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Indeed, here he was, beaming, in advance of one of the parlourmaids bearing a tray of tea as Fanny dismissed her daughter, saying, “So you may have your new dress, Katherine, and you may also tell Jack to come and see me, immediately. Tell him as a special treat I’ve asked Cook to give him the rest of yesterday’s seed cake.”
“But I was going to have some for nursery tea, Mama—“ began Katherine.
Her mother cut her off. “Go and fetch Jack now, and you may have a small piece before Jack goes. In fact, tell Jack I’d like him to join you and me for an impromptu tea party in five minutes. Young George is in bed with the toothache, is he not? Ah, sadly he can’t join us then.”
But when the excited and hungry seven-year-olds duly turned up, literally dancing with excitement, Fanny had to send them away with a hurried command that Sally organise for Cook to provide a children’s tea in the orchard, as Cousin George had just burst into the drawing room not ten seconds after an unaccountably forlorn-looking Mr Patmore.
George was nearly apoplectic with rage. “That…woman…has just taken Devil for a ride, and Jennings has no idea when she’ll be back. Lord knows, but she’s likely to break the horse’s leg and he’ll be no good to anyone, just like Carnaby, eh, Rufus.” His face was mottled and his hands were fists, as he stalked across the drawing room and noisily set to pouring himself a drink.
“Is Devil not hers to ride?” Fanny asked as she glanced at Mr Patmore, waiting for him to defend his future bride. He seemed to be looking rather longingly towards the cut-glass decanter which her Cousin George was handling with his usual lack of care. “Careful, Cousin George; you’re going to chip the stopper,” grumbled Fanny, reflecting that it was a relief he wasn’t going to be entrusted with delicate Miss Montrose for a wife.
“Yes, Devil is hers to ride when she chooses,” Mr Patmore corroborated with a weary sigh as if his mind were on other matters.
“That may be so, but she has given her consent for me to race the horse tomorrow.” George began to pace as was his wont when he was agitated.
Mr Patmore tapped his fingers on the edge of his seat. “She was anxious to go for a canter when I saw her earlier. The groom fitted Devil with a sidesaddle.” He forced a smile at the assembled company. “I’d say a bracing ride is just what the young lady needs after what has occurred, do you not? I hear Mr Perceval has just left. I’m glad. He discomposed her, and that is all. I believe…” He broke off.
My, my but Mr Patmore looked very sober, Fanny thought, her own thoughts whirling over Cousin George, his plans with Devil, his anger over Miss Montrose taking him riding. So, Cousin George really was up to no good over that horse race. And Mr Patmore was all in a lather. What could have transpired between himself and Miss Montrose? It sounded like marriage hadn’t been discussed at all. Or if it had, there’d not been the outcome he’d desired.
Everyone had descended upon Fanny all at once, so that she’d barely had time to mull over what Jack had said earlier. Now, she asked on sudden impulse, “Mr Patmore, do you have a large wager on tomorrow’s race? Antoinette and I are still deciding which way to bet with ten such highly contestable entries.”
He remained distracted, staring at the decanter before attending to her with a sudden show of good manners as he rose to lean against the mantelpiece. “Forgive me, Lady Fenton, but yes, I do have a very large wager on the race. More than I usually bet on anything, but your cousin here is damned persuasive, especially when a fellow is in his cups.”
“And on which horse did you place your money…how much?”
“A thousand on Devil’s Run,” muttered Mr Patmore, looking so uncomfortable Fanny wondered with a real pang whether he was as complicit as Cousin George in rigging this race. She’d not have thought it, but by the look of him, feared it was the case.
“And who is riding Devil, Cousin George?”
“Whittlesea, the chap who rides all my horses,” replied George.
Antoinette sniggered. “And the chap who wins only half of them. You seem to have very great faith in the fact he’ll win tomorrow’s Cup for you.”
Fanny looked innocently at George over her teacup. “Please don’t be so rude as to help yourself to the brandy and not offer your guest.”
With ill grace, George brandished the decanter roughly a second time, continually glancing out of the window for a sign of Miss Montrose’s safe return, no doubt. Or rather, Devil’s.
“So, Mr Patmore, you will remain with us at least until after the race. That’s good,” said Fanny, trying to conduct the conversation as if it were a normal afternoon tea which it was far from being. Her brain was in quite a muddle as to what she should do about the information she’d gathered from her daughter regarding the race. She’d have loved to have revealed George for the cheat he was, but Mr Patmore’s possible complicity altered everything. What if he’d incautiously laid down his money in the hope of making a fortune to enable him to wed Miss Montrose? What if future happiness for Miss Montrose and Mr Patmore hinged on Devil’s Run winning the Cup?
She felt sick, and was relieved when a knock on the door broke some of the unease as the parlourmaid entered bearing a silver salver on which rested a cream wafer for Mr Patmore.
Raising his eyebrows, he broke the seal and began to read before taking a few quick strides towards his hostess.
“My apologies, Lady Fenton, Lady Quamby; it appears that some rather urgent business has cropped up and I will have to leave earlier than I’d anticipated.”
“Now?” squeaked Antoinette, looking from their guest then through the window as if she might conjure Miss Montrose upon the instant.
He looked conflicted. “I had hoped to remain until the day after tomorrow when I was waiting for… Well, it doesn’t matter. This is something I must attend to, immediately.”
“What about the race, old chap?” Cousin George looked dark as he downed his third brandy. “That’s what it’s all about, isn’t it?”
“Not in this case,” Mr Patmore said, adding more carefully, “Despite having a large sum riding on tomorrow’s race, I really should try and get at least a couple of hours on the road before dusk.”
“As you wish, Mr Patmore,” said Fanny, feeling that this day was fast going down as the most unsatisfactory she had ever spent. All their careful plans, matchmaking, spiriting into their midst lost loves, who then proved not just worthless but destructive, had come to nothing. Was Miss Montrose refusing Mr Patmore because she continued to hold a flame for a man she could never have? Did she still feel unable to let go of her girlish infatuation, despite learning from his own lips that he was again married and forever out of reach? Or was it something else? Something deeper? Something regarding some old sin? “Do not tarry on our account. If you wish to organise…certain matters before you go, please feel free to leave now.” She meant go and intercept Miss Montrose, but she wasn’t at all sure that that was going to result in any great joy. Not judging by the look on Mr Patmore’s miserable face, or by the fact that Miss Montrose seemed disinclined to see him again. No doubt Miss Montrose would be the next to march in and say she was off home to inspect the meagre furnishings of her cottage and see what she could sell in order to maintain herself. A cottage was a fine thing if one had an annuity to pay expenses. Which Miss Montrose did not.
“And I must find those children and send that boy on his way,” Fanny said on a sigh when Mr Patmore had gone. What was she going to do with this new information gleaned about Devil’s bogus role in a race in which her cousin and Mr Patmore stood to make a fortune? And Miss Montrose, too. She felt sick.
Jack and Katherine were sitting on a low bough of Katherine’s favourite climbing oak, both eating large hunks of cake and laughing uproariously. They stopped when Fanny arrived beneath them.
