Intrigue (Daughters of Mannerling 2) (12 page)

What she considered her duty to her family came to her rescue and she forced herself to smile at Harry and flirt with him while a nagging headache grew in severity.

Perhaps only Robert was not fooled by Jessica’s well-affected happiness. He saw the strain behind her eyes and tried to comfort himself by considering that the girl was getting only what she deserved.

Another of the Beverley sisters was far from happy. Lizzie did not like the way Honoria had dismissed her. She remembered guiltily how much she had confided in Honoria and how Honoria had told her about Harry’s failure to secure the hand of Miss Habard. She suddenly wished to escape from the ballroom and collect her thoughts. Murmuring an excuse to her mother, who was next to her at the supper-table, Lizzie not having a partner, she said she wished to rearrange her hair. She made her way down to the ante-room reserved for the ladies’ cloaks. The maids, including Betty, were sitting on chairs in the hall, chatting to the footmen, and so the little room was empty. She sat down at the dressing-table in front of the mirror that had been placed there so that the ladies could repair their appearances. She picked up a hairbrush and began to brush her long red hair, which she still wore down. A young lady came in, saw Lizzie, and said, ‘Are there any pins there? That friend of Harry Devers, Captain Gully, trod on my gown and ripped a flounce.’

‘There is a bowl of pins here,’ said Lizzie. ‘Would you like me to pin your gown for you?’

‘If you please. You are very kind. I must introduce myself. I am Margaret Palfrey, and you are the youngest of the Beverleys, are you not?’

Lizzie held out her hand. ‘Lizzie Beverley. Yes, I am the youngest.’ She shook Margaret’s hand and then took some pins and knelt on the floor and began to neatly pin up the torn flounce.

‘Are you very happy about your sister’s engagement?’

‘Oh, so very happy,’ mumbled Lizzie through the pins in her mouth.

‘Miss Habard, to whom Harry proposed, is my closest friend.’

Lizzie finished pinning the flounce and stood up. ‘There! That should hold. But I did not think Mr Harry had actually proposed to Miss Habard. The way I heard it, he decided not to because he was enamoured of Jessica.’

‘I am sure that is what he would like people to believe,’ said Margaret stiffly.

‘But surely that was what happened,’ protested Lizzie. ‘Miss Honoria Sommerville herself told me that was the case.’

‘I had the story from Miss Habard
and
her parents,’ said Margaret. ‘He had asked her parents’ permission and received it. As they had been invited to Mannerling that day, it was arranged between the Habards and the Deverses that the proposal should take place there. Harry Devers took Miss Habard – Annabelle – into the rose garden. He proposed in a most off hand way, and when she said her parents had chosen a property for them, he said they would live at Mannerling after they were married. Then he grabbed her and mauled her and treated her like the veriest prostitute. She ran away in distress and told her parents she could never marry him.’

‘No!’ said Lizzie, raising her hands to her face.

‘Oh, yes, and Miss Habard said it might have been worse had she not hit out at him and then run away. I am heartily sorry for your sister.’

‘You are jealous!’ panted Lizzie, suddenly furious. ‘I will not listen to another word!’

‘Believe what you like,’ said Margaret scornfully. ‘It is well known that you Beverley girls would put your own mother on the auction block at Smithfield if it would get your precious Mannerling back.’

Lizzie’s cheeks flamed. ‘Be quiet! No more!’

‘No? Well, why I should bother putting you wise is beyond me. Have you also heard that it is also well known to everyone but Mr Sommerville that his sister, Honoria, does not wish him to get married?’

‘Go away,’ said Lizzie miserably. ‘Oh, please, just go away.’

Margaret left with a toss of her curls. Lizzie sat down suddenly and stared blindly at the mirror. Had her own burning ambition to come home to Mannerling at all costs left her open to the plots of Honoria? And was Harry Devers really so bad?

In that moment she thought of Miss Trumble, longing to confide in the governess and hear words of calm good sense. But what else would Miss Trumble say other than that Robert Sommerville was a fine man and that Jessica had made a terrible mistake?

Lizzie looked around the ante-room. It had always been used as a cloakroom when the Beverleys had given balls and parties at Mannerling. She remembered when she was very young, too young to attend one of the grand balls, sneaking down the back stairs through a little door that led to the back of the room and peering round it, watching the ladies in their beautiful gowns leaving their wraps, cloaks, and shawls. She had imagined making her come-out, not in London, but here in Mannerling. Angry tears filled her eyes and she brushed them away. She was too young for Margaret’s words about Harry’s lechery to make much of a lasting impact on her. Margaret must be jealous, of course she must! That was why she had said all those dreadful things.

She sat there for a long time composing herself, and then made her way up the grand staircase to the ballroom. Supper was over and Jessica was once more partnered by Harry. There was colour in her cheeks and she looked happy. Lizzie let out a little sigh of relief.

Lizzie was not to know that Jessica, under a smiling mask, was feeling bewildered. Harry had not drunk overmuch at supper and he had said charming things about how happy they would be together at Mannerling, how his parents would live elsewhere, and how she would be mistress of the place and be able to make any changes she wished. This was what she and her sisters had dreamt of. The hunt was over, the fox was well and truly caught, so why did she feel so very sad? Why was she conscious all the time of every move that Robert Sommerville made?

Towards the end of the evening, Robert at last came up to her and asked her to partner him in the waltz. No sooner were they on the floor, no sooner did he have his arm round her waist, than he bent his dark head and said, ‘So at last you have all you want.’

‘Yes, I thank you,’ said Jessica in a low voice.

‘Perhaps sacrifice makes you happy?’

‘There is no sacrifice, sir.’

‘Then I must be happy, too. For when I found out how my own sister had engineered your abrupt departure from my home, I felt in part responsible for this folly.’

‘Your sister . . . how?’

‘Knowing your ambitions and yet hoping you had grown out of them, I kept the news from you that Harry was not to wed Miss Habard. But my sister cultivated the friendship of young Lizzie, wrote to Mrs Devers, found that Harry was still free, and told Lizzie. As she expected, the news sent all of you scampering off home.’

Jessica was too shocked to protest that her mother had indeed been ill. ‘But Lizzie told us that Harry did not propose to Miss Habard because he said he was enamoured of me.’

Now it was Robert who was shocked. He knew what Mrs Devers had written to Honoria and in her letter she had said nothing about Harry’s turning down Miss Habard because of love for Jessica. Honoria must have embellished her tale with lies to make sure the Beverleys left.

‘Such was not the case,’ he said, his face rigid with distaste. ‘My sister wanted rid of you, and as I pointed out, she was successful.’

Jessica now felt miserable with shame. She remembered their stay at Tarrant Hall, which now seemed in retrospect like a sunny, carefree idyll. ‘Tell me,’ she said, ‘why it was that Harry did not propose to Miss Habard?’

‘He did propose, but – how shall I put it delicately – he mauled and pawed her in a way a lady should never be handled, and she took fright.’

‘You surely have only Miss Habard’s word for that?’

‘They were in the rose garden in full view of both Mr and Mrs Devers and Mr and Mrs Habard, who witnessed the end of the romance.’

‘I have my duty to my family,’ said Jessica, her voice now barely above a whisper, but he caught what she said just the same.

‘I should be furious with you for your clumsy, thoughtless, and hurtful behaviour,’ he said, ‘but I pity you for the grim future that lies in front of you.’

Jessica’s pride came to her rescue. ‘I consider myself the most fortunate of ladies,’ she said, and so they waltzed on until the end of the dance in an angry silence.

And yet, had Harry shown the slightest sign of manhandling her that evening or subjecting her to any of the behaviour that had so frightened Miss Habard, she might have begged her mother’s help in crying off. But fortunately for Jessica’s peace of mind, Harry, who had every intention of trying to get her alone before the end of the ball and ‘sampling the goods,’ as he described it to himself, came upon a distraction. Mrs Devers, despite her haughtiness, was a clever hostess. She knew that no ball or event could be deemed a success if most of the guests left before the end, and so she had hired an Italian diva, Madam Maria Lanni, to entertain the company. Chairs had been arranged in rows in the hall, the orchestra moved out onto the landing, and the diva took up her position in front of them at the top of the grand staircase. In the shuffling and pushing to get seats, Jessica found herself next to Robert. She could not rise to join Harry. Firstly, it would look rude, and secondly, there was a more practical reason. The Devers family had secured seats for themselves in the front row, and there were no empty seats next to them.

Harry’s sudden interest was not in the music but in Maria Lanni’s magnificent figure. She was a short woman but with a huge, deep bosom, which spilled over the top of a black velvet gown. She had a full, fleshy mouth, large round eyes, and a thin, straight, and rather long nose. The fact that her voice was quite beautiful did not affect Harry’s senses. Perhaps Mannerling itself was the only thing ever in his life that had raised his thoughts above the material and carnal.

Jessica sat beside Robert, listening to that liquid, melting voice singing of lost love. The chairs were jammed close together. His shoulder was pressed against hers. She felt as if her very bones were melting; her breath became rapid; she felt trapped by that touch of his shoulder and by the soaring music in a cage of emotion. As a savage prays to a pagan god, so Jessica prayed to Mannerling to exert its old spell and enchantment. But she was aware only of Robert and the music and the music and Robert until she felt quite faint.

When the concert was finally over, Jessica mumbled something, rose quickly to her feet, and made her escape. She sought out her mother and said shakily that she would like to go home. ‘There are only two more dances,’ said Lady Beverley. ‘ ’Twould be rude to leave now, as this is the most important evening in your life. It is not usual for a gentleman to dance with a lady more than twice, but on this special occasion Mr Harry will want the last dance with you.’

Somehow Jessica found she was dreading dancing with Harry. She had thought that escape from Robert’s proximity would give her senses relief, but she felt lost and bereft. And when the last dance was announced, Harry was nowhere to be seen, Robert had already asked a pretty young girl, and so Jessica’s hand was claimed by the oily vicar, Mr Stoppard, who had snubbed the Beverleys quite disgracefully since their ruin but was now anxious to ingratiate himself.

Fortunately for Jessica, it was a rowdy country dance and the vicar had little opportunity to speak to her.

The Beverleys said good night to Mr and Mrs Devers. Mrs Devers looked flustered and said she did not know where Harry could have got to, although the poor boy was so delicate and sensitive that perhaps the excitement of the evening had been too much for him.

Maria Lanni was eating a late meal in a corner of the supper room. The door had been closed and locked to give the diva privacy, but Harry, having found out where she was, took the spare key from the butler’s pantry, unlocked the door and slipped inside, and locked it behind him.

He lounged across the room and sat down next to Maria. She continued to eat, ignoring him. ‘You’ve got a beautiful voice,’ said Harry, his eyes fastened greedily on her bosom. She wiped her mouth on the table-cloth and said in a slightly cocknified voice, ‘So I believe.’

Harry gave an inward sigh. He was always bored with the formality of paying compliments.

But the diva drained the wine in her glass, poured another, and said, ‘How much?’

‘How much do I like your singing? Beats the nightingales every time, believe me.’

‘I mean, how much you pay me for my favours?’

Harry goggled. ‘You mean . . . I mean . . .’

‘I have met your kind before,’ said Maria. ‘It always comes to the same thing. So I ask you again . . . how much?’

Harry’s palms felt sweaty. She leaned back in her chair and the candle-light fell on the whiteness of her magnificent breasts, revealed by the low-cut gown.

‘How much are you asking?’ His voice was hoarse.

‘You are Mr Harry Devers, are you not?’ Harry nodded dumbly.

‘So the good hostess, Mrs Devers, is your mother?’

Again Harry nodded.

‘Your mama is wearing a fine diamond necklace. Get it for me and bring it to my room.’

‘Can’t do that,’ said Harry. ‘I say, I’ll buy you one of your own.’

‘Mama’s necklace . . . or good night.’

‘Damme, there’s no one here. I could take you now.’

‘I have a good voice. One scream from me would be heard not only here but in London. And I would give my story to the newspapers.’

‘Joke,’ said Harry feebly. And then his eyes brightened. He knew his mother kept paste replicas of all her jewels and was often reluctant to wear the real gems, preferring to keep them safely in the bank. Tonight the necklace she was wearing was the real thing, but the paste one would be in the jewel-box in her room.

‘It’s yours,’ he said eagerly. ‘What about a kiss?’

‘Nothing, my friend, until I have the diamonds around my neck.’

‘I’ll get ’em.’ Harry rose to his feet. She continued to drink wine, watching him with hard bright eyes as he bowed, turned, and marched to the door.

The last dance was being announced. He forgot about Jessica, his engagement, about everything except Maria’s charms. He went quietly up the stairs to his mother’s bedroom. To his relief, her lady’s-maid was absent. He lit an oil-lamp and began to search feverishly. It seemed to take a long time. He was dimly aware of the sound of carriage wheels in the drive as the guests left and only gave a brief passing thought that he should have said goodbye to them. He found the jewel-box at last at the bottom of a large wardrobe. He dragged it out. It was locked. He searched frantically for the key, and then remembered with a sinking heart that the lady’s-maid kept the keys with the others – of the lace-box, tea-box, and things like that – on a chain at her waist. He swore loudly and was about to give up when, as he raised the oil-lamp high for a last look around, he caught the sparkle and shine from something hidden under a gauzy scarf on the toilet-table. He ripped the scarf aside, and a slow smile crossed his lips. For there was the paste necklace. His mother must have had it out before the ball, debating whether to wear it or the real one. Without a thought for the poor lady’s-maid who would probably be blamed for its disappearance, he snatched it up and stuffed it in his pocket.