In All Honour Page 5

  Sarah nodded to Barnes, the elderly butler, to begin serving the meal. She forced herself to linger over her food, making the meal last as long as possible. James was obviously too much in awe of his guest to support her properly. Sarah watched James push his food around the plate. She was vexed at how readily he gulped down his wine. Already he was ordering another bottle to be opened. And it soon became obvious to her that Lord Percival was encouraging her brother to drink. He did it so naturally, at the same time topping up her glass.

  Sarah came to the conclusion that he wanted both of them to be drunk. He himself seemed to be quite sober although he frequently refreshed himself from his glass and accepted refill after refill. He kept up a flow of small talk about the pleasures of life in the country and the particular beauties of Russeldene and its surroundings. In view of his remarks about claiming the estate, Sarah was obliged to bite back a number of sharp retorts. Had he spent the day assessing what the manor was worth?

  At last the covers were removed. Sarah stood up, glad to escape. Lord Percival gave her a meaningful look. ‘I do look forward to hearing you play and sing shortly.’

  She inclined her head, giving him a tight-lipped smile. Now she would have to appear in the drawing-room for a while. Well, whatever plans he had made, he would be thwarted by finding Mrs Wiggins there to chaperon her. Sarah thought she could foil his intentions for that evening. And the next day she would be gone.

  CHAPTER EIGHT

  ‘Thank you!’ Sarah turned to Mrs Wiggins as they climbed the stairs at the end of a very long evening. The two women exchanged a glance full of meaning. Mrs Wiggins shook her head. ‘I’m that relieved you will be away from here tomorrow, Miss Sarah.’

  Sarah squeezed the housekeeper’s hands. ‘Please keep an eye on James.’

  ‘I’ll do my best.’ Mrs Wiggins gave a determined nod. ‘Be sure to lock your door now.’

  Sarah went straight to the dressing-table, and pulled the pins out of her tightly braided hair with a sigh of relief. She rubbed her sore head. She did not think that Lord Percival had been repulsed by her plain clothes and scraped back hair. However, she was more deeply concerned by what she had observed of his hold over James. Mrs Wiggins had seen it as well.

  There had been a brief respite while the two men lingered over their port in the dining-room. All too soon, however, Lord Percival had led the way into the drawing-room with James following at his heels, like a little dog, instead of acting like the master of the house, thought Sarah, angrily.

  Lord Percival took the seat closest to her own. He sat down and turned towards her with a predatory look on his face. Then he spotted Mrs Wiggins, quietly knitting in the corner just behind Sarah. His lips compressed and he darted a dagger look at the housekeeper. James came towards him with a glass of brandy, which he took and set down sharply on the small table close by.

  ‘So, Miss Davenport, do not tell me you prefer the rural life to the excitement of living in Town?’

  Sarah forced herself to meet his gaze calmly. ‘When there is an estate to run, it cannot be left for too long.’

  ‘But do you not have a bailiff for that work? How many servants are there? How large is the estate?’

  He seems to think it is all his already, she thought. Aloud, she said, ‘We have owned Russeldene for many generations and we are closely intertwined with the life of the manor – as well as the local village, Ellerscombe.’ He seemed ready to ask more questions so she added hastily, ‘What kind of property do you possess, Lord Percival?’

  He picked up his brandy glass and took a sip. ‘I have a large estate in Essex.’ He nodded importantly. ‘Extremely large, I think I may say … as well as a hunting lodge in Leicestershire.’ He surveyed the room, his beaky nose rising and falling as his attention went from painting to ornament or item of furniture. Something on the mantelpiece caught his eye. He set down his glass and rose. Walking over to the fireplace he picked up a porcelain vase and turned it from side to side in the candlelight.

  ‘Exquisite,’ he purred, replacing it at last. ‘Sèvres – and the best workmanship. I do appreciate such items.’ He gazed around the room again. ‘I must look at your paintings by daylight. Perhaps you would show them to me tomorrow.’ He smiled at Sarah, but it sounded more like an order than a request. He resumed his seat and leant back, one arm draped over the side of his chair. He crossed his elegantly shod legs and turned his beaky nose in her direction.

  Did he consider her to be a part of the collection? Her bosom swelled with wrath. To avoid responding to his suggestion, she tried a change of topic.

  ‘You are fond of hunting, Lord Percival?’ It was an ordinary enough question but his reaction surprised her.

  ‘Why do you ask?’ he snapped. His usually rich voice had become much sharper. He jerked up in the chair. The look he gave her almost burned through her. Sarah maintained a politely enquiring look, but inside she wondered why he should be so alarmed. Then she caught sight of James. He was sitting bolt upright and glaring at her. Could there be a connection between hunting and the accident they had mentioned? The accident about which a brother was asking questions. Sarah looked at James. Was he mixed up in something even worse than the loss of all his money and estate?

  Lord Percival was certainly uneasy. She gave him her sweetest smile. ‘I believe I have heard that you are a keen sportsman in every field, sir.’

  He visibly relaxed. His smile was catlike. ‘That is so. It is no exaggeration to say that I enjoy all forms of sport, eh, James?’ He swung round to look at the younger man.

  James nodded eagerly. ‘Quite so. You are a real goer, whether with the horses or … or any form of exercise.’

  Lord Percival turned back to Sarah. ‘You admire sporting prowess, Miss Davenport?’

  She inclined her head. ‘Of course, sir.’ Really, he was the most conceited man she had ever met. But he was dangerous and so she must appear to flatter him.

  ‘Do you ride?’ he asked her.

  ‘Certainly, but sadly, there are no horses here at present apart from one for the gig.’ She cast a glance at her brother, who was just picking up the brandy bottle. He shrugged, as if to say her needs did not matter. He walked over to Lord Percival.

  ‘More brandy, George?’

  ‘By all means.’ He held out his glass but looked towards Sarah.

  ‘Your brother assures me that you play, Miss Davenport.’

  Sarah stared at him. Did he mean cards? With another smile that did not reach his eyes he indicated the pianoforte.

  ‘Oh…. Yes, but not very well. I do not practise as I should.’

  ‘Nevertheless, it would give me great pleasure to hear you perform….’

  He rose and walked over to the instrument, opened it and fetched a branch of candles. Sarah walked round on the far side of the pianoforte to him and seated herself. She flicked through the sheets of music, frowning slightly. He was still there, observing her. She would not be intimidated. She chose a jolly marching song and played it with as much dash as she could manage. It was annoying when he joined in the chorus, in a rather fine baritone.

  ‘What other songs do you have here?’ he enquired, moving close to her and reaching over to examine the pile of music. His sleeve brushed against her arm. Sarah drew back a little and rearranged her shawl to cover her arms. Eventually he selected another song and handed her the sheet. She took it and waited until he moved a step back before she played the tune. She could not help striking the keys with rather more force than usual.

  But when that song was ended, he returned to his seat. James went over to him. Sarah watched them as she began to play a sonata. The card table was set up and the two of them were soon playing piquet. It was obvious to her that James was more than a little castaway, but Lord Percival seemed as sharp as if he had not drunk at all. He was encouraging James to refill his glass very frequently. Was this how he made money? These were not the actions of a man of honour.

  Eventually she stopped playing. N
either of them took the least notice. She looked at her brother, frowning and nervous. Lord Percival was concentrating on the game, smiling again. He was winning, increasing his hold over James and thus his claim to gain possession of Russeldene – and of her! Her chin went up. He was not going to get either.

  She indicated to Mrs Wiggins to come closer. The two of them sat down to observe the play. James was fidgety and uncertain. He was muddling his cards and losing each time. However, now the two women were there, Lord Percival stopped filling the glasses so frequently. Gradually James managed to win a game, then another and at last he settled down to play more steadily. The pile of coins on his side of the table grew and he seemed to be judging his cards better.

  When they finally parted for the night, James was almost cheerful. But Sarah felt more anxious than ever about what would become of him.

  *

  ‘Be careful what you are about,’ she told James the next morning when he again sought her out in the back parlour. ‘Your friend’ – she stressed the word – ‘appears uncommonly interested in our home.’

  James flushed angrily. ‘What is it to you? I hope I can invite a friend here without you criticizing everything I do. You are the younger, anyway.’

  Sarah gave him a warning look. ‘I did not care to see you losing money to him at such a rate last night. He was sober but you….’ She shook her head. ‘James, matters are serious. It will take years to restore the estate and make up the money you have lost this last year. We have no more horses to sell. You cannot afford to continue like this.’

  He gave that irritable twitch of his shoulders. ‘What is a fellow to do, dash it? Besides – got to entertain George and he likes to play high.’ His eyes narrowed as he watched her shake her head again. ‘It is my choice. Just see that you serve up a good dinner this evening. And be a bit more welcoming. You were like an iceberg last night. Dashed embarrassing.’

  Sarah walked towards the door. She reached for the handle and said over her shoulder, ‘I regret I will not be here for dinner.’

  ‘What the deuce do you mean? You have to be present, I mean, George will expect—’

  Sarah let go of the door handle and turned back to face him. ‘I mean that Lizzie and her uncle will arrive during the course of the afternoon.’

  ‘What!’ But instead of being angry, James sounded eager. ‘Lizzie is coming here? Well, by Jove! I shall be very happy to see her again.’

  ‘Yes but only for a short while. They have invited me to go with them on a visit.’ She stopped abruptly. If she told him where they were going, he would inform Lord Percival. However, it was good to see James taking an interest in someone other than that evil creature he thought was his friend. Perhaps if he wanted to impress Lizzie he would stay sober and smarten himself up.

  She considered his appearance. He was tall and wiry, his dark curly hair falling over his forehead. He was quite good-looking but his skin was pasty, his eyes bloodshot and shadowed by dark circles.

  ‘James,’ she said impulsively, ‘it would do you good to stay here at Russeldene for at least a month. The fresh air and a quieter way of life would benefit you. Indeed, you do not look well.’ She put a hand on his arm.

  For a moment he stared at her then shook her off with a sharp laugh. ‘Pray do not worry about me, little sister. I assure you I am perfectly well.’

  Without another word, she left the room. There was still a long list of jobs to complete before she could leave things in Mrs Wiggins’s hands.

  It seemed as if she had been busy for a week, not a day, when at last she took her seat in the coach with Lizzie and General Gardiner, waving goodbye to Mrs Wiggins and bowling down the avenue to join the main road from London to Bath.

  The general settled his gouty foot on a cushion. ‘We should arrive before nightfall,’ he remarked, and pulled his hat over his eyes. When he began to snore Lizzie leaned forward and whispered, ‘Fancy Lord Percival being a guest at Russeldene! And you left town to avoid him, did you not?’

  ‘He has come for the shooting.’ Sarah whispered back.

  ‘Oh.’ Lizzie was silent for a while, then, ‘Your brother was very welcoming.’

  Sarah had to smile. James had indeed made every effort to please. It was plain he admired Lizzie even more now than when she used to come on visits as a schoolgirl. Lord Percival had also been very attentive to Lizzie. Under all this masculine admiration she had prattled on, giving away the details that Sarah had managed to keep secret until that moment.

  How Lord Percival had smirked when Lizzie innocently revealed their destination and even that they would be staying in Milsom Street. She gave an inward shrug. At least for the moment she had escaped a very awkward situation. And in Bath, perhaps she could find a solution to her problems. A certain plan began to take form in her mind as the well-sprung carriage rolled on, covering the miles at a good rate.

  CHAPTER NINE

  It was at a rather late hour that they gathered round the breakfast-table in their smart lodging the following morning.

  ‘We must make haste to go to the Pump Room and sign the Visitors’ Book,’ said Lizzie, pouring out her coffee, ‘then we can see who else is already in Bath.’

  Her uncle looked up from his newspaper. ‘I doubt if there is much society of your age, my dear. It is a little early in the season yet. The place is likely to be full of dowagers and gouty old fellows like me.’

  ‘I hope that with treatment at the hot bath, sir, you will soon recover your usual health,’ said Sarah warmly.

  ‘Well, Uncle Charlie, even if there is no company at all – which I doubt – you know how much we both like this city.’ Lizzie turned to Sarah. ‘Do you remember our walks with Miss Pickering after church service on Sunday afternoons?’

  Sarah laughed. ‘Our weekly escape from our lessons. And there was always something to admire as we walked around the streets.’

  ‘We were never allowed to look in the shop windows properly. But now I mean to put that right.’ Lizzie gave a peal of laughter, as her uncle clutched his head in mock dismay.

  They were both excited to be back in the city where they had spent happy years at their school in Queen Square. Now, however, they were in a much more luxurious setting, in a handsome apartment in Milsom Street. The idea of elegant shops on her very doorstep made Lizzie impatient to go out. Even Sarah, with so little money in her purse, knew she would enjoy examining the fashions. With a bit of ribbon and a few artificial flowers, she could copy what she saw and refresh her bonnets and gowns.

  It was not that her clothes were shabby and worn, simply that they had been bought for her intended come-out two years previously. But then her father had become too ill for her to leave him. So the gowns had remained in the closet and Sarah had remained at home to nurse her father. Then there had been the time of mourning, so that the clothes, which had been in the latest fashion then, were still unworn but now rather out of date.

  Today the weather seemed quite mild. She selected a blue spencer, which echoed the blue ribbon trimming at the bottom of her cambric gown. In response to a shout from Lizzie, she whisked on her bonnet, tied the matching blue ribbons and rushed downstairs. Lizzie was a picture in soft pink, with cherry-red ribbons tied under one ear. ‘We shall take the town by storm,’ she said in a satisfied tone.

  Their progress down Milsom Street was slow but eventually they had looked in all the shop windows. They then walked faster, weaving through the constant traffic of sedan chairs as they drew closer to the Pump Room. The girls ventured in, but as General Gardiner had predicted, it seemed to be full of elderly dowagers and their companions, mostly promenading around slowly or gathering in little knots for conversation.

  A few heads turned when the two girls walked in. They knew they were being inspected in minute detail. Nobody showed any sign of recognition, however. Sarah glanced at Lizzie and raised her eyebrows. Lizzie nodded agreement. There was no reason to linger. They went over to add their names to the book and to examine
the list showing who was presently in town.

  Lizzie was running her finger down the page as she read. Suddenly she stopped and gave an exclamation of surprise. ‘Just look at this!’

  The fair head and the dark one bent closer. They looked at the page, then at each other.

  ‘It has to be Major Thatcham,’ said Sarah. ‘presumably Sir Thomas is his father?’

  ‘Yes, I am certain that is his name,’ nodded Lizzie. ‘What a coincidence. He said nothing about coming here when last I saw him, but lucky for us that he has.’

  Sarah kept a slight smile on her lips but she felt her heart sink. Could she cope with this? She had just escaped a most unwelcome admirer and she wanted a respite from all her private emotions. The sight of Greg Thatcham becoming ever closer to Lizzie was going to be very hard to endure.

  ‘As we are not intending to drink the waters today,’ she said, ‘I suggest that while the weather is so fine, we should go back up to the lending library and take out our subscription there.’

  They had just reached Milsom Street again with their arms full of books when a gentleman crossed from the other side of the road and stopped in front of them, lifting off his hat. Sarah looked up and when she saw who it was, her spirits rose in spite of her attempt to keep a firm control of her unruly heart.

  Greg Thatcham was smiling very broadly at both of them. ‘What a charming surprise.’ His eyes went from one to the other appreciatively. ‘Let me guess … General Gardiner’s gout!’

  ‘Of course,’ laughed Lizzie. ‘Poor dear, he will be better for some treatment. But how do you come to be here?’

  ‘My father needed a change of scene, but he thinks he is here to help me recover from this.’ He indicated his arm, still in a sling. He turned to Sarah. ‘I trust you feel better pleased with Bath than with London, Miss Davenport?’