Manor as we speak.’
Alex made sure his mother and her maid were comfortable, then left them to hurry back to the house on foot, which had half the population out of their doors to see him pass. He smiled, bowed this way and that and continued on his way.
He found Davy in the yard in deep conversation with a man in a black coat and black small clothes. He wore a black three-cornered hat over a dark tie wig. He introduced himself as William Boniface, apologising profusely for not being there to greet him on his arrival. If he had been notified of the day and time, he certainly would have been.
‘Yes, to be sure,’ Alex said. ‘It is no matter. But tell me all you can about the house and grounds. It is sadly neglected.’
‘It is that, my lord, and sorry I am for it, but the old marquis turned his back on it after his wife died and would not spend a penny to keep it in order. He did not seem to care that it might fall into disrepair, for all he had a son who expected to inherit. The young master seemed of the same mind and now, of course …’ He shrugged. ‘What do you plan to do, my lord?’
‘It can’t be left as it is, that is certain. It is hardly habitable.’
‘Do you wish to live in it, my lord?’
‘I may when I am not in town or I may let it. In either event it will have to be restored. Let us inspect it properly and you may make notes as we go. Davy, you come, too. You may see things I miss.’
All three trooped indoors. Davy had drawn all the blinds back and opened all the windows, which allowed a cool breeze from the German Ocean to blow away some of the stuffiness. They moved from room to room and Mr Boniface covered sheets and sheets of paper with his spidery scrawl. The conclusion they all reached was that it was a solid building and the neglect, though unsightly, was superficial.
‘Draw up a proper list of what needs doing and how much it will cost,’ Alex told the much-relieved steward. ‘I shall stay at the Five Bells for the next few days until it can be made habitable.’
‘Very well, sir. Shall I consult her ladyship over the interior decoration and the furnishings?’
‘Her ladyship?’ Alex queried.
‘The marchioness, my lord. I believe she is at the Five Bells.’
Alex laughed. ‘There, the gossip has failed you, Mr Boniface. The lady at the Five Bells is my mother, not my wife. There is no marchioness at present.’
‘I beg your pardon, my lord,’ he said hastily. ‘I only meant that the house will undoubtedly benefit from the attention of a mistress.’
‘You are forgiven.’ Alex smiled and the embarrassed man relaxed visibly, before taking his leave to set about the task he had been given. Alex went round the house again and found himself imagining what it might be like when it was restored. There would be new carpets and curtains, new furniture and bed hangings, ornaments and pictures. It could become a comfortable family home, a fine place to bring up children. He chuckled to himself, wondering what his mother would say if he shared that thought with her, probably something like ‘Didn’t I tell you so?’ or ‘About time, too!’
He left Davy inspecting the wainscoting in the dining room for woodworm and went out into the garden, if that tangle of weeds and overgrown shrubs could be called a garden. A gardener was another need, probably more than one. He had a feeling that restoring this house was going to eat up nearly all his savings. He wandered down what had once been a terrace and across a stretch of grass, past a shrubbery and a kitchen garden to the far boundary. From here he could hear and smell the sea. He breathed deeply. Yes, it would do, it would do very well. He turned in the direction of the village to rejoin his mother.
Almost two weeks passed before Charlotte watched her father set off for Oxfordshire, the carriage piled so high with his luggage, drawings, models, samples of wood, cloth, leather and braid, there was hardly room for him to squeeze in. Then she turned and went back to the office to work until it was time to go home. When all the men had gone, she would have to check the building to make sure there were no naked flames or glowing embers anywhere to constitute a hazard. Fire insurance companies would not cover the premises on account of all the flammable materials kept there; her father had exhorted her to be extra careful.
He had also told her not to walk home alone, but to ask one of the men to escort her. She did not like to do that; the men had all done a long day’s work and would be anxious to go home to their suppers. Only Martin Grosswaite remained and, for some reason she could not explain, she would not ask him to accompany her. ‘If you will not let me escort you,’ he said, ‘permit me to fetch a chair. At least that way you will be safe from molestation.’ She agreed it was the sensible thing to do and while he was gone, had a last look round before locking up. Everything was as it should be.
The chair arrived very quickly so Martin must have found one close at hand. She climbed in and directed the chairmen to take her to Piccadilly. It had been a busy day and what with her father being intent on his journey, she had been left very much to her own devices and that meant walking round the various workshops making sure the men were working as they should, meeting customers who had come to collect their vehicles and keeping her ledgers up to date. She was very tired, but it was a satisfied kind of tiredness and she was looking forward to having a couple of the maids fill a bath in her room so that she could soak the tiredness from her. That it was considered eccentric to bath so frequently did not deter her. Having no company, she might ask Barbara, her maid, to join her for supper afterwards.
It was several minutes before she realised she was not being taken to Piccadilly. The chairmen had turned down a dark alley and were trotting at a pace that was bone-shaking. She put her head outside and commanded them to stop. They ignored her; if anything, their pace increased. She shouted at them again, but it soon became evident that they had no intention of obeying her. Now she was very frightened indeed. Where were they taking her? And why? Captain Carstairs’s warning came to her mind. She was being kidnapped!
After several more minutes, they stopped outside a dilapidated tenement and let down the chair. She hurried to open the door to escape, but they had anticipated that and grabbed her arms and dragged her, protesting loudly, into the building, along a corridor which was dark as pitch and into a candle-lit room, where a woman rose from a chair to face them. ‘You got her, then?’
‘We did, Molly, we did. ‘Twas as easy as winking, though she made a deal of noise.’ He was a big man with a weatherbeaten face, a moulting bag wig and bad teeth. He was also the man who had grabbed her bridle in Hyde Park. Captain Carstairs had been right in saying they might try again. Oh, how she wished she had listened to him. But he had said nothing about not hiring a chair and how was she to know the kidnappers would use that ruse?
‘And I shall continue to do so until you take me home,’ Charlotte snapped at him.
His answer was to push her into a chair. His companion, smaller but no less unprepossessing, produced a rope and they proceeded to tie her down. She struggled ineffectually, and when his hand strayed too close to her mouth bit it as hard as she could. He snatched it away and swore. ‘And for that, you will pay extra,’ he yelled and stuffed a dirty piece of rag into her mouth.
She almost choked and had to force herself to breathe evenly through her nose, but assumed from his words that she had been kidnapped for a ransom. Though the thought of spending a second longer in the company of these three was anathema, it gave her a little hope. Her father, hearing of their demand, would undoubtedly pay to have her safely restored to him. And then she remembered her father was from home. Would Barbara have the good sense to alert someone that she was missing?
