A Scheme for Love, page 11
“What is it you are trying to tell me?” Bartone asked, his patience thinning.
“Lady Bartone is not well thought of by many people of standing in Horley. Nor did Squire Pellum and his wife have a kind word for her. To believe these is to have the lady a tart of the worst sort.” He watched Bartone tense, his fists clench.
“But there are others that tell a different tale, speaking of kindness and generosity on her part,” Nettles ended.
“What others do you mean?” Bartone demanded coldly.
“Mostly the poor, honest folk who have been helped by her ladyship. Even before she married Sir Bartone, the lady was known to be willing to help in any way she could, even though she and her mother were as poor as most, or poorer. Some took her marriage as just dues, well deserved on her part. She’s been much the same with them since, still giving herself—”
“And Bartone’s money,” the viscount finished for him.
Nettles shook his head. “If I were you, my lord, I’d believe the poor folk,” he assured him.
“Did her servants support these poor folk?”
Brushing back his hair, Nettles screwed his face up in uncertainty. “About them, my lord, well, it seems there are only three—four if you count a halfwit by the name of Sal.”
“Three. Has she left off many since she came to London?”
“No, my lord, that’s all Sir Bartone had when he wed her, and those three are almost of his age. Some claim the servants disliked the marriage as much as Mrs. Pellum, but I’ve my doubts. The little I learned from them seems to say they think of the young lady more as a daughter than a mistress. And they are worried about her. They seem to be concealing something. What, I could not learn—very close to the mouth they were, my lord, very close.”
“That will be all, Nettles. I doubt I’ll have further need of your services.” Bartone wrote briefly on a piece of paper and handed it to the little man. “Will that be sufficient for expenses and your fee?” he asked.
“If ever you have need, just send word, my lord,” Nettles responded, raising his eyes from the figure, which surpassed his fee by several quid.
“Green will direct you to my secretary’s office. Give him that and he will take care of you.”
“Good day, my lord. Pleased to have served you, and don’t worry none ‘bout the lady. She’s a good sort.” The viscount’s instant scowl sent him scurrying from the room.
The man gone, Bartone opened the envelope and withdrew the material. Nettles’ neat, precise handwriting detailed all he had said. As Bartone read along, his brow grew darker and darker. “Rot,” he exclaimed, tossing the papers down when he had finished. Experience in the West Indies, where rivalries among the few privileged, upper-class women were often ferocious, should have taught him what jealousy could do, but he was blind to it.
“Tillie,” he moaned aloud, glancing at the papers.
Her life should deny all you are thinking, his heart told his mind. But why were the servants worried? Had she threatened them? Wouldn’t Sir Bartone have taken care of them?
But wait—what if they had not been taken care of? Then she could control all. Question after question raced through his mind. All ended at one point. No matter where he began, he ended with the mystery of Doll in Red.
“You wished to see me, my lord?” Lynn asked, entering the office after a polite knock.
“Be seated, Lynn,” Bartone said, taking his own chair. “How long has it been since funds were released to do the necessary repairs on the cottages at Bartone Hall?”
“The last time funds were given was six months before your father died, my lord,” Lynn answered.
“Why has none been released since? Those cottages have leaking roofs, broken windows—if windows at all,” Bartone noted angrily.
An uneasy look came to Lynn’s face. His task as secretary to an absentee landlord had been difficult. The viscount’s return had done nothing to ease matters, as he had refused until lately to take any interest. “My lord, I oft wrote to you of these matters, and many others in the past,” he explained carefully. “Since I received no reply, my authority was limited. There is much I could not do.”
“I want you to begin compiling lists of all the necessary improvements, as well as other recommendations you may have. Order whatever is of immediate necessity for my people’s welfare. Consult my agent, Atler, on the matter. After we review matters, you shall see to what extent my presence is required.
“Learn Atler’s demands and return to me.” Bartone rose. “I regret I cannot go with you, but for the present my time shall be given to the government. I mean to assume my seat in the Lords.”
Rising when his lordship did, Lynn now bowed. “May I welcome you home at last, my lord. It is very good to have you.”
Bartone stepped around his desk and walked with the secretary to the door. “It is my hope that with your help the neglect caused by my absence can he remedied.”
“It will take time, my lord,” Lynn cautioned, “and much attention on your part.”
“Then let us begin,” the viscount urged. “See to the matters at once.”
“Why so dour an expression?” Green asked Lynn as they met in the corridor outside Bartone’s office. “The change in his lordship should please you.”
“It is a hopeful sign,” Lynn said slowly.
“Hopeful? Now, what is in that head of yours?”
“His lordship has been rather volatile of late, Mr. Green. One can only hope his interest is not a passing fancy.” Having voiced his concern aloud, Lynn nodded and walked on.
For a few moments Green watched him, pondering the truth of his words. Then, recalling the summons of the bell, he strode hurriedly to his master.
“My hat and gloves,” Bartone commanded as Green entered. “I do not believe I shall return before early evening, but I shall come to change for the opera.”
“Very good, my lord.”
At the door he took his hat and gloves. “Has Baron Potters called at any time during my absence?”
“No, my lord,” the butler answered, opening the door.
In a few quick strides Bartone was at the landau’s side. Springing in, he ordered the driver to Whitehall.
* * * *
The hoots of those in the galleries and the mumble of voices below interfered with the present speaker’s words but did not come as a surprise to Bartone as he took the seat pointed out to him. A few acquaintances nodded coolly, but most were plotting with their neighbours.
A very few listened to Charles Fox’s eloquent testimonial for the abolition of the slave trade. For some time Bartone listened and observed. His ignorance became appallingly evident to him as the hours passed, and when he decided to leave, it was with the determination to learn much more about the issues being debated.
Tillie has made me realize so much, he thought as he rose to leave. A deep frown came to him. His heart said to love her; his mind warned against it.
So preoccupied had he become that he collided squarely with another gentleman in the outer chambers. “Pardon me,” the viscount began, then broke into a smile.
“By Napoleon’s bootstraps, if it isn’t just the chap I wished to see,” he exclaimed.
Lord Potters eyed Bartone apprehensively.
“Surprised to see me, are you?” Bartone asked with a wry smile. “But I am keeping you. Had you planned to stay till the end of the debate?”
“Why, no. I have some papers to give Fox and one or two others. The debate is in the primary stages yet,” Potters answered cautiously. “Why?”
“Could you come with me, then—when you’ve finished?”
“I suppose I could. Yes, I could if it is important to you.”
“It is very important. I shall wait for you here friend?” Bartone said.
Smiling openly Potters nodded.
* * * *
“I’ve been forced to do a lot of thinking of late,” Bartone spoke, breaking the awkward silence that had hung over the pair since the beginning of the drive. “When one is in the country there is little else to do.”
“Where have you been? I didn’t realize until Lady Mathilda asked about you that I hadn’t seen you about,” Lord Potters commented.
“Potts, I’ve been to Bartone Hall. My eyes were opened to its dismal state. I deserved every word you ever gave me on my ways—and many you didn’t. I am not good at apologies, but—”
A hand touched his. “Will, it need not be said. We are old friends. I’m glad to see you are more settled, that you mean to take your seat”
“They have little use for me. I know it is with good reason, but I mean to change that. Potts, there is so much I do not know, so much with which I am unfamiliar.”
“I can help you there, and so will many others. You were always quick to learn, Will.”
“Thank God for friends such as you, Potts. I knew you would be as dependable as you’ve always been.”
Both men relaxed.
“Why did you go to the Hall?” Lord Potters asked, his curiosity tweaking him.
“Someone said something about changing things about yourself that harm others. Well, I decided to go to those who are most dependent upon me, those whose existence I had forgotten for a long time, if the truth be known.”
“And here I thought you’d gone—”
“Careening across the countryside, endangering the local citizenry?” Bartone finished for him, and then grinned sheepishly.
“What a shock it was to see what my neglect had done. I’m sending Lynn there to begin work. There is so much to be done. What a fool I’ve been,” he ended.
“I knew you’d come aright in the end, Will,” Potters said. “It’s good to have you back.”
“And good to be back. I had almost forgotten what fresh air and sunlight could do for the soul.” Silence fell as the two men ruminated upon the past.
“What is it, Will?” Potters asked when he noticed Bartone stiffen.
“Nothing,” the viscount answered, giving a curt nod to Kittridge, whose carriage they met and passed. “Do you plan to go to the opera tonight?”
“I suppose I shall. But there is no reason for you to go,” Potters noted.
“What is your meaning?”
“Lady Pennypiece and her guest are remaining home, since they have to prepare for a weekend outing in the country,” he answered with feigned disinterest.
“They go to Pennywise? Or to the Hollows?”
“For one planning on catching up with two years of indifference, you seem unusually interested in your aged cousin’s activities. I had not thought you overly fond of her.”
Bartone scowled. “It is her butler I do not care for. Far more true to say she is not fond of me. Do you know their direction?”
“You deserve to be fobbed off, but,” his friend broke into a wide grin, “I shall have mercy on you. They go to Sir Grewould’s estate. I gather he is a cousin of Lady Pennypiece’s.”
“Why would they be going there?” Bartone wondered aloud.
“Some nonsense about needing a rest before the last rigours of the season,” the Baron answered.
“Does Kittridge go with them?”
“I believe not. He seems preoccupied these days. Asked about you, he did. Wouldn’t be surprised if he tried to make a match with Lady Mathilda,” he added, watching Bartone closely.
The other’s eyes narrowed. “Do you think she’d accept him?” he asked quietly.
“Don’t know. Rather likes him, I gather. He’s from the best of families—money aplenty. What more could she want?” Potters said lightly, not realizing the damage he was doing. “A great improvement on old Bartone, it would be.”
“Was there any other mention of why they were going to Grewould’s?” Bartone asked after a few minutes.
Something in the viscount’s voice struck an odd note with Potters. He shook off the feeling. “His wife had a habit of collecting things. Seems Lady Pennypiece wanted to see the assortments. A doll collection—that was it.
“Said she’d given several dolls to Lady Grewould and wanted to see them again.” He glanced at Bartone, but the other was far away in thought.
He’s troubled by something, something more than Lady Mathilda being out of reach for a few days, Potters told himself. Will the change last? Can he throw off whatever has been eating at him, or does it still hold to him like a leech?
Bartone was no longer thinking about his own rehabilitation. Instead his thoughts leaped from Grewould and Doll in Red to the more pressing question of Kittridge and Mathilda.
CHAPTER NINETEEN
“What is it, Mathilda? You have not glanced beyond your gloves since we began this journey. Does the countryside displease you?” Lady Pennypiece asked as the coach carried them toward Grewould’s acres.
Mathilda raised her gaze from her lap. “Did you say something, Aunt Nettie?”
“Now, see, you have not heard a word I’ve said for the past two days. What is so heavy in your thoughts?”
“The doll, I suppose. It seems such a long journey for so little hope,” Mathilda said, clasping and unclasping her hands nervously.
“There is more to it than that. Ah, I know—that letter from your butler.”
“His name is Dannon.”
“Dannon, then. You have been upset ever since you received it. What was in it?” Lady Pennypiece demanded.
“There was nothing.” Mathilda paused, a worried frown creasing her smooth forehead. “Dannon said a man had been to Horley. He asked many questions about me.”
“Was that all?”
“But many do not think well of me there.”
“Are you concerned that someone was asking questions, or about the answers that were being given?”
“Oh, I don’t know. Everything is so confusing now. I don’t know what I think about anything.” Mathilda threw a beseeching look at the countess.
“There is little I can do, my dear,” she answered the look. “You are tired from all the activity of late and preparing for the journey.”
“Couldn’t we turn back?” Mathilda asked. “I feel as if I ought not to be going, as if something were happening and I could stop it.”
“What is happening—where? Mathilda, you’re letting your mind run away with your feelings. Now we are almost there. A good night’s rest in this invigorating country air will raise your spirits.” She patted Mathilda’s knee. “You shall see. They will soar with the sunrise.”
The words were no comfort to Mathilda. She looked out of the coach’s window and saw only the gloom of an incoming storm. Bartone’s face was reflecting in it, and here too, it seemed, he taunted, challenged.
Had Will sent the man to Horley? Why did he disappear without a word? Her heart ached for the answers. Oh, that I had never come to London, she thought, overcome by a dour foreboding, which loomed ever stronger, as did the gathering clouds.
Lady Pennypiece watched Mathilda carefully. “It does look like a bit of rain, doesn’t it? But we are almost there, I believe.” She leaned forward and peered out of the coach’s window. “There is the house, just a short distance now. Do not let Sir John alarm you if his greeting is not too warm,” she cautioned Mathilda.
For an instant Mathilda thought she saw fear on Lady Pennypiece’s face, but accustomed to her eccentricities, she paid little heed, shifting her attention instead to the large house looming before them.
Of Cotswold stone, the building peered at them with its three stories of leaded, curtained windows like many half-closed eyes. Noble despite time’s ravages, the house was covered with ivy and moss and blended in with the green of the park surrounding it.
No one came to greet the women as they descended from the coach. “Isn’t it odd, Aunt Nettie?” Mathilda commented as she glanced about and saw no one, not even a gardener.
“Sir John may not have expected us to arrive so early. Many sleep late after travelling, but I never could abide an inn longer than necessary. Let us go in.”
“Wait until someone collects our baggage and directs you to the stables,” the countess ordered her coachmen.
“Let us not dawdle. It could begin raining any moment from the look of the weather,” she told Mathilda, leading the way up the flagstone walk to the main doors. The porticoed entrance showed signs of fitful care, as did the lawns and gardens.
The clatter of hooves upon the drive halted the objection Mathilda was about to make as Lady Pennypiece reached to open the doors unbidden. Both turned to see who came.
A pudgy man atop a huge black hunter galloped across the ill-manicured lawn. He halted at the portico’s edge. The servants, following on poorer beasts, halted at the drive’s edge; one dismounted and came running to take Sir John’s horse as he dismounted.
“Netta, what brings you to my door?” he asked, stamping forward, his reddened face showing the effect of a hard ride and ample spirits.
“Now, Sir John, you know you invited me to spend some time with you,” Lady Pennypiece admonished him, raising her quizzing glass.
“Rather odd.” He removed his hat and scratched his balding head. “I recall nothing of it. Haven’t had many callers since Elizabeth popped off, ‘cept the children, and I ignore them.”
“Then we are just what you need. Won’t you see our baggage and coach taken care of? I am exhausted,” she sighed.
“Little for your comfort here,” Sir John grunted. “Few servants and all.”
“I bring my own,” the countess told him. “You have not met Howard’s wife.” She took Mathilda’s arm. “Lady Mathilda, our cousin, Sir John Grewould.”
“Pleased, ma’am,” Sir John grunted again.
When he still hesitated to extend an invitation Lady Pennypiece leaned against Mathilda. “I feel faint,” she breathed.
“See to them, see to them,” Grewould sharply ordered the groom who held his hunter. “Get the abigail from the coach top. Hurry. Supper best be ready, after this day,” he harrumphed to himself.
“Dine early we do, at a proper time,” Sir John continued, gazing distastefully at the two women. “Was in the army, you know,” he said to no one in particular as they entered the house.
