Intrigue (Daughters of Mannerling 2) (8 page)

The cook, a retired soldier, Joshua Evans, looked in surprise as Miss Trumble walked into the kitchen, stood counting to ten, and then hurried out again.

Jessica had joined her mother and Robert in the garden. Miss Trumble approached. ‘My lady, I must beg you to spare me a few minutes. There is a crisis in the kitchen.’

‘I do not know why I keep servants such as you when I have to deal with matters myself,’ said Lady Beverley pettishly. Jessica was aware of Robert’s face becoming stiff with disapproval and for the first time in her life felt thoroughly ashamed of her mother.

Miss Trumble waited patiently. ‘Oh, very well,’ said Lady Beverley.

She went with Miss Trumble to the kitchen, her voice raised in complaint. ‘What is it
now
?’

When they were inside the cool kitchen with its stone-flagged floor, Miss Trumble said hurriedly, ‘Do but reconsider Mr Sommerville’s invitation.’

‘Why should I?’

‘A change of air would do you good. Also, there is the saving on household bills here to consider.’

Lady Beverley’s pale eyes surveyed her governess. ‘And do you think I am concerned with such petty matters as household economy?’

‘Yes, my lady, and I have often admired you for it.’

Lady Beverley turned away. Facing her was a large copper pan, burnished to a high shine. As she gazed at it, she could see the distorted reflection of her governess’s face. And yet it was not Miss Trumble’s face but that of someone she knew or had known. The dim reflection wiped out the lines on Miss Trumble’s aged face and an attractive and haughty aristocrat stared out at Lady Beverley from the bottom of the copper pan. She swung back, her mouth a little open in surprise. But it was only Miss Trumble with her wrinkled face and dainty dress, standing, staring meekly at the floor.

She thought about what Miss Trumble had said, her mind ranging over the saving on food and candles and laundry.

‘I will consider it,’ she said.

‘Perhaps it will be too late,’ said Miss Trumble. ‘
He
might have changed his mind.’

‘And if he has,’ said Lady Beverley waspishly, ‘it is because you have kept me too long in my own kitchen.’

She hurried out. Miss Trumble suppressed a smile and followed more slowly.

She saw Lady Beverley, looking more animated than she had ever done since Miss Trumble had first met her, talking to Robert.

Safe for a little while, thought Miss Trumble, safe from Mannerling. And now the important thing was to make sure that none of them heard of the rejection of Harry Devers before she got them away.

The girls gathered in Jessica’s bedroom that evening after dinner. ‘So,’ began Belinda, ‘what do you think of your Mr Sommerville, Jessica?’

‘Not my Mr Sommerville,’ said Jessica, ‘but he appears very pleasant.’ She suddenly remembered that kiss and blushed.

‘Aha!’ cried Abigail. ‘A tell-tale blush.’

‘Fiddle,’ said Jessica. ‘I am no longer interested in marriage. I may never marry.’

‘Perhaps Isabella will be the only one of us ever to marry,’ said Lizzie.

‘What can you mean?’ cried Rachel.

‘Just that everyone seems aware of the fact, except us, that ladies without dowries do not get married. Only look at our Miss Trumble. Sometimes when I look at her I get a sort of picture of the pretty young girl she must have been once.’

‘Pooh,’ said Abigail haughtily. ‘Do not compare any of us with a mere governess.’

‘Besides,’ said Rachel, ‘Mr Sommerville is not asking all of
us
for the pleasure of our company. It is Jessica he is interested in.’

‘Would you marry such a man?’ asked Lizzie, leaning forward, her long red hair half shielding her face.

‘I told you, I am not interested in him as a future husband,’ said Jessica sharply. ‘But I do not understand what you mean by saying “such a man.” He is handsome, comfortably off, and intelligent.’

‘But he will never have Mannerling.’

‘Lizzie,’ pleaded Jessica, ‘I thought when I told you that Mr Harry was to marry Miss Habard that we had put hopes of Mannerling behind us. We have been happy, have we not?’

‘Perhaps,’ said Lizzie in a little voice. ‘Mostly I forget, but I dream a lot, and in my dreams we are all home again and none of this has ever happened.’

For once, in their minds, her sisters were of the same mind as Miss Trumble. The sooner they got Lizzie away from the influence of Mannerling, the better.

The date of departure was set for a week later, and the girls grew increasingly excited at the prospect of the visit. Robert was to send a carriage for them, a fact that delighted Lady Beverley, who had been beginning to worry about the expense of a post-chaise.

Fortunately for Miss Trumble, Robert had made it very clear that he expected her to be of the party; otherwise Lady Beverley would have made her stay in the role of housekeeper.

On the morning of the day they were to depart, Jessica went in search of Barry and found him feeding the hens.

He eyed her with a certain wariness, hoping she had not heard any news from Mannerling. But it soon became evident that Jessica had heard nothing and was seeking him out to find out if he had.

‘Do you know if Mr Harry is betrothed to Miss Habard?’ she asked.

Barry sent up a prayer for forgiveness for the outright lie he was about to tell. ‘I believe he is, miss.’

Jessica felt relief instead of dismay. Just so long as there was no hope left of reclaiming Mannerling, she could forget the place and life could go on.

As they went out to the carriage that had arrived from Tarrant Hall, Barry helped the Sommerville footman and groom load the luggage on the roof. And then, just as Lady Beverley went back into the house to fetch a favourite fan, Barry saw John, the sneaky footman from Mannerling, lounging up the drive, his eyes alight with curiosity. Barry moved forward to stop him from approaching any nearer.

‘You’re trespassing,’ said Barry. ‘Off with you.’

John ignored him. ‘Where are that lot off to, then?’ he asked. ‘I was riding past on my road back from Hedgefield and saw the carriage.’

‘Be off with you,’ hissed Barry. ‘You’ve no business here.’

‘I worked as footman for Lady Beverley. I’m sure my lady will want to say good day to me.’

Barry looked at him in a fury. He did not want the gossiping John to know that the Beverleys were going to Tarrant Hall. He did not want them anywhere near the family in case he told them about Harry’s rejection.

John strolled past him with an insolent sneer on his face. Barry seized his arm and twisted it up his back and marched him back down the drive to where his horse was tethered to a tree. He gave him a final shove towards it. ‘Mount,’ he growled, ‘or I’ll draw your cork.’

John looked at Barry’s pugnacious face and quickly threw himself up into the saddle. Feeling safer, he leaned down. ‘There’s something going on here,’ he said. ‘I’ll find out what it is.’ He suddenly lashed out at Barry’s face with his riding crop, but Barry nimbly jumped back. John wheeled his horse and set off at a smart canter. Barry shook his worried head. He would need to warn the remaining servants not to gossip. Then he returned to make his goodbyes to the Beverleys. No doubt Robert Sommerville would tell them about Mr Harry, but by that time they would be safe in his home.

Fortunately for Barry, Harry Devers was in London, so John, the footman, was unable to seek him out and tell him about the odd goings-on at Brookfield House. Harry was surfacing from a heavy drunken sleep when his man awoke him to tell him that his friend, Captain Gully Fawcett, had called.

‘Good old Gully,’ said Harry. ‘Show him up and get me a seltzer. Oh, my head.’

Gully sloped into the room. He was a tall, thin man with a weak face and pale eyes.

‘You look a wreck,’ he said amiably.

‘Roistering until dawn,’ said Harry.

‘You were calling toasts all night to some female called Jessica Beverley.’

‘I was?’

‘Fairest creature in England, you kept saying.’

‘Some impoverished local lady,’ said Harry. ‘But, begad, I had forgot how beautiful she was. Better than that silly little fat-eyed Habard female.’

‘The one who turned you down?’

Harry glared at him furiously for a moment and then said ruefully, ‘I seem to have been babbling on.’

‘What I want to know,’ said Gully, sitting down on the end of the bed, ‘is what are you doing in London if this fair charmer is in the country?’

‘She’ll keep,’ said Harry. ‘I can have that one any time I please.’

‘But not outside marriage?’

‘No.’

‘Won’t your parents have something to say on that score? I never knew parents yet who were prepared to give their blessing to a marriage where no or little money was involved.’

‘Oh, they’ll howl a bit, but then they’ll let me have what I want. They always do.’

‘Thought they were going to cut off your funds because you’re leaving the army.’

‘They huff and puff a bit, but they always come around. I tell you what I’m missing. I’m missing Mannerling.’

‘Who’s she?’

‘Not she. My home in the country. Bless me, you’ve never seen anywhere so beautiful.’

‘Beautiful home, beautiful Miss Beverley. I repeat, why are you here?’

‘Because both of ’em ain’t going to run away. I need a bit of fun without my parents breathing down my neck. There’s the Cyprian ball at the Argyll Rooms tonight. If I don’t die before then.’

The Beverleys had assumed that Robert Sommerville lived alone. But it transpired that his sister Honoria resided with him. She was a spinster in her late thirties. Like her brother she was tall, black-haired, and black-eyed. The strong features that made her brother handsome made her look formidable. But she certainly appeared all that was amiable as she welcomed them, and the sisters saw nothing to fear.

Tarrant Hall was a comfortable mansion set in rolling parkland. It had every elegance and comfort. The rooms allocated to each were well appointed, the servants were polite and efficient, and the cook was excellent. Away from the spell of Mannerling, the girls chattered happily, enjoying this unexpected holiday. Robert Sommerville had said nothing about Harry Devers, and no one had asked him for any news.

Only the shrewd Miss Trumble sensed trouble ahead. She alone had not been deceived by the amiable Miss Honoria Sommerville. Miss Trumble quickly came to the conclusion that Honoria enjoyed being mistress of Tarrant Hall and had no intention of relinquishing her position by letting her brother marry.

Miss Trumble could only rely on the obvious strength of Robert’s character and the hope that he could not be influenced by this sister of his. She began to relax as the days passed and Robert and Jessica talked together, went for walks, and spent a great deal of time in each other’s company.

Honoria watched and waited and bided her time. To point out to her brother that the Beverleys had no money to speak of would not affect him, for had he not told her that fact himself?

She studied the sisters. Miss Trumble, she reflected, was the problem. Despite the fact they were all on a visit, the governess continued to educate the girls each morning, and Robert often joined in these schoolroom sessions, confiding to his sister that it was a pleasure to find girls who were intelligent as well as beautiful. Honoria led – usually – a calm, self-sufficient life. She was not used to making friends, particularly among younger members of her own sex. But she realized she would have to get close to one of them if she was to find out some weakness, or piece of gossip, she could exploit.

It was then her attention was drawn to little Lizzie. There was something sad at the back of the girl’s eyes and she did not seem as carefree as her sisters. Nor was she as beautiful, being cursed with red hair.

There was a lake in the grounds and Honoria found out by diligent questioning of the servants that Lizzie was in the habit of retreating there in the afternoons. Armed one day with a piece of petit point, she made her way to the lake. Sure enough, Lizzie was sitting there on a bench at the edge of the water, a book lying on her lap. The girl was not reading, Honoria noticed, but looking out across the water. She sat down beside her after murmuring a quiet ‘Good day,’ and began to sew.

Lizzie picked up her book and rose to her feet. ‘No, do not run away,’ said Honoria. ‘I shall sit here and sew and leave you to your meditations.’

Lizzie sat down again reluctantly. The sun shone and a little breeze ruffled the waters of the lake. Somewhere in the grounds a peacock screamed suddenly, its harsh cry rending the pastoral stillness, and then all was quiet again.

‘We had peacocks at Mannerling,’ said Lizzie half to herself.

‘Mannerling? Our relatives, the Deverses, live there. I have been invited several times but I prefer it here,’ said Honoria, placidly stitching away at a fat rose.

‘Oh, but you should go.’ Now Honoria had Lizzie’s full attention. Lizzie wanted to talk about Mannerling. It nagged and nagged away at her, but her sisters now shied away from the very mention of the place. ‘We lived there,’ said Lizzie, ‘until Papa lost all the money.’

There was a yearning note in her voice. Honoria entered another neat stitch. ‘Tell me about it, my child.’