Lord Humphrey (Sons of the Marquess Book 2) Page 2

  “What are you doing to my horse, sir?” he cried, before Sharp was well within earshot.

  The agent trotted nearer and pulled up, the horse breathing heavily.

  “Good day, my lord, good day!” he said, doffing his old-fashioned tricorn hat, and bowing so low that his nose almost touched the horse’s mane. “And a fine one now that the rain has stopped. I was not aware you were expected today, my lord.”

  “Evidently, or you would not have dared to take Ganymede, or to use him so ill.”

  “I must humbly beg your pardon, my lord, the fault was entirely mine. He had not been out of the stable for some days, seeming restless to my unskilled eye, and it seemed a good plan to give the animal the exercise he craved. However, I discovered that he was a little too fresh for my meagre abilities and, to my shame, he got away from me rather before I could rein him in.”

  “How far have you ridden him?” Humphrey said.

  “Not far, my lord. Not far at all. I have just been over to Great Mellingham — a small problem with the chimneys, very easily rectified.”

  Humphrey was too angry to care about chimneys. “I will ride back with you to Drummoor to see Ganymede attended to. We will walk or trot, nothing faster.”

  “Of course, my lord,” Sharp said, doffing his hat again and bowing even lower. “I can only repeat my sincere apologies, and humbly beg your indulgence for any offence, my lord. It was by no means my intent.”

  They rode back a great deal more slowly, Humphrey seething all the way, although he could see that the horse was already recovering. At the stables, Sharp would have attended to Ganymede himself, but Humphrey impatiently dismissed him. He left Reggie’s horse to the care of one of the grooms, and himself began to unsaddle and clean up Ganymede. The horse whickered happily at him.

  “Ah, you remember me, you good fellow, for all I have been gone for months. But look at the state of you!”

  “Want me to take over, milord?” Humphrey peered over the horse’s back to see the familiar grinning face of his groom.

  “Ah, there you are, Tom. No, but you can give me a hand, if you wish.”

  “Lord, where’s you been with him, milord? He’s covered in burrs.”

  “So he is. And this one is no ordinary burr. This is a whole teasel. Where has Sharp taken you, old fellow?” he said thoughtfully, rubbing the horse’s flank.

  “Mr Sharp took him out?” Tom said, frowning. “He didn’t ought to have done that!”

  “On that point we are agreed,” Humphrey said acidly.

  “But there’s no teasels round here,” Tom said.

  “Indeed. I know of only one place within thirty miles where such things grow. And why did Sharp want to go there?”

  2: To And From Drummoor

  Leaving Tom to attend to Ganymede, Humphrey went into the house, striding through the twisting corridors and across courtyards to the principal rooms surrounding Drummoor’s main entrance. It took some time but eventually he tracked down Daniel Merton, secretary to the marquess. The two had their heads together over the desk in the ship room, so named for the paintings of ships on the walls, which the marquess used as both office and refuge.

  Carrbridge’s face bore the pained expression that meant he was being asked to deal with what he called ‘papers’ — complaints from his tenants, letters from his lawyers, bills and other pestilences. There were also disputes between neighbours, who naturally turned to him for his opinion as the local landlord and magistrate. For all the residents of farms and villages and mills and small towns this side of York, the Marquess of Carrbridge was the law, a role he found difficult to carry out when all he really asked from life was that everyone should get along together, as befitted friends and neighbours.

  Merton’s arrival had been a blessing, for he made such matters easy. He had been brought in to evaluate the state of the marquess’s finances, and had found so many deficiencies and generally made himself indispensable, that he was now employed as secretary, trying to bring order to the marquess’s vast array of properties, holdings and leases. He, if anyone, would be able to answer Humphrey’s question.

  “There you are, Humphrey,” Carrbridge exclaimed, looking up in obvious relief as his brother strode across the room. “Lord, have you been out riding already? I wish I could do so, but Merton keeps me chained to my desk dealing with papers, as you can see.”

  “The obligations of rank, brother,” Humphrey said impatiently. “You get the title and the money, but you get to deal with the tedious legal business as well.”

  “But it is so difficult,” Carrbridge said. “If I did not have Merton, I should not know what to do at all.”

  “How fortunate that you have him, then,” Humphrey said. “Good day to you, Merton. You have had a pleasant time of it while we have been gallivanting in London, I daresay.”

  “Very quiet, Lord Humphrey, very quiet.” Merton made a respectful bow. “Nothing untoward to report.” Merton was not a handsome man, for his face was too thin for good looks, and his hair too straight for fashion, but he was very clever and methodical, qualities which Humphrey held in high regard.

  “Is Lady Hardy still here?”

  Merton’s smile lit up his thin face. “Her ladyship was required at Brinford Manor for a month or so to help with the new baronet’s children, but she returned here a few days ago, and is hard at work cataloguing the books in the library most mornings. I believe she is reading to Lady Hester just now.”

  “Excellent,” Humphrey said, with a little smile. “And your house? Are the renovations completed yet?”

  “Almost, my lord,” Merton said. “The kitchen and principal rooms are completed, and mostly furnished. I moved in two weeks ago, although I am still taking my dinners here, until I have engaged a cook.”

  “I hope you will always eat with us, Merton,” Carrbridge said at once. “I do not like to think of you eating all alone in Lake Cottage.”

  “Besides, who else will play chess against Lady Hardy in the evenings?” Humphrey said, and was amused to see Merton look conscious. He had long suspected a budding romance between the two, since Lady Hardy had been widowed the previous winter.

  “You are very kind, my lord,” Merton said. “However, there is little point in renting a house for myself if I make no use of it. Lady Hardy and Lady Carrbridge are to help me interview a possible cook tomorrow. Lord Humphrey, you arrived in such haste, and direct from the stables, that I do not believe you are here to enquire after my domestic arrangements. I shall leave you to talk to Lord Carrbridge now.”

  “Actually, you are the very person I have been seeking,” Humphrey said. “Where exactly is Great Mellingham estate? It is east of here, is it not? Do you go there by way of Drum Woods?”

  “That is one possible route, my lord, turning east just past the woods, although it is very exposed. Or you could go south of here and pick up the turnpike — that is a better way in inclement weather. Do you have business there, my lord? There is no one in residence at the moment, with the renovations going on. I was there about ten days ago, and all was in order then.”

  “Was there some problem with the chimneys?” Humphrey said.

  “Chimneys? Not that I heard, my lord.”

  “Hmm.” Humphrey frowned. “That is as I thought. Do we have an estate over by the fulling mill?”

  “Silsby Milton? Not to my knowledge, but I have not yet established a complete picture of all his lordship’s properties. I have a map in the writing room, if you would be interested.”

  Humphrey would indeed be very interested, so the three of them made their way there. The writing room had been the office of the eighth marquess, Humphrey’s and Carrbridge’s father. Merton had been given the task of sorting the vast number of documents and letters filed away in the many large cabinets therein. On one wall he had nailed two maps, one of the local area and one of the whole of Great Britain, each marked with pins with strips of ribbon in various colours.

  “The red pins are prope
rties for which the lawyers in London hold the titles,” Merton said, “and the blue are those for which the title is in the safe here. The green ones are those which are mentioned in papers, but the title cannot be located, and these yellow ones… well, I suspect the marquess owns it, but I cannot be sure.”

  “Good God!” Humphrey said. “Wales! And Cornwall! And so many greens and yellows. What a mess! I suppose some of these have been sold, and that is why there is no traceable title?”

  “Sold or lost at the faro table,” Merton said with a wry smile. “Very likely.”

  “Have you asked Sharp?” Humphrey said. “He claims to know everything, although he says he keeps all the information in his head.”

  “If he knows anything about these properties, he will not divulge it to me,” Merton said.

  “He will divulge it to me,” Carrbridge said abruptly. “I will not have my agent withholding information from my secretary, as if you were enemies. You both work on my behalf, and Sharp will be helpful or find himself dismissed. I do not understand maps at all,” he added plaintively, tipping his head first one way and then the other. “What are all these squiggly lines? And where are we in all this jumble of colours, Merton?”

  “This black square is Drummoor, my lord. And here is York, and London is down there. The squiggly lines are either roads or rivers. This is the moor road to York and this is the turnpike.”

  “It is all very confusing,” Carrbridge grumbled.

  “So there is nothing anywhere near Silsby Milton?” Humphrey said. “That is curious, for I met Sharp up on the moors, just here.” He stabbed a finger at the local map. “He said he had been to Great Mellingham to see about the chimneys but his horse — or rather, my horse, for he had taken Ganymede, the impudent fellow — had teasels in his mane. That can only have come from near the fulling mill at Silsby Milton, which is away up here.”

  “That is strange,” Merton said, frowning. “It is quite the wrong direction.”

  “Well, let us ask him,” Carrbridge said. “I do not like mysteries of this nature, nor secrecy. We shall go there at once and have an explanation from him.”

  But when they made their way to Sharp’s cottage, they found no one there but his timid wife, who could tell them nothing except that he had eaten his dinner and gone out again, and she had no idea where.

  “As soon as he returns, send him to me,” the marquess said. “At once, mind!”

  They returned to the house in a very disgruntled frame of mind.

  ~~~~~

  Hortensia squeaked with astonishment.

  “Whatever is the matter?” Rosemary said, her eyes wide with alarm. “Not bad news, I hope?”

  “It is from the Marchioness of Carrbridge, and we are invited to stay at Drummoor for a month.”

  Rosemary’s knife clattered to her plate. They were sitting at the breakfast table, drinking chocolate and eating ham and toast. Hortensia had paid to receive an early delivery of mail, but they had seen little benefit from it, their correspondence being mainly polite bills and inducements to spend even more money from their mantua maker, milliner and haberdasher. They had few acquaintance in town, and now that the season was all but over, invitations of any sort were thin on the ground.

  This particular invitation was unexpected, and the two women stared at each other.

  “But why?” Rosemary said, her eyes wide.

  “Now that is a very good question,” Hortensia said crisply. “Why, indeed? It cannot be for the pleasure of our company, for we have barely exchanged three sentences with any of them. Nor are we of sufficiently high rank to expect to mingle with such people. So it must be the money, and one of the unmarried sons will lower himself to charm the vulgar daughter of a nabob. Lord Humphrey, of course. Do you remember that tea party at Marford House?”

  “Oh yes! The Chinese saloon!”

  “And Lord Humphrey, with all the cits’ heiresses lined up for him to inspect and make his choice, I daresay.”

  “You make it sound so cold and calculating,” Rosemary said. “It is done all the time — a title and vouchers to Almacks in exchange for a fortune. Younger sons have very little to live on, so they must trade on their wits and charm. And he was charming, I thought, and handsome too, if a little large. Did you not like him?”

  “He was well enough, I daresay,” Hortensia said nonchalantly, with an indifferent lift of one shoulder. Yet instantly her mind was filled with the vision of a tall, broad-shouldered man, in a well-cut coat. It was a vision that had troubled her dreams rather. How foolish of her to mope over a man who had undoubtedly never even noticed her.

  “He was very tall, with a flamboyant style of dress,” Rosemary said. “Rather overpowering.”

  “A typical aristocrat, then.”

  “Oh. So you will decline the invitation?”

  “Not at all! The moors! And fast horses! Oh, think of the freedom, Rosemary! Think of being able to ride properly again, as I have not since we left Madras. A gentle canter around Hyde Park is not at all the same. I remember every word Lord Humphrey said about his horses and the country around Drummoor. I should dearly like to go there to see it for myself, if I can. And oh, the pleasure of escaping the city — the noise, the bustle, the smells! I can hardly breathe here. I am sure there is good, clean air aplenty in Yorkshire. So yes, let us go, by all means, unless you dislike the idea excessively, dear?”

  “Oh, no, not at all! I never did like the thought of Brighton or Bath, for they sound just like London, only smaller and stuffier. We should still know no one, and would have to walk about without anyone to escort us and attend only subscription events and try to pretend we are enjoying ourselves.”

  “Poor Rosemary, have you disliked London as much as I have?”

  “Indeed not, for it has been most interesting. I enjoyed the Tower of London very much, and I do not mind the crowds in the least. However, there is no denying that it is much more comfortable to know people and have friends to chat to. I shall like to go to Drummoor, for Lord and Lady Carrbridge were quite delightful, and an intimate house party is so very agreeable, is it not?”

  And so to Drummoor they were to go.

  ~~~~~

  After missing Sharp the previous evening, Carrbridge, Humphrey and Merton went to Sharp’s cottage before breakfast the following day.

  Again, Mrs Sharp’s timid face peered round the door at them. She was neatly dressed, but her gown was old-fashioned and patched, and her hair was covered by a cap grey with age. “Begging your pardon, milord, but he ain’t here.”

  “My good woman,” the marquess said in exasperated tones, “I gave you a very clear instruction — your husband was to present himself to me the instant he returned home.”

  “Begging your pardon, milord, but he hasn’t been home,” she said. “Never come back last night.”

  “Well, where is he?”

  “Begging your pardon, milord, but I don’t know. He never said.”

  “I suppose he never said when he would be back, either?” She shook her head. “This is not good enough,” the marquess said, and the hapless Mrs Sharp quailed at his peremptory tone. “We have important questions to be answered, which only Sharp can address. What are we supposed to do now?” Mrs Sharp bowed her head, one hand convulsively grasping and releasing a corner of her apron.

  “If I may make a suggestion, my lord,” Merton said.

  “Pray do so.”

  “The legal documents to the properties in question will no doubt be safely locked away in Mr Sharp’s office. If we can find them, we need not trouble Mr Sharp at all.”

  “Oh.” The marquess seemed surprised. “That is a very simple solution, and they are my documents, after all, are they not?”

  “Indubitably, my lord.”

  “Very well. Mrs Sharp, pray admit us to Sharp’s office.”

  She swallowed several times, and the grasping and releasing of the apron became more rapid. “Begging your pardon, milord…” She stopped, heaved a grea
t breath and then went on in a rush. “Can’t do it, milord, so help me, it’s the gospel truth, but I can’t.”

  “Of course you can, madam,” Carrbridge said gently. “I will explain it to Sharp, you know, so no blame will attach to you.”

  “No, no! Really can’t, milord. It’s locked, see, and only Mr Sharp has the key. Keeps it in his waistcoat, see, never lets go of it, so you see—”

  “Nonsense. He keeps the front parlour as his office, does he not? Well, then, admit us at once, madam.”

  She retreated into the house immediately, and they all trooped in to the narrow hall. The first door on the right was the office, and it was, as Mrs Sharp had said, locked.

  “I shall not be denied access to my own papers,” Carrbridge said haughtily. “We shall break down the door. Ready, Humphrey?”

  Humphrey laughed. “Carrbridge, I am as willing as the next man to break down a door, but shall we not try Bill Carpenter first? He got the Whittleton children out when they locked themselves in the stable court attics two years ago, remember? He is very competent with locks.”

  So Bill Carpenter was sent for, a wizened little man who grinned from ear to ear when his task was explained to him. He produced a collection of strangely shaped metal implements, and set to work on the door’s lock. Within two or three minutes a satisfying clunk announced his success. He threw open the door, while Mrs Sharp moaned a little in distress.

  Carrbridge strode into the room, then stopped dead. “Good God!”

  Humphrey peered over his brother’s shoulder. The room was furnished with a desk, several chairs and an array of cabinets and shelves, but it was hard to see them as every inch of available surface was covered in papers and letters and documents with official seals. More papers littered the floor in great heaps.