Meridon (Wideacre Trilogy 3) Read online

  He made up his mind. As fickle as a child with a new toy. ‘All right,’ he said, suddenly agreeable. ‘As long as Mama approves.’

  ‘She does,’ I said, steering him towards the stairs. ‘Go and wash your face, the carriage is waiting.’

  He did as he was bid, and we were only a half an hour late for the lawyers. I had made the appointment in Perry’s name and when Mr Fursely came forward bowing low, he looked surprised that we had got there at all.

  I told him that we wanted the marriage brought forward, and the contracts written quickly and he retreated behind his desk and rang for the right papers to be brought to him. His servant brought us glasses of madeira and little biscuits. Perry had three glasses to my one, and his face lost its hectic flush and he looked better for it.

  ‘We are nearly ready,’ Mr Fursely said. ‘The trustee’s lawyers have been most helpful. There is still some problem about the Wideacre estate if you should die without heirs.’

  Perry poured himself another glass of madeira and strolled over to the window and looked out.

  Mr Fursely looked up and saw that at least I was listening.

  ‘The entail,’ he said. ‘It specifies that Wideacre is inherited by the next of kin, whether male or female.’

  I nodded.

  ‘Normally, it would pass to your husband’s family, as your dowry which you bring with you to marriage,’ he said. He put his fingers together one by one, placing them like a pyramid over the papers. ‘But here’ he said, ‘I think one could argue that the situation is quite different.’

  I waited. He was slow. Perry turned back and poured himself another of the little glasses. I looked at him, but he was careful not to catch my eye.

  ‘The intention of the entail is quite clear,’ he said. He looked at the papers. ‘Harold Lacey set it up,’ he said. ‘Your grandfather, Miss Lacey.’

  I nodded.

  ‘A solid document,’ Mr Fursely said, complimenting the long-dead lawyers who had drawn up the entail. ‘The wishes are clear. The estate goes to the next of kin of the Laceys whether male or female. I don’t think it can revert to the Havering family in the event of your death.’

  Perry turned back from the window and seemed to waken to the discussion.

  ‘That’s all right,’ he said, dismissing a fortune in good agricultural land with a wave of his glass. ‘We can agree to that. Mama said we could. If we have a male heir first, then he gets both estates. If we have a girl first she gets Wideacre. If we die without children then Havering goes to Havering kin, and Wideacre goes to the Lacey next-of-kin.’

  Mr Fursely blinked at this sudden explosion of information from Perry. ‘I should prefer Wideacre to come to the Haverings,’ he said. ‘It is Miss Lacey’s dowry so Wideacre is really part of the Havering estate once you two are married.’

  There was a high cool singing noise in my head, the sound I had heard when I first came to Wideacre, that lonely night in the dark. It was as if Wideacre was calling me, calling me home to the house which waited for me in the burnished woodland of the autumn trees where the lawns were white in the morning with frost and where the sun was bright red when it set at early evening. As if Wideacre should belong to me, and to no one else.

  ‘It’s fair enough as it stands,’ Perry said expansively. ‘Mama said we could take it as it is. Don’t you think, Sarah? Wideacre comes to the Havering estate as Sarah’s dowry, but it’s entailed on our first-born child. If we have no children it goes back to the Laceys.’

  I shook my head to clear my ears of the calling noise. It was too late to think that I was signing the land over to Perry and to Perry’s family. I wanted us to be away from London, I wanted to take Perry away from the clubs and the gambling hells. I wanted to be back on the land with the money and the authority to run it as I pleased.

  ‘I agree to that,’ I said.

  Perry went to the table and brought the decanter towards me. ‘We’ll drink to that!’ he said happily and poured us all another glass. I noticed his hands were quite steady.

  ‘And will Mr Fortes…Fortescue’s lawyers agree?’ he asked, slurring his speech a little.

  Mr Fursely put his fingertips against each other once more. ‘I think so,’ he said. ‘It is a reasonable proposition. They cannot have wished to face the problem of breaking the entail if we had been stubborn.’

  ‘Good,’ said Perry. ‘We'll be off then. How soon can the papers be drawn up?’

  Mr Fursely nodded. ‘As soon as Mr Fortescue’s advisers are ready,’ he said.

  ‘And the deeds?’ Perry asked. ‘I should like to take them with us.’ He put one finger owlishly to his nose. ‘I could raise some cash using them as security,’ he said. ‘Absolutely safe, of course. But if I had them in my hand they could tide me over some little difficulties.’

  Mr Fursely looked as if he had suggested something improper. ‘I could not possibly ask Mr Fortescue for such a thing until the contracts are signed and the marriage has taken place,’ he said shocked. ‘And I would warn you, with respect, Lord Peregrine, against using your lands as security against debts. If the deeds fall into the wrong hands…’

  ‘Oh gad no!’ Perry said with a smile. ‘This was an arrangement between gentlemen. But no matter. It’s nothing urgent. We’ll have a crust to eat tonight.’

  Mr Fursely permitted himself a thin smile. ‘Of course, my lord,’ he said.

  Perry held the door for me as we left the office and then Mr Fursely escorted us to the carriage and stood on the street bowing as we drove away.

  ‘Y’know what?’ Perry said pleasantly. ‘If they can sport some canvas on these contracts, there’s no reason why we should not be married at once.’

  I nodded.

  ‘I’ll go and see the vicar,’ Perry said, suddenly confident. ‘You can drop me off on your way home and I’ll go and see the rector or the vicar or whatever he is. You wanted a quiet wedding anyway, Sarah. I’ll ask him when we could be married.’

  I paused. High over the noise of the cart and carriage wheels, I could hear that warning singing noise again. It sounded loud in my head. I shook my head to clear it, but I could not be rid of it.

  ‘You all right?’ Perry asked.

  ‘It’s nothing,’ I said. ‘Yes, we could be married this month. Do go and see the parish priest, Perry. I want to be home at Wideacre. I want us to go home as soon as we can.’

  ‘You’ll miss all the Christmas parties,’ he warned me.

  I smiled. ‘I don’t care that much for them, Perry,’ I said honestly. ‘I’d rather be at Wideacre for Christmas.’

  Perry smiled. ‘Well, I’ll see what the vicar says then,’ he said pleasantly and pulled the cord to warn the coachman to stop. ‘You don’t have some money on you, do you, Sarah?’ he asked. ‘I have to pay a fellow some money I lost at cards. It’d suit me to settle at once.’

  I opened my reticule. My purse was inside with a couple of gold sovereigns I was carrying for a dressmaker bill.

  ‘Here,’ I said, handing it over.

  I remembered for a moment times in my life when money was hard earned and slowly spent. I remembered begging Da for money, and the bargain we would strike that I had to stay on an unbroke horse for a penny. I remembered her dancing with her skirts lifted high, and picking pockets, and pretending to be lost on street corners when fat old ladies came by. But that was a long long time ago. Now I gave away gold sovereigns lightly, as if I had forgotten how hard they were to earn.

  ‘You’re a darling,’ Perry said pleased. The coach stopped and he jumped out without waiting for the steps to be let down.

  ‘Tell Mama I’ll not be back for dinner,’ he said. ‘I’ll go and see this vicar and then I’ll go on out.’

  I nodded and waved as the carriage moved off. It was the first time I had given him money.

  31

  It was not the last. He was late home that night, even later than us, and we were in yawning after a dull ball and supper party at half-past one. So I did not s