A War by Diplomacy Page 4

  The concert took place in the Hanover Square Rooms. Unlike the Opera, where the audience kept talking throughout the performance, absolute silence was the rule, even though people were sitting on benches with open backs and remarks on the performances would have been easy. Daphne had never heard playing of such refinement, skill and feeling. She was particularly amazed at the proficiency of the pianist whose fingers flew through the fast movements of a Mozart Concerto, finding the keys apparently effortlessly, as he seemed to be racing towards the finish in perfect accord with the orchestra.

  “Richard,” Daphne announced the next morning as their carriage was passing Hyde Park at the start of their return to Dipton, “London has been much more exciting than I expected. My father never wanted to visit it, saying that he expected that it was just a big, noisy, crowded, dirty city, like Birmingham, only worse. It is crowded and noisy, but there are so many exciting things to see and do. I hope that we can come back sometime.”

  “I am sure that we will, Daphne, and often.”

  As the coach rolled towards Dipton, they started to reminisce about the trip. There were no conclusions, except that the difference between the professional players and the amateurs whose performances was their standard musical fare, was immense, but maybe with more practice they could improve their own music-making. They switched to Daphne’s giving Giles some more instruction in French, but their concentration lagged. Hanging over them was the impending separation. After their second stop to rest the horses and to get some refreshment at a posting inn, they lapsed into silence. Daphne’s thoughts took a darker turn. Would Giles miss the more glittering, exciting life in London? Would he regret marrying a woman whose whole experience had been in the country, and not even in the grand estates of the nobility where all the best people gathered? She had caught snatches of the repartees that enlivened the reception they attended. Would Giles miss that back and forth of witty, empty conversation when all she offered was plain and often practical thoughts? More importantly, would he miss rubbing elbows with powerful men like Sir David McDougall, which would be a feature if he had chosen a city life? Was it only a whim that had made him interested in farming enough to want to get a country estate? Would that interest fade, and with it the attraction of the down-to-earth, unexciting woman he had married?

  After a while, however, Daphne shrugged these thoughts aside. She did not have much more time with him before he had to leave. She shouldn’t spoil any of it worrying about what Giles might be thinking or feeling sometime in the future. Society was not all glamor and wit. It had people like Sir Walcott Lainey, as well. Richard was certainly eager to get on with the improvements to Dipton Hall and the establishment of the stud farm. If he were to lose interest, well, she would just cross that bridge when she came to it. Anticipating it in advance would do no good.

  Giles broke into her thoughts at that point. “Daphne, I am so glad that you came with me on this trip,” he declared. “I had to go to London, and then see my ship, but I expected no pleasure from it. I have enjoyed having you with me. It has been a very special time. But for longer periods, I far prefer Dipton. There is so much to enjoy where we live! I wonder how the work is progressing. I can’t wait to see how everything has developed. And how the stud farm is coming along.”

  “Richard, we have only been away six nights. None of our improvements are going to progress very much in a week. But you are right, we will want to find out just what has been accomplished.”

  Daphne found that she was more than happy to be home when the carriage finally pulled up before Dipton Hall. The London trip had been wonderful, but her real life was here and she would not have it any other way.

  Chapter IV

  Several days after getting home from the London trip, Giles was conferring with Mr. Griffiths, his stable-master, about opportunities that might arise while he was voyaging to St. Petersburg. There had not, in fact, been much to discuss, but the two had happily adapted the meeting to talking about blood lines, famous horses, and likely prospects for the next racing season. They both knew the importance of keeping in mind the goal of breeding first class, all round hunters, but the glamor of winning steeplechases or just jump races, without respect to whether the horse could follow the hunt well, kept nagging at them, and their dreams even extended to the highly risky and rarely lucrative business of raising champion flat-track race horses. The conversation led nowhere on this occasion but both men enjoyed it nevertheless. Giles rather reluctantly broke off the conversation and returned to the Hall as the afternoon drew on towards the time for dinner.

  “What is this letter, Steves?” he demanded as he entered through the front door to find his butler standing with a letter, which had a black border around it, on a silver server,

  “A letter from the Countess, Captain Giles. It was delivered a few moments ago.”

  “I see.”

  Giles broke the seal and straightened out the paper. “Where is Lady Giles?”

  “Upstairs, sir. She returned only a few moments before you did.”

  “And Lady Marianne and her daughters.”

  “In the small drawing room.”

  “I must change and see Lady Giles. Please ask the others to stay where they are. This news affects us all.”

  “Yes, sir.” Though there was no way of telling it from the butler’s demeanor, Giles knew that Steves was bursting with curiosity about the substance of the message.

  “Viscount Ashton is dead, Steves. Some sort of riding accident.”

  “My condolences, sir. I shall arrange for the house to go into mourning immediately.” Steves seemed completely unaffected by the news though he had seen Viscount Ashton many times at his father’s London house where the butler had formerly been employed.

  “Yes. I suppose that is necessary, even though my brother and I were far from being close.”

  “Yes, sir I believe that it is required. He was also Lady Marianne’s brother, of course.”

  “You are right. Carry on, Steves.”

  Giles proceeded up the staircase with a spring in his step. If he was grieving for his eldest half-bother, it certainly didn’t show in his actions. Upstairs, he went directly to his wife’s dressing room. Before doing anything else, he gave Daphne a kiss which was fully reciprocated.

  “I have just received some bad news,” Giles started.

  “Oh! No! Not about the pond, I hope.”

  “Nothing like that my dear. It is my brother, Ashton. He’s dead. I just had a letter from my mother.”

  “When did it happen?”

  “Let’s see… three days ago, in London. According to my mother, he fell off his horse and broke his neck. Apparently, he had been drinking and gambling all night and went for an early morning ride on Rotten Row. That is where the accident occurred.”

  “You weren’t close to him, were you?”

  “No. He was a lot older than me. I don’t even remember him living at Ashbury Abbey when I was growing up. Later, when I saw him at my father’s house in London, I did not like him at all. I will feel like a fraud pretending to mourn him.”

  “I expect that we will all have to go into mourning, even though I have never met him.”

  “I’m afraid so, at least until he is buried. I will have to go to the funeral, I think.”

  “Yes. I will go too, of course. Where and when is it, do you know?”

  “It’s six days from today. At Ashbury Abbey. My mother says, ‘That should give even your father time to get here from Norfolk.’ Apparently Ashton’s solicitor in London is arranging to have the body transported to Ashbury.”

  “I hope that I will finally meet your father. He didn’t come to our wedding and I have never been invited to Ashbury Abbey.”

  “You have not missed much. He is a devious, unfeeling, old fellow. And that’s when he is in a good mood.”

  “Have you told Lady Marianne?”

  “No, though Steves knows about it. I wanted to tell you first. I should change and go
down and tell them.”

  “I’ll come with you. Betsy and I are almost finished.”

  Daphne and Giles entered the small drawing room a few minutes later. The afternoon sun had moved around to bathe the room in a warm glow and its rays nicely illuminated Lady Marianne and her daughters, who were seated near the window, as if they were in a Dutch painting. Giles went over to them and announced.

  “Marianne, I am afraid that our brother, Ashton, is dead.”

  “Oh. Good riddance!”

  “Don’t say that.”

  “Why not? He never did anything for me when I was in trouble and he was just a bully when we were growing up. How did he die?”

  Giles gave once again the information he had received from his mother.

  “I expect that we will have to go to the funeral, though I don’t know why. It won’t change our father, you know. But he is my brother, and we did grow up together. Hard to get that out of my mind. There are a lot of memories, and some of them are good.”

  “Mother,” asked Catherine Crocker, Lady Marianne’s older daughter, “Do we have to go too?”

  “Yes, Catherine, and we’ll all have to go into mourning. He was your uncle.”

  “But we never saw him, ever,” said Catherine’s sister, Lydia. “I don’t want to go into mourning. And I don’t want to go to the funeral. Going into mourning will most definitely interfere with my plans to marry Mr. Dimster.”

  “That cannot be helped. It would be an awful scandal if you didn’t attend the funeral and go into mourning. It might completely turn your Mr. Dimster’s parents against you, and they are supposed to provide his allowance.

  “Yes,” said Daphne, “I am afraid that we all must do it. But maybe, if Captain Giles permits, we can shorten the period of mourning to a minimum.”

  Giles laughed, “As far as I am concerned, you can forget about the mourning as soon as the funeral is over and we are back here. Your aunt and I, Lydia, have caused enough raised eyebrows in this region that another cause for shocked gossip will surprise no one. Sir Thomas and Lady Dimster are not likely to hold it against you personally.”

  At that moment, Steves appeared to announce, “Lord David Giles.”

  Giles’s brother, who was the vicar of Dipton, followed the butler into the drawing room. “Richard, Marianne, have you heard the news about Aston?”

  “Yes, we have.”

  “Mother wrote me. She wants me to take the funeral service. I’ve checked and I can do that, though it would be a good idea to give the rector at Ashbury a fee. Mother can’t tolerate the man, nor can I. I checked the rules and I can officiate without him as long as I have his permission.”

  “Then we can all go to Ashbury together,” said Giles. “It will require at least two coaches and you can take Lady Marianne and the girls in yours.”

  “Do I surmise that you are no more saddened by the death of Viscount Ashton than any of the others here, David? And will you stay for dinner?” Daphne asked.

  “Yes, to both questions, Daphne. No, I scarcely knew him, and I did not like what I saw. I am not surprised that he fell off his horse while drunk and broke his neck. I believe that he was always drunk.”

  “Mother didn’t actually say that, did she?” asked Giles.

  “No, I inferred the details from her saying that it had occurred early in the morning on Rotten Row.”

  The following day was a frantic bustle for the servants trying to get ready for their employer’s trip to Ashbury Abbey. Steves already had them wearing black arm bands or caps. Now they had to get ready black gowns and veils for the ladies and black coats and trousers and cravats for the gentlemen. Giles and Daphne dashed about the estates giving last minute orders, mostly superfluous, for the time they would be away. The other ladies were subjected to several fittings for their black clothes. They had all assembled in the small drawing room when Steves came in with another black-bordered letter from the Countess.

  Giles started to read the missive and gasped, “I’ll be …”

  “What is it, Richard?” demanded Daphne.

  “My other brother – step-brother – Thomas has been killed … in a duel … the day after Ashton died… Mother says that they will both be buried at the same time.”

  “How very odd,” exclaimed Daphne. “Were they in London together?”

  “No. Mother says Thomas was with his regiment in Hampshire.”

  “Aren’t duels outlawed?”

  “They are, but they still happen,” Giles answered her. “I don’t suppose that it really affects us. It will just be one funeral.”

  “Yes, it will, Ashton.” declared Lady Marianne.

  “What?”

  “You are now Viscount Ashton, and the oldest living son of the Earl of Camshire.”

  “I guess that I am, unless our father can stop me taking the title. It is the custom, I think, but not automatic.”

  “I don’t think even he could stop it. And you must be his heir now.”

  “What a thought! Do you imagine there is anything to inherit except his debts?”

  “Most of his properties are covered by entails* and they will be yours.”

  “I suppose. Well, I certainly do not need them, nor his title.”

  This conversation was broken off when Steves announced dinner. It was not till later, when they were in their bedroom that Daphne returned to the subject.

  “Are you really Viscount Aston now, Richard?”

  “I imagine so.”

  “And are you going to inherit Ashbury Abbey?”

  “Yes. Someday, I think, and the earldom too. I hope you will enjoy being a countess.”

  “I don’t see why I should. I am completely happy now. Can’t you get out of it?”

  “I don’t see how.”

  “Does that mean we have to live at Ashbury Abbey?”

  “Not unless you want to. Dipton Hall, especially when we have finished our improvements, is a much nicer place. It certainly has everything that I would want which Ashbury Abbey has, and better too. But we are getting way ahead of ourselves. We don’t need to think about any of that right now.”

  “I suppose not. I am eager to see Ashbury Abbey. You know your mother has never asked me to visit? I thought that I had got her to like me”

  “You have. If she had her doubts about you, I know you completely won her over at Christmas. She took me aside before she was leaving and said, ‘You know, Richard, you are very lucky to have Daphne.’ I think she is embarrassed by the fact that my father is never at Ashbury and that the Abbey is not being properly kept up. That is likely why she has never invited you.”

  “I have never met your father, either.”

  “You may not now. I would not be surprised if he does not bother to attend his own sons’ funerals. It is just unfortunate for me that they didn’t decide to die a couple of weeks later. I would have been at sea.”

  “And left me to manage this trip all by myself! Thank heavens your ship wasn’t ready sooner!”

  Chapter V

  Giles ordered the coachman to stop at the top of a small rise. He helped Daphne to alight so that she could enjoy the view. The following coach also stopped and Lord David, Lady Marianne and her two daughters got out. Before them lay a shallow valley with a stream meandering through it. Right before them in the valley was a country mansion. It had a large medieval hall close to the stream with a small brick block on one end which was followed by a stable block. At the other end of the hall, a larger stone block ran inland at right angles to the hall. A road, which seemed to be following the stream, looped around the house. To the right of the stable-block side of the grounds a small village huddled about the road and extended down to the stream. Beyond the stable-block, almost on the road, was a large church built in the late gothic style. The church seemed to be all sparkling glass and featured a square tower with pinnacle adornments. To one side of the church there was a graveyard surrounded by a low stone fence. Beyond the road, fields spread out, with here and
there a farmstead. A drive from the road ran up the front of the stone house. It then turned to parallel the hall and finally ended in a large, circular, graveled area at the stable block.

  “What a beautiful sight,” enthused Catherine Crocker, “I would love to draw it.”

  “Not now, certainly, Catherine,” said her mother, who little appreciated the view since she had grown up in the house that lay before them and had few nostalgic feelings about her former home.

  “The house seems to have a very strange layout,” commented Daphne.

  “It certainly has,” replied Giles. “It was originally a small castle with a wall and a moat and a hall. In the time of Henry VI, the knight who held it must have done terrible things in France while he was becoming rich. He left his castle and a lot of money to found an abbey, whose chief job seems to have been to pray for his soul. Most of the money went to building a magnificent chapel, just outside the castle walls. It is now the parish church that you can see beyond the house. It is quite out of proportion for what the parish needs.

  “The first Earl of Camshire was one of William the Conqueror’s henchmen, but his descendants never prospered consistently. They had a genius for backing the wrong side in the mediaeval disputes. Their traditional seat, which was in Norfolk, was confiscated by Henry VII when the Earl of that time died on Bosworth Field supporting Richard III. His grandson caught the eye of Henry VIII and became some sort of fixer for him. The King did not restore the family holdings to his follower, probably because they had been given to someone who was even more useful to the monarch. However, when the monasteries were dissolved, he did give Ashbury Abbey to our ancestor. The Earl in King Charles’s time continued the family pattern of backing the wrong side, but at the Restoration his son had the property restored to him, and because of services to the King became quite rich. What the services were is unknown, but they are rumored to have been something quite improper. That earl had the old walls torn down and the moat filled in and built the residence you see to the right of the hall. The building to the left is the kitchen block which dates to the time it was a castle and the stables are a conversion of some other building that was inside the walls. The next earls continued to maintain and improve the property, but my father has let it deteriorate.