Scandal at Greystone Manor Page 21
* * *
Everyone was pleased to have her home, telling her how well she looked and that the rest had done her good. ‘Now, you are not to go dashing about as you have been doing,’ her mother said, sitting beside Jane on her bed while Bessie unpacked the few clothes that had been taken to Broadacres. ‘It is why you have these accidents. Do take more care in future.’
‘Mama, I cannot be idle. It leaves me too much time to think.’
‘Ah, I understand. You know Lord Bolsover has left the village?’
‘Isabel told me. I suppose it is too much to hope he has given up and won’t be back.’
‘I am afraid it is.’
‘And you still think I should marry him?’
‘If it was left to me, I would say no, let him do his worst, but it is not up to me.’ She laid a hand on Jane’s arm. ‘Your papa can see no other way out of our predicament. And there are Isabel and Sophie to consider. Sophie will never find a suitable husband if we are poor. And there’s Teddy. I want him home, Jane, I want my son home.’
‘I know.’ She sighed, then added, falsely bright, ‘I intend to enjoy my last days of freedom.’
‘Good.’
‘Did you know the villagers have been working at Witherington House?’
‘Yes, everyone is talking about it. It is good that Lord Bolsover has said you may continue with it, Jane.’
‘It will certainly be a condition of my acceptance.’ Even as she spoke she wondered if she would be in a position to insist on conditions.
* * *
There was still much to be done. In the following days, she formed a committee in the village to organise the fair and wrote more letters asking for prizes and donations, and perused dozens of catalogues, looking for serviceable furniture for her orphans. Mr Halliday junior had written to her, asking when she intended to admit her first orphans. Her reply was that she knew a brother and sister in Hadlea whose father had been lost in the war and whose mother was finding it difficult having to go to work and look after her children. There were others in the neighbourhood she would approach. They would be the first to be offered homes. As for the rest, she would simply visit nearby towns and keep her eyes and ears open.
Her days were full and for a little while she was able to set aside the prospect of marrying Lord Bolsover, but it was different at night. Tired as she was from her daytime activities, she was never tired enough to sleep soundly.
She had nightmares, which involved Lord Bolsover chasing her, sometimes over flat grassland which suddenly became boggy, sucking at her feet and slowing her down, sometimes through woods at night with strange shapes looming out of the darkness, at other times along high cliffs with the sea crashing on the rocks below them. That was worst—with the menace behind her and the menace in front, she didn’t know which way to turn. She always woke just as Lord Bolsover reached out to grab her. At other times she dreamed she was wearing Isabel’s wedding gown and her sister was trying to tear it off her, shouting, ‘It’s mine! It’s mine!’ That made her feel worst of all and she woke with tears streaming down her face and her bedclothes in a tangle.
She had not seen Mark for some time. She had no idea if he had resigned himself to marrying Isabel, but she assumed he had. Isabel herself talked about it all the time: her gown, her trousseau, what had been ordered for the wedding breakfast, how she would reorganise Broadacres once Lady Wyndham had moved into the dower house. It was as if she dared not stop talking.
‘Issie, are you sure you want to marry Mark?’ Jane asked her one day when they were alone in the morning room. ‘Not so long ago, you declared you could not bear the prospect. You said you did not love him.’
‘No more I do, but plenty of marriages have survived without love, especially if there are compensations: a handsome husband, wealth and standing. You should think about that yourself.’ She paused. ‘Don’t you dare tell Mark I said that.’
‘I won’t.’
* * *
The London Season was well and truly over and all the big families had repaired to their estates in the country, where the harvest was being gathered in. All agreed it was a poor one and the price of bread would go up again. The harvest on Broadacres’s farms was better than most, but nothing like as good as it ought to have been. Mark had waved the rents of his tenant farmers for the winter term. It was a gesture they appreciated and rewarded him with genuine loyalty, promising to help the fair in any way they could.
But Mark was not in London to sell his grain, but to try to find a way out of his more pressing dilemma. His first call was on Cecil Halliday, who was working on a court case involving the theft of a silk shawl, but left it to greet Mark. ‘I wasn’t expecting you today, my lord,’ he said as they shook hands. ‘There is nothing wrong at Broadacres, I trust.’
‘No, nothing. My visit concerns Greystone Manor and Lord Bolsover.’
‘My father is dealing with that, my lord. I know little of it.’
‘Perhaps you could ask your father to join us.’
He disappeared and returned in few minutes with Theodore, who bowed in the old-fashioned way. ‘My lord, my son tells me you are interested in Greystone Manor. Are you considering buying it?’
‘No, Mr Halliday, I am not. I need to find out all I can about Lord Bolsover. Are you quite sure his claims are just and fair?’
The old man smiled. ‘Just and fair? Hardly. But if you are asking me if they are legal, then I must tell you that as far as I can see they are. Do you have information to the contrary?’
‘No, I hoped you might have. Did you know he has bullied Sir Edward into allowing him to propose to Miss Cavenhurst—Miss Jane Cavenhurst, I mean—and his lordship intends to take her and the Manor in lieu of the debt?’
‘No. I did not know. That is indeed troubling news.’
‘I think Sir Edward believes Bolsover has your support. And Jane—Miss Cavenhurst—is convinced she has no choice but to agree.’
‘Good God!’
‘Do you know anything at all that might discredit his lordship?’
‘Only that he is a gambler and plays deep, but if he chooses to live in that way, it is his affair.’
‘I would like you to dig a little, see what you can unearth.’
‘My lord,’ Theodore said with some pomposity, ‘Sir Edward Cavenhurst is my client. I cannot do anything without his permission.’
Mark turned to the younger man. ‘Then what about you, Cecil? Will you take my instructions?’
‘I would,’ he said doubtfully. ‘If I knew why you were asking.’
‘I am soon to be married into the family and would not have them brought low if I can help it. I would pay off Sir Edward’s debt myself, even though it would have a damaging effect on my own resources, but Sir Edward is too proud to accept. Besides, if Lord Bolsover is crooked, I want him brought to justice, not to pay him off.’
‘I’ll see what I can do,’ Cecil said.
‘Then you must do it in your own time,’ his father said. ‘I do not doubt we will have trouble getting Sir Edward to settle his account as it is. I am not inclined to spend any more time on his behalf.’
Mark left, annoyed that even Sir Edward’s own lawyer was turning against him. Cecil’s enquiries might take some time and he was too impatient to wait. His next call was at White’s, where he hoped to find Toby Moore, but Toby like the rest of London society had decamped to the country. The man did not have a country estate, but was no doubt going the round of friends. Frustrated, Mark went to Horse Guards where he met his old battalion commander. ‘Can you tell me anything about Lord Hector Bolsover and Captain Tobias Moore?’ he asked him when they had finished clapping each other on the back and Colonel Bagshott had congratulated him on his elevation while commiserating with him on the demise of his father. ‘What regiment were they in?’
‘It will take me a little time searching the records. How long are you in town?’
‘Only today and tomorrow. I must return to Hadlea the day after.’
‘Let’s meet tomorrow evening for supper. Stephen’s at eight o’clock suit you?’
‘Yes, I will be there.’
Mark went back to South Audley Street to spend an evening at home. He could have gone to his club but he did not feel like being sociable. He had too much on his mind. If he could only find something to discredit Bolsover, he might save Jane from being forced into marrying him. It would please Jane and her parents, but it was not enough. It did not release him from his engagement to Isabel. That was something else entirely.
* * *
The following evening he met Colonel Bagshott as arranged. They spent a frustrating hour and a half, talking about old times and old comrades and reliving old battles, before the subject of Hector Bolsover was broached.
‘As far as I can tell Lord Bolsover was never in the army,’ the Colonel said. ‘I believe he went out to the Peninsula as a civilian, though why I do not know.’
‘He is a gambler,’ Mark said. ‘No doubt he was fleecing the troops. What about Toby Moore?’
‘He was cashiered for cowardice after the Battle of Cuidad Rodrigo. He has no right to call himself a captain.’ He paused. ‘Are you going to tell me what this is all about?’
Mark told him the same story he had told the lawyers. ‘I was hoping to discredit Bolsover enough to make him leave the field,’ he said, ‘but so far have discovered nothing except that he is a mountebank of the first order.’
‘I am sorry I could not help you further. If I learn anything else, I will certainly let you know.’
Mark had to be satisfied with that and they moved on to other topics, which diverted him for a time, but the reality was that he had made very little progress. So much for his promise to Jane that he would find a solution.
* * *
All the arrangements for the fair had been completed. Mark had sent his men to mow the field, mark out the lines for the races and set up some of the stalls the day before. An archway festooned with bunting had been constructed at the gate where Mrs Caulder would sit at a table to take the entrance money. Others would be manning stalls of produce and overseeing the competitions. Mark had donated a pig as a prize for a skittles competition and others had donated prizes for various races and feats of strength. There would be bowls and apple bobbing and later in the evening dancing to the music of a fiddle and a lute. Lady Wyndham had agreed to open proceedings. All they needed was good weather.
On the day, Jane was woken early by Bessie drawing back the curtains. Sunshine streamed into the room. She rose and went to the window. The sky was an overall azure, not a cloud to be seen. ‘A good omen, we have been blessed with fine weather,’ she said to Bessie. ‘I’ll dress and have my breakfast in the kitchen, then I’ll drive over to Ten Acre Field.’
‘It is still very early, Miss Jane.’
‘I know, but there is still much to do. The pale-blue muslin, I think, and the matching pelisse.’
She was not the first to arrive. The villagers were all used to rising early, especially in summer, and were already going about their allotted tasks. Mark was there, in his shirt sleeves, busily helping to erect a dais for the opening ceremony and the prize giving. His coat and cravat hung on a nearby post. He smiled at her, a little sadly, but it was a smile. ‘Have you prepared your speech?’ he queried.
‘Me? Oh, no, Mark, I am not going to make a speech,’ she protested, trying vainly to take her eyes from the sight of his bare chest under the open neck of his shirt.
‘But it’s your project. Without you it would never have happened.’
‘It is just as much yours, Mark. You make the speech.’
She moved on, checking this, checking that, speaking to everyone, her spirits rising a little as she went. If nothing else was right in her life, this project was. Mrs Caulder arrived and sat at the entrance to the field, a jar for the money on a table in front of her. ‘Henry will be here in good time to conduct the prayers,’ she told Jane, who was becoming anxious in case no one arrived.
* * *
One by one they came, paid their sixpences and wandered round to see what was on offer. It was not only the Hadlea and Witherington residents, but people from further afield who arrived in an assortment of carriages. Jane had not thought about what to do with all the vehicles, but Mark, as ever, came to her rescue by suggesting they line up alongside the drive at Broadacres and his stable boys would see to the horses, for a small fee to be added to the funds. ‘I’ll go and tell the lads and bring my mother back,’ he told Jane, hanging his cravat loosely about his neck and slipping his arms into his coat.
While he was gone her father, mother and sisters arrived. In spite of the dreadful cloud hanging over them, they were determined to put a good face on it for Jane’s sake and the ladies were elegantly dressed and carrying parasols for the sun was warm. ‘Lord Bolsover is back,’ Sophie whispered to her. ‘We saw him arriving at the Fox and Hounds. We stopped so that Papa could get down and speak to him. I think they argued. Papa looked very flushed and his lordship angry.’
‘Where is Mark?’ Isabel demanded. ‘I expect him to escort me.’
‘He has gone to fetch his mother,’ Jane said, wishing Sophie had not told her about Lord Bolsover and hoping he would not decide to patronise the fair. ‘He will be back soon.’
She left her family to make sure everything was ready on the dais for her ladyship. The Rector was there, sitting on one of the chairs provided. ‘We shall do well out of this, Jane,’ he said. ‘Mrs Caulder has already taken three pounds at the gate, though I fear some of the boys have managed to squeeze through the hedge without paying.’
‘Never mind. They will need to pay if they want to enter the competitions.’
Mark’s curricle drew up and he helped his mother from it and up on to the dais, where she stood, in unrelieved black, looking about her at the colourful throng, regal but not distant. Mark helped her to a seat and then stepped forward, nodding to a boy at the side of the platform who was holding a brass bell by its clapper. The boy began ringing it, watching in glee as people stopped what they were doing and turned towards him. ‘Enough,’ Mark commanded, as everyone gathered round the platform. The sound stopped on a last echo.
‘Ladies and gentlemen,’ Mark began, ‘we are here to enjoy ourselves, but also to remember the soldiers and sailors lost in the recent war and think of the children they left behind. All the money raised will go towards the maintenance of Witherington House as a home for some of those children. We would not be here today, if it were not for Miss Jane Cavenhurst, whose idea it was and who has worked tirelessly towards it.’ He paused and looked round while everyone applauded. ‘Miss Cavenhurst.’ He beckoned Jane to mount the rostrum.
She was taken aback and wanted to sink into the ground, but he was holding out his hand to her and the people nearest to her were urging her on. Reluctantly she stepped up beside Mark. ‘You will pay for that trick, Mark Wyndham,’ she whispered.
‘The credit is yours,’ he whispered back. ‘Tell them about the urchin you met in London, touch their heart-strings.’
She began unsteadily, but as her fervour for the cause took over, her voice strengthened and she saw more than one tear wiped away. ‘We are fortunate that the late Lord Wyndham gave a very generous donation to start us off,’ she finished. ‘And others have also donated. The home has already been purchased, as many of you know, but we still need funds to furnish it and maintain it, so please, buy the produce, enter the games and enjoy the day.�
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The Rector stood and led them in a prayer and then Mark called on his mother to declare the fair up and running. It was while she was standing beside her ladyship, looking over the heads of the crowd, that Jane saw Lord Bolsover coming towards her. She looked round for a way of escape, but soon realised she could not flee without creating a scene and she did not want to spoil the happy atmosphere of the afternoon.
Mark had seen him, too. ‘Courage, my love,’ he whispered. ‘Don’t agree to anything.’
She was shaking as she stepped down from the dais to face the man she held so much in aversion. He smiled and doffed his hat in an exaggerated bow. ‘Miss Cavenhurst. You are recovered, I see, and quite the Lady of the Manor. I chose my bride well, methinks.’
She did not deign to answer that. Instead she said, ‘What are you doing here?’’
‘Why, my dear, I have come for my answer. You have kept me waiting long enough. Let us take a stroll.’ He picked up her hand and tucked it beneath his elbow. ‘There, that is better, now we may act the happy couple. Do smile, my dear. You will have everyone think our coming union is not to your liking.’
‘I do not feel like smiling, Lord Bolsover.’
‘Now that is to be regretted, but we shall blame it on your accident, shall we? Not quite yourself yet.’
‘I wish you would go away and leave my family alone.’
‘Now, my dear, you know I cannot do that. Nor would your father wish me to even though he withheld an important document. Very foolish of him. It did nothing more than cause me the inconvenience of coming back for it. My lawyer refused to proceed without it and I would not trust anyone but myself to fetch it. What your papa seems not to have considered is that every day’s delay adds to the interest, which is not inconsiderable. I beg you point that out to him when you tell him you have accepted my proposal.’
‘I have not accepted it.’
‘Oh, but you will, do not doubt it. Shall we get that boy with the bell to give it a go and announce our betrothal to the whole crowd? I am sure they will all be overjoyed for you.’