In All Honour Page 4

  Greg came back to the table. ‘How much is the sum?’

  Wilson drew a deep breath. ‘Over forty thousand pounds, sir.’

  They stared at each other. A look of disbelief gathered on Greg’s face. He shook his head. ‘I cannot believe that Henry would ever gamble for such stakes.’

  ‘It never happened before,’ admitted the steward, ‘which is partly why Sir Thomas has taken it so badly.’ He fiddled with the quill again. ‘It seems to have shaken him, feeling he did not know his son as well as he thought.’

  Greg walked back to the window and looked out at the manicured lawns and the trees, almost bare now with just a few russet leaves remaining on the spreading branches. ‘At last, I begin to understand his torment. And I would hazard a guess,’ he went on, ‘that my father has invested all the money he could spare into some new venture.’

  Wilson gave a crack of laughter. ‘You guess well, Master Gregory – sir, I should say, excuse me. Always interested in new inventions is Sir Thomas.’ He shook his head. ‘But it will take time to see a return. And one of his other investments is not doing well, not at all! The canal is not profitable, sir. So, you see—’

  ‘I see quite plainly,’ interrupted Greg, coming back to face Wilson. He put his good hand on his hip, ‘there is no spare cash.’

  The steward nodded agreement. ‘We contrive to manage, so long as there is no extra expenditure. We have been trying to see how to raise the necessary funds….’ His expression was harassed.

  Greg watched the quill suffer another mangling but he made no comment. Suddenly, he remembered the letter from his lawyer and shuffled the papers around until he spotted it. He held it out to Wilson. ‘I received this just before I left town. Tell me, when did my father learn of this debt?’

  Wilson read through the letter, pursing his lips and tut-tutting. He took off his spectacles and looked up at Greg. ‘About a month ago. It is not my place to comment, but it does seem odd for Mr Henry to gamble like that.’

  ‘Yes,’ said Greg curtly, ‘so odd that I intend to probe the matter further. It is fortunate there were no funds to settle the matter. We will make no payment yet.’

  ‘But, sir, a debt of honour….’

  Greg looked at him from under his brows. Wilson’s eyes grew round. At last he said in a shocked tone, ‘Do you mean you suspect something?’

  Greg rubbed his chin. ‘As you say, it does not seem like Henry.’ He went to the door. ‘I must go to my father. I think I will call in the doctor if he is no better by tomorrow.’

  Sir Thomas watched disapprovingly as Greg picked up a large mug of tea and drank with obvious enjoyment.

  ‘Never saw such a thing at the breakfast table!’ he growled. ‘Is this what comes of being a soldier?’

  Greg laughed at him. ‘Of course, sir. Army habits. We dip our mug in the common pot of boiling water and tea leaves. Wakes us up – and warms us,’ he added, ‘the nights are cold on those Spanish hills.’ The memory of his life on campaign, and the convivial group of men sharing their mugs of tea around the camp-fire in the freezing dawn made him smile. Then he blinked and heaved a sigh. Seeing his father’s expression, he added, ‘Of course, that is all behind me now.’

  Sir Thomas looked from under heavy white brows. He cleared his throat. ‘I cannot be sorry, my boy, not when I see you with that wound. Of course, I am immensely proud of your gallantry.’

  Greg turned a startled face towards him. ‘What—?’

  ‘Cited in Wellington’s latest dispatch for bravery beyond the call of duty at the Battle of Salamanca.’ He looked at Greg’s horrified expression and smiled. ‘Preston told me, my boy. He is so proud of you he came to see me right away. He knew you would never say a word about it.’

  ‘He should be more discreet!’

  Sir Thomas was amused. ‘I am very glad he was not! Thanks to him I know that the Prince Regent spoke to you personally to congratulate you. Later on, I shall get Preston to tell me the full story of what you did in the battle.’

  Greg wriggled, embarrassed and picked up his mug of tea again.

  There was a short silence, during which Greg tackled his portion of meat and eggs. His first hunger satisfied, he glanced up and again felt shocked. His father had his head propped on his hand and was staring into the distance. There was a deeply worried look on his face. When he realized that Greg was watching him, Sir Thomas sat up and made an effort to speak heartily.

  ‘So Dr Price is sending us to Bath, eh? He says it will speed up your recovery and doubtless the change of scene will benefit us both.’ He drummed his fingers on the table and stared at his son fiercely. ‘But I do not like to go away with this debt problem unresolved.’

  Greg drained his mug. ‘Pray do not let the matter trouble you for the present, Father. I have set enquiries afoot. It is such an unlikely amount for Henry to gamble that we need confirmation before we accept that it is true. As we are both invalids and away from home on doctor’s orders, it gives us more reason to delay payment.’

  Sir Thomas looked as if a weight had dropped from his shoulders. ‘Egad, my boy, when you put it like that I begin to feel better.’ He looked down at his plate as if noticing for the first time that there was food on it. Greg watched with satisfaction as his father tackled a slice of cold beef with appetite. It had shocked him to find Sir Thomas looking too thin for his clothes. Greg devoutly hoped that this visit to Bath would improve his father’s spirits.

  ‘How soon shall we leave?’ Sir Thomas enquired, reaching for his tankard of ale.

  Greg gave him an affectionate smile. ‘Before noon, I believe. I just need to speak with Wilson once more. But may I know, sir, why you have put so much money into the new road scheme?’

  ‘Why? Surely it is obvious that it is the future method of transport. Coach construction is better, the roads are being improved and the trade between London and Portsmouth grows each year.’

  ‘But what about the money you invested in the construction of the Basingstoke canal…?’

  Sir Thomas pushed his plate away and dabbed at his lips with the napkin. ‘It is not doing as well as I had hoped. I shall sell my share of the project – but such things take time. All my money is tied up at present.’

  Greg stood up. ‘In some ways that may turn out to be a good thing. Otherwise, you would have settled this debt already.’ He held the door open for his father to pass through. ‘Will you travel in the coach or in my curricle, sir?’

  CHAPTER SEVEN

  Sarah dropped thankfully on to the old leather chair in the library and sank her head in the well-worn dip at the back. Then she kicked off her shoes and wriggled her aching toes. It had been a hard day; seeing tenants, discussing crops with the bailiff, going through household matters with Mrs Wiggins. She let out her breath in a long sigh. There were just so many jobs to get through, especially as Lizzie and General Gardiner would arrive in two days to collect her on their way to Bath.

  ‘Just five minutes,’ she told herself, ‘then I will check the accounts.’ Her gaze wandered to the neat rows of books, undisturbed since her father’s death the previous year. This had been his favourite room and Sarah could remember often perching in this chair as a small girl to listen to him read a story. More recently, as he became too frail to deal with running the estate, he had spent his days sitting in this chair while she did the accounts and discussed day-to-day matters of business with him.

  There was a soft brush against her ankles. She looked down. Misty, the old springer spaniel, was wagging her tail hopefully.

  ‘Not now,’ Sarah told her softly, stretching out a hand to caress the dog’s head. ‘Maybe later. Now I must check the figures for the last month.’ With a sigh, she got out of the armchair and went to the desk, where the ledger was already open. She drew up a chair, placed the candle closer and set to work. Outside the light faded; there was silence in the room and the spaniel settled at her feet.

  It was the sound of men’s voices that woke her. Sarah opened he
r eyes into darkness. Her head was resting on a cold, hard surface. She felt at it and realized it was the accounts ledger. She moved her hand a little further and encountered a square, solid shape. Then she felt the smooth trail of wax. The candle had burnt completely away. Rather painfully she sat up. She was stiff and very cold.

  She rubbed her arms to warm them. From somewhere close by came the sound of liquid being poured into a glass. She turned her head towards the noise and saw a faint light coming from the drawing-room a little way down the hall. Then someone spoke again. It was a voice Sarah recognized. She frowned, suddenly wide awake. The sneering tones of Lord Percival reached her quite clearly.

  ‘Pity you do not manage your estate better, Davenport. With your poor skill at cards, you need a larger income.’ This was followed by a braying laugh.

  ‘The luck is bound to turn one day. Th-thass what you t-tol’ me….’ James’s words were slurred. Sarah shook her head in despair. Could he not stay sober, even in his own home?

  ‘You had better pray it does. I hold so many of your vowels that I could claim your estate any time I choose, y’know!’

  Shocked at this, Sarah strained her ears to hear her brother’s reply.

  ‘You swore you would never do that,’ he stammered. ‘You said that so long as I backed your story about the … the accident—’

  ‘Just see you do,’ came the sharp reply, ‘His family is taking a cursed long time to pay up. The brother has started making enquiries about the matter. You must be very careful.’

  Sarah clutched at the edge of the desk as she listened intently.

  Lord Percival went on, ‘He will never prove anything. But if he should learn any details from you, Davenport, I will have this estate from you. And just to remind you of your obligation, I am minded to have your sister.’

  Sarah clamped a hand to her mouth to hide her sudden intake of breath. Her heart thumped heavily in her chest. What had James done to put himself so utterly in the power of this man? And even she was involved in the business. She felt a leaping flame of anger at James. He had not refused the grotesque idea that she was some kind of bargaining counter to settle his debts.

  There was the sound of a chair being pushed back. Steps sounded, getting louder. Sarah stared wide-eyed towards the faint light coming from the drawing-room doorway. Did they know she was here? For one wild moment, she feared they would come and drag her out there and then. But whichever one of them it was, he merely pushed the drawing-room door shut.

  She breathed again, then realized that she was shaking. She stood up and had to stifle a cry as she stubbed her toes on the chair leg. She groped for her shoes, slipped them on and hesitated for a moment in thought. Would it do any good to confront James and his guest about this matter? At length she shook her head reluctantly. It must be something very serious. First she would try to discover more about it from her brother. She crept silently out of the room, along the corridor and into the main hall.

  A lamp burned on the table near the stairs but the hall was empty. Sarah seized a candle and lit it as fast as she could, cross with herself that her hands were trembling. ‘It is because I am so cold,’ she murmured. A quick glance around to make sure James and his guest were not nearby, then she slipped through a door almost concealed at the back of the hall.

  She hurried down a narrow passage and up a flight of stairs, thanking her lucky stars that her room was in the old wing of the house, well away from the guest bedrooms. She darted into her own room and locked the door. Setting the candle down, she pressed her hands to her temples, standing very still and straight.

  Then she let her breath out slowly and moved across to the mirror on her dressing-table. She stared at her reflection. Apair of narrowed green eyes stared back at her. Threats and bribes! They are involved in something dishonest. She gave her reflection a firm nod. And I will not be treated as an object to be bartered by a pair of gamblers. I will find a way to escape that evil fate.

  ‘Now, Miss Sarah, you never touched your supper and here you are picking at your breakfast. What your poor mama would say, I dread to think.’

  Sarah put the slice of toast back on her plate. ‘Mrs Wiggins, you did not tell me we were to have a visit from my brother and his friend.’

  ‘Lord bless you, miss. The first I knew of it was when they arrived here late last evening. As you know, we had not prepared for any such event. But they ordered brandy to the drawing-room and that was the last we saw of them,’ she added, ‘but we never saw sight nor sound of you, miss.’ She fidgeted with the teapot. ‘And I thought it best not to mention you was here.’

  Sarah nodded. ‘You did right. Thank goodness this parlour is tucked away next to your room. But I fear I shall have to appear at the dinner table this evening. Perhaps you will see that the servants are all present.’ She got up. ‘Meanwhile, there is more than enough to keep me busy and out of the way for today.’

  ‘Now, Miss Sarah,’ scolded the housekeeper, ‘don’t you go wearing yourself out. We’ve managed this far and the house will not fall down just because you are going away for a short while.’ She began gathering up the plates on to a tray. ‘I’m that glad Miss Lizzie is taking you to Bath. Time for you to enjoy yourself’ – she glanced at Sarah out of the corner of her eye – ‘which I’ll be bound you did not do in London.’

  Sarah smiled at that. Mrs Wiggins knew Alice and her calculating ways all too well. She looked at the motherly housekeeper ruefully. She was still wondering how much to tell her about her visit to London when the door burst open. In stormed a tall and slender young man with dark curly hair and green eyes. As usual, James was scowling, his mouth pulled down.

  ‘So here you are,’ he exclaimed in a peevish voice. ‘Alice said you had run back home. What the devil do you mean by hiding away last night?’ He broke off and frowned at the housekeeper’s cluck of disapproval at his bad language. ‘And you can take that Friday face away, if you have nothing better to do.’

  The door closed behind the housekeeper.

  Sarah put her hands on her hips. ‘James, that is no way to speak to Mrs Wiggins. Russeldene only keeps going because of her hard work. And you are looking decidedly the worse for wear. You have bags under your eyes and you are as pale as paper.’

  ‘Well, we are going to take guns out very shortly,’ he replied with an irritable shrug, ‘that will give me plenty of exercise. But you must come and do the pretty to George.’

  ‘Certainly not,’ exclaimed Sarah. ‘Surely you can see that I am in working clothes; I am on my way to the dairy.’

  James gave an angry snort. ‘It beats me why you need to bother with such jobs. Leave it to the bailiff.’

  Sarah raised her eyebrows. ‘Well for you that I do take an interest. How are we to find the money for your pleasures if the estate is neglected? And why are you here? I thought you were fixed in London.’ She picked up the linen inventory and looked round for her pencil.

  ‘Sarah!’ said her brother explosively. ‘Do you not realize what an honour it is when a top-of-the-trees fellow like George wants to visit your home?’

  She turned her head and stared at him. Her lip curled. ‘Honour?’

  He glared at her but said nothing. Sarah remembered the conversation she had overheard.

  ‘James, while you are here, what is the problem about an accident? Is Lord Percival in your debt, or are you in his?’

  If James had been pale before, his face was a sickly colour now. ‘What accident?’ he blustered. ‘I-I…. Have you been listening at the door?’ He looked at her accusingly.

  ‘This matter concerns me, does it not?’ she insisted. She held his gaze, her chin up. After a moment his eyes fell. With a muttered oath, he swung on his heel and left the room.

  By dinner time Sarah had completed all the urgent tasks on her list. With the help of a maid, she had got her trunk packed and ready for the following day. But all the time, she was puzzling over the conversation she had overheard on the previous night. Why did L
ord Percival want her as a hostage? And exactly what kind of hostage was she intended to be?

  He had made it plain in London that she was the style of female he preferred. She cursed her blonde hair for that. Her eyes narrowed as she remembered how Alice also wanted her to marry Lord Percival. But her sister could not know anything about this matter of an accident. Alice simply wanted Sarah to find a husband – any husband – as quickly as possible.

  She must somehow find the time to talk to James before she left. Maybe a day in the country would have put him in a more reasonable state of mind and he would be more clear-headed in the morning. She pushed a last pin into her tightly pulled back hair, checking that no curls had escaped. Sarah considered her appearance in the mirror. She could not help a mischievous smile at the dowdy picture she presented. Now to see if it had the desired effect.

  She blew out the candle and made her way downstairs. Taking a deep breath, she walked into the drawing-room. Both men were already there. They rose as she came in. Her brother looked decidedly better for his day in the open air – or was his colour due to brandy? She took a quick glance at the almost empty glass in his hand.

  ‘Ah, Miss Davenport. Such beauty is well worth the wait.’ Lord Percival made her an extravagant bow.

  Sarah gritted her teeth and inclined her head politely. Even this remark was barbed. He moved forward to offer her his arm. He was inspecting her in a way that made her feel her dress was too flimsy and low cut, even though she had deliberately chosen a high-necked evening gown of plain blue muslin with no flounces or jewellery and had dressed her hair in a severe knot on top of her head.

  In the dining-room, Lord Percival hastened to assist her with her chair. He then took the seat at her right hand. He raised his quizzing glass and surveyed the room. ‘So many servants,’ he drawled. He gave her an amused look. ‘Are you trying to impress me, Miss Davenport, or are they here for your own support?’