“My dear Mrs Mayfield, I came at once when Owen told me what had happened here last night. It must have been very distressing for you, but, Owen tells me, no harm done.”
Sir Humphrey stepped briskly up to Mrs Mayfield as he spoke. He was a large, vigorous man in his middle fifties, and his devotion to both his sport and his wine could be clearly seen in his face and figure.
He was also the local magistrate, and he pursued his duties with a kind of casual diligence that served his neighbourhood remarkably well. Like most Sussex gentlemen, he paid no duty on the smuggled brandy in his cellar, and he knew as well as the next man when to look the other way, but for all that, his parish was remarkably well-governed. Charity particularly respected him for his ability to temper justice with compassion—though he always denied that he did any such thing. He was a man who knew his own worth and who valued his place in his community—but change made him nervous.
“Sir Humphrey, how kind of you to come!” Mrs Mayfield exclaimed. “I really wouldn’t have had you put yourself to so much trouble.”
“Nonsense, no trouble at all,” Sir Humphrey declared, taking the seat Mrs Mayfield offered him. “Did you get a look at the scoundrel, m’dear?” he added, turning to Charity.
“I’m afraid not, Sir Humphrey,” Charity replied. “It was dark and I was taken by surprise. I’m afraid I wouldn’t be able to recognise him again.”
“Pity,” Sir Humphrey grunted. “I don’t like to think of him getting away with this, but, if he didn’t take anything and you can’t recognise him, there’s not much I can do.”
“Oh, no, we quite understand,” Charity assured him.
“I’m so looking forward to your party tomorrow night,” Mrs Mayfield said. “It will be our last before we leave here. I shall be so glad of an opportunity to see everyone before we go.”
“Hmph, yes.” Sir Humphrey cleared his throat, looking uncomfortable. “It’s a bad business, Mrs Mayfield. I don’t say anything as to the cause of your leaving, but Lady Leydon and I shall be sorry to see you go. There’ve been Mayfields at Hazelhurst so long that it won’t seem the same without you. If there’s anything we can do, don’t hesitate to ask.”
“Thank you, it’s so kind of you. Everyone has been very kind to us this last year.” Mrs Mayfield smiled at Sir Humphrey. She hadn’t caught his fleeting reference to her husband and, even if she had, she was spared some of Charity’s distress because she divided the blame for what had happened between the Earl and Mr Canby.
Mrs Mayfield had conceived a violent dislike of the unknown Lord Ashbourne, but she saved her greatest ire for the unfortunate attorney. She blamed his negligence for their uncomfortable situation and, in the first few days after they had heard they must leave Hazelhurst, she had tried Charity’s patience high by demanding they take action against him. Fortunately she had been diverted from the subject by the preparations for the move, and she hadn’t returned to it.
“Owen particularly,” Mrs Mayfield continued. “He was here only this afternoon, helping Charity with some of the arrangements. It’s so complicated—I can’t understand all these legal documents at all.”
“Owen, helping! Well, well, I’m pleased to hear it. Not that he’s got any experience. You should have asked me, Charity. I would have been glad to help.” Sir Humphrey sounded slightly put out that Charity hadn’t applied to him for assistance.
“You were my first thought,” Charity assured him hastily. “And I know your advice would be invaluable. But I know how busy your magisterial duties keep you, sir, and how little time you have for your own affairs. I didn’t want to trespass on your good will if I could get help from someone else, and, Owen being your son…”
“Well, you’re a thoughtful young woman,” said Sir Humphrey, puffing up with gratification in a way that reminded Charity irresistibly of Owen. There was a distinct likeness between father and son.
“But I’m here now, so if there’s anything you’d like to ask me…”
“Thank you!” Charity tried to assume an expression of eager pleasure while her heart sank within her. “Oh…” she seemed to hesitate “… only if you’re sure you have the time.”
“All the time in the world for you, m’dear,” Sir Humphrey assured her.
Despite the fact that she occasionally shocked him to his conventional core, the magistrate had always liked Charity. He thought she was a spunky little thing, and the day she’d tried to jump clear across the lily pond for a dare and climbed out covered in green weed and mud he’d laughed until tears had poured out of his eyes. Not that he necessarily regarded her wisdom as highly as he did her courage.
Charity saw the reminiscent gleam in his eyes and hurried into speech before he could comment once again on her childhood misdemeanours. That was the problem with being surrounded by people who’d seen you grow up—most of them still thought of you as the child you’d been ten years ago.
“If you’d like to come down to the library, Sir Humphrey,” she said. “I have all the papers there.”
“I’d be delighted, m’dear.” Sir Humphrey stood up and bowed to Mrs Mayfield. “Excuse us, ma’am.”
“Of course, so kind of you to help.” Mrs Mayfield smiled brightly.
An hour later, feeling quite shattered, Charity led Sir Humphrey back upstairs again. She had not enjoyed the last sixty minutes and she hoped she wouldn’t have to repeat them. It was not that Sir Humphrey’s advice was bad—in fact, it was very good, just as she had known it would be. But he couldn’t help commenting on her father’s system—or lack of it—and regretting that there was no man to see to things properly.
Charity was grateful for his help, but she didn’t like opening up her family affairs to the disapprobation of her neighbours, and she didn’t intend to let it happen again. But she knew it was her fault: she shouldn’t have used her need for advice as an excuse to get Owen to visit her. She should have guessed what would happen next.
“Well, I hope I’ve been of assistance,” Sir Humphrey said as he sat down opposite Mrs Mayfield again. “Your late husband seems to have had a very peculiar way of doing things, ma’am. Not but the more recent records are in far better order. Still, it will be a relief to you, no doubt, when everything is sorted out and you’re safely established in Horsham.”
“I shall be glad to be settled again,” Mrs Mayfield admitted. “Oh, Sir Humphrey! I met the new Lord Riversleigh this morning!” she exclaimed, changing the subject completely.
“What did you make of him?” Sir Humphrey asked cautiously.
“I thought he was a charming man. Not at all like his grandfather!” Mrs Mayfield declared.
“No, by all accounts. I hear his maternal grandfather was a common tradesman! And apparently the new Lord is no better than…Well, there’s no need to go into that! But it’s a pity that such a fine old title should be brought to this!” And Sir Humphrey shook his head disapprovingly.
Charity bit her lip in an effort to avoid saying something rude. She knew that Sir Humphrey didn’t like change and hated any hint of social climbing, but she couldn’t understand why both he and Owen should be so badly disposed towards a man they hadn’t even met.
“Who told you about Lord Riversleigh, Sir Humphrey?” she asked, trying to keep her voice friendly.
“Lord Travers. He’s staying with us at the moment. Splendid fellow, marvellous horseman. He knows all about the new Lord,” Sir Humphrey explained.
“Does he? What did he say?” Charity asked.
“Oh, he told us how the grandfather—Pembroke, I believe his name was—started as a common apprentice. He’d no family or position; dare say he couldn’t even read or write. No doubt a good enough man in his way, but rough, very rough. Not the kind of blood any man would want in the family,” Sir Humphrey concluded, refraining from repeating some of the warmer stories Lord Travers had told him. He didn’t think they were suitable for female ears.
“Lord Travers said that?” Charity said, resisting the urge to make a more heated reply.
She was beginning to feel extremely indignant on Jack’s behalf, but it was clear that the slurs on his character and antecedents had not originated with the magistrate. Sir Humphrey was only repeating what he had been told, and it would do no good to be angry with him.
“Did Lord Travers say what the apprentice grandfather became, sir Humphrey?” she asked.
“No, I don’t think so.” Sir Humphrey frowned in an effort of memory. “No doubt he completed his apprenticeship and set up as a tradesman somewhere—if he could raise the capital. I wouldn’t want any son of mine marrying a tradesman’s daughter. Though by all accounts that must have been the least of Richard’s crimes.”
“Perhaps,” said Charity slowly.
It seemed to her that there was a definite hint of vindictiveness in what Lord Travers had told Sir Humphrey. Apart from anything else, goldsmithing had always been one of the few trades in which it was possible for gentlemen to interest themselves. That was why so many French Huguenot refugees had links with the craft. Yet, despite his loquacity, Lord Travers didn’t seem to have mentioned to the magistrate which trade Joseph Pembroke had been apprenticed in—or how he had developed his business. What other facts had Lord Travers misrepresented?
“Sir Humphrey!” she said suddenly. “Until a few days ago I’d always thought that Richard died more than thirty years ago. You’ve lived here all your life. Did you know Richard wasn’t dead? Or, at least, that he didn’t die until only seventeen years ago?”
“No-o-o.” Sir Humphrey looked at her with a puzzled expression. “Now I come to think of it, I didn’t. But I wasn’t here at the time. My father had packed me off to France to finish my education—and a dreadful place it was too.”
For a moment he was distracted from the subject in hand by his recollections of his time abroad. Like many Georgian gentlemen, Sir Humphrey had little love for the French and, when in his cups, he was quite likely to shout “Hurrah for the roast beef of good old England”.
“Yes, but what do you remember about Richard?” Charity reminded him.
“Oh, Richard,” said Sir Humphrey, cut off before he could begin a diatribe against all foreigners. “Not a lot. When I got back he was gone, name never to be mentioned again in Lord Riversleigh’s presence. I wasn’t much interested and it’s a long time ago.”
“But did you think he was dead, or did you think he’d done something terrible?” Charity persisted.
Sir Humphrey thought about it. “Both!” he said suddenly. “I mean, I thought he was dead, but I was sure he’d disgraced the family. Not a savoury topic for discussing in the drawing-room. I dare say that this was why his name was never to be mentioned again.”
“But what was it he did that was so disgraceful?” Charity asked, impatience finally creeping into her voice.
She was becoming increasingly annoyed by lack of substance in the magistrate’s account. It seemed outrageous to her that Jack, his father and grandfather should all be condemned for sins or crimes which she was sure they hadn’t committed, and which no one even seemed able to name.
“Damned if I know, m’dear,” Sir Humphrey confessed. “In fact now I come to think of it, young Richard always seemed devilish strait-laced to me. It just goes to show how you can be deceived in a man. Travers was telling me only last night…well, well, I beg your pardon, Mrs Mayfield, that’s hardly a suitable story for your ears. But if this fellow is anything like his father I should be on your guard in his presence, that’s all I can say.”
“I think I would have had more reason to be on my guard in the old Lord’s presence than I have in this one’s!” said Mrs Mayfield unexpectedly. “It seems most unjust to blame a man for the sins of his father. Edward never gave us any cause to doubt him, and his father was hardly a saint. Why should his cousin Jack be any different?”
“Well said, Mama!” Charity exclaimed impetuously, and Mrs Mayfield blushed.
“You agree with Lady Leydon, then, that I should call on him and invite him to our party?” Sir Humphrey asked.
“Certainly I do,” said Mrs Mayfield firmly. “It wouldn’t be right to condemn him without even having met him. And I found him charming.”
“If that’s your view, ma’am, I shall call upon him tomorrow morning,” Sir Humphrey declared, despite his continuing personal misgivings. He took his leave of them soon after that, but he left Charity at least with a number of unanswered questions.
“Good morning, Mr Guthrie. How are you today?” Charity asked as the land agent rode by.
She was sitting on the same gate which had caused all the trouble on the day of the hunt, and the land agent had been too engrossed in his thoughts to notice she was there until she spoke.
“Miss Charity! Don’t you know better than to go startling a man like that?” he reproved her. “I’ve been worse. How about yourself?”
“I’ve been worse too,” Charity replied. “How do you like your new master? Isn’t it a good thing he gave Jerry the lease?”
“A very good thing. And how did you know that?” Mr Guthrie looked at her suspiciously.
“I showed him the way to the Burdens’,” Charity explained.
“Did you, indeed? I didn’t think you’d met the man.”
“Mr Guthrie! Haven’t you been listening to the local gossip recently?” Charity looked shocked. “I’ve met him twice.” She conveniently forgot the occasion when he had witnessed her quarrel with Owen over the gate.
“First he came to visit us with a message from Edward, only Mama was out,” she continued unblushingly. “Then he was riding by on the way to the Burdens’ and noticed me in the garden. Naturally I invited him in to meet Mama. He seems to be a great improvement on Harry.”
She twirled the hazel twig she held in her hands as she spoke. With the blue sky behind her, and her hood thrown back carelessly from her dark curls, she looked the picture of innocence, but Mr Guthrie was not deceived.
“That’s your opinion, is it?” he said drily.
“Certainly.” Charity smiled at him ravishingly. Then she threw the twig away and jumped down from the gate. Mr Guthrie sighed ostentatiously and dismounted painfully.
“I’m too old for all this climbing on and off horses,” he complained.
“I never asked you to get down,” Charity pointed out.
“Mebbe not, but I’ll get a crick in my neck if I try and talk to you from up there.”
“How did you know I wanted to talk to you?” Charity asked, just as if she hadn’t been sitting on the gate for the last forty-five minutes, waiting for the land agent to pass by. Mr Guthrie didn’t deign to reply, and after a moment Charity laughed.
“I did want to ask you something,” she admitted. “You were here when Richard left. Why did Lord Riversleigh disown him? Did he do something dreadful?”
“I couldn’t say. I was never admitted into his lordship’s confidence,” the land agent replied, his manner colder than usual when speaking to Charity.
“But you do know,” said Charity, undaunted. “After knowing the late Lord Riversleigh, and having met the new one, I can’t believe it was anything to Richard’s discredit, but that’s what everyone will think—unless they know the truth.”
“I dare say that’s what they’ll think anyway,” Guthrie replied. “And why are you so concerned?”
“I don’t know,” said Charity, rather disconcerted to find herself blushing. “But I don’t think it’s fair if people think badly of a man for something his father didn’t even do,” she added hastily as she met the land agent’s shrewd gaze.
“No.” Guthrie looked down at Charity thoughtfully. “No, you wouldn’t.” He hesitated, and then seemed to make up his mind. “You’re quite right, of course,” he said. “Richard never did anything wrong. There was no scandal. That’s the pity of it, the grievous pity. He wasn’t like Harry. He fathered no bastards and ran up no debts he couldn’t pay. He didn’t cheat…” The land agent caught himself up.
“Cheat!” Charity exclaimed. “Did Harry cheat?”
“That’s another story, and nothing to do with Richard. Don’t you go repeating it.” Guthrie looked annoyed with himself. “Where was I?”
“There was no scandal,” Charity prompted him.
“No,” said Guthrie. “But Richard never could get on with his father. He was a man who couldn’t abide to see things done badly, and he hated cruelty. I mind the time I was talking in West Street with him when we saw a horse struggling to pull a cart it couldn’t shift because the wheels were locked. The idiot carter hadn’t even bothered to get down and look. You should have heard what Richard said to the man.” Guthrie smiled reminiscently.
“So what happened?” Charity asked.
“Well, he didn’t like his father’s methods. He wanted improvements carried out at Riversleigh. He was a great believer in finding a better way of doing a job. Lord Riversleigh hated it—so did Harry. I think it was Harry who started that last quarrel; he always liked making trouble for Richard. I can’t even remember what it was about—nothing important. But it was the last straw; Richard left that day and never returned. Lord Riversleigh gave orders that his name was never to be mentioned again. He was dead. I think Richard was glad to go. He’d given up any idea of trying his schemes at Riversleigh, and there was nothing else for him there—except his mother.”
“His mother!” Charity exclaimed. “What did she have to say about all this?”
“Very little. She was a quiet little woman, very much afraid of her husband. But she was brave enough to go with me in secret to see Richard in London. He couldn’t come to her, you see. He’d sworn never to set foot on Riversleigh land again.”
“Good heavens!” said Charity. “What a terrible thing! Poor Lady Riversleigh. How could she bear it?”
“I don’t think she could,” said Guthrie sombrely. “She died two years later. I’ve always believed it was grief that killed her.”
“Why did you stay?” Charity demanded suddenly. “Why did you work for that…that monster?”
“For Lady Riversleigh’s sake at first. She trusted me to take her to Richard, d’y’see? And later…habit.” The land agent shrugged.
Charity looked at him steadily for a moment. “Habit?” she said at last.
“Aye. And there was my wife: she came from these parts, she didn’t want to leave. Besides…there were others who couldn’t leave and I’d a foolish notion I ought to do my best for them.” Guthrie looked half ashamed of his confession.
Charity smiled suddenly. “You’re a good man,” she said. “I’m glad I know you.” She stood on tiptoe and kissed him on the cheek before he knew what she was about.
He flushed and mumbled with embarrassment.
“Did Richard meet his wife after he left Riversleigh?” Charity asked.
“Indeed he did. She never caused the breach with his father. It would be a wicked thing to suggest!” the land agent declared hotly, and from his immediate response Charity suspected he wasn’t as unacquainted with the rumours as he might like her to imagine.
“I met her a couple of times. She was a lovely girl,” he continued. “Half-French she was, and none the worse for it. Her grandfather on her mother’s side was a Huguenot who’d come to England to escape persecution in his own land. She’d be much older now, of course. But I always thought Richard had done well for himself. Blood and birth don’t count for everything, not by a long way.”
“I never thought they did,” Charity replied quietly. “Did Harry know Richard was married?”
“Oh, yes.” Guthrie smiled grimly. “That’s why he never married himself. It was his revenge on the old Lord. Lord Riversleigh dreaded the thought that Richard might one day inherit and Harry tormented him with it. He told me once that he’d wed the day the old man was finally in his grave—but not before.”
“What a hideous pair!” Charity exclaimed. “Why did Harry hate his father so much?”
“That’s a different story, and not one you need to know,” Guthrie said. He gathered up the reins and prepared to climb up on his horse again. “As for the present Lord, I don’t think you need worry about him. By all I can see, he’s well able to take care of himself. I don’t think a few unfounded rumours are going to upset him.”
“You are pleased he’s come, aren’t you?” Charity said.
“Aye.” Mr Guthrie settled himself more comfortably in the saddle. “Aye, I reckon it’ll be a grand thing for Riversleigh. Mind, it’s early days yet,” he added with his customary caution. “Anything could happen. I’ll be saying good day to you, Miss Charity. I have a great deal to do this morning.”
“Of course, I didn’t mean to hold you up,” she smiled up at him. “Mr Guthrie, if anyone mentions the matter to you again, will you put them right?”
“Are you asking me to indulge in idle gossip?” the land agent asked austerely.
“No,” she said quietly. “But so few people remember what really happened—even Sir Humphrey believes the rumours that Richard was disgraced. Don’t you think his friends, those who remember him, have a duty to defend him?”
For a moment Guthrie stared down at her, then he said slowly, “Sometimes you’re a very daunting young woman. Don’t you think you’ve troubles enough of your own without taking up cudgels in defence of a stranger and a long-dead man?”
“Perhaps.” She smiled wistfully, almost sadly. “But I’d like to think someone might do the same for me, or my family—if it was necessary.”
“We do, my dear,” said the land agent, speaking gruffly because he knew what people were saying about Mr Mayfield and he was distressed for Charity and her mother.
He couldn’t tell her that he’d already defended them vigorously, because that would only confirm her obvious suspicions that her family was the subject of unkind gossip. But he could tell her that he’d defended Richard and perhaps, in the circumstances, that would do just as well.
“If you must know,” he said, sounding as if he were speaking against his will, because that was what she’d expect, “if you must know, I’ve spoken out already against the lies I’ve heard about Richard. But the real scandal-mongers lie outside my circle. I can’t confront them.”
“No, I know,” Charity replied, thinking how it was Lord Travers who had played such a part in prejudicing Sir Humphrey against Jack Riversleigh and his father. “I’m sorry, Mr Guthrie,” she continued. “I should have known you wouldn’t stay silent.”
The land agent smiled grimly to show he’d accepted her apology, and clicked his tongue at his horse.
“Well, if you’ve no further orders for me I’ll be on my way,” he said. “And mind you don’t go startling any more travellers out of their wits this morning!”
Charity laughed and went back to the house, where she found Mr Canby and Lord Ashbourne’s agent waiting for her in the library. She spent the rest of the morning making arrangements.