(Louisa Wilbrahim has been rescued from Mother Rawton and taken back to Charles Huntingdon's home, where she has told of her flight and captivity)
After Louisa was taken back to Stanegate
Hall, we remained in silence for a while, and then I said, “What are we to say
if Sir James becomes suspicious about his daughter’s adventures in London, and
starts to ask questions?”
“If you’ll pardon me for speaking out”, said
Mrs Timmis, “What I would suggest is this. Word will spread all around about
his lordship’s coach coming up here, with the coronet and all; so we stick with
what I’ve told Miss Wilbrahim: that she was lost and ill and took refuge in his
lordship’s house, which she happened on by chance, and the Countess took care
of her, the Earl himself being away, and she entrusted Miss Wilbrahim to your
care for the journey home, knowing you were a neighbour of Sir James, and we
praise her ladyship for all we’re worth, as a generous, kind-hearted soul.”
Clifford interposed at this point. “If
anyone should ask why the coach drove here first, rather than directly to Stanegate,
we can say that the horses needed watering, or that one of them cast a shoe,
and what with the lateness of the hour they thought it best to stay.”
“And you, sir, you didn’t tell her ladyship
anything about that dreadful Rawton woman, now did you?” Mrs Timmis enquired.
I shook my head.
“Well then that ought to suffice. No need to
go into any nasty details!”
We agreed this appeared to be a sound
strategy.
“What’s more,” Clifford continued, “I
think it would be best if you, sir, didn’t show your face at Stanegate for the moment,
just in case Sir James does get suspicious. Wait to be invited.”
I agreed reluctantly, but said, “I would
dearly love to be certain that Louisa is happy and well. How can we know? Are
there any of the servants we can trust?”
“Yes: I’m certain we can trust Becky,” said
Mrs Timmis, “she’s a good girl, and very loyal to her mistress. Miss
Wilbrahim’s safe enough now, for her father won’t let her out of his sight for
many a day. Mr Clifford’s right, sir, that you shouldn’t go near Stanegate.
Becky will let us know if there’s any more trouble.”
“Surely Sir James would have asked Mrs
Piddock where Louisa had gone?” I said, “Wouldn’t she have told him that she’d
gone with the Rector? And how will Mr Bunbridge explain his part in Louisa’s
flight?”
“Oh,
that Mrs Piddock’s nowt but a slattern that’ll make up some lies to excuse
herself! She and the Rector are in league together, you mark my words; but
sooner or later their wickedness will be found out! And as for the Rector, he’s
got some explaining to do, to be sure, and not only to the squire; for his
misses, she rules him with a rod of iron, and what she’ll do to him when she
finds out he’s been driving the girl to Mulchester, I really don’t know! But
he’ll find some way of putting the blame on someone else; for he always does!”
Mr Clifford, speaking in the voice of a
lawyer, chose to bring a cautious note to our discussion. “We must not assume
that Mr Bunbridge seriously intended an assault on Miss Wilbrahim’s virtue on
this occasion. I do not believe that he is man of such utter recklessness.
Perhaps he really did intend just to take her to somewhere safe from the fever.
At least, I am certain that this is what he will tell her father. But I agree
that all concerned must be carefully watched”.
After Sir James’s contemptuous rejection of
Lord Staines as a son-in-law, I wondered how he had reacted when a grand coach
bearing the Teesdale coronet delivered his daughter home. He would surely write
Lord Teesdale a letter of thanks; and the people of Bereton would have been
excited by sight of the coach passing through their town and would ask their
own questions. But what private conversations Sir James might have had with his
daughter, no-one knew. I came to suspect that neither Sir James or the Rector
knew the full story of Louisa’s capture by Mrs Rawton and her subsequent
rescue, and I prayed that, as long as we at the Priory held our peace, this
happy state of ignorance might continue.
I
asked Mrs Timmis what was being said in the town.
“Lor, sir, what a stir it did make: his lordship’s
coach coming!” she told me, “The talk in Bereton and all the country round was of
nowt else! And somehow everybody knew that it had brought Miss Wilbrahim home
from London, after the Rector had taken her to Mulchester. But how they knew
that, I really can’t tell for certain; I can promise you that no-one in this
household hasn’t said aught!”
“And what did Mrs Piddock and the Rector
have to say about it, do you know?”
“Well, what our Becky tells me is that Mrs
Piddock excused herself by pleading that she had been sick in bed, at death’s door,
and didn’t even know that Miss Louisa had left the house. Mr Bunbridge went up
to Stanegate to explain himself, and he told Sir James was that all he had
wanted to do was to take Miss Wilbrahim to the Merchants’ House in Mulchester,
a most respectable establishment, to be safe from the fever. He went inside to
speak with the people there, and when he came back, she was gone! And he apologised
if his actions were misunderstood, and out of the kindness of his heart he
forgave Miss Wilbrahim, for he blamed her behaviour on reading sentimental
novels and poetry, which had filled her brain with silly ideas. He thought that
it would be best if a decent veil was drawn over her flight to London, so that
the whole sorry story could be forgotten; but a much closer watch should be
kept on her in future; especially on what she should be allowed to read. But all’s
quiet there now, and I’m told that Mr Bunbridge hasn’t spoken to Miss Wilbrahim
in private; not at all.”
I
reflected that there must have been a great deal of listening at doors on the
part of the Stanegate servants. I now asked, “And does anyone believe a word of
what the Rector says?”
“Some do, out of loyalty and respect”. “And the rest?”
Mrs Timmis hesitated before replying, “It’s
not my place to say so, sir; but since you’ve asked me …. No; many of the
Bereton people know him only too well!”
But suddenly there were other matters to
reduce Bereton to a town in turmoil, like a wasps’ nest that had been stirred
with a stick, and full of wild and contradictory rumours. I returned home after
a day riding round my estates to discover Mrs Timmis, her brother Ned, Mr
Clifford and Mrs Highsmith in animated conversation, and asked the
cause.
Ned Timmis spoke first. “Old Robbie Keslow,
that sells needles and things round the farms, came to our door and tells me,
“Here’s news, Ned! I was passing by the Rectory early this morning, and I saw
old Ephraim the butler there with his hands and coat sleeves all dirty. “Why,
Ephraim”, I says to him, “whatever have you been doing at this hour of the day
to get that mucky?” “Well, our Robbie”, he tells me, “the master, ‘e told me to
go out while it was still dark and dig a big hole at the bottom of the garden
and bury all his wine and brandy in it.” And when I asked him why that should
be, he told me, “Haven’t you heard, our Robbie, that Harry Clewton was took by
the excisemen yesterday? Now I’m not saying that he was a smuggler, our Robbie,
or that my master or anyone else bought brandy and tobacco from him; that I’m
not; but who knows what he might say to save his skin? So the master thinks it
best to hide his things away until we see how the land lies. And I’ve heard say
that old William over at Stanegate is busy hiding Squire Wilbrahim’s brandy away,
and if I was you, I’d spread the word around sharpish to any friends of yours,
that I would!”
This caused general merriment. “So that’s
where the old rogue got his brandy, was it?” Clifford laughed. “And him
preaching all those sermons about obedience! And no doubt Sir James got his
share as well! So now William will be obliged to be busy with a spade, and at
his age too! How undignified for him!”
He explained to me that the excisemen would
be holding Clewton in the hope that he would give them the names of the local
gentry whom he had supplied.
“And does this include us?” I asked.
“Indeed it does not, sir!” replied Mrs
Timmis indignantly. “The master, he didn’t hold with such goings-on, and the
mistress scarcely drank at all. Not that we didn’t hear rumours”, she added,
darkly. “Isn’t that so, Ned?” she appealed to her brother.
I turned to him. “So what do you know about
Harry Clewton and the smuggling business?” I asked.
He looked awkward. “Well, sir; all I can say
for sure is that Harry Clewton was well known around the town. He was nowt in
particular: a leather-worker and a leather-worker’s son, and not the best at
his trade he wasn’t, but somehow he always had plentiful money, and spent it
freely, and was generous to his friends. Where he got it from’s not for me to
say. This Harry Clewton, he knows everyone, from the squire and the Rector and
Alderman Stout downwards, and it’s said around the town that he’s had dealings
with that Mr Jarrett, Lord Teesdale’s man, as well. But for this smuggling
business, I don’t know nowt about that.”
“But did he include anyone in our household
in his dealings?”
“That I can’t say, sir”.
His sister intervened at this juncture by
saying, “Now, Ned, didn’t you tell me just last month that Harry had some good
gin for sale? And didn’t I tell you that I wouldn’t touch no smuggled goods,
not for love nor money? The mistress wouldn’t never have allowed it in her
time.”
Her brother’s face turned even redder than
usual, and he treated her to a savage glance. “And where d’you think the
mistress got her tea from?” he demanded. “Mrs Highsmith here knows! She bought
it from Clewton, and still does, I shouldn’t wonder: best quality goods and no
excise to pay!” He turned to Mrs Highsmith. “That’s true, ain’t it?”
A furious row ensued between the two women,
which led to Mrs Highsmith flouncing out in a rage. I attempted to calm the
situation by asking whether we could guarantee that there was no contraband in
our house at present. Brother and sister nodded assent, following which Mrs
Timmis, having ascertained that there was nothing I needed from her for the moment,
returned to her duties in the kitchen, and her brother to his farm. Both were
in a very bad temper.
Soon afterwards, a surprising story from Stanegate then reached
us. Thomas Bagley, Sir James Wilbrahim’s man of business, had vanished, and so
had Mrs Piddock, the housekeeper! There were rumours that the estate’s accounts
had been discovered to be in great confusion, and that Sir James was very angry
that his trust had been betrayed.
This news caused Clifford no surprise. “A
rascal!” he snorted, “I always said so! I warrant he’s been putting Sir James’s
money in his own pocket for years, and now, fearing discovery, he has fled with
his ill-gotten gains! Well, I doubt if
we shall ever set eyes on him again. He’ll be on his way to London, or Bristol,
or some such city where no-one knows him”. He shook his head sadly at the
slackness in Sir James’s household.
Harry Clewton revealed nothing to the investigators. The whole town was hostile to the excisemen, and Sir James Wilbrahim had always hated the tax; so now a number of prominent local citizens, among them Alderman Stout, were prepared to testify as to Clewton’s good character. With the evidence against him being no more than circumstantial, he was eventually released. But Bagley and Mrs Piddock were never seen again, and their disappearance was unlamented.
I took no part in these matters, for at this precise time I received a series of letters from London, from Mr Walpole and Sir Anthony Pardington telling of great events taking place there. First, the world was astonished to learn that Lord Bute, who in only a couple of years had risen from obscurity to bestride the state as a mighty colossus, had resigned as Prime Minister! His successor was Mr George Grenville, Pitt’s brother-in-law but now alienated from his great mentor. Next, John Wilkes had been arrested for criminal libel of the King and confined to the Tower, but then immediately released and announcing his intention of prosecuting the officers who had arrested him! London was said to be in turmoil; seething with discontent. And on top of this, Henry Darnwell wrote to say that he had discovered a matter of great importance to me and to Sir James Wilbrahim, which ought to receive my immediate attention!
Since it appeared that Louisa Wilbrahim was safely back at home and in no immediate danger, I decided to set out again on my travels. Martin Clifford and Mrs Timmis promised to keep me informed of any news from Stanegate, and two days later I was seated on the coach to London. The next few weeks were to be very busy indeed.
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