Belgravia (46 page)

Oliver looked over at his mother and opened his mouth, but before he could speak, she talked firmly across him. “This is wonderful news, Oliver. Susan and I have been discussing things, and I might as well say it now: You are to have Glanville. You must give up your London work and retire to Somerset.”

“What’s this? You never said he’d have to retire.” James broke loose from the embrace, but Anne silenced him with a gesture of her hand.

“There’s plenty of money. Why not? What are we trying to prove? Oliver was born to be a squire, not a businessman.” Anne looked at her husband. She knew this was one of those moments in a marriage when a key decision is taken, almost by chance, that will change everything. James had wanted his son to follow in his footsteps ever since Oliver was a boy, and it had led to failure and resentment and to the pair of them falling out to the extent that they could barely speak. “Wouldn’t you rather admire him than feel disappointed all the time?” she murmured into his ear. “Do your business with Charles. Let Oliver go his own way.”

James looked at her and then nodded. It was faint, but he nodded.

Anne smiled. “Thank you, God,” she whispered under her breath, though whether she was addressing her Maker or her husband she hardly knew.

“What is happening? Why are you talking like this?” Oliver was entirely bemused. It seemed that all his dreams were being made true in an instant, but why?

James sighed. He had accepted Anne’s decision. “Perhaps your mother is right. A child should grow up in the country.”

“A child?” Once again, Oliver could not believe that his ears were working properly.

“We don’t have to keep it to ourselves any longer, my dearest one,” said Susan. “I’ve told them.” Her voice was calm and firm. “They’re so happy for us, and Mother wants to give us Glanville. So we can live there as a family.” Now she began to gush, like a girl on her way to a first ball, deliberately creating a wall of sound behind which Oliver could gather his thoughts. His face darkened, so she jabbered even more. “Isn’t it wonderful? Isn’t it what you’ve always wanted?” Her eyes were boring into his, holding him like Dr. Mesmer in a hypnotic trance. She drew close, taking him in her arms and bringing her lips to his ear. “Say nothing.” She squeezed him as she spoke. “We’ll talk later, but if you speak now we may lose everything, and we will never have another chance like this. Be silent now.” His body stiffened, but for once he heard her words and he stayed quiet. He would think before he wielded the ax.

Mr. Turton was a very angry man. He’d served this family for more than two decades, and now he was to be turned out into the streets like a dog. He’d been told to leave in the morning by the master just before dinner was announced, and he’d been sitting in the servants’ hall ever since. The rest of the staff were avoiding him, but Miss Ellis was there with her own tale of dismissal, and now they were sampling a bottle of the best Margaux he could find in the cellar. “Drink up,” he said. “There’s more if we want it.”

Ellis sipped the delicious wine carefully. She enjoyed good wine, but she did not like to be drunk. Being drunk meant losing control, and that was something she would never allow if she could help it. “Where will you go?” she said.

“I’ve a cousin in Shoreditch. I can stay there. For a few days, anyway.” Turton was seething. “While I look around and see what’s going.”

Ellis nodded. “We’ve Mrs. Oliver to blame for this. If she hadn’t poked her nose in where it wasn’t wanted, we’d be high and dry.”

The butler was surprised. “I don’t see what she’s done. Miss Speer said a boy just pushed the papers into her hands in the street. What was she supposed to do?”

“Don’t give me that.” Ellis raised her eyes in exasperation. “Mrs. Oliver’s no better than she ought to be. How do you think she’s pregnant after ten years of sleeping with Mr. Oliver and nothing to show for it?”

Turton was astonished. “How do you know she’s pregnant?”

“Never ask a lady’s maid a question like that.” Ellis finished her glass and reached for the bottle to refill it. “Just take my word. Mrs. Oliver and Mr. Bellasis have been playing games not fit for children.”

“Mr. Bellasis?” Turton felt as if he must have been asleep and missed everything.

“I saw her. When I took the papers to him. Just as I was leaving. She dodged out of sight, but I knew it was her.” Ellis nodded wisely. “There was no boy. She took those papers to punish him, I shouldn’t wonder. She’ll have wanted him to stand by her, but Mr. Bellasis wouldn’t bother with a tradesman’s daughter like her. Not him.” She threw her head back with a harsh laugh.

“I see.” Turton thought for a moment. “Is there anything there for us, Miss Ellis? Anything that might prove useful?”

She stared at him, the same thought gradually dawning. “I don’t think we could get anything from him, Mr. Turton. What would he care if all the world knew her for a slut? But she might pay to keep it quiet. If we leave it a while, until the baby’s born—”

“I don’t think so.” The voice made them start. They’d both thought themselves alone. Speer stepped into the doorway.

“What are you doing there, Miss Speer? Are you spying on us?” Turton’s voice was sharp, as if he could take command of the situation, as he had always taken command for so many years.

“Excuse me, Mr. Turton, but you’re not the butler here now. You’ve been sacked.” Speer’s voice rapped out the words so they almost seemed to echo around the walls. “And don’t think I’ll take your orders any more, ’cause I won’t.” This was a side of Speer neither of them had seen before. She came toward them and took
a seat at the table. She was quite casual in her manner, more at home than they, and when she spoke again, her voice was like the soft purr of a cat.

“If you ever approach Mrs. Oliver again, either of you, by letter or by word, I will report you to the police for theft. I will testify against you and you will serve a term in prison. After which you will find no further work as servants, not for the rest of your lives.”

For a moment, there was complete silence between them all. Then Ellis spoke. “What have I ever stolen?”

“Items from Mrs. Babbage’s kitchen. The pair of you stole them together. Wine, meat, general supplies. Why, over the years you must have stolen hundreds of pounds’ worth and sold them for your benefit.”

“That’s not true!” Ellis was angry now. She’d done enough bad things, she’d spied and even lied, but she was never a thief.

“Maybe,” said Speer. “But Mrs. Babbage will testify against you. If they make inquiries they’ll know that stuff went missing while you were both here, and do you think she’d testify against herself?” She smiled, eyeing her own fingernails. It was the first moment Turton fully realized that, along with his job, he had lost his power.

After a moment, he nodded. Of course the cook would never incriminate herself, he could see that, not to save him or to save Miss Ellis, who had always treated her as a lower species of being.

“I’m going to bed,” said Turton, getting to his feet.

But Speer wasn’t finished. “I must have your word, both of you. We will never hear from either of you again, once you have left this house.”

Ellis stared at her, this taut, composed figure who was queening it over them from the security of her position. “She’ll get rid of you, Miss Speer. You know too much. She won’t want that hanging around her in years to come.”

The maid thought for a moment. “Perhaps. But if she asks me to go, I’ll only do it with the kind of references that would get me a job at Buckingham Palace.” Of course this was true, so Ellis
did not attempt a rejoinder. Miss Speer hadn’t finished. “For the moment, she is my mistress, and my job is to protect her from the likes of you.” Ellis glanced at Mr. Turton. How little attention they’d paid to her, this nobody who, all of a sudden, was telling them what to do.

The butler spoke first. “Rest easy, Miss Speer. You won’t be hearing from me at any point in the future.” With a slight bow, Turton left the room.

“You win, you bitch,” said Ellis. And with that, she rose and followed him out. Speer didn’t mind the insult. She was made of sterner stuff than that. She wondered how to let Mrs. Oliver know what she’d done for her. There must be a way. She knew there was truth in what Miss Ellis had said, and that Mrs. Oliver would want to see the back of her eventually, so she could hire a maid with no memories of Mr. Bellasis or of that time in her life. But, as she had said, whenever that hour came, she, Speer, would be the winner. For now, Mr. Turton and Miss Ellis had left the story, and she was in charge.

Susan came up to bed first. The evening had continued on a note of jollity, mainly driven by James since he was the only innocent in the room. The others—Susan, Oliver, and Anne—knew the truth, so it was rather a draining business to have to listen to James’s ramblings while toasting each other with champagne, and Susan retired as soon as she decently could. She knew what was coming, and she did not have long to wait.

“Whose is it?” Oddly, dinner seemed to have sobered Oliver up even more, which was against all logic, but it was so.

Susan looked at her husband, who was standing half in, half out of the room. This was the final hurdle that faced her. If she could clear this one, then the road ahead was open. She had sent Speer downstairs earlier and was already in bed when he appeared. Now he shut the door carefully and approached her. Clearly, whatever he thought about the matter, he did not want to be overheard.

She was ready for him. “It doesn’t matter whose it is. Your wife
is pregnant. Your parents are happy. The life you have always wanted to live has been offered to you.”

“You mean I’m to accept it?”

“Aren’t you?”

He was restless, wandering about the chamber, looking at the books on her shelves, at ornaments on her desk, thinking aloud. “How do I know this mystical figure, the absent father, will not be part of our life from now on? Am I to tolerate that? Am I to be a
mari complaisant
?”

She shook her head. “No. I will not reveal his name because he is of no importance. I will never see him again—well, not if I can avoid it.”

“I suppose I should have expected something like this. Sooner or later. You’re always flirting, always making a fool of yourself. I’ve seen you. A dozen times.”

Normally, she would have lashed him with her tongue for such an accusation. She was cleverer than Oliver and could always get the better of him. But this time she stayed silent, instinctively sensing the pace at which she should travel. After a few moments, Oliver sat down heavily by the fire, turning his chair to face the bed. The flames cast a flickering light over him, making him seem almost ethereal. “Aren’t you at least going to say you’re sorry?” he said.

Susan braced herself for the boldest part of her argument. She’d had time to think. She was ready. “I am not sorry, because I have done what I set out to do. I am pregnant with our child. That was my purpose, and that is what I have achieved.”

Oliver snorted. “You’re surely not telling me that this was deliberate?”

She stared at him. “Have you ever known me to do anything without a purpose? Have you ever known me to act impetuously?”

She knew from his expression that he was starting to listen to her in spite of himself. “You mean, you thought I could not make you pregnant?”

“You’ve been trying for almost eleven years.”

“But we thought the fault was yours.”

She nodded. “And now we know it was not.” Had she succeeded in deflecting the jealous rage and tantrums that she had been dreading? She continued carefully. “You see, I wanted to be sure it was me and not you, because it had to be one of us.”

“And this is the result.” His face was quite opaque.

“Yes. This is the result. I am pregnant with our child. Whether it’s a boy or a girl, you have an heir. Would you really want to devote your life to Glanville, to the house, to the estate, if you had no one to hand it over to? Is that your ambition?”

“I want my own child.”

“And you shall have it. That is what I want, too. And that is what I shall give you. If I had not done what I’ve done, you would be childless to the end of your days.”

At this, Oliver was silent. On either side of the chimney breast were two oval portraits in chalk of himself and Sophia as children. She must have been about six and he was three or four, wearing a frilly collar over the top of his little woolen jacket. He stared at his long-ago self. He had a vague memory of the artist and of being bribed with an orange to keep still. Susan continued to talk behind him. “We’ll reopen the nurseries at Glanville that have been closed since your mother bought the house. You can teach the child to ride, to swim, to fish, to shoot, if it’s a boy. If you ever want to be a parent, Oliver, this is the only way.”

When he turned back to her, she was almost shocked to see that his eyes had filled with tears. “Are you saying you’ve done this for me?”

“I’ve done it for us.” She felt she now had the reins of this exchange firmly in her hands, and she could steer it as she wished. “We were growing tired of each other, tired of our life together. Our childlessness made us sad every day. I knew it would only be a matter of time before we separated, and what would lie ahead then? For either of us?”

“Why didn’t you tell me your plan?”

“For two reasons. I might truly have been barren, in which case nothing would have come of it, and it would have driven you further away.”

“And the other reason?”

“You would have forbidden me. But, as it is, we are going to be parents.”

He said nothing, but she saw that he reached up quickly to wipe his eyes. The truth was, she had found something buried in Oliver; she had released a man who had been hidden from her for half their marriage. She waited, almost motionless, her hands resting on the counterpane, as he walked back and forth, up and down the embroidered rug at the foot of her bed. There was a noise of a dogfight in the street below, and he went to the window to see if he could make it out.

He was going to forgive her. He knew it by then. He wasn’t sure if she had done all this for him or for herself, but either way, he was now convinced she hadn’t simply taken a lover and been caught out. That’s what he couldn’t have borne. And she was right. The life he had wanted for years was now within his grasp, and it was a good life…