The Secrets of Armstrong House Read online

  “Would you like us to leave? We will if you would prefer. I’m independently wealthy now.”

  “Don’t be ridiculous, you’re still my heir. But you might find, however large your wife’s dowry is, money quickly goes when you run through it like you do.”

  “Well, you don’t need to concern yourself with that.” Charles looked up at the sky. “I think it’s going to rain – shall we go back inside?” He turned and walked back to the house.

  Lawrence hurried after him, full of anger.

  “Arabella has some news,” said Margaret as Charles and Lawrence walked into the room, Charles relaxed and smiling, Lawrence with a face like thunder.

  “Yes?” asked Charles.

  “I’m with child.”

  “Oh!” said Charles and then he smiled happily, went to her and embraced her. “What wonderful news! This calls for a celebration.” He went over and tugged the bell pull.

  The butler appeared promptly.

  “Champagne, Burchill! The very best we have!”

  “Of course, why not?” sighed Lawrence.

  “Just think, Father, this may be a son. A future Lord Armstrong,” smiled Charles happily.

  “At least this pregnancy won’t involve a conspiracy of silence!” said Margaret.

  Later Margaret and Lawrence sat stony-faced in their carriage as Daphne waved goodbye to Charles and Arabella who were standing at the door.

  “See you at my wedding in Armstrong House next year!” Daphne cried as the carriage pulled away.

  Arabella and Charles went inside and stared at each other in silence for a while.

  “Well,” said Charles, “at least that’s over.”

  Then they both erupted into laughter and fell into each other’s arms.

  chapter 26

  The cards were being dealt with around the table at Tom Hamley’s house. Their card-playing circle had grown considerably, mainly due to Charles’ connections and his subtle recruiting through them. The butler opened the door and a tall broad man entered whom Charles immediately observed was dressed expensively. He was nearly dressed too well for a card game on a Friday night.

  “Mr Hugh Fitzroy,” announced the butler before taking the man’s cape, gold-crested walking stick and top hat.

  “Good evening, gentlemen,” said Hugh as he nodded to everyone at the table.

  “Ah, Hugh, you managed to find us all right?” said Tom, getting up and shaking his hand.

  “Yes, you gave my driver good instructions,” said Hugh.

  “Good! Good!” said Tom and he proceeded to introduce him to each person at the table.

  When it came to Charles’ turn, Hugh stared at him intently with dark, almost black eyes then nodded.

  Charles nodded back politely.

  Hugh took his seat and the cards continued to be dealt.

  “Any word of David Chester?” asked Tom.

  “I believe he has returned to wherever he is from,” said Charles.

  “Who’s David Chester?” inquired Hugh.

  “A young man who arrived from the country a while back with more money than sense . . . and has returned to the country with considerably less money and hopefully a lot more sense!” said Charles, causing everyone to laugh.

  Hugh nodded knowingly. “Card-playing is for fools, unless you know what you’re doing.”

  “Isn’t that the truth?” said Charles as he turned his cards over.

  Charles continued to observe Hugh Fitzroy during the night. He guessed him to be a good but cautious player. The man seemed to have the trappings of wealth: gold cufflinks, gold cigarette case, plenty of money to bet with. But the man was obviously not of their class. He tried hard to disguise it but his manners were unpolished, his etiquette uninformed, his education not obvious. It was his accent that most intrigued Charles. Hugh clearly had a common accent that he was trying very hard to hide.

  “Who is he and where on earth did you find him?” Charles asked Tom during the break as Tom refilled Charles’ wineglass.

  “Hugh Fitzroy is a very, very wealthy man,” said Tom.

  “But I’ve never heard of him,” said Charles.

  “You wouldn’t have. He’s from somewhere down the East End.”

  “The East End!”

  “Yes. I don’t know much about him. I met him through an acquaintance of mine. He’s completely self-made seemingly.”

  “And how did he make his money?” Charles was becoming more intrigued by the minute.

  “Who knows? He doesn’t give much away.”

  “I’m surprised you’re allowing him into our circle,” said Charles as he watched Hugh eat canapés clumsily.

  “Why not? His money is as good as anyone’s, isn’t it?”

  “Call a cab for me, will you?” Charles asked Tom’s butler, as they were all putting on their coats and hats to leave.

  “Can I give anyone a lift? My driver is outside,” offered Hugh.

  “I’m going to Regent’s Park, if that’s on your way?” said Charles.

  Hugh put his hand out to indicate to Charles to go first. Charles walked down the steps from Tom’s house and found a large ornate carriage waiting for them.

  “Go first to Regent’s Park,” instructed Hugh to the driver. He turned to Charles.

  “I’m staying at Claridge’s. I have a suite of rooms there.”

  “But Regent’s Park isn’t in your direction at all! I’m taking you out of your way,” said Charles.

  “No matter,” said Hugh.

  There was a heavy fog as the carriage drove through the London streets.

  Charles found Hugh socially awkward and almost a little nervous as they chatted, but he suspected this man was no David Chester. He imagined him to be very tough.

  “Tom said you were related to a duke?” Hugh said.

  “That’s right – my sister is the Duchess of Battington.”

  “And you’re the son of an earl?”

  “That’s right,” Charles chuckled. “My father, the present Lord Armstrong, wants me to go back to Ireland and assume my position, but I’m having too much fun here!”

  Hugh nodded as the carriage pulled up outside Charles’ house.

  “Well, thank you for the lift,” said Charles. “Er, I’m having a card game here at my house next Friday evening, starting at nine, if you’re free. Tom Hamley and the rest from this evening will be here.”

  Hugh seemed surprised at the invitation and just nodded. “See you then. Drive on!” he shouted at the driver.

  “I’m having some friends over tonight. We’ll be down in the dining room and so won’t be bothering you,” Charles informed Arabella the following Friday in the drawing room.

  “Shall I have Burchill prepare food?” asked Arabella.

  “No need. I’ll have something light sent up from the kitchen when they are here.”

  Later that evening Arabella watched from the balcony of the drawing room upstairs as Charles’ friends arrived one by one. She was struck by an oversized carriage that pulled up. Unlike the others, who arrived in cabs, this was obviously a private carriage as the man got out and the driver made no move to leave.

  As the man made his way up to the front of the house he looked up, inspecting it. He stopped still when he saw Arabella standing there looking down at him from the balcony and stared at her. Arabella got an uncomfortable feeling and turned and went back inside.

  As the hours of the evening passed by Arabella sat in the drawing room reading. She became curious as there wasn’t a sound coming from downstairs. Finally she decided to go and investigate. She went downstairs and over to the dining room. Opening the door, she walked in. She found the group of men sitting around the table playing cards.

  Seeing her, the men all stood up and bowed.

  “Good evening, Tom . . . gentlemen . . .” she nodded at them and gestured that they should sit down.

  She saw the man from the carriage at the end of the table, again staring at her and making her feel uncomf
ortable.

  “Can we help you, dear?” asked Charles who hadn’t bothered to stand up. He was looking none too pleased at her entrance.

  “Charles, could I speak to you for a moment?” she asked.

  “Is it necessary?” he asked, annoyed.

  “Yes, it is!”

  He mumbled under his breath, put down his cards and followed her out, closing the door behind him. She walked across the hall to the study. They both entered and he closed the door.

  “Well?” he asked impatiently.

  “What do you mean by having a game of baccarat in my house?” she demanded.

  “I think you’ll find it’s my father’s house.”

  “In my home then in that case?”

  “Why shouldn’t I have a game of cards here? I’m always having games in the others’ houses.”

  “I don’t care what you have in the other houses, but I will not have you play illicit games here,” she insisted.

  “Whyever not?”

  “Because I don’t want to be associated with something like that! Gwyneth would never have a game of cards in her house or any other of the ladies we know.”

  “I think we are already aware from your past that you are not like the other ladies we know,” he said mockingly.

  His words were like a slap across the face. “No, you’re right. I’m not like the other simpering wives we know. I think we’re both aware of what I’m capable of.”

  “Arabella –”

  “You brought me to the edge of destruction once before and I will never allow you to risk mine or my children’s futures again.”

  She marched across the room to the door.

  He grabbed her arm. “Where are you going?”

  “Let go of my hand!” she snapped.

  He held her tightly. “Answer my question.”

  “I’m going across that hall and I’m going to tell those men to get out. And I won’t be telling them politely.”

  She shook him free and continued to the door and across the hall.

  “Arabella!” he hissed. “All right! I’ll tell them to go.”

  She turned and faced him. “You’ve got five minutes to get them out of here.”

  She walked up the stairs. He looked after her angrily before turning and walking into the dining room.

  “Sorry about this, chaps – I’m afraid we’re going to have to call it a night.”

  chapter 27

  The next day Arabella and Charles were sitting in an uneasy silence in the drawing room when Burchill came in carrying a huge hamper.

  “What’s that, Burchill?” questioned Charles.

  “A hamper from Harrods delivered for Mrs Armstrong,” said Burchill as he struggled to put it down on the floor. “There’s a note attached.”

  He handed the note to Arabella and left.

  She opened the note.

  “Well?” asked Charles.

  “It’s from a Hugh Fitzroy.” She struggled to read the almost illegible scrawl. “He says . . . ‘Sorry for the embarrassment last night’.”

  “He must mean your hissy fit at the card game,” said Charles as he opened the hamper. “But this is crammed with the very best food.”

  “Who is he?” asked Arabella, knowing he was the man who had been staring at her.

  “I met him through Tom Hamley. Filthy rich apparently – bit rough around the edges though,” said Charles as he unscrewed a jar of caviar and sniffed at it. “Maybe you should cause a scene more often, if it gets these results!”

  Arabella looked at the hamper, feeling uneasy.

  Hugh Fitzroy became a regular with Charles’ card-gaming set. Charles found him never outspoken or loud. He was polite to everyone, but could be rough to staff. He was a strange mixture of confidence and insecurity. He was always keen to display the trappings of his wealth to everyone present. He seemed to focus in on Charles a lot and listened intently as he spoke about people he knew or parties he was attending. Soon Charles began to realise that if he discussed Armstrong House and his family or the Duke of Battington, Fitzroy seemed to become awestruck.

  “You have to realise he’s never met aristocracy before,” said Tom as they discussed him one evening.

  “Well, money opens doors, no matter how uncouth he is,” Charles said.

  Charles had an appointment with the bank manager, Mr Jones, and set off on foot to the meeting. He walked down Regent Street and through Piccadilly Circus until he reached the bank.

  “I’m afraid money has been pouring out of your account,” warned the bank manager, handing over the figures.

  Charles stared at the amount left in his account in shock.

  “But there must be some mistake! The money deposited from my father-in-law on my wedding was ten times this amount.”

  “There’s no mistake, I’m afraid to say . . . The bank did write to you many times to update you on your ever-dwindling account.”

  “But . . . but . . .” Charles couldn’t think what to say. He never read post from banks.

  Mr Jones observed Charles. The young aristocrat’s lavish lifestyle had become notorious around London.

  “I should think there is no need to worry,” he said. “With an estate as large as your father’s which one day will be yours . . . several thousand acres, isn’t it?”

  “Eight thousand,” corrected Charles, still feeling dazed.

  “If I could suggest you dramatically cut back on your expenditure. I believe you employ a French chef? Myself and my wife have just employed a girl up from Sussex who is extremely reasonable and quite adequate – she can boil a perfect egg.”

  “I imagine you and your wife do not have the same calibre of guests that we do,” snapped Charles unpleasantly. “You can keep your Sussex girl – I’m sure she is adequate – for Wimbledon, or wherever you live!”

  Mr Jones sat back, surprised, and his voice became colder. “In that case may I suggest you go and speak to Lord Armstrong? Hopefully he can provide funds for the life you have become accustomed to.”

  Charles was confused and angry over the next few weeks as he tried to understand how all the money had gone so quickly. He knew he had been on a losing streak with the cards for a long spell, and he had lost huge amounts. But that was temporary and his luck would change soon.

  Arabella walked into the study, holding a menu.

  “Charles, can you take a look at the menu Monsieur Huppert has prepared for the dinner party next Saturday? He’s suggesting quail and doing the most extraordinary thing with it involving olives. But Lady Hollander is coming, and I think it won’t sit well with her – you know she’s very fussy –”

  “Oh for goodness sake, Arabella! Can’t you see I’m too busy to be bothered with those trivial things!” he snapped.

  She looked down at the bare desk in front of him. “Doing what exactly?”

  “I’ve far too many things to organise to be discussing Lady Hollander’s faddy tummy!”

  “What – like organising your next card game?” Her voice dripped sarcasm.

  “Just leave me alone, and let Huppert sort out the bloody menu – he gets paid enough!”

  “Right, I will! I’ll tell Monsieur Huppert to go ahead with the quails and bugger Lady Hollander’s stomach. You know, I don’t understand what’s been wrong with you lately – you’re in foul form.”

  “I have a lot of responsibility, you know,” he defended himself.

  “Not according to your father – he thinks you’re very good at avoiding it,” she said, before turning and leaving him.

  He stood up from behind the desk, went to the window and looked out at the long garden.

  “All those assets that will one day be mine, and here I am worried about money!” he said to himself. “All those assets . . .”

  Charles marched into the bank manager’s office.

  “Good news, Mr Jones, good news!”

  Jones looked up, surprised. “It’s always good to hear good news. What is it exactly?”
r />   “I have corresponded with my father and he’s agreed to raise a mortgage on his house at Hanover Terrace. The money is to be paid into my account.”

  “Right!” Jones was surprised.

  “It looks like we won’t have to be relying on Sussex girls and boiled eggs just yet. Prepare the mortgage documents at your earliest convenience, Mr Jones, and I will have them signed by my father when I return for my sister Lady Daphne’s wedding in Ireland. Good day to you, Mr Jones!” Charles turned and strode happily out of the office.

  chapter 28

  Charles was in the study the morning they were due to depart to Ireland for Daphne’s wedding. He was sitting at his desk and was reading through the new mortgage documentation. All seemed in order. He only needed his father’s signature to release the funds into his account.

  Arabella came into the study.

  “Charles, the cab has arrived to take us to the train station,” she said.

  Charles quickly tidied the paperwork away into a small leather case and locked it.

  “Just coming now,” he said, standing up.

  Arabella was heavily pregnant at this stage, with only a little over a month to go, and wasn’t looking forward to the long trip to Liverpool, the sea journey across the Irish Sea and another long journey from Dublin across Ireland to Armstrong House.

  At least she wouldn’t be confronted by Harrison. It had been confirmed by Margaret prior to Charles and Arabella even being invited to the wedding that Harrison would not be returning to Ireland for the event.

  They quickly walked out of the house.

  “Have a good journey,” said Burchill as he and the driver put their trunk on to the back of the carriage.

  “Thank you, Burchill,” said Arabella as she got into the carriage with Charles’ help.

  “Au revoir! Au revoir!” sang Isabelle as she handed Prudence into the carriage. Arabella had agreed that Isabelle should take the opportunity to visit her family while they were away in Ireland.