A Duke in Danger (6 page)

“I cannot imagine,” he said sharply, “what your reason could be for behaving in such a dishonourable manner. And I want you, Cousin Alvina, to tell me the truth
as to why you were in need of money and for what purpose!

Once again his voice seemed to ring out a little louder than he had intended.

As she still stared at him, apparently finding it difficult to answer his question, his anger suddenly boiled over so that he said furiously:

“Were you trying to trick me because you had no wish to see me in your brother’s place? Or were you providing for some man who had taken your fancy and of whom your father did not approve?”

He paused to say even more furiously:

“The pawn-broker, Pinchbeck, tells me this has been going on for nearly three years, ever since your father died, and I cannot imagine anything more underhand and deceitful than that you should behave in a manner which undoubtedly would have hurt and dismayed him had he been aware of it! It has certainly disgusted me!” He finished speaking and waited, and then in a voice he could barely hear Alvina faltered:

“I ... I can ... explain.”

“So I should hope,” the Duke interrupted, “and it had better be a good explanation!”

Again he waited, and Alvina began to say in a choked voice:

“It was ... because ... Papa ...” she stopped. He then realised that she was trembling as if she could say no more and was unable to hold back the tears that had come to her eyes.

She then turned and ran away from him down the Library and disappeared through the door.

The Duke gave an exclamation which was one of exasperation and frustration.

“Dammit!” he said to himself. “Is that not exactly like a woman? They always resort to tears when they are caught out!”

He did not really know what to do now that Alvina had left him, but he thought he would have no difficulty in finding someone else he could talk to.

He looked for a bell, but there appeared not to be one. So he walked slowly back down the Library, thinking as he did so how badly kept it was and that there was undoubtedly a great deal of dust on all of the books.

The silver grate was almost black and obviously had not been polished for a long time.

He went out again into the passage which led to the Hall. There was still no-one to be seen.

He opened the door of the Blue Drawing-Room, only to see that, like the first room he had entered, it was shuttered and there were covers over the furniture, and again there was that musty smell.

“What the Devil is happening?” he asked himself.

He was just about to walk on farther when he saw a man coming slowly towards him from beyond the Dining-Hall.

The Duke turned and walked back, realising as he drew closer that the man had white hair and was moving slowly because he was old. He thought, although he was not sure, that he recognised his face.

Then, as they met halfway down the corridor, the man peered up at him as if he found it hard to see him.

“Good-day, Your Grace.”

“What is your name?” the Duke asked. “I seem to remember you.”

“Walton, Your Grace.”

“Yes, of course. You were the Butler here when I was a small boy.”

“That’s true, Master Ivar ... I mean Your Grace,” the old man said. “I were first footman when you came as a child, and then Butler when you stayed ’ere with your mother and father. A fine, upstanding lad you was, too.”

He spoke with warmth in his voice as old people do when they reminisce over the past, and the Duke said:

“I am glad to meet you again, Walton, but you must tell me what is happening. There was no-one in the Hall when I arrived.”

There was just a faint note of rebuke in his voice, and Walton replied:

“We weren’t expecting Your Grace.”

“Yes, I know that,” the Duke said. “And I know the war has made a great difference to everything in
England, but I did not anticipate finding all the rooms shut up.”

“There were nothing else we could do, Your Grace.”

“Why not?” the Duke enquired. “Surely you have servants enough to clean them?”

“No, Your Grace.”

The Duke stared at the old man and then said: “Perhaps it would be best for me to have an explanation from whoever is in charge here. I imagine that is Lady Alvina.”

“Yes, Your Grace. Lady Alvina’s been looking after everything since His Grace died.”

The Duke now regretted having caused her to run away so hastily, and he said:

“Well, Walton, as Lady Alvina seems to have disappeared for the moment, perhaps you had better tell me what I should know.”

As he spoke he realised that he could hardly stand talking in the passage, so he said:

“Which rooms is Her Ladyship using besides the Library?”

“The Library’s usually shut, Your Grace,” Walton said slowly. “Her Ladyship was dusting it as she was trying to find a book she wanted.”

The Duke thought that would account for the dust and the way his cousin had been dressed.

“Where can I sit?” he asked.

His voice sharpened a little because he was feeling frustrated by the way every question he asked seemed to lead him nowhere.

“Her Ladyship’s using the Breakfast-Room, Your Grace,” the Butler replied. “It’s the only room we’ve open at the moment.”

The old man preceded him very slowly to the small room which faced South where the Duke remembered breakfasting last time he had stayed at the Castle.

Only the gentlemen used to come down to breakfast, while the ladies had preferred to stay in the bedrooms
or their
Boudoirs
and had not appeared until much later in the morning.

As Walton opened the door, he recognised the attractive squared room that overlooked the lake.

He remembered that the early-morning rays of the sun used to shine through the windows on the long sideboard laden with silver entree-dishes kept warm with a lighted candle beneath each.

There had been at least a dozen different foods to choose from.

There had been a large circular table in the centre of the room, and the Duke could recall the big silver racks containing toast and a cottage loaf baked that morning in the kitchen ovens.

There had been scones and rolls fresh and warm, together with a huge comb of golden honey and jams and marmalades made in the Still-Room.

There was everything that a man’s body could require early in the morning, and for his mind there were the newspapers, freshly ironed in the Butler’s Pantry, set on silver stands opposite each place at the table.

He had been fascinated by all the luxury, and he knew vaguely at the back of his mind that he had expected on his return to England to find everything as it had been then.

But the furniture of the room was entirely changed: there was now only one small round table in the window and a sofa and an armchair standing in front of the fireplace.

The long side-table on which the silver breakfast-dishes had been laid had been removed to leave room for a bookcase.

It was a very fine Chippendale piece, yet somehow it seemed out-of-place in this particular room, with its walls covered with paintings by English artists of the Seventeenth Century.

The Duke had noticed with a quick glance that had been trained to be observant that there was a work-box
of English marquetry and a
Secretaire
which was covered with papers and with what he thought looked like bills.

There were some small portraits on the mantelpiece and on the side-tables, and there was also a larger one of Richard, painted by Lawrence, over the fireplace.

He had the feeling as he and the Butler entered the room that they were intruding, although he told himself that it was absurd to feel like that.

After all, the place was now his, and Cousin Alvina was certainly not welcoming him with any enthusiasm.

Almost as if he wished to assert himself, he sat down in the armchair beside the fireplace and said:

“Now, Walton, tell me what all this is about. Why is the house shut up? Why are there no footmen in the Hall? And why is Lady Alvina using only this room instead of one of the Drawing-Rooms?”

The old man drew in his breath, and then with a voice which seemed to tremble he said:

“I’m afraid Your Grace doesn’t understand.”

“I certainly do not!” the Duke said. “And while I think of it, there is one special question to which I want an answer. Why did you allow Lady Alvina to take the silver Germain bowl out of the safe and take it to London, with, I gather, a number of other valuable things?” There was silence. Then the Duke realised that Walton’s hands were shaking in the same way as Alvina’s had.

As he could feel his anger rising, the Duke said:

“Tell me the truth. I shall find out sooner or later, and I want to hear it now.”

“It’s quite simple, Your Grace,” Walton said in a quavering voice. “Her Ladyship had no money.”

Chapter Three

T
here
was silence
for a moment before the Duke said in surprise:

“What do you mean, no money?”

Walton cleared his throat before he answered:

“ ’Twas like this, Your Grace. There was no money to pay wages and pensions, or even to buy food.”

“I do not believe it!” the Duke exclaimed. “My cousin left a very large sum when he died.”

Walton looked uncomfortable before he said:

“I thinks, Your Grace, that the war upset a great number of people and His late Grace was one of them.”

“You mean when His Lordship was killed?”

“Before that, Your Grace. Things began to get much more expensive, and His Grace decided to economise.”

The Duke’s lips tightened.

It seemed incredible, in view of the huge sum of money he knew was in the Bank, that his cousin should have thought it necessary to economise to the point of considering the wages of his domestic staff.

He remembered now, although it had not occurred to him before, hearing talk of what was happening in England while he was in Paris.

Someone had told him that the Duke of Buccleuch, because of agricultural distress, had left his farm rents uncollected and was not visiting London so that he might have more cash to pay his retainers.
He had hardly listened to what had been said at that moment because he was more immediately concerned with so much that was happening in Europe.

Now he supposed that it had been foolish of him not to have made enquiries if at the Castle, like in other places in England, there were difficulties on the farms as well as the problem of unemployment.

He had read in the newspapers about unrest in the country, and politicians arriving in Paris from England had confirmed it, since wages had been forced down as thousands of ex-soldiers and sailors were released from the services.

There had also been no compensation or pensions for those who had fought so valiantly.

The Duke had put the information at the back of his mind, to be considered later when he returned home, but now he realised that it was an urgent personal problem which he had to face.

Yet, it still seemed incredible that Walton should talk of there being no money, when he knew how much there was available.

“Surely,” he said aloud, “the Duke must have been aware of the difficulties, or whoever managed the Estate could have explained it to him.”

“There was no-one, Your Grace.”

“Why was there no-one?” the Duke asked sharply.

“His Grace quarrelled with Mr. Fellows, who had been in charge for thirty years, just before His Lordship was killed.”

“And he was not replaced?” the Duke asked.

“No, Your Grace.”

“So who has been managing the Estate?”

“Lady Alvina, and it’s been very hard for her, very hard indeed, Your Grace. She had no money to pay the pensioners.”

“I can hardly believe it,” the Duke muttered beneath his breath.

Then, as if he felt that this was something that he
should discuss with his cousin, not with a servant, he said:

“Who is here in the house at the moment?”

“There’s just m’wife and m’self, M’Lord, and Mrs. Johnson, who I daresay you remember, who’s been the Cook for over forty years, and Emma, who’s getting on for eighty and can’t do much.”

“Is that all?” the Duke enquired.

“Everyone else was either dismissed on His Grace’s orders, or left.”

“It cannot be true.”

The Duke was silent for a moment, then he said: “Thank you for what you have told me, Walton. I think I must discuss this further with Lady Alvina. Will you ask her if she will join me?”

There was some hesitation before Walton said: