First thing in the morning, he wrote to Mr. Rugby. He would need Jerry to drive his curricle home, and, mindful of the long time rivalry between his two faithful servitors, he decided Southwell should accompany him. He would hire a chaise; it would never do to have his groom and valet arrive in his own travelling carriage with his coat of arms emblazoned on the doors in heraldic splendour. Two manservants would not give away his secret, and no mention need be made of a steward, two butlers, five or six footmen, a chef and various scullery boys, countless undergrooms and gardeners, a pair of housekeepers, and innumerable maids.
Henley was less than two-score miles from London, and Mr. Fairfax thought he should be able to leave by Saturday, though today was Thursday. Rob was dispatched with the letter before breakfast, so Barney would receive it the same day. His thoughts were already somewhat detached from his surroundings as he wondered which of his friends he might find in town, what had been going on in Hampshire during his absence, whether he would find himself fit enough to hunt after his long convalescence.
At breakfast he announced his imminent departure. There was a shocked silence, then bedlam. “You can’t sir; I haven’t rowed you on the river yet,” protested Rob.
“Must you go already?” asked Jamie wistfully. “I know you have been away from home a long time, but—”
‘Shall you drive the curricle?” interrupted Geoffrey. “I’ll see Fancy and Checkmate are well fed up and the carriage swept out.”
“I shall make some gingerbread for you to eat on the journey,” decided Susan.
“The house will seem horridly empty when you are gone,” murmured Alice, her eyes filled with tears.
Hester sat silent, her mind a blank.
The talk turned to the Godrics’ coming visit to the metropolis, and only Hester noticed that Mr. Fairfax made no promises to renew his acquaintance.
That afternoon, Jamie had his last Greek lesson. Afterwards, Mr. Fairfax gave him the address of Rugby, Rugby, Jones, and Rugby, and asked him to inform Mr. Barnabas Rugby when the family arrived in London.
“James,” he continued, “I hope you will understand how impossible I find it to express my gratitude for your hospitality these three months. I can find adequate words neither in English nor in Greek.”
“‘It is nothing,” disclaimed Jamie hurriedly, blushing. “Why, you know that Hester would have taken you in if you had been a dog with a thorn in its paw. I beg your pardon—that is not very flattering—but you know what I mean.’’
“I do indeed. She is the epitome of compassion. Take good care of her.”
“I shall try, sir. If only . . . no, it’s no use wishing. I’ll do my best.”
“Of that I am sure. Now I must go and make my adieux to Mr. Stevens. If I leave it to the last moment, something is bound to come up to prevent me.”
Mr. Stevens had already heard the news from Susan.
“Well, my lad,” he growled, “so ye’re all set to be off.”
“Yes, sir. I expect to leave on Saturday morning. I have no excuse to linger now that my leg is healed.”
“Ye’ll be glad to get back to your friends, I’ll warrant. ‘Tis hard on a young man to be cooped up wi’ women and childer.”
“I’ve not felt it so. I shall be leaving new friends as well as returning to old acquaintances. I am sorry to leave, but I cannot trespass any longer on your granddaughter’s generosity, and my estates will be in need of my presence. I’ve not been absent so long before.”
“We’ll miss ye, lad, there’s no doubt, but birds of a feather must flock together, as Mistress Ivy would say. Speaking of which, I dessay she’s been telling fearsome tales of drowning all day?’
“How right you are! I never should have dreamed one person could have so many relatives die a watery death.”
“It’s my belief she makes up half on ‘em, the old misery. Howsumdever, I’ve to thank ye for pulling our Hester from the river yesternight, by what I hear.”
“Merely an excuse to discard my crutch,” a slightly flushed Mr. Fairfax assured him. “I expect she would have managed quite well without me.”
“That been’t what I hear, but let that lie. I’ve been wondering if you’ll be seeing the family in London.”
Mr. Fairfax’s flush become more pronounced.
“If I am in town, I expect I shall be unable to avoid meeting Miss Alice in society. I can hardly cut her dead, and you cannot wish me to ignore the presence of the others.”
“Nay, lad. ‘Tis bound to come out one way or t’other. Happen it’ll not matter to Hester after a few months.”
“I’ll not force my company upon them. If they do not wish to see me, so be it. I am in their debt, not they in mine.”
The old man sighed. “Aye. I can see ye both standing on your dignity till the end o’ time. Ah well! A last game o’ draughts, m’lord?”
When Mr. Fairfax returned to the house after a game and a mug of ale, he found that his departure was no longer the sole subject of conversation. Rumours were flying that the Princess Charlotte had been brought to bed of a stillborn son and had died some hours later.
“And the Regent off shooting wi’ them Hertfords, and the good Queen away to Bath to take the waters,” reported Ivy. “All alone she were, the pore dear, wi’ that furriner as they married her to.”
“When was this?” demanded Mr. Fairfax.
“Last night, sir, as me cousin Jack’s wife’s nephew Bill do tell. He were at the White Hart when the stage come in. There were a fella on it as had spoke to a woman what knows one o’ the housemaids at Claremont. A crying shame, I calls it.”
Mr. Fairfax sat down at the kitchen table.
“The heir to the throne dead,” he murmured thoughtfully. “And Prinny’s brothers with not a legitimate child between them.” He sat for a few minutes in a brown study, unaware of the discussion around him.
“Who is the heir now, sir?” enquired Jamie. “The Duke of York.”
“Yes, the arch-Tory with the wife who prefers dogs to people. It is most fortunate that I am able to return to the capital. There will undoubtedly be questions in the . . . well, never mind. Geoffrey, might I have a word with you?”
“Yes, sir, of course. Do you want to come and look over Fancy and Checkmate?”
As they approached the shed for which the chestnuts had exchanged their commodious stables during the past three months, Mr. Fairfax pondered how to broach the delicate subject before him. The horses nuzzled up to him, and Geoff looked at him enquiringly.
“My servants will be bringing me some money,” he began abruptly. After all, he had chosen Geoff because of his straightforward nature. “I shall give you a sum to be conveyed to your brother and sister after my departure. My prolonged stay has certainly been a drain on their resources, but I do not expect them to admit as much, and rather than becoming involved in a dispute on the subject, I shall entrust the money to you.”
“What makes you think
I
will accept it if they would not?” cried Geoff hotly. “Just because—”
“Think a minute, Geoffrey. I do not mean to impugn your honour, nor your generosity, but the expense has not fallen upon your shoulders, and I hope you have enough sense to bend a little and do this for your sister’s sake.”
“Oh, very well, though I daresay they will both be ready to comb my hair with a joint-stool. I cannot promise that they will accept it just because you are not here to take it back.”
“Do your best; that is all I can ask. I do not wish her to think of it as a payment; it is the farewell gesture of a grateful friend. I assure you I can well afford it.”
“You are pretty rich, aren’t you, sir? I mean, anyone who knew horses could see you must have paid a pretty penny for Fancy and Checkmate, and the curricle is bang up to the knocker. I’ve cleaned it up as well as I can.”
Mr. Fairfax managed to turn the conversation into a discussion of the contrasting requirements of riding versus carriage horses. By the time they returned to the house, Geoffrey was quite in charity with him again.
Hester was very silent and wan that evening. Mr. Fairfax was afraid she might be coming down with a chill after her adventures at the river. In spite of his anxiety on her behalf and his reluctance to leave the Godrics, he found himself looking forward to his departure. Three months of inaction and confinement were too much for any man used, as he was, to be busy with the affairs of his own estate and the nation, used to a wide circle of acquaintances and a lively social life.
In the end, his concern over Hester’s lack of spirits made him the more ready to leave. His campaign against his feelings for her had been dealt a crushing setback by the dramatic events of the previous night. He was prepared to admit his cowardice to himself, and to turn tail and run. Another few days in her company might deliver the final blow to his resistance.
He was glad when Jerry and Southwell arrived on the Oxford mail early the next day, several hours sooner than expected. Having no idea how to take his leave of Hester, he spared himself that agony. By one o’clock a carriage had been hired, his minimal luggage was stowed, and a leather bag containing fifty sovereigns had been pressed discreetly into Geoffrey’s hand. Arrangements had been made to have Fancy and Checkmate and the curricle driven to London. A few brief words of earnest gratitude while Southwell tucked a rug around Lord Alton’s legs, and the White Hart’s chaise-and-four bore him off through the town on the way back to his world. He did not look back.
“Jamie, you may move your things back into your room,” said Hester as the carriage disappeared round the corner. “I have the headache; pray do not disturb me.”
Alone in her chamber, she flung herself down on her bed and wept. She loved him, why had she not realised it? All this time she had been telling herself that she pitied him as a friend because of his unrequited love for Alice. It was no pity that made the world look bleak and bare now that he was gone. Pity could not leave that emptiness in her heart, that dread that she might never see him again. How could she have been so blind to her own feelings?
Later that afternoon, when Geoffrey produced the fifty pounds, she was furious. “How dare he do such a thing! I’ve never been so insulted in my life! To make us believe we were friends and then—”
“But Hester,” protested Geoff, “he did it as a friend; that’s what he said. It’s not supposed to be payment . . .”
Jamie was equally taken aback by the martial light in his normally composed sister’s eye. His own dislike of the gesture paled to insignificance.
“I’m sure he meant well,” he said uncertainly. “He obviously expected us to refuse, or he’d not have given it to Geoff. You can’t really consider it an insult, Hester, not when he did it in that way.”
“Oh, can’t I? Mr. Fairfax is a fine gentleman and pays his debts with delicacy, to spare the embarrassment of those who have provided services to him! Well, Mr. Fairfax will get his money back as soon as I arrive in London. I’ll throw it in his supercilious face!”
She seized the bag from Geoffrey and marched into her office. Her brothers heard the clink of coins as she banged it down on her desk. They looked at each other and shrugged helplessly.
Anger turned out to be an excellent antidote for lovesickness. By the time she had prepared dinner, Hester was her usual self. After the meal, she went to see her grandfather and told him about the money.
“He’d not willingly offend you, lass,” said the old man. “Can you not regard it as a gesture of friendship, as ‘twere meant?”
“I don’t want his friendship,” answered Hester crossly, but her first fury had passed.
* * * *
The days and weeks that followed were no less busy for the loss of one of her charges. As time went by, she forgave him, though still keeping the bag of sovereigns separate from her supply of ready cash. As the latter dwindled and Alice’s wardrobe gradually filled with evening gowns and walking dresses, delicate muslins for morning wear, and a grand silk for balls, Hester was tempted. Christmas approached, and she took out the heavy bag and weighed it in her hand, then shut it away in a drawer with a sigh. Six weeks he had been gone, and not a word. The briefest of friendly notes would have melted her resolve. What a Christmas they might have had! But he had forgotten them, having no further need of them, having paid his debt.
Six weeks, and the aching void in her heart was still there—when she allowed herself to recognise its presence. In another six weeks, she and Jamie would go up to London to hire a house for the season. And in the meantime she must hide her megrims and give the children a merry Christmas.
* * * *
Christmas found Lord Alton in town, after the emptiest month and a half of his life. A week in London discussing the death of Princess Charlotte in the House of Lords, a fortnight at Alton Court dealing with estate matters, hunting in Leicestershire with his friends until the frosts of mid-December made the ground too hard. In truth, he had only been out with the hunt twice. His leg hurt in the cold, but a more potent dissuasion was a vision of Hester nursing an injured rabbit. He had never relished the sight of a fox torn to pieces by bloody-mouthed hounds, and now he turned his face from it, sickened.
He drank to pass the time, to kill the pain, to drown the visions. He gambled wildly at cards, which had never interested him, and won endlessly until his friends refused to play with him. The all-male society of the hunting boxes was leavened by a select few members of the muslin company. Lord Alton, whose mistress had deserted him during his long absence, ran off with his host’s opera dancer.
“Dash it, Alton,” protested that gentleman on meeting his rival in White’s a week later, “is nothing sacred?”
“You can have her back with my blessing. A tedious wench; I’ve found another.”
The second was no more satisfactory. He tried a flirtation with a society matron who had had her eye on him for some time. She was an accredited beauty, a lively, witty young woman, and she bored him to desperation. He returned to the bottle, the cards, and the lightskirts of Covent Garden, who made no demands on him that a few sovereigns would not take care of.
Mr. Barnabas Rugby watched with increasing concern as his friend and client seemed to be rushing straight to the devil. The brief account he had heard of Lord Alton’s enforced stay with the Godrics suggested no reason for such a course, yet it was too much of a coincidence that it came hard on the heels of his return to society. Mr. Rugby called in Hanover Square at all hours of the day and found his lordship asleep or not at home. At last, after consulting his wife, he resolved to sit himself down in his friend’s library and refuse to budge until he had seen him.