Angel's Touch (10 page)

Such had been the
cause of his distancing himself from his blameless offspring. Only
now did he see how selfish and inhuman an act this had been.
Remorse gnawed at him, more painful than the bodily hurts he had
sustained this day.

Small wonder he had been unable to correct the false
impression Miss Lambourn had acquired of him. She knew, evidently,
or had found out, that Braxted was the son of the Marquis of
Salmesbury. How could he tell her that he was the same marquis,
after the strictures she had uttered? Already so much had been
said, so much had occurred to produce misunderstanding between
them. If he now told her his true identity, he did not know which
of them must be the more embarrassed.

No.
Better he should remain ‘Mr Haverigg’, as she had mistakenly called
him. After all, it was unlikely they would meet again. He had only
to keep away from Tunbridge Wells. That should not be difficult. He
was already something of a recluse. Let him become more so. But
not, he decided suddenly, as he turned his horses into the gates of
Braxted Park, to his children.

Accordingly, he accosted his butler as that worthy opened the
big double front doors to his master.

‘
Cradoc, where shall I find Lord Braxted at this
hour?’

The
servitor, far too well-trained to betray his stupefaction,
nevertheless opened his eyes a little. ‘Lord Braxted, my
lord?’

‘
Yes, my son,’ said the marquis impatiently.

The butler eyed him
uncertainly.

‘
Well? Have you gone deaf, Cradoc?’

‘
I
beg your lordship’s pardon, but has Lord Braxted incurred your
lordship’s displeasure?’ ventured the butler.

‘
Good God, have you run mad?’

Cradoc prudently held his peace, but Salmesbury was shocked.
Was he so formidable a father, then, that he had hitherto only
sought out his only son—his heir, damn it all!—to scold him for
some fault? He had not thought himself so harsh a parent. But
perhaps it was true. Contrary to all appearances, he had rarely had
occasion to chastise the child, but until now he had not realised
that virtually the only contact he’d had with the boy had been when
there was a homily to be delivered. So much so that apparently even
his butler felt it necessary to protect the child against
him.

‘
The
boy has done nothing, Cradoc,’ he said quietly. ‘I would like to
see him, that is all. Now where may I find him, if you
please?’

The
butler bowed, evidently satisfied. ‘I believe he will be in the
schoolroom with Mr Eastleigh, my lord.’

Thanking him briefly, the marquis limped away towards the
grand staircase that dominated the huge open hall of Braxted Place.
It was typical of the ornate building which had been erected by the
present marquis’s grandsire after the Italian fashion. A vast
baroque structure, with high domed ceilings and spacious rooms,
decorated throughout with a profusion of carved plaster cornices,
with angels and demons peering from odd corners, and marble statues
nestling in every niche.

The
marquis, inured from birth to the splendours that surrounded him,
traversed the long gallery above without once glancing at the
paintings that hung there, and made his way to the corridor that
led to the upper floors where the children and servants dwelled out
of sight.

As
he opened the door into the schoolroom where he had himself been
tutored, he did not fail to notice the look of apprehension that
came into his son’s face when he glanced up to see who had entered.
Clearly, Braxted shared the butler’s fears.

Mr Eastleigh, a
gentleman in orders of late middle age, who was chaplain to the
Haverigg family as well as tutor to the hope of the house, looked
almost as surprised as the boy himself.

‘
My
lord!’ he uttered faintly.

‘
Good morning, Eastleigh,’ said the marquis quietly, but his
eyes were on the boy’s face. God, how like Margaret he was! With an
effort, he dragged a smile on to his lips. ‘Good morning,
Braxted.’

‘
Sir!’ uttered the boy, springing to his feet, the wary look
more pronounced than ever.

What
have I done? thought Salmesbury in silent anguish. Aloud he said,
‘What are you studying today?’

Braxted blinked. ‘G-Greek, sir.’

‘
Greek
?’ The
marquis frowned, looking at the tutor. ‘Isn’t he a little young for
Greek?’

‘
Oh,
no, my lord,’ Eastleigh said earnestly. ‘If a boy has the aptitude,
it is never too early to begin. Master Wystan—my lord Braxted, I
should say—has a most superior understanding. Most superior. He is
quite a scholar, my lord.’

‘
Is
he indeed?’ said Salmesbury, looking at the child with a new
interest. How little he knew of the boy. ‘I am delighted to hear
it. But I wonder if I may be permitted to interrupt his scholarly
activities for a short while.’

‘
But
of course, my lord. You are the boy’s father, after all. Naturally,
you may order his studies as you see fit.’

Yes,
I am his father, thought the marquis. Yet he seems a stranger to
me. As I must to him, poor child.

‘
Thank you,’ he said quietly. ‘Braxted. . . Wystan. . . Would
you care to—to walk with me a little?’

Braxted’s jaw fell open and he stared at his father as if he
could not believe his ears.

The
marquis gave him a wry smile. ‘Come, is it so odd a
request?’

‘
Yes, sir,’ said the boy frankly before he could stop himself.
‘I—I mean—’

He
broke off and Salmesbury looked at the chaplain. ‘By your leave,
Eastleigh, may we have the room to ourselves a moment? There
is—something I wish to—to discuss with—with my son.’

‘
Of
course, my lord, of course,’ said the cleric hastily, and,
concealing his astonishment, bowed himself out of the
room.

When
he had gone, the marquis hesitated for a moment, hardly knowing how
to begin. The child remained by the desk, his big eyes, still
registering suspicion and doubt, never leaving his father’s face.
Salmesbury could not meet that blue gaze, so reminiscent of poor
Meg’s innocent sweetness. He felt as if he were on the rack, and
longed to leave the room so that he need not look upon it. Instead,
he moved to the window and gazed down at the view of the ornamental
garden some way below.

‘
I
have met a friend of yours, Wystan,’ he said.

The
boy eyed him, fresh doubts entering his mind.
What
friend? Was his secret
blown?

‘
Yes, sir?’ he said, the doubt in his voice.

The
marquis turned. ‘Yes, a lady.’

Relief blanked the boy’s mind a moment. Then he realised some
response was required of him.

‘
L-lady, sir?’ he stammered.

Salmesbury smiled at his obvious amazement, real amusement
making him far more natural. ‘You think I am mad, I dare
say.’

‘
Oh,
no, sir,’ the boy said automatically, but his frank eyes belied
him. He took courage. ‘What lady, sir?’

‘
The
lady who saved you from the scaffold. Or rather, from an unjust
punishment.’

The
boy’s eyes widened. ‘Oh,
her
.’

‘
Her
name is Miss Lambourn and she is staying at Tunbridge
Wells.’

Braxted came away from the desk at last and ventured to
approach a step or two. ‘Did you see her there?’

‘
I
did,’ replied the marquis. ‘She asked to be remembered to
you.’

The
boy grinned suddenly. ‘I ’member her very well. She was
kind.’

‘
Very. She asked after you, also. Unfortunately, Wystan—’
Salmesbury looked away briefly and then forced his gaze back to the
child’s ‘—unfortunately, I could not tell her how you were, for I
had not seen you from that day to this.’

Braxted did not speak,
but his lip trembled a little, though his gaze remained steady on
the sombre one above him.

‘
I—had not realised,’ continued the marquis with difficulty,
‘how ill-acquainted we have become.’ He threw up a hand as the boy
winced. ‘Oh, it is not your fault, Wystan. The blame is entirely
mine. But I would like, if you will let me, to remedy
this.’

He paused, but the
child did not speak. He was flushing, and he swallowed once or
twice. With a pain at his heart, Salmesbury realised that he was
desperately trying to stop himself from bursting into sobs. He put
out his hand, and his voice was gentle.

‘
Will you help me, Braxted?’

The
boy nodded, biting his lip, and, as the tears spilled from his
eyes, he reached out to take his father’s hand.

***

‘
It
is part of the war effort, ma’am,’ Mr Tyson earnestly informed Lady
Crossens. The master of ceremonies was fervently seeking support
amongst the well-to-do patrons for a day of diversions to be held
on Tunbridge Wells Common on the coming Saturday.

‘
We
have had these troops quartered in Waterdown Forest, waiting to be
sent off to France, and they have eaten the locals out of house and
home.’

‘
Indeed? And do you imagine we are able to make good these
depredations?’ demanded her ladyship, raising her brows.

‘
No
indeed, ma’am. It is rather for morale, you understand, that the
people may see that their sacrifices have not gone unrecognised,
and that the officers and men are engaged in a worthy cause against
a common enemy.’

‘
Yes, there is no need to lecture
us,
Tyson,’ said Lady
Crossens testily.

Richard Tyson bowed, and said with the utmost urbanity,
‘Naturally you are conversant with these matters, ma’am, and will
understand that we are also anxious to promote the interests of
those few
emigrés
who have come among us.’

This her ladyship
could appreciate, for the steady trickle of those unfortunates
escaping from the Terror over the last few years was known to all
the world.

‘
Poor benighted wretches,’ she said, shaking her head. ‘They
arrive destitute and are thrown wholly upon our
charity.’

‘
Quite so, ma’am. It is hoped that we may be able to alleviate
their lot a little.’

‘
Very well. How are we to assist?’

The expected aid was,
of course, pecuniary, for it was necessary to supply a number of
prizes that might be won in the various races and raffles, the
proceeds of which would be used for the fund to help the French
refugees. But the master of ceremonies thought it would be a
graceful gesture if some of the gentry would condescend to lend the
occasion the cachet of their presence.

‘
You
may count upon me, Mr Tyson,’ said Verity at once. ‘It sounds a
delightfully entertaining manner of spending the day.’

‘
Most enjoyable, Miss Lambourn.’ He glanced doubtfully at Lady
Crossens. ‘If, that is, her ladyship permits?’

‘
Oh,
you will consent, dear ma’am, will you not?’

Lady
Crossens frowned. ‘You will not go unescorted, child.’

‘
Oh,
stuff, ma’am. I dare say Dogget will be pleased to escort me, if
you must have it. I am sure he will want to attend.’

Her
ladyship could not like the idea of her protégée wandering among a
gathering of common people accompanied only by a groom, but once
she was assured that several of the gentlemen residents would be
present she did not withhold her consent.

Verity, learning from Mr Tyson—who took care to inform her of
it only when her patroness was out of earshot—that there were
additionally expected to be in evidence stalls of various kinds,
together with jugglers and acrobats and all the usual adjuncts of a
fair, found herself looking forward to the treat in anticipation of
no common degree of enjoyment. It would serve admirably, she
decided, to turn her thoughts from the marquis and his ubiquitous
assistant, Mr Haverigg.

Not
that the latter’s conspicuous absence from the Wells was of any
interest to her. Oh, no. But it was odd that he had not been near
the place since that unfortunate accident at the library almost a
week ago. She could not help wondering whether he had been hurt
more severely than he had thought. It would be comforting to see
him again. Only to be certain, of course, that he was quite well.
How could she forgive herself if he had been injured all through
her carelessness? Useless, she supposed, to think that he might
attend these diversions. Not even to accompany the marquis’s
children. Gracious, no. There was no hope of that.

***

‘
Shall we go out into the garden today? It is close in
here.’

Young Lord Braxted nodded. This was the third morning during
the past week on which his father had taken time out from the
business that occupied his secretary and himself for the better
part of his day, and sought out his son, and Wystan was beginning
to relax a little. So far there was not much pleasure to be gained
in the rather stilted conversation between them, but the look he
had hitherto dreaded, that bleak, white-faced look that had
scorched him out of those vivid black eyes, had been absent from
the man’s face. The boy was still wary, for, although he did not
remember his father ever being this way before, there was no saying
how long such an unprecedented mood would last.