by Mary Nichols
‘Yes, thank you. I will bid you good day now, Captain, but remember when you come to collect your carriage, say nothing of what occurred.’
He bowed. ‘As you wish. But you must remember what I said about not going out alone. Having failed once, those men might try again.’
‘I will remember.’
He remounted and rode back to Mount Street to change and have his own breakfast. He was more than a little worried by the episode with the two men. That they had intended an abduction he was fairly sure and if that were the case he thought they might try again and if Miss Gilpin was foolish enough to ride alone in the park, he could not answer for her safety. He wished wholeheartedly that he did not have to go to Norfolk. Why he was so bothered he did not know; Miss Gilpin was nothing to him and Henry Gilpin had funds enough to pay a dozen ransoms. And perhaps he was seeing trouble where none existed. He left Pegasus with Davy and went indoors.
* * *
Charlotte was far more shaken up over the episode that she liked to admit. Had those men really intended to kidnap her? Whatever would she have done if Captain Carstairs had not come along to scare them off? She had been so relieved to see him, she had fallen into his arms. How could she have been so blind to decorum as to let him hold her like that? They had stood so close, toe to toe, his arms encasing her so that she could hear his heartbeat against her ear. No one had ever held her like that before and the strange sensations it had produced in her body had altogether eclipsed the fright she had had. She had looked up into his face and wondered if he would kiss her. But of course, he had not; it would have been the height of impropriety and would certainly have soured their business relationship. That was more important than wondering what he thought about her and whether he knew the effect he had on her. Why did it matter? Because he had held her in his arms and set her heart racing? No doubt he would have rescued any young lady in the same danger. She was not special.
She breakfasted with her father and managed to chat about what the day held for them without saying a word about riding in Hyde Park. She hoped Captain Carstairs would keep his word and not give her away. She could not face any questions about that or any restrictions on her freedom. But she would take care to ask one of the grooms to ride behind her when she went riding in the park again.
* * *
Alex arrived at Long Acre promptly at noon where he found his new carriage had already been harnessed to a splendid pair of matched greys. It was a matter of a moment to transfer his baggage from the handcart he had hired into the boot of the carriage with the aid of the young lad who had pushed it there. He tipped the boy generously and sent him on his way before carefully inspecting the whole equipage, watched by Davy who had been brought along to drive it.
‘It meets with your approval?’ Henry queried after showing him the secret compartment.
‘Most certainly. What say you, Davy?’
‘As fine an outfit as ever you could meet, my...Captain,’ he amended, catching a warning look from his master.
‘Then let us go into the office and complete the transaction,’ Henry said.
Alex followed Henry into the office where Charlotte sat at her desk. She was in the plain gown she had worn the day before, her hair was once more dragged back severely into a knot. Miss Gilpin at work was very different from Miss Gilpin at a concert. One was severely dressed in plainspun cloth with the minimum of padding, the other as elegant as any of the ladies of the ton, in a wide-skirted dress of heavy blue silk which emphasised a superb figure. It was almost as if she were two different people, three if you counted the hoyden who rode a horse many a man might find hard to handle.
She bade him good morning as if it were the first time they had met that day and he felt obliged to play along with that, asking her how she did and if she had enjoyed the concert the evening before. He was bidden to be seated while she completed the invoice. He watched her as her pen glided over the paper. She seemed composed, the ultimate businesswoman, but he noticed her hand shook a little and realised she was not impervious to him. Why that pleased him he did not know. She was most definitely out of bounds and the episode in Hyde Park was an aberration and he must not continue to dwell on it.
The horses, he discovered, when she handed him the invoice, cost as much as the coach, but he did not doubt they were worth it. Nor did he doubt that Gilpin had made more than a fair profit, but he did not begrudge him that. He was prepared to pay for quality, as so many others were, a fact testified by the man’s success. Altogether his bill came to two hundred and forty pounds ten shillings. He filled in the full amount on the bill of exchange and gave it to Miss Gilpin, receiving a neat receipt.
Henry had been to a cupboard and extracted a bottle and two glasses. ‘Will you join me in a drink to celebrate?’ he said, pouring cognac. The man seemed utterly unaware of the dangerous currents passing between his customer and his daughter.
Alex took a glass of brandy from him and they stood toasting each other, watched by Charlotte, who found herself studying him again. Although he had changed his clothes, he was still wearing dark blue and white, but far from making him look sombre it emphasised his magnificent physique. She felt herself unwittingly remembering how she had stood enveloped in his arms and how warm and comfortable it had been and, afraid her rosy cheeks would betray her, hurriedly looked away.
His glass empty, Alex put it down, bowed to them both and took his leave, having promised to bring the coach back for servicing when it required it.
Davy was already on the box ready to drive off. ‘Right, off to Briarcroft,’ he told him. ‘We will call on my mother first.’
* * *
Charlotte watched him go from the window, conscious of a feeling of anticlimax, of wishing she knew more about him. He had an air of aloofness and a cynicism that sat ill with his courtesy and compassion. He had ridden hard to save her from those men, then berated her for riding alone, as if it was any business of his. Just what was his business? She knew he was a seafaring captain and belonged to the Piccadilly Gentlemen, but that was all. He had vouchsafed nothing about his family. For all she knew he was married and had a brood of children. Would a man buying a travelling coach not include a wife in the transaction, if only by mentioning her tastes? He had done nothing like that. And he had arrived at Lady Milgrove’s with Viscount Leinster when she would have expected him to bring his wife if he had one. But perhaps the wife lived in Norfolk and did not like town ways. What, she told herself sternly, had it got to do with her? She turned away from the window to answer a knock at the door. In answer to her ‘Enter’, a man in working garb and clutching a soft felt hat in his hand came in to stand before her.
He bowed his head. ‘Miss Gilpin, I am Martin Grosswaite, here as promised. What would you like me to do?’ He did not, as she expected, ask to see her father who was in the paint shop, where the artist they employed was about to begin putting a coat of arms on a chaise before it was varnished. She surmised her father had told him to speak to her.
She entered his particulars in the register she kept for employees and then conducted him to the upper floor to be introduced to the head carpenter and set to work. Then she went thoughtfully back to her office. Martin Grosswaite had been perfectly polite and had answered her questions in a straightforward manner, but there was something about him that troubled her. It might have been his craggy face, but she was not one to be disturbed by ill looks, or it might have been his pale eyes, which darted about as he spoke and never once looked directly at her. It made her feel uncomfortable.
She shook her foolish thoughts from her; he had been nervous and anxious to please, that was all, and if he did not please it was easy enough to dismiss him. And with that thought she sat down at her desk and pulled the sales ledger towards her.
Chapter Three
‘Alex! I had not expected you.’ Mrs Carstairs greeted her son with a hu
ge smile of pleasure and rushed across the drawing room to reach up and put her arms about his broad shoulders. ‘I thought you had gone to Norfolk.’
‘I shall go tomorrow, Mama. It is only a few miles out of my way to call here first.’ He bent to kiss her cheek. ‘I wondered if you might like to come with me. I have no notion what to expect when I get to Foxlees, a welcome or otherwise, and should be glad of your advice when it comes to household matters.’ Seeing her hesitate, he paused. ‘Are you engaged for the next week or so? If so, it is of no consequence, I can go alone.’
‘Nothing that cannot be put off. Oh, Alex, I should dearly like to see Foxlees. But how shall we travel? My carriage is not up to so long a journey.’
‘I have bought a chaise and a pair of fine horses to pull it. We shall travel very comfortably.’
‘Oh, I shall like that above everything.’ She clapped her gloved hands in delight. She was a tiny woman, a little plump, made more so by the stuffing she wore on her hips and the flounces on her sleeves. She looked frail, but her looks deceived; she had been used to travelling backwards and forwards to India with her late husband and thought nothing of rough seas and sweltering heat. A carriage ride into Norfolk would certainly not put her in a quake. She hurried away to give instructions for her bags to be packed, Alex’s bed to be made up and supper to be served for two.
* * *
Over the meal she demanded to know what he had been up to in town.
‘Nothing of any note, Mama. I finalised my inheritance with my uncle’s lawyer, attended a meeting of the Piccadilly Gentleman’s Club and I went to Gilpin’s to buy a carriage. Do you know the business is half-run by Gilpin’s daughter? I was quite taken aback when she insisted on seeing to my needs herself.’
‘I hope you were not gulled.’
‘Gulled by a slip of a girl, Mama, how can you think it? I inspected the vehicle very carefully before agreeing to buy it. It was dear, but I think worth it. Gilpin’s has an excellent reputation for quality.’
‘Did you not go to any dances or routs where you might meet people of the ton?’
‘I went to a concert with Leinster in aid of the Foundling Hospital.’
‘Pah! You will not find a bride doing that.’
‘Mama, I am not looking for a bride.’
‘How can you say so? Alex, you are a marquis now, not a roving sea captain, and it behoves you to wed and start a family. I should very much like grandchildren.’
‘There is plenty of time for that.’
‘I do believe you are still pining for that minx,
Letitia.’
‘No, Mama, I am not.’ It was said firmly and brooked no argument.
‘There is no point in any case,’ she went on, determined to have the last word. ‘I had heard that the Earl of Falsham is now a widower and looking for a second wife.’
This was news to Alex and he spent a silent moment or two contemplating it and wondering why he felt nothing more than sorrow that a young life should have been lost. ‘I am sorry for that,’ he said. ‘Do you know how the Countess died?’
‘Giving birth to a daughter, so I heard. The Earl was said to be very vexed that the child was not a son. I heard he had gone abroad to escape his creditors.’
‘It is my opinion that there is too much importance put on begetting heirs,’ he said, glad that he would not have to encounter the gentleman. ‘I hope I should not be vexed if my wife produced a daughter and not a son. I should be happy if they were both healthy.’
She laughed. ‘Just now you insisted you were not looking for a wife.’
‘Nor am I.’ He paused. ‘How long will it take you to pack?’
She recognised the deliberate changing of the subject and smiled. ‘Now, Alex, how can you ask such a question? How many times have I had to pack to go off to India or the West Indies or the China seas at a moment’s notice? I am an expert and so is Betty, who is even now putting a few things in a trunk. I hope the carriage you bought can accommodate one trunk.’
‘It can, Mama, easily. Shall you come out when we have finished our supper and see for yourself? There is still enough daylight left.’
Briarcroft was a simple country mansion, bought with money his father had made on the first two or three of his cargoes, against the day when he would give up the sea and retire. Since his death, his mother had lived there quietly but happily and Alex often stayed there with her. It had been his bolt hole when he came back to England after that disastrous affair with Letitia and it was still the place he came to when he needed respite. He wondered if Foxlees Manor would ever take its place.
* * *
When he saw it two days later, he doubted it. Knowing his uncle and cousin had rarely visited it since his aunt’s death and forewarned by the lawyer, he had expected it to be shabby, but the extent of the dereliction was shocking. It was not a large mansion and did not have a parkland, but extensive gardens which had once been well cared for, but which were now tangled and overgrown. The gravel carriage drive was full of weeds and the house, when they came upon it, had a neglected air. Ivy clung to its walls and had invaded the windows. The paint was scuffed, the door knocker rusty.
‘Alex, this is dreadful,’ his mother said, as he helped her down and she stood in the drive to look up at the façade. ‘You could never bring a bride here. She would die of mortification.’
She was so transparent it made him smile, but he decided not to comment and went up the moss-covered stone steps and unlocked the door with the key he had been given.
‘Are there no servants?’ she asked, preceding him into a dark vestibule that smelled fusty.
‘There is a steward and a housekeeper, both of whom live in the village. The lawyer said they would not live here after my uncle died. The rest of the servants moved on long ago.’
‘And I, for one, do not blame them.’ She was making her way down the hall as she spoke and threw open a door. ‘This must be the drawing room.’ She strode forwards and flung back the heavy brocade curtains. They fell to pieces in her hands and dust flew everywhere. ‘Alex, you surely do not expect me to sleep here tonight?’
‘No, Mama, we will go to the village inn, where I will leave you to have some refreshment and a rest while I go in search of the steward.’ He laughed suddenly. ‘To think my friends in the Piccadilly Gentleman’s Club congratulated me on my inheritance. I fear it is like to be a millstone.’
They inspected the rest of the house. It was no better that the drawing room. They returned downstairs and made their way to be kitchen area, where Davy was endeavouring to light a fire in order to boil a kettle. The room was full of smoke.
‘Leave it, Davy,’ he said. ‘The chimneys will have to be swept and all the doors and windows left open to air the place. I am going to take Mrs Carstairs to the local inn and root out the steward. Have you unharnessed the horses?’
‘No, sir...my lord. There’s no fodder for them, though I’ve given them a drink.’
‘Sir will do very well, Davy, thank you. I will drive my mother to the inn. You stay here and see what needs doing.’
‘Everything, sir,’ was said with a grin.
‘I know. Make a list, most urgent first. I will be back betimes.’
* * *
Fortunately the local hostelry was a coaching inn, standing on the cross roads of a substantial village a mile or two inland from Cromer. The coach and horses were led away to be looked after while Alex escorted his mother indoors and requested his best room for her.
‘Certainly sir,’ the innkeeper said, then turned and flung orders to his employees who were standing around gaping with curiosity. ‘I didn’t reckon you’d want to stay up at the Manor.’
‘How did you know I was bound there?’
‘Why, Mr Boniface said the new owner was expected at any time and my son, Arthu
r, saw the carriage in the village going towards the rise at a spanking pace. We don’t get equipages like that hereabouts very often.’
‘Where can I find Mr Boniface?’
‘He’ll have heard you’ve arrived,’ the man said. ‘And will no doubt be on his way to the Manor as we speak.’
Alex made sure his mother and her maid were comfortable, then left them to hurry back to the house on foot, which had half the population out of their doors to see him pass. He smiled, bowed this way and that and continued on his way.
* * *
He found Davy in the yard in deep conversation with a man in a black coat and black small clothes. He wore a black three-cornered hat over a dark tie wig. He introduced himself as William Boniface, apologising profusely for not being there to greet him on his arrival. If he had been notified of the day and time, he certainly would have been.
‘Yes, to be sure,’ Alex said. ‘It is no matter. But tell me all you can about the house and grounds. It is sadly neglected.’
‘It is that, my lord, and sorry I am for it, but the old marquis turned his back on it after his wife died and would not spend a penny to keep it in order. He did not seem to care that it might fall into disrepair, for all he had a son who expected to inherit. The young master seemed of the same mind and now, of course...’ He shrugged. ‘What do you plan to do, my lord?’
‘It can’t be left as it is, that is certain. It is hardly habitable.’
‘Do you wish to live in it, my lord?’
‘I may when I am not in town or I may let it. In either event it will have to be restored. Let us inspect it properly and you may make notes as we go. Davy, you come, too. You may see things I miss.’
All three trooped indoors. Davy had drawn all the blinds back and opened all the windows, which allowed a cool breeze from the German Ocean to blow away some of the stuffiness. They moved from room to room and Mr Boniface covered sheets and sheets of paper with his spidery scrawl. The conclusion they all reached was that it was a solid building and the neglect, though unsightly, was superficial.
