Page 6 of Secrecy (The Chaplain’s Legacy #4)

T ess moved forward slowly. From her tentative approaches to the three eldest girls, she progressed to the younger ones. Within a week, she had instituted regular lessons for all seven children. There was no money to spare for a governess, and Mrs Harfield herself took little notice of her offspring, spending her days mostly below stairs, for she was constantly caught up in one domestic drama or another. It was therefore left to the two spinsters, Miss Frith and Miss Emily Frith, to teach the children, and their timid natures meant that the designated schoolroom was usually empty. Tess was not timid, however, and ruthless when she had an objective in mind, so she speedily found ways to keep the little ones occupied.

It was not very long before all the ladies declared that they could not imagine how they had ever managed without Tess, and would she be willing perhaps to come and stay for a while? Tess graciously agreed that she would indeed be willing, and thus found herself ensconced in a tiny attic room next door to a very disgruntled Betty.

“It’s not fittin’, Miss Tess,” she grumbled. “And you the niece of his lordship, sleepin’ under the roof like a scullery maid. At the very least, one of they great lummoxes should have moved for you.”

“The Miss Friths have been here for years, Betty, and they will still be here long after I have moved on,” Tess said, amused. “This is no worse than the room at Pickering, is it? Better, since here your snoring is next door, instead of sharing my bed.”

And so it came about that, ten minutes before dinner was due to be served, Tess’s quarry finally came into view.

Ulric Frith was twenty-two years old, and had he not had his unfortunate accident as an infant, would have had every marriageable female in the northern counties at his door, for he was as handsome as a Greek god, tall, fair and perfectly featured. Even so, there were plenty willing to set their cap at him, to be mistress of his pretty little estate. A wife would have to compete with his precious horses for his attention, of course, and there was no sign whatsoever that he took the least interest in females.

“Evening, cousin,” he said in his curiously flat voice with a nod to Tess, when her presence was pointed out to him.

“Good evening, Ulric. You are looking well. Life agrees with you, I can see.”

He blinked at her. Polite chit-chat was not his strongest suit. “Did you ride over?” he said. “Got a good mount, have you?”

“No, I came in Lady Tarvin’s carriage.”

“The blacks?”

Tess correctly interpreted this as an enquiry about the horses. “No, they were a brown colour with black tails.”

“The bays.” He pulled a face. “No good. Should have taken the blacks. Sweet steppers, the blacks.”

“I shall remember that next time, cousin,” she said calmly. They were not cousins, of course, being only distantly related by marriage, but Ulric could never remember names.

They went in to dinner just then, and Tess contrived to sit beside Ulric, plying him with questions about his work at the inn and the smithy, and his stable at Myercroft, questions to which he replied with enthusiasm. He was easy to engage, so long as one were prepared to talk endlessly about horses.

After dinner, at which Ulric was the only male present, he promptly disappeared, presumably to the stables, while Tess, Mrs Harfield, the two spinsters and the three eldest girls, who were deemed old enough to join the adults, played a noisy game of Speculation. Tess had played the game often, but never with such a cavalier disregard for the rules, or even fairness. Mrs Harfield liked to win and so at every point where she might be at a disadvantage, a new rule was invented or an existing one set aside. They only played for coppers, but nevertheless her winnings mounted.

After an hour or so, Ulric returned and the game was switched to vingt-et-un. Even Ulric, it seemed, could count to twenty-one. The game was too dependent on chance and the rules too simple for Mrs Harfield to manipulate them in her favour, but since Ulric never knew when to stop adding cards to his hand, he almost invariably went bust so all the other players did very well out of the game. The Miss Friths looked especially pleased.

Over the tea cups and cakes later, Tess again contrived to sit beside Ulric. Since she would make no progress with him by sitting around the drawing room, she made a bold move.

“Have you anything in the stables here or at Myercroft suitable for me to ride, cousin? If I am to stay here for a while to help your mama, I should like to take some exercise every day, and riding is such a pleasure in the summer, is it not?”

That was a mistake. Ulric could only handle one question at a time, so he answered the second one. “Riding’s good any season.”

“True, although it can be somewhat bracing in the coldest months.”

“Not if you ride fast and hard,” Ulric said, stuffing a small cake into his mouth whole.

“Perhaps,” she said doubtfully. “So do you have anything suitable for a lady?”

“Brandysnap,” he said. “She takes a side-saddle.”

“Is Brandysnap a gentle beast… or spirited?”

He pondered that while he chewed. “Lady’s horse,” he said eventually, as if that was all the answer the question needed. “Takes a side-saddle.”

“Is she here or at Myercroft?”

“Myercroft. Nothing here but a hack for the gig.”

“May I come to Myercroft tomorrow to see Brandysnap?”

He had just reached for another cake, but now his attention was turned fully on Tess. “You want to ride her?”

“Yes, please. If she is suitable for me.”

“Lady’s horse. Bound to be suitable. Come at ten. I’ll take you out.”

That was promising! “Thank you, cousin. I shall be there.”

Myercroft was a fine Tudor house in excellent condition. Ulric had been born there, and had his mother not remarried, they would both have lived there still. But along had come Jack Harfield with his handsome face and roguish twinkle in his eye, and swept the widow into matrimony. She had been incensed to discover after the event that she had lost not only her generous jointure, but also any right to live at Myercroft. Ulric had been only six at the time, and his trustees had closed ranks and remained firm. She could take Ulric to live with her at her new marital home, for she was his guardian and they would not separate a child from his mother, but his estate was to be preserved for Ulric’s use only, when he was old enough. Nor had they ever wavered from that position. Myercroft and its two thousand pounds a year were for Ulric’s benefit alone, and she now existed on the very modest jointure from her second marriage, and a small stipend from Myercroft to cover Ulric’s board at Holly Cottage.

Tess set the children their lessons for the day, told them sternly that she would test them on all they had learnt when she returned, and went to don her riding habit, before setting out on the half-mile walk to Myercroft. She was not an enthusiastic rider, far preferring the comfort of a carriage, but if she was to have any success with Ulric, it would be necessary to ride. If, however, Brandysnap turned out to be as highly strung as Ulric’s hunters, then she would just have to hang around the stables as often as possible.

Ulric was not a man to shilly-shally around. When Tess arrived, Brandysnap was already saddled. Within moments, Tess was tossed up as if she weighed nothing and Ulric had mounted his own horse and was leading the way out of the yard. There was no time to assess her mount or grow accustomed to her gait, for almost as soon as they left the stables behind, Ulric set off at a smart canter.

Fortunately, Brandysnap was exactly as Tess had hoped, a steady lady’s mount with no sign of incipient temperament. She was willing, however, and although she could not match the long legs of Ulric’s mount, she gamely followed behind at a steady pace. Although she would have liked a slower start, Tess soon realised she was not about to be terrified by an excessive burst of speed, or tipped unceremoniously into a bush. For an hour, therefore, she followed behind Ulric, who occasionally remembered she was there and waited for her, before she declared herself ready to turn for home.

“Already?” Ulric said. “We’ve barely got going.”

“I am not as used to riding as you, cousin. Perhaps with a little practice I shall be able to go further afield.”

“Good inn just over the next hill,” he said. “Strong ale. Take you there tomorrow.”

The ale was not much of an inducement, but an hour at an inn to rest the horses would be a good opportunity to talk to Ulric. She was not sure that talking to him was going to advance her cause very much, but if she could persuade him to call her Tess instead of cousin, she would be satisfied with that. So they turned back towards Myercroft, made an arrangement for the following day and she trudged wearily back to Holly Cottage, her legs aching.

When they reached it the next day, the inn was obviously often frequented by Ulric, for he was greeted as an old friend, a large tankard of ale and an enormous meat pie brought to him at once.

“Well, now, yer’ve got yerself a lady friend, Mr Frith,” the innkeeper said with a knowing smile at Tess.

“Cousin,” Ulric said.

“I am Miss Nicholson,” Tess said. “From Corland Castle. Lady Tarvin’s sister, Lady Rennington, is my aunt.”

The man’s eyes widened. “Nicholson? Not… not that Nicholson? That poor man what was done in wi’ an axe?”

“He was my father,” she said calmly, unsurprised to find that such a juicy piece of news had penetrated even to County Durham. It must be all over the country by now, and even the lowest classes would have heard about it.

“Well!” he said, and then, “Well!” again, clearly unsure quite what to say. What could one say to the daughter of a murdered man? “Will you take a glass of something, milady? Something to eat?”

“A glass of wine. Nothing to eat, thank you.”

“Aye. At once.”

He came back quickly with the wine, followed by a little round dumpling of a woman, probably his wife, bearing a plate of sweet cakes with a spicy aroma.

“You poor dear,” she said, patting Tess’s hand. “Try one o’ my teacakes, still hot, they are.”

Dutifully, Tess sipped the wine and nibbled a teacake, as Ulric downed two tankards of ale and chomped his way through the pie. There were several other men in the inn’s common room, mostly farmers refreshing themselves between bouts of… whatever farmers did. Tess was vague on the details. The farmers, too, greeted Ulric as an old friend, said how pleased they were to see him again and wished him good fortune with the birds when the shooting season should begin.

The shooting season! Tess froze for a moment. Only another week, and Ulric would be off with his guns and she would not see him. No time to be lost, then.

But as the farmers headed for the door, their ale finished, one or two looked at Tess and winked at Ulric.

“Yer a dark ’orse, Mr Frith, and no mistake,” one said.

“Be an announcement soon, will there?” said another, with an even broader wink.

“Pretty lady,” said a third, bolder than the rest.

Ulric was not clever enough to understand the other allusions, but he knew when Tess was referred to.

“Cousin,” he said, in his flat voice.

“Ah, keepin’ it in’t family,” one said, and they left in a noisy gaggle, laughing at what passed for wit amongst them.

It was too good an opportunity to miss.

“Have you ever thought of getting married, Ulric? A wife to take care of you — would you not like that?”

“Wife?” he said blankly.

“Every man wants to get married, surely,” she said. “You must have thought about it. You could live at Myercroft then, with your horses, instead of at Holly Cottage.”

No need to mention that he could live at Myercroft any time he wanted, with or without a wife. It was his house, after all.

“Like to live at Myercroft,” he said.

She said no more, perfectly satisfied. Another day or two, and she would proceed to the next step.

***

I t was almost a week before Tess had an opportunity to speak to Mrs Harfield alone, for that lady was always dealing with some domestic crisis or other, and Tess was generally trailed by two or three of the children. But eventually, they were both out in the kitchen garden picking beans, and for once unattended by servants or offspring.

Tess lost no time in raising the subject. “Ulric seems very settled now — very easy to manage.”

“Oh, he has never been a difficult boy, not really. Not so long as he has his horses.”

“I wonder if you have taken thought for his marriage?”

“Marriage! Ulric can never marry, that much is certain. If he had any interest in women… but he never has.”

“But he is very eligible, with Myercroft, and such a handsome man. There must be those who—”

“Of course. Plenty of women look at him and wonder, but he has never shown any sign of forming an attachment.”

“As to an attachment, I dare say not, but that need not preclude his marriage, need it?”

Mrs Harfield stopped picking and turned to stare at Tess. “My dear, Ulric is hardly fit husband material for any woman.”

“Not in the usual way, no… not a marriage of equals, certainly. But with the right woman, one who would not fuss over him, but would allow him to go on just as comfortably as he does now… well, with the right wife, he could have the trust wound up and reclaim Myercroft. And the right wife could ensure that he would have his family about him, just as he likes it.”

Mrs Harfield was quick to see the possibilities. “The right wife? You? But you hardly need Myercroft. Your father left you well provided for.”

“Indeed. But you know my situation, ma’am. To claim my inheritance, I must have a husband. For Ulric to reclaim Myercroft and its full income, he needs a wife. It seems to me that we could do each other a good turn.”

“A marriage of convenience?”

“Of course. Once you and Ulric have Myercroft and I have my own money, well… there will be no need for us to spend much time together. Ulric will go on just as before, except that you will all be at Myercroft instead of Holly Cottage, and think how agreeable that will be.”

She could see that Mrs Harfield was indeed thinking of it, her eyes alight with excitement. But then she frowned. “The trustees will forbid it.”

“They have no power to forbid it. Ulric is of age, after all, and I shall be so in just a few months. A short betrothal, then we marry. Or it may even be that there will be no need to marry at all, for the betrothal might be enough to do the trick. Who are Ulric’s trustees, by the way?”

“A couple of the Frith uncles, very elderly gentlemen now. They will be no trouble. But the third is Lord Tarvin, who took on the duty after his uncle died, and he is not an amenable man, not at all. If anyone is to give us trouble, it will be him.”

“Nonsense!” Tess said robustly. “He cannot refuse to wind up the trust once Ulric is married — can he?”

“True, for Ulric was only a babe when his father drew up his will, and we did not know then how he would be when he grew up. Henry thought he would grow out of his… well, his oddness. So the terms of the trust are the usual ones. It may be wound up once he is of age, if Ulric himself requests it, or at any age if he marries. Of course, once we understood his affliction better, we never thought the trust would need to be wound up at all. He will never ask for it himself, so it is all set up in the most advantageous way — an allowance for Ulric’s keep, his horses paid for and Myercroft leased to a very dependable family. And no one ever expected him to marry, but with a wife … yes, that would change everything. But Edward will fight it tooth and nail. He is fiercely protective of Ulric.”

“And so are we,” Tess said cheerfully. “Who should know better than his mother what is best for Ulric? Yes, we can deal with Lord Tarvin, I fancy.”

***

L ord Tarvin breakfasted late, as usual, after an evening spent at a musical soirée and a rout. There were not so many evening engagements now as during the season — in fact, there were very few — but he needed material to send to his mother in his weekly report so that she would be satisfied that he was diligently searching for a wife, and not feel any urge either to descend upon town herself or to summon him back to County Durham. He was not a sporting man, so the opening of the game season held little appeal for him. He had friends — male friends, thankfully, devoid of unmarried sisters or cousins — who could be depended upon to invite him to visit over the autumn, and then the weather would be too bad to travel north. Perhaps in the early spring he might spend a week or two at the Priory, just to ensure that his mother would stay at home for another season. Lord, but it was pleasant to be single and alone in town! A man might do as he pleased, and no one could gainsay him.

Deakin, who acted as both valet and butler in the reduced household prevailing at Grosvenor Street, entered bearing a fresh pot of coffee and a silver salver.

“The morning mail, my lord.”

“Thank you, Deakin.”

There were several invitations on the salver, together with a bill or two, a letter from his banker and another from his mother. He opened the invitations first. No balls, thankfully, but three invitations to dine, one to be a guest at someone’s estate in Surrey — someone with a marriageable daughter, he recalled with a shudder — and a sprinkling of card parties and the like. He would accept everything except Surrey — another shudder — but these quiet evenings were very much to his taste.

At a ball, one was obliged to dance with a succession of hopeful young ladies, and very often take one into supper, too, and very tedious it all was. If only he could just dance once or twice and then head for the card room and male company, but that would only encourage speculation surrounding the chosen ones. Almack’s was positively the worst, for his very presence excited the rapacious mamas beyond all reason. As an unmarried baron with an income of twelve thousand a year, he could not possibly escape their notice. But his mother would never believe he was seriously looking to marry without regular visits to Almack’s. Thank heavens that was all finished until next year.

He glanced without interest at the bills, read the letter from his banker with quiet satisfaction, for his finances were in very good order, and then turned with a sigh to his mother’s letter.

‘My dearest son, You must come at once for the most dreadful thing has happened.”

Edward sighed. “Deakin! Deakin! Ah, there you are. Brandy, if you will. I have a feeling I am going to need it.”

‘Or at least, it has not happened yet, but I feel certain that it will happen soon for that woman is conspiring to make it happen and she has not an iota of sense, or care for the dignity of this family.’

Deakin came in at a trot bearing a decanter and glass on a tray.

“Ah, good man. Pour me a large one, will you?”

‘Mind you, she would never have thought of it if it had not been for that girl , who looks as meek as milk, but is all the time a wicked serpent plotting her nefarious mischief.’

Edward took a large gulp of brandy, and then a second one. Letters from his mother fell into one of two categories. Either they were filled with trivia, such as the uninteresting doings of the neighbours or wild speculation on the young ladies mentioned in his own letters, which could be safely ignored, or burnt if he were feeling in a particularly rebellious mood. Or else there was some dreadful doom about to fall on their heads which only Edward’s presence could resolve. These required brandy, and a degree of ingenuity to find a suitable excuse for not rushing north to the rescue.

‘I speak, of course, of Tess Nicholson, who seemed to be so friendly and helpful to that woman and worked a positive miracle with the children — Joan said that even Tostig minds her, as I wrote in my last. But instead she was scheming and plotting, as cool as you please, and you will not guess what she plans to do!’

Edward sighed. No, he could not guess, nor was he very interested. He vaguely recalled that she had turned up at the Priory a week or two ago, and had then decamped to Holly Cottage to be useful to Aunt Joan, none of which sounded very threatening. No doubt she planned to reorganise the still room, or throw out the worn linen, or some such tragedy. Or perhaps she proposed to beat some sense into the obnoxious Tostig, which was what he needed. Edward’s heir, as his mother never ceased to remind him.

‘She set out right from the start to wheedle her way into Ulric’s good graces by riding with him every day, but now — you will never believe it — indeed, I can scarce say the words —”

“Oh, do try,” Edward muttered, reaching for the brandy glass again.

‘She plans to marry him!’

“What!”

A little brandy slopped over the side of the glass as he slammed it down on the table.

“Deakin! Deakin! Have the carriage brought round in… one hour, shall we say. And go and pack. We are going north.”

“Very good, my lord. How long a stay, my lord? Shall you require evening dress?”

“Yes, everything. I shall stay as long as it takes, Deakin. As long as it takes to detach a leech. She will not get away with this, I swear it! I shall put an immediate stop to it.”

“Yes, my lord,” Deakin said, without knowing a thing about it.

“What are you waiting for?” Edward yelled. “Carriage, pack, at once!”

“Yes, my lord.” Deakin bowed himself imperturbably out of the room.