No Impediment

  NO IMPEDIMENT

  Mira Stables

  © Mira Stables 1979

  Mira Stables has asserted her rights under the Copyright, Design and Patents Act, 1988, to be identified as the author of this work.

  First published in 1979 by Robert Hale Ltd.

  This edition published in 2018 by Endeavour Media Ltd.

  Table of Contents

  ONE

  TWO

  THREE

  FOUR

  FIVE

  SIX

  SEVEN

  EIGHT

  NINE

  TEN

  ELEVEN

  TWELVE

  THIRTEEN

  FOURTEEN

  ONE

  Having reached the sanctuary of the small parlour which he had appropriated to himself for the conduct of estate business, his lordship heaved a sigh of relief, pressed an immaculate handkerchief to a heated brow, and sank thankfully into a chair. Since he had come so unexpectedly into his inheritance, this was his first Public Day. It was amusing–and amazing–to recall that in the days of his childhood Public Days had seemed to him delightful events that came all too rarely. In those days he had found the company far more interesting than that which attended his uncle’s formal parties. The tenants and townsfolk brought their children, and there was a good deal of pleasure to be had from showing his pony and the gun that Uncle Howard had had especially built for him for his eighth birthday to certain carefully selected cronies. His friends were not particularly interested in the State Apartments, of course, but the Old Tower, with its ruinous spiral staircase and its blood-stained history, was a sure draw. After Public Days he basked for weeks in the popularity of one who is in the position to provide high treats for his friends.

  Today had been very different. Not that he had not enjoyed it, in a sense. But it had been hard work. He had felt that he was treading on eggs. Every tenant must be recognised and greeted with exactly that degree of affability to which his age and standing entitled him. The names of promising offspring must trip off his tongue as though he were personally acquainted with them–which he was not. That was the difficulty, of course. He had not been bred to the job. Had never dreamed that some day all this pomp and circumstance, these English acres and their links with history would be all his. To be honest he would not have wished it so. Merland, to him, had been holiday. He had cheerfully accepted all that it offered–and it offered practically everything that a boy could desire–and had never given a thought to the hours of patient toil, the forethought and diplomacy that went into its maintenance. He had been sincerely fond of Uncle Howard though he preferred to steer clear of Aunt Sophronia. And he had been mildly attached to Cousin Edmund, though he had thought him a bit of a milk-sop, even if he was a devil to go on the hunting field. Well–now he knew something of the heavy burden that the poor lad had carried. Small wonder that he had seemed timid and tentative in his decisions when the welfare and prosperity of so many people depended upon them. Perhaps his recklessness in the saddle had been his only escape from the cares that crowded in on him–and from his managing Mama. A sad pity that it had been the cause of his premature death. Even sadder that this should have occurred before there had been time for him to marry and beget an heir. He, Quentin, might never then have been saddled with a dignity and responsibility for which he had small taste.

  It was not even as though he needed the money, he thought ruefully. Between his father and his mother, he was pretty well to pass. And Town life had suited him very nicely. If one wearied of sophisticated pleasures, there was always Merland. In any case, so far as he had learned during his short incumbency, most of Merland’s income went straight back into upkeep and improvement. Which was just as it should be, insisted the voice of inborn instinct. He smiled despite himself, and decided that perhaps, after all, there were the makings of a good landlord within him.

  If that were so, it might be as well to tidy up some of his Town affairs. If Merland were to prove an exacting mistress, she would leave scant time for others. In any case, his affair with Cherry had been on the wane even before his succession to Merland. A nice girl, Cherry. She might be an Opera dancer; she might be his mistress; but she was still a nice girl. She had fully understood the difficulty in which his unexpected inheritance had placed him, and had made no fuss. He might visit her occasionally, for old times’ sake, but even that was unlikely.

  With a sudden access of energy he rose and crossed to the writing desk which held most of his private papers. From a locked drawer he took a substantial roll of bills which he tucked into an inner pocket of his coat. It spoiled the set of that beautiful garment, but that troubled him not at all. Then he must delve into a ‘secret’ drawer–a secret that a child might have discovered–in that same desk. It yielded a jeweller’s case which, opened, revealed a necklace of rubies and diamonds. A pretty trinket, if not of the first stare, but it was what Cherry had fancied. He had thought that money would have been more sensible, but because she had behaved so well she should have her necklace too. And he might as well set about the business right away. The festivities in the grounds and public rooms would go on for some time yet, and unless he chose to rejoin the guests he would be obliged to skulk in his private apartments. If he could withdraw discreetly, he could be well on the road to Town before darkness obliged him to rack up for the night. Then he could visit Cherry next day and have the whole thing neatly tied up.

  His conscience pricked him a little over this desertion but he could rely upon Wetherby. Wetherby had been steward for both his uncle and his cousin. He would cover up beautifully for his delinquent employer. So long as no one actually saw him go, they would simply suppose him to be occupied in some other part of the grounds. And by going through the ballroom, which was not open to visitors, it should be possible to cross the terrace to the stables unperceived.

  A quarter of an hour later he might have been seen tiptoeing softly across the ballroom floor. This furtive approach, which was quite unnecessary, and dictated entirely by the insistence of that uneasy conscience, presented a faintly ridiculous appearance, especially when one considered that he was the unquestioned owner of all this spacious grandeur. Since he also carried an overnight bag, having decided to dispence with the services of his valet on this brief and delicate mission, it also presented, to the eyes of a child who was standing with her nose pressed against one of the ballroom windows, a convincing picture of a burglar detected in the act of stealing away with the family silver. Miss Lucinda Merchiston, not yet fourteen, entirely forgot the very doubtful propriety of her own presence on that forbidden terrace. Her eyes widened with mingled shock and delight. Here at last was adventure, as she had always dreamed of it. The proper conduct of the heroine was clear. She was even granted time to rehearse the telling phrases with which she would halt the miscreant, for his lordship was obliged to pause for a moment to wrestle with a stubborn window catch.

  Miss Merchiston’s reading had not, alas, been supervised with that degree of severity generally held to be desirable. As his lordship eventually emerged on to the terrace he was confronted by a determined little creature who laid resolute if slightly grubby hands upon his valise and announced alarmingly, ‘Hold, villain! Do not think to escape unhindered with your ill-gotten booty.’

  At this point memory failed her, and she continued in much more natural tones, ‘Put that bag down at once, or I shall scream and scream until you do.’

  His lordship obeyed with commendable promptitude. The last thing he wanted was any kind of a hullabaloo. But he was a young man of swift perceptions and had already assessed the situation with a fair degree of accuracy. He could see that the child had some grounds for her rash assumption, and though he was justifiably annoyed by this ridiculous interruption in his proceedings, he was also a little amused. Moreover he was one who rated pluck pretty high in the catalogue of virtues, and it had undoubtedly taken some courage for that scrap to challenge a man of his inches, especially if she supposed him to be an out and out villain. That did not mean, of course, that he was prepared to knuckle under to her impudent demands.

  ‘Scream away, my girl,’ he invited her affably. ‘You should be able to make yourself heard as far as the stables. But while I have every confidence in my ability to prove ownership of the contents of my valise, I very much doubt if you have permission to be trespassing on what is undoubtedly private property. I don’t know what the penalty is for trespass. But when it is aggravated by threatening behaviour I daresay it merits a stiffish jail sentence.’

  He wished he had not been quite so brutal. The frank, childish face mirrored each successive emotion, from doubt, at the first sound of the pleasant, educated voice, which certainly did not suggest a criminal background, to apprehension and shock. But she was a good plucked ’un, and not ready to yield at the first reverse.

  ‘What reason have I to believe you?’ she demanded stoutly, though trembling lips and a voice that was not quite steady betrayed her inner qualms.

  His heart melted entirely. ‘Well, you may look for yourself if you wish,’ he offered, ‘but since it contains only a change of linen and my shaving gear perhaps it is scarcely worth it. Try the weight. If it was really filled with valuables, it would be very heavy, you know.’

  The big brown eyes were still suspicious, but at least she did not take advantage of his offer. In fact she let go her fierce clutch on the valise as she said, ‘Then why were you creeping out of the window like a thief?’

  He drew a solemn face. ‘If you must know,
I am escaping. That is why I didn’t really want you to scream. If you had, I might have been caught and obliged to go back.’

  The delight and excitement in her face betrayed more surely than anything else her extreme youth. Plainly it gave her far more satisfaction to cast him for the rôle of gallant hero escaping from his enemies. She changed sides without a moment’s hesitation. ‘Truly? Oh, how fortunate that I didn’t scream. But perhaps delay is dangerous. Is there some way in which I can help, to make up for having hindered you?’

  His lordship actually entertained the notion of suggesting that she should scout ahead of him to see if the way to the stable was clear, but before he could do so the child suddenly exclaimed, ‘Oh dear! Here comes Pippa. She will be so cross. You won’t tell her that I mistook you for a burglar, will you? It will be quite bad enough without that. The thing is that I did so wish to see the ballroom, and Pippa wouldn’t let me. She said it was vulgar and encroaching to push oneself in where one was not invited, and I suppose she is perfectly right. Only when we went to sit beside the lake she fell asleep, and I could see the terrace and the windows and I thought, just one little peep and she would never know. I was–I was tempted beyond my strength,’ she finished grandly.

  His lordship, who had now succumbed entirely to the charm of his young acquaintance, assured her that this was perfectly understandable, and studied the approaching figure. Abigail or governess? Presumably the former, since a governess would surely have been ‘Miss Pipper’. His eye was critical. An attendant who fell asleep and allowed her young charge to get into scrapes did not suit his notions of propriety. She was walking swiftly enough now, and noting the erect carriage and the vigorous stride his lordship thought that the wench looked too young for so responsible a position. He had not given any thought to the social standing of this chance-met pair, but presumably they were to be numbered among his guests, and now that he looked at the child more closely he assessed her appearance as prosperous to say the least. The dainty cap that framed her face was trimmed with fine needlework and tied with silk ribands, while dress, shoes and stockings, though simple as became a schoolgirl, were of fine quality and tastefully chosen.

  Nor was he long left in doubt as to the standing of the new arrival. She was a little breathless from the speed she had made, but no abigail ever spoke in that soft, cultured voice. She favoured him with the tiniest of curtseys as she said, ‘My apologies, sir, if this runaway has been making a nuisance of herself. It is quite my fault for allowing her to escape me, so I hope that you will not scold her too severely, but will rather address your displeasure to me.’

  Much too young, confirmed his lordship. She seemed actually to be in sympathy with her charge, concerned only to shield her from retribution.

  He said politely, ‘Your pupil has certainly not annoyed me in any way, nor is it within my province to rebuke you for neglecting your duties. But I sincerely hope that you will be able to impress upon her the danger of wandering off alone in strange surroundings.’

  It was a very mild reproof, but it caused the wench to colour up furiously and moved his former ally to exclaim indignantly, ‘It wasn’t Pippa’s fault that she fell asleep. How could she help doing so when it was so sunny and peaceful by the lake and she had been up most of the night helping Papa to’–The remainder of the speech was lost, as her duenna set silencing fingers on the impetuous lips.

  She said quietly, ‘I accept your very just reprimand, sir, and I also offer apologies for trespass. I will strive to make amends by pointing out to Lucinda that this unpleasant encounter should serve as an object lesson. You can see for yourself, my love, that when wandering off unchaperoned one may fall into highly undesirable company.’

  The lady had certainly come off with the honours in that encounter, acknowledged his lordship appreciatively. It was almost a pity that it must end so soon, since the swift riposte tempted him to reply in kind, but Miss Pipper, with an imperative lift of her chin, was already indicating to her charge that it was high time to withdraw from the scene of battle.

  They had reckoned without Miss Lucinda. That young lady had abandoned her attempts to invest the afternoon’s events with some dramatic excitement and now reverted to her original aim of seeing something of the Merland ballroom. The pathetic gaze that she directed at the two antagonists might have drawn tears from a Grand Inquisitor. Blind to Miss Pipper’s urgent signal–perhaps because the brown eyes were veiled with the mist of threatened tears–she very sensibly directed her attack at the one she judged more vulnerable.

  ‘You should not have scolded Pippa,’ she told his lordship sadly. ‘She had been up all night helping Stubbs to birth Fantasy’s foal. And now she is cross with you. Won’t you say you are sorry? Because until then I had been thinking you a very good sort of man, and one that would perhaps show me the ballroom if I asked very politely.’

  His lordship laughed outright. Miss Pipper–he was still uncertain how to address her–blushed to the roots of her hair and exclaimed crossly, ‘Lucinda you are quite shameless. Your conduct is pert and presumptuous to the last degree, and must give the most shocking impression of your upbringing,’ and then, despite herself, joined in his lordship’s mirth.

  He said unsteadily, ‘Do you not think that her determination should be rewarded by at least a brief glimpse? I will willingly say that I am sorry for misjudging you–as indeed I am–if that will help matters along. You cannot expect me to forfeit the character of being “quite a good sort of a man” without at least putting up a fight for it.’

  Her lips twitched but she said rather anxiously, ‘Do you think the Marquess would object? It does seem to be quite an obsession with her. She has talked about it, dreamed about it, ever since we received our invitation. Perhaps if she could have just one peep–but I would not have you invite censure by giving in to her whims if you think he would dislike it.’

  ‘He would not mind in the least,’ his lordship assured them with perfect truth. ‘You can see that it would not do to have a great many people in heavy shoes treading on this floor. But two ladies in light slippers are, if I may be permitted a very feeble jest, quite a different pair of shoes. His lordship is a sensible fellow. He would be pleased that Miss Lucinda should enjoy the attractions of his ballroom since she desires it so ardently. Though I fear that there is not a great deal to be seen, which is one of the reasons why the room is usually kept locked.’ He pulled open the window by which he had attempted his surreptitious exit, and bowed in his most respectful manner to invite the ladies to enter.

  It was actually Miss Lucinda who held back. ‘But your escape,’ she reminded him anxiously. ‘Is it wise for you to be lingering here, just to give us pleasure? I do dearly long to see the ballroom, but’–

  What a nice little creature it was! ‘At the risk of forfeiting your regard,’ he said penitently, ‘I must confess that it was only an escape from a tedious task that I had no inclination to perform.’

  She nodded quite cheerfully. ‘I thought it had been something like that. It usually is with grown-ups,’ and walked down the two shallow steps into the ballroom.

  Her companion seemed to feel that some explanation was called for. ‘The trouble is that she has been too much with her elders,’ she explained apologetically. ‘In many ways she is old for her years. And since her Mama died she has been a good deal indulged, so that what with her passion for tales of chivalry and derring-do, and her apparent inability to distinguish between make-believe and reality, it is sometimes difficult to know how best to handle her.’

  His lordship was watching the child’s absorbed face as she wandered about the vast room, staring at the classical statues that were placed in some of the alcoves, counting the candle-holders in the great chandeliers and climbing the stairs to the musicians’ gallery that was hung at one end.

  ‘She is certainly an original,’ he conceded. ‘But even on such short acquaintance I would judge her principles to be well established, her disposition affectionate and loyal. She will outgrow the need to make believe’–he smiled at the small, intent figure that was now engrossed in treading out a measure with an imaginary partner–‘and become the reigning belle of any ballroom that she chooses to grace with her presence. For if I am not sadly mistaken she shows promise of unusual beauty and undeniable charm.’