Page 44 of The Rum and The Fox

Chapter 18

To be in the parson’s mousetrap - to be married

- The 1811 Dictionary of the Vulgar Tongue, by Francis Grose.

“Not here?” Mr Formby repeated, giving the butler a look of such fury that a lesser man might have quailed.

Mr Grant, however, who during his first interview had revealed he’d been in the service of the Chartley family since he was a small boy - like his father before him and his grandfather before that - was made of sterner stuff. It was also abundantly clear that he was still nursing feelings of an unloving nature for the inspector for having slipped past him and into his grace’s presence without being properly announced.

“That is what I said, inspector,” Grant replied, looking somewhere above Mr Formby’s head as if it were beneath his dignity to meet the man’s eyes.

“Well, where the devil are they?” Formby raged, though his fury seemed to impress the stoic butler not at all.

“I’m sure I couldn’t say, sir,” the butler said with a quelling tone that made the inspector want to choke the life out of the stiff-rumped, pompous sly-boots. “Not being privy to all of his grace’s movements.”

“Well,” Formby said, taking a step closer and speaking in such threatening tones that his constable felt compelled to lay a restraining hand on his arm. “Do you think you could say when they might be back?”

The butler sniffed, but had apparently not been ordered to keep such information a secret. “His grace saw fit to inform me that they would likely be away for two or three nights.”

The sound of Mr Formby grinding his teeth may not have been audible from the butler’s lofty heights, but judging on the anxious looks his constable was throwing him, Mr Greenly was well aware of it. Without bothering to bid the butler a good evening, the inspector turned on his heel and strode away, leaving constable Greenly to follow in his wake.

***

Ash sat back against the squabs and watched the countryside roll past him. So far, things were going exactly as he planned. That the crux of his plan was yet to come, however, was not making it the most stress free journey he’d ever undertaken.

“But where are we going?” Keziah demanded for the fifth time.

“Just out of town for a few days,” Ash replied, hoping he sounded nonchalant, and avoided the eye of Keziah’s abigail, who knew exactly what his plans were and had been only too happy to help him achieve them. “I’m sick to death of Formby turning up at every moment of the day and night, and I think the change will do you good,” he said, striving for a light-hearted tone he was far from feeling.

Keziah smiled at him, and the sight of it made something tighten in his chest. “Yes, Ash,” she said, her words those of an adult trying to remain patient with a stubborn child. “So you said before, and I understand that, and I’m very grateful, too, believe me,” she added, laying a gloved hand on his arm. “But where exactly are we going?”

“To stay with my cousin in Trowbridge,” he said, looking away from her and trying to divert her interest towards admiring the scenery. He felt no need nor desire to inform her that his cousin was the rector at Trowbridge, and that at this moment a special licence was burning a hole in his pocket. All of this would be revealed soon enough, and he wanted her well away from any means of possible escape before that happened, as he had no doubt of her kicking up the devil of a dust over it. But he had made up his mind.

If he was going to keep her from trouble and ensure her future, the first step was to ensure that she was the Duchess of Chartley. His name would offer her respectability and security, and even if they were all plunged into a worse scandal than they were already enduring, as was looking increasingly inevitable going on the last colourful report in the gossip sheets, she would still have a roof over her head and no financial worries would ever plague her again.

For a moment, he considered what his grandmother would say when she discovered what he’d done, and had to swallow hard to quell the nausea that roiled in his stomach. But he was of age, a man in his own right, and she’d damn well have to get used to it.

His guts still felt uncertain, but having made the decision, he was not going to back out of it. If the old woman despised them both so much, Ash would take the greatest pleasure in returning to Chartley with his bride and allowing the old woman to enjoy the house in Bath for the rest of her days. They need not visit her again if she did not want them. The idea saddened him, for although she was a hard and fearsome woman, he knew she did love him, and as a boy he’d loved her better than his mother, who had been a fond but rather unreliable parent.

Trowbridge was a neat and prosperous village due to successes in the wool industry, and had a population of around six thousand souls. Situated about eleven miles from Bath, they made good time, arriving at around five in the afternoon outside a handsome, squarely built house, which lay at the farthest end of the village street beside a grand and imposing church.

After an indifferent morning of grey skies and drizzle, the sun had now come out, though a chill wind sent billowing white clouds scudding across the blue above them. Ash handed Keziah down and watched her smile as she took in the pretty rectory. “What a beautiful house,” she said with approval as her eyes fell on a garden riotous with spring bulbs.

“Glad you like it,” Ash replied, keeping hold of her hand as she was too distracted to yet release his. “For heaven’s sake, tell my cousin, too. Devilish prosy fellow, but if you admire his garden, you’ll have him eating out of your hand.”

Keziah laughed at this rather unflattering description, but allowed herself to be led to the front door.

Ash held his breath and prayed he hadn’t underestimated the awe in which his cousin, the Reverend George Barclay, held his title of Duke of Chartley.

The door was opened by a rather flustered-looking housekeeper, who had clearly only received notice of his intention to pay his cousin a visit a short time before their arrival.

The lady, who introduced herself as Mrs Chubbly, did not live up to her name, as she was a rather reedy and nervous-looking woman. She nonetheless greeted them warmly, but apologised for the fact that the Reverend Barclay had been called away early that morning, so did not know of their coming, but he was expected back within the hour.

This information being given over, she ushered them into a very cosy parlour and promised to return with refreshments as soon as she was able.

During this period, Ash had done his utmost to avoid Keziah’s eyes, and therefore the suspicion he knew was lurking there since hearing reverend attached to his cousin’s name.

“Pretty place, isn’t it?” he said, walking to look out of the window as he made a show of admiring the gardens.