Rainbird's Revenge (19 page)

But at last, they all quietened down, and he heard the story from the beginning. ‘But why did Palmer claim he paid you low wages – even if they were in fact higher than the ones you actually got? He could have fleeced me for more,' said the duke at one point.

‘It was because, I think,' said Rainbird, ‘that he did not wish to bring the running of this house too much to your attention. He could explain away the low rent for the house, for this house is reported to be unlucky, and people were too superstitious to pay a good rent for it. But if you noticed that you were keeping a whole staff of servants all year round at reasonable wages, then you might have inquired further. Palmer enjoyed the power he had over us. He enjoyed our misery and seeing us starve. That was more important to him than any money. He cheated you in this respect out of a matter of habit.'

‘He was certainly taking enough from me in other ways,' said the duke, ‘but never too much. Most of the gold I – we – found had been accumulated over the years, I think. He was clever enough not to be too greedy. You are not the only servants who were paid low wages, although none fared as badly as you. I had meant to review all the wages when the Season was over. I shall give you a sum of money towards your pub to make up for what you have suffered. Now, is there any more?'

There was. Another half-hour passed while Rainbird explained his theatrical career, and Fergus begged to marry Alice.

‘This is all too much,' said the duke, clutching his golden curls. ‘Yes, Fergus. I shall find you something close to me, for I do not wish to lose you.' He turned to Angus MacGregor. ‘So it appears you and Mrs Middleton are to have the running of this pub. Do you think you can be successful? Is the building in good repair?'

‘I havenae seen it, your grace,' said Angus. ‘Mr Rainbird bought it for us. We were not planning to leave you until the end of the Season. We have not had time to go to Highgate.'

‘You may go now, if you wish,' said the duke. ‘You may all consider yourselves free. But I would suggest we all get some sleep.'

But that word ‘free' had made all their dreams – with the exception of Joseph's – a reality.

‘Why not now?' said Mrs Middleton boldly. ‘I could not sleep. We could go now. See, it is light already.'

‘Miss Sutherland,' said the duke, looking at her tired face, ‘please go. Tell Lady Letitia I shall call on her.'

‘Take me with you,' said Jenny suddenly to Mrs Middleton. ‘Take me to see this pub.' Jenny was afraid to let her time with these servants end, for fear it would mean an end to her time with the Duke of Pelham.

‘Miss Sutherland, Lady Letitia will be alarmed to find you not in your bed. She may even be looking for you.'

‘I could tell her I had gone out driving with you, Pelham . . .' said Jenny.

‘At six in the morning?' said the duke. ‘Nonsense.'

‘Oh, I see,' said Jenny sadly. A scarlet blush coloured her face and she looked at her hands.

The alarmed duke realized in a flash that Jenny thought he had kissed her for a whim and now wished to forget about the whole thing. And he didn't.

He wanted to kiss her again. He wanted to make sure he had her all to himself before another man in London saw her. But dukes did not go to Highgate with their servants to look at a pub after a night in the round-house. Dukes did not. . .

Jenny's lip trembled.

‘This is idiotic,' he said, ‘but I suppose we could leave a note for your aunt explaining the situation. Yes, we will all go to Highgate!'

That redoubtable female, Mrs Freemantle, arrived home at dawn as usual and stood on the steps of Number 71, swaying slightly, and waving drunkenly to the party of young men who had escorted her home. She unlocked the door, tripped over the threshold and stretched her length in the hall. The tiles of the floor were beautifully cool and she was just closing her eyes to settle down for a short nap when she saw a letter lying just beside her head. She picked it up and rolled over on her back, cracked open the heavy seal, and squinted up at it.

‘Pelham,' she murmured. ‘Gone to a pub in Highgate with Jenny . . . calling later to ask permission to pay his addresses . . . drat, this must be for Letitia.' She tossed the letter on one side and closed her eyes. Her feet, encased in bronze kid Roman sandals, were sticking out onto the doorstep; her turban had fallen from her head. A light breeze moved through the coarse hairs of her scarlet wig.

But before she could drift off to sleep, the full impact of what she had just read blazed in letters of fire across her brain.

‘The deuce!' she screamed, leaping to her feet. ‘Letitia! Letitia!' She staggered to the stairs and managed to run up four of them before swaying helplessly like a person on a tightrope and falling back down again.

By crawling on her hands and knees, hauling herself up the staircase as if scaling a mountain in the Alps, she finally reached the second floor. She drew a great breath. ‘Letitia!' she shouted.

Lady Letitia came out of her bedroom, looking dazed and alarmed.

‘Pelham's going to marry Jenny,' said Mrs Freemantle, and then hiccupped.

‘Of course he is,' said Lady Letitia soothingly. Mrs Freemantle, who had been on all fours, slid forward onto her face and went to sleep.

‘Oh dear,' said Lady Letitia. ‘I do not know how Agnes can consume such quantities of wine and stay alive. I shall get the coffee-pot before I try to get her to bed.'

She returned to her room for a wrapper and then made her way downstairs to find the street door wide open and a letter addressed to herself with the seal broken drifting across the tiled floor on the morning breeze.

Lady Letitia carried the letter down to the kitchen, stoked up the fire, swung a kettle on the idle-back, and then rested one hip on the kitchen table and read the letter.

‘Oh, my goodness,' she said. She ran from the kitchen and up the stairs again, calling ‘Agnes!' at the top of her voice.

When they arose that morning, Mrs Freemantle's servants grumbled to find the kettle boiled dry and a hole burnt in the bottom of it.

A little work, a little play,

To keep us going – and so, good-day!

A little warmth, a little light,

Of love's bestowing – and so, good-night!

A little fun, to match the sorrow

Of each day's growing – and so, good-morrow!

A little trust that when we die

We reap our sowing! and so – good-bye!

GEORGE DU MAURIER

It was two carriage-loads that set out for Highgate as the birds began to twitter on the roof-tops and the rain dried from the streets.

Somehow the duke did not find it at all odd when someone, he did not know who, suggested they go via Manchester Square, where Mr Gendreau still resided while he waited for his late master's affairs to be wound up.

Rainbird, still slightly worried by Joseph's malice, was relieved to meet the sober and pleasant French valet. Joseph was not. His livery was still dusty from his fight on the kitchen floor with Angus, and a purple bruise on his temple was beginning to throb. He felt the others were disloyal in the hearty, friendly way they greeted this French valet, this frog, and Lizzie's behaviour was quite disgusting. They had all let him down, thought Joseph, quite forgetting that he had wanted to go to Lord Charteris's household anyway.

Miss Jenny Sutherland sat beside the duke in his phaeton. The rest of the party were crammed into the duke's travelling carriage, following behind. She wanted to look up into his face to see whether he was angry with her but did not dare. What had he written to her aunt? Had he asked leave to pay his addresses, or had he put it some other way? He had said he did not want to marry her, only to kiss her. But then surely she had a right to ask what he had written.

She cleared her throat, feeling so nervous that she wondered whether her voice would sound normal or whether it would come out in a frightened squeak. She did not know whether she loved the duke or not. She only knew she could not bear the idea of his loving anyone other than herself. She remembered Lady Bellisle and her heart sank.

‘Pelham,' she ventured.

‘Yes, Miss Sutherland?'

That was a bad start. If he had said, ‘Yes, my love,' or even, ‘Yes, Jenny,' either would have been so much more encouraging.

She gulped and stared unseeingly out at the New Road Nursery and did not find the courage to say anything further until they had entered Pancras Road on the other side of Islington Street on their road north to Highgate.

‘What did you write to my aunt?' she eventually asked.

‘I wrote to explain that I was taking you on a drive to Highgate.'

‘And that was all?'

No, it had not been all, and the duke knew it. All he had to do was to tell Miss Sutherland that her aunt expected a visit from him later in the day when he would ask Lady Letitia's permission to pay his addresses to Jenny. But what if Jenny refused him? What if she had only kissed him back out of fear? He racked his brains, but could only remember his own great passion. How was it that he who had faced so many battles without a qualm should quail before the very idea of being refused by this one débutante?

‘No, it was not all,' he said. He let the reins drop and his horses slowed their pace. The carriage with the servants passed them and Dave, perched up on the roof with Rainbird, blew a cheeky blast on a yard of tin.

‘I told Lady Letitia,' he said in a neutral sort of voice, ‘that I would be calling later in the day.'

‘Aunt Letitia will certainly expect an explanation,' said Jenny. ‘She will think it most odd that I went out driving with you at dawn without consulting her, and she will want to know when we made such an arrangement.'

‘Yes, I realize that.'

Jenny peeped up at him hopefully, but he was looking straight ahead. He looked grand and remote. He had changed into morning dress. His blue swallow-tail coat, white cravat, and curly-brimmed beaver seemed so respectable compared to her own dowdy gown and shawl. Her bonnet, for all she knew, was still lying on the floor of the agent's office. She should have gone home to change while he was changing but had feared discovery.

‘And what explanation will you give Aunt Letitia?'

He reined in the horses and turned to the sad little figure beside him in his phaeton.

‘I shall tell her simply that I love you and want to marry you. With any luck such news will drive all questions about this outing from her mind. I feel I have compromised you and must marry you.'

‘Then I shall lie and lie about last night,' said Jenny. ‘I shall never marry any man just because he feels obliged and constrained to do so.'

‘This is silly,' said the duke. He caught her in his arms and began to kiss her fiercely. ‘Do you love me?' he asked at last.

‘Oh yes,' said Jenny. ‘I really think I do.' He fell to kissing her again while his horses looked over their shoulders in surprise.

Only the raucous jeers of a passing cartload of market workers brought him to his senses. ‘We had better catch up with the others,' he said reluctantly, ‘or I shall spend hours around Highgate looking for this pub. Hold on tightly. I'm going to spring them.'

Jenny grasped the side of the phaeton as they began to race through the streets and out into the countryside. She felt dizzy with happiness, felt like shouting aloud as fields and trees and bushes flew past.

They soon caught up with the others. The duke slowed his hectic pace, and they made a decorous passage through Highgate village and on to the pub on the other side.

‘What's that, Joseph?' asked the cook as they all walked into the inn after Rainbird had unlocked the door. The footman was carrying a large cardboard box with air holes punched in the sides.

‘It's the Moocher,' said Joseph.

The Moocher was the kitchen cat, a great striped tiger of an animal, and Joseph's pet.