like you, Georgie,’ wailed Caro gently, ‘to throw yourself into the river after a chance-met child. I don’t say that it’s not worthy of you, only that it’s foolish. Could you not have sent Gus for help instead?’
‘By which time the child would have been drowned dead for sure,’ said Georgie sturdily, some of her old fire returning now that she was back home and about to enjoy the warm bath which Jess had demanded and Caro had ordered. ‘You didn’t really expect me to sit on the bank and watch her dying struggles?’
Jess watched, amused, when Caro threw him a helpless look, saying, ‘I never know what to expect from you, Georgie, so I suppose I shouldn’t be surprised at this morning’s adventure. Do either of you have any notion of whose child it is?’
‘It,’ began Georgie belligerently, ‘she’s not an it,’ only for Jess to put a gentle hand on her arm and say soothingly,
‘Time to go upstairs, I think. That must be your maid approaching.’
It was. Georgie’s maid, Madge Honey, was in her fifties and had been her old nurse. She arrived in time to hear Georgie fire at Jess, ‘Orders again, Fitz!’ and to say reprovingly to her, ‘Now, now, Miss Georgie. None of that. You’re soaking wet through and there’s a nice warm bath being prepared for you. I’ve put some dry clothes out and readied the bed so that you can have a good lie-down. Come along, do!’
Georgie was led away, clutching her head melodramatically and exclaiming, ‘It’s a conspiracy, it really is. Has Mr Fitzroy been coaching you, Madge, that you should echo what he has been telling me every few yards on the way home?’
‘Has he, now, my pet? Then he’s a right sensible gentleman, isn’t he? And you’d do best to heed him.’
Jess tried not to laugh. Caro smiled wearily at him and said, ‘Madge is the only person who can control her these days. When I think what she used to be like…’ She shook her head. ‘I’ll have the butler fetch you one of John’s old coats before you catch your death of cold, and you’ll oblige me by taking tea—I’ve already ordered the tea board.’
Jess began to demur, but Caro looked so charmingly welcoming that he gave way, and obediently put on one of her late husband’s jackets which fitted him quite well, although it was not of a colour he liked.
Caro began to chatter about every subject under the sun until he said, ‘I would be grateful if you would enquire whether Gus has brought the half-drowned mite home.’
‘Oh, that!’ said Caro, waving an airy hand. ‘The butler informed me when I ordered the tea board that Gus had arrived home safely and that the housekeeper was arranging dry clothing for it. And now we have the bother of discovering whose it is.’
This last came out with a great sigh.
Fortunately for Jess—he could think of no reply which would not sound critical of his hostess—Sir Garth came in, saying, ‘Heard m’sister-in-law had been in the wars and that you had rescued her, Fitzroy. What’s she been up to now?’ and he gave a knowing laugh.
Jess, to his great surprise, found himself defending Georgie. ‘Nothing discreditable,’ he said coolly. ‘Quite the contrary. She went into the river to rescue a drowning child. Most enterprising of her. Fortunately I happened to be nearby to see that she reached home again without dying of cold. She has damaged her ankle, but not too seriously, I believe. Mrs Pomfret has sent for the doctor.’
Sir Garth smiled, ignoring the hidden rebuke. ‘Noble of her, I’m sure. Shouldn’t expect anything else of her. She’ll make some fortunate man a useful wife.’
By his expression he obviously considered himself to be that man, which, Jess decided, would be a pity. She deserved something better than this conceited jackanapes. He decided to take his leave. He could not stomach too much of Sir Garth’s company.
That gentleman, once Jess had gone, sank into an armchair, remarking to his sister, ‘Which of you does he fancy? You or Georgie? He looked down his nose at me when he thought that I was criticising her.’
‘Georgie!’ exclaimed Caro with a scandalised laugh. ‘He doesn’t fancy Georgie. They are quite at odds with one another, I believe. Thinks her a hoyden by the way he spoke when he brought her home.’
‘Does he, now?’ Sir Garth was thoughtful. ‘Some men have a penchant for hoydens, though.’
‘Not Mr Fitzroy. You must have observed that he is very comme il faut.’
‘Secretive devil, too,’ said Sir Garth, ignoring this last comment. ‘Wonder where he comes from. Would bear looking into.’
A verdict similar to the one which Jess had already passed on him!
Parsons, late Miss Jesmond’s land agent, arrived in the afternoon and was shown into the library, that repository of battered books.
Kite had earlier placed a box of grimy documents which he had salvaged from the attics on one of the tables for Jess to inspect. Before that he had had a distracted visitor: a young farm labourer, Jack Wild, one of Jess’s tenants, whose little daughter had disappeared that morning from the garden at the back of his cottage and had not been seen since.
‘I need a search made, sir,’ he had said hoarsely. ‘I thought you might be able to help me, seeing that you are my master now.’
Jess had the pleasure of telling him that his daughter was safe at Pomfret Hall after falling in the river and that she had been rescued by the bravery of Mrs Herron. ‘Go to the stables,’ he ended, ‘and ask one of the grooms to drive you over in the gig, collect her and take you both home.’
‘That I will, sir, and thank you and thank Miss Georgie, too—begging your pardon, but we all called her that before she married—it seems odd to think of her as Mrs Herron.’
‘One question for you before go on your way. You work at my home farm, do you not?’
‘Aye, that I do,’ agreed Wild eagerly. ‘Worked for old Miss Jesmond all my life. Don’t have much to do since Mr Parsons left. Miss Jesmond paid my wages—belike you’ll do the same.’
‘I am hoping to re-employ Mr Parsons—if he is not already committed elsewhere.’
‘Doing piece-work for Banker Bowlby, he is. Would probably like his old job back.’
He left, still thanking Jess profusely. Jess thought that he ought to thank him for revealing that Banker Bowlby seemed to have a finger in every pie.
Parsons turned out to be a large square man with a weathered face, dressed in country clothing.
‘You wished to see me, Mr Fitzroy?’
‘Indeed. You were my aunt’s land agent, I believe. When did she dispense with your services—and why?’
Parsons had not known what to expect of Miss Jesmond’s heir. He looked a right soft gentleman and no mistake with his pretty face and his pretty clothes, sitting there in the ruins of a once-fine library.
On the other hand, his first words had been direct and to the point.
‘After she sold most of her land she no longer needed an agent, nor, she said, could she afford to
