Fenella Miller

A DISSEMBLER

Fenella Miller

Chapter One

‘What the devil do you want, Vincent, at this godforsaken time in the morning?’ Theodolphus Archibald Frederick John Rickham, seventh Earl of Wister, known to his friends as Wister, or just Theo, yawned hugely and propped himself upon one elbow to scowl at his valet who had had the temerity to disturb him at dawn.

‘I apologise, sir, but the man was most insistent he speak to Sir James or Lady Devenish.’

Theo shot out of bed. ‘Good God! This is a disaster. Did the man give his name?’

Vincent held out a brocade dressing gown liberally woven with gold and Theo slipped his arms in. ‘I have some papers he gave me here, sir. He said they would explain everything.’

The bundle of papers disappeared into Theo’s hand and he strode across to the candelabra. He flicked open the first and scanned its contents. He perused the next three, his eyebrows raised and his brow furrowed as he read.

‘Vincent, what have you done with the young lady?’

‘I asked Mrs Blake to conduct her and her abigail to the guest rooms in the east wing, sir. I couldn’t leave her to sleep on the doorstep. The young men I sent round to the stables, they can find accommodation there.

‘Excellent man, you did exactly the right thing. The young lady is, it says here, one Marianne Devenish, a great niece to Sir James and since her mother died she became his ward.’

Vincent looked grim. ‘That has fairly put the cat amongst the pigeons has it not, my lord. What are you going to do?’

Theo flung the papers aside angrily. ‘Quiet man, let me think, I cannot let the arrival of a stray schoolgirl ruin my plans.’

He ran his hand absently through his hair and chewed his bottom lip, deep in thought. Vincent left him to it. His valet was better employed warming up some water and stropping the razor ready for his morning shave.

Theo paced the room, his long strides taking him across and back in easy rhythm. This was a conundrum of the most unlikely kind. Spies and villains, traitors and ne’er do wells he could deal with—but a girl, scarce out in society, that was quite a different matter.

He stared out of the window; the manicured lawns and elaborate old-fashioned knot gardens for once invisible to him. ‘I have no choice, dammit! I cannot turn the child away, but neither can I allow her to live here.’ He spoke aloud, causing Vincent to pop his head round the dressing room door.

‘Did you call, sir?’

‘No, come in and sit down. I need to talk to you.’

With the ease of long acquaintance his manservant sat on a convenient chair and waited to be used, as many times before, as a sounding board for his lordship’s machinations. Theo waited until he was settled.

‘Good man. It says that Marianne is a substantial heiress and has been pursued by several gazetted fortune hunters and, according to her maternal grandmother, is in danger of finding herself abducted by one of them. In desperation she has been sent here, supposedly out of harm’s way, and placed in the care of her great uncle Sir James Devenish, whose long lost nephew and heir, I am supposed to be.’

‘That’s as maybe, sir, but it’s a havey-cavey business, arriving in the middle of the night, with no luggage. Why did they not come in a carriage like normal folk?’

‘According to this letter there is one bastard determined to have the girl, by force if necessary, and it was thought necessary to travel incognito. It seems it is my job now to keep her safe from him.’

‘Well, that explains one mystery. But it does not solve the problem of how you are going to take care of her. You cannot tell her you are an impostor, can you?’

‘No, I cannot. I have a vital job to do down here and must remain Sir Theodore Devenish until it is completed.’ He paused, trying to make up his mind. ‘I have no choice, Vincent. I must assume responsibility for the girl, become her guardian and administer her trust funds as requested. At least until this work is done.’

Vincent frowned. ‘If she is a flighty miss, you may have to give up precious time to supervise her. And she can’t stay here. This is a bachelor establishment; unless you can find an old tabby who can act as chaperone.’

‘I had thought to foist her off on the Griersons at Frating Hall. They have a parcel of youngsters and will hardly notice one extra.’ His valet was about to protest. ‘I intend to offer them an extremely generous remuneration for accommodating her. Lord Grierson has his dibs permanently out of tune. He will snap my hand off in his eagerness to take my ward into his family.’

‘Shall I get over to Frating Hall and inform Lord Grierson of your plans?’

‘I shall write him a note explaining how things are. You can wait for his reply.’

‘Very well, sir. Will you be wanting a shave before I leave?’

‘I am quite capable of doing for myself.’ Theo grinned. ‘Don’t forget in private I am not the foppish Sir Theo, unable to do his cravat without assistance.’

Vincent got to his feet unabashed by the reprimand. ‘I believe, sir, you always say that in order to bamboozle anyone successfully, the act must be kept up at all times, in case one is disturbed unexpectedly.’

‘I have not the time to bandy words with you; I have a letter to write.’

* * * *

Twenty minutes later Theo headed downstairs. He was smooth cheeked and immaculate in his blue superfine coat, his brass buttons glinting in the morning light and a snowy forth of intricately tied cravat nestling under his chin. His top boots were so shiny he could, if he had so wished, seen his face in them. He was ready to greet the world. No one would have suspected he was anything other than a fashionable young buck rusticating in the country.

He scowled as the morning sun glinted on his buttons. He would be relieved when he could dispense with such dandyism and return to his plainer garb. He sauntered down the stairs, remembering to soften his footsteps and pause to admire himself in the mirror placed conveniently above an inlaid mahogany side table upon which a silver salver rested.

He glanced through the pile of cards noting with dismay he had already received two invitations to dine, one to attend a summer ball to be held at Bromley Hall, plus a miscellaneous group merely indicating that the person had called.

He had only been in residence a few days but word had spread like wildfire round the village and surrounding area. The arrival of an unattached, personable, baronet of eight and twenty who had a reasonable income and comfortable estate, brought out all the husband seeking matrons with daughters of marriageable age.

He bent, flicking an imaginary speck of dust from his boots, and pondered, not for the first time, why he had allowed himself to be talked into this escapade. He was more used to pursuing his treacherous quarries in France, not a sleepy Essex village, but it was from here, somewhere, that a traitor was sending and receiving vital information which could prove disastrous to the war effort.

Even with the British Navy in control of the high seas, France could still spring a surprise attack. The barracks at Colchester could be one of the sources but it seemed a well respected local family was involved as well. It was his job to infiltrate the circle of landed gentry and minor aristocracy in his persona as “Sir Theodore Devenish”. He was a man about town, a proclaimed whip and gambler, forced to take temporary refuge in his newly acquired country manor until his next quarter’s funds arrived and he was flush in the pockets once more.

He strolled to the library, smiling kindly on the elderly butler and footman he passed. Once there he rang the bell. He needed to speak to the housekeeper, there was information she had that he wanted.

Blake curtsied, and folded her hands politely over her pristine apron, her plump face framed by an equally crisp white cap. ‘You wished to see me, sir?’

‘Come in, Blake, I will not keep you from your duties for long. So glad you could toddle along to see me.’ He waved a languid hand indicating she should seat herself on the wooden chair adjacent to the heavy desk, behind which he lolled, a fatuous smile on his face.

‘Blake, the young lady, Miss Devenish, she is my ward. It would appear I have inherited her along with the estate from old Uncle James.’ The housekeeper nodded and waited, no doubt unsure if she was expected to comment, but not wishing to presume.

‘Now, Blake, tell me, is she Friday faced? If I am to squire her about, it will be uncommon shabby if she was not up to snuff, would it not?’

Blake’s mouth pursed. ‘Well, sir, she is very like yourself. The family resemblance is quite striking.’

Theo’s eyes narrowed but he maintained his leisurely pose, legs outstretched, one resting on the other. ‘Like me you say? What, has she guinea gold curls and periwinkle blue eyes?’

‘Indeed she has, sir. As pretty as a picture she is. But as to her form, it was hard to distinguish under the thick cloak she was wearing. But she is above medium height, for she quite towered over me, of that I’m quite sure.’

‘And her speech? Pray do not tell me this paragon sounded vulgar and untutored?’

‘Oh no, sir. She was as well spoken as yourself. A proper lady, if I may be so bold as to say so. It is a strange thing to come with no luggage but what they carried in the saddle packs.’

‘Pon my word, do you say so? I understand that females need a substantial wardrobe even in such a restricted society as this.’ He swept his fingers elegantly through his curls and closed his eyes, as if perplexed by the problem.

‘I have it. Lady Grierson shall organize it for me. She will know exactly how to go about things.’ He beamed at his housekeeper. ‘If I supply the blunt she can rig herself and her eldest daughter out in style at the same time.’

‘Does the young lady know she’s to reside elsewhere, sir?’

‘No, not yet. I will inform her of the arrangements when I return from my ride, if she has risen by then. See the few garments she has are presentable. Inform the kitchen that I will not be dining in tonight.’

Blake stood, bobbed, and departed obviously well satisfied with the exchange of news.

It was late afternoon before Jane was summoned to the guest wing to attend her young mistress.

‘How are you, Miss Marianne? I have ordered bath water to be sent up immediately and there is food here for you.’

The accompanying maidservant smiled and placed a laden tray on the side table under the window. ‘If you require something else, Miss Marianne, please send down to the kitchen. Cook says she can find most anything.’

‘Thank you, I am sure what I have will do.’ The door, which led to the dressing room, closed behind the maid.

‘Marianne Devenish! How I love that name. Martha Marianne Devenish Frasier is no more. From this moment on I shall always consider myself as Marianne. I prefer the name to Martha anyway.’

‘I have pressed your gown, miss, and laid it out ready,’ Jane , her abigail, told her.

The sound of clanking buckets heralded the arrival of the bath water. When Bentley Hall had been constructed by the previous owner, Sir James Devenish, all modern conveniences had been installed. A bathroom, its door situated beside the dressing room, meant only the hot water had to be carried up the back stairs. The dirty water took itself away.

‘I will eat after I have bathed and dressed, Jane. Have you met my Great Uncle, Sir James Devenish?’

‘No, miss, but John has and he wishes to speak to you urgently, as soon as you are ready to receive him.’

‘Excellent. Send word to him to come up to my parlour. I do have a private sitting-room, I hope?’

‘Yes, miss, it is through the far door. A very pretty, well-appointed room it is too.’

Marianne’s sole garment, however well pressed, was still far short of what was usual for a well-bred and wealthy young lady. But the old-fashioned cut, with its low waist and full skirt did emphasise her slim figure and the tailored bodice, although high necked, fitted snugly over her abundant curves.

But the material, a faded cotton damask of an indeterminable shade, halfway between pink and cerise, did nothing to enhance her appearance. Thoughtfully she fingered the skirt, determined this would be the last hideous gown she should be obliged to wear. She was an heiress and she intended to dress the part.

She scowled as she recalled her past few years. Mama had been an invalid for many years and not particularly maternal when she was well. She had never known her papa. Mama had refused to spend money on refurbishing her wardrobe. When her mother had finally passed on, she too had been passed on, to her grandmother who had even less interest in fashion and enjoyment than her mother had.

She had swapped one boring existence for another. Although in Bath she at least had the opportunity to walk and ride without supervision and consequently had made several undesirable acquaintances. A lovely heiress, however badly dressed, was an immediate target for all the less reputable of Bath’s male population. It had been John who drew Mrs Devenish’s attention to the impending ruin of her granddaughter. This prompted the lady to dispatch her troublesome relation to the care of her only male relative, not requiring Marianne to return anytime soon.