Читать книгу The Officer and the Lady - Dorothy Elbury - Страница 10

B eresford had been allotted his father’s suite of rooms and he was far from pleased about it. The heavy, dark furniture in the bedchamber was not at all to his liking and the plum-coloured velvet curtains and bed-hangings were highly oppressive. There was, moreover, a sickly cloying scent that pervaded the whole atmosphere.

He glanced at Babcock, his late father’s elderly valet, who was shuffling nervously in the doorway, awaiting instructions.

‘Are these the only rooms you have available?’ he demanded.

The man flinched. ‘This has always been the master’s suite, sir,’ he stammered. ‘Mr Allardyce thought it would be the right thing to do.’

‘Well, you may tell Mr Allardyce that I’m not at all happy with it!’

He strode over to one of the bedroom windows and thrust it wide open, then proceeded to do likewise with its fellow.

‘You can get someone to remove those ludicrous bed-hangings for a start—and what the devil is that infernal smell?’

‘Smell, sir?’ The man’s nose wrinkled as he sniffed the air. ‘Do you mean Sir Matthew’s pomade?’ He walked across to the dressing room and, picking up one of the many jars that stood on the dressing table, held it out for Beresford’s perusal.

Beresford backed away in disgust. ‘Take it away, man—take them all away and burn them!’

‘All pretty depressing, ain’t it, old man?’ came a familiar voice from the doorway.

Beresford spun round, a look of relief on his face.

‘God, David, it is all far worse than I expected! The sooner we can sort out this damned mess the better! I cannot wait to get away from this place.’

‘Learnt nothing helpful from the lovely Imo, then, I take it?’

‘Not a bit of it. She was rambling on about the books being in a mess—although how the devil she knows anything about estate matters escapes me. Women have no business messing about in men’s affairs, in my opinion!’

‘Steady on, old chap!’ laughed his friend. ‘My father used to say that Mother was better than his own right hand when it came to checking the tax revenues in the province.’

Beresford gave a rueful grimace. ‘Perhaps I was a touch short with the girl,’ he admitted. ‘Probably that damned picture of him in there glowering at me for having the effrontery to survive him—that will certainly have to come down before I am prepared to use that room again!’

‘When are you going to cross swords with this Wentworth chap, then?’

‘After we’ve had a bite to eat, I thought—if that unlikely event ever takes place,’ said Beresford. ‘Seems that this Imogen female is in charge of all the domestic matters—as well as poking her fingers into estate management!’ he added, with a grin. ‘Hope she knows a bit more about feeding her guests than she appears to know about accountancy!’

At that moment the strident clanging of the gong was heard and Beresford turned to Babcock, who was busily shovelling his late master’s collection of toiletries into a valise.

‘You may go and have your meal, too, Babcock, but, when you return, I want you to clear all Sir Matthew’s belongings out of these rooms—everything, you understand? Empty all the closets, drawers, whatever! I do not want to see a single possession of his when I return. Understood?’

The man, wide-eyed with trepidation, nodded, picked up the bulging valise and scurried from the room.

Seymour shook his head. ‘Becoming quite the little martinet, aren’t you?’ he said, with a slight frown. ‘It don’t sit well on you, Matt. You ain’t usually this boorish with people.’

Beresford hunched his shoulders. ‘Must be this infernal place, old chum. It is almost as though he is here—watching me—I simply cannot seem to shake it off.’ He smiled apologetically to his friend. ‘Need some sustenance, I suppose—better go and see what delights our young hostess has arranged to tempt our appetites!’

Allardyce conducted the two men into what, to Beresford’s surprise, appeared to be the breakfast room, where he saw that places had been set for six at one end of a large mahogany table and a meal, of sorts, had been laid out. Imogen and Jessica were already in attendance, along with a dumpy grey-haired lady of indeterminate age and a slim, pale-faced bespectacled youth, whom Beresford took to be his half-brother Nicholas.

At the men’s entrance, the boy rose from his seat and came forward to greet them, tentatively holding out his hand.

At once, Beresford reached out and clasped the boy’s hand firmly in his own. He had seen the look of apprehension in the boy’s eyes and was, in turns, angry and full of remorse. Angry that the youth should be so obviously afraid of him before they had even met and full of remorse that his sixteen-year-old sibling should have been allowed to grow up to exhibit so little self-confidence. Yet another indictment to lay at his father’s door, he thought darkly.

‘You must be Nicholas,’ he said, smiling warmly. ‘How very pleased I am to meet you at last!’

‘And I you, sir,’ answered the boy warily.

‘Matt, if you please, young man—if we are to be friends—and I hope that we are?’

‘Y-yes, of course, sir—that is—I mean—M-Matt, sir,’ came Nicholas’s shaky reply.

‘This is my friend David Seymour,’ said Beresford, nodding towards his colleague. He could see that it was not going to be at all easy to gain the lad’s confidence. ‘Miss Priestley and your sister we have already met. Do be a good fellow and introduce us to your other lady guest and then we may all sit down and eat. I, for one, am famished!’

At Seymour’s grin and hearty handshake, a slight smile appeared on the boy’s lips and he went quickly to Miss Widdecombe’s side and, taking her arm, brought her to Beresford and nervously performed the necessary introductions.

‘I must explain that we have lately taken to having all our meals in this room, Mr Beresford,’ said Imogen when, at last, they were all seated at the table. ‘With so few servants we found that it proved a more sensible size than the dining room.’ His surprisingly gentle treatment of her young cousin had not escaped her notice and she was determined that he would find nothing in her own manner that could cause him displeasure. ‘Although, I fear that our refreshments may seem rather niggardly to you. Cook was able to manage only part of a raised pie and some fruit and cheese, but you have my word that she is hoping to conjure up something a little more substantial for your dinner.’

‘Pray, do not apologise, Miss Priestley,’ he replied, helping himself to a generous slice of the rabbit pie before passing the dish to Nicholas, who was seated on his left. ‘I am sure it all looks most appetising.’

Silence reigned for several minutes as they all got down to the serious business of doing justice to Cook’s hastily prepared offerings, although Beresford could not help noticing that both Imogen and the governess took very little.

‘That was delicious!’ he said, finally laying down his knife and fork. ‘And, please allow me to take this opportunity to say how truly sorry I am that you have all been placed in this dreadfully awkward position.’

‘Oh, it has all been absolutely beastly!’ Jessica blurted out, ignoring Miss Widdecombe’s admonishing frown. ‘You have no idea! Rabbit stew or pigeon pie every single day—whatever Nicky manages to shoot—and hardly any desserts at all, lately! You will get us all back to normal very soon, won’t you, darling Matt?’

‘Jessica!’

Deeply shocked at her cousin’s outrageous behaviour, Imogen was about to remonstrate with the girl when she felt Miss Widdecombe’s hand gently squeezing her knee beneath the table. She hesitated, not entirely sure what the governess intended.

‘Poor dear Jessica misses her little treats,’ interposed the governess, nodding in Beresford’s direction. ‘It has all been rather difficult for her to understand. A young lady of her age, as you must be aware, should really be concerning herself with assemblies and balls and other such entertainments as her contemporaries enjoy.’ Smiling at him in, what seemed to Beresford, an almost conspiratorial manner, she went on, ‘Still, we have no doubt at all that, now that you are here, you will be more than happy to take charge of your new sister’s début, will you not, Mr Beresford?’

He cleared his throat. ‘I’m afraid there are a good many matters to deal with before we can think of that sort of thing, Miss Widdecombe,’ he managed, sensing rather than seeing the pout of disappointment that appeared on Jessica’s face. ‘But I have no doubt that something can be arranged for next year.’

Privately, he was determined to have dealt with all the problems with which he was presently beset well before spring came round. David Seymour, however, seemed to have other ideas.

‘Now, please do not fret yourself, Miss Beresford!’ he cajoled, crinkling up his merry eyes at her woebegone expression. ‘You have my word that there is very little going on in London at this time of year—most of the celebrations are over and nobody of note stays in the capital during the warmer months. However, I am quite certain that there must be local entertainments not too far afield that you may be allowed to attend—even before you are fully “out”. Is that not so, Miss Priestley?’

He looked questioningly at Imogen, who felt obliged to smile and nod her head, although she too was planning her imminent escape from Thornfield.

‘There you are then!’ exclaimed Seymour, leaning back in his chair in satisfaction. ‘You see, Miss Beresford! You have an excellent chaperon in your cousin and I, myself, would deem it a great honour if you would allow me to act as your escort to any local rout or assembly.’

Jessica’s face immediately lit up and she began fluttering her lashes at Seymour in what seemed to Beresford to be the most irritatingly obvious manner.

‘I should think that Miss Priestley is rather too young to be placed in a role of such responsibility, David,’ he remarked drily, glancing across the table to Imogen.

A soft blush appeared on her cheeks. ‘I believe I am perfectly capable of ensuring that my cousin conducts herself as she should in any public gathering, Mr Beresford,’ she said, defensively.

‘You have a good deal of experience in these matters then, I take it?’

She was momentarily confused as she registered the unmistakable trace of sarcasm in his voice.

‘I was often wont to attend the local assemblies when my uncle was alive,’ she replied, unable to tear her eyes away from his intent gaze. ‘You may be surprised to learn that I am not quite as green as you apparently take me to be, sir.’

His deep laugh rang out across the room as he rose and pushed back his chair.

‘Clearly not, Miss Priestley! However, if you will excuse me, I believe I shall leave the matter of Jessica’s launch into society until some other time. There are other, more pressing matters to deal with today. Where do you suppose I might find Mr Wentworth?’

At this, Nicholas got to his feet. ‘I can take you to him, if you like,’ he offered shyly. ‘He is normally in the office at this time of day. We can go through from the hall—if the door isn’t locked.’

Beresford was puzzled. ‘Why should the door be locked on the house side?’ he asked the boy.

Nicholas flushed. ‘It always is these days, sir. Wentworth does not care for any of us poking about in there—not that I would ever do so,’ he added quickly. ‘I am pretty useless when it comes to stuff like corn yields and livestock sales—Father always used to get rather angry with me over my lack of understanding of estate matters.’

‘It will all be yours one day, Nicholas,’ Beresford reminded him. ‘I would not like you to think that I have come here to steal your inheritance from you. I merely want to sort out the most urgent problems as quickly as possible and leave you to it.’

A look of alarm appeared in the boy’s eyes. ‘Oh, I wish you would not, sir! I really do not wish to keep the property—and nor does Mama—apart from her jointure, of course. I, myself, will be perfectly content with the allowance he left me.’

Frowning, Beresford regarded his brother intently. ‘You are not interested in taking over Thornfield when you come of age?’

Nicholas shook his head vehemently. ‘Never! I was as glad as I could be when I heard that you were to succeed. I intend to go into the Church—it is what I have always wanted. And, if you do not intend to stay, I shall sell the place as soon as I am able!’

A breathless silence filled the room as Beresford, in perplexed dismay, struggled to come to terms with this new and unexpected development.

Seymour got to his feet. ‘The estate still has to be put back to rights, old chap,’ he pointed out. ‘Whether it is to be kept or sold makes very little difference at this stage. The debts have to be cleared and, judging by what I could see from the lane as we passed, there are at least two fields well past their best for cutting. You simply cannot pull out now, Matt.’

Beresford’s face darkened. ‘I had not intended to,’ he said shortly. ‘But this does pose an entirely different problem.’

‘I am awfully sorry, sir.’ Nicholas’s voice was shaking. ‘I had not meant to cause you any more worry.’

Imogen rose and came to her cousin’s side. ‘It is probably just as well that Mr Beresford knows your intentions, Nicky,’ she said firmly. ‘There are certain aspects of your father’s temperament of which he cannot possibly be aware.’

‘I believe I had the pleasure of discovering several of Sir Matthew’s delightful idiosyncrasies some years ago,’ was Beresford’s terse rejoinder.

She coloured. ‘Yes, of course. I do beg your pardon.’

He suddenly found himself musing over the extraordinary colour of her eyes. One minute they were a bright, clear grey and then, before you knew where you were, they had changed to the colour of a thundercloud! And that, he noted, was when those fascinating little sparks of silver were at their most obvious. A useful warning sign for future reference, he thought, turning away with an appreciative grin.

Somewhat flustered over his intense examination of her features, Imogen’s thoughts became erratic, her pulse began to race and she found herself obliged to sit down quickly. At first, the idea that Beresford might find her amusing filled her with a cold fury and yet—there had been something else in his penetrating gaze, she could swear—something she could not identify. And, whatever that something was, it had caused her to experience a momentary flutter of a feeling somewhat akin to panic!