Connie (The Daughters of Allamont Hall Book 3) (4 page)

The carriages having been sent on, they walked up the drive to the house, where a group of gardeners paused from cutting back overgrown bushes and clearing fallen tree branches to bow to them. It was cold enough for their breath to puff into clouds as they spoke, and Connie pulled her cloak closer. She was not a fast walker, and soon lagged behind the others. To her delight, as she rounded a particularly overgrown shrub, she found the Marquess waiting for her.

“May I offer you my arm, Miss Constance? My sister tells me you are not a strong walker, and might need a little assistance.”

It was disappointing that the gesture had not been his own idea, but she smiled and took his arm anyway. “Thank you, my lord. Your assistance and your company are both most welcome. Gracious, I have not been here in such an age! It has quite changed. Indeed, I should not have recognised the place at all, if the drive were to be my guide. These bushes were barely as high as my waist, and the trees not much more than saplings. There had been rows of much older trees before then, very well grown, but there was so much dead wood in them, and a number had fallen altogether to leave gaps, and that looks so odd, do you not agree? In any event, Cousin Henry had them all torn up, and new planting all the way down the drive. But perhaps it is time for these to be torn up in their turn, I cannot say.”

The Marquess had no interest in trees, it seemed, for he said, “How is it that Cousin Henry is your cousin, and his children are also cousins? There must be some second cousins in there somewhere, I fancy. Or perhaps cousins once or twice removed, although I am not sure quite how that works.”

“Nor I!” she said, with a giggle. “Cousin Henry was — is, I suppose — cousin to Papa. Cousin Henry’s father, also Henry, was brother to Papa’s father, Walter. That is why we all have the same name, you see.”

“Ah, yes. All is now clear to me. And Cousin Mary — she is the eldest of the children, I think?”

“Yes, from Cousin Henry’s first marriage. She is said to resemble her mother in every way. Then after Cousin Elizabeth died, there was Cousin Vivienne. She is French, and James, Mark and Hugo are hers, but she went back to France a few years ago, although I do not know why.”

“If Miss Mary Allamont takes after her mother, then she must have been a handsome woman indeed. It is a great shame when a pretty woman has no dowry.”

Surely he must be thinking of Jess Drummond now? Yet she could not disagree with him on the point. “Certainly it is,” she said, then added wistfully. “Everyone should be able to marry for love, without considerations of wealth.”

“How romantic you are, Miss Allamont.” His smile as he spoke was so warm that her heart gave a little somersault. Such a charming man, when his attention was not focused on Miss Drummond.

They rounded the final leaning tree to see the house before them. There on the drive to meet them was Burford, wreathed in smiles, while Cousin Henry loitered on the front step, as if unsure how to greet guests now that he was no longer master of Willowbye.

Connie paused, looking up at the house. Here at least was something unchanged since she was a child. The red brick walls and latticed windows were warm and welcoming, although perhaps the rotting window frames and missing tiles were recent developments.

It was Mary, mistress of Willowbye for more than a dozen years, who led them from room to room. Connie followed the others through the front door and into the great hall, filled with boxes of books while the library woodworm was dealt with. From the great hall, they went through a door to the north wing, and beyond that to the so-called new wing, although it was a century old, at least. Then upstairs to a warren of passageways and bedrooms.

Mary took most of the others off to survey the attics, basements and kitchens, but Connie had no interest in trailing round the butler’s pantry or the linen cupboards. She began a second circuit of the principal rooms, envisaging each in her mind. This one would be gold, with Chinese wallpaper. Another would look well in a pale green, with cream cornices. The drawing room could be red, with gold decoration. She was so absorbed that she startled when Burford appeared at her side.

“I do beg your pardon,” he said, jumping back. “I did not mean to alarm you. I have the book you asked for.” He held out a volume bound in red leather.

“Book?”

“The Scotch poems of Robert Burns. Mrs Burford said you wished to borrow it.”

“Oh. Oh, of course. Thank you, sir. You are most kind.”

He waved an arm to encompass the whole room. “What do you think of it all? So much work to be done, it is difficult to know where to begin. The man I have engaged is very good on bricks and wood and glass, but not so good on paint and wallpaper. And out here…” He ushered her through to the great hall, gesturing with a rueful expression at the unplastered walls. “Look at the state of it! I do not know what is to be done. And your sister has no more idea than I do.”

“Oh, but that is the interesting part,” she said. “I should love to offer suggestions, if you would like that. I love putting colours together, and choosing wallpapers. Now for this room—”

The front door flew open. A woman of about forty stood on the threshold, gazing imperiously round the hall. Connie had not much experience of the
ton
, but even so, she could tell at a glance that the stranger was dressed in the very latest fashions from London.

“May I be of service to you, madam?” Burford said.

She raked him up and down. “Who are you? And what are you doing in my house?”

He said nothing, although his mouth flapped open once or twice.

Connie looked more closely at the visitor, then gasped. “Cousin Vivienne?”

4: An Unexpected Return

A wide-eyed servant was sent off to find Cousin Henry in whatever remote part of the house he might be, and convey the news that his wife had returned after many years of absence. Connie could imagine his astonishment.

Meanwhile, Cousin Vivienne, wrinkling her nose at the brick dust and smell of mould that still hung in the air, marched around the boxes and through to the north wing. Throwing open a door, she strode through and sat herself on a sofa. She looked about her disdainfully and said, “This was a very pretty room in my day.
Henri
has let it go appallingly.” Her French accent was quite noticeable now. Looking at Burford, she said, “You. Fetch me some Madeira. And have my boxes taken to my room.”

“I do not imagine you still have a room after all this time,” Connie said, before Burford had had time to open his mouth. “And Mr Burford is not a servant. He is the new tenant of Willowbye.”

Cousin Vivienne looked at him fully for the first time. “He should still offer me refreshments, unless he is quite devoid of manners.”

“I will find a servant,” he said, and rushed from the room.

“Why does he not ring the bell? Is he brainless?”

“Not at all,” Connie said. “He knows that it would be pointless to attempt, when the bell ropes are all rotted away. And I expect he wanted to escape from you. He is too polite to express his opinion of
your
manners.”

“But you are not, I suppose? Ha! Who are you, child? You are not Mary, I am sure of that.”

“I am Constance Allamont, Cousin Vivienne, and I am not a child. I am three and twenty.”

“High time you were married then,
child
. I should be ashamed to be a spinster still at such an age.”

Connie was tempted to reply in like manner, but she bit back her retort, for it occurred to her that Cousin Vivienne had the intent of angering her and she therefore determined to deprive her of the satisfaction. She smiled instead and sat down, although not too near the visitor.

“I trust you had a good journey from France,” she said, in her most polite voice. “Were you staying in Paris?”

“France? Paris?” Cousin Vivienne hooted with laughter. “Whatever gave you the idea that I was in France? No, I have been living in Manchester, in a very poor neighbourhood, since my husband keeps me so short of money. It is a wonder I have not been forced to—” She clucked, with a shrug of one shoulder. “Well, never mind that. Ah,
Henri!
There you are!” Her gaze passed rapidly over the faces  of those who accompanied him, lingering for a moment on Mary, before passing on. “Who are all these people, and why are they in my house?”

“Not your house, Viv,” he said. “This has not been your house since the day you walked out of it, fifteen years ago.”

“Not yours either,” she shot back. “You have a
tenant
now, I hear. So where are we to live?”

“
We
?” He gave a rueful smile, and shook his head. “
We
are not living anywhere, Viv.
I
shall be living at the Dower House, with Mary, Mark and Hugo. Remember Mark and Hugo? Your sons? And James — your
other
son — is living at the lodge cottage with his wife and son. I neither know nor care where
you
live.”

“But I am your
wife!
”

There seemed to be no answer to that, and Cousin Henry wisely attempted none.

The servants had already laid out refreshments for the visitors in the dining room, and without further discussion, the party made its way there and settled down to eat. Connie had a thousand questions, and she could see the speculation in the faces around her, and hear the whispers, but neither Cousin Henry nor Cousin Vivienne said another word, to each other or to anyone else.

Not long afterwards, Ambleside deemed it appropriate to draw the visit to a close. As the carriages were being brought round, he said to Connie, “Will you ride with us, Miss Connie? Miss Allamont has already agreed to give us the pleasure of her company. Mrs Ambleside would appreciate it, I know. We will take you all the way to the Hall, so you need not have the inconvenience of changing carriages in the village.”

Connie agreed with relief. At least she would not have to watch Jess Drummond flirting with the Marquess. As she was handed into Ambleside’s carriage, she caught a momentary glimpse of the Marquess’s displeased face watching her. Good! Let him be disappointed, if he would.

The four could talk of nothing but the return of Mrs Henry Allamont.

“Even Mary was astonished to discover that her step-mother had not been in France all these years,” Amy said. “Manchester! She could have come to see her children whenever she wanted, yet she did not. How shocking!”

“But why has she returned now?” Connie said.

“Only she knows the true answer to that question,” Ambleside said. “However, we could hazard a guess. Allamont must have been supporting his wife financially all this time, to the ruin of the estate. I am no judge of clothes, but that pelisse looked vastly expensive to me.”

“And that sealskin muff!” Amy said. “Quite delightful, but so modish that it must have cost a great deal.”

“Should you like one, my love? We must see what we can find of that style in Brinchester. Yes, she was always extravagant. I recall my mother being scandalised by the number of gowns she seemed to need. And now the supply of money has dried up, so here she is again.”

“So Cousin Henry has been sending money to Cousin Vivienne?” Belle said with a frown. “But then… all these years, he must have known exactly where she was. Yet he pretended she was in France. Why would he do that?”

“Embarrassment, perhaps?” Ambleside said. “He may not have wanted the world to know his wife preferred to live alone in Manchester to being Mrs Henry Allamont of Willowbye. Telling everyone she had gone home to France suggests a benevolent husband with a care for his wife’s homesickness.”

“I wonder if he even knew where she resided,” Belle said. “If the money he sent to her passed through a third party, he may have had no notion where she was. He seemed quite shocked to see her.”

“Oh dear,” Amy said. “This will be so unsettling for everyone.”

And on that point they could all agree.

~~~~~

The time came for the next assembly in Brinchester. Their mother took Belle and Connie to the town at an early hour, so that they could visit the warehouses and select silks and muslin and cotton for Belle’s wedding clothes, and wallpaper and paint for Willowbye. Connie had been established as the authority on colours and styles for the house, and she made rapid, confident choices which even Lady Sara approved.

“You have surprisingly good taste, Connie,” she said, as they made the short drive to their hotel. “I am happy to discover that you have inherited something from me, after all.”

“I wish I had looked more like you,” Connie said quietly.

Lady Sara looked askance at her. “Do you really? Dark hair is much more fashionable.”

“I should love to have natural curls like you, Mama.”

“Ah, yes, that is a blessing, it is true. Yet you do quite well with curling papers. None of you have an appearance such as to disgrace me in public, for which I am thankful, and now that you no longer wear identical gowns — such a foolish notion! — I find you all much more presentable. And one married and one betrothed! Excellent progress. Now it is your turn, Connie. I hope you will try for the Marquess. That would be a son-in-law I could be proud of.”

Belle said nothing, but Connie could not let such a slur pass. “Surely you have nothing against Ambleside or Burford, Mama? They are both respectable gentlemen of good fortune.”

“Oh, I have nothing against either of them, but Ambleside’s family is nothing at all, only two generations from trade, and Burford — he may be a wealthy man now, but he was merely a country curate with very poor prospects before that.”

“And he was quite content to be so,” Belle said, in her calm way, not at all offended. “He is not ambitious.”

“Exactly,” Lady Sara said. “That is precisely my point. A man of good family should always aspire to improve his position in society, by increasing his income and taking care to mix with the best company available to him, whether he has a career or not.”

“Papa did not do so, did he, Mama?” Connie said, fascinated by this blunt speaking from her very proper mother.

“No, he did
not
,” she said with sudden fire. “He never mixed well in
any
company, and deeply resented persons of rank, and as for increasing his income, you all know how tightly he tied his purse-strings and kept
us
on a tight rein, and all the while supporting this Barnett woman and her son in luxury.”

“He left us very good dowries, however,” Connie said. “
That
was generous.”

“Yes, and it puzzles me exceedingly,” her mother replied. “Whenever I enquired of him how much he planned to give each of you, he would say only,
‘Let us see how far their faces alone will get them. Then we might see.’
So I never expected him to give you anything, frankly. As a rule, he saved his generosity for his base-born child. But I do not think even your father could have expected his by-blow to try to claim the Hall. That is beyond everything. I should have liked to see that boy in court, so that the law might have dealt with him as he deserved.”

“I am sorry to disappoint you, Mama,” Belle said with a smile. “Had Mr Burford known your wishes, I am sure he would never have paid Jack Barnett to drop his claim.”

“Well, I am very glad he did,” Connie said. “I feel much more comfortable knowing that we need never have anything to do with him again. I am sorry it cost Burford twenty thousand pounds, but I daresay he will scarce notice the loss, for he is as rich as Croesus.”

They turned into the hotel’s yard at that moment, and all conversation was at an end.

~~~~~

The sisters were late in arriving at the ball, for a sudden downpour of sleety rain meant that sedan chairs were in short supply, and they had to wait. Then there was only one available, which would have to run backwards and forwards to convey them all to the Assembly Rooms, and it was no simple matter to arrange the journey in such a way that all the Miss Allamonts were properly chaperoned at both ends of the journey. It was fortunate that Amy was now married and able to chaperon them, or they could not have managed.

So it came about that the Assembly Rooms were full to overflowing when they arrived, and they had to wait to be announced, with more people forming a snaking queue on the stairs behind them. At last it was their turn, their names were pronounced, and they made their way down the short flight of steps to the dance floor.

Connie always loved this moment. The floor was filled with movement and colour and shimmering silk, sparkling jewels at every throat and feathers in the dowagers’ turbans. Faces flushed with the exertion of the dance beamed with happiness. Who would not be happy at a ball, and especially so at this moment, the entrance, with the whole evening stretching out like a rug at her feet. She was so light-footed as she skipped down the steps, it was almost as if she were dancing already, the music sweeping her up and propelling her forward.

But tonight it did nothing of the sort. They had barely reached the bottom of the steps when they were accosted by Cousin Vivienne, wearing the most exquisite gown Connie had ever seen. She had not realised that
modistes
in Manchester had such talents. She was so busy admiring the embroidery and delicate seed-pearl designs that she almost missed Belle’s gasp of horror.

She could not, however, miss her outraged cry of, “Oh no! What is
he
doing here?”

“Who?” Connie said, but she had only to follow Belle’s eyes to see the cause of her distress. A young man paused beside the master of ceremonies waiting his turn to be announced. His appearance was undistinguished and his attire gave the impression that he wished to be fashionable, and had perhaps paid a great deal to attempt it, but had not quite mastered the art. His coat was not quite the correct fit, the stockings were an odd colour and the ribbons on his shoes were tied in a most peculiar manner. As for his cravat, Connie had never seen the like.

“But who is he?” Connie whispered to Belle.

“I can scarce believe my eyes! It is that Jack Barnett, strutting about in society as if he were just as good as anyone else.”

“But who are the two women with him?” Dulcie said.

The older woman, with a smirk of self-satisfaction on her face, was dressed in an expensive but unfashionable style, with an excessively ugly turban on her head. On Jack Barnett’s other side, her head drooping as if to avoid notice, was a girl who looked to be no more than sixteen, dressed in the plain white of a debutante.

As they watched, the little group stepped forward, and the master of ceremonies intoned, “Mrs Algernon Barnett, Mr Jack Barnett, Miss Barnett.”

Belle groaned audibly. “He has a
sister!
”