Jonathan! The name burned into Dallas. His father’s name was Jonathan.
‘Jonathan Fellowes,’ his mother went on. ‘Connected in some way to the Walshinghams of Norfolk.’ She smiled slightly. ‘A bit of a black sheep, I fear, but so terribly charming. He came to Tayside for the shooting. The earl was . . . busy that year.’
Mistresses were not uncommon. Dallas knew what she meant.
‘I was lonely. He came to see me, here, when the season finished. I . . . I became quite infatuated.’ She shrugged slightly. ‘It wasn’t love but it felt so right at the time. I’m sure you don’t wish to hear details.’
Dallas didn’t. What with one thing and another, his entire world was suddenly in an uproar. Mothers didn’t have feelings like that, only mistresses. He realised that this thought didn’t make sense but couldn’t reason his way around it. ‘You bore him a child? Me? Are you certain he is my father?’
‘Yes. Women have ways of calculating . . . Anyway, you look so much like him.’
‘And my fath . . . the earl. Does he know?’
‘I shouldn’t think so. Oh, he was aware that Jonathan flirted outrageously with me but he had no reason to suspect that I reciprocated. We were very discreet and careful.’
Lorna flashed through his mind. They’d been discreet and careful too. But, as his mother had before them, Lorna was now carrying a child. ‘Where is this man now?’
Lady Pamela rubbed at a small frown on her forehead. ‘I don’t know. He left England before you were born.’
‘Because of your condition? What a cad!’
‘No, no. Don’t think that about him. He loved me, I’m sure of it. There was a scandal – something to do with the family fortunes. Jonathan lost everything. Even so, he gave me his mother’s jewels. He said . . . he said I would know what to do with them when the time came. That time is now. They are yours.’
‘Do you still think of him, Mama?’
She smiled. ‘Every time I look into your face. I will be forever grateful to him for two reasons. He gave me you. And he brought me happiness, true happiness. At least I know how it feels. Don’t look so sad, my darling, I am happy, happier than many. Memories fade. It was all so long ago. My affections for Jonathan transferred to you.’ She looked sad, reflective for a moment, then brightened. ‘Don’t mistake me. I love all my children equally. You are just more special.’ Lady Pamela smiled again and Dallas thought she’d never looked more beautiful. ‘Have I shocked you?’
‘No, Mama. You have explained something that has puzzled me for years. I know now why I’m so different from the others. Thank you for telling me.’
A knock at the door prevented further conversation. It was Mrs Potter. ‘His lordship is in the library, my lady. He is inquiring about the wagon.’
‘We’ll be right down. Have you finished packing?’
‘Yes, Lady Dalrymple. His lordship asks about that too.’
‘Kindly inform Lord Dalrymple that we will join him forthwith. And have footmen load the wagon.’ When Mrs Potter had gone, Lady Pamela placed the jewels back in their pouches and handed them to Dallas. ‘Go where you must, my son, do what you will, but always remember that the man who gave me these chose a hard road for himself so that I might never suffer in a similar fashion. It is easy enough that I pass them on. I trust you won’t dispose of your inheritance so readily. Even though you did not meet your real father you hold in your hand proof of his love and very existence. Treat his possessions with the respect they, and he, deserve.’
Silenced by emotion, Dallas kissed her cheek.
‘Come, my son. The next few minutes may be most unpleasant for his lordship will react as any father should. Do not forget that he too is worthy of your respect. Show him that courtesy before you leave.’
They entered the library side-by-side, an unconscious effort to present a united front. Lord Dalrymple poured three crystal goblets of red wine, handing Dallas and Lady Pamela theirs. ‘Drink. Something tells me it is called for.’
His mother sipped, then slowly put her glass down and went to speak.
Dallas laid a hand on her shoulder. ‘This is my doing, Mama, I will tell of it.’ With that, he succinctly outlined the facts, neither taking full blame nor trying to excuse himself.
The earl heard him out. ‘Well,’ he said mildly when Dallas fell silent, ‘at least you appear to have behaved correctly under the circumstances. It was decent of de Iongh to give two days’ grace. He might not believe Alison’s accusation of rape but the man still caught you in bed with her. Are you ready to leave?’
‘Yes, Papa.’ Dallas hid his astonishment.
Lady Pamela left the room saying, ‘I’ll have Cook prepare a basket, for the road is long.’
Alone, Lord Dalrymple crossed to his desk and opened a drawer. ‘I keep some cash here for emergencies. Not much. A few hundred as a rule. You’re in luck. I withdrew a large sum yesterday. Should be nearly two thousand.’ He didn’t bother to count it, simply thrust the wad of banknotes at Dallas.
‘Thank you, Papa.’ Dallas felt uncomfortable taking the money but knew he needed it.
‘I should be angry with you.’ Lord Dalrymple poured more wine. ‘If de Iongh carries through and reports this, the scandal will be terrible. As it is, I rather suspect Charles and Charlotte’s engagement will be terminated. Your sister will be heartbroken and you must carry the burden of that unhappiness. Glendon may be dismissed from the church and Boyd could well forfeit his commission. You have done nothing by half measure, Dallas. This family has nought to thank you for.’
Dallas was red with shame. All the earl said was true. And he only knew the half of it.
‘A man takes his pleasure where he can,’ his father went on reflectively. ‘In my younger days I was no different.’ He put his drink down carefully, and turned suddenly angry eyes on Dallas. ‘But, by God, sir, I was always mindful of the damned consequences. What on earth made you think you could cuckold de Iongh and get away with it? He’s a family friend. You have behaved with the utmost disrespect for one of Britain’s most distinguished gentlemen.’ The anger passed quickly and Lord Dalrymple gave a slight smile. ‘Alison is still a fine-looking woman. I daresay she made it difficult to say no. Your audacity, though! I swear, I don’t know whether to despise or admire you.’
‘Not for one second should it be the latter, Papa, for I have most certainly ruined Charlotte’s life.’
‘Aye,’ the heavy response came. ‘That will be difficult for all of us.’
‘I sincerely apologise, Papa, for I thought of no others save myself.’
‘No question of that,’ the earl said gruffly. ‘But a man’s inclinations make for a powerful persuader.’ He drained the decanter of red wine between them then became briskly businesslike. ‘Let us know where you are. Send letters through your aunt in Aberfeldy. I’ll have her hold them for us. You do realise, my boy, the gravity of this situation? If you are accused of rape I have no option but to disown and disinherit you. It’s the only course of action open to me. You will need to change your name and never lay claim to this family again. I can arrange to transfer a small stipend each year, but that is all. You must learn to live on your wits and this remittance.’ Lord Dalrymple put out his hand and Dallas gripped it. ‘Godspeed, my boy.’
Dallas could have sworn that the voice of this man he had always called Father was husky with emotion. He realised suddenly that the man who represented authority and reprisal had only been discharging his parental duty. Now the time had come to say goodbye, Dallas knew how much he loved and respected this man. He might not carry the earl’s genes but he bore his name and had learned by example all the decent principles and manners, family pride and self-respect held dear by him. A pity indeed that he hadn’t paid closer attention. Lord Dalrymple turned and left the library. Dallas felt his throat suddenly choke with suppressed sorrow.
Lady Pamela returned and handed him an envelope. ‘Victor is waiting. Here is the letter to my cousin. You must
make haste.’
She walked with him to the courtyard. ‘Change your name when you book passage to wherever. You must no longer use Acheson.’
‘I know, Mama.’ Dallas turned and hugged her tightly. ‘I love you.’
‘Go.’ Her voice broke. ‘Go now.’
He climbed into the seat beside Victor. As the wagon turned out of stone gates at the end of a long, tree-lined drive, Dallas could not resist one last look back at the Grange, a place he loved above all their other homes. ‘Granger,’ he thought. ‘I’ll change my name to Granger.’
And so it was that Dallas Granger set off into the unknown. He’d heard of remittance men. Their escapades and daring had always seemed wildly romantic. Well, he was about to find out first-hand if that admiration were justified. Would the life of a remittance man be one of adventure and opportunity? Or did something more sinister await him?
THREE
Dallas had never met his mother’s cousin in Newcastle-Upon-Tyne. In fact, he knew virtually nothing about the man. Some years before there had been rumour of unscrupulous business dealings, leaving Dallas with the impression that Cousin Adrian was something of a black sheep. It emphasised the seriousness with which Lady Pamela viewed his current predicament that she was prepared to send him to the family rogue for help.
It was a journey that dragged on through six days and nights of unmitigated misery. Wet winter weather had turned the roads into a slippery quagmire of rutted wheel tracks and bottomless potholes. Their wagon lay open to the elements. Huddled on the unpadded wooden seat next to Victor, rain and sleet stinging slitted eyes, running down his neck to find its way inside an overworked oilskin cloak, Dallas soon lost his spirit of adventure. He was cold, wet and uncomfortable. By the time they eventually arrived, Dallas felt that every bone in his body had been shaken out of place.
They slept rough on the journey. Victor inevitably managed to find shelter behind a hedgerow or in a secluded forest clearing. Suggestions by Dallas that they seek out a warm and comfortable inn at the end of each day’s travel fell on deaf ears. ‘Better not, my lord. There are any number of scoundrels who would sell you short for a shilling. Until you are well away from these shores it would be as well to exercise the utmost caution.’
On the second night they shared a shepherd’s derelict stone hut with a herd of wild goats, the rank smell of droppings and urine being infinitely preferable to incessant rain.
The basket of food prepared by Cook soon emptied. Victor would leave Dallas shivering and hidden while he took the wagon into a village, returning with whatever supplies he’d been able to find. Dallas grew sick of bread sodden with rain, stale suet pudding and cured ham well past its prime. Cheese and onions were a favourite with Victor and so proudly did he return with these on two occasions that Dallas didn’t have the heart to tell him he hated onions.
On their last night they stopped in a field just outside the small village of Higham Dykes. The rain miraculously cleared. Victor had managed to purchase a rabbit and some potatoes, and was now making a stew over a meagre fire. Wafting delicious aromas caused spontaneous waves of hunger in Dallas. ‘There’ll be a frost tonight,’ Victor predicted pessimistically.
‘Better that than what we’ve been living with.’
‘Don’t be too sure, my lord. Rain may be uncomfortable but the hoar bites deep.’
‘Then we’d best fill our bellies with warm stew to keep out the cold.’
Victor shook his head. ‘Aye, my lord. But Jack Frost will have us both afore daybreak.’
Dallas jumped to his feet. ‘We reach Newcastle tomorrow. I smell like a beggar’s armpit and cannot present myself to Lord Wedderburn in this state. A wash and shave in that stream is called for, though I swear the cold might damage my ardour for some time to come.’
Victor stopped him. ‘We are not there yet. Stay your impatience, my lord, for many a man goes through a winter without seeing water. The police seek someone of means. You look and smell like a man of the road. It is better that you remain so.’
Dallas saw the sense but his whiskers and body itched terribly. And Victor was right about the cold as well. Curled hard into each other to stay warm, and despite taking cover under the wagon, by morning both men’s hair was crisp with ice and their bones ached raw and deep from the frigid air. Even the horses seemed pleased to set off at a fast trot to get their circulation going again.
They found Cousin Adrian’s address with ease – in one of the most elegant parts of town. It was a splendid house, almost vulgar in the excellence of quality of workmanship. No expense had been spared. Dallas could see a three-tiered, ornately carved fountain behind the imposing double wrought-iron gateway. On either side, set into niches, statues of angels with outstretched wings gazed reverently heavenward. A third struck a pious pose in the arch above.
Dallas would have opened the gate and gone in but for Victor’s warning, ‘Not through the front, my lord. You would never get past the butler.’
A side entrance brought them into a cobbled courtyard at the back of the house. Two of the finest carriages Dallas had ever seen stood there. Their arrival attracted the attention of a groom who spoke harshly to one of the scullery maids. ‘Call a downstairs tweeny, you lazy girl, and tell her to inform Cook that strangers wish to see his lordship.’
They nearly didn’t get past the cook. She took one look at the two of them and assumed they were tinkers. ‘Be off with you. We need nowt of your trinkets and baubles today.’
Victor held his ground. ‘Lord Dallas Acheson is calling on Lord Wedderburn.’
The cook placed chubby hands on ample hips and cocked her head to one side. ‘Lord Acheson, is it? You cheeky beggars. Be off before I send for the peelers.’ She gave a short laugh. ‘Lord Acheson, indeed. What will you lot think of next?’
Dallas decided to intervene. ‘Madam, my appearance is the result of six days’ hard travel. I am indeed the son of Lord and Lady Dalrymple. Here is my introduction.’
The envelope, bearing the Dalrymple crest, was slightly worse for wear but the cook took it and sniffed derisively. ‘His lordship has better things to do with his time than read begging letters.’
The woman was only doing her job. Dallas knew that beggars and tinkers were forever being turned away at home. He had to convince her he was telling the truth. ‘My mother is Lady Pamela of the Grange, in Edinburgh. She and Lord Wedderburn are first cousins. Would you risk his lordship’s anger at such discourtesy to his kin?’
She looked at him closely. Dallas stared back unwaveringly. His speech and manners were those of a gentleman but the man’s appearance and smell were not. Dark eyes held steady though, and in them she saw desperation but no guile. The good lady made her decision. ‘Very well, though a body is likely to get a scolding for her trouble.’ She bore the envelope away.
The groom, who had listened avidly, chuckled. ‘Always a soft touch despite her sharp tongue. You got away with it, lads, though I wouldn’t want to be in your shoes if you’re lying.’
Victor surveyed the stable hand with a stare cold enough to turn him to stone and the man, who knew seniority when he saw it, prudently left to go about his business. Ten minutes later, the cook reappeared looking slightly nonplussed. ‘You may follow me.’
Victor turned to go too but was quickly stopped. ‘It’s Lord Acheson that his lordship wishes to see. You can wait in the butler’s pantry. There’s ale, bread and cheese, and I’ll expect no trouble. If this gentleman is who you say, there’ll be a good meal later. Until then, you mind your place.’
Victor, whose authority over grooms was second nature, wilted under the cook’s undisputed power in her own domain. ‘Would there be an onion to go with the cheese?’
She tossed him a look withering enough to melt a gold ingot and waddled from the kitchen.
Dallas rolled his eyes at Victor’s impudence, receiving a cheeky grin in response, and followed the cook through a series of opulent, high-ceilinged reception rooms to the main
entrance where he was told to wait. ‘Martin will be here presently.’
Martin was presumably the butler. While he did as instructed, Dallas studied family portraits on the walls. The butler’s continued absence was bordering on impolite by the time he finally put in an appearance. And what an appearance it was. He was more unlike a major-domo than any Dallas had ever encountered – short and bow-legged, with the coarse, weather-beaten features of a man who worked out of doors. His hair was grey and curly, worn long and tied back so that it hung between his shoulder blades. Faded grey eyes, creased at the corners with a dozen or more laugh lines, were alive with humour, showing no sign of the glassy-eyed lack of interest of most who held his position. Martin’s voice bore none of the affected disdain normally shown by the butler of a grand establishment. It was gravelly, strongly accented, holding no hint of deference. The man actually smiled as he spoke. ‘His lordship waits for you in the Garden Parlour.’ Martin turned, expecting Dallas to follow.
Observing the man’s extraordinary rolling gait, Dallas tried to remember what he’d been told of Lord Wedderburn. Most of his money came from owning ale houses, of which there were dozens. He also operated a brewery, a textile mill and a newspaper. Lady Pamela had hinted at a house of ill-repute but that remained a rumour. Dallas did know that his mother’s cousin was partner in a small, privately owned shipping line which plied passengers and goods between England and France. It was through this that he hoped to leave England.
They stopped outside a closed door and Martin knocked.
‘Come.’
Dallas was ushered in. The man in the room stared at him for a moment before dismissing Martin with a nod of his head.
Cousin Adrian, Lord Wedderburn, or, to be more precise, the second Marquis of Darras, was a tall, thin, humourless-looking individual with hooked nose, fleshy lips and cold blue eyes. He returned his gaze to Dallas with some measure of disapproval. ‘So, you are my cousin’s offspring. How nice of your mother to remember her kin when she needs help.’
Shadows in the Grass Page 6
