The Frog Earl (21 page)

“I wager his lordship, Viscount Litton of Crossfields, may approach from any direction he pleases,” Simon agreed. “Hurry up with those kidneys, coz, I'm ready to go.”

An hour later they were riding down a lane between a farm belonging to Mere House and one of the Pells' tenants. Gerald pointed out the weed-choked ditches on the squire's side, the gaps in the hedge where bushes and trees had died and not been replaced. Coming to a rickety gate, they turned into a plowed field.

“Winter wheat,” said Simon, judging the crop by its near readiness for harvest. “But why is it only planted down the sides of the field, except for those few clumps in the middle?”

“You used to ride to hounds before you took to chasing Frenchies across the waves.”

“You mean the hunt crossed here? I suppose a few dozen galloping horses at the wrong time could cause such devastation, but I'm surprised it hasn't been replanted.”

“Replanting costs money. Pell may have paid compensation, but either it was insufficient or his overseer pocketed some portion of it.”

They rode on, across soggy, undrained meadows grazed by cattle mired to their knees; through woodland where dead trees rotted in the underbrush; past a farmhouse with cracked windows and tottering chimney, and unsmiling, unshod children in the littered yard.

“Can nothing be done?” Simon asked, appalled.

“They are Pell's acres and Pell's tenants. I know Uncle Josiah tried to reason with him without success. It would cost a fortune now to put all to rights.”

“Mimi's fortune.”

“I doubt it would be spent that way if Albert could get his hands on it, which I also doubt. The colonel is aware of the state of the squire's land.”

“I hope he's seen it for himself. I'd heard enough stories, but without actually setting eyes on it I couldn't really imagine it. Gerald, I'm going to insist that my father let me manage our estates. I cannot bear to think that our tenants might be living in such conditions.”

“Nothing as bad as this, I believe. Your agents are too well paid to risk their positions by gross negligence or dishonesty. But nothing is done quite as well as it could be.”

“What I don't understand is why the devil didn't Cedric make more effort to take over the reins. Was he unaware of the problems? You must have pointed them out to him.”

“I did, on more than one occasion.”

“Surely he wasn't afraid of losing my father's regard? I don't believe anything he could have done would have damned him in the marquis's eyes.”

Instead of answering, Gerald drew rein and gestured at the house that now stood before them. Absorbed in their discussion, Simon hadn't noticed the ivy-clad manor, merging as it did into the overgrown shrubbery surrounding it. Windows peered like eyes beneath shaggy brows, and the terrace sported a beard of grass.

“The devil!” said Simon. “The Pells live no better than their tenants.”

“Not much. All they care for is sport. Simon, your father ordered me not to tell you about Cedric, but half the world knows and I cannot in good conscience keep you in ignorance.”

“What is there to know, other than that he was a buck of the first stare, a model of fashionable elegance, a superb sportsman, the handsome darling of the ton, in short perfection itself? Everything a gentleman could want in his son and heir.” Simon tried, without a great deal of success, to keep the bitterness from his voice.

“He was also a libertine who cared not whom he cuckolded, nor what innocence he destroyed,” said Gerald brutally. “He was a gamester who would have bankrupted the family but for the luck that enabled him to ruin several others instead. He never lost his welcome in polite society, but he preferred to frequent the coarsest scoundrels and he died in a drunken brawl in a low tavern.”

“But... but why...” Simon stammered. He read honesty in his cousin's eyes, and loyalty and—was it confident hope? “I was told Cedric was killed in a carriage accident.”

Gerald set his horse in motion and Simon automatically followed suit. “Your parents are still trying to pretend it never happened. They prefer the myth of perfection to the truth, and against that myth you can never win. To my mind, you are worth a dozen of your brother, and I am proud... What the devil!”

Even Simon's preoccupation vanished at the sight that met their eyes as they rounded a stand of elms. A man in the clothes of an outdoor servant advanced with upraised fist on a slim figure who faced him defiantly, shielding something in her arms.

“Mimi!” cried Simon, urging Intrepid to a gallop, Gerald's mount matching every stride.

As the two horses thundered down upon him, the fellow backed off, then turned tail and ran. Mimi stood her ground until she recognized them. At once she set her burden on the ground and began to struggle with her bonnet, hanging down her back.

Intrepid slowed and stopped. Simon dismounted and went to help with the recalcitrant bonnet.

“The brim is torn,” he told her, straightening it, “and I fear one of the roses will never be the same again. You're hard on hats, Miss Lassiter.”

“You are thinking of the one I threw in the mere. That horrid man broke my parasol,” she added, looking mournfully at the sad remains on the ground, “and I must have left my gloves by the pond. Oh dear, and my spencer is covered with mud and blood and dog hairs.”

“Blood! Oh, from the dog,” he said in relief as she stooped to pick up the puppy cringing at her feet.

“And my hem is filthy and I stepped in a puddle,” she continued the catalog of disaster, “but I'm very glad you came, all the same. Rohan is much heavier than he looks. I'd much rather not have to carry him home again.”

“Simon, help Miss Lassiter up behind me,” suggested Gerald, his voice full of laughter. “You may have the honor of bearing her mongrel.”

“Don't call him a mongrel, coz,” Simon advised, seeing Mimi's indignation as he lifted her onto the horse's back. “He's a canine of uncertain parentage.”

“He's not! He's a foxhound. That's why I brought him to the Pells—I was sure he had run away. But they didn't want him so they threw stones at him to make him leave, and that odious man said he'd drown him this time!” She put one arm around Gerald's waist.

Envying his cousin, fearful of what might have happened had they not ridden this way, Simon took the pup from the clasp of her other arm, handling the shivering little body gently. “We'll soon put you to rights, old fellow,” he assured him, then looked up at Mimi. She smiled. He was in favor with her again, but it had to be said: “Miss Lassiter, you ought not to have come here alone.”

“I know,” she said guiltily. “I was in such a hurry to bring Rohan home to be healed that I didn't think about propriety.”

“Propriety be damned! It's danger I'm talking about. What do you think that fellow was...”

“Do climb down off your high ropes, coz,” Gerald interrupted, “and climb into the saddle, if you can manage it with—er—Rohan in your arms. The sooner we are on our way, the better.”

Simon had to acknowledge the sense of this. Mimi was in no condition to come face-to-face with the Pells. Intrepid's good manners allowed him to mount with a minimum of awkwardness and they set out cross-country for Salters Hall.

In view of Mimi's insecure seat, they rode slowly. Unsure if he was in her black books, Simon kept his mouth shut. She was silent too, whether burning with indignation toward him or consumed with guilt. The cawing of rooks in the elms sounded loud behind them.

Gerald made no effort to break the silence until they left the squire's land, when he inquired, “I take it, Miss Lassiter, that your new pet is not named for the Prince de Rohan, the French cardinal?”

“No, I've never heard of him. Who is he?”

“Wasn't he the one who was involved in the Diamond Necklace scandal?” Simon asked. “Something to do with the French court shortly before the Revolution?”

“Yes,” said Gerald shortly and repressively.

Simon gathered that the affair was too unsavory to be discussed in the presence of a young lady. He could tell that a question was rising to Mimi's lips. “I wager Rohan is an Indian name,” he said quickly.

“Hindi for sandalwood.” She giggled. “You see, when I found him he was rather smelly, so I told him he needed a bath with sandalwood essence.”

“Believe me,” said Simon, “the name has done absolutely nothing to sweeten his smell.”

Rohan's protesting yip at this slander snapped the last thread of tension, and suddenly they were all laughing uproariously.

Chapter 18

“Jacko will look after Rohan while we're at the Daumiers', Papa,” said Mimi persuasively.

“And while we're inside Highbury Manor,” her father commanded. “He's not house-trained yet.”

“He's only a baby. He's going to be excessively handsome when he has put on a bit more weight, is he not?”

“Excessively.” The colonel scratched the head of the little dog in his daughter's arms. Rohan wriggled with joy, his tail beating against Mimi's side. “All right, you may bring him. I hope he's carriage-trained at least.”

“We can stop halfway and I'll walk him a bit. Harriet and Mr. Cooper won't mind.”

“The carriage is at the door, sir,” announced Waring.

As he handed Mimi into the carriage, Colonel Lassiter said firmly, “Now none of your tricks today, missy. Lord Daumier has approved my turning the manor into an orphanage, but everything will go much smoother if we're on friendly terms with him and his lady. They're the biggest landowners in the parish of Highbury, and they could make things very awkward if you set up their backs.”

“Tricks, Papa?” Mimi looked up at him wide-eyed as she smoothed her skirts and settled Rohan on the soft leather seat beside her.

“Naughty puss,” he chuckled, patting her cheek and sitting down opposite her. “Promise me.”

“No tricks, Papa. I shall keep on my gloves and my hat and not talk about tadpoles or Indian gods.”

“And you won't cut the Pells?”

“Oh dear, are they going too? It will be difficult to be polite after what they let that man do to Rohan, but I promise to try.”

“Good enough, my love. There is, thank heaven, no lake for you to fall in. Stay away from the stream.”

It was a sunny, windy morning. Rohan pressed his nose to the window for a few minutes, but his breath steamed it up so he gave up trying to see out. He fell asleep with his head on Mimi's lap, only to awaken the moment the carriage stopped outside the vicarage.

Jacko jumped down from the back and ran up the path between beds of scarlet geraniums to knock on the door. The vicar and Harriet came straight out and joined the Lassiters in the carriage. Having already met Harriet, Rohan greeted her with boundless enthusiasm. Mr. Cooper was a stranger, however, and therefore worthy of suspicion. As the carriage rolled through the village, its course was punctuated by short, sharp, questioning barks.

“You ought to know better than to mistrust a clergyman,” the vicar told him with mock severity. “Well, Colonel, who is to join us this morning, besides Lord and Lady Daumier?”

“Lady Thompson, of course. I don't know if Lord Litton or Mr. Hurst will come.”

“My daughter tells me Lord Litton has expressed an interest in the orphanage, so I daresay he will be there.”

Mimi noted Harriet's blush and squeezed her hand. “I wonder why a Pink of the Ton should be interested in an orphanage?” she whispered slyly. “For the same reason he came back to Cheshire so unexpectedly?”

“Pell said he'd come by to look the place over,” her father continued, “and the Marburys...”

“The Marburys?” said the vicar in surprise. “I had not thought any of them seriously interested.”

“It's my belief they are only interested in meeting with the Daumiers,” the colonel said cynically. “An invitation to take luncheon with them is not to be missed. Lloyd will be there, as vicar of Highbury, and Blake should be there to meet us with the keys. He handled the conveyancing, as you know. That's all, I think.”

“A goodly crowd, yet few enough for that vast house. There has not been even a caretaker there these many years. We had best walk with caution.”

“The structure is sound enough in the newer parts, Vicar, but you are right. I'll warn everyone to be careful, especially in the old wing that was the original house.”

“Why has the manor been abandoned for so long, Papa?” Mimi asked.

“The last owner—or rather resident owner—had only one child, a daughter, who married a colonist and went to America. When he died she couldn't be found, I gather. It was only when she, in turn, died that her son found mention of Highbury Manor among her papers. He contacted an English lawyer and discovered that he now owned the place, which is of no use to him whatsoever. It's because he's in America that it's taken so long to close the purchase.”

After a brief stop for Rohan's sake, they reached Highbury shortly before noon. The manor was visible from a distance across unkempt parkland, a huge, rambling place with sections in every style from early Tudor to modern Palladian.

“It's perfect for an orphanage,” Mimi said as they drove up the avenue of chestnuts. “There's space enough for dozens of children. What's that turret on the roof, Papa?”

“Blake said it's a banqueting room, though it hardly looks big enough to hold a banquet in.”

“In Tudor times, and well into the seventeenth century,” the vicar explained, “a banquet could be a grand feast or a light refreshment for a few friends. The Elizabethans often built small, elaborate buildings for the latter purpose in the gardens, but the roof was also a popular location. I see you have gardeners at work already, Colonel.”

“Yes, the gardens are so impenetrable it's impossible even to see what needs to be done. When they've been cleared a bit, I shall want Mrs. Cooper's advice. She, if anyone, must know how to create a garden that won't be ruined by children's games.”

“Sir,” said Harriet shyly, “I believe I can tell you what Mama would advise.”

The colonel smiled at her. “Tell me.”

“If you allow the children to help in the garden, let them plant things, and pick the flowers and vegetables, then they will be careful not to spoil it because they will feel it belongs to them.”