Keeping the Castle (2 page)

“My dear, Mr. Godalming just hurried away. He was almost
rude.
You didn’t say anything to upset him, did you?”

It was my mama, appearing at the entrance to the shrubbery accompanied by my small brother, Alexander.

“Yes, I am so sorry, Mama, but I am afraid Mr. Godalming has discovered that he has a soul above marriage to such a one as I. We have parted forever, I fear.”

“Oh dear, and he seemed so devoted!”

“Yes, Mama, but you would not have enjoyed being patronized by
his
mama; you know you would not.”

“My love, I could bear anything for your sake.”

“Well then
, I
could not bear to be patronized by his mama. It is for the best. We shall do much better by and by,” I said, linking my arm with hers and drawing her back inside the castle walls.

“I certainly hope so. To be honest, I do not think Mr. Godalming is a man who could make you happy,” she said, putting my brother down on the frayed carpet. “So I am glad you are not to wed him. However,” she admitted, “the whole east wing
does
need a new roof, or so I fear.” My mama cast her eyes upwards to a tracery of green mold on the stone walls.

“Oh,” she added, “and that balcony out over the guardhouse is sagging; the wooden framework is rotten.”

“It would be easier to tear it down than to replace it,” I suggested, and Mama agreed.

Our home was not a real castle in the sense of being ancient and fortified. My great-grandfather had been a romantic, fond of reading about the gallant knights of the Round Table, and it had been his childhood dream to build a castle by the sea. While influenced by the ruins of Castle Scarborough some miles away, he had not been a stickler for historical accuracy. Indeed, much of the structure was nonfunctional in any but a decorative sense, with winding stone stairs leading to nowhere, murder holes so improperly placed that they could pose no danger even to the most oblivious of intruders, and a hodgepodge of towers and battlements sticking out at random. He called it Crawley Castle, but such was his love for the picturesque that the building produced was immediately and invariably known as “Crooked Castle.”

My great-grandfather had sold most of his holdings in order to build this fantasy on a hundred-foot cliff overlooking the North Sea, and then spent most of the rest of his fortune furnishing it. Since he had exchanged rich farmland for barren chalk cliffs, our family’s financial situation has yet to recover from this architectural extravagance. Now our home, as inconvenient and eccentric as it was, made up nearly the sum total of our wealth, save for a pittance in rents, and for a time following my father’s death our retaining even
that
was in doubt. His decease took place shortly before the birth of my brother, and for several months we lived in suspense. Had the child been a girl we would have had to leave our home and go, who knows where, in order to make way for the male heir, Charles Crawley, a second cousin none of us even knew, living somewhere in Sussex.

The birth of dear little Alexander saved us from that fate, and ever since his birth it has been the object of all our care to save the property for him (and incidentally for ourselves) when he shall be of an age to hold it.

Two years ago my mother remarried, to a man of fortune but no property named Winthrop. Mr. Winthrop was a widower with two daughters, both several years older than myself, and he had had great plans, enthusiastically seconded by my mother, to repair and refurbish the castle.

Neither Mr. Winthrop nor his plans survived the first month of marriage. He began to cough as he walked my mother down the aisle and did not leave off until a renowned physician, summoned from York at vast expense, closed his eyes in death two weeks later. His money descended to his daughters with only a pittance to us, and we therefore found ourselves in much the same situation as before the marriage with the exception of having two more mouths to feed. My stepsisters did feel
some
obligation to contribute towards their upkeep, but the sum was ever in dispute, and tardy in payment.

We could not afford to live in and maintain the castle; neither could we quit it. In order to lease it out to a tenant it would be necessary to make some rather expensive repairs, and even had we wished to sell it we could not: it belonged to little Alexander. Other than abandoning it to tumble into the sea, we had no other alternative but to live in it as cheaply as could be contrived and put our hopes in the future, which, sad to say, looked little brighter than did the present. We had no aged, wealthy relative teetering on the brink of eternity, and it would be many years before Alexander could make any attempt to repair our fortunes. Besides, we doted on him and did not like to think of his risking his life and health in the gold fields, or at the helm of a privateer sailing the high seas.

No, our only hope was in marriage. Mine.

I smiled upon my mama. “We shall have a new roof, the furniture new-covered, and three elegant gowns, all for you, upon the occasion of my wedding, you’ll see,” I assured her. “Perhaps I should consider an elderly suitor,” I mused. “They are more easily managed, I believe. And
they
often have defective hearing, which might be quite an advantage.”

My mother was shaking her head, but I went on, unregarding.

“Then too, you know, if I chose a man of great age and infirmity I might become a wealthy widow quite soon after the wedding. And then we could have the drawbridge over the moat replaced immediately rather than having to wait for him to recover from the wedding expenses; it has become a bit infirm of late.”

“Oh, I believe it would be better not,” interrupted my mama, “not until we have no other options. Best to aim for a younger man. You see, dearest, there are certain aspects of marriage—” She bent her head as she helped Alexander to climb up upon her lap—“it is not proper for you to know about them yet, but you must trust me to know what I am speaking about—that make a young man much more pleasing.”

“Mama.” I took her hand and pressed it, speaking earnestly. “I well understand that the pursuit and acquisition of a wealthy husband is my lot in life, and that achieving that goal is our only chance of assuring ourselves a comfortable future. I shall not disappoint you, I promise.”

“Occasionally,” my mama said, with a hint of defiance in her voice, “I wonder if it would not be possible for a lady to make her way in the world without a husband or inherited fortune. I feel that you and I are
nearly
as clever as most of the men we know.”

“Oh, my dear madam! How you do go on!” I laughed and squeezed her hand. There were times when I felt as if I were her elder, wiser sister. Indeed, my life would have been a good deal easier in many respects if she had been a more worldly, realistic woman, but in spite of this failing, I loved her dearly. “You know quite well that it has been scientifically proven that a woman’s small brain is not capable of understanding much beyond matters of the household. Tho’ when I think of Mr. Godalming’s brain . . . But no, intelligence is not all that counts in life, but power as well, and a woman without money has none.” I gave her hand another squeeze. “I will find someone, do not fear.”

She smiled then, and laughed a little. “You are right, of course, as always. I am a lucky woman to have such a daughter. Both lovely
and
practical.”

“Only lucky to have a daughter like Althea? What about us, Stepmother dearest?” My stepsisters, Prudence and Charity, entered the corner of the great hall that stood duty with us for a drawing room. I sighed. I believe my mama did as well, but hers was a tiny, noiseless sigh in comparison with my gusty exhalation, which was powerful enough to flutter the lace on my bodice.

“You know I consider myself lucky to have
all
my daughters, Prudence,” she said.

“Yes, I should think you might, Madam,” said Charity, smiling unpleasantly. Prudence smirked.

These sneers at my mother referred to the fact that
their
incomes were essential to keeping the walls about us standing. If one or both married, the castle most likely would fall down around our ears. As things were, they were unwilling to open their purses or to authorize any purchases not for their own comfort or pleasure.

Quite providentially, my stepsisters were both disagreeable and incapable of disguising the fact. Whenever they went to call upon ladies with marriageable sons or brothers, the young men would turn pale and bolt out of doors even into a driving rain, claiming to be going out with the dogs. They knew, you see, how determined the Misses Winthrop were to marry and establish independent households. Of course, given the size of their dowries, they would no doubt succeed some day.

“I saw Godalming leaving,” observed Prudence. She was the elder, with a broad, flat face and figure, and few pretensions to beauty. Her favorite pastime was collecting quotations on the subject of death and mortality. She wrote them out in an elegant hand, decorated them with sketches of weeping willows and mourning urns, bound them up in an album labeled “Memento Mori,” and then gloated over them. “He seemed in a bit of a hurry. I trust you did not chase him away with that indiscreet tongue of yours, Althea.”

“Indeed, I am afraid I did, Prudence. We shall see him no more.”

Charity seemed much put out. “I call that selfish of you, Althea! If you didn’t want him, it might have occurred to you that Pru and I . . . well,
we
enjoyed his company. He is a most eligible young man.” Charity was several years younger than her sister, with a graceful figure, a great many spit curls plastered over her forehead, and a mean little face like a gooseberry.

“My apologies,” I said, bending my head to hide a smile. I was quite certain that Mr. Godalming’s proposal had been as slow in coming as it was only because he found it a struggle to make up his mind to marry into a family containing such as Prudence and Charity. “Perhaps you will see him at Lord Boring’s ball. I promise to fade into the background so that he will not be frightened away.”

Charity said, “See that you do, then. I know that Prudence is partial to him,” and she cast a sly smile at her sister. Prudence preened herself.

My mama and I exchanged glances. Of the two sisters, Charity was by far the more attractive—if it were possible to ignore the sharp expression in her eyes and the pinching of her lips, one might call her pretty. She compensated for this, however, by possessing a character as acerbic as undiluted lemon juice.

My mother was all kindness, as always. “I hope you both will have a delightful ball. Indeed, I may say I hope everyone does; we need a little gaiety after the long winter.”

“I am looking forward to it,” I said, which was an understatement. Lord Boring’s upcoming ball was likely to bring whole flocks of eligible men from London, most of whom had yet to lay eyes on any of us. In light of this fact, it was almost a blessing that I had not thrown myself away on the likes of Mr. Godalming.

On the other hand, up here in the North of England, in a small, rural neighborhood, there were few single men with either a name or an income sufficiently good to make an offer of marriage to us. Mr. Godalming had been one of those few, and I had frittered him away. I could not blame my stepsisters for being annoyed with me.

Still, Lord Boring’s upcoming ball was to put all to rights; we smiled upon each other and thought of eligible men.

2

AT THIS MOMENT OUR ancient butler, Greengages, tottered into the room to announce our neighbor Miss Hopkins. She followed hard upon his heels into the room; indeed, she burst in upon us with such lack of cere-mony that my mother started up from her seat in alarm.

“How do you do, Clara? I hope all is well?”

“Oh, yes, madam! I do beg you will forgive me my haste. I am so anxious to bring you the latest news that I cannot control my emotions.”

Miss Hopkins was twenty-seven years old, the same age as Prudence. Her fortune was modest, but sufficient to support her in the event that she did not marry. She was rather plain, easily excitable, and not very sensible, but on the whole good-natured, all of which made her a valuable friend and confidante to my sisters.

“Has there been some great military victory at sea, Clara?” I enquired, without supposing anything of the sort. “Is Napoleon defeated, or the king dying?”

Miss Hopkins gave a small shriek and seized upon my last suggestion. “The king dying? No, indeed! Why should he be? No, my news is of much greater import than
that!
It is that Lord Boring has arrived at home, just in time for the ball, and he has brought a large group of gentleman friends!
”

“Really, Clara!” murmured my mother, sending a reproachful glance in my direction. “Our dear monarch’s health is a matter of much greater import than a neighbor’s arrival at his home, with or without friends.”

“Oh, of course I did not mean that that would not be a most dreadful calamity. It is only that . . . it seems so excessively
odd
that Miss Crawley would suggest that the king should die. I hardly thought it likely.”

I cast my eyes to the heavens. The king had been ailing for years now, so much so that his son had been named regent, to rule in his place.

“‘Let us sit upon the ground,’” suggested Prudence, pleased to be able to produce an appropriate quotation, “‘And tell sad stories of the death of kings; / How some have been deposed, some slain in war, / Some—’”

“And of course, I knew you would be interested in the advent of such a large group of gentlemen into the neighborhood.” Luckily, Clara thought nothing of cutting Prudence’s recital short; had she not, we all would still have been sitting there when poor King Richard was carried out in his coffin in Act Five and the curtain fell.

“We
are
interested,” I admitted.

“Yes, dear Clara, do tell us who is coming,” begged Charity.

“Why, he has brought his friend Major Dunthorpe, and the Hadleigh twins of Cornwall, and the Marquis of Bumbershook. Five young men counting His Lordship!”