Four Regency Rogues

‘Certainly not,’ she said, determined not to give an inch. ‘I am about to open up a new adit. Now, please leave. I am too busy to argue with you.’

Roland bowed and returned to his mount, followed by Travers, doing his best to keep a straight face.

‘You may laugh,’ Roland told him as they rode back to the village. ‘She is a veritable shrew, but I shall get the better of her, you shall see.’

‘Oh, I am sure you will, Major.’ Travers found it difficult to give his master his proper title, but Roland did not mind that. As far as he was concerned he was going into battle and it was one he might enjoy, considering no one was likely to be killed because of it.

‘Miss Cartwright, ’tis madness,’ Jacob Edwards told her the morning after her encounter with the Earl at Browhill. He had been summoned to Mandeville to be told she wanted to release funds for a new shaft to the Browhill mine. He was a young man of thirty, dressed in an impeccable dove-grey morning coat and pristine shirt. No one seeing him would have believed he had once wandered barefoot about the village lanes in torn breeches. ‘It is not like you to go on beyond the point of a venture making a profit.’

‘Profit is not everything.’

This statement made him laugh; it was so unlike her. ‘If not profit, what do you hope to gain?’

‘Gain nothing,’ she said, ‘but keep everything.’

‘I am not very good at riddles. Pray explain.’

She began pacing the room impatiently, swishing her grey skirt about her as she turned at the end of each perambulation. He watched, admiring her shapely figure and striking features. He had admired her for years, ever since he had come across her as a child, but she gave no indication that she was aware of it or would consider an approach by him. In her eyes he was simply her factotum, someone to carry out her orders, occasionally to advise, never to look on with affection. He doubted she was capable of it.

‘I do not want Amerleigh given the slightest opportunity to repossess it,’ she said.

‘The land might have been part of his domain, but he never mined it, nor did his father,’ he said. ‘The late Earl never established a claim to mining rights.’

‘Would he need to, given he owned the land?’

‘I do not know.’

‘Then find out.’

‘Very well, ma’am.’ He bowed himself out and she soon followed. She had spent the morning at the Scofield Mill, supervising the loading of barges with bales of cotton cloth, to be taken to Liverpool by river and canal for loading on to the Fair Charlie. She hated the name, but as her father had chosen it to mark her birth, she would not change it. As soon as it was safely aboard, she had returned home to meet Jacob Edwards. Now, with an unaccustomed hour or two to fill, she decided to go for a ride. Not for a single minute did she admit, even to herself, that she hoped she might meet the Earl. The confrontation the day before had roused her in a way that nothing had ever done before. Accustomed as she was to making deals, striking a hard bargain, taking it for granted her orders would be obeyed, it was a refreshing change to have to fight for something. It was the battle itself that put the gleam into her eye.

She went to the kitchens, sent May to the stables to ask Dobson to saddle Bonny Boy, then, taking a basket, filled it with a can of milk, some eggs and a jar of cook’s homemade preserve, all of which she intended to take to Mrs Biggs. The poor woman had recently had another baby and she was struggling to manage since her husband had lost his position as under-gardener at the Hall. The two oldest girls worked at the mill, but they could not earn enough to keep the whole family.

‘It is the Earl’s responsibility to look after his people, not yours,’ Cook told her.

‘Yes, but Beth and Matty work for me. I must do what I can to help them. Besides, I doubt the Earl has had time to see to such things and from what I have seen of him, his pockets are to let.’

‘How can that be? He is an aristocrat, is he not? They always find money from somewhere for what they want. If not, they fall into debt and think nothing of it.’

Charlotte knew this to be true, especially of the late Earl. It was why his heir had come home to desolation. She could almost feel sorry for him. Almost. But that did not mean she was prepared to see the villagers suffer. She had been helping them and would continue to do so. She went up to her room to change into her riding habit and put on her boots, then went back to the kitchen to pick up the basket. Five minutes later she was walking her horse down the drive and out of the gates in the direction of the village, balancing the basket in front of her on the saddle.

Mrs Biggs, who had seven children, lived in a little cottage near the church. Until he had been turned off by the late Earl’s lawyer, her husband had been a conscientious gardener who did his best for the family, but since then he had become low in spirits and very bad-tempered. He did not like charity, but for the sake of the children was forced to accept it. Charlotte tried to go when he was not at home, in order not to embarrass him.

Mrs Biggs bobbed a curtsy and accepted the basket with gratitude. ‘Will you stop and take some refreshment?’ she asked, as she always did.

Charlotte knew that providing her with refreshment would mean others in the family going short and she would not have dreamed of allowing that. ‘No, thank you, Mrs Biggs, I have other calls to make. How is the little one?’

‘All the better for what you bring, ma’am. We all are. Do you think that now the new Earl has come home, he will re-engage the staff?’

‘I am sure I do not know, Mrs Biggs. Let us hope so.’

She stopped to cuddle the baby, unmindful of her expensive clothes, and to talk to some of the other children before leaving, telling Mrs Biggs to send one of them back with the basket another time and she would give him a penny for his pains. She loved children and longed for some of her own, but to do that she must marry and, as she had forsworn to do that, she must put all thought of being a mother out of her head.

Leaving the cottage, she decided to ride further afield and set off through the village along the lane that ran beside Amerleigh Hall, intending to go up through the wood and on to the hill. She reined in when she saw workmen mending a broken wall beside the road. One of the men looked up at her approach and she was surprised to discover it was the Earl himself in overalls. ‘Good afternoon, my lord,’ she said coolly.

‘Miss Cartwright,’ he answered and waited.

‘My lord, I am surprised to see you mending walls.’

‘It needs doing,’ he said, wondering what censure was coming next. ‘Mr Frost’s sheep have been straying onto the road, so he tells me, and I enjoy working with my hands. It is calming.’

She slipped from the saddle and, picking up her trailing skirt, walked towards him, leading Bonny Boy. ‘I can understand you need something to calm you, my lord, and building walls is certainly a creditable occupation, but there are men in the village without work. Their families are suffering because of it. Could you not have employed one or two of those?’

His face darkened with annoyance. ‘Whom I employ is my affair, madam.’

‘Of course.’ Antagonising him was not the way to influence him, she realised. ‘But I am concerned for the people who once worked on the estate, and because you have but lately returned, I thought you were perhaps unaware of their desperate plight.’

He wiped his hands on his overalls and walked over to stand in front of her. ‘I would not have made a very good officer if I remained blind to what went on around me, Miss Cartwright. I am very well aware of the state of affairs in the village.’

‘Then you will think about re-employing the men? There is one in particular, a man called Biggs. His wife has recently been delivered of her seventh child and they are at their wits’ end.’

‘When circumstances allow I will do what I can.’

His words confirmed her suspicion that he was pinched in the pocket; no wonder he wanted her mine and the profits it made. ‘Thank you. Does that mean you intend to stay?’

He laughed. ‘Would you have me gone again so that you may ride wherever you like, acting Lady Bountiful?’

‘That is not, nor has ever been, my role, Lord Temple. But starving people do not work well or willingly.’

‘I am aware of that, Miss Cartwright, I do not need a lecture.’

He could not explain to her, of all people, that it was not callousness that held him back from helping the villagers, but the necessity to conserve his resources. He wondered why she had not married; she was still young and her wealth must surely be a great inducement. Could it be that prospective suitors were put off by her habit of saying what was in her mind and interfering in their affairs? If she had been anyone but who she was, he might have enjoyed working with her to help the villagers. As it was, enjoyment was the last thing on his mind.

She was about to remount when she became aware of a carriage being driven very fast along the lane towards them. She hesitated, waiting for it to pass, at the same time realizing that there was a small child on the road. She let out her cry of warning, but Roland had seen him too and dashed into the road to rescue him.

Charlotte watched in horror as the coachman tried to pull the horses up. They reared over the man and boy. The coach slewed round and toppled over and Roland and the boy disappeared. The coachman was thrown down beside the wall, which knocked him senseless, and the screams of the vehicle’s occupants filled the air as it turned over.

Charlotte dashed round the overturned coach to the spot where she had last seen Roland and the boy, but was overtaken by Travers, who had been working on the wall with his lordship. The horses were struggling to stand and he quickly released them from the traces, but there was no sign of the Earl or the boy. ‘Major!’ he shouted.

‘Over here.’ The voice, though breathless, was surprisingly strong and came from the ditch on the other side of the carriageway. A moment later, his lordship’s head appeared, followed by the rest of him, carrying the senseless boy in his arms. ‘Had to pull him into the ditch,’ he said calmly, laying the boy gently on the grass beside the unconscious coachman. ‘I think he might have a bump on the head. He’ll come to his senses directly.’ He looked up and saw Charlotte standing uncertainly beside him. ‘Are you hurt?’

‘No, my lord. Are you?’

‘Nothing but a bruise or two.’

She knelt down beside the boy, aware that a portly man dressed in a coat of blue superfine and nankeen pantaloons was climbing from the overturned carriage. He had lost his hat and his hair was awry and he was very angry. ‘Imbecile!’ he shouted, addressing Roland. ‘Letting your brat wander about the public road like that.’

‘I think he is but slightly injured, sir,’ Roland said coolly. ‘But I do thank you for your kind concern.’

‘Yes, well, he should not have been in the road,’ the man said, recognising the put-down for what it was. ‘Did he not hear us coming?’

‘No, he could not,’ Charlotte put in. She had recognised the six-year-old Tommy Biggs, who had come round from his fright and was looking from one to the other, trying to understand what was being said. ‘He is deaf. But your coachman has no business to be going at such a speed he was unable to stop in time. Tommy could have been killed.’

‘Are you his mother?’ The man reached in his pocket and withdrew a purse.

‘No, I am not, but that is not to say his mother would not appreciate some recompense. She is poor and doctor’s fees will come hard.’

The moans coming from the coach grew into a wail. ‘George, am I to stay here all day while you bandy words? Help me out.’

The man gave Charlotte a handful of coins and turned back to the coach. A head had appeared in the door of the vehicle, which now lay on its side, one wheel still gently spinning. The woman’s round face was bright red, her hair such a vivid orange Charlotte could not believe it could be its natural colour. And it soon became apparent, as her husband struggled to haul her out, that she was exceedingly fat.

‘Can you look after the boy?’ Roland asked Charlotte. ‘See that he does not move until I can examine him properly. I had better see to the passengers.’

‘Of course.’

He left her to lend the fat gentleman a hand and together they pulled the lady free with a great display of petticoats and set her upon her feet on the road.

‘You are unhurt, ma’am?’ Roland asked.

‘I am bruised black and blue,’ she retorted. ‘And will undoubtedly suffer considerably, but I do not expect you to concern yourself with that. Be so good as to send for another conveyance to carry us forwards. We are in haste…’

‘That much I had deduced,’ Roland said wryly. ‘But you know what they say, “more haste less speed”. The delay will undoubtedly outweigh the advantage of the speed you were driving. I am sure your coachman will agree with that. When he regains his senses, that is.’

‘And a little less of your impertinence, if you please. If you had kept your child under control—’

‘The child does not belong to his lordship,’ Charlotte said and watched with a broadening smile as the woman’s mouth dropped open in astonishment.

‘His lordship?’ she managed at last.

‘You have been directing your abuse at the Earl of Amerleigh,’ Charlotte went on, throwing a glance at Roland, who had turned away to hide his laughter.

The woman swivelled round to look Roland up and down as if unable to believe this rough-looking man in the faded overalls could possibly be a member of the aristocracy.

‘The lady ain’t bamming,’ Travers put in. He had been busy catching the horses, which, apart from a tendency to take fright, were unharmed. ‘So you’d be wise to address his lordship with more respect, especially if you want him to help you.’

‘Oh, I do. My lord, I cannot think what came over me. The shock, I suppose. Please forgive me. I took you for—’ She stopped, not daring to put into words what she had taken him for.

‘It is no matter, ma’am,’ Roland said, doing his best to be serious at the woman’s complete volte-face. Then, to Travers, ‘Do you think we can right this coach?’

‘Don’t see why not.’

The two men, both exceptionally big and strong, strode over to the coach and, with a great deal of heaving and pushing and rocking of it, managed to turn it back on to its wheels. Roland went all round it, examining it carefully. ‘I think it could be driven,’ he said. ‘If you take it slowly, it will carry you to the next posting inn.’

‘Thank you, my lord,’ the woman’s husband said. ‘But Greaves is in no case to drive. Perhaps your man…’

‘What about it, Travers?’ Roland asked. ‘Fancy tooling a coach, do you?’

The corporal, busy harnessing the horses again, looked up and grinned. ‘Very well, sir, but what about the wall?’

‘We will finish it tomorrow. Miss Cartwright and I will carry the boy home and deliver him safely to his mother. I am sure Mr…’

‘Halliwell,’ the man said. ‘James Halliwell, at your service, my lord. I will furnish your man with the wherewithal to return home.’

‘Then I suggest you help Mr Greaves into the coach, and off you go.’

‘Inside?’ Mrs Halliwell squeaked, looking at her coachman, who was now sitting up, but still looking decidedly dazed. She obviously thought it was beneath her dignity to ride inside with a servant.

In the event Greaves disdained the comfort of an inside seat and insisted he would be perfectly at ease sitting beside Travers on the box and proved it by getting shakily to his feet and climbing up there. Mr and Mrs Halliwell clambered in and Roland secured the broken door with a strap and they set off, walking the horses very slowly and carefully.

Charlotte, still kneeling beside young Tommy, watched them go, then turned back to the boy, who was moaning softly.

‘Do you think he is hurt anywhere beside his head?’ she asked, stroking the boy’s muddy cheek with a gentle finger. ‘I do not think he can speak because of his deafness.’

Watching her, he suddenly realised he was seeing a very different woman from the one he had hitherto encountered and could not help gazing at her. Gone were the strong features, the firm jawline, the glittering eyes, the coldness of the hoyden, and in their place was a mouth that was tenderly soft and eyes full of warmth, as she comforted the boy. It was most disconcerting. He pulled himself together to answer her. ‘A doctor will be able to tell,’ he said. ‘We must send for one at once.’

‘I will fetch Dr Sumner. It will only take a few minutes on Bonny Boy.’

‘Very well. I will carry the boy to his home if you tell me where that is.’

‘The thatched cottage beside the church. His name is Tommy Biggs.’

‘Biggs?’ he queried, as he helped her to mount. ‘That is the name of the family you mentioned, is it not?’

‘Yes, it is,’ she said, surprised that he had remembered it. She had not thought he had even been listening.

Unfortunately, Dr Sumner was out on a call, but his housekeeper promised to give him a message as soon as he returned and Charlotte had to be content with that. She emphasised the urgency and rode back to the Biggs’s cottage where she found Roland sitting on a stool beside a dilapidated sofa on which the boy was lying. Mrs Biggs, her face white and drawn, admitted her and then went to stand beside his lordship to look down on her son. Two toddlers hung on to her skirts.

‘How is he?’ Charlotte asked.

‘He seems confused. His lordship has said it often happens after a blow on the head, but it should not last. I do not know what would have happened if his lordship had not been there, ma’am. He could have been killed. He should not have been so far from home, I don’t know what got into the little devil.’

‘He is like all small boys, Mrs Biggs,’ Roland said. ‘Into mischief, and the fact that he is deaf does not alter that.’ He smiled at the boy and was repaid with a brave grin in return. ‘He is a plucky little fellow.’

‘The doctor is coming,’ Charlotte said. ‘I left a message.’

‘Oh, but, ma’am, I ain’t sure tha’s necessary. He’ll be his old self by and by…’

‘Better be on the safe side,’ Charlotte said, knowing the reason for the woman’s reluctance and producing the coins Mr Halliwell had given her from the pocket of her habit. ‘The man with the coach was most apologetic and anxious to do what he could to help. He gave me this to pay for a doctor and anything else Tommy needs.’

‘Oh, thank you, ma’am. Perhaps it would be best to have him checked over…’

Again she offered refreshment and again was politely refused and Charlotte and Roland left soon afterwards, with Charlotte promising to return to find out what the doctor said and if there was anything else Tommy needed.

‘You do care for those people, don’t you?’ Roland said, taking up the reins of her horse and leading it, obliging her to walk beside him.

‘It would be a callous person who did not.’

She was still on her high ropes, he realised, trying to teach him his duty, to make him feel guilty. He decided not to rise to the bait. ‘Enough to take on their welfare?’ he queried.

‘The two oldest girls, Beth, who is fourteen, and Matty, who is a little over a year younger, are my employees. You met them. I am told you gave them half a crown.’

‘So I did. Your mill hands, shut out because they were too polite not to answer me when I spoke to them.’

‘One cannot let tardiness go unpunished,’ she said. ‘But I have told Mr Brock that, in future, anyone who arrives late will not be locked out, but will lose half an hour’s pay for every five minutes. After all, I am the loser when their looms stand idle all day.’

He laughed. Her good deeds seemed to be tempered with self-interest. But was that really true? She seemed genuinely concerned about the boy, and the look of tenderness on her face when she had been comforting him had showed a gentler side to her nature that stayed with him.

‘There is nothing wrong in that,’ she said, stung by his laughter. ‘Everyone must do the work they are given.’

‘Even me,’ he said.

‘Yes. It was fortunate you were working or you would not have been in a position to save Tommy’s life. It was a brave thing to do.’ It choked her to say it, but it was nothing but the truth and she was always one to give credit where it was due.

‘I am a hardened soldier, Miss Cartwright, used to carnage, but you did not flinch when I handed the boy over to you. Other young ladies would have swooned away.’

She laughed. ‘And then you would have had two patients instead of one and no one to ride for the doctor. I am not such a fribble, my lord, and I never have been.’

He could readily believe it. He stopped and bent to cup his hands for her foot. She sprang astride the saddle, giving him a glimpse of a well-turned ankle, settled her feet in the stirrups and took up the reins.

‘Good day to you, my lord,’ she said, trotting away, leaving him standing looking after her, stroking his chin in contemplation.

He could not make her out. Was she still the spoiled, imperious chit of his earlier acquaintance or had she changed? Until this afternoon he would have said she had not changed one iota, but would the spoiled hoyden have concerned herself with the problems of a poor family? While they had been waiting for her, Mrs Biggs had sung her praises, telling him how generous she was and how without her they would be in dire need. He was unsure if the woman was deliberately trying to make him feel guilty or was too simple to realise how her words sounded. While his father had been ill and his mother too mortified by their straitened circumstances to go out and about, Miss Cartwright had been free to act the lady of the manor and perhaps she was not inclined to let that go. He chuckled to himself. If he had married her when his father suggested it, that was just what she would have been.

The devil of it was that their paths were bound to cross, living so close, and it was wearying to be for ever sparring, especially if they both wanted to do good by the villagers. They had to find some kind of harmony to their day-to-day encounters. He would do well to adopt a soft approach and avoid argument, leaving that for when the real battle began.

He turned and strode back to the Hall. There was a little more furniture in the house now, a proper dining table, a few chairs, a desk and some beds, but it was still minimal and the marble-floored entrance hall contained nothing but a small table and a faded Sheraton chair. He had instructed builders to make repairs to the roof where it let in the rain and to make good broken window sashes, but he had not yet put in hand a full-scale refurbishment. He wondered if he ever would. There he was, an aristocrat who had to watch every penny, trying to do justice to all his people, while that hoyden had more money than she knew what to do with. Paying lawyers would not trouble her at all, but it would drain his own minimal resources. His head told him to let it go, but his own stubborn pride resisted. The profits from that mine would make all the difference, not only to the restoration of the Hall, but to the tenants and villagers who looked to him to keep their dwellings in good repair. Was ever a man in such a coil?