Lady Hartley's Inheritance Page 6

  Eleanor Fielding took up the narrative. “The children stay here until they’re twelve. We can’t keep them after that, but so far not one of them has been turned back out onto the streets,” she added proudly. “We always manage to find some sort of gainful employment, even for the dullest witted. The girls mostly go into service, and some of the boys, too. Those that show more aptitude are apprenticed. Others are sent to work on the land.”

  Clarissa was astonished. “How do you manage all this, Mrs. Fielding?”

  A reply was rendered impossible as they had now reached another classroom, occupied by the smallest children. The lady teaching them was unable to maintain control when they observed Lord Deverill smiling at them from the doorway. They ran in his direction, and he hastily took a chair before he was trampled underfoot. Clarissa was dumbfounded. The fastidious earl was allowing these urchins to clamber all over him. Grubby fingers attached themselves to his impeccable coat, hands pulled at his hair, tiny feet trampled on his shiny boots — but he didn’t seem the slightest bit put out by this assault to his dignity, and merely laughed.

  “Will you tell us a story, Uncle Luc?”

  Uncle Luc? What in heaven’s name was going on?

  “Now, children,” the teacher said, striving to regain control of her charges. “Uncle Luc has brought a visitor today. Shall we show Lady Hartley how clever we are?”

  The children, the oldest of whom couldn’t have been more than five, stood in a crooked line and recited their alphabet. Crouching down, Clarissa smiled at them, told them they were indeed very clever, and allowed the little girl who had previously clung to Lord Deverill to climb shyly into her arms. Emboldened, others stepped forward to finger her clothing and touch her hair. They seemed fascinated by her.

  “Please, forgive them, Lady Hartley,” Mrs. Fielding said. “These little ones haven’t seen such a grand lady as you at close quarters before. Naturally, they are curious.”

  “Pray, don’t concern yourself,” Clarissa said distractedly. “They are causing me no inconvenience.”

  “That is Rosie,” Lord Deverill said, ruffling the hair of the little girl in Clarissa’s arms. “She’s only been here for a few months.”

  “But I won’t have to go away again will I, Uncle Luc?” The little girl’s bottom lip wobbled.

  “No, sweetheart.” He took her from Clarissa and held her tightly against his chest. “No one will ever harm you again.”

  “Shall we continue with our tour, Lady Hartley?” Mrs. Fielding asked with a smile.

  “With pleasure.”

  “How did you manage to start this institution?” Clarissa asked as they looked in on the remaining two classrooms.

  “Oh, it wasn’t me. It was Lord Deverill’s doing.”

  Clarissa stopped dead in her tracks. “What?”

  “Yes. I myself lived on the streets as a child. My mother was a prostitute, much as the mothers of many of these poor mites were. Lord Deverill came across me begging on the streets one day. For some reason I shall never understand he took it upon himself to save me and put me into service in his house. I met and married my husband there. You saw him in one of the classrooms just now.”

  “I can scarce credit it,” Clarissa said to herself.

  “It’s perfectly true. And subsequently Lord Deverill told me that he wanted to do more to help the underprivileged and had the idea to start this institution. I jumped at the chance to help, and the result you see before you today.”

  “I’m overwhelmed.”

  “We pride ourselves on making a little difference, but really we’re only scratching at the surface. Lord Deverill’s mother and sisters spend a lot of time raising funds. Many society ladies donate clothing; others are persuaded to provide work for the children when they leave us. But, still, we’re woefully short of staff and resources.”

  They were in a dormitory now, and Clarissa remarked upon the neatly made beds.

  “Each child is responsible for making his or her own bed and has specific chores to carry out during the day. The younger ones are supervised by their elders, but no one is exempt. They’re fiercely loyal to one another. We are often the only family they’ve ever known, and they’re naturally anxious that it remains intact.”

  “Mrs. Fielding, I congratulate you. If only there were more people like you willing to make a difference.”

  “I couldn’t do it without Lord Deverill’s patronage.”

  “No doubt his society friends are impressed by his work when they observe it.”

  “Lord Deverill has never before brought a visitor here, Lady Hartley.”

  “What! Surely that can’t be right? What of his friends who help with raising funds?”

  “I know not how he organises that, my lady. All I can tell you is that apart from his mother, sisters, and Lord Western, who is also closely involved, no other society person has ever set foot in this institution.”

  “I can’t believe it!”

  And yet somehow, all of a sudden, she could. Clarissa was disgusted with herself. The notion that Lord Deverill had only started this institution in order to impress his peers had been her first thought. She disliked the fact that she could so readily have entertained such a cynical and very obviously erroneous view.

  After an hour Mrs. Fielding and Clarissa returned to the classroom in search of the earl. He was still seated in the same chair, Rosie ensconced on his lap. The other children were playing some sort of complicated game that appeared to involve tying a rope around Luc, whooping loudly, and generally causing mayhem. Their teacher had given up trying to maintain order and simply watched the game with a resigned half-smile. Lord Deverill seemed perfectly comfortable with the situation. In fact he appeared to be directing operations. Clarissa could see that there were two teams involved in the game and some sort of elementary point scoring system. She was watching in delight when a small boy fell at her feet. She picked him up and whispered to him. The child responded with a victorious shout, because she’d pointed out a short-cut by which he could ensure his team won the game.

  Lord Deverill placed Rosie back on the floor and joined Clarissa again.

  “Thank goodness, you’ve returned.” He mopped his brow. “I thought I was about to be consigned to the river, bound and gagged, and weighed down with boulders.”

  Clarissa was still too astounded by all she’d seen to make any response. How could she have read Luc Deverill so wrong? She was mortified and ashamed when she thought of her words to him the previous evening, and she couldn’t bring herself to meet his eye.

  When they were finally back in the curricle, the children lining the street to wave them off, Clarissa forced herself to turn to face him.

  “What form would you like my apology to take this time?” she asked quietly.

  “I didn’t bring you here to extract an apology.”

  Then why did you bring me? “I pride myself on being fair-minded, Lord Deverill, but I immediately jumped to conclusions when I first met you, basing my views solely on your appearance and tonnish manners. I wasn’t being fair. I should have looked beyond those traits; I can quite see that now.”

  Luc covered one of her hands with his. “Don’t be so hard on yourself. You saw only what I expect the world to see.”

  “Tell me more about the orphanage. When did you start it?”

  “About ten years ago, with Eleanor’s assistance. If she told you something of her own background you’ll understand why she was so keen to do something for the unfortunate children. We found the building and started out with just a dozen of the neediest. Before we knew it, we were inundated.”

  “And you finance it all?”

  He grinned at her. “Actually tonnish society does.”

  “What!” His smile was infectious and she found herself returning it. “How so?”

  “I manage investments for a large number of my peers. I enjoy juggling money, and am quite successful at it. Naturally, I extract a percentage for my trouble, and I plough
it into this place. Felix Western and I found the building, purchased it outright, and made it as suitable as possible for the tribe you met today. Then my mother and sisters somehow persuade the ladies they know to open their purse strings.”

  “Yes. Somehow, I can’t see them taking no for an answer.”

  “That’s exactly why they’re so suited for the work. They enjoy it, and it gives them something meaningful to do with their time.”

  “Yes, I can quite see that. And your peers must admire your achievements.”

  “They know nothing of them.” He made a tutting noise. “As you so perceptively observed last evening, tonnish people don’t talk about anything that matters. If they were aware of what Felix and I have achieved here, our reputations would never recover.”

  Clarissa snorted with laughter. “Do all of the children lead successful lives when they leave you?”

  “No, not all; that would be too much to expect. Some, especially those that come to us when they’re older, inevitably fall back into their old ways. Others have older siblings that persuade them to a life of crime. But on the whole we do well. Some come back and help when they can. Others bring us children that need help…like Rosie.”

  “What happened to her?”

  His expression hardened. “She was found being kept in a tavern by a bullish landlord. She was half-starved, lice-ridden, and made to work until she dropped with exhaustion.”

  “My God!”

  “Exactly. Another few weeks and it would have been too late for her.”

  “Is this the part of town where Mulligan was abandoned?”

  “Yes. The children found him wandering outside the orphanage. The older ones haven’t forgotten, and often ask after him. I’d take him back to see them but somehow he seems to know when I’m coming to this part of town, and no matter what I do I’m unable to persuade him into the carriage.”

  “The poor chap probably thinks you’re going to abandon him.”

  “I never abandon the things I love.”

  He was looking directly at her as he spoke, and Clarissa felt the draw of his intelligent dark eyes. She was seeing him in an entirely different light, and was unable to look away.

  Chapter Six

  Clarissa presented herself at Mr. Twining’s office the following morning, anxious to conclude her business and return home. London had been interesting, but already she was tiring of the daily round of social nothingness. She needed the solitary comfort of the moors around her. The familiar sound of the wind howling in from the sea, biting at her face, penetrating her clothing and whipping her hair from the confines of her chignon. She even missed the squabbles which arose between her tenants with predictable regularity. But most of all she craved the daily demands placed upon her by her animals. Only then would she feel fully alive.

  Mr. Twining bustled from his inner sanctum to greet Clarissa personally. There was an arrogant assumption of contrived superiority about him as he offered her his hand. It was a trait which she hadn’t noticed in him before and supposed it must be the consequence of now earning his living in the capital as opposed to a quiet northern country town.

  “My dear Lady Hartley.” He beamed at her. “How pleasant to see you, and how well you look. I trust you’re not too fatigued after your long journey.”

  “Thank you, sir; I’m quite well and not at all tired. I’ve been in London for over a week already, and have had ample time to rest.”

  “Indeed, my dear, I had no notion of your early arrival. Such a shame, I could have placed myself at your disposal before now.”

  “Oh, but I understood you to be fully engaged.”

  “A misunderstanding, nothing more. I can always find the time for you, dear Lady Hartley.” Twining covered his error with an ingratiating smile. “I would have taken pleasure in showing you about town. The theatres and so forth, what with you being alone here. But no matter,” he continued briskly, “you are here now. Come into my office, dear lady, and make yourself comfortable. Granger?” He snapped his podgy fingers at his clerk. “Bring coffee at once.”

  Twining was short in stature, his round head barely clearing Clarissa’s shoulder, but his lack of inches was more than compensated for by his considerable girth. His moderately well-tailored coat did little to conceal the bulk of his formidable body as he fussed over Clarissa, insisting that she settle herself in front of his sparse fire. His head was almost completely bald, but he compensated for that by sporting an abundance of whiskers on his chin. He had small, beady eyes which darted constantly about, an unfortunately bulbous nose criss-crossed with a series of red veins, and thin lips which stretched into a beaming smile whenever he looked in Clarissa’s direction.

  Coffee was taken, but Twining appeared to be in no hurry to discuss business. Instead he questioned Clarissa closely about her plans for the future.

  “You do not feel, now that you have sampled some of the delights of town, that you might wish to remove here permanently?”

  “Indeed not, Mr. Twining.” She shuddered. “I intend to continue with my father’s and Michael’s work on the estates. I trust you’ve brought me here today because the legal necessities have at last been completed in that respect?”

  Twining shook his head mournfully, causing his flaccid jowls to wobble.

  “My dear Lady Hartley, I regret that an unexpected difficulty that has arisen.”

  “A difficulty?” Clarissa was confused and a little alarmed. This was not what she’d expected at all. “What difficulty?”

  “Alas, another contender to Sir Michael’s estate has come forward.”

  “Another contender? I don’t have the pleasure of understanding you, Mr. Twining. I am Michael’s only heir. He had no children and no siblings.”

  Twining rose from his chair and paced the length of his office, taking small, fastidious steps on his short legs. “I had hoped there would be no need for you to know of these developments, dear lady, for I felt certain they could have no validity. But now that I’m not quite so certain I can no longer shield you from the unpleasantness. You see, ever since Sir Michael returned from his last extended period in Alexandria he has been sending a fairly substantial sum of money each quarter to an account in that town. I was, however, never privy to Sir Michael’s reasons for this generosity.”

  Clarissa gasped, conscious of the colour draining from her face. Twining resumed his seat, picked up her hand, and gave it a gentle squeeze.

  “I knew the shock would be too much for you,” he said ardently. “I should have found a way to spare you the unpleasantness.”

  Clarissa retrieved her hand, took several deep calming breaths and begged him to continue. “I must know it all,” she said.

  “Well, my dear, naturally when your husband died I immediately stopped making the payments to Alexandria. I then received a communication from the Advocate’s office to which they had been directed, asking why payments had ceased. I informed my correspondent of Sir Michael’s sad demise. I thought no more of the matter until I received a letter several months later, purporting to be from Sir Michael’s son, saying that he was coming to England to make a claim upon his father’s estate.”

  “Oh, dear Lord!” Clarissa covered her mouth with one hand, afraid that she might be physically sick. “I had absolutely no idea.”

  “My dear Lady Hartley, allow me to fetch you some water. You look quite unwell.”

  “No, Mr. Twining, I shall be all right. Please tell me everything.”

  “Very well. If you’re quite sure.” He resumed his seat and his explanation. “As you can imagine, I was as surprised as you are, but still held the opinion that there could be no foundation to the story. That’s why I didn’t trouble you about it before now. You know, my dear, how concerned I’ve always been for your welfare; I had no wish to alarm you unnecessarily.” Twining’s solicitous look went unobserved and unappreciated by a stunned Clarissa. “It was only when the person in question reached London a short time ago that I began to have
concerns.”

  “The man claiming to be Michael’s son is in London already?”

  “Indeed he is. A Mr. Omar Salik presented himself to me, with a birth certificate written in Arabic showing him to be the, er…” He paused, appearing genuinely distressed. “I really don’t feel comfortable discussing such delicate matters with a lady of your sensibilities.”

  Clarissa was roused almost to anger by this needless procrastination. “Mr. Twining, if you please!”

  He coughed behind his hand and continued. “It would appear that Mr. Salik is Sir Michael’s illegitimate son.”

  “Well, obviously,” Clarissa said briskly. “Michael was only ever married to me, so any children he fathered would have been born on the wrong side of the blankets.”

  “Yes, indeed. However, where was I?”

  “The birth certificate.” Clarissa tapped her fingers impatiently on the arm of her chair.

  “Oh, yes, that’s right. Well, I said I would arrange for a translation, but didn’t see how that would entitle your stepson, if indeed that’s who he is, to any part of your late husband’s estate.”

  “No more do I, Mr. Twining.” Clarissa felt relief washing through her. Relief which was as quickly eradicated by Twining’s next words.

  “I said as much to Salik. Which is when he produced a will, again written in Arabic, which he claims names him as his father’s sole heir in the event of no legitimate children being born to Sir Michael prior to his death.”

  “Oh dear God, no!” A raw, gut wrenching pain coursed through every inch of Clarissa’s body. This couldn’t be happening. “Surely, this is some sort of misunderstanding. Michael would have told me of the existence of the will when he was dying, if not before. He knew what the land means to me, and was definite in his desire for me to continue with our work.”