The Player (Rockliffe Book 3) (26 page)

They continued a meandering progress through the
town and were standing in front of the Guildhall when a voice said, ‘M’lord?’

Sarre turned his head to find an elderly man with
thinning grey hair and an extremely threadbare coat staring at him with an odd
mixture of incredulity and joy.

‘M’lord!
 
It
is
you.
 
I’d heard whispers that you was back but …’
He stopped, his eyes misting over.
 
‘Oh
m’lord … it’s that good to see you after all these years – and not a bit
changed.’

‘Mr
Bailes
?’ said
Sarre.
 
Then, holding out his hand, ‘Mr
Bailes
. Of course.
 
It’s a pleasure to see you.’

‘Just
Bailes
, sir.’
 
Shaking his head, the old man took the Earl’s
hand between both of his own and held tight to it.
 
‘Fancy you remembering. But even when you was
no more’n a lad, you always had nice manners. Never too lofty to pass the time
of day, were you?’

‘I certainly hope not.’
 
Sarre retrieved his hand but said, ‘I
wouldn’t have expected to find you here, Mr
Bailes
.
 
Are you in retirement now?’

Bailes
opened his mouth,
then closed it again.
 
Finally he said
slowly, ‘Of course.
 
You wouldn’t know.
 
I heard as you never went back after that day.’

‘I didn’t.
 
So
what is it that I don’t know?’

‘His lordship, the late Earl …’ He stopped.
 
‘I don’t rightly know as how to tell it,
m’lord. It don’t seem right to burden you with it now.
 
And t’weren’t like you could have done
nothing about it then even if you’d known.’

Sarre took in the thin coat hanging loosely on a
too-thin frame and the swollen joints in the rheumatic hands.
 
Then, turning to Caroline, he said, ‘I’m
being very rude.
 
This gentleman is Mr
Bailes
.
 
He was head-gardener
at Sarre Park when I was young.
 
Mr
Bailes
– this is Mistress Maitland.
 
She is a friend of mine.’

‘Honoured, Miss.’
Bailes
touched his shapeless hat and looked back at the Earl with a sigh. ‘I’m glad to
have seen you, m’lord – but I’ll be on my way now.
 
It’s not right keeping the young lady
standing about in the cold.’

His lordship detained him with a hand on his
arm.
 

‘It isn’t – which is why we’ll go over to the Old
New Inn so that she can sit by the fire while you tell me everything.’
 
And to Caroline, ‘I’m sorry. I ought not to
be taking you into a tavern but I need to hear what Mr
Bailes
has to say and --’

‘It’s all right.
 
I don’t mind.
 
And I’ve been in a
tavern before, you know.’

‘You have?’
 
He started shepherding both her and the old gardener across the street.

‘My friend in Halifax owns one.
 
I even helped out once when she was
sick.
 
Grandpa didn’t know, of course, or
he’d have had a fit.’
 
She glanced up at
him to add, ‘And don’t tell me
you
never did anything your parents didn’t know about because I’ll wager Mr
Bailes
could tell me differently.’

Sarre muttered something beneath his breath.

The old man cackled and said, ‘I could that, Miss,
and no mistake!’

‘I’d rather you didn’t, Mr
Bailes
,’
said his lordship, ushering his guests into the inn. ‘I’m barely managing to
convince her I’m a gentleman as it is.’

Once they were all settled in a cosy corner, the
Earl ordered ale for himself and
Bailes
and a small
glass of local cider for Caroline.
 
Then
he asked for a large slice of meat pie with potatoes and gravy and while
waiting for it to arrive, said, ‘Now.
 
What
further crassness did my father commit after I left?’

‘He – I’m sorry, m’lord – he turned off nearly all
the staff.
 
Inside and out.
 
He got rid of everybody who knew and a fair
few who didn’t. And the worst of it was …’ He stopped again, plainly unwilling
to go on.

‘You needn’t say it.
 
I believe I can guess.’

Caroline watched as Sarre dropped his head back
against the settle.
 
She’d wanted him to
stop guarding his expression but what she saw in his eyes now appalled
her.
 
He looked tired, defeated and as
though the last bitter blow had finally slammed him into the ground.
 
A lump formed in her throat and she knew a
ridiculous urge to hold his hand.

 
Then, with
an effort that could be felt, he summoned his usual control and said, ‘So, Mr
Bailes
.
 
There was
yourself, obviously.
 
Who else?’

‘Old
 
Matthew who worked with me, Mr Markham the butler,
 
Thomas the footman, Lizzie and Sarah the
maids … and Betsy from the kitchen.
 
Some
others an’ all.
 
But them’re the ones
your lordship’d remember.’

‘Betsy.’
 
Sarre’s tone was flat.
 
‘I see.
 
Do you know where she is – where any of them
are?
 
And how many found other work after
being dismissed without a character?’

Oh
,
thought Caroline, shocked.
 
No wonder he looked so sick.

‘Old Matt died and I heard Mr Markham got a job in
a tavern near Canterbury.
 
Don’t know
about Thomas or Lizzie … but Sarah scrapes by doing a bit of cleaning.
 
And Betsy lives with her sister just outside
town and makes a living with her baking.’

‘And you?’

‘Jobbing gardening when I can get it,’ said Mr
Bailes
regretfully.
 
‘Not the same as
proper
gardening but it’s better’n nothing.’

The serving maid put down a laden plate and Sarre
pushed it in front of
Bailes
who said
protestingly
, ‘M’lord! There’s no call for you to be doing
this.’

‘Yes.
 
There
is.
 
And please don’t argue with me.
 
A slice of pie isn’t going to make up for the
last ten years, is it?’

‘But it weren’t your fault, m’lord.
 
Not any of it.
 
It was a terrible day – as bad as has ever
been.
 
And you was the one what suffered
most.’

‘Clearly, I wasn’t.’
 
Sarre shoved his ale aside.
 
‘But we’ll see what can be done about
it.
 
I’m at Devereux House at the moment
– though for how long will depend on Mistress Maitland.
 
However, I’ll be keeping the place open.
 
If you can speak to those in the same
position as yourself, tell them there will be work for them with me if they
want it.
 
As for yourself, I’d like the
walled garden restored to its former glory if you’d do me the favour of taking
the job on.’

The expression on the old man’s face made it
necessary for Caroline to turn away, blinking back tears.
 
He stammered, ‘M’lord … I don’t know what to
say.
 
Truly, I don’t.’

‘Yes will do,’ said his lordship, rising from his
seat and tossing some coins on the table. ‘Come to the bay when you’re
ready.
 
I may not be there myself but
I’ll see that you and any others who come are expected and that arrangements
are in place. No – don’t get up.
 
Stay
and eat your meal.’
 
He extended a hand
and said, ‘I’m in your debt, Mr
Bailes
.
 
And I thank you.’

Once he and Caroline were outside, he drew a long
almost shuddering breath and merely stood, frowning across the street.

She said slowly, ‘You don’t care about the walled
garden, do you?’

‘No.’

She waited and then, realising he was somewhere
she could not follow, slipped her hand through his arm and said, ‘While we walk
back, I’m going to tell you all about sheep.
 
There will be no need for you to talk – or even listen.
 
In fact, I suggest that you don’t because I’m
going to be very, very boring.’

By the time they arrived back within sight of the
sea, Caroline had run out of fascinating facts about sheep and moved on to the
business of weaving and dyeing.
 
Then
Sarre, who so far hadn’t contributed a single word, suddenly stopped walking
and said stiffly, ‘My apologies.
 
I’ve
been very rude.
 
And you’ve been
extremely patient.
 
Thank you.’

‘Thanks aren’t necessary.
 
You needed time to think.’
 
She looked up into eyes that were still as
bleak as a December sky.
 
‘That was an
extraordinarily kind thing you did.’

‘But not enough.
 
Nothing I can do now will ever be enough.’

‘Perhaps not.
 
But you couldn’t have known.’

‘Couldn’t I?’ he asked bitterly. ‘I might have
guessed my father wouldn’t stop at just being rid of me.
 
But to turn servants off without a character and
for no fault of their own … how could anyone do that?’

‘I don’t know.’
 

Drawing a long breath and seeming to reach a
decision, Sarre said, ‘I’ll take you home tomorrow.
 
I ought to have done it today.’

Something she tried not to recognise settled in her
chest.
 
She said carefully, ‘If you’d
done that, you wouldn’t have met Mr
Bailes
.
 
And you couldn’t anyway because the horse --’

‘There’s nothing wrong with the damned horse,’ he
snapped.
 
And then, more moderately but
with great weariness, ‘Bertrand knew I wanted some time, so he offered it and –
and I let him.
 
I’m sorry.
 
It was stupid of me to think I could change
your mind.
 
Stupid and naïve.
 
So we’ll --’

‘You weren’t,’ Caroline blurted out.
 
‘You weren’t either stupid or naïve.
 
And if I’d wanted to go home, I’d have told
you so this morning.’

He turned the full intensity of his gaze upon her.

‘What are you saying?’

She swallowed hard, knowing that her next words
would herald either the best or the worst choice she would ever make.
 

‘I’m saying I’ll marry you.’

He looked completely stunned.

‘You will?’

‘Yes.’

‘Even … even knowing I lied about the horse?’

‘Yes.’
 
Haven’t you punished yourself enough for one
day?
 
‘Even knowing that.’

‘That’s … generous of you.’

‘Well, you’d know all about generosity, wouldn’t
you?’

‘Oh.
 
I
see.’
 
He smiled crookedly. ‘You’ll marry
me because I bought Mr
Bailes
a meal.’

‘No.
 
Not
because of that.
 
Nor because you gave
him both dignity and hope – nor even because you’re still calling him
Mr
Bailes
when
he’s no longer here to hear you.’

‘Then why?’

‘I’m marrying you because you’re a good, kind man
who – despite one rather large error of judgement – is intent on doing the
right thing. And if you lavish half as much care on your wife as you’re giving
to Mr
Bailes
, the woman who marries you will have
nothing to complain about.’
 
She harnessed
all her courage. ‘And there’s something else.’

‘Yes?’

Smiling, she stood on tiptoe to place a kiss at
the corner of his mouth.

‘This.’

~
 
*
 
*
 
~
 
*
 
*
 
~

By Tuesday evening, the absence of both the Earl
of Sarre and Mistress Maitland had become noticed in certain quarters.

Not having run into his friend in any of the usual
places, Lord Nicholas Wynstanton had called in Cork Street and come away
baffled on being told that the Earl had been called out of town.
 

And Lord Sheringham,
 
having failed to clap eyes on Caroline since
his attempt to abduct her from the Pantheon the previous Thursday, was finally
forced into making enquiry of Lady Brassington.

She looked him over with overt distaste.

‘Mistress Maitland is visiting friends in the
country,’ she said coldly.
 
‘And, even if
she were not, I don’t imagine she would wish to see you, my lord.’

He flushed slightly and tried to brazen it out.

‘I don’t know why your ladyship should think so.’

‘In that case, you must be singularly obtuse.
 
I know what you tried to do.
 
And you may count yourself extremely
fortunate that I haven’t made the information public.
 
But if you accost Caroline again, you may
count on that situation changing.
 
I
trust that makes the matter perfectly plain?’

And she walked away without giving him the chance
to answer.

Marcus scowled at her retreating back.
 
He’d realised that, if Caroline told anyone
what had happened at the Pantheon, it would be Lily Brassington and he’d known
that the consequences of that were potentially dire.
 
He had, however, counted on being allowed to
make it all sound like a misunderstanding.
 
Of
course
, he hadn’t intended
to abduct the girl; he’d merely found her alone and unchaperoned at a public
ridotto and wanted to offer his protection.
 
Not realising her peril, Caroline had resisted and they’d quarrelled. It
was all very unfortunate and he had been hoping for an opportunity to put
matters right.

Lady Brassington had not only blocked that avenue
but also issued a threat which he couldn’t afford to completely ignore.
 
On the other hand, Caroline was still his
only hope of avoiding ruin so he needed to find her and quickly.
 
Then he’d better come up with another and
more fool-proof abduction plan.

Since he had no other option, the following
morning found him once again being admitted to the dingy house in Kensington –
hoping against hope that he’d find the girl there and that she hadn’t given her
mother chapter and verse on what had happened at the Pantheon.
 
If she had, he had no idea what the hell he
was going to do.

As it turned out, he had timed his visit better
than he knew for Mrs Haywood was not at home.
 
The sisters, however, seemed perfectly happy to see him which removed
his worst fear.
 
But when he enquired
after Caroline, the elder one shook her head and said brightly, ‘Oh – Caro’s
not here, m’lord.
 
Hasn’t been for a
couple of days, now.’

‘Indeed?
 
Then perhaps you can tell me where I might find her?’

‘No,’ said the other girl.
 
‘We can’t.’

‘You can’t?’ he asked pleasantly. ‘Or you won’t?’

‘Can’t – because we don’t exactly know.’
 
Sylvia’s smile became lightly edged with
acid. ‘And it’d not do you much good if we did, m’lord.’

‘I’m not sure I understand you.’

‘No.
 
But I
expect you’ll find out soon enough.’

‘Syl,’ hissed Lavinia.
 
‘There’s no harm in telling him, is
there?
 
And being as he was hoping to
marry Caro himself, he’s maybe got a right to know.’

Marcus didn’t like the sound of that.
 
He said, ‘Know what?’

Ignoring him, Sylvia shrugged at her sister.
 

‘So tell him, if you want.
 
It’s hardly going to change anything now.’

The bad feeling in Lord Sheringham’s gut
intensified.

‘If there is some significant circumstance of
which I am as yet unaware,’ he said grittily, ‘I would appreciate being
apprised of it.’

‘Oh my!’ grinned Sylvia.
 
‘What a lot of long words.’

‘Syl – don’t be mean.’
 
Lavinia smiled at his lordship.
 
‘It’s like this.
 
Our Caro has fallen in love with another gentleman
and run off to be married.
 
I daresay
she’s wed by now.’

‘She’s
eloped?
’
 

‘Yes.’

It’s not
possible.
 
Who else would want her?
 
And where could she have met him without me
knowing?

‘With whom?’

‘Well, that’s the romantic bit.
 
Caro left a note saying how happy she was but
she never told us the name of her intended.
 
We couldn’t understand why she didn’t, could we, Syl?
 
And Mam were right mad in case it was a
Nobody.’
 
Lavinia gave a tiny laugh.
 
‘Only then the next morning, we found another
note outside the door.
 
And it was from
him
.’

‘Him?’

‘The gentleman Caro’s marrying,’ said Sylvia in
the kind of pitying tone usually reserved for imbeciles.
 
‘Who else do you think?’

Marcus cast her a filthy look and restored his
attention to the less annoying of the two.

‘And presumably this fellow signed his name?’

‘He did,’ nodded Lavinia. ‘And you could have
knocked us down with a feather ’cos she’d never said a word about him
before.
 
Mind you, she never said a word
about you neither.
 
Proper secretive our
Caro’s become lately.’

‘Do you think,’ asked Marcus through his teeth,
‘that you might come to the point and tell me who this
gentleman
is?’

‘Well, yes, if you like.
 
I suppose you’ll probably know him.’
 
Hugely enjoying herself, Lavinia paused,
purely for effect.
 
‘It’s the Earl of
Sarre.’

Just for a moment, Marcus thought he must have
misheard.
 
Then, somewhere beyond the
strange roaring in his ears, came the thought,
Sarre.
 
Of course it would be
him.
 
The bastard’s having his revenge.
 
And then, struggling to apply a few grains of
logic,
But whatever he’s said and
whatever these two idiots think, he won’t marry her.
 
Oh – he’ll bed her.
 
But he won’t marry her.
 
He’ll send her back to me and wait for me to
pick up his leavings
.

With enormous difficulty, he dragged some air into
his lungs and said, ‘I’m sorry to say it but I fear that your sister has been
most wickedly deceived.’

‘How do you work that out?’ asked Sylvia, plainly
disbelieving.

‘I know Lord Sarre. There will be no wedding – nor
did he ever intend that there should be. He has a long-standing grudge against
me and, knowing I had hoped to win Mistress Maitland’s hand myself, is using
her to hurt me.’

‘I can’t say as that sounds very likely,’ said
Sylvia sceptically.
 
‘Sounds more like
something out of a novel to me.’

 
Marcus
managed a grim smile.
 

‘Then you can’t have considered the matter.
 
Sarre is an Earl.
 
If his intentions were honest, why would he
persuade your sister into an elopement when he had no need to do so?’

‘’Cos it’s romantic,’ sighed Lavinia.
 

‘No.
 
It is
merely dishonourable.
 
A thing no true
gentleman would do because it has compromised your sister’s reputation beyond
repair.
 
Worse still, he has had time now
in which to debauch her person.’
 
He,
too, knew about dramatic pauses.
 
‘Your
sister, ladies, is by now almost certainly ruined.’

The two girls exchanged doubtful glances.
 

Sylvia said, ‘If you’re right and this Earl
doesn’t intend marriage – why did he bother to leave Mam a letter telling her
not to worry and that Caro’d come back to Town a Countess?
 
I reckon you’re just jealous and out to make
mischief.
 
Our sister isn’t stupid.
 
If she’s fallen in love with him, it’s
because he’s worth it.
 
Unlike yourself,
my lord.’

‘I see that I’m wasting my breath,’ said Marcus, wishing
he could shake the damned girl until her teeth rattled.
 
‘You say Mistress Maitland isn’t stupid.
 
Allow me to add one final bit of information.
 
Lord Sarre has been abroad for ten years due
to a very nasty scandal.
 
For all any of
us know to the contrary, he may have left a wife behind him.’
 
He gave a perfunctory bow and said, ‘Upon
which note, I’ll bid you good afternoon.’

When the door had slammed behind him, Lavinia
said, ‘What if he’s right?’

‘I doubt if he is.
 
He may be pretty to look at but, if you ask me, there’s something nasty
inside.’

‘That’s as maybe.
 
But the question is – what do we tell Mam?’

‘Nothing.
 
If he is right, the damage is done by now.
 
And if he’s not … what’s the point in
worrying her when there’s nowt to be done about it? Let’s just wait and see.’

*
 
*
 
*

Back in Half-Moon Street, Marcus nursed his
grievances, contemplated his remaining choices and cursed Sarre at great length
over a bottle of brandy. His luck, throughout, had been bloody awful; his only
alternative to bankruptcy was Caroline Maitland; and he couldn’t think of Sarre
without wanting to commit murder.
 
Unfortunately, none of these things was constructive.

At some point as he started to become inebriated,
he found himself thinking back to how it had all started.
 
At school, Eastry – as he’d been then – had
been his best friend.
 
They’d done
everything together, even during the holidays.
 
But at Oxford, things had begun to change.
 
Marcus had noticed that, where he himself was
merely tolerated, Eastry had been popular; so popular that Marcus had often
found himself competing for his friend’s company.
 
Then had come the Grand Tour. Eastry had made
his accompanied by the brother of a Duke;
 
Marcus’s had been done in the company of his old tutor.
 
Worst of all, had been their first season on
the Town when the young ladies had clustered about Eastry like flies round a
jam pot. And Marcus hadn’t been able to understand why.
 
While Eastry was heir to an impoverished
Earldom, with a country house going to rack and ruin, he himself was already in
possession of both his title and a tidy fortune.
 
He dressed better than Eastry, was
better-looking than Eastry … yet the girls still sighed over the Viscount’s
smile.
 
None of it made any sense.
 
And somehow, amongst it all, envy had turned
to something darker and more dangerous.

Evangeline Mortimer had been the catch of the
Season.
 
Her exquisite looks and her
fortune ensured that she could have had any man she wanted.
 
But, watching from the side-lines, Marcus had
concluded that she’d really only chosen Eastry because, although the
match-making mamas dismissed him, their daughters all vied for his attention
and Evie enjoyed watching her rivals turn green with envy.

She hadn’t been like the other girls.
 
There had been a streak of wildness in her; a
spark of something that was easily fanned into a flame.
 
Give her a whiff of danger, challenge her a
little and she could be lured into almost any escapade.
 
And so, in order to prove something to
himself as well as showing Eastry a thing or two, he’d drawn Evie first into a
flirtation and then into bed.
 
For a
time, it had been fun, laughing behind Eastry’s back whilst tumbling his
affianced wife.
 
Only then she’d got pregnant
and, instead of simply going ahead with her wedding, she’d insisted on telling
Eastry the truth.
 
On the whole, Marcus
wouldn’t have minded watching his bastard being reared as the next heir to the
earldom but Evie would have none of it so he’d reconciled himself to marriage
and impending fatherhood.
 
It hadn’t been
very difficult.
 
Having already
discovered the pleasures of deep basset, he could see that Evie’s money might
come in very useful indeed.

Only he’d never had it because the silly bitch had
gone cavorting about on a roof-top and got herself killed.
 
Knowing Evie, it was all too easy to imagine
how that had happened.
 
And he knew
Eastry better than to suppose for a moment that he’d had any hand in the
tragedy. But when Marcus had learned she was dead, something angrily powerful
had filled every bone, vein and muscle; and, almost before he realised it, he
was shouting accusations of murder.

Of course, they weren’t the kind of accusations
one could take back … so he hadn’t.
 
And
now Eastry – Sarre – was back in England and intent on vengeance.
 
Vengeance Marcus was determined he would
never have.