Page 18 of Marie’s Merry Gentleman (The Bookshop Belles #2)
CHAPTER 17
Farewell to Alston
M arie’s episode of self-loathing did not last long. Not because she gave herself a stern talking to or delivered any confessions to ease her soul, but because a letter arrived carrying far more devastating news that put her introspection into perspective.
Somebody had tried to burn down the bookshop! She read the letter again, feeling more alarmed and frightened the second time around.
“I must get home,” she told Lord Renwick as she showed him the letter. They were in the library and he was sitting comfortably. Marie tried to sit but couldn’t keep still. She stood up, putting the weight on her good leg, and clasped her hands. Then she tucked her skirts and sat again, the fabric itching her skin.
The urge to flee was also exacerbated by her own poor behaviour, but mostly she was deeply worried about her sisters. The distance between Cumbria and Hertfordshire had never felt so wide.
She stood up again and a twinge shot up her ankle, so she sat down again.
“I can see you’re anxious,” he said, as he read the letter which she handed to him.
Panic shot through her that the letter might contain a reference to him being the Earl of Demanding; she hadn’t read it properly, had been too distressed to check before she handed it over. Time ticked slowly as she watched his face for signs of offence.
Thank heavens none came.
He looked up and appeared concerned more for her than the contents of the letter. “The snow is so deep it would be impossible to head off on your own. And as much as you try to hide it, your ankle is still not completely healed.”
“I’m well enough to travel,” she said, fidgeting and pushing her glasses up her nose.
“I daresay you are,” he said, looking her up and down, “But climbing in and out of carriages and walking up stairs, even at the best inns, will undo all my good work.”
She chuckled politely. “All your good work. I see.”
“I know this news is upsetting.” His face filled with concern for her, and it set warm flurries behind her ribs. “But the post coach will be far too rough. I’ve already decided to take the boys back to Eton myself. We can all travel in my carriage.”
“That would be comfortable, I thank you,” she managed. He had said something a little while ago about them all travelling together. Now he’d confirmed it, and was determined she should be with them and not leave this minute.
“Then it’s decided. I plan to see my man of business in London while I’m there. We can go through Hatfield, and I do have an ulterior motive.”
Those warm flurries heated through her, and her mouth turned dry.
He smiled and said, “I’d like to browse Baxter’s Fine Books for myself, I’ve heard so many good things about it.”
He was being so lovely about it, which only reminded Marie of how guilty she was for betraying him to George and Richard.
“It will be far more comfortable to travel in your coach, and I thank you for it.”
“Write a letter back to Miss Louise and I’ll get that off in the mail, it should arrive a few days before we do, so you can at least reassure her you are on the way.”
She did just that, after reading the letter again.
Now that his lordship had reassured her of a comfortable journey, she read the letter with a slightly different frame of mind. It wasn’t as alarming as she first thought, although it was deeply concerning.
All is well here in Hatfield, although someone did try to set fire to the shop. Mr Jackson thinks a returned soldier might be the cause of it, and he’s going to investigate. We have one kitten left who is a proper terror and takes after Crafty in every way, save for some white on him. He will soon clear Alston and I dare say all of Cumbria of mice faster than the Pied Piper. We’ve taken to calling him Pie.
Marie racked her brain for a while trying to figure out who this Mr Jackson might be. She wondered if Louise might have meant Mr Johnson, who worked at the printers. But why he would investigate anything was beyond her. All the same, she quickly wrote a reply to let Louise and Bernadette know she would be returning soon in Lord Renwick’s carriage and if any more books arrived in the interim they should set them aside for him to purchase before they placed the next advertisement in The Times.
At nuncheon, the boys were excited about Marie travelling with them in the coach, and they slipped into English instead of French to express their joy. They also slipped into some other chatter that Marie couldn't understand. That was probably the secret language Mr Charles had mentioned.
“I shall be coming too,” Lord Renwick said.
“Oh Pa! That’s wonderful!” they said. They left their seats and embraced him in a crushing hug.
“Oof!” Renwick said, then laughed. “Calm down, boys, Miss Baxter will still require you to speak French along the way.”
Marie laughed behind her hand at that.
“C'est bien dommage,” George said. That’s a real pity.
There appeared to be some kind of unspoken understanding between her and the boys. She’d tried to talk with them again of the terrible news they’d overheard, but they hadn’t wanted to. Mr Charles would be with them in the carriage as well, and she doubted they’d openly raise the issue while he was there.
Marie replied with, “Vous l'avez très bien dit.” You put it very well.
Another pang caught her by surprise at the thought she might not see the boys again once she returned to Hatfield. She could almost feel a headache coming on in anticipation. She would miss George and Richard as if they were her own family.
She would miss everyone.
The day of departure came far too soon for Marie’s liking. She should be overjoyed to be going home at last, but as she slowly folded her belongings into her portmanteau, setting aside the borrowed dresses to return, she was hard put to hold back tears.
“Let me do that for you, miss,” Mrs Ellwood said behind her.
“Oh, I can pack for myself,” Marie said.
She wanted to cry into that glorious dove-coloured gown she’d worn on Twelfth Night, but couldn’t bear to damage it.
“It’s no trouble, miss. Now why are these gowns over there? You’re not thinking of leaving them behind, are you?” Mrs Ellwood put her hands on her hips and frowned at Marie.
“They were only borrowed…”
“I’ll have you know that his lordship has instructed me to dispose of her ladyship’s entire wardrobe as I see fit, and I see fit that these are yours now. They are so much warmer and more suitable to travel in the winter than that thin thing you arrived in!” Mrs Ellwood gave a magnificent snort.
With such an emphatic rebuttal to her argument, Marie was perforce obliged to give in, and allowed Mrs Ellwood to help her into the rust-coloured gown, which had become her favourite, and put the rabbit-fur lined cloak about her shoulders.
“There,” Mrs Ellwood said, briskly folding the other three gowns and placing them into the portmanteau. “You look lovely, Miss Baxter.”
To Marie’s astonishment, the housekeeper’s lips trembled a little and her eyes grew bright with tears.
“We’re going to miss you,” Mrs Ellwood croaked.
Marie’s eyes grew hot. “Oh, Mrs Ellwood!” Choked up herself, Marie threw her arms about the housekeeper and hugged her tightly. “I shall miss you too, so much. I will write regularly, and you must promise me,” she glanced quickly towards the open door and lowered her voice, “should Renwick ever cast any blame on you for what the boys overheard, you must let me know at once and I will do everything I can for you.”
“I will, Miss Baxter,” Mrs Ellwood promised, hugging her back.
“Are you ready?” Mr Martin came to the door, coughed lightly as he saw the two women embracing. “Ah, pardon me.”
“I’m ready, Mr Martin.” Marie let go of Mrs Ellwood and smiled at the butler, nodding as he came forward to pick up her bag. “I wanted to thank you, too. You have been so very kind, making my stay at Alston Castle a memory I will always treasure.”
Mr Martin looked a little overcome, and stuttered something about being honoured by her regard, blushing quite profusely. As she preceded him out into the hall, Marie could have sworn she heard him say “His lordship’s a bloody idiot, if you ask me,” to Mrs Ellwood, but surely not; the very formal, if not downright snooty, Mr Martin would never say such a thing!
Renwick, the twins and Mr Charles were waiting for her in the hall, the carriage drawn up to the foot of the steps outside, and in just a few moments Marie found herself on the forward-facing seat with Richard on one side of her, George on the other, and Renwick and Mr Charles facing them.
“Oh look, everyone has come out to wave you off, look,” Marie said to Richard and George as all the staff of Alston Castle came filing out to stand on the steps as the coachman shook up the reins and the horses leaned into the traces.
“They’ve never done that before,” George said in surprise.
“Love you though they do, I’m fairly sure it’s not you they’ve come to wave off, son,” Renwick said, his lips curling up in amusement. “And no, it’s not me either. This is a tribute to Miss Baxter.”
Marie stared at him, open-mouthed, then back at the almost twenty-strong throng on the steps, waving and smiling. “Goodbye, Miss Baxter! Good luck, Miss Baxter!” she heard them shouting distantly as the coach began to move off.
“You’d better wave,” Renwick said, and she did, almost numbly, twisting around to stare out of the back window until they passed through the ruined archway and the crowd was out of sight.
“But why…” she began.
“You made more of an impression than you realise,” Renwick said gently.
She truly did not know what to say, but fortunately the boys filled the gap as they began to chatter, pointing out this or that feature of the landscape they passed.
Marie was surprised that the coach turned south instead of north immediately, not turning towards Alston or Carlisle and the way she had come. George was quick to explain that while Carlisle was the closest large town, going that way when one really wanted to travel to the south actually added some twenty miles to the journey.
“A very accurate explanation,” Lord Renwick praised, “now please repeat that to Miss Baxter in French.”
Marie hid a smile as George gave a great exaggerated sigh, but he did a creditable job of expressing himself in French and she thanked him for the explanation.
The winter days were so short they could not make very great distances in daylight, but they changed horses twice a day and pressed on. Lord Renwick had sent ahead and pre-arranged the horses and accommodations in the best inns and hotels every night, requiring every comfort available, and though the journey south took longer than the one going north in the post-coach had, Marie enjoyed it a lot more. Though perhaps that was due to the company, she thought, smiling as Richard fell asleep against one shoulder, shortly followed by George on the other.
“What is it that you are knitting?” Lord Renwick asked after a comfortable silence had reigned for a while, Mr Charles snoozing with his head resting against the padded side of the coach.
“Oh,” Marie looked down at her hands, which had been working the needles unconsciously for quite some time. “It is my own design, my lord.” Setting one needle down at the end of a row, she untied her bonnet ribbon and lifted it up on one side to reveal the circular knitted pad over her ear. “I call them ear mufflers. They keep one’s ears warm in winter, and have the added benefit of muting sound, just a little. Much though I am fond of your sons, constant chatter can be wearying. I find these help.”
Sebastian stared in delight at the clever invention. “What an excellent notion, Miss Baxter! You should sell the pattern for knitting those. I am sure some ladies’ magazine would be very pleased to have it.”
“I had never thought of that! Perhaps I will.” She smiled at him, then returned her attention to her knitting, the soft click of the needles barely audible over the rattle of the carriage wheels and the thunder of the horses’ hooves outside.
Dark was falling as they pulled into Lincoln that evening in good time, and stopped in front of the Castle Hotel, where Renwick always stayed when passing through the city. Tomorrow was a Sunday, and he did not travel on Sundays unless the matter was exceedingly urgent, so they would pass two nights here and travel onwards on Monday.
It had rained that afternoon and there was a puddle between where the carriage had stopped and the steps up to the hotel door, so he did not hesitate to lift Miss Baxter out of the carriage even as she made to descend, and carry her up the steps.
“There was a puddle,” he apologised, as she made a funny little squeak. “I did not want you to slip and perhaps re-injure your ankle; I would not for anything return you to your home with a fresh injury!”
She did not demur, and he set her carefully on her feet again once they were inside. An obsequious hotel manager at once approached them.
“Lord Renwick? Of course, we are expecting you. And indeed, we have a maid to assist your cousin Miss Baxter…”
She had allowed him the polite fiction of claiming a familial relationship for the journey, even though she had also laughed and said she did not think her reputation to be in danger. He had still written ahead to every inn and hotel they planned to stay at to ensure they not only provided a maid, but the best and most secure room they could provide for Miss Baxter. Twice he had inspected her rooms only to require them to be switched with his own, the establishment being quite sure a peer of the realm would require the best room for himself.
They dined in a private dining room, of course, not only to spare Miss Baxter from the stares of the common folk but also his sons - and himself. He had never cared for crowds and the noise that came with them. What use was wealth and privilege if he couldn’t use it to spare himself situations which he didn’t care for? Escorting Miss Baxter safely to her door afterwards, however, he invited her to the one situation in which he would willingly subject himself to a crowd.
“Would you care to attend church with us tomorrow? Lincoln Cathedral is only a short walk from here and well worth a visit.”
“I would be delighted!” Her enthusiasm seemed quite genuine.
They enjoyed a lovely day of rest, attending a service at the stunning cathedral, and then walking about the city to explore a little. They admired the mediaeval Bishop’s Palace in the shadow of the great cathedral, walked up to the city battlements, and even looked over some lately excavated Roman ruins.
“This is fascinating,” Marie said, her face alight as she inspected an information notice which had been posted beside a part of the ruins. “Thank you so much for this, Renwick. I saw nothing of Lincoln on my way north.”
“A great shame.” He wished they could stay longer, spend more time exploring the towns they would pass through, especially Cambridge where they would leave Mr Charles, but he had to get the twins to Eton in time for the start of the school term.
He tried not to think about the other reason he wanted to dally and dawdle; that every mile they travelled south was another mile closer to parting from Miss Baxter.
The following morning in the carriage, she handed him something as they set off again.
“What is this?” he frowned down at the dark blue woollen bundle.
“Ear mufflers.” She gestured towards her own. “I made a pair for you. Try them on.”
Sebastian couldn’t quite explain the emotions that came over him at that moment, as he lifted the woollen bundle up and saw the thick round pads of wool, the band that would fit over the top his head and under his chin.
He was an earl. People had been currying favour with him since he was a small boy, but he didn’t think anyone had ever given him such a personal, handmade gift, for no other reason than they thought he might find it of use.
“Thank you,” he said, his heart full, and he took off his hat and put on the ear mufflers, delighted to find that they fit his head perfectly. And they really did work a little to muffle sound, he quickly discovered, as George and Richard loudly admired Miss Baxter’s handiwork.
“I never had the chance to give you a Twelfth Night gift,” Marie said, and he froze in sudden horror.
“I did not give you one either!”
“But of course you did!” she laughed, and lifted her finger to tap on her new glasses. “And very useful they are too. I think they might be very slightly stronger than my old ones; I am definitely finding it a little easier to read fine print.”
Mr Charles was hiding a smile and looking out of the window. What was the fellow smirking about, anyway? Sebastian was the one who had received a gift from Miss Baxter, made by her own two hands. His own smile was wide enough to crack his face. He put his hat back on and settled back in his seat to enjoy the rest of the day looking at her face, the noise of the world a little softer around him.