Dorothy Elbury - An Unconventional Miss

‘By all that’s wonderful!’ grinned Fitzallan, leaning down to grasp Wyvern’s outstretched hand. ‘Last person I expected to see! Just got back, have you? Where are you off to? Hop up; I’ll give you a lift.’

‘Hardly worth your trouble, Freddy,’ said Wyvern with a grin, hoisting himself up beside his friend, nevertheless. ‘But I’m headed for Ashcroft House, if you are of a mind.’

Fitzallan whipped up his horses and, with considerable expertise, threaded his way back into the stream of vehicles.

‘Dreadfully sorry to hear about poor old Theo, Ben,’ he said, shooting a fleeting glance at his friend. ‘Hard to believe someone as experienced as your brother could have been that careless with his weapon!’ He paused for a moment, then added, with a slightly self-conscious air, ‘S’pose we will all have to get into the habit of calling you Wyvern now!’

‘So it would seem,’ returned the new earl morosely. ‘And the very last thing I could have wanted, as you must know!’

Fitzallan gave a sympathetic nod, then, clearing his throat, asked, ‘When did you get back?’

‘Managed to get a passage last night—got into Tilbury early this morning. Had to leave Berridge and Taverner to collect up my things and bring the horses and carriage over as best they could—I hired a hack and rode straight to Brentford. Thought it best to get the full details from the solicitor before I saw my grandmother.’

‘If there’s anything I can do to help, old chap, I hope you know that you have only to ask!’

‘Point taken, Freddy,’ said Wyvern, forcing a smile. ‘But, unless you happen to have the odd thirty thousand going begging, it would appear that there’s not a lot that anyone can do!’

Fitzallan let out a low whistle. ‘Phew!’ he gasped ‘As bad as that! I had heard the rumours, of course—difficult to avoid them, as you know—but I hadn’t realised…’

He was silent for a moment, then, somewhat apologetically, went on, ‘’Fraid my pockets are to let, as usual. Had to borrow a score from Holt, only yesterday. Maybe he can help—pretty well loaded, dear old Simon, as you know!’

Shaking his head, Wyvern replied, ‘I was joking, dear boy—wouldn’t dream of asking either one of you. Apart from which, there would be little point, since I don’t have the means to pay back a loan of that magnitude.’

Then, as briefly as possible, he outlined the bones of his earlier meeting with the family solicitor, carefully skating over the less savoury aspects of his deceased older sibling’s downfall.

From the limited information that he had managed to cull from Humphreys, who had been the Ashcroft family’s solicitor for a good many years, Wyvern had endeavoured to piece together something of his late brother’s final days.

It appeared that, during the two years following the carriage accident in which his young wife and baby son had both lost their lives, the late Lord Wyvern had done his best to drown his sorrows in drink. Unfortunately, to the eventual detriment of Ashcroft Grange, the Wyverns’ family seat in Middlesex, he had also spent a great many of his waking hours frittering away large sums of money at the gaming tables of one or other of the many gambling dens in the capital. Insofar as his younger brother had been able to establish, it would appear that not one person amongst the late earl’s recently acquired circle of friends had felt himself either inclined or able to curtail Theo’s reckless proclivities.

To make matters worse—if that were at all possible—Humphreys had then discovered that the late earl, having gambled away the bulk of his own not inconsiderable fortune, had begun to make significant inroads into the estate’s ancient assets. In order to fund his spiralling obsession, he had systematically sold off a good many of the cherished silverware collections, along with a quantity of highly prized paintings, irreplaceable tapestries and other such items of value.

Barely able to meet the look of disbelief in his client’s eyes, Humphreys had been obliged to steel himself in order to continue his recital of the sorry catalogue of the late earl’s excesses, the sad truth of the matter being that, had it not been for the dedication of the small handful of staff who had stayed loyal to their rapidly declining young master, the once carefully husbanded and prosperous estate might well have run to seed. In addition to which, he revealed that Theodore had penned a list containing the names of his creditors, who were collectively owed an amount in excess of thirty thousand pounds—twenty-five thousand of which was in unpaid gambling debts!

As the enormity of his beloved brother’s fall from grace had gradually began to force its way into Wyvern’s shocked sensibilities, the reasons for Theo finally having elected to put a period to his life had become all too clear to his reluctant successor.

Nevertheless, as he now pointed out to Fitzallan, who had digested his friend’s halting narration in a frowning silence, the question still remained as to how the devil he might set about salvaging the situation?

‘If what your man says is correct,’ observed Fitzallan, carefully inching his way through the congestion of traffic on Grosvenor Street, ‘it would seem that you have very little option left but to sell up and take what you can get out of the deal.’

‘Oh, not you as well!’ exclaimed Wyvern, affronted at his friend’s casual dismissal of the estate that had been in the family’s possession for nigh on eight generations. ‘That was Humphreys’s advice too, but the whole idea is unthinkable! I would sooner die!’ But then, as the awful significance of these melodramatic words hit him, he let out a hollow laugh and added, ‘I trust it won’t come to that, of course!’

‘Steady on, Ben, old thing!’ protested Fitzallan. ‘We have not quite reached point-non-plus. If we all put our heads together, we may yet come up with a solution. You might even find that her ladyship has the odd idea or two up her sleeve—she always used to keep her ear pretty close to the ground, as I recall.’

Wyvern attempted a grin. ‘From what Humphreys tells me, Grandmama would seem to be as mettlesome as ever—still haring around the countryside as though she were no more than twenty-five!’

‘Must be close to eighty now, I imagine?’

‘Admits to sixty, I believe,’ returned Wyvern, as Fitzallan’s curricle swung into Grosvenor Square. ‘You will come in and say “hello”, of course—she always had a soft spot for you.’

Pulling out his timepiece, Fitzallan looked down and shook his head ruefully. ‘Some other time, if you will excuse me. Arranged to meet Holt at Brooks’s—half an hour late already. P’raps you’ll get the chance to look in on us later this evening?’

Promising that he would see what he could do, Wyvern leapt down from his perch, saluted his friend and mounted the shallow steps up to the front door of the family’s Grosvenor Square residence, to which he shortly found himself admitted by his grandmother’s elderly retainer.

‘Good to see you back safely, your lordship,’ beamed Jesmond, as he ushered Wyvern into the hall and signalled to a waiting footman to relieve him of his outdoor garments. ‘Your luggage arrived this morning. Her ladyship has been expecting you hourly. You will find her in the red salon.’

Still unable to prevent the recoil of distaste that he felt at hearing himself addressed by what had been, until a mere two months previously, his older brother Theodore’s title, the new earl strode across the hall to greet his grandmother, who was presently emerging from the doorway of the aforementioned salon.

‘Benedict! My dearest boy—you have arrived at last!’

A tall, white-haired lady, now in her eighty-first year, Lady Lavinia Ashcroft, Dowager Countess of Wyvern, moved gracefully towards her grandson, exhibiting considerable agility for one of her advanced years. Unlike a good many of her peers, she disdained the prevailing fashion for the semi-transparent muslin afternoon dress and was elegantly clad in a simple but expertly cut round gown of black kerseymere, trimmed at the neck with a neat white ruff.