An Unusual Bequest (13 page)

C
harlotte had expected Stacey back the following evening or the very latest the day after. After all, Ipswich was only a day’s ride away, but three days passed and he did not appear and she began to wonder if she had been right to trust him. How long did it take to sell a few trinkets? If Viscount Darton proved to be as big a mountebank as her brother-in-law and his two confederates, her inherent trust in the goodness of human nature was cast into doubt. She had always believed the best in everyone; had even tried to find excuses for Cecil when his father condemned him. Cecil was weak, the other two were evil, but she did not want to believe it was also true of Stacey Darton.

He had been kind to her, kissed her, called her his dear, given her back her money, told her he wanted to help her. And she had fallen in love with him, longed to feel his arms about her again, to feel safe and warm and cherished. Not since Grenville had gone off to war had she felt like that. Her father-in-law had had great affection for her, she knew that, her children loved her, the servants respected her, the parson admired her, but none of that compared with the love of a man. Until Stacey had arrived, she had not realised what was missing and now she had, she felt the emptiness all the more. She wanted him, longed for him, desired him. Surely, surely, she was not such a bad judge of character as to love a rogue? But where was he? Why had he not come back? She kept telling herself anything could have happened to detain him and she was being far too impatient.

With no help for it, she carried on with her housekeeping duties and because there were now fewer guests she was able to resume teaching in the village, which went part of the way to preventing her from brooding. And in the evening, while Cecil and the two men continued to gamble—though what Cecil was using for stakes she did not know—she sat in her room and made plans for her school, knowing they might never come to fruition, but doing it just the same. There was the house to be made ready and equipment bought, and she would need staff, not only servants but other teachers, specialists in their subjects, all of whom would expect good salaries. Was she being too ambitious? But if she could not offer everything a wealthy parent wanted for his daughter, how could she attract pupils? And what about the pupils? Where would she find those? Word of mouth would not be enough, she would have to advertise, discreetly, of course. And it all took time. And time was running out. Was it all a pipe dream? If Viscount Darton did not return, she feared it might be.

She had been sitting at her escritoire, making notes, but now she put her quill down and stared into space. What if something dreadful had happened to him? Supposing he had been waylaid and the money he was bringing to her taken from him? There were frequent reports in the newspapers of highwaymen, footpads, out-of-work soldiers, disgruntled labourers, thieves of every description attacking and even murdering wayfarers for the sake of a few coins. She would not put it past Cecil to do that if he got wind of the Viscount’s errand. Had he done it already? Was that what he was gambling with? But if he had, Stacey would have come back and exacted revenge. Unless he was too injured. Or dead. She put her hand to her mouth to stifle the groan that threatened to become a full-blown wail of anguish and told herself firmly she was being fanciful.

Unable to sit still, she began pacing the room and when that did not serve to calm her, she went downstairs. She would take the men some more wine and perhaps she might learn what Cecil was using for a stake. The other two might have relented over taking his vouchers. After going to the cellar and extracting the last two bottles of Burgundy, she made her way to the dining room, where the men had been ensconced since dinner. She stopped and hesitated outside the door, debating with herself whether it was such a good idea, after all.

‘Hobart, my old friend, you are dished up.’ This was Augustus Spike’s voice. ‘Now admit it.’

‘The next hand…’

Sir Roland laughed. ‘It is always the next hand with you, Cecil, is it not? There will be no next hand, not now we have this pile of brick and stone and everything in it, including the coach and horses, and the lady.’

Charlotte gasped and moved closer to the door.

‘The lady?’ Cecil asked. ‘Roly, you surely did not mean it when you said you’d marry her?’

‘Why not? You have gambled her daughters’ inheritance as well as your own. How else am I to get my hands on it?’

‘She won’t have it.’

‘Then how do you propose to settle your dues?’

‘I don’t know. I’ll find the blunt somehow.’

‘Cecil, old man, what happens if the lady were to meet with an accident, an untimely end?’ Augustus asked. ‘Wouldn’t you be her bratlings’ guardian?’

‘I suppose I would, but what of it? She’s young, youngish anyway, and healthy. And what would I do with a brace of infants?’

‘Oh, you could be the loving uncle for a couple of years, couldn’t you? Then who knows what might happen?’

Charlotte, glued to the door, stuffed her fist in her mouth to stop herself crying out. She was in terrible danger, more than she had ever imagined. The temptation was to rush in and confront them, let them know she had heard every word, but she held herself in check. If they thought she knew about it, they would not hesitate to do away with her and what would happen to her girls then?

‘No.’ Cecil sounded more vehement than she would have expected. ‘I may be no great shakes as a gambler and not averse to a bit of humbuggery, but I draw the line at that. I don’t fancy preaching at Tyburn Cross.’

‘Accidents do happen.’

‘I won’t have anything to do with it. It’s too risky.’

‘And it would take too long to come to fruition.’ It was Augustus, speaking quietly, as if all they had said so far had been leading up to this. ‘And, if Darton was telling the truth about his lordship’s finances, not worth the candle. There is another way for you to come about.’

‘Go on,’ Cecil urged him warily.

‘We, that is, Roly and I, have an interest in a certain cargo ship. It comes and goes, you understand, and though it is fully laden, it cannot put into port.’ He paused before adding, ‘You do understand me, I hope?’

‘Contraband.’

‘Right, my friend. But things have become a little hot of late. The Coast Blockade is suddenly a mite too efficient and we cannot put in at our usual spot at Dungeness. Your little cove, being isolated as it is, will make an ideal landing place. And this house, with its deep cellars, a fine warehouse.’

‘Oh, I see. It has been your purpose all along. When I told you about my inheritance, you seized your chance.’

‘It could not have come at a better time, my friend, and you were so easy to gull and such a poor gamester, it was child’s play. Now, we do not want to deprive you of your house, so all you have to do is to cooperate. You will do that, won’t you?’

‘And Lady Hobart?’

‘She is safe so long as you do as you are told. If not, we shall make sure her demise is laid at your door. I am sure you understand.’

Charlotte heard the scrape of chairs and made good her escape, running up the stairs, clutching the bottles of wine. Reaching the safety of her room, she locked the door and sank on to her bed. What could she do? To whom could she turn? ‘Oh, Stacey, Stacey, where are you when I need you so?’ she murmured, but there was no one to hear her, no one to help her. She was on her own and she must get herself and her children away. Now. At once.

She put the bottles on the chest, pulled a portmanteau from a cupboard and began stuffing clothes into it and then she stopped. Running away was not the answer. If they saw her leaving the house with her children and a lot of baggage, they would realise she had discovered their secret and would stop her. She must be more subtle than that. She put everything back, then went to bed and spent hours and hours going over her dilemma again and again until she dropped off to sleep with nothing decided.

The morning dawned bright and clear, the sun shone and the sparrows twittered in the eaves, but Charlotte, heavy-eyed, her very soul weighed down with grief and bitterness, could hardly rouse herself. But rouse herself she must. Perhaps today Stacey would return. If he did not, then she was truly alone and must save herself and her children as best she could.

‘Whatever happened to your clothes, my lady?’ Betsy, who had brought her hot chocolate and pulled back the curtains, was busy looking at the gown her mistress would wear that day and was appalled by the untidy way they had been bundled back into the drawers and closet. ‘Those men haven’t been in here again, have they?’

So even the servants knew what had happened. It was hardly surprising. ‘No, Betsy. I was looking for something. A shawl. I’m sorry I did not put things away as tidily as I should.’

‘’ Tain’t surprisin’, my lady,’ the maid said. ‘With all you’ve had to endure, ’ tis a wonder you manage to get up of a morning, let alone see to them men. I was never so glad to see the others go, though the two what’s left are the worst of the lot.’

‘Sometimes we have to make the best of things, Betsy.’

‘Is it true the master has lost the house?’

‘I don’t know. I hope he would not allow matters to reach that pitch.’

‘If it weren’t for you needin’ me, I’d leave, my lady, an’ tha’s a fact. And so would the others. We talked about it and decided we’d stay, so you need have no fear of being left without help, but if you was to decide you’d had enough, then we’d understand, but we’d go too. Beggin’ your pardon for speakin’so free.’

Charlotte smiled, though behind the smile the tears lurked. Their loyalty was touching and, at a time when she was at her very lowest, it made her want to cry. ‘Were you elected as spokeswoman?’

‘Yes, my lady, seein’s as I look after your room and can talk to you easier than the others. You never know who’s listening.’

‘I do not know what I am going to do, Betsy, but be sure I shall tell you as soon as I can. Now, can you find the least crumpled of my dresses? I must appear to be going about my daily tasks.’

Dressed and looking her usual cool self, even if her insides were churning, she went down to breakfast. Unusually, the men had been up some time and gone out, on foot, so Foster told her. Glad not to have to face them, she forced herself to eat a little breakfast, then went up to see the girls, who were just beginning their lessons. Satisfied that they were safe and well, she returned to her room to write to Mr Hardacre. She dare not tell him the true state of affairs, but asked him if he had been able to sort out her ‘little problem’. She almost laughed at that. It was not a little problem, it was a huge dilemma. After that she wrote to her great-uncle without any hope that she would receive a reply. She should have done it long before. Why had she delayed? Could it be because she still cherished her dream? Or had the arrival of Stacey Darton had something to do with it? Had she been hoping…?

She pulled herself up short; it was no good dwelling on what might have been. Sealing both letters, she put a short cape over her dress, set a black bonnet on her curls and set off for the village. She would give the letters to the Reverend Fuller to be forwarded with his mail. A carrier took all the village post to Ipswich every afternoon to be put on the London mail and brought back the incoming letters the following morning. It would be safer to send her post that way than trust it to the young lad at the Manor whose task it was to take the post. She had a feeling her letters might be intercepted by a curious Cecil.

The Reverend was just coming out of his gate when she arrived. ‘Good morning, Lady Hobart,’ he greeted her. ‘I was on my way to see you. Captain MacArthur has returned. He is only here until tomorrow, so, if you still want the house, you must see him today.’

She hesitated. Could she go ahead with her plan after all? Dare she? The Captain’s house would be vacant after tomorrow—would he allow her to move in before the contract for the lease had been signed? Did he even need to know she had taken possession? After all, he would have to leave her the keys. She smiled to herself—what had Stacey said about some of the decisions we had to make being a gamble? This was most definitely a gamble, a gamble that somehow or other she could produce the money for the rent and have enough left over to keep her and her children until the school was up and running. ‘Then perhaps I should go now,’ she said, stuffing her letters back into her pocket.

‘Would you like me to accompany you?’

‘That is kind of you, but no, I can manage alone and there is my class. Can you take it today?’

Captain Alexander MacArthur was a bluff, weatherbeaten man of middle years. His hair and beard were white as snow, his hands brown and gnarled, though when he took her hand to bow over it, his grip was gentle. ‘My lady, come in. Please excuse the untidiness.’ He waved his hand at the piles of bags, boxes and chests that were piled up in the hall and drawing room. ‘Coppins, leave that and fetch the lady some tea,’ he told his manservant. Then to Charlotte, ‘Let us go into the back parlour, my lady. That is less disturbed.’

He led the way and settled her into a chair, passing comments on the weather in a way that left her in no doubt he was a seaman; it was all about winds and tides and moons being in the right quarter. ‘Got to catch the tide tomorrow night, so need this business cleared up today.’ He paused while his servant brought in the tea and dismissed him before continuing. ‘I had it in mind to employ a caretaker to look after the house, never had to do it before, of course, when Mrs MacArthur was alive, God rest her soul.’

‘My condolences, Captain.’

‘Thank you. As I said, I thought about a caretaker, don’t do to leave a house standing empty, does it? But when I asked the Reverend if he knew someone to take on the job, he told me about you. He tells me you are Captain Delaney’s daughter. A fine seaman and a good man to have at your side in a fight. Lost at Trafalgar, I collect.’

‘Yes, he was.’

‘And now Lord Hobart has handed in his accounts you want to leave Easterley Manor?’