Strange Capers (7 page)

“You may count yourself fortunate if you get fifteen hundred for the place,” she countered.

“We shall see. Roundtree thinks two thousand is a modest asking price, in any case. We can always go lower if we find no takers. In the meanwhile, you can begin making other plans for yourself, Cousin.” He smiled pleasantly and strode from the room.

“That’s the thanks I get for ten years of faithful service!” Rachel said when he had gone. “All I have to say is it serves him right.”

“What serves him right?”

She looked surprised but soon answered, “Why, the fact that he has his pockets to let. I don’t see how it can be possible. He must have lost
a fortune
in gambling.”

She took the parcel of fish and walked out the door. I went upstairs. Aiglon’s gambling in London was apparently not of the innocent kind indulged in here on the coast. It would take many nights of losing a few shillings to bankrupt a man who had ten thousand a year to play with.

Lunch was a hostile meal, the conversation consisting mainly of requests for mustard or butter and an occasional sharp word from Rachel to the footman. She didn’t tell me what she meant to do after lunch, and, given her current mood, I didn’t ask. I just slipped out quietly for a stroll around the estate. Though Thornbury was spoken of as having no land, it did actually include a few acres. The gardens didn’t flourish, nor were they well-tended, but behind the home garden there was a tangle of growth with a rambling walk that was pretty in spring. I went there to lose myself for an hour and think about the future. If Thornbury was to be sold, then it wasn’t only Rachel who had to find a new home, I too would be dispossessed, but my original home still remained, and my family would willingly take me back.

At the back of the tangled growth that was once a garden, and which still brought forth roses and other blossoms in season, was the ruined chapel. From the rubble that remained it was impossible to discern its former style. No wall rose high enough to show the original shape of the windows, but I remembered seeing in the Thornbury library old drawings of a pretty Gothic building with lancet windows of stained glass. It was called Our Lady’s Chapel in those days, the lady being the Virgin Mary. I sat on a pile of stones and stared into the bush, where pretty primroses peeped above the unclipped yew hedge.

Five years of my life were about to come to an end, and I didn’t know whether I was glad or sorry. I did feel, though, that it was time for a change. I had come here at age seventeen and spent my best years in this quiet backwater. I had no talent for anything but homemaking, and the obvious future for me involved a husband. Thornbury had not proved fruitful in that regard, whereas my sister Prissy had found herself an excellent
parti
at home. Mr. Thomas must have friends and relatives, some of whom were single and seeking a wife. How strange to think of little Prissy as a bride. Of course, “little Prissy” was now one and twenty.

Completely absorbed in my thoughts, I didn’t hear the sound of footsteps till Aiglon was nearly beside me. I looked up and saw him just standing there, quietly gazing at me. He wore a thoughtful expression. Suddenly he raised his hand and waved a white handkerchief.

“I come in peace,” he said, and walked forward. “Are you angry with me, too, Constance?”

His was a face that not even full sunlight objected to. The glancing rays picked out no incipient wrinkles, no weariness of eye, no sagging of chin. He was in the pink of manhood. He could pose as a symbol of all that is best in England’s men. Yet he was a full-fledged scoundrel who had run through a fortune, fought a duel and probably killed a man, and regularly drank himself into a stupor.

“No, not angry,” I answered reluctantly. He didn’t mean enough to me that I had the right to be angry, though I was certainly disillusioned. “Where’s Rachel?”

“She’s gone into town.”

“Oh, I wish she’d told me.”

“Why? You were there this morning. Did you forget something?”

“No, it’s just that driving into town is our chief diversion. We usually go together.” Perhaps she meant to find some imaginary Bow Street Runners. But it didn’t matter much now. The catastrophe of his having put Thornbury up for sale overshadowed everything else.

“That sounds fairly tedious. Why don’t we ride instead?”

“I don’t have a mount.”

“Mine are here. I brought two. It seems like fate, does it not?” he suggested.

“Did you also bring a lady’s riding habit?”

“Ah, no! Fate slipped up there. Do you not ride then?”

“Not since coming to Thornbury. I used to ride at home.”

“But since coming to this place, you only drive. Have you ever driven a curricle?”

“Driven one? I never even rode in one in all my life till this morning.”

“Come along, I’ll give you a lesson,” he offered.

I could see that he was finding time heavy on his hands, and I resented the variety of pleasures he customarily enjoyed. “No, really, I would rather not. I’ve only driven one horse at a time, and not such a lively stepper as yours, Lord Aiglon.”

He considered talking me out of my reluctance but changed his mind. I could read the thoughts on his mobile face and in his eyes. “Very well, then,
you
decide how we shall spend this lovely afternoon.”

“There’s nothing to do here, Lord Aiglon. This is how we spend our afternoons.”

“Sitting on a pile of rocks, smiling at grief?” he asked, astonished at such a dull pastime. “They named you after the wrong virtue. You should have been called Patience. Or even Resignation,” he added. There was a trail of taunting in his voice now.

“Two virtues that are alien to you!” I answered swiftly.

“You
are
mad at me,” he replied in a wheedling tone. “You shouldn’t be, Constance. You, of all people, know what a trimming Rachel has given me all these years. I didn’t mind letting her have Thornbury, or even supplying money to keep it habitable for her, but for her to be lying to me—stealing is not too strong a word for it!—is the outside of enough.”

As there was no defense I could mount to this charge, I sat silently while selecting a fresh offensive. “You would have preferred to fritter away the money on gambling instead, no doubt.”

“At least I have a fighting chance at cards or horseracing. Only women take advantage of men,” he informed me.

“The
whole world
takes advantage of women! Why were all the estates left to
you!
Rachel was as close a relative to John Howell as you were, but Thornbury was given to you, who already had Westleigh and I don’t know what all else. It is my understanding that the head of the family is to take care of the less fortunate.”

“I
do
take care of the less fortunate. But Rachel is not among them. Sir John left her pretty well-off, you know. How else do you think she’s planning to buy Thornbury?”

“Do you think that’s what she’s up to?” I asked, interested to hear that he shared my view.

“I don’t see why else its value was suddenly cut in half.” After this speech, Aiglon sat down beside me on the pile of rocks. “I wonder why she doesn’t want to leave. She used to be a very sociable kind of woman. Actually, I had almost decided to offer her the use of a flat in London. I recently bought a large house in Upper Grosvenor Square and had it made into four rather nice flats. I have assorted genuinely less-fortunate relatives to occupy them. The one I have in mind for Rachel is also large enough to house you, Constance.”

I ignored this show of generosity and honed in on another point. “ ‘Recently’? How did you come to purchase a large house when you were dipped?” I asked.

“The purchase is recent; my unfortunate state of poverty is
more
recent. A temporary thing only, till next quarter day,” he added vaguely. “And the temporary shortage is not due to gambling. It happens I invested rather heavily in lumber from Canada. I lost two ships. I may be unlucky; I hope you don’t take me for a scoundrel.”

I hadn’t really expected an explanation and certainly not one couched in such humble phrases. Having been somewhat encroaching in my own queries, I was embarrassed. “You don’t have to explain your affairs to me,” I said. My voice was curt, which was not how I meant it to sound at all.

He turned a sharp, accusing eye on me. “Do I not? I had the distinct impression you were more than a little interested.”

“Just curious. We haven’t much to do here and perhaps I take an overweaning interest in other people’s affairs.”

He accepted this extremely oblique apology in good spirits. “Not much to do? You are unimaginative! What is there to do elsewhere that can’t be done here? You’ve roads for riding and driving, interesting towns and places to visit, other estates for balls and parties, the opposite sex to flirt with, and, on top of it all, the ocean at your doorstep. No, Constance, you’re manufacturing some sorry bricks here without straw. The fact is you’re a complete sloth who likes to do nothing better than sit on a rock and look at a garden. And a garden, incidentally, that could occupy a good deal of a woman’s time had she any taste for activity.”

“Perhaps you’re right,” I admitted. “But it
is
pleasant here in the garden, is it not?”

“The jungle is pretty, but I would have thought a confirmed sitter like yourself would have at least installed more comfortable chairs. Show me around the place,” he said, arising and offering me his hand.

As the jungle was impenetrable except for the walk, I showed him the ruined chapel instead. “This used to be called Our Lady’s Chapel before it was destroyed by Cromwell’s men,” I explained. “If you look carefully at the remaining bits of wall, you can see where the rocks were scorched by fire.”

“It would be fun to rebuild it,” he said. “I wonder how large it was.”

He clambered through the bottom portion of a window hole and stood on the rocks below, holding his hand up to me. “Come on, let’s explore. We’ll see if anything interesting remains.”

“There’s nothing but rubble. I’ve explored it a dozen times,” I objected, but the hand only beckoned peremptorily till I put mine in it and I was aided through the opening. Our footing was uncertain, and Aiglon kept hold of my hand to keep our balance. Or at least I expect that was his excuse. He
was
the sort of gentleman who liked women, I thought.

Most of the rocks were piled at one side of the excavation. At the other side grass grew up between the stones. “I wonder why the rocks were all removed to the east side,” he said, looking around.

“Some ancestor probably planned to use them for something but lost his enthusiasm midway in the project,” I suggested.

“They would make an excellent dovecote” was all he said, but his laughing eyes spoke volumes. “It was a fairly large chapel, wasn’t it?” he asked, walking over to the grassy area. Our footing wasn’t the least precarious here, yet still he held my hand. “In Norman times, of course, Thornbury was quite a grand residence—the original home of the Aiglon family,” he explained.

“I didn’t know that!”

“Oh, yes. That’s why it was left to me, the present head of the house. Old John Howell had nothing against Rachel. The place traditionally has gone to Lord Aiglon.”

“Then why are you selling it?” I asked.

I received a frustrated glare. He hadn’t meant to tell me the house had any particular significance. “It’s a case of necessity. I’m very reluctant to part with it,” he said stiffly. “Actually, it’s the only property I own that isn’t entailed.”

“But to sell the spot where your family first became prominent ... It seems almost a sacrilege, Aiglon!”

“A sacrilege on top of a desecration,” he said, looking all around at the ruins. “It must have been beautiful once. It’s built like a proper church—see, this was the nave, and this the transept,” he explained, pointing out where crossing demarcation lines could still be seen. He walked off to the left. “And this must have been a sort of sacristy. You can see that the walls formed a semicircle extending beyond the main body of the building. I wonder what it would cost to have it rebuilt.”

“That would be a poor investment.”

“What price do you put on history?” he asked.

“I was thinking of the imminent sale. You wouldn’t get your money back, and, besides, there wouldn’t be time to do it.”

Aiglon rubbed the back of his neck. I felt he was wavering in his notion of selling Thornbury. There was a section of wall that had completely blown away, and he let go my hand and walked out beyond the chapel, where he stood gazing back at it. There was a bemused air about him. I took a last look around the ruined sacristy. I noticed strange little indentations in the soft, grassy earth. Straight bars about two inches long and four inches apart. What could they be? They weren’t marks left by any animal or natural force. The marks were too regular, too sharp and clear. I walked forward and examined them. They seemed to go right under a small pile of rocks. I removed a few rocks and saw that the earth there had been recently disturbed.

“Look at this, Aiglon!” I called, and he returned.

“Someone’s been trespassing,” he commented idly. After all, there wasn’t much harm that could be done to a pile of rocks. “Probably poachers. I’ve seen quite a few rabbits around.”

“But what could have made those marks?”

“Possibly the butt of a rifle. I expect they hid their catch under the rocks when they heard someone coming. Are there any old books in the library with sketches of the chapel?” he asked.

“Yes, a few. If you’re interested in such things, Aiglon, Rachel bought an old history of the area just the other day. She bought it for you, but it was moldy when she got it home, so she didn’t give it to you.” I was happy to encourage his interest in the place as it seemed to discourage him selling it. I knew Rachel would be delighted.

“We should mark this day on the calendar. It will be the first time Rachel Savage has ever willingly given anybody anything!” he exclaimed.

“Oh, she’s not that bad,” I lied.

“If she’s been kind to
you,
then I forgive her all the rest. Come, let’s go for a drive. It’s such a beautiful day.”