Authors: Fenella J Miller
'Bentley was the perpetrator, but
Sir John Farnham is behind it. Your cousin has become embroiled with that
horrible man.'
'God's teeth!
Farnham could have been the instigator of the attacks on Bentley. I should have
forced that young idiot to tell me truth. I paid his gambling debts—but I fear,
if Farnham is involved, that he owes far more.'
'What is it? Alexander—what are
you not telling me?'
'I blame myself for having
invited Farnham here. If I'd been in my senses I would have known of the man's
reputation and steered well clear of him.'
'You are scaring me now,
Alexander—'
He stretched forward and clasped
her hands. His strength reassured her. 'Nothing has ever been proved, but
blackmail and extortion are the least of the crimes I've heard him accused of.'
'Thank goodness your cousin will
be residing here for the rest of the summer. He should be safe from that evil
man's machinations at Newcomb.' She returned the pressure of his fingers. 'Do
you intend to speak to Bentley?'
'Of course.
Believe me, sweetheart, by the time I finished with
him he will regret his gossip mongering.'
'Don't be too hard on him, my love. He’s vain and foolish, but not a
truly bad person.'
*
The next few days she was so busy with guests and parties,
and at night had more pleasurable things to occupy her mind, that she quite
forgot to be cross with Bentley. He was so subdued after his dressing down she
almost felt sorry for him. Several days after the ball their last visitors had
departed, and Bentley removed himself to the east wing.
'Sweetheart, I must go to
Town to sign the agreement for the yacht. Is there anything you wish me to
purchase for you whilst I'm there?'
'Nothing, I've everything I
need as long as you're here beside me. Don't delay too long in Grosvenor Square
for I shall be lonely without you.'
His eyes darkened and his
lips covered hers in a hard, demanding kiss. 'You’re insatiable, my darling. I
pray this strange system we've adopted proves adequate. I can't keep away from
you regardless of the consequences.'
She stroked his face, loving
the feel of bristles beneath her fingertips. 'I am resigned to having a big
family. I can't believe something as simple as
a vinegar
soaked sponge can prevent conception.'
'I've instructed Bentley to
remain next door and not bother you. I trust he does as he's bid.' Alexander
was not so ready to forgive and forget as she was.
****
Alexander discovered to his fury the papers would not be
ready for a further day. He was now obliged to kick his heels in Grosvenor
Square when he would much rather be back at Newcomb. He decided to visit his
club and walked round to the stable yard. Nowadays he preferred to do things
for himself and not be waited on hand and foot.
On entering White's, a close
friend, Sir Richard Taylor, beckoned him over.
‘Rochester,
good to see you.
Must say I enjoyed your hospitality. Your wife is quite
delightful.’
‘Thank you.’ Alexander glanced
round the room— was he imagining the covert looks? ‘Am I missing something,
Taylor? What’s going on?’
‘No idea, why don’t you go and
ask them?’
Alexander strode across and
glared at the nearest gentleman. ‘Well? Out with it?’
The man blanched and he stepped
away before answering. ‘Your grace, Smithson here was
just
telling us some news about
Farnham. And it concerns your family.’
‘What? For God’s sake man—tell
me.’
‘Farnham was bragging last night
that he’d got your cousin, young Bentley, in his pocket.
That
when Bentley comes into the title half your fortune will go to him.’
Alexander’s fist unclenched. This
was not news to him. He nodded at the men. ‘Both Bentley and Farnham will be
disappointed. I can assure you, I shall have a son of my own before too long.’
The circle of men relaxed.
‘Glad to hear you say so, Rochester. Still, if I were you I’d have stern word
with Farnham. Can’t have this sort of rumour bandied about the place.’
‘Thank you,
Smithson,
I have every intention of doing so.’
He left the club and headed for
one of the less salubrious haunts he’d once drunk in. There would be someone
here who knew the whereabouts of his quarry. He shouldered his way through the
press of inebriated riff-raff. One could hardly refer to these as ‘gentlemen’.
He spotted a friend of Farnham’s
and barged across to the man. ‘Where’s Farnham?’
The man stared glassy eyed, not
recognising his questioner.
‘Gone to Newcomb.
Got a bit of unfinished business to do down there.’
The man
half slid from his stool. ‘He’s meeting someone who owes him.’ Perspiration
beaded Alexander’s brow. His heart raced and his hands were clammy. Somehow he
groped through the crowd of stinking drinkers and emerged, shaking, onto the
cobbles.
Everything fell into place. He
swallowed hard as bile rose in his throat. The grease on the stairs that had
killed poor Sally had been meant for Isobel. The soldiers shooting had not been
a random event, but a deliberate attempt to kill his wife. My God! He'd left
her at Newcomb with no protection and
a madman
intent
on murder heading for the house and his accomplice living next door.
He ran back to Grosvenor Square
ignoring the shocked faces of those he elbowed aside. He erupted into the yard
and yelled for a groom.
'Saddle my horse. I must
leave for Newcomb immediately.'
Moments later he thundered
out through the arch onto the cobbled street scattering an unwary flock of
pigeons from his pathway. Several heads turned to gape at him as he ruthlessly
guided his mount through the diligences, carriages and hackneys with scant
regard for his, or anyone else's, safety. Eventually he was in open country. He
crouched
forward urging Rufus ever faster, praying he
would be in time to save the woman who was his life.
Chapter Twenty-three
'Ellie, I don't think I shall have sufficient closet space
to take all those gowns. From what the duke has told me, living on a yacht is
rather cramped.'
'Your grace, we shall need
morning, promenade and afternoon gowns as well as evening gowns. We are going
to be away for six weeks— with only the few garments you've selected you'll be
seen several times in the same ensemble.'
Isobel smiled at the
horrified expression on her
abigail's
face. 'As there will only be
ourselves
aboard I can't
see it matters. When we go ashore it will be in different ports each time, so
even then it will be no problem.'
Her maid nodded. 'I had not
thought of that, my lady. Shall I be able to launder items as we go along? Will
there be fresh water available?'
'I should think so. I must go
and oversee the packing for Lady Lucinda; Nanny must be warned not to take too
much.'
Alexander's belongings were
being attended to by Duncan as his valet had remained behind this time. There
was so much to think about. Although the yacht was well appointed and a
considerable length, the cabins would be small and storage space restricted.
They would be taking Duncan, Ellie, Nanny and the wet nurse, but the remainder
of the staff at Newcomb were to have two weeks holiday in order to visit family
wherever they might be.
Bill and Mary were arranging
for those that wished to avail themselves of this treat to leave in rotation.
The others were to begin redecorating and cleaning the building from top to
toe. It was rather late for a spring clean, but much of the building had not
been touched for many years.
Tonight was the last night
before leaving for their holiday. Alexander was returning first thing
in
the morning and they would set
out directly he arrived. The yacht was moored at Dover, in Kent, and in order
to complete this journey they would have to stop overnight.
She was so excited she could
not possibly sleep. Tonight was a perfect evening, the oppressive heat of the
past few days replaced by a gentle cooling breeze. Her clock struck midnight.
She had better get to bed or she would be too fatigued to enjoy the adventure
on the morrow.
Ellie had been instructed to
call her early. Alexander had advised her to wash her hair and take a bath as
the facilities aboard would be basic. The shutters and windows were open; she
strolled across and leant on the window-sill to hear the owls calling and the
other creatures about their nocturnal business.
She was just drifting off to
sleep when something woke her. The dogs were barking. This was most unusual,
something must have disturbed them. The hair on the back of her neck rose. The
last time they had barked had been the night before Sally’s death, as if they
had sensed the forthcoming tragedy. Perhaps one of the yard cats had ventured
in through an open window and they were expressing their disgust at such an intrusion.
The racket continued. Was she
the only one who could hear the noise? Having her windows open meant sound was
carrying from downstairs in a way that it would not normally do. Othello and
Ebony slept directly below her in a little used withdrawing-room. With a sigh
she scrambled out of bed, quickly putting on what was necessary.
Moments later she had found
the tinderbox and lit a candle. Reaching her bed-chamber door she paused,
something was not right. She sniffed. What was it she could smell? She opened
the door that led into the corridor and reeled back in shock. Smoke drifted
along the passageway and filled the air. The house was on fire.
****
Alexander's stallion sailed over another five barred gate.
This would save him a precious mile or two; the bullocks in the field eyed him
with disfavour, but he ignored them. His horse was tiring, when he reached the
lane he would slow his pace and let the poor beast recover, but first he must
gallop across this final meadow.
His horse lurched and
suddenly he was somersaulting through the air to land on his back with a thud,
the breath knocked from his lungs. For a moment he was too winded to move,
then
slowly he pushed himself up onto his elbows. His throat
closed. Poor Rufus was standing with his right foreleg raised.
He knew with a sickening
certainty that his mount had broken his leg. The animal must have put his hoof
into a rabbit hole— travelling at the speed they were, the result was
inevitable. God's teeth! Why had he not slowed down? This disaster was his
fault and now his horse must be put out of its misery.
Reaching into his inside
pocket he removed his pistol. This was already loaded and
primed,
he only had to cock and fire. He walked across keeping the gun behind him, all
the time talking soothingly to the dejected beast. 'All right, old fellow,
stand firm, the pain will soon be gone.'
He raised his gun and fired
point-
blank,
Rufus buckled at the knees and toppled over.
A shuffling behind him made him glance over his shoulder. The bullocks had come
across to investigate the fallen animal. Angrily he rubbed his eyes— this was
no time to be grieving for the loss of his horse. There were still fifteen
miles to Newcomb and he would have to walk the rest.
Pulling out his watch, he
flicked it open and saw the hands pointed to just past seven o'clock. It would
be dark by nine so he must complete his journey before then. He shoved his
discharged weapon into his pocket. He would make sure it was reloaded before he
reached home.
As he strode across the field
towards the gate that led into a narrow lane, he cursed his impetuosity. Why
had he not brought men with him? The death of his horse would then be tragic
and inconvenient but not an unmitigated disaster.
Too late to repine, he must
concentrate his efforts on covering the ground as quickly as possible. He could
no longer cross the fields because on foot this would be foolhardy, for the
remainder of his journey he would be obliged to stick to the lanes. This would
take far longer than travelling as the crow flies.
There was bound to be a farm
or dwelling of some sort, maybe a roadside inn, where he could hire a nag of
some sort to continue the journey. As he jogged he checked his pockets; he had
several flimsies in his wallet and a purse full of coins. Hopefully this would
be enough.
A further hour passed before
he saw a substantial manor house in the distance. Increasing his pace he headed
in that direction, certain he would find the assistance he needed. He could
barely see his way by the time he approached the front door. He was frantically
thinking of a reasonable explanation for his urgent need to return home that
night. He would have to invent an emergency without actually mentioning his
fear that Farnham and Bentley might be intending to murder his wife.
****
Isobel coughed; the smoke was not yet dense enough to prove
a serious hazard. She thanked God the nursery was on this floor. If Lucinda had
been in the attics there might not have been the time to reach her. The sound
of crackling, of flames taking hold on the other side of the wall, filled her
with terror. Her courage almost failed her. The house had thick panelled walls,
with luck this would give the fire something to burn through before it could
reach them.
The air was becoming hotter.
Delaying even for a second night prove fatal to them all. Bursting into the
room in which Lucinda slept, she snatched her from the crib. With the baby in one
arm, the candlestick in the other, she ran to the first chamber and shouted.
'Quickly, the house is on fire. Get up at once, there's little time.'
The sound of movement
indicated Nanny was up; they must have more candles alight. The three nursery
staff appeared moments later in various states of disarray but fortunately all
had had the sense to put on clogs and cloaks.
'Nanny, take Lucinda
downstairs. Jenny, go with her to unbolt the door and carry the candlestick. If
you have time, bang the dinner gong. Anna, you must come with me to make sure
everyone else is awake.'
Nanny hastened across and
carefully removed the baby from her
arms,
Jenny and
Anna picked up candlesticks and were ready to leave. Was there time to return
to her room and put on something more substantial? No— every second counted.
Leading the way to the corridor, she opened the door. Already the air was more
polluted; she prayed there would be time for everyone to escape without harm.
'Don't touch the walls, they are
far too hot. The fire must have started in the kitchens and will be burning up
the back stairwells and corridors. I'm hoping the main part of the house won't
be aflame.'
'I reckon them panels will take a
while to burn through, my lady, so there'll be plenty of time for everyone to
get out.' Anna hesitated in the passageway as if not sure the best way to go to
wake the female staff.
'We must use the main staircase;
with luck it will still be possible to reach the bedrooms that way.' Now was
not the time to remind the girl the servants' quarters might already be cut off
from the main part of the house. She had to try. She couldn't allow her staff
to perish without making an effort to save them.
At least Mary and Sam were safe
in their new home. The sudden clang of the dinner gong being banged furiously
told her Nanny was safely downstairs. The air was clearer at the top of the
house and she breathed deeply, clearing the smoke from her lungs.
'Through this way, Anna, I
shall knock on all the doors this side. Go through and make sure the men are
awake as well.' Isobel knew Anna was courting one of the footmen, so would be
eager to make sure he was safe.
When she reached the women's
quarters there was pandemonium. Girls screaming, coughing and general panic.
'Enough of this, be silent and listen if you wish to survive.' Her
authoritative tone was sufficient to halt the hub-bub and get their attention.
'As you can see from the smoke, the house is well alight. Put on your clogs and
cloak and follow me; the only way out will be through the original nursery wing
and down the main staircase.'
Two of the girls, it was hard
to see who they were in the smoke-filled darkness, ran from door to door to
check everyone was out. She heard a call, 'All the rooms are empty, my lady, we
can go now.'
Anna had disappeared with her
candlestick to the far side of the attics where she hammered on the wall and
screamed for everyone to get up. There were no communicating doors
( chastity
must be preserved) but the racket she was making
should be sufficient to rouse anyone still asleep.
A male voice shouted back
that everyone was awake. Isobel prayed the second staircase was not burning as
fiercely as the one that led to the women's quarters. Anna returned to her
side.
'They must use the
school-room stairs, my lady, as their own are well alight.'
Isobel turned to the terrified group of forty or more
women waiting for instructions. 'Quickly, cover your faces with your
cloaks,
I fear the smoke will be much thicker as we descend.'
The two flights of stairs
converged in a lower passageway and Isobel was relieved to see the men emerging
as her party arrived. The atmosphere was thick, the heat stifling, and most of
them were coughing, their eyes streaming, but none complained or cried. They
stood waiting for her to tell them what to do next. It could only be a matter
of minutes before the stairs behind them became too hot and smoke filled for
safety. She had to lead them down, through the choking smoke, or else they would
all die, trapped inside the house.
Holding her hand over her
nose, she plunged
forward,
terrified she would pitch
headfirst down the stairs before she found the banister of the main staircase.
She gripped the smooth wood and began to descend. The candles were useless and
the feeble flicker of the flames not enough to light the way.
****
Alexander had no need to hammer on the door as this was
flung open as he leapt up the steps.
'My dear Rochester, what mishap
has brought you here on foot?' Sir Frederick Campion greeted him. 'I spied you
from the terrace where my dear wife and I were taking supper.'
'Campion, good God! I'd no
idea this was your abode— approaching it from the rear like this has quite
disconcerted me. I was riding across country and my mount broke its leg and I
was forced to shoot it.' Sir Frederick looked even more bewildered, if that
were possible.
'Come in, come in, my lord. I
shall find you refreshments. Do you wish to stay here overnight, or shall I
loan you a fresh mount?'
Alexander followed him in
trying to think of a reasonable explanation for his extraordinary appearance
and his lack of a groom. 'Thank you,
sir,
I should be
grateful for both. As you have no doubt observed I'm travelling alone. I
received disturbing news from home. You might recall that many years ago I
failed to arrive in time.'
This was a masterstroke.
Immediately the man's face changed to one of sympathy, the whole neighbourhood
would recall the death of his first wife and children.
'I see, of course, of course. I
shall send word to the stables for them to saddle up my best horse. I'll not
delay you any longer than it takes for you to take a bite and a drink before
you continue your journey.'
A short while later Alexander
was away, mounted on a magnificent bay gelding. It would be foolhardy to
attempt to go across country in the
dark,
he must
stick to the lanes and hope the moon was enough to light him. He'd heard the
tall clock in the entrance hall strike ten when he’d arrived, it would be
midnight before he arrived at Newcomb.