Mary Nichols - Regency High Society Vol 5 - The Disgraced Marchioness / The Reluctant Escort / The Outrageous Debutante / A Damnable Rogue

‘And I distinctly remember the occasion when Sir Edward said that he had been with Octavia when she had made her curtsy to the polite world!’ Henry allowed the fact to filter slowly through his brain with all its possibilities. ‘Why are you so sure, ma’am?’

‘I remember the brother very well—because I took him in instant dislike. Octavia was charming enough, but no family would wish to acquire her brother around the dining table, take my word for it. He had the appearance of a gentleman and the manners were well-bred enough—but there was an unpleasantness about him. You would not trust him with a purseful of gold. Or with the reputation of any pretty young woman—he had quite an eye for them, I am afraid. Or so my husband informed me. I understand he frequented some of the more unsavoury gaming establishments in town. Also I was led to understand that he had an arrangement with a lower class of woman—if you take my meaning. Not that you would be acquainted with any such shady dealings of course, Henry.’ She dared Henry to contradict her, but he recognised the glint of humour in her face.

‘Definitely not, Aunt. Can you describe him—the gentleman introduced as Octavia’s brother?’

‘Rather like Octavia, I suppose. Taller than Sir Edward. Slighter. A thin face. Hair not quite as fair, perhaps. And cunning eyes, my boy. Not quite the thing at all.’ Lady Beatrice furrowed her brow. ‘I cannot remember his name—I wish I could. Thomas did not like him either,’ she added inconsequentially.

‘It is not much to go on, but perhaps enough.’ Henry gripped his aunt’s hand in gratitude. ‘It may be that the whole family will owe you their thanks tonight for your part in overturning this cruel and malevolent plot.’

‘Family is important, Henry, as you very well know! It delights me that you are giving your support to Eleanor in a time of trial. Why you should wish to take yourself off to some Godforsaken wasteland on the far side of the world, I shall never know. Much better to settle here, take my word for it!’ Lady Beatrice, her mission completed, prepared to return to a cosy chat with one of her intimates. ‘But there is one thing I think you should do.’

‘And that is?’

‘Come, my boy! Use your wits! Ask Octavia how many brothers she has, of course.’

They held a post-mortem in the early hours of the morning when the guests had gone, Aunt Beatrice’s words heavy in their minds. Hope, so long dashed, began to run high, despite the essentially trivial nature of the information, and no one thought to claim exhaustion after so successful an evening.

‘So who is Sir Edward, if not Octavia’s brother?’

‘I see you like to start with the easy questions, Nick!’ Henry stretched out in a chair beside the settee on which Eleanor and her mama had taken up positions, his hands linked behind his head, ankles crossed. ‘We do not know the answer to that one!’

‘So what do we know?’ Mrs Stamford demanded clarification. ‘That her name was probably not Baxendale when Thomas met her. And Sir Edward is not her brother. Does it help us at all?’ Doubts still drew a sharp line between the lady’s delicate brows.

‘Octavia only has one brother,’ Eleanor put in quietly. ‘I asked her about her family, a casual query you understand, over a glass of wine. She said that Edward was the only family she had remaining alive. Her parents are dead and she had no sisters. She offered the information that she and her brother are, and always have been, very close.’

‘So we will work on the premise that Beatrice is correct.’ Henry frowned down at his highly polished boots.

‘But the innkeeper at the Red Lion—’ Eleanor turned towards Henry, impatient with her memories of their visit to Whitchurch ‘—he said Sir Edward had a sister who had a young child. And that the sister’s husband had recently died. A husband who rarely visited the Great House. Would he deliberately mislead us? I cannot see it.’

‘No. I do not think he lied.’ Henry found his mind working furiously with the scant evidence they had. ‘He would have no reason to do so—he did not know the reason for our visit.’

‘And they knew Sir Edward—both the landlord and the gardener,’ Eleanor reminded him again. ‘There was no dispute over his name or his living in the Great House.’

‘There was in all probability no reason to do so. He most likely is Sir Edward Baxendale and I am certain that he does live in Whitchurch. So consider. If you are going to set up a fraudulent claim to a valuable inheritance, surely it must be safer to use as much truth as possible. The more truth, the less chance for the lies to be suspected and detected. It is Octavia’s name which is in question after all, not Sir Edward’s. And the identity of her brother—although how he fits into the puzzle I know not.’

‘But Sir Edward has a sister with a baby,’ Eleanor persisted.

‘Yes. I don’t dispute it. But not Octavia.’

‘I still don’t know where that leaves us.’ Mrs Stamford lifted her hands and let them fall into her lap in frustration. She clearly spoke for them all.

‘Tell me, Eleanor.’ Henry now sat up and fixed the lady with a compelling stare. It appeared that he had come to some conclusions. ‘When you first saw the child John, what was your first thought?’

‘After I had recovered from the shock?’ She laughed a little. For the first time in days it seemed that a weight had been lifted from her mind. They still knew so little, yet there was a distinct crumbling in the edifice built up by Sir Edward. He had lied. And how many lies he had been prepared to tell they had yet to discover. She must hold on to the fact that Thomas’s marriage to Octavia was all a sham. And they would prove it! ‘I shall never forget those first revelations!’ she admitted. ‘I suppose I thought that the boy looked nothing like Thomas. And later Judith said—’

‘Judith said that Faringdons always breed true.’ Mrs Stamford smiled, the slightest touch of triumph as she followed the line of thought. ‘Look at dear baby Tom, the image of his father. And Judith is so like her father, apart from that unfortunate red hair which she inherited from Beatrice. But John looks like Octavia. Or even Sir Edward. Both very fair with blue eyes and fair complexions.’

‘What are you thinking? Who is the child’s father, if not Thomas?’ Eleanor’s face was suddenly flushed with a delicate colour.

‘I don’t know yet.’ Henry lifted his shoulders and let them fall, but there was the fire of battle in his eyes. ‘Who would know more about this?’

‘But look, Hal.’ Listening to the unfolding suppositions, sympathising with the need to destroy Sir Edward’s case, Nick could still see one major sticking point. ‘You have forgotten the documents. The marriage and baptism. All legal, signed and sealed, with witnesses. Guaranteed by Church and State. Can we argue round that? I don’t see it. We can destroy Baxendale’s credibility, but can we discount the documents in Hoskins’ possession? He certainly believes them to be above question.’

‘One witness of the marriage is dead.’ Eleanor reminded him. ‘Octavia’s mother. It is very convenient, I suppose.’

‘And do you remember the identity of the other?’ asked Henry. ‘It was Sir Edward. Even more convenient!’

‘So was the priest also lying? Witnessing something that never happened? Forging documents? Is that what you are suggesting?’ Mrs Stamford looked suitably shocked. ‘A man of the cloth, too! What a terrible muddle this all is.’

‘We need someone who can tell us more about the Baxendale family.’ Nicholas returned to his brother’s previous question. ‘Someone who will know about relationships, scandals, whatever, and be prepared to talk to us.’