Captain Ingram's Inheritance (16 page)

 “What a spoil-sport you must think me!” he said ruefully. “I’m perfectly prepared to enjoy any picnic that’s better provisioned than our bivouacs in the Spanish mountains, and I, too, want to see Heathcote. You know Henriette will be happy to oblige just as long as she’s not asked to leave her kitchen. What’s your second difficulty?”

 Her smile faded. “The duke.”

 Dismayed faces around the table told Frank he was not the only one to have forgotten his unwelcome guest. “Dash it,” he groaned, though his interior language was considerably stronger. “We can hardly go off and leave the old...dastard alone. I’ll have to invite him to go with us, but if he accepts he’ll ruin the picnic and if he doesn’t I, as his host, will have to stay behind to entertain him.”

 “Yes, I fear you ought.” Constantia sighed. Frank had the impression she was going to say something further, but she bit back the words trembling on her lips. Had she been going to offer to stay with him? No, sheer wishful thinking. Lady Constantia Roworth had been brought up far too properly even to contemplate so indecorous a suggestion.

 “If you ask me, you’ve more need to keep an eye on him than to entertain him,” said Felix with a grin. “ The old...dastard might take it into his head to barricade the place while he had it to himself and refuse to let us back in.”

 “That he won’t!” Thomas had come in with fresh coffee and tea. He stopped with the coffee-pot hovering over Frank’s cup. “Begging your lordship’s pardon, but me and Corp’ral Hoskins wouldn’t never let his grace get away with a trick like that. ‘Less your ladyship was wanting me to go along to wait?”

 Constantia consulted Fanny with a glance. “No, thank you, Thomas, we shall be quite informal. Oh dear, that is, unless the duke joins us. If so I daresay he will wish to bring his servants to make him comfortable.”

 “And if he doesn’t go, he’ll have six men, including himself, to the two of you, Thomas,” said Frank grimly. “Remember, Lord Roworth’s groom left for London last night.”

 Felix laughed. “Trevor certainly wouldn’t be much use if push came to shove,” he said, “but I wasn’t serious! Oxshott’s a nobleman, not a brigand. He’ll take a lot of convincing that you’re the legitimate heirs, but he’s not going to do anything so outlandish as to take possession of the place and prepare for a siege.”

 Frank had less faith in the rationality of the aristocracy. “Perhaps not,” he conceded, “but I’ll still have to be here to entertain him.”

 “I hope he chooses not to come,” said Vickie. “I’ll be sorry if you have to miss the picnic, Captain, but he’d ruin the fun. Sir George cannot abide the sight of him.”

 One way or another, Frank thought, it sounded like an exhausting day. At Upfield Grange he’d be striving to keep his temper with his uncle; at Heathcote he’d be striving to keep his neighbour from his uncle’s throat.

 “Perhaps we should invite Sir George and his family to join us on another occasion,” Fanny proposed.

 “No!” Vickie cried. “If you’re going to make me go back to Westwood, it will be my last chance to spend some time with him...them for an age. Anyway, we need his wagon to take us all there.”

 “It’s time I was setting up my carriage,” said Frank. “Fanny, can you believe it? Only a few weeks ago...” His voice failed him. Only a few weeks ago, he had been fighting for his life in dingy lodgings in Brussels, with the prospect of a life of struggling poverty before him if he survived. He had not even dreamt of Lady Constantia’s existence, and now he was making himself miserable because he could never ask her to be his wife. What a sapskull! He should be revelling in his good fortune and in every moment he could spend with her.

 Today he might have to make the best of the duke’s company instead, but that was no reason why Lady Victoria should suffer. “I’ll send Hoskins over to Netherfield with an invitation,” he promised her. “Thomas, tell him to report to me.”

 Fanny went off to discuss picnic provisions with Henriette. Felix followed her, and the nursery party also left. Constantia, her expression troubled, lingered over a cup of tea. Frank was still hungry, but his congealed eggs looked most unappetizing so he buttered a roll.

 “How quickly one grows accustomed to luxury,” he said to Constantia, laughing as he indicated his plate. “There were times in Spain when a dish of eggs, hot or cold, would have seemed a feast, yet now I scorn it because I’ve let it cool.”

 She smiled. “Be as finicky as you please. When I recall the pains I was at to tempt your appetite, I can only be glad that you are hungry. Captain, I hope you will not think me interfering. I know you are much recovered, but are you sure you will not find this outing too tiring?”

 “What could be more relaxing than lounging in a wagon filled with cushions and lovely ladies?” he bantered. “If I go, I shan’t attempt to see all of the house, and I may return to the wagon to join Anita for her afternoon nap, leaving your brother to deal with Sir George and the duke.”

 “You don’t believe your uncle has abandoned his efforts to dispossess you? He was quite civil last night--at least, comparatively!”

 “My guess is, his improved manners were due to his accepting your credentials, not mine or Fanny’s. Let’s hope Mackintyre can convince him that we’re his sister’s children.”

 “It is shockingly improper in me to say so, but what an unpleasant man he is,” said Constantia with a shudder. “I daresay spending a day alone with him will tire you far more than any number of picnic parties. It seems unlikely he will wish to join us, however.”

 The duke confounded her expectations. He’d take the opportunity to inspect the other half of his property, he declared aggressively. To Fanny’s disgruntlement, he displaced her from Felix’s phaeton rather than call out his own carriage. He had been cooped up in it all the previous day, he said, announcing his intention in such a way the Felix found it impossible to protest without gross impoliteness.

 That left seven people to ride in the wagon, counting neither little Anita nor Sir George, who drove. It arrived at Upfield Grange drawn by two huge Suffolk Punches, the brasses on their harness gleaming scarcely brighter than their chestnut coats. A hamper was tied to the back, and Thomas set about loading Henriette’s contribution.

 Lady Berman was on the box beside her son. A plump, cheerful woman with iron-grey hair and no pretensions to grandeur, she offered Constantia her seat.

 “Oh no, ma’am, I wouldn’t dream of taking your place. The back looks vastly comfortable.”

 “It is, Lady Constantia,” Pamela Berman assured her. “We gathered every cushion and pillow in the house.”

 “And rugs, in case it’s chilly later,” Lizzie added. The sisters, about Vickie’s age, were lively, amiable girls very like their mama.

 Regarding Lady Berman with a hopeful look in her eye, Vickie opened her mouth to speak. Constantia quickly took her arm, with a tiny shake of the head. An earl’s daughter outranked a baronet’s widow, but Lady Berman’s years entitled her to the best seat, even if Vickie were not still a schoolroom miss.

 Vickie pouted for a moment, then her friends called to her. Megrims forgotten, she lifted the excited Anita into their arms. Sir George jumped down to help her scramble up by the step at the side, and she ensconced herself between his chattering sisters, their backs to the horses, Anita in her lap.

 Sir George and Felix handed the ladies into the wagon and passed up their parasols. Frank climbed up without assistance, stiffly but without pain as far as Constantia could see. He settled in the remaining corner, facing the girls, with Fanny between him and Constantia. There was plenty of room to sit without crowding.

 Leaning back against the bright-hued cushions he gazed up into the blue sky and said lazily, “What a perfect day! Don’t fret, Fanny, you have the best of a bad bargain. Poor Roworth has not only to do without your company but to put up with our dearly beloved uncle.”

 “Poor Felix.” Fanny sighed. “How mortifying it is to have to acknowledge such a relative.”

 The Suffolks set the heavy wagon in motion with the greatest of ease and they started down the drive. As they crossed the bridge over the stream, Constantia glanced back. Hoskins was only just bringing Felix’s phaeton around the tower at the corner of the house. Not only was the light vehicle faster, they had decided to postpone for as long as possible Sir George’s inevitable encounter with the duke.

 The short journey passed quickly, along narrow lanes between hedgerows hung with silvery old man’s beard, purple-black sloes and elderberries, and the varied reds of hips, haws, and bryony. Sir George had an alarming tendency to leave his team to its own devices while he turned to chat with his passengers. However, the great horses trotted calmly on their way with no more than a hint from the reins when the lane branched. Constantia could not imagine a more delightful way to travel on a fine day.

 Approaching Heathcote, a pinewood interspersed with clearings purple with heather hid the house until they were nearly upon it. As they emerged from the dappled shade, a circular carriage sweep led them around a thicket of overgrown roses to stop before a manor in the style of Queen Anne’s reign. Mellow red brick edged with dressed stone, white-painted sash windows, carved cornices beneath the eaves--and workmen on the red-tiled roof.

 “It is charming, Fanny,” said Constantia.

 “Not quite as exotic as Upfield Grange,” Frank said, grinning.

 “Aunt Fanny, is this where I’m going to live?” asked Anita. “Aunt Vickie says you and me and Uncle Felix is going to live at this house.”

 “Yes, as soon as it’s been put in order, sweetheart.”

 “I like it. What’s those men doing up on the roof? Do they live here too?” She waved back to the waving workmen as the wagon came to a halt before the small, white-pillared porch.

 “They are mending it. A chimney-pot fell through in a storm last winter so they have to put on new tiles so the rain doesn’t come through the hole. The chimney fell right through the plaster between the joists of the attic floor,” Fanny told Constantia, “so there was quite a bit of damage to the top story.”

 “You said the rest is in fairly good condition though?” Frank asked, descending to the weedy gravel.

 “A few broken windows,” said Sir George. His patient horses stood still while he lifted his plump mother down as easily as if she were the veriest sylph. “The village lads regard the windows of an empty house as legitimate targets, I’m afraid. All right, Mother?” Helping Constantia and Fanny to step down, he turned to Vickie. “Lady Victoria, if you’ll just pass Anita down to...” He paused, mouth open, then thundered, “What the deuce is he doing here?”

 The phaeton was rounding the curve of the drive. Sir George at once recognized the stout gentleman seated beside Felix, and he was not pleased.

 “George, mind your language,” said Lady Berman sharply.

 “Sir George,” said Fanny, fixing him with a steely eye, “you are my guest at Heathcote, as is my uncle Oxshott. Be so good as to waive your quarrel for the day.”

 “I’ll not start a dust-up, Miss Ingram, but if yon blackguard tries to come the bully over me I’ll not take it sitting down. It’s more than flesh and blood can bear.”

 As the girls scrambled down unaided by the irate squire, Felix drew up the phaeton behind the wagon. The duke was glaring up at the workmen on the roof.

 “Wasting my money on a house I’m going to demolish!” he howled. “You there, Ingram, what the devil do you mean by it, eh? As soon as I’ve induced that pigheaded jackanapes of a farmer to sell me Netherfield, this place is coming down, along with Upfield Grange.”

 “Over my dead body!” cried Sir George, striding forward, his face suffused with rage.

 Frank grabbed his arm. “That will do, Berman,” he said curtly.

 The duke sneered down at the large young man. “Oh, so you’re here too, Berman. You’re trespassing on my property.”

 Stepping in front of Sir George, Frank addressed Oxshott in a quiet, courteous, yet authoritative voice. “Sir, the question of trespass will be settled when Lawyer Mackintyre arrives, I believe. In the meantime, let us try to make this a pleasant outing for the ladies.”

 “I do so enjoy picnics, Duke, do not you?” Constantia moved towards the phaeton with swift, light steps. She had not the least desire for his grace’s company--indeed, she found him disagreeable when he was not alarming--but she was one of the few present with whom he had no quarrel. It was up to her to deflect his attention from Frank, and the other victims of his rudeness and ill temper.

 The smile Frank flashed at her was reward enough. Oxshott merely grunted as he heaved himself down from the carriage.

 “I’ve brought a bottle of that madeira, sir,” Felix said soothingly. “There’s a pleasant bench on the terrace where we might sit and indulge ourselves a little.”

 “Trying to turn me up sweet, eh?”

 “Certainly, sir. Constantia, will you take his grace around that way?” He indicated the west side of the house. “I’ll come as soon as I’ve seen to my cattle.”

 “Shall I go with you?” Frank asked her in a low voice.

 Reluctantly Constantia shook her head. “Let him calm down first.” She looked back in the hope of persuading Vickie to accompany her.

 Vickie was saying to Sir George, with deep sympathy, “I knew you’d be mad as a wet hen. Never mind. Let’s go and explore.”

And linking her arm through his in the friendliest manner, she drew him towards the house.

 Though she was sorry not to have her sister’s support, Constantia was favourably impressed by Vickie’s tact in removing the wrathful squire. She moved on to join the duke.

 A crash behind her coincided with a yell from above. “Watch out below!”

 She swung round. On the gravel at Vickie’s and Sir George’s feet lay a shattered tile.

 “Watch out above!” shouted Sir George and charged into the house, Vickie at his heels.

 Constantia pitied the unfortunate workman who had dropped the tile.

 “What a shame,” said the duke with a malevolent grin. “The fellow nearly presented me with Berman’s dead body.”

 Shocked by both his malice and Vickie’s narrow escape, she asked, “Surely a tile could not kill someone? It does not look very large, only about a foot by half as much.”