“I have not taken sides, Clare.”
“You are on the side of right and truth, I trust?”
“Certainly I am, and so is Marnie.”
“Well then, where is the problem? You must help me, Rorie. The family must stick together and balk this fellow’s schemes. If he succeeds, it will mean you have me on your hands here at the Dower House, you know. Think about it!” she said, and left with an ironic laugh.
It was a terrible enough thought to consider, but the man was a step ahead of her—had already removed that little impediment in Marnie’s way by promising a different arrangement. It was hard to say which of the two was the wilier schemer. They seemed a pretty even match.
Chapter Seven
Nothing of staggering interest occurred during the next week. Kenelm was busy ingratiating himself with the neighbourhood. He was seen in the village every day with Lady Alice, who paraded him amongst her friends as though he were a prize of war. Her set accepted him wholeheartedly, and under the protection of Lord Dougall he was being invited to the best homes. There was no communication between Kenelm and Raiker Hall except as took place indirectly through the Dower House. He twice came to visit Marnie and Aurora, bringing on the second occasion a pretty silk scarf from India for each of them and a set of ivory carved elephants for Mimi. Nor did he forget Malone. He rifled his treasure chests for some artifact to get a rise out of her, and with an unerring eye, chose a reproduction of a voluptuous goddess, Parvati, wife of Siva.
“Goddess, is it?” she asked, her eyes bulging at the scantily clad lady before her. “Looks like a belly dancer to me. And what has she got a beehive on her head for?”
“That is a sort of crown, I expect,” Marnie told her.
“I’ll not be genuflecting to this one,” Malone decreed. “St. Anne and St. Anthony are good enough for me. I’ll just stick this away in a drawer so my Mimi don’t see it and go getting ideas. Is this the way the Hindu gods carry on then?” she asked Kenelm.
“Oh yes. They have raised the fine art of love to a religion,” he assured her.
“No better than I expected of them. They’ve made the sins into virtues. I suppose it’s a sin in that place to be doing your neighbour a good turn.”
“It’s viewed askance,” he assured her readily.
Clare came three times to them, bringing nothing but questions. Marnie mentioned inviting Kenelm to dinner, but with Clare’s constant reminders that she could prove him an impostor, the invitation was delayed, just in case. She did behave with perfect civility, however, when she met him at dinner at the Spencers’. Under the circumstances, Lady Spencer thought the dowager Lady Raiker would not care to attend, so saved her the embarrassment of having to refuse by not inviting her. This was a cruel blow for Clare, after the promise at the party of an invitation, but she hardened her heart to all such slights, merely storing up the memory for retribution after the man was got rid of.
The day of the interview came at last. School friends from Eton had been contacted and brought to Kent for the occasion. An aunt and uncle with whom the alleged Lord Raiker had not been in contact since his return, but who had been familiar with him before his running away, were chosen to represent the family. A schoolmaster and an old tutor were also there, as was a retired footman who had been in service during Kenelm’s residency at Raiker Hall, since retired. A battery of miscellaneous questions was hurled at the claimant’s head, and he acquitted himself well enough that the verdict was in his favour. In the opinion of the committee, the man was Kenelm Derwent, Lord Raiker, and so they would inform Lord Wiggins, the judge handling the case.
The dowager Lady Raiker squared her shoulders and set her jaw to do her unpleasant duty. “You leave me no option, sir,” she said to Raiker, “but to tell the truth. You are not Kenelm
“You are on the side of right and truth, I trust?”
“Certainly I am, and so is Marnie.”
“Well then, where is the problem? You must help me, Rorie. The family must stick together and balk this fellow’s schemes. If he succeeds, it will mean you have me on your hands here at the Dower House, you know. Think about it!” she said, and left with an ironic laugh.
It was a terrible enough thought to consider, but the man was a step ahead of her—had already removed that little impediment in Marnie’s way by promising a different arrangement. It was hard to say which of the two was the wilier schemer. They seemed a pretty even match.
Chapter Seven
Nothing of staggering interest occurred during the next week. Kenelm was busy ingratiating himself with the neighbourhood. He was seen in the village every day with Lady Alice, who paraded him amongst her friends as though he were a prize of war. Her set accepted him wholeheartedly, and under the protection of Lord Dougall he was being invited to the best homes. There was no communication between Kenelm and Raiker Hall except as took place indirectly through the Dower House. He twice came to visit Marnie and Aurora, bringing on the second occasion a pretty silk scarf from India for each of them and a set of ivory carved elephants for Mimi. Nor did he forget Malone. He rifled his treasure chests for some artifact to get a rise out of her, and with an unerring eye, chose a reproduction of a voluptuous goddess, Parvati, wife of Siva.
“Goddess, is it?” she asked, her eyes bulging at the scantily clad lady before her. “Looks like a belly dancer to me. And what has she got a beehive on her head for?”
“That is a sort of crown, I expect,” Marnie told her.
“I’ll not be genuflecting to this one,” Malone decreed. “St. Anne and St. Anthony are good enough for me. I’ll just stick this away in a drawer so my Mimi don’t see it and go getting ideas. Is this the way the Hindu gods carry on then?” she asked Kenelm.
“Oh yes. They have raised the fine art of love to a religion,” he assured her.
“No better than I expected of them. They’ve made the sins into virtues. I suppose it’s a sin in that place to be doing your neighbour a good turn.”
“It’s viewed askance,” he assured her readily.
Clare came three times to them, bringing nothing but questions. Marnie mentioned inviting Kenelm to dinner, but with Clare’s constant reminders that she could prove him an impostor, the invitation was delayed, just in case. She did behave with perfect civility, however, when she met him at dinner at the Spencers’. Under the circumstances, Lady Spencer thought the dowager Lady Raiker would not care to attend, so saved her the embarrassment of having to refuse by not inviting her. This was a cruel blow for Clare, after the promise at the party of an invitation, but she hardened her heart to all such slights, merely storing up the memory for retribution after the man was got rid of.
The day of the interview came at last. School friends from Eton had been contacted and brought to Kent for the occasion. An aunt and uncle with whom the alleged Lord Raiker had not been in contact since his return, but who had been familiar with him before his running away, were chosen to represent the family. A schoolmaster and an old tutor were also there, as was a retired footman who had been in service during Kenelm’s residency at Raiker Hall, since retired. A battery of miscellaneous questions was hurled at the claimant’s head, and he acquitted himself well enough that the verdict was in his favour. In the opinion of the committee, the man was Kenelm Derwent, Lord Raiker, and so they would inform Lord Wiggins, the judge handling the case.
The dowager Lady Raiker squared her shoulders and set her jaw to do her unpleasant duty. “You leave me no option, sir,” she said to Raiker, “but to tell the truth. You are not Kenelm
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