‘This is a very serious business, Miss Kellaway.’ The Earl of Seagrave had been with his agent in the estate office when Lucille had hesitantly asked to see him, but he had sent Josselyn away immediately and gestured to her to take a chair. He leant on the desk, viewing her unsmilingly.
‘Since the end of the wars there have been many masterless men roaming the countryside trying to find a living. I suppose it is hardly surprising if some of them have turned to crime, though it is puzzling that you could find nothing missing this morning.’
‘No, sir.’ Lucille had also seen the men in tattered uniforms who had been dismissed immediately after Waterloo. Some swept the streets or cleared the gutters, but it was humiliating for them to have sunk so low when they might justifiably have expected their country to treat them as heroes. ‘I checked the house thoroughly, but none of the contents appeared to have been stolen.’
‘There has been unrest on the land, as well.’ Seagrave straightened up and drove his hands into the pockets of his casual shooting jacket. ‘We talked about it that day at the beach, did we not? I have heard that the rick burning and rioting have moved closer. I wonder…?’
He seemed lost in thought for a moment.
‘Wool prices were higher during the war, were they not?’ Lucille observed thoughtfully. ‘That cannot have helped. And I have read that the enclosure of common land has deprived those who used to use the land for grazing. It must be very difficult for them to earn enough to feed their families.’
‘Yes, indeed. Unless one can farm enough land, there is little money in it,’ Seagrave agreed, ‘and with many clergymen and landowners putting up rents, it is no wonder that there has been arson and damage to farm buildings. But your problem, Miss Kellaway, appears to be more specific than this.’ He held the small bottle of snuff up to the light and took a careful sniff. ‘Is there anything else which might throw some light on the activities of your mysterious intruder?’
This was what Lucille had dreaded. It had almost been sufficient to prevent her from seeking his help at all. Since the day at the beach she had been afraid that he would try once again to prise from her the secret of whatever was troubling her. She had hoped that he had forgotten, but now he was watching her once more with that unsettling perspicacity. Nothing would have induced her to mention the letters and their malicious accusations. Even so, she felt a blush rising to her cheeks and met his eyes defiantly.
‘No, my lord, that is all.’
‘I see.’ His gaze, searching and too penetrating, lingered thoughtfully on her face, noting her high colour. ‘Well, if you remember anything else, be sure to tell me. I cannot imagine that you will have any more trouble, but perhaps it would be a good idea for the three of you to remove to the Court? The whole village must be aware that three women are living alone at Cookes, even though your coachman is close at hand in the coach-house. I would feel better were I to know that you were all under my roof.’
He spoke with only the most impersonal concern, and once again Lucille was reminded of the burden that they already constituted to him. She shook her head slowly. To be in such close proximity to Seagrave and be obliged to treat him with the same indifferent courtesy that he was showing her could not be borne.
‘You are very good, sir, but I am sure we will do very well where we are. As you say, we are unlikely to encounter any further trouble.’ She got to her feet.
‘As you wish.’ To her faint disappointment, Seagrave made no attempt to press her to change her mind. Once again, Lucille castigated herself for wishing that he would do so. How contrary of her to wish to avoid him and yet be annoyed when he showed her nothing but impersonal concern! It put her out of all patience with herself.
Seagrave held the door open for her with scrupulous politeness. Lucille found that even this was beginning to irritate her. ‘We shall see you tonight at Mama’s card party, I hope,’ he was saying, still with that irritatingly casual lack of interest. ‘The Dittons and Miss Elliott shall be here, amongst others! Good day, Miss Kellaway!’ And Lucille was left standing in the passageway reflecting that even for Hetty’s sake she was unprepared to make such a sacrifice as that evening would entail.
When she got back to Cookes, to complete her ill-humour, the latest anonymous letter was waiting for her.
Chapter Ten
In the event, neither Hetty nor Lucille were able to go to Dillingham Court that night for the card party. When John went to put the horses to, he discovered that someone had sawed very neatly through the front axle of the coach, making it completely unusable. There was no doubt that the damage was deliberate and malicious. Lucille sent him over to Dillingham Court with a message for Lady Seagrave, and settled down to play a hand of whist with a disappointed Hetty. Before long, however, there was the sound of wheels on the gravel outside and then Peter Seagrave’s accents were heard in the hall, greeting Mrs Appleton. Hetty threw down her cards with a glad cry and rushed out to greet him.
‘Oh, Peter, how glad I am to see you! The most extraordinary things are going on here—it makes me quite frightened!’
Over her tangled curls, Peter’s eyes met Lucille’s. She had tried to make light of the incident to Hetty, but could not deny that the atmosphere of tension in the house was strong and she felt as uncomfortable as anyone. Peter put Hetty gently away from him, but retained a grip on her hand.
‘Miss Kellaway, my mother has sent me to convey you all at once to Dillingham Court. When she heard of this latest accident that had befallen you, she felt that the best thing would be for you to come to stay with us until the matter is resolved. If you could all pack a few necessities, I can take you straight back to the Court and we may return for the rest of your belongings in the morning.’
Lucille looked at his guileless face suspiciously. For some reason she was certain that Seagrave’s high-handedness was behind this, presented in its most acceptable form by Peter and Lady Seagrave. Hetty, however, was looking so relieved that Lucille did not have the heart to refuse and it was with very little real reluctance that she went to pack a case for their remove to Dillingham Court.
Life at the Court gave Lucille a real insight into how a family like the Seagraves would live when they chose to take up their appointed place in the neighbourhood. There was no doubt that they were considered to be the first family in the locality. Invitations to the Court, or to join the Seagrave party on some outing or assembly, were highly prized. The family breakfasted late, usually at ten or eleven, for the previous evening’s entertainment would only end in the small hours.
After breakfast Seagrave would often go off to the estate room to attend to business, or go out riding or shooting with Peter and a number of their male acquaintances. Lady Seagrave, Polly, Hetty and Lucille would embark on a round of visiting in the neighbourhood, often staying out for luncheon with friends, or returning to the Court to read, wander in the gardens or play croquet on the lawns.
Dinner was a vastly formal occasion. The family rarely dined alone and seemed to have guests almost every night, sometimes staying, sometimes not. The meal was served in splendour, with footmen behind every chair and much plate on display. Later, the ladies withdrew to the drawing-room and the men smoked, drank and chatted before joining them for cards or impromptu dancing. It was a relentlessly sociable if superficial existence, and Lucille, who had been daunted by it to start with, soon found it bored her.
She was considered odd because she often wished to stay in her room to read, or wandered off alone in the gardens. The indulgence with which her eccentricity had been treated at first was now declining and a vociferous minority, led by Thalia Ditton, were both open in criticising her obliquely for her unconventional ways and decrying her connection with so disreputable a person as Susanna. Lucille knew Miss Ditton’s sniping sprang mostly from resentment, but it hurt nevertheless. She rarely thought of Susanna these days, except to wonder how long it would be before her sister reappeared to throw Dillingham into turmoil. She longed to return
to Oakham, but Lady Seagrave was still adamant that Hetty needed her.
Under the circumstances, Charles Farrant’s uncomplicated admiration was balm to her soul, particularly as Seagrave was an attentive but wholly indifferent host. It shook Lucille to realise that this aloofness on his part made no difference to her feelings for him. She had learned more about love in the space of three months than she would ever have wanted to know, she told herself sadly. That led her thoughts on to Polly Seagrave, for Henry Marchnight had apparently left Suffolk for London. Lucille saw that Polly was pining, and her heart ached for her, but it seemed that in Polly’s case as in her own, nothing could be done.
At the end of the second week of their stay at the Court, Lucille let herself out of the house just as the sun was starting to set. She made her way cautiously through the gardens, heavy with the scent of honeysuckle and night-scented stock, and set off up the path that led up to Dragon Hill. She paused to look at Dillingham Court, illuminated by the rosy rays of the setting sun. How tranquil it looked! But this world was not for her. Lucille made a secret promise to herself that as soon as Hetty was officially betrothed to Peter, she would make her excuses and return to Miss Pym’s school. That would give her a little time to decide what she wanted to do with the fortune she had so unexpectedly inherited—and start to recover from the effect that the Earl of Seagrave had had on her life.
She had reached the place where the path left the Dillingham park and climbed up beside the wood, had even placed her foot upon the stile, when her name was called from close at hand.
‘Miss Kellaway! A moment, if you please!’ The Earl of Seagrave himself was striding down the bridleway towards her in the dusk, a deep frown on his brow. Lucille bit her lip. Damnation! Was the man omniscient? She had laid her plans so carefully, crying off from an evening party at Westwardene, the home of the Dittons. As far as she knew, the entire Seagrave family had been intending to go—but it seemed she had been mistaken. And now Seagrave was bound to cut up rough and spoil her outing. She took her foot from the step and placed her basket upon it. It was starting to feel heavy.
Seagrave reached her side in five strides. ‘What the devil can you be doing out alone at this time of night, Miss Kellaway?’ he said, without preamble. ‘Have you taken leave of your senses?’
Lucille looked mutinous. ‘I felt in need of an evening constitutional, my lord,’ she said, knowing she sounded sulky. ‘It is such a delightful night, is it not? I see that you too are enjoying the evening air!’
Seagrave’s lips twitched. ‘Cut line, Miss Kellaway! You do not go for an evening walk with a heavy basket! Now, what’s afoot?’
Lucille gave up. He would insist on escorting her back to the Court, so it mattered little if he knew the truth.
‘I was going up the hill to look for the comet, my lord,’ she said baldly.
There was perfect silence. A pheasant scuttered away from beneath their feet, uttering its harsh cry. Far away in the wood, a tawny owl called. Then Seagrave stirred.
‘You never cease to surprise me, Miss Kellaway,’ he said affably. ‘I did not realise that your scientific leanings had recently taken an astronomical turn. I take it that you refer to the comet discovered recently by Sir Edmund Grantly, who put a paper on it to the Royal Society? I recollect reading about it in the Morning Post.’
‘Yes, sir.’ Lucille looked up at the sky, which was already darkening to a deep blue. ‘I discovered an old treatise in my father’s library which predicted that a certain comet would return seventy-one years hence, a date which brought it close to the present. I then remembered reading a report of the same scientific paper you mentioned, sir. So I concluded that it could be the same comet and decided to look for it myself.’
‘You fascinate me, Miss Kellaway,’ Seagrave said, with perfect truth. ‘A most enterprising adventure! And in the basket?’
Lucille pulled the rug aside and produced a telescope in a battered leather case. Seagrave took it and considered it thoughtfully. ‘I remember this, for your father used to allow me to look at the stars through it when I was a boy! Good lord, I had quite forgot…’ He handed it back to her and looked curiously into the depths of the basket. ‘And a picnic as well! How well prepared you are, Miss Kellaway! Do I detect some of Mrs Appleton’s famous pastries? And a Cornish pasty? You will be telling me next that you have a bottle of wine tucked away in there as well!’
‘I have port wine, sir,’ Lucille said primly, and could not resist smiling at his laughter. ‘I thought it would be useful against the cold!’
‘Capital! Then we have all we need, though I suppose—’ he slanted a look down at her ‘—we shall have to share the glass—unless you intended to drink it from the bottle!’
‘We?’ Lucille was all at sea. Bemused, she watched him pick up the basket and climb over the stile in one lithe movement.
‘Yes, indeed!’ He was holding out an imperative hand to help her over. ‘I cannot permit you to go star—or comet—gazing alone, so I shall accompany you. That way, you shall be quite safe!’
Lucille doubted that severely. Whilst his recent behaviour towards her had been irreproachable, he was a threat to her peace of mind at the very least, and could be far more dangerous than that, as experience had taught her. Her recent forays into society had confirmed that Seagrave was much sought after as a matrimonial prize, but the same calculating mamas who threw their daughters in his path considered him to be both cold and unfeeling. Privately, Louise Elliott was thought to be the veriest fool for throwing Seagrave over, but there were those who thought she had had a lucky escape.
Cold, unemotional, heartless, were all words which Lucille had heard used to describe the Earl of Seagrave and they were impossible to equate with her experience of the complex, charismatic man who was now proposing that she take a midnight picnic alone with him. As she stepped over the top bar of the stile, his strong hands caught her about the waist and swung her to the ground. Breathless and dizzy, she felt her spirits soaring. No matter that he was a dangerous threat to her hard-won composure—for one moonlit evening he was hers alone, and though it would be cold comfort when she was back in the narrow world of Miss Pym’s school, memories would be all she had.
He kept a hold on her hand as they climbed Dragon Hill together. The sun was setting in the west in a flurry of blues and gold, and a sliver of moon was rising above the hill. There were only wisps of cloud and a breath of wind. It was indeed a perfect night. Seagrave spread the rug for them in the shelter of the wall and watched with amusement as Lucille unpacked the picnic. ‘Not just pastries, but tomatoes, strawberries…You are a remarkable woman, Miss Kellaway!’
The light was draining from the sky, leaving Seagrave’s face in shadow. Deep within her woollen coat, Lucille shivered. It was only a slight movement, but he saw it.
‘I hope you are well wrapped up, Miss Kellaway. Sitting still at night is a cold business! I used to go out looking for badgers with the gamekeeper’s son when I was a lad, and a long cold night we had of it sometimes!’
‘Did you see any?’ Lucille enquired, pouring some port into the glass and passing it to him. Their fingers touched. She repressed another shiver.
‘Yes, and charming creatures they were too! We found one ancient sett in the woods behind us—doubtless it is still there, for I imagine it has been inhabited for centuries! Have you ever seen a badger, Miss Kellaway, or do you not rate natural history as highly as astronomy?’
Lucille laughed. ‘Being a girl, I led a more circumscribed existence than you, my lord! I fear I was not allowed out at night to look for badgers, owls, or any other creatures—much to my regret!’
‘I am surprised that you did not escape from under your adoptive parents’ vigilant eye and go anyway,’ Seagrave observed.
‘I expect Susanna would have told tales,’ Lucille said thoughtlessly, then stopped. Seagrave appeared not to have noticed.
‘Were you close to your sister?’ he enquired, draining the glass an
d passing it back to her.
‘As a child, I suppose…’ Lucille paused ‘…we were quite close, but always very different. I always had my nose in a book, whilst Susanna hated bookish things. She could not wait to escape from the constraints of school!’
‘And of everything else,’ Seagrave said dryly. He was stretched out beside Lucille, propped on one elbow, and his nearness was having its usual disturbing effect on her senses. But tonight was so extraordinary, so unexpected, that she had at last given in to the impulse which was telling her to forget the future and simply relish the pleasure of his company whilst she could. ‘Despite her wildness, though, it must have been a severe shock to you all when she decided to go on the Town!’
Lucille giggled. She could feel the port wine warming her inside—and prompting her to further confidences. ‘Oh, it was terrible! Mrs Markham went into a spasm and had a fit of the vapours that lasted a week. We had to call the doctor! I tried to persuade Susanna against it, but she was adamant! She said it was the only career for which she had a talent!’ Lucille sobered. ‘We practically lost touch with each other after that, which was a pity. I would have given a lot…’ Her voice trailed away.
‘It was a shame for you to lose what family you had,’ Seagrave agreed, sinking his strong white teeth into one of Mrs Appleton’s excellent pasties. ‘But mine have taken you to their bosom! I am glad that Polly has found such a friend in you, Miss Kellaway, and with the connection between Peter and Miss Markham about to be formalised…I am breaking no confidences when I tell you that he plans to travel to Kingsmarton tomorrow to ask Mrs Markham’s permission to address her daughter.’
Lucille was silent, thinking of the bleak future she had mapped out for herself by comparison. It seemed that her release would come sooner than she had realised. ‘I am so very glad for Hetty,’ she said sincerely, deploring the self-pity she could not help feeling.
Virtuous Cyprian Page 20
