Chapter 22

The Uses of Brothers

7 January 1803

WHEN I CHARGED MY BROTHER HENRY TO DISCOVER ALL that he could of the finances of the Scargrave family, he set about his work with customary diligence; and so swiftly achieved results, that he waited upon me this morning with intelligence of no little import. As but two days remain before Isobel must appear in the Lords, I was in a fever of impatience to hear Henry's news.

“My dear Jane,” he began, seating himself in an easy chair in the late Earl's study — the only room in which I feel completely safe from prying ears, due to its heavy wood panelling and walls lined floor to ceiling with bookshelves—”I find that you have taken up lodgings with a rather rum set.”

“You surprise me, Henry,” I rejoined. “Is not murder merely one of the country house games a guest may expect at Christmas?”

“Among our great families, I suppose anything may be made a game. They have certainly made a charade of robbing one another,” my brother replied gravely.

“A fate to be considered worse than death.”

“Or capable of precipitating it, assuredly.” Henry's large grey eyes twinkled; he was enjoying his new-won role in the Scargrave drama.

“Begin at the beginning, pray,” I commanded him, with some asperity.

“Let us start with Fitzroy Payne.”

“I am all attention.”

“His circumstances are by no means as easy as he might wish, nor yet as distressed as you have been told.”

“Sir William will not have it thus, you may depend.”

“Sir William may have no choice. The facts are these: the new Earl is possessed of a considerable estate in the West Indies, acquired by his father and managed by a man who has done little to merit the trust placed in him by the Payne family. In short, the plantations are in reduced circumstances—”

“As I understand many such holdings are, at the present time.”

“Indeed. It is not the year to be in sugar production.”

“Or coffee, so I understand.”

“Jane! Are you become a shareholder in some venture I should know of? Are we to expect you to take a London journal upon your return to Bath, and make cryptic references to the ‘Change[46] over breakfast?”

I smiled at his banter and bade him go on.

“The holdings remain, nonetheless, of substantial worth, and may require only an infusion of capital and a change in managers to make them a going concern. That the Earl hopes to use a part of his uncle's estate for just this purpose, is a fact Sir William must underline before the House of Lords.”

“And his personal debts?”

“Fitzroy Payne lives on the interest from his father's Derbyshire estate, to the tune of three thousand pounds a year — a respectable income, assuredly, but not of the level to cut a certain dash among the glittering set in which he is owned a confederate.” Henry hesitated, and eyed me dubiously. “Payne has habits of considerable expense, sister.”

That he thought of the rumoured mistress, I readily discerned, and hastened to set him at his ease.

“You may except the illustrious Mrs. Hammond,” I assured him. “I have met the lady.”

My brother threw up his hands. “I am all amazement. I shall endeavour not to tell our mother of the company you now keep.”

“Mrs. Hammond was his nursemaid,” I protested. “Lord Scargrave but cares for the woman in retirement.”

“Dashed again! I had hoped for something more engaging from the scrupulous Earl. But no matter. His carriages, his horse, his rooms in Town, and the upkeep of the Derbyshire establishment, have strained his funds to the limit — and past it, I fear. I could not find out, however, that there were debts of honour, due to gaming; but I learned that he had discharged such on behalf of another, some few months back.”

“Lieutenant Hearst?” I said, with a sudden, sharp pang.

“The gentleman who most succeeded in robbing the family,” Henry returned, nodding. “That man's affairs would make an amusing trial, but damme, he has deprived us of the pleasure. The Lieutenant exhausted what little his brother retained of their father's estate — and did the poor Mr. George Hearst wish to buy a living somewhere, it must be impossible for one of his reduced resources. I hope he has come in for a Scargrave living under the late Earl's will.”

“I believe he has,” I replied, “but that circumstances might forbid his taking it.” To show his wife about Scar-grave would be a form of purgatory on earth, given the acid tongues and long memories of the local people. But that was George Hearst's affair. “Have you anything further regarding Lord Scargrave?”

“He is everywhere recorded as a man of taste and decency, though adjudged somewhat proud and cold; though people respect him, they do not necessarily warm to him, and that may go against him in public opinion, however this trial turns out. There were once many hopes entertained of his heart, among the mothers and daughters of London's select; but I gather he is now become an object of fearful suspicion, and his value has dropped on the marriage market. You might pick him up on the cheap, by the by, now you have vetted him, Jane; I give you my consent in lieu of Father's, since you have made your brother your confidant.”

“I feat; Henry, that the Earl's affections are apportioned to another,” I told him, “and that all of society shall know of it in a very little while.”

“Worse luck for you, Jane,” my brother replied; “did he make a go of the plantations, as his wife you might come in for quite a pretty amount of pin money — and Eliza will have it that there is nothing like being a Countess.” As always, the mention of his vivacious wife's name brought a smile to Henry's lips. He had borne with Eliza's retention of her title with good grace.

“Now tell me of Madame Delahoussaye,” I urged, with a keener interest.

Henry steepled his fingers before his nose, for all the world like our father, did he but know it. “Though her daughter possesses thirty thousand pounds in trust, the good Creole lady hasn't a farthing in her purse, nor one she can borrow,” he said comfortably, little comprehending the effect his words should have. “She depends entirely upon the household of her niece, one reason she is so faithful a companion, and stands to lose much by the reversal in Isobel's fortunes.”

“But how can this be?” I cried. “I understood Madame to be a woman of easy circumstances.”

“I fear that we may only speak of wealth in the past tense, Jane. In fact, her banker — old Robeson, of the London concern — is most desirous of investigating Madame Delahoussaye's accounts more thoroughly, in what I may only term an audit. Robeson suspects some irregularities in the disposition of some trust income Madame oversees, but would say no more, in deference to the lady's privacy, no matter how much I plied him with Port.”

I THANKED HENRY PROFUSELY FOR HIS BENEVOLENCE ON my behalf, and vowed I should never do him recompense for such goodness; and he left me with much to consider. I do not begin to understand the motives for Madame Delahoussaye's behaviour; they are all of a tangle, between her own need and her daughter's prospects of fortune; from Henry's words, Madame should only lose by placing Isobel in a noose — and yet, and yet! That she is concealing something of import, I am utterly convinced.

I believe Lord Harold to be a party to Madame's intrigue, and that neither is a friend to Isobel, or concerned with her fate. But how to force the matter? I am overcome with the proximity of the trial, which is to open the day after tomorrow; and must suffer Fanny Delahoussaye's tirades over the state of her costume. She has emerged from mourning the gallant Lieutenant long enough to harry a bevy of shopkeepers, and my sole consolation in the trial's fast approaching, is that it shall witness an end to such frippery — and to my tenure, for good or ill, among the intimates of Scargrave. I fear that I shall be returning to Bath with a heavy heart, and the knowledge that I have mortally failed a true and innocent friend.