The House of Hardie (3 page)

So what promises could reasonably be made? Gordon tried to pierce the thick glass with his imagination, to see himself bending over ledgers, or rising to be polite to the son of a duke, who would one day be a duke – and a profitable customer – himself. It was not a prospect which gave him much pleasure. But any undertakings given to his father would be valueless if they were not performed with whole-hearted diligence. He would make another promise, this time to himself – a promise whose fulfilment would provide a reward for good behaviour. In ten years' time his father would be only fifty years old; still well able to manage the business himself without his son's help. There would be no more running away; on this occasion Gordon would ask with good warning for leave of absence. But as long as he was free to make plans in his head for some new expedition, he would be able to endure the slavery of business without complaint. Until October 1887, he would devote himself to the affairs of The House of Hardie. But only until then.

Eight years after Gordon Hardie's return from his escapade in the South Seas, another young man arrived in the High and gazed at the bow windows of The House of Hardie. It was the first day of the Michaelmas term in 1885: the first day of Archie Yates's new life as an Oxford undergraduate. His grandfather, the Marquess of Ross, had travelled with him from the great house of Castlemere in order to settle his grandson in. As Archie – tall and athletic, fair-haired and handsome and self-confident – waited for the footman to set the steps of the carriage so that the marquess could dismount outside the vintner's establishment, he felt no doubts about his reception. His grandfather's name and wealth would ensure his own welcome.

If Mr John Hardie had any sense, he would be on the premises in person today. Although his main business was done in Pall Mall, in London, it was in Oxford that his firm had first opened its doors early in the eighteenth century. More to the point, in this first week of the university year, a new generation of potential customers was arriving in the city for the first time, and the nature of their welcome might well determine where they placed their patronage for the next fifty years. Archie was only nineteen, but he was sophisticated enough to know that he represented a prize for any tradesman. During his three or four years at Oxford he would be treated generously in the expectation that he would then be a customer for life. Within the past hour accounts had been
opened for him with a bookseller and a tailor. Now it was time to arrange that a constant flow of wine should be available for the entertainment of his friends. Archie followed his grandfather through the door.

‘Morning.' The marquess's greeting was brusque: it was his usual way of speaking. Archie, who had been brought up in his grandfather's house, was able to interpret the tone of his voice, recognizing with interest that the vintner was being addressed not as a mere tradesman, but almost as an intimate. The marquess adopted very much the same tone when he was discussing the season's shooting on the Castlemere estate with his head gamekeeper, a man for whom he had respect. It was a voice which recognized specialized knowledge and acknowledged a long and loyal connection. ‘My grandson, Archie. Rachel's boy, don't you know.'

‘It's a pleasure to meet you again, Mr Yates.' The vintner's handshake was strong and his voice was equally firm; it was clear that he needed no more adequate introduction. ‘I remember seeing you shortly after your mother's tragic death, when you and your sister first went to live at Castlemere.'

‘Lucy's here with us today,' said the marquess. ‘Sent her off with her governess to look at some of the colleges while Archie and I get down to business. He'll have his own account with you, but you can come down on me for it while he's up.'

‘You're at The House, I take it, Mr Yates?' said Mr Hardie, pulling a ledger towards him. Archie was about to answer, but his grandfather spoke first.

‘No. That's all very well for the tufts.' The marquess himself, and his three sons, had been to Christ Church, the natural choice for those of noble birth. ‘But my
son-in-law's a military man, don't you know. Has his own ideas.'

‘I shall be reading Modern History.' Archie decided it was time to make his own contribution to the conversation. It was not in fact his intention to devote too much of his time to study. His choice of subject had been influenced only partly by his father's views. History was reputed to be easier than Greats. Besides, almost the whole of his time at Eton had been devoted to the classics, and by now he had had enough of them. ‘Dr Mackenzie was recommended to us as a tutor, so I shall be at Magdalen.'

‘Dr Mackenzie, indeed.' Mr Hardie's dark eyes brightened with interest, and he seemed about to make some remark, but checked himself. ‘A very scholarly gentleman,' he said instead, surprising Archie by his apparent familiarity with the historian's name. ‘And now, my lord, Mr Yates, if you'd care to step through to the parlour, I've one or two wines waiting here that I'd like you to taste. A Tokay, for example, which has been very well thought of by my young gentlemen. And I hope, Mr Yates, that when you're planning a party or a special dinner, you'll remember that we're always at your disposal to discuss what would best be suited to it. If I'm in London myself, my son will be happy to advise.'

‘Settled down now, has he, after that trouble he gave you?' asked the marquess.

‘All forgotten, all forgotten. Just as well, I suppose, that he should get the wanderlust out of his system while he was still a boy.'

This exchange meant nothing to Archie, who allowed his attention to wander. They had been led into a room, more spacious than the small front shop, in which glasses and bottles were set out on a table covered with a plush
cloth. A wide door, not completely closed, led to what appeared to be an office, and the sound of voices attracted Archie's attention. He took a chair which would allow him to look through the opening.

It was not precisely a quarrel which was going on in the next room, but certainly an extremely vigorous argument. A single glance was enough to convince Archie that the young man and younger woman who faced each other over a desk must be brother and sister. No married couple, and no pair of office colleagues, would debate with quite this degree of liveliness. In any case, there was a physical resemblance to strengthen his guess. The young man must be John Hardie's son. He had the same curly black hair and black eyes, although in the son's case a strong aquiline nose gave him a more craggy and forceful appearance than his suaver father.

The young woman – she was perhaps a year or two older than Archie – was as dark-haired as her brother, and had some of the same strong features. But what seemed aggressive in Gordon Hardie's profile was merely vivacious in hers. Her bright eyes were flashing with pleasure in the argument – and perhaps she had just won it, for now she threw back her head, laughing. Her mouth was wide, her teeth white and regular. It seemed to Archie that he had never seen such a delightful smile.

He wished that she would glance towards him, so that he might intercept her smile and return it. But instead she straightened herself, pressed a few straying locks of hair into place and turned away towards another door at the further end of the room – not walking in a sedate, ladylike manner, but almost skipping, as though the energy pulsing through her petite body could not be controlled. The far door closed behind her. Gordon Hardie came into the
room in which the wines were to be tasted, and was introduced.

Archie's mind was not on the matter in hand. His intention was to float through his Oxford career on a river of champagne, so he hardly bothered to listen as his grandfather, a glass of Madeira in his hand, talked of clarets and burgundies and discussed the prospects for the current year's vintage. He was thinking about the girl.

Archie's idea of beauty had been formed by a portrait of his mother, whom he did not otherwise remember; she had died at the birth of his sister Lucy, when Archie himself was barely three years old. It was because they were motherless, with a father who spent most of his time overseas in the army, that they had been brought up in their grandfather's great house, Castlemere. The portrait of the marquess's only daughter, their mother, held pride of place in the long gallery. It showed a tall, slender young woman – she was only twenty-two at the time of her death – with golden hair, rosy lips and a soft, fair complexion.

Lucy, almost certainly, had inherited all these characteristics. At the age of sixteen she had not yet grown to her full height, but her hair was as golden, her waist as tiny and her skin as delicate as her mother's. Her expression was livelier, but perhaps that only represented the difference between a living person and the calm beauty of a face painted on canvas. It was from his mother and sister that Archie had formed his ideal of perfect female beauty. How extraordinary it was, then, that he should find so attractive the small, dark, slightly dishevelled girl whom he had just glimpsed.

For a moment he felt overwhelmed with a desire to pursue her – or at least to make enquiries and discover how he might see her again. But common sense checked
him. He had not come up to Oxford to waste time with girls. His life for the next three or four years would be a masculine one. Both in work and in games his companions would be old school friends or new college friends. He was never likely to see this particular young woman again. Supposing his guess to be accurate, she was the daughter of a wine merchant, moving in a social circle quite different from his own.

There was a moment in which this thought filled him with regret. But the moment did not last long. There were too many other new experiences to be savoured as his Oxford career began. Already his college rooms felt like home, although he had seen them for the first time only two hours earlier. He was anxious to return and take full possession of them. Besides, he had ordered lunch there for one o'clock.

As tactfully as possible he drew the marquess's attention to the time.

‘Lucy will be waiting for us, sir,' he said.

‘Archie! Archie, do come and look at the deer.'

From the moment of her arrival in Oxford Lucy had been in a state of excitement. Everything was new and strange and wonderful. How could Archie be so calm, appearing to take it all for granted? She tugged at his hand, leading him to the window.

‘Hang it all, Lucy,' protested her brother. ‘I've seen a deer before. There are six hundred at Castlemere, for a start. Now if you can see a tiger lurking out there, that might be worth looking at.'

‘But they're so pretty, the deer, and so close. Look how they hold their heads and how delicate those spots are. To have such lovely creatures moving just under your windows for a whole year – oh Archie, you
are
lucky!'

The Marquess of Ross, who liked his grandson but doted on his granddaughter, smiled indulgently. ‘Come and sit down while the scout brings in the meal, Lucy,' he said. ‘There's little enough room for him to move as it is, until all these boxes are unpacked and out of the way.'

‘Scout?' queried Lucy, puzzled.

‘The college servants are called scouts,' Archie told her. ‘Look, do sit down.'

Lucy shook her head. ‘I want to investigate.' Archie had not allowed her to accompany him when he first moved into his rooms earlier that morning. He must have thought that it would be in some way humiliating to have a sister in tow. Perhaps he was not even sure whether he would be allowed to entertain her. Even Archie must
sometimes be unsure of himself, in a new place with undiscovered rules. But already he seemed to have recovered his confidence as the master of his new territory. Unlike Lucy herself, who was still being educated at Castlemere by Miss Jarrold, Archie had spent the past five years at Eton, and so must be used to adapting himself to new circumstances and making new friends.

Her investigation did not take long. There were only two rooms in the set. One was small, and bleakly furnished as a bedroom. The other was large by normal standards, if not by those of Castlemere, and hardly seemed furnished at all.

‘You'll need more bookcases,' she said, waving one hand at the boxes of books on the floor. ‘And a proper carpet. And a less battered table. And some comfortable chairs for your friends. Though the window seats are nice.' She settled herself on one of them, glancing down once more at the deer in the park below and then studying her own reflection in the mirrored side panels of the window recess.

The marquess had arrived at the same conclusion. ‘I'll send you down a load of stuff,' he said. ‘Don't go buying anything till then. As for you, Miss, what's put this flush in your cheeks? What have you been doing all morning?'

‘Going round Oxford with Miss Jarrold, just as you said.'

‘Which colleges did you see?'

‘I don't remember. Except for New College, because it had such a lovely garden.'

‘If you can't remember, then you've wasted the morning.'

‘I've made notes for my diary,' Lucy assured him. ‘And it wasn't
what
I saw that was exciting. It was the seeing.' Was it possible, she wondered, to explain what she meant
to her grandfather without being rude. The marquess was an old man. He had travelled in his youth, but now left Castlemere only rarely, to visit his house in London or shoot on his son's grouse moor in Scotland. It had probably never occurred to him that Lucy might like to have a holiday, to go somewhere – anywhere. To be honest, it had not occurred to Lucy herself until today. But as though she were a different person from yesterday's child in Miss Jarrold's schoolroom, she had suddenly become aware of a world outside, waiting to be explored. Exploring – that was the right word. Moving on without knowing what was coming next. That, in a sense, was what Archie was doing today.