by Carol Arens
Is this what had happened to his dear father? Had he experienced such overwhelming desire that he’d thrown his whole life into chaos—his career, his family, his estate—in order to satisfy it? And what had been the result: nothing but disillusion and bitterness. He had grown up with his father’s pain and sworn when he was little more than a child that he would never, ever follow in Sir Lucien’s footsteps. So what on earth was he doing last night? He was no better than a moth singed by the flame, he chided himself, unable to resist the auburn curls, the dark-brown eyes, the saucy smile—above all, the smile. It was a novel experience and he did not like it. It made him restless and impatient with his life when his whole concentration should be on getting Chelwood on a secure footing before he returned to his beloved regiment.
This morning he abandoned any idea of sitting down to breakfast and went instead to the estate office. Mellors was already there and greeted him with a gloomy face.
‘Beggin’ your lordship’s pardon, but I’ve been goin’ through the account books fer the last few years and the estate’s losin’ money by the month. We don’t charge proper rents, Sir Justin, that’s the nub of it. There’s some tenants paying what their grandfathers did. We must raise our rents, there’s no ’elp for it.’
Justin turned away from the stack of ledgers hugging the table. ‘I have no wish to bleed my tenants dry, Mellors.’
‘Nothin’ like that, sir. Just a modest increase, I’m thinkin’. It’d be more than justified. There’s farmers over Hawkshead livin’ high on the hog while we can’t afford to mend the stable roof.’
‘So what do you suggest?’ Justin’s voice expressed all the weariness he felt. Remorse was still biting deep—Sir Lucien had died alone while his only son was a thousand miles away, happily ignorant of Chelwood’s problems. If only he had not stayed away so long, if only he had known how burdensome the estate had become to an increasingly frail man.
‘We need an inventory, sir. That’ll be the ticket—an inventory detailing the rents for every tenant, the size of their farm and the general state of repair.’
‘There is no inventory!’ Justin was shocked to think that he had not even considered the possibility.
‘There were one, years ago...’ Mellors scratched his head ‘...leastways I believe so. But ’appen it’s been lost and not replaced. Sir Lucien was seemingly not one to worry overmuch about paperwork.’
‘No, indeed. And no doubt that accounts for many of our troubles. You’re right—we need to know what rents the whole estate is earning. There may even be tenants who are behind with payment, but I have no idea.’
‘So I can begin work on a new schedule?’ Mellors looked more hopeful than he had for days.
‘Yes, make a start now. But I don’t want to worry people.’ Justin’s brow creased into tiny furrows. ‘My father may not have been good with paper, but he was respected and well liked. I don’t want that to change.’
‘Reckon we should call a meeting, sir.’ Mellors warmed to his theme. ‘Explain our difficulties and tell them ’ow the estate can’t afford to rent out farms at sums that ’ave been around for a ’undred years or more. Prepare them for the changes, as it were.’
‘I suppose we will have to. But I’ve had no time so far to meet my tenants and I would rather that is not my first encounter with them. Perhaps we could offer them a more sociable occasion beforehand—a chance for me to get to know at least some of the larger land holders. I remember that years ago my father used to throw open the doors of Chelwood in the autumn for a celebration of the harvest and of the year that was just finishing.’
His face shadowed for a moment. Those evenings had ceased when his mother had abandoned Chelwood for good and Sir Lucien, left alone in the great house but for his young son, could not face the curiosity of local people.
‘It’ll be expensive,’ the bailiff warned.
‘You sometimes have to spend money, Mellors, to accumulate it. And it need not be wildly expensive. We are in mourning for Sir Lucien and that will preclude any extravagant entertainment—a simple buffet, perhaps, a little champagne even, some pleasant music. We could invite some of the townspeople, too—those well-wishers that I have not yet had time to visit.’
Mellors’s gloom was back but his lugubrious expression only made Justin more determined. ‘Yes,’ he said with conviction, ‘a meeting of town and country will be an excellent way to celebrate my father’s life and mark a new beginning. Before you start on the inventory, draw up a list of those we should invite. Make sure that you include the Armitages—and Mrs Croft.’
And, of course, her companion. Was that why the idea had such appeal—that he could once again bring Lizzie Ingram to Chelwood? Surely not. There was a perfectly legitimate reason for the evening’s entertainment, a very good reason, he assured himself. And naturally he could not leave Henrietta Croft from the guest list. Where Mrs Croft came, so did Miss Ingram. It was really quite simple. Having settled the matter to his satisfaction, he turned to the sheaf of papers his architect had left him for the renovation of the west wing. One day he might even have the money to carry out the ambitious plans.
* * *
Try as he might, he could not concentrate on the tasks that clamoured for his attention. The Chelwood celebration was to be held on the Friday evening and he was eagerly looking forward to it, more eagerly than he could ever remember when his father had presided over similar gatherings. He constantly checked on the arrangements: had Mellors booked the string quartet travelling all the way from Canterbury, had Cook ordered additional titbits from the most prestigious caterer in Tunbridge Wells, would his butler bring up as much champagne from the cellar as the sideboard would hold? His staff tried to smile through the barrage of commands, but with increasing difficulty, and it was only a sudden remembrance on his part that saved him from their rebellion. He must go to Rye for he had a woman to find! And he needed to find her before Friday evening.
As he’d suspected, it took only a short time and several sovereigns before he was confronting Rosanna. But as soon as he saw her, he knew that he had been wrong: he would not need to pay this woman or metaphorically twist her arm to get her to talk. Rosanna would always be happy to speak to a gentleman, more than happy to speak to a good-looking gentleman, who bore a military title and dressed in expensive superfine. She was beautiful, he thought, if you liked that kind of ripeness and he could well understand why her sultry attractions might allow her to manipulate others—men would be malleable clay between her slender hands.
She tried flirting with him, subtly at first and then, when he proved unresponsive, more overtly. He had no intention of succumbing to her charms. He had sought her out only because he had questions he needed answering, but in the event he was to be disappointed. Yes, she had known Gilbert Armitage, but only as an acquaintance. He had been friendly with the excise man, she knew, the man who had so tragically fallen to his death. It was all very sad. The last time she’d seen Mr Armitage had been a chance meeting with him in the market place, but the encounter was unremarkable and she remembered nothing much of it. Of course, like everyone else in the town, she had been shocked to hear of his friend’s disappearance, but had no idea what might have become of him. Patiently Justin put the same questions to her several times, but her response was always the same, her eyes unwavering, looking frankly into his. He would get no further, he could see, and could do nothing more but bid her a courteous farewell and walk away. He doubted that she knew anything, but beneath her seductive exterior he sensed a sharp mind at work, and if she did possess information she was not about to disgorge it. Lizzie would not be pleased to find the trail had gone cold again, but there was little more he could do.
* * *
Mellors had been commanded to deliver invitations for the Friday entertainment to the outlying farmers on the estate, while Justin had undertaken to call on the various townspeople
who were to be invited. Brede House was next on his list and he found Mrs Croft sitting quietly in her armchair, her book cast aside.
‘How good to see you, Justin, and how very kind of you to invite me to Chelwood. A celebration of Lucien’s life and the life of the estate—that is most fitting.’
‘So you will come?’ He wished he did not feel so anxious to hear her reply.
‘I would love to, my dear, but these last few weeks I have been feeling my age—I am getting old, there’s no denying it—and an evening party is too difficult for me.’
He could not quite conceal his disappointment and she said quickly, ‘I’m sure that Elizabeth would be happy to be my representative. This place is tedious for her, you know, and she is such a lively young woman. But perhaps I have spoken out of turn and you were not intending to invite her?’
‘I could not invite you without your companion,’ Justin said gallantly, ‘but will Miss Ingram be happy to leave you and come alone?’
‘I am well enough on my own—in fact, I enjoy the solitude. Another sign of old age, I fear. But Elizabeth can take my maid for company, if you are happy to send your carriage to convey them both to Chelwood.’
‘Naturally I will be delighted to send Perkins.’
‘Good,’ she said, surprisingly brisk. ‘Of course, you will have to ask Elizabeth yourself. I believe you will find her walking in the cove. She has been working very hard this morning, taking down and rearranging an entire wall of books for me, but she is an indefatigable walker.’
His smile was wry. ‘So I have noticed, Mrs Croft.’
He walked through the long, narrow garden that separated Brede House from the river. The leaves were already russet, many lying on the ground in tall heaps, gathered there by the wind which funnelled its way upstream from the Channel. Picking his way through the path’s coating of crackling fronds, he passed the stone folly built years ago to overlook the river by some sailor nostalgic for the sea and reached the wicket gate which led directly to the water.
Out of the gate and down the worn, wooden steps to the small cove lying sheltered beneath the cliff. Many years ago he remembered playing here with Gil. The cliff was riddled with caves and there had been a game of dare they’d played with each other all through one long summer—who could travel furthest through the caves and towards the sea before the tide turned. Some of the caves had been so low and narrow that they’d had to wriggle their way through, while others were wide open caverns, stunning in their immensity. Sometimes they had clambered their way until they’d almost reached the sea, when the sound of it in their ears became a warning to turn back. One day, they’d been so intent on exploring cave after cave that they had not heard the sound of waves drawing nearer until their boots were suddenly leaking water. They had run and wriggled their way back through the chain of caves with terror in their hearts and arrived at the cove with the river already lapping at their feet. They had never played that game again, he reflected.
* * *
She was standing by the river’s edge, the water lapping at the shingle beach around her feet. The rocky outcrops on either side glinted in the late-autumn sun and she had raised her hand to shade her eyes as she looked across the quick-flowing river to the marsh beyond, almost black in this newly intense light. Beneath her shawl, she was wearing a simple muslin dress that hugged itself tight to her trim figure and her hair this morning hung free, caressing the nape of her neck. His heart did a small flip. He wanted to reach out and touch that hair, to feel his hands again tangle the softness of those auburn curls. He cleared his throat and she looked around, surprised by the intrusion.
‘Forgive me, Miss Ingram, I had not meant to startle you.’
‘You may startle me at will.’ She smiled at him, a warm, welcoming smile, and he felt again that small insistent lurch. ‘You have news for me, Sir Justin?’
‘Some news,’ he said cautiously. ‘But first, tell me how you have been since your adventure. I feared that you might catch cold from our evening walk.’
‘I am not such a weak creature,’ she laughed.
‘I am glad you have taken no hurt for I am hoping that you will be willing to brave the night air once more. I am throwing a small celebration at Chelwood this Friday and wished for both yours and Mrs Croft’s attendance. She tells me that she no longer feels able to manage an evening entertainment, but perhaps I may persuade you to come alone.’
She looked surprised. ‘You wish me to come to your party?’
‘It is not precisely a party—a small gathering only, to celebrate the end of the harvest and the year that has passed. Some of my tenants are invited and a few townspeople and local gentry. My father hosted the same event for many years and I have decided to reinstate the tradition.’
‘That seems a most thoughtful way to honour him.’ It warmed him that she had immediately recognised the deeper meaning of his gesture.
‘He was a good man and much admired.’ For a moment he stared fixedly at the fast-flowing river. ‘He deserved a longer life.’
‘You loved your father greatly, I think.’
‘How could I not? He was my rock, the dearest person to me in the whole world.’
‘People don’t always love their parents.’ She appeared to hesitate. ‘I imagine that you did not care much for your mother.’
He was taken aback by her perception and a tinge of colour stole into his tanned cheeks. ‘You are frank, Miss Ingram. Is my distaste so very evident?’
‘I wore her dress at Chelwood,’ she reminded him, ‘and your face told its own story.’
‘It’s true that my mother spread little joy. She was not a happy woman.’
She gave him a quick glance before venturing, ‘She is dead?’
‘As good as—dead to Chelwood, at least. She left the house fourteen years ago and never returned.’ Except once, he reflected, but he would not think of that.
‘Where did she go?’
‘Everywhere and nowhere. Mostly London, living with whoever was her latest—friend.’
Her eyebrows shot up at this matter-of-fact statement. ‘You will hear the stories soon enough,’ he continued. ‘I’m surprised that you haven’t already. It speaks volumes for Mrs Croft’s discretion!’
‘All Mrs Croft ever told me was that your father was forced to give up soldiering. I think she forgot for the moment who she was talking to. I believe her words were that “he was harangued into submission by that woman”.’
His lips twisted. ‘Mrs Croft spoke truly. My mother always got her way.’
The tide was coming in now and pushing the river water further up the deep channel it had furrowed inland over the centuries. Lizzie’s slippers were in grave danger of drowning and she moved quickly back from the water’s edge to perch herself on one of the many rocks that enclosed the small bay. Smoothing its warm, flat surface, she gestured to him to take a seat beside her. The sun had settled low in the sky and glinted richly chestnut through her tangled ringlets. In the breeze a few stray tendrils of hair had blown across her cheek and he itched to smooth them back into place. Somehow he forced himself to keep his hands locked against the rock’s hard surface.
‘You have not called on your mother since your father’s death, then?’
‘Why would I wish to? I have made it my business to avoid her and the rackety set she runs with.’ That was hardly to be wondered at, he thought, not after the most humiliating experience of his life. ‘In truth, I rarely think of her—and at the risk of sounding callous, my life over the past few years has been so crowded that it has been easy to forget she was ever my mother.’
Lizzie nibbled at her lip. ‘You have been in Spain for years and involved in the bloodiest of conflicts, but now that you are in England...’
‘I doubt that I will find it any more difficult. The people here know the worst the
re is to know of my family and will not speak of her. And my mother is the one person who will not be attending the celebration and causing discomfort!’
Lizzie drew a slow circle on the rock with her finger. ‘You might not find the party as comfortable as you expect.’
He looked slightly bemused and she murmured, ‘You have invited me to Chelwood.’
For a moment he was caught unawares. Of course, he would not find it comfortable to have her beneath his roof again. On the contrary, he would find it deliciously uncomfortable. And though he should be fighting such feelings with every ounce of his willpower, he could not stop himself relishing the emotion. She was looking at him quizzically, waiting for him to speak. Please God, he had not betrayed his thoughts.
‘I will stand out like a sore thumb among the wealthy farmers and the local gentry,’ she explained. ‘I am a servant, Sir Justin.’
So that is what she had meant! ‘You are a companion and that is very different,’ he countered.
But she was insistent. ‘For many that is synonomous with a servant.’
‘Perhaps,’ he had to concede, ‘but for a very few only. Many more will welcome your being there. The Armitages, for instance. I am on my way to Five Oaks with their invitation.’
‘You have news for them?’ Her eyes sparkled almost amber. Her eagerness to carry on the adventure was a delight and he hated that he must disappoint her.
‘News that is, in fact, no news. I hope, though, that they will welcome the little I have discovered.’
