Chapter Two #3
Richard was riding out to visit The Bottoms, where the Ordes had reported several cases of mastitis.
He was riding on a loose rein with little attention, but his recently acquired road horse, the brown mare Nesta, was very calm and reliable.
He had bought her for that reason: in his position as Giles’s estate agent he needed to be able to leave her tied up anywhere while he conducted business.
It left his mind free to ponder – or probably his grandmother would have said to brood – over what he had seen in the newspaper that morning.
By the wonders of the modern railway system (and accidents aside, it was wonderful) they got the London papers at Ashmore in time for breakfast. And there he saw the notice which he had known must be coming.
The renowned impresario Sir Thomas Burton had married his protégée, the pianist Chloe Sands, whose New York debut at the Carnegie Hall two days before had been rapturously received.
The wedding, which had taken place at Trinity Church, was attended by the cream of Manhattan society, and there was a reception afterwards at the Algonquin, before the couple departed on honeymoon to an undisclosed destination, accompanied by the bride’s mother.
This was all the Daily Telegraph permitted itself to report.
For more intimate detail he had to turn to the Daily Mail – ordered for the females of the household, who passed it on to the servants’ hall, where eventually Mrs Webster would cut out anything relevant for her scrap book before the paper went to light fires.
There he read that Sir Thomas had been recently divorced from his first wife, shocking London Society.
It hinted, without precisely saying so, that the bride was a great deal younger than the bridegroom, who was thus a bit of a gay dog or possibly an old fool.
It described his illustrious career and the many concerts he had promoted in London and Paris.
It mentioned that he was extremely rich, having inherited a fortune from the family business.
And it said that he had recently purchased a block of land on Sixth Avenue where he intended to build a concert hall.
The Burton Hall would be the first, he hoped, of many around the United States.
Then there were the pictures. The bride and groom at the door of Trinity Church, taken from a distance: the blurred black-and-white revealed nothing more than that Chloe was got up as a bride, complete with long veil and a vast sheaf of white flowers, probably roses (how much would it have cost to transport them to New York from wherever it was warm enough to grow them?).
A photograph of Sir Thomas on the podium at the Royal Albert Hall, arms outstretched to receive the applause of the audience.
A photograph of him and Chloe together exiting some building, possibly the Carnegie Hall (he had no idea what that looked like), Chloe wrapped in a fur coat and Sir Thomas in a silk hat and an overcoat with an astrakhan collar.
And behind them, just visible in the picture, but for Richard leaping out clearer than anyone, was Molly.
She seemed to have on a new hat – one he did not recognise anyway.
She was looking straight ahead, eyes wide, possibly startled by the camera flash going off, but it was as though she was staring straight at him.
Her expression seemed to him to have a hint of dismay.
I didn’t know you would ever see this. I’m sorry, Richard.
Well, that was fanciful, but fancy was all he had now.
She had attended the wedding. She was going on the honeymoon with them.
She was staying in America, as she had said she would, so that when the babies started coming (and Sir Thomas was in the full vigour of life, so there was no doubt they would come) she would be on hand to help.
Would that satisfy her? Yes, the grandchildren; yes, seeing her darling daughter’s career progress.
Possibly yes, the luxury – never having to worry again where the next meal was coming from.
But people like the Burtons had nannies and governesses, and the grandchildren would not be left to her sole charge.
And, besides, wouldn’t she be lonely for adult society?
Chloe and Sir Thomas were no company when they were deep in their music.
Richard could imagine them retreating into an exclusive universe of their own, population: two.
Molly was an attractive woman with a warm, passionate nature.
Might she not succumb to the blandishments of some wealthy American who could make her comfortable, make her feel cherished again?
He pictured a tall, prosperous man of forty or so, with a well-groomed moustache, a gardenia in his buttonhole.
He would marry her and thus be licensed to put his hands on her, to kiss her, to—
Nesta snorted and performed a brief sideways dance, which roused him from his reverie (and probably just as well).
A horse had come round the blind bend in the track at a spanking trot and almost run into them.
The rider jerked the reins brutally in a manner that Richard would instantly have recognised, had he not already recognised the horse.
It was Lord Shacklock on his black gelding Hamburg, followed, of course, by his groom Piper, who caught Richard’s eye blankly, though Richard knew he would be wincing inwardly.
Shacklock was famously heavy-handed, a rider who wore his horses out before their time.
He glared in annoyance at Richard for having the temerity to get in his way, then barked, ‘Oh, it’s you, Tallant. Damn near brought my horse down! You should watch where you’re going!’
Shacklock was known for his hasty temper and high sense of his own importance.
He was also the Castle’s nearest neighbour and a man of great local influence, so it had always been the policy of Giles and thus Richard to turn as many other cheeks as were required.
So Richard merely gave a small bow, which Shacklock could interpret as he wished.
‘That railway business – damned nasty!’ Shacklock went on, the words bursting out of him as if he had been brooding about it already. ‘Thinking of suing the railway company.’
‘Can you sue for an accident?’ Richard said mildly.
‘Accident be damned! I’ve heard the driver was drunk – drunk, sir! Should never have been allowed to drive. There was negligence there, wanton carelessness on the part of the company, and my horses suffered for it! Well, someone’s got to pay!’
‘You had a horse box coupled to that train, I hear,’ Richard said.
‘Hunters – four of ’em! Bringing ’em back from Leicester.
Damned if I’ll ever use that company again!
The mare was badly hurt. My wife’s. She’ll never ride her again – can only breed from her now.
And there was some damned interfering female dickering about with ’em, makin’ things worse – a female, mark you!
What is the country coming to? Damn fool let the horses out of the box.
Of course, they bolted – high-strung beasts, finest bloodstock, what can you expect?
By the time my fellers found Viceroy he was lamed!
Handshaw says I won’t be able to hunt him again this season. ’
‘I heard the box had come off the rails and run down the hill, and the horses had to be rescued. And that two of them were got out safely.’
‘That’s not how my man Aigburth tells it,’ Shacklock said hotly.
‘And he was on the spot! That wretched hoyden damn near cost me all four, letting ’em out like that.
None of her business! Who was she to be interfering?
Some damned modern bluestocking, I suppose, some pig-headed, busybodying trollop, probably no better than she should be!
No decent female would behave like that!
What was she even doing there? Her father should horsewhip her—’
At this point Richard abandoned the kid gloves.
He was already upset because of what he had seen in the newspapers, and a nothing-left-to-lose mood was on him.
He had stared in dislike at Shacklock’s congested, choleric face and held his tongue, but he thought of Alice’s heroic efforts, and he snapped.
‘That female, as you call her, was my sister.’
‘What? What?’ Shacklock spluttered. ‘What do you say?’
‘My sister, Lady Alice, was in the village, heard the explosion, and went to see if she could help. She heard the horses screaming, and being a great horse-lover, she couldn’t ignore it.
Your Viceroy had got himself loose, and as soon as she lowered the box ramp, he was off.
There was no way she could have stopped him: he knocked her down and injured her on his way.
But she got the next two out by her own heroic efforts and left them tied up – she didn’t set them loose.
She was just attending to the mare when your man Aigburth arrived and took over. Without, I may say, thanking her.’
‘Thanking her? Why should he thank her? She should never have interfered. Left the horses tied up? Are you asking me to believe Aigburth lied? He’s been with me ten years.’
‘Are you suggesting that my sister lied?’ Richard said dangerously.
Shacklock opened his mouth to say that was exactly what he was suggesting when a slight cough from behind made him think better of it. He gobbled like a turkey for a moment as one set of words, unuttered, collided on the way down with others coming up. Then he said stiffly, ‘Didn’t say that.’
‘I should hope not,’ Richard said.