Captain Ingram's Inheritance (27 page)

 Dolph eagerly accepted his invitation. “Maybe I can help,” he blurted out. “If something happens, I’ll try to help. Best if I go too. Won’t tell Father?”

 “I won’t tell. I wonder whether Lady Constantia would care to go with us.” He never drove her alone, but his cousin was sufficient chaperon since they would not go beyond the Upfield farms.

 “No!” Dolph sounded oddly desperate. There was no understanding the poor fellow. He added with an inspired air, “Busy. Lady Connie’s busy today.”

 “All right, let’s go.”

 As they walked down the passage to the back door, the front door knocker sounded behind them. Frank paused. A moment later Twistlethwaite ran after them.

 “Cap’n, sir, ‘tis the Earl o’ Westwood!” He thrust a visiting card at Frank. “And the Countess o’ Westwood, too, the footman says. They’re coming in right now, Cap’n! What’ll I do?”

 The Westwoods! What the devil were they doing at Upfield? He turned back, Dolph trailing after him. “Go and tell Miss Fanny and the Roworths, quickly, man.”

 When he reached the hall, Lord and Lady Westwood had already entered, their identically inflexible figures silhouetted against the open door. Frank strode forward to greet them, to welcome them to Upfield Grange though he had no very kind memories of his welcome to Westwood.

 “Captain Ingram,” said the countess before he could utter a word, “is my youngest daughter here?”

 “Lady Victoria?” Still more astonished, he shook his head. “No, ma’am. She left weeks ago.”

 “I beg, nay, I demand that you do not conceal her from me.”

 “I assure you, ma’am,” Frank said stiffly, “I shouldn’t dream of hiding your daughter from you.”

 “Captain,” said Lord Westwood, grim-faced, “you are unused to the conventions of civilized life. I must warn you that, whatever the custom in the army, the penalties for assisting a young girl to abscond from her lawful guardians are severe.”

 “Sir, I...”

 “Mama! Papa!” Constantia’s arrival, followed by Hoskins, cut short Frank’s angry retort. She kissed her mother’s cheek and asked somewhat nervously, “What brings you to Upfield Grange?”

 Coming in with Fanny, Felix repeated the question.

 “Surely that can wait, Felix,” Fanny protested, “until your parents have sat down and caught their breath after their journey. Pray come into the drawing-room, Lady Westwood. You will like some refreshment, I daresay. Hoskins, tea and the madeira, if you please.”

 Lady Westwood regarded her future daughter-in-law with something closely approaching approval.

 Once they were settled in the drawing-room, the countess turned to Felix and said abruptly, “Your sister is missing.”

 “Vickie? Missing?”

 “Captain Ingram claims she is not here.”

 “Nor is she, Mama,” said Constantia, incensed. “What do you mean, she is missing?”

 “I mean, if she is truly not here, we have no notion where she is.” Lady Westwood’s rigid back failed her. She leaned back in her chair, though otherwise her coolly aristocratic demeanour altered not a whit. “Victoria’s conduct has been utterly unacceptable since she returned to Westwood. Miss Bannister was indisposed after the journey, and then fell ill. By the time she recovered I had come to the realization that she is unfit to supervise Victoria. She was dismissed and...”

 “Dismissed!” Constantia cried. “Miss Bannister dismissed? But where did she go? What will she do?”

 “I did not make it my business to enquire. No doubt she has friends or relatives.”

 “I wish she had come here,” Fanny exclaimed. “She knows I want her for Anita’s governess.”

 “Perhaps she thought you would not want her after she was dismissed.” Constantia threw a glance of bitter reproach at her mother. “We must find her.”

 “I’ll have Mackintyre set Taggle to track her down,” said Frank, and was rewarded with glowing gratitude in the eyes of Lady Constantia.

 “But what of Vickie?” Felix asked.

 “Victoria was sent to her grandmother, in Bath.”

 Frank guessed from Constantia’s shudder that her grandmother was not an amiable old lady.

 “She was sent by post-chaise,” said Lord Westwood, “since I have not yet purchased a new carriage. A maid went with her. After all, it is no more than twenty miles.”

 “We did not learn for ten days that my mother had previously removed to Cheltenham Spa to try the waters. She never received my letter advising her of Victoria’s arrival.” Lady Westwood covered her eyes with her hand, looking suddenly old. “We have been unable to discover any trace of her in Bath or its environs.”

 Constantia hurried to her mother’s side and put her arm around her shoulders. “Mama, you are exhausted. Pray come up and rest on my bed.” She helped the countess to stand up.

 As they moved towards the door, with Fanny following, Lord Westwood said heavily, “We were convinced we should find Victoria here.”

 Felix shook his head. “We’ve seen neither hide nor hair of her. Taggle is the man we need.”

 “Who is this Taggle?” asked the earl.

 Frank was about to answer when he noticed Constantia, at the door, had fixed him with an appealing gaze. Leaving Felix to describe the inimitable Taggle to his father, he went after the ladies.

 Sure that he had not misread her, he waited in the hall while she and Fanny took Lady Westwood upstairs. Dolph had disappeared and the duke had not yet appeared, thank heaven. Hoskins, Twistlethwaite, and Thomas lingered. Frank sent the Yorkshireman about his business but kept the others by him. Though he didn’t immediately reveal to them what was going on, he trusted both. He wasn’t sure what Constantia had in mind, and she might need them.

 Constantia was shocked by her mother’s revelation of weakness. She was less surprised to find that Lady Westwood’s chief concern was that her youngest daughter would bring scandal upon the family. However, the countess also seemed genuinely distressed by the possibility that Vickie was in trouble or danger.

 Where could Vickie be? A faint glimmer of an idea had made Constantia appeal silently to Frank. The glimmer brightened as she rang for Joan and helped Mama to take off her bonnet. Half-forgotten incidents and words, that odd letter...

 Joan hurried into Constantia’s chamber, bringing Lady Westwood’s abigail. Leaving the maids to assist her mother, Constantia drew Fanny aside.

 “I hate to ask it of you, Fanny, but may I leave you to minister to Mama? I have a notion of Vickie’s whereabouts which I ought to discuss with Felix.”

 “Of course I’ll stay with her. Where do you think she is?”

 “I had best not say, in case I am mistaken. Pray do not tell Mama, lest it raise her hopes in vain.”

 Fanny nodded understanding and turned back to the countess. Constantia slipped out. It was true that she did not wish to raise Mama’s hopes, but more to the point, she did not wish to be stopped. It was equally true that she ought to discuss her idea with Felix, but then Papa would know. If her guess was right, the fewer people who ever found out, the better.

 Dashing into Fanny’s chamber, she borrowed a loose-fitting hooded cloak. She would have to go without gloves since her hands were quite different in size and shape from Fanny’s.

 From the gallery she saw Frank waiting. She knew she could count on him! He came to meet her at the foot of the stairs.

 “Captain, I have an idea where Vickie may be. If I tell Felix, Papa will be involved, and I had rather he was not. Will you take me to...to Heathcote?” She hated to prevaricate, but her real goal would require explanation and she did not want to waste time. It could wait until they were in the carriage.

 “Of course. It’s a slim chance she might be hiding there, but worth a try. Hoskins, you’ll come with us. Bring my carriage round.”

 The corporal departed at a run. Constantia would have preferred to go without him, but perhaps Heathcote was still too far for Frank to drive. She turned to her footman.

 “Thomas, if Lord Roworth proposes to take any action, tell him to wait until Captain Ingram returns from Heathcote. I must go too, in case we find my sister, but pray do not mention my absence to anyone if you can avoid it.”

 “I won’t utter a word, my lady,” said the footman fervently, “not if they was to pull out my tongue with red-hot pincers.”

 “I trust it will not come to that!” She smiled at him distractedly, then turned to Frank. “I hope Mama will think I am with Felix and Papa, and vice versa.”

 “Do you really need to come? I daresay I can persuade Lady Vickie to give herself up, if she’s there.”

 “No, no, I must go with you.”

 “Then we shall go and return as quickly as we can. With luck no one will notice you are gone.”

 They went out to the front porch to wait for the barouche-landau. It was a windy day, with ragged grey clouds scudding across the sky and leaves whirling to the ground. The saffron-yellow cloak flapped about Constantia’s ankles; the hood threatened to blow off, so she tightened the drawstring.

 Frank was looking at her with a slight frown.

 “I had to borrow Fanny’s cloak,” she said defensively, “because Mama is in my chamber. I know the colour does not suit me.”

 “My dear Lady Constantia, the colour was the furthest thing from my mind,” he said with a teasing smile. “I was wondering whether you will be warm enough without gloves. We had best put up the carriage hoods.”

 “Oh no, we must not waste time!” She frowned at him, suddenly realizing: “You have neither gloves nor overcoat!”

 “I don’t need an overcoat on a day like today. We old soldiers scarcely feel the cold. As for driving gloves, Hoskins will find me a pair in the coach-house.”

 Constantia had assumed Hoskins would drive and Frank would join her in the back. How was she to explain her theory with both men on the box? Yet having abandoned decorum to beg him to take her to Heathcote she was reluctant to implore him to sit with her, since he chose not to.

 While she hesitated, the barouche-landau came around the corner and stopped before them. Frank handed her in and quickly mounted to the box.

 “Spring ‘em,” he told Hoskins, donning the shabby hat and grubby, well-worn gloves the corporal handed him.

 Frank’s pair were no fifteen-mile-an-hour bits of blood, but they were willing. The carriage sped down the drive.

 Constantia sat tensely on the forward-facing seat, her hands clenched in her lap. She could not cry aloud against the wind what she suspected her feckless sister had done. Vickie might after all have taken shelter at Heathcote, persuading the small staff to hide her. If they went there first, she could explain her suspicions privately to Frank and on the way back...

 But no, that would waste so much time. The more she reflected on Vickie’s letter, the more certain she was that she had guessed right: the words scratched out with “Pam and Lizzie” written in above in tiny letters; “him” changed to “them”; “they” squeezed in as if the t and y were added later, and followed by carelessly unchanged “is” instead of “are”. What that passage had originally said was “Please tell Sir George I miss him dreadfully and he is not to forget me.”

 Vickie spending day after day at Netherfield with Anita while Upfield Grange was set in order; Vickie with her constant “Sir George says...”; Vickie refusing to leave without bidding Sir George goodbye, and adding Lady Berman, Pam, and Lizzie as an afterthought; at the picnic, Vickie dragging Sir George off to explore the house--Constantia had thought she was tactfully removing him from Oxshott’s company but her sister was not noted for tact; Vickie joining Sir George on the box on the way home from Netherfield, the day before she left for Westwood; the signs had all been there.

 Constantia blamed herself for blindness. She had been too taken up with her own feelings for Frank to notice what her little sister was about. If she was right, Mama and Papa must never find out.

 The barouche-landau was rapidly approaching the drive to Netherfield. “Turn here!” Constantia called. Frank glanced back, his hand cupping his ear, his face questioning. She flung herself onto the front seat. “Turn left here, to Netherfield!”

 “Turn left,” Frank repeated to Hoskins.

 The carriage swung left as Constantia moved back to her original seat. Something cracked like a branch snapping. The vehicle tilted. She grabbed for a handhold but the door swung open as she touched it and she pitched out.

 Landing on her shoulder, she cried out as a dreadful pain stabbed her through and through. The world faded.

Chapter 18

 Above her, Frank’s face floated in a haze.

 “Constantia, my love! I can’t feel any lumps on her head.”

 “It’s her shoulder, Captain. Look, there’s blood on her cloak, there where it’s bin tore.”

 “Oh my God!” Frank fumbled with the drawstrings of the cloak. Constantia felt him push aside the heavy cloth. Her feeble murmur of protest as he ruthlessly ripped open her gown was drowned by his repeated cry, “Oh my God!”

 “Look, Captain, her la’ship must’ve landed on this flint. Sharp as a knife it is.”

 “Never mind that, Hoskins. Help me lift her to bind this gash. It’s not deep but it won’t stop bleeding. No, first take off my neckcloth, this handkerchief is too small.”

 “Here, Captain.”

 Her head swam again as gentle hands raised her and bound her shoulder.

 “Constantia! She’s still not coming round.”

 “Shock, I reckon. Don’t fret, sir, it don’t look too bad. Mostly bruised, and that’s a nasty scrape.”

 “It must have hurt like the very devil to make her fall into a swoon.”

 “Likely she wrenched it, too.”

 With a huge effort, Constantia opened her eyes and brought Frank’s worried face into focus. “Not a swoon,” she said faintly. “I just feel a trifle peculiar.”

 His eyes brightened in relief. “I beg your pardon,” he said with a grin, “not a swoon, of course.”

 “I shall be perfectly all right in a minute.” She tried to sit up.

 He pressed her back, one hand on her uninjured shoulder. “Lie still, Lady Constantia,” he commanded. “You’re hurt and you’ve had a shock.”

 There was something soft beneath her head. She realized he was in his shirtsleeves, white against the fleeting grey clouds. Hatless, too. How handsome he was with his crisp, dark hair ruffled by the wind, his dark eyes concerned, intent upon her. She loved him. She could not help herself.