Eugenie and the Earl Page 3

  'On the north coast of Norfolk.' He pointed to the right. 'Lynn is just a few hours away, and there you will no doubt find a coach to take you where you wish to go.'

  Eugenie fingered the few sous in her pocket. 'I have no money for a coach.'

  Jean was taking something from his pocket. 'Hugues gave me this to give to you.'

  It was a purse made of linen, fastened as were reticules by a string round the neck. Puzzled, Eugenie struggled to undo the knots. She could feel what seemed to be coins inside, and while she pulled them out Jean leapt back into the boat and it sailed away. Then the moon made one of its periodic appearances and she discovered she held several guinea coins in her hand. English coins. How on earth had Hugues obtained them?

  It made things much simpler for her. No doubt she could find a mail coach in Lynn, go to London, then get another coach to Winchester. Once there she could buy a new dress, and hire a gig to take her to Castle Tempus, which she knew was a few miles from the town.

  Or, and the notion was less appealing than it might have been, she could follow her first plan of working and walking her way. Hughes had warned her of the dangers facing a lone female, and she knew he was right. He had, by some unknown means, obtained guineas to give her the safer way. She ought to do as he wished. If she did not, and spent the money on other things, she would feel she was betraying his trust.

  She slid the guinea coins back into the purse and tied it tightly, then thrust it deep into her breeches pocket and began to walk in the direction Jean had indicated. It would be morning when she reached the town, and she could probably not travel until night, when the mails ran. She ought to sleep for a few hours, but she was far too excited at being back on her native shores. She would first book a seat on that night's mail, and then she would buy some food. She did not think, dressed as she was, she would be welcome in any of the town's hostelries, but she longed for good, plain English food. Perhaps a mutton pie, washed down with ale, and some sweetmeats.

  She felt dirty and scruffy, but unless she found a secluded stream before she reached the town, she would have no means of curing that. Then she thought she had no more need to live as a vagabond as she had done in France. Perhaps, if she passed through a village before it grew light, she might venture to use the village pump, or draw a bucket of water from a well. Or she might even offer to pay for water. But people would be suspicious of a lad in what were by now dirty breeches smelling of fish offering to pay with a golden guinea. Then she began to laugh. What would her uncle and aunt think when she turned up on their doorstep? Not only had they not seen her for more than ten years, they did not know of the deaths of her parents, and would probably be horrified if they heard the full details of her journey back to England. Would they even accept her story, and recognise her as their niece?

  It was growing light, and she had no idea how far it was to Lynn. When she crossed a small stream she stopped and washed her face and hands as well as she could. An hour later she reached the town. Her first objective was to find the mail coach office, and there she booked a seat on that night's coach. Then she had leisure to look around her, buy the food she craved, and wander about the town. She was, however, so excited to be on the last leg of her journey she was impatient for the coach to set off, and was waiting for it an hour before the stated time. At last, however, she was able to clamber aboard with the other passengers, a large man who announced he was an attorney, and two young men who had, it appeared, been visiting a college friend, and try to sleep.

  The attorney was soon snoring, but the two young men had apparently been to a party and were discussing, with crude detail, the girls they had met. Eugenie was thankful she had retained her male attire. She tried to shut out their laughter, and despite the poor condition of the road, managed to snatch some sleep.

  *

  She had never been to London before, and had to ask her way, after she had booked a seat on the next night's mail to Winchester. It had belatedly occurred to her that her uncle had a town house in Grosvenor Square, and might be living there. It was, however, July, and she recalled her mother explaining that people left London in June to return to their country houses, or visit Brighton or other seaside towns for the sea bathing doctors often recommended. She had herself, she'd told Eugenie, been sent there, but had received no benefit.

  She had all day to spend exploring London, and she could visit Grosvenor Square and enquire for her uncle. In the square she began to talk to a groom holding a pair of riding horses. Did he know which was the house of the Duke of Norwich.

  'That 'un there,' he said, pointing to one of the largest houses on the south side, 'but they've all gone, month since.'

  All? Eugenie nodded her thanks and strolled on. The Park, she remembered her mother telling her, was not far away. Perhaps she would go there. She also wanted to see the river. She began to wonder about that 'all'. She had one cousin, George, a few years older than herself, but his mother had died. So who were the 'all'? Had her uncle married again, since she had gone to Switzerland?

  She would not know until she reached Castle Tempus. She wondered whether it would be better to buy a gown here, rather than wait until she reached Winchester, but recalling the two young men on the first coach decided it would be wiser to wait. The time passed slowly, and she was feeling tired, having had so little sleep during the past few days. However, it was her first time in London, and despite her weariness she wanted to see as much as she could. She asked the way of a milkmaid carrying two buckets on a shoulder yoke, and made her way towards Piccadilly, across St James's Park, and finally came to Westminster Abbey. She gazed at it and the massive buildings fronting Whitehall. These, she recalled from things her father had told her, were mainly government offices. She was walking slowly past when she stopped suddenly. A few yards in front of her the thin man from the boat was entering one of the buildings. What could he be doing here?

  Eventually it was time to return to the inn and take her seat in the coach. In this one she had the company of an elderly gentleman and a farmer and his wife. She was able to sleep, and they arrived in Winchester to find it was pouring with rain. Eugenie went into the nearest tavern, and was rudely directed to the tap room. In her boy's clothing, she did not fit in with the gentlemen in the coffee room. But she was able to eat rabbit pie, cheese and fresh bread, and wash it down with ale. Then she set about finding somewhere to purchase a gown.

  First she needed to hire a gig, and the landlord of the tavern, after demanding to see her money, directed her to another tavern where she could hire one with a driver. She would go there when she had become once more a girl. She smothered a laugh. It would be too confusing for the driver to be asked to wait in a secluded spot while she changed. Having no further need for her breeches and shirt, she had decided to sell them, so she would begin looking for a market stall selling old clothes, where she might also find a gown and be able to effect an exchange. She could spin some tale for the woman selling the clothes. The money Hugues had given her was almost spent, and she did not know how much it would cost to hire the gig for the last part of her journey. She might sell the cloak too. It had proved useful to shelter her from the worst of the rain, but she was reluctant to part with something Hugues had given her. It had been a good cloak, but had suffered from being rolled up behind the saddle, and slept in on rough, dirty forest floors. She would look more respectable wearing a fashionable pelisse, but perhaps she would not have enough money for one as well as a gown.

  Eugenie found her stall, chose a gown that looked respectable, and left the old woman managing the stall laughing as she confided that she was running away from a distasteful marriage to an old man who had children older than she was herself. There was no money for a pelisse, and it was still raining, so she felt she had a good reason for keeping the cloak. Surely it could be restored to its previous smart condition, and with it she would always remember Hugues and how he had rescued her and helped her reach England many months before she could have manage
d it herself. Then she exchanged her cap for a simple bonnet, and could let down the hair she had kept tied up beneath the cap.

  *

  Finally, feeling respectable at last, she hired the gig and was driven to Castle Tempus. The rain continued all the way and she was thankful for the cloak which kept off the worst of it. The castle was situated in rolling countryside, and the drive led first through a thick belt of woodland, then across a park where deer grazed contentedly, as calm as though they had never been hunted. The castle stood on a slight rise, the original keep and what looked like some ruins to one side and a modern wing stretching out from it, with a broad terrace in front.

  Half way along the drive it branched, and the driver of the gig turned into the side branch.

  'Where are you going?' Eugenie asked.

  'Kitchen,' he replied briefly.

  'Why? I am one of the family, not a servant!'

  The look he gave her startled her. Did she really look like a servant? In her cheap dress and badly mauled cloak perhaps she did. But she had no intention of arriving at a kitchen entrance, perhaps to be sneered at by servants before her identity was established.

  'Take me to the main entrance,' she ordered, and with a shrug the driver turned the gig to drive across the grass between the two branches of the drive, until he reached the main one again.

  They drew up before a massive door, and a flight of shallow steps leading up to the terrace before it. The driver made no effort to help Eugenie. She scrambled out of the gig, and tugging her cloak around her, started up the steps. The driver turned the gig and set off back down the drive before she had reached the top. She shrugged. If her uncle rejected her, or even worse, if he were not at home and the servants threw her out, she would have to walk back to Winchester.

  She was about to tug on the bell pull, but the door swung open and she came face to face with a smartly dressed butler, who looked down his nose at her and waved a negligent hand towards the old part of the building.

  'You will find the kitchen behind the keep,' he said. 'However, we are not in need to more maidservants.'

  'If his lordship is at home, pray tell him his niece, Eugenie Daubney, would like to speak with him,' she said in her most arrogant voice.

  'His niece lives in Switzerland,' the man said, and began to shut the door.

  Eugenie considered her options. She hadn't enough strength to push her way past him, for he was large and looked tough. She could scream and hope someone would hear her, but that, she felt, would be undignified and not introduce her to her uncle as she would wish first to encounter him. She could try to find another door or an open window and get into the house that way, but with the rain it was not likely windows would be left open. So she sighed, took a staggering step forwards, and collapsed artistically at the butler's feet.

  *

  Chapter 3

  Eugenie didn't dare open her eyes until she heard a woman's voice. She had been carried into the hallway and deposited, none too gently, on a wooden settle, so uncomfortable that she suspected the butler, or whoever had been summoned to carry her, of trying to jolt her back into consciousness. Then there was a woman waving a bottle of some evil-smelling stuff under her nose, and calling for burnt feathers. She decided to regain her senses before they arrived, and opened her eyes.

  'There, my dearie, you'll be feeling better in no time.'

  'Tricking her way in, Mistress Potter.'

  This was the butler, and Eugenie could see him hovering behind the woman who was holding the smelling bottle. She dared not be left with him, for she was sure he would throw her out as soon as she looked capable of walking.

  'I'm Eugenie Daubney,' she said quickly. 'Oh please, tell my uncle I'm here.'

  'Well I never! Yes, you do have a look of Master Eugene's pretty wife,' the woman said, 'but they went to Switzerland, and we've never heard a word from them since that French monster started the war again.'

  'My parents both died,' Eugenie said. 'I've managed to reach England, and I need to see my uncle.'

  'What's all this noise, Compton?'

  It was a new voice, languid and clearly used to command. Even the butler stood up straighter.

  'This – ' he paused, clearly unsure about her status, 'young person claims to be your cousin, Master George.'

  'The only cousin I know of is in Switzerland. Let me see her.'

  'She do look like your Aunt Augusta,' Mistress Potter ventured. 'You won't remember her, you were at Eton the last time they came here.'

  Eugenie felt at a disadvantage lying awkwardly on the settle and tried to sit up, and Mrs Potter, clucking anxiously, helped her. She regarded this cousin. He was a very elegant young man, dressed in pale lemon pantaloons, highly polished hessians, a close-fitting blue coat and a grey waistcoat embroidered with silver thread. His cravat was, she could see, a most intricately tied affair, and his fair hair was brushed into an elaborately negligent style. He carried in one hand a quizzing glass through which he was regarding her, and a snuff box and handkerchief in the other. Several fobs dangled from his clothes. He wore a pained expression on a face that was too plump for handsomeness. She felt a pang as she recalled Hugues' lean good looks.

  At last he turned to the butler. 'I suppose we will have to investigate. We can hardly turn her out unheard. Take her to the small morning room. Can you walk?' he asked abruptly, swinging round to face Eugenie again.

  'Yes,' she said curtly. She was not about to treat this arrogant fellow with more than the minimum courtesy. She stood up and took a step towards him. He looked down his nose at her and turned away. Mrs Potter sniffed and came to offer Eugenie her own arm.

  'He might have offered to help you,' she muttered. 'But that's Master George all over. Come, Miss Eugenie, this way.'

  The butler had vanished, clearly washing his hands of the business. They went along a narrow passageway leading from the back of the hall, which Eugenie suspected led to rooms not much used, and when she was taken into a room stuffy from the heat and with windows that seemed to be rarely opened, she was certain her cousin had intended some subtle insult.

  There was a small round table, half a dozen chairs, a side table and little else in the room. Eugenie, saying thank you to Mistress Potter, sat down on one of the chairs without waiting for her surly cousin to invite her. George took up a position in front of one window, so that she could not see his expression.

  'That will be all, Mistress Potter.'

  She bobbed a curtsey, but said in a firm voice, 'I'll let his Grace know his niece is here,' before she left the room.

  'So you claim to be my Uncle Eugene's daughter?' George said, in a tone clearly expressing disbelief.

  Eugenie's temper had been simmering at his rude manners. Now it boiled over. 'Not just claim,' she snapped. 'I am your cousin, my father was your father's younger brother Eugene. And if he had been here to witness your arrogant disdain towards me, he would no doubt have told you what he thought. And had you been ten years younger he'd have thrashed you until you begged for mercy!'

  She heard a chuckle behind her and swung round to see an older man, dressed in breeches and riding boots, an old coat and, instead of a cravat, a coloured neckerchief round his neck. If she had encountered him on the road she'd have taken him for a farmer, but a glance at George, who was swallowing nervously, gave her a clue as to the newcomer's identity.

  'It's a pity you ever grew too big for a beating, George,' he said. He turned towards Eugenie. 'So you are my brother's child, they tell me?'

  Eugenie was on her feet, blushing furiously. 'Your Grace! I had to come to you. You are my only relative now. My parents are dead.'

  'Yes, they told me you said so. But we can't talk here. Come along to my study, and tell me all about it.'

  He held out his arm and led her from the room. She struggled to keep back her tears at his kindness, and he patted her arm but did not speak until he led her into a comfortably furnished room lined with well-filled bookshelves and sat her down
in a soft armchair. There was a tray with glasses and a decanter on a table beside another chair, which he sat in, and he poured her a glass.

  'Here, have some Madeira. You look cold as well as wet.'

  'Thank you.' Eugenie took the glass and sipped slowly. It certainly warmed her.

  'Now,' he said, 'we can be comfortable.'

  *

  'Tell me. Your mother was unwell when you all went to Switzerland. When did she die?'

  'A year ago, and Papa six months later.'

  'How did you manage to reach England?'

  Eugenie told him, leaving nothing out. He listened without comment until she came to the end of her story, then he nodded slowly.

  'So no money reached your father from England?'

  'Not after the war started again.'

  'Then I think, when you have had an opportunity to rest for a few days, we will go to Beechcotes and question your father's bailiff. He always assured me, when I asked, that he was sending money regularly through the offices of a banker he knew in the City.'

  Eugenie stared. 'None reached us! Oh, and Papa had to work so hard to earn sufficient to keep us! Has he been defrauding us?'

  'That we shall discover. But this man Hugues who helped you? What do you know of him?'

  'Very little. He gave me no other name. But he spoke both French and English fluently, and he gave me English guineas for my journey, besides knowing fishermen in Zeeland who would bring me to England. I think they had done this journey before. And there was the other man who came too, and never spoke.'

  'Never? Who was he? What did he do when you landed?'

  'He just walked away, going inland, I think, not along the coast, without even a word of thanks to the fishermen. I have no notion who he was, and not even whether he was English, but he was already waiting for the boat when Hugues put me on it.'

  The Duke sighed. 'I regret not being on better terms with your father of late years, child. He scorned asking me for help, even for his poor wife. He was always too independent. But enough of that. I am pleased you have come to me, and we will help you. Ignore my ungracious son. George thinks too much of himself. My wife will make you welcome.'