Love's Way (20 page)

Chapter Nineteen

Edward was gone all afternoon with Jack. When they returned, we discovered they had taken lunch at Wingdale Hause. “Surely that must have been embarrassing for all of you, after last night!” I exclaimed.

“Not at all,” Jack assured me. “He was quite angry about those ruffians setting torch to your barn. Well, he could hardly admit they acted on his orders. They are set to appear before Magistrate Muller as soon as someone can get him sober enough to sit on his bench without falling off. I
do
wish he would hire a new chef at his hostelry though. It is enough to make one wish for a good home-cooked meal. Is that a tatie pot I smell cooking, Mrs. Whitmore?” he asked, turning to Nora.

“Why yes, it is. Would you care to stay and try it, Mr. Gamble?”

“How very kind of you. I would indeed. I haven’t had a tatie pot since I returned from the tropics—in fact, not since I left home. You must forgive my outfit,” he added, looking at his day clothing.

I don’t know what his motive was inviting himself to dinner, but one effect was to make it necessary for me to absent myself from the room at once, to dart to the kitchen and oversee preparations. Bad enough that he was to sit down to a simple tatie pot, without having it served up on our everyday china. I regretted the loss of our silver tea service, which would have lent us a touch of elegance, but I had in my dowry still some fine silver serving dishes. The centre piece, an item often dispensed with when we ate
en famille,
consisted of the remnants of our flower garden.

None of us bothered to change, when our guest could not. Jack was very entertaining, regaling us with stories of India, mostly relating to food there. One story had us roaring with laughter. It involved an Indian prince who, wishing to impress his European guests with his knowledge of their customs, served them up a meal in what he considered to be their own mode, using a bedroom towel for a napkin, serving soup in a trifle dish, pudding in a soup plate, and cheese in a glass dessert dish. The champagne was poured into a china cup. The crockery was all chipped, and no two pieces alike. I was happy I had taken the trouble to have the good china put on the table and trusted Jack would not notice the chip out of the spout of the china teapot, or that the cheese was passed in a relish dish. At least the food tasted good.

Gamble and Edward played a hand of piquet after dinner while Nora netted and I played the pianoforte, softly in a corner, feeling my nose out of joint at being so ignored by everyone. The only recognition of my performance came when Mr. Gamble was taking his leave.

“Yet another accomplishment, Chloe. You never cease to surprise one. Very nice. And by the by, you will find your toy in the hallway. The rope, you know. I have seen it now, and you can take it out to the meadow to practice. If you want any more lessons ...”

“I am happy you enjoyed the music.”

“I am planning a tour of my lakeside wilderness tomorrow morning,” he went on. “Would you care to come with me, and suggest means of developing it?”

“I do not think it ought to be developed at all.”

“Ten o’clock too early?” Jack asked quickly, with a sly look at me. “Perhaps Emily and Edward would like to come along as well.”

It was difficult to keep my jaw closed at this meaningful phrase. He was pitching Emily and Edward together as a
couple,
if you please, after having been at such pains to break them up. Also after having offered marriage to the girl himself. The heat of India appeared to have baked his brains, as well as his hide.

“I shall be busy arranging for the new barn,” Edward excused himself, though his startled face told me he had not overlooked the mention of Emily and himself.

“I’ll be by for you at ten, then, Chloe,” Gamble said, speaking quickly before I could voice any objection.

“Fine, I shall go with you and Emily, if you are sure I shan’t be
de trop.
” I replied.

He cocked his black brows up an inch. As he went out the door, a trail of laughter wafted behind him.

When he came the next morning, Emily was not with him. I expressed my shock at her absence (a simulated shock, I confess) to be told she was not yet out of her bed, the lazy hound of a girl.

“A fine way to talk about the girl you are planning to marry!”

“You ladies aren’t the only ones who can change your minds. In fact, it seems to be a characteristic of the ladies in these parts that they are unable to make them up. We gents may have to do it for you. There is Emmie leaving me dangling for months at a stretch, while you have been leading poor Tom about for some two years, as though he were a Lord Simian.”

His open carriage awaited us at the front. The drive from Ambledown into that patch of wilderness by the edge of the lake is one of the prettiest in the whole country. Summer was far advanced, but it was not yet turning to yellow and brown, except in some of the fields where a second cutting of hay was about ready.

The acres annexed by Gamble were surely among the loveliest anywhere. There were clumps of trees interspersed with large patches of meadow, liberally sprinkled with the yellow and purple wildflowers of late summer. The lake shimmered beside it all. I was relieved to see the woodchoppers had done no more than clear away the dead wood. To even
think
of destroying this with some cheap pleasure park was criminal, and so I told him.

“At present, it is enjoyed by nothing but Mrs. Cowan’s gaggle of geese and an occasional cow put out to pasture. It can be more productive than that. In fact, when I gained rights of enclosure it was implicit I would farm the land. That is the whole point of enclosure, to make the land more productive, though I don’t think it states it must produce agricultural produce.”

“It is money you have in mind to produce here, is it?”

“And pleasure. As to the money, I have an expensive set of relations to support.”

“You also have a fat bank account, brought back from India, have you not?”

“Oh yes, but my work at the Hall is putting a good dent in it. You’ve no idea how the old boy ran it into the ground. My expenses will be heavy, once I have established my residence in London, too. My directorship with John Company has come through. I must not be out of touch with Indian affairs, as I still have several investments there and will want a say in matters.”

“Are you
moving
to London?” I asked.

“I shall have to spend several months a year there. Will you miss me, Chloe?” he asked, with a derisive smile.

“Not at all. Why should I?”

“You don’t deserve any compliments, witch, but I would miss you.” He straightened his shoulders and looked around in a business-like way. “Now, what shall we do with this little patch of land? The pavilion would go well over there, on top of that rise, don’t you think?”

“You’ll ruin the spot, then dash off to London so you don’t have to look at it while
we
are inundated with gabbling tourists!”

“If it proves intolerable, you can come to London with me,” he offered frivolously, then chatted on about his plans for the spot. “I’d like to put in some rustic sort of tables and benches for picnickers. Lovers who stroll about would appreciate a bridge too. Something romantic about a bridge, don’t you think?”

“A bridge over the lake?” I asked, mystified.

“No, over the stream that runs at an angle down behind that stand of pines. Odd you did not know it is there, and you have lived here all your life. It shows how little the spot has been actually used or appreciated by those who are setting their backs up against its development. It is a small bridge I have in mind, not a great stone contraption like London or Blackfriars. Some sort of garden too, something like you have at Ambledown, that thrives on neglect. An informal atmosphere, where beaux can pick off a bloom for their girls.”

As he spoke, a vision of the place began to form in my mind. He was not at all eloquent, but the simple, rustic nature of the park sounded rather pleasing. The place was pretty now, but impenetrable for long stretches because of the denseness of the trees, which is why I had not realized there was a stream.

“Any ideas to add!” he asked.

“Perhaps some music in the evening—a few musicians in the pavilion ...”

We walked on towards the heavily wooded area. “Some of this will have to be thinned out,” I mentioned.

“I wonder how it can be done without allowing woodchoppers on the premises,” he replied, with a wise look at my change of heart. I immediately ran on to select certain favoured trees that were under no circumstances to be touched.

“I begin to think we ought to include a lemonade stand,” he declared, running his hand around his cravat. I was becoming thirsty myself.

“Shall we eat now?” he asked. “I’ve worked up an appetite.”

My mind was running over the likely menu at home-nothing lavish on an ordinary weekday. When we resumed our seats in the carriage, he did not turn towards home, but went into town, to Wingdale Hause. I knew by his questioning face he was aware this did not please me. How could it, to break bread under the roof of my enemy? I maintained a ladylike silence (for there was really no better eatery in the village) as we entered the portals.

“It’s really not a bad place,” he said.

“Not at all. I always feel I ought to curtsy before Queen Anne’s arms though. I wonder what she thinks of Wingdale taking them for his own, and putting them on ale tankards.”

“And pockets of dressing gowns,” he added. “I think it ought to be replaced with the Carnforth Arms.”

“What does that consist of? A Nabob rampant, crowned with guineas?”

“A Nabob couchant is more like it, with a spinster rampant.”

It was all in fun, but it struck me that a Nabob passant would be more appropriate. Luncheon was edible. I’ll say no more, except to add that liberal pourings of wine were necessary to make it even that. Wingdale came and joined us for a few moments, the ill-bred creature, to discuss business at the table.

“I’ve applied for enclosure rights to the patch of land across the lake from yours, Gamble,” he said. “It will cost a pretty penny, but it will be a grand addition to the village. I don’t see why Brighton should get all the customers that want to dabble their toes in the water. I am ordering a dozen bathing machines, and have got my eye on a few boats to hire out to tourists.”

“You want to make it lively, Larry. Swinging boats of the sort they have at Bartholomew Fair would be popular with the young bucks,” Jack said.

“Aye, they would, but they’re not cheap to construct. I’m to build a little theatre you recall, for musical revues.” The glance he threw towards myself told as clear as day these musical revues would be of a sort to make a Christian blush.

“I hear they have a very intelligent pig at the Booth of Knowledge at Bartholomew Fair, Captain,” I suggested ironically. “Tourists would be willing to pay something to witness such a spectacle.”

“If you hear of any counting pigs, I would appreciate learning about it, Miss Barwick,” he answered good-naturedly. “I will have a Penny Pool too. Even servant girls can afford a penny.”

“Pity you could not think of something to squeeze the ha’pennies out of widows,” I suggested.

“I doubt poor widows will give us their patronage,” he answered, in all seriousness. Gamble winked and suggested a maze might be good for business.

It began to seem the Captain would never leave our table, but when the tea tray appeared he arose and took his leave, to go and annoy other clients. No peace followed his departure, for when the tea came it was served in my own dear cherished silver pot. That wretched man had either got it from Tom Carrick, which I would not believe of Tom, or else my friend, in one of his piques, had returned it to Oldhams where Wingdale had snapped it up.

“Handsome,” Gamble said, nodding at it. It was indeed a more handsome service than was at any other table, a special mark of respect from the host to his partner. “I have not seen this before. I wonder where he got it. An estate sale, I expect. A pity to see these old family treasures having to be sold.”

“I saw it in the used article show window recently,” I answered, and picked up my old friend to pour tea for us. I disliked to introduce any thorny subject over the tea cups, so waited till we were on our way home before taking Gamble to task for egging Wingdale on to such outrageous ventures as were discussed for his park.

“I wouldn’t worry too much about it, Chloe. There’s many a slip twixt the cup and the lip.”

“At least it is a good deal farther from Ambledown than your park will be. I daresay we shan’t hear the bucks drunken roaring, unless the wind is from the southwest.”

“You would not hear it at all in London,” he pointed out.

“No, nor in Paris either, but I don’t plan to visit those cities.”

Chapter Twenty

We learned the next day from Gamble, who found an excuse every two minutes now to come and disturb us, that the ruffians who had burned down our barn had been let off scot free. Lack of evidence, as I had prophesied
.

“I shall certainly report this to the Chairman of Justices,” Gamble said. I thought he was pleased about it, though I doubted any appeal would do
us
any good. In the long run, however, it might do something for justice in the community.

“How long is it likely to take before something is done, Mr. Gamble?” Nora asked.

“The mills of justice grind slowly,” he admitted.

“Just so they don’t grind to a halt,” Edward said, in a philosophical spirit. His barn was set to go up the end of the week. Even now the raw lumber sat in the back lot, with workmen clearing away the rubble from the fire. It was impossible to forget Gamble had paid for it, and that we fell ever deeper into debt with him. It put a little constraint on the visits.

“If we had a more active Deputy Lieutenant, the case would be reported to him,” Nora began, then turned rosy pink as it was borne in on her that we were beholden to our caller, the old earl’s nephew. “How is your uncle?” she asked, to atone for her slip.