These were questions she asked herself time and again during the hours that followed his departure, and she could find no satisfactory answers. She only knew that, deeply as she loved him and wanted to join her life to his, there was still some unsatisfied part of herself awaiting expression. Until she had assuaged that feeling, their partnership could only be an uneasy one. What precisely it was that she needed, for the life of her she could not decide. She had told him she wished to travel overseas, visit foreign places and peoples for herself and by herself. That was part of it, certainly, although she knew well that it would be difficult to gratify this wish. No gently nurtured girl could hope to be allowed such a degree of freedom. She would be obliged to accept the escort of a male relative; and, that being so, why not that of a husband?
No, she admitted, it was more that she did not yet feel ready to settle down into the humdrum of the married state. And blissful as her senses told her marriage to Sidney would be at first, there was no escaping the melancholy fact that couples did settle down to become humdrum. Mayhap later on she would be ready to pay the price — but not yet.
Having reached this conclusion, she made a determined effort to put an end to the vexing internal debate, and concentrate instead on what was going forward around her. The visit to the theatre gave a new turn to her thoughts, and then there was the outing to Rievaulx on the following day.
She was keenly interested in Justin’s investigation into the murder, and eager to assist in any possible way. For some days she had been looking for an opportunity to try and glean from Mrs Cholmondeley some information about that lady’s guests; now one suddenly appeared.
The two parties were to make the journey in an assemblage of vehicles — two chaises and three curricles. The Firsdale Hall chaise held Julia, Louisa, Anthea and the two younger girls, for Mrs de Ryde had yielded to her sister-in-law’s persuasion to permit Anne to go. The other was occupied solely by Mr and Mrs Cholmondeley.
“And I declare it’s absurd, dear Lady Marton, that you should be so monstrously crushed!” exclaimed Mrs Cholmondeley. “Even though Miss Fanny and her little friend do not take up much space, you will all be a deal more comfortable, I’m sure, if one of the young ladies were to travel in our chaise — or even two of them, if they don’t wish to be parted. Now, what do you say, ma’am?”
“Why, I will be most happy to accept,” put in Anthea quickly, before Julia could open her lips to reply. “It is vastly kind of you, ma’am, and will certainly add to the comfort of the journey.”
Justin, who was driving Harry in his curricle, darted her an appreciative glance, and forestalled Fulford in assisting Anthea to make the change.
Fulford was driving Barnet in his curricle, while Fellowes had taken up Reade, neither of the two passengers having brought a conveyance to York.
The day was fine, but fortunately not too hot. This was a boon to Anthea, as she always tended to feel the stuffiness of a chaise, much preferring an open carriage. However, there had been nothing for it today but to make the journey in that way. Had Sprog been there … but there was no benefit in thinking of that.
The procession moved off, and Mrs Cholmondeley’s tongue likewise went into motion. For some time, Anthea listened politely to her inanities, putting in a word here and there, awaiting her chance to turn the conversation into more rewarding channels. The lady’s husband, after a good-natured attempt to give their passenger a larger share in the conversation, at length fell silent, and was presently seen to nod. Mrs Cholmondeley gave Anthea a knowing smile and lowered her voice.
“It’s the motion, my dear. He nearly always drops off on a coach journey. No matter — we may still go on talking quietly together. That was another reason why I thought it would be agreeable to have you travel with us — that, and the fact that five people in a coach does make it a trifle cramped, of course. But it is pleasant to have company, is it not? Especially female company — not that I don’t find our gentlemen guests agreeable, quite the reverse, for they are all delightful, I assure you!”
“Doubtless you and your husband will miss them when they return home,” answered Anthea, seizing quickly on this lead. “Do you know where they live, ma’am? I believe Mr Fellowes said his home was near Whitby, and Mr Reade mentioned the Midlands without naming a particular town. But I expect you will have heard all about them by this time — their homes, their families, all the little interesting things which we females delight in knowing.”
Mrs Cholmondeley beamed on her.
“Yes, we do, do we not, my dear, and I can’t think why some people condemn such harmless chat as gossip, can you? Well, as to Mr Reade, his home is somewhere west of Birmingham — he mentioned the Clent hills once, though I know nothing of that country myself. But he has precious little to say of his family, if indeed he has one — I don’t even know whether or not he is married. I think he spends most of his time away from home, in any case, travelling around to various sporting events.”
Anthea made a polite murmur, but judged it wiser to say nothing that would interrupt.
“Mr Fellowes, as you say, has a residence near Whitby, though I collect he also spends much of his time in London. He once let slip that he has a wife, though I could discover nothing of the lady, nor of any family. You may be sure I would try, my dear Miss Rutherford, and can you blame me?”
“Indeed, no,” agreed Anthea, twinkling. “I have the liveliest curiosity myself! But your gentlemen do not sound vastly communicative about their personal concerns, ma’am, although I think in general that is a fault of the male sex. Are the other two gentlemen any more rewarding?”
To her annoyance, at that moment the chaise pulled in to the inn at Hovingham for a change of horses, thus putting an end to a most promising conversation. Mr Cholmondeley awoke, and they all alighted from their separate vehicles and entered the inn to partake of coffee.
“I see your friend Mr Rogers is not with your party today,” said Barnet to Anthea, as they chanced to come together on entering the coffee room. “Not an indisposition, I trust?”
She did not like the reference to ‘her friend’, but bit back the retort that rose to her lips.
“Oh, no, merely a business engagement elsewhere,” she replied airily. “Did you enjoy the play yesterday evening, sir?”
“Certainly. Miss Campbell gave an excellent performance.”
“What did you think of the others?”
He pursed up his lips. “Some good — some not so good. A few, perhaps, bad.”
“You are very severe. Do you take a keen interest in the drama, Mr Barnet?”
“I can tell you positively that he does not,” put in Fulford, edging his way between them. “Didn’t you hear him admitting yesterday evening that he hadn’t attended the theatre since I don’t know when?”
“I believe you, too, Sir John, made the same shameful admission,” retorted Anthea, with a saucy look.
“Ah, yes, but one can’t be doing everything, y’know, Miss Anthea, and what with race meetings, not to mention balls and parties, which I dare swear are more to your taste —”
“Do you attend the London balls, sir? That’s to say, if you chance to have a house in Town?”
“I’m there now and then,” he replied evasively. “I’m by way of being a nomad, y’know, ma’am. Indeed, I think all four of us are.” He glanced about him at the others, who were dispersing to seat themselves at one or other of the small tables in the room. “But pray be seated, Miss Anthea. Here is a convenient chair.”
He put a hand under her arm to guide her to the nearest vacant place, but she gently moved away from it.
“I see my aunt has saved me a place at her table, and is beckoning to me to join them. Pray forgive me, Sir John.”
She smiled disarmingly at him as she turned aside to join her family. Fulford sat down beside Barnet.
Barnet gave him a quizzical look.
“I fear you’ll never make a conquest there, my dear chap.”
“Y’know, Barnet, you’ve got a devilish nasty tongue at times! D’you think you’d fare any better yourself?”
Barnet’s thin face took on a bleak expression for a moment in contrast to his usual nonchalant look.
“Oh, no, but then I never try my luck with any but ladybirds.”
Fulford looked at him curiously. “Ever been wed, Barnet?”
The other shook his head. “Know when I’m well off.”
Fulford shrugged. “You’re in the right of it. I was, once. Not a success — we parted.”
He seemed to regret having said so much, and at once switched the conversation to horseflesh, praising the pair which Justin was driving that day.
As Justin had just joined them along with Harry, he was able to benefit from these compliments. Having very sharp ears, however, he had managed to overhear most of the couple’s previous remarks.
The party did not linger very long over their coffee interval, but soon were on their way again. To Anthea’s secret annoyance, it was some time before she was able to learn any more about the Cholmondeleys’ guests. Mr Cholmondeley seemed to be much more lively after the break in their journey, and joined his spouse in keeping up a running commentary on the countryside through which they were passing, and every other topic which occurred to either of them.
They were within a few miles of Helmsley, where they had bespoken a luncheon at the ancient Black Swan, before Cholmondeley fell silent and closed his eyes once more.
In desperation, Anthea attempted to turn the conversation back to the point at which it had been abandoned.
“You were telling me, ma’am, before we stopped for coffee, about your gentlemen guests,” she said, abruptly, interrupting Mrs Cholmondeley in the middle of something else.
The lady looked surprised, but only for a moment. Perhaps she was used to being interrupted, as chatterboxes are.
“Oh, yes, but I must just finish telling you about this new modiste’s in the town, my dear, for you may wish to visit her yourself — although, of course, I do realise that London shops must be far superior to most, I think you’ll agree that this one is something quite out of the common way…”
It continued for another ten minutes or so, and Anthea was quite in a ferment. She foresaw little opportunity for the remainder of the day to have Mrs Cholmondeley to herself. Once arrived at Helmsley, they would be mingled among the rest of the party, with small chance of any private conversation.
Perhaps the older woman sensed that she had lost her companion’s attention, although Anthea continued to listen with a fixed, bright smile and to make the right responses. Presently, the anecdote ceased.
“Yes, well, you were saying, Miss Anthea, that gentlemen do not talk very much about personal matters, and I think that is all too true in most instances. For all I have learnt about most of my guests, they might be deaf and dumb! That is to say, of course, they do talk a deal, but always about such topics as gentlemen enjoy, and never those interesting, intimate little details which we females do like to hear about other people’s lives! But one of them, at least, has told me something of his home and family, and that is Mr Barnet. It seems he has a mother living somewhere in Sussex, and he spends part of his time with her and part in bachelor accommodation in London.”
Anthea felt somewhat surprised at this news; Mr Barnet did not strike her as a devoted son, tied to his mother’s apron strings.
“What part of Sussex, ma’am?” she asked casually.
“He’s never said, although I rather think I did once ask, but I may be mistaken. I did not gain the impression that there was a family seat, however, but a more modest kind of residence. Nor do I have the least notion whether he has any other family — brothers and sisters and so on — but I believe I’ve heard him tell one of the others that he’s not married. As for Sir John Fulford, try as I will I can get nothing out of him except that he goes around the country to all the sporting events, which I believe is true of all our guests! He seems to be familiar with London, and I’ve heard him mention Brighton as a town he frequents, besides I don’t know how many towns with racecourses — there’s no end to the list! But no mention of a home.”
“I know that Mr Reade and Mr Barnet were chance met acquaintances, ma’am, but how did your husband come to invite the others to your home for the Races?”
“Oh, they were just as chance met, my dear — my husband does not stand on ceremony, you know. I believe it may have been at Doncaster or one of those other racecourses where he fell in with them, and heard they were coming to York, so offered them hospitality.”
“I collect the two gentlemen were already acquainted with each other when Mr Cholmondeley met them?”
“Oh, no, no such thing!” declared Mrs Cholmondeley emphatically. “Indeed, I am persuaded that they do not like each other above half. Mr Fellowes is vastly different from Sir John, you know — the one so staid, while the other — dear me, you must have noticed — a prodigious flirt!”
Anthea agreed that she had noticed this.
“Sir John and Mr Barnet seem to go along together tolerably — they are always off somewhere together, especially in the evenings. The other two are more inclined to solitary pursuits, although Mr Barnet often takes an afternoon stroll on his own, too. But, of course, my husband sees to it that they all make up a party for the most of their outings — it is so vastly agreeable to be all together, is it not? Just as we are today, thanks to your aunt’s kind suggestion!”
Although her companion continued to chat away, Anthea found she did not learn any more on the only subject of interest to her; so she was not sorry when they all alighted at Helmsley for their luncheon at the Black Swan.
After an excellent meal, they strolled about the picturesque little market town with its impressive castle. The four storey keep with turrets and battlements above, and the fine earthworks surrounding the ruins fascinated Justin, and he determined to make another visit there alone, when he would have leisure to do justice to it. At the moment, no one showed as keen an interest in the castle as himself, all being intent on pressing forward for Rievaulx, a matter of a further three miles.
“’Pon my word, I don’t know when I saw a finer abbey!” exclaimed Reade.
They were walking high up along the grass terrace at Rievaulx, with the Abbey below, seen in changing aspects through the viewing channels cut among the trees surrounding the terrace.
“Then you’ve never seen Fountains,” declared Julia. “That is certainly the most magnificent of them all, Mr Reade, and I trust you’ll have time to pay a visit there before you leave our part of the country.”
“Don’t suppose I’ll be staying much longer, Lady Marton. Race week’s over, and I don’t feel I can trespass further on Mr and Mrs Cholmondeley’s hospitality.”
This brought a spirited rebuttal from both these good people.
“Y’know what,” said Fulford to Justin in an aside, “they’re too damned hospitable! Easiest thing in the world for anyone to take advantage of ’em!”
“Yes, I can quite see that. In fact, one does wonder if possibly at some time or other they’ll harbour a wrong ’un,” returned Justin.
Fulford gave him a sidelong glance.
“Any particular reason for saying that?”
“Not the least in the world, my dear chap. What I really meant was that, with such a casual way of making up their house parties, they might now and then find some are ill-assorted.” Justin made the glib reply in convincing tones. “Tell me, how do you go along with your fellow guests?”
Fulford shrugged. They were a little apart from the others at present, so could not be overheard.
“They’re a good enough set of fellows. One learns to take men as one finds them, from schooldays on.”
“After Westminster, Oxford or Cambridge?” asked Justin casually.
There was the slightest hesitation before Fulford made his reply.
“Neither,” he admitted. “Wasn’t an academic, so m’father felt
it was a waste to send me to university. Had a year or two at home, then took the Grand Tour.”
“Home being somewhere other than Yorkshire, I collect?”
For a moment, Fulford regarded him suspiciously, and Justin wondered whether he was doing it too brown.
“As you say,” was the cryptic reply.
Justin smoothly switched the conversation to the Grand Tour, a subject which brought contributions from several members of the party, notably the voluble Cholmondeley. Only Barnet and Reade were silent; perhaps, reflected Justin, through lack of interest.
Presently they reached the Ionic Temple, which was furnished as a dining room for al fresco meals by the Duncombe family. Here a footman and housemaid welcomed them with refreshments.
“I declare,” said Anthea to Louisa, “it will take me quite a fortnight to recover from this orgy of eating and drinking! Do I look at all bloated to you, Louisa?”
“My dear young lady,” remarked Fulford, with an ingratiating leer, “you look as utterly charming as always, I assure you!”
“Thank you, but I don’t feel it.”
She turned away from him to converse in a lower tone to her cousin, evidently wishing to exclude him. Barnet gave him another of his cynical looks, and Fulford scowled.
“What a delightful ornamental temple this is!” enthused Mrs Cholmondeley. “Everything of the first style of elegance, and in just as perfect order as any dining room in a commodious residence!”
“Very true, ma’am,” agreed Justin, glancing around the table at which they were all seated and raising his voice slightly so that all could hear. “Perfect order, indeed — I dare say there isn’t a loose tile in the place.”
Several of the party laughed. As he had anticipated, the remark brought a conscious look to the faces of Fanny and Anne de Ryde, and a momentary flicker of surprise to Anthea’s.
But as he had hoped, there was one other present who also registered, albeit fleetingly, the same emotion.
Masquerade of Vengeance (The Rutherford Trilogy Book 3) Page 18
