands when he married Selena.

  “I expect he wandered off across the fields,” said Delia. “Mama, you remember how he said at breakfast that he likes the rain. We must organise a search.”

  Lady Whitton paled. “The river! Surely he would not go down to the river?”

  Her daughters joined in soothing her. Peter had been told time and time again that he must not go near the river on his own. He was a sensible, obedient little boy and understood the dangers. His grandmother herself had forbidden it, and though he might occasionally rebel against the dictates of his aunts, or of Nurse, he had never been known to disobey Grandmama.

  Bannister came back. “He’s not in the stables, my lady. Jem’s not seen him this morning.”

  “The gypsies!” Delia exclaimed. “Do they not steal children?”

  “They moved on, Miss Delia, two or three days past.”

  “Thank heaven!” said Lady Whitton.

  “We must organise a search,” insisted Delia. “Mama, you send out the house servants, and Selena must gather the farm workers.”

  Selena smiled at her hollowly. “How practical you are of a sudden,” she said. “We’ll do as you suggest, but I am afraid it is useless. They will be half way to Iver by now.”

  Delia, feeling unusually helpful and competent, donned pelisse, bonnet, and boots and slipped out of the house to join the search. She was determined to find her nephew and show Selena that she was not merely a pretty widgeon, as her sister had been known to describe her.

  Undeterred by the rain, now slackened to a damp, grey mizzle, she crossed the lane, climbed a stile, and took the footpath across the meadow. The long grass soon soaked her skirts but she pressed on eagerly, now and then calling, “Peter!”

  By the time she had crossed several fields of grass and skirted one of ripe wheat, Delia realised that she had unthinkingly taken the way to Bracketts, her favourite walk. Peter had come this way with her just a few days ago, to play with Jane’s little brothers. She decided to go on and see if Jane and Clive would join the search.