Chapter 11

Chapter 11

Darkness fell at Farrington Hall. The house seemed shrouded in a cold, dismal mist that had not lifted for several days. The house staff did their best to light all the fires, but nothing warmed the house.

Mr Christopher Farrington stayed in his study, close to the meagre fire, his head bent over the table as he scrutinized the estate ledgers. However many times he looked, the answer was still the same. The Farrington Estate faced bankruptcy. The credit note he had obtained from a friend had been sold to a bank in the city when he failed to make the promised repayments.

Another friendship lost. The debts had been mounting for months. The only solution he could see was total access to the young viscount's affairs. If little Lord Farrington lived with him and his wife, then the court would have to release funds to maintain the child's lifestyle and pay for schooling.

As soon as Lady Arabella Farrington fled, the situation had deteriorated. He could no longer claim fraudulent expenses for that household. She had foiled his plan to move into Farrington Hall and take control of all aspects of the child's welfare.

He had taken possession of the Hall a matter of days after Arabella absconded, but he could only claim limited funds without the child in residence.

He had to get the child back to Farrington Hall. Time was running out.

Yarborough, his solicitor, said the right things, but there were impediments in his battle for custody. He needed more evidence to prove Arabella a feckless mother. He'd instructed Yarborough to send one of his men north to offer to pay for information.

It hadn't taken Yarborough long to locate Arabella, but of course, she had been under no obligation to tell the courts her location. He had an inkling she had travelled north to be with her aunt and uncle.

He put his head in his hands. The door opened, and Violet, his wife, entered his study. She looked a little anxious, and he knew that, more often than not, he snapped at her too much in recent weeks.

"Christopher, I'm sorry to disturb you, but a Mr Cricklewood from the money lender called. I persuaded him that you were away from home, but I'm not sure he believed me. You need to lay low, my dear. I believe they may be watching the house." Her anxiety at the debt collector's visit and telling him about the visit were obvious in how she held herself stiffly and clung to the door.

"What did they say?" he asked, trying to conceal his level of concern. He remembered the days when they had attended concerts or walked together on a sunny afternoon. Now they lived in this great house, which was half closed up, with the furniture covered in dust sheets and avoided each other as much as possible.

"You must pay what is due, plus the interest accrued, or they will apply for a stake on your property," she told him in a quiet voice, which he needed to strain to hear.

He laughed, the hollow sound echoing around the room.

Violet looked startled and stared at him in concern.

"We have nothing left. No property and no money," he said. "They are entitled to take our furniture, clothes, anything they want, in fact." He felt a pang of sadness as he saw the impact of his words. He knew the debt collectors would return, and Violet needed to be prepared.

"What about this place?" Violet asked. "Surely there is something we can sell?" He saw how she searched for a solution, but he'd already considered everything. They were in a tight fix.

"I can probably obtain money after the harvest, but that's a few months away. Without the boy living here, only basic maintenance can be claimed from the estate," he added, trying to give her an ounce of hope.

Violet spoke with icy chilliness, "I detest Arabella Farrington. She has brought us to this state."

"Much as I dislike my cousin's wife, she is not responsible for my downfall. I made bad business decisions and try as I might, I've been unable to recoup our losses."

"Through gambling, you mean," his wife added through gritted teeth. "That has to stop."

"It has been our only hope of salvation. I have nothing left to stake at the card tables. We sold our own house earlier this year. We need Farrington Hall; without it, we'd be homeless. There are few options left," he said, and he knew he had to convince her to stay to act as the child's substitute mother.

She had made it clear soon after they married that she never wanted children. Violet preferred a neat and orderly life and babies, and the disruption they caused in a household, was not for her. He knew her mother had died soon after giving birth to her, and maybe that had made a difference. He enjoyed her company and her adept social skills when navigating the ton. They rarely entertained now, they were unable to afford even the basics for themselves, and he knew the adjustment to this life had been difficult for his proud hostess.

"I've been wondering about returning to Weymouth to stay with Mama," said Violet. "I am struggling with having to talk with creditors and seeing the servants look at me, knowing they are talking about our predicament."

He detected a slight hesitancy in her voice and breathed a sigh of relief, knowing that she was not ready to leave him yet. Yet he could not help responding with bitterness.

"Don't worry, Violet, if we don't get hold of access to little Lord Henry's inheritance, there will be no servants left to talk behind your back."

He laughed, and there was a rather maniacal sound to the noise coming from his mouth.

Violet stared at him as if he were a strange fish she had caught unexpectedly on a fishing line, but she remained silent.

"As to your going to Weymouth, it's your choice, but I wish you well whatever you decide. I will say that my case for full custody is stronger with you living here as a mother figure. If you can bear to stay a few more weeks, it will help our finances." He knew he could convince her to stay, and once they had the boy living with them, their financial troubles would end.

"Very well. I shall continue for now. I will not, however, speak to Mr Cricklewood or his associates again. In future, you must make yourself available," she said with icy coldness.

"If you insist," he sighed and put his head in his hands again.

"Oh, and Mr Cricklewood asked for an inventory of the contents of this house. I think he believes you own the contents."

"Well, I have no qualms in selling any paintings or porcelain to help our situation. I have already put the horses up for sale, which will be sold at auction next week."

"Is there nothing we can do?"

"I have a plan. I will tell you now, my dove, that it is not entirely honest, within the remit of the law. I plan to do everything in my power to get full guardianship of little Lord Farrington," he said, noticing a sudden interest in her expression.

"I am glad to hear that you have discovered some gumption. Let me know how your plans proceed," she said with asperity.

"I may need to travel north in a few days. As funds are scarce, I may need you to sell another piece of jewellery." As he said this, he avoided looking in her direction.

"Very well, Christopher, if you insist. I would be more inclined to search this house and sell one of its treasures. No one will notice. I am tired of selling items from my own paltry collection," said Violet, speaking in a bitter tone that put even more distance between them.

"If my plan works, then I shall buy you jewels. You can wear a different necklace every night of the week," he told her, trying desperately to rekindle something of the relationship that used to give him joy.

"The sooner that child is in residence here and under our control, the better," said Violet with determination. "I am counting the days."

"Not long now," said her husband, warming to his role as co-conspirator. "When my plan succeeds, he will be here within a fortnight."

"I believe there are still some bottles of reasonable claret in the wine cellar," said Violet. "I suggest we ask the butler to find a bottle and have it with our meal tonight. I instructed the gamekeeper to kill a chicken. There are several more left, so we should dine well in the days ahead."

This was his Violet, the occasionally haughty society hostess, who enjoyed creating menus and setting tables with fine Limoges porcelain. He breathed an inward sigh of relief that he had navigated through that conversation, and she might be considering leaving him, but for now, she would stay and assist him with his plan.

Farrington Hall, once a happy house, had a hushed and mothballed feel to it now. The servants crept around the corridors and across the hallway to avoid contact with the master and mistress. The back staircases were used all the time, and even the senior staff, like the butler and housekeeper, kept to their own quarters.

News had spread about the sale of the horses and mules in the stables. The rents at the estate farms had risen dramatically, and the tenants were worried about how they would make ends meet in the future.

Why had their mistress and the young master disappeared? The household, grounds staff, and tenants looked at Mr Christopher Farrington and his haughty wife with distrust.

As Farrington Hall approached bankruptcy, the men and women who had supported the estate all their lives no longer had any loyalty. They hoped against hope that the young master and his mother would return soon.