Autumn Softly Fell (24 page)

‘Miss Dorothea? It’s a liberty, I know, but could you possibly give me a hand with something?’ He was pink-cheeked, rather flustered, as if he
had
been drinking but Dorothea knew all about drink and its effects, and there was no smell of beer on Arnie’s breath. ‘I need to have a look at that Speedmobile, miss, a good proper look.’

‘But why? I don’t—’

‘It’s important, miss, real important. But they’re not letting anyone near.’

It was true. There was still quite a crowd around the shiny red vehicle and its proud owners were there, strutting up and down like peacocks, keeping admirers at bay.

‘Please, miss. Will you come? Will you come now? I don’t have time to explain!’

He didn’t really give her chance to refuse, taking her arm and guiding her towards the winning motor. Dorothea didn’t know what to think. All she could focus on was the fact that she would never hear the last of it from Nora if she let precious Arnie down in any way.

‘Try to cause a diversion, miss! Catch their attention, the lot of them!’

But how? Arnie nudged her forward, his pale eyes needling her. She couldn’t think of anything. Her mind was a blank. But at that moment, out of the corner of her eye, she saw Sir Walter and the earl making their way at last down the steps from the house. Without stopping to think, she began jumping up and down, pointing, shrieking at the top of her voice. ‘Look, look! It’s Sir Walter and his lordship! They’re going to present the prizes! Isn’t it exciting! Isn’t it exciting!’

She felt ridiculous, like a silly little girl having hysterics and making a spectacle of herself. But after the first few terrible moments when everyone turned to stare at her, it wasn’t so bad. Attention shifted to Sir Walter and the earl. People began clapping and cheering, lining the route to the podium. Sir Walter was smiling and waving, stopping to exchange pleasantries with every second person. The Speedmobile’s two owners stood watching, exchanging self-satisfied looks. They obviously couldn’t wait to get their hands on the prize.

‘Now, Arnie, now!’ Dorothea turned, urging him on – but Arnie Carter had vanished!

Even as she stood there looking all round in bewilderment, she heard a scrabbling sound at her feet and Arnie came wiggling out like a ferret from under the Speedmobile. He jumped to his feet, his overalls wet from the grass. His face was grim as he took his cap out of his pocket and jammed it on his head.

‘It’s just as I thought, miss. The Speedmobile didn’t win fair and square at all. They’re cheats, miss: cheats!’

Everything happened in a whirl. Dorothea found herself pushing through the crowd in Arnie’s wake. She could see in the distance –
half-hidden by bobbing heads, the tops of hats – Sir Walter and the old earl ascending the podium. The band had struck up again, people were clapping and cheering. She thought she could hear Arnie, some way off now, shouting. ‘Stop! Wait!’ But she’d lost track of him, was caught in the crush, couldn’t go forwards, couldn’t go backwards.

The music stopped abruptly. There was a buzz in the crowd. Dorothea was pushed this way and that as people surged forward, eager to find out what was happening. The buzz grew louder. Dorothea began to panic. She couldn’t breathe, was trapped, bodies pressing round her, crushing her. Twisting round, she fought
desperately
to escape, to retrace her steps, barely aware of wild rumour chasing wild rumour through the crowd.

All at once a know-it-all voice nearby rose above the hubbub. ‘It’s that winning motor, the Speedster or whatever it’s called. That’s what all the fuss is about.’

Despite her anxiety Dorothea paused, listening. People were turning towards the know-all, flinging eager questions at him. What was happening now? Why the delay? What did it all mean?

‘They’ve tried to swindle us, that’s what’s happened!’ cried the know-all. ‘Their fuel tank has a false bottom! They had a secret supply of fuel!’

So that was it, thought Dorothea as she began to push her way through the crowd again but at a more sedate pace now, her panic subsiding. That was what Arnie Carter had been looking for. Mr Simcox had said that it was nothing short of miraculous the way the Speedmobile had managed to get round the course. Arnie must have guessed or discovered somehow that there was a more sinister explanation to the so-called miracle. Perhaps it had
something
to do with him hobnobbing with the Speedmobile mechanics, going with them to the beer tent. Perhaps they’d let something slip, aroused Arnie’s suspicions. Mr Smith had been annoyed, Nora had been disappointed – but Arnie had been doing the right thing all along!

With a big sigh of relief, Dorothea eased her way out from the back of the crush, gulped in air. The crowd had broken into applause
again, people were cheering. Making her way to the steps of the house, Dorothea climbed up so she could see. On the podium, Sir Walter was making a speech. Snatches of it drifted through the damp air across the heads of the crowd. ‘…a wonderful day … marvellous spectacle … outstanding success … the forefront of
engineering
on display … the right result – in the end … and now, it gives me great pleasure … his grace, the Earl of Denecote!’

There was a little table on the podium with a large trophy and a bottle of champagne. The earl stepped forward, leaning on his stick. And then, mounting the podium, their hats in their hands, bashful smiles on their faces, was Henry, with Mr Smith in tow. Wild applause and cheering. Henry held the trophy above his head. But where was Uncle Albert? This was his triumph as much as anyone’s. Who else would have taken a chance on a stranger met so casually on a train? Who else would have seen the potential? He should be there on the podium at this moment of triumph!

She heard feet skipping down behind her and turned to see Mr Giles making his way down the steps.

‘Mr Giles, Mr Giles, wait! Where is Uncle Albert? Why isn’t he with Henry and Mr Smith?’

Mr Giles paused, looked at her sidelong. Didn’t she know, he lisped, had no one told her? Mr Brannan had been taken ill, he’d had to be carried into the house. The doctor had been summoned.

Dorothea went cold all over. She remembered her sense of
foreboding
from earlier. Seeing the commotion up by the entrance, she’d thought it must be the old earl. Afterwards, when she’d seen Lord Denecote making his way to the podium, she had never guessed, had never dreamed—

Alone on the steps, she looked up at the vast, imposing façade of the house and she trembled.

It was a magnificent room, enormous, wood-panelled and
gilt-edged
, packed with sumptuous furniture. A huge painting dominated one wall: a warlike scene with a label saying
The Battle of Malplaquet.
Uncle Albert was stretched out on a chaise longue, his face grey and drawn. He looked somehow smaller, diminished –
but Dorothea could not decide if that was the effect of his illness, or of the spacious, majestic room.

‘I’m all right, child, I’m perfectly all right. I was just a little short of breath, had a pain in my chest. It’s gone now, I feel much better. It will take more than a dizzy turn to throw me off my stride! Now tell me what has been happening. What have I missed?’

Dorothea couldn’t for a moment speak. Making her way to the house, she had been overcome by dread. She had been thinking of Richard. It had come back to her as if it was yesterday, not six months ago. Was she now to go through it all again?

To find Uncle Albert alive and – he insisted – quite well was such a relief that it took her breath away. Aunt Eloise was standing by the chaise longue, upright, like a guardian angel, watching over Uncle Albert, protecting him.

It seemed to Dorothea as she looked at her aunt through a sudden mist in her eyes that the battle scene in the background was coming to life, horses rearing, sabres flashing, smoke drifting, the cannon booming – or was that her own heart, thudding wildly inside her chest? But nothing would daunt Aunt Eloise, not even the Battle of Malplaquet. She stood stiff and straight, unyielding. Even Death wouldn’t dare, even Death wouldn’t….

Aunt Eloise took a step forward. ‘If you will sit with him for a moment, Dorothea, I will see if the doctor has arrived yet.’

‘All this fuss,’ muttered Uncle Albert but Dorothea blinked away the mist in her eyes and nodded to her aunt vigorously. She felt as if she had just been handed something of immense value – a golden chalice, perhaps; her aunt had entrusted her with a golden chalice.

Aunt Eloise inclined her head as if in blessing, then glanced at Uncle Albert, her eyes showing momentary doubt. ‘All this fuss,’ he muttered again but he held up his hand and Aunt Eloise reached out too, and for a split second their fingers touched. Then Aunt Eloise was gone, sweeping regally from the room. Behind the place where she’d been standing, the scene of battle was now stilled, frozen in time once more.

‘Now then, child.’ Uncle Albert sat up and Dorothea found a foot
stool and plumped herself down and began telling him everything that had been going on outside.

‘Well, well. A secret supply of fuel, eh? Well I never!’ Uncle Albert chuckled. ‘Poor old Smith! He was quite convinced someone had outmatched him – quite down in the dumps about it. And young Carter, he’s a lad with his head screwed on, I’ve always said as much.’ He chuckled again. There was some colour coming into his cheeks now and a sparkle in his eyes.

Thank heavens, thought Dorothea, that it had been
good
news she had brought with her. It seemed to have worked wonders.

The doctor came. Everyone was ushered from the room. Dorothea went outside to get a breath of air and to see what was going on. It was late afternoon now but the fete was still in full swing. A raucous sound of music and many voices was drifting from the marquees and amusements. Next to the podium, the Speedmobile had gone and the BFS Mark II had taken pride of place. An admiring crowd had gathered around it. Henry and Mr Smith were being lionized.

Mr Simcox came hastening up the steps, anxious for news about Uncle Albert. He and Uncle Albert had known one another for years, she remembered. It was only natural that he should be concerned. But it was more than that, almost as if they were friends rather than employer and employee – though Simcox was never less than deferential. Having assured him that Uncle Albert was none the worse for his dizzy turn, Dorothea prompted him to tell her all that had happened while she had been in the house. Well, said Simcox, well. His worried frown lifted a little. It was all good, he reported, better, really, than they could ever have expected. Several new orders had been placed already for BFS motors, including Sir Walter and – incredibly – the earl. Lord Denecote, Simcox said in a respectful tone, had requested two vehicles and had paid in full on the spot. Meanwhile, the man from the
Motor News
was preparing a glowing report for the next number of his magazine. There was even talk of the London papers being interested in the day’s events. The cheating scandal would, of course, be of chief concern but there was every
reason to believe that the BFS Motor Manufacturing Company would get an honourable mention.

Leaving the lugubrious Mr Simcox to reflect on the fortunes of the day, Dorothea returned to the house. In the lavish hallway she hesitated amongst the statues on plinths and the ferns and flowering plants in earthenware pots. Voices were coming from the room where she had left Uncle Albert. One of the voices was her uncle’s, the other was aged, rasping, rigid with pride. Lord Denecote, she realized with a jolt of surprise, Lord Denecote was talking to Uncle Albert.

‘… apologise for any vexation or nuisance he may have caused. He does not stop to consider the
consequences
of his actions, never has….’

He
, thought Dorothea, who was
he
? Was the old earl talking about his son, Viscount Lynford? Did he know that Uncle Albert had chased Lynford away from Clifton two years ago? Was he angry about it? He did not
sound
angry. His tone was as stiff and formal as ever.

‘… only myself to blame, I realize that of course. I spoilt the boy. I spoilt them both: the boy
and
his sister. My own father, you see, was a brutal man, a brutal man. I did not want to fall into the same trap.’ There was a brief silence, then a long rattling sigh. ‘And so I erred the other way. I indulged them. Coddled them. I see that now. But no one has paid a higher price for that mistake than I. This, however, is of no interest to you. I merely wished to convey my regret if his behaviour in any way … and of course, if you find that you are out of pocket due to his … his—’

Uncle Albert interrupted at this point. There was no need to talk of money, he said; his grace wasn’t culpable, in any case. It would be best all round if the whole episode was forgotten. After the earl’s clipped, crabbed, but precise tones, Uncle Albert sounded rather uncouth, rough round the edges, like a bear growling.

‘He has always been profligate, irresponsible,’ the earl resumed after a pause. ‘Gambling, drinking, all manner of other habits and weaknesses. I have done my best to change him but … well, he may be beyond redemption, I fear. But at least now his child is now out
of harm’s way. I have the boy under my own protection. As for my other grandson – well, he is at peace now, but I wanted an
opportunity
of thanking you for all that you did for him – you
and
your wife….’

Richard, thought Dorothea, the old man was referring to Richard.
All that you did for him, you
and
your wife.
She recalled the terrible vision she had seen in the field in January – a mad
delusion
, it seemed to her now, a symptom of her illness. Aunt Eloise was not wicked. Whatever else she was, she was not wicked. For one thing, Uncle Albert would never have married a
wicked
woman. Dorothea had complete faith in her uncle’s judgment. However devoted Aunt Eloise was to Clifton Park, she would never have wished Richard
dead
so that she could get her hands on it.

All that you did
…. And who could have done more? No one could have healed his withered leg, no one could have saved him from the ravages of diphtheria – not even the earl and all his riches.