Chapter Ten
B aron Barton was of little use. First, he declared that any female who went around in men’s clothing was asking for “it”. Maman put on all the considerable hauteur of which she was capable and commented to the room at large, “I thought England a land of laws, but I see that this poor excuse for a gentleman has no interest in justice.”
The magistrate sputtered.
Pol’s contribution was diplomatic. “These two men assaulted Miss Haricot. That is illegal in England, and Lord Barton is the King’s man. He will, of course, uphold the law.”
“There are witnesses?” Lord Barton demanded.
“Miss Haricot, myself, and Madame de Haricot,” Mr. Allegro said.
Lord Barton glared at Maman. “I thought you were Madame La Blanc.”
Maman answered with her court curtsey. Not the full curtsey for monarchs, but the curtsey for another peer of her own rank. Lord Barton was only a baron, but Maman was clearly playing for effect. “Madame La Blanc is the name I use for my business as a modiste. I am Madame La Comtesse de Haricot du Charmont .”
It did not have the expected effect. “An émigré ,” Lord Barton grumbled, and then turned to Pol and pointedly ignored Maman and Jackie.
“I shall lock up the Whitely brothers and refer them to the Assizes, but I don’t believe their claims about Lord Riese. It’s clear what they intended for the seamstress, whatever her name is. No need to involve the viscount.”
“The viscount has made threats and demands regarding Miss de Haricot to her and to the lady her mother,” Pol said. “He has also spoken to me of his intention to take her, by force if necessary.”
“Heresay,” the magistrate insisted. “And even if he did want the girl as his mistress, that’s not against the law. I daresay we’d all be in jail if a man couldn’t even look.” He chortled at his own wit. “He was not present, and it is only heresay and supposition that he was involved. I can’t accuse a man of a crime on the say so of a foreign dressmaker, her brat, and the viscount’s bastard cousin.” He banged his fist on his desk. “Case closed. You three can go.”
He shouted for his constables to take the Whitelys and lock them up until they could be sent to the nearest prison.
Maman was near spitting with rage, but she took Pol’s elbow when he offered it to her and allowed herself to be escorted from the baron’s house.
*
Pol saw the ladies back to their cottage. “We should leave as soon as possible,” he said. “I will arrange a cart for your things, and a post chaise to travel in. How long will it take you to pack?”
Oscar was going to hear that his henchmen had been arrested, and he was not going to be happy. Indeed, Lady Riese would probably hear first, and from Lord Barton. Pol had no idea what they might do then, but he did not want Madame and Jackie to be here once they decided their revenge.
“What about your grandmother?” Madame Haricot asked.
He had been thinking about that. “I’ll have to come back for her after the Rieses have left for London. I won’t be able to get her out of the dower house without the servants noticing, but they won’t stop me. Not before they can get a message to the viscountess.”
Madame gave a decisive nod. “We will not go far, then. Perhaps to Alstonebridge?” Alstonebridge was the next town to the east after Civerton.
“That will work,” Pol agreed.
The ladies went inside to pack. Pol continued along the road between the village and Civerton. He’d already asked in the village and been told there was not a chaise available, nor any cart, either. But in the town, where the influence of the Rieses was less pervasive, he hoped to find what he needed.
Still too pervasive, though. Or perhaps he was reading too much into the refusal he got at both inns that catered to travelers. Perhaps there really were no chaises or any other carriages to hire. Perhaps neither place could spare a cart and a horse to draw it.
An hour and a half’s ride took him to Alstonebridge. That town was on the main highway north and it boasted six inns. He had no trouble finding the transport he needed. He paid in advance and arranged for the carter and the post rider to meet him at Madame’s cottage at nine the following morning.
Since this would be their destination tomorrow, he took the opportunity to ask about accommodation. “I’ll need a place for four people to stay for a month. Myself and three ladies, one of whom is frail and elderly,” he told the innkeeper from whom he had rented the vehicles. “Can you recommend a quieter inn? Or a boarding house, perhaps?”
“Would a cottage be suitable, sir?” The innkeeper asked. “The thing is, I have one. It’s a wee step out of town, mind, in Little Tidbury. Fifteen minutes ride, sir, or an hour’s walk.”
“That would not be a problem,” Pol assured him. “How do you come to have a spare cottage?”
“Well, sir, this is how it is. My uncle owns the inn, but he’s getting older. He wanted me to come and work for him. Well, sir, I was keen to give it a try, but I’ve been independent for too long just to move in under his roof, so I took a lease on the cottage for twelve months, to give us time to see how we worked together. Only, my uncle has had an apoplexy and needs his family. We have moved in, my wife and children and I, so the cottage is sitting empty. It would be a weight off my mind to have it lived in.”
It sounded too good to be true. “May I go and take a look at it?” Pol asked.
Less than two hours later, he had paid the month’s rent and was on his way home. They had transport, and they had a place to stay. And the Whitelys, at least, had been dealt with. It had been a productive day.
*
His feelings of satisfaction lasted until he arrived at the steward’s house, to find his belongings on the doorstep. Ah. The Rieses had heard about his involvement in the complaint to the magistrate, had they?
The steward must have been watching from the parlor, for he came to the door.
“I’m sorry, lad, but I have been told that I cannot let you in,” he said. “I heard you had the Whitely boys arrested. What possessed you to accuse Lord Riese?”
“Only two of the Whitelys,” Pol corrected. “Riese paid them to kidnap Miss Haricot.”
The steward shook his head. “I don’t doubt it, Pol. But you must have known that Lord Barton would never hold Riese to account unless you caught him in the act of committing a crime.”
“And even then, he’d find a reason to blame the victim,” grumbled Pol, still annoyed at how the magistrate had spoken about Jackie.
His old friend looked deeply distressed. “I have been instructed to tell you to take your things and leave the estate. You are dismissed and you are no longer welcome here. I’m sorry, lad.”
“I wonder what Lady Riese will say about that.” With Amanda off to London, he supposed he had outlived his usefulness as a music tutor, and she could easily find other people to fill the positions of secretary and under-steward. But she would have no one to send after Oscar when he was in his cups, and that would surely annoy her.
“It was Lady Riese who gave me my instructions,” the steward said. “Perhaps, if you apologized…”
Pol shook his head. “It is time and past time for me to leave, sir, and find a place of my own in this world. I cannot be sorry this has happened.” Though he would have preferred to wait until after the Rieses had gone to London. Still, he could come back for his Gran, and he would.
The steward sighed. “You are right, my dear boy.” He handed Pol a neatly folded envelope with his name on it. “Your salary for the quarter. Also, a reference. From me, I’m sorry to say. Lady Riese said you would get none from her or from her son. Where will you go? No. Best not tell me. If I do not know, I will not have to lie. But perhaps you could send me a letter from time to time? Just to let me know how you are getting on?”
Pol had to swallow a lump in his throat. He had thought he would feel nothing but relief when he left, but in truth, he would miss the steward. Yes, and others on the estate who had been good to him when he was growing up. But especially this man, who had been a teacher and then had become a friend and a colleague. “I will,” he promised. “I can never repay you for all you have done for me, sir.”
To his surprise, the steward blushed. “I have not done enough, Apollo. But if you feel you owe me something, live a good life. That will be reward enough. Live a good life.”
Pol nodded. He could not speak for fear he would weep, and that would embarrass them both. He felt the urge to hug his old friend, but he suppressed it. Perhaps it was the Italian in him—he had grown up with people who hugged and touched and walked arm in arm. But here in England, men were more reserved.
Besides, if Oscar had people watching—and Pol would be prepared to wager that he did—the steward might suffer for such a display.
“I shall write, sir,” he repeated. “I shall let you know how I am, and where you can write back. Please say goodbye to the others for me.” The steward would know he meant those who had stood his friends during his lonely youth—the butler, the housekeeper, the stable master, and others.
He tucked his small trunk under his arm, shouldered his bag, then walked away from the cottage that had been his home for the past six years and the estate where he had lived for sixteen.
That part of his life was over, and his future—full of possibilities—lay before him. He couldn’t help but hope that Jackie would be part of it.