By this appellation Delia presumed he referred to the unfortunate and faded lady who had first received them. In order to gain entry to the establishment, the Reverend Gaunt had asked not for the master of the house, but for Miss Saunderton. The plan was formulated upon the journey, which was made, at Lady Matterson’s insistence, by coach.
“You can’t go all that way in a gig, my dear man. And I’d prefer you had Scoley and Vowles with you in case of mishaps.”
“Nothing is going to happen to us, Aunt Gertrude. We were only waylaid the last time because those men were after Giff.”
“Nevertheless. You had best take a change of linen with you. Indeed, I am of a mind to send your Sally along too.”
But in this she was dissuaded by the rector, who assured her the journey there and back to Saunderton House, which was situated near Little Bredy, could be accomplished comfortably within the day.
“It is highly unlikely that Saunderton will invite us to remain for any length of time. Indeed, if he offers us so much as a glass of wine I should be astonished.”
“True. He’s a shocking old boor!”
“He was not as bad until Flora’s defection.”
“Poppycock! I knew him as a young man and he was perfectly rag-mannered then. Thought himself a touch above his fellows. It does not in the least surprise me to hear that he thrust his daughter into marriage with your nephew instead of allowing her to marry Favell. If you ask me, he came by his deserts.”
It was news to Delia that her aunt knew all about the scandal involving Giff’s mother. She might have questioned her about it before. There was no time now, with Giff already on his way to Waldiche Keep, having secured the assistance of Captain Rhoades and Lord Tarporley both, with the latter’s groom tagging along to take care of the horses while the business of the day was accomplished. Giff’s henchman Sattar made up a force of four, all armed and ready for any trickery.
The entire plan had been held up for several days, Giff having been persuaded by his uncle to allow his present wounds to heal a little before flinging himself into further danger. The respite had been welcome to Delia. Giff established his position in the social scene of the town, and if she was irked by the necessity to share him with the rest of the world, at least she had the satisfaction of seeing his facial bruises fading.
His decision to delay no longer coincided with the arrival of the King in Weymouth. A convenience that allowed Delia’s plans to go forward without drawing attention, since the world and his wife could talk of nothing else. A glimpse of His Majesty was the sole ambition of all. Delia sent Scoley to Stepleton to summon the rector, who arrived the night before Giff’s proposed expedition.
Within half an hour of Giff’s cavalcade riding out of Weymouth, Delia and the Reverend Gaunt set off on their own mission, sped on their way by an admonition from Lady Matterson.
“You take care of my great-niece, Gaunt, do you hear? You’ll find me as fierce as Saunderton if anything happens to her this time!”
Her head full of possibilities, Delia had no fears at all beyond the certainty Giff was going to be furious. Not that she cared for that. It was for his own good, after all. Though whether the mission would be fruitful seemed doubtful.
“If Lord Saunderton is so boorish and horrid, sir, do you suppose he will let us in at all?”
The Reverend Gaunt, relaxed in his corner of the coach, turned his head. “We will not take that risk, Delia. I should have had little to do with the family were it not that my own daughter has been a lifelong friend of Miss Saunderton. I do not mean Flora, but her sister Dowsabel, poor woman.”
“Why poor woman?”
“She suffered for her sister’s sin. As one tainted by the scandal, Saunderton would not permit her to marry at all, and when their mother died, Dowsabel was obliged to take charge of the household. A thankless task, according to my daughter, which I have no difficulty in believing. However, we may at least get into the place by enquiring for her rather than for his lordship.”
Giff’s aunt, as Delia realised this Dowsabel must be, proved a colourless, timid creature, dressed in an old-fashioned striped gown with a cap over her soft brown curls. She had a tendency to speak in hurried whispers, casting scared glances towards the door from time to time. She was mystified and troubled by the rector’s request.
“But why do you wish to see him, dear Reverend? He never sees a soul, you must know.”
When she heard the reason, Miss Saunderton paled and sank into the nearest chair, gazing at the rector with brimming eyes. “Flora’s son? Alive? And in England?”
“Indeed he is, my dear. There can be no doubt.”
Miss Saunderton shed tears, much to Delia’s embarrassment. She was glad the Reverend Gaunt chose to sit by the woman and pat her shoulder, murmuring comfort. But the first words out of her mouth as she recovered filled Delia with indignation.
“But this is terrible! Papa will be furious! Oh, dear, Reverend, you cannot tell him, really you cannot.”
“I must, Dowsabel. Giffard is in considerable difficulty, and we are in hopes that your father may be able to help.”
“Help? Papa? You must be mad! He will never do so. Why, he refuses even to allow Flora’s name to be spoken in this house.”
“Well, it’s going to be spoken,” Delia broke in with some heat, “whether he likes it or not!”
Miss Saunderton’s pale eyes turned upon her, in some astonishment. She had been largely ignored up until this moment, beyond an odd glance when she was presented to the creature.
“Hush, Delia!” The rector took Miss Saunderton’s hand. “Miss Burloyne is by way of being Giffard’s champion, my dear Dowsabel. It is too long a story to tell you now, but we are trying to establish Giffard’s claim to the Baunton earldom and Waldiche Keep.”