Chapter Nineteen #2
For now, though, he was glad of a day off from Lady Dudmore’s tortures.
Her neighbor, Lord Hardwick, had relocated half a dozen of his horses to the stables for the gentlemen’s use and Corbyn took full advantage of it.
He’d borrowed a fine black stallion whose handling was superb.
Attila was keen for a gallop and seemed to know the countryside, so Corbyn gave him his head.
The wind on his face felt as if it were washing away the cobwebs of Lady Dudmore’s plans. There was something claustrophobic about being in that house, waiting for the next ridiculous plan to unfold.
The only good thing about it was Lady Beatrix was also trapped in that house. Lady Beatrix, who he would speak to this very night.
He rode through farmer’s fields and flew over a few fences, then came to a narrow country road.
As Attila appeared to know where he was going and seemed eager to get there, Corbyn assumed he would end up at Hardwick’s stables.
Horses generally became more alert when they thought they were getting closer to their oats.
He assumed wrong, though. Rather, they ended in the innyard of The Bleeding Boar and Attila went straight to an apple tree that stood in the corner of the yard and helped himself to a low-hanging apple.
Corbyn sighed, dismounted, and removed the horse’s bit so he could better chew what he’d worked so hard to get. As Attila enjoyed his moment, Corbyn looked about the innyard. It was not busy.
Just then, he saw a man come out the doors and don a drab overcoat. A man he recognized all too well. Lord Chester.
What on earth would Chester be doing at an inn so nearby Lady Dudmore’s house? Corbyn would have assumed he’d be in Town, dealing with the consequences of Annie Wister’s ill-timed visit to Portland Place.
It also occurred to him that Chester was a close associate of Monroe. Is that why he was here? But what could be the purpose of it?
He did not know, but he would keep his eyes open.
Lord Chester had slipped behind the inn rather than get on a horse.
He wore an overcoat that might be taken for a tradesman’s.
He could not point to anything positively wrong, but it felt wrong.
As if it did not add up to anything. It raised the hair on the back of his neck.
It set his instincts standing to attention.
He would see what Farber could find out about it.
Farber would be delighted to do it, as he was growing tired of the various lady’s maids filling the servants’ hall with endless swipes and complaints.
This morning, he informed Corbyn that Lady Beatrix’s maid was sleeping and breakfasting with her and the other maids were on fire over it.
The story was that Lady Beatrix preferred the maid’s company and it made the other maids irritated that it made it look as if their own mistresses did not prefer their company. The queen’s maids were in particular irate about it.
Corbyn had smiled. He suspected the truth was something different.
Lady Beatrix was for the first time at a house party, in a stranger’s house, and she’d begun to read her first gothic novel.
He was not at all surprised she did not wish to be alone to listen to the creaks of an unfamiliar settling house.
He had hopes that his own house would become familiar to her. But first, that stupid regatta must be got through.
He led Attila away from the tree before he went after a second apple and put his bit back in. The horse seemed well-pleased with himself and Corbyn hoped he would remember the way home, as he was not sure that he remembered it himself.
~ ~ ~ ~ ~
Lord Chester had made his way to the wood next to Lady Dudmore’s lake and found Monroe already there, pacing next to the rock they’d been using to exchange notes.
Monroe held out a snuff box. “I’ve done it. Harrelston took out a horse this morning, not an hour ago, and I went into his room and took it. It has his initials on it.”
Lord Chester examined the snuff box. It was a hinged gold box with an inlay of a miniature portrait of a house, which he presumed was Harrelston’s estate. On the bottom it was engraved:
C A H
Incredibly, Monroe had done something right. At this point, it felt almost astounding.
Monroe pointed at it. “Ainsworth, that’s his given name. Corbyn Ainsworth. I don’t know what the H is for.”
“It does not matter what the H is for. It will be easily identified as his. Now all you have to do is wait until the ladies leave for the village and put it in Lady Beatrix’s room. With any luck at all, she will be horrified.”
“It’s about time he got his comeuppance. The fates have been too kind to him these past days. Too kind by half.”
Lord Chester did not bother commenting that the fates could not be blamed for Monroe failing to shoot his arrows.
The fates had hardly assisted in knocking Monroe on his head with his own cue ball.
The damage from that misadventure was readily apparent.
His eye was looking very bad and not conducive to wooing a lady.
Monroe’s hand drifted to his damaged eye and he rubbed it, as if scolding the fates for arranging the injury.
“Billiards was not your finest hour,” Lord Chester said.
“There was something wrong with those cue balls. They did not act naturally. In any case, I shall conquer him at the regatta, which is really the most important event. Lady Beatrix will be positively bowled over by it and forget all about...anything else that might have occurred.”
Aside from Lord Chester, himself, arranging to sink Harrelston’s boat via drilled holes patched up with flour and water, he could not imagine what Monroe planned to do to “conquer” Harrelston. “Are you an experienced sailor?” he asked, hardly daring to hope.
“Not in the usual sense, as in the sense people might think of it, as in the sense of actually doing it,” Monroe said. “But I’ve read about it and, as you know, I have a remarkable memory. Port, starboard, aft, bow, I know them all.”
Monroe seemed thoroughly satisfied with that level of preparation. Lord Chester was tempted to say, “I’ve read about Captain Cook’s travels, but that does not mean I can set off for the Hawaiian islands on the morrow.” But what was the point? He had to work with what he’d got.
“I’ve got my costume for the ball,” Monroe said. “I’m to go as a fox. You see, because of how clever they are.”
“Hopefully, Lady Beatrix will perceive it,” Lord Chester said drily.
Monroe shrugged. “Well if she does not, I could always tell her.”
Lord Chester was relatively confident it would come to that. In the distance, carriages began to come round on the drive. “The ladies will set off shortly. Get that snuff box into Lady Beatrix’s room. At her bedside would be a rather affronting place to put it.”
“Right you are,” Monroe said, setting off to return to the house.
Lord Chester sighed. It was beginning to occur to him that he had to start looking for more intelligent friends.
~ ~ ~ ~ ~
Beatrix and the countess had made the trip to the village and sorted out what they could. Lydia had been left with needle and thread to see what she could do with it. Beatrix was certain they would all look ridiculous. The countess said she thought that was the point.
The highlight of the whole thing had been on the way there. The carriages had passed by Lord Harrelston on a rather magnificent black stallion. She’d been fortunate to be at the window closest to him as he passed by. He tipped his hat and smiled at her.
After he’d passed, it occurred to her that she must look a ninny. The rest of the ladies in the carriage were smiling and nodding.
They’d returned and found her father meandering round the drawing room with some of the other gentlemen, though Lord Harrelston was not among them.
“There’s my girls,” he said.
“What have you done with yourself all day, my darling,” the countess said.
“Mostly I’ve nursed a sore head and waited to encounter Harrelston.”
Beatrix noticed she was holding her breath. Why was her father specifically seeking out Lord Harrelston?
“It’s the darndest thing,” the earl went on. “Somehow, I picked up his snuff box last evening. Noticed it on the nightstand after breakfast. I don’t remember doing it, but there it was. Well, that billiards tournament did drag on, I suppose I indulged in more port more than I ought.”
Beatrix felt her face tinge pink. Her father had made off with Lord Harrelston’s snuff box. What a situation.
“I’ll find him eventually, I suppose. We ought to go up and change.
Bit of a palaver coming our way. First we are to have an early something sent up to our rooms. Is it dinner?
We cannot be sure. Then we are to go out to the lake at precisely seven-sixteen for the regatta.
Then we return to change into our costumes and go to the ball.
Will we have dinner there? Nobody knows. ”
The countess laughed. “Just be glad you are not one of the sailors.”
“You have no idea how glad.”
They made their way out of the drawing room. They reached the great hall just as Lord Harrelston was coming in the front doors. He was still in his riding clothes and looked very windswept and dashing.
“Ah, Harrelston, there you are,” the earl said, “hard man to track down. Now here is a funny thing, I somehow ended up with your snuff box last evening. Can’t say how it happened, port, you know. Found it on my nightstand after breakfast.”
The earl handed the lord his box. There was a flicker of surprise on Lord Harrelston’s expression, but he quickly smiled. “No matter. The night was rather long.”
“There’s a good chap,” the earl said, leading his wife and daughter up the stairs.
Beatrix though he really was a good chap about it.
Another gentleman might have been annoyed at finding his snuff box in somebody else’s pocket.
Miss Sprite said that gentlemen took great pride in their snuff boxes and they were often expensive.
It was widely known that Lord Petersham had a different snuff box for every day of the year.
In any case, she was very glad the box had been returned with so little fuss.
“Good luck at the regatta, Lord Harrelston,” she said rather daringly.
“Thank you, I suspect I will need it,” he said laughing.
They made their way up to their rooms to rest and anticipate what was coming up as their dinner. Or not their dinner. Nobody seemed to know.
~ ~ ~ ~ ~
Corbyn had returned to the room with several things on his mind. Fortunately, Farber was in there, arranging newly pressed neckcloths.
“Covered in dust,” Farber said, looking him over. “I cannot be surprised.”
“The horse I borrowed knew it’s way going out but not coming back.
I seem to have ridden all over the county.
I had to stop for an hour in the middle of it to let the horse drink from a stream and rest in the shade.
A local farmer finally set me on the right course.
But more importantly, Lord Chester is at The Bleeding Boar, an inn not a half mile off. ”
“What the devil—”
“And the earl just handed me back my snuff box. Which he found in his room.”
Farber’s brow wrinkled and his eyes drifted to where the box had been. “How? You never take it anywhere.”
“Exactly,” Corbyn said. He was most taken aback by that very fact.
He did not take snuff in front of ladies.
Plenty of men did, but he thought it unseemly.
He’d witnessed a few too many gentlemen with snuff powder on their coats, or worse—sneezing.
It was messy. Therefore, he kept it for private moments when he was not in the company of the fairer sex.
Farber tapped his chin. “Lord Chester is inexplicably nearby and your snuff box mysteriously left the room and traveled to the earl’s room.”
“It is even worse than that, I believe. Lord Monroe believes the earl’s room is actually Lady Beatrix’s room. When they were initially led up to their rooms, the countess arranged for them to go into the wrong rooms as Monroe was lurking in the hall.”
“Clever lady. Yes, they do call him the lurker below stairs.”
So if he has somehow come in here and taken the snuff box, he thought he was putting it in Lady Beatrix’s room. On her nightstand.”
“To compromise her in some manner?” Farber asked.
“Or make her believe I had been in there and left my box behind.”
“What can they be up to?”
“I do not know, but this is perhaps more complicated than I thought. I imagined this house party would just be a matter of showing myself to be superior to Monroe at these invented sports. I had not considered any underhanded sabotage that might put Lady Beatrix in danger.”
“Sabotage that Lord Chester is helping him with, though why he should do so I cannot fathom.”
“Perhaps you can discover more at The Bleeding Boar. I can manage my own clothes. Just get me a basin of hot water to wash the dust off.”
“Right you are,” Farber said, looking please. “Finally, something important to do. The game is on.”