time being you are working solely for me as her ladyship’s representative. For no one else. I wish to make that quite clear.’
The chaise edged forward through the press of traffic.
‘Mr Archdale asked where I was off to, sir,’ Mulgrave said. ‘He wanted to know why I would not wait on him tomorrow as usual.’
‘What did you say?’
Mulgrave shrugged. ‘I said you’d hired me to look after Mr Oldershaw. I didn’t say where and he didn’t ask. Lord, his head was so full of this evening, he couldn’t spare a thought for anything else.’
‘The Holy Ghost Club?’
‘That’s it, sir. He becomes a full member and wears the livery for the first time. He was parading up and down in front of the glass for half the afternoon, pleased as punch. He’ll be the worse for wear tomorrow morning, though, I’ll warrant. And Mr Whichcote will be a little richer, I daresay, not that any of it will come my way.’
‘A little richer?’
‘Lord love you, sir, Mr Whichcote don’t do all this from the kindness of his heart. The young gentlemen have to pay their subscriptions and they ain’t cheap. And there’s always play at these meetings, too, and the stakes are high. I’ve heard hundreds turn on one card, one throw of the dice. Still, it’s not my place to say anything about how gentlemen choose to amuse themselves. As long as they pays their way.’
The motion of the chaise suddenly accelerated. Holdsworth stared out of the window. They would soon be at Jermyn’s house.
‘There was something else I wished to ask you,’ he said. ‘About the supper you served Mr Oldershaw on the night of his – his seizure.’
‘As nice a little supper as I’ve ever served, though I say it myself. Everything neat and handsome.’
‘And how were the gentlemen? In spirits?’
If Mulgrave saw anything strange about the question he made no sign. ‘No, sir – Mr Whichcote was quiet and serious, and Mr Oldershaw was low-spirited. Had been for days. I believe he’d dined with Mr Archdale that day and afterwards they sat a long time over their wine, so his wits was already a little cloudy. And by the end of the evening, he must have been a lot more than half seas over, judging by the empty bottles and the state of the punch bowl.’
They came to a halt outside the gates of Dr Jermyn’s establishment. The carriage lurched as Ben scrambled down from the box and rang the bell.
‘When we leave with Mr Oldershaw,’ Holdsworth said softly, ‘you will ride outside with Ben.’
Mulgrave shot a sly glance from the opposite corner of the chaise. ‘Are you sure, sir? If he has one of his reckless fits -’
‘Quite sure.’
‘You want the young gentleman to have his privacy, sir, I shouldn’t wonder. Very natural, I’m sure, and of course you could have him restrained. Just as a precaution. I am sure Norcross would lend you a straitjacket for a consideration.’
‘I’m obliged to you, but I don’t think I shall want a straitjacket.’
The gates opened and the chaise rolled slowly up the drive. At the house, Ben remained on the box. Mulgrave opened the door, jumped down from the carriage and let down the steps for Holdsworth. Now the gyp was in the public view, he had transformed himself with the swift efficiency of his kind into a perfect upper servant, a mere machine ingeniously designed to gratify the desires of his employer.
When the door opened, Holdsworth found himself face to face with Frank Oldershaw. Norcross was on one side of him and another attendant on the other. The young man was dressed immaculately in black. He looked at Holdsworth and then past him at the chaise waiting on the gravel sweep in front of the door.
‘There’s a couple of portmanteaus here, sir,’ Norcross said. ‘No doubt her ladyship will send for the rest of his things.’
‘Thank you, I’m obliged to you. Where is your master?’
‘Dr Jermyn’s compliments, sir, and he regrets he is not at liberty to receive you.’
‘Very well. We need detain you no longer. Mr Oldershaw, would you be so good as to enter the chaise?’
At these words, Mulgrave brought his heels together like a soldier coming to attention and opened the carriage door. Ignoring Holdsworth, ignoring Norcross and the attendant, Frank walked down the steps, across the gravel and climbed into the carriage. Holdsworth followed. Mulgrave shut the door behind them and folded up the steps. Frank was sitting in the furthest corner, facing forward. Holdsworth sat down diagonally opposite. Mulgrave mounted the box. There was a jolt and the carriage moved away.
‘I have her ladyship’s authority to take you to a cottage north of Cambridge, sir,’ Holdsworth said as they were travelling slowly down the drive. ‘It is a secluded place and we shall see no one. Mulgrave will attend us. There will be no one else.’
Frank said nothing. He was staring at the empty seat directly opposite him.
‘We are obliged to drive back through Barnwell and then Cambridge to reach our destination,’ Holdsworth went on. ‘To avoid inconvenience, I propose we put up the glasses and lower the blinds until we are past the town.’
He put up his own glass and drew down his own blind and then he leaned across and did the same on Frank’s side of the chaise. The young man made no move to stop him.
They drove slowly through Cambridge, often travelling no more than a footpace. The interior of the chaise was gloomy and close. Holdsworth’s limbs ached. It seemed to him that he had spent most of the last three days cooped up in a carriage. It was easy enough to monitor their progress by the speed they were going, by the surface under their wheels and by the noises that reached them from the outside world. First, came cobbles and paved roads. The timbre of the wheels changed as they rolled across the great bridge near Magdalene College. They picked up speed briefly and then slowed for the hill beside the castle. Beyond the castle, they turned right, leaving the main road to Huntingdon and travelled in a northerly direction on a road whose condition grew steadily worse.
‘We may raise the blinds if you wish, sir,’ Holdsworth said.
Frank made no reply.
Holdsworth raised the blind on his own side and light flooded into the carriage. He lowered the glass, too. They were running down a long, straight lane with huge flat fields on either side.
Suddenly there was a flurry of movement on the other side of the carriage. Frank raised his blind and lowered the glass. He poked his head half out of the window. The wind of their passage ruffled his hair and sent the powder flying away in little curls and puffs. Holdsworth watched him but did not move.
In a moment, Frank withdrew his head and sat back. He said as casually as if it were the most natural thing in the world, ‘I – I am obliged to you, sir. It is Mr Holdsworth, is it not?’
‘Yes, sir. You remember that her ladyship has sent me. She hopes that you will soon be restored and able to return to her.’
Frank screwed up his features and turned his head away. ‘As to that, what’s the point of her wishes?’ he muttered. ‘I am the unhappiest wretch alive. I wish I were dead.’
21
Whichcote raised the money for the dinner on the strength of his wife’s furniture. He had a long-standing arrangement with the landlord of the Hoop, who lent Whichcote his French chef and several of his waiters for the occasion. Some of the food was prepared in the inn’s kitchens. After breakfast, three footmen arrived, a father and two sons. They had worked for Whichcote before and, like the landlord of the Hoop, insisted on payment in advance. They needed nearly an hour to curl and powder their hair and dress themselves in the livery that Mr Whichcote provided. The coats were sadly shabby now and they did not fit their new wearers very well.
In the afternoon, Whichcote retired to his study and bolted the door. In a corner of the room out of sight from the window and from anyone standing in the doorway, a tall cupboard had been built into an alcove. There were two keyholes in the panelled door but no handle. He unlocked the two locks and opened the door.
The cupboard held the archives of the Holy Ghost Club, together with a number of items associated with it. On
