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“…there is the road you just came along and this house was the gatehouse. I expect you know that. When this map was drawn, that was the main road into the estate. Came down from Hartleford beyond the Moor and into the park, then carried on to Ardle, down the river, and joined the London road. Aye, those were the days when my old grandad wore a fancy uniform and greeted guests to the big house as they came through the gates. That reminds me actually. A question I’ve always been meaning to ask if I saw any of the folks from the big house.”
“And what is that, Master Hitch?” Alice asked, returning to her seat as Hitch took up a carving knife and went to a loaf tin to take out the bread.
“Well now, just this. When is Lord Edward’s body going to be brought back from Wales for a decent and proper burial at the family plot, where he belongs?”
“I did not know that he hadn’t been interred here with Mama and Papa,” Alice replied. “What makes you think he is in Wales of all places?”
“Why because my boy Charles, when he was a footman, accompanied Lord Edward to a big house in Wales, overlooking the Severn. Charles came back but Lord Edward didn’t. Then when Lord Simon inherited the title, obviously Lord Edward must have been taken from us while he was in Wales. But, my friend John Greene keeps the family crypt in Ardle and he said that he’s never seen Lord Edward’s body brought there. So, he must be in Wales, mustn’t he?”
Alice was staring at the tabletop, her mind whirling. She had always been told that Edward had fallen ill and succumbed quickly. She herself had taken ill at the time and the funeral had occurred while she was bedridden. Except, now it seemed that couldn’t possibly be true.
CHAPTER39
Simon whistled as he strode along the main street of Ardle Heath. The town lay less than five miles from Lindley, a modest market town on the edge of the heathland that gave the town its name. London was fifteen miles further north. Rain that had sheeted down earlier in the day was to be followed by bright sunshine. He had taken advantage of the dry conditions to ride to Ardle Heath.
Now his horse was stabled at the Black Sheep inn, Ardle Heath’s largest establishment. Simon was striding to the offices of MacAuley and Greene, his solicitors. In the breast pocket of his overcoat was a promissory note signed by the Duke of Redwood, over his seal. That would be lodged with the solicitors to be sent to his bank in the city. That money would secure the future of Lindley for the next twelve months, by which time Alice would be safely married off.
The buildings of Ardle Heath were mostly Tudor in origin, with distinctive black timber frames and white plastered walls. Roofs tended to be thatched for the most part. The church of the Holy Trinity rose above all at the crossroads of High Street and River Street. There was a steady flow of traffic along the street, a drover and his sheep up ahead, and a variety of farm folk and tradesmen on the pavement.
“Lindley! I say, Lindley!” came a voice from the other side of the street.
Simon looked and saw a tall, rangy youth with a shock of pale, yellow hair, and a wide mouth, now split into a grin. He waved his hat, then crossed the street, avoiding a drayman’s cart that rumbled towards the inn.
“Rochester? I thought you would be settling into Rosebank by now. Are you not joining us for luncheon in…” Simon took out a pocket watch, checking the time. “Just over two hours from now.”
“Yes, well, I would have been but the blessed place has been taken. Snatched from under my very nose as it were. Went there, believing it to have been leased to me, only to find another chap living there. So, I’ve just been to see the agent here in town and he confirmed he was paid three times the asked-for rent by the fellow in exchange for renting it there and then. So, I’m at the Black Sheep for now until I can find somewhere else.”
Simon frowned. “That’s rum do and no mistake. Can’t imagine why old Foskins would allow such a thing to happen. You had shaken on it, had you not?”
“Yes, we had. But, this particular chap can be quite the rolling boulder when he gets going. Won’t be diverted and very difficult to stop. Don’t know why he wanted the place so badly but there you go. I’ll just need to find somewhere else.”
“Not many places to rent in this vicinity,” Simon said, rubbing his chin. “I would offer to put you up at the Manor but I don’t think it would be appropriate given that you will be trying to court her.”
It was a setback but nothing that he couldn’t take in his stride. Henry Gladwell, Earl of Rochester, was wealthy and young. He was keen to find a wife and almost as keen to invest in the business that Simon was attempting to make money in. A marriage between Gladwell and Alice would solve all of Simon’s remaining problems. It would secure him a business partner and see Alice married to the right man. He wracked his brain to try and think of another nearby house that would be suitable rented accommodation for an Earl, just for the season.
“Tried to talk the other fellow around,” Gladwell was saying. “Might have known it would be futile. He always was determined once he’d made his mind up. Still, it was worth a try.”
“Did you say you know the chap?” Simon asked suddenly, intrigued by that aspect of Gladwell’s story.
“Yes, knew him in the army. Back in our recent argument with the French. Clauder is the name, Harold Clauder.”
The sky darkened as Simon rode for Rosebank House, the modest dwelling just beyond the Lindley estate, owned by the Duke of Westminster but not used. The house was rented all year long, the business managed by an agent in Ardle Heath on behalf of Westminster. Gladwell’s own estates lay on the south coast. Simon had suggested renting Rosebank so that he may be close at hand for an intensive courtship of Alice, followed by a proposal.
Now, he found that his nemesis was once again interfering. Despite the threats Simon knew had been made by Gordon Warmsley on his behalf.
My family will not be manipulated by the Clauder's any longer. That man destroyed Alice’s chances with Rafe Middlesham by causing a scandal. And he destroyed my chances of a deal with the Duke of Norfolk. Spread poison about me in his god-father’s ear. Now, once more he seeks to destroy our future prosperity and keep Alice for himself. I will not allow it.
Leaving Gladwell to speak to the agent about other properties in the district, Simon had pleaded another errand and returned to the inn for his horse. Then he had ridden the animal fast to reach the house where he expected to find Harold Clauder. The house was three stories of white plastered walls and gray slate roof. Elaborate beds of roses flanked the house and climbed its walls. A pristine lawn provided an open vista at the front, with a duck pond and a weeping willow in one corner.
White painted, stone gate posts marked the entrance to the grounds. Simon had slowed to a trot on coming within sight of the house. Now he slowed to a walk, passing between the gateposts, and approaching the house along a gravel drive. Gray rain clouds were amassing overhead, driven and whipped by a stiffening breeze. Simon kept a wary hand at the brim of his hat to prevent it from blowing away.
No one came from the house to greet him which added to his disgruntlement.
Doesn’t that dratted Duke have servants wherever he goes?
It seemed not. Simon left his horse munching on the grass while he approached the front door. A heavy, tarnished brass knocker was situated at the center of the door, which was painted dark blue. Three heavy knocks could be heard reverberating through the house. Simon instinctively made to remove his hat, then stopped himself.
I owe no deference to this man. His family has persecuted mine and he is clearly intent on continuing that persecution.
