Chapter 21
Returning to Elsworth Manor outside the context of a ball was a curious experience for Lucy.
The event had formed a vivid impression on her and it felt strange to be seeing the manor in a different light.
The decor and architecture was as fine as it had ever been, though notably less illuminated.
With only the Elliots and Captain Dashwood in attendance, the place seemed much emptier.
It appeared that their host had retained his small staff numbers, which she found both perplexing and reasonable.
Perplexing because, as befitted the status of the manor, a greater number of staff should be employed now it was an official residence; reasonable because, as a single gentleman of simple tastes, there was only so much attendance required.
‘Do you plan to stay long in the district, Captain?’ Alice Elliot asked as they sat at the dinner table awaiting the arrival of the main course.
‘It is not entirely of my choosing. To be sure it is a charming spot, but my father is the owner of several properties, some of which have received little use in recent years due to his poor health. While I am here for the season, I cannot say whether my services shall be required in other places.’
Or, Lucy thought, whether a season will be sufficient time for whatever trouble you are hiding from to settle down.
‘Has that played a role in your decision not to employ a staff?’ Margaret asked.
‘To some degree, yes. Plus I am accustomed more to an army life on the move where attendance is far less than it is in society. The Marbrooks do well enough to cook and clean, and it is not so demanding a property that a groundsman cannot manage it, with occasional help from local farmers. I have my footman, Jim, who served me well abroad. That is a sufficient number to meet my needs at this time.’
‘But you do plan to put down roots some day, I hope?’ Mrs Elliot asked.
‘I am certain the inclination will one day come upon me. Not too late, I hope. My father married late and I have seen one too many retired colonels reliving the stories of their glory days but too old to make any new ones. I should admit that if I were to retire my commission, this would be a fine place. A comfortable abode, amiable society and smooth roads.’
‘Though not always safe ones,’ Mr Elliot noted.
‘Do you refer to the missing driver and brandy?’
‘Of course. What else could I mean?’
Captain Dashwood smiled. ‘What indeed?’
Lucy shivered as his eyes met hers and the secret knowledge silently passed between them.
‘I should not be too concerned,’ the captain continued. ‘Sir Walter St Martin is making a large amount of noise over a minor incident. Though I am given to understand he is particularly sensitive on the matter of preserves.’
‘He is.’ Mrs Elliot chuckled. ‘I myself am especially fond of the pastime but not so much as to match his vigour.’
‘Surely it is not so much the object, but the novelty of the disappearance that marks the incident,’ Lucy chimed in.
‘There are elements of curiosity.’ Dashwood nodded. ‘What conclusion have you come to, Miss Elliot?’
‘No conclusion as yet. But I lean towards theft by an unknown party.’
‘Such speculation would bode ill for the driver.’
‘I do not wish for the outcome. I merely conjecture it.’
‘And what other conjecture accompanies it?’
‘A cart travelling at pace would not offer a great chance to be set upon by opportunists. Therefore the robbers were familiar with the route, and waiting,’ she offered.
‘A reasonable estimation,’ said Dashwood. ‘And yet the manner of such an ambush would be difficult. The road was examined for signs of incident, but no obvious roadblock or similar was found.’
‘Which would suggest the cart was taken in motion? Quite improbable.’
‘But not impossible if one was sufficiently skilled and determined.’
‘It seems a lot of effort,’ Margaret interjected, ‘for a case of brandy.’
‘They may not have known it was brandy,’ Mr Elliot suggested.
‘But by your daughter’s logic, they did know the route,’ said Captain Dashwood. ‘It would be curious to know the details of such a delivery but not the cargo itself.’
‘Curious,’ Lucy agreed, ‘but not impossible.’
Dashwood chuckled. ‘Quite right.’
Further exploration of the topic was delayed by the arrival of the main course. The meal consisted of roast pheasant, simply but well prepared in such a manner that Mrs Elliot insisted on prising the recipe from Mrs Marbrook, which also provided a fine chance for them to catch up on the past years.
Once the party had retired to the sitting room, Margaret was persuaded to play upon the pianoforte.
Despite her determination to achieve a level of competence at the instrument, Lucy had never found great success.
She certainly had the focus and precision for such a task, and she had an ear for enjoying music; her limitation lay in her insistence on perfecting her skill at one song before attempting another.
After a decade of practice, it was possible that few amateur musicians in the Isles could match her skill with Ignaz Pleyel’s ‘Sonatina in E-flat Major’.
However, most in the district would be quite content if they never heard Lucy play the song again.
Margaret lacked her sister’s proficiency, but had a considerably greater repertoire.
Like Lucy, she worked hard at the skill, less out of a desire for mastery and more from awareness that any ability to offset her limitations as a prospective marriage partner should be explored.
As she tested the keys of the instrument, she found it had a pleasant tone and was now eagerly engaged in one of her favourite Dibdin pieces.
‘As you would expect, it was quite out of tune due to disuse,’ Dashwood explained. ‘But I felt it prudent to have it restored for the benefit of entertaining.’
‘It is indeed of excellent craftsmanship, far exceeding the simple instrument we have at Atherton.’ Alice Elliot smiled. ‘Do you play, Captain?’
‘It has been a good many years since I touched the keys. I am more capable on the violin.’
‘And would you be amenable to a demonstration, perhaps?’
‘Alas, I must decline at this time. I am out of practice and should not make for a comparable companion. Yet I promise to commit to some study that we may share at a later date.’
‘It is, I suppose,’ Lucy mused, ‘a decidedly more portable instrument than a pianoforte.’
‘Indeed. And I find it slightly more adaptable to the varying tastes that may be found among differing classes.’
‘Differing classes?’ Mr Elliot asked curiously.
‘A violin may serve to entertain an audience at an assembly, or it may bolster the spirits of troops after a long march. One must be flexible to the circumstances in which one finds oneself.’
‘A fair assessment,’ Mr Elliot agreed, though Lucy wondered if there was a hint of suspicion in her father’s voice.
‘I hope you will not hold such an admission against me, Mr Elliot. The practicalities of active service place one in circumstances that defy explanation in polite society. I make it a habit to neither dwell on nor conceal this truth. Some soldiers I have known delight in the sharing of macabre battle stories and I am most certainly not of that fold. But nor shall I deny my history for the pretence of elevating my station.’
‘You are not a man given to concealment, Captain?’ Lucy asked blithely.
‘No more than yourself, Miss Elliot.’ He met her challenge with one of his own and she was inclined to hint at their secret acquaintance no further.
‘I think there is an admirable nature in earnestness,’ Margaret noted as she came to the end of her piece. ‘To be true to oneself is a standard one should always aspire to.’
‘And yet,’ Dashwood continued, ‘to be true to oneself, one must know oneself – a task perhaps more formidable than honesty.’
‘I believe I am in fair estimation of my character,’ Mrs Elliot proposed.
‘I do not doubt it, madam. But one can only measure against what one has experienced. I have seen bold officers crumple at the first cannon fire and timid soldiers risk life and limb to rescue their comrades. There are a great many tests we may face in life and we cannot say how we will fare until they occur.’
‘If that is true,’ Lucy pointed out, ‘then you render your claim dubious.’
‘How so?’
‘If self-knowledge only comes through trials, and the nature of those trials is indefinite, then to truly know oneself becomes an impossibility.’
‘Perhaps it is more an ideal than an attainable goal, Miss Elliot. Unless you believe otherwise?’
‘I do. While there can be no certainty, there can be relative confidence. I need not know the nature of every type of wood to know it will burn in a fire in almost all given circumstances. Nor do I need to know the particulars of every moral challenge to have insight into how I might react to it.’
‘And if time does not allow such insight?’
‘Then one should endeavour to think faster.’
At that Dashwood laughed, which for a moment Lucy feared dismissive, but from the reaction of her sister, she realised it was in admiration.
‘I must credit you, Mr and Mrs Elliot, for raising two daughters with not merely sharp wits but the willingness to use them.’
‘We are indeed blessed.’ Alice Elliot nodded politely, with just the faintest hint of a sigh.
‘I should also commend your playing, Miss Margaret. There is a fine elegance to your music.’
‘Thank you, sir. And now I must rest my fingers. It is a shame that we are one too many in number to play at cards.’
‘Unless Mrs Elliot could be persuaded to play the piano while the rest of us play cards?’ Dashwood mused.
Lucy caught sight of her mother’s eyes as they lit up.
Her mother’s talent exceeded them both, but with two eligible daughters there was seldom an opportunity to share it.
Lucy had noticed more than once in the past half hour that her mother’s eyes had strayed over the fine instrument.
Clearly these glances had also not been missed by the watchful gaze of Captain Dashwood.
Even in small company, he had the eyes of a hawk.