Mary Nichols - Talk of the Ton

And what a strange arrival: Grandfather better, though not back to his previous robust health, Teddy and Kitty living close by and toadying to the old man, and meeting the extraordinary Miss Elizabeth Harley. He began comparing her with Kitty and then stopped when he realised the absurdity of doing that. There was no point at which they were comparable. ‘Chalk and cheese,’ he murmured, drifting into sleep.

As he dozed he dreamed he was hacking his way through a tropical jungle surrounded by exotic plants with colourful flowers the size of saucers, but instead of stopping to admire and classify them, he was pressing on, trying to find a way through dense undergrowth towards the woman’s voice that called to him with more and more urgency. He knew she was near at hand, knew she needed him, but he could not quite reach her. He glimpsed a flash of green silk and a huge black hat, but the more he hacked away at the undergrowth the more out of reach she seemed. And, behind him, he could hear the thundering of hooves, which was impossible given the nature of the terrain.

He woke up with a start as the carriage turned into the gates of Heathlands and realised that it had been the change in pace of his own horses which had roused him from his dream. He shook the sleep from him as the coach made its way towards the house. It was a large ivy-covered mansion, set in extensive grounds where thoroughbreds grazed. The stables stretched for a hundred yards on one side of the house and here there were men at work, feeding, grooming, cleaning out the magnificent animals, under the watchful eye of John Tann, his grandfather’s master of horse. Until he was out in the heat of the subcontinent, he had not realised how much he loved the place, loved the air of quiet efficiency, the tranquillity, even the pungent stable smell that pervaded almost everything.

Leaving the coach, he bounded up the steps to the front door, which was opened as he reached it. ‘How is my grandfather, Littlejohn?’ he asked the footman, as he handed over his hat and gloves.

‘Better, sir. He is up and dressed. No doubt he will be pleased to see you back again. You will find him in the conservatory.’

Andrew hurried across the spacious hall where, on cold days in winter, a huge log fire burned. Today it was unlit, but the area was warmed by the sun that poured through the long stained-glass window on the half-landing. He went through to a back room that was library, study and office all in one and was cluttered with books, papers, ledgers, trophies, statuettes of horses, a couple of riding whips propped in a corner and bits of coloured silk and brass objects which had been there so long everyone had forgotten their original purpose. Andrew smiled at what appeared to be untidy clutter, knowing that his grandfather knew exactly where everything was and became very irate if anything was moved.

‘Who is that?’ a voice demanded from the other side of an open door.

‘Drew, Grandfather.’ He crossed the room in three or four longs strides and entered the conservatory. It was almost a jungle itself, being full of plants that needed the heat and humidity of the glass room, where they grew to gigantic proportions. It was his grandfather’s favourite place to sit because, like the plants, he enjoyed the warmth. One side gave a view over rolling meadows, the other faced the stable yard and he could see the men and the horses coming and going.

‘You are back, then?’ he said from the depths of an armchair. Clad in a burgundy dressing gown, he was thin and frail, only a shadow of the big muscular man he had once been, but his mind was still sharp and very little escaped him. ‘Did you get your business done?’

‘Yes.’ He pulled up a chair to sit close to the old man, so that he could be heard and seen. ‘How are you?’

His lordship ignored the question. ‘Don’t know why you couldn’t have left it to Simmonds and Carter. Home half a day and gone again.’

‘But I’m back now.’

‘For good, I hope.’

‘If that is your wish.’

‘Of course it is my wish. It is where you belong. You are my heir…’

‘It is not something I want to think about for a long time.’

‘Gammon! I am old and you will have to take over the reins sooner or later, might as well settle down to it.’ He paused. ‘But who will take over the reins from you? That it what I keep asking myself. It is time you made a push to find yourself a wife and start a family of your own.’

‘There is plenty of time.’

‘Not for me, there isn’t. Put the past behind you, Drew, and look to the future. The last thing I want is for the offspring of that woman to inherit and it will happen if you do not make a move to prevent it.’

‘They have children?’

‘A son, though I ain’t at all sure he’s a Melhurst. Seven-month baby, they said, but he was a big ’un if he was. The woman is too old to conceive again. Get married, Drew, do it before I stick my spoon in the wall, then I will die happy.’

‘I will do my best, sir.’

‘Good. Tonight I think I shall dress for dinner.’ He rose stiffly and Andrew hurried to help him. ‘Teddy’s coming. Can’t keep the fellow away. He is probably hoping I will change my mind and name him my heir.’

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