Page 36 of Beatrix

‘I believe J. Watson Chemists on Church Street stock a range of theatrical items, including moustaches,’ Charlotte declared.

‘How do you know that?’ Bernice asked, her curiosity getting the better of her. As far as she was aware, their aunt had never sported a surplus of facial hair – above or below the lip.

After opening her mouth to respond, the matron thought better of it and contented herself with a narrow-eyed glare at her niece and a glacial, ‘Facial hair should not be discussed in any capacity by young ladies of good breeding.’

‘We need to find out what this folly looks like now,’ Henry interrupted hurriedly, ‘and make a note of any recent activity. Beatrix, I think you would be the best person to do this given your artistic abilities. I believe Rob and Arabella should come too. Rob’s legal knowledge may well be useful, as will Bella’s ability to persuade a plank of wood that it’s a grand piano.’

‘And Billy’s recently discovered proficiency at squeezing himself into the smallest of holes might also be useful…’ Rob left the rest of his sentence unspoken.

‘That leaves me, Rhys and Bernie,’ Alexandra, her voice a little tart. ‘What do you want us to do, other than twiddle our thumbs?’

‘I want you and Rhys to look for anything you can find on Baron Cadmore. We need to know where his holdings are. When did he inherit? This land gifted in Somerset. Does it have anything to do with the Barony? A deed of gift implies that it’s separate from any inheritance. Does it have a house on it? If it does, who lives there…?’

He paused, turning to Charlotte. ‘Lottie, I take it you’ve already forwarded on the letter Mrs Lovelace sent to Mrs Pettigrew?’ He waited for her nod. ‘Their supposed afternoon tea is due to take place in six days. Bernice, I want you to take Flo and Daisy with you. Make sure you’re in a position to eavesdrop. You are not known to either lady but do not interact in any way if you can help it.’

‘I’ve never been in the Imperial Hotel,’ Bernie responded cautiously. ‘I must say, Papa, I’m surprised you’re trusting us not to make cakes of ourselves in such grand surroundings…’

‘I’m entirely certain you will all uphold the good name of the Shackleford family,’ Charlotte answered, the tone of her voice a good indication that she thought nothing of the sort.

Rightly assuming that adding any more fuel to that particular fire would serve no useful purpose, Henry contented himself with an encouraging nod and changed the subject.

‘I don’t think I have to remind any of you how vital it is that our enquiries don’t raise any suspicion,’ he said instead. ‘I think four days should be sufficient for us to be certain that the orphans are truly being held in this folly and to come up with a rudimentary plan.’ He looked around with a tired grimace, before adding, ‘With the caveat of course that a plan is only ever the basis for change. And no plan ever survives first contact with the enemy.’

‘Especially not if we take Billy into account…’

CHAPTER 16

The Crown and Thistle was, as Ben had intimated, some three miles distant from The Grange. It was everything Henry had hoped for - a respectable coaching inn, comfortably busy and entirely uninterested in a visiting family of seven once they’d proved they had sufficient coin to pay for their rooms.

The Viscount Lavenham’s seat was about six miles from Axbridge and the journey had taken them half a day with a change of trains at both Newton Abbot and Yatton. In truth, the longest stretch had been the hired carriage from Axbridge, especially with Charlotte declaring that she was swiftly losing all feeling in her nether regions. Henry’s only response was a sigh and the possibly unwise observation that if all sensation had disappeared underneath her bustle, then she had very little to grumble about. Indeed, he was about to discover just how unwise…

‘We’ll take the best rooms you have,’ Charlotte informed the innkeeper as she swept into the small vestibule at the front of the inn, without so much as a glance at her sibling. ‘My nephew has travelled all the way from the Colonies, and I’ll not have him thinking the old country can’t manage a decent bed.’

Rob, standing dutifully beside her in his role as the visiting cousin, nodded with admirable gravity. ‘You’re too kind, Aunt Charlotte.’

Both Beatrix and Arabella winced at his use of aunt, but fortunately, since her ire was still directed towards her finally silent brother, she merely sniffed before responding waspishly, ‘I’m never kind. I’m merely particular.’ As she grandly swept past them all towards the stairs, Bea caught the innkeeper’s raised eyebrows and responded with a barely concealed grin.

It was extremely easy to believe that her aunt was gently bred, accustomed to the finest things life had to offer since she’d always played the part to perfection. Rob too proved adept in theatrics, and she wondered whether the ease with which he slipped into the role of cousin was a natural talent for deception or more likely a childhood spent getting out of trouble with his father’s colourful stories as inspiration. Hurrying up the stairs, she entered the bedchamber she was sharing with Arabella. To her relief, the room was both comfortable and warm, with a cheerful fire burning in the grate and a bed that would have housed all her sisters at a push.

Minutes after the innkeeper’s son had brought up their luggage, there was a knock on the door. It was Benedict, who it had to be said was rather less comfortable with theatrics.

‘I look ridiculous,’ he muttered, catching sight of himself in the small mirror above the washstand.

‘You look like a man with a moustache,’ Bella said, biting back a smile with only partial success. ‘Which is, after all, the entire point.’

‘It itches.’

‘Do not complain about itching or prickling to a corset-wearing lady,’ Beatrix retorted, already fighting the urge to fiddle with her undergarments.

With a low chuckle, Arabella reached up and adjusted the hair above Ben’s lip, tilting her head to study the effect. ‘There, now you merely look like a slightly disreputable cousin of father’s, rather than a policeman wearing a dead ferret on his lip.’

Bea laughed out loud at Benedict’s disgruntled expression. ‘Your confidence bolstering skills definitely need work,’ he growled, ‘I do believe I’ll seek out Rob for a more sympathetic brandy…’

* * *

The entire party set out for The Grange shortly after breakfast the following morning, crowding into a hired wagonette with Henry the designated coachman and Ben providing directions at his side. Fortunately, the seats were cushioned, and there was a canopy above them to keep out any rain. Unfortunately, however, the sides were open to the elements, creating a bit of a wind tunnel, despite the fine morning.

Charlotte wasted no time mentioning her chilblains and the possibility of an apoplexy, but for the most part the short journey passed quite agreeably. Billy, naturally, fidgeted something chronic, though it had to be said that his bottom didn’t leave the seat having been warned by nearly every adult present of the trouble he’d be in if he didn’t stay put. He also, much to the chagrin of his travelling companions, sported a large dewdrop on the end of his nose which occasioned the extensive use of both sleeves, until Charlotte finally gave in and handed him her handkerchief.