Sir Philip's Folly (The Poor Relation Series Book 4) Read Online Free PDF Page B

colonel signalled to the waiter and ordered a meat pie and vegetables. “You will feel better when you have eaten something, Mr. Davy. Nothing clouds the judgement more than hunger.”
    The actor looked at him consideringly. “You must have been in some hard campaigns in your life, Colonel, to know what hunger is like.”
    “It was not in the army that I came to know hunger,” said the colonel quietly. While they drank and waited for Mr. Davy’s food, the actor pointed out various personages and talked about the plays they were appearing in.
    The colonel explained he was part-owner of the Poor Relation Hotel in Bond Street and told various harmless but amusing stories about hotel life while the actor ate, cleaning every bit of food from his plate.
    “Now, sir,” said Colonel Sandhurst, “I will explain our problem. One of our partners, Sir Philip Sommerville, has fallen in love with a widow, a Mrs. Mary Budge, who is greedy and grasping and brings discredit to our establishment. We do not believe she has one genuine spark of affection for Sir Philip. Accordingly, we hit on this plan. If we could engage the services of an actor to appear in the guise of a wealthy merchant, someone who could court Mrs. Budge and dislodge her from the hotel, we would be free of her.”
    The actor’s hands swept down his shabby clothes in an eloquent gesture. “I am hardly in a position to look like a rich merchant.”
    “Suitable clothes can be bought for you and you will be given expenses above your fee to woo this creature.”
    Mr. Davy leaned back in his chair. “Colonel Sandhurst, if you can see your way to finding me a cheroot, I am your man.”
    The colonel took out a squat leather case and laid it on the table. “Take what you want, sir.”
    Mr. Davy snapped open the case. He took out six cheroots, five of which he stowed about his person. How wonderful, thought the colonel, to be so unselfconsciously poor. He himself in the days of his poverty had often longed for a cheroot but would never have dared ask for one, let alone help himself to six of them.
    The actor lit a cheroot from the candle on the table, puffed out a cloud of smoke and leaned back in his chair.
    The colonel smiled at him, his blue eyes twinkling. “Now we will discuss terms, Mr. Davy.”
    ***
    They stayed the rest of the afternoon, drinking coffee, the colonel pointing out that they would need clear heads and that Lady Fortescue did not appreciate the company of bosky men. By early evening, the colonel ordered a substantial dinner for both, and by the time he and Mr. Davy sauntered out into the streets of London, the colonel had the odd feeling that he had known Mr. Davy for quite a long time. Mr. Davy was grateful for the food, the wine, the cheroots and the work and emanated an aura of simple and grateful affection which was most endearing. He appeared to have accepted the new role he was about to play with equanimity.
    “I have been thinking,” said the colonel, idly watching a child driving a dogcart down Drury Lane with all the expertise of a member of the Four-in-Hand Club, “that it would be better if you were resident in the hotel. As we only cater for aristocrats, and you in the guise of an aristocrat would be far above Mrs. Budge’s touch, I will describe you as the son of a friend of mine from my regimental days who has made a fortune in the City. Can you talk business matters enough to convince Sir Philip?”
    “Oh, I think so.”
    “Remember, Sir Philip is a downy one.”
    “And the other partners, they know about this masquerade?”
    “Yes. Both Lady Fortescue and Miss Tonks have agreed to it.”
    “And was it your idea, sir?”
    The colonel idly speared a cabbage leaf with his stick as they walked through Covent Garden and then flipped it away. “No, the plan was the idea of a Miss Carruthers, daughter of Lady Carruthers, who is staying at the hotel. Lady Carruthers is a widow. I believe her husband, Sir James, died a year ago on