Belgravia (29 page)

“Thank you, Turton. I hope everyone’s managed to settle in.”

“We’re doing what we can, all things considered,” he replied mournfully, but Anne was not going to be drawn into staffing problems as soon as she arrived. She was well aware of Turton’s feelings, but she was of the opinion that if Glanville was going to survive, it needed the support of the local community, and that meant, first and foremost, employing the sons and daughters of the tenant farmers and those who worked on the estate. Where else were the young to go? They needed jobs, and it was the estate’s duty to provide them, and if Turton chose to be irritated by that then it must be his problem and not hers.

“Oh, Hooper,” she declared, rubbing her hands together, as she approached the gardener. “What news do you have for me?”

“My dear,” James Trenchard called after his wife. “Won’t you come inside? You must be tired.”

“In a moment. I just want to hear what’s happened in the garden while we’ve been away. Besides, Agnes needs a walk.”

“Don’t wear yourself out,” said James as he went in with the others. But he didn’t really mind. He loved to see his wife happy, and she was always happy at Glanville.

Later that evening they would sit down to dinner in what used to be the “pannetry” and the “buttery.” The house was too old to boast a proper dining room, since its original inhabitants would have eaten with their household in the great hall. But Anne decided that her commitment to the Elizabethan era had its limits, and while they fixed the roof, they had also knocked out the wall between these two rooms to create a much-needed private eating space for the family. The walls were paneled, and a substantial fireplace was added to complement the large windows that overlooked the East Terrace. In a way, she loved the room all the more because she had invented it when she took possession of the house.

She was walking along the gallery toward the staircase when Ellis came after her, carrying a shawl. “You might need this, m’lady.”

Ellis was in a good mood. She always perked up in the country. Unlike Turton, Ellis enjoyed being Queen of the May. It was rare that she managed to enjoy a sense of superiority, but out here, in the depths of Somerset, she became the fount of all knowledge when it came to the
beau monde
. She could recount the goings-on in London, describe the new shops, detail the fashion trends. Indeed, there was nothing she liked more than being able to share the latest stories about Lord So-and-So and Lady Such and Such as the staff settled around the table in the servants’ hall below stairs. The workload was also lighter in the country. There was less entertaining and fewer evenings out, so there were scarcely any late nights and she spent far less time waiting into the small
hours, sitting in Mrs. Trenchard’s dressing room longing for her mistress to come home.

When Anne entered the drawing room, James was fidgeting by the fire. She knew what that meant. “Ring for Turton, why don’t you? See if we can go straight in. I’d like an early night, if it can be managed.”

“Would you mind?” He jumped up eagerly and tugged at the bell pull. Susan and Oliver were already down, and she understood without being told that Susan’s chatter was driving her husband mad. He was probably hoping to find some relief in a decent glass of claret. Anne looked at her daughter-in-law. She certainly did seem very animated. She was normally so sullen at Glanville, but this evening she had made a special effort. Speer had pinned up her hair in a chignon, and she was wearing pale yellow silk, with some prettily set emeralds in her ears.

As soon as she felt she had Anne’s attention, Susan began. “You’ll never guess whom I saw in Piccadilly the other day.” She hadn’t wanted to have the conversation while they were rocking about in the coach, but there was no point in delaying it any further.

“I won’t try.” Anne smiled pleasantly, stroking Agnes, who was begging beside her chair.

“Mr. Bellasis.”

“Oh? Lord Brockenhurst’s nephew?”

“The very one. We met him at Brockenhurst House that time. Anyway, I was walking along with Speer, on my way to my glovemaker, and he suddenly appeared.”

“Fancy that.” Anne was starting to understand that this was leading somewhere, and she wasn’t convinced it was somewhere she wanted to go. Happily, the butler entered at just that moment, and it was not long before they were seated around the table in the dining room.

Susan held her peace until the first course had been brought and they’d helped themselves, but no longer than that. As soon as the footmen had stepped back from the table, she began. “Mr. Bellasis told me he’d seen you and his aunt at Mr. Pope’s offices in the city.”

“
What
?” said James, putting down his knife and fork.

“Oh”—Susan’s hand flew to her mouth in pretended alarm—“have I said something I shouldn’t?’

“Of course not.” Anne was very calm. “Mr. Trenchard has taken an interest in this young man, and so when Lady Brockenhurst suggested we pay him a call, I agreed. I was curious.”

“Not half as curious as I am,” said Oliver, and Anne saw with a sinking heart that he must have been drinking for some time before her arrival downstairs. “Why is it that my dear father takes twice the interest in the activities of this Mr. Pope than he does in our own work at Cubitt Town?”

“I do not.” James had been preparing to reprimand Anne, but suddenly he found himself fighting his son and on the defensive. “I like Mr. Pope. I think his business plans are sensible and good, and I expect to make money out of them. I have investments in many different areas. You must know that by now.”

“I daresay,” said Oliver. “But I wonder if you take all the managers of these new businesses out to lunch at your club. Or if Lady Brockenhurst parades every investment opportunity around her drawing room.”

This was making James angry. “I like and admire Mr. Pope,” he said. “I wish you could boast half his industry.”

“Don’t worry, Father.” Oliver had given up trying to control himself. “I am well aware that Mr. Pope has all the virtues you find lacking in your own child.”

Susan decided to refrain from adding any more tinder to the fire. She had established without question that Mr. Pope was an extremely important, if mystifying, figure in this argument, but she did not think she would push it any further here. Instead she might as well sit back and let her ridiculous husband make a fool of himself.

“Sit down, Oliver,” said Anne, for her son was on his feet, wagging a finger at his father like some itinerant preacher at a country fair.

“I will not! Turton! Have my dinner taken up to my room. I would rather not stay here and disappoint my father.” So saying, he stormed out, slamming the door behind him.

There was a silence before Anne spoke. “Better do as Mr. Oliver says, Turton. Please ask Mrs. Adams if she can make up a tray.” She turned to her daughter-in-law, determined to change the tone. “Now, Susan, do you have anything you want to do while you’re down here, or shall we just plan our entertainment as each new day dawns?”

Susan knew what was happening, but she was happy to play along, launching into how they might amuse themselves until they returned to London.

That night James couldn’t sleep. He could hear from Anne’s easy, even breathing that she had not been kept awake by Oliver’s outburst, but it wasn’t only that. Anne had retired early and had made sure she was asleep before he arrived in the room so that he would have no chance to question her about her visit to Bishopsgate. He suspected this, but he could hardly shake her awake. What could she have imagined she was doing? Was he the only member of this family who was not trying to destroy their world? And as for Oliver, he was so spoiled. Now he was jealous of Charles, but if it hadn’t been Charles, it would have been something else. What did he want? What did he expect? For his father to hand everything over to him on a silver platter?

James shook his head. He remembered how his own father had worked when he was a child. He remembered how hard he himself had worked. How low down the pecking order all those officers had made him feel as he found them their bread, their flour, their wine, their munitions on the grubby streets of Brussels. He also remembered the risks he’d taken when he returned. He’d gambled his resources on the Cubitt brothers and the development of the new Belgravia, and what a terrifying journey that had been. Sleepless nights, anxious days, and now here they were, sitting in their beautiful house in Somerset with an ungrateful wretch of a son and his equally spoiled wife, both of them expecting him, James Trenchard, to keep them in the manner to which they were determined to become accustomed. How he wished Sophia were here, beside him. In his mind he saw her as his true child,
ignoring the barriers that held her back, pushing them down and stepping over them, not whining or complaining but simply taking what was hers. In truth, she had never left him. There could not have been more than a few waking minutes since she was taken from them when she had not been in his mind, laughing, making fun of him, but always with love. Not for the first time he could feel his cheeks wet with tears at the loss of his darling daughter.

The rest of the time at Glanville passed without too much incident, although relations between father and son remained strained. James had questioned Anne about the visit to Charles’s place of work and she had justified it, saying that she knew Lady Brockenhurst was going and it felt wise to her to be one of the party. She would then be able to contain any awkwardness if the Countess was indiscreet, but in the event, she had not been. James was forced to admit this seemed sensible enough and he did not press the point, although he sensed that Anne was becoming accustomed to the idea that the day would come, before too long, when the truth would be free. In the meantime, she walked her dog in the park, discussed the coming season with her gardener, and retired early.

Susan tried to winkle out some information, but Anne was made of much sterner stuff than she appreciated and had no intention of giving away the least scintilla. “But there must be some reason for Father’s interest in Mr. Pope?” Susan ventured once as they strolled together down the long lime avenue, Agnes trotting in their wake. “Especially as Lord and Lady Brockenhurst obviously feel the same. I am curious.”

“Then you must stay curious, for I cannot help you. They like the young man, and they think he will reward their patronage. That is all.”

Susan was clever enough to know that that was not all, or anything like all, but she could not think of a way to learn more. She did try to get something out of Ellis but was firmly rebuffed. Ellis had her pride. She was not about to be bought by the likes of Mrs. Oliver.

By the time they returned to London, son and father were talking again, although the wound clearly festered. For her part, Susan had survived her pastoral month and was trying to decide how to make the little she had learned sound like more when she told it to John.

She didn’t have long to wait before she received a note suggesting that she and John should meet by chance in the Green Park, and so she set off with Speer in tow.

“But when you say important, how important?” said John impatiently. “I know he is important to Mr. Trenchard, but I want to know why.”

“It must have something to do with his business, I suppose.”

“Nonsense.” He shook his head. “Anyone can see there is more invested in this than just money.”

Susan knew he was right. “Oliver’s furious about the whole thing. He thinks he is being pushed into second place by this nonentity.”

John was at his most sardonic. “I am always sympathetic to your husband, of course, my dear, but his anger doesn’t help me now.”

“No.” Susan was aware that she was not delivering what she had been summoned for, the reason why she had endured the endless weeks at Glanville, but there was something else that had begun to trouble her since their last encounter at Morley’s Hotel. She had been planning to bring it up here and now, but seeing John’s annoyance she thought it might be better to leave it. Except she couldn’t leave it indefinitely.

He glanced down at her. “What’s the matter? You look preoccupied.”

“Do I?” she shook her head girlishly. “It’s nothing.”

But it wasn’t really nothing. As she knew very well.

John followed Susan home to Eaton Square. Not that she realized. She was too busy talking to Speer, ordering her to pick up some ribbon, some trimming, anything, so they might give Oliver a good reason why they had been out all afternoon.

He waited on the corner, standing underneath a streetlight, in the hope that Ellis might manage to slip away for a minute. He was frustrated by the scant information Susan had managed to glean while in Somerset, but he had not been expecting much more and he had given Ellis the task of talking to his aunt’s maid, Dawson. She must know most of the secrets of that household. He had told Ellis where and when he would be in the square, and finally, just as the sun was beginning to fade, Ellis appeared. She saw John waiting at the next corner and walked toward him. “Well?” he asked. There was no need for pleasantries.

“Oh, sir,” she said, wringing her hands with carefully judged obsequiousness. “I’m not sure I have anything very useful to report.”

“You must have something.”

“I’m afraid not, sir,” continued Ellis. “Miss Dawson isn’t really the sort of woman we thought she might be.”

“You mean, she is loyal to her employers?”

John sounded so incredulous that Ellis nearly laughed. She swallowed it, in time. “It appears so, sir.”

John sighed loudly. Someone, somewhere must know something about this young man. He had to think. “I have a task for you.”

“Of course, sir.” Ellis always liked to sound helpful, even if there wasn’t much she could do to make things better. It increased the tips.

“Ask Turton to meet me again. Usual place. At seven tomorrow evening.”

“Mr. Turton likes to be back by seven, to get ready for dinner.”

“Six, then.” He had tried the ladies’ way, of gossiping maids and curious daughters-in-law, and it hadn’t worked. It was time for a rethink. “And don’t forget.” Before she could protest that she would not, he was striding away along the pavement.