the marquis's memory 15

 

Chapter 15

 

Geoffrey’s solicitors readily approved the spending of one hundred and fifty pounds for Lady Calver’s footman to purchase a second-hand  curricle, and a horse to pull it, and agreed that the upkeep of the horse would be taken care of by the marquisate, as asking for her man to undertake errands, and shop for her, fell within the purview of James’s duties, and he would need some form of conveyance, if stuck out in the rural fastness of Wembley. One could not expect a footman to be able to ride properly, but to drive a one-horse vehicle should be within his abilities, and it gave room for parcels.

James promptly drove to Grosvenor Square, on the pretended errand of fetching some of her ladyship’s gowns, and helped himself to some of Geoffrey’s clothes whilst he was there. The theory of effecting a change using such clothes as Geoffrey had on him was all very well, but being able to walk into wherever Geoffrey was staying looking as if he belonged worked better. James also visited an actress he knew, and helped himself to some greasepaint and what he fondly believed to be a false beard and moustache, to be able to learn the lay of the land from behind a false front, before making any detailed plans. He was puzzled to find no slit in the ‘beard’ between ‘moustache’ and ‘beard,’ and assumed that these things were made up and the wearer supposed to slit them as appropriate. He had never heard of a merkin, or pubic hair wig, and would certainly have discarded his acquisition in horror had he realised its use.

As it was, he marked where it needed dividing, and did so, with a sharp knife, trying it against his face, and trimming it to fit. A little gum Arabic would see it settled very nicely.  Now he needed the clothes of a gentleman, but perhaps one who was a little down at heel, to go with the shabby curricle. James fancied that he could pass as a gentleman, for having long waited on them; in this he was not as accurate as he believed. He acquired clothing, however, in clerical black, from a second-hand stall, and, having one offered, decided to get the dog-collar that went with such clothing.  Nobody would suspect a vicar of any wrongdoing, would they? A vicar taking some sea air for his health.

He took back the gowns he had fetched for Lady Calver as his cover.

“I’m all set,” he murmured as he passed the gowns over.

“Oh! Splendid,” said Lady Calver, vaguely, having forgotten suggesting replacing Geoffrey.

James wondered if she would even notice, if he appeared before her in Geoffrey’s clothes. Well, if not, she had screamed that Geoffrey was no longer her son, that she did not recognise him, when she was dragged away, and any denial of him might be laid at the door of her madness.  And then she might be kept confined and out of the way. Perfect.

 

oOoOo

 

The Calypso, the revenue cutter, which went by the name of Verve, and a couple of fishing smacks were in the race of sailed vessels, three miles each way.  The Calypso plainly had an edge, though the revenue men did their best. And the Calypso turned, to go about between the two buoys marking the course, going further out than she had to, and with men ready with hooks on poles to lift the fishing net attached lightly to the buoy, filled with bottles and oilskin packets of such dainty things as lace.

The Verve gained a little, Noah-Nelson making it seem that he had made a slight error in sail handling as they went about, easy enough to do in the excitement of the moment. It meant that the race back to the start would be a tough one.

“Let the blighter win,” said Noah-Nelson, to his crew. “It don’t do to let them know how clean a pair of heels we cud show them ow’ preventatives if’n we wanted to, see? Then they’ll underestimify us, an’ we’ll be hoom free du we need ter be.”

Much as the crew would have liked to have shared the generous prize set up by the marquis, they listened to Noah-Nelson, who reckoned that, not only would they get more in the longrun in smuggling, as well as a good chance of saving their necks.

Consequently, the Calypso came in a close second to the Verve, Noah-Nelson’s pride did not permit the loss to be by much, but the small crew of Verves cheered uproariously for their win. The prize was enough to make a real difference to their meagre pay, and it had been promised to be shared out equally, not after the manner of prize money in the navy.  The villagers were suddenly popular with the preventatives.

As some of their prize money drank a health to the marquis, the preventatives were popular with the Pigeons; but they did not see, nor smell, the least hint of brandy.

That had been lowered down under water again, and swimmers had collected it and got it into the underground passage during the prize-giving.

 

The tide had reached its height in the sailing race, which was the high point of the regatta; and the sailing vessels retreated towards the middle of the river, where they might be assured deep water, and matters moved on to the judging of the crabs, lobsters, and fish caught by line and hook.

“That went more smoothly than the flower and vegetable show,” said Geoffrey to Effie, Alethea, and Pip.

“I don’t know that goats like seafood,” said Effie. 

Pip gave a gurgle of mirth.

“Can you just imagine a seagoat, or mergoat, imagine Marigold with a fishy tail,” she said.

“Sadly, I can imagine it only too well,” said Geoffrey. “Eyes alight with unholy mischief swimming up to the staithe and climbing onto it, her tail wetly glistening, bleating her siren song as she steals crabs from their buckets.”

“You are whimsical, my lord,” said Effie.

“Yes,” said Geoffrey.  “It is my nature to have a whimsical imagination.”

“Good,” said Pip.

“Philippa!” said Effie.

“Well, it shows he in intelligent and has an imagination, can find absurdity in things that go wrong, and has a happy outlook on life,” said Pip.

“Well, that’s as maybe, but one should not comment on it to a gentleman,” said Effie.

“I don’t mind in the least,” said Geoffrey.

“You may very well not mind, my lord, but if I am to bring her out, what am I to do if she gives all the gentlemen she meets a distaste for her? You did want her to make an eligible marriage, did you not?”

“I want her to be happy,” said Geoffrey. “I want her to have a wider choice than those men she has already met.”

“It still stands, as a comment,” said Pip. “What is the difference between you telling him he is whimsical and me saying that I think it is a good thing?”

“Why, that you have passed an opinion and a judgement on a gentleman, which they do not generally like, and moreover, it is not polite. Even as no gentleman should tell you at a ball that you are looking very well, because that implies that at other times you do not look in good looks.”

“How silly; for one may be in particular fine looks one evening.”

“It is the convention,” said Effie.

“Can ladies be whimsical?” asked Pip.

“Assuredly,” said Geoffrey, before Effie could answer.

“Then my whimsy tells me that poor Convention is a very vapid girl indeed, leaning on Manners, and afraid to reach out to Opinion,” said Pip.

“Alas, it is the way of the world to value vapid, in case Truth should slip into a ballroom, and upset Complacency, Pomposity, and Self-Esteem, with her revolutionary notions. And it is as well that Truth be discouraged from attending public functions, for her appearance causes mayhem.”

“Beautifully put, my lord,” said Effie.

“Oh, I do wish I understood why it is correct for the marquis to say such things, and for you to compliment him on it, Effie, but not me,” said Pip.

“Because you are a young girl, coming out, and your opinion does not count with anyone of the Ton,” said Effie.

“Any gentleman who is interested will ask your opinion,” said Geoffrey. “It’s one way you can measure whether they are worth getting to know.”

“Oh! I see!” said Pip.

“That’s not strictly… well I suppose it could work that way,” said Effie.

 

oOoOo

 

James set out in his curricle, conscious that he could not drive as far and as fast as if he had a team of two high bred horses, and resigned himself to three days on the road to get to what he personally described as the village of Much Swiving in the Marsh, and considered himself a wit for this designation. He had plenty of money from her ladyship, and a few geegaws he had helped himself to, in the town house. It meant he could throw coins at stablehands in inns instead of having to deal with the horse himself. James disliked horses intensely, and saw his wheeler as a means to get about, and no more. He prepared to be bored for three days, but could at least rehearse his various stories as he travelled.

As it happened, he was four days on the road, not three, having overshot the turnoff to the Haddingtons, and ending up going all the way to Shotley Gate.  Here he found a few fishermen’s hovels and nothing else, but reflected that it would be a good place to hold a prisoner to question if he needed to find out anything the marquis knew that he should find out.  He found an inn of sorts in Shotley in which to rest.

 

oOoOo

 

Henry Bathurst, Bishop of Norwich, deliberated long over the irritable letter from the Marquis Calver, and the hysterical outpourings of the Reverend Coot.  Bathurst was a man who did not follow the letter of the guidelines on ordination, preferring to go on individual merit of any particular case, and his own thoughts on the Reverend Coot were that he would not ordain this man, no matter how many of the guidelines he might have satisfied.  He packed the man off to a curacy where he could do no harm, under a very positive rector, and despatched to Cross Haddington a man who had been called to the service of God later in life, after a career as a smuggler.  Tim Feltham had vowed his life into God’s service if he survived a shipwreck in a gale, as he clung to a piece of wreckage through maelstrom, sleet, and a biting north-easterly wind. Cast upon the shore, and taken up more dead than alive, he had survived pneumonia and rheumatic fever, and had spent the last of his ill-gotten gains in attending Cambridge University in order to take orders. He had fought prejudice against his birth, and had struggled to achieve the necessary academic level, aided by having been an apothecary’s apprentice before taking up smuggling, being the son of a yeoman farmer attempting to better his sons.

As Coot expostulated about smuggling, and fearing that the crypt was used. Bathurst hoped that Feltham would be understanding with the locals, and more to the liking of the marquis, if he was still there. The locals were his chief concern.

“And for goodness sake, find out what hymns they know and like, and stick with them,” he advised Feltham, a prematurely grey-haired forty-year-old.

“I’m not an idiot, Bishop,” said Feltham.

“You’d be surprised how many people are,” said Bathurst.

 

oOoOo

 

It was awkward living on a ship.  Geoffrey tried it for three days, and gave up.

“I need somewhere to stay while I’m here,” he said. “And I may take my turn running services in the church, but I can’t occupy the rectory, because we’re waiting for a vicar.”

“There’s the priory,” said Simeon Pigeon.

“That sounds encouraging; who lives there now, if empty, why, and what’s wrong with it?” asked Geoffrey.

“Well, a lot of the original priory was robbed out, of course, but there’s still a house which was built from the original, the church being enlarged from the chapel. It’s between the rectory and Widow Spalding’s smallholding,” said Pigeon. “It’s supposed to be haunted.”

“Haunted! By Ragged Robin, the billygoat, no doubt,” said Geoffrey.

“And possibly smugglers,” said Pigeon. “There’s supposed to be a secret tunnel runs under it.”

“No connection to the house?” asked Geoffrey.

“No, my lord, I don’t think so,” said Pigeon, who was well aware it had been blocked off at some point.

“Well, then, I am not about to be murdered in my bed, so if I hear noises, I sigh, and ignore them,” said Geoffrey.

He moved in as soon as he had sent for bedding from Ipswich, finding the three-bedroom house quite adequate to his needs, and welcomed Simon Endicott to share with him. Geoffrey did not send for his valet, who had been engaged by his mother as a spy on him, but promptly engaged Noah-Nelson Keeble, his wife, Harriet, son Danny, daughter Hettie, and adopted son, Tiberius as his staff. They would be on and off the Calypso, but Geoffrey was much happier sleeping in a bed which did not move.

Even if woken by the plaintive tones of Marigold in the garden.