The Echo at Rooke Court Read online

  “Love will always triumph,” said Giles, and unable to resist any longer, crossed the room to her side, took her hand and kissed it. “You have fallen in love, by the look of it.”

  “Have you not?” she said.

  “I admit to having admired this house for some time. You can see the garden from upstairs at my sister’s house, and that little arbour has always intrigued me.”

  “Yes, I noticed that. Clematis and honeysuckle, and later in the year there is a damask rose on it,” she said. “But it is too expensive.”

  “Yes, it is rather,” Giles said, letting go of her hand. He strolled into the adjoining room, a smaller, more old-fashioned parlour, with latticed windows. It was easy to imagine sitting there by the fire on winter evenings.

  “Perhaps we should suggest to Mr and Mrs Carswell that they take it,” Emma said, following him. “Then we will have some of the pleasure of it, without the responsibility. She would love it, certainly.”

  “Because she has no knowledge of practical housekeeping, and no need of it?” said Giles.

  “Yes,” said Emma. “It will be a task to manage such a house as this. I feel my good sense coming on. We should take that villa near Captain Lazenby’s. The stabling was better, not to mention the kitchen. Why are you frowning?”

  “Did you really like it?”

  “It was the right price and something might be done with it. The garden was pleasant – and large.”

  “The garden was a field,” said Giles. “So, did you like it?”

  “Not as much as this, but that is not at issue. We have to be practical. And that villa – well, many people would not sniff at such a place, and neither should we in our circumstances.”

  Yet at the same time, she brushed her hand across the panelling, and the sight of her doing so put Giles at war with himself. The villa on the Exford Road had been built a year ago and had all the latest conveniences. The terms it was to be let on were excellent but it was an ugly, lumpen house of yellow brick and utterly lacking in any sort of character. Watching Emma drifting about Rooke Court, empty of furniture as it was, with layers of dust on every ledge and sill, made him want to give her her heart’s desire and more. Seeing how she had willingly resigned herself to the ugly and the sensible for the sake of practicality and economy was depressing. He loved her common sense, but at the same time he wished she did not have to exercise it.

  “I’m sorry,” she went on. “We should never have come. I gave in to temptation and curiosity. We cannot take this house. To ask such a price for it when there is so much wrong is frankly insolent of the owner, don’t you think?”

  “Somewhat, yes,” said Giles, who was making rapid mental calculations, wondering what he could sacrifice to make the house possible. “But it is a good address, unlike Exford Road. It strikes me that Lord Milburne’s mother ought not to live in Exford Road.”

  “If you are worried about his being ashamed to visit me there,” she said, “do not. He probably will not visit me at all.”

  She said it carelessly enough, but Giles sensed the unease in it.

  “He will if I have anything to do with it,” said Giles. “Has he said that to you? Did you have another letter from him? What did he say?”

  “Perhaps I am only reading between the lines. He did not say so in so many words. It was just rather cool – at least it seemed to me. I suppose he is preoccupied with his reading party and his Oxford friends, and I am a mere dot on his vast horizon these days. Which is as it should be.”

  “No,” said Giles. “He owes you too much for that. Let me write to him.”

  She laid her hand on his arm, and shook her head.

  “You know what he is like,” she said. “He will get there in his own good time, I am sure of it. A lecture from you –”

  “It would not be a lecture,” said Giles. “You know that. I would be civil.”

  “Yes, but in his present state he will perceive anything from you as the heavy hand of the patriarch on his collar. He will resent it, and we must not stoke that fire.”

  “He may resent me all he likes,” Giles said, “but I will not have him treating you unkindly. That I cannot accept.”

  “It does not hurt me so much,” she said.

  “I don’t believe you,” he said.

  “Our paths are diverging,” she said. “That is all.” She walked away and gazed about the room again, and sighed. “Now, I suppose we should go and tell Mr Hopkins that we shall not take this house.”

  “He might consider putting the price down if we pointed out some of the faults.”

  “Are you sure?”

  “It’s worth trying, surely?” said Giles. “At the moment he takes us for besotted fools.”

  “Which we are,” she said.

  “Possibly,” said Giles. “But I cannot face the thought of that blasted heath in Exford Road for a garden. I like the thought of my own mulberries, not to mention apples and walnuts. And I can walk to work from here.” He took out his notebook. “Now, what did you say was wrong with it? Let us make a list. You said there was damp in the attics, didn’t you?”

  “You never fail to surprise me, Major Vernon,” said Emma, smiling.

  “I don’t like to give up without a fight,” said Giles.

  They made their list and went downstairs to speak to Mr Hopkins whom they had left waiting in the large, stone-flagged entrance hall that was deliciously cool even on such a warm morning. However, he was no longer there, but had gone out into the garden and was standing at the end of one of the paths, looking up at the façade. He had been joined by a tall, white-haired gentleman of impressive appearance whom Giles recognised.

  “Who is that?” said Emma.

  “That is Sir Morton Hurrell. I have seen him on the bench from time to time.”

  “Oh! As in Hurrell of Hurrell Place? I have heard a little about that family. Hurrell Place is supposed to be the most magnificent property. What does he want with Rooke Court?”

  “Perhaps he wants a house in town,” said Giles.

  “I am sure he can afford it better than we can,” said Emma. “He has a proprietorial look, don’t you think? We have already lost it. He has outbid us! How wicked of Mr Hopkins not to say. He did not say there was anyone else interested. Really!”

  She swept out into the garden and, before Giles could stop her, went up to Mr Hopkins.

  “Mr Hopkins,” she said, “it was my understanding that – please excuse my interruption, sir,” she added, turning to Sir Morton. “But you should know that we are also interested in this property, and that perhaps Mr Hopkins has misled you, as he has misled us!”

  “Oh no, ma’am, no, not at all,” said Mr Hopkins. “This is the owner of the property, Sir Morton Hurrell. He wanted to meet you. When I said Major Vernon was looking over the property –”

  Emma flushed, and Giles felt her agony.

  “Then forgive me, Mr Hopkins, will you?” she said. “It is simply that this house – I never saw such a beautiful house,” she went on. “And I could not bear that anyone else should get it. And please forgive me, Sir Morton, for casting you as an interloper in your own property!” With which she dropped him a graceful curtsey, and looked up at the distinguished old gentleman with a winning smile. The effect, with her blushes, was delightful.

  Sir Morton took her hand, and made an equally courtly bow.

  “Mrs Maitland, I understand?” he said. “Of Woodville Park?”

  “My son’s property,” she said.

  “I hear you have been active there, in his minority.”

  “One does what one can,” said Emma.

  “That land is a challenge, I should think. I heard that you began an extensive drainage scheme.”

  “Oh dear, what a reputation to have!” said Emma.

  “Then forgive me, ma’am, for mentioning it,” said Sir Morton.

  “Necessity, sir,” said Emma, “forces us along paths that we were not bred to take. I merely took the best advice avail
able to me. Lord Rothborough’s man, Mr Tranter, was the real force behind it.”

  “There was no criticism intended, ma’am, none at all. I had heard only good things. That a mother should act so decisively for the welfare of her son,” he said. “It is noble.”

  “Thank you, sir.”

  Now Sir Morton looked at Giles, and putting out his hand, said, “Major Vernon, I presume? You are to be congratulated. A sensible wife is a prize above rubies.”

  “Oh really, Sir Morton,” said Emma. “When you have just seen me blunder so, how can you say I am sensible?”

  “That was no blunder, ma’am, that was the action of a lioness. Yes, Major Vernon, congratulations, indeed! When are you to be married?”

  “In September,” said Giles.

  Sir Morton took Emma’s hand again and raised it to his lips. “Ah, that we had met sooner, ma’am –”

  “I am glad we have met,” said Emma, “in this most charming garden! How can you bear to let such a place?”

  “I am no townsman,” said Sir Morton. “But it is a fine house, and I’m anxious to have some good tenants.”

  “Of course,” said Emma. “But it is...” She glanced at Giles, giving him his cue.

  “A little more than I can afford,” said Giles. “Unfortunately.”

  “That’s why I am here,” said Sir Morton. “You are exactly the sort of tenant I am looking for.”

  “That’s flattering,” said Giles. “But the terms as they stand, I regret to say, are beyond my means. Especially since there is a certain amount of work to be done.” Sir Morton nodded. “For example, the plaster in the scullery and the kitchen...”

  “A small job, really, sir,” said Hopkins. “It is nothing.”

  “I fear that ceiling might come down at the slightest provocation,” said Emma, “if you will forgive me saying so, Sir Morton? We had the same thing at Woodville in the south parlour. It was distressing, but I know the signs now. That ominous bulge in the right-hand corner – it feels spongy to the touch. Not that I would touch it again, for it is likely to come straight down. This dry weather gives a false picture. May I show you?”

  “Certainly, ma’am. Please?” said Sir Morton, and offered his arm.

  Together they went back into the house, followed by Giles and a flustered-looking Hopkins, who was clearly on a percentage and did not wish the rent put down. But Emma now had command of the situation, and was taking Sir Morton step by step and showing him the dangerous defects of his fine old house. She did this with an artful mixture of flattery and humility.

  “Major Vernon and I were wondering, for we do like the house very much,” Emma was now saying, “if an improving lease might be of any interest to you?”

  “An improving lease, ma’am?” said Sir Morton. “That is an idea, certainly.”

  This was the first Giles had heard of it, but he was prepared to let Emma’s improvisational talents win the day for them.

  “It would depend for how long,” Sir Morton said. “Ten years, Major Vernon? Would you undertake that?”

  “At what cost?”

  Sir Morton looked about him for a long moment, considering.

  “Seventy-five guineas a year?”

  “Goodness,” said Emma. This was a considerable reduction on the advertised price.

  “On condition that you see to the repairs,” said Sir Morton, “in a satisfactory manner.”

  “But done to our taste?” Emma said.

  “Very sharp, ma’am, yes, to your taste. Major Vernon, what do you say?”

  Seventy-five was ridiculously cheap, but Giles had no idea what the cost of the repairs would be, and how much would need to be done at once to make it habitable.

  “That is extremely generous, and of course tempting,” he said. “However, might I have an hour or two to think it over? I am not sure of the liabilities yet.”

  “Take as much time as you wish, Major Vernon,” said Sir Morton. “It is not something to be rushed into. That is my offer, though. Let me know when you decide.”

  “Thank you, sir,” said Emma.

  “A pleasure, ma’am,” he said. “And if you do take it, you must let me come and drink tea here when I am in Northminster.”

  “That is a delightful prospect,” said Emma. “We can discuss drainage at length.”

  Sir Morton laughed at that and said, “In fact, I have a better proposition. Will you both come to dine and sleep at Hurrell Place tomorrow night? It is short notice, I appreciate, but we are expecting Lord Rothborough and his daughter. I think you know them?”

  ~

  “What a wonderful specimen,” said Emma when they were walking back across the Precincts. “A fine old English gentleman of the best sort.”

  “And an incorrigible flirt,” said Giles. “I shall have to be careful.”

  “Oh no, not at all,” said Emma. “That was all my doing. I bewitched him.”

  “With your talk of green mould and warped casements?”

  “Yes, quite.”

  “A remarkable achievement,” Giles said.

  “So shall you take it?” she said.

  “How much is a new kitchen ceiling?” he said.

  “I shall look into it. More here than in the country, I suppose. Then we can decide.”

  “But you would like me to take it?”

  “I have a good receipt for apricot jam. I should like to have a chance to use it. Did you see that tree?”

  Giles nodded. “The plums looked promising too – we might risk it for that alone.” He took her hand and kissed it.

  “But we should sleep on it,” Emma said.

  “Sleeping at Hurrell Place will hardly help,” said Giles. “It will only tempt us further.”

  “But how pleasant to be asked,” said Emma. “I am beginning to enjoy the consequences of your consequence, Major Vernon.”

  “Oh, that was all your doing. You have the power of enchantment over him.”

  “I had better reign that in for the sake of Lady Hurrell,” she said. “If there is a Lady Hurrell. For isn’t he a widower?”

  “I think you are right.”

  “Yes – I remember what I heard about her now – she was supposed to be a great beauty and an even greater wit. It was a tremendous love affair, apparently, for she had no fortune. And now he has lost her – oh, poor man!”

  “I think he has lost quite a few of his children as well,” Giles said, at which Emma winced.

  “That, of all things...” she said, and then shook her head.

  They had reached the gate to the Treasurer’s House, where Giles took his leave of her with a discreet kiss. He watched her go along the stone path, her summer muslin fluttering about her, and her air purposeful. She would go and make lists and plans, he knew. It was true that Rooke Court would be a challenge for them, and perhaps a great expense, but the thought of coaxing it back to life was irresistible.

  He walked back to the Northern Office and returned just as two large boxes were being delivered. They were addressed to F.J. Carswell MD, and bore the imprimatur of a bookseller in Edinburgh. He had them taken down to Carswell’s laboratory and went up to his own office, amused at this herald of Carswell’s imminent return. It was clear that there had been time on his wedding journey for extensive shopping.

  Inspector Rollins was waiting for him. The most pressing business of the day was the circumstances of a fire at a cotton warehouse three days previously. Mercifully no one had been injured, but the fire had caused the loss of many hundreds of pounds of stock, for which the owner was apparently well insured. There was nothing overt to suggest that the fire was begun deliberately, but Captain Lazenby had asked him to pursue the matter because it had emerged that the owner, a Mr Howard, had experienced some recent business difficulties, and no one had yet been able to identify how exactly the building had caught fire. So it was this puzzle that lay on his desk, and he was glad to know that Carswell would soon be back at work to help him with it.

  Chapter Thre
e

  “Welcome back! You look well for your travels,” Giles said, seeing Carswell climb out of a conspicuously new carriage that had drawn up outside the Infirmary. “I’m sorry to have to pull you from your bed at such an hour,” Giles added as they shook hands. It was a little after six in the morning.

  “What’s happened?” Carswell said.

  “There’s been a serious fire in Jebb Street. Mr Harper needs your assistance – but I wanted to brief you first. It started just after midnight as far as I can gather, but is under control now, thank God.”

  “How many injured?”

  “One family at Number 7 have taken the brunt of it – but it would have been much worse had the young man from the bank offices next door not run in and got them all out. Unfortunately he’s in a poor way, but Mr Harper has hopes of his pulling through. He wants your opinion.”

  “I’d better go in, then,” Carswell said, starting up the steps.

  “I’ll be in Jebb Street,” he said. “If you can spare a moment later to look over the scene with me, I’d be grateful.”

  “Do you suspect arson?” Carswell said.

  “Four nights ago, Hale’s cotton warehouse went up in circumstances that are not fully clear yet. We have to ask the questions, given there is another cotton warehouse in Jebb Street.”

  “I’ll be there when I can,” Carswell said, and disappeared into the building.

  Jebb Street was only a few minutes’ walk away from the Infirmary. As Giles walked towards it, the air began to fill with smoke and cinders. Considering how warm and still the night had been, it was something of a miracle that the fire had been contained so swiftly, and with relatively little damage. A brisk wind could have changed everything. The sluggish air had saved a great many lives and much property. Even as it was, the fire insurance company and the Constabulary were still hard at work, saturating the smouldering remains of Number 7. It was a curious and depressing sight.

  The ancient and timbered house seemed to have sustained most of the damage, while the buildings on either side – the house to the left at Number 3 and the Bank office to the right, at Number 5 – showed scarcely any signs of it. It might be that as the morning light came on, some scorching would be more evident.