Chapter 4 Fencing
“What do you make of him?” Jamie said to Mrs Hastings the following morning when she arrived in the study to help with the duke’s memoirs.
“Mr Chamberlain? He seems a pleasant sort of man on the surface, but dangerous.”
“Dangerous? In what way?”
“It is hard to describe, but it is the way he moves — like a cat, somehow, very light on his feet. And his eyes…”
“Ah, those eyes! Yes, they are a little feline, I confess. Such a striking colour.” Jamie chewed the feather end of his pen thoughtfully.
“I was so sure that I had found the common factor with Mr Goodenough’s arrivals, yet the Chamberlain family is disappointingly respectable.
But perhaps there is more to Mr Lance Chamberlain than meets the eye.
Perhaps he himself is the black sheep, after all. ”
“What precisely is a black sheep?” she said, settling down at her usual seat with a knife and beginning work on sharpening a small mountain of pens.
“Someone disreputable… rejected by his family for some misdemeanour, large or small. A man who flees the country after a duel, for instance. A son who runs up huge debts and is sent out to India in penance.”
“A woman who has a child outside wedlock,” she said. “Like Rowena’s grandmother.”
“Or a child not her husband’s, like Lady Juliet’s mother,” he added.
“She was divorced — a black sheep indeed! But these things tend to be covered up. Why did Mr Chamberlain not become a clergyman like his brothers and uncles? Perhaps there was a misdemeanour of sorts, then he was shipped off to Italy for a year or two until he settled down or the scandal dissipated. Yes, I need to delve a little deeper, I think.”
“Poor man!” Mrs Hastings said, shaking head a little at Jamie. “His entire history dredged up to prove — or disprove — your theory. There! I have enough pens to last us both for a while. Do you need more ink?”
“Thank you, I have enough for now.”
“Then do you have some pages for me to work on?”
He had already set aside one of the duke’s diaries that contained many pages of the political discussions that he felt suitable for a lady to transcribe.
The duke was very opinionated, and he occasionally described the Prime Minister or senior members of the government in colourful terms, but these sections rarely strayed into areas to which no lady should be exposed.
His grace had always had an eye for the ladies, and many of them had had an eye for him, too, leading to innumerable private encounters which the duke described at great length, and in graphic detail.
Jamie was no prude, but he was happy to leave those sections to his father, who seemed to enjoy them.
His father himself arrived sometime later. “What is going on in the Marble Hall?” were his first words after greeting Mrs Hastings. “There is a great clearing out of extraneous items.”
“Have you heard that Mr Goodenough has sent us another visitor? Mr Chamberlain is a fencer, it transpires, and is to perform for the duke in the Marble Hall.”
“With whom? He has an opponent, I trust?”
“His valet.”
“His valet? His valet is a fencer? That is intriguing.”
“It is indeed,” Jamie said, much struck. “I wonder if the valet has some deep, dark secret?”
Mrs Hastings looked up from her work, and clucked gently at him.
“Mr Hammond, has it occurred to you that you may be making too much of this? Perhaps Mr Goodenough simply sees a need and supplies a person to fill it. Rowena was sent here because she is the very image of the duke’s first wife — that is understandable, is it not?
Mr Payne was sent here because Rowena wanted an orangery.
And perhaps now it is anticipated that a portrait will be wanted of the next Duchess of Brinshire.
There may be nothing more to it than simple helpfulness. ”
“Oh yes, but having a mystery to unravel is far more exciting, do you not think? And I should still like to know who Mr Goodenough is.”
“You thought at one time that it must be someone at Staineybank, did you not?” she said. “Do you still think that?”
“Someone connected with it, yes,” he said, “but not necessarily anyone living here. Anyone could have known that there was to be an orangery built, and that a portrait might be wanted. It is Mrs Richard who is the problem, for she was living with you in Oxford, and could only have been spotted by someone in that city.”
“Speaking of which,” said his father, “if you can tear yourself away from the doings of Mr Goodenough for five minutes, I have had a letter from Dr Ingleton. He is to be in Oxford next month, and has some more charts for us, if you would be so good as to collect them from him. If not, he can leave them with the Brannons until you can get away.”
“I can make time to go. You will want them as soon as possible, I imagine.”
“They are very helpful,” his father said.
To Mrs Hastings, he went on, “Have you seen the ancestor charts that Dr Ingleton has drawn up for us? The duke’s diaries are full of Lord C and Lady P, and are impossible to interpret without help.
Dr Ingleton is an expert in the connections between the noble families. ”
“I have heard Richard talk about a Joe Ingleton, who used to tutor him in Norfolk.”
“The very same,” Jamie’s father said, beaming.
“Mr Richard told us about him, and he has been the most tremendous help in interpreting these references. He makes regular trips to Oxford, for he is still a Fellow there, and that saves us going all the way out to Norfolk, for these charts are too precious to entrust to the mail. He will settle the precise dates soon, Jamie, and you can plan your trip.”
“I should be happy to execute any commission there for you, Mrs Hastings,” Jamie said. “Messages to your friends, and so on.”
“I should go to Oxford myself before too long,” Mrs Hastings said.
“My little house is still sitting empty there, and it does not seem as if I shall ever return. The attorney has a possible tenant for me, so I must clear out all my belongings and bid my friends farewell. There is the bank, too, to arrange for my modest income to be paid to Brinchester.”
“Then why not come with me?” Jamie said. “I shall have pleasant company on the road, and you will have someone to assist with your business dealings, should you have the need.”
“Well… perhaps,” she said. “Thank you for the kind offer, and I will consider it. But look, it is almost two o’clock. Shall we go and watch the fencing?”
They reached the Marble Hall by way of the northern stairwell, to find the duke enthroned in the doorway to the White Drawing Room, with the duchess and a gaggle of Merrington ladies around him.
In the opposite stairwell, a cluster of servants watched with interest. The spectacle was provided by Mr Chamberlain and his valet, Pendleton, stripped to their shirts and breeches.
Jamie was not at all knowledgeable in the sport, but he could admire the footwork and the speed with which the combatants wielded their weapons.
From time to time, the duke would call out ‘Bravo!’, so presumably the skill on display was of a high quality.
His father and Mrs Hastings soon tired of it, and retreated to the study, and the duke’s entourage diminished, too, until only the duchess still stood by his side, seemingly enthralled, for her attention never wavered.
Even the servants began to drift away, but Jamie noticed that Mr Richard’s valet was one of those lingering.
Quietly, he made his way through various rooms until he came round to the other stairwell.
“Well, Weston, what do you make of it?”
“Very interesting, sir.”
“I never realised before that fencing was a necessary part of a valet’s duties. How is your skill with a blade?”
Weston gave him a wintry smile. “Not up to Mr Pendleton’s, that much is certain.”
“Where would he learn such arts, do you suppose?”
“Not in any establishment that I ever heard of, sir, but I understand that he came into Mr Chamberlain’s service in Italy. Foreigners do things differently, don’t they, sir?”
“Indeed they do, Weston.”
But it seemed an inadequate answer, he felt.
He returned to the study to find his father gone, and the duke rummaging through books on the shelves.
“Your grace? Are you looking for anything in particular?”
“The Baronetage. We must have one somewhere, but it is not with the Peerage.”
“On the table over here, already open at Mr Chamberlain’s family.”
“Ah! Thank you, Hammond. Ah yes, Sir Bradley Chamberlain. I had some business with him, years ago, but I forget what. Around seventy-four, it would have been. Where are the diaries for that period?”
“In the safe, I expect,” Jamie said, pulling the key from his pocket, and opening the cupboard door that hid the safe.
“My father went through the seventies some time ago, but I think the diaries for that time are all back now. Yes, here they are. Do you want me to look for references to Sir Bradley?”
“No, no. It will amuse me to read it for myself. I shall take these two, Hammond. The section I want will be in one of these. Heavens, so many words written! Did I really do so much in those days? Now it all seems like a blur, as if the days and years just went flying past, but then… so much happening, so many long summer days and lively winter nights.” He chuckled, suddenly, his bushy eyebrows wiggling as he looked at Jamie.
“We knew how to live in those days, my boy. Not like you young ones, who never seem to put a foot out of line. That Chamberlain boy — generations of blameless souls! Now where is the fun in that, eh?”
So saying, he disappeared with the two volumes of diaries from more than thirty years ago, to relive his event-filled days.
Jamie shook his head, and sat down at his desk, but was immediately struck by the sight of Mrs Hastings sitting staring into space.
“Are you quite well, madam?”