Dair Devil (21 page)

As the servant who had issued the invitation was nowhere to be seen, Grasby and Rory made for the terrace and the French windows. Here, in the shadow of the house, a carpet covered the tiles and set upon it was a dining table laden with a feast—a side of beef with all the trimmings, a leg of lamb, bowls heaped with vegetables, gravy boats and dishes of condiments, two large crusty loaves of bread, wine glasses and carafes. Dinner plates on either side of the feast held half-eaten meals, bone-handled knife and fork left atop the food. A child’s frock coat was suspended from a chair back, and in another place, where the dinner plate should be, several wrapped packages were stacked and as yet unopened. Everything indicated a meal in progress. Yet, it was the chairs, pushed out and at every angle to the table, that told the story. It was as if the diners had left the feast in a great hurry. But why? What would cause more than half a dozen people to suddenly down knife and fork and flee?

Brother and sister looked at one another, mute, unable to provide a single plausible reason.

T
HIRTEEN

L 
ORD
G
RASBY
was about to suggest to Rory they leave. It was beyond his comprehension why people would just up and abandon a splendid meal such as the one laid out before them. He saw no reason to wait it out and have his suspicions confirmed that the family were far beneath their touch. Besides which, staring at all that food just made him hungrier. If he didn’t get back to the barge post-haste, to his pheasant pie and Cheshire cheese, he feared he would lose his mind to starvation, and help himself.

And then he instantly dismissed the idea of returning to the shallop. Rory’s mittened hand was gripping his coat sleeve so tightly he knew it was only sheer force of will keeping her upright. The walk up to the house was twice the distance, and thus more than twice the effort, it would have taken for her to reach the barge. She needed to rest and elevate her foot upon a stool. He would not have been at all surprised if there were blisters. And she needed refreshment.

Without asking, he picked her up and carried her to the closest chair, kicking it out wide from the table so he could sit her upon it. He then looked about for an empty tumbler amongst the dining table clutter. He found one at the far end of the table, where the child’s coat and packages were, and also a jug of cordial. He filled the tumbler then stuck his nose into it and sniffed, before taking a sip of the cloudy bitter sweet liquid to taste if it was acceptable. Only then did he give it to Rory. When he told her to drink the lemon water because it was, in his opinion, perfectly acceptable refreshment, she did so without fuss. His precautions on her behalf to satisfy himself the cordial was suitable for her made her smile. He then went in search of a footstool, leaving her alone on the terrace as he crossed into the house.

Rory knew her right foot was blistered and taking a peek at her stockinged ankle, she saw that it was swollen. She itched to slip off her specially-constructed shoe and wriggle her toes. But she was not at home. With only herself to blame for wanting to visit Banks House, she was not complaining. She would not have missed this opportunity for anything. She cheerfully drank the rest of the lemon water and felt better. Sitting in the shade also helped, as did removing her straw hat, which she dropped into her lap. She prodded her coiffure with her fingertips then took up her gouache-painted fan that dangled from her wrist, unfurled it with a flick, and stirred the warm air across her flushed face.

When her brother did not reappear after five minutes, Rory became apprehensive. She hoped he wasn’t giving its occupants a lecture on manners, or how to treat their social superiors. She was beginning to wonder if some of Silla’s misguided ideas about her elevated station had rubbed off on him. Grasby had never cared for pernickety points of etiquette, claiming only dear old dowagers in their dotage were intent on enforcing rules that everyone in their circle knew practically from the cradle. But where were the occupants? Why had they left the table in a hurry? Where was Mr. Humphrey? What was so urgent everyone was required to be someplace else? What now had happened to her brother?

No sooner had she posed these questions to herself than she was greeted by a great wall of noise. It made her jump. She was glad she had finished all the cordial in her tumbler for she certainly would have spilled it across the front of her glazed cotton petticoats. She turned from her view of the lawn and looked over her right shoulder to the French windows.

A great crowd of people spilled onto the terrace, or so it seemed to Rory. Men and women, both young and old, scampering boys, a crying baby in a basket, several loping dogs, and three young adult men deep in conversation and in no hurry at all. All were in high spirits and all resumed their places at the table, scraping in their chairs. Three little boys ignored Rory in their bid to satisfy their hunger, scrambling up onto their designated chairs with the help of the adults, and immediately taking up their forks to continue eating what food had earlier been put on their plates. The adults resumed their seats but did not eat, a smile of acknowledgement at Rory’s presence, but seemingly too diffident to do anything more but nod mutely when she smiled in return.

Several maids followed the family onto the terrace, carrying even more dishes, and ice buckets holding bottles of wine which they placed at intervals in amongst the clutter. Next came a male servant carrying a footstool, and this was placed in front of Rory. The servant positioned it to her satisfaction and then took himself off, leaving Rory at a table of diners who knew she was there but treated her as if she was more specter than flesh. She breathed a sigh of relief when her brother reappeared, the sigh turning to a gasp when her gaze alighted on the dark-haired beauty at his side. She was grateful when a maid offered her a glass of wine. It gave her something not only to drink but to look at rather than stare at the woman who must be Lily Banks.

This was confirmed when they were introduced, Grasby coming to stand by her chair as Mrs. Banks proceeded to introduce the rest of her family seated about the table: Her grandmother Mrs. Clare Banks, her parents Mr. and Mrs. Harold Banks, her brothers Charlie and Eddie, and a cousin, Arnie, and four of her five sons. Clive, eight years old, wanted to be a soldier like his Uncle Fitz. Bernard, six, was going to sea to be a pirate. Oliver was three years of age and until two months ago had been the baby of the family, that is, until baby Stephen’s arrival.

Rory had no way of knowing if the adult relatives were Lily’s relations or her husband’s, but it did not matter, nor could she hope to remember everyone’s names, though she did her best to commit to memory the children’s. The only family members not at the table were Lily’s husband, who had departed on a voyage to the South Seas just two weeks ago, but who was home long enough to be at the birth of his fourth son, interrupted Grandmother Banks, which he had not been for the births of Bernard or Oliver.

“My eldest son, Jamie, is in the study setting up his microscope with the help of Mr. Humphrey, who knows about these things. Both should be joining us soon, unless,” Lily Banks said with a smile, “they get so caught up in some scientific investigation that they forget the passage of time—”

“Which happens more often than not around here!” stuck in Father Banks with a grunt of laughter. “When he’s preoccupied with somethin’ or other, Jamie would forget to eat if we didn’t put food in front of him!”

“Please, Lord Grasby, won’t you sit?” Lily Banks asked. “There is plenty of food for an army, though all my boys but Jamie eat as if they are about to go into battle! Please,” she insisted, and smiled when Grasby finally flicked out the skirts of his blue linen frock coat with silver lacings, and put his bony knees under the table. “We said grace earlier, so if you don’t mind we shall continue with our birthday feast. Pass up your plates to Father Banks and he will cut you a few slices of beef and lamb.”

Once Lily Banks was assured everyone at the table had what they needed, and were busy eating and drinking, the boys under the careful eye of their grandparents, she turned to Rory and Grasby and said matter-of-factly, “You must have wondered why the terrace was deserted, and so soon after I sent Old Bert with the invitation to speak with Mr. Humphrey here at the house. Please forgive me if I have separated you from your party. No sooner had Old Bert gone off to the gate than Mr. Humphrey tells me he saw you arrive by barge with a large group—”

“Don’t concern yourself, Mrs. Banks,” Grasby told her between mouthfuls with a smile, tucking in to the heaped plate of meat and vegetables put before him. “They were fatigued by the sun and are enjoying an afternoon nap, with little reason to think we are not amongst them. Isn’t that so, Rory?”

Rory was amazed at how quickly her brother had adapted to his new surroundings, and how a kind smile and the attentions of a beautiful woman had done wonders to soothe any misgivings he may have had at sitting down to a meal with his social inferiors. And with a woman he had earlier intimated had the manners and morals so far removed from their own as to be considered unworthy of their notice. Regarding Mrs. Banks now, in her plain green linen gown and fitted jacket, black hair swept up and held by unadorned pins and one green ribbon, and no jewelry, she presented as any wife and mother of modest means and manners. It was her beauty that set her apart from her kinswomen, and from what Rory could deduce in all of five minutes of meeting her, she was modest about that, too.

She set down her wine glass, as if this had taken all her attention, and smiled at her hostess.

“As my brother says, it is of no consequence. Lady Grasby will be resting and completely oblivious to our truancy, though perhaps Mr. Watkins may be fretting as to our whereabouts. Perhaps we should send word…?”

“That won’t be necessary—yet,” Grasby stated, and, ignoring eye contact with his sister, said with a bright smile at Mrs. Banks, “You were about to tell us why the terrace was deserted…”

“Yes! We all went out to the front of the house to see the most magnificent carriage—”

“—pulled by six black high-steppers, with two outriders, and four footmen,” stuck in Father Banks, slicing more beef for his grandsons’ plates. “
All
in livery.”

“And there was a coat of arms on the door—” began Grandmother Banks

“—belongin’ to the Dukes of Roxton,” finished Mother Banks. “Isn’t that what you said, Arnie? Roxton? Here, Lily, pass the bottle up to his lordship. His glass is empty. And he’s choked on his beef.”

Grasby had swallowed and breathed at one and the same time at the mention of the Duke of Roxton. A glance exchanged with Rory confirmed they were thinking the same thing: What possible reason could the sixth Duke of Roxton, a proud nobleman of few words, have for calling at Banks house? It defied reasoning. And then their silent question was answered without the need to voice their incredulity.

“Imagine a birthday gift for our Jamie being delivered in such a carriage,” Grandmother Banks declared with pride. “That’s somethin’ to remember for the rest of his days, ain’t it?”

“It’s not
that
hard to imagine, Granny, not when you know Jamie’s father is—Argh! What was that for?” Charlie whined in a shrill voice, pulling back and rubbing his ear where his father had cuffed him.

“You know not to say it in company, Charlie,” Father Banks warned, and went back to slicing more beef. “No one has the right except his lordship…”

“A’course we all had to see the carriage for ourselves,” Grandmother Banks continued. “It’s not every day—not
any
day—when a duke’s carriage pulls up in front of our house! I don’t think I’ve ever seen one so glorious. All black lacquer and gold paint. Do you remember ever seeing such a carriage, Eddie?”

Eddie Banks shook his head, a wary eye on his father. He wasn’t going to put his tongue into the conversation and get his ear reddened. So cousin Arnie jumped into the conversational void to express the disappointment all the diners felt but had not voiced out loud.

“I only wish its noble occupant had stepped down from the carriage rather than have Jamie step up inside for a private word. Then we all could have seen her—”

“—and her fine clothes!” Mother Banks said on a wistful sigh. “Makes the gift-giving all the more special, don’t it? To think our Jamie’s the only one of us to have been inside a conveyance sat in by nobility. The inside would be lined with fine silks and brocades I imagine…”

“I doubt Jamie was thinkin’ about the noble posteriors who’ve sat on those silk cushions!” Eddie Banks snorted, and received a similar cuffing as his brother; Charlie laughing loudly at his discomfort and thankful he wasn’t the only one to embarrass himself before strangers.

“Poor Jamie was reluctant at first,” Lily Banks confided to Rory and her brother, ignoring the activity at the far end of the table. “I couldn’t blame him. To be summoned inside such a magnificent carriage all alone, and by a duchess! Any ten-year-old would be nervous.”

“And not only a ten-year-old, Mrs. Banks,” Grasby agreed. “I’d be shaking in my stockings to go it alone.”

The young adult Banks brothers exchanged a wide-eyed stare before raising their glasses as one.

“Hear! Hear! That’s what we said,” offered Charlie and clinked glasses with his brother Eddie, both back in accord with each other.

Grasby put down his knife and fork, a glance at his sister. “So not the Duke of Roxton… It was her Grace of Roxton who came calling?”

“Strange you should mention it, Lord Grasby,” Lily Banks said, brown eyes equally wide. “I thought so too. But the liveried footman who delivered the summons that Jamie was to present himself at the carriage door, said a different name entirely—Kin-something…”

“Kin
ross
. Her Grace the Duchess of Kinross,” Charlie announced with a superior smile. “Now may I mention the connection out loud, Pa? That footman did, so if the Duchess of Kinross owns to the connection…”