“Yes, that must be it,” she said, “although… the bishop seemed to think he might have given up the idea of being a clergyman altogether.”
“Hmm,‘an alternative path in life.’I think I might write to Pettigrew. He would enjoy a little visit to Winchester, I am sure, to find out precisely when Nicholson was ordained, and as what. And meanwhile, I shall confirm when the earl was married.”
“You can ask him at dinner,” Luce said.
“No, no, no! Independent verification, my dear. There is bound to be a copy of Debrett’s somewhere in the library.”
“I know where the family Bible is kept,” she said. “It was the first thing Peachy looked for.”
“Even better! What a treasure you are!”
“Are you going to kiss me again?” she said hopefully.
“Later, wife, later. Show me this family Bible first.”
6: An Invitation To Birchall House
Walter unfolded the letter again. An invitation to dine at Birchall House with the Strongs was not a rare event, but this was a little different.‘I know you will not be entertaining at Corland until this ghastly business is behind you, so I am sure you will be happy to spend an evening with Miss Franklyn.’He was always pleased to see his future wife, of course, but Lady Strong’s kindness only underlined his own neglect. Bea had been home from town for two weeks now, and he had not even seen her. They had exchanged notes when she first returned, but then there had been the Nicholson business. Even so, that did not preclude him riding over to call upon Bea, and finding out how she had enjoyed her season, but somehow he had not managed to do so.
After writing to accept the invitation, he had dashed off a note to Bea to say how much he looked forward to seeing her again and hearing all her news. Now, as he sat in the carriage, he wondered, only half in jest, whether he would even recognise his betrothed after so long. It was more than three months since shehad left Yorkshire to enjoy herself in town, and their letters had been sporadic, to say the least.
The carriage felt rather crowded, for although Mrs Edgerton’s odd companion, Miss Peach, had been left behind, there were still four of them to be conveyed, and the Scotsman and Walter himself being both tall and broad shouldered, they bumped each other constantly as the carriage bounced over the rutted road to Birchall. Walter had to hold tight to the strap, wishing he had thought to order the Atherton travelling carriage, which was better suited to these country roads.
“You are betrothed to Miss Franklyn, I understand, Lord Birtwell,” Mrs Edgerton said, as he straightened himself after a particularly bad jolt.
“I have that honour.”
“Is your engagement of long standing?”
“Almost a year now.”
“And now Mr Nicholson’s tragedy may delay the marriage even further. You would not wish to show any disrespect to your uncle by marriage. I do hope you will not have to wait too long for your wedding day. Long engagements can be so trying, I feel. Once an understanding is reached, then one wants to get on with it.”
Walter was spared the necessity of answering by Captain Edgerton. “With the heir to an earldom, the settlements will undoubtedly be complex.”
“Oh no, that was all arranged months ago,” Walter said airily. “Miss Franklyn did not wish to be married before the season, that is all. She desired to have sufficient time to buy her clothes.”
“Ah, the wedding clothes, of course,” Mrs Edgerton murmured. “How very sensible of her.”
What Bea had in fact desired was for them to be married during the season in the congratulatory glow of the entire Beau Monde, but the Dowager Countess’s illness had put paidto that idea. The whole family dared not leave home as they awaited her final hours, and whenever it happened, Walter would be in mourning for some time. Even before that, there was Nicholson’s demise, and there must be a period of mourning for the poor fellow. Perhaps Walter would not be leg-shackled before Christmas. A few more months of freedom yet from petticoat rule.
When they arrived at Birchall House, with Sir Hubert and Lady Strong on the steps to greet them, Captain Edgerton sprang out of the carriage first to assist his wife to alight, then Walter politely ushered the Scotsman out. As he stepped down onto the drive, he could not help smiling at the sight of Birchall House, gently glowing in the late afternoon sun. It was not an imposing edifice, like Corland, nor particularly distinguished by architectural merit or great age. It was a pleasant family house, and Walter always felt as if it were as much his own home as Corland.
He had spent almost as much time here as he grew up, as he and Eustace and Josie devised their childish games with Winnie, Hebe and Mabel. Such fun they had had! Even when he was away at Eton for months at a time, his first action on returning was to run the mile or so to the boundary with Birchall, and climb up to the tree house there. It was the refuge for all the children from both families, and where they were always looked for first when they were summoned for something or other. He had hardly been to the tree house this year, just once or twice when he was particularly miserable to be stuck at home and not enjoying his last months as a free man. Often he found Winnie there, rocking gently on one of the swings, a book on her lap. She always teased him out of the doldrums. Good old Mouse! A true friend to him, always.
He made his greetings to Sir Hubert and Lady Strong and followed them into the house.
“Maynard, how are you?”
“Very well, my lord. Thank you kindly for asking,” the butler said, smiling paternally at him, as he took his hat and gloves. “Miss Franklyn is already in the drawing room, my lord.”
“Ah, very good, very good.”
He strolled after the others, pausing to make a minute adjustment to his cravat in the mirror as he passed it, and so was the last into the room.
“Viscount Birtwell, my lady,” Maynard intoned, even though Walter had already seen Lady Strong as he arrived. But he understood the reason in his first glance around the room, for Lady Esther Franklyn was sitting beside Bea, and that put everyone on their mettle. Even so experienced a butler as Maynard adhered more rigidly to correct protocol when the daughter of a duke was in the house.
Winnie scurried into the room behind him, laden with a tray of sweetmeats. “Well, Mouse,” Walter said, flicking her cheek affectionately. “Escaped from your murder enquiries for a while, have you?”
