5 - Collapse

His inspection of Harebell Hall complete, Lord Percy had indeed returned to London, leaving Mr. Reed, whose services he'd retained, to act for him in all matters regarding the estate.

Before parting ways, they'd agreed on certain measures to be taken in all haste, foremost among these arranging for the damage to the roof and west wing to be formally assessed and the cost of repairs estimated. Mr. Reed, acting with exemplary efficiency, had, before a month was out, forwarded a report summarizing the findings of the architect, the bids submitted for the recommended work by three local builders, and his précis of the proposals' pros and cons. "Bulwer and Sons," he concluded, "have quoted the highest price, but have the advantage of being available to start work at once, whereas Farmington and Lowell, having other projects in hand, cannot commit to starting until mid-April. As to reputation, there is little to choose among them; all have excellent records and impressive testimonials." Percy was, by nature, inclined toward caution, but at a mark-up of some twenty-five percent, it was a luxury he did not feel he could currently afford and so, though it went very much against the grain, he instructed Mr. Reed to accept the lowest bid and crossed his fingers for luck.

Subsequent reports brought encouraging news. The young couple Mr. Reed had engaged to take over from the Peckhams had settled in well, and, with the help of a small staff, were keeping the manor in basic running order. The appraisal Percy'd commissioned of the house's contents had been carried out and a list of valuables several pages long drawn up. The attics, it appeared, had proved a treasure trove of antique goods: furniture, decorative items, vintage china and sumptuous old textiles that, given they were judged to date from the mid-1700s, must have been stored away by previous generations of Lady Harriet's family. The paintings commemorating these ancestors were deemed of little value, but Sir Gerald's collection of equine art, on the other hand, was estimated to be worth a tidy figure, with, as Simon had predicted, the two Stubbs paintings projected to command substantial sums at auction. More valuable even than these was Gainsborough's portrait of Lady Harriet but, as it had captured Percy's fancy, he determined to part with it — and the portrait Sir George had had painted of himself and Victorine — only as a last resort. If, when they went under the hammer, the remaining lots sold for near or at their estimated value, the proceeds would be more than enough to supply his immediate needs, and consequently he wrote authorizing Mr. Reed to consign all but those two paintings to York's premier auction room for resale.

Mr. Reed's putting it about — discreetly — that Percy was open to taking on a partner in his racing stable had also borne fruit. Most of the offers had been of the low-ball variety and rejected out of hand, but one party, who preferred to remain anonymous, had proposed buying into the concern for what Mr. Reed acknowledged to be a very handsome price. The catch was, the individual (or consortium he represented) insisted on purchasing no less than a controlling interest — fifty-one percent to Percy's forty-nine — and this was more than Percy thought wise to concede to a person (or persons) about whom he knew nothing. Mr. Reed concurred in his decision to decline, and the would-be investor, apparently not in the least put out, replied that the offer remained on the table should at some point in the future Percy change his mind.

In this way, winter passed uneventfully into spring, and it was, cruelly, just as March was giving way to April and Percy beginning to think his gamble won that disaster struck. A freak storm hit the North Riding, appropriately enough, on All Fool's Day, dumping half of foot of heavy snow on the Hall's slate roof and causing the compromised rafters beneath to crumple under the strain. Tiles, broken beams, and shattered boards had come crashing down, punching in their fall through the ceilings of both the second story and the first. The damage was horrific, the formal dining room open to the sky two floors above, its great mahogany table and chairs flattened and splintered under a massive heap of plaster chunks, fragmented timber, and the twisted metal of its grand chandelier. The only saving grace was, the collapse having occurred in the dead of night, all of the staff had been abed and no one hurt. Still, the thunderous noise and tremendous wreckage had left everyone shocked and upset.

Percy had posted up north as soon as he heard the news, and arrived to find the devastation every bit as appalling as Mr. Reed had detailed in his dispatch. In the interest of safety, no start had been made on clearing away the debris, and so he'd had the full effect of the pile of rubble, gaping holes in the ceilings, puddles of water on the floor, and, blanketing every surface like dirty snow, a thick layer of gritty dust. He cursed himself roundly for taking what in retrospect appeared to him an entirely needless risk, and was, in that moment, so sunk in his spirits, he was tempted to do as George had advised and sell the property for whatever it might fetch. Something in him rose up in opposition, though. In the months since coming into his inheritance, he'd discovered in himself a possessive streak of unsuspected strength. He hadn't appreciated, likely because he'd suppressed the feeling, how much he'd yearned for a place all his own, an estate he could manage and improve through his own efforts and for his own profit. His father had a great many properties, of course, and Percy might, at any time since coming down from Cambridge, have had the stewardship of one for the asking, but, the dukedom's lands being all entailed on his brother, the benefits of his work would ultimately have accrued not to himself but to Arthur, and Percy could not find it in himself to be that selfless. The fluke of Harebell Hall having fallen in his lap was the opportunity he had not dared to look for, and one that, for all its challenges, he would not surrender without a fight.

Obviously, the contract with Lowell's was no longer binding, and a new round of inspection and appraisal required. The firm's architect and master builder surveyed the damage, and shook their heads grimly; the repairs would be extensive, time-consuming and correspondingly costly. The figure, when they'd calculated materials and manpower, made Percy's eyes start and his stomach drop. The funds he'd raised from the auction sales and which, once, would have covered the expense were now grossly insufficient and the rest to find somewhere. Mr. Reed recommended securing a loan, and Percy duly met with the bankers he vouched for, but, in the end, he decided, before committing himself to a mortgage, to try borrowing the money privately.

It was thus that, having stayed to see the west wing stabilized and work on patching the roof underway, Percy returned to London and sought out his mother. When it came to loosening the purse strings, the duchess, while not a particularly soft touch, was a far better bet than the duke. Clairborne was that rara avis among the nobility: a man who lived within his means, paid his tradesmen's bills upon presentation, and, in a general way, adhered to the precept that one should "neither a borrower nor a lender be." As a matter of principle, he did not make an exception for his children and so, on those rare occasions when Percy or his siblings had been improvident with their allowances and were in urgent need of an advance, it was always to their mother they applied.

He found Her Grace seated at her escritoire, attending as was her morning ritual to her voluminous correspondence. So absorbed was she in her letter, she didn't immediately notice his arrival, and, rather than disturb her, he stood a moment, watching her draw pen across paper. She'd been accounted something of a beauty in her youth but the years, and childbearing, had exacted their inevitable toll so that now, in her fifties, her figure was round instead of trim, the ringlets at her temples gray, and her face grown lined in places and over-soft in others. One would not guess her high rank to look at her, but only suppose her a comfortable wife, mother and grandmother, all of which she was. She glanced up as he came further into the room, and, seeing him, smiled warmly. "Percy, my dear!" She set down her pen at once and rose from her chair to greet him. "What a welcome surprise! I was asking Enid only yesterday if she'd had any news of you, and now here you are!"

He took the hand she held out to him, and bent to kiss her cheek, fragrant with the delicate rose scent she favored. "You're looking well, Mamma. That's a very fetching cap you're wearing. Is it new?"

"Oh-ho!" She threaded her arm through his, and steered him to the sitting area. "You've come to turn me up sweet, have you? I see I shall have to be on my guard."

Percy's smile was somewhat guilty. "What? Can't a son compliment his mother without his motives being suspect?"

"In theory, yes." She motioned him to a chair, and settled gracefully onto the sofa. "Is that what you're claiming? That you've come solely for the pleasure of my company and a cozy chat?"

"Er… no," he admitted. "You're right. I do need a favor."

"To do with what you discovered at Harebell? Is it true the manor is practically a ruin?"

"It's not so bad as that, but it's definitely in a sorry state." He went on to describe the damage the house had suffered, the major repair work needed, and the steps he had already taken to raise the money to fix it. She listened carefully, and, when he'd explained his predicament, questioned him closely as to what assets yet remained to him, whether they could be sold, and how much they might bring. There were two small farms he could afford to part with, and he had, indeed, instructed Mr. Reed to offer them for sale, but they had yet to attract any buyers, and what he might realize from auctioning off still more of the house's contents would net him very little. "It's not the sum, itself, that's the trouble," Percy concluded. "The estate's revenue can cover the expense given time, but the bill's come due all at once."

"Yes," the duchess said gravely. "I see the difficulty. How much, again, did you say you need?"

Percy named the amount, and held his breath as his mother, gaze turned inward, mouth puckered in consideration, weighed her decision. At length, she said, in a reflective tone of voice, "I have happy memories of Harebell."

"You do?" Percy said in surprise. "I didn't know you'd ever been there."

"Oh, yes. Several times in Lady Harriet's day. She used to love to fill the house with guests and was wonderful with us children. I remember it as a magical place. The beautifully-appointed rooms… The garden with its fountain and flower beds…" A faraway look came into her eyes and a smile played over her lips as she remembered some long-ago scene. At last, recalled to the present, she redirected her smile at Percy. "Fortunately for you, I have a soft spot for the place."

He sat forward eagerly. "Then, you'll do it, Mamma? You'll lend me the money?"

She inclined her head. "For Lady Harriet's sake as much as for yours."

He jumped up and pressed a fervent kiss to her cheek. "Thank you, Mamma! You won't regret it, I promise! I'll reimburse you every farthing. With interest, if you like," he added, giddy in his relief.

She dismissed this with a wave. "There is, however, one thing I would require, Percy. A token of your commitment, if you will."

He resumed his seat warily. "And that is…?"

"You must look about you this season for an advantageous match."

Percy groaned. "Oh, Mamma! Not you, too!"

"Hear me out," she insisted. "I am entirely in sympathy with your wish to restore Harebell Hall, and I applaud your resolution, but I wonder if you appreciate the scope of what you're taking on. Repairing the fabric of the house — the roof and ceilings, walls and floors — is only the beginning. Once that's done, you'll need to hire painters and paper hangers, order draperies and rugs, replace the old, battered furniture, and, from what Enid tells me, renovate the kitchen from the ground up. And then there is the landscaping and gardens to consider! Where is the money for this — and all the expenses that will crop up unforeseen! — to come from? I tell you now, in all frankness, you may not rely on me for more, and I am loathe to invest even so much without the assurance that you are prepared to explore every available avenue to obtain the funds you'll need.

"I know," she continued on a milder note, "that you find the idea of marrying for money repugnant but that, regrettably, is often the burden that comes with owning an estate. And it needn't be a hardship, Percy. My dowry was a factor in your father's offering for me as was Clara's, you'll remember, in Arthur's offering for her. You won't deny that our marriages are happy?"

"No," he conceded. "But what you've conveniently left out, for Arthur at least, is that he was head over heels in love with Clara. Her wealth was just a bonus."

"And why shouldn't you be as fortunate? Who's to say there's not an heiress about to make her bow you couldn't love for herself? Is that so beyond the realm of possibility?"

"No." He might have confessed, then, that he knew, to his cost, that it was all too possible, that he had, in fact, encountered such a one, but he held his tongue. On the drive back from the York assembly, he'd had his curiosity about the beguiling Helena Damerel satisfied without, thanks to Enid, having to betray his own keen interest, and he'd learned, much to his chagrin, that she was the treasured daughter of an immensely wealthy baron and might, on that account and in combination with her beauty, aim as high as she liked for a husband, higher, certainly, than the third son of a duke in straightened circumstances. Her father could not be expected to entertain a suit such as his, and neither should he. It would be an impertinence, an invitation to be taken for a fortune hunter, even to approach him, and so, Percy resigned himself with regret to putting Helena out of his mind, and resolved when, as was inevitable, they should meet again, to treat her with courtesy and a distant affability.

Something of his thoughts must have shown in his face for his mother suddenly stilled and regarded him intently. "You've not already formed an attachment, have you, Percy? Your heart's still your own?"

He dredged up a smile for her. "To be sure, Mamma, never worry. I'm as fancy free as you could wish."

She continued to search his face, her expression uneasy. "Your sister suspects otherwise."

Percy silently cursed Enid for a tattle-tale and gossip. "She has a vivid imagination."

The duchess sighed. "I admit I should like her to be wrong. The girl's an Incomparable, I grant you, and her father rich as Croesus, but, even so, I should be sorry to think you admired her. No good could come of it, you know. By all reports, she's set her sights on nothing less than a coronet of strawberry leaves."

This squared so little with Percy's impression of Helena that he felt bound to suggest, "Or her father wants it for her."

"From what I hear, he would have been glad enough for her to take Lord Maxwell, but she turned up her nose at a viscount."

Percy leaned forward in his seat. "When was this?"

"Why, at the end of last season. Surely you remember? It was the talk of the Town."

"But…" He frowned in confusion. "That was Beryl Stanhope."

"Well... yes," his mother replied, perplexed in her turn. "Who else could I have meant?"

He ignored this to ask with some disbelief, "Enid told you I had a tendre for Miss Stanhope?"

"Not Enid, no. Elayne. You weren't as marked in your attentions as some, but you showed so decided a preference for Miss Stanhope's company Elayne couldn't help but remark on it. I thought I saw signs of it, myself."

He leaned back into his chair, relieved. "It's true I was enamored of her for a time, but her charms palled soon enough. Trust me, Mamma, I have no designs whatever in that quarter."

She studied him a moment longer, her fine brown eyes looking deeply into his, and then, with a nod, she relaxed. "You have greatly eased my mind. And so," she went on, her manner skewing suddenly brisk and bright. "Do we have a bargain, then? My financial support in exchange for your promise to examine this year's crop of debutants with a view to marrying well?"

Percy rose and extended her his hand. "Done."

"And you won't mind," she said, taking and then retaining his hand in hers, "if I drop the occasional hint in your ear, or point out a promising candidate?"

He suppressed a second groan, and, mustering what grace he could, said, "Of course not, Mamma. I'll be grateful."