Captain Ingram's Inheritance (17 page)

 “But falling from a height, ma’am, falling from a height. Had the corner hit him on the head--”

  “It would have knocked off his hat, I daresay, but had it hit my sister, her bonnet would have given little protection.”

 “True. A lucky escape.”

 After that, she found it difficult to come up with any unexceptionable topic of conversation. Fortunately, Oxshott seemed to be in a reflective mood. They sat in near silence on the terrace bench until Felix arrived to relieve her, bottle and glasses in hand.

 “Ingram’s waiting for you at the front door,” he whispered to her.

 She hurried back to the front of the house, where Frank was seated on a mounting block. He rose with a smile, and came to meet her.

 “Thank you,” he said simply. “Our obligations to you and your brother and sister constantly increase.”

 “It was nothing.” She lowered her lashes and twirled her parasol in a sudden access of shyness. “After all, Fanny and I shall soon be sisters. I only wish your uncle had not spoiled today for her and Felix.”

 “They have the rest of their lives before them.” He sounded sad. Looking up, Constantia wondered if she saw a momentary hint of despair in his face, but he smiled again, offered her his arm, and said, “Shall we inspect the house?”

 “You are not tired from the journey?”

 “Not at all. Only three miles, after all. I’m fit as a fiddle. In fact, I’m going to venture upstairs to the first floor.”

 They wandered through Fanny’s house, admiring the pretty gilt plasterwork of the high ceilings and the elegant columned chimney-pieces after the style of Inigo Jones. The light, airy, beautifully proportioned rooms were almost bare of furniture.

 “I expect the best pieces were taken to Upfield Grange when the owner of Heathcote died,” said Connie. “Did not Mr Mackintyre say his daughter was already married to Mr Kerridge of Upfield?”

 “Yes, that’s right. Fanny never mentioned the dearth. She must select what she wants from the Grange. It’s odd, don’t you think, that the Kerridges chose to live there when this house is so much more modern?”

 “Upfield Grange has far more character,” Constantia declared.

 “Mr and Mrs Kerridge were already quite elderly when her father died.” Lady Berman had entered the room where they were and overheard their words. “They decided that removing to Heathcote was more trouble than it was worth, and besides, Mr Kerridge was very much attached to his ancestral home. I remember visiting here as a young bride.” She strolled on with them, reminiscing.

 From a first floor window, she pointed out a Grecian temple gazebo on a small knoll behind the house. It was the perfect place for the picnic which, since the duke did nothing worse than sit and glower, everyone else enjoyed. Afterwards, Anita fell asleep with her head in Frank’s lap. Oxshott also nodded off, his muffled snores punctuated by now and then by a jerk into near wakefulness, a truculent glare around, and a redescent into somnolence.

 Lady Berman announced that she meant to sit and admire the view while the others explored the grounds. She offered to watch Anita but Frank, too, admitted himself ready for a rest. Constantia stayed behind in the gazebo to chat with them. She told herself she wished neither to race around with Vickie, the energetic Sir George, and his lively sisters, nor to play the gooseberry to Felix and Fanny now that at last they could be together.

 At last Anita began to stir, and the duke’s periods of wakefulness grew longer. “It’s time we were heading for home,” said Lady Berman in a low voice. “I am in dire need of a dish of tea. I should like to invite you all to Netherfield to take tea, since we must pass the gate anyway, but I know poor George will not have his grace in the house.”

 “Who can blame him?” said Frank with a sigh.

 Constantia thought tea at Netherfield would be a delightful way to prolong a delightful day. “I’ll ask Felix to take the duke straight back to the Grange,” she proposed hardheartedly. “As you said, Captain, he and Fanny have the rest of their lives before them.”

 So it was arranged, after a few groans from Felix.

 Netherfield was just as Constantia had expected, not quite either manor or farmhouse, untidy but sparkling clean, comfortable and welcoming. Vickie was perfectly at home there, and Constantia suspected the greater part of her objection to returning to Westwood was the prospect of parting from the Bermans. In fact, when Sir George brought the wagon round to the front door to take the visitors home, Pam and Lizzie insisted on going too for a last goodbye even though he had invited Vickie to join him on the box.

 Constantia found herself seated between Fanny and Frank. As the wagon rolled down Netherfield’s well-kept drive in the golden light of late afternoon, Frank drifted into slumber. Gradually he inclined towards her until his hat fell off and his head rested on her shoulder.

 “Do you mind?” Fanny whispered.

 “Oh no,” said Constantia, her heart filled with a vast tenderness.

 And then, as if of its own accord, her hand crept towards her chest in a harsh reminder of reality.

Chapter 11

 Mr Mackintyre arrived that evening, shortly before dinner. Fanny put back dinner a quarter of an hour to give him time to change out of his travel-worn clothes.

 Constantia expected the duke to take exception to dining with his lawyer but, though he appeared decidedly disgruntled, he said nothing. Of course, after sitting down with a governess he would look idiotish objecting to a respectable lawyer, besides not wishing to suffer another defeat. When his grace had cavilled at Miss Bannister’s presence last night, Frank had prevailed.

 The noble duke’s bluster was no match for the commanding manner of a military officer. Frank was amazingly imposing when he chose.

 Naturally no business was discussed at the dinner table. Mr Mackintyre, a beam on his genial face, admired the improvements to the Grange and enquired as to those at Heathcote, while Oxshott grew more and more morose. In fact, the duke wanted to put off the business until the morning, but Mr Mackintyre insisted he absolutely had to leave early.

 “I must appear in court the day after tomorrow,” he said, “and my preparations for the case are incomplete. For no one but your grace could I possibly have left London at this time at such short notice.”

 This mild flattery did not perceptibly lift Oxshott’s gloom. No doubt he was all too well aware that the lawyer had bad news for him. Constantia did not quite understand what he had hoped to gain by coming to Upfield Grange, unless he had really believed he might intimidate the Ingrams into abandoning their inheritance. To a bellicose nobleman used to having his own way, a woman and a wounded soldier must have sounded like feeble opponents.

 Frank looked tired. She hoped his grace would be quickly convinced of the futility of his claim.

 Fanny was perfectly self-possessed at the dinner table, but when she led the ladies to the drawing-room she clung to Constantia’s arm.

 “It doesn’t matter so much to me,” she said. “Felix is able to support a family, and though we should have to live at Westwood, I should not mind once we are married. But Frank...”

 “If the captain were unable to return to military life, Felix would certainly invite him to make his home at Westwood,” Constantia reassured her, sitting down by the fire on the faded loveseat soon to be recovered with blue brocade.

 Fanny sat beside her. “But Frank will hate to hang on Felix’s sleeve. I daresay he will refuse.”

 “Not ‘will,’ Fanny dear. ‘Would.’ I am sure you need not fret yourself into flinders. After heartily commending your improvements to the Grange and Heathcote, Mr Mackintyre cannot intend to say they are not yours after all.”

 “Perhaps you’re right. I’m behaving like a ninnyhammer, I know. Simply having my uncle in the house has me in high fidgets. I cannot wait for him to realize he is mistaken and go away!”

 “Indeed, he is not precisely the ideal guest! The sooner he departs, the happier we shall all be.”

 The gentlemen did not dawdle over the port, an inferior wine of which Felix had reluctantly acquired a small quantity at the Pig and Piper, lacking time to go into Winchester. Though appreciating a good vintage, neither he nor Frank was a dedicated toper who must without fail take his glass after dinner. Whatever their usual habits, the duke and the lawyer evidently did not find the Pig and Piper’s port an irresistible draw.

 When they entered the drawing-room, Miss Bannister removed the unwilling Vickie. Constantia was about to follow when Mr Mackintyre stopped her.

 “Pray stay, my lady, if you will be so good,” he said softly. “I know you to be in the Ingrams’ confidence and I shall be glad of another witness.”

 “If they have no objection,” she assented, somewhat alarmed. Witness to what? She returned to her place by the fire, a small one, for the evening chill had not yet ousted the day’s warmth from the south-facing room.

 When the gentlemen came in, Fanny had gone straight to Felix. Constantia saw Frank glance after his sister, his face forlorn. For so many years the twins had confronted the world together. Now she had abandoned him for the man she loved.

  A wave of longing swept over Constantia, for Frank to regard her with the same fond, possessive gaze that Felix was now bestowing upon Fanny. Yet if she ever read so much as hope in his eyes, she must dash it, or flee. She was a fool to seek out his company, to treasure his friendship when she wanted so much more. Yet when he came to take Fanny’s place beside her, she smiled up at him, glad of his choice of seat.

 The duke planted himself heavily on an elegant Hepplewhite chair that had barely been reprieved, having a middling case of woodworm. It was Fanny’s favourite, but she was slight, delicate in appearance if not in fact. Constantia held her breath as Oxshott’s large rear end descended. The chair creaked but survived.

 Thomas brought in Mr Mackintyre’s valise. The lawyer set it on a table, opened it, and armed himself with a sheaf of papers. He went to stand with his back to the fireplace.

 “Your grace,” he said deferentially, Scottish
r
’s rolling, “I understand you desire to inspect the proof that Captain and Miss Ingram are the legitimate offspring of your late sister, Lady Frances Ingram, née Kerridge.”

 “Of course I do, my good man,” snapped the duke. “You don’t think I’m going to hand over two properties and all the ready to m’sister’s by-blows.”

 Frank’s mouth set in a grim line, but he held his peace. Felix sprang to his feet, his handsome face wrathful. Fanny grasped his sleeve and held him back. “His grace might have chosen his words better,” she said with disdain, “but his concern is natural. Do sit down, Felix.”

 “Quite so, ma’am.” Mr Mackintyre put on his gold-rimmed spectacles and selected a paper from his sheaf. “Here is a copy of the entry in the parish register of the church where Lady Frances wed Captain--then lieutenant--Thomas Ingram of the Royal Horse Artillery, according to the rites of the Church of England and the laws of the land. As you will see, your grace, it is certified as an exact copy by the present incumbent and a churchwarden.”

 He stepped forward to hand it to the duke, who bounced up to grab it with an agility remarkable in one of his size and age.

 After a brief glance, Oxshott thrust the paper back at the lawyer. “Pah!” He dropped back into his seat. Constantia winced as the abused chair creaked again.

 “I have also a witnessed statement from one of the witnesses to the marriage,” the lawyer continued urbanely, riffling through the documents. “An elderly lady, I am informed, who still sighs over the romantic runaway match of the dashing young soldier in his smart uniform. Naturally there is more than one copy of each. My investigator is extremely thorough.”

 “Good for Taggle,” said Frank, grinning. Mr Mackintyre’s eyes twinkled at him over the gold spectacles.

 This time the duke waved away the proffered paper. “So she married the rascal,” he growled. “What’s to say this fine pair are really her children and not impudent impostors?”

 “I could show your grace a number of affidavits from officers acquainted with the family at various times and places, covering overlapping periods. All expressed their willingness to identify Captain and Miss Ingram under oath in court if necessary. However, perhaps their baptismal certificates will suffice to persuade your grace. Captain?”

 “I have them here.” With care, Frank extracted two faded documents from his coat pocket.

 The lawyer nodded. “If you would not mind showing them to Lady Constantia, Captain? My lady, his lordship your brother has already examined these certificates and is prepared to swear to having done so, but one can never have too many witnesses.”

 Frank passed them to her with a curious reluctance. She perused the first: born to Frances Cynthia Ingram and Thomas Ingram, man and wife, on the twelfth of May 1790, in Nilgapur, India, a daughter Frances, baptized two days later, and the regimental chaplain’s signature. The second was almost identical right down to the date: born to...Nilgapur...a son, Francis Cynthia, baptized...Francis Cynthia?

 As she turned to Frank, she caught sight of Felix’s grin and her lips began to quiver.

 “Don’t you dare laugh,” Frank breathed through clenched teeth, his still-thin face scarlet. “I’ll explain later.”

 Biting her lip to hold back a giggle, she nodded. She held out the parchment pages to Mr Mackintyre, and said with only the tiniest tremor in her voice, “Here, sir. I have read and will remember them.”

 “Let me see.” The duke leapt up and seized them from her hand. Moving closer to the light of the candles on the mantelpiece, he squinted at the certificates, holding them at arm’s length.

 And then he dropped them. Surely he could not have deliberately thrown them towards the fire, but they landed right beside a glowing log feathered with white ash. At once one corner of the heavy parchment began to scorch.

 With an inarticulate cry, Constantia flung herself on her knees and snatched them away.

 All but the first word of Fanny’s was still legible. As she sat back on her heels, satisfied, Frank dropped to his knees at her side. He tossed the certificates aside, and grasped her hands, turning them palm upward.