Polly and the Prince (16 page)

“It must have made your lives excessively difficult,” Polly commiserated.

“Difficult!” broke in another woman. “My Jack’s business has been ruined and the children hungry, nor ever a penny’s compensation have we seen.”

A man had joined the group, decently dressed but shabby, with a twitching nerve in his thin cheek. “There’s them as won’t put up with much more,” he said. “I’ve heard talk...”

“Hush your mouth, Albert,” said the second woman abruptly. “Miss don’t want to hear your rumour-mongering. That’s a right nice picture you’re making, miss.”

“Better hurry up and finish it,” the man advised, “or it may be there won’t be nothing left to draw.”

The two women hushed him and hurried him away. Polly wondered for a moment what the man had meant, but she soon forgot his words in the fascination of the intricate architectural details of the Pavilion.

She had been sketching single-mindedly for an hour or so when Kolya came out of the nearby building he was staying in. He joined her just as she was once again dusting her drawing.

“How you will paint with all the dust in the air?” he enquired, greeting her with a smile. “Does not matter so much for a sketch, but with the oil paints will make terrible mess.”

“Yes, I had not thought of that. I shall have to paint at home, from sketches.” She frowned. “Perhaps if I come in the evening they will have stopped work.”

“But here on east side light will not be good in the evening, I think.”

“I shall just have to paint several pictures, as Lady Sylvia suggested. One at home, and one of the west front, and perhaps one here with the domes silhouetted against the sunset.”

“Lady Sylvia has invited you to stay?”

“As long as I wish. Is it not kind of her?”

“I am glad. I must go into the Pavilion now, to see if is chance to see the king today. This afternoon I come to Dean House.”

The days sped past. Polly was too busy and too happy to note their passing. One wet afternoon Kolya took her and Ned and Nick to see the interior of the Pavilion. As he had told her, much of the furnishing and decoration was elegant and tasteful, with odd touches of fantasy like the couch in the form of a Nile riverboat standing on crocodile legs. The Music Room, however, was extraordinary beyond her wildest imaginings.

The walls were painted with Chinese scenes in gold on red panels. Each panel was framed at the top with
trompe l’oeil
depictions of fearsomely realistic dragons and serpents. The chimney-piece was another dragon, carved in white marble, and porcelain pagodas stood at intervals along the walls. Beneath their feet strange monsters writhed across the blue carpet.

Polly became aware that Kolya was watching her. She was afraid that if she caught his eye she would laugh aloud, and there were several other people in the room.

“Even the pelmets have dragons and snakes,” she said weakly.

“And the chandeliers.” Nick was enthusiastic. “Ned, can Polly paint my bedroom at home like this?”

That was too much even for Ned’s gravity. Kolya, his shoulders shaking silently, hurried them out amid affronted stares.

* * * *

It was two days later that Ned decided he needed to go to Westcombe in order to be able to advise Lady Sylvia properly.

Polly was up on the downs overlooking Brighton, working on a new panorama of the town. Nearby, the girls were running down the slope to be caught by Nick and whirled around. Even Annette was breathless and laughing, though she did not squeal with delight like her little sister. When they saw Ned coming, they ran to meet him.

He caught one in each arm, kissed their cheeks and continued up the hill to Polly, hand in hand with both. Polly could not remember ever seeing him so carefree.

Sending the children back to Nick, he sat on the grass beside her and explained the need to investigate Westcombe in person.

“If something dishonest is afoot,” he went on, “then the bailiff must be involved. The trouble is that if I go alone he will be suspicious. Lady Sylvia cannot go with me without a respectable female to play propriety. You’re elected, Polly.” He grinned at
her.

“But I cannot go now. I’m in the middle of this, and of the Pavilion paintings. Surely you can find someone else? Send for Mama.”

“Asking her to do anything so out of the ordinary would only distress her unnecessarily. Besides, it will be good camouflage to
have you paint a picture of Westcombe. It will provide a reason for my being there.”

“Oh Ned, I’m sure you can manage without me. Suppose the weather were to change before you are ready to return, so that I cannot paint outside.” Polly tried to persuade herself that her reluctance had nothing to do with the fact that Kolya would not be there.

“Apart from anything else, you can scarcely stay on at Dean House in the absence of your hostess. It will be for only a few days, and the weather could change tomorrow anyway,” he pointed out with unassailable logic.

Logic won the day. That afternoon when Kolya arrived, Polly told him that servants had been sent ahead to Westcombe to prepare the house. He seemed unconcerned that she was going away, merely wishing her a pleasant visit. In fact, he appeared to be more interested in Ned’s explanation of the
problems with the estate.

Polly could not help wondering whether he had only been squiring her about from a sense of obligation. Doubtless he was tired of escorting so unfashionable a lady in this fashionable town.

The following afternoon the Howards and the Ellinghams reached Westcombe in time for tea. Despite her megrims, Polly was glad of an opportunity to paint the house. A Tudor half-timbered building, not unlike Loxwood Manor though somewhat smaller, it nestled in a fold of the downs, framed by the steep, sheep-cropped hills.

Immediately after tea, Winnie and Annette took Nick off to explore the house. Polly went outside to begin planning her painting, the purpose of the visit already half forgotten.

She scarcely saw Ned for the next few days. When he was not out talking to neighbouring farmers, he was buried in the Westcombe accounts or closeted with Lady Sylvia, presumably discussing his findings. Polly knew he had ridden into Lewes, for he made a point of telling her it was a charming town, worthy of her brush. When she finished her picture of the house she thought of requesting a carriage to take her there, but then she went walking with Nick and the girls and discovered the view from the top of the hill behind the house. The steep northern slope of the downs fell away into the Vale of Sussex, opening new vistas which demanded to be painted.

One warm evening, warned by her stomach and the westering sun that dinnertime was approaching, Polly carried her equipment down the hill to the house. Entering by a back door, she passed the small room Ned had been using as an office. From it came an angry bellow.

“And who the bloody hell are you to jump down my throat!”

Ned’s voice was crisp and clear. “As I told you, Mr. Welch, I have her ladyship’s authorization to act in her name.”

“I’ll just have a word with her ladyship meself.”

A slight movement in the dim passage beyond the door caught Polly’s eye. Lady Sylvia, looking frightened, was backing away. Polly went to her, missing Ned’s next words, but the whole house must have heard Mr. Welch’s response.

“Dismissed! I’ll see you damned in hell for this, Howard, and her bloody ladyship needn’t think I’ll take it lying down neither. You’ll both of you regret this day’s work.”

Lady Sylvia was shaking. Polly put her arm round her waist and led her away. A backward glance showed Dick the coachman, elderly but sturdy, coming in through the back door. He winked at her, looking not at all discomposed, and she recalled catching a glimpse of Mr. Welch a day or two before. The overseer’s voice was more impressive than his short, stout frame.

Old Dick stopped at the office door. “Will Oi be a-sendin’ fer t’magistrate, sor?” he enquired.

Polly heard no more. The hall was full of chattering maids who fled as she led Lady Sylvia to the drawing room. The housekeeper bustled after them, tut-tutting.

“Tea for her ladyship if you please, Mrs. Borden. Or no, better a glass of wine I believe.”

“Edward...Mr. Howard...will he be all right?” Lady Sylvia said faintly. “I never should have asked him...” She burst into tears.

“Ned can take care of himself,” Polly assured her.

By the time she had soothed the distraught woman, Ned was entering the drawing room. Far from appearing fearful, he was positively jaunty.

“That’s all settled,” he said with satisfaction, then noticed Lady Sylvia’s pale, tear-stained face. “Syl—Ma’am!” In three strides he was on his knees before her, taking her hand. “I promise you, ma’am, the wretch is gone. You have nothing to fear. It is settled.”

“What I should like to know,” said Polly placidly, noting with interest her ladyship’s trembling smile, “is just what has been going on at Westcombe.”

Ned stood up and took a seat opposite. “It’s a bit involved. You know that the greater part of the estate is down in the Vale of Sussex?”

“Is it? I have been painting the view on the other side of the hill, but I have to admit I did not know who owned it.”

“I don’t suppose you did,” he said indulgently. “Be that as it may, there is an adjoining estate in the valley, Wivelston Place, which is selling off two or three farms. The house itself is not for sale, so the price is good. It seems her ladyship’s solicitor in Lewes has amassed quite a fortune, by what means I prefer not to know, and had a notion to set up as a country gentleman. He has an option to buy the farms but he wanted more than that, so he conspired with our friend Welch to persuade Lady Sylvia to sell.”

“As I must have done in the end, had Mr. Howard not discovered the plot.” Hands clasped, Lady Sylvia leaned forward with an earnest expression and continued, “I must reward you for your assistance, sir, or at least pay you for your time and trouble.”

“That is not necessary,” said Ned brusquely, rising to his feet.

Though taken aback she persisted. “I have dared to hope that
you might agree to take the position of bailiff here at Westcombe.”

“Impossible. As it is, I have wasted too much of my employer’s time. I must ride to Brighton tonight to conclude Lord John’s business there in the morning, and then return at once to Loxwood. Polly, I trust you and Nick can be ready to leave Brighton by noon.”

“Impossible,” said Polly, noting that her brother looked everywhere but at Lady Sylvia. “I cannot guarantee even to be in Brighton at noon tomorrow, and if I was I have a dozen things to do there.”

“But…”

“I’m sure Lady Sylvia will be willing to let Nick stay at Dean House, so you need not be concerned at leaving him alone at the duke’s.”

Her ladyship, bewildered, nodded acquiescence.

“As you will,” said Ned, impatiently. He bowed to Lady Sylvia. “Thank you for your hospitality, my lady. I shall look out for someone suitable for the vacant position.”

A moment later he was gone. They heard his hurried footsteps in the hall.

“I did not mean to offend him.” Lady Sylvia’s brown eyes once more swam with tears. “I have come to rely on him.”

“I am sure he will always be willing to advise you.”

“
It is not just his advice I want,” she wailed. “Somehow his presence is so very comforting.”

To Polly’s relief the girls came in to say good-night, forcing their mother to regain her composure. Then it was time to
change for dinner. Polly caught Nick before they went down and told him of Ned’s departure. His surprise was short-lived; he was much too eager to describe a bang-up afternoon spent haymaking with a new friend to worry about the doings of his elders.

At
the dinner table, his chatter diverted attention from Lady Sylvia’s low spirits and lack of appetite. Immediately after dinner her ladyship retired, claiming a slight headache. Polly was left wondering why Ned should take offence at
the offer of a job, and why Lady Sylvia was so out-of-reason upset by his sudden departure.

* * * *

They all returned to Brighton the following afternoon, in time
for Polly to go straight to the Pavilion to
paint. Kolya found her there, in her usual spot, and asked how the visit to
Westcombe had gone. Always lively, he seemed full of suppressed excitement, his slanting eyes sparkling as he listened to her uncertain answer.

“Very well, I suppose. Ned discovered that the bailiff and the solicitor were in league to cheat Lady Sylvia—only that leaves her without either.”

“I daresay are some very good solicitors in Brighton. I will find one, and he will find a new bailiff,
nyet?”

“Yes, I should think so. That is excessively kind of you.” He shrugged. “Is nothing. I wish I knew already enough to
take position for self. But soon at least I return to studies.”

Polly had been going to tell him about the contretemps
between her brother and Lady Sylvia, but this comment distracted her. “You have seen the king at last?” she demanded.

“Yes, I have seen the king. Is most affable gentleman. And I have done more—I showed to the king your pictures, and His Majesty has bought two.”

Polly stared, dazed. “Mine? My pictures? The king bought two of my pictures?”

Kolya nodded, grinning. “Wait, is more. When I saw the king, already I have arranged with Mr. Lay to hold an exhibition of your work. And when I told this to the king, he gave leave to claim that the exhibition is under the Royal Patronage of His Majesty, King George the Four.”

Chapter 14

“And Mr. Volkov is going to take me tomorrow to make final arrangements with Mr. Lay.” Far too excited to care what she ate, Polly helped herself at random from the dishes set out on the white cloth.

“It is excessively obliging of Mr. Volkov to go to so much trouble for you,” said Lady Sylvia, summoning up a smile. Her subdued and inexplicable unhappiness was the only check on Polly’s joy.

“I think you ought to marry Kolya,” Nick proposed, piling his plate high with mushroom fritters and succulent slices of roast sirloin. “He’s a great gun.”