“Why the mail coach, Tom?” She grumbled. “It is ridiculous. If you must go, then take our coach and travel in comfort. Pontesbury will insist on it.”
Tom knew that she spoke the truth about her husband’s kindly nature. It wasn’t every gentleman who would house his brother-in-law without complaint, for months on end every year, thus rendering the need for separate accommodation unnecessary. Living with them was the only thing that made London bearable.
“Because this is one occasion when I need speed, not comfort, Winifred. Can you imagine me urging your coachman to
spring the horses, or to put ’em along?”
“No, of course not, for Pontesbury never allows him to do any such thing, but you must know that living in Town is different to the country,” she said with a sigh. “I used to love to drive fast. Do you remember the wild curricle races we had with Jack in the park at Linmore? They were such fun…” Her voice broke. “I do so miss him… even now.”
Tom felt similarly choked, as he provided her with a clean handkerchief from his pocket. “Yes,” he said. “We were young and life was different. That is why I have to go home, Winifred. Our brother’s daughters are all that we have left of him. Now, two more children need help, but this time they are Jane’s kindred.”
“I suppose that you are right.” Winifred sniffed indecorously, as she struggled to compose herself. “But it would not do for Lord Cardington to hear that Kate is supposedly ill, and for his wife not to be told. The first person he will harass is me.”
Tom had forgotten Jane’s second sister, Clarissa.
“I think that you are well able to deal with Humphrey Cardington,” he said.
“He is dreadfully arrogant, and I have often wished to give him a set down,” Winifred said in the tone of one relishing the prospect. “Now, there is much to be done before this evening. I will ask Foxton to procure your ticket, and then speak with the chef. You must dine early, for I am sure you will not have more than a few minutes to obtain food whilst in transit. I must also warn the stables that the Tilbury will be needed to take you wherever it is that you board the coach.”
She bustled away, calling for her husband’s secretary.
At seven o’clock, Tom was in Holborn, waiting to board the mail coach. Harnessed behind a team of four thoroughbred horses, its distinctive maroon door and lower panels contrasted effectively with its black upper panels, to create a mobile badge of office on four red wheels.
Undoubtedly the fastest means of transport in the country, the mail coach had priority over other vehicles on the road, but unlike the common stage, there was room only for four passengers who paid a premium rate for the privilege.
Standing slightly apart from the folk milling around, Tom Norbery looked what he was: a man of means, quiet and unassuming, gentle in the true sense. A tall man, not yet forty years of age, the excellence of his tailor did justice to a well-made form that showed no sign of stoutness. Even in repose, his aquiline profile gave him a natural hauteur, until his crooked smile came into play – but his grey eyes were sad, as if life had not been fair to him.
Had he sought rank and position, he could have acquired it by crossing the floor of the Commons to the Government benches. Things might have been different if he had the right wife by his side and the right son to inherit his country estate. Until that far off day, he would keep his integrity intact and remain Mr Norbery of Linmore.
Having placed his valise on the rack, Tom settled in a corner seat, knowing that it would be many hours before he reached his destination. He was glad of a reason to leave London before the summer heat and the smells made it untenable. At times like that, he wondered why he ever left Linmore.
As the coach set off, he raised a hand in farewell to the Pontesbury groom waiting at the roadside, and the man touched his hat in response. He had checked his gold timepiece before he left Winifred’s carriage, and secured it in an inner pocket, not wishing to advertise it in his possession. One could not be too careful.
There were three other male passengers of varying ages and walks of life – all similarly anonymous. They said little and for that Tom was grateful.
While others dozed around him, he remained awake until the coach had safely crossed Hampstead Heath, and then let the swaying vehicle lull him to sleep. When daybreak came, he saw the Cotswold countryside through a mizzling rain that gradually cleared the further west they travelled.
Conditions were cramped and the only stops permitted were for essential needs. A regular change of horses was achieved in minutes, and likewise the dropping off of mail at postal collecting houses in Oxford and Gloucester, where relief drivers took their turn at holding the reins. Then they were on their way again, thundering along the toll roads, with the guard blowing the horn to warn tollhouse keepers of their approach. Obtaining food was of secondary consideration.
Tom was the only one of the original passengers to step down from the coach in Hereford the following evening. He felt bone tired, hungry and in dire need of a wash. But the knowledge that he was still thirty miles away from Linmore made him offer twice the normal charges to the postillions of a light travelling coach. Three teams of fresh horses later, the distant view of Linmore Hill in the glow of the setting sun brought tears to his eyes. He was almost home.
The clock over the stables was chiming the hour of eleven when the hired coach, drawn by a team of four sweating horses, galloped up the long drive to Linmore Hall and came to a halt in front of the entrance. The groom climbed down from the box to lower the steps for his passenger to alight, and then reached into the interior for the gentleman’s valise, which he placed on the floor at his feet. A coin changed hands and within minutes, the coach had gone.
Tom Norbery looked thankfully towards the welcoming glow of light in the reception hall as one of the footmen opened the front door to peer outside.
“Good evening, Hayton,” he said. “Is Miss Littlemore still downstairs?”
“Oh my goodness, it’s Mr Norbery,” the man said to someone unseen over his shoulder, and then turned back. “We didn’t expect to see you tonight, sir.”
Having thoroughly confused the footman by his appearance, Tom was removing his travelling coat when his sister-in-law emerged from the library.
At the sight of him, she looked astonished. “Tom,” she said. “How can you be here so quickly, when you must only just have received my letter?”
He smiled, delighted by Jane’s surprise. Surely she must know he would come when she needed his help. “It arrived early yesterday afternoon; but rather than send a reply, I caught the overnight mail coach to Hereford.”
“Oh, Tom, you should not,” she said, her eyes moist. “There was no need for such haste.”
He caught her hand and raised it to his lips in greeting.
“There was every need,” he said. “I was afraid you would set off without me.”
“Yes,” she said, gripping his fingers. “The thought did occur to me, but then I realised how foolish it would be to write, and not wait for your response. I didn’t expect you to rush home.” She shook her head in disbelief. “Have you eaten, or would you like supper? The fire is still lit in the library.”
He gave a yawn and stretched his aching limbs.
“I forget what time we stopped to eat, but I think I could manage some bread, cheese and ham, or something similar.” In fact, he was ravenous.
“Cuthbert,” she called to the footman. “Please bring a tray to the library for Mr Norbery.”
“Yes, Miss Littlemore. I’ll be as quick as I can,” the young man said, eager to oblige.
“Don’t rush, Hayton,” said Tom. “I need to wash my hands and face first.”
Ten minutes later, he entered the library to find a side table, ready prepared with food, set on one side of the fire, next to his chair. Jane waved away the servants who would have stopped to assist, and when the door closed, she moved forward to receive the greeting that Tom saved for the privacy of his favourite room.
“I’m glad you’re home,” she said, returning his embrace. “I didn’t know what else to do but send for you when I received the letter.”
“Who else has the right and the duty to help you?”
“No one,” she said with a special smile she reserved for him. Then she filled his plate with a selection of foods. Cold ham, freshly sliced from the bone, a portion of homemade Shropshire cheese, and a crust of bread liberally spread with creamy butter.
“Thank you, my dear,” he said. “That looks delicious, and more so because you prepared it. Now, I can see you are bursting to tell me the news, so if you wish to unburden yourself whilst I eat, I am happy to listen.”
Instead, Jane poured a tankard of ale and set it at his right hand, before returning to her seat opposite him by the fire.
Between mouthfuls, Tom watched as she picked up a folded sheet of parchment. He knew she would not interrupt while he was eating, unless he spoke first. “Is that the letter of which you spoke? Why don’t you tell me the contents?”
She gave a sigh, nodded and began to speak.
“It’s from Lucius Cobarne, who was brother-in-law to my cousin, Charlotte Littlemore. He tells me that his brother, Fergus, died in action three years ago, but it seems that the gentleman has had the care of the children since then. Now, for some reason he demands that I take charge of them. He does not say why, or for how long. Just, come and collect them from Ireland with all urgency.”
Tom remembered Jane’s excitement when her cousin and dearest childhood friend married the young army officer; and of her joy when they asked her to be godmother to their firstborn, a son named Charlie. In the event, heavy winter weather prevented her visit, so an Irish sister-in-law stood proxy for her.
“Didn’t you tell me that Charlotte died in childbirth?”
It was not an uncommon occurrence.
“Yes, five or six years ago,” she said in a whisper. “From her letters, she seemed to be in a permanent state of pregnancy, but only two babies survived.”
When Tom finished eating, he dabbed his lips with the table napkin, and set it aside. Then he stood and walked to a chaise longue.
“Come, Jane, and sit by me. We can talk better here.”
Irrespective of his public persona as Squire Norbery of Linmore Hall, and an elected member of parliament for South Shropshire, this was the part to which Tom looked forward, and the reason for which he had come home. Jane was his wife in all but name, whereas Kate, her older stepsister, was the woman with whom he had gone through a form of marriage, which gave her a title and rights for the two children to which she subsequently gave birth. Both favoured their mother in dark looks, but neither belonged to Tom, even though Matthew, the eldest, was assumed to be the heir to Linmore estate – a fact that irked him.
Joshua, the third child of the household was undoubtedly a Norbery. Bidding fair to be tall, he had the same golden curls that Tom had at his age; the distinctive aquiline profile, combined with smoky grey eyes and a crooked smile.
Therein was the reason why Tom could only publicly acknowledge Jane as his sister-in-law; but in his absence from Linmore, she had his full authority to run his home, while Kate lived in a separate wing of Linmore Hall. It was not an estrangement, so much as a marriage that had no legal standing, the details of which were too complicated for public knowledge.
“Mmm, that’s nice,” Jane said, resting her head against his shoulder.
“How old are the children?” he asked.
“Charlie is a few months older than Joshua, and Sophie, a year or two younger.”
“Ten years old, and the man is casting out his own brother’s son?” Tom said in disgust, knowing that he had legally adopted his late brother’s daughters. The thought of children about to be abandoned justified his departure from London.
“How did you obtain leave of absence?” she said.
“Not knowing the true situation, I did not correct their assumption that Kate had another seizure. Winifred knows the truth, but no one will extract anything from her without being bitten. She is the most intimidating person of my acquaintance, and I thank God she is my sister.”
Jane laughed at his comment. “I know, but for all her ferocity, Winifred has a heart of gold, and it still belongs to Linmore.”
They were smiling at the thought, when a gentle click of metal caught their attention. Tom turned to the door and saw the shadowy figure of a child sidle into the room and wait hesitantly for permission to approach.
“Come in, Joshua.” He stood up and opened his arms to welcome his son. The fair-haired boy ran straight into his embrace, and Tom drew him to sit down between them.
“I heard a coach coming up the drive, and wanted to see who had arrived,” he said, clutching his father’s hand. “I thought that I was dreaming when I heard your voice, Papa. Are you going to stay this time?”
Tom tried to lessen the disappointment he knew his son would feel.
“I have to go away again in a few days, over the sea to Ireland. When I return, I will bring two children, a boy and his sister, who are related to Aunt Jane, and I want you to help look after them.”
Joshua frowned, looking from one to the other. “How old are they?” he asked, his tone wary.
“We think the boy is about your age, and his sister is younger.”
He thought about it for a minute before saying, “So I will have a friend, and she can be friends with Lucy and Julia.” The idea seemed to please him.
Tom knew that Joshua did not have any friends. Matthew, Kate’s son, was his sworn enemy, and did everything he could to hurt the little lad, especially in their father’s absence.
“Please, can I come with you to meet them, Papa?”
Seeing the look of entreaty, Tom wanted to grant his son’s wish, but he could not. His intention was to travel in his phaeton with a groom, and there would not be room for anyone else, other than the children.
“I’m sorry, Joshua. Aunt Jane would love to come as well, but it’s not possible.” He saw the look of disappointment Joshua tried to hide.
“Never mind, Joshua,” his aunt said. “I need your help to get the rooms ready for when our visitors arrive, and I’m relying on you to plan their welcome.”