Chapter 12 A Bridge Over The River #2
“It is certainly ingenious,” Mr James Hammond said. “More spectacular than any of us had envisaged but very much in keeping with the grandeur of Staineybank.”
“And her grace would like to hold balls here, perhaps,” the duke said. “She loves to dance — or she did before the tragedy.”
“So do the Miss Merringtons,” Simon said, with a sudden smile as he recalled Sophia’s enthusiasm at Marshfields.
Richard had been pacing about the room, his anger visible on his face. “It is ridiculous! Staineybank is big enough already without adding on vast extravagances like this. And knowing Payne and his love of marble, it would cost five or six thousand, I should think.”
“Oh no,” Simon said. “With the correct facings to match the main house and a suitable interior, it could not be done for under ten thousand, I imagine.”
“You imagine? Then you have not even costed it properly?” Richard said, aghast.
“Not yet, no. For a labourer’s cottage, perhaps, the sum would need to be calculated with some precision, but to enhance a ducal seat — what value would you put on that, Mr Merrington?
Does the exact cost matter so very much?
Would you choose to put in a smaller window in the gallery to shave a few guineas from the overall price, knowing that every time the duke walked past that window he would think, ‘For a few pounds more, I could have had a view all the way down the lake, instead of the tops of the trees?’”
“Would it overlook the whole lake?” Mr Hammond said. “That would be quite something — a place for the ladies to take their exercise on a dreary day, yet still be able to enjoy the lake.”
“You like it, then, Hammond?” the duke said.
“I do, your grace. It would make a worthy addition to Staineybank, assuming it could be afforded.”
The others murmured their agreement.
“Well, Richard?” the duke said. “You have seen the accounts. Can I afford to spend ten thousand without undue hardship?”
“It will not stop there, sir. There will be delays, complications, additional expenses…”
“Suppose it costs fifty thousand? Can I afford it?”
“I cannot at all recommend such extravagance, sir.”
“Richard, what is my annual income?”
He hesitated, hands on hips, as his desire for parsimony warred with the need for honesty. Then he sighed. “Twenty thousand or so.”
“And my expenditure?”
“Currently twelve thousand or so with the London house closed up, but with the duchess’s new establishment—”
“That will come from her settlement, so does not affect my own estates. So, the surplus every year is in the region of eight thousand or so, correct? Which means that in under two years, this scheme of Payne’s could be paid for with no diminution to my income, correct?
So I can easily afford it, would you not agree? Richard?”
Pyott, the comptroller, coughed deprecatingly. “If I may remind your grace, the surplus income has been accumulating for some years now, so you already have the required sum available immediately. Even if it should amount to fifty thousand.”
The duke laughed. “So let us have no more talk of whether it can be afforded, eh, Richard? I am sure your habit of watching the pennies was useful to you in your previous life, but you must get used to a different way of managing now. This orangery is a compliment to your lovely wife, who is a future duchess, and nothing is too good for her, and no expense will be spared to provide her with a home worthy of her. I said this orangery would be a competition between you and Payne, but so far you have not shown me anything worthy of a duke. Now that we have established that the cost is not a consideration, why do you not make another attempt? If you dislike Payne’s orangery and gallery, then design something you like better, and I will choose the one I prefer.
Now off you go. Take some of these sketches to show your wife.
Hammond, we have some letters to attend to, I think. ”
Richard disappeared, with only one fulminating glance at Simon as he went, and Pyott left, too. Simon gathered up the remaining sketches, but he had not forgotten Juliet’s difficulty.
“Your grace, may I ask you a question on a different matter?”
“Of course, boy. Anything you like. Of course, I might choose not to answer you,” he said genially, making the Hammond father and son chuckle.
“You might not know the answer,” Simon said. “It is about Juliet’s mother.”
“Cecilia,” the duke said, his face softening. “Such a delightful lady. What about her?”
“Juliet was told that she was dead, but—”
“Ah. Was she now? Understandable, I suppose.”
“Perhaps. But since she is not dead, I wondered if perhaps you knew what became of her… after the divorce.”
“Lord, I forget. Hammond, you are working on my diaries. Have you come across it? The Countess of Edlesborough — the divorce was such a scandal it must have been mentioned.”
“What year was it?” James Hammond said.
“Good question. Must have been… oh, sixty-five, sixty-six, round about then.”
“I have not seen any of your grace’s papers from that era. Father, have you done any work on his grace’s notes for that period?”
“Aye, some. I recall the incident at the time, and I believe she went abroad, but I’m not sure any specific place was mentioned.
It was a huge scandal, though. There were some cuttings from the newspapers about the business in Parliament.
There was a baron cited as the gentleman concerned, although your own notes, your grace, seemed to doubt it, but he didn’t contest the case. ”
“He was in love with her, poor fellow, so he wanted her to be free of Edlesborough. Farrance, that was his name, and he swore he never touched her, which might have been true.” The duke chuckled.
“He was always bird-witted. Married, of course, and was too hen-hearted to leave his wife for her, but he allowed Edlesborough to think he was the one who cuckolded him. Edlesborough was a fool, too. He thought I was Cecilia’s lover at one point.
I disabused him of that notion. Called him out…
he lasted ten seconds, as I recall. The easiest duel I ever fought. ”
“Rapiers?” James Hammond said, sounding amused.
“Naturally. The gentleman’s weapon, and needed a bit of skill, not like pistols.
Just point and shoot — where is the skill in that?
But a well-matched sword fight — ah, that was something else altogether.
That was for real men. Difficult to stop, though.
I saw men set out ready to fight until first blood, but once they were well into it, they tended to forget.
Twice I had to get a man out of the country in a hurry when he got carried away and killed his opponent.
Foolishness. Control is everything in a duel. ”
“How many have you fought in?” James Hammond said.
“Only three, but I was second for any number of friends. Well, the same friends over and over, if the truth were known. We were a hot-headed set, to be sure. But to your question, Payne, I never heard what became of Cecilia after the divorce. Never met her again, sadly. Ah, she was a lovely lady, and with a different husband… but there, in those days there was none of this romantic nonsense about falling in love. Girls married where their parents told them and that was the end of it, but Cecilia… well, she was never happy, poor girl. Too lively for Edlesborough, that much is certain. It was inevitable that she would get herself into trouble sooner or later. There were men enough willing to console her.”
“Yet you were the one who fought a duel over her,” James Hammond said, amused, “even though you were not one of those who consoled her.”
“Did I say that?” the duke said, eyes gleaming with merriment.
“You did!” Hammond said. “What was it you said? That you ‘disabused him of the notion’ when he accused you.”
The duke rumbled with amusement. “Oh, when we fought over her, that was true enough, but later… well, having been accused and challenged over it, I saw no reason not to make it true. But it was a fleeting affair, and I had nothing to do with the divorce. She had long since moved on to someone else by then. Poor Cecilia! I hope, wherever she went, that she found happiness in the end. As for Edlesborough, he found a wife more suited to his temperament. Quiet little thing, your mother, Payne. She gives him no trouble, I imagine.”
“As you say, sir.”
Nothing more was said, and Simon was left to reflect on the difficult lives of aristocratic wives, and wonder whether it was better to be lively, like Cecilia, and end up cast out of all good society, or to be meek and timid like his mother, living always in fear of a mistake that would bring down retribution on her head.