Page 14 of Loyalty (The Chaplain’s Legacy #5)

K ent was unutterably depressed after this visit. He had been so pleased with himself, discovering that the music cabinet was still in place at Cathcart House, and proposing to Emily and Lucas that perhaps Miss Parish would like to have her music with her, and even though they had not been permitted to take the cabinet itself, he had been excited to see Katherine’s face when she received some of her music. Excited to see her , he admitted to himself. And now he was thrown into gloom.

All the way home in the carriage, as Emily and Lucas chatted easily, he was silent, mulling over Katherine’s words. All this time, ever since he had first come to know her better, he had looked forward to raising her up a little in society, so that she was less terrified to mingle with the nobility, or even the lower levels of the gentry, like the Cathcarts. And now he found that she had happily sunk down to her previous merchant class, relieved that she was back where she felt she belonged. If only she could see that she was just as good as anyone else — better than many, in fact. Why should she not meet on equal terms with the earl, or even Lady Esther, who for all her haughtiness and her ducal relations, was married to a former attorney? Why should the daughter of a mill owner not marry the son of an earl, if she chose to?

And why should not the son of an earl marry a mill owner’s daughter? And he could, for his father was complacent about it. As long as they were to live at Corland Castle, they would be financed indefinitely. Not only would they be fed and clothed and provided with every comfort, but their children would be educated and raised to be ladies and gentlemen, like their Atherton relations.

And I shall never be able to leave , he thought despondently. Never be an engineer, never go to the foundry in Birmingham, never see a real beam engine in majestic action — or hear it, or even feel it, as Katherine had so vividly described. He would never defy his father so far as to take up a career as an engineer, but he badly wanted to know more of those wonderful machines and what they could do. Even better, he wanted to know what they might do in the future, with clever men developing them and finding new ways to use them. For now, they might be pumping water from mines and driving spinning machines, but who knew what they might be capable of in the years to come?

Instead, he would stay in Yorkshire, on the land his family had owned for centuries, watching farmers pursuing the traditional methods as if nothing had changed since the middle ages.

He was still in the deepest gloom when they arrived at Westwick Heights, but Lucas having a mind to see the new hunters recently acquired at Corland, Emily alone was deposited at her home, while the carriage rumbled on with Lucas and Kent. Lucas took advantage of the increased space to stretch out his legs and lean back against the squabs.

“So, cousin, are you going to marry her?” he said with a sly grin.

Kent did not pretend to misunderstand. “I cannot say. It is… difficult.”

“It always is, for younger sons. Neither of you has two shillings to rub together, not of your own, and you cannot expect Uncle Charles to fund you. Looks like the army for you, then. Or no, the church! She is a pious soul, always praying, so a little country parsonage would suit her very well. She will not mind waiting until you can be ordained, I am sure.”

“Actually, my father has offered to house us at Corland Castle.”

Lucas shot upright. “No! Then you have already discussed it with him.”

“In a hypothetical way,” Kent said. “Not in an ‘I plan to do this’ sort of way, more a case of ‘If it should happen to come about, what would you think?’ sort of way. He was very positive about it, but only if we live at Corland. He does not want me to leave home.”

“Well, there you go, then. You can propose as soon as you like, you lucky dog. You will have a wife of your own. Everyone is getting married, except me.”

“Do you want to? Are you thinking about it?”

“Of course I am thinking about it!” Luke said, with a laugh. “I think about it every single night when I retire, alone, to my cold and empty bed. I have been thinking about it since I was… well, for a number of years, let us say.”

Kent laughed, and shook his head. “There is more to marriage than that! And you need not even marry if all you want is a woman in your bed. Ask Eustace if you want advice.”

“I would never dare take a mistress. Lord, all that fuss over Walter’s little woman, and Mother was as distraught as if it had been one of us. I thought she was going to have an apoplexy over it. No, it is not worth it, but I should like to marry, and sooner rather than later.”

“Have you anyone in mind?”

“No, because I plan to follow Father’s example and marry an heiress, and there are none around here that I could stomach.”

“Not even Bea Franklyn?” Kent said, amused.

“Especially not Bea Franklyn. The woman is a leech, and just because my brother thinks the sun shines out of her does not improve my opinion of her in the slightest. Scheming hussy! No, I shall go to town next spring and look about me. Izzy will take me around and introduce me to a few people. If nothing comes of that, Mother has a list of possible girls. She is a great one for match-making, as your father is finding out. I sincerely hope he marries again and sires a string of legitimate sons to cut Bertram out of the succession, because if Bea Franklyn becomes Countess of Rennington after all her devious scheming, it will be a travesty of justice.”

The carriage arrived at the castle just then, and the two cousins went off to the stables to talk about horses for a pleasant hour or so, and Kent was able to push his dilemma to the back of his mind again for a while. It was not until late that evening, when he retired ‘alone, to his cold and lonely bed’ as Lucas had it, that he thought about Katherine again and wondered what it would be like to find her waiting for him there, smiling up at him in that glowing way she had that made him feel like a king.

Then he wondered just what it was that attracted him to her so strongly. Was it simply because, of all his acquaintances, she was the only one who would talk to him about beam engines? Or was it Katherine herself, with her quiet ways and her modestly downturned eyes and her soft voice?

He could not honestly say.

***

K atherine had little opportunity to try out Kent’s advice on making conversation, for Mrs Ryker and her friends were all themselves great talkers and left no openings for her to tentatively ask a question or two. But when she had been in Helmsley for three weeks, an opportunity arose, for Mrs Ryker’s nephew came to stay.

Since the drawing room window seat had become her favourite vantage point, with its views across to the church and a little way into the endlessly fascinating market square, she was the first to see the post chaise draw up outside the house.

“Are you expecting a visitor, ma’am? For a gentleman has just arrived in a post chaise, with luggage.”

Mrs Ryker rushed to the window. “Goodness, ’tis William! And not a bit of beef in the house today. But there, he does like to surprise me, so he must take his pot luck for today, at least. Well, how glad I am that you will meet him so soon, for I’d thought he might be busy until Christmas, so popular as he is. Come now, my dear, come and meet my nephew.”

Mr William Ryker was twenty-eight years of age, and a fine, handsome young man, as he was very well aware. He made his aunt a florid bow, and then turned his gaze on Katherine as they were introduced with the sort of practised eye which bordered on rudeness, surveying her swiftly from head to toe before sweeping her hand to his full lips. She was relieved that he restrained himself from pressing those lips upon her flesh, and withdrew her hand as soon as she was able, but Mrs Ryker chuckled.

“Well, you’ve made quite an impression, my dear, that I can see. But come inside, William, do. Let’s not be standing around in this damp air.”

They left the kitchen boy and Mr Ryker’s valet to deal with the luggage, Mrs Ryker sweeping them all back into the house and up the stairs to the drawing room. With Mrs Ryker in the first flush of excited chattering over her nephew, he was not required to say very much apart from ‘Yes, ma’am’ and ‘No, ma’am’ and occasionally ‘That is so, ma’am’. He had written quite recently, so there was little in the way of news to impart, but Mrs Ryker rattled on anyway.

Katherine had nothing to do except sip the tea which shortly appeared, and decide what she thought of Mr Ryker. He was certainly fashionably dressed in the town manner of pantaloons and hessians, rather than a country gentleman’s usual breeches and top boots. His coat and waistcoat were expensive, his neckcloth snowy white, his shirt points jauntily high and the fobs at his waist gleaming silver. He had dispensed with the smart beaver hat, gloves and cane with which he had arrived, but he was very much the gentleman, in appearance at any event.

His attire reminded her a little of some of the young men at Branton, those with a large allowance and not much sense of style. She could not help comparing Mr Ryker with the gentlemen of her recent acquaintance, and it was here that he was found to be lacking. The Atherton men dressed with a certain casual disregard for their appearance, as if they had simply pulled something from the wardrobe without much thought. And yet they were always elegant in a way that Mr Ryker could not match.

It was the details, she decided. Mr Ryker’s coat was in the height of fashion, but it did not mould itself to his form in the way that Mr Kent Atherton’s did. The neckcloth was intricately tied, but it was still slightly awry. And the waistcoat… it was too brash, she decided. A true gentleman, one brought up to the state from birth, exhibited an effortless style that undoubtedly arose from a combination of patronising the very best tailors and boot makers, and employing a highly skilled valet.

She even knew what it was, for she had heard Aveline and Aunt Cathcart discussing it once — town bronze, it was called, that combination of innate style and perfect manners that the upper classes had. Whereas Mr Ryker was a provincial man aping the aristocracy. Now that she thought about it, the Cathcart men were a little the same — the coats that did not quite fit as snugly as they should, the waistcoats that were slightly the wrong shade for the coat, and the styles that called attention to deficiencies of the body instead of enhancing advantages.

There was another difference, too, which she only gradually began to appreciate. Mr Ryker said very little to his aunt, and nothing at all to Katherine, but his eyes turned to her very often. Not for long, merely flicking his gaze momentarily in her direction, and then back to his aunt, but it gave Katherine a strange unsettled feeling. That was something she had never once felt with Kent or any of the Athertons, or with the Cathcart sons. She had encountered it sometimes at Branton, for not everyone she had met there was a gentlemen, or had the manners of one, and of course one experienced it all the time on the street, and public places like the post office, or the inns she had passed through on the journey to Birchall. A man — for it was always a man — would look at a woman in a certain way, not quite insolent, but verging on it, and that was just how Mr Ryker looked at her now. Assessing her, perhaps, in a way she did not want to be assessed.

Now she was uncomfortably aware that the boxes bumping up the stairs were to be deposited in the only free bedroom, the one next to hers on the second floor, and she was not at all sure she wanted Mr William Ryker, with his assessing eyes, so close to her.

When she went to her room to dress for dinner, there were male voices rumbling in the room next door. Whispering in case she might be overheard, she said to Daisy, “What is being said of Mr Ryker below stairs?”

Daisy was behind her, unbuttoning her gown, but her hands stilled momentarily. “Not much, miss.”

“He makes me uncomfortable.”

“Oh yes, miss! That’s what Etta said, that he makes her uncomfortable, but Sukey just told her not to be silly, it was just being in a house with no men and not being used to it, that’s all.”

“But I am used to being in a house with men, and none of the Cathcart men ever made me uncomfortable the way Mr Ryker does. Is there a lock on the bedroom door, Daisy?”

“A lock but no key, miss, I’ve looked and Etta’s looked and we can’t find one.”

“In that case, I should like you to sleep in here at night, Daisy. You can share with me, for the bed is plenty big enough. I am probably making something of nothing, but your company will help me sleep soundly.”

Dinner gave Katherine an opportunity to practise her conversational skills, for Mrs Ryker’s tongue was fully engaged by the meal, at least until she had eaten her fill. Katherine knew little of Mr Ryker except that he was Mrs Ryker’s heir and lived at York, but, mindful of Kent’s advice to ask about families, she began there.

“Do you have brothers and sisters, Mr Ryker?”

“None at all,” he said cheerfully. “Nor mother or father, either. Aunt Audrey is my only surviving relation in the whole word.”

“Oh dear. How sad for you,” Katherine said, not quite sure how to progress without a single family member to enquire upon. “And… and are you married?”

He raised his eyebrows in surprise. “No, certainly not! Whatever gave you that idea?”

That set Katherine blushing furiously. “No, indeed… I had no… not the least… I beg your pardon, sir.”

He chuckled then. “Ah, you are teasing me, I suppose. I am sure my aunt has told you that I am in the very process of planning to marry.”

“Then you are betrothed! My felicitations, sir.”

He laughed more heartily. “Very witty! No, I am not betrothed, Miss Parish, as you are aware. But my plans for matrimony are well advanced. I already have a pleasant house in my eye in York. At present, I only have lodgings, but I shall want my bride to have her own establishment, naturally. A very pretty little house, not over large, but well positioned on one of the best streets, and within easy reach of all the amenities of the city. On the ground floor…”

Katherine let him talk on, puzzled by his assumption that she must know he was not betrothed. Perhaps he thought that Mrs Ryker had told her all about him, but on the contrary, she had barely mentioned him. After dinner, Mrs Ryker resumed her command of the conversation, Katherine retreated thankfully to the instrument and was able to retire to bed at an early hour, where she discovered sleep to be elusive despite Daisy’s presence. Katherine was so unused to another person in her room that even Daisy’s gentle snores were enough to keep her awake.

For some days, Mrs Ryker arranged daily entertainments and unusually good dinners for her nephew, so that Katherine scarcely had a moment to herself and was rarely in bed before midnight. It was not until Sunday that there was finally a quiet day to catch up with her letter-writing, read a sermon or two and retire to bed early enough to ensure a reasonable night’s sleep.

Once again, however, Daisy’s soft snores kept sleep at bay. Thus Katherine found herself awake when she heard a door opening on the landing, together with a sound rather like the clink of glass on glass. Mr Ryker fetching himself a late-night brandy, perhaps?

But to her horror, the next sound was her own door opening, and through the gap in the bed curtains she saw flickering candle-light making the shadows dance and jump. The door closed again, but the light remained. Katherine held her breath, for surely this was a mistake? Mr Ryker had gone downstairs, perhaps, and on his return had opened the wrong door. In which case he would soon realise his error and creep out again.

There was the chink of glass again nearby. The little table, perhaps. Whatever he carried had been set down there. Silence. Surely now he must be looking around and seeing that this was not his own room.

The curtain was wrenched back and Mr Ryker’s face loomed over her, not six inches from her own.

Katherine screamed.

“Hush, hush!” he said, flapping his hands at her. “No noise, or you will wake everyone.”

“What are you doing here? Go away!”

“Now, that is not very friendly. I only want to talk to you. Look, I have brought wine.” And he smiled at her, as easy as if they were sitting in the drawing room, even though he appeared to be wearing nothing but a nightshirt — not even a nightcap, she thought distractedly, and there she was in her night gown, which covered her from neck to toe yet she still felt as if she were naked.

He stretched out an arm towards her, as if to touch her shoulder or perhaps her face, and she screamed again, and slithered out of the bed and under his arm to escape, ending up on the floor.

“Hoy, what are you doin’ in a lady’s bedroom?” That was Daisy, thoroughly awake and lurching upright. “Get out of here, you lecher , you!”

He uttered a most ungentlemanly curse, and began to back away. “I only came to talk to— Ow! Stop that!”

Daisy had grabbed the bolster and was laying into him with some force. Katherine scrabbled across to the fireplace on hands and knees, and took hold of the poker.

“Get out, Mr Ryker. If you want to talk to me, you can do it in daylight, properly dressed and with your aunt as chaperon. Now go away!”

“All right, all right! Ooof! Stop hitting me, you foolish girl.”

He ran for the door, wrenched it open and slammed it shut with some force. His own door banged, and then blessed silence fell, apart from the two women’s heavy breathing, which gradually stilled.

After a while, when it seemed likely there would be no repetition, Katherine deemed it safe to blow out the candle he had forgotten in his haste to take with him, and climb back into bed. Daisy slowly fell back into slumber, but Katherine lay curled up on her side, her pillow damp with tears, and wondered what she had done to deserve such an insult.