The Alarming Career of Sir Richard Blackstone

Home > Other > The Alarming Career of Sir Richard Blackstone > Page 5
The Alarming Career of Sir Richard Blackstone Page 5

by Lisa Doan


  When he returned to the drawing room, where Mr. Snidefellow and Sir Richard were still in conversation, Sir Richard glanced at him. Henry nodded.

  Mr. Snidefellow paced the room, his arms clasped behind his back. “It is not unknown that our queen will acknowledge when a mistake has been made in bestowing a knighthood. Just three years ago, that swindler Boswellan was stripped of the honor. I do feel, good sir, that if my questions are not answered, I may have to recommend the same in your case.”

  Sir Richard rose from the sofa and stared directly into Snidefellow’s eyes until the councilman was forced to look away. “Mr. Snidefellow,” he said, “you are not welcome to interrogate me. As for making recommendations to our queen, I doubt you would be asked to recommend the time of day to Her Majesty. I am quite sure you have never been through the doors of St. James Palace and never will. Good morning.” Sir Richard slightly nodded his head. As he turned on his heel and strode from the room, he said to Henry, “Show him out.”

  Henry suppressed a smile. When Sir Richard decided to put on his knightly airs, he was pretty impressive.

  Mr. Snidefellow called after Sir Richard, “The duchess is the queen’s cousin and has great influence. The duchess trusts my advice implicitly. I am not without connections.”

  Sir Richard waved a hand over his head in response before disappearing down the hall.

  Mr. Snidefellow turned to Henry. “Boy,” he said, “I want to know what occurred last evening.”

  Henry was silent. He had not expected that the councilman would interrogate him. He had the urge to run and get as far away from Snidefellow as he could. If he were in London, he would now be flying down an alley.

  “Answer me, boy.”

  Henry composed himself. He wasn’t a vagrant in London anymore. He was under the protection of Sir Richard Blackstone and he should start acting like it. He was pretty sure that men like Snidefellow could smell fear. “Sir Richard said that you’re not allowed to interrogate,” he said in as firm a manner as he could muster.

  “Sir Richard has claimed I cannot interrogate him, and he shall find he is mistaken. He said nothing about you.”

  “But he would have meant me, too,” Henry said. “We do almost everything together.”

  Mr. Snidefellow folded his arms. “I’m sure you do. Sir Richard has always been suspect in my mind. This isn’t the first time I have been forced to wonder what sort of degenerate activity is carried out here. But what I find interesting is that this devil’s work should increase so dramatically upon your arrival. Very interesting, indeed.”

  The devil’s work. Henry glanced down at his feet. Could the man see right through the leather of his boots?

  Mr. Snidefellow pulled on his gloves and slapped his hat on his head. “I’ll be watching, boy. Watching closely.” He stomped out of the room and the front door slammed.

  Henry stood in the middle of the drawing room, thinking about what Snidefellow had said. They had better do something about that tarantula. A councilman was not one to fool with. Sir Richard might look at him as an annoying nuisance, but Snidefellow had power. And, if he wasn’t lying about it, he had the duchess’s ear as well.

  As Henry thought to go find flowers for Mrs. Splunket, a pounding sounded on the door.

  The man was back? What should he do? Sir Richard would not want to see him again under any circumstances. Maybe he should just pretend he didn’t hear the knock? Nobody could get in trouble for not answering their front door if they hadn’t even heard it.

  The pounding sounded again. Henry tiptoed to the window to peek out. Just as he neared the glass, a boy’s face suddenly appeared on the other side. Henry jumped back, and then looked again. The boy made a face at him. Henry made a face back, sticking out his tongue. Then he noticed that the boy was dressed in blue and white livery.

  He was a footman to the duchess! Henry had practiced so many times what to do if she came and there she was, left to stand outside like a traveling tinker while he was making faces at her footman.

  Henry raced to the front door and swung it open. “My deepest apologies, Your Grace!”

  Rather than finding the duchess, the footman was alone. He was a tall boy, but appeared to have grown too fast for his body to keep up; he was all knees and elbows and sharp cheekbones.

  “Her Grace ain’t here,” the footman said, smirking. “Billy Brash is here, known to the duchess as William as she don’t like nicknames. Her Grace asks that Sir Richard attend her.”

  “Very well,” Henry answered, relieved he had not insulted the duchess by leaving her outside. “What day shall he come?”

  “Today,” Billy said.

  “All right,” Henry said, “what time?”

  “Now. She’s a duchess, you rube. She don’t wait for nobody.”

  Before Henry could protest that he was not a rube, the footman punched Henry in the arm. He turned and jogged back down the lane, laughing until Henry could hear him no more.

  The duchess wanted to see Sir Richard now. That was not a good sign. It sounded less like an invitation and more like a summons. She was sure to want an explanation about her wrecked croquet party. Sir Richard might refuse to tell Snidefellow anything except that the disruption was caused by a wolf, but the duchess might demand more of an explanation than that.

  CHAPTER FIVE

  Sir Richard marched up the duchess’s drive. Henry jogged to keep up with him. It was a blustery day and the wind bent the top branches of the old oaks that lined the lane. Sir Richard held his hat on, and his coattails flapped behind him.

  “Have you thought of what you will say?” Henry asked, breathless.

  “As little as possible,” Sir Richard said. “When in doubt, say as little as possible.”

  The duchess’s estate was three stories tall and comprised of two massive wings joined at the center by an oval-shaped structure. All was done in limestone and there was a matching barn of equal grandeur to the left of the main house. Formal gardens were laid out to the right of the house. Henry figured there must be at least one hundred and fifty rooms to such a place.

  Before Sir Richard had a chance to pull the doorknocker, the doors swung open. Croydon, the old butler, stood ramrod straight, staring over Sir Richard’s head. In a rumbling voice, he said, “Her Grace, the Duchess of St. John, awaits you in the drawing room. This way, sir.”

  Henry followed Sir Richard inside. The oval in the center of the building contained a great hall, with various rooms on either side. He marveled at the twenty-foot ceilings, the glittering chandeliers, and the polished marble floors. The mahogany walls were lined with gold-framed portraits of dukes and duchesses, their children, their dogs, and their horses.

  Sir Richard entered the drawing room, while Henry waited in the great hall. The butler had been called away by the housekeeper. Henry suspected he was meant to go to the kitchens to wait, as he had no business lounging around in this part of the house, but he decided he’d rather hear what was said.

  He peeked around the doorframe. The drawing room furniture was all painted white and upholstered in pale blue silk. Draperies ran floor to ceiling over the windows and were done in cream brocade. A light-colored Persian rug covered the floor. A white porcelain teapot decorated with tiny red roses sat on a table next to a delicate matching cup and saucer. It was so different from Sir Richard’s sparse furnishings of dark wood. Henry hoped Sir Richard wouldn’t spill his tea or break the cup if the duchess served it to him.

  The duchess herself was far younger than Henry expected. He had assumed she would be an old dragon, but she looked to be just in her late twenties. She wore a simple blue velvet gown and her wavy blond hair was pulled up atop her head and secured with a diamond clip. She nodded slightly. “Sir Richard.”

  Sir Richard bowed.

  “You know why I have asked you here, so speak,” the lady said, arranging the folds of her skirt around her.

  “I am at your service,” Sir Richard said, then stood silent.


  Henry supposed this was what Sir Richard had meant by saying as little as possible.

  The duchess sipped her tea and set the cup down. “As you are well aware, my annual dusk-to-dawn croquet party was a disaster. One of my footmen remains abed, under the impression that he saw a demon and is going mad. Rumors are flying about the county. What I observed with my own eyes was you and a boy galloping around on horseback, waving torches as if you were the madmen. Did you purposefully set out to ruin my party?”

  “Certainly not,” Sir Richard said.

  “I wonder,” the duchess said. “You’ve not made it a secret that you find the pastime beneath your notice.”

  “I never did say that,” Sir Richard said.

  “Perhaps not outright, but as you never attend that is your opinion spoken quite plainly.”

  Sir Richard took a step forward. In a low voice, he said, “Now, Darla, don’t be—”

  “Pardon me?” she asked in a cold tone.

  Henry cringed. He thought Sir Richard had made a mistake in calling her by her Christian name. She did not seem surprised by it, just annoyed, so he supposed Sir Richard had done so in the past. Now, however, when she seemed so aggravated, it would probably be better not to take any liberties.

  Sir Richard retreated. “Your Grace,” he said, correcting himself.

  “Mr. Snidefellow believes something evil is afoot here,” the duchess said. “He has just been to see me and does not countenance your claim that you chased off a wolf. I myself find that hard to believe. Fortunately for you, Mr. Snidefellow always thinks something evil is afoot. So, I shall not take his counsel to request my cousin the queen relieve you of your knighthood. But mark me, Sir Richard, if anything like this happens again—I will.”

  Sir Richard bowed, and said, “I understand, Your Grace.”

  The duchess looked away from him and said, “That is all.”

  Henry turned to bolt back to the front door. He ran straight into Billy Brash, who had snuck up behind him.

  “Ain’t you the cad, spying at doorways,” Billy said.

  Henry froze. For all he knew, it might be treason to spy on a duchess. “Don’t tell anyone,” he whispered, hoping Billy Brash would take pity on him.

  “Tell?” Billy said, looking highly insulted. “What do you take me for, a ratter?”

  Henry had no idea what a ratter was, but guessed it was some kind of informant. “No, I didn’t mean that,” he said. “I just meant—”

  “I know what you meant,” Billy said, laughing. “You’re a serious sort, ain’t you? Get on with you,” he said, punching him again in the arm and pushing him toward the door.

  Henry was relieved that the footman wouldn’t turn him in for a spy, but he began to think that his arm would get very sore if he saw much more of Billy Brash.

  As Henry and Sir Richard walked down the lane, the wind blowing as hard as ever but this time at their backs, Sir Richard said, “That went better than expected.”

  “Did it, sir?” Henry asked, thinking that was not how he would have described what he had heard of the meeting.

  “I thought you were listening at the door. Did you not think so?”

  Henry colored. It seemed that everybody but the duchess knew he had been listening. “The duchess sounded plenty mad, sir.”

  “Yes, of course, she is furious,” Sir Richard said. “But she’s furious that we were galloping around waving torches. Not because we were galloping around waving torches at a giant tarantula. See the difference?”

  Henry did see the difference, and he supposed it was good news that the duchess had not actually seen Mary. She had sounded so angry that Henry could not imagine what she would have been like if she knew a giant tarantula was the cause of the uproar.

  “We’ll think of a way to make it up to her. Buy her some pretty little porcelain thing. That’s bound to do the trick.”

  “Would something like that impress the duchess?” Henry asked, skeptical. “If you really want to make it up to her, she’ll probably want to know that you put some real effort and thought into it to show how sorry you are.”

  Sir Richard laughed. “You are right. Darla—I mean the duchess—is rather special. We must do better than porcelain.”

  “What about a puppy?” Henry asked. “Farmer Giles has a litter of spaniels just turned eight weeks. I saw them myself last week when you sent me to get bacon for Mrs. Splunket.”

  “A puppy? That’s a capital idea. Was it a good-looking litter?”

  Henry did not know what a good-looking litter might look like. “I suppose so,” he said, “they were all brown and white and seemed friendly enough.”

  They reached the end of the duchess’s drive and turned left, heading down the lane to Giles Farm. They passed Blackstone Manor and continued on until they were just a quarter mile from the post road. The wind had begun to die down and they strolled leisurely down the shady road.

  As they discussed how long it might be before Sir Richard was back in the duchess’s good graces, Henry said, “She was awfully upset over just a party. I could understand if it was a wedding, but those swells were only playing croquet in the dark.”

  “Yes,” Sir Richard said, “but she’s got her reasons.”

  Henry looked at Sir Richard expectantly.

  “I shall acquaint you with her history, as it was told to me by Mrs. Splunket when I arrived,” Sir Richard said. “It is well known in these parts so I tell no tales, but on no account ever speak of it if the duchess is nearby.”

  Henry crossed his heart, though he hardly thought it was necessary. If the duchess were nearby, Henry would not dare say anything at all.

  “Mrs. Splunket tells me that the duchess was once Ms. Darla Kensington,” Sir Richard said. “At just seventeen, she married the duke. For several years the duke and duchess lived contentedly enough. However, one circumstance blighted their happiness. They were childless. After three years they had quite given up on the idea of a family. But just as they had resigned themselves to it, a son came along.”

  Henry had never heard of a son, or a husband either. As far as he knew, she lived all alone in that rambling estate with only her staff. “Was it a fever or a pox that took her family?” he asked.

  “Neither,” Sir Richard said. “The duke was slain with a dagger. The boy disappeared.”

  “What?” Henry asked. He wondered why Mrs. Splunket had not told him that there had been a murder right next door.

  “When the baby was just a year old, he was taken by kidnappers. A ransom note was received, with a meeting place in a cave that lies just beyond the post road. The duke insisted he go alone to drop off the ransom and retrieve his son, just as the note had directed. Little is understood of what occurred in that lonely place, but it was clear there was a struggle. The duke was killed and the boy never returned.

  “So now,” Sir Richard continued, “the duchess clings to her parties and you must not fault her for it. She has had an unhappy life, but finds solace in surrounding herself with gay faces.”

  Sir Richard stopped at the well-traveled lane that led to Giles Farm. “Here we are.”

  It was a short walk to the farmhouse, and a noisy one, too. The moment they stepped onto Giles Farm, barks erupted from all directions. The farmhouse, small and rugged and made of stone and thatch, was just ahead.

  Farmer Giles, alerted by his spaniels, strode out of the cottage. He was a rough and weathered old man. Henry nodded to him, having already found out that Giles was not a chatty individual. Sir Richard fumbled around, searching for some subject that would engage the stone-faced farmer.

  “You have a fine farm here,” he said.

  Farmer Giles glanced around at it and said nothing.

  “I hope we find your family in good health?” Sir Richard said.

  “My wife has the rheumatism,” the farmer answered.

  “I heard your dogs as I came in,” Sir Richard said.

  “Most folk do,” the farmer said, “unless they be dea
f.”

  Finally, Sir Richard said, “I understand you have developed your own breeding techniques.” Giles’s face lit up and they spent the next hour discussing canine genetics while Henry played with the puppies.

  The puppies were kept in a stall, having recently been weaned from their mother. There were six altogether, spread out on fresh hay. Five were solid little beings, round and fat and bounding around on sturdy legs. One, small and thin, hung back with a shy and fearful look. Henry had not even noticed that one when he had first seen the puppies and wondered if she had been hiding. He wore out the bigger pups with play and laughed as he watched them fall asleep—fighting the urge until they could fight no more and collapsed where they stood. He edged over to the small one, which sat watchfully in the corner of the horse stall.

  “There now,” he said softly, “come here.” He gently picked the puppy up. The undersized spaniel sat on his lap, staring at him with round brown eyes. Though she was small, Henry thought she was the prettiest of the litter, being mostly white with brown ears.

  Giles and Sir Richard leaned over the stall door, negotiating the sale. “It is the duchess, after all,” Sir Richard said. “It really must be the pick of the litter. As much as you don’t like to give him up, if the duchess were to own one of your line, every man in the county would know that Giles understands a thing or two about breeding spaniels.”

  “What about her, sir?” Henry said, holding the small puppy up.

  “That’s the runt, Henry,” Sir Richard said. “Do you want me to be in even more trouble with the duchess than I already am?”

  “But what if nobody wants her, just because she’s small?” Henry said.

  Farmer Giles rubbed his grizzled cheek and said, “Don’ worry ’bout that. If the little thing don’t gain weight in the next week, I’ll snap her neck. Be a kindness, as she won’t be no use to nobody at that size.”

  Henry leapt to his feet, clutching the puppy to his chest. “Kill her?” He turned to Sir Richard. “Could I have her, sir? I could use all my wages to buy her. I’ll find her food … I’ll even eat less myself … you’ll not even know she’s around … look—she’s as quiet as a mouse!”

 

‹ Prev