Maulever Hall (26 page)

She laughed. “It could hardly be. Very well, you’re to decide when to change horses; I leave all to you; and there’s ten pounds extra for you if we get to town tomorrow morning.”

“Tomorrow morning!” And then: “Ten pounds! In with you, ma’am. Why are we loitering here!”

“A good man, I think.” The Duchess settled with a sigh on the lumpy horsehair seat. “We are going to be monstrous uncomfortable. What’s that strange smell, do you
think
?”

‘Fish, I believe.”

“
Delectable! I shall go to sleep.” And she put her booted feet up on the opposite seat, leaned back as comfortably as possible, and closed her eyes.

Marianne was left to dreary contemplation of the desolate past and unpromising future. “Who am I?” creaked the carriage wheels. “Who am I? Who am I? Who am I?” For, against all the evidence, she could still not quite make herself believe in Marianne Rossand. And yet—if he was not her husband, why had Rossand tried to kill her? And there, she thought bitterly to herself, is a fine comment on matrimony. Inevitably, this brought her thoughts circling back to Mauleverer. She was going to London. Would she see him? What would they say? And, “down,” she whispered to the hopes that would, incorrigibly, try to spring up. There was no room for hope; of that, at least, she was certain.

The Duchess gave a little grunt at last and woke up. “It’s cold,” she said. “Colder still tonight. Remind me to buy some blankets when we next stop.”

“You really mean to travel right through the night?”

“Said so, didn’t I? Afraid I’ll collapse on your hands, eh? Don’t worry; I’m as tough as I look—and a good bit younger. Think I’m in my dotage, don’t you? Well, I’m not. Aged ten years overnight when James was killed. Or so they said. We’d only been married six months. Oh well; it’s a long time ago now.” Surprisingly, she laughed. “I can see the questions boiling inside you. And time I talked about it, I suppose. Besides, if you’re going to live with the Mad Duchess, you’d better know something about me.”

“Is that what they call you?”

“So I’m told. I’ve never been back, you know. Couldn’t face it at first, couldn’t be bothered later. Don’t look so anxious: I find I’m looking forward to it now. Think of the changes! Regent Street and all poor Prinney’s other building. Gas lighting. Sir Robert Peel’s policemen. And how about you? Know anything about London?”

“No, I don’t think so.”

“Where do you remember?” The question was intentionally sharp, as if to startle an answer out of her.

“Country,” Marianne answered at once. “Cliffs, the sea: I can swim and sail a boat, I’m sure.”

“Odd in a young lady. Nothing else? It would be—convenient if you were to begin remembering.”

“I know—but it’s no use. I’ve tried and tried.”

“Then don’t.” The Duchess had heard the quiver in her voice. “Ask me some more of your questions instead.”

“Well, where are we going, ma’am?”

“Why to London, of course.”

“I know, but where will we stay? We are hardly dressed for a hotel.” Marianne looked down at her drab dress, a gift from Mrs.
Thorne
’s oldest daughter.

“No, we’d hardly be welcome at Mivart’s.” The Duchess stretched out a booted foot and looked at it reflectively. “How I am going to hate dressing. But as to where we’re going: Lundy House, of course. Never heard of it? Oh well—it’s not as big as Apsley House, nor so splendid as Lord Hertford’s, but it’s on Park Lane, and quite comfortable, so far as I can remember. I expect my nephew will find house room for us easily enough.”

“Your nephew?”

“The Duke, God bless him. He’s bound to be home, on account of the carryings on in Parliament. Very conscientious, poor John is; always has been from a child. Didn’t like to take the house at first, but
I
was in no mood for Dowager-Duchessing it in Park Lane. Don’t suppose I’ll enjoy it much now, but never mind.” She took pity on Marianne’s perplexity. “James left the house to me, you see. And everything else he could, too, poor darling. Not much comfort at the time, I can tell you, but, you know, there’s a lot to be said for money. I can afford my pleasures—such as they are. You’re to be one of them, and no argument. Boring for me to dress like a Duchess, but I’ll enjoy dressing you as my ward.”

“Your ward? But, my dear ma’am—”

“Why not. Can’t go round calling yourself Miss Amnesia— don’t want to call yourself Mrs. Rossand; I can quite see that. Besides, I’m not convinced of that yet, and nor, I think, are you. No, my ward, Miss Lamb, if you like; anything else, if you’d rather. No history, no questions answered, no trouble at all. There are advantages, I find, about being the Mad Duchess. I took James’s horsewhip once to someone who asked impertinent questions. Richly deserved—made quite an impression in town—all the gossip columns—I didn’t care, why should I? John was a bit bothered, poor boy. That’s when he gave in and agreed to take over the house so I could come down here and have some peace. But wouldn’t have it as a gift, still in my name, said he was my steward; nonsense of course, but it comes in handy now.”

“You mean we are going to stay, without any warning, at Lundy House with your nephew. But, surely, his wife
...
”

“No wife, worse luck. Can’t think why not. Certainly
n
ot for lack of trying—on their part. Very eligible Duke, James is; not quite in the same category as Devonshire, perhaps—no Chatsworth, for one thing—but marriageable, you know. Must drive the London Mammas wild to have two of them still uncaught. One on each side of the fence, you might say. Should warn you, I suppose, that John is an
a
rrant
Tory. Wait till you hear him on the Reform Bill. I hope they haven’t broken all his windows, but I expect they have. Still, couldn’t be colder than this.” And she ended the conversation by wrapping her cloak more closely around her and falling asleep again.

XIII

It was early in the morning, and bitterly cold, when the coach rattled, at last, onto the first
paving stones
that proved they were really in London. The Duchess opened one eye sleepily at the change in the motion of the vehicle, then closed it again: “Wake me when we get there.”

Marianne had no watch, but the emptiness of the streets, and the glum gray of the sky combined to convince her that their driver had earned his extra money. “But, ma’am,” she ventured, “hardly anyone is stirring. Surely you will not arrive, unannounced, at this hour?”

“What else?” The Duchess roused herself to look out of the carriage window. “I’ve no mind to go on freezing any longer than is necessary, I can tell you. Besides, I propose to be a great trouble to poor John, and ‘begin as you mean to go on,’ is my motto: always has been. Anyway, I bet you we find he’s been up all night at the House; very likely to catch him just before he retires. Waste of time to try and consider other people; always get it wrong; just more trouble for everyone. Now you’ve waked me up.” She sat up straight in her corner and ran ruthless fingers through her straggling white hair. “Still don’t quite believe I’m not in my dotage, do you?” What an uncomfortable gift she had for reading one’s thoughts. “I went white when James died. How they talked. God, how tedious it was. All over now.
Poor James; the forgetting was the worst, in a way. I used to cry because I couldn’t cry. Understand?”

“I think so.” Impossible, in fact, to imagine forgetting Mauleverer.

“No you don’t.” As usual the Duchess read her thoughts. “But you’ll find out—if it comes to that, which I hope it won’t. Good God, how town has changed. This was all open country when I was a girl. I can remember primrosing here. Ah well, march of progress, I suppose. Never could understand why it was assumed we
did
progress, but never mind; it sounds better. Nervous?”

“A little.”

“No need to be. John’s almost too mild. Terrified of me, too, poor boy. Well, not a boy exactly; in his forties I suppose by now; an old man to you, eh? But a good nephew to me, I’ll say that for him. You’ll be all right in his house. Don t know why I didn’t think of it sooner. Bring things to a head, see? Someone, surely, will recognize you. No need to look so frightened; I’ve confidence in you, if you haven t in yourself. You’ve done nothing to be ashamed of, and the sooner we prove it, the better. Besides, I’ve a score to settle with your Mr. Rossand. I liked that house.”

“If it really was he,” put in Marianne.

“Of course it was he: tried to persuade the villagers; failed; did it himself. Stands to reason. The only thing I want to know is where he went next. Is he hiding in the country somewhere? Does he know we escaped? Lots of questions. Anyway, bound to learn you are alive sooner or later, and bound, I take it, to do something about you.
I wonder why you’re such a threat to him. By rights, John should have some more information about that marriage license by now—it’s taken him long enough, but I suppose he’s been busy over this Bill like everyone else.”

Marianne was appalled. “You mean it is the Duke who has been making enquiries on my behalf?”

“
Who else? He’s always handled my affairs—and very capably too. Hardly a commission one would entrust to a stranger. No, no; no need to look so distressed. What a girl you are for blushing. But John doesn’t mind; not enough to do, half the time, but be a Duke. Good for him to have an interest. Good God, look at the Duke’s house! Did you ever see anything so pitiful as all those boarded windows.
I
’
d see them damned before I made such a concession to the mob, and so I’ll tell him—and John, too, if he’s done it to my house. But of course it stands farther back. That
was Apsley House,” she explained belatedly, “this is Park Lane—the Green Park over there, though it hardly looks it now, and—Ah, here we are at last. Hmmm—the railings aren’t a bad idea, and I suppose the gates lock.” The carriage had turned through the gates in a high ornamental railed fence as she was speaking, and now came to a halt in front of what seemed to Marianne a perfectly enormous gray stone house.

More than ever aware of their tatterdemalion appearance, Marianne wished she had the courage to point out that the Duchess’s borrowed bonnet was askew over wildly straggling white hair. Surreptitiously patting her own ringlets into some kind of order, she felt the Duchess’s sardonic eye upon her: “Past praying for, if you ask me. I wouldn’t worry.” Their driver had opened the carriage door and let down the steps by now, and with these far from encouraging words, the Duchess climbed lightly out, instructing the man, as she did so, to, “Knock me a good peal on that door.”

The man looked frightened, but obeyed, while Marianne joined the Duchess in the arched portico.

“I shall be glad of some breakfast. Ah, at last,” the Duchess broke off as the big door swung slowly open to reveal a sleepy-looking footman half in, half out of his livery jacket. “My good man,” she went on, “that is no way to receive guests. Is the Duke at home?”

“His Grace? At home to company at eight o’clock in the morning? And to a couple of gypsies too, by the look of it.” The man yawned insolently. “Best be off with you, before I send for the Peelers.”

“You mistake the matter a trifle.” The Duchess was entirely unruffled. “And I have no wish to lose you your position. I have no doubt that those of your fellow servants who are somewhat older—and wiser—than you have told you of the Mad Duchess. Well, here I am. If my nephew is not at home, you will bring me the housekeeper. She will make arrangements for my reception, and that of my ward.”

There was something in her tone that did not encourage discussion. Reluctantly, the man stood aside to let her and Marianne enter the spacious entrance hall. “No need to look so alarmed,” the Duchess told him kindly. “I really am the Dowager Duchess. Now, fetch Melton, if you please.”

The man seemed to find his wits and his tongue at once. “But the Duke is here,” he said. “He is but now returned
from the House. He is eating his breakfast—supper—what you will. I do not like to disturb him.”

“I am glad to hear he is so formidable a master. In the study, no doubt? Come, Marianne.” And the Duchess tramped down the
tessellated
hall in her cavalry boots, threw open a door at the far end, and said, with obvious pleasure, “Ah, John, the very thing we need: breakfast. Oh, and tell your man I really am the Mad Duchess; he is in perfect fits for fear of having done the wrong thing.”

The tall man who had been sitting with a cup of coffee beside a blazing fire now came forward, hands outstretched. “My dear aunt, this is a most unexpected pleasure.” And then: “Breakfast? Of course. James, two more breakfasts. Quick.”

He was not at all what Marianne expected. His aunt’s affectionate but faintly disparaging remarks about him had made her imagine a frail, elderly, cipher of a man, but this was a fair-haired giant who was now taking her hand in acknowledgment of his aunt’s introduction of “My ward, Miss Lamb.” Taller than Mauleverer—her inevitable standard of comparison—he was also much broader in the shoulder and gave an impression of rugged outdoors health, even in his present costume of a fur-lined banyan, or dressing gown. His smile, as he greeted her, was reassuringly warm and frank. “My aunt has written me about you, Miss Lamb. You are most welcome to Lundy House.”