Connie (The Daughters of Allamont Hall Book 3) (18 page)

With a squeak of alarm, she snapped the book shut.

“Whatever is it, dearest?” Connie said. “Is something wrong?”

“Oh — well, not exactly, but… oh dear!”

“You have gone quite red, Belle. Are you all right? Is it the book? May I see?”

“No! Let me put it away at once. Do you know, I am not at all certain that this is Aunt Tilly’s house at all. Perhaps she has moved lately, and some other family altogether now lives here? For this is not a ladies’ room, I am sure of
that
.”

“Perhaps we should go?” Connie said, but before Belle could answer. Steps were heard tapping rapidly across the hall outside, and a middle-aged woman appeared at the door, also very stylishly attired, although in the greys of a widow.

“Well, now, what have we here?” she said without any greeting or civility. “Nicely dressed, yes, and
one
very pretty. The other… hmm, although the cap is a nice touch. Turn around, will you?”

“How dare you!” Connie burst out. “You are very rude to talk about my sister and me in that way.”

But the woman laughed. “You must expect that now, my dear. But sisters… that has possibilities.”

Belle broke into this exchange in her calm way. “I do not know what you are about, madam, but we are here to call upon the Lady Matilda Heatherington. Is she at home?”

The woman laughed even more at that. “Oh, my mistake! Are you
customers
?”

“Customers? I have no idea what you mean,” Belle said coldly. “Is the Lady Matilda at home or not? For we are her nieces.”

For the first time, the woman’s composure failed her. She gasped, covering her hands with her mouth. Then, to the sisters’ consternation, she ran out of the room.

“That was… very peculiar,” Belle said. “I think perhaps you are right, dear, and we should leave. There is something not
proper
about this house. It is not a normal establishment, by any means and I do not think we should have come here.”

“Oh, yes, by all means let us leave at once!” Connie said. “I should dearly like to meet Aunt Tilly, but I do not even know whether she still lives here. Perhaps something dreadful has happened to her?”

“Perhaps,” Belle said doubtfully. She opened the door and peered into the hall. “There is no one about. We should slip quietly away, I think. The sooner we leave this place the better.”

From somewhere upstairs, a burst of girlish laughter drifted down, making the building seem, just for a moment, like a normal family house or perhaps a school. But Connie  knew it could not be so. It was unsettling, to hear such innocent sounds in a place which, in some way she did not quite understand, was not innocent at all.

They crossed the hall to the front door, but it was large and heavy, fitted with several latches and chains, so that it took some manoeuvring before Belle, with a soft exclamation of triumph, pulled it open. They were almost out when they heard footsteps behind them, and a voice calling peremptorily.

“What are you doing here?”

It was their mother’s voice, the tone of maternal authority so familiar that they had spun round and dropped into their curtsies before looking up to see—

Not Mama, but someone so like her that they could only be twins.

“Oh,” Connie breathed. “Aunt Tilly!”

“Yes, but you must go at once! What were you thinking? Did Sara not tell you to keep well away from me?”

“But Mama stayed here in this house!” Connie cried before she could stop herself.

“She is right, we must go,” Belle said. “Come, Connie.” She whisked out of the door and down the steps.

“Oh,” Connie said, disappointed. “I had so hoped to talk to you. We have so few family members, and even fewer who want anything to do with us, and I thought perhaps you…” She trailed off miserably.

Aunt Tilly tipped her head to one side, in a gesture that reminded Connie forcibly of her mother, except that Mama never looked quite so mischievous. “Do you really want to know me better? I am quite disreputable, you know. Positively ramshackle.”

“What does that matter! You are
family
.”

Aunt Tilly laughed. “Well now, let me see… Do you know Hamilton’s umbrella shop?”

“Yes, but—”

“Be there tomorrow at noon. Just you and your abigail. Do not tell the others, for they will try to dissuade you, I daresay. Now go with your sister. Go on! Shoo!”

Connie went. They drove home in complete silence, but Connie barely noticed, so full of happy anticipation was she. Finally, she would get to know Aunt Tilly.

19: Hamilton's Umbrella Shop

It was not, in the end, difficult to escape from the others. Amy was still abed, and Belle, Mr Burford and Mr Ambleside wished to explore a new bookshop they had discovered. As if they had not enough books already! There was an entire library at Willowbye, and Staynlaw House boasted a well-stocked book room, too. Connie could not quite understand why they needed more books. However, it made the task of escaping by herself all the easier.

“I shall take Annie and visit one or two shops,” she said. “I might go to Hamilton’s — the umbrella shop, do you remember? We passed it twice yesterday, and I should like to examine the wares.”

“That would be a useful purchase,” Belle said. “Have you enough money?”

“Oh, yes. I have hardly broached the purse Mama gave me.”

“Very well, but do not stay out too long,” Belle said.

“Shall you find the way by yourself?” Mr Burford said, ever practical, and then proceeded to write explicit instructions on the correct route to take.

In fact, Connie was quite glad to have it all written down clearly, for there were one or two points where she might otherwise have become confused. In the end, it took her no more than twenty minutes to find her way there, and she was early enough to have a thorough look about the shop, with a helpful assistant opening and closing any item she wished to look at more closely.

The bells of a nearby church alerted her to the hour. “Oh — is it noon already? I must go.” She remembered Lady Harriet and Lady Moorfield insisting on examining half the goods in a shop, and then leaving without making a purchase. Turning to the assistant, she said, “I am so sorry. I have put you to a great deal of trouble. I shall return another day to make my choice and buy one of your lovely umbrellas.”

“It is no trouble at all, madam, I assure you,” the assistant said. “If you will forgive my saying so, madam, but I think that young lady knows you.”

Connie turned, and saw someone waving to her from the door, someone young and fashionably dressed. Did she know her? Then she remembered — it was the girl who had opened the door to them yesterday.

“Oh, yes,” she said happily, skipping across to where the girl waited.

“Miss Allamont, how delightful to find you here,” the girl said with a sweet smile, as if she were indeed an acquaintance. “Will you come? My
aunt
is waiting for me and she would be most happy to see you again.”

“Oh. Oh, I see. Yes, indeed.”

Connie followed the girl out of the shop and a little way along the street, Annie walking a pace or two behind. They turned under an arch and into the courtyard of what must once have been a large coaching inn. Now it was a secluded hotel, the entrance guarded by a pair of  bewigged and uniformed doormen. They bowed to the three women, however, and opened the doors wide to admit them.

Inside, all was polished wood and deep rugs in vibrant colours. Apart from another pair of servants waiting near the stairs, the entrance hall was empty. The girl led them unhesitatingly across the rugs, past the bowing servants and up the stairs, opening a door to one side of the landing. With that same sweet smile, she ushered Connie and Annie inside.

And there was Aunt Tilly, rising with a smile, kissing Connie on each cheek, then, as if she could not quite let her go yet, hugging her very tightly.

“Come, sit here. You did not give me your name, but you must be Connie, I think.” She turned to the maid. “Now, what is
your
name? Annie, good. I am going to have a little chat with your mistress. If you will go with Deirdre, she will take you downstairs to the servants’ quarters for some refreshments. And you will say nothing of this to anyone else, do you understand?”

“Oh no, mi’lady.” She curtsied twice to emphasise the point.

“Good girl. Off you go then.”

The room was small, a private parlour, Connie surmised. A square table dominated the centre of the room, laid with a lace cloth, tea and cakes conveniently to hand. Around the walls were spare chairs, a small baize-topped table for cards and a sideboard with decanters and vases of sweet-smelling flowers. A small fire hissed fitfully, although the day was warm enough not to need it.

“Will she keep her mouth closed? Annie, I mean?”

“I… am not sure. Here, perhaps, where the servants are strangers, but at home…”

“Well, it matters less there,” Aunt Tilly said. “You must be sure not to mention me in company, however, and above all things, you must not be seen with me.” Aunt Tilly sat opposite Connie at the table. “Tea? Some cake? The walnut cake is excellent here. Or there is fruit, but I prefer cake, myself. Now, let us talk. Or rather, you may ask and I shall talk, for I suspect I know a great deal more about you than you know about me.”

“I know almost nothing of you,” Connie said. Now that her aunt was seated and pouring the tea, the likeness to Mama was extraordinary, so that she felt quite at ease, with everything familiar. Yet her aunt was a stranger.

“Exactly. So ask me whatever you wish. I shall answer you honestly, but you should be aware that there are some parts of my life which it is better you do not know of. You are an innocent, a respectably brought up young lady, and so there are topics that are not fit for your ears. But  if I can answer, I will.”

“Thank you!” Connie said, leaning forward eagerly towards the face that seemed so well-known. “May I ask — why did Mama not tell us that you and she are twins?”

Aunt Tilly laughed and raised her hands in mock surrender. “And immediately you have hit upon a question to which I have no answer. Only Sara can tell you her reasons, Connie.”

“Oh. Of course.” She could not keep the disappointment from her voice. “Can you tell me why you are disreputable? Or is that something I may not know?”

“I am sure you can guess at the most likely reasons why a lady of impeccable station might lose her reputation.”

“You are a fallen woman?” Connie hazarded. “Mr Endercott mentions such people often in his sermons.”

“Does he, indeed?” Aunt Tilly said, eyes twinkling.

“He does. He is very lyrical on the subject of sin. And the Dowager Marchioness of Carrbridge said… oh, but perhaps I should not repeat gossip about you?”

“Gossip cannot harm me, my dear, and I daresay most of it is true. I would know what the Dowager had to say of me, for I had not imagined any lady of rank to remember my name after all this time.”

“Oh, indeed she did, although she said that she had not heard anything of you for a long time.”

“Ah, that is good,” Aunt Tilly said, nodding her head in satisfaction. “I have tried my very best to keep out of sight. It is pleasing to know that my efforts are not quite in vain. What else?”

“That there was a viscount once, she thought. And there was mention of a prince.”

Aunt Tilly laughed merrily at that. “Mention of a prince? Oh, there was more than a mention,
far
more. That was an interesting time in my career. He once took me to Brighton for the day in his curricle…”

They talked for an hour, and Connie had not enjoyed herself so much for months. Her aunt had a seemingly unlimited fund of amusing stories of her gentlemen acquaintance — always gentlemen, never ladies — and although she said nothing about what went on at her house in its secluded square, so respectable from the outside, Connie could make some guesses.

But that made her mother even more of a puzzle. “But why was it perfectly acceptable for Mama to stay with you?” she burst out. “My sister and I may not enter it, or be seen with you, but Mama may visit with impunity.”

“Perhaps not with impunity,” Aunt Tilly said thoughtfully. “But your Mama is a widow now, and may decide for herself how to go on. We were close as girls, as twins often are, but we took different paths a long time ago. Well… perhaps not so different, for we both turned our backs on the highest levels of society, she in her country retreat and I here. But now, perhaps, she may choose another path for herself, who knows? She is entitled to a little happiness, after all this time.”

She seemed to be talking more to herself than to Connie, lost in reminiscences, so Connie diplomatically kept silent. She had no desire to quarrel with her newly-discovered aunt, and she was perfectly well aware that Mama had been kept in subjection by Papa just as her daughters had, so a little happiness was long overdue. However, Connie would not begrudge her mother her amusements if she were a little more helpful towards her daughters. Both Amy and Belle had found their husbands without any assistance from their mama, and refusing Connie her chance to go to London was perverse. None of this pretend betrothal business need have happened if she had been able to stay with Amy and Belle from the start. But it was not proper to find fault with one’s mama, so Connie kept her thoughts to herself.

The time flew by, and it was Aunt Tilly who reminded her gently that she should not stay too long. “For it would never do if your sisters sent to the umbrella shop, and found you gone.”

“May I see you again? Please? I should so much like to.”

Aunt Tilly smiled ruefully. “And so should I, but it is better not to, I believe. I made my choice in life a long time ago, and it is too late to change my mind now. But you may write to me, if you will. I may even write back to you, who knows?” She laughed merrily.

“I shall,” Connie said. “Do you have any message for Mama?”

“Only the same one I have given her these twenty five years or more — that she should tell you the truth about her life. But she has kept it to herself all these years, so I doubt that will change. She made
her
choice, just as I did, and since we are both of us excessively stubborn, she will no more give way than I will.”

~~~~~

Connie returned to Brook Street just as the others were beginning to grow alarmed by her absence, but she intimated that she had become confused about the correct route, which was true enough, and although she was teased about losing her way, no awkward questions were asked.

Nothing more was said about Aunt Tilly. Connie asked Belle once when they were alone what she had told Amy and the gentlemen. Belle expressed surprise at the question.

“Why, nothing at all, except that Aunt Tilly does not wish to make our acquaintance.”

And that was true enough, Connie conceded. Anything of her circumstances beyond that was pure conjecture. It was disappointing, almost as if they were pretending that Aunt Tilly did not exist. Yet within two days of their visit to her house, they had very real evidence, not merely of her existence, but of her connections within the web of society, for invitations began to arrive from people that none of them had ever met.

“Who is Lady Cunningham?” Belle said as they sat at the breakfast table. “For we are all invited to a ball at Clarence Street on— Oh! It is this very evening! I do not know her at all. Is she an acquaintance of yours, Connie?”

“I have never been introduced to her, but she is very well known. She is connected to half the dukes of England, and distantly to the throne. Exceedingly good
ton
. We are all invited? How interesting.”

“Should you like to go?” Belle said. “I confess, it would please me greatly to accept, for I have had little enough dancing since we came to town, and now that I do not have to wait for a partner, I like a ball of all things. But if you feel you might meet anyone who would distress you, then of course we will not think of going.”

It was delicately phrased, but Connie could not misunderstand her. She coloured, but answered very composedly. “If you mean the Marfords, I am not in the least bit afraid to meet with any of them.”

“I am relieved to hear you say so, sister. You have had such an unpleasant time of it, that no one could think the worse of you if you had wished to avoid their company, although they must have a dozen invitations every night, so I daresay we shall see nothing of any of them.”

But Belle was wrong about that. Almost as soon as they entered the ballroom at Clarence Street, Connie saw the Marquess and his brother lounging against a wall not far away. The Marquess had his head lowered, as if staring at his shoes, while Lord Reginald was watching the dancing, looking bored. Connie’s heart skipped about for a while, but neither of them looked in her direction and after a few moments she was able to compose herself.

The ballroom was nothing more than three modestly-sized saloons with the doors between them thrown wide, so, having steered their party to the other side of the room, away from the brothers, Connie was able to find a quiet corner behind one of the dividing walls, out of sight. They found a seat for Amy, and then stood watching the dancing until the sets broke up, and Belle and Mr Burford walked out to join the new sets forming.

Connie had no expectation of dancing herself, unless Mr Ambleside was inclined to invite her, but she discovered that she was not quite well enough hidden, for an acquaintance found her almost at once.

“Miss Allamont! What a delight! We quite thought you had left town, and yet here you are! I could not be more pleased, for there is not such a crush about you here and I may perhaps have better fortune in soliciting your hand. Will you do me the honour?”

“Thank you, Mr Tennant, I should be delighted,” she said, with her most gracious smile, for he was an excellent dancer and very stylishly dressed, as well as being charmingly attentive to her. He was also exceedingly rich, and were this all that could be said of him, he might perhaps have been a serious marriage prospect. It was unfortunate, to say the least, that he also had teeth as prominent as a rabbit, and eyes that stared like a frog, so that Connie could never look at him without suppressing a mortifying temptation to laugh.