Intrigue (Daughters of Mannerling 2) (10 page)

But that Robert was not prepared to tell her.

Harry Devers arrived back at Mannerling. He was feeling fit and well, having drunk nothing stronger than chocolate and seltzer for the past few days. He walked from room to room, noticing, he felt for the first time, the full beauty and grace of the place. His enjoyment was interrupted by John, the footman.

‘What is it?’ demanded Harry.

‘The Beverleys are returned, sir.’

‘Oh, them. And what’s that to do with me?’

‘I beg your pardon, sir,’ said John, backing away.

‘Wait a bit. Returned from where?’

‘From visiting Mr Robert Sommerville.’

Harry scowled, but said with seeming indifference, ‘Leave me.’

After John had left, Harry walked through the Long Gallery. The Beverley ancestors had been taken down and replaced with the Deverses’ ancestors. A few painted faces, much like his own, stared indifferently down at him.

Robert must be after Jessica, he thought savagely. He should have questioned John further. Jessica might be engaged. No time was to be lost. He would be careful this time. No grabbing, no kissing. He would go carefully. He hurried up the stairs, shouting for his man to come and barber him, and shouting for someone to fetch his carriage round to the front door.

It was an uncharacteristically quiet and soberly dressed Harry Devers who called on the Beverleys. He was struck anew by Jessica’s beauty. And she loved Mannerling as much as he. In his mind, he saw the grand parties he would give at Mannerling, with the ornament of Jessica at his side. But he carefully did not suggest any walks in the garden and set himself to entertain the Beverley family with descriptions of the plays he had never seen but had read about in the newspapers. He had not had time to go to the playhouse, what with all the wenching and drinking.

Jessica felt the little pain at her heart, which had been there since she left Tarrant Hall, finally leaving her. Harry was so good-looking and amiable. Lizzie suggested a game of loo and her sisters quickly pooh-poohed the idea, but Harry said indulgently that he would enjoy playing and joined in the game with such enthusiasm that perhaps only the cynical Miss Trumble suspected that the pennies Harry was winning were transferred in his imagination into thousands of pounds.

When he finally took his leave, the sisters vowed it had been a capital evening. Harry, driving home, was well satisfied with the evening as well, although he considered such entertainment beneath him, but it had given him a chance to ingratiate himself with Jessica, to admire the swell of her bosom and the shine of her hair. No need to rush things. When they were married, he could do exactly what he liked with her. He passed the rest of the journey home dreaming of just that.

In the following weeks, as summer gave way to winter, Harry was a frequent and welcome caller. Miss Trumble felt powerless to do anything to stop the inevitable from happening, the inevitable being his engagement to Jessica.

As for Jessica, she had practically forgotten Robert Sommerville. She now fancied herself in love with Harry and gave him virtues and intelligence that he did not possess. There was only one cloud in her life, and that was that neither she nor the rest of her family were ever invited to Mannerling.

This was something that was beginning to irritate Harry, and when he learned that they were to hold another ball and that the Beverleys had not been invited, he complained to his parents.

‘You may as well face up to it,’ he said harshly. ‘I am going to marry Jessica Beverley.’

‘Not suitable,’ said his father angrily. ‘No money there, and the girl has no interest in you. She only wants Mannerling.’

‘And she’ll have it,’ said Harry brutally. ‘I don’t want either of you around when I get wed.’

‘You may have forgotten,’ said Mr Devers, out-raged, ‘that this is my home.’

‘I’m your heir. I get this place when you die, so you may as well let me have it now. If you don’t do what I want, I’ll make your lives a misery.’

‘It’s this cursed place!’ wailed Mrs Devers. ‘You used to be such a sweet boy . . . ,’ she cried, thus carefully forgetting all the scandals her son had been embroiled in.

‘And you can start by asking the Beverleys to your damned ball. I’ll announce the engagement then. You stand in my way, and it will be the worse for you.’ He loomed over his cringing parents, a mad look in his eyes.

‘Something will stop you from this folly.
I
will stop you,’ said his mother, beginning to sob.

Mr Devers shifted uneasily in his chair after Harry had stormed out. He was beginning to hate Mannerling. He thought it was like living in a museum where everything was cherished and polished. He wanted a real home again where he could come in from hunting and sit with his muddy clothes and with his boots on by the fire instead of rushing upstairs to be changed and groomed as if he, too, were a statue or objet d’art to be carefully polished up to be worthy of his surroundings. Harry would surely settle down once he was wed. Jessica Beverley was no serving wench. She was of good family. He felt weakly that to make life comfortable again, it might be as well to give Harry what he wanted. It had always made life comfortable in the past to give Harry just what he wanted.

He and his wife discussed the problem in low voices. They could, he said, find a tidy property of their own, far from Mannerling, and let Harry get on with it. If they did not, they would risk losing the love of their only son, for both Mr and Mrs Devers really believed that Harry loved them, that he was young and wild, but nothing worse.

And so a triumphant Harry was told that he might have both Jessica and Mannerling.

‘I suppose you will ride over to Lady Beverley and obtain her permission,’ said his mother bleakly.

‘Don’t need to,’ retorted Harry. ‘Big surprise announcement is what we want.’

‘As you like,’ said his father wearily. ‘At least you will not meet with a refusal. Imagine any Beverley turning down a chance of getting their claws on Mannerling.’

John, the footman, who had heard much of the debate between Mr and Mrs Devers, was alarmed at the thought of Jessica’s becoming mistress of Mannerling. He had worked for the Beverleys and, after their downfall, had enjoyed being insolent to them. He knew he would probably lose his job. On the pretext of running an errand, he made his way down to the village and so to the vicarage, where he found Mary Judd cutting late flowers in the garden. He leaned on the garden gate and gave her a good day.

‘And how go things at Mannerling, John?’ asked Mary with an air of hauteur that she hoped counteracted the fact that she was pumping this servant for gossip.

‘Badly, madam,’ said John. ‘Mr Harry is going to announce his engagement to Miss Jessica Beverley at the ball.’

Mary’s eyes were as hard as stones. The highest point in her life had been when Ajax Judd had announced his engagement to herself, not to one of the Beverleys. How she had enjoyed their mortification and their hatred of seeing her ruling the roost at Mannerling. But then Judd had committed suicide, and here she was again in the vicarage, her only comfort being that the Beverleys were not invited to Mannerling, whereas she herself was.

‘I never thought to see the day,’ mourned John. ‘I thought Miss Jessica would have married Mr Robert.’

‘Mr Robert Sommerville. How so?’

‘The Beverleys were all at his place, Tarrant Hall, on an extended visit.’

‘Are you sure?’

‘Yes, and very hush-hush it all was, too. I got it out of one of the housemaids. She had been warned not to say anything by that Barry, who is only an odd man and not even an upper servant.’

‘The Beverleys have no upper servants,’ said Mary with sour satisfaction.

‘I wonder,’ said John, looking at the sky, ‘what Mr Robert would say if he knew.’

‘He’ll know soon enough.’ Mary decapitated a late rose. ‘The announcement will be in the newspapers.’

‘Ah, but that’s it. The announcement isn’t going to be made until the night of the ball. He ain’t . . . isn’t even going to ask Lady Beverley for her permission.’

‘Well, he hardly needs to do that. He knows they will jump at any offer.’

Mary saw a neighbour coming down the road. She must remember what was due to her position as a former mistress of Mannerling. ‘Be off with you,’ she snapped. ‘I do not like servants’ gossip.’

John went on his way feeling comforted. Mary Judd would do something to spike the Beverleys’ guns if anyone could.

Robert Sommerville subsequently received a letter from Mary Judd. At first he could not remember who she was and then he placed her in his mind as the vicar’s daughter, an encroaching and oily sort of female. The news that Harry was to announce his engagement to Jessica at the ball came as no surprise to him. He decided not to attend the ball himself. The only thing that nagged at his mind was how the Beverleys had found out that Harry was still free to wed. Although he frequently told himself that such as Jessica Beverley was not worth a thought, he nonetheless had diligently questioned the servants. He believed them when they told him that they had heard no news, and furthermore, that Lady Beverley never talked to any of them except to issue orders, and that went for her daughters as well.

‘Who is the letter from?’ asked Honoria. They were seated at the breakfast table.

‘Someone I once knew,’ he said. ‘No one of interest.’ He did not want to discuss the Beverleys with Honoria.

‘Have you heard from the Beverleys?’ she asked.

‘No, why?’

‘I thought they might have communicated with us.’

He was suddenly suspicious of her. He had been more aware of her since the departure of Jessica and her family than he had ever been, wondering again whether Honoria would resent his getting married. He tried to put Jessica out of his mind, but when he saw his sister go out driving to make calls, on a sudden impulse, he went to her study. All was tidy and neat and very unfeminine, more like a man’s room. He went to the writing-desk in the corner. There was a leather-bound diary lying on top of it.

Feeling very low and mean, he opened it and began to read, but there was nothing in its pages except reminders of what to order, which servant to speak to, and whom she was due to call on. But having stooped so low, he could not leave it there. He studied her desk and then opened her drawers. Neat sheets of parchment, a bottle of ink, sealing-wax and seals, household accounts, bills, nothing of importance to him. And then he wondered if the desk had a secret drawer such as the one in his own, which was a compartment at the back of the top right-hand drawer.

He pulled the top right-hand drawer out to its fullest, and sure enough, there was the compartment. In it was a letter. He took it out and sat down and read it. It was from Mrs Devers, and she was all too obviously replying to a letter from Honoria. And in it there was the intelligence of how Harry was not engaged to Miss Habard. He slowly replaced the letter and closed the drawer. The letter was dated two days before the Beverleys’ abrupt departure.

He remembered thinking that his sister’s friendship with little Lizzie was somehow touching. Now he thought he saw it all. Honoria had told Lizzie, Lizzie had told her sisters and mother, and they had all hurried off to secure the prize. It could be argued that Honoria had therefore saved him from making a cake of himself over a girl who could never have any affection for him at all.

And yet, he remembered once inviting a Miss Ranken and her parents to stay. Miss Ranken had been a jolly, pretty, uncomplicated sort of girl, and although his affections had not been seriously engaged, he had begun to think of proposing to her and ending his bachelor state. Honoria had been very cordial to Miss Ranken, he remembered. And then one day the Rankens had departed just as hurriedly as the Beverleys.

He felt trapped. He wanted to confront Honoria with the evidence but could not bring himself to admit that he had searched her desk. But he could no longer live with her.

He went to the window and looked out. Tarrant Hall was a pleasant place, but he had lived in it for only a few years. There were no family ties. He was a rich man. If Honoria wanted to remain at Tarrant Hall, then let her have the place. He would buy another estate, nearer the university, and never, ever would she be allowed to meddle in his life again.

Unaware of the changes that were about to beset her, Honoria changed into a taffeta gown and went down to join her brother for dinner. She talked of the calls she had made and how old Mrs Johnson, who had been ill for some months, had been faring, while the servants came and went with various dishes. Then she made to rise. ‘I will leave you to your wine.’

‘Stay,’ he commanded. ‘Sit down and listen to me. I am tired of Tarrant Hall.’

‘But why?’

‘That is my concern. You like it here, do you not?’

‘Indeed, yes, brother. I have a very pleasant life.’

‘It is as I thought. I am making you a present of Tarrant Hall, Honoria.’

‘But what is this? Are you going away?’

‘I have a desire to set up my own establishment.’

‘But you will need me! You cannot do without me. I am your hostess. I am—’

‘My wife will perform those functions.’

‘Your wife? Jessica Beverley?’

‘Not Jessica Beverley nor any other female I have in mind at the moment. It is better this way. You can continue to hold sway here.’

Honoria looked at him in dismay. It would not be at all the same. It was Robert who had all the friends. She had never troubled to make any of her own. She would lead a very solitary life. Of course the local county would come to call, but a spinster would not be invited to many places, whereas a sister and marriageable brother were.

‘Who wrote to you?’ she demanded.

‘That is my business. Now you may leave me to my wine.’

Honoria felt quite weak and shaky.

‘By the way, remember I told you to refuse the invitations to the Mannerling ball?’

‘Yes.’

‘Have you sent that letter?’

‘I was going to write it this evening.’

‘Don’t. Accept instead.’

‘But I do not wish to go! I never want to go to Mannerling. Harry Devers is a lout.’