Читать книгу Miss Jesmond's Heir - Paula Marshall - Страница 9

Jess had underestimated the size of the social life in Netherton and the ingenuity of its inhabitants in organising it.

The following morning Kite, who had already taken up his secretarial duties, handed him a letter from the Bowlbys which had arrived by special messenger.

It invited him to a fête to be held in the grounds of the Bowlbys’ mansion, Nethercotes, on the afternoon of the immediate Saturday. It also welcomed him to Netherton and hoped that Mr Fitzroy would enjoy his stay in the town.

‘Shall I answer it for you? I take it that you wish to accept.’

‘You take it correctly. I shall be seeing Parsons, the former land agent here, at two of the clock this afternoon in the library. You will, of course, be present. This morning I intend to ride around the countryside, familiarising myself with the lie of the land.’

‘You have a map of the district, sir?’

‘Yes,’ said Jess, holding up a tattered scrap of paper. ‘It purports to show the boundaries of the local estates, including those of the land my aunt used to own. I’ll see you at lunch. In the meantime, you might go up to the attics and see if you can find anything useful there. And by useful I mean not only bibelots, pictures and furniture, but also papers and documents, however old.’

‘Understood, sir.’

Kite ghosted out of the room. Jess had forgotten how unobtrusive he was—and how immediately obliging. The letter would go straightway to the Bowlbys and the attics would be searched.

It was a glorious morning for a ride and his horse—named Tearaway because he was nothing of the kind—like Jess, was, for once, eager to enjoy a little exercise. He turned down the main street, openly watched by the villagers—he could not yet think of Netherton as a town.

Occasionally stopping to read the map, he quartered the countryside after the same fashion he had employed long ago in India, only the scenery being different. He had just begun to ride down a green lane at the back of his little property when he saw young Gus running along the bank of a shallow river, one of the tributaries of the Trent, waving his arms and shouting.

Jess grinned. He’d bet a mountain of tin that the young hoyden was at her tricks again! What could it be this time? He ought to find out in case she were in real trouble. He dismounted, tied Tearaway to a fence post, and pushed through the low hedge which bordered the field where he had caught sight of Gus.

By now Gus had seen Jess and was running towards him.

‘What luck to find you here, sir,’ he gasped breathlessly. ‘I thought I’d have to run to your home farm to find help.’

He began to tug at Jess’s coat. ‘It’s Georgie,’ he said. ‘She went into the river after one of the village children who had strayed from home, fallen in and was like to drown. She saved the child, but she’s wet through and has hurt her ankle. She said not to fuss, she could manage, but I disobeyed her because I thought she needed help. This way, sir, this way.’

He had been pulling Jess along while he told his story.

So, he had been right. Georgie Herron was in trouble again. No, that was quite wrong. She had not been in trouble when he had found her playing cricket on his land. The trouble had come after that when he had tried to advise her.

He wondered how badly she had been hurt. He doubted whether Gus was the most reliable of witnesses, although he seemed to have plenty of common-sense.

How like mad Mrs Georgie to hurl herself into a river—even a shallow one—after a drowning child! He couldn’t imagine the ladylike Caro doing any such thing. But then Caro would never have been roaming the countryside with two small children, either.

He found Georgie sitting on the river bank not far from where he had first seen Gus. She had stripped off her boy’s jacket in order to go into the river and was soaked through, her wet shirt clinging revealingly to her. She was cradling on her knee the soaked and crying child whom she had rescued and was trying to comfort her.

She had walked a few yards from the spot where she had rescued the little girl from the river, but the weight of the child, combined with the pain in her damaged ankle, had compelled her to sit down for a moment. She felt her heart sink when Gus and Jess rounded the turn of the river and came into view.

Of all the dreadful luck! What a fright she must look, like a drowned rat with her hair in strings about her face, for the child had sunk on to the river bed and she had had to bend down in order to lift her out. Of course, the poor little thing had had no more sense than to clutch at her so that she had lost her balance, landing in the water and wrenching her ankle at the same time.

Fitz was bound to ring a peal over her again and be full of sound advice on the proper behaviour of a young lady. She tried to stand up to greet him, but holding the squirming child made such an act difficult as well as painful.

Nevertheless, she managed to lever herself upright just before Jess reached her. He confirmed her worst fears by immediately barking an order at her in a sergeant-major’s voice. ‘Whatever do you think that you’re doing? Sit down at once!’

‘Oh, Fitz,’ said Georgie sorrowfully, ‘I might have guessed that you would begin to bully me the moment you saw me.’

‘Of course I shall bully you,’ said Jess, scarcely hearing the ‘Fitz’, but relieved to see that she still had enough spirit left to spark at him. ‘You need to be bullied if you insist on running around the countryside doing dangerous things!’

‘Goodness me,’ she exclaimed, seething. ‘I suppose I ought to have left the poor little thing to drown and fainted with shock at the sad sight instead.’

‘I would never have expected that of you,’ announced Jess firmly. ‘And before you try to walk, allow me to have a look at both the ankle and the child. You could let Gus hold it while I do so.’

He looked around him. ‘And where’s Annie? Have you lost her as well as half-drowning yourself?’

‘It! It! She’s a girl, Fitz—or were you so busy reprimanding me that you failed to notice that she wasn’t wearing breeches? And Annie isn’t with us—she didn’t feel up to a long walk.’

‘Fortunately for her, she appears to be unlike you in every way,’ said Jess severely, ‘seeing that she was obeying the normal conventions which govern the behaviour of females and didn’t want to go gallivanting around the countryside. Take off your wet sock at once so that I may inspect your damaged ankle. And, by the way, who gave you leave to call me Fitz?’

‘The same person who gave you leave to shout orders at me every time we meet. The deity, if you like. He’s supposed to arrange our life, I believe, although where females are concerned he’s made a poor fist of it!’

Jess, bending over her ankle, gave a crack of laughter at this spirited sally. Gus, now cradling the wet and crying girl child, saw nothing to laugh at, particularly since Georgie had begun to shiver with cold.

He said, rebuking Jess a little, ‘It was jolly brave of Georgie to rescue her. You mustn’t be cross with her.’

‘No, it wasn’t brave and I don’t think that he’s really cross. And I was stupid to allow myself to lose my footing in the water,’ announced Georgie, who was finding that there was something strangely intimate and pleasant in having Fitz examine her bare foot and ankle. That stroking motion, now, as he tried to assess the damage, was quite delightful and soothing. She was sorry when he stopped.

‘No real harm done,’ he pronounced at last. ‘A light sprain only. But I don’t think that you ought to walk on it. I left my horse tethered on the byway. If you will allow me to carry you there, he may take you the rest of the way home. Gus can lead Tearaway and I’ll carry the child. Have you any notion of who she belongs to?’

‘None. The first time I saw her was when she was falling into the river. And you don’t need to carry me. I’m quite capable of walking.’

‘Contrary infant that you are,’ Jess told her pleasantly, ‘you cannot really wish to make a light sprain worse. You will miss the Bowlbys’ fête and the Assembly Room dance if you do.’

‘Infant! Fitz, I’ll have you know I’m an old married woman, or widow rather. A little respect from you would not come amiss.’

But Georgie was laughing while she spoke, her green eyes shining and dancing and Fitz—dammit, he was already beginning to think that was his name—held her lightly against his heart. She was really no weight at all despite the one boot she was still wearing and her sodden breeches. Now that he was holding her, he could feel her shivering.

He sat her down for a moment and pulled off his coat. ‘Wrap that around you,’ he told her. ‘Unwise for you to get too cold.’

‘No need,’ declared Georgie, staring at his magnificent shirt which covered an equally magnificent torso. ‘I’m so wet that I shall ruin it. Though it’s kind of you to offer it, Fitz.’

‘All the more reason for you to wear it,’ he told her briskly. ‘And come to think of it, no one has ever called me Fitz before. Odd that, for one would normally expect it to be my nickname.’

‘Oh, everyone was too frightened of you to give you a nickname at all, I suppose. Have you always behaved as though you were the Lord of All?’

‘Now that,’ he told her severely, joining in with her light-hearted game, ‘is really unkind. I’ve a good mind to drop you and leave you to the wolves.’

‘There aren’t any wolves round here,’ said Gus glumly, ‘and if you did any such thing I’d tell on you to the village constable.’

‘He doesn’t mean it, Gus,’ Georgie reassured him. ‘He’s only teasing me. He’d never do any such thing.’

‘Really?’ said Jess, raising his perfect eyebrows. ‘Care to twit me again and find out?’

They had reached Tearaway; before Georgie could answer, Jess had lifted her on to him.

‘Your breeches do have some practical use,’ he told her. ‘You can ride astride. We’re not far from Pomfret Hall if my map is correct. Once there, you must take a warm bath, put on some dry clothes and lie down for a little.’

‘Orders, orders, always orders, Fitz. What were you in your previous incarnation? An Army officer?’

Something in his expression gave him away.

Georgie said exultantly, ‘Caught. I knew it! You were.’

‘You are,’ he told her, but his voice was kind, ‘the most knowing minx I have ever had the misfortune to meet.’

He had a sudden memory of an occasion on which Ben Wolfe had said something similar to his future wife Susanna. The thought made him smile. Georgie saw the smile. It transformed a face whose expression was usually a trifle severe.

‘What sort of a soldier, Fitz?’ she asked him.

‘The usual,’ he said drily, ‘but that was long ago and not worth the telling.’

‘Long ago,’ exclaimed Gus, delighted to meet a real live soldier. They had been thin on the ground since Waterloo. ‘You must have been quite a babe then.’

‘Indeed, Master Gus. Older than you, though. And green, very green.’

‘Green, Fitz?’ called Georgie from her perch. ‘I can’t believe that!’

‘Believe it, Mrs Georgie, believe it. I may call you that, may I not?’

‘If you will allow me to call you Fitz—though we must behave ourselves in public. There I propose to be good. You shall be Mr Fitzroy with just the slightest stress on the first syllable. You’re not green now, though. By no means. Was that the Army? Papa always said that being in the Army made a man.’

Jess decided to tell the truth. ‘Partly the Army and partly a friend I made in it. And that is enough of me. Since you have questioned me so thoroughly, I believe that gives me the right to question you. Have you always been so downright, Mrs Georgie?’

Silence. She was not answering him. He shifted the child on his arm. Fortunately for his comfort, fright and tiredness had finally sent her to sleep. He wondered why Georgie had suddenly become shy, for she was looking away from him and by the set of her body for the first time since he had met her, her ready wit had deserted her.

‘The truth, Fitz,’ Georgie said at last. ‘You want the truth? The answer is no. And it wasn’t the Army which changed me.’

She had not known how to reply. The question had brought the past rushing back and Georgie hated the past and had no wish to live in it again.

Unknowingly it was something she shared with the man walking alongside her. Suddenly she felt desperately tired and very cold. The exhilaration which had consumed her from the moment Jess had walked into view had disappeared. She shivered, a long shiver. Even his coat could not warm her.

Jess felt the shiver. He turned to Gus and said, ‘Can I trust you, young shaver? We are not far from your home. Do you think that you could carry the child there on your own if I mount Tearaway and gallop your aunt there before she expires with cold and shock? We are on what passes for a main road here and you should not meet with any danger. I’ll have them send a footman in your direction when I reach Pomfret Hall.’

‘No need,’ said Georgie quietly. ‘I am not about to faint, but I do feel so dreadfully cold.’

‘The warm bath, remember,’ Jess said, ‘The sooner you reach it, the better. I shall ride in front of you. Loose the reins and allow me to mount.’

She did not argue with him, which told him that she was in need of his assistance. Nor did he twit her again, but concentrated on encouraging Tearaway to increase his speed so that they might reach Pomfret Hall the more speedily.

‘How like you, Georgie,’ wailed Caro gently, ‘to throw yourself into the river after a chance-met child. I don’t say that it’s not worthy of you, only that it’s foolish. Could you not have sent Gus for help instead?’

‘By which time the child would have been drowned dead for sure,’ said Georgie sturdily, some of her old fire returning now that she was back home and about to enjoy the warm bath which Jess had demanded and Caro had ordered. ‘You didn’t really expect me to sit on the bank and watch her dying struggles?’

Jess watched, amused, when Caro threw him a helpless look, saying, ‘I never know what to expect from you, Georgie, so I suppose I shouldn’t be surprised at this morning’s adventure. Do either of you have any notion of whose child it is?’

‘It,’ began Georgie belligerently, ‘she’s not an it,’ only for Jess to put a gentle hand on her arm and say soothingly,

‘Time to go upstairs, I think. That must be your maid approaching.’

It was. Georgie’s maid, Madge Honey, was in her fifties and had been her old nurse. She arrived in time to hear Georgie fire at Jess, ‘Orders again, Fitz!’ and to say reprovingly to her, ‘Now, now, Miss Georgie. None of that. You’re soaking wet through and there’s a nice warm bath being prepared for you. I’ve put some dry clothes out and readied the bed so that you can have a good lie-down. Come along, do!’

Georgie was led away, clutching her head melodramatically and exclaiming, ‘It’s a conspiracy, it really is. Has Mr Fitzroy been coaching you, Madge, that you should echo what he has been telling me every few yards on the way home?’

‘Has he, now, my pet? Then he’s a right sensible gentleman, isn’t he? And you’d do best to heed him.’

Jess tried not to laugh. Caro smiled wearily at him and said, ‘Madge is the only person who can control her these days. When I think what she used to be like…’ She shook her head. ‘I’ll have the butler fetch you one of John’s old coats before you catch your death of cold, and you’ll oblige me by taking tea—I’ve already ordered the tea board.’

Jess began to demur, but Caro looked so charmingly welcoming that he gave way, and obediently put on one of her late husband’s jackets which fitted him quite well, although it was not of a colour he liked.

Caro began to chatter about every subject under the sun until he said, ‘I would be grateful if you would enquire whether Gus has brought the half-drowned mite home.’

‘Oh, that!’ said Caro, waving an airy hand. ‘The butler informed me when I ordered the tea board that Gus had arrived home safely and that the housekeeper was arranging dry clothing for it. And now we have the bother of discovering whose it is.’

This last came out with a great sigh.

Fortunately for Jess—he could think of no reply which would not sound critical of his hostess—Sir Garth came in, saying, ‘Heard m’sister-in-law had been in the wars and that you had rescued her, Fitzroy. What’s she been up to now?’ and he gave a knowing laugh.

Jess, to his great surprise, found himself defending Georgie. ‘Nothing discreditable,’ he said coolly. ‘Quite the contrary. She went into the river to rescue a drowning child. Most enterprising of her. Fortunately I happened to be nearby to see that she reached home again without dying of cold. She has damaged her ankle, but not too seriously, I believe. Mrs Pomfret has sent for the doctor.’

Sir Garth smiled, ignoring the hidden rebuke. ‘Noble of her, I’m sure. Shouldn’t expect anything else of her. She’ll make some fortunate man a useful wife.’

By his expression he obviously considered himself to be that man, which, Jess decided, would be a pity. She deserved something better than this conceited jackanapes. He decided to take his leave. He could not stomach too much of Sir Garth’s company.

That gentleman, once Jess had gone, sank into an armchair, remarking to his sister, ‘Which of you does he fancy? You or Georgie? He looked down his nose at me when he thought that I was criticising her.’

‘Georgie!’ exclaimed Caro with a scandalised laugh. ‘He doesn’t fancy Georgie. They are quite at odds with one another, I believe. Thinks her a hoyden by the way he spoke when he brought her home.’

‘Does he, now?’ Sir Garth was thoughtful. ‘Some men have a penchant for hoydens, though.’

‘Not Mr Fitzroy. You must have observed that he is very comme il faut.’

‘Secretive devil, too,’ said Sir Garth, ignoring this last comment. ‘Wonder where he comes from. Would bear looking into.’

A verdict similar to the one which Jess had already passed on him!

Parsons, late Miss Jesmond’s land agent, arrived in the afternoon and was shown into the library, that repository of battered books.

Kite had earlier placed a box of grimy documents which he had salvaged from the attics on one of the tables for Jess to inspect. Before that he had had a distracted visitor: a young farm labourer, Jack Wild, one of Jess’s tenants, whose little daughter had disappeared that morning from the garden at the back of his cottage and had not been seen since.

‘I need a search made, sir,’ he had said hoarsely. ‘I thought you might be able to help me, seeing that you are my master now.’

Jess had the pleasure of telling him that his daughter was safe at Pomfret Hall after falling in the river and that she had been rescued by the bravery of Mrs Herron. ‘Go to the stables,’ he ended, ‘and ask one of the grooms to drive you over in the gig, collect her and take you both home.’

‘That I will, sir, and thank you and thank Miss Georgie, too—begging your pardon, but we all called her that before she married—it seems odd to think of her as Mrs Herron.’

‘One question for you before go on your way. You work at my home farm, do you not?’

‘Aye, that I do,’ agreed Wild eagerly. ‘Worked for old Miss Jesmond all my life. Don’t have much to do since Mr Parsons left. Miss Jesmond paid my wages—belike you’ll do the same.’

‘I am hoping to re-employ Mr Parsons—if he is not already committed elsewhere.’

‘Doing piece-work for Banker Bowlby, he is. Would probably like his old job back.’

He left, still thanking Jess profusely. Jess thought that he ought to thank him for revealing that Banker Bowlby seemed to have a finger in every pie.

Parsons turned out to be a large square man with a weathered face, dressed in country clothing.

‘You wished to see me, Mr Fitzroy?’

‘Indeed. You were my aunt’s land agent, I believe. When did she dispense with your services—and why?’

Parsons had not known what to expect of Miss Jesmond’s heir. He looked a right soft gentleman and no mistake with his pretty face and his pretty clothes, sitting there in the ruins of a once-fine library.

On the other hand, his first words had been direct and to the point.

‘After she sold most of her land she no longer needed an agent, nor, she said, could she afford to pay one, so she told me that my services were no longer needed.’

It was a straight answer to a straight question. Jess, leaning back a little in his chair said, almost as though he were not interested, ‘Why did she sell her land? Do you know?’

‘She said that she had made foolish investments and Banker Bowlby was helping her to pay back what she owed by taking the land off her hands as quickly as possible.’

Parsons’s face when he came out with this was expressionless, passing no verdict on what he was saying.

‘Have you any notion of how much he paid her?’

‘None, sir. She seemed happy with it, but…’ He paused and fell silent.

‘But?’ prompted Jess, eyebrows raised.

‘But, begging your pardon, sir, she was weak in the head by this time, and I am not sure that she quite understood what was what.’

‘You were present?’

‘When Banker Bowlby visited her here. Yes.’

‘Was no sum mentioned then? Or any account given of her debts?’

‘None. I understood that these matters had been raised in a meeting at the bank and this meeting was for her to sign the documents which he had prepared for her. The butler and I were simply there as witnesses.’

‘You did not read the documents, then?’

‘No, sir. I asked—but Mr Bowlby and Miss Jesmond both assured me that they had gone over them together and that they were both satisfied with their contents.’

‘But you said that Miss Jesmond was weak in the head.’

‘Aye, sir, but when I tried again Miss Jesmond grew petulant and sent me away. She said that I was trying to ruin her. One of the footmen signed the documents instead. Soon after that she dismissed me. I think Banker Bowlby recommended her to do so—although he took me on to do piece-work for him, saying he was sorry for me.’

‘And did you believe him?’

‘No, sir, but I needed the work, so I said nothing. I have a family to keep.’

‘And would you work for me, in your old capacity?’

‘But you have little land, sir, and so have little use for an agent.’

Jess smiled coldly. ‘You must allow me to be the best judge of that.’

Parsons stared across at Kite, busy taking notes.

‘Begging your pardon, sir, but what is that man doing?’

‘Mr Kite is keeping a record of our meeting in case my memory fails me. He will now write down that I have offered you your post back at slightly more than Miss Jesmond paid you. He will also note down your answer—which is?’

‘That I accept, sir, except that I am a little troubled about what my duties might be.’

Jess said over his shoulder, ‘You have that, Kite?’

‘So noted, sir.’

‘Good, and you, Parsons, have no need to be troubled. You will start work tomorrow, and we shall then have a brief discussion about your future. Is there anything further you wish to know?’

Parsons stared at Jess now, fascinated. ‘No, sir, but you will forgive me for saying that this is a regular rum do.’

Was that a smile on Mr Kite’s impassive face? Parsons wasn’t sure. If he had feared that his answer might ruffle Mr Jesmond Fitzroy, he was quite mistaken.

‘You are not the first person to make such a remark to me, Mr Parsons, and I doubt that you will be the last. You will report to me in this room at eight of the clock on Monday morning. I am sure that I need not say that I expect punctuality at all times. Good day, Mr Parsons. The butler will show you to the door.’

A rum do, said Parsons to himself as he left Jesmond House, and a regular rum gent. Is he the clever one or does that man of his, Kite, do his thinking for him? But I’ve my old post back so I shan’t complain.

‘Well, Kite, are you thinking what I’m thinking?’ asked Jess when the door had closed behind Parsons.

‘That Banker Bowlby will bear investigating? Certainly.’

‘And soon.’ Jess was a trifle abstracted. ‘I had not thought that the country would prove so lively.’

‘Begging your pardon, sir, but in my experience liveliness may be found anywhere. Best to be ready for it.’

‘So noted,’ replied Jess, in a slight mockery of a clerk’s formal answer. ‘I shall remember your advice when I next meet Banker Bowlby at his fête on Saturday. For the present I shall not ask you to make a formal investigation of him—I need a little more information first. I shall go through the papers you have discovered—there might be something interesting to be found in them.’

‘I fear that there are a sight more in the attic.’

Jess sighed. ‘I thought that I had done with investigating dubious ventures, Kite, but I ought to have known that I was wrong. Bring them down slowly. Who knows, the answers to some questions which I am beginning to ask myself may be found there.’

‘So noted, sir.’

From Kite’s tone it was impossible to discern whether he was mocking himself or Jess.

Jess decided to let sleeping birds lie!