Chapter 18 Information
Jamie threw away the rest of the tainted tea from Georgie’s caddy and replaced it with the fresh supply from Mr Fothergill, then brewed a pot for Georgie. As soon as she tasted it, she smiled.
“That’s so much better! Thank you for going into Brinchester for me. I don’t think I could have drunk any more of Rowena’s horrid stuff.”
Nothing more was said about tea between them. He saw no need to mention Mr Fothergill’s opinion that Rowena’s tea was tainted, or to pass on Rowena’s nasty little message. Georgie was in low spirits already, and he had no wish to add to her troubles.
He felt the need for advice, however, so one evening after dinner, he took a lantern and walked over the bridge and through the woods to his father’s cottage. He found his father making toast for his supper, but he was very happy with a proffered bottle of brandy and the offer of a game of chess.
“Shall we stick to cribbage?” his father said, fetching glasses from a cabinet.
“Brandy and chess are not good bedfellows, I find — not if I want to win, that is. Besides, you have that look in your eye that tells me you want to talk something over, and that is easier done with cards than chess. Do you want some toast? There is cheese in the pantry, and some potted meat.”
The cards were brought out, but somehow, with the toast and cheese to be eaten and brandy to be drunk, they never did get round to playing.
Instead, they sat at the battered old kitchen table sipping their brandy while Jamie told his father all about the tainted tea and the two babies lost on the same day.
“You think the tea caused them both to lose their babies?” his father said. “That would be very tragic, and I am very sorry about Georgie, for I should dearly love to be a grandfather, but there is not much to be done about it. Food does occasionally go off — even tea.”
“I wish I could be sure that that is all it is — a single bad batch.”
“How could it be anything else? Fothergill’s has been supplying Staineybank with tea and many other goods for… well, for as long as I have been here, certainly, and there has never been a single issue with any of their supplies before.”
“But Rowena thinks it is fine — she insists on drinking it,” Jamie said.
“And she is quite well, is she not? And everyone else who drank the tea yesterday is also quite well, is it not so? And Rowena is not with child, so there is no need to worry about her suffering the same fate as Georgie and Sophia Payne. So why is it a problem? She will gradually use the bad batch and in time it will be replaced with a new, untainted batch.”
“But what if it is not merely a taint… a mould or some peculiarity of that particular batch? What if it was deliberately contaminated, with some kind of poison?”
“I would remind you again that no one else was ill, merely two babies lost on the same day, which could be a coincidence.”
Jamie jumped up and paced across the room.
“Coincidence! It would be a very striking one, if so. Surely we must consider the possibility that the tea was tampered with? Those caddies, unlocked, mark you, sit in the pantry, where anyone may enter to meddle with them. It would be easy enough to add something to Rowena’s tea, and the box even has her name on it. ”
“And who would you accuse of this crime, Jamie? One of the family?”
“Of course not!”
“One of the servants, then?”
Jamie frowned. “The pantry is just off the servants’ hall. Easy enough to slip in and out.”
“I would remind you that all of our servants either grew up on the estate or very nearby, the only exception being Froggett, who came here more than forty years ago from Brinchester. Oh, and Ben Lovell, who has been here… thirty years, I think. Do you accuse them? And I should remind you again that this is the first time there has ever been a problem with the tea.”
“That we know about,” Jamie said darkly.
His father laughed. “Jamie, your ability to follow a lead is invaluable when disentangling the duke’s diaries, but most of real life is not a puzzle to be solved.
Let it go, son. Let it go. Was the market busy when you were in Brinchester?
I used to enjoy market day when I was younger, but the crowds are too tedious to be borne now. ”
That reminded Jamie of the Miss Martins. “Father, did you know that someone in Brinchester is asking about a missing Wyatt — what was his name?”
“Julius,” his father said promptly. “I regret to say that is my fault. In one of my letters to Joe Ingleton, I mentioned that this place was broken into, and the intruder only seemed interested in the Wyatt family tree. Joe has been in touch with the family for help in compiling his chart, so naturally he apprised them of this interesting development, and one of them instantly set out for Brinshire. He called here a few days ago in search of a prodigal son, Julius, who has been missing for some ten years now, on the assumption that he must be the mystery man who was prowling round in the middle of the night. You do not ask what he looks like so I will tell you. He is thirty-two years of age, a man of slightly above average height, seemingly, with brown hair and eyes, and a decided chin.”
“Which probably describes many thousands of men in England,” Jamie said.
“True, but this one is a gentleman, and also an excellent fencer. Does that suggest anyone?”
“Pendleton!”
“That was my thought, too.”
“So you told Wyatt this?”
“No. Jamie, think about it. Suppose Pendleton is indeed this Julius Wyatt that is sought. He ran away to Italy ten years ago and even now masquerades under a false name. There must be a very good reason for that. Labourer’s sons may set out to make their fortune elsewhere, or to escape a violent father, but a gentleman would not leave his family without good reason.
Clearly, whether he is Wyatt or some other runaway, he has a compelling need to stay hidden.
This man who is seeking him may not be a relation at all, he may be a thief taker of some sort — a Bow Street Runner, perhaps. ”
“If Pendleton has committed a high crime, then he should be captured and tried for it and punished, if need be.”
“You might argue that point, and perhaps I do not disagree with you, but I do not want to be the man who unwittingly condemns him to his fate. If I could know what he is and what, if anything, he has done, then perhaps… but this so-called relative would not say. All he would reveal was that he left home abruptly and the family misses him and would like him to come home.”
“Which sounds innocuous enough,” Jamie said.
“Oh yes. But when an educated man of twenty-two runs away from home, there is likely to be good cause for it, and I should not like to tip him from a place of sanctuary into difficulty and possibly danger.”
“Have you told Pendleton any of this?”
“No, but I thought you might want to do so,” his father said, beaming at him.
“The man looking for him calls himself Augustus Wyatt, is staying at the Royal Oak and claims to be his older brother. If Pendleton is indeed Julius Wyatt, then he will at least be forewarned, and may take appropriate steps to protect himself.”
“Or to find another place of sanctuary,” Jamie said thoughtfully.
“That is a possibility also,” his father said equably.
“Pendleton already regards me as a meddlesome troublemaker, so perhaps I will convey all this to Chamberlain, instead. Less direct. He will know whether it relates to Pendleton or not.”
“Good idea. Well, you must be going off brandy, son. I never saw you so abstemious before. I shall just put the rest away for another time, shall I?”
“Yes, do that. I must get back to Georgie.”
“Poor Georgie! Give her my love, and tell her I shall pray for a happier outcome for the next baby.”
“Thank you,” Jamie said, but his heart ached knowing there would never be another baby.
***
Lance was angry. He had never loved Patience, but he had been exultant when she accepted his offer, for she was, he felt, the just reward for his years of careful planning.
He had steadily moved up the social ladder from provincial respectability to wide repute and wealth, and acquiring a wife of such high rank was a fitting accolade.
Now he had to begin again, and daughters of the nobility who would condescend to look in his direction were few and far between.
On the other hand, did he want to venture into the realms of the nobility again?
The Torbucks had proved themselves devious and dishonourable, not merely Patience herself, but her parents and her brother, too.
There was more honesty to be found among the farmers and merchants doing business at Brinchester’s market, for they would seal a bargain with a handshake, and think it contemptible to cheat a man.
Perhaps he would do better to look for a wife within the ranks of the lower gentry, who had their scoundrels, too, but mostly lived blameless lives as good Christians.
The Merrington sisters were, of course, precisely such lower gentry, even though their brother was a future duke.
Sophia was married already, but there remained Charlotte, Augusta and Maria.
Pleasant girls, all of them, who would undoubtedly make conformable, pleasing wives.
There was another attraction, too, for when Richard Merrington came into his honours, the ladies would be able to petition for the titles they would have held if their father had been duke, and would become Lady Charlotte, Lady Augusta and Lady Maria.
If he married one of them, he would avoid the arrogance of those born into the peerage, but still have a titled wife. And each brought a tidy dowry, too.