Intrigue (Daughters of Mannerling 2) (3 page)

But Lizzie with her fey features seemed quite cheerful and relaxed as she smiled up at her sister, but then she, thought Jessica with another stab of worry, was not obliged to save the family fortunes.

‘It is all very exciting, is it not?’ ventured Lizzie. ‘Of course you will be successful, Jessica. You always are.’

‘At what?’ asked Jessica with a sudden stab of cynicism. ‘I have been hitherto put to no great test apart from deciding which gown to wear.’

‘But you are so strong!’ said Lizzie, her green eyes alight with admiration, that admiration which was so essential to the bolstering of Jessica’s flagging spirits.

‘Lizzie,’ protested Jessica, ‘you are surely the only one who will not be disappointed if I fail. As you said, it is only a building.’

‘That was before the invitations came,’ said Lizzie. ‘I could not help remembering how upset and miserable Isabella was when she thought she had to marry Mr Judd. But you will not be like that, Jessica. Nothing worries you. I envy you.’

‘What worries me,’ said Jessica slowly, ‘is that if I fail, you might try to do something stupid again, Lizzie.’

‘No, no,’ said Lizzie quickly. ‘I am so ashamed of that. I would never try to take my own life again, no matter what happened. I . . . I love you, Jessica, and I am most proud of you.’

Jessica’s eyes filled suddenly with tears, and she turned her head away, glad of the increasing darkness of the summer’s evening. She wished suddenly for someone to lean on, someone in whom she could confide her weakness.

‘Come in, girls. You are out in that damp night air, are you not?’ came Lady Beverley’s voice from the parlour window.

Lizzie turned and scampered back towards the house. With lagging steps, Jessica followed her.

Ha! Ha! Family Pride, how do you like that, my buck?

W. S. GILBERT

On the day of the ball, Brookfield House was filled with the smells of lotions, pomades, washes, and hot hair from the frequent use of curling tongs.

To the sisters’ surprise, Miss Trumble insisted on helping with the preparations and proved to be an excellent hairdresser. She also knew how to drape a shawl to perfection and how to make head-dresses of real flowers.

Jessica felt the day was flying past at a great rate. She had hoped it would go more slowly so that she could dream, could savour the moment when she would be back at Mannerling again.

But all too soon the great moment arrived when they climbed into the rented carriage with Barry up on the box in a second-hand livery and white wig and cocked hat. It was a tight squeeze inside the carriage, and the sisters squabbled about crushed gowns. But as they turned in at the great gates of Mannerling, an almost religious silence fell on them.

Miss Trumble found herself becoming nervous. In their silence, the Beverley sisters seemed fragile and vulnerable.

Then the carriage stopped. Miss Trumble followed them out and stood for a moment looking up at the house. It was large and graceful, with two wings springing out from a central block and a porticoed entrance, but she could not see that it was anything out of the common way.

In silence they entered the hall. It was imposing. A double staircase rose from the hall to the chain of saloons on the first floor where the ball was being held. White marble statues of Roman gods and goddesses stood on the white-and-black-tiled floor. Huge arrangements of hothouse flowers scented the air. They went to the room off the hall to leave their wraps; the housemaid Betty, elevated to lady’s-maid, following them. It was when they were ready to go out again and up the stairs that Lady Beverley noticed with surprise the richness of her governess’s gown. Miss Trumble was wearing a dull-gold silk gown of a cut that Lady Beverley felt was more modish than her own. ‘You are very fine, Miss Trumble,’ she said with a sour note in her voice. ‘My previous employer was very generous,’ said Miss Trumble placidly. ‘This is one of her gowns. Shall we go upstairs?’

Lady Beverley led the way, and the others walked behind. Miss Trumble hoped that the Deverses would not protest at her presence. But when she curtsied to Mr and Mrs Devers and their son Harry, she promptly forgot her own worries in a sharp stab of disappointment. For Harry was not the attractive, intelligent-looking man she had seen outside the Green Man in Hedgefield. Certainly Harry Devers was handsome, tall with fair hair and fine grey eyes. He had a square jaw and trim waist. But there was a raffishness emanating from him, and she did not like the way his eyes ranged over the sisters, settling on Jessica with a predatory look.

They went on into the ballroom, which was composed of three saloons. Under the painted ceilings, dancers were performing the cotillion. ‘Dear me,’ said Jessica, fanning herself vigorously, ‘there is Mary Stoppard; I mean Mary Judd. Also, there are a number of quite undistinguished people here.’

‘Mannerling looks beautiful,’ said Lizzie. ‘Do you think they still have the portraits of our ancestors in the Long Gallery?’

‘It does not matter,’ said Jessica. ‘Mr Harry is an extremely handsome and agreeable man, do you not think?’

When the cotillion ended, Miss Trumble saw with satisfaction that all her charges had partners for the next dance, and so she made her way to a row of chairs against the wall. She sat down next to a stout lady who introduced herself as Miss Turlow. On learning she was sitting next to a mere governess, Miss Turlow was inclined to cut this Miss Trumble, but her desire for gossip was too great.

‘I am surprised to see the Beverleys here,’ began Miss Turlow. ‘I heard from my maid that the Deverses finally decided to invite them because they thought it might be sport to watch one of the young ladies trying to ensnare their son. I called at the vicarage and I said to Mrs Judd that they would not come, being insulted by such a last-minute invitation, but she said they would be so desperate to see if there might not be any way they could get their hands on Mannerling again, that no insult would stop them from attending.’

Miss Trumble stood up, turned, and looked down at Miss Turlow. ‘You are a malicious and unkind gossip,’ she said. She walked away and left an enemy behind her.

But try as she would, Miss Trumble could not quite escape hearing more cruel gossip about the Beverleys. Her heart sank Their ambition was so obvious, so vulgarly obvious, and they had probably offended quite a number of people in the days of their greatness. She at last found a seat in a corner.

‘May I fetch you some refreshment, ma’am?’ The voice was husky, light, and pleasant. She looked up into the face of the man she had mistaken for Harry Devers.

‘You are most kind. A glass of champagne would be most welcome.’

He bowed and went off and then returned after only a few minutes carrying two glasses of champagne. He handed one to her, looked around, saw a small rout chair a little way away, fetched it, and drew it up next to her.

‘You should be dancing with the pretty ladies,’ said Miss Trumble. ‘But thank you for the champagne. You are a relative of the Deverses?’

‘I am Harry’s cousin. Allow me to present myself. Robert Sommerville, at your service.’

‘I am Miss Trumble, governess to the Beverley sisters.’

‘Ah, the beautiful Beverleys. They used to live here, did they not?’

‘Yes, Mannerling was once their home.’

‘We are in the same line of business, Miss Trumble.’

‘Indeed, sir? You look much too grand to be a tutor.’

‘And you appear too
grande-dame
to be a governess. I am a professor at Oxford University.’

‘Of what, sir?’

‘Dead languages, Miss Trumble. Latin and Greek.’

‘Ah, that explains it.’

‘My dry-as-dust manner?’

‘No, sir. I saw you in Hedgefield and thought you might be the son of the house. By your clothes and manner, you could be any Bond Street aristocrat, were it not for your obvious intelligence.’

‘And you do not credit dandies with intelligence?’

‘I am often too severe in my judgements, I admit.’

‘You said you were governess to the Beverley sisters.’

‘I did.’

‘But not to all of them? The beauty of the family, the eldest, is surely past the age of needing a governess.’

‘I am unusual in that I consider a few ladylike accomplishments do not make an education. With Lady Beverley’s permission, I am educating them in what I consider a proper manner, that is, in mathematics, physics, and chemistry. We have not yet started on the dead languages.’

‘You will turn them into the sort of ladies a man like me dreams about, beautiful
and
educated.’

‘You are a
rara avis,
sir. Most gentlemen are supposed to prefer stupid women.’ She gave a little sigh. ‘I have certainly found it so.’

‘If that is the case, and you have five marriageable young ladies to school, why did you decide to give them the sort of education usually only taught to men?’

‘In the hope that they can produce intelligent sons, but more than that. When their looks have gone, they will need something to furnish their empty days.’

His black eyes were shrewd and sympathetic. Did Miss Trumble feel she had once lost love through being too clever?

Lady Beverley appeared before them. Miss Trumble rose to her feet, as did Robert Sommerville. She introduced him. Lady Beverley, on learning that he was a relative of the family, was all that was gracious, but she was annoyed with her governess, who had no right to be sitting, chatting with a guest on what had looked from across the floor to be equal terms. Besides, her gown was much too modish for her lowly station. ‘I would like you to find Betty and fetch my vinaigrette,’ said Lady Beverley.

Miss Trumble curtsied and left. ‘You are fortunate in having such a charming and highly intelligent governess,’ said Robert.

Lady Beverley promptly forgot that she had been annoyed with the governess. ‘You have the right of it. We Beverleys can still command the best.’

Her face brightened perceptibly. Robert followed her gaze. Harry Devers was dancing with Jessica. They made a handsome couple. Jessica’s silver overdress and filmy muslin gown floated out around her body. It was the year in which skirts had been raised enough to show a glimpse of the ankles. Jessica Beverley’s were excellent, thought the professor dreamily. He decided to see if he could secure a dance with her, preferably the supper one, to see if her character matched her beauty. Then he smiled to himself. If Harry Devers had not already secured that supper dance, then someone else must have booked it.

He realized Lady Beverley was fluting on about the great days of Mannerling – the great days when the Beverleys had been in residence – and suddenly bored and irritated, he waited until she paused to draw breath, rose and bowed and said he must go and talk to a friend. Miss Trumble returned with the vinaigrette. ‘Quite a pleasant fellow,’ remarked Lady Beverley.

‘And a good catch,’ said Miss Trumble.

Lady Beverley gave a pitying laugh. ‘Any of my daughters can command better than that.’

Harry Devers was bowing before Jessica. The dance had finished. Jessica looked radiant. Miss Trumble felt depressed and wished she could go home.

Jessica herself was confident that Harry Devers would invite her for the supper dance. She basked in the delight and admiration on her sisters’ faces. But when the supper dance was announced, Harry Devers asked another young lady, and Jessica stood with a bright smile pinned on her face, trying hard, Miss Trumble noticed gloomily, to look as if she cared not a whit. In fact, her other courtiers, since all knew of the Beverleys’ ambitions, had also assumed that Harry would ask her for the supper dance, and for a few moments it looked as if Jessica, the belle of the ball, would have to join the wall-flowers. But then Robert Sommerville approached her. Jessica was so relieved that she would not have to take supper with her mother and the other chaperones that she smiled bewitchingly at Robert and danced the waltz with him so gracefully that the normally hard-headed professor felt bewildered by a series of new emotions. He had rather hoped to find her empty-minded and silly so that he need not feel obliged to warn her against Harry. He knew that Mr Devers had in the past had to buy Harry out of trouble, and one of those troubles, it had been whispered, had been the rape of an officer’s wife. But Mrs Devers had assured him that Harry was a reformed character. All he needed to complete his reformation was a suitable bride. So why not stand back and let Jessica Beverley achieve her ambition? They had not talked much on the dance floor. Perhaps, over supper, she would prove to be empty and vain.

But as Robert was leading Jessica to the supper room, Jessica’s sharp ears caught a remark made by Miss Turlow. She heard that lady’s reedy voice murmuring, ‘So Mr Harry has become wise to the ambitions of the Beverleys. So blatant. Of course, that vulgar governess of theirs must surely encourage them to make such obvious cakes of themselves.’

Jessica felt herself beginning to blush deep-red. Robert Sommerville was saying something to her, but she could not hear the words because of a roaring in her ears. She had been told all her life about how elegant and superior the Beverleys were, how far above common mortals. To be exposed as a vulgar man-hunter was nigh past bearing. With a great effort, she recovered her composure. If her behaviour in pursuing Harry Devers was that obvious, then she must begin to look as if she had no interest in him at all. So when the professor asked her about her unusual education, she gave him her full attention, saying, ‘At first it was irksome. I did not want to return to the schoolroom, having escaped it. But then I began to enjoy it. The days pass so easily when one is occupied.’

‘I wish my students shared your enthusiasm,’ said Robert.

‘You are a tutor?’

‘I am a professor of Latin and Greek at Perry College, Oxford.’

‘I always thought professors would be very, very old and dull. How did you get a professorship so early in life?’

‘I am thirty-five. You flatter me. Mr Devers presented a handsome library to the college. You could say I had unfair influence.’