Yet the other day, he had told me Cleo was nesting. He had said Caesar was with her. “Where is Caesar?” I asked.
“He got bored, and is out for a flight,” Snoad replied. “While you are here, ma’am, there is something I would like to discuss with you. Now that your father is not here, I really need a helper. The birds being trained must be taken some miles from the loft and released on a regular basis, so they will learn to fly home. I shall need someone in the loft while I take the birds away, or someone to take them while I remain here.”
“I’d be happy to do it,” Lord Fairfield said.
“But you will only be here a few days, milord,” Snoad pointed out.
“If you’ll cage the birds, I’ll have the groom take them out,” I told Snoad. “Just tell him where you wish them to be taken.”
“It would be better if you could let me have a footman on a regular basis—one person that I could give some rudimentary training,” Snoad persisted.
I didn’t like to quibble in front of Fairfield, and agreed, sullenly, to let him have the use of the backhouse boy and a jig for a part of each day. I was thoroughly bored, but Fairfield seemed to have an inexhaustible interest in the pigeons. After the better part of an hour, I spotted Bunny in the park and left the loft.
Bunny was just returning from the direction of the blasted pine. I dashed out to meet him. “A note from Depew—er, Martin,” he said excitedly. “He’s coming tonight—eleven o’clock, at the tree.”
“Excellent! I have dozens of things to tell him. Fairfield is a phony, and Snoad is writing up some cryptic messages.”
“Did you get hold of them?”
“I caught a glimpse of one. He is hiding the message in a poem. I tried to memorize it. It was short.” We went to Papa’s study, and I wrote out what I could remember of the few lines.
“Sounds like a love poem,” Bunny said. “Dashed pretty.”
“Don’t be foolish. It is a message to the French. What can it mean? He mentions moonlight, you see. That could refer to the time of an attack, or a troop movement, or some such thing.”
“What do you figure that bit about alone in the cloud means?”
“Fierce and proud sounds like Napoleon.”
“Except he is not alone in a cloud. Almost sounds like God.”
“We’ll let Mr. Martin decipher this,” I said, and hid the copy in my pocket.
It was time to dress for dinner. I looked forward to our first formal meal with Lord Fairfield. “Keep him as long as you can over port, after dinner. I’ll go up and search his rooms.”
“Wish I could go with you.”
“Your role is equally important, Bunny. You are the only other gentleman here, so you must delay Fairfield, to make it safe for me to do the job. We are a team.”
“By Jove, it makes a fellow feel good to be doing something real for a change. I just wish we could tell everyone.”
“We must not breathe a word!”
“Mum’s the word.”
On this solemn speech, we parted. I checked the afternoon post. There were no replies to our advertisement in the Brighton journals, nor did I expect any.
Chapter Ten
The feast that Cook provided was excellent. Other than that, dinner with a baron proved very little different from dinner with the vicar, or any provincial neighbor. The gentlemen pretty well monopolized the conversation, as gentlemen in the country generally do. I daresay society matrons know a few tricks to divert the talk from horses, but neither Mrs. Lovatt nor I possessed this desirable skill.
“A dandy-looking bay mare you brought along, Lord Fairfield,” Bunny said.
“I got her for an old song off Alvanley. He has a hunter I have my eye on as well.”
“I’ll tell you where you can get a good hunter, and it won’t cost you a limb either. Singer, right in Hythe, has one for sale. Bred and trained in Ireland. A dandy jumper. Straight off her hocks, she can leap Soper’s fence. She’s a good hacker, too. She knows which side of the road is up.”
“Perhaps you can introduce me to Singer.”
“Gladly.”
“How’s the riding hereabouts?”
“Heather enjoys riding,” Mrs. Lovatt said, to put me forward.
Fairfield passed along an impatient smile, before turning for Bunny’s answer. That was the way the entire two courses and two removes went. I was impatient to leave the gentlemen to their port, and get upstairs to root about Fairfield’s rooms.
At the proper time, Auntie and I retired to the drawing room. “What a charming man Lord Fairfield is,” Auntie said.
“He is certainly handsome,” I allowed.
“And rich! All those houses he will inherit!”
“And an oubliette,” I added, with a teasing smile. “Come now, Auntie, you must admit he is no conversationalist.”
“Pooh! What has conversation to do with anything? You would be a baroness, and a marchioness one day, lording it over London society. You always wanted a Season.”
To escape without suspicion, I said, “In that case, I had best go upstairs and refurbish my toilette.”
“Such a pity we are in mourning, and cannot show Lord Fairfield a livelier time. Do you think, Heather, a colored shawl would be too disrespectful? Black does not do anything for you.” I was wearing my one decent mourning gown.
“We could say I don’t have a black shawl.”
“You are wearing a black shawl.”
“Yes, but Fairfield would not have noticed.”
“He does seem somewhat immune to ladies,” she admitted.
Yet he had kissed my hand in Brighton, and gazed into my eyes. Where had his chivalry gone? Had he done it to con me into inviting him here? “Perhaps Bunny will get an offer. They hit it off uncommonly well.” On the way upstairs, I asked Thumm if Fairfield’s servants were having their dinner now, for I did not want to run into his valet.
“They are making merry in the kitchen
,
Miss Hume,” he said.
I ran upstairs, and hastened along to the Gold Suite. It was not locked. I closed the door quietly behind me. There was still sufficient light that lamps were not necessary. Fairfield had brought such a superfluity of toilet articles and clothes with him that it made searching difficult. The toilet table was littered with half a dozen unsuccessful cravats, along with a handsome array of brushes, comb, shoehorn, little lady’s hand mirror—what on earth did he need that for?—toilet water, shaving paraphernalia, nail clippers, and suede nail-polishing brush with a horn back.
The clothespress was jammed tight with jackets, trousers, evening slippers, Hessians, top boots, and a pair of hand-knitted bedroom slippers. I quickly searched through the pockets of the clothing, again encountering a bewildering array of items, including a deal of money. Whole jingling bunches of guineas and shillings. This was a strange way of being dipped!
My hopes rose on those frequent occasions when my hand touched paper, but it was only invitations, bills, and one billet-doux from someone called Emerald, who spelled Knightsbridge as “nites bridje” and wrote of her “tru luv.” A lightskirt, I deduced.
I looked under the bed, under the pillow and mattress, and in desperation in the toes of his various boots and slippers. I looked in every drawer and cranny of both chambers, and finally concluded that if Lord Fairfield carried any clues, he carried them on his person. I must try to create an opportunity to get him to take off his clothes. Poor Lord Fairfield would be inundated with wine or tea before the night was over.
I was just racing for the stairs when I remembered that I was to change my shawl. I exchanged my black cashmere for a pretty paisley patterned in rose and blue, and returned below. I need not have hurried. Bunny did his job well. We waited another half hour before the gentlemen joined us. Aunt Lovatt was becoming quite restless. If Fairfield noticed I wore a prettier shawl, he did not say so. As we dined at country hours, there was still a long evening to be filled with some entertainment for our guest.
There was only one entertainment worthy of the name where Mrs. Lovatt is concerned. She likes a “square game,” which means cards for four. She will tolerate piquet for two in a pinch, but her first and last love is whist. She had not had a game since Papa’s death, and was suffering for the lack of it.
“I cannot think a little square game in the privacy of our own home is ineligible, even when we are in mourning,” she said, squinting to see if Fairfield was scandalized.
“A shilling a point?” he suggested. “As ladies are present, I do not suggest playing for real money.” A shilling a point was pretty real to us. We usually played for pennies.
“We play for chicken stakes,” Bunny told him. “Pennies.”
“Ah.” The paltry stakes did not diminish Fairfield’s interest one iota. He didn’t wait to call a servant, but helped Bunny set up the green baize table himself and drew forward the chairs.
Just as we began to take our seats, Bunny threw a spanner into the works. “I must be running along now. Enjoy your game, folks.”
“Running along!” Mrs. Lovatt howled. “But we need you for the fourth, Mr. Smythe.”
“Thing is, the Parish Council is meeting tonight. Shan’t be long,” he said, directing this reassurance to me. “Unless old Ned Firth gets the bit between his teeth and insists on discussing raising the rates again. But I shall be back by eleven.” His tone gave an awful significance to the hour, and again he stared at me. I nodded, in hopes that he would stop these pointed looks.
“Must you go?” Mrs. Lovatt asked. The parish meetings were held in Hythe. Just getting there and back would take long enough. She would have said a deal more if not for our guest, who was smiling dimly at Bunny’s desertion.
“ ‘Fraid I must. Can’t let old Firth ram through a rise in our rates.” This possibility was almost as bad as missing her game.
Lord Fairfield came to the rescue in an unforeseen way. “We could ask Kerwood to make a fourth. He is a famous dab at cards.”
“Kerwood?” she asked with interest. “Is that your valet, milord? We often ask Mrs. Gibbons to make up a fourth, but she is not very sharp, poor soul.”
Fairfield blinked. “I meant Kerwood Snoad,” he said.
“Snoad!” she said, horrified. “No, no. I shall call for Mrs. Gibbons.”
“He often made up a fourth at Branksome Hall, when the duchess was short a player,” Fairfield added blandly. “She spoke highly of his skill.”
I watched as Mrs. Lovatt mentally dealt with this problem. In her opinion, outside of having a title or a Royal Pavilion, the finest adornment a person could have was skill with the cards. The table was out, the chairs arranged. And Snoad had the added respectability of having played with the duchess.
“If you think he would do, then by all means, let us ask Snoad down,” she said.
She summoned Thumm to deliver the request, which sounded very much like an order, and we waited. After ten minutes, I was beginning to wonder if Snoad meant to decline our offer. It would not have surprised me a bit, until I remembered his love of titles. He had fawned disgustingly over Fairfield. He would come; he was just making himself decent. I felt an arrow of pity for the man. He certainly would not possess evening clothes. We ought to have told him his good jacket would do.
“What is keeping him?” Mrs. Lovatt demanded, shuffling the cards. In her eagerness for the game, she was like a deb waiting for her first date.
“Here he is now,” Fairfield said.
I looked to the door, and felt a wave of relief. He looked all right, insofar as his habiliments went. He was not wearing evening clothes, but a good blue jacket and pantaloons that I had not seen before. His jacket fit him superbly. His raven hair was brushed to a gloss, and his cravat carefully arranged. I noticed that while he might have begged Papa’s boots, he possessed a pair of well-polished Hessians. Actually, they were larger than Papa’s boots. I wondered what master had given him this pair of too large castoffs. It seemed a pity that such a well-set-up man should have to wear hand-me-downs, but Snoad’s impassive face showed nothing of his feelings.
“You look very nice, Snoad,” my aunt exclaimed in surprise,
Snoad bowed punctiliously. “It is very kind of you to have me down, Mrs. Lovatt. Shall we begin?” He glanced at me as he took his seat. I detected a little smile at the corner of his lips. And worse, a little gold pigeon fob hanging at the end of his watch chain. If Auntie should spy it, she would probably accuse Snoad of theft, and I would have to admit having given it to him.
I knew, although she had not said so, that my aunt’s idea was to partner Snoad herself, and let me have the honor of partnering Fairfield. The vacant chair was across from me, however, and it was there that Snoad sat. She had waited long enough. Without further ado, she began to deal. The last card turned up diamonds. “Diamonds are trump,” she said, and picked up her hand.
“An excellent hand!” Fairfield exclaimed, rummaging through his cards. “Three trump cards!” The angle at which he held them made it perfectly possible for everyone at the table to see what he held.
Any revealing of a single card was anathema to my aunt. Cards were not so much a game to her as a war. “Best hold up your cards, Lord Fairfield. We do not want to give the competition any advantage,” she said sharply.
He obediently tightened his grip on the cardboards. The game began. “I was just telling the ladies, Kerwood, that you used to play at Branksome Hall with the duchess.”
“Yes, when her table was short,” he said briefly. There had descended on his face the same tense look that I was accustomed to seeing on Auntie’s during a game. It was obvious that he had no interest in chatter.
“I like a good game of whist,” Fairfield continued. “Mind you, I prefer faro.”
“Faro!” Mrs. Lovatt sneered. “There is no skill in that! It is merely guessing which card will turn up.”
“And betting on it,” Fairfield added. Obviously the wager was the thing with him.
“You have played a spade on my diamond, Lord Fairfield,” Mrs. Lovatt said a little later. “You cannot be out of trumps so soon, since you informed us you have three.”
“By Jove! You’re right.” He redeemed his spade and tossed a king on Auntie’s ace.
She stared at him as if he were mad. If he had three diamonds, he ought not to have played this high one on her ace. She bit her lips, but said nothing. Fairfield did more than enough talking for us all.