‘I inherited the title when my uncle and father died within weeks of each other. It had a sobering effect.’
‘I imagine it would,’ the other man said, and steered the conversation towards the latest London news.
At table Theo was on Lady Swinburn’s right hand with the elder Miss Jenner beside him. She was the young lady whose bosom had been the focus of Giles Swinburn’s interest and it soon became apparent that she was quite well aware of her own attractions. In addition to a well-formed figure she had a good complexion, glossy brown hair and a lively manner and was clearly delighted to engage in p
olite flirtation with a viscount.
Her other partner was Charles Swinburn, who was more engaged by neats’ tongues in pastry, a sallet, a loin of pork and some lamb cutlets, all of which he had heaped on his plate. She turned her shoulder on him and her attention on Theo.
Giles was separated from his brother by Miss Miranda Jenner, a more serious young lady than her elder sister and, from what Theo could hear, he was behaving himself, although the presence next to him of his Aunt Finch might have had something to do with that.
Lady Swinburn had resisted the temptation to deck the centre of the table with large flower arrangements, epergnes or piles of fruit which meant that Theo could watch the guests on the other side of the table as well as hear them.
The Rector was opposite him with Mrs Gilpin next and Mr Jenner as her partner. Mr Hogget and Mrs Jenner made up the rest of that side.
By the time the second course was removed and the desserts, fruit and an ambitious iced confection appeared, enough wine had been drunk for the formality to have broken down and talk to have become general across the table. Theo had decided that he did not take to the Rector, although he suspended judgment on his wife who was too far away for him to be able to hear her conversation clearly. Mr Jenner struck him as having no great intelligence, but of being very fond of his own voice and opinions. Mr Hogget was clearly far brighter, although his dry, sarcastic manner grated after a while.
It was not an enticing prospect to realise that he was going to have to invite this same group when he held his own dinner in return.
Chapter Five
‘I hope you are finding enough in our quiet little part of the world to entertain you, Lord Northam,’ Mrs Gilpin remarked when they had all dutifully admired the iced pudding.
‘Other than being interviewed by the Riding Officer and having the cellars invaded?’ Theo asked with a wry smile.
‘Goodness! How alarming,’ Miss Jenner gasped. ‘The same thing happened to us last week and the Riding Officer is dreadfully sinister, don’t you think?’
‘Less so than a gang of smugglers, I’d have thought,’ Theo said. ‘I got the distinct impression in the local hostelry, the Mermaid, that if one knew the correct password, French brandy could be had. I, of course, did not possess the magic phrase.’
His attempt at lightness was greeted with a grunt from Squire Jenner. ‘Damned un-British I call it, sending busybodies in uniform into a man’s home. Nothing sinister about the free traders. Local men, local tradition. What would we do for our baccy and brandy without them?’
‘Buy from the local merchants who have paid duty, perhaps?’ Mr Hogget enquired drily and earned himself a glare from the Squire.
‘Hah, shabby genteel ideas of morality,’ Jenner muttered, not quite low enough. The colour rose over the other man’s cheekbones, but he affected not to hear.
‘That confounded curate of yours preaching about the trade is tiresome, Finch. The rates of duty are deplorable – ’ Sir Walter began and was interrupted smoothly by his sister.
‘So, Lord Northam, what else have you found to entertain yourself, when you are not showing officers of the Revenue around the Grange?’ Mrs Finch asked. ‘Are you not finding our country ways a little dull?’
‘I have not been here long enough to become bored, ma’am. However, I have taken a long walk along the coast and found myself intrigued by that extraordinary chest tomb at Hempbourne Marish church. I am no antiquary, but it seems decidedly out of place in such a remote spot. And it is a charmingly naïve piece of work, for all its size and pretension.’
‘I agree. I always thought it strange,’ Mrs Gilpin remarked.
‘I enjoy a mystery,’ Theo confessed. ‘And so, it seems, does your curate, Mr Thwaite.’ Swinburn glowered at the name. ‘We discussed it at length and he tells me there are no records he can find of Sir Brandon Flyte, whose tomb it is. We agreed to do some more research – or, rather, Mr Thwaite has, as he knows all the sources and furthermore has a pile of old records he unearthed in some recess or another to look through. I intend to help him, although I am no scholar.’
Beside him Miss Jenner, clearly bored with the topic, sighed. Mrs Gilpin nodded encouragingly but there was a silence, oddly strained, before Mrs Finch knocked over her wine and, as footmen bustled about with cloths and a fresh glass, Lady Swinburn directed Charles to pass the spiced fruit to Miss Miranda.
That was strange. Theo was still puzzling over the moment as his hostess rose and led out the ladies, leaving the men to their port and nuts. What was equally peculiar was how tense the gathering seemed. Normally the departure of the ladies was the cue for unbuttoning – literal and metaphorical as the men took advantage of the chamber pot behind the screen and allowed themselves to converse on all the topics that actually interested them – politics, sport, horses, the more risqué scandals.
Now there was an uncomfortable silence until Hogget asked about a horse that Giles Swinburn had recently bought and the conversation creaked into life again.
It was the smuggling, he assumed. He had raised the subject, it had divided the company and Lady Swinburn was obviously uncomfortable having it discussed with young ladies present, especially as he would have wagered fifty guineas that the brandy they were drinking had landed on a beach by moonlight. But the women had left them now and he would have expected someone to have returned to the topic, even if it was Giles, a natural trouble-maker. A sore topic, best avoided, apparently.
Sir Walter, wisely, did not prolong matters. The decanters circulated once, the subject of horses ground to a halt and they rose to rejoin the ladies. The tea tray was being carried into the drawing room behind them as they entered.
The Swinburn sons did not appear to feel they had a duty to hand around tea cups and Theo found himself being beamed at by Mrs Gilpin when he carried one to her.
‘Milk or lemon, ma’am?’