Intrigue (Daughters of Mannerling 2) (5 page)

‘And how goes Mr Devers?’

‘Father or son?’ he asked, although he knew very well which one she meant.

‘Mr Harry Devers.’

‘I do not know. I believe he was still asleep when I left.’

‘Oh,’ said Jessica in a little voice.

They had reached the herb garden, where Barry was diligently working. A light breeze blew across the herbs, scenting the air and ruffling Jessica’s auburn hair.

‘Good afternoon, Barry,’ said Jessica. ‘This is Mr Sommerville from Mannerling, come to admire your work.’ She pulled a leaf from a plant and raised it to her nose. ‘This smells beautiful. What is it?’

‘Orange thyme, miss.’

‘You have done miracles here,’ said Robert. ‘Have you been here before, sir?’ asked Barry.

‘Yes, it was owned by a distant relative of mine, an elderly lady, a Miss Dalman. She cared for neither plants nor flowers. It was a wilderness compared to this.’

He and Jessica moved away. ‘That is a fine fellow,’ said Robert.

Jessica gave a little shrug. ‘I do not particularly notice servants.’ The minute the words were out, she regretted them.

He said in a stiff voice. ‘I must return. Make my goodbyes to your family. Your servant, Miss Jessica.’

He bowed and strode away. Jessica felt a pang of regret, but she quickly dismissed it. Robert Sommerville was very well in his way, but Harry Devers was the quarry.

She returned to her sisters and mother. Lady Beverley looked up in surprise. ‘Where is Mr Sommerville?’

‘He has left, Mama.’

‘Without saying goodbye! How very odd. I am sure young Mr Devers would not have behaved so.’

‘We are never likely to find out,’ snapped Jessica. She felt tetchy and ashamed of herself about the remark she had made about servants to Robert Sommerville. ‘I was mistaken in Harry Devers’s interest in me, that is all.’

Harry Devers was not thinking of anything much other than his aching head and dry mouth when he walked through to the Green Saloon at three in the afternoon that day. Robert Sommerville was sitting reading a newspaper. He put it down when Harry entered and said, ‘You look uncommon rough.’

‘Stayed awake till dawn finishing the brandy,’ said Harry, stifling a yawn.

‘I have been about this age,’ said Robert, putting down the newspaper. ‘I called on the Beverleys.’

‘A beautiful nosegay of beauty,’ said Harry. ‘Oh, my cursed head!’

He slumped down in a chair and looked vaguely about him. ‘I’m thinking of selling out.’

Robert looked at him in surprise. ‘Leave the army! But you love the army.’

‘Fact is,’ said Harry, ‘I feel at home for the first time. I mean, here at Mannerling.’

‘I cannot understand the fascination of this place,’ remarked Robert. ‘It is a house, nothing more. Perhaps you should have called on the Beverleys.’ The latter was said sarcastically. Never for a moment did he think Harry would take him seriously.

Harry glanced at the clock. ‘I might just do that. There’s still time. That Jessica is a prime piece of flesh and blood.’

Robert stood up and loomed over Harry, suddenly a formidable figure. ‘Do you know something, Harry? I despise you and have always done so. Keep away from the Beverleys or I will be forced to tell Miss Jessica about your reputation.’

Harry stared after him. Then he turned back and scowled at the wall. What reputation? He fancied himself as being irresistible to the ladies. Then his face cleared. Of course! That was it! Robert fancied the Jessica chit himself. He had taken her in to supper at the ball.

Harry got to his feet and went upstairs to his bed-chamber, roaring for his valet and then shouting for his carriage to be brought to the front door. At last, barbered and changed into morning dress of blue swallow-tail coat, starched cravat, waistcoat embroidered with humming-birds, canary-coloured pantaloons, and glossy Hessian boots with little gold tassels, he made his way downstairs and out to his curricle.

As he approached Brookfield House, he noticed with satisfaction that it was quite a shabby place compared to Mannerling. But, then, nothing could rival Mannerling.

The sisters were in the garden. Lessons had been suspended for the day, but Miss Trumble was just beginning to think that had been a bad idea, for Jessica looked gloomy and disappointed and the rest were sitting idly under the cedar tree, also in the doldrums.

And then Betty, the little maid, came running into the garden, the streamers on her white cap flying. ‘Mr Devers is here!’ she cried. ‘Mr Harry Devers.’

‘Then show Mr Devers into the garden,’ said Miss Trumble, ‘and tell your mistress he is come.’ She noticed that Jessica was now flushed and radiant and that her sisters were exchanging triumphant little looks. When Harry Devers sauntered into the garden, swinging his cane, walking with his feet pointed out to each side in that silly way gentlemen affected these days, Miss Trumble thought he looked more like a coxcomb than she had remembered him to be, but it was obvious that the Beverley girls saw no fault in him. Miss Trumble resolved that in this case, Jessica would stay where she was: no intimate walks in the garden with Mr Devers.

‘A charming sight on a beautiful day,’ said Harry, sweeping off his high-crowned hat and giving a low bow as the sisters and Miss Trumble dropped curtsies. How they fussed around him, offering him the most comfortable chair, putting a cushion at his back, asking if he would like any refreshment. Harry smiled languidly all about and said he would like a glass of wine, and Betty was sent running to fetch it. Miss Trumble was relieved to see Lady Beverley walking across the grass to join them, but her relief was short-lived, for after the pleasantries were over and Harry had drunk his glass of wine, Lady Beverley said, ‘Jessica, my dear, why do you not show Mr Harry the garden?’

‘I will accompany you,’ said Miss Trumble, rising to her feet, but Lady Beverley said sharply, ‘Sit down, Miss Trumble. There are matters I wish to discuss with you.’

So, for the second time that day, Jessica led a gentleman around the garden.

‘The roses are beautiful, are they not?’ Jessica bent down to smell one.

‘Nothing in the world is as beautiful as you,’ said Harry. He briefly forgot about Jessica as he mentally paused to admire the stunning neatness of his compliment.

‘You are too kind,’ murmured Jessica.

‘Not kind.
Honest
, Miss Jessica.’

Her bosom was soft and round. He fumbled for his quizzing-glass to get a better look at it and then decided such an action might be too bold.

‘When do you return to the army?’ asked Jessica, anxious to know how much time she had to make a conquest.

‘As to that,’ he said, ‘I have been considering selling out.’

‘Is this a sudden decision?’

‘In a way. I feel I have found a home at last.’

‘Ah, Mannerling,’ said Jessica wistfully.

‘Yes. I never considered I was a sentimental sort of cove, and yet, there is something about the place . . .’

‘It is the beauty of the design, the painted ceilings, the staircase, the formal gardens . . .’

‘Miss it, do you?’

‘Oh, so very much.’

‘Well, you must come over and see us and it. I’ll tell Mama to expect you for tea tomorrow at three, say?’

‘I would like that above all things. May I bring my family?’

‘Maybe another time.’ Her mouth was beautifully shaped and pink. If he got her on her own at Mannerling, he could maybe steal a kiss . . . or more! ‘Come on your own.’

‘Very well,’ said Jessica.

‘I’ll say goodbye, then.’ He made a low bow and then seized her hand and pressed it to his lips. He thought she blushed adorably. He left feeling pleased with himself. He found her very attractive. He had been warned of the Beverleys’ ambitions, but there was no way he could have a girl like Jessica outside marriage. Besides, her enthusiasm for Mannerling matched his own. If he married her, then perhaps he could persuade his parents to live elsewhere and then have Mannerling all to himself.

Miss Trumble thought that here was another gentleman who had rudely left without saying goodbye to the rest of the family. But Jessica was all smiles as she told her rapt audience of her invitation to tea.

The worried governess decided to have a quiet word with her when she could get her alone, but that opportunity did not arrive until late in the evening when she saw Jessica go out into the garden and followed her.

A greenish sky pricked by the first star of evening stretched over the quiet garden. The air was warm and still.

‘I wish to speak to you in private before you go to Mannerling tomorrow,’ said Miss Trumble.

‘What about?’ asked Jessica lazily. She and her sisters had discussed Jessica’s ‘triumph’ over and over again.

‘I have met gentlemen like Mr Harry Devers before,’ said Miss Trumble quietly. ‘They have strong, almost animal, appetites in their approach to women. To put it bluntly, you are an inexperienced virgin.’

‘And you, not being one, know so much better?’ Jessica’s fine eyes flashed in the twilight.

‘Don’t be impertinent or hoity-toity with me, miss. Your obsession with Mannerling is blinding you to Mr Devers’s faults. He dresses and acts like a coxcomb.’

‘I am not going to listen to any more of this,’ said Jessica furiously. ‘You forget your position in this household, Miss Trumble.’

Miss Trumble looked at her haughtily. ‘I am never likely to be allowed to forget, am I? Very well, do what you must. But do not come running to me for help.’

‘You? I would not dream of it.’

‘Let us not quarrel,’ said the governess in a calmer tone. ‘Mr Sommerville, on the other hand, is all that a gentleman should be, and more.’

The spoilt child that was still part of Jessica’s character rose to the surface. ‘Why don’t you marry him yourself?’ she jeered, and then she turned on her heel and marched off to the house.

Miss Trumble sighed and sat down on a fallen log at the edge of the lawn.

‘I must behave more like a governess,’ she said aloud.

‘Is that difficult for you, miss?’ said a voice behind her, making her jump.

She looked round and saw Barry standing there in the gloom. ‘You startled me,’ said Miss Trumble.

‘I’m sorry, miss. I couldn’t help hearing what you said, the garden being so quiet-like.’

‘I was talking to myself,’ said Miss Trumble. ‘A bad habit of old age. I merely meant that it is difficult to remember one’s place when one is concerned with the folly of one’s charges.’

‘They do seem mighty determined to get back to Mannerling, no matter what.’ Barry sat down beside her on the log.

‘We have talked about this before. I fear for Jessica. There is something about Harry Devers I cannot like.’

‘I was with the other coachmen and servants at the ball, miss, and the gossip was that the ladies were not safe around him, and in this wicked day and age a gentleman has to be pretty bad for a bunch of male servants to think him shocking. But to put your fears at rest, Miss Jessica is determined to pursue him. But she will not be left alone with him.’

‘She was this afternoon, and with her mother’s encouragement, too.’

‘Ah, yes, but that was in this garden, with me about and the maids bound to be watching from the windows. What I am trying to say is that Mr Harry will have little opportunity to molest Miss Jessica were he so inclined.’

‘And yet,’ said Miss Trumble bitterly, ‘I could find it in my heart to wish that he would give her a really good fright to knock some of the nonsense out of her head.’

But Miss Trumble and Barry Wort were alone in their concern as next day Jessica set out for Mannerling accompanied by the maid, Betty, and with Barry driving the small Beverley carriage. Her sisters and mother were there on the step to wave her goodbye.

Jessica felt happy and elated, and the only cloud on her horizon was the niggling memory of the contempt Robert Sommerville had shown her. She shook him off mentally. He did not matter. He was only a guest, after all.

The whole ambience of Mannerling seemed to enclose her in welcoming arms as the horse pulling the carriage clip-clopped sedately up the long drive. She let down the glass and gazed hungrily at the house, at the white pillars of the entrance, at the graceful wings on either side of the main building, and then across the grounds, across the smooth green of the lawns to the ornamental lake where ducks bobbed like toys on the glassy water.

The entrance hall smelt of pot-pourri and bees-wax. She placed a loving hand on the shining mahogany of the banister, caressing its smoothness as if stroking the hand of the lover she had never known.

The butler ushered her into the drawing room and announced her. Harry was there with his mother. There was no sign of either Mr Devers or Robert Sommerville. Jessica was disappointed that Robert was not there. She knew she was looking her very best in a white lace morning gown with little puffed sleeves and a low neckline, and she wanted to show him that she did not care what he thought about her in the slightest. She gave Mrs Devers her best court curtsy. Mrs Devers, elegantly gowned, returned the curtsy with a brief nod. Harry jumped to his feet and bowed.

Jessica sat between Mrs Devers and Harry on a Chippendale chair, a Beverley chair, starting a little when a footman leaped to slide it under her bottom, something that, in the not-so-long past, she would have taken for granted.

Mrs Devers made the tea herself, filling the delicate china pot from a silver urn over a little spirit stove.

Jessica took a cress sandwich and said, ‘The weather is holding fine.’

Harry did not reply, for his mouth was full of cake. Mrs Devers said nothing at all.

‘The roses must make a fine display,’ pursued Jessica.

Mrs Devers sipped tea, Harry ate another cake, the clock in the corner chimed a silvery three strokes, as if to remind Jessica that she had arrived a whole five minutes too early, and then silence settled on the room.

Jessica ate her sandwich. Mrs Devers nodded to one of the two liveried footmen in attendance. One walked forward, picked up a plate of cakes, and offered it to Jessica. Jessica declined. She was determined now that Mrs Devers should speak to her.