Straw in the Wind (11 page)

‘I enjoy Celia's company. Have you talked to my mother about this?'

‘Your mother agrees with me. Much as she loves and trusts you, she would prefer to have her daughter living under her own roof. I believe she intends to talk to your sister while we're absent.'

‘I see.' How quickly the course of a life could change through the intervention of another. The thought of going back home to an empty house every evening was suddenly uninviting. ‘Celia will do as our mother asks, of course. I'll miss her if she leaves though; my sister is a good companion.'

‘Because I've sprung this on you rather suddenly I do have a solution to offer you.'

‘You usually do, Edgar,' Adam said with a chuckle. ‘I've never met anyone so thorough, or so well prepared for a discussion. I envy you.'

‘Your own skills of reasoning are to be admired.'

‘Let me hear your solution then.'

‘Lease your property here in Chiswick to a suitable family, and take up gentlemen's rooms in central London, which will be more convenient for you since they'll be serviced.'

‘I suppose you already have one in mind.'

Edgar chuckled.

‘If you take up my offer, I'll then be able to introduce you to my club. As my principal heir it wouldn't hurt you to make the right sort of contacts, and a gentleman of your age has his own needs and liaisons to consider.'

Adam's liaisons in the past had been few and far between, due to the fact that his available funds were used for necessities rather than pleasure. There was also a lack of privacy to consider. Something suddenly registered on Adam's brain and his jaw nearly dropped open. What had Edgar said? Had he heard it correctly? ‘I think I misunderstood you, Edgar.'

Edgar grinned. ‘About the liaisons or the fact that I intend to make you my heir?'

‘Since I'm quite able to handle any of the former which may come my way . . . that leaves only the latter.'

‘You didn't misunderstand. I have no kin of my own except for an elderly uncle, who at the age of ninety-two has already outlived his two offspring. As my stepson you'll be named as my heir. I also intend to provide for Celia, and should she marry or not, there will be a trust fund she can draw an income from so she has some degree of independence where finances are concerned.'

‘Did my mother—?'

‘I haven't discussed my finances or plans with Florence or Celia, so neither has been informed as yet. I'd rather it was kept confidential between us for the time being, Adam. Rest assured, if anything happens to me your mother will be well taken care of.'

Adam took a sip of his brandy then shook his head, which was in a state of turmoil. ‘I don't know what to say, Edgar. You've been exceedingly generous and I thank you.'

‘You're a fine young man, Adam; your father would have been proud of you.' Edgar downed his brandy, rose to his feet then held out his hand. ‘Let's shake on it, then go and join the ladies.'

Adam's mother was out of her mourning dress now, and was gowned in a sweeping silver-grey watered taffeta, the delicate lace collar secured by a gold brooch, its central garnet seated in small pearls. Just turned forty-five, Florence Chapman had a fine complexion. Her blue eyes were clear, her hair mid-brown. She was a handsome woman, but there was an anxious look in her eyes.

Did she really imagine he'd object to her marrying Edgar? Tenderness filled his heart and he crossed to where she sat, kissing her on both cheeks when he got there. ‘Congratulations, mother dear.'

‘Oh dear, I thought you would mind, Adam.'

‘Why should I mind when your happiness is so dear to me? Celia, are you happy with the arrangement? I'm quite happy to continue to provide for you.'

Celia smiled and nodded. ‘Perfectly. It's about time you had a life of your own, dear brother, and I'll see you at the office on most days. Besides, if you're more central, mother and I will be able to see you any time we wish.'

Odd, the rapport he had with his sister, something that had been there since he could remember. They'd always understood each other and today was no exception.

‘When is the wedding to be?' he asked.

‘On Saturday the twenty-eighth January,' Edgar said calmly. ‘That should give us time to make the necessary adjustments in our lives.'

The following day Adam found himself in Gloucester. The countryside itself was overwhelmingly majestic, the hills dressed in various shades of rich green. The forest had a misty, mysterious appearance, reminding him of an illustration from one of his childhood books. He wouldn't have been surprised if knights in shining armour and dragons with fiery breath emerged from the dark interior to challenge him.

Instead, there were sheep grazing everywhere, watched over by shepherds and their dogs. Dredging through his mind for trivial information, Adam recalled that people born within the hundred of St Braivels had the right to graze their pigs and sheep in the Forest of Dean – a hundred being a geographic division. The term was a little cloudy though, since it was also applied to the ability to supply one hundred men at arms, or that the land was able to sustain one hundred families.

The day was cold, the air heavy with mist and the foliage dripped with water that clung to his coat and hat. The afternoon would darken early and the country with its craggy hills, twisting lanes and the broad sweep of the Severn and its tributaries would easily have swallowed him, had he not hired someone with local knowledge.

‘How did you get the name of Ham?' he asked his guide.

‘Short for handsome, it be,' the man said with a throaty laugh, and Adam smiled, for Ham Thomas was far from handsome. He was almost colourless, stocky, with thin yellow hair, a wide nose and thick, fleshy lips. Lushly broad of vowel, he'd seemed eager to earn himself a shilling or two.

‘The rig is only used for funerals and weddings, and we haven't got none of them today, though Annie Parkins has got a loaf in the oven if you asks me, so she'll be taking that man of hers up the aisle before long. Tumblesham Farm, be it, sir?' He scratched his head. ‘What would you be wanting with that sour old bugger, Tyler Fenn, then?'

Adam's ears pricked up. At least one of the Fenn family still lived there. ‘You know him, do you?'

‘Since he first come here, when I was a lad. Let me warn you, sir, he'd sell his own daughter for a shilling if he had one.'

Adam took note of that and employed a little subterfuge. ‘I understood Mr Fenn had two daughters and a son.'

‘No, that were Christopher Fenn and his family before him. Hard-working enough, but they never could make a go of that place. They didn't know farming, see. Cholera took them all off not long after the present owner come to stay.'

It sounded to Adam as if his quest was over before it had started, but he knew better than to take such statements at face value.

Ham kept on gossiping as they plodded up a steep hill. ‘Place is run-down now . . . you won't mind if I stay outside will you, the place fair creeps me out . . .'

Tumblesham Farm certainly was run-down, but it could be brought up to scratch with a little work. The farm consisted of a two-storey building built of local stone, with a slate roof. A barn and a couple of outbuildings stood to one side. It looked abandoned, cold and grey. The stone was damp with mildew near to the ground. Small, dirty windows gazed blindly over the long clumped grass, and a mud patch barred their way.

Adam shivered. He was just beginning to wonder if he was wasting his time when he saw a scribble of smoke issuing from one of the chimneys.

‘I'll turn the horse round in case we need to make a quick retreat, then I'll join you, sir. I doubt if you'll be long unless you have something in your pocket for Fenn to profit from. And if you have, keep your hand on it.'

Ham was right. Fenn, a powerfully built man, opened the door to his knock and gazed at him, his face surly. ‘What is it you want?'

Adam didn't bother with any niceties. ‘I'm looking for a girl who used to live here with Christopher and Emmy Fenn.'

The man stared at him, his eyes all at once wary. ‘What's that to do with you?'

‘They were your relatives, were they not?'

‘Doesn't mean to say I knew them.'

‘I've been told that you moved in with them.'

‘If it's any of your business I came to help with the farm at my cousin's request. They died not long after, and they was taken away and buried. Cost me a pretty penny, it did, but I inherited the farm, all clear and above board, me being the only relative.'

‘Did all three of the children die?'

His eyes shifted sideways and he shrugged. ‘I reckon there was only two kids in the family, mister. One of them were a lad, the other were a female. They were skinny, sickly brats.'

‘I didn't suggest there were more kin, but rather that there was an orphan child in their care. Think carefully, Mr Fenn . . . the second girl was about twelve years of age.'

A thin woman of about thirty with stringy hair stuck her head round the door and said, ‘Who is it, Tyler?'

‘Mind your own bleddy business and get inside,' he snarled.

Fenn turned, and was about to follow her when Adam said, ‘I'm acting on behalf of relatives . . . there's a reward for information leading to her whereabouts.'

The man chewed the inside of his cheek as he contemplated him, then he said, ‘How much is the reward?'

Adam lowered his initial figure to a quarter of the amount, simply because he didn't like the man. ‘A pound.'

Fenn nodded. ‘Come to think on it there was another girl here, a dirty, ragged little brat . . . a servant, she were.'

When Fenn paused, Adam asked him, ‘What happened to her?'

The man cupped his ear. ‘How much did you say that reward was?'

‘It depends if the information I'm given has enough truth in it for me to regard it as plausible.'

Fenn's voice rose, and Adam was relieved when he saw Ham edge into his side vision. ‘Calling me a liar, are you?'

‘No . . . are you one?'

When the man's attitude became pugnacious Adam knew he risked getting his nose flattened. He'd be sorry if he did because it was a rather handsome nose, or so his mother had told him. He was not a coward, but he was not the type of man who employed brute strength to settle an argument either, unless his back was to the wall. He'd rather use his wits.

‘Just for that I want double what you're offering. And I'll want it up front before you get anything out of me, mister. Take it or leave it.'

Adam was quite happy to take it, though he didn't show it. He took the money out, kept a firm grip on it and sent the man a look of enquiry. ‘Well?'

The aggrieved Fenn said, ‘That girl weren't my responsibility, and I didn't want the brat hanging around here calling the place home and pretending she was my relative when she wasn't. But I made sure she was all right. I took her over to Wiltshire and left her on the doorstep of Northfield workhouse at Yatesbury.'

Adam placed the reward money in the man's hand and it disappeared into his pocket. When Fenn spat on his hands Ham loudly cleared his throat and Fenn's sour glance went to the younger man. Ham, who was of similar size but considerably younger and fitter, was now slapping a stout stick against his palm.

Fenn's nostrils flared as he sucked in a breath. ‘And that's all you're getting out of me, so bugger off the pair of you, and don't come back unless you want an arse full of buckshot!' The door slammed in Adam's face and the bolt was shot.

Far from being annoyed, Adam smiled as he navigated the mud puddle back to the road with Ham in tow. Fenn had delivered a useful mouthful for his money, and now there was an unexpected and interesting twist to the puzzle. Which of the two females had survived, the Fenn girl or the unfortunate daughter of Erasmus Thornton?

‘I thought Fenn were going to hit you, sir,' Ham said.

‘So did I. Thank you for standing at my side.'

‘Oh, I wasn't willing to fetch mesself a clout on the beak from Fenn. I just reckoned you might need someone to carry you out of there.'

Adam grinned when Ham cackled with laughter. ‘Do you know where the Northfield workhouse is in Wiltshire?'

‘Reckon I do.' He gazed at the lowering sky in a calculating manner. ‘'Tis best for the nag if we go in the morning, sir. It's quite a step, and this mist will only get thicker. Fancy's willing, but her old bones do ache in this weather unless she's tucked in her stall early . . . isn't that right, my sweetheart?'

The horse turned her head, tossed her head and flapped her whiskery lips at him.

‘There, didn't I tell you, sir. I reckon my mam can give you a meal and a bed for the night. She'd be right happy to have a visitor, though she doesn't say much.'

Just to make sure that the Fenn in residence had been telling him the truth, they stopped to visit the grave of the former Fenn family on the way home. They lay in the same grave. Christopher. Emily. Jeffrey and Mary, aged eleven and twelve. The grave saddened him.

Ham's mam greeted him with a toothy grin, and her pleasure at the unusual event was evident in the tuneless song she sang as she hurried around him, laying out her best bits of china and lace for his use.

A small girl was tucked up on the day bed, her cheeks flushed. ‘My mam's looking after her for my sister. It's nothing much. The doctor said she's got a rash, but it isn't much of one and she'll be better in a day or two. My niece's name be Annie, ain't it my darlin'?'

She had fair curls. ‘Hello, Annie,' he said giving her a smile.

The child gazed shyly at him and whispered, ‘Hello.' The rash she had was barely discernable.

Mother Thomas's hospitality was boundless. In her spotlessly clean and aromatic cottage, Adam's stomach was filled with lamb stew and dumplings, followed by a huge slice of pie brimming with apples and covered in creamy blobs of custard.