Chapter Seventeen #2
Mistress and maid laughed companionably and a short time later Farrah, satisfied that she looked her best, descended the stairs and waited for her mother and Sophia to join her.
‘Well, you look presentable,’ Mama said reluctantly as she gave Farrah’s person an approving nod. ‘You should always take more care with your appearance, Farrah. You don’t look half bad if you can be bothered to make the best of yourself.’
‘Faint praise indeed,’ Farrah muttered.
‘She should look well, given how much of Mary’s time she monopolised,’ Sophia said sulkily as she joined them. ‘She barely had a moment to spare for me.’
‘And yet you look enchanting, my dear,’ Mama said, ‘which just goes to show that true beauty requires little persuasion to shine.’
Sophia wore a sunshine yellow ensemble which did indeed suit her colouring. Farrah thought it a very great pity that her sister’s character did not match her appearance.
John Coachman drove them to their destination through light drizzle and a biting wind.
Farrah was grateful for her trusty cloak, which she wrapped tightly around herself until they reached their destination.
Their ancient carriage came to a halt at the entrance portico to Alton Hall with a lurch of springs and the clatter of hooves.
The steps were lowered, and Mama accepted a footman’s hand as she descended them.
He repeated the gesture for Sophia and then for Farrah.
Farrah was the only one who felt the need to thank him for the service.
Unnoticed by her family, who had proceeded her into the house, she removed her letter from her pocket and handed it to John, asking him to ensure that it caught the evening post. He touched his hat with the handle of his whip to acknowledge the instruction and the letter disappeared into his inner pocket.
He then whipped up his team and moved away at a brisk trot.
Farrah felt inexplicably nervous at the prospect of meeting Mrs Armstrong, instinctively sensing that she would finally find some answers in respect of her father’s behaviour.
Whether she would be satisfied with these answers was another matter entirely, but she was no coward and knew she would never have a better opportunity to get a measure of the lady.
Only once she had done so would she decide how to proceed.
Reuben had not been idle following his meeting with Farrah the previous day and was now in possession of more information regarding Armstrong’s occupation.
He had wanted to enlighten Farrah before this afternoon, but there had been no opportunity.
He was aware that if he had called at Dalton House asking for her, the wrong interpretation would have been put upon his visit.
That being the case, he was obliged to suffer his frustration, left with no alternative but to share what he had learned with her as soon as an opportunity for a private word presented itself in the drawing room later on.
He slid his arms into the coat his valet held out for him, aware that his mother’s guests had already begun to arrive and that Mrs Armstrong would be amongst their number.
A glance out of the window at the procession of carriages making their way up the long driveway confirmed the fact, as did the sound of the cultured female voices that reached him from the floor below.
He moved across the room to stand at the window, watching the Dalton rattletrap arrive.
His gaze roved over Lady Sophia with disinterest, but his heart stuttered when Farrah left the conveyance behind her mother and sister.
She looked a great deal more respectable than she had on the last occasion upon which they had met, but on balance Reuben decided that he preferred the wild and windswept look, to say nothing of her willingness to exchange spritely retorts with him if she disagreed with anything that he said.
So few people ever disagreed with him that even if he had not enjoyed Farrah’s society and had a legitimate reason for seeking her out, he would still have done so, simply to be kept on his toes.
Farrah nodded her thanks to the footman who assisted her from the conveyance and then paused to exchange a word with her coachman before passing something to him. Reuben continued to watch as she ascended the steps and disappeared into the house and there was no longer anything for him to see.
Aware that the Daltons were among the last to arrive and that Mrs Armstrong was probably already inside the house, Reuben felt a pressing need to go down and prevent Farrah from accosting her.
He wouldn’t put it past her to ask inappropriate questions in her anxiety to locate her father, giving Mrs Armstrong warning of their suspicions.
But despite his reservations, he couldn’t enter the fray quite yet.
This was his mother’s party, thrown principally for ladies, and he was only expected to put in a brief appearance towards its conclusion.
It would send entirely the wrong signal if he arrived early, so instead he decided to run his brother to ground and challenge him to a game of billiards, as had become their habit on such occasions.
He was on the point of leaving his rooms with that intention in mind when his under-butler tapped at the door and presented him with a letter on a silver salver.
‘This just arrived by special delivery, your grace.’
‘Thank you.’
Reuben dismissed the servant and slit the letter open. He did not recognise the hand, which was untidy and barely legible, but his interests were spread wide, and it could well be from one of his land agents charged with the care of his various properties reporting some emergency.
‘What the devil …’
He dropped the missive as though it had scalded him, his heart leaping in his chest when Farrah’s name sprang out of the page at him. He took a deep breath, picked up the note and read it again from the beginning, squinting to make out the spidery hand interspersed with multiple blots of ink.
Be advised that Lady Farrah is not who you think she is. Ask yourself about the identity of the infamous Madame Celeste who is causing havoc across the ton with her harmful advice if you doubt me.
The note was signed “a well-wisher”.
Reuben shook his head, well aware that the contents of unsigned notes could not be relied upon.
Members of his class fought a constant battle against jealousy and spite.
Dalton had increased his tenants’ rents and one of them was doubtless out to cause trouble for the family as a consequence.
Or would be, Reuben suspected, but for the fact that none of them were likely to be literate.
And even if they were able to read and write, how could any of them possibly be aware of his connection to Farrah, such as it was?
It was not an outside possibility that a tenant had passed through the estate the previous day and observed their meeting, despite the fact that Farrah had insisted that none of them had any cause to be in that section of the grounds.
Their engagement had been carried out inside the cottage and Reuben had been so taken up with it that he couldn’t be absolutely sure no one had passed by outside.
If they had, they would certainly have recognised Reuben’s stallion.
There was also the question of Freeman, whom they knew had ridden onto the estate from the direction of Templeton’s abode.
He had seen Farrah but not Reuben – at least as far as he was aware.
Had he followed Farrah, curious to know why she was on that part of the estate?
Damn it, Reuben ought to have kept better watch and not permitted Farrah’s allure to distract him.
If Freeman was a party to Dalton’s wrong-doings, he would have every reason in the world to spy on Farrah, Reuben accepted.
She had poked her nose into the estate’s business, so Freeman would be wary of her.
If he was now aware that she had drawn Reuben in to help her then he would have every reason in the world to fear the consequences.
And frightened men, Reuben knew, could be driven to extreme measures.
But unless Reuben’s brain had seized up, he could think of no benefit to Freeman in accusing Farrah of being the infamous Madame Celeste.
Why would he do such a thing? He was never in London and had no reason to know anything about the anonymous female who had attracted the imagination of just about every young woman in society, if Charlotte was to be believed.
His sister was a sensible girl but still held great stock by Madame’s advice, convinced that it worked.
Reuben had laughed at the idea and seen no harm in Madame Celeste.
In fact, he admired her enterprise. Presumably the increase in her popularity mirrored an increase in her payment, Reuben mused, and Farrah had mentioned private means that was the only thing keeping her family solvent.
Reuben hadn’t stopped to consider the source of those means before, but the matter occupied his mind now.
As far as he was aware, she had no relatives, living or dead, who would have provided her with a personal income, so where …
‘Perhaps she is the mysterious Madame,’ he said aloud, pacing the length of the room, watched by Percival from his place in front of the fire. ‘Would that be such a bad thing?’ he asked his dog, who wagged his tail but offered up no opinion.
Reuben saw the note for what it was ? a threat directed at him. Someone knew he had met in private with an unmarried woman on at least one occasion. But Reuben failed to see how his mysterious correspondent could benefit from that knowledge or what he expected to achieve by it.
His musings were brought to an end when Ezra tapped at his door and reminded him about the billiards.
‘Hiding away in here won’t save you from a thrashing, big brother,’ he said cheerfully, holding the door open for Reuben.